#harry au

[moonchildstyles]

memory

harry has to walk his drunk girlfriend home after girls night, but is that even his girlfriend?

wordcount: 2.2k+

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Harry swore he could have spotted (Y/N) from a mile away, even without the liquid shimmer of her dress wrapped around her form. Despite the glow of the neon lights over the entire sidewalk with the club name displayed in all caps, she still outshone every person still waiting in line to get in, the grouping of others on standby for their ride shares, and her group of friends that had been so gracious as to let him know that she was ready to go home and much too tipsy (read: drunk) to walk herself home despite her insistences. 

Only when he made it close enough to hear the soft echoes of laughter and drunken conversation, sparkling heels clicking against pavement, was he spotted. It was almost heartbreaking to watch the way her jaw dropped in grinning surprise. He could feel his own lips stretching into a dimpled smile, though he attempted to temper the reaction when her grouping of friends followed her line of sight to catch his approach. 

"Harry!" she bubbled, closing the distance between them on wobbly legs. Despite the even, obstacle-free length of the sidewalk, she still found something to catch under her heel to send her right into his arms. 

"Woah," Harry laughed, wrapping a steadying arm around her waist with their chests now pressed flush together. Swathes of bare skin displayed by the heart-shaped cutouts stations on either side of her waist allowed him to graze his fingertips over the warmth of her.  The candied raspberry liquor on her breath was especially sweet with the way her eyes sparkled up at him. "Hey, you."

"Hey yourself," she giggled, unperturbed by the lack of distance between them, "What are you doing here?" Her eyes momentarily widened as her arms clumsily looped around his neck. "Oh my god, did you come here to dance with us? 'M so sorry, H—we're just getting ready to leave!" 

The silky material that made up her dress in between the sweetheart cutouts fluttered around her thighs as a faint breeze glanced between them. Goosebumps erupted over her skin though her moony eyes didn't so much as flick away from his. 

"'M actually here to take y'home, love. Tara called me, said y'were trying to walk home all by yourself," he explained, tipping his head to the side only for her to mimic the movement without a thought. 

"Tara called you?" she asked, voice suddenly quiet, heels teetering underneath her. "How'd she get your number?" 

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Y'called her from m'phone the last time y'stayed the weekend with me, remember? When y'didn't have service, but y'wanted to see if she'd watered your plants?" 

Harry wasn't prepared for the way she practically went boneless in his arms. Her eyes went from moony to completely dreamy as she gazed up at him, her arms around his neck now shifted to card her fingers through his hair, nails drifting over his scalp. 

"Oh yeah, huh," she smiled, just barely containing a giggle just short of being described as girlish, "We should have a sleepover again soon." 

"Yeah?" Harry prodded, unable to help himself as he raised a single brow, dimples denting his cheeks, "Y'wanna? Y'have a crush on me or something?" 

This time she really did giggle, pitched and sticky sweet, before diving into his neck in a clinging hug. Stumbling some on his own feet, Harry let out a puff of laughter before steadying the both of them, hands warm and heavy on her waist. 

She was going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow. Hopefully she'd had all the fun she wanted tonight to make it worth it. 

Tara, dressed sleek and dark in a velveteen black dress, approached then. Her own eyes were glossy though they held much more clarity than the girl who was currently hanging off of him. 

"Thanks for coming," she smiled, words only a tad slurred and slower than normal, "She's—Yeah, you see. There's no way she can go home by herself." 

Another short breeze skimmed over the pavement, Harry bringing his hand down to his giggly girl's skirt to keep it pinned to the back of her thighs. A quiet hiccup sounded against his neck. 

"No way," Harry agreed, speaking through his smile, "Thanks for calling me. Y'guys all have a way to get home?" 

Tara glanced over her shoulder to the small grouping of the other girls who were half-watching the interaction. Harry was sure there had been an audience from the first moment (Y/N) had stumbled into his arms. 

"Yeah; Gena's boyfriend's picking her up and then the rest of us are sharing an Uber," Tara rattled off, casting her eyes out to the street. "But, you two are good to start home whenever you're ready." 

"Wait," (Y/N) suddenly chirped, pulling her head from where she had burrowed herself away in Harry's neck, "I didn't pack for a sleepover. I don't have any of my stuff, and I can't sleep in my dress."—her eyes abruptly widened, fingers tightening in his hair—"Oh my god, I cannot sleep in my makeup. I can't go home with you, H." 

Tara just managed to stifle a laugh behind pursed lips. "Goodnight, guys. Text me when you make it home—whoever's home you get to," she teased, almost cracking herself into laughter. 

Momentarily distracted, (Y/N) twirled away from Harry, though he made a point to keep his hands on her waist when she almost toppled face-first into the concrete before getting to hug her friend goodbye with coos of how much she loves her and how much fun she had. 

Not long after she sent a tinkling wave to the rest of her friends did she spin again, back into Harry's chest. The lightness she had shared with her friends had fled as soon as she matched his gaze, canting her head with a puffed pout to her lips. 

"Harry," she all but whined about the syllables, "I can't go home with you." 

The pads of his thumbs ran careful, hopefully soothing circles, on the exposed skin framed by the heart cutouts of her dress. "Then, can I come home with you?"

This had been the original plan anyway, but she didn't need to worry about that right now. 

She perked up at the offer, glittery lashes fluttering against her browbone. "You'd have a sleepover at my house?" 

A lopsided smile took over his features. "If you'll let me." 

An eager nod of her head threw her tousled hair over her shoulders before she pulled Harry in for another hug. "Yes, yes, yes," she practically cheered, "Of course, I'll let you." 

"Thank you, love," he murmured, dropping a careful kiss on the line of her jaw just before drawing away from her embrace. "Let's head home then, 'kay? 'S getting a little cold, isn't it?" 

"It is, huh?" she bubbled, taking it upon herself to tuck herself under his arm and right up against his side. "Has it been cold the whole time out here, or have I been too drunk to notice until now? You can be honest, it's okay." 

Harry didn't even try to hold back the burst of laughter that left him at her words. His volunteered arm around her shoulders tightened, leading them away from the small club and towards her home. "I think you've been a little too drunk to notice until now, but 's alright, love. Y'had fun tonight, right?" 

"So much fun," she sighed, steps slowing into lazy stumbles as she reminisced about times only hours earlier. "Those girls are my best friends, it's crazy, you know?" 

The amusement on his features melted into pure affection as he glanced down at her. "'M happy y'had fun—especially with them. Are y'gonna see them again soon?" 

"Maybe, I don't know," she drawled, "I think we made plans, but I really can't remember. There'll probably be something in the group chat tomorrow, maybe." 

"Well, let me know, and I can plan on dropping y'off and picking y'up. That way y'don't have to worry about figuring out how you're getting home or packing to stay at my house, or anything like that." 

She had her eyes trained on him only as he gently steered her out of the way of a murky puddle, the kind that would have no doubt ruined her shoes. Her starry eyes were on him only as she fluttered a blink up at him, just about making Harry forget which street to turn them down to head them down to her apartment. 

"Okay," she sighed, "Can I ask you something?" 

"Sure." 

Did she even know that a pink glitter from her dress had somehow ended up on the tip of her nose? And that it was possibly the sweetest thing he'd ever seen? 

"And promise me you'll be honest." 

One corner of his mouth quirked up. A sly glance was sent her direction from the corner of his eye. 

"Okay. I can be honest." 

She coiled her fist in the fabric of his shirt, anchoring herself to him—as if there was anywhere he was going to be that wasn't right here. 

"If I ask you to be my boyfriend, would you say yes?" 

In his heart, Harry knew that the right reaction was not to laugh. Not to let his grin stretch wide enough over his lips that his eyes creased, lashes tangled, dimples deepened. That his chest could ache from the lack of air in his lungs. That was far from the right reaction to a question like that, Harry knew that. 

And yet. 

At his side, despite the fact he hadn't slowed his own steps, the girl at his side significantly stalled. She still had her fist tucked into his shirt, his arm around her shoulder, but was not as enthusiastic to keep up with his pace as before. 

Stifling back any more chuckles, Harry looked down to his girl, tightening his arm around her shoulders before he dropped it to her waist. He corralled her in, looping her closer to his side and closing the distance that had opened with her slowed gait. 

"Love, 'm sorry, 'm sorry," he started pleading. Though, he could admit that he may not be the most convincing given the fact that he was saying all of this through an amused grin. "I didn't mean to laugh, I promise." 

"Then why did you? I wasn't trying to be funny, Harry." 

At the sound of her wavering voice, Harry immediately sobered. This wasn't so funny now that she wasn't so much as pouting as she was pursing her lips to keep her chin from wobbling, that her fluttery lashes weren't something cute and flirty, but a technique to keep her tears at bay. The pretty, glossy sheen over her eyes wasn't the stars descending to her irises, but her hurt feelings coming to the surface. 

"Hey," he started, pausing their journey home to tuck her out of the way and into an alcove between two late night restaurants. "Hey, 'm sorry, love. I didn't mean to, really. I wasn't laughing because—like... I don't think the idea of being your boyfriend is funny, I jus' thought your question was funny because...I already thought I was your boyfriend, love." 

That wobbly bottom lip dropped, leaving (Y/N)'s mouth open in awed shock, brows pinched. Glossy eyes remained, though more from the alcohol than the tears that were now wading away. 

"Huh?"

A gentle smile spread over his lips. A hand that had made a home over her waist drifted up to cradle her cheek, the pad of his thumb resting on the height of her cheekbone, the very tip feeling the tickle of her eyelashes. 

"Remember?" he prompted, "I asked you a week ago. With all those roses, and the strawberries in the shape of a heart after dinner? It was Valentine's Day, baby." 

Harry watched the moment that the memory returned to her. He got to see in real time as she relived the moment she had teased him, calling him "lame" as if she didn't have this same glossy sheen over her eyes though it was definitely from tears back then, before covering his face in kisses. 

Does this mean yes? he'd said when he'd had a chance to come up for air. 

What do you think? she'd said back, kiss swollen lips and moony eyes, You did all this just to ask me to be your girlfriend, of course I'm saying yes. 

She'd spent a long weekend at his house then. Tara was on plant duty.

"Oh," she sounded, "Oh, yeah. Oh my god, I'm sorry. I'm way drunker than I thought." 

"A little bit," Harry laughed, this time only a puff of air shaped by his smile. "'S alright, baby. No tears, yeah." 

"No tears," she agreed, pliantly nodding, "I'm sorry I got upset—I can't believe I forgot all of that." 

"But y'remember now, right?" 

"I do," she nodded, a sweet smile on her lips, "I really, really do. Best weekend ever." She let out a dreamy sigh only for her features to melt into something sweetly distressed. "I'm going to be really sick in the morning, huh?" 

"Probably," Harry deigned, unable to bite back his smile, "But I'll make sure y'have water and some medicine, and I'll hold your hair back." 

Starry eyes, sweet smile, fluttery lashes were all trained up at him as Harry held her cheek in his warm palm. Her hand on his chest flexed, right over his beating heart, the pumps surely beating out the syllables of her name. 

"Best boyfriend ever." 

Harry could only manage to press a kiss to the tip of her nose—right over that pink glitter.

—————

I wrote this over a week but in a collective of like an hour and a half so I fear this may be rough but I really wanted to just get something out since its been so long since ive even written anything and I wanted to just try! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any ideas or anything u want to send please send them in!

[lukesaprince]

The Other Man H.S

Summary: Where y/n's husband opens up her marriage and she meets Harry on Tinder...

Warning: Smut, oral (f & m recieving), penetration, dirty talk (degradation & praise), spanking, squirting, I think that's it?

Word count: 13.5k+

Author's note: Hellooo long time no see! It feels like forever since I posted anything and I do apologise for that my brain was taking a hiatus apparently but hopefully I can get back into the groove! This probably needs editing but I hope you like it anywayy.

- Find my General Masterlist here -

“So… do you do this a lot?”

“What do you mean?” You took a sip of your wine, trying to sate the erratic nerves jumping within the walls of your body. Not even a few drinks before you arrived to your date could save you. 

“Go on Tinder dates.” 

Harry, the man who effortlessly charmed you when your friends encouraged you to swipe right on him seemed as relaxed as ever. He had this calm and sensual aura about him that existed through every little thing he did. His smile, the way he thanked the waitress, the way he greeted you with a kiss on the cheek and guided you to the table with a hand on the small of your back. Everything. 

It was all a little too charming for your first date back in the game. Part of you even wished it would be a disaster. Then you reminded yourself that there had to be a first date. That you had to reclaim your desirability and get back into the dating scene to find yourself again. It had been three months after all, nearly four since your marriage blew up in your face and everything about your life changed. 

You felt like you were ready. Or at least willing to give it a crack.

“You seem a little nervous, that’s why I ask. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Harry spoke up again when you didn’t answer right away. 

“You didn’t offend me,” you assured, blushing at the way you got so caught up in the attraction of him, “but is it really that obvious?” You shook your head, laughing softly like the idea of actually being on a date was unfathomable. It was. To you anyway; especially given the fact that the man sitting in front of you wasn’t your husband. “This is my first date in… a while.”

“It’s not obvious.” Harry laughed softly, running his hand through his hair. “But it’s okay to be nervous. I’m nervous too.”

“You are?” Your eyes widened, “it’s not because I’m married, is it? Because I put it in my profile and-”

“It’s not because you’re married,” He assured, interrupting your clear panic. He found it quite adorable actually. “It’s because I like you and I think you’re beautiful. I wouldn’t be here if I thought otherwise.”

Oh. 

Harry didn’t want to overstep. He had only been chatting with you for a week before meeting in person, but he already liked you, at least from the few bits of information he learnt about you. And you were quite pretty, insanely pretty actually. Harry thought you were attractive from your profile, but seeing you in person only solidified that. It would take some serious differences between you two for him to not want to pursue things.

But this was a first date afterall and he wasn’t going to put pressure on something so fresh. You were clear before even meeting him that you weren’t looking for anything serious and Harry was happy with that. Whatever the outcome of this date, he at least wanted to make sure you had a good time. Even if it meant you two never saw each other again.

“Oh.” You felt your heart hammering in your chest at the compliment. Even his eye contact was making you a jittery mess. Harry made you nervous. Giddy even and you had barely known the man a week. “Thank you.”

Carson still complimented you, even still said he loved you, but nothing really felt the same after he wanted to open your marriage. It was like a wrecking ball to your life. Your heart broke instantly and your self esteem took the biggest hit you had ever experienced. Your own fucking husband asking to open your marriage after nearly three years of being married, six of being in a relationship. How were you supposed to take it?

He gave you those same reasons many guys give when they want to open a relationship; that you just didn’t fulfill his needs sexually anymore and that he needed more to be satisfied. You tried to explain that you’d be willing to explore his fantasies if he just communicated them, especially since he had been the one leading a very vanilla (but good) sex life since you two got married, but he didn’t like that idea. 

You came to the conclusion there was someone else. Carson denied it and told you he still loved you, but you couldn’t ignore the gut feeling that this was all some fucked up coverup to excuse cheating. So you said no. Safe to say that didn’t work out because a divorce ultimatum and three months later and you were here, trying to reap the benefits from an open relationship you were too reluctant to explore. 

Carson of course was happy to follow the rules you two set and be out nearly every damn night with someone, but you could never bring yourself to do it. You were still hung up on the hurt and pure embarassment you felt being forced to open a marriage you thought was happy. In the end you realised that you deserved the pleasure Carson was getting from someone else. You deserve to be desired and taken out on dates. It didn’t seem fair that only one person was benefitting.

“You’re welcome, love.” Harry smiled, “let’s just not put any pressure on it, okay? No expectations or anything. We’ll just get to know each other and see where the night takes us.”

You liked the sound of that. You liked the sound of him calling you ‘love’ even more. 

“Okay,” you nodded, “I like the idea of that.”

“Good.” Harry raised his wine glass in a toast and you couldn’t help but feel a little mesmerised by the sight of his ringed fingers wrapped around the glass. Shaking yourself out of it, you raised yours as well. “To us.” He offered.

“To us.”

The date with Harry went far better than you ever could’ve expected. He was sweet and charming and all the things that drew you to him via text were even better in person. You two had far more in common than you realised and even the things you didn’t only added so much interest to the conversation. He made you laugh harder than you had for months and was the perfect gentleman all night. 

You two didn’t sleep together, not that you went into this date wanting to sleep with him anyway because you weren’t really sure what to expect, but you came out of it hoping he’d offer to walk you up to your hotel door and maybe continue walking you right to your bed. Harry didn’t do that of course and instead offered you a kiss on your cheek and an invitation for dinner again next week, but that only made you want him more.

Leading up to the date was so overstimulating and so much all at once that you decided to book a room at the hotel in the same complex as your dinner (which he so kindly paid for), just so you’d have time in a clean environment to process your thoughts afterwards. 

Carson was out with his girlfriend April tonight, as that’s what she was to him now, so he wouldn’t be home anyway. But you didn’t want to be getting ready in your own room near the bed you and your husband shared, only to return to it after a date that could’ve been terrible. You wanted something just for you so no matter the outcome and no matter how you felt about it, you had somewhere free from any memories relating to your marriage.

When Harry offered the second date, you told him you’d think about it. He understood, took it like a great guy (the bare minimum, yes, but you were also expecting him to be too good to be true) then waited until you were in the closing doors of the elevator to say goodnight. It didn’t take long after you were clean and in the comfort of a fresh Carson-free bed that you texted Harry to let him know how much you enjoyed the date and that you would like to join him for dinner next week.

He was nice and handsome and you had a really good time with him. The thought of seeing him again made you giddy and you wanted to hang onto that feeling.

Harry: I’m glad it didn’t take you too long to think about it. I had a wonderful night. X

You were practically giggling as you read the text, feeling like a little girl dating a cute guy she liked for the very first time. It was exhilarating. Only one date in and you already understood the appeal Carson was talking about, as much as you wanted to disagree with him.

You: I’m glad. Goodnight Harry x

Harry: Goodnight, love. Sleep well x

//

“So what did you get up to last night?” Carson asked, “you have a nice night away?”

“I went on a date, actually.” Your back was facing towards him as you unpacked your overnight bag. Even though you couldn’t see him, you could practically feel the surprise radiating off him.

“Oh, really? With who?” Carson walked around until he was in your eyeline. He was trying not to act surprised, but you could see it even better with him in front of you that he was. His tone didn’t come off judgemental though and if it did you’d have a few things you could throw back at him. He couldn’t really say anything when you had remained silent on all his flings and relationships. 

“His name’s Harry. I met him on tinder.” You shrugged, being honest but trying not to appear too excited about the whole thing. Carson didn’t need to know you thought about Harry before you went to sleep, or that you spent a good half an hour on the phone with your friends squealing about your date with him.

“That’s great.” Carson’s reply seemed genuine and he held that kind smile that you fell in love with. “How was it? Did he treat you right?”

“It was really good, actually,” you paused your unpacking and looked at your husband, seeing the kindness in his eyes as he listened attentively to what you were saying. You wished he’d look like that all the time. “He was the perfect gentleman and we’re going on another date next week.”

“He must’ve really liked you then,” he teased. 

Carson was just joking and being quite civil about the entire thing, but you still felt that churning in your stomach. It would never feel normal talking about a date with someone else, even if it was your date instead of his now. 

“I guess so. It was only one date though.”

“Did you sleep together?” Then came the dreaded question. 

You both agreed that you had to disclose when you slept with another person and a condom always had to be used. No details had to be shared and it was preferred that there weren’t any, but for your own health and safety, you had to share it with each other. It only really mattered when you two were having sex with each other, which, with work and Carson’s busy schedule with other people, only happened once a month if that on your scheduled weekend together. 

Opening the marriage seemed to completely eradicate that part of your relationship and while you were unsatisfied, you couldn’t really find it in yourself to try and change that. Not with Carson at least. 

“No. You know I’d tell you if we did.” You didn’t really want to talk about it anymore, not when this conversation was ruining your once-happy mood.

“I know,” Carson replied softly, moving forward to place his hands on your hips. “I love you, you know that. I hope you find some joy in Harry, or whoever. Whatever makes you happy, y/n. That’s all I want for you.”

That felt like the biggest load of shit ever but you chose not to say that.

So you smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to remember when you used to do it and not feel a sense of dread. “I love you too.”

//

You went on a few dates with Harry. You tried to plan things around when Carson was busy so you wouldn’t be stuck at home thinking about what he was doing and that seemed to do the trick because you hadn’t thought about him once on any of the dates you had with Harry. 

Things had progressed to a goodbye kiss then a hello kiss when you decided to be a little brave and greet him with one when he picked you up one Saturday morning. And God Harry just knew how to kiss. Even a peck was delicious. His mouth was so soft and sweet and the way he held your face or your waist while kissing you made your entire body light on fire. The more time you spent with him, the more desperate you were becoming to sleep with him.

But Harry was such a gentleman. You didn’t want anything serious and he knew that and yet he hadn’t made the first move. Kissing you was as far as he got and when things started to get a little heated when you two said goodbye, it would always end far too prematurely for your liking. 

In your head, a lot of men just wanted to have sex and most of the time did anything and everything to get there before moving on once their post-nut clarity hit. That’s kind of what you expected from Harry. Someone so good-looking and out of your league could find sex easily so you assumed he’d be eager to sleep with you. That was part of the allure, wasn’t it? To sleep with a married woman? The nasty, scandalous thrill of being with someone that belonged to someone else.

Yet Harry never treated you like that, in fact, he didn’t even bring up your marriage unless you started the conversation. Harry just treated you like someone genuinely interested in getting to know you. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

It was only your third date. This conversation should’ve come up earlier, maybe even on one of the many text conversations or calls you had, but you were a little caught up in his charm and romance to think about it then and you wanted to see his reaction in person. In the very beginning you weren’t even sure if you’d be seeing him again but now that you were up to date three and he just never brought up the fact that you were married… well you wanted to know why. He knew your marriage was open but you didn’t quite understand why was he okay with it? There had to be a reason, right? 

“Of course you can.” He leaned back against the chair and tucked his elbow on the edge of the balcony you two were sitting at. It was a picturesque little cafe overlooking a river and it truly felt like you two were on some romantic holiday. The sun was gorgeous even despite the cold breeze and Harry looked effortlessly handsome. 

“Why do you… I don’t know how to put it.” You sat a bit straighter in your chair, fiddling with the rings on your fingers. Your wedding ring. You weren’t sure why you still wore it on your dates with Harry, but it was a habit and you were married. “You never bring up Carson or the fact that I’m married and I want to know why…”

“Why I don’t care?” He asked, finishing off your sentence. 

“Yeah…” You nodded, “I guess I just don’t get it. You’re a lot younger than me-”

“I’m 27 and it’s only five years.” He corrected, looking quite amused by your comment. Five years was a big gap when he was younger than you, at least you thought so. 

“Still.” You pressed, “You’re young and I’m married. I just don’t understand why you’re choosing to go out with me and not someone else. And the fact that you’re okay with my marriage it just… I don’t know.” You looked away for a moment, needing to break free from his eye contact so you weren’t completely swept up in it. “I’m not sure if I’d be the same. I’m not the same and I’m the one who’s married.”

“I’ve been married before…” 

Well, you certainly didn’t expect that.

“What?” Your eyes widened and Harry nearly laughed at how shocked you were.

“I was only 20 at the time and it was stupid to say the least but we were happy and in love and marriage seemed like the answer to all our problems.” He smiled at the memory, tracing his finger around the rim of his water glass as he thought back to that time in his life. 

“And it wasn’t?”

“No.” He chuckled, sighing while running a hand through his hair. “Marriage caused more problems than it was worth. Steph and I were broke and both in school. We could barely afford our degrees let alone rent and it just caused so many arguments. Too many arguments. We still loved each other and we made it work but over time… the love faded.” Harry shrugged. This felt like too intense of a conversation for breakfast, but you weren’t really expecting to find out about a marriage. 

“Wow…” You breathed. “I’m sorry. Um, how long were you two married?”

“Three years. We were just too young and going through too many changes. In the end, we were more like roommates than husband and wife. Didn’t have sex for the last six months because we were too busy working and emotionally disconnecting from each other.” He looked out to the water, turning back to finish off his point. “Anyway. What I’m trying to say is that shit happens. Relationships aren’t clear-cut. I can tell you’re not just trying to get some exciting thrill by cheating on your husband so as far as I’m concerned it’s just you and me.” Harry bumped his foot against yours under the table, smirking ever so slightly. “If that changes I’m sure you’ll let me know.”

Harry spoke about it in such a respectful way. You imagined it was far messier than he made it out to be, but he didn’t blame Steph or attack her character to make himself the good guy in all of it. It was refreshing and mature. Was it bad that him being married before only made him more attractive?

Maybe it was because you now knew that he understood you. 

“That’s a very… refreshing outlook, Harry.”

“Refreshing?” He chuckled, “No. Realistic.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table, nudging your foot again. “And to answer your other question, the reason I’m out with you and not ‘somebody else’ is because I like you. I told you that on our very first date and I’ll say it again. I like you. Simple.”

“You act like things are so easy.” You laughed, blushing at his honesty. 

“They can be.” He reached for your hand, threading your fingers together before squeezing. “It feels easy with you.”

Yeah… it did. 

To make things worse… or better? his admission only made you more insatiable for him. Nothing he said was remotely casual, but it had also been a long time since you were dating. Aside from Carson, only one other man had touched you, so you didn’t really have a good gauge on navigating new beginnings or sex with a new person. You knew how to please a man but all your skills were honed in on one man. 

So when Harry offered to host dinner at his house for your next date, your stomach was a mixture of nerves and pure excitement. You hadn’t been there before, but with his invitation to stay the night, you didn’t really care what his place looked like, just that he had a nice clean bed to fuck you on. 

You never thought you’d be in this position, but you also never thought you’d be in an open marriage with a man you imagined building a family with. You didn’t see that happening now, but what you did see was you enjoying yourself and getting to explore another man for the first time in years.

Harry wouldn’t have just invited you to spend the night if he wasn’t interested in sleeping with you. He didn’t fit into the dump-and-run stereotype you created in your head, but he sure as hell wasn’t uninterested in sex. He practically oozed it from his fucking pores. 

“Y/n!” Harry beamed, opening the door with a big charming grin. He looked gorgeous and you were taken aback at just how good-looking he was. He told you to dress casually and while he matched the criteria with a pair of jeans and a loose white button-up, he looked anything but casual. 

“Hi,” you smiled, stepping inside. You barely made it into the doorway before he grabbed your overnight back from your shoulder, slung it on his and then cupped your face to bring you in for a kiss. You gasped a little into his mouth, humming when you relaxed into it and grabbed onto the sides of his mouth to reciprocate. 

It felt so young kissing like this; languid and passionately right in the open doorway of his house where anyone who drove or walked past could see. But you didn’t really care who saw when he was nudging you against the doorway and crowding you with his body. It wasn’t an innocent kiss that’s for sure. 

His mouth moved expertly against yours, tongue sliding against the seam of your mouth until it was brushing against yours. He grabbed onto your waist, pulling you flush against him until he was consuming every part of you. It was delirious the way he sucked on your tongue and groaned at the taste of your mouth. 

If this was setting the tone for the evening, you could barely wait. 

“Did you miss me or something?” You joked, breathing heavily as the kiss broke. 

He smiled, nodding while running his thumb over your mouth. He dragged his eyes over your body, taking in your nice fitting jeans and top with the most perfect amount of cleavage he could die. You were radiant. “Very much so.” 

God.

“Come in, love. It’s cold out.” Harry stepped out of the way properly this time, closing the door behind you while you looked around his entranceway. 

“Shoes off?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” 

Harry walked you straight through to his living area. It was a warm, inviting home with soft lighting and lots of texture. He had a musical influence throughout but in the most tasteful way ever. Posters, vinyls and a gorgeous record player front and centre in his living room. His style was envying and you wished Carson would let you do even half the things Harry had done to his house. 

You could see yourself being very comfortable here. 

“Your house is gorgeous, Harry.” You complimented, looking around the space in awe. 

“Thank you.” He gushed, setting your bag down on one of his armchairs before walking into the kitchen. “I originally hired an interior designer then ended up picking all her opposite choices. I think I did an okay job.”

“I think so.” You agreed, following him to the island bench. The entire house was fragrant. It was a mixture of some citrusy candle, whatever delicious dish was in the oven and his cologne. It was intoxicating. “Ugh and it smells so good in here. What is that?” you practically moaned.

“Alfredo chicken pasta.” Harry mused, grabbing a bottle of red from his wine fridge. “I know you like it. Thought I should try and impress you for our first at home date.”

“So far it’s working. Just need to wait until it’s in my mouth for the final verdict.” You replied, pressing your hip to the bench while looking at him. “Can’t give you a raving review before I’ve tried it, can I?”

If Harry set the tone with the kiss, you set the tone with your words and those flirty eyes of yours. He pressed his tongue into his cheek, nearly audibly moaning at the double entendre. Harry had been holding back on how badly he wanted you since the first date. 

There was an instant fire between you. Chemistry he had been wanting to act upon for weeks. But he knew this was the first relationship for you since your husband suggested opening your marriage and he didn’t want to push things. You two spoke about it extensively after the third date when you wanted to clear the air to figure out what Harry got from this. 

Harry got pure pleasure. To him it was simple. He enjoyed your company and you seemed genuine in what you told him about your situation, so why wouldn’t he pursue things with you?

“You’re a smart woman.” Harry smirked, pouring the red wine into both wine glasses he had set on the bench before your arrival. “Actions speak louder than words, don’t they?” The way he looked at you nearly had you sweating. 

“It’s an age-old saying, after all.” You mused, thanking him once he passed you a glass. “To us?”

“To our first night together.” He clinked his glass against yours, eliciting a smile that had you trying to hide how nervous he truly made you feel. It had been a while since you got butterflies in the presence of a man. 

“Now, tell me all about your day. Must’ve been pretty relaxing if you had so much time to get all pretty for me.” He teased, reaching out to pluck at the hem of your shirt. 

“Yeah right.” You snorted, jumping straight into all the problems you encountered during your work day. 

Dinner went perfect as it usually did. You both laughed and drank and shared a delicious meal. By the time dessert came, Harry had moved from his chair opposite you to sit right beside you, deciding to play a game with the few mini dishes he made. He didn’t really explain why he chose to make multiple options, only that you had to guess what each one is. 

You weren’t really going to stop him from feeding you, were you? 

“Okay keep your eyes closed.” He prompted, walking over to the table with the long plate housing the mini desserts. 

“Okay! Okay they’re closed.” You shuffled in your chair, trying not to sneak a peek even if you wanted to. 

“Keep them closed.” He warned again, his arm brushing yours as he set the plate onto the table. 

“They are.” You defended. 

“How many fingers?” Harry sat right next to you, waving two fingers in front of your face. 

“Harry!”

“Okay.” He laughed. Harry grabbed one of the dessert spoons and took a small chunk from the first dessert before bringing it close to your face. “Any guesses?”

“Smells warm.” You guessed, breathing in the delicious cinnamon-or was it caramel? “Caramel?”

“Very good, Angel.” He praised, unintentionally making your breath hitch. That little bit of praise hit you right in the belly, making a swarm of butterflies flutter all over. “Open your mouth.”

Shit. If only he was asking you to open your mouth for something else. 

You did as instructed and widened your mouth, rubbing your palms up and down your thighs. He brought the spoon to your mouth, letting you suck it clean before removing it. “Do you have a guess?”

“Mmh.” You hummed softly, savoring the taste of the dessert you had on your first date. “Sticky date pudding?”

“Atta girl!” He cheered. “Well done.”

If he praised you one more time… god you almost felt pathetic at how turned on you were getting. And over food. 

“Can I open my eyes now?” You whispered, wanting to look at him. 

“Nope. Next one.” He took a spoon from the next dessert and repeated the same movements, holding it in front of your nose so you could smell it first. “What can you smell?”

“Custard maybe? Vanilla?” 

“Yeah… on the right track.” He mused, “open up.” Then once again he fed you the spoon. 

“Oh that’s so good.” You practically moaned, feeling his thumb brush against your mouth to wipe away a bit of custard. He sucked his thumb clean of it, watching you enjoy the dessert. Your moans of appreciation were hitting him harder than he thought they would but he just couldn’t help himself. You were moaning over something he made. He could only imagine what you’d sound like moaning over his cock or his mouth. “Is it… like a custard croissant cake or pudding? Whatever you call it.”

“You know your desserts. I’m impressed.”

“We had it on our second date, Harry.” And that’s when it clicked. “Are these desserts we’ve had on our dates?” 

“Maybe. Depends if you can guess the last one. Now open up pretty girl.” At his last instruction you opened your mouth and your eyes at the same time, looking right at him. “Heyy. That’s cheating.” He complained, feeding it to you. 

There was something erotic about the way you sucked that spoon clean, even going as far as plucking it from Harry’s fingers so you could get all the chocolate from it. “I knew it was chocolate pudding before you even fed it to me.” You whispered, looking down at the nicely plated dish. “Did you really make dishes we’ve had on our dates?”

“Maybe.” He repeated, scanning his eyes along your side profile. “Too much?”

No. Fuck, you were about ready to jump his bones. 

“No.” You shook your head and set the spoon down. “This is… this is really thoughtful. Thank you.”

It was romantic. Everything about this date was romantic. 

“You’re welcome.” Harry murmured, eyes flickering down to your mouth. A playful smile emerged on his mouth and you could just tell something was up. 

“What?” You chuckled. 

“You’ve got something here.” He reached out to cup your face, swiping your mouth clean like he did before. “See? Must’ve liked the chocolate pudding.” 

Before he had a chance to lick it clean himself, you grabbed his hand and brought his thumb to your mouth. His lips parted and his eyes darkened as he watched you wrap your lips around it, sucking on it gently. 

“It’s good…” you whispered, eyes fluttering when he cupped your jaw. The heat rising in the room was almost unbearable. Every second felt like an hour, every flick of his eyes between your own and your mouth like a century. The touch of his pinky grazing your neck had you shivering and all you wanted-no, craved was his mouth on yours. You bit your lip, releasing it with a pop before breathing out a soft laugh. “So are you going to kiss me or-”

You couldn’t say another word because Harry had already slid his hand back to thread through your hair and pulled you right in for a kiss. You whimpered as your lips met in a soft kiss. It started gently, but as the seconds went by and your hands ended up in his hair, it was getting hot and heavy. 

“Harry…” you sighed, breaking when you needed to breathe. 

“God I love kissing you.” He murmured, tipping your head back so he could kiss along your jaw towards your neck. 

“I…” you swallowed thickly while rubbing your hands down his neck towards his shirt buttons. You were desperate to see more of his skin. To feel more of it. “I want you.”

Harry paused, breathing heavily while pulling back to look at you. His lips were already swollen; all pink and yummy looking and his eyes had this dark look in them. It was a look you were sure you had given him countless times. When your heavy kisses got cut short or when you were forced to say goodnight when you really wanted to invite him in. You were sure you were giving it to him now. 

“I want you. Really fucking bad.” He admitted, reaching to push your hair back from your face. “I just don’t want to rush you, baby. I didn’t invite you over expecting anything and-shit.” Harry’s eyes widened as you bit the bullet and ripped your shirt off before putting it down on your lap. 

You were everything he imagined you’d be. No. You were better. Gorgeous in every way and in one of the prettiest bras he had ever seen. You could’ve worn anything though and he still would’ve thought that. But Jesus.  

“You’re not rushing me.” You whispered, “but I am wearing matching underwear so you can rush that if you want to…”

Harry swooped in again, holding your face in both hands to kiss you. “I want to.” He practically moaned, “but I’m not rushing anything with you. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”

“Good.” You smiled softly, sliding your palms over his chest before undoing the top button. “Good.” You barely whispered the word before kissing him again. 

Harry pulled you closer by your hips, nudging your shirt to the ground so your legs thread into each other. He ran his hands over your torso, your waist and your arms while you worked on unbuttoning his shirt. His skin was warm and soft and you were addicted to the feeling of his chest hairs against your hands. 

He undid your pants, draping the zipper down before making the executive decision to stand up and force you up as well with his hands on your hips. Your pants and top fell to the floor with ease and he was quick to push the dessert plate and cutlery out of the way so he could pick you up and set you on the edge of the table. 

He was obsessed with how your body felt in his hands and under his lips and he wanted to explore every inch of you. He let his mouth trail along your collarbones and neck, down to the clevage spilling from your bra. You were so soft and sweet, so plush in his hands. Harry never wanted this to end and it had barely started. He hadn’t even tasted you yet…

“You’re so goddamn beautiful, y/n.” Harry breathed, taking a moment to just look at you. He reached in to kiss you gently while massaging your thighs, sliding his fingers so close to the edge of your underwear without brushing them at all. “Can I touch you?” 

“Yes.” You nodded eagerly, fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck. That was when you caught sight of the twinking diamond on your ring finger. The reminder that despite all verbal permission given by your husband as per your arrangement, you were still going to sleep with another man while married. “Can I ask a favour, though. Before we… do anything?”

“Of course.” He urged, eyes softening. “Anything. What is it?”

His gaze was so soft… so endearing. Harry showed more care for what you were saying than your husband did in the months he was off dating other people. Probably for months before that too. 

You breathed out heavily, heart thumping in your ears as you pulled your ring finger off and played with it in your hands. “Will you put this in your pocket? I don’t want it on for this. I just want it to be you and me.”

“I’ll keep it safe.” Harry promised, holding his palm flat for you to put the ring on. “Even if you wore it, it would still be you and me, y/n.” He assured, sliding the ring into the tiny pocket at the front of his jeans. 

“It wouldn’t.” You whispered, smiling softly while reaching forward to kiss him again. “It is now, though.”

Harry moaned into the kiss, pulling you closer to him so he had better access to you. Then he went back to just touching you. Caressing you. He palmed at your breasts and your thighs and your belly… everywhere he could. 

Carson knew how to make you cum, but Harry didn’t and that was almost better. He didn’t skip through to the end, to what he knew would work. No, Harry took his sweet time running his hands and his mouth over your body, trying to figure out what you liked best. He wanted to memorise the little jerks or squeezes of your thighs the prettiest soft whimpers if he touched you just so. 

Harry loved the first time he slept with someone knew. It was a new experience and an entirely new set of likes and dislikes for him to explore. And after you dressed up so nice for him and wore what would’ve had to be the sexiest lingerie he had ever seen, Harry couldn’t have been more excited. He had been waiting for this since the moment he met you face to face. 

“What do you like?” Harry breathed, smoothing his hands over your stomach up towards your breasts. They slipped under the cups of your bra to push it above your nipples so he could pinch them in both hands. “Tell me. Please.” He was almost desperate, needing to know how he could please you.

“I like what you’re doing now. I like…” You swallowed, whimpering ever so slightly when he pinched your right nipple a little harder, “I like when you look at me…”

“What else?” Harry murmured, keeping his eyes laced with yours as he dipped down to tug at your nipple with his teeth instead. He soothed the ache with his tongue; all hot and slick. All you could think about was his tongue being somewhere else. Getting head was a rare commodity in your house. Carson was quite decent at it, actually, but it was one of those things where it took forever for you to cum. You both worked demanding jobs so when you got time or needed release, it was usually something quick to get the job done. 

But god, you’d kill to be eaten out. 

“Fuck…” you gasped, running a hand through his soft hair. While you were nervous about sleeping with a new man, there was one thing marriage life did prepare you for; saying what you wanted. You had no problems telling Harry exactly what you liked. “I like dirty talk too. I like to be praised…” you had to pause when he sucked on your nipple again, releasing it with a pop that had you shivering when the air hit the wetness left behind by his tongue. “Degraded too…”

“Yeah?” Harry cocked his head, smirking like you just unlocked something evil in him. “Anything you don’t like to be called?”

“Stupid. I don’t like being called a bitch, either.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, pretty girl,” Harry assured, tucking his fingers into the waistband of your pretty underwear and sliding them side to side against your skin. Harry would’ve loved to get you completely bare for him, but there was something so sexy about fucking you while you were wearing the lingerie. You wore it for a reason, it would be a shame to let it lay on the floor for the entire night, especially when you looked so fucking good at it.  “Tell me more. I want to know what I can do to you.”

“It’s too easy if I give you all the answers, Harry. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.” You teased, sitting up from the table so you could run your palms all over his chest and up to around his neck.

He was just glorious. All tanned and muscular with littered hairs that made him look so much more manly. You could only imagine what his pecs would look like all sweaty while he fucked you. You hoped he’d hover over your head so you could lick at his chest and tug at that sinful cross necklace between your teeth. 

“Can I tell you what I want to do?” He proposed, hooking one finger on the underside of your underwear this time, moving it towards your mound but not down enough to feel how wet you had grown for him. He was so close to dipping his fingers into your crease. So close to being able to please you. 

“Please…” You breathed, eager and so damn desperate for anything.

“I want to fuck you while you’re wearing this,” he snapped at the fabric, maintaining direct eye contact with you. Oh, Jesus. Between his eye contact and his sultry tone, you were going dizzy at how direct he was being. You loved it. “Then I want to strip you naked and watch you bounce on my cock. Forwards… backwards.” He groaned at the thought and grabbed onto your ass, firmly pulling you closer to the edge of the dining table until his lips brushed with yours. You could feel the hard length of his cock press against your pussy, promising you that it would be deep inside you by the end of the night.

“I want to make your ass red so when you go home to your husband, he’ll know I fucked you better than he ever could.” 

It was another promise, that Harry would indeed fuck you better than Carson ever could. 

“But first…” Harry bucked his hips against yours, keeping his grip on your hips tight so you couldn’t wiggle away at his directed grinds over your clit. He kissed you gingerly, watching your eyes haze over as you whimpered softly. Between his cock and his words, your head was spinning. “I need to taste you. I’ve thought about nothing else but having my face between your thighs for weeks now.”

Harry grabbed your hands from behind his neck and pressed them down to the table on either side of your hips, bumping his nose with yours. “Do you like the idea of any of that, darling?”

You nodded eagerly, loving the sound of all of it. “Uhuh. All of it…” you inhaled a sharp breath, loving the feeling of his hands moving to knead at your inner thighs, “There is one thing though. Something I want.”

“Tell me.” He murmured, eyes wide and eager. He just couldn’t keep his hands off you. He was grabbing your thighs and your hips, craving the warmth of your body. 

“I want your cock in my mouth. I’ve been thinking about that since our first date.”

Harry smirked and you could feel the way his cock jerked right against you. It was big. You wanted to choke on it. 

“That can be arranged.” 

He reached in to kiss you again, groaning like a starved man while wrapping his palm around the back of your neck to guide you back down against the table. When you were flat he stood back up and stripped his shirt off fully, leaving him completely shirtless. 

Then he did something unexpected. With a shit-eating grin on his face he pulled up the chair he kicked away earlier and sat on it, shuffling close to the table like he was getting ready to eat a three-course meal. You were going to make fun of him for it, but you didn’t really get a chance when he slung your legs over his shoulder and nuzzled his nose right into the crotch of your underwear. 

“Jesus.” He moaned, eyes fluttering closed. Your jaw went completely slack at what you were witnessing. Never had a man looked so fucking hungry to eat you out. He was practically delirious and all he had done was inhale how sweet you were. Harry was looking forward to having your scent all over him. “You smell so fucking good, y/n.” He looked up at you again, hooking the very tip of his finger into the crotch of your underwear and sliding it up and down along your crease. “But do you taste as good as you smell?”

You nearly whined like some pathetic puppy, but you had to keep that inside as you didn’t want to appear too eager. Too easy. Truthfully, you were easy though. Harry was able to turn you on easier and quicker than you ever thought. And all over a little dirty talk and a slight obsession with eating you out. 

“Why don’t you find out?” You hiked yourself up on your elbows, bringing your feet off his shoulders and onto the edge of the table so you were spread wider for him. 

“Oh I will,” he pulled your underwear to the side, breath hitching at the first sight of your bare pussy. “You’re so gorgeous, y/n. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long… long time.”

When his mouth finally grazed your clit, you fell back against the table. You couldn’t hold yourself up even if you wanted to, not when he started eating you out like a damn starved animal. Harry moaned like you were the best thing he ever tasted and touched everywhere. He wasn’t clit happy or labia happy and he certainly didn’t miss-interpret one part of your anatomy for another.

“Fuck Harry… oh God.” You whined, pulling at his hair with both hands before suddenly letting go because you hadn’t asked if you could. You didn’t even know if he liked it. “Do you-” You could barely breathe let alone talk. “Can I pull your hair? Is it okay?”

“God, yes. As hard as you want,” Harry moaned like the idea of his hair being pulled was orgasmic. “Don’t stop, y/n. I promise.” He grabbed your hand and guided it back to his hair, giving you a reassuring nod before going back to your clit. 

Harry knew exactly what he was doing. How to tease, how to take advantage of your entire body to make you feel good. He kissed and nipped over your thighs and used his hands to squeeze your breasts and play with your nipples. It was all so wet and sloppy and you felt like your entire body was on fire. 

“God you taste… shit-” Harry broke for air, spitting directly over your pussy then spreading it around with two fingers, “you taste so fucking good, y/n.” He used one of those wet fingers and slid it inside you, pumping it a few times while slurping against your clit again. “Never thought a pussy could be so sweet… ‘m addicted.” 

He slid his second finger in easily, fucking you with both digits so good your arousal was echoing around the room. His high ceilings did wonders of making sound travel. Even with all the rugs and soft furnishing, the softest moan sounded so much louder. And you were anything but soft. Your noises were loud and unforgiving and every single one of them was going straight to his cock.

It also meant you heard every groan Harry made. Every single sound of pleasure he was feeling just eating you out. It was possibly one of the sexiest things you had ever experienced. A man with his head buried between your thighs moaning and being so fucking enthusiastic because he gained genuine pleasure out of it. He liked it. Harry ate you out like it was his favourite thing on planet earth. 

“You okay? You good?” He checked in on you, looking up at your gaped mouth and thrown-back head. You only moaned in response so Harry reached for your hand and threaded your fingers, squeezing them to get your attention. “Hey. Look at me.” He nudged, not happy with your lack of response.

You forced yourself to look down at him, nearly shaking at how intense his eye contact was. His (now) three fingers were still steadily fucking into you, but he had taken a much-needed break from using his mouth to check on you. “Good?”

“Yes. So so good. So good.” You nodded eagerly, trying to guide his face back to you with the hand still in his hair. “Just-please. I need it.”

“You need it?” He grinned, cocking his head ever so slightly. “Is it that good, baby? Do I suck your pretty clit so good that you need it?”

“Yes... Oh yes...”

“I need it too.” He admitted, dipping back in to swirl his tongue around his fingers, right where your poor needy hole was dripping with arousal. “You just taste so fucking good, y/n. I’d have you on my face every night if I could.”

You seemed to like that idea because he could feel you clench around his fingers, knees bumping into each other so his face was wedged between your thighs. Your underwear were a complete mess too; all soaked and creamy. Harry wanted to wring them with his teeth and suck them dry, but with the real thing pressed right against his nose, he didn’t have to. 

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Letting me eat your cunt every night? Every morning, even? Would you let me wake you up with my head between your thighs? Let me eat you for a midnight snack. Because I would.” Harry moaned as he wedged his mouth over your clit again, kissing and licking at it, spitting at it so it was even wetter. You were practically a sobbing mess above him too and that only encouraged him to say whatever he wanted.

“Y/n, I’d worship you and this pretty pussy.” 

He slid his fingers out just long enough to smack them against your clit. It was gentle at first and he quickly soothed the sharp sting with his tongue. But he felt the way you jerked around his head, how your hips lifted off the table to get more. 

“Is it okay?” He breathed, looking up for an answer. This time, you were already looking right at him. You had been from the moment he left your aching cunt empty and needy because you wanted to see what he’d do. And what a sight. You were sure you’d never forget the image of him smacking your clit then making out with it like a starved man. It was ridiculous. 

Harry Styles’ mouth would kill you one day. You knew it would. 

“More than okay.” You nodded, bringing your intertwined fingers up to your breast so his large hand would squeeze against your nipple. “Do it again.”

He followed your request quickly and spanked over your pussy again, this time a little harder and with more surface area of his fingers. You gasped out a moan, back lurching off the table as they hit your swollen clit. He quickly soothed the burn with his tongue, this time blowing on your sensitive skin for a moment before languidly tracing swirls over your clit.

“Again. Harder.” You gurgled out, clenching your fist into his hair when he smacked your clit again. Harder. He slid those three fingers right back into you again, curling and fucking them roughly right against your g-spot. “Oh God… Harry!”

“Oh, you’re such a good little slut letting me spank you like this. Right over your little clit too, hm? Who knew such a pretty girl would like such dirty things.”

The dirty talk… you were going to pass out.

“You’re taking it so well, y/n” He cooed, pulling his fingers out to spank you again before they returned deep into your pussy. It was dizzying. The way he spanked you then fucked you then spanked you again like some quick endless loop. He was careful not to hit you too many times, but whatever he was doing was making you reach your orgasm faster than any other oral you had received. 

“‘M gonna cum, Harry. Please just…” You pulled his face back to your clit, urging him closer with your hand.

Harry didn’t argue and did what you seemed to like the most; those three fingers stroking right against your g-spot, one hand on your breast and his mouth sucking right over your clit. It seemed to do the trick too because not even ten seconds later, you were practically lurching off the table while crying out his name through a squirting orgasm. Your hand cemented him to your pussy so he could happily collect as much of your release right in his mouth. 

When you started to calm down, Harry softened his movements and pulled his fingers out of you. He licked them clean then pressed soft kisses all over your thighs and mound, even right on either side of your clit.

“You’re such a good girl, darling. Did so well for me.” Harry praised, squeezing your hand and keeping his eyes on your face as you panted and looked up at the ceiling. 

“God that was…” You swallowed thickly, pushing your sweaty hair from your forehead so you could look down at him. 

“What?” He nudged, smirking while kissing your inner thigh. “Good? Is that the word you’re looking for?”

“Your ego’s too big for your own good.” You laughed softly, sitting up so you could guide his mouth to yours. Harry was still smiling into the kiss until he relaxed into it. That’s when it turned heated again. The taste of your pussy and his mouth; your mouth too… it was all too much. “But yeah…” you sighed, “it was good.”

He stood up from his chair so you weren’t hunched down to kiss him and the moment you had access to his jeans, you started working on undoing them. Harry hissed into the kiss when you applied pressure to his hard bulge and he had to break free just to breathe at how sensitive he was. His cock felt harder than ever before. He didn’t think he had ever been this turned on and sore in his entire life.

This chemistry with you… it was otherworldly. Supernatural almost. A compelling pull like his cells were trying to fuse with yours. 

And you were married. He had to push that thought out of his head because only a few weeks into this and he was already considering asking you to leave your husband. 

“I need you, baby.” He panted, grabbing your hips tightly as you pushed his jeans and boxers down his thighs to free his cock. “Shit-”

You wrapped your hand around his cock while he helped you get them off the rest of the way. You couldn’t help but look down between you, needing to see how pretty he was. And pretty he was. Long and decently thick, so heavy in your hand. You knew he’d fill you up so good he’d have you seeing stars. Two fingers were usually enough to prep you for sex, sometimes even one depending on how turned on you were.

You were glad he chose three.

“Your cock is so pretty, Harry.” You complimented, squeezing your palm around him. Your eyes filtered between your working hand and his face, obsessed with how hooded his eyes became just from your hand. “So big too… I need you inside me. ‘M so empty.”

Harry didn’t quite realise when you said you liked dirty talk that you liked it both ways, but he rather enjoyed the filth spilling from your mouth. He found it cute that you could barely string words together when he was pleasuring you, but like this? It was the biggest fucking turn-on.

“Bend me over the table…” You begged softly, nipping at his jaw until you reached the shell of his ear. His cock was oozing precum down over your hand. He liked what you were saying. “Please. Make me squirt again…”

“Come here.”

Harry pulled you off the table and with a rough hand, spun you around to bend you over the table. You squealed as he spanked your ass without thought, spreading your cheeks wide to spit down over you. He planned to fulfil his promise of fucking you with this lingerie on and now that he was looking at your pretty holes bent over with the tiny string of lace tucked to the side… he couldn’t have been more excited.

“You’re just so hot, y/n.” Harry groaned, spanking your other cheek just to watch your ass jiggle. “So goddamn hot.”

“I’m hotter with a cock in me.” 

Your mouth earned you another spank, this time directly over your sensitive cunt. You squealed and jumped in place, but Harry easily soothed the ache with a friendly grind of his cock against your clit. Your knees buckled at the direct stimulation but Harry made sure you kept still by pressing his hand to your lower back.

“I need to get a condom,” he murmured to himself, suddenly remembering the dreaded protection right when his cock was so close to being inside you. 

“Hurry.” You gasped, forehead pressed to the table. 

“I will. I will.”

Harry fished the condom from his jeans pocket, placed there earlier in the evening in hopes of sleeping with you tonight. It was a just-in-case for something spur of the moment, though he didn’t start the night plotting a way to get you in his bed. He was glad now that he put that condom in there just in case, especially when you were waiting for him. 

Once the condom was on, he was right back in position. A hand on the small of your back and the other guiding the head of his cock to your entrance. Harry didn’t wait or tease, he just pressed right into you slowly and deliberately. 

“Shit-”

“Oh goddd…”

Your curses echoed at the same time, both as desperate as each other. Harry just stretched you so perfectly, on the cusp of too much and the best type of full possible. It helped that you were so damn wet, so turned on that he was easily able to push inside you. 

“God, baby. You're so tight.” Harry hissed, reaching forward to press a kiss to the middle of your back. You couldn’t even respond to his compliment when your body was still getting accustomed to a new man. A new cock. All you could do was moan and claw at the table, clenching around him. “Hey. You okay?” Harry checked, sweeping your hair back so he could see your face.

“Uhuh. Just… shit.” You whimpered, squeezing around him again. He cursed at how tight you were and collected your hair in a loose hold around his fist. 

“Y’sure?” He mused, pressing a kiss right in between your shoulder blades. “You’re trembling beneath me, darling.”

“Fuck me.” You begged. He was so deep in your belly and it was torturous having him so far inside you and not moving at all. “Please Harry just-”

He didn’t need to be convinced any further. Not with how sweet you sounded and how wet you were around him. You were a fucking dream and that only became more apparent as Harry started thrusting into you. He started with a slow but steady grind, fucking you with hard pressure like he was trying to memorise every inch of your pussy. 

“God baby. You feel so good.” Harry moaned, building up the speed with a good grip on your hips. He hooked his thumb into the small lace string of your underwear, pulling it to the side so he could watch his cock disappear into your wet cunt. And you were so wet. Your arousal coating his length and turning creamy the longer he fucked you. It was obscene. 

Mostly though, he was watching your face. Your cheek pressed to the table, mouth gaped open and eyes screwed shut as you moaned the-fuck the prettiest noises he had ever heard. He had barely shown you his best tricks and you were a mess beneath him. Had your husband really been lacking this entire time? Been leaving you so unsatisfied that a bit of doggy had you unravelling? 

He couldn’t bear the thought of you having to take care of yourself because your husband couldn’t do it for you. But maybe that was a good thing. Because then Harry would be there for you. He’d give you pleasure you had never experienced in your life. Over and over again. 

Starting with tonight. 

“Feel good baby?” Harry cooed, spanking your ass with a rough touch. 

“Yeah” 

“Yeah?” He repeated, spanking you again on the opposite side. Your whine echoed around the room, as did the sound of the dining table squeaking forward against Harry’s nice floorboards. “Say it, baby. Tell me how I’m doing, hm?”

“So good. God, you fuck me so good.” You moaned, “please- go… go harder. Harder.”

Harry picked up the pace, reaching to wrap your hair around his fist so he could pull your head back. “Moan for me, y/n. Moan my name.” He demanded right in your ear, spanking you twice on the same cheek. 

“Harry.” You cried out, feeling him smile in satisfaction at how pretty you took the pain. So he spanked you again and again as you moaned loudly into the air. 

“That’s it… Good girl. You’re taking it so well…” Harry gritted out, spanking your ass roughly while tightening his hand in your hair. You whined at the sting of your scalp, nearly sobbing at how fast and hard he was fucking into you. “S’like you were made for me, y/n. Just made for my fucking cock.”

He was fucking you so hard, so fucking good that the table kept etching forward and forward. Harry had to keep readjusting his footing and his grip on your hair. He combed his fingers through your hair and wrapped it around his fist, tugging hard when the table slipped forward again. 

But he was persistent and he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from giving you the fucking you deserved. 

“Y’sounds so damn pretty moaning my name, baby. Fucking love how sweet you sound.” 

His words elicited a moan; a filthy pretty moan only exaggerated when he tugged your hair harder. “You’re so big. So good.” You cried, “loveyourcock.”

You were addicted to the way he fucked you, even just the way he felt stretching you out but keeping completely still. It felt like you could almost reach an orgasm just like this with no clit stimulation at all which never happened. Nowadays it was your vibrator or nothing and now here you were one orgasm down and another so damn close. 

Still, you needed your clit touched and you couldn’t really reach it this way. 

The table etched forward once more and right as he pulled back to thrust into you again, the table slid forward making him slip out completely. He effortlessly slid himself back into you to continue, but when it happened a second then a third time you couldn’t help but giggle. Even through the deep pleasure and hazy mind, it was funny. 

“Fuck.” He cursed when his cock bumped against your ass cheek instead of where he actually wanted to be. He tapped it against your clit before grinding there, watching you squirm and let out a choked gasp through your light laugh. 

“I think we may need to switch rooms.” You giggled, looking over your shoulder at him while panting as you desperately tried to catch your breath. He had let go of your hair for a moment, planning on trying to continue until you suggested moving things elsewhere.

Truth be told, Harry jerked one out before you came. He didn’t plan the evening around having sex with you and would’ve been okay if nothing happened at all, but his cock couldn’t control itself around you. Just your presence and your scent could get him hard in no time so he tried to fuck the frustration out before you even got there.

He was glad he did so too because now that he was in the middle of feeling your sweet sweet cunt, he had a lot more stamina going onto his second orgasm. He could have you riding him through two more orgasms before needing to cum himself and fuck did he want to experience you squirting right on his dick. 

“I think so.” He breathed through a laugh and ran his hand through his hair, “c’mere.”

“Mh.” You agreed, standing up on shaky legs and sore hips. Harry grabbed you straight away and helped you turn around to face him. He cupped your face with one hand to guide your mouth to his, deepening it effortlessly while tucking his hands under your thighs so you could jump up and wrap your legs around him. 

You were slightly shaky in his arms, sensitive as he placed you gently on the floor in front of his bed. He broke the kiss to look at you for a moment, panting heavily while brushing his nose against yours. There was something about the look in his eyes that had you crumbling inside. They were soft and almost loving; so full of yearning and desire that you were almost scared to look back. It was overwhelming.

Harry danced his fingers down your neck and shoulder to your arm where the strap of your bra had fallen. Every touch was making you shiver and only causing that ache between your thighs to grow. You felt empty. Cold without his cock inside you. 

“Take this off. I want to see you.” Harry murmured, searching your eyes while waiting for you to nod before he kissed you once more and climbed onto his bed. He shuffled backwards until he was against his headboard, legs wide and cock hard and waiting for you to climb back onto him. 

He never stopped looking at you. Never stopped watching even as he wrapped his own hand around his cock and gave himself a few tugs to the sight of your body becoming bare for him. The prettiest of prettiest lingerie on planet Earth couldn’t compare to the sight of a womans naked body. Your bare, naked body. The soft peaks of your breasts and the way they fell naturally without a bra. The dip of your hips and tummy without the confides of lace. It was glorious. 

Harry could barely contain himself.

“You’re a vision.” Harry awed, jaw clenching like he was trying to control himself from dragging you onto the bed and pinning you down. 

“So are you.” You whispered while crawling towards him on the bed. You let your hands glide up his thighs once you were situated between them, taking the time to look over every inch of his naked body. You were in awe to put it simply and so goddamn attracted to him you were worried sex would never be the same afterwards. 

Because it wasn’t just the pleasure. It was the chemistry. The eye contact. The fact you two had a laugh about him thrusting against your ass cheek instead of inside of you because his table couldn’t handle the pressure. The way you could have that laugh just minutes ago and be back to this. The firey eye contact and his trembling thighs underneath your palms. 

“Can I have a taste…” You breathed, licking your lips at the sight of his cock up against his stomach. From this angle he looked even bigger than before and knowing he was just inside you… fuck. You could barely breathe. “Please?”

Harry groaned and wrapped his hand loosely around your neck, only applying light pressure right beneath your jaw. “Just a little, y/n. For now the only place I want to come is with you coming around me.” 

If only he was bare inside you…

“Okay… just a taste, H.” You nodded, pressing harder against his palm. You wrapped your palm around his cock, loving the sight of his jaw clenching at the touch. “Can I take this off?” You asked, rubbing over his head at the condom. 

“Yeah, baby. Take it off.”

Harry was going to lose his fucking mind. 

You were quick to pull off the condom then wasted no time in dipping down and licking a fat stripe from balls to tip on the underside of him. Harry groaned and collected your hair in his hand so he could see your face. Your eyes fluttered closed at the taste of him and the weight of him on your tongue. 

He was warm and heavy and you could taste yourself right at the base of his cock where your arousal dripped down. You made sure to clean it all up with your tongue, lapping at it while looking at Harry to watch his reaction. He could barely contain himself and with every lick his hand flexed in your hair like he was trying to control himself. 

“You can guide me. I like it when I choke.” You murmured, spitting directly onto his tip before sliding it into your mouth to spread it with your tongue. 

“God, you’re going to be the end of me.” He groaned, hand tightening in your hair with purpose. Harry reached for your spare hand, intertwining your fingers while pulling your mouth off him for a moment. You were like jelly in his hands, compliant as he instructed you to squeeze his hand once if you were okay and twice if he was too rough or you needed a break. More than happy with that arrangement, you agreed and squeezed his hand in preparation for him to guide your mouth down. 

He started to gently maneuver your mouth up and down his length, starting shallow at first before going deeper until he felt the tightness of your throat around him. You choked ever so slightly but squeezed his hand once and enjoyed the feeling of his cock twitch down your throat. 

“Look at me…” Harry breathed, forcing your eyes on his. “That’s it… fuck.” 

The sight had him gasping and moving your mouth over his cock faster. Your pretty little eyes all glistened with tears… God the sight was one of the hottest things he had ever seen. And the way you just took his cock without complaint and even moaned when you gagged around him… it was like you were made for him.

The feeling of his cock filling your throat was like nothing else. There was just something about choking on a man’s dick that got you all squirmy inside. You had always been a relationship girl and a bit of a ‘late bloomer’ according to those who thought losing your virginity in your early 20s was the biggest sin of the century, but that didn’t mean you were inexperienced. 

Your first serious relationship exposed you to things you had always wanted to try. A world of kinks and things you weren’t sure you’d like until you tried them, others you were certain you’d hate until you found out you didn’t. You always considered yourself lucky to have a guy introduce you to sex and provide an environment where you could not only lose your virginity, but experiment without any shame or constraints.

Funny how you ended up married to your next serious relationship after him to a guy who had no interest in anything remotely more exciting than a spank and a sporadic hair pull. You loved Carson enough to be happy with vanilla but fulfilling sex. It wasn’t like it didn’t have any passion, because it did, it just didn’t have this.

What Harry managed to provide you on your first night together (a night far from over as well) Carson couldn’t give you in six years of being together. You weren’t sure you could go back to your old sex life. Not now. 

“You look so hot like this.” You gasped, pulling off to breathe while jacking him off with your spare hand. Your other was still intertwined with one his and you had no plans of changing that. “I love having your cock in my mouth, Harry…” you moaned, reaching in to lick his length once more. “Feels so good.”

“Jesus.” Harry groaned, tensing his hand in your hair. “You’re doing so well, y/n. Such a good little cock sucker, aren’t you?” 

You moaned filthily at his degrade, letting him slide you back down over his cock. Your whole body was on fire. Even with only a little hand holding and hair tugging, you were beyond turned on and empty between your legs. The sight of him was just so beyond sexy, almost too sexy for you to handle. 

His chest was heaving and glistening with sweat. With every pant or moan his abs would contract and his thighs would tremble on either side of your shoulders. You wanted to see him cum so bad. You wanted to watch his jaw contract and his mouth part as he moaned your name. 

“You’re gonna make me cum, y/n.” He warned in this almost whine of a tone. “Need to cum inside you.” 

“I want it in my mouth. Wanna taste you.” You practically pleaded, tapping his tip against your tongue. 

“You’re incredible…” Harry groaned, using his hand on your hair to pull you up towards his mouth. He kissed you hungrily, angling your head in the direction he wanted so he could deepen it. “But…” he panted, breaking just to say that one word before kissing you once more, “I need to…” he nibbled on your lip and grabbed onto the back of your thighs, "… feel you around me when I come.” 

You whimpered as he dragged you in a straddle and pressed your wet cunt directly over his cock in a slow deliberate grind. Fucking hell. You just wanted to slip him in, to feel him bare inside you until you were full of his cum. 

But you couldn’t. And the fact you were half considering letting it happen on your very first sexual experience out of your marriage was insane. It scared you. 

“Condom.” You uttered against his mouth, tugging on his hair ever so slightly. 

“Yeah. Yeah.” He breathed, barely able to concentrate when you dragged your mouth along his jaw and neck. Harry reached for his bedside table and grabbed another condom from the top drawer, returning quickly to kiss you again while blindly unwrapping it. 

But it was like Harry was stuttering. Fumbling to do something as simple as putting a condom on his own cock. He couldn’t help it really. Not when your mouth was so sweet and erotic, nibbling at his bottom lip until all he could think about was how to hold his breath indefinitely so he could kiss you forever. 

And you were growing impatient. The few seconds delay in his movements had you so desperate you leaned back to breathe, took the condom from his hand and rolled it down on his cock in one swift motion. 

“Fuck me, baby.” This time it was Harry’s time to plead. He wound his hand in the hair at the nape of your neck and kissed you again, panting into your open mouth as you guided him to your entrance and dropped down on him once more. 

His cock felt so much bigger from this angle and he felt deeper too even though he was just fucking you so hard his dining room table couldn’t handle the force. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t control the loud whine flooding into his mouth when your clit hit his pubic bone. Or maybe it was because this position was far more intimate than being bent over. 

“You’re so big… feels bigger like this.” You gasped, lulling your head back while grabbing his shoulders for balance so you could start bouncing on him and getting a good rhythm going. 

“I know…” he cooed, squeezing your hips before spanking you quickly. “Show me how much you need it, huh?” Leaning in, Harry ran his mouth along your exposed neck, panting between little bites and licks on your skin, “show me how good m’cock makes you feel.” 

"Love your cock," You whined, already feeling the ache in your thighs as you picked up the speed.

Harry wrapped one arm around you and hugged you tighter while pressing the fingers of his spare hand directly to your clit. And with every bounce, every grind, his fingers stimulated right where you needed it the most. You were already so full with him and now he was giving you the cherry on top so you could finish.

"More... more, please. Need it harder."

"Need it harder?" Harry taunted, hiking his legs up on his feet in a wide position on the bed so he had enough stability to thrust up into you. "Like that?" He chuckled at your cry, squeezing your body in his arm so you stayed exactly where he wanted you.

"Yeah... yeah. Fuck!" you practically sobbed, unable to do anything but grab his hair or shoulders and just take how hard he was fucking into you. His legs were strong and while you were a sobbing, breathless mess above him, Harry wasn't losing momentum at all.

He was sweaty and panting but he never stopped thrusting up into you. At least that's what it felt like. While you gave up and begged for more, Harry was more than happy to take over and give you a fucking you'd never forget.

He thrived being in control. You could tell.

"That's it, y/n. You're taking it so fucking well, y'know that. Just sitting there and taking it like the good little slut you are. My fucking slut..." Harry cooed, dipping down to tug at your nipple. "Got me so fucking close, pretty girl. Just need you to come f'me."

Between his words and lips on your breast... his fingers pressed to your clit and the way his cock was bruising your insides, you couldn't hold on any longer.

“God, Harry. ‘M gonna cum” You cried, trying to warn him of the deep churning in your belly and the trembling in your toes.

"Look at me." He demanded, sliding his hand up into your hair to force your head in his direction. Your eyes fluttered open but despite your vision already hazy, you could clearly see the way his eyes were hooded, pupils wide and hungry. "That's it. Look at me while you cum, baby. Let me see how pretty you look."

Harry pressed his forehead to yours, opened mouths panting and brushed against one another. He watched closely when your mouth gaped wide and your eyes struggled to keep open as your orgasm hit. The way your brows furrowed and your entire body trembled on top of him and he could feel his lap and lower belly become soaked in your release.

It was glorious.

"Good girl." He praised, "Fuck. Fuck!" His words turned to mush when he reached his own orgasm and somehow even pulled you tighter against him so he could feel every inch of your soft skin.

Coming down was all open-mouthed kisses and laboured breaths and this distinct feeling that everything had changed. You two could never go back to casual and you most certainly couldn't look at yourself or your husband the same way ever again.

"I feel bad you only came once." You practically pouted, grabbing another spoonful of pudding to feed it to Harry. "It doesn't really seem fair."

What did seem fair, though, was finishing off the dessert neither of you ate after your intense workout. You were quite enjoying feeding a naked Harry delicious sugary puddings and it just felt morally wrong to leave the dessert sitting there when it was the perfect bridge between round one and two.

"Trust me. I'm more than satisfied." Harry chuckled once swallowing the delicious dessert. He dragged his fingers over your hip, loving how his t-shirt fit your frame. It was so casual and sexy. His clothes had never looked better.

"Well, I hope you're not tired because I'm not and I think I'd like to test your 27-year-old stamina." you shrugged casually, eating the last bite of the sticky date pudding.

"Oh really?" Harry raised his brow and gently took the spoon from your fingers to set them down on the plate. "Two orgasms wasn't enough for you?" He teased, moving the plate out of the way so he could cup your face and gently guide you down onto the bed.

"Mh mh." You shook your head with a smile and clasped your hands around the back of his neck while he adjusted your body to hover over you. "I think at least four..." you curled your leg around his hip and dug your heel right into the pudginess of his bum, "and I wouldn't mind a bit more effort put into making my ass red. You did promise that, didn't you?"

"More effort, huh?" He smirked and grabbed onto the underside of your jaw with a firm grip to pin you to the bed. "You've got no idea what you just started, little girl."

━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━

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Please like and reblog if you enjoyed! 🤍

[zclhesreads]

One Shots

Series

👑 IT'S GOOD TO BE KING by @gurugirl

Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

🫯 MR. & MRS. STYLES by @maladaptivescorpio

Summary: In order to take down the biggest criminal mastermind of the modern day, two international spy agencies agree to a collaboration between their best spies. Y/N Y/L/N and Harry Styles will pose as Jessica and Samuel Thompson in order to infiltrate the elite criminal world of drug smuggling and black market deals, where the amount of blood you’ve spilled is quantifiable to the respect you receive.

⚔️ THE EMPIRE OF ECLIPSE by @escapismatbest

Summary: Two ancient realms. Two heirs who were raised side by side beneath the same sky; one crowned by the sun, the other by the moon. They were inseparable once: best friends, rivals, confidants who believed they would rule the world together someday, until one careless betrayal shattered everything.

🍕 OPERATION PIZZA RENAISSANCE by @ghstyles

Summary: A bubbly college girl volunteers at a struggling NYC pizzeria thinking she’s found the perfect place to volunteer her social media skills and gain culinary experience. What she doesn’t know? The pizzeria is a front for the mafia. While she’s busy staging pizza photos and planning giveaways, the crew is laundering money and dodging feds. She's just trying to go viral—meanwhile, the mob is trying to keep her from accidentally blowing their cover. And the more time Harry spends with the chaotic sunshine in his kitchen, the more he realizes: she might be the most dangerous thing to ever walk through that door.

🥼 SCRUB IN by @ghstyles

Summary: Harry Styles is a brilliant but infuriating surgeon who’s constantly butting heads with his stubborn intern. Their bickering is practically a daily surgery in itself. But when she falls sick and tries to brush it off, Harry sees right through her act. The moment her condition worsens, his protective side takes over revealing that beneath all the tension and ego, he cares far more than he lets on.

💼 NOT THE SAME AS IT WAS by @swiftmendeshoran

Summary: Y/N hates her job because she is treated like shit and doesn't fit in with the women there, the men either, but when her old boss is arrested for tax fraud, Harry Styles steps in and he changes her whole life.

👔 PENCIL ME IN by @ijustmissyouraccenths

Summary: When you land a job as the personal assistant to Harry Styles, the calm, charismatic CEO of Fine Line Enterprises, you quickly learn the role is much more than managing a calendar. From early morning calls to last minute flights and being the gatekeeper to one of the busiest men in the industry, your lite becomes completely intertwined with his.

🍦TOO SWEET by @babyyhoneyyy

Summary: this is a gang/mafia harry x sweet shy ice cream shop worker y/n hehehhe lots of sexual tension, slow burn, SOME HEAVY THEMES LIKE GUNS AND VIOLENCE SO PLEASE BE WARNED!!!! i have slighttttly tweaked and edited some bits, but otherwise enjoy!!

[lilystyles]

you are in love.

written by @lilystyles

my masterlist xx & style masterlist

authors note PART FOUR!!! sorry it took so long to update, i think i'll have to do a fifth chapter to wrap up how i want!! please forgive me by enjoying all this filthy smut and hopefully more from me soon. i'd love some feedback or suggestions for part five so drop them in the asks angels. XX

brief description y/n is living her teenage dream, and despite the snow harry has never felt so warm.

warnings! slight age gap, smut (f! receiving, sex, daddy kink, slight choking, m! receiving, all the usual! romantic asf thoooo) kissing, mentions of drugs and alcohol abuse. (wordcount: 13k!!)

fratboy!older!bffsbrother!harry x younger!innocent!reader

* * * * *

It was late on a Thursday night, and the evening sky was a dark blanket over the world. Everyone was asleep, including the sun.

Y/n’s street was silent. The suburban area was normally loud due to the streets of houses full of loud University students, but tonight, they had left it like a ghost town, and the evening air was eerily silent. Outside the large brick home, the stars twinkled above the streets and clean-cut yards. Tonight’s half-crescent moon shone down through Y/n’s big window as she slept peacefully in bed.

Her face was soft like a cherub, lips tugged in a pout, long lashes kissing at her cheeks. She looked beautiful, even now in the middle of a deep slumber as soft snores escaped her. Tonight, she had fallen asleep early at eight PM like a little kid, so worn out from the past few weeks, she’d had exam after exam, assignments due, and so many lectures to attend. She had one class tomorrow, her Psych class, and was mentally preparing to deal with the lunatic lecturer by having an early night. He was seriously unhinged, and a really harsh-grader.

Y/n had been dreaming of hazy roses and swirls of flannelette shirts, and oddly the smell of vanilla, mint, and tobacco overtook her senses despite being fast asleep, just moments before she woke up with a gasp. 

A chill ran up her spine, god it was freezing in here. Startled and still confused as to whether or not she was dreaming she opened her eyes. A loud bang on her window had been what woke her. 

Oh god! Is this like horror movies where the hot young university student gets murdered by a masked man? 

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest at the possibility. She sat up knuckling her eyes messily, and peering down from her window. On her knees, she was just tall enough to see what had made the noise, which was probably stupid of her to do. Because if it really was some axe murderer with a thing for sleeping girls they’d see her.

With a confused, tired smile, she realised it wasn’t a murderer. No, it was her boyfriend, Harry.

Looking over at her alarm clock it read 1:47 AM. She scratched her head looking down at him. He was standing down by the front yard, a red flannel shirt over his form, under a big football jacket from the Uni team, and considering it was freezing Y/n wondered how he wasn’t shivering in just those few layers. 

She thought for a moment that this would be a fond memory of him, one she might tell her children about her first proper boyfriend, her first love. The boy next door. She opened the window, leaning out, and instantly felt cold howling wind pelt her skin. 

“Styles! What are doing?!” She whisper-shouted. Not wanting to wake her roommates who were all probably awake studying for final exams anyway. 

She must be dreaming, because when he saw her this smile overtook his face, dimples popping and pink landing on his cheeks as he lifted his hand to show a bundle of red roses. A big pink bow wrapped around them and his tattooed hand gripped them tightly.

He looked like something of her dreams, she’d wished for a romance like this, spending nights cooped up reading about boys like Harry who made romantic gestures in the middle of the night. Wishing for a life all as magical as those fairytales. One full of excitement and passion, but also one that was real. She always felt real around Harry.

“Trouble, get some shoes on!” He whispered back lifting his arms dramatically, the jacket straining against his muscles.

She furrowed her brows. “Do you realise what time it is, Crazy?”

Harry smiled up at her, god he’d be the death of her, that smile. It made her stomach curl dangerously, butterflies rippling inside her. “Just get some shoes on, and something warm. C’mon, Baby, thought y’were a bad girl now.” He teased, thinking back to that night in the kitchen.

She rolled her eyes at him shutting the window, as she tried to quietly potter around her room. Finding her pale pink tracksuit pants on her floor, and a thick matching crewneck, she left her thin white singlet on underneath, putting on a random long-sleeve from the floor over it, and the knickers she’d gone to sleep in. Before digging around to find the Ugg boot that paired with the one in her hand.

When she was ready she snuck downstairs and outside. Harry perked up at the sound of gravel crunching. 

Y/n, god she was pretty. His heart thumped heart, heat creeping up his neck at the sight of her.

Hair in a long plait at the back of her head, skin all soft from her skincare, and a puddle of pink covering her, and despite the faux-frown on her face he knew she was excited to see him as he was to see her. He rushed over pulling her into a hug close to his chest. She smelled good, like the lavender spray she used on her bed for a good night’s sleep, and he planted a kiss on her head.

Picking her up in the hug and spinning her around. “Hi, Trouble.”

Feet off the ground she squealed quietly in surprise. He was so warm, and he smelt so good.

She looked up at him as he slowly placed her back onto her feet, arms still around his neck. Grabbing the flowers he offered to her as a pink rushed up her neck, “You are crazy, Styles, what are you even doing here?”

“I missed you, what was I supposed to do?” He said leaning down close, and Y/n brushed their noses together, before standing on the tips of her toes as she connected their lips. His firm grip on her waist fell to the curve of her plump ass. Squeezing her closer into his firm chest and warmth.

It was a chaste, gentle kiss, she hadn’t seen him since the weekend of that party. They’d called every day since though. 

When she pulled away, a big grin overtook her face, one of his hands fell into hers as he pulled her down to where his car was. Opening the door for her, he made sure she was tucked inside before gently shutting it and walking around the other door. Y/n noticed in his little cup holder her pink scrunchie was there and a strawberry lip mask she’d lost was sitting beside it.

She placed her flowers on the backseat. They looked like he’d stolen them from someone’s garden, in true Harry fashion, he had from their snooty neighbour.

Harry slid inside the driver’s seat and started the engine. It was freezing, the middle of winter, and if not for him she would never have stepped foot out into the bleak winter night. The car was warm already from him driving over.

“Are you some sort of pervert creep stalker or summat? What you got all this for, Styles? A shrine for me.” She said pointing to her little spot of things in the cupholder.

He rolled his eyes looking at her with a sassy expression. “Just returning them to my girlfriend, thanks,”

She was still getting used to those words slipping from his filthy rotten mouth. Harry noticed her flustered face and laughed. 

“What? Since I can’t tell everyone yet, I’m gonna boast as much as I can even if it’s just with you.”

She slid her hand into his as he drove down the street heading to, well, Y/n didn’t know where. With this boy? She’d never know what he had planned. “I can’t believe I have a boyfriend now,”

He giggled and stared ahead, but his hand squeezed hers. “Can’t believe I’m the lucky bastard. Was certain I’d never have a chance with you.”

Y/n let out a scoff. “You’re joking, you knew how much I fancied you growing up, Styles.”

He looked over at her. “Well, everyone fancied me.”

She slapped his arm, and he laughed. “Sorry, Trouble, but it’s true…anyway Em made it very clear I wasn’t allowed to engage with you. No matter how much I wanted to.”

She looked over him, in disbelief at what these past few weeks held for them. Harry Styles, her boyfriend was sharing his feelings with her, and it wasn’t even that weird to be with him. Actually, it felt pretty fucking perfect.

“So you chose to act like a foul-mouthed, prick?” She fired back raising her brows argumentatively.

He nodded, biting his lip and smirking, before looking at her for a second to see her face. “At least I got t’talk to you, and admit it Baby, y’pretty fucking sexy when you’re pissed with me.”

She scoffed at him. “And you’re dumb.”

He looked over for a second longer than he should’ve considering he was behind the wheel. “Don’t they say loves make you dumb, Trouble?”

Y/n felt her tummy curl. Love? Surely he hadn’t meant it like that. The car fell silent a soft eighties love song playing on the car speakers as Y/n melted into the leather passenger seat. She was tired, but the excitement of whatever Harry had planned had her too restless to nap. Anyway, it only took around 30 or so minutes of Harry cruising through windy back roads before the surprise was revealed.

She looked over at him, to find him already peering over at her. As she gasped out breathily. 

“...The beach?”

She looked out at the dark scene. The waves were deep, crashing, and wild. The reflection of the moon was a sombre scene across the almost black-looking ocean, and the chilly air made it seem all the more beautiful of a landscape. She’d been here before, many times. During most Summer holidays she would be invited to stay with the Styles at their beach house that was not far from here, maybe another two-minute drive or so. This beach held memories of countless afternoons sunbaking and reading, sunrises with Em, and a handful of beach bonfires mostly ending with Harry and Y/n taking care of Emma together.

She’d never been here during winter before, having never been here without the Styles to accompany her. It felt different now, and exciting to be here with just Harry. It was one of her fantasies. She’d had many nights where she laid awake in the twin bed of the beach house next to a snoring Emma dreaming of a romantic moment with Harry. Clinging to the crumbs of affection he gave her…a hand graze hers, a tug on her hair, a pat on the shoulder. She spun her own story of them being something but never imagined it would actually happen.

She turned to Harry, and once again she had to fight off the urge to pinch herself out of this unbelievably magical dream.

“What are we doing here?”

Harry smiled his hand landing on her knee, a welcome warmth during the cold of the night. “I was looking through m’camera roll and I found this photo of you and Em sunbaking right before I dumped a bucket of water all over y’both. Remember?”

She placed her hand on his admiring how large, veiny, and muscular it was. She’d always loved his hands. Tonight he had only his signet ring which was a family heirloom, on his pinky. She stroked it with her finger.

“Of course I do. Remember when we got our revenge?”

He rolled his eyes. “Was you’re idea wasn’t it, Trouble?

She grinned thinking back to the memory. It was a hazy blur of vibrant colours and laughs. That summer they were fourteen and Harry was sixteen, they’d all gotten up to lots of mischief that summer.

The whole time he had been obsessing over this girl who worked at the local cinema. When he’d finally managed to land a date, the girls had wreaked absolute havoc as revenge. He’d spent all afternoon picking out his outfit, fixing his hair to be perfect, and even shaved his slight stubble. The whole family teased him about how excited he was.

They’d been swimming in the pool when he came out to ask Emma if he could borrow her bike to ride to meet Cinema Girl at the ice cream shop. They’d been taking a break to sunbathe on the concrete in the sun when he came over to them.

Emma stood up and so did Y/n, they’d already devised their plan and were ready to take action. Y/n likes to pretend her interest in the ruining of his date had been all revenge-orientated but she knew deep down she was jealous of the curvy blonde surfer girl who was older than her who Harry had been drooling over. When Emma was the first to dive at him pushing him dangerously close to the pool, Y/n knew she needed to join her to knock his suddenly strong body into the water.

She remembers the way his hands clawed at her bare back, in hopes of pulling himself back up, but it was too late. He fell in with a big splash and an angry shout at the pair of them. Laughing so hard they clutched their stomachs when he resubmerged and the way the water fell over his head pathetically. The perfect curls on his head had been ruined, his white shirt soaked, shoes and all.

It was when he lifted himself out of the water absolute murder in his eyes that they finally fled the crime scene. Sprinting through the house and when his loud running was close by, they screamed heading through the front door. Y/n remembers running down the street in just a bikini, all wet, feet bare and as she squealed forgetting how fast Harry was when he wanted to be. Emma who was all legs and spindly back then was off miles ahead and was far from the pair of them. He’d caught Y/n with ease, arms coming around her waist and yanking her back.

“You are so dead, Trouble,”

It ended with him carrying her over his shoulder, hands dangerously close to her bum, and chucking her into the deep end of the pool. But she didn’t care, because after all that he cancelled the date and stayed in to watch Dirty Dancing with all of the girls. Anne, Gem, Em, and her. She noticed the way he smiled at the ending, and she dreamily contemplated if they’d ever have a movie-like dance scene.

She just smirked at him coming back to the present. “I was always the brains behind the operation.”

He eyed her, eyes hooded, “Y’think I didn’t know that?”

She felt herself blush. God, she had such a crush on her boyfriend.

“...Wanna go for a walk?” He asked, turning the engine off, and pulling her back to reality.

She nodded. “Of course. Do you have any other clothes to rug up?”

He looked in his backseat and grabbed a woollen blanket. “I came prepared for you.”

She smiled unbuckling her seatbelt as they stepped outside, the wind was freezing. Harry locked the car and walked around to her it was deserted here. Middle of the night, in the middle of English winter, so that wasn’t surprising.

He handed her the blanket and she wrapped it over her shoulders grabbing his arm and gripping his bicep. He leaned close to her as they walked down the beach. Sand slowed them down, as they walked slowly, listening to the waves crash.

Then she felt a cold speckle hit her face, and she looked up. “Styles, it’s snowing,”

“Oh, wow, it is.” He replied looking up at the snow, then down at her. Flecks caught in her lashes, and he leaned down to wipe them away. Cupping her face in his warm hands.

“You look so beautiful right now, Y/n.”

Y/n blushed, lifting her hand to cover her face. “No, I don’t I look all…sleepy,”

“You always look perfect, Trouble.” He replied, softly, his voice all gravelly. “Don’t hide from me.”

She moved her hands and he leaned down to kiss her. Hugging her close to him, and pulling her up to his lips, they kissed.

Snow fell softly onto them, as they cuddled closely to keep warm. Y/n wrapped them up in the blanket, and they fell into a deeper, more loving kiss. His tongue played with hers, and one of his hands moved to her hair and they melted together until all the air left their lungs. Forcing them to pull back and softly peck each other’s lips a few more times before Y/n rested her cheek near his beating heart.

They walked down to the rocks and back running and chasing each other through the sand, and snow, and god it was freezing, but being with Harry warmed her up more than any other mittens or jackets or fires could.

Jumping on his back and messing around dancing on the snowy beach for an hour, it felt like time slipped by in a wink. When it was around two thirty Harry decided to take them to the beach house for the night. He drove steadily only a street down the road and stopped out the front of this grand big old Victorian-style house painted a soft periwinkle colour, and Y/n felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her as she grabbed Harry’s hand and they stepped out of the car.

The street was silent, she could hear crickets and howling wind, as the snow speckled down onto them.

When they got inside the house it was cold — freezing, and the clothes hanging off their bodies were damp from the snow which made it even worse. As they stepped inside the cosy home it was dark, almost pitch-black but Y/n wasn’t scared because she could feel the heat of Harry’s body behind her following her inside, whispering softly in her ear. 

He grabbed her hand, and without turning on any lights he guided her upstairs to the upstairs lounge room. Even in the dark Y/n knew where they were going. It was like a library full of books floor to ceiling, and old antique possessions of Styles family, but it still had these comfy couches and a window seat to stare out at the ocean view. There was a golden-plated fireplace. Y/n remembers hiding away in here a few times when she couldn’t sleep, and sometimes Anne would bring her tea and blanket and kiss her head if she saw her inside. 

She had fond memories here, in this house, in this room. Some even with Harry, before he’d turned into a proper brooding teenage boy, they’d read Harry Potter and other fantasy novels stowed away in this room for hours during the summers. Emma wasn’t too fond of reading until she was older and could read erotica, which Y/n felt matched Emma’s taste quite well.

Y/n’s hand reached for the doorframe and Harry stepped inside first. It felt incredibly weird being here during the winter. But Harry’s warmth left it feeling like it was a romantic summer night.

He leaned down and began starting up a fire. Y/n admired the way he stacked the logs, his strong arms flexing as he did so, and he turned her. “Trouble, can y’get me some firelighters, please?” His tone was low like they had company asleep down the hall, even though they didn’t. 

The firelighters were downstairs, she nodded at him walked downstairs with his phone for a flashlight and hunted around for a few matches and firelighters. She found them easily, the layout of this home memorised in her mind, like every inch of the boy to whom it belonged. 

Pottering around, she made them each a warm tea to warm up. The kettled only took a moment to boil and she filled the mugs up to the bring. Some herbal thing Anne liked. The smell reminded Y/n of those late nights in the library room.

She carefully walked back upstairs her sock-covered feet so quiet on the hardwood floors. She found Harry scrunching up some newspaper and lighting it with a golden zippo from his pocket. She handed him the firelighters silently, and he smiled in thanks, noticing the two mugs of steam in her hands and motioned for her to sit down. She listened and sat down on the plush brown cushioned couch, and she watched him get the fire going and stood, grabbing some candlesticks from the mantle and lighting them. 

It would be a while until it warmed up the room, Y/n shivered placing the mugs down on a little coffee table, before grabbing the folded woollen blanket from behind her head and wrapped herself up in it. 

Harry joined her side and pulled her under his arm gently. He was so warm, and she melted into his side idly. Trying to shake the feeling this whole night was a dream and she’d wake up, fourteen in her twin bed, and none of this would have ever happened. But it was real.

He leaned down to capture her lips in his, his tender plush lips tasted of mint chewing gum and her lip mask, were real. The warmth spreading up her spine, the nervous race of her heart, and his chilled hands sliding up her back, were so real.Her feelings were the most real they’d ever been.

She kissed him back, with a rawness that was beginning to become familiar between them. The empty house filled with the noises of their soft gasps and sighs, and the gentle crackle of the logs burning away. Harry pressed closer to her, arms encircling her waist tightly. Holding her so close to him, as if he worried this was all a dream too and she’d slip away if he let go of her.

His chest was flush against hers, and Y/n’s hands tangled up in his messy hair to ensure he stayed right where she wanted him. Right here, forever if he’d let her. He was a welcomed warmth and the blanket slipped off their shoulders as the kiss grew more intense.

Their tongues clashed messily, and mouths parted like they were a source of oxygen for each other, soaking each other in. One of Harry’s hands moved to her hip tracing a familiar scar she’d got falling off a trampoline in his backyard. He remembers being the one to wait with her in the hospital while they stitched it.

His knee moved between both of hers, bumping them apart and pushing up closer as she began to fall back onto the couch arms still around his neck and hands in his hair. Moving down to lay on top of her she wrapped her legs around him. Hugging every inch of him closer to her. Her head was tucked up against one of the pillows on the couch, hips rocking against his as he hugged her tighter his hands sliding under peachy bum, squeezing the plump flesh there and sighing contently. 

“You are perfect,” Harry uttered, pulling back, kissing cheek and then her jaw. Pulling back again to admire her flushed face. His eyes burned into hers, as a tender look washed over him. “So fucking perfect, god, I could die happy knowing you’re all mine.”

And maybe it wasn’t I love you, but they both knew that’s what he meant. She smiled up at him, a grin, dazzling and toothy. The orange glow of the fire was just enough for him to see that beautiful smile and he melted at the sight. Was it too soon to marry this bloody girl?

He knew that whatever this girl wanted, needed, or asked, he’d do for her in a heartbeat. He was done for. That smile made him want to fall to his knees and kiss the floor she walked on. Her name was carved into his heart, in her soft handwriting, this was it. This was what he’d been waiting for. For her.

“Stay, Styles.” Was all she could muster, flustered and drunk on the taste of him. Her soft voice ran up his spine and he shivered, squeezing her tight.

“I’m not going anywhere, Baby,” He replied leaning down to nose at her neck shyly. Her hands slid under his shirt feeling his soft firm back to hold him here. Anchoring herself to him, she left her mark all over him and he felt his cock twitch. This girl had him wrapped around her little finger, and he didn’t even mind.

“Better not.” She replied breathily, as he kissed along her neck down to her breast nosing at his initial on her neck before moving to kiss along her collar bones.

“Take it off,” She muttered. His hands in no rush lifted off her first layer. Throwing the jumper down as he gazed at the dark long sleeve, tugging that off quickly too, and laughing when there was still another layer. It was the final one, a gauzy flimsy white singlet she was wearing. He could see her nipples pebbling at the cold air and the outline of her perfect body. “This too,” She said nodding.

His hands softly tugged it up off her and threw it along with the rest. Her hands tugged the hem of his many layers and he sat back on his bum to pull them off in one go, revealing his rippling muscles and perfect tattoos. The glow of the flames flickering against his body had a heat creeping between her thighs.

He was a total fucking sex god. She couldn’t get enough of him.

“Harry, you really are beautiful.” She said, all besotten, and the rotten-mouthed Harry Styles actually blushed red at her words. Blushed! A red rosy flush crept up his neck and cheeks, and he smiled shyly, mouth slightly parted.

He tried to find a teasing quip and for once fell flat because Y/n was already telling him to kiss her again, and that was enough to make him come back down, pressing their skin together. The feeling brought them both a comfort they hadn’t expected. Skin to skin, it felt like the closest thing to magic.

Both of them were still dressed in pants Y/n reached for his belt undoing it eagerly, as she never took her lips off his. Eventually, his pants were loose and Harry pulled back for a moment to tug them off messily. Y/n decided to do the same, leaving her in just a pair of silly knickers with cartoon fish on them.

Harry giggled thumbing at the pattern with his big hands. “You are so adorable, sweet girl.”

She smiled shyly blushing. “Shut up and kiss me again, Styles.”

So he did, and things began to heat up as Y/n rucked up against his hips more desperately. A throbbing heat, aching for some form of relief, seeking out his stiffening cock. She rubbed herself softly on his thigh whimpering into his mouth. Positioning herself to rub against him, and what was poking hard into her leg.

And he laughed softly at her neediness, moving his lips to kiss her neck again, resting his face in the crook there pressing even firmer against her. Not realising until now how much he craved to fill her sweet little pussy up. His cock stiffened at the feel of warm wet slick dripping from her cute goofy knickers onto him, and began to push against her. Moaning into her skin, smelling her, and letting himself be completely captivated by her.

She whined at the feel of him. “Harry,” She sighed, all breathy. God, he loved when she said his name, but he did like when she said pretty much anything in that breathy sort of way she got when she was being taken care of underneath him.

He moved back to place a peck on her lips, before travelling down her body, first capturing a nipple in his mouth. Sucking, biting, and teasing her. Loving the sounds that she made from his supple mouth. Whiny gasps of pleasure and wet kisses filled the air.

He kissed further down to her navel and along her hips, a teasing bite against her flesh that made her squeal and laugh, jolting up slightly. “Styles!”

He peppered kissings over the bite in apology, licking a long stripe across it. “Mmm.”

He travelled further down, near the hem of her knickers, at eye level with the gorgeous slick stain begging to be lapped up by him. He looked up to find her already staring down at him, and his hands moved to hips as he nosed at her warmth, watching her squirm from the soft touch. The heady and delicious scent of her perfect pussy filled his senses as he gripped the hem of her knickers desperately.

“G’na be a good girl and let m’take care of you?” He asked her, one of his hands moving up to stroke her cheek gently. Dragging back down her body slowly waiting for her answer, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing against his palm.

She nodded eagerly grabbing his hand and squeezing it. “Please, please, need you, Daddy,” She whispered sultrily.

“Don’t worry, Daddy’s gonna take care of you, Angel.” He replied, moving his hand back down and tugging them down languidly, throwing them to the floor. Welcoming her with the sight of her pretty, wet, pussy. Lips splayed out like a flower in bloom. A pearly sheen coated all over her legs and Harry licked his lips at the sight of her. 

He was so hungry to taste her and lick into that pretty hole of hers. The low light of the fire cast a gentle light over her beautiful soft flesh and silky skin. Slowly inching his face closer and he guided her legs over his shoulders, heels landing on his back and thighs pressing to his cheeks, as his hot breath hit her pussy causing her to squeeze her eyes tight and her hands to clench the couch cushion, shivering. His nose bumped into her puffy clit, as he pressed a gentle kiss into her lips. 

She breathed out softly, hands moving to his messy hair to hold him there. He began to suck on her clit, causing her hips to jolt up in surprise. His big strong hands came up to push her thighs back toward her, folding her in half, and keep her still while he ate her like she was his last meal.

“Fuck,” She uttered, bringing one of her hands up to her mouth. Harry started by licking up all the mess she’d made between her pretty little thighs getting worked up from their kissing. Normally one to tease her a lot more, but in this moment, he just wanted her to feel the best she ever had.

He noticed the noises she was making were muffled, and not as loud as he wanted, and pulled back to find her hand over her mouth.

“Y/n, Baby, don’t keep me from hearing those filthy little sounds, please.” He said one of his hands grabbing at her wrist, and the begging tone had her dropping them to her sides and squeezing the plush couch.

She blushed bashfully, “Sorry, used to needing t’be quiet, H,”

He smiled at her. “Don’t worry. It’s just us…you and me.” Before moving back down, and tonguing her fluttering hole, his thumb came up to toy with her clit. When she moaned for him, back arching up, and heels pressing further into his muscled back he smirked against her. Pulling back for a moment to praise her gently. “Much better, sucha’ good girl f’ me, love hearing your lil’ noises.”

She whined when his mouth moved up to suck on her clit, and one of his long fingers made its way to stretch her out. It slid in easily, until he was knuckle deep, “Fuck, Daddy,”

He started to curl inside her and move, fucking her, and the noises that escaped her pussy and swollen lips had him fucking his hips against the couch, cock painfully hard. When he added another finger, he could feel the tightness as she squeezed around him. He had started to hit that spot inside her, and the way he was licking at her clit, and suckling on it, her toes were curling and her hands had fallen into his already messy hair. Nails scratching at his scalp and tugging on his hair when he did something made her body twitch involuntarily.

“Oh, yes, there,” She whined when his fingers curled and grazed that spot. “G’na make me cum, Daddy? Can I?” She begged.

He pulled back, fingers still going. “Cum for Daddy, Princess.” Before going back to lick into her again.

She did, one that snuck up her. Causing a surprised gasp to escape her lips. 

A white-hot wave flooded over her whole body, causing her to shake, pussy pulsating against him, and toes curling. Sparks snapping down her spine, as a mewl left her throat. Her hips stuttered, and one of her hands moved to claw at his shoulder. He hissed against her but he didn’t stop, and Y/n felt her legs tremble, and she was going to tell him to stop but he felt so good. Despite her feeling sensitive from her previous orgasm, his tongue had her closing her eyes, a heat growing once again, as she rocked her hips chasing that familiar feeling.

He was an expert at it, and it had taken him barely any time to become a master of her body, and knew exactly how to make her finish over and over.

He licked into her cunt, lapping up the tangy sweet flavour of her. Moaning loudly as he tongued her clit, he couldn’t get enough. If he could sustain from just eating Y/n’s sweet little cunt, he’d eat her for all his meals.

Only a few minutes later she was falling apart again, a mess, but this time she squirted all over him. Unexpectedly, she felt a different feeling crash through her, and she screamed out clenching her eyes shut and her legs came to clamp around his head uncontrollably. Harry’s eyes peered up at her one of his hands playing with her nipple and squeezing her soft fleshy breast. A wetness coating his chin and throat, god, she thought for a moment there she stopped seeing and hearing for a second, when she came back to Harry pulled off her with a popping sound and her legs fell limp on either side of him. 

His fingers slide out leaving her empty, he lifted them to his mouth and sucked off the last of her. Sitting back on his knees and watching her, hands still wrapped around her legs caressing them as they trembled.

She felt herself clench around nothing, thinking about empty she felt now, and how badly she wanted his perfect dick inside her. He leaned forward again, nose brushing her tummy, as he thumbed over swollen wet petals. Her cross necklace and chain with her initial tickled her skin as he got closer to her neck. “Fuck, it’s so easy to ruin this little pussy, Baby,”

He smirked at her shiver. “Haven’t even fucked you with m’cock yet, and you’re already a mess f’me, my sweet girl.” One of his hands came up to brush some of her stray hairs away from her face. “Hmm, so beautiful.”

She melted into his touch and took a few shaky breaths as he continued to play with her sensitive pussy and hair. “Daddy…” She shut her eyes. “Need you, please,”

He looked down at her tauntingly, hand stroking her cheek. As he hovered over her naked body. He looked edible. His lips were red and probably tasted of her, a devilish smirk crept over his face. And his body, ugh, she wanted to swallow him whole. 

“Need me, huh? What d’ya mean?” He teased her, and she pouted up at him. Using her foot to kick his bum in faux annoyance.

“Harryyyy!” She really had missed him, and she really did love this boy. Messy hair, rotten mouth, tattoos, long past of other girls, his habit of teasing her for everything. She loved all of him, and shes certain she always will.

“Babyyyy.” He said back, leaning down to kiss her neck some more, leaving a mark on her collarbone. Laying on her, boxer-covered cock pressing against her warm pussy.

She pouted some more. “Pleaseee.” Her long nails came up to her arms and scratched his biceps, they were so fleshy and strong, she felt so safe wrapped up in them. He smelt delicious, and she nosed at his neck. He smelt like normal — tobacco and vanilla but had a hint of something just Harry, a heady smell that coated his skin. She wished she could stay in this moment forever. Her thighs and legs came up to wrap around him and squeeze him closer if that was even possible.

He stopped his kisses and pressed his nose to hers, brushing them together. “Please what? Can’t help if you won’t be a good girl and tell Daddy what you want…” His thumb came up to rub along her bottom lip. “Hmm? Princess?”

She blushed, staring right into his green eyes, and melted into his palm. “Can you please, please, put that pretty cock inside me, Daddy? I need it. Haven’t seen you in a week. I missed you.” Pouting her lips, she lifted her nails to his sides, scratching along his muscles and tattoos. “Please. Wanna feel you. All of you.”

He shivered at her touch, he couldn’t believe his bloody luck, pretty little Y/n from next door was begging for his cock and she was all his. His pretty girl.

He kissed her, a long one, tongues dancing together playfully, “Such a good girl f’me, Trouble.” He said against her lips and kissed her some more. His hips rutted against hers, and she rubbed against him moaning and kissing him back lazily. He could feel his boxers getting damp from her slick.

He kissed her like that until she was squeezing him so tightly, and whining loud enough that he knew it was evil to make her wait any longer. He pulled back pecking her nose and then forehead, “Y’want me inside, Baby?” His veiny tattooed hand came up to rub her tummy absentmindedly thinking of how full she’d be of him, how he’d be in her tummy hitting all those spots.

She nodded biting her lip. “God yes. You want that too, right, Styles?” She said breathlessly canting her hips against his throbbing cock.

“Yeah, I really fucking missed you, Trouble.” He said, and he sat back on his knees again tugging his boxers off. His cock sprung up, bobbing against his belly, all swollen and hard for her. As big as always, she would never get used to the sight of him. Dripping in pearls of precum, and probably a bit of her slick. His prick was all veiny, big, and hers. Her mouth watered, and she was tempted to slip him inside her throat for a taste.

She hadn’t realised her mouth was hanging open, but when Harry laughed she came back to, “What?”

“You’d think I’d never fucked you before,” He teased, licking his lips.

She sat up, eyes still trained on his stiff prick, unable to look away. “Not my fault you’re abnormally large, Styles, it’s what gives you the right to walk around like you’re gods gift,” She paused hand coming out to give him a few lazy strokes, he hissed when her thumb ran over his leaking slit. “This perfectly crafted fucking dick. Made just f’me. Right?”

His head fell back, and his eyes squeezed shut, how could feel so close to coming just from her hand tugging him a few times? Christ. His hips started fucking into her hand desperately against his mind’s better judgement, this woman had him under a spell. “Yes, Princess, all of me is made for you.” 

She pressed their foreheads together and guided the tip to touch her. Gently pressing into her wetness.

He whined. “Y/n, mm fuck, Angel,” And slowly entered her, feeling her squirm at the size of him. Stopping when he was all the way inside her. He nosed at her throat and felt her arms and legs wrap around him tightly. “You okay?”

She nodded and kissed his cheek, “Yeah, Styles, I’m good. Move f’me.”

As he started to pump inside her at a slow pace, he could feel how wet, tight, and hot she was inside. He had to fight not to finish quickly. Moaning loudly, as her hands scratched into his skin.

“Mm, shit,” She whispered squeezing hers shut, despite the fact he was moving slowly his thrusts were still deep and hitting her g-spot hard, her body was relaxed from two orgasms, and she didn’t know if she’d last long.

“Feel good, Petal?” He asked.

She nodded bumping their noses together. “Kiss me, please.”

So he did, a deep kiss, and his thrusts unconsciously went faster. Hitting that spot rapidly, and she was moaning loudly against his lips, she pulled apart to let her fall down as she panted.

“I think you’re gonna make me cum, fuck,” She mewled, and the way her pussy clenched on his cock he knew she was telling the truth, one of his hands snuck between them and while still keeping the same pace he rubbed her puffy little clit and felt it throb at his touch.

“Cum, Baby.” He ordered.

Her legs tightened around his hips and she hugged him, shaking fiercely, and cried out soft calls of his name. And he felt a dampness shoot over his thighs and cock. She’d squirted again, and he kissed her at that.

“Good girl, so good,” He cooed, pumping her through it, as he felt his own orgasm not far off.

She kissed his neck. “Will you cum in my pussy, Daddy, please? Wanna be full of you.”

And the unexpected words that spilled from his mouth made his cock twitch, and heat pool in his stomach. “Yes, Princess, m’ close.”

His head fell into the crook of her neck and shoulder and he grunted, hips speeding up and becoming more sloppy all at once.

“Yes, Daddy, cum f’me. Mmm.” She moaned, and her pussy clenched on him. And he whined, hips stuttering at her words.

“Fuck, Baby,”

It was only a few more seconds of him pounding into her and he came, hard, a guttural groan left his lips and he fucked her until all of his cum was stuffed inside her. She whimpered at the feeling, and he fell on top of her tiredly, and she hugged him close.

He lifted his head up to kiss her, cock still buried deep in her. “I- you are so perfect, I wish we could stay like this forever, Trouble.” He almost said it — those three words, but he didn’t want her to get the wrong impression. He wanted to say I love you without her thinking it had anything to do with sex.

“Me too, Styles.” She replied smiling.

They kissed a long, unhurried kiss.

When they pulled back Harry shifted them into a different position leaving his softened prick inside her for a few more minutes. Not quite ready to pull out of her.

Her back pressed into his chest, and he wrapped his big arms around her waist, squeezing her nice and close to him. Stroking her head and peppering kisses all over her, she sighed softly into his touch and in a few minutes she was asleep.

Deep heavy breaths rose and fell in his arms, letting her rest like that for a few more minutes. When he felt his eyes start to droop too, he kissed her head and woke her up to make sure they wouldn’t be all sticky. She moved over and Harry walked to the bathroom. He came back with a warm flannelette and wiped her bits and legs, kissing the tender areas as he did. She whimpered at the feeling, and Harry made sure to peck her lips and whisper sweet nothings to her.

They got back onto the couch, deciding to sleep nice and close to the fire, Harry threw the blanket over them tucking Y/n into his chest, his back against the sofa, and hers against him. Hugging her so tight she wouldn’t be able to escape, even when he lulled off he held her like the most precious thing in the world.

The fire raged for a good few hours, and when they woke up a bit later to the alarm they set to make sure Y/n got back for her class in time. Harry helped her get dressed and fixed her hair, guiding her sleepy form to the car and letting her sleep during the drive back home. Making sure to take care of her, one of his hands resting on his thigh for most of the drive.

As they drove home the sun was rising and Y/n’s soft sleepy snores filled the car, Harry watched her sleeping with the utmost admiration.

“I love you.” He whispered to himself looking at her through tired eyes. 

It was around seven thirty when they pulled up to Y/n’s house. She sleepily knuckled her eyes, and they both looked ruined, having got only four or so hours of rest.

Harry woke her gently rubbing her shoulder. “Home, Baby,”

She groaned wiping her eyes and stirring. Before leaning over to him, “I don’t wanna goooo…”

He smiled at her and moved his hand to caress her head. “Want me to pick you up after your lecture? I’ll make you some food, and we can nap. Hmm?”

She nodded. “Sounds good, Baby,”

He leaned over to peck her lips and then unbuckled his belt to open her door for her and walk her inside. 

Hand in hers he walked her to the door, Y/n threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed him deeply as Harry’s hands travelled down to her peachy bum and squeezed it. Harry placed one final peck on her puffy lips and tucked his head into her neck spinning her around in a tight hug before plopping her back on her feet and kissing her hand that was joined to his before waving goodbye and heading back to his car.

What the two hadn’t seemed to notice was Emma’s peering gaze from behind one of the many big oaks. For once she’d gotten up early, made it to her six o’clock pilates class, and was actually on her way to walk with Y/n to their Pysch class, two large seasonal coffee cups in her hands and a cute little teal workout set on ready to triumph the day. This was probably the second time in the semester Emma hadn’t been hungover or slept in and was actually here to attend the lecture with Y/n. 

So of course Y/n hadn’t expected to see her best friend, and Emma of course had not expected to see any of that.

She had been whistling happily, chirpily walking two warm delicious smelling coffees and a hop in her step. The sun was shining despite the winter air, and she only had one more exam and she was done for the Uni semester! What was there to be annoyed about? And even though this Pysch lecturer was insane, at least she’d be with lovely Y/n who would definitely tell her all the answers to the quiz that was going to take place.

She’d been so excited to surprise Y/n with a coffee and a muffin and plan the many many many parties over their coming winter break on the walk to campus. But she’d immediately stopped in her tracks when she saw her brother’s car. What the fuck was Harry doing there? Maybe shagging one of Y/n’s roomies?

But when she saw Y/n step out of the car in her pyjamas, and all close to him, Emma knew. 

She watched them kiss and giggle and had to fight the urge not to throw up, scream, or cry. Instead of doing any of those things she froze and ducked down behind the tree hiding from Harry’s car as it drove off. 

Devising silently what to do with this situation, she sat down on the grass and waited for a couple of minutes. Catching her breath and calming down from the shock.

Before soon heading to knock on the door and pretend she hadn’t seen a thing, she decided it would be best to mull things over, despite the rage thrumming through her, she plastered the biggest smile she could and waited for Y/n.

Y/n answered, now changed into a fresh set of warm comfy clothes for the lecture. A cosy big knit and a skirt with thick tights under, and these tall boots. She had a brush in her hand and was raking it through her messy hair. 

“Oh! Em! What’re you doing here?” Y/n said, peering up owlishly, and smiling. Not having expected to see Emma of all people, especially so early. She only joined the class because Y/n was taking it and then never came to a single lesson this semester.

Emma raised the two coffee cups. “We still have Psych this morning right? I bought those new cinnamon roll syrup coffees, Babe. You said you wanted to try them.”

Y/n smiled, pulling her in for a hug, “Oh you’re the best come up, I still need to do my makeup and then we can start walking, yeah?”

Emma nodded a tight-lipped smile and followed Y/n up to her room. 

Now that Emma thought about it, Y/n had been happier than normal, and Harry had been more relaxed. Less of a grumpy old oaf, and much calmer. She hadn’t seen a string of people leaving in the morning and Harry coming down hungover. She hadn’t heard drunken stumbling inside, she hadn’t smelt the familiar potent smell of Harry smoking upstairs, and she hadn’t noticed his lack of appearance at most events where Y/n wasn’t. Not until right now.

God, how could she be so stupid!!! Was she blind? She didn’t know how she hadn’t realised. She knew Y/n had fancied him when they were younger, and Harry had their whole friendship, but she’d made it clear to both of them that she didn’t approve.

How had this whole thing slipped past her? Why were they keeping it from her? Obviously, she didn’t approve! How could she? Her brother fucked anything that moved since he was fourteen, a party boy, drugs and sex a part of his daily ritual. Parties every night, and a thirst for people that could not be quenched. 

Though she loved him he had many great qualities, he was and always would be the boy who came in wrecking all her friendships by shagging the girls and ditching them.

And Y/n was hers, her best friend, and she had warned him many times that he could not go there with Y/n. Y/n was untouchable, off-limits, and innocent. Y/n wasn’t a party girl, she stayed home reading or studying, watching cheesy old shows and calling her grandma every Tuesday during her break between lectures. Y/n was perfect and sweet. She had such little experience with boys and life.

The handful of interactions Y/n had with boys had been due to Emma’s involvement, having only been with two boys her whole life. Jeremiah from sixth form who she’d lost her virginity to, Keiran an Irish lad they’d met on their holiday to Greece during a Uni summer who Y/n had spent a few weeks with. They’d met up in a few different countries that summer and shared a short romance that ended when he went back to Dublin and Y/n to London. They’d mainly just kissed, but Emma managed to find out from Y/n that Keiran was particularly good with his mouth and had a thing for eating girls out, he preferred it to sex.

Emma had also hooked up with both of them. She had given Jeremiah a blowie a year before he took an interest in Y/n at a house party. In Greece, Emma had been the one to kiss Keiran on the dancefloor before moving on to his friend Jordon who was a rugby player for the Cork team when she realised Keiran was not a famous rugby player, only a builder. 

Emma never liked the idea of anyone taking advantage of Y/n, she was sweet, and she knew her brother had to be using her for a shag. Y/n would be of no use to him otherwise. Just another notch in his belt.

Harry would never be a boyfriend guy, and Emma knew Y/n wasn’t fuck buddy material she would get attached to a pigeon in the park if it ate enough of her crumbs.

Emma refused to believe Y/n could be as naive as to fall for it. Harry was masterful with his charm, and so was she. The two siblings chewed people and spat them back out. Y/n had always noticed the restlessness about them. So, Emma could recognise what they were, and accept that settling down just wasn’t in their nature.

As Emma watched Y/n place some blush on her cheeks in the ensuite, she walked over to where Y/n’s phone was charging. A few messages popped up on the screen.

Harry Styles🍒

You are so cute, show me your outfit for today.

Call me when you are done, Baby. Em should be at Zayns we can just chill. XX

Emma gritted her teeth and placed the phone down. 

She had to think of a way to stop this and prove what Harry’s true intentions were. He couldn’t possibly love her or care, there was no way.

The walk to campus was nice, the cold had turned to a crisp clear day, and as they walked through the main bustling part of campus they saw Niall and a bunch of his frat friends chatting by Lily’s Cafe, which was the best spot on campus. It had cheap coffee that tasted good and food that didn’t look like it’s gonna run away from you.

Y/n worked there in her first year, Zayn was a barista there so they had been heading there for free donuts before their lecture. Niall spotted them, he was in a backward cap and a cosy-looking oversized crewneck and sweats, he jogged over.

“Sexy ladies, what are we up to?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “What does it look like, we are here to get a jet to Dubai, we are obviously getting coffee.”

Y/n giggled. “Don’t worry, Ni, Em is not a morning person.”

Niall rolled his eyes. “What’s got you moody Em, Zayn ain’t as good in the sack as rumours say?”

“Shut up, Niall.”

Emma and Niall never really got along, they butted heads a lot, and Niall was one of the only people to stand up to her. He thinks the reason Emma hates him is because back in first year they’d come to a frat party and of course, he’d spotted them instantly.

Y/n had been in his pink flowy dress, her hair styled up in a sleek look, big gold hoops on her ears and she looked beautiful. Niall remembers working his way over to flirt with her and being rudely interrupted by Emma. She was fit too, with a black dress and an attitude, but she wasn’t Y/n.

He hadn’t known Emma was Harry’s sister, he should’ve known from the attitude and brooding good looks, but he hadn’t put two and two together until Harry walked over to tell the girls off for coming when he’d told them not to. 

Emma walked into Lily’s as Y/n stood next to Niall. 

“How are you, mate?”

Niall lifted his arm to wrap around her shoulder and pull her into his side. “I’ll be better tonight. Please tell me you are coming?”

Y/n sighed. “Oh god, what’s tonight?”

“Cops, robbers, and sluts party at Sigma Pi Gamma.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Peter’s frat. I fucking hate that prick.”

Niall laughed. “No one likes him, Babe,”

“I don’t know if I’ll go…” Y/n said absently, thinking about curling up with Harry watching Murder She Wrote and eating Chinese takeaway.

“You have to come, if you don’t I’ll have to deal with Paddy and his mates alone. I need you..bring Styles, I need my emotional support friends.”

Y/n smiled at him. Now that she thinks about it Niall was probably one of her closest friends other than Emma. Even though Emma always tried to talk down on him. “I’ll talk to him, Em probably already planned on dragging me there tonight. What are you going as a cop or a robber?”

Niall smirked cheekily. “I’m going as a slut obviously.”

“We’ll see if I can find a costume in time. I don’t think I have anything.”

Niall shrugged and they both watched Emma through the glass window as she curled up in Zayn’s arms. “I’m sure Emma will. She’s pretty much been to every party on campus since you two arrived. Even when she was sick last month I still saw her at Seth’s place, she’s sure to have a costume for you.”

“Why don’t you two get along?” Y/n asked after a moment of silence as they soaked in the rays of the sun that today provided, the snow had stopped.

Niall laughed. “Other than the fact she’s creepily obsessed with you? She’s never liked me. I think it’s ‘cause of that one time.”

Y/n frowned. Since when was Emma obsessed with her? Emma only really cared about herself, and Y/n felt guilty as the thought crossed her mind, but Emma really did only ever focus on herself. Her outfit, her hair, her looks, her current boy of the week. Her frown deepened, what one time?

“What time? Did you two hook up or summat?” Y/n asked curiously.

Niall burst out in a cackle. “Her? And me? Puh-lease kid. She’s so not my type.”

It was true, Niall liked softness…everyone he’d dated had been like gentle teddy bears.

“What then? Flirt with a guy she fancied?” Y/n questioned. Emma got pretty territorial.

“My flirting seems to be rather forgettable, Babe.”

“Huh?”

“Do you remember your first freshers party?” Niall asked.

Y/n thought back to her first party. She wore a flowy pink dress that Harry said made her look like fairy floss, and he’d been pissed that she even came out he didn’t like them drinking. 

“Sure, summer theme right?”

He nodded. “I flirted with you all night.”

Y/n laughed in disbelief. “You did?!”

Niall smirked. “Yeah, then both your guard dogs barked at me for it. You didn’t seem to notice though.”

Y/n giggled. As if Harry cared.

“Y/n that boy has been obsessed with you since forever.”

She rolled her eyes. “No way.”

Niall then in an instant pulled up a photo of the four of them on his phone. Niall, Emma, Harry, and Y/n at a party in the girls first year, they were all dressed up for Pride in rainbows and celebrating. Harry was mooning down at her staring as Y/n grinned under Niall’s shoulder.

“Look at the way he looks at you.”

Y/n smiled, blushing. “God, he’s so annoying.”

“He’s in love,” Niall replied, certain, and Y/n leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

“You are a romantic aren't you, Horan?”

To that, the boy ruffled her hair. “Maybe I actually believe in it now. Are you gonna help me with Paddy?”

She nodded, “Of course, mate,” 

This warm fuzzy feeling stayed with Y/n all the way to the Styles place. The day had turned beautiful so she’d decided to walk there. 

Emma had left to be with Zayn but they promised to see each other at that party that night. Apparently, it was impreative that Y/n come, and now that Niall had begged her she had no choice. 

When Y/n arrived at the flat she found Harry half asleep in his boxers on the couch doing a Uni assignment. Laptop on his lap and a blanket wrapped around him. He looked up at the sound of someone using the key in the door.

She stepped inside smiling at him. God, wasn’t her boyfriend yummy?

“Hey Baby, you walked?” He said happily and was going to get up to greet her but Y/n practically flew on the couch, dumping her bag on the floor and landing in his arms.

She nuzzled into his side and kissed his neck in a warm greeting. 

“Stylessss,” She mewed out, the weight of their practically sleepless night hitting her now as she melted into his side.

“Baby,” He sighed back, a hint of arousal melted down his spine at the way her lips kissed his neck ready to give her anything she asked. Jesus, this girl. His girl. She’d be the death of him. He’d spent half the night making love to her, and now she was doing this, and he was almost ready to go again and she’d hardly touched him.

Harry had to admit to himself that having a girlfriend, especially when it was Y/n was actually rather lovely. If you asked him a few months ago about his thoughts of relationships he’d say he dreaded the idea of being stuck with one person. The idea of being tied to only one, and feeling stuck, but now that he had his Y/n he didn’t feel that at all. He’d gladly stick to her for the rest of his life.

He was completely and utterly besotted with her, so when she looked up at him in her cute little way he knew he’d soon be agreeing to whatever she asked of him.

“Can you do me a favour?” She practically purred, fluttering her lashes and looking up at him. She knew he’d give in, he was a sucker for her eyes. He always talked about how much he loved them, her pretty bedroom eyes.

“What is it, Trouble?” He asked, his pupils already dilating at the way she pressed her hand into his thigh rubbing him with her soft hand. She really was trouble.

She fluttered her eyes at him once more. “I’ll give you anything you want if…” She paused licking her lips and leaning in closer.

“If I what, Trouble?” He asked, biting his lip and lifting his hand to push the hair that had fallen in front of her face away. “Hmm? What is it, Baby?”

She dropped the act, bringing her hands together in a begging motion, “If you pretty please come to this ridiculous party tonight to help Niall with Paddy’s mates? Plus Em was gonna drag me anyway, I need you with me. Pleaseeee!”

Harry groaned throwing his head back against the top of the couch, showing off his neck that was covered in marks from last night. He really had not wanted to anything but sleep and hopefully hangout with his girlfriend in peace.

“Babyyy, we were gonna have a nice night innnn, I’m so tireddd.” Harry whined out his hands covering his face, he’dalready planned a night of binging that silly show Y/n liked and kissing her, a lot.

She nods, pouting, and putting her hands on his shoulders rubbing them softly with her palms. “I know, Baby, I know, but if you do I promise you won’t regret it.”

He looks up, a devilish smirk crossing onto his face. “What will you give me if I do, hmm?”

She smirks back at him and leans forward to plant a kiss on his lips, they taste like toothpaste and strawberries. He must have been eating them before she got here. She lets out a soft little moan against his lips as his hands creep up under her shirt. God, she really can’t get enough of this boy. He’s just..ugh. Her need for him is insatiable.

His hands grip her tighter and he pulls onto his lap urgently. She giggles against his kiss and lets her hands mess with his gorgeous hair, her nails scratching the nape of his neck causing him to sigh out. She pulls back and begins to pepper kisses down his neck and shoulders, over his swallows tattoos and further down. 

“Please?” She asks, pouting her lips and fluttering her beautiful eyes at him. 

He looks at her, “Y/n, don’t do the face.” He’s almost begging because he wants to give this girl the whole world and more, for nothing in return.

She moves off his lap sinking to her knees onto the floor of the plush shag carpet, and she places her hands on his thighs, sitting between his muscular legs. She begins to caress his legs gently, her small delicate hands slowly travelling further and further up his bare legs. “What face?”

He throws his head back for what feels like the thousandth time. “God, Baby,”

She sits up a bit, tucking her feet under her bum, kneeling right before him as her hands travel to his waistband playing with it teasingly. He shivers under her touch arching into it subconsciously. “Should I stop, Styles?”

He shakes his head looking back down at her and biting his lip. “No.” Harry slowly moves one of his down to her face, he rubs warm skin, a big hand cupping her cheek like he’s done many times before. “Such a good girl, aren’t you?”

She kisses the palm of his hand in response and then moves forward to kiss his tiger tattoo on his muscular thigh. He lets go of her face moving his hand into her hair and pushing it back from her eyes. “So pretty, Baby,”

She blushes and then moves her kisses up along his other thigh and nipping at the milky flesh of the inner part of his muscle, leaving a little pink love bite that causes his breath to hitch and dick to rise in his boxers even more. Fuck. She was fucking made for him. No one had ever understood him and his body so well. Not like his Y/n.

He lets go of her face grabs her small hand in his brings it up to his waistband and puts it inside his boxers and she feels him. She slowly pulls his hard throbbing dick out with the help of his hand guiding her. As she lets go it springs up against his tummy and she shuffles closer and looks up at him.

“What do you want, Daddy?” She whispers. “My mouth or my hands?”

Harry smirks bringing his hand yet again to her face dragging a thumb across her glossy lips. 

“Mouth baby.” He drawls, as his hand slides down her throat gently stroking the side of her neck before drifting to her shoulder and pulling her even closer to him.

She leans down, her warm breath fanning against him, as her glossy lips graze his pretty pink tip. Then, one little kitten licks teasing against his glistening cock, and his hands instantly come flying down to her hair. Without much thought, he tugs it back out of her face so she can get to work on him just how he likes.

She purses her lips a trail of spit landing on his hard cock, dripping down all the way to his balls. She opens her mouth and then slowly takes the head of him in her mouth, sucking gently, causing Harry to moan. His thighs flex as he fights not to push up into the back of her tight hot throat.

As Y/n expertly starts to move up and down on him, he clenches his jaw letting out a deep grunt. The part of him Y/n can’t fit in her mouth she grabs with her hand that is already covered in slick from his messy tip. This causes Harry’s thighs to shake a little bit as his hips stutter into her mouth. She makes a choked noise bringing him out of the haze of pure bliss she’d given him. He doesn’t want to be too rough with her, but she’s making it hard.

“Sorry, Petal,” He says, a pinched expression covering his features as he looks down at her. “You just make me feel s’good.”

She has tears in her eyes as she takes him ever deeper, the sight in front of him is downright filthy. His pretty girl takinghis big cock in her little lips, choking and crying over it, all desperate to make him. He watches her, as her throat chokes around him. Y/n fights the urge to stop — her lungs begging for her to take a breath. Harry’s eyes practically roll back in his skull and he moans. 

“Oh, fuck, Trouble.”

She pulls up for a gasp of air, her hand still stroking him at the pace he likes, the trail of spit a mess on him and her hand. His tip is leaking pearls of precum, and his prick twitches in her grasp. Despite her only just starting he feels close, so close. Dangerously, so.

“You can be rougher if you want, Daddy,” She says breathily. “I won’t mind.”

He brings his hand to her face, “C’mere.”

She pouts. “But I promised to take care of you.” She says not moving from her kneeling position.

“I know Baby, and I’m so close to cumming. Pretty fucking mouth. All mine.” He praises gently caressing her head. “But I want you. Need to fuck you.” He asks pleadingly. “Will you let me, Angel?”

Y/n agrees at that and climbs messily onto his lap. He kisses her, with a deep passion that makes her tummy curl deliciously with want. Harry tugs the layers of her clothes off in a mess with rough hands. He’s wild, untamable, not stopping until she’s just in her cute icy blue bra and that skirt with the little tights that drive him wild. He’d always been a sucker for Y/n’s short skirts.

“Are you particularly attached to these tights, Trouble?” He says softly as he peppers kisses down her neck It is making it awfully hard for her to think straight let alone form a coherent sentence.

“Hmm, no, why?” She says breathily, eyes fluttering shut in his firm gentle hold.

His answer is one of his strong hands travelling over the curve of her body to her rounded ass, and clawing at the flimsy fabric until he has access to the pale-coloured knickers she was wearing and better access to her silky supple skin. She tugs his hair and kisses his lips hastily, too horny to care about her tights as he begins to toy with her already-dampened knickers.

She whines into his mouth pulling back as she drags her hips along his exposed, sensitive length. “Mm, fuck, Daddy.”

This causes Harry to falter letting out a deep groan. “You’re s’fucking beautiful. You know tha’?”

Y/n giggles in reply.  Slowly moving her hand from his chest down to in between them, she grabs her knickers pulling them to the side. She knows what she wants, and she’s going to get it. With her slick-covered fingers, she grasps his aching cock. It throbs with want against her palm, and she guides the leaking head to her entrance. She winces at the sting of him, and Harry watches her with hooded eyes as his hands massage her bum. He watches as Y/n slowly takes him inside of her.

The head of him nudging past her folds, her sweet pussy slowly enveloping the rest of him. When Y/n finally sinks all the way down she lets out a straggled cry, Harry groans into her ear trying to keep his pleasure at bay. “Oh fuck, right there.” She whispers into his neck, giving herself a second before she moves.

“You okay, Trouble?” He asks quietly brushing some hair from her face and kissing her hairline.

She looks up into his eyes and nods at him. “I’m good Styles. You?” She whispers back as the burning sensation melts into something of toe-curling pleasure.

He nods as a heart-stopping grin splits across his face and he leans close to place a few kisses on her lips. “I wish I could be inside this pussy, all day, every day. You know that?”

She whines and starts to move a little, grinding forward causing him to graze that spot that makes her eyes roll back, she gasps a little and Harry didn’t know he could be this fucking turned on. She repeats that motion a few times before finally getting her knees in the right position to start bouncing up and down on him. He watches her with those green eyes as Y/n starts to move up and down.

Her hands fly to his hair tugging it, as her lips clash against his messily. Feeling his lips on hers grounds her, her body shakes in pleasure as he grunts from her rough tugs on his hair which only sends shots of pleasure to her tummy. Why hadn’t she tried this position with him sooner? It felt so fucking good she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to last long. He’s so deep like this.

Harry’s hands move from her ass, travelling up her spine, ring-covered fingers gently dragging up her soft skin causing her to shiver, as they eventually fall back to her plush hips and help guide her.

As if he could read her mind, one of his big hands comes between them, right where they connect and he grazes her puffy clit. Pulling back from the kiss to tell her sweet nothings. 

“Keep going, Baby,” He encourages as she keeps up the pace. Making sure each bounce she gets him inside her deeper and deeper. His fingers are still persistent on her causing shockwaves of pleasure to wash over her.

Her hands move to his muscular shoulders and she wraps herself up in his embrace, her face right in his neck as she listens to the moans and sounds he makes. She squeezes her eyes shut and focuses on the rhythm until eventually she feels him pounding against that spongy spot inside her and she cries out involuntarily.

“Fuck, Daddy,” She says breathlessly as he brings her face up to meet his in a kiss. His big hand pawing at her warm cheek. His lips captured all the filthy noises from her mouth but did little to prevent the sounds that filled the room from quietening. Her wet pussy swallowed up his prick greedily, all wet tight and hot on him, as his balls slap against her ass, and their lips smack in a messy kiss.

He wants to stay in this moment forever. The perfect rhythm, like their bodies were always meant to be connected like. Asone. She pulls back with a gasp, her legs beginning to shake from pleasure and strain. “Atta girl,” He says. “Doing so good for Daddy, Baby.”

His hand slides to her throat gently caressing her neck, and she claws at his arm desperately. “I’m close,” 

And just like that all the control and slight dominance she’d had is gone out the window as she begs him to help her through it. Her hips stutter and her bouncing lessens.  “Please, Daddy, can I?”

He nods kissing her nose. “Need some help, Trouble?”

She nods desperately and his hand moves from her throat to around her waist and he holds her still hovering over him, he plunges inside her again but this time he’s the one in control. With no warning he begins to pound into her hitting the sweet spot inside her over and over, but harder than ever. She feels an overwhelming feeling in her tummy as her hole flutters around him.

“Daddy,” She whispers. “M’ guna’ cum. Please, don’t stop.”

Harry has the nerve to chuckle, despite how close he is too, that devilish grin covering his face as he watches her falling apart for him. “Come on Angel, cum for me. Be Daddy’s good girl and cum.”

As his words melt down her spine she cums, just like that. Her eyes squeeze shut and she sees a golden haze of warmth behind her eyelids, the feel of her release is like a crack of thunder as his merciless thrusts inside her do not cease when the peak of her orgasms snaps. She throws her head back and shivers uncontrollably, thighs shaking as she takes him.

Harry continues, and when she finally manages to pry her eyes open and meet his gaze she feels his thrusts go sloppy. She leans in to kiss him, an overwhelming sense of safety and comfort in this bubble fills her mind, and when she pulls back she smiles. 

“Cum, Daddy,” She says. “Wanna feel full of you.”

He moans, his eyes pinching shut, and that's when she feels him shoot inside her. She sighs contently letting him ride the high of his orgasm before they slowly melt into the couch. She didn't dare move yet, even though he’d gone soft. When he opens his eyes she brushes some of his mused hair back. “Kiss me, Styles,”

He leans in, a smirk cast over his face, before pecking her lips.

She smiles at him. “So…what are we wearing at the party tonight?”

He sighs throwing his head back in defeat. He knows he’ll be going, those damn puppy dogs and her little pouty face. He begins leaning in and nudging his nose along her neck. She giggles at the feeling.

“What's the theme?” He drawls.

“Umm..cops robbers and sluts?” Y/n says softly.

Harry looks up at her. “You should go as a robber, Trouble.”

Y/n smiles, puzzled at that comment. “Why?”

He smirks placing one of his hands on his chest. “You’ve stolen my heart,”

She leans in and kisses him. “Good luck getting that one back, sap.”

THANKS FOR READING!!!! XXX

[unabashegirl]

Love Island - part 1

AU. Based on the TV show.

Author's note: Hello everyone, I've been meaning to post this on Tumblr. I hope you like this 10 part series as much as my Patreon followers did. This initial chapter is very short but it's on purpose.

⭐️ Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the Love Island villa. Laughter and splashing echoed as the Islanders basked in the afternoon heat, their spirits high. Y/N lounged on a sunbed, half-listening to Tom, her current partner, as he animatedly recounted his latest gym achievements. She forced a smile, nodding occasionally, but her mind drifted. Each day felt like a mirror of the last, a cycle of sunbathing and surface-level conversations that left her craving something deeper.

Then, a sudden commotion pulled her from her thoughts. Georgia, the self-appointed drama queen of the group, leaped up, her phone held high in the air. “I’ve got a text!”

The excitement was palpable as everyone converged around her, eager to hear the news. Y/N's heart raced with anticipation; a new arrival could break the monotony and shake things up in the villa.

With a flourish, Georgia read aloud: “Islanders, get ready to welcome a new boy! Please head to the front of the villa to greet him. #NewBoyAlert”

Cheers erupted, and the Islanders surged toward the entrance, Y/N caught up in the tide of enthusiasm. As they gathered at the door, playful jabs and speculation flew about the new contestant, each guess more outrageous than the last.

When the door swung open, a wave of heat rolled through the villa. In walked Harry, tall and confident, with tousled dark curls that framed his face and tattoos peeking out from under his arms. He was clad only in dark swimming trunks, showcasing his fit physique. The moment he stepped in, it felt as if the air shifted—a palpable energy filled the space.

“Hey, everyone!” he called, his voice warm and inviting. “I’m Harry. I’m 26, a travel photographer, and I’m here looking for someone special.”

As the group responded with cheers and applause, Y/N felt a jolt of excitement at his casual charm. He seemed so at ease, as if he belonged there, and she found herself drawn to his confidence.

“Travel photographer?” Zara chimed in, her tone flirty. “Sounds glamorous! What’s your favorite place you’ve been?”

“Honestly? It’s tough to pick,” he replied, flashing a charming smile that made Y/N’s stomach flip. “But I’d say Greece has its magic. The sunsets there are something else”, He glanced at Y/N as he said this, and for a moment, their eyes locked, sparking an unexpected connection.

As introductions continued, Harry moved down the line, exchanging light banter and laughter. When he reached Y/N, his gaze lingered, a genuine curiosity dancing in his green eyes.

“So, what’s your name?” he asked, his tone sincere.

“Y/N,” she replied, feeling her heart race under his attention. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“Great to meet you, too, Y/N,” he said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

As the evening wore on, the villa transformed into a cozy gathering spot under the twinkling lights. Y/N found herself outside by the pool, trying to catch her breath from the whirlwind of introductions. The water shimmered invitingly, but her thoughts were consumed by Harry—the way he carried himself, how he seemed genuinely interested in everyone, and that spark in his eyes when they’d connected.

To her surprise, Harry sauntered over, casually lowering himself onto the lounge chair next to her. The warmth of his presence felt comforting, like a breath of fresh air.

“Mind if I join?” he asked, his tone light, but there was a deeper warmth in his voice that made her heart flutter.

“Not at all,” Y/N replied, a smile breaking across her face.

Harry stretched out on the chair, his relaxed posture revealing a confidence that made her feel at ease. “So, what do you make of all this?” he asked, glancing around the villa.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted, glancing up at the stars. “But it can get a bit repetitive. I mean, we’re all here looking for something, but sometimes it feels like we’re just... drifting.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I get that. what’s kept you in here so long?”

She looked up, surprised by his directness. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t strike me as the type who’d settle for just anyone. So, I was curious why you’re still here.”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “You get all that just from looking?”

“Maybe,” he replied casually. “Or maybe I’m just observant. Part of the job, you know.”

Their conversation deepened, revealing snippets of their lives. Y/N found herself sharing stories about her childhood, her passion for art, and how she’d dreamed of traveling but had never found the right person to explore with. Harry listened intently, nodding along, his gaze fixed on her as if she were the only person in the world.

“What about you? What made you want to come on the show?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious.

He hesitated for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “Honestly? I wanted to step out of my comfort zone.” He paused, a soft smile forming. “So far. I am very interested”.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up at his compliment, her heart racing.

As the evening wore on, they exchanged teasing remarks, laughter bubbling between them. With each shared moment, Y/N felt a connection growing—a sense of camaraderie and understanding that she hadn’t felt in a while.

“Well,” Harry said after a while, pushing himself up from the chair, “I guess I’ll see you around”.

“Definitely,” she replied, her smile lingering as he walked away, a sense of excitement coursing through her.

The sun rises on another day in the villa, and it’s not just the temperature heating things up after last night’s new arrival. Our Islanders may have started with some clear choices, but Harry’s arrival has shaken things up... especially for Tom.

The villa was buzzing with morning energy as everyone moved around the kitchen, filling glasses with orange juice and grabbing breakfast. Y/N sat on a lounger, enjoying a quiet moment with her coffee before the day’s inevitable whirlwind of chats. She noticed Tom watching her from across the patio, looking a bit anxious. He made his way over, rubbing his hands together, as if trying to psych himself up.

Tom might have been Mr. Confident last week, but it looks like he’s feeling the heat now that Harry’s in the villa. Will Y/N’s current couple get through this twist unscathed, or will Tom’s nerves get the best of him?

“Morning, Y/N,” Tom greeted, taking a seat beside her. His usual relaxed smile seemed a bit forced today.

“Morning, Tom,” Y/N replied, sipping her coffee and meeting his gaze. She could sense he wanted to say something, and he looked like he was wrestling with the words.

“Listen,” he began, leaning forward. “Last night, with Harry showing up and all... It’s got me thinking. I just wanted to see where your head’s at.” His voice was steady, but she could sense the nervousness under it.

She nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “I get it. It’s all moving fast, isn’t it? I mean, I didn’t expect someone like Harry to walk in and shake things up.”

Tom shifted in his seat, his gaze flicking between her and his hands. “Right. He’s... yeah, he’s something. But, uh... I just want to know if you’re, well, interested. In him. Like, romantically.”

She took a moment, carefully choosing her words. “Honestly, I’m not sure yet, Tom. Harry’s interesting, and he’s definitely got that confident energy. But I’m still figuring things out. I mean, you and I have had a great connection.”

Tom relaxed a little, his shoulders loosening as he nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I thought so too. We’ve been getting on really well. I just—well, I know how this place works. It’s all about testing things and seeing if connections are genuine, but…” He trailed off, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m getting left behind, you know?”

Y/N reached over, resting a hand on his knee to ease his nerves. “Look, Tom, I’m here to find something real, and I do want to see where we could go. But I also don’t want to close myself off from getting to know Harry. It’s early days, and I feel like it wouldn’t be fair to either of us to ignore a potential connection.”

And there we have it, folks. Y/N is caught between Tom’s steady interest and Harry’s unpredictable charm. With Tom hanging on by a thread, will Y/N let go or keep her options open?

Tom’s lips tightened, and he gave a small nod. “Fair enough. I can’t stop you from seeing where things go. I mean, you’re right—it is early days. Just… give me a heads-up if you start to feel like it’s going somewhere else, yeah?”

“Of course,” she assured him, offering him a warm smile. “I’ll always be honest with you, Tom. That’s a promise.”

He smiled, though it looked a bit forced, then let out a sigh, looking back towards the villa. “Right then. Just have to up my game a bit, won’t I?”

Y/N chuckled, nudging him. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Just keep being you.”

But will that be enough, Tom? With Harry’s arrival in the villa, we might just see if Tom can hold his own—or if his steady confidence starts to crack.

After Tom walked off, Y/N settled back into her lounger, taking a slow sip of her coffee. The warmth of the morning sun was comforting, and she let herself enjoy the peace, though her mind kept drifting to Harry.

Across the patio, Harry was surrounded by a small group of girls, each one caught up in his easy charm. There was Georgia, always the first to get a word in; her dark hair bounced as she laughed at one of his jokes, flashing him a look that said she was more than intrigued. Beside her was Chloe, who toyed with her braid as she angled closer, her gaze fixed on him, and Lila, who had barely left his side since his arrival. They all hung on his every word, their laughter blending with his deep chuckles.

Y/N watched him, noticing the way he seemed effortlessly at ease, making each of the girls feel like they were the only ones there. He was charming, no doubt, and that little smirk of his told her he knew exactly what he was doing. There was something magnetic about him; he was the kind of person you couldn’t help but notice.

Then, as if sensing her gaze, Harry’s eyes lifted, meeting hers across the patio. The moment their eyes connected, a playful glint flickered in his. His smile softened, turning into that cheeky grin she was beginning to recognize. He said something to the girls that made them all laugh again, and then, with a quick apology, excused himself from the group.

Y/N’s heart gave a little jump as she saw him walking towards her, the confidence in his stride obvious as he crossed the patio. When he reached her, he didn’t sit right away. Instead, he leaned forward, his arms resting on the back of her lounger, his face close enough that she could catch the faint scent of the sea on his skin.

“Morning,” he said, his voice smooth, that smirk never leaving his lips. “Didn’t expect to catch you staring.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Staring? I was just observing… thought I’d get a better sense of what all the fuss is about.”

He chuckled, settling himself on the edge of her lounger without breaking eye contact. “Ah, so you were curious, then. Good to know I’ve got your attention, even if just a little.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. “I was just checking to see if you were actually as charming as you think you are.”

He tilted his head, feigning contemplation. “And? What’s the verdict, then?”

She shrugged, pretending to consider it. “I think it’s too early to tell. But I’ll let you know if you manage to impress me.”

Harry leaned back, grinning. “Challenge accepted. I’m a big fan of keeping things interesting. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t come over here to see if I could learn a bit more about you too.”

“Oh, really?” she teased, crossing her arms as she watched him. “So, the big mystery man’s got questions?”

“Maybe one or two.” His gaze softened, the playful edge giving way to a hint of sincerity. “Like, what exactly is a girl like you looking for in here?”

She held his gaze, considering her answer for a moment. “Honestly, someone genuine,” she said, her tone earnest. “It’s easy to get caught up in all the surface stuff, but I’m hoping to find something real. Something that lasts.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Right. Thought I’d take a risk, try something new.” His voice softened, a touch of vulnerability creeping in. “Been a while since I let anyone in.”

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade. She felt a spark, a warmth that hadn’t been there before, and she knew he felt it too.

“Alright then, Harry the risk-taker,” she said, breaking the silence with a playful smile. “Let’s see if you’re as good as you say.”

Harry’s cheeky grin returned, the playfulness back in his eyes. “Oh, you’ve got no idea what I’m capable of, Y/N.”

Looks like Y/N’s little morning coffee break has turned into something a bit more steamy than she bargained for. With Tom on edge and Harry moving in, she may have her hands full. So, who’s in it for the long haul? Stay tuned.

--> part 2

[jarofstyles]

All Night Long

Hi my ducklings! This is a one shot about 70’s rockstar H. Loosely inspired by the song All Night Long by rainbow. Very random but I’ve been meaning to do something like his for ages! 🎸🥀💫

Check out our Patreon for early access and 260+ exclusive writings 🫢

WC- 7k 

Warnings- talks of being with other people (from both), unprotected sex, oral, impact play/ spanking, light possessive behavior, etc

Every night was similar, but there was always a different crowd. A different energy. A different section would hold their lighters up first, creating the domino effect until the entire arena was lit up, making his heart swell. Music had always been his thing, and it always would be. Getting picked up on a whim after stopping into the very last label with nothing but his acoustic guitar, which he had aptly named Betty, and a duffle bag on his back? It had been a sheer stroke of luck for both the label and himself. 

He was quickly on the rise. The radios playing his songs, record sales reaching new heights, and money he had never even dreamt of seeing. When he’d arrived in Los Angeles, his dream had been to make it big- but the real goal had been to make enough money to keep his mum and grab afloat back in England. The glitz and the glamour had appealed to him always- he wouldn’t lie- but he knew his true values. Some may have changed or slipped along the way, but Harry knew what he wanted from a young age- and that hadn’t changed now as he sat in his dressing room, undone from the show he’d just preformed. Glitter still clung to his slightly damp skin, liner smudged on his waterline barely there, but there was no denying exactly what he was. 

A star. 

He had adapted surprisingly well. In his head, he attributed it to being slightly delusional. Growing up he had always said this was what he was going to do. Constantly getting told off for being a show off, singing on the street corners, finding any gig he could, he had long dreamed for a time like this. The grammy’s were two weeks away and he’d be playing a string of shows in California on the way there- the California Lovin’ tour. $9 a ticket was considered pricey by some, but they were all sold out. The label was happy and the man himself was happy- but something was missing. 

The last four shows, a notable figure had been missing from the crowd. Her long hair wasn’t swaying as she bobbed to the music, no drink in her hand. The alluring energy she always brought when she eyed him up and locked gazes as he gyrated against the mic stand was missing. The flames of heat hadn’t licked up the sides of his stomach when she wrapped her lips around the pink straws he had at his venues. She wasn’t there at all, and that wasn’t something he liked. He’d grown fond of her, his little dove. It seemed she had flown away for a bit, but when she had come right back to him tonight? He had every intention of keeping her in his golden cage along with him. 

 Harry leaned back against the plush velvet couch, his long legs stretched out before him as he watched her walk in, shutting the door firmly behind her. Finally. His body relaxed slightly as she was finally in front of him again, where he was fairly certain she belonged. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips as he eyed her appreciatively. Gorgeous legs highlighted by a tiny little shift dress, long hair swaying behind her back- it was in pretty waves tonight, with a scarf tied around her head like a headband-, arms crossed as the slightly faded red lips quirked up in a smirk at the sight of the man in front of her. 

Y/N had always been gorgeous- stunning, even. She was someone that had taken his breath away mid song, making him cough as he pulled away from the mic. Between the next song he had bent down to his main guard to tell him to get her backstage as soon as he was off. He knew just from the first time with her it would be a repeat thing, but he had underestimated the hold she would have on him. Being out of it the last few shows had been unacceptable, but with his little dove flying free, his mind wasn’t all there. 

It was fucked, and no one else had brought his mind back down to earth.

 "Been searching for you all night, love. Thought maybe you'd gotten lost in the crowd. Y’know I like to see a pretty face when m’singing." He tapped the ash off his cigarette, patting the seat beside him. The rings had been discarded onto the coffee table, right into the little tray that his gran had brought him the first time he’d been able to afford to send them both tickets to fly here. "Come sit, dove. Tell me what's kept my favorite girl away so long."

“Couple’a bands been in town lately, Styles.” She murmured, slinking over to his side. Heeled boots were kicked off to the side, she got comfortable on the all too familiar couch as she stole his cigarette from his lips to take a drag. Exhaling the smoke right in his face, she gave him a laugh at his wrinkled nose before collapsing back into the seat. “Wanted to taste the flavors. Been getting too comfortable backstage with you.” 

Y/N wasn’t dumb. As much as she knew she had gained a bit of a reputation, she was smart about it. She knew how the rockstars were. regardless of having a favorite girl, a muse, as he had once called her, her mind didn’t sugar coat it- no matter how tempted she was to add caramel to the slightly burnt thought. Y/N was a groupie. There was no illusion that she was something truly special to him, even if she wanted to be. 

Living this sort of way, you had to protect your emotions. Musicians were emotional and sugary creatures. They may feel that you’re their soulmate in the moment, but when the sun rises and the post orgasm clarity hit- or the high came down- they were ready to find the next thing. A new girl, a new flavor. They had the entire world to sample so she couldn’t exactly say that she blamed them. But some of the girls came into this thinking they’d snag a rockstar forever. A few, very select ones did. It didn’t last too long, usually. A tour cycle, perhaps, but they were left in the dust after the fact. Writing and calling became too hard for the stars and their little muses melted into faded memories and lyrics they sang of on the stage. Their presence in their minds because two minutes and forty seconds as they preformed the songs and faded back into the obscurity after they moved onto the next. 

Y/N was looking to have fun. Not getting hurt.

Y/N was good at being trouble, and trouble always made things interesting. The smoke curled around them as he reached out to snatch it back, taking a long drag before crushing it out in the ashtray beside him. "Flavours, huh?" He repeated, his gaze narrowing on hers. "Y’mean you've been out there fucking other bands, love?" His tone was light, teasing even, but there was a hint of something else beneath the surface.

No, he didn’t like that. Not one bit. She didn’t want to admit that it pleased her that he had any reaction at all.

“Mhm.” The girl nodded, stretching her legs out in front of her. She would say that he wouldn’t get the pain of heels, but the size of the chunky heel on his boots he preformed in sometimes rivaled hers- so she bit her tongue. “I’m sure you had a few other girls back here too cause I wasn’t here.” That was how it was supposed to work. These musicians? They were dripping in pussy. Or ass, depending on what they wanted. Life was a piece of cake for them despite the slightly grueling days. She had followed enough of ‘em around to know to expect it.

Running his hands through his messy waves, he let out a laugh - genuine but with an undercurrent that hinted at something more. It didn’t please him to know that she was out there with god knows fuckin’ who. Jagger? Please. That fucker didn’t have shit on him.  "Maybe I fucked other birds, love." He shifted closer, intentionally invading her space. He wanted to smell her again, the spicy vanilla, incense- he knew it was Ciara by Revlon because she’d had it in her bag last time she went back to his bus. "But they didn't mean shit. None of 'em have your mouth, or those legs.." His hand moved to brush against her thigh, testing her reaction. "You know I always save the best for you." His voice dropped lower, more intimate as he gaged her reaction. They weren’t promised to each other, nothing like that- but it did burn him a bit to think of sharing.

Y/N clenched her jaw before relaxing it, cursing herself for feeling the telltale heat rising between her legs. Her traitorous pussy. It always did this around Harry. He always illicted some sort of heat that made her want to start panting,  roll over and spread her legs. It had been hard to beat, and no one had- even if she had gone off to try and chase the feeling with other people. The man was addicting, and it was precisely why she had made herself miss a few shows to go fuck. As much of a maneater as she wanted to claim to be, her soft spot for the man was dangerous. “Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re flattering me to get laid. Again.”

Harry snorted, amused at her bluntness. He could never accuse Y/N of being anything less than straight-forward. It was refreshing, actually. Most girls would swoon at his flirtations, simper and blush. Not Y/N. She called him on his bullshit and it appealed to him more than she would ever be able to know. In a world where people bullshit him daily for money, sex, tickets, whatever- an honest woman was a rarity in it. A little treasure. A smirk played about his lips as he leaned back, lounging deliberately, showing off his arms as he stretched them over his head. He’d been getting workouts in every day and keeping up… and he knew his arms were her favorite things to bite. "Is that what you think, little dove?"

“Mhm. It’s what I know.” Y/N knew the song and dance. She knew him better than she portrayed. At least, she was confident she did. 

Harry was interesting, a bit weird, and he wasn’t exactly like the other men- but he was similar enough. The same song and dance, but with him it was a different tune. Another octave, maybe. He sat in his dressing room shirtless, with his glittery trousers hanging off his hips, and he’d made sure one of his crew had grabbed her from the crowd. She knew he would be wanting her. Making them wait would work on normal guys, but she had tested the theory with him.

"Well… maybe you're right." He admitted, leaning closer with a slow smile. Most girls would get their panties wet right now at seeing him like this - but Y/N just rolled her eyes again, completely unimpressed. It shouldn't have turned him on so much, but fuck it really did. He reached over, intentionally letting his fingers brush against her thigh again as he put his pack of cigarettes from the table. "Did they disappoint then? S’why you came back to me? Couldn’t get you off the way you want it?"

No one would be able to make her get off the way Harry could. People joked he had magic fingers, that everything he touched turned into a beautiful song- but it was true. Y/N sang for him every time he sucked on her clit or dug as deep as he could inside of her cunt, he knew how to make her cum so quickly her head spun. Multiple times, if given the night with him. It was part of why it was so infuriating. How did he manage to make her feel so good? “Don’t get a big head.” She scoffed, rolling her head to look at him.

He snickered, the sound low and raspy as it echoed in the room. Harry knew exactly what he did to her, how he made her feel. And fuck if he didn’t love it. Loved the way her body responded to him, the way she came undone under his touch. Letting his lips brush her skin his breath was hot against her ear as he spoke. "Too late, love. Already got a big head." He paused, his hand sliding up her thigh slowly, fingertips underneath the hem of her dress. "And it's not the only thing that's big. Y’know that very well."

Letting out a shaky breath, Y/N hated herself for letting her legs open up a little for him. As much as she wanted to resist him? She didn’t. She wanted his hands, his mouth, his cock. Everything, so long as he was the one touching her. She craved the filthy words of his as he got her cockdrunk and whimpering. So far, he was the only one prancing around a stage singing about sex that could actually uphold his lyrics. He loved pussy, he loved sex, and he was good at making other people love it too. “Stop being smug.” She huffed, trying to hold on to the irritation.

Harry just grinned at her, knowing he had her right where he wanted her. He loved the way she tried to hold onto her anger, her irritation with him. It was fucking adorable. It only made him want her more. "If you want me to stop, just say the word. Y’know I will." He challenged, his hand sliding even higher up her thigh until his fingers were brushing against the lace of her panties. He could feel the heat of her through the thin material, and it made his own body temperature rise in response. "I don’t think you want me to, though. I think you and this pretty pussy missed me far too much.”

His tone was wicked as his finger traced the edge of her panties, deliberately pressing against the fabric covering her clit. "All those dicks not hitting the right spots... were they?" His voice dropped to a whisper, like velvet against her ear. "Did you miss my tongue on your pussy, dove?  You try to fuck other people but ended up thinking of how deep I can go. What a shame." His other hand came up to lightly pinch at her bottom lip. "You can sit there pretending you don't want it, but this cunt’s weeping for me."

Her eyes darkened as his fingers teased her clit through the lace. Her jaw tightened, teeth sinking into her bottom lip to hide a whimper- but he didn’t let it stay there, pulling it from between her teeth. He watched those beautiful thighs clamp together slightly, giving herself the tiniest bit of relief. His dirty words didn't help her at all. They only made her more fucking wet. "Don't flatter yourself." She threw back at him, voice slightly tighter than before.

Harry chuckled darkly, his fingers idly tracing the seat of her panties, feeling the heat seeping through. "Too fucking bad, love. I can see right through you. And your cunt is screaming for my attention." His thumb pressed down on her clit, circling it slowly through the fabric. "You're so wet, baby. Should have just asked me for something different if you wanted to switch it up. Now you know no one else is going to cut it, so you came back t’who you knew could.” It would be a lie to say that didn’t stroke his ego.

 Harry loved being good at things. Singing, songwriting, guitar, art, poetry, exercises, selling out arenas- but most of all, being able to make someone orgasm. To be the best they ever had. For some reason, it felt a lot more important to be the best Y/N’s ever had, and now he gets to prove it. “And I’ll do it well enough that you won’t be under any fuckin’ delusion that anyone else can make you feel as good as I can."

She gasped, back arching slightly as his thumb pressed against her clit with more pressure, her mouth fell open, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before snapping back open to glare at him. "Fuck you." She hissed, trying to sound angry, but it came out breathy and weak. Her hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more pressure, more friction. It pissed her off, looking at him as he watched with a smirk as her chest heaved with ragged breaths, her nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric of her dress- but it also turned her on. Why was his arrogance arousing? 

"Language, dove." He teased, increasing the pressure on her clit, feeling her wetness soak through the lace completely. "Look how needy you are right now. All that attitude but this pussy's crying for me." His other hand slid up her stomach, fingertips brushing the underside of her breast. Her dress was lovely, but it would need to go soon. Y/N was far too gorgeous to be covered up, especially with him. She was a piece of art. She’d no idea the songs she had already written about her, the things he wanted from her. "You missed my cock too much to even fake it with another man properly." He pressed harder on her clit, making her legs tremble. She had no idea how much that pleased him.

"You know what I love most about you, my little dove?" He whispered, his voice low and husky. "How fucking honest your body is. You can roll your eyes, stomp your feet,  give me shit all you want, but this pussy... it doesn't lie." He pressed a soft kiss to her neck, feeling her pulse quicken under his lips. "It knows what it wants. And right now, it wants me."

She shuddered as his lips brushed her neck, pulse jumping wildly beneath his touch. Her eyes narrowed, a furious blush staining her cheeks as she tried desperately to maintain her glare. "Up yours, Styles." She spat, even as her thighs parted further involuntarily, inviting more of his teasing.

Harry laughed at her defiance, loving the way she tried to maintain her tough exterior while her body betrayed her completely. Without warning, he slid his fingers underneath the lace of her panties and gave her swollen clit a sharp, deliberate smack. The sound echoed through the room - a wet, intimate slap that made both of them gasp. 

Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms—the only way to keep from grabbing him. "Don't flatter yourself. I just—ah!"

"Now, now. Enough of that.” He crooned, condescending as he rubbed back over her cunt, letting his palm rest over it. It was pure art that her hips moved up on their own accord, grinding into it. “I love you bein’ bitchy, but I think you’re getting a bit too worked up. S’been a few days since you’ve properly came, hm? We can take care of that now.” That was probably why she was even more irritated, and he was more than happy to help.

"Oh, fuck off." Y/N snapped, her face flushed with her annoying juxtaposition of arousal and annoyance. "You don't know shit all about me or my habits." She glared up at him, but her voice hitched as he continued to circle her clit. Harry just chuckled, the sound making her bristle. It was infuriating how much any part of the man affected her. She’d messed around with a lot of different stars, gotten her fill, but it never made her feel the way that his hands on her did. Electric.

"Don't I?" He murmured, before suddenly smacking her clit again - harder this time. The sound echoed through the room, and Y/N cried out, her hips jerking up off the couch. “I don’t think you would have come rolling back here if I didn’t know what you liked. You woulda’ moved on to the next man with his name in lights. Instead-“ His fingers swatted her again as she hitched her hips. “You came crawlin’ back to me.”

"Goddammit!" She growled, her face contorting. Her thighs tried to snap shut, but Harry was between them, keeping them where he wanted. It was obvious he got what he wanted, and she was cursing herself for wanting to give it to him. His fingers were back to rubbing lazy circles around her entrance, teasing. "You hit like a girl." She sneered, trying to regain some sort of upper hand. "No wonder you need a guitar to get laid." He threw his head back and laughed. He loved her mouth. It was like napalm - burning and dangerous.

Harry's eyes glinted with amusement at her biting remark, but he wasn't about to let her get the last word. With a swift motion, he tugged her panties to the side, exposing her dripping cunt. "Funny, this pretty little pussy doesn't seem to mind how I hit." He purred, slipping a long finger inside her without preamble. She gasped, back arching as he filled her, his fingertip curling just right to graze the spot he had become well acquainted with. "On the contrary, little dove- I think she really likes it. Look at how she’s dripping for me.”

Harry pumped his finger slowly,  feeling her clench around him desperately. "Funny how wet this needy cunt gets when I smack it. You can huff and puff all you want, princess, but we both know you fuckin' love it." He added another finger, stretching her deliciously as his thumb circled her clit. "Went off to get laid and it was for nothin’. I know they didn't make this pussy sing like I can. You’re wound up like you were the first show I got t’fuck you."

Y/N's breath hitched as he added another finger, her eyes fluttering closed despite her best efforts to maintain her defiant gaze. Her hips bucked against his hand, seeking more friction, more depth. A soft moan escaped her lips, betraying the pleasure she was feeling. She bit down on her lip hard enough to leave marks, trying to suppress the sounds of enjoyment that threatened to spill out.  Hands gripped the couch cushion tightly, knuckles turning pale as she fought against the overwhelming sensation of his fingers moving inside her. Thick, long and skilled, she fought herself valiantly- but it was nearly impossible not to lift her hips and chase them.

 It was infuriating that he was right.

 She hated letting men get a big head over shit like this, but it was undeniable. Harry was the best fuck in the entire industry, and he had the skills to prove it to her right now. The very skills etched into the horniest corners of her brain. Even those weren’t enough to have her pretending anyone else she’d laid with could compare to him. The reality was that he ruined her, a reality she didn’t want to accept.

"Look at you, trying so hard to act like you don't want this." Harry whispered, his breath hot against her ear as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of her slowly. "Like you didn't come back here just for me to fuck this pretty cunt in the ways I know you like." He curled his fingers, rubbing that spot inside her that made her see stars. “You wouldn’t have had t’be missing it at all if you’d just kept comin’ to my shows. The music’s better- and so is the private encore.” 

"Goddammit." She whimpered, throwing her head back. Y/N could feel herself getting wetter, slicker, more needy - just like he said. He was right. She was a damn liar, she wanted his cock, and it was pointless to deny it. "Harry." She hissed warningly when he hit that spot again. "Stop being right."

Harry laughed deeply, the sound rumbling in his chest. He loved the way she tried to maintain her bad girl persona, even when she was writhing on his fingers like this. His lips captured hers without warning, swallowing any further sounds she might make. He kissed her deeply, aggressively - tongues fighting for the upper hand as his fingers sped up inside her. He ate up her moans, his free hand tangling in her hair.

The man kissed like he owned her. It was hard to deny that in moments like this, he sort of did. She had no intention of fighting back as he finger fucked her, kissing her and tasting the roof of her mouth and sucking on her tongue as she felt him groan into her lips. It was filthy- everything about the man was- but it was exactly the stuff she wanted.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this." He murmured against her lips, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against hers. His fingers never stopped moving, never stopped driving her closer to the edge. "All pretty and disheveled with my fingers buried deep in this tight little cunt. Tell me, love. How many of them got you this wet?" He nipped at her bottom lip, his voice low and possessive before he soothed the sting. "None of 'em could make you feel as good as I can, could they?"

Y/N's defiance finally crumbled as another wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her hands flew to grip his hair, nails digging into his scalp as she held on for dear life. "Fuck you," she whimpered, but there was no bite behind it anymore. Just raw honesty in her husky voice. "None of them ever made me feel like this." She arched into him, shamelessly riding his fingers now. "You ass." The insult was breathed out like a prayer as he simply smirked against her.

"That's right, love." He praised, his fingers curling perfectly inside her as his thumb pressed down hard on her clit. "Only I can make this greedy little pussy sing. Only I know just how to touch you to make you fall apart." He leaned in to whisper in her ear, his voice dark and commanding. "So why don't you be a good girl and get on those knees, get my cock wet so I can fill this cunt up?” He slipped his fingers out of her, cooing softly at her whine at being empty. “You were a smart enough girl to wrap it up with them, right?”

He pulled back slightly to look at her face, knowing the sight of his shiny fingers coated with her wetness would drive her wild. His voice dropped to a lower register, pure sex. "Because fuck me, love, I think… I want to bury my dick deep inside you, nice n’bare. Want you to feel every inch as I stretch you tight..." His thumb, still slick with her arousal, traced her bottom lip. "And I know you want the same."

If anyone else heard him say it, they’d probably threaten his contract on the spot. Drag him out with his pants round his ankles, right by his hair. A baby wasn’t something he should chance, but his impulsiveness in this moment wasn’t purely for his own pleasure. It was to go deeper with her than he’d done before. Maybe he was out of his mind, but he didn’t want to feel a thing there. He wanted someone no one else got to have.

Y/N's pupils were blown wide, her chest heaving with heavy breaths. She nodded eagerly, her tongue darting out to taste herself on his thumb. "Please," she whimpered, her voice dripping with desperation. It wasn’t something she’d ever consider with anyone else. Despite the other girl’s dreams of rock star babies, she wasn’t for that at all- but having Harry that uninterrupted? 

Maybe she’d be stupid. Just this once. 

"I'm on the pill... just fuck me, Harry. Fuck me raw." Her hands were already moving to unbutton his trousers, her eyes locked onto his with a fierce hunger. "I want to feel you finish inside me." It was irresponsible and something she knew she shouldn’t do but it would be a lie to say she didn’t think about it often. It wasn’t something she’d done before with anyone at all- famous or not- always making sure they wrap it up- but Harry? That was… different. As much as she didn’t want to admit it- at all- he was different in all the ways.

"Fuck yes." he hissed, quickly unbuttoning his trousers and pushing them down. His fully hard cock sprang free, already leaking. In all honesty, he’d been worked up since the sight of her had graced his eyes during the opening number, and it was well enough time to get it taken care of. He grabbed her hair in one hand, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. It took her a moment to scramble down onto her knees, but she did it easily. It was a place she was more than familiar with now, and he had to admit she looked the best there.

 He’d had plenty of women, but none of them looked at his cock the way she did- like she was hungry for it. "Look at you, so ready to take my cock like a good girl." His voice was strained as he guided her mouth towards him, fingers wrapped in her hair. "Look at those pretty lips..." He ran his free hand over his cock, stroking it firmly as her breath washed over him. "Get it wet, y know how I like- Christ..." he gasped, watching her spit directly on the head of his cock before he had even finished his sentence.

 It dripped down the length, making it slick and glistening. Her dirty little habit of prepping his dick was fucking perfection every time. "You're such a- fuck." He tightened his grip on her hair, guiding her head forward slowly. "A dirty fucking girl." The way she looked up at him with those bedroom eyes drove him wild. "Suck me right, dove. Show me that you missed it."

As she took him into her warm, wet mouth, he let out a loud groan. She knew exactly how to move her tongue, how to apply the perfect amount of pressure with her lips. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked hard, just like he loved. He started to gently thrust his hips, fucking her mouth slowly. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing over her bottom lip as he watched himself disappear between her lips. "So fucking good." He praised, his voice strained with pleasure.

Her mouth was a goddamn masterclass in sucking cock. Y/N took him deep, her tongue swirling around the sensitive underside of his shaft before sucking hard on the head. He could feel her saliva coating him, making his cock glisten and slick. She knew exactly how to use her hands too, one wrapping around the base of his cock while the other cupped his balls gently, rolling them in her palm. "Fucking hell," he groaned, his hips moving faster as he fucked her mouth deeper.

"Goddamn. You really do love it." he laughed incredulously. He’d had a pretty good feeling of it, but actually feeling it in her actions was something that made him feel that bone deep satisfaction. With his deep breathing, he tried to commit the very vision of her mouth stretched around his cock to memory. His fingers tightening in her hair unconsciously as she gagged just a bit before pulling up, letting the spit drool down to his sac with little hesitation. Y/N knew he liked it messy.

In fact, she knew how to make him lose control quickly - too quickly. He'd had plenty of blow jobs, but none that made his body tense up and his balls draw tight like hers. He could feel his release building fast - too fast- and he needed to stop it before he blew. He pulled back sharply, his length shiny with spit. "Damn you," he muttered, watching her lick her lips innocently. "One more suck like that and I'd be coming down your throat."

Fluttering her lashes at him, she let out a giggle as she licked back over the length of his cock, letting him rub the tip over her tongue before pulling her back. He’d asked her to get it wet, and she’d done just that.

"Fucking tease." he growled, but there was no real anger behind it. More like frustration and desire. He yanked her up by her hair, his mouth crashing against hers in a rough, demanding kiss. He could taste himself on her tongue and it only turned him on more. "Need to be inside you." he muttered against her lips, spinning her around and bending her over the couch. "Gonna fill that little cunt up like I promised."

Making sure she was comfortable in the position, he pushed her face down to rest against the arm of the couch. This was a view he’d never tire of either. Her body was a dream, something he was obsessed with when he closed his eyes. The obsession had only continued to build as the days went on. 

He rubbed the thick head of his cock up and down her slick folds, coating himself in her arousal. The sensation made him grunt, his fingers digging into her hips. "Fuck me, little dove. You're soaked." he groaned, feeling her wetness smear over his length. He circled her clit teasingly with the tip, making her shudder and whimper. "Look at how eager this greedy pussy is." He teased, pressing the head against her entrance but not pushing in yet.

"Such a pretty little cunt. All swollen and needy..." he continued to taunt her, pressing just the tip inside her before pulling back. He knew she hated this - hated when he made her beg. And fuck if it didn't make him harder. She bucked her hips backwards trying to force him inside, and he merely snickered at the efforts. "So impatient, love." He smacked her ass hard enough for a handprint to form. "Ask nicely, hmm?" His voice was pure sin - knowing exactly how she wanted it.

Y/N whimpered, her nails digging into the couch cushions. She hated how much he liked to toy with her, how much he loved to make her beg. But fuck, she was so desperate for his dick right now, she'd suck his ego up if she needed to. "Please," she choked out, her voice strained with need. "Fuck me, Harry. Please, fill me up." Her voice was so soft, so pleading - it was like music to his ears.

"That’s my girl. Going t’give it to you." He promised, finally lining himself up and slamming home in one smooth stroke. He groaned loudly, feeling her tight walls stretch around him beautifully.  Pulling back almost completely, he thrusted right back into her again, hard enough to make her cry out. His pace was punishing, meant to make her feel every inch of him.

Make her remember who fucked her cunt this good.

"So perfect, baby. Like your pussy was made just for my cock." He grunted, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave marks. He could feel her inner muscles fluttering around him, trying to pull him in deeper. It was different being inside of her with no rubber, no barrier at all. Hotter, more wet. It was a raising fear that he wouldn’t ever be happy with another pussy ever again, but that was something he’d unpack while he plucked at his guitar strings later on. "You like that? You like being stretched out on my dick?" He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust, his balls slapping against her clit. "Seems like you do. You're so fucking greedy for it."

He watched as her fingers gripped the couch tighter, her breathing coming in short, sharp gasps each time he bottomed out inside her. Her body was tense, completely focused on the overwhelming sensation of being filled. Small whimpers slipped past her lips with every thrust, her attempts to bite back noises completely futile. The handprint on her ass looked perfect against her skin, and the sight of his cock disappearing into her wet pussy was the most obscene, beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Look at you, taking it so well," he praised, his voice gruff. He leaned over her, his chest pressed against her covered back as he wrapped an arm around her waist. His hand snaked down between her legs, finding her clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. "Such a good girl, taking my big cock so deep. I know you’ve been so disappointed lately…” the condensing sneer made her grit her teeth. “But I’m here to make it all better. Make sure you know how can do this to you- the only person who can." He rolled his hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. The onkk man that had been able to get at.

"Oh god," she whimpered, surrendering the bratty act. It felt too good, pleasure all consuming, for her to keep it up. There was no denying that it was embarrassing how quickly he could make her orgasm, how good he could make her feel in a matter of moments. She’d blame it on not having a proper orgasm in a weeks time, but deep down she knew it was him.

It was always Harry. 

He had ruined her and it was all his stupid fault. He had managed to make her go insane by default. Harry and his charming smile and filthy words, his glittery outfits and chunky rings, his large platformer boots and soft hands with guitar made callouses to break them up. Harry fucking Styles and his fluffy wavy hair and dimpled cheeks and his big, perfect cock that had made her into a melted puddle on the velvet couch of his dressing room- a place she was going to keep going back to until he wouldn’t have her anymore. 

"Baby, please... Oh fuck, Harry!" He felt her internal walls squeeze him tight as he hit that perfect spot over and over. Her legs began to tremble, and he knew she was close. So close.

 "Shhh, my little dove," he crooned against her ear, his voice soothing despite the dirty promises he was whispering and how deep his cock was inside of her. "Just let go, let me feel you come all over my dick. Show me how much you missed it."

He felt her body tense, her back arching as she let out a loud, uninhibited cry of pleasure. Her pussy clamped down on him like a vice as she came undone, her orgasm ripping through her and dripping all over his cock. It took everything to keep himself from spilling inside of her right there, but it was too soon. There was still more to prove to her, specifically that he was the only one that was going to be able to make her feel the way she wanted. He continued to thrust through it, his fingers still working her clit and drawing out her high. "That's it, love. That's my girl," he praised, his own release building rapidly.  "You're so fucking perfect like this. So perfect for me." 

Harry was going to write about this. After he took her back to his bus, then his hotel, he’d take his notebook out and write lyrics about how heavenly it felt to be inside of her, how the warmth could be felt in his bones. How being squeezed tight brought him to another dimension. Y/N’s cunt was top tier, and having her underneath him showed him that much. He’d lay her in the bed in one of his shirts and let her sleep as he mulled through how she made him feel. 

Considering he hadn’t had any plans on committing to anyone, Y/N had been a curveball in every sense of the word, but he didn’t like the ugly feeling that had come up at the knowledge she had been with someone else. If she wanted a threesome, he could make that happen- an orgy, if that was what tickled her fancy- but he wanted to be the one she came back to. 

His little spitfire, his little dove, his groupie, his. That’s what she was meant to be, and he was going to prove it.  Once her orgasm subsided enough that she wasn’t trembling, he pulled out, flipping her over onto her back with surprising ease. She barely had a moment to catch her breath before he was aligning himself at her entrance again, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Hope you're not done yet, love," he teased, rubbing his hard cock against her sensitive clit. "Because I'm far from finished with you."

[harrystylesland]

Fated Mate [Part I]

werewolf, alpha!harry x omega!reader

Warnings: age gap, mild degradation, daddy kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, controlling and abusive parental figure, mentions of sexual abuse, 18+ ONLY

┈ㆍ┈ㆍ⨯ * ₊ ୨ ♡ ୧ ₊ * ⨯ㆍ┈ㆍ┈

» Y/N «

“Is she an omega?” The red-haired woman sitting at the table next to mine gasps as her stare connects with me.

I toss my hair back, revealing the bonding gland located at the back of my neck. The circular organ is spongy and firm, with no bite marks on it. I’m proud of being unmated, but not many people think that way.

Her voice becomes strangled and choked when I caress the fleshy spot at the nape of my neck, gliding my fingers across it sensually. If there were any alphas around here, they’d go feral with lust. An omega proudly announcing her single unmated status is considered the equivalent of spreading your legs and displaying your pussy in public.

Conservative people think it’s an invitation for unwanted alphas to stake their claim.

Even though society has come far since the time when omegas had to be married and reproducing by the time they were eighteen, the expectation that an omega will find a mate by twenty one and get knocked up with her alpha’s children still persists in society.

The whispers around me grow.

As an omega, it’s impossible to go unnoticed in public. I stand out because of my body. I’m a walking temptation and I don’t try to hide it. Why bother? Everybody is bound to figure out that I’m an omega eventually.

I have also been told that I smell like milk and vanilla. A smell that captivates any alphas—both human and shifter—in my vicinity.

“Here’s your order. Enjoy!” The café’s assistant—a pretty beta girl—sets my café latte on the table, followed by a slice of strawberry shortcake. I love having something sweet in the morning. It’s my pick-me-up.

“Thanks.” I mumble before returning my attention to the book I’m reading.

The smell of fresh coffee swirls around me. I like this café because it’s open to only omegas and betas. It’s a safe space free from aggression and danger. Nowadays, there are many eateries and restaurants targeted at only omegas and betas, which has made it easier for omegas and betas to feel safe as they move into society.

My mind latches onto the words on the page. Heck, the erotic images that these romance novels paints have me lusting for my own happily-ever-after with a man who can keep me satisfied forever.

He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back before he kissed her…

I can feel a wet spot forming in my panties. The urge to stroke my intimate lips nags me. Reading romance novels makes me horny. It also reminds me of how good I can get railed if I try. It has been weeks since I had sex with anyone. I’m close to my heat—that period when I constantly drip with the need for a thick cock.

I skim my hands over my thighs, grabbing my flesh and loving how soft I feel. I love this part of being an omega. Omegas have the constant need to be filled and taken care of, which is why they were considered whores in the past. But I love my sexual side. It makes me feel alive.

The red-haired woman stares at me as I bring the coffee cup to my lips. I purr when the hot bitter liquid slides down my throat.

She coughs awkwardly. I smile at her, trying to look cocky. She’s a beta so she doesn’t fall for my sex appeal. Instead, she goes back to gossiping with her friends.

Most beta female—both human and shifter—have a different body structure. Less feminine and less curvy. They don’t have wide hips to carry a pack of babies nor huge breasts for their offspring to suckle milk from. My body was designed to give birth to and nurture healthy children.

I don’t hate the fact that I look fertile and lush. I’ve decided to own my curves and femininity. I use it to fulfill my own sexual needs. After all, my in-your-face fertility and softness make me a catch to men.

The heat from the coffee is settling in my stomach and spreading through my groin. I press my thighs together, trying to contain the stream of moisture leaking from my pussy. I can’t contain the insistent need for sexual intercourse.

That’s it.

I need a warm body on top of me and a big cock drilling into me tonight. Otherwise, I won’t get through tomorrow.

I whip out my phone and click on the blue square with a pink omega symbol inside it. It’s one of my favorite apps.

Omega Love Finder.

I downloaded it a year ago and it has given me my best sexual experiences.

I scroll the forbidden sex app under the table, sipping my drink as the women around me continue to make assumptions about me.

It took me a while to come to terms with the fact that even though I’m an omega and the world is a dangerous place for us, I have persistent sexual needs. Not just during my heats, which can be brutal unless I have a cock inside me all the time. Even on normal days, I have a high sex drive.

There’s one particular kink I enjoy more than any others. Being a little girl to a gentle dom. Call it biology, but I can’t get enough of being spoiled and provided for by a strong man. I want my partner to do all the work sexually—to dominate me, praise me, and tease me open with incentives and gentle commands.

Basically, I like being a pillow princess.

My looks have made it easy to find men who will cater to my needs. Most men tend to go soft when they see an omega. I guess everybody feels protective of me because of my biology.

While there are often alphas on Love Finder looking for omegas in heat to help them through their ruts, I always go for beta shifters because it’s safe for me.

I flick through the photos of men on the app.

I’m in the mood for a specific kind of dom tonight. One who is strong, big, and wears suits. Men in formal clothing do it for me. I guess it’s the sense of tradition, stability, and establishment they exude that makes me feel safe.

I finally found one that matches my needs.

Harry Styles.

My pussy throbs in approval when I look at his profile picture. My ovaries grow warm with the need to carry his babies.

Harry’s face is a wet dream. He has thick brown eyebrows. He’s also incredibly large with solid hands and thick muscular legs and biceps. He's also tall at 6’2. His face is chiseled and angular—masculine enough to convince me that he’d make a great dom. While his eyes are forest green, his mouth is pink and warm, framed by a soft beard that I already want to caress. The contrast between his hard eyes and soft expression intrigues me.

Harry’s profile claims that he’s a wolf shifter, which is also called werewolf. I scroll to see his secondary gender designation, but that column is blank.

My heartbeat picks up. It’s unusual for people to not disclose their secondary gender on an app like this since so many matches are made based on mutual needs.

He’s probably not an alpha though. Alphas are proud and have a superiority complex because of how much influence they exert over society. They take every opportunity to let people know that they are alphas.

Trust me, I know. My guardian is an alpha.

Harry is probably a shy beta, or an omega trying to stay safe. I don’t mind being with another omega as long as he can take the lead.

I read on for his sexual preferences.

I’m a dom, but not into inflicting pain. I like to feel strong and in control. I hope my partner feels protected and safe enough to surrender to me and let me take care of them. I like DDLG roleplays and light bondage. Nothing crazy like binding, chains, and whips, but I get off on telling my partner what to do. We’ll negotiate boundaries before we play. If you’re a sub looking for a gentle dom, we’ll be a great match.

My omega instinct wails to be with Harry. He has ticked every box on my list so far. I immediately swipe right.

Attacking my cake with a spoon, I grow antsy for his reply. He probably works in a big corporation somewhere. I doubt he has time to look at his phone and reply to messages instantly.

I jump when a message floats into my inbox some minutes later.

He’s interested too.

⋆ ˚ ⊱ ✧ ⊰ ˚ ⋆

I’m burning with anticipation when I enter the hotel lobby. Harry and I agreed to meet in his suite room.

I could tell how rich he is when he casually suggested that he would rendezvous at the most expensive hotel in town. When I offered to pay half the room’s cost, he said he had the room permanently reserved in his name so he wasn’t paying anything extra to have me there.

I swallow before knocking on the door.

“I’m Y/N.” I raise my voice so he can hear me on the other side.

“Come in. The door’s open.” He responds. His deep gruff command instantly sets my nerves on fire. I want him to praise me and degrade me with that voice.

I push the door open, then after filling my lungs with air, I charge in.

My eyes immediately snag on the unmissable male figure in the room.

Harry is lounging comfortably on the huge king-sized bed. A gray suit jacket lies discarded on the sofa. He’s still wearing his waistcoat. The sleeves of his white dress shirt are unbuttoned and folded back to reveal thick veiny forearms. My pussy jerks with heat as I rake my eyes over those bulging veins, wanting those hands to hold me down. Imagining those thick digits stroking my wet heat.

“Hello, I’m Y/N.” I walk on shaky feet.

At first, I was confused about why I was so nervous and so turned on. Then his scent hits me—woody, spicy, and thick with power.

Panic swells in my blood, rushing to my brain.

He’s an alpha.

And the only alpha I’ve ever been around is my father and he was unfortunately a controlling entitled prick.

I was so happy when I met a beta woman who had lost her omega mate and she adopted me as her own daughter after I got an emancipation order. I was tired of my dad oppressing me, telling me how to dress, and making me into a powerless omega who was dependent on the whims and commands of an alpha.

And so, the moment I recognize Harry’s scent, I react without hesitation. I swivel back, even though my pussy is leaking moisture. My skin is hot, demanding an alpha’s possessive comforting touch.

I have never slept with an alpha and I have no doubt it’d be the most otherworldly and exhilarating experience of my life. Alphas have huge cocks and my feminine heat needs to be stroked and stretched.

However, I’m not ready for the consequences that will follow the mating. The guilt, the shame, and the feeling of having been used like I’m a fleshlight.

“Wait.” His words are like a leash wrapping around my neck and pulling me back. An alpha’s command has a powerful effect on an omega. They can make me do anything if they talk to me in that voice filled with authority and lust. “Don’t be afraid of me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

My body relaxes immediately, believing him. His intentions are clear and they’re comforting like a warm blanket wrapped around me.

“You never said you were an alpha.” I tense my shoulders. “I don’t sleep with alphas.”

He squints in confusion. “Aren’t you an omega?”

“So? I don’t like alphas. They’re domineering and possessive. They control me and treat me like an object. I want to be a princess, not a trophy.”

“I promise I won’t treat you like that.” He comes to his feet. Upright, I can’t ignore how tall and big Harry is. Every object in the room seems insignificant compared to his imposing silhouette. My legs itch to rush to him. My body longs to be nestled in the safety of that broad chest. Harry’s eyes soften. “Y/N, come here. Let’s talk about what’s making you anxious.”

Let’s talk.

I’m perplexed. Paralyzed by confusion. Alphas are high-handed. They don’t like discussions. They like telling you what to do.

He should have told me to stay, told me that an omega like me belongs under him, but he didn’t.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t fuck alphas.”

“I’m a shifter. A werewolf.”

“An alpha werewolf.” I say sharply, emphasizing the word alpha. “I don’t trust you.”

“Then let’s work on that.”

He wants to work on it?

My head feels light. Maybe this guy isn’t an alpha after all. His personality is too well-adjusted, but one whiff of his pheromones confirms that he is indeed one.

He is pure sex appeal bottled into an olfactory sensation. His smell fuels my need to surrender. My knees are shaking. I want to collapse on the floor and have him carry me to the bed. Then I want him to tear off my clothes and thrust into my wet heat.

I shake my head. Being his cum dump might feel good in the moment, but I’ll never live down the aftermath. And what if he decides to take me by force? I don’t want to be bonded to someone I don’t love.

I exhale. Then as I brush my hair away from my neck, it reveals the mating gland situated there.

Harry’s eyes flare with heat, going pitch black as his pupils dilate to fill his irises. His breathing grows frenetic. He can’t take his eyes off the spot—the forbidden unclaimed spot that the wolf inside him is probably dying to mark.

“You can’t bite me.” I say firmly. “I don’t want to belong to any alpha until I decide he’s the one I’m marrying.”

His jaw tightens with the strain of holding himself back. “I will respect that. A woman who thinks long-term relationship is definitely wife material.”

“Let me make this clear. I’m not going to be your wife. Or your mate. Or your anything. I’m only here for a fun night and to be spoiled by a dom. You can pound my pussy and use every part of my body including my ass, but you can’t try to claim me. Understood?”

Harry’s nostrils flare. His hands are fisted around the bedsheet. An alpha doesn’t usually get challenged by an omega, much less have an omega telling him what he can’t do.

While I'm waiting for Harry’s response, I expect him to show his dominance, to tell me he can claim me wherever he wants.

“Your gland is off-limits?” His neck muscles go taut with tension as he releases a bitter laugh.

“I won’t surrender to a dom who has no self-control. That’s dangerous for me.”

“I do have self-control. I won’t do anything that either of us will regret later.” He nods in approval. “So you don’t have to worry about becoming my mate. Thank you for being honest with me.”

My whole body erupts with pride at that gesture. It’s like I want him to be pleased by my behavior, to tell me I’m smart and sensible—not a reckless omega looking to get violated. That’s what people always tell me.

Betas and alphas can indulge their sexual needs as much as they like without the threat of being claimed and impregnated, but omegas are oppressed because of their nature. And I won’t tolerate that. I also stay safe by taking my suppressants. I don’t need birth control pills. I can’t get pregnant from an alpha who hasn’t mated with me and bitten me on the neck to bind me to him forever. That’s the way omega bodies function. My womb will only carry my alpha’s seed. It’s both convenient and inconvenient since I don’t know if I’ll ever find the right alpha, but I do want to have kids of my own.

“That’s my hard boundary. I’m not looking to settle down. All I need is a hot one-night stand with a man who’ll make me come.” I tell him. “My other conditions include that you leave no marks on my body. I don’t like pain and punishment. And I want you to be loving. Don’t treat me like a possession.”

“You like feel-good sex?” He quirks his eyebrows. “So do I.”

“Good. We’re on the same page. Anything I need to know about your preferences, Harry?” I can’t fathom asking this question because it means that I’m thinking of going through with having sex with an alpha.

“I need intimacy.” Harry runs his fingers through his hair. “I can’t fuck someone just because they’re hot. I hate meaningless sex that feels emotionally empty. Even if we’re only sleeping together, my emotions must be involved. I want to feel like you really love me even though if it’s an act.”

An alpha who wants to be loved and not obeyed? Now that’s something I’ve never heard of.

Harry shocks me with every word that comes out of his mouth. He’s more than the controlling alpha stereotype. He’s deep. He cares about feelings—his own and mine. He doesn’t want to present the image of being stoic and cold so he comes off looking invulnerable. He’s dominant, but not addicted to having authority. It must be because he’s so successful in his career. He has so much control over the external world. And unlike my father, he’s not trying to feel masculine by treating women like slaves.

“Okay, I can do that. I’m good at roleplaying.” I nod. “But if you do something I’m uncomfortable with, or I want you to stroke my hair and call me nicknames, I’ll speak up immediately. It may make you uncomfortable, but I don’t care.”

Harry grins. “I love a feisty brat.”

I blink in surprise. “Your inner alpha doesn’t feel threatened when someone tells you what to do?”

“I take it as a suggestion rather than a command.” Harry’s cloudy green eyes watch me with interest.

My body is really sending me confused signals right now. I’m here for sex only, but cuddling with him and talking about our lives suddenly seems like a much better idea.

I shake off that useless thought. I’m not looking to date an alpha. Or get deeply involved with one.

“I think it’s good to have a partner who expresses their emotions. Why would it make me feel out of control because you have needs? I’m not interested in fucking a robot with no personality.” He continues to explain.

My chest fills with warmth. My shoulders relax. And I can’t prevent a smile from forming on my lips.

As crazy as it sounds, I like this guy. He’s an alpha, but I like him. He’s not like any of the alphas I’ve seen before. He’s not insecure. His sense of power is not fragile and is based on absolute command.

“Okay.” I should feel threatened, scared, and antsy. I should be running away and writing off this encounter as an unfortunate tragedy. But after our conversation, I want to be taken care by this gorgeous alpha. “Let’s start then.”

I unbutton my dress. Peeling the sleeves off my arms, I let the garment glide over my hips until it’s lying on the ground.

I turn around, giving him a glimpse of my juicy ass and smooth back. It’s thrilling to see how quickly the bulge in Harry’s pants grows when he takes me in. His erection is huge. My pussy is getting excited at the thought of milking that giant cock.

“You can’t seem to take your eyes off my gland.” I tease in a seductive tone. “Do you like it?”

“I know I can’t claim you, but can I touch it? Promise I won’t bite.” Harry holds up his pinky finger in a mock promise.

I find that gesture adorable and his question boyish and sweet. The innocence coupled with his deadly good looks makes for an intriguing combination. He makes me feel safe.

“You may touch.” I reply, my voice shivering. “I’ve never let anybody touch that spot.”

“I’m grateful for the honor.” Harry motions me to him. “Come sit on my lap, baby girl. Let me look at your gorgeous mating gland.”

My pussy flutters when he calls me his baby girl—not because the endearment is anything special, but because he says it with so much affection like I actually mean something to him. It’s the kind of tone I could imagine him using on his own daughter. Harry would be the type of dad who would spoil his daughters rotten. He’s the sort of man who feels good when he’s loved by the women around him. He’ll be an amazing daddy.

I can’t believe I get to be cherished by him, even for one evening.

His thumb tests the spongy circular skin of my mating gland. His breath leaves his nostrils in forceful streams, hitting my neck like gusts of wind. He traces the shape of my gland using delicate light touches. I’m already grinding into his thick erection. My pussy throbbing from the friction between our sexual organs.

“So beautiful.” Harry’s voice shivers with need. He presses a kiss on my gland, licking circles around my sacred bonding spot. His tongue dips, painting a wet trail from my neck to my spine. We’re flirting with danger here. His mouth is already on my gland. Any second, he could decide to sink his teeth into me and forcefully claim me as his omega. But I know he won’t. He licks me a few more times then moves his head away. “Your body is soft and delicious.”

“Do you want to claim me?” I inquire, still on edge.

“Of course I do.” He replies with a desperate growl. “I’m an alpha. The wolf inside me wants to claim you, pin you down, and stuff your stomach with my pups.”

My eyes widen, panic edging between my ribcage. I twitch, coming off his lap and onto my feet, moving myself away from the masculine intoxicating presence of Harry Styles.

I look around, wondering how to escape this place and this man who has hypnotized me with his gentle voice. But my body refuses to move. It doesn’t want to run.

My wet heat wants to take Harry’s cock and grow his children in my womb. My blood shivers with the need to have my belly swollen with pups. The ache in my pussy intensifies at the image of Harry stroking my pregnant stomach and kissing it. I’m flabbergasted.

I’ve never wanted to have any man’s babies before. Is this the primal instinct of an omega when faced with the potent scent of an alpha? Or is it something else?

Before I can move, Harry’s fingers snake around my wrist. “Did I scare you, baby girl? I’m sorry. I can’t hide my feelings. But my word is binding. Trust me, I won’t claim you.”

He pulls me to his chest and caresses my hair, whispering to me that it’s alright to trust him. That he won’t ever hurt me.

I wish I could believe him, but I can’t. What I do believe in is my ability to hate alphas. But my body is melting with his warm touch.

Before long, the suspicious thoughts in my head have been replaced by blissful ones. Harry spreads me out on the bed and takes his time relishing every part of my body. He caresses the shell of my ear. The roughness of his thumb pad provides a delicious texture against my soft skin.

“So pretty. My baby girl is so gorgeous.” He whispers.

My pussy responds immediately, releasing a stream of moisture. His voice isn’t sexy or flirty, just loving and full of admiration. And that kind of loving compliment sets my core on fire. I never imagined I’d be the kind of girl to respond to sweet affectionate lovemaking. I guess my new Daddy is teaching me all kinds of things about myself.

I writhe under his expert care, swimming in an ocean of warm elation as his fingers travel down my breasts, circling my areolas.

“Daddy, that feels so good...” I mumble when he latches onto my hard nipple and pleasures it with his tongue. He strokes my thick bud with the wet tip, inciting heatwaves in my core.

Harry squeezes my other breast, dragging his thumb along the underside. “You have huge boobs. Daddy loves suckling on them and playing with them.”

I love it too. He does something magical to me every time he touches me. Even though his fingers and tongue brush me gently, his control is a silent force behind him. He knows exactly what he’s doing. And I love that fact.

“I’m an omega.” I remind him. “My boobs are bigger than average.”

“Your body is so lush and fertile too.” Harry’s reverent tone matches the delicate brushes of his fingertips against my hips. “Daddy loves a baby girl who is ripe with need for his cock.”

Heaviness is building up between my thighs. The dark sensation is somewhere between an impending orgasm and an all-out physiological takeover of my mind by a strong alpha. My body feels dense. His every finger stroke seeps into my bloodstream, making my blood feel thick with his claim.

“You’re so good at foreplay.” I say. It’s a real compliment. Men rarely pay this much attention to turning me on when I’m already leaking like a faucet. “I’m gushing.”

“I need you even wetter.” Harry bites his lip. “My cock is not the average size.”

There it is. The alpha in him asserts its superiority.

I chortle. “We’ll see.”

Harry climbs on top of me. His weight makes me feel small and vulnerable. I’d never admit it out loud, but having a big bad alpha mount me like this exhilarates my senses. I want him to stake his dominance over me.

His lips flit over my neck, sucking the tender skin at the juncture of my shoulders. My back arches off the bed.

“That…” I pant. “That felt powerful.”

I never knew I was so sensitive there. Nobody has played with that spot before.

“Daddy’s going to make his baby girl tremble with pleasure.” Harry flashes his perfect teeth and continues sucking at my flesh. “I hope you don’t have any plans for the rest of the evening because this is going to take all night.”

“I’m all yours, Daddy.” The words flow so naturally from my lips. It’s not an act, not part of the play. It’s what I’m feeling. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Y/N. I want to take care of you properly. Buy you flowers every day and pleasure you until you’re dizzy.”

My inner romantic sighs at his words. I wish I could be with the kind of man who would buy me flowers and romance me every day, but that’s just a fantasy for an omega stuck in a world full of entitled alphas who believe in control rather than wooing.

“I’d love that.” I lie, even though we’ll never see each other again. “I love being spoiled with thoughtful gifts.”

“I’ll spoil you rotten, baby girl.” His heavy-lidded gaze is drenched with underlying meaning that I’m too scared to intuit. The boundaries between fantasy and reality are so blurred when I’m with him. I want this to be real, but I’m scared of the consequences of a reality that involves me dating an alpha. “You’ll never doubt how much I love you.”

I moan when his lips crush mine. The kiss only intensifies my developing feelings for him. I’ve never considered having a Daddy who spoils me outside the bed, but Harry is triggering something deep within me that demands to have a real connection.

I feel like I’m in a spa. My body is buoyed by a sense of relief and safety. I’m in good hands. At no point do I feel unsafe or uncomfortable. Harry has great intuition about what parts of me need and how much pressure.

“I want to spend hours licking and stroking your soft skin. I want to discover the parts of you that have been neglected.” His tongue glides up my inner thigh, setting off a slow burn in my groin.

I’m so close to coming and he hasn’t even put his fingers or mouth anywhere near my pussy yet.

I cry at his gentleness. I know I chose to have steamy sex-only encounters with random men, but I miss being cared for. Someone who wants to know my body inside out and spend countless days finding out my sweet spots is so much more than a fuck buddy. I never thought I needed someone like that.

Tears of pure ecstasy roll down my cheeks when Harry’s tongue finds its way into my wet folds. He sucks on my clit. Hot currents of bliss thrash inside me. Whenever he stimulates my pleasure center, a symphony of aches builds up between my legs.

“I’m going to come…” I cry. I’m both embarrassed at coming so fast and shocked.

“Call Daddy’s name when you feel good.” Harry’s deep voice vibrates against my aroused pussy, heightening the fever in my channel.

He wriggles his tongue into my empty hole, filling it with a pale imitation of his hardness. Nevertheless, my walls clench around his tongue, reaching for a higher peak. The dance of his tongue against my feminine lips continues until I’m broken and sobbing from the need to come.

Harry senses I’m close to the edge too.

He sniffs my wet sex. Wolf shifters have supernaturally strong senses so I’m sure he can smell the wetness oozing from my pussy. I want to hide how much I love him commanding me in a sexual sense, but I’m just too turned on right now.

Just when I need the final nudge from his tongue to push me past my limits, Harry removes his mouth, leaving me in a hornet’s nest of frustration.

“I’m close, Daddy.” I whine.

“You’re not allowed to come until Daddy’s cock is inside you.” Harry presses my wrists into the mattress with his hands. “I want to feel your pleasure contracting around me.”

Before I can question him, he drops his pants and quickly rips his shift and waistcoat off his body. He’s completely naked now.

My pussy cramps with greater desire when I become aware of his powerful body. You’d think he was a Greek God from the perfect formation of his torso. The two cuts of muscle that dip into his hips fan my lust.

But it’s his cock that takes my breath away. It’s so thick and huge. I’ve seen cocks before. A lot of them actually. But none like this.

I guess this is why he’s an alpha. I know an omega’s body is also much curvier than other women and he has probably never seen boobs the size of mine.

“It is big.” A hint of panic rears its head, but Harry hushes it with a soothing press of his palm against my wet entrance.

“Don’t worry. I prepared you well. It won’t hurt.” He reassures me. His understanding of my fears makes our intimacy feel layered and deep. Harry positions his cock at my entrance. I can tell he’s excited to penetrate me. “Will you be a good baby girl for your Daddy and take his cock?”

“Yes.” I’m breathless with anticipation. After that orgasm, my pussy is open with relaxation. I need a little roughness now to offset the sweetness from before. “Give it to me hard, Daddy.”

I scream when he enters me, breaching my tightness with incredible strength. I feel his intrusion ringing in my bones, setting my cells on fire. I’ve been altered in some fundamental way by his penetration even though my mind can’t grasp how.

Our joining feels like a primordial awakening. An event as old as time itself. The profoundness of our mating terrifies me.

“This feeling... oh my God.” I trail off as he thrusts deeper into me, making my body shake with the immense waves of pleasure inundating my blood.

My whole self goes numb as an orgasm spreads through me. It’s like a flower blooming in my core and spreading its sweet scent to the rest of my body.

“We’re mating, baby girl. This is how it always feels.” Harry’s locks of hair vibrate every time he thrusts into me. His forehead is slicked with sweat and his dark brown strands are wet with the proof of his exertion.

“Mating?” My confused words swim in the air as my body surrenders to an undoing like no other. “But you haven’t touched my gland.”

“I don’t have to.” Harry breathes out a stream of breath over my stimulated nipple. “Your body already knows it’s mine even if I never mark it with my teeth.”

The words make no sense, but the truth in them twists its way into my subconscious. I can’t explain what I’m experiencing, but I can’t deny that it feels like bonding with an alpha. Mere words can’t describe the rightness of our union like it was destined to happen. Like it has already happened for lifetimes.

I do believe in soulmates, but I didn’t think a one night stand could make my soul weep with longing over nothing more than another brush of his cock against my walls.

But this doesn't feel like just a physical coupling. This isn’t just sex.

Harry’s right. It’s two mates coming together and vowing silently to be together forever.

I make a promise without knowing I’m making one.

My pussy swallows his cock. Pangs of pleasure cramp my belly at every intimate contact with his cock. I’m already in the throes of a climax. How does it keep getting better? Why does my body feel more and more like it’s becoming his?

“Are you ready to be drenched in cum, baby girl?” Harry’s grin makes him look like an evil villain in a paranormal show.

I want to be part of his evil plot. “Yes, Daddy.”

Harry pushes into me one final time. Then he releases all his pent-up desire. Warm sticky release coats my insides and begins trickling from my seam.

I revel in the glorious sensation of feeling completely lost in someone else’s arms. Of becoming an alpha’s cum dump. I’m lucky that I’m an unmated omega because I can feel his cum slicking my pussy without worrying about consequences.

“That was beautiful. Transcendent.” Harry’s airy words wash over my face. “You were brilliant, Y/N. I love you so much. You are so perfect.”

Each successive compliment boosts my heart, making my chest swell. I feel good, not used. I feel appreciated, not appraised.

As the haze of bliss settles on me, my heart flutters with contentment. I’ve never had this kind of sex before. I felt wooed, loved, and taken care of. Is this why omegas fall head over heels in love with alphas? Because they know how to give us what we want?

I enjoy my orgasm until the very last moment when it all disappears into a puff of heavenly smoke. Harry’s still on top of me, watching me with a mysterious expression.

I place my palm over my chest, feeling my elevated heartbeat. “I feel like I’ve been to heaven and back.”

“That was only round one.” He replies, quirking his lips in an amused smile. “Will you sleep here tonight?”

There’s a vulnerability in his voice—a hint of his real feelings emerging through the alpha mask.

I can’t refuse. It’d break my heart to refuse him. I can’t understand why I have so much empathy and compassion for him, even though he’s an alpha.

But he’s not using his influence to make me obey. He’s just asking me.

I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, facing him coyly. “Sure.”

“We can order room service if you’d like. We’ll fill your belly before we continue.” Harry reaches for the phone on the nightstand. “Aren’t you hungry?”

My stomach growls. I giggle. “A midnight meal sounds good.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ── ❈ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─

» HARRY «

“You found your mate?” Tom—my secretary and best friend, also a wolf shifter—screws one black eyebrow upward. The silent judgment and the not-so-silent curiosity prickle my skin. “Can I see her picture?”

I growl. “Hell, no”

Tom’s body shivers with a deep laugh. “I see you’re getting possessive already, but what’s the point? She doesn’t even know she’s your mate. She could be scrolling the app now for another hookup, or having a sexy time with another man...”

The roar that rushes out of my throat is so loud and feral that even Tom flinches. He’s a beta so my aggression affects him badly. His shoulders tense like he’s ready to flee.

“Sorry.” I make an effort to reign in my primal rage at the thought of my mate being pounded by another alpha. “I drive myself crazy by imagining doom and gloom scenarios already so don’t make it worse. I’m starting to feel insecure and that’s not a feeling I’m familiar with as an alpha.”

“Okay, Alpha.” Tom rolls his eyes. “Then why don’t you contact her again and tell her you want her? Isn’t that what alphas are good at? Forcing people to listen to them?”

“I’m not an idiot, Tom.” I press my fingers on my throbbing temples. “I’ve lived for thirty seven years. Women hate being told that the reason I’m pursuing them is because their pheromones do it for me. They want to feel desired for their personality, not their biology.”

Tom throws up his arms in resignation. “Well, don’t come crying to me if she hooks up with another tough alpha and decides she’s going to marry him.”

“She isn’t going to marry anyone she doesn’t like and she definitely hates alphas.” I inform him. “She said it herself.”

“An omega who doesn’t want to be shackled?” Tom applauds as he approves. “You caught yourself a fiery one.”

I wonder why my chest warms when he calls my woman fiery. I love a challenge and Y/N is going to be a lifelong challenge. I can tell.

Fated bonds are mostly a compelling biological impetus, but my rational mind is equally captivated by my mate. My heart is growing feelings for her that have nothing to do with her ability to turn my cock into a hard pole.

It can’t be easy for an omega to be as empowered as she is. I want to know her past. I want to understand her present. Most of all, I want to find out who hurt her and made her afraid to trust alphas. Then I will destroy him.

“Honestly, I don’t care for marriage.” I open the door to my office, keeping it open so Tom can follow me in. “As long as I can be by her side, I don’t need anyone’s approval. You know mating bonds are much more powerful than any document.”

I couldn’t tell Y/N that she was my mate. She was so spooked by me being an alpha that I couldn’t bring it up without destroying the fragile trust we had built with each other. Not that it would matter to her. I’m a fuck buddy to her. Not even that. She said she never wanted to see me again. Which makes me a one night stand.

God, wondering if she hates me is driving me nuts.

But there’s one thing I remember. That is the way her eyes turned misty with happiness when I said I’d buy her flowers every day. She might act like she’s cynical, but deep inside Y/N wants romance as much as anybody else. She must have been hurt deeply by an alpha to believe she’d never find it.

If I have to win her trust, the first thing I need to do is to help her trust alphas again, to make her see that we’re not all domineering oppressors. She probably had her safety and boundaries violated before and I have to assure her that it will never happen again if she trusts me.

I quickly type a message to her. I’m relieved she hasn’t deleted our chat from before.

Harry: I know we agreed to never have sex again, but is it okay if I send you flowers? Just this once. You were such a good baby girl. I want to give you a gift to show how much I appreciated you last night. Consider it the last time you get spoiled by your Daddy.

“Hey, Tom, can you order me some roses?” I’m already instructing my secretary even though Y/N hasn’t replied to my text, but I know she will give in. She desires real love. She wants to be treated like she’s special and precious, not just another omega body to be bred.

“Sending them to your girl?” Tom asks.

“That’s right.” I grin. “It’s time I started wooing her seriously before my wolf kills me.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ── ❈ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─

» Y/N «

Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into?

I can tell Harry is attached to me. He said he wanted to send me flowers because I made him so happy yesterday. I should have reminded him of our agreement to forget everything, but I texted him my business PO box instead. It won’t be difficult for someone like him to track me down if he puts his mind to it.

I bite my nails. Panic is spreading through my bloodstream.

Shit. What am I going to do if he finds me? If he forces his way into my apartment and makes me obey him with that sexy commanding voice?

Nervous, I check Omega Love Finder, determined to delete my message. But he has already seen it. Not only that, he has replied to it with a heart emoji.

I’m used to guys who would ghost me once they’ve had my body or demand I sleep with them again. I can’t comprehend why a sexy alpha with so much wealth and power would want to send me flowers because I gripped him well with my pussy. Isn’t that just a given for an omega?

Y/N: I hope you understand that while I appreciate your sweet gesture, I’m not looking for more with you.

Harry: I know. I just felt like spoiling you because I’m feeling good this morning. It’s all thanks to you.

His text hits me and makes me feel energized too. Nobody has ever said that being with me made them feel good.

My heart skips a beat. I hate that an alpha made me feel this way. Harry is dangerous. He’s making me reconsider all my boundaries.

I hate alphas. If you give them a little bit of control, they’ll take everything away from you. I have learned that with my father. I won’t be making the same mistake again.

Y/N: On second thought, forget about the flowers. Delete my address. I don’t want you showing up at my place. Not that they’d let you in since it’s an alpha-safe zone.

Harry: Baby girl, don’t panic.

Y/N: This feels like a trap. Like you want more from me.

Harry: I’ll send you flowers every day for the rest of our lives without ever asking for more if it makes you uncomfortable.

I stop and stare at that sentence on my screen for a whole minute. He typed that too fast for him to have strategized it. Then why is it so heartwarming?

Unconditional love is a myth. Even my dad didn’t love me unconditionally. Every gift came with a million strings attached. He wanted me to change for him. To be who he dictated I should be in return for taking care of me.

Y/N: I’m not giving you anything in return.

Harry: I didn’t ask for anything.

Y/N: I’m not going to be nice to you or sleep with you again.

Harry: I know, baby girl. Trust me, I’m not trying to con you. Just allow me to be your Daddy. Isn’t that what you want?

My Daddy. He wants to be my Daddy even outside the bedroom. He wants to spoil me with flowers and god knows what else if I let him.

A part of me sighs with happiness. I can’t believe such men even exist. I thought their population was wiped out somewhere in the last century and all the guys now think love is about what they can get, not the simple act of giving.

I sigh, feeling like a neurotic nutcase. Am I making a mountain out of a simple offer?

Nothing is more confusing than Harry Styles trying to be a gentleman. He’s like a dream that feels too good to be true.

My defenses automatically come up whenever my autonomy is threatened, especially by an alpha. Even though my instincts scream to let him take control, I know how miserable that made me in the past. I can’t let him shape my identity and who I am.

Y/N: Okay. I’ll let you. This once.

Harry: Thank you. If I’m being honest, I want to wine and dine you, take you shopping, and watch the sunset with you on the beach. But I know you’ll freak out if I actually suggested it. I’m just putting it out there. In case you wanted to be treated like a baby girl. It’ll be romantic, not sexual.

You know I like feeling emotions. I have enough money that it wouldn’t have to mean anything. Think about it.

My stomach goes hollow with a mixture of adoration and concern.

Harry has every right to express his feelings and desires, especially his desire to treat me well. The way he words his messages doesn’t feel pushy. He’s giving me a choice. He’s leaving the final decision in my hands. In the hands of an omega.

Omegas weren’t born to make decisions. Leave that up to an alpha, Y/N. My father’s often-spoken statement rings in my ears, bringing me back to reality.

No matter how nice Harry might be, on the inside he’s like every other alpha. I have to remember that. Otherwise, I’ll end up getting in trouble.

Y/N: Thank you for the kind offer, but I’m too jaded to believe that anybody would give me so much without strings attached. Like I said, I’m not looking to turn our ONS into a long-term thing.

Harry: Y/N, I know it’s hard to trust a stranger, but I want to make you believe that there are good people in the world. You deserve to experience pleasure and companionship without any obligations. So do I. So does everyone.

I’m seeing my bottom lip with my teeth again. Why is he so good at getting into my heart and saying all the right things?

I’ve distrusted alphas ever since my father tried to force me to mate with an alpha at sixteen. I ran away from home, but sometimes it feels like I’m still running away.

I’m an adult now. My father doesn’t own me. No alpha owns me.

Y/N: Keep your word and send me flowers for a week without mentioning anything more. Then I’ll consider it.

Harry’s reply is instantaneous.

Harry: Done.

⋆ ˚ ⊱ ✧ ⊰ ˚ ⋆

The first bouquet of flowers arrives on the same day. I have to sign to accept the delivery.

It’s a massive profusion of red roses. Classic. Elegant. And heartwarming. There’s also a note with the bouquet.

I don’t know what kind of flowers you like. This seemed like a safe choice. Y/N, thank you for yesterday. I haven’t felt the way I do about you in forever. And please tell me what your favorite flowers are, otherwise I’ll tear my hair out in anxiety over having made the wrong choice.

Harry x

I don’t want to text Harry too much because I know he has an important job and doesn’t need me to distract him, but the note and the fact that he says he’s anxious about miffing me with his choice of roses is too cute to pass up.

Alphas assume what you like.

No, scratch that.

They tell you what you should like.

It was always like that with my father. He chose the clothes I wore, how much makeup I could have on, what I said, and whom I talked to. Even though my dresses were modest and demure, with high necks to cover my mating gland, he’d tell me that omegas should always be obedient and wear what their alpha wants them to. That we’re here to bear children and comfort our alphas, not self-express through fashion.

I hated those clothes. I boiled in them and they made me look like a Victorian matron, doing nothing to show off the parts of me that are gorgeous and deserve to be looked at.

That’s why I wear revealing clothes now. I show my breasts because hiding them only makes it more obvious that I’m an omega.

My fingers are shivering on the phone screen. Despite having worked on my issues, I’m still kind of terrified about telling an alpha what I like, especially when it’s non-sexual.

Y/N: I got the flowers. I don’t mind roses, but I love sunflowers.

There is no response for an hour. I’m not the type of girl who waits on men. I have a life, a business, and goals. I try to work on my client’s brief and soon, I have forgotten all about Harry and our exchange.

Until my phone pings.

And my body reacts instinctively, putting everything aside to check my messages.

Harry: Thank you for telling me. I hope to find out more about your preferences in the future. Also, sunflowers suit your fiery personality so good choice.

Good choice. An alpha praised me.

Harry actually indirectly told me that my preference was good, not inferior or wrong compared to what he picked for me. I cling to that moment of praise for far too long.

What is this wolf shifter doing to me?

⋆ ˚ ⊱ ✧ ⊰ ˚ ⋆

I receive sunflowers the next day. And the day after that.

For a whole week, Harry keeps up his part of the bargain. He never pressures me to message him. He doesn’t hint that he is looking for more from me either. More commitment, more sex, or more respect. In fact, he always waits for me to message first before replying.

I love how intimate and cute our exchanges feel. I don’t feel unsafe with him because he’s far away. But even if he was standing next to me, I knew I wouldn’t be scared of him.

Y/N: It’s unfair that you know what flowers I like, but I don’t know your favorite.

Harry: Orchids.

Y/N: Expensive and rare. Suits a rich alpha like you.

Harry: Was that a compliment?

Y/N: You’re an alpha. You don’t need compliments. You have a natural superiority complex.

Harry: I need your compliments, Y/N. My inner wolf is hungry for your praise.

My heart skips a beat more and more. He’s always so sweet and genuine when he texts. And he’s that way in real life too. I know because I’ve met him.

A week passes and he doesn’t stop sending me flowers. But the part that really breaks me is that he never asks me again about going to dinner with him. He waits for me to bring it up. He trusts me to not have forgotten my stupid omega brain.

I make him miserable for another week before giving in to his charm and steadfastness.

I mean, I couldn’t resist forever, not when he has shown that he can respect my boundaries multiple times. By denying him means that I’m only denying myself something I’ve always dreamed about, which is being taken care of by someone who cherishes me.

So I was immediately on board when Harry said he wanted to wine and dine me and take me shopping.

Y/N: Hypothetically speaking, where would you wine and dine me?

Harry: Wherever you pick.

Y/N: I’ll let you pick.

Harry: What kind of food do you like?

I don’t even blink when he asks me for my preference before showing off his knowledge regarding the best restaurants in town.

I have come to expect consideration from him. And that’s dangerous.

We’re sex partners at best, and strangers at worst. What if I never find an alpha who will treat me as well as Harry? He’s ruining me for everyone else when I know I can’t have him. He’s a wolf shifter, which means he’ll only settle down with his fated mate. I’m just a temporary woman until he meets his forever love.

I’ve never envied a woman as much as I envy Harry’s future wife. Omega or not, she’ll be so well cared for by her protective husband.

After we text back and forth, he invites me to a restaurant I’ve never heard of. When I look it up online, it turns out to be an exclusive place catering to a high-end clientele. They only take reservations from people who are on their approved list. Since the establishment allows alphas, omegas, betas, and everything in between, I’m worried about an unmated alpha scenting me and trying to be aggressive.

I mean, I’m certain they have ways to prevent such incidents. They have to preserve their reputation. Plus, Harry will be with me. I don’t know why, but my body knows he’ll never let me be harmed in his presence.

The day of our so-called dinner date arrives quickly. Harry must have made time for me because he invited me out on a weekday night. Thursday night, to be specific. When we met at his hotel room last time, it was a Thursday too. I calculate that it has been almost three weeks since he first came into my life.

He has turned my world upside down in a few days and made me reconsider everything I thought I knew about alphas.

I can’t wait to peel back his layers and discover more about him. I’m usually disinterested in all men, but Harry has me intrigued—as a person though, not as a sexual partner.

Despite Harry’s vehement protests, I assured him that I’d be fine making my way to the restaurant on my own. I put on my sexiest outfit. A red body con dress with a deep neckline that shows off my perky massive boobs. I want to keep him squirming throughout.

Since the restaurant is in a crowded area, I take the subway.

There are special areas for omegas in the subway so I don’t have to worry about any unwanted attention.

I get off at the station closest to our date spot, but I’m immediately lost. Even after checking my phone, I still end up walking in circles. Worry lines dig into my forehead when I turn around and realize I’ve walked into a deserted alley.

At this time of a weekday, there are not many people here. Most of them have gone home from work. Darkness and shadows twist around the streets, broken up by a few streetlights.

My stomach cramps. At first, I dismiss it as an overreaction. However, it turns out to be a premonition.

“You smell delicious, sugar.”

I arc back at the unfamiliar voice.

It’s a man. Not a human man though. He also stinks of power and entitlement. An alpha shifter.

I quickly reach inside my purse for the pepper spray. But before my thumb forces the nozzle down, the alpha knocks it out of my hand.

“Now what do you need that for?” He’s so close to me. His rancid breath lashes against my face. “I’m going to take good care of your pretty cunt. You’ll feel so good. A tight omega cunt for my dick.”

Anxiety spikes in my chest. I try to move to pick up the fallen pepper spray, but he’s too strong. His muscles are like shackles closing around my wrists. He gains on me, pressing me against the brick wall and caging me with his limbs. I move and resist, but it’s of no use.

“You can’t do this.” I say as he tries to force a kiss on me. “I have a boyfriend. He’s an alpha.”

Harry is not my boyfriend, but alphas are always more careful around other alphas. Knowing that I have Harry is a relief.

The man who is trying to sexually assault me chuckles. “Can smell no alpha on you, sugar. When was the last time you got laid? If he can’t keep your slutty omega body satisfied, maybe it’s time you switched to someone else.”

It has been three weeks since Harry last came inside me. Alpha pheromones only linger for a day or two. I wish I had given in and slept with him last week.

“Let me go. This is illegal.” My throat swells with anger and helplessness. I ended up saying something I never thought I would. “I love my boyfriend. I’m not interested in anyone else.”

“Love?” The alpha is laughing like he has lost his sanity. “Omega bitches don’t love, sugar. They only crave alpha dick. They spread their legs for the richest and most powerful alpha who can put them in their place and put a baby in their needy wombs.”

“Omegas fall in love too.” I protest. My eyes are misting with tears. My rage is boiling over. I don’t care if I look weak and emotional. I can’t hold back all the hatred I’ve felt for alphas all these years. Alphas like this guy think they are Gods, but what they are is a disgrace. “I love him. And if you think you’re an alpha just because you’re strong, you’re just a weak man with a broken ego. A real alpha has a big heart. They’re self-controlled, generous, and protective. Not rapists.”

“Shut up—”

I recoil when he raises his hand at me. I wait for the slap to make contact with my cheek. I thought I’d forgotten it, but I still remember the sting of my father’s hand. He hit me every time I refused to go along with his plans. I used to fear him and his strength until I realized that he was even more helpless than me. He could never make me obey and he knew he could never make me love him. My mother had left him too. She was a beautiful omega who had shacked up with a richer alpha and divorced his ass.

Suddenly, I’m broken free from my thoughts by an animalistic growl. And there’s a wolf—a majestic animal with gray fur—in the alley.

Before I can wonder where it came from, it lunges at my rapist. Its claws tear off a chunk of his face as it rips his body away from mine. The man falls to the ground, bleed and bruised.

The wolf narrows its eyes at me, approaching me carefully. I’m already pasted against the wall with nowhere to run.

Is the animal going to attack me too? I know it’s a shifter, but I’m not sure how much rationality shifters retain in their animal form.

Wait. Maybe it is Harry?

Could it be him? He’s a werewolf shifter, isn’t he?

It takes all my courage to reach out and caress the animal’s fur.

“You saved me.” I say. “Thank you.”

The wolf’s ears flop down and it licks my hand, encouraging me to keep stroking its head. I think it likes being petted. I find that so adorable.

“What a good wolf.” I coo. “So handsome and strong.”

The wolf howls.

I love wolves. They’re like dogs, but fiercer. The animal’s light green eyes peer into mine. We communicate silently, forging an invisible bond. I know this wolf will remember me and I will definitely remember it.

The sound of my sexual assaulter getting up breaks our eye contact. The wolf leaves my side to slam its claws down on the man’s body.

My rapist howls in pain. He gives the wolf a dirty look. “Who are you?”

At that moment, the wolf’s form dissolves. It rearranges back into a human. I’ve never seen a man shift before, but it’s over in a flash so I don’t get to observe any details.

Then Harry’s there, standing in front of me with one foot on my rapist’s chest.

“Me? I’m the boyfriend she loves.” He replies, giving me a side-eye.

My face goes up in flames. I can’t believe he heard that. What if he thinks I meant it?

The rapist makes an inaudible noise.

“Don’t worry. I called the police.” Harry informs the other alpha. “They’ll throw your ass in prison so you won’t have to stay in this cold alley for long.”

He swivels and walks to me, placing his hands on my hips. “Y/N, I swear, I was ready to commit murder. You should have let me pick you up. You’re mine. Only my hands belong on your body.”

He bares his teeth. His eyebrows are too thick like he’s still an animal. I sense that it’s the wolf that’s talking to me. The wolf I sensed a mysterious connection with.

Harry grips me hard like he’s trying to make me stay. His touch on me is bruising, but in the best way possible. I feel owned. Roughly claimed.

I love Harry’s inner animal. His spirit wolf is intense and possessive. Despite my reservations, I fall in love with this part of him immediately. After all, animals don’t have ulterior motives, only instincts. They only attack when threatened. There’s no malice or cruelty in their hearts.

“Let’s get you away from here.” Harry scoops me up in his arms, nuzzling my face with his nose.

I’m still trembling from the aftershocks of being harassed by an alpha. “How did you know to find me here?”

“I could smell you.” Harry replies, scrunching his nose. “Your scent is strong today. I could pick up on it even though I wasn’t close.”

I sniff my underarms, wondering what he’s on about. My stomach clenches. The throbbing between my legs is growing. I’m hot.

I finally understand what the stomach cramps from earlier meant. It wasn’t a premonition. It was my body’s natural cycle staking its claim on my sexual organs.

Harry’s pupils are dilated. He senses it too.

“Shit.” His eyebrows are knitted together in distress. All the hairs on his body are standing up in response to the potent scent that’s coming from my hot pussy.

I crumple his collar between my needy fingers. “Harry, I’m going into heat.”

┈ㆍ┈ㆍ⨯ * ₊ ୨ ♡ ୧ ₊ * ⨯ㆍ┈ㆍ┈

[sushirrrry]

FRONTLINES - PART ONE. a harry styles x original character story. word count: 21,746 content warning: soldier PTSD, descriptions of injury, discussions of death, survivors guilt, war trauma, graphic details of WWII.

summary: a WWII hospital nurse and a wounded air force lieutenant form a bond in his recovery, stealing intimate moments that help them both heal.

author note - this is one of my favorite things I've ever written & I hope that you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing it! this was going to be over 40k words, but I decided to give you two parts instead (that's more fun!)

disclaimer!! I have done a bit of research, but this is not a story based in reality or to be consistently based in research on 1940s England. so if there are some things that are not 100% correct, please know that it is just for fiction reasons.

so, with that, here is part one of Harry and Clare's story. enjoy.

____________________________

February, 1943.

England.

Harry came to his senses with a jolt that never quite made it to his limbs. It was a quick jolt – an electricity that urged him back into existence on Earth.

He was alive, that was certain.

His body was still, but inside, everything was moving—heart racing, thoughts spinning, lungs gulping air like he’d run ten miles. The ceiling above him was stark white, slightly stained in the corners, pulsing with the artificial flicker of overhead light. The air was thick with antiseptic and starch, too clean. It all felt too still. There was no wind, no sky, no engine hum. There’s pressure across his chest and an ache roaring in his shoulders, his side, his legs—everywhere.

His fingers twitched. Or maybe they didn’t. He couldn’t be sure.

His ears rang faintly, as if the explosion had followed him here. For a moment, he thought he was still mid-fall, that the burning smell clinging to his skin meant the wreckage was still around him. But no—there were sheets under him, not dirt. The heat came from bandages, not fire. And someone nearby was speaking.

“…waking up,” a man’s voice spoke off into the distance. “That’s something.”

“Shouldn’t be long now. Morphine’s wearing off,” said another unfamiliar voice, this one female. The sense of worry in her tone was there, but she held her own. She had seen this far too many times.

But then it was silence again. Or maybe it was just the roar in his own head.

He tried to speak, but his mouth was dry as paper. His tongue felt too thick, too numb. The only sound that escaped him was a rasp, almost like a growl. His limbs felt too heavy to lift. Every inch of his body ached—shoulders, legs, chest. His right side burned, not just skin-deep, but inside, like the muscles themselves were torn and blistered.

He opened his eyes as much as he could manage and blinked again, this time slower, and the world came into view in patches.

White walls. A window with blackout curtains barely cracked open. A curtain rail. A clipboard hanging from the foot of the bed.

He tried to sit up but the agony bloomed sharp and immediate across his ribs and down his side. His breath caught in his throat, and a low, involuntary noise rumbled from deep within him. A hand came to rest gently but firmly on his shoulder.

“Easy, Lieutenant,” It was the same woman’s voice this time; it was much closer this time. “Don’t move. You’re safe. You’re back in England.”

England.

The word hit him like diving into a pool of cold water. How long had it been since the crash? He turned his head just enough where he wasn’t in immense, shell-shocking pain.

In his short vision, she was a nurse. Early to mid-twenties, maybe, if he could guess. She had dark hair swept back in a twist, not a strand out of place. Her uniform was crisp, the navy collar straight, and her name tag flashed briefly before his eyes blurred again. She had a narrow face, pale from the overhead light, but steady.

She was in control of the situation as she moved around him now, knowing that he had woken up and may have to deal with questions and situations that were far too upsetting for most. She seemed to be the kind of person who could stare down chaos and not flinch.

“You’ve been sedated, quite heavily,” she told him briefly, checking on the bag of IV. “You were brought in from the field hospital in Calais. Can you tell me your name?”

His mouth worked, his lips were parting, but the words didn’t come easily as he blinked to try and make sense of what he needed to say. His throat burned like he’d swallowed smoke; he coughed then, everything hurt in a way that he hadn’t felt before in his life.

“Plane,” he managed out through the coughing, completely ignoring her question. “Went down. Over France.”

“Yes.” Her expression didn’t shift. Not with sympathy, not with surprise. Only the slightest flicker of her eyes betrayed her listening. “You were ejected midair; your plane went down. Ground team found you a few miles outside the wreckage.”

He let his eyes drift shut again. The memory was fractured with shards of color and sound. The red glow of the warning light. The wrenching scream of the fuselage breaking apart. Dean yelling. Bennett fumbling with the hatch. John screaming at them to eject.

“My crew,” he croaked, opening his eyes to try and get answers. “Where are they? Are they here?”

The nurse’s hands stilled as she tried to come up with a response that wouldn’t send him into a spiral – it happened quite often, upsetting them too quickly after they had woken up. That was the trauma of the war – it was the terrible aspect of life that had disrupted their lives.

“There’s no confirmation yet,” she told him in honesty, “You’re the only one they’ve recovered so far. It-“ She cleared her throat, “There was a lot of planes down, and many men were sent many places. It will take a while to get confirmations.”

He closed his eyes again, not from sleep this time but from something heavier. Something he didn’t want to face because that was how this war was.

Dean had a girl waiting for him in Bristol – he always carried her picture on him. Bennett used to whistle in the hangar like it annoyed everyone, even though they all secretly liked it. John could down beers and laugh with the best of them.

They couldn’t just be—

“They’ll find them,” the nurse reminded him. But there was no promise in her voice, only practice. Harry turned his face away as much as he could physically manage.

Silence settled between them; he didn’t want to be bothered, and she didn’t seem that she was going to give him the answers he was looking for. She moved around the bed, adjusting something at the IV stand. He heard the clink of glass and metal, the rustle of paper.

The movements were efficient, distant—like she was used to handling broken men in quiet rooms. The exhaustion that hit him was overwhelming, but he knew that when he closed his eyes he would just see the nightmare again and again.

“How bad is it?” he asked after a moment. She didn’t answer right away, just scribbled on the paper that was left by his bed.

“Well, you have burns along the right shoulder and ribs,” she told him; her eyes lifted to meet his. “Some deeper muscle damage in the thigh. More than likely a concussion from the fall. Fracture in your wrist. You’ll recover just fine, but you are quite beaten up.”

There wasn’t another beat before his eyes tried to meet hers: “Will I fly again?”

A pause.

“That’s not my call,” she said gently, but professionally. This time, he could tell that her empathy had been tested one too many times. “But you survived.”

As if that was the miracle it sounded to be.

Harry gave a humorless half-smile; it was then that he could feel he had a cut on his lip, probably along his eyebrow, as well. It felt foreign on his face. “Not sure if that’s lucky or not.”

The nurse didn’t answer; she didn’t say a single word.

Instead, she approached with a syringe, her touch brisk but not rough. “I’m giving you something for the pain. You’re shaking a bit. The adrenaline only kicks in every once in a while, but I suspect that you will be feeling it quite shortly.”

“I’m not—” But he was. He hadn’t noticed until her hand touched his forearm, steadying it on the small, bedded cot in the hospital ward. His skin felt too hot and too cold at once, fevered, electric. His breath came in shallow gulps.

She didn’t flinch, just pushed the needle in slowly. It was another thing he just chose not to feel, because it felt better that way. “It’ll ease off in a moment, just give it some time. You’ve had quite a long journey.”

“I don’t even know your name,” he swallowed, a bit of a slur in his voice as he felt the haze of the morphine already curling at the edges of his vision as he tried to focus in on her.

The woman gave him a quick, unabashed smile as she focused in on him. “Clare.”

He tried to hold onto that, Clare, but the drug moved fast, like warmth spreading through frozen limbs. The lights above him swam to create the blurriest lines in the worst way. His head lolled slightly to the side, and through half-lidded eyes, he saw her one last time.

She watched him fade, knowing that she had given him the relief that he was desperately asking for. Without another word, Clare let the air filter out of her lungs as she watched him fall into darkness. She was the only thing that didn’t hurt. For that, she was thankful.

+++

It had only been three days since the crash, though time passed differently in hospital wards.

Harry no longer woke in a blur of pain and morphine. He was more alert now, unfortunately more aware of every ache, every shift in the light, every passing moment that he wasn’t given any answers.

His burns were healing in increments he couldn’t feel, and the torn muscles in his thigh were no longer on fire, just throbbing due to the heavy medications they had him on. Still, he couldn't sit up on his own. His chest tightened every time he breathed too deep, and a nurse had told him – a blonde one with far too much joy, that his ribs were “knitting nicely.”

He’d snapped at her without meaning to. The guilt lingered, but not enough to make him apologize. He hadn’t seen that nurse again. In all certainty, he couldn’t stand the pity and the smile and the happiness that came with being alive.

The ward he was in only had twelve beds, though only seven were filled. It was one of the smaller military hospitals in the area. Most of the other men were in worse shape than he was—one with bandages wrapped around his entire head, another with a leg amputated just below the knee. Some slept all day, others groaned through their nightmares, sometimes waking up the whole ward in fits of screams and cries that were more than upsetting.

A few were like ghosts even while awake, eyes hollow, refusing to speak on what they had seen out there. Harry hated that he wasn’t the worst of them.

He hated the silence in the gaps between coughs and groans and footsteps. He hated the absence of his uniform and the new hospital clothes that they had put on his body while he was unconscious, removing his suit that was covered in blood and tears. Hated the sound of his own heartbeat, which was steady and undeserving, he knew. He hated thinking —

“Tea?”

It was a voice that came from his left – seeing a nurse standing there in her white. The navy collar around her neck, the pinned back dark hair that had felt so familiar to him. He had been startled slightly by the voice, but tried not to show it.

It was the night nurse again - Clare, he remembered. She stood at his bedside with a metal tray, a chipped mug in one hand, a folded cloth in the other. Her hair was pinned back again, and the shadows under her eyes were more pronounced tonight. He wondered if she ever slept, or if she just floated between wards.

“Only if there’s whisky in it,” he muttered, voice raspier than intended. He realized that he hadn’t spoken much, his throat feeling dryer than ever.

Clare didn’t smile, but one corner of her mouth quirked at the small bit of humor, barely there. “Not quite regulation, I’m afraid.”

She set the tray down on the bedside table and pulled a chair closer, settling into it with a sigh that sounded more out of habit than weariness. She didn’t look at him right away, just adjusted the angle of the lamp, the slope of his blanket.

Harry practically hadn't sleep here – he didn’t want to close his eyes. Most of the sleeping was due to medications. These nights were mostly spent sitting awake with his own thoughts, watching as the nurses would go from person to person, waiting for their medications or for something terrible to happen to bring in a bunch of soldiers.

All twelve of the beds hadn’t been completely filled since Harry had gotten there, which was a good thing, he supposed. But that may have just meant that they were dying out in the fields instead.

He could feel her watching him in the way trained people did—without making it obvious. She was checking his color, his alertness. The way his fingers twitched when he thought he was being still.

“Your color’s better,” he said, concluding his assumptions. “Are you sleeping?”

Harry shrugged in a nonchalance like he didn’t know how to respond, though it hurt to do it. “Enough.”

“You’re not feverish anymore,” she told him, nodding a few times. 

“Fantastic.”

That bitterness was back in his voice—he could hear it, taste it, but it still kept slipping out like a reflex.

Clare didn’t flinch at his roughness. She simply picked up a small cloth and dipped it into the water basin that had sat next to his bed, wringing it out over the tray. She was quiet for a while, the kind of quiet that didn’t demand conversation but made Harry guilty for snapping at her too.

Harry stared at the ceiling, trying not to think too much about it.

“Have they heard anything?” he asked, too quickly, too suddenly. “About Majors Rosenthal and Connolly? Or Tupolo?”

She paused; she knew from other nurses that he asked daily, almost multiple times a day, about his colleagues. About the men he had gone up in the plane with and hadn’t come down with.

“There’s been no word yet that I'm aware of.”

Her tone was gentle, but not soft. She didn’t look away. She didn’t coat it in false hope; he was happy that she didn’t lie to his face. That’s what made it worse.

Harry nodded a few times as he stared at the ceiling, feeling the water from the rag press against the cut on his brow. He felt the press of something sharp behind his ribs, too, and not the kind that came from injury.

“They were better than me,” he let out after a long moment. “More experienced. Dean could land a plane blind, and Bennett… Bennett’s the kind of lad who always has a cigarette, even when no one else does. He’s the one people follow,” He paused again, “And John was just a fucking kid.”

Clare didn’t interrupt as he started to talk about the men who he may have shared last minutes with. From the other nurses, they hadn’t heard much out of him, so his time to talk must have been at night rather than during the day.

“And me?” He let out a short, mirthless laugh. “I got ejected like bloody cargo. Popped out the side door and fell into a field while they went down in flames. And now, here I am.”

Clare was quick with her response, “You didn’t choose that.”

“No,” he snapped, eyes moving to look up at her. “But I survived it, didn’t I?”

His voice rose, just a little, enough to make the man in the next bed stir. Harry winced and turned his face away. Clare’s expression didn’t change, but she took the cloth from against his skin and rinse the muslin in the small basin. He exhaled through his nose, trying to push the anger back down.

“I keep thinking maybe if I’d stayed… if I’d tried harder to reach the cockpit, or—hell, if I’d stayed on the radio one second longer—”

“What was your duty station?” Clare’s initial attempt to change the conversation worked for a moment as he cleared his throat to give her an answer.

“Engineer,” Harry nodded, staring at the ceiling for a moment. “The – I mean, the last thing I can remember is we were shot from behind and the wing was damaged. We were falling out of the sky, but Bennett couldn’t – uh, he just couldn’t get the leverage to be able to land it, and – “

“You did everything that you could.” She told him in honesty, that’s what she had to say to these soldiers. There was nothing that could have been done – they were following their orders, they were young men in the world trying to make a difference and to fight for their freedoms.

“Did I?” He turned toward her, frustration lighting his eyes as he practically seethed at the question. “Maybe I would’ve burned with them. And maybe that would’ve made more sense.”

Clare met his gaze and held it; she didn’t shy away from making contact with him because that helped neither of them.

“And maybe it wouldn’t,” she told him, something in her eyes that made Harry close his mouth. “But you’re here. And that’s what we have to work with.”

Harry looked away first. When he did, Clare let go of the breath she held to stay strong.

The anger drained as quickly as it had come, leaving only the echo of it, hollow in his chest. The worst part wasn’t that he didn’t know where his crewmates were - it was that he couldn’t help them. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but lie in this quiet room surrounded by dying men and pitying nurses and wonder why he’d been spared.

Harry sat and wondered if they were out there laying in a field, dying. If they had someone to hold their hand and recite their last prayers to the almighty God.

Clare stood and placed the cloth gently on his forehead. It was cool, damp, soothing in a way that he wanted to reject, but didn’t.

“Most of the men who come through here,” she said, voice low to keep the other men from awaking around them, “They wake up disoriented, in tremendous pain. Screaming,” she cleared her throat “They don’t remember where they are, sometimes who they are - some don’t know their own names. You’re lucid. You’re angry. That’s not failing.”

Harry’s jaw was tight as he swallowed. “You sound like you’ve said that before.”

“I have.” Clare said, nodding. “It’s a reminder for the ones who lived. Thankfully, many have, but many are taking away the same nightmares.”

She took the mug from the tray and handed it to him. His hands were steadier than they’d been a few days ago, though the left one trembled slightly from the burns. The tea was always a bit of a trick to make sure that they were steady and there hadn’t been anymore shaking. He took the tea, even though it burned a bit.

“I don’t know what to do with myself,” he admitted after a long silence, possibly a bit overwhelmed with the situation. A bit muffed with how everything had turned out. He hadn’t had any information, or any way to get information. He didn’t know if they knew he was alive or dead – he didn’t know anything.

Clare pulled the chair a little closer, crossing her legs as she sat with him for a moment. “You rest. You heal.”

With a quick response, he shook his head, “That’s not enough.”

“For now, it has to be.”

The quick and emotionless duties of her responses were eerie in some ways. Now that Harry could sit here and look at her, he recognized how absolutely stunning she was – dark features, pink lips. Her eyes were cerulean, which popped against her dark hair that was pinned back.

But there was something about her that seemed troubled, almost just as stubborn and hurt as he could have been. Instead of making her night worse, he decided to possibly dive into the company.

As he took a sip of the tea, he looked over at her. “Is it hard?”

“What?” She asked him, checking over his paperwork that was next to his bed.

“This job. Seeing people like this.”

Clare didn’t answer him at first, because there really wasn’t a response to give. Hard was subjective; the job itself was easy because she knew how to handle tough situations, and she knew how to attend to the patients. But was it mentally draining, of course it was.

She glanced around the ward, her gaze briefly landing on the man two beds down who moaned softly in his sleep. That man had been shot in the head; he was barely hanging onto life as he knew it. He was only twenty-one.

“Yes,” she said eventually, giving him an answer. “But it’s harder when they don’t make it. Or when they do, but they give up.”

Harry didn’t reply, he didn’t want to look at her with that response, either. It felt pointed, almost like he was being punished for feeling sad. He sipped the tea—it was bitter and weak, but it grounded him.

The heat of the ceramic, the feel of his own breath fogging the rim, reminded him that he was real. That he was here. Not in the wreckage. Not floating over fields in a parachute. Not burning.

No, he was lying in a warm, hospital ward with a beautiful woman next to him as he had antibiotic medication soothing his burns. He took a deep breath in through his nose and settled against the pillow.

Clare stood again. She checked his chart, made a note, then paused. “Would you like me to bring you a book next time I’m on shift? To pass the time?"

He blinked at her, a bit unsure of where her question had come from.

“What sort of book?” He asked her, blinking a few more times to feel the tiredness in him.

“Hm,” she hummed, “You tell me.”

He thought for a moment, a bit of humor in his tone. “Nothing heroic. No war stories, please.”

She nodded, appreciating the bit of humor that he gave her. It had been nothing but pointed jabs and pessimism from him, but she could handle it. “Understood.”

As she turned to go, Harry called out, quietly, “Clare?”

She looked back at him, carrying the tray with her as she went. The man she was looking at was broken, he was physically and emotionally scarred, and she knew that there was built up anger and resentment. She didn’t hold that against him in the slightest bit; she knew it was just an uphill battle.

So, she gave him a bit of grace. She looked at the broken man giving him the grace and prosperity that he deserved.

“I’m not always like this, you know..”

She gave him a small, tired smile. Taking in a deep breath, she held the metal tray to her chest. “Neither am I.”

Then, without another word, she was gone. Her steps quiet on the polished floor, her silhouette swallowed by the dim light near the ward doors.

Harry lay back slowly, wincing as his side tensed. He stared at the ceiling again, but the pressure in his chest was softer now—less like a vise, more like a hand.

He thought of Bennett’s laugh. Of Dean swearing at the radio. Of the way the clouds looked from above, blinding and soft. Those were the most precious memories that he could hold. It was a euphoric feeling of being high above the cloud, through the clouds, being up that high gave you a sense of purpose.

But then there was the feeling of falling, then waking, and seeing her standing over him like a lighthouse in the smoke. What a way to awaken from the haunted visions.

He hadn’t seen the plane crash to the ground. But he’d survived it. And maybe, somehow, that would have to be enough.

Maybe, somehow, the others would have, as well.

+++

The next evening, Harry had been finishing up some of his supper – some meat, potatoes, cabbage, and carrots cooked in a sort of gravy sauce. It wasn’t the best meal he’s ever eaten, but it satisfied the pain in his stomach. He needed to continue to eat, or the medicine would make him sick to his stomach, he was told by the doctors.

But as he was finishing his meal, Clare returned with a book tucked under one arm. She had practically snuck it into the ward, keeping it away from the other soldiers and nurses, as if to make him feel special.

Harry noticed immediately. Not just the book—but her. The way she carried herself through the ward, less like a nurse and more like someone who belonged there. Someone who moved through pain without absorbing it. He didn’t understand it, not fully, but he was beginning to recognize it.

“Something told me you wouldn’t be one for poetry,” she said by way of greeting. She held out the book, letting the lopsided grin of hers take over her face.

He took it, eyebrows lifting at the cover. The Thirty-Nine Steps.

“Adventure. Espionage. No heroism,” she added, “Just as requested.”

Harry smirked faintly as he took it from her fingers. “I’m very glad you remembered,” he said to her, “I’ve been bored out of my mind.”

She pulled the chair closer again and sat, her posture a little more relaxed this time. It was getting easier to look at her without feeling like he might break.

“Thank you,” he said after a beat.

At this point, Clare looked around at his paperwork next to his bed – checking all the other nurses had properly done his medicines, changed his bandages, bathed him, and done right by him. “For the book?”

“For not treating me like a broken watch.” Harry pushed his tray away; Clare took it from his lap and set it down on another table as she noticed how he may have been in a bit more pain that day.

Clare smiled softly, her attitude may have been giving him the right to smile and feel better. “I wouldn’t know how to fix one of those, either.”

He gave a low laugh, but it turned quickly into a wince. His side still pulled tight if he moved too quickly. The way that his nose scrunched made her look worried, which was the most she had given to him empathetically. Clare breathed out, turning the conversation back to a different topic.

“I read that one when I was sixteen,” Clare continued, “My brother snuck it to me. My mother thought it was much too improper.”

“Because it had spies?”

“Because it had adventure,” she said, grinning now. “My mother was a schoolteacher. Believed anything fast and unrealistic was indecent.”

Harry opened the book with care but didn’t read any of the words yet. He liked the feel of it in his hands. Something to hold onto; it made him realize that his hands may have hurt a bit more than he had recalled from doing nothing with them. Something with a beginning and an end. Something someone else had finished.

He didn’t ask about her brother. Before he could speak again, the ward doors opened suddenly with pace and loud conversation that caught everyone’s attention.

A pair of orderlies wheeled in a stretcher, occupied by a soldier. The man on it was unconscious, his skin pallid, lips chapped, and a deep bandage wrapped around his upper thigh. One arm was splinted and strapped to his chest; his leg was covered in blood through the bandages.

Harry’s heart clenched when he watched the man be placed practically across from him.

“John?” he whispered before he could stop himself.

Clare looked up when she noticed that Harry’s demeanor had changed. “Do you know him, then?”

Harry nodded, stunned and unsure if his medications were playing a trick on him. “That’s- that’s John. Captain Tupolo. H-He was with my unit. He was our bombardier on the plane.”

The orderlies settled John into the bed across from Harry and pulled the curtain halfway; he was unable to see any longer, but his heart beat expeditiously. A nurse followed with a clipboard. There was quiet movement—vitals, tags, whispered instructions.

“Found him in a hedgerow,” one orderly muttered to another. “Alive, somehow. Someone must’ve moved him over there and thought he was a goner.”

Clare stood and crossed the room briefly, speaking in low tones with the nurse at John’s side. Harry tried to listen, but his ears buzzed too much, blood rushing with a new kind of urgency.

When Clare returned, her expression was cautious, but she gave him a smile.

“He’s stable, but in rough shape,” she told him gently, “Dislocated shoulder. His leg is badly infected and cut very deeply. But he’s lucid. He’s here.”

Harry exhaled a breath that he hadn’t been sure he had been holding in until it felt good to release. “Can I—”

“Soon. Let him wake fully.” Clare placed another quilt on the bottom of Harry’s cot, using her hands to make sure that he was comfortable.

She didn't sit again, and didn’t speak further, letting him sit with the information as she moved her way out of his space. Harry didn’t know what to do with the relief and the dread, crashing together like waves. Two men accounted for. Two still missing. He closed his eyes.

An hour passed. Then two. Another could have, but Harry had stopped keeping track. His sleep hadn't come.

Clare’s shift ended the next morning as usual, and another nurse took her place. But she’d left a note tucked into the book’s first page as soon as Harry had opened it when he was eating breakfast the following morning: If it gets too dull, tell me. I won’t take it personally. I’ll bring another one.

He read the first chapter, but his thoughts drifted. It felt silly to be reading about a world where this wasn't happening.

Across the room, John stirred on his own cot. A soft groan and a rustle of sheets made Harry’s eyes move towards the curtain that they had closed around him. Harry had learned that the worse cases got the longest curtain.

The nurse approached and murmured something before he realized that she was pulling the curtain away to let some daylight into the ward from the day, which allowed Harry see John for the first time.

“John,” Harry could see his friend, not far at all, right across from him. The man had been sat up, probably to keep the blood flow moving.

John’s voice came in a hoarse whisper as he really opened his eyes to see Harry sitting across from him; his eyes were swollen and he looked like he had a lot of trauma to the face, scrapes, brusing: “Styles?”

Harry snapped upright, then winced at the pain in such a movement.

“Bloody hell, mate,” he breathed, giving a humorless laugh before shaking his head, “You look like you lost a fight with a train.”

John gave a faint, broken laugh himself. “Takes one to know one.”

His eyes were sunken but sharp, and though pain was etched in every feature, he was unmistakably John. Harry wanted to ask a thousand things at once but didn’t know where to start – he didn’t know if he had any answers, or if he had anything further to discuss.

In some ways, he didn’t want to have John relive through moments that were probably horrifyingly troublesome.

“You’re here,” he said instead.

“Not for lack of trying otherwise.”

Harry stared, hands starting to shake as he had flashes of what had happened. “How the hell did you make it?”

“Got thrown clear when the fuselage split. Landed in a bog.” He paused, breath catching. “Stayed down. Played dead for a while because I couldn't move, could hear them around me. Some farmer found me and helped.”

“Jesus.” Harry breathed out, shaking his head. If that had happened, he had so much more hope for the other two.

After another moment, John cleared his own throat. “Figured you were gone, mate.”

Harry swallowed hard, holding onto the quilt Clare had put at the foot of his bed, but his hands were taped with gauze and he could barely hold anything tightly. “I thought the same about you.”

A heavy silence settled between them, almost like they both knew what the other was about to say. Harry made it there first.

“What about—” Harry started to speak but couldn’t say Dean’s name, Bennett's name was stuck in his throat, too. His throat closed; eyes welling up as he thought about the inevitable truth of possibly losing a friend.

John’s expression shifted but stayed rather bare.

“Bennett made it out. Got burns on his hands, think he had major damage to his skull. They airlifted him to another hospital up north. Some place near Leeds, I think. I heard that when I was being transported here.”

Relief and grief collided again, but Harry felt his mouth go dry. Three survived. “And Dean?”

John didn’t speak for a long time, but when he did, Harry heard the way that his voice broke at the first words.

“I saw it happen,” he said finally. “He tried to get the radio working again. Refused to bail. Last thing I heard was him shouting coordinates at me, but I –“ He paused for a moment, “I was pulled out before the plane exploded.”

Harry stared at the ceiling, blinking hard because crying meant losing. It meant he was giving up the façade the soliders built so hard to be respected for.

“I’m sorry, mate.” John said quietly; he had known that Dean and Harry had made their way through the unit trainings together, flying many trips. They had gone up multiple times in the year that they had been together – so, it hurt to know that one moment took Dean away forever.

Harry nodded slowly with his jaw clenched, thinking of the girl that Dean held with him in his pocket in a photo memory. “He was the best of us. I’m sure Rebecca got word, then”

“I’m sure she did.”

Silence. Thick, heavy, full of memories neither could voice. They didn’t talk again that night.

+++

The next day, Harry woke to find Clare back, sitting in the same chair with a steaming mug of tea and a handful of letters she was sorting through, looking for ones for him. When she didn't find any, she sat them down on the bedside table.

“You’ve got a roommate,” she said, nodding toward the next bed.

“Saw him,” Harry murmured out, a bit dazed. “Didn’t sleep much after.”

Clare studied him for a moment. “Must've been some relief to see him.”

Harry nodded, not knowing if he had much to say about it. It just made him think about other things. “Glad he made it out.”

Her eyes softened. She handed him the tea, watching as his hands still shook when he held it. “That’s something.”

He wanted to thank her again—he wasn’t sure why. Maybe for the way she didn’t ask too much but gave just enough acknowledgement for it to mean something. Maybe for always knowing when to sit in silence, or to let him grieve.

Instead, he said, “Do you always volunteer for the night shifts?”

She lifted her eyes to him, clearing her throat. “I don’t mind them." He could tell that there was something else there

“But?” He questioned.

Clare tilted her head. “But there’s a kind of quiet here at night that feels… honest.”

Harry sipped his tea - stronger today, which was good. “Is that what you look for?”

“Most days," she told him, shrugging with a smirk, "I'm not one for bullshit."

He considered her for a moment. The curve of her shoulders. The quiet steadiness in her eyes. There was something strong in her that had nothing to do with uniforms or rules. Something she carried into the room each time she walked in.

“You’ve seen a lot, haven’t you?” he asked her, feeling chattier the more she sat around him. Something about her made him want to know all of it.

Clare didn’t answer immediately. “I started as a nurse’s aide at seventeen. The men used to joke that I still looked like someone’s little sister.”

Harry's eyes traced her, really looking at her like he couldn't take his eyes off of her. “You don’t now.”

She raised an eyebrow, maybe feeling a bit of flush on her cheeks. “Is that a compliment or a comment on the war?”

“Both.”

She smiled again, but just barely, and stood. “You’ll need rest. The doctor wants you to try standing with assistance by week’s end.”

Harry groaned, feeling his eyes roll gently before he set his tea down. “Are they trying to kill me properly?”

Clare leaned in, adjusting his blanket. “No, Lieutenant. They’re trying to send you home.”

Her touch lingered briefly on his arm before she pulled back.

Harry watched her move to the next bed, speaking softly to John. The two of them exchanged a few words, and he heard Clare laugh—quiet, real. He hadn’t realized until that moment how much he liked that sound.

He lay back, the book still on his lap.

Dean was gone. Bennett was alive. John was here.

And Clare—Clare was becoming something he didn’t know how to name. A tether, maybe. A warmth in a room full of wounds.

He didn’t know what was next. But for the first time since falling from the sky, he wasn’t completely afraid to find out.

+++

It was nearing half-past nine on a grey, sluggish evening when Clare found herself seated at the far end of the nurses’ station, a cup of tea cooling beside her half-finished patient chart. Rain tapped softly against the windowpanes, a rhythmic background to the scratch of pens, murmured updates, and the occasional weary yawn.

The night shift had bled into day like watercolor over damp paper—blurred, endless, quiet in that strange, exhausted way hospitals always were after dawn.

She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the nape of her neck damp from the heat of the ward and tried to focus on finishing her notes for bed two—an older gentleman with a broken hip and an exceptional fondness for singing hymns at four in the morning.

Across the desk, Nurse Margaret tilted her chair back and fanned herself with a clipboard. “Lord, if I have to change one more dressing soaked through with iodine and self-pity…”

Nurse Ruth, sorting some medical supplies beside her, chuckled. “You mean the charming Mr. Abrams in ward six? He winked at me yesterday, said I’ve got the hands of a pianist and the face of a war bride.”

“You going to write him back when he leaves?” Margaret teased, giving a knowing eye.

“Oh, absolutely,” Ruth deadpanned back, “right after I put some bleach in my eyes.”

The small group of nurses laughed at that. Clare gave a quiet smile but didn’t join in. Her fingers remained poised on her own chart she was to complete for the doctors reference, her expression composed as her eyes fell over the name: Lt. Styles, Harry.

“It’s strange,” Ruth continued, sliding onto a stool as she tucked her ankles together. “Some of them flirt like it’s the only thing keeping them breathing. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I think it helps. Reminds them they’re still human. But it feels… I don’t know.”

“Like a game, maybe?” Clare offered softly to the conversation.

Ruth looked at her, surprised at her joining in. “Exactly. Like they’re playing dress-up in their own tragedy. To step away from the tragedy.”

Clare nodded once, not unkindly, her eyes drifting back to the chart. She didn’t say what she was thinking, that it didn’t always feel like a game to the men.

Sometimes, it was desperation disguised as charm. A last-ditch attempt to feel young, or funny, or alive again because they would leave here to go back to their units or back home to something that didn't matter anymore. Sometimes it was innocent. Sometimes it wasn’t. But always, it left a mark.

Margaret leaned forward, lowering her voice with a conspiratorial grin. “Speaking of inappropriate affections, has anyone noticed how Lieutenant Styles doesn’t respond to anyone except Clare?”

That earned a few lifted brows and a round of curious glances, maybe even a few gawks. Clare blinked slowly but didn’t lift her head as she tried to ignore the conspiracy altogether.

“Oh, come on,” Margaret continued, trying to push Clare, “I gave him his meds yesterday morning and he just nodded. Didn’t even thank me or give me the time of day. But you come near his bed and he sits up straighter than a schoolboy reciting Latin.”

“He’s quiet with everyone else,” Ruth said, more thoughtfully. “But he listens when Clare speaks.”

Clare gave a mild shrug, eyes still on the paperwork. “Perhaps he simply finds comfort in routine.”

“Comfort, sure. But the way he watches you…” Margaret trailed off with a knowing smirk.

“Like a man writing poetry in his head,” Nurse Helen chimed in from the corner. “I saw it myself last week when you leaned in to check his shoulder dressing. His eyes didn’t blink the entire time – it was like he was memorizing you!”

“I think I blushed for you,” Ruth added with a simple giggle; she must have been kicking her feet under the chair.

Clare rolled her eyes, but the flush rising to her cheeks betrayed her from keeping quiet or not saying too much. She closed her chart with deliberate care and sipped her now-cold tea. “You lot spend far too much time crafting romances out of fever dreams, it seems.”

“We’re overworked, underpaid, and in the middle of a war, Clare,” Margaret said breezily, shaking her hand at her. “Let us have our stories.”

“He’s a patient.” Clare defended, trying to brush off the stares and the eyes knowing that they would but placed on them more heavily now.

“Yes,” Ruth said, watching her carefully, tilting her head, “but he’s also a man. And you’re not made of stone, especially with a face like that.”

Clare didn’t answer right away – her facial expression gave it away, surely. Her gaze dropped to her hands, stilling on a faint smear of ink on her palm. She rubbed it absentmindedly against her skirt, then finally looked up.

“It’s not that I don’t see it,” she said, with a calm tone. “The way he watches. I’d have to be blind not to. But don’t mistake that for anything more than what it is.”

“And what’s that?” Helen asked gently – the other girls leaning in to listen to her answer, surely wanting a bit more gossip than there was to give.

“Recognition,” Clare replied. “Of someone who’s walked into the fire and come back. Someone who knows what it costs,” She stood from her spot, shaking her head as she did it. “He’s a hero, and I’m just making sure he feels recognized for what he’s done. Especially when many of them feel like failures.”

The room quieted for a moment at her words; maybe even a bit of guilt from everyone as Clare felt guilty for bringing the mood down, but the girls may have felt a bit guilty for making a joke out of their duties.

Ruth nodded slowly, tucking her hands into her apron. “That’s fair.”

But, Margaret couldn’t resist one more jab, albeit softer this time. “Still, if he asks you to run off with him to the coast, at least let us know so we can throw you a proper goodbye party to relinquish you from your duties.”

Clare smiled faintly at that, shaking her head. “If he ever manages to walk across the ward without tripping over his IV line, I may consider it.”

That earned another round of laughter, and this time Clare let herself join in with it.

Still, when she returned to the ward twenty minutes later, chart tucked under her arm, her gaze wandered to the almost inevitable site where, near the bed corner window, the one screened slightly for privacy, was Harry’s bed.

And, as usual for this time of night, he was awake. Propped up on one elbow, book in hand. He wasn’t reading, though. He was watching her.

Not in the way a soldier watched a nurse, waiting for meds or instructions or for some sort of reaction of feeling needed. Not even in the way a man watched a woman he found pretty. No—it was quieter than that. It was much more present than that – like she was the only thing in the room he didn’t want to miss.

Clare held his gaze for a second longer than she meant to, tilting her chin forward to suggest she had been going to him for a reason. Then she turned and walked toward him, heart tapping a little too hard in her chest, voice steady as ever.

“Lieutenant Styles,” she said lightly with a sigh, quietly to allow the other men to sleep, “don’t tell me you’re pretending to read again.”

He smirked, the edge of it sharp and crooked, just for her. “Not pretending at all. Just distracted for a moment.”

“I wonder by what.” She asked him, quietly moving to fluff the pillow that sat behind his back, making sure that his posture was not taking a beating for the way that he sat.

Harry’s eyes reverted to the book in front of him, nodding a few times as he allowed the smirk to stay present on his face, “I think you know.”

She rolled her eyes again—but this time, she smiled as she did. And he saw it.

+++

The ward was quiet, the kind of quiet that settled only in the deepest stretch of night—when the men who could sleep, did, and the others tossed in silence, chasing ghosts behind their closed eyes.

Harry was somewhere in between those moments – he felt that sleep was to take him, but he struggled with falling.

He’d dozed off around midnight, propped up slightly on the pillows Clare had fluffed for him, her voice still echoing faintly in his head. “Try to get some rest. I’ll be on until morning if you need anything.”

She’d smiled before drawing the curtain halfway shut around his bed, promising safety in that gentle, practiced way of hers. But sleep wasn’t a peaceful place. Not anymore, at least.

He twitched once, then again, face tightening as his breath caught.

There he was back in the sky—cramped in the bomber’s gut, metal rattling all around him. There was smoke… fire. His oxygen mask tight against his face as the machine shook and rattled and adrenaline struck through his veins.

Someone was shouting over the intercom—Styles? Tupolo? He couldn’t tell; his senses were heightened, but the adrenaline and pulse was louder. The plane bucked beneath them like a dying animal, the nose tipping unnaturally downward as he tried to hold onto the side to try and escape from where he sat, gravity pulling against him.

Then—an explosion. Light, hot and blinding, consumed everything.

“Engine two’s out! We’ve got fire! We’ve got fire—Mayday! We need to eject!”

Harry was trying to move – every inch of him was trying to get to Dean who was stuck in the rear, thrown backwards by the explosion. His harness was caught; he couldn’t remove it.

He was screaming.

The heat was everywhere; the sound was everywhere. The fuselage was tearing open above his head. Sparks rained down. Dean’s voice was screaming his name—no, not screaming.

Gurgling. Like something inside him had broken. And it had; a piece of the plane had him pinned to the wall, blood circling around his abdomen as he fought The numbness felt like he couldn't move, but he needed to. He needed to get out, he needed to move.

“Bail out, Styles! Bail out!” John's voice called over the sound of the plane falling from the sky. Falling deeper and moving faster.

His hands fumbled to get himself out of the door. His shoulder screamed in protest. The world tipped again, violently, and his body hit the fuselage wall hard.

Red. Everything was red. And then, nothing. Freefall. He was falling.

Cold air against his face.

A silent, endless drop.

Harry jerked awake with a ragged gasp, his hands clutching the blanket twisted over his chest, heart pounding like it was trying to break through his ribs. His shirt was drenched with sweat, his shoulder seizing up with pain from the way he’d thrashed. He blinked rapidly into the dark, half-lost in the nightmare still clinging to his skin like smoke.

He tried to sit up but couldn’t. His body trembled violently, his breathing sharp and fast and wrong.

“Harry—”

The curtain rustled and Clare appeared in a second, hair pinned up but a few strands loose now, face open with concern. She was still in her uniform, though the collar was unbuttoned at the throat almost like she had been taking a break before hearing his struggling.

She didn’t speak again at first, just came to his bedside and placed a hand gently on his arm.

“You’re alright. It was just a dream. You’re safe.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, voice quivering just at the thought of the sounds, the noises, the sounds, the feeling of it – seeing Dean’s face. “I—I saw it – I almost,”

“I know,” she murmured, holding his hand, softly coaxing him to come to a manageable place. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” His voice cracked, quiet and raw, his throat felt right as he tried to whisper but the feeling of tears releasing from the sides of his eyes only made him want to speak less. “Dean didn’t make it. I saw - I left him in there. I left him, Clare.”

Clare pulled a chair up to the side of his bed and reached for his hand, wrapping her fingers firmly around his. Her touch felt like the burning.

“You didn’t leave him,” she told him flatly, “You were ordered to bail. You survived. That doesn’t make it wrong. That makes you human.”

His hand shook in hers, jaw clenched hard like he was trying to force the rest of it down. His hands hurt, he could practically feel the burn on them from hitting the side of the plane on the way down.

“I hear him sometimes. Even when I’m awake. It’s like—like he’s stuck in the moment I lost him.”

Clare exhaled softly and moved to the supply drawer by his bed, retrieving a small vial and a paper cup with practiced ease. Like she had done this hundreds of times. “This will help calm your nerves. Just enough to let your body rest, okay?”

“I don’t want to forget,” he said as she prepared the dose, watching her with a calmer notion. The feeling of her there was calming, it was helpful to not be alone when he felt so incredibly alone.

“You won’t,” her words were gentle with him, “But you won’t relive it over and over like this either.”

She handed him the cup, the small medications. His fingers were still trembling, so she steadied his hand as he drank.

When he was done, she eased him back against the pillow, brushing the damp curls from his forehead. Her touch was tender, but not fragile—like someone who had learned to be steady because the world wasn’t.

“I used to wait for the telegram,” she said after a while, voice barely above a whisper. “Every day for two years. My brother went straight to Germany. I thought if I stayed busy, if I worked hard enough, it wouldn’t come.”

Harry’s gaze shifted to her face, eyes focusing on the way that she held stoic and cold. Like showing emotion revolving around herself would hurt him more.

“They found his body six months ago,” she said, swallowing hard, nodding – a dry laugh left her as she turned away from him for a moment. “Sometimes I still wake up thinking he’s on leave and just forgot to write. I just get so wrapped up in staying busy that I feel guilty that I forget every once in a while.”

He didn’t speak, just watched her in the pale moonlight spilling through the window, her profile etched in soft blue and silver from the outside.

“You and I,” she shook her head, “we didn’t start this war. But we live in the middle of it, and we carry what it leaves behind.”

She looked back down at him, eyes deep and steady and full of a wisdom he hadn’t been ready to hear. “That’s not weakness, Harry. That’s survival.”

His throat tightened at her words, blinking at her with a mindful watch. “How do you do it? Keep your hands from shaking?”

“I don’t,” she admitted to him gently, showing him the shake in her right hand. “I just have to keep using them, anyways.”

The medication had started to work, dulling the edges of his panic. Harry had started to feel his body ease, though the grief hadn’t left—it just wasn’t screaming quite so loud anymore. There wasn’t a voice anymore, but just a noble reason.

Clare stood and tucked the blanket back around him, tucking it into his legs to keep him warm in the cold ward. “Try to sleep now. I’ll stay until you do.”

“You don’t have to.” He told her, watching as she took another seat next to him. Her eyes looked at the book that sat on his bedside table, dog-eared on the places that he stopped.

“I want to.”

He didn’t argue with that. His eyes drifted closed, and for the first time in days, when he exhaled, it didn’t feel like he was breathing through fire.

Clare sat beside him, her hand resting lightly on the edge of his bed, not holding on, but certainly not letting go either.

+++

There was rain by the midafternoon, pattering gently against the long windows that lined the ward. Outside, the grounds were turning a muddy brown, leaves wet and heavy from the wind. Inside, the heat in the woodstove ticked, and the scent of antiseptic still clung to every linen.

Harry sat upright in bed, legs over the edge, his hands gripping the frame for balance.

Every inch of movement still hurt—just less than it had a week ago. It had been almost two weeks now that Harry was here. His muscles ached, his burns were starting to heal as best as they could in the short time– the ones that were down to the bone were struggling, but there was progress. His hips were starting to get sore the more he sat around, waiting for the muscles to heal

The burns along his ribs itched under the bandages. But the doctors had informed him that he could start to walk now. Stand without help, even if he had to hold the wall. He’d taken six steps that morning, and felt like he could have collapsed. It felt like a bloody marathon.

“I heard you made it to the door and back,” Clare said, appearing beside him with a folded blanket. He hadn’t realized that she was back so soon – the day must have started to really fade from him.

“You forgot to mention how bloody far the door is.”

She grinned at his nonsense. “You can take it up with the nurse who designed the floor plan.”

“I will. Just as soon as I can walk without feeling like a newborn deer.”

He looked at her, and wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. There was something different about Clare today. Her shoulders were drawn in slightly, her smile a little thinner.

“Everything alright?” he asked. He could see that there was a look in her face that may have been more somber than before.

She nodded. “Just tired, I guess.”

Harry watched her for a beat longer, then glanced at the book on his side table. He’d nearly finished it now—stolen chapters late at night, flipping the pages when his thoughts turned too heavy.

“You’re off tonight, yeah?” he asked; Harry was quite chatty in normal conversation, maybe it didn’t seem that way when he was in here. He didn’t really know what to say, but he felt a bit more normal today as he was able to get up and walk around.

Clare paused what she had been doing before nodding back at him with a pressed smile. “I am, for a few days.”

“Going home?” He asked her quietly, watching as she readied his medicines.

A soft exhale. “Um, yes, I’m – going to see my father, I guess,” she bit on her lip softly, “The first time I’m seeing him since George died,” she paused for a moment, “Just the two of us. Mum died of influenza years ago now, so I just imagine it will be difficult.”

He nodded, thinking to himself. Then: “Clare?”

She looked back over at him without another word, as his words had drawn her in.

“You said once your brother gave you that book. The first time you read it. You didn’t have to give it to me, you know.”

Her smile faded. Harry didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

“We were very close. Closer than most siblings, I guess. We used to sneak up to the roof of our childhood flat and watch the people pass below, pretending we could read their thoughts. He used to say the only thing worse than being ordinary was being forgettable.”

She folded the blanket with slow, deliberate hands.

“I think about him when the ward goes quiet,” she blinks at him before she writes something on his chart, “Reminds me quite a bit of you, actually. He was very cheeky.”

Harry let her talk, watching as she grabbed the stethoscope to listen to his lungs, moving closer to him before her eyes were naturally in front of his, “I see his face in every boy who flinches in his sleep. And every time someone dies, I wonder if he had someone like me with him when -”

Harry swallowed, his voice tight, nodding. “He did.”

She looked at him, startled at his confirmation – the positivity in his voice. It was new, so she blinked at him for a moment almost not catching his new comfort.

“I wasn’t there,” Harry said, “but I know he did. Someone held his hand. Someone stayed with him.”

The silence between them stretched, but it wasn’t empty. It was thick, humming with what neither of them had said aloud yet. He went to stand slowly, muscles protesting as he pushed himself off of the cot and pushed his shoulders back.

“Still hurts like hell,” he muttered, stretching out his back.

Clare stepped toward him on instinct, almost like she was going to catch him if he fell, “Careful—”

But the problem with that was that Harry was quite taller than Clare, not by too much, but she would definitely not be able to lift him if he fell.

He waved her off with a tired smile, shaking his head as his hair fell into his eyes. “I’m alright, love. I just needed to stand while you talked about him. Felt like… like I should.”

She nodded, eyes shining before she studied him for a moment.

“Since you’re up, do you want to sit outside for a bit?” she asked. “The garden’s just through the hall.”

Harry blinked, a bit confused by her question. “You’re allowed to take patients for walks outside?”

“No,” she said, he could tell there was a bit of nonchalance in her voice, maybe a bit of weariness, “But you’re not a patient. You’re a soldier with a limp and poor judgment, and I feel it's the least we can do.”

He smiled back at her. “And you’re clearly a very bad nurse for not following protocol.”

“I’m the worst,” she said, already moving to grab an extra blanket to place around his shoulders in lieu of a jacket.

They made their way slowly through the corridor, Harry bracing himself on the walls when needed, Clare walking beside him like she wasn’t watching every breath he took. When they reached the door to the small, enclosed garden, she opened it gently and helped him step out.

The air was crisp, earthy with rain. The garden wasn’t large—just a few benches, some ivy climbing the walls, a rusted fountain with no water. But it was quiet. And private. Clare moved them over towards where they sat on a bench tucked near the back, out of sight from the windows.

Clare pulled her coat tighter. Harry tilted his face toward the sky; there wasn’t a cloud above them.

“I forgot what clean air smelled like.”

Clare watched him, making sure he was okay to maneuver before she helped him down on the bench. They sat on the wood for a moment, elbow to elbow, while she heard Harry take a few deep breaths. It was enough for him, she thought.

“I thought about writing my parents,” he said after a while. “But I don’t know what I’d say. They sent me off a whole son and I came back a cracked one.”

“You came back,” she said gently; her frustration didn’t lie with him, but with the situation. She knew he didn’t mean anything by it, and she allowed his own frustration to take over when he was obviously thinking of what happened in the sky. “That’s what matters.”

“For what? John’s still stuck in that bed. Dean’s gone. I was supposed to get us back – I was supposed to fix the plane.”

“You think you failed them,” Clare said matter-of-factly.

“I know I did.”

She shook her head. “You can’t keep measuring your worth by who did and didn't survive around you.”

“And how the hell should I measure it, then?” He was quick with his quip, turning his head to look at her and catching a glimmer in her eye.

“By who you still are.”

He looked at her, jaw tight. He noticed that there may have been a tear in her eye, so he backed down a bit quieter. “I can’t be who I was before.”

“Good,” Clare said, nodding, scoffing a bit. “He was probably full of himself.”

Harry gave a surprised laugh, sudden and short at the way she delivered that with such wit.

“I mean it,” she said, serious. Harry’s smile wiped away. “The man sitting here now? He’s still carrying everyone else’s weight. Still angry enough to walk, stubborn enough to argue. Still kind enough to ask about my brother. That sounds like someone I’d trust.”

He looked down at his hands. The backs of them were still healing, one wrapped loosely where the burns hadn’t closed yet. Her eyes looked down at them as he did.

Harry drew in a breath as he kept his voice to a whisper, “Do you ever think about what happens after?”

She didn’t ask what he meant – she didn’t have to.

“All the time,” she said. “And it scares the hell out of me.”

Harry nodded. “I think about being normal again. About laughing and meaning it. About sleeping through the night. But it feels like something only other people get to have.”

They sat in silence, the quiet between them thicker than the fog curling in the cool night air. The sky above was smudged with stars, barely visible behind drifting clouds, and the damp scent of earth and smoke hung in the air. The bench beneath them was cold, but Clare hadn’t moved. Neither had he.

Harry shifted slightly, only then realizing just how close they were. Her shoulder nearly brushed his. Her breath, soft and steady, fogged in the space between them.

“Do you believe in second chances?” he asked, voice low for just her to hear.

Clare didn’t look away. Her eyes, always steady, were darker in the twilight—watchful and unreadable, yet somehow gentle.

“I don’t know if I believe in chances at all,” she said finally, shaking her head. “But I believe in choosing. When something feels right, you choose it. Even if it’s only once.”

His breath caught, barely audible. Their fingers touched. Not by accident - she had reached for him, deliberate but featherlight, the back of her hand brushing his like a secret passage that only they both could see.

“I don’t know where I go from here,” Harry said quietly, eyes fixed on the ground. “I feel like I’m still falling in the sky.”

“You don’t have to know yet,” Clare said to him, honesty laced like honey around her words. “You’re allowed to just… be here.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough.”

Her voice softened, almost a whisper. “Harry.”

It was then that he looked at her. Really looked – it was a look that she had never seen before on someone. Her hair had loosened from its pins in the breeze, strands clinging to her cheek.

There was a smudge of ash near her collarbone from lighting the woodstove, and her coat wasn’t buttoned properly. For once, she didn’t fix it. She didn’t retreat behind the neat uniform, the calm nurse’s mask. Out here, she was only Clare.

It was the only person that she wanted Harry to see. Not the broken nurse who was looking for sympathy, or the girl who was losing everyone in her life at rapid rates.

“What?” he asked, barely above a breath. She could see his breath in the cold fog of the air.

She reached up, her fingers brushing his cheek. Not the raw, healing side—she didn’t flinch or pity. She chose the other, smooth and still familiar, as if to remind him that he hadn’t been erased. Her touch was warm against his cold skin; he noticed the shake in her fingers as she lifted her.

“If you asked me to stay,” she murmured, “I would.”

His throat worked around the lump that rose there. He stared at her, trying not to fall apart from something as simple and devastating as that.

And then he leaned in. Tentative. Careful. Like she was something fragile and holy and he was still learning how to hold anything without breaking it. Their foreheads touched – it was a bare touch, a touch she could have passed off as intimate. A breath passed between them, then another. His hand found her knee, grounding himself.

He didn’t kiss her.

But he could feel it—that pulse beneath the quiet longing that both of them held between them. The terrifying, beautiful possibility of being seen and chosen anyway.

Clare’s eyes drifted closed, only for a second, just a beat. Then she pulled back, slowly, as if severing something delicate.

“We should go in,” she said, voice hushed but with need. She needed to move away, or she would do something she could regret, “Your doctor would have my head if I let you catch cold.”

Harry swallowed, nodding. His chest ached, but not from pain this time. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, and for the first time in weeks, he rose without stumbling.

And Clare didn’t step away from him for a second, holding around his waist to help with movements. His legs and his body just hurt. It was hard to maneuver, but it was good for him to move like this.

They returned to the ward in silence, the corridor dimly lit by amber lamps – most of the soldiers were asleep, they made sure of it. Harry walked more steadily now, the rhythm of his steps echoing off the walls. Clare didn’t offer to hold his arm once they got inside—she didn’t have to. Something between them had already shifted, quiet but undeniable.

When they reached his small space—a small, curtained-off space tucked just past the main ward—he paused at the threshold.

“You can come in,” he said, turning his head to look at her then.

Clare hesitated only a second before following him. The room was quiet, softly lit by the lamp at his bedside. Compared to the ward, it felt warmer. More human. Harry had started to collect a few books from a few of the doctors and nurses, they were stacked neatly on the side table. An extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed, one that Clare had brought the other day. A small radio Harry never touched.

He sat on the edge of the bed, and Clare remained standing as she held her hands in front of her.

“Stay a moment?” he asked.

She nodded, drawing the curtain fully closed behind her.

The corridor had been quiet, the bustle of the hospital dimming quite drastically. Clare had just helped Harry back into bed, his body still stiff with the slow, frustrating ache of healing. She fluffed his pillow with practiced ease, smoothing the blanket over his lap as the ward had started to feel cold since the winter months were upon them.

“Fuck,” Harry cursed under his breath, shaking his head as he winced at the feeling of his leg stretching out. “God – fuck.”

“You’re wincing,” she countered, rolling her eyes at his face, “and you’re too proud to – “

He opened his mouth to retort, but then it happened— the noise was sharp and clear, the rising whine of a siren split the silence, its cry climbing like a scream into the darkening sky.

Harry froze; Clare’s head turned quickly towards the windows with a breath let out. His fingers clenched the edge of the blanket. “Bloody hell…”

Clare snapped towards the window that sat near Harry’s bed, where the thin lavender light of evening had turned grey and dark even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. That should have been their first warning.

Air raids never happened in cloudy conditions.

“That’s the second time this week,” she said, breath catching as she tried to remain calm. “They must be heading toward the docks again.”

“Always the bloody docks,” Harry muttered, but his voice had thinned. He wasn’t there anymore—not really; his brain had started to feel odd, like parts of him were there and other parts weren’t. He was back above the Channel, the smell of smoke in his nose, the thunder of anti-aircraft guns all around, Dean slumped beside him.

The siren wailed louder, and he pressed his palm against his forehead to stop the noise – he needed all of it to stop.

Clare turned quickly, flicking off the bedside lamp to plunge the room into shadows. “Harry— Harry, please, look at me.”

His eyes were glassy, unfocused. Her heart dropped at the way that he looked at her. She stepped closer, taking his hands, grounding him to stare at her for a moment while she spoke to him.

“We’re safe here. The ward is reinforced, and if we must move downstairs, we’ll do it quickly. I promise. We – you, you’re safe.”

Then came a sound he hadn’t realized he feared until it filled the room—the long, low thrum of engines. Dozens of them. Close. The windowpanes began to tremble in their frames.

Harry flinched, his hands beginning to shake as he felt a scream so internal and loud and completely overpowering overwhelming his thoughts. “I can’t— Clare—”

Ruth appeared in the doorway, face pale as Clare turned around to notice that many people had started to gather. “We need you, now. Casualties incoming. Triage staff first – we must move quickly.”

Clare’s grip on his hand tightened. He shook his head, almost like a child. “Please don’t leave me here—”

“I have to go,” she said, heart twisting at the mere promise that she had stated to him just before this – she would stay if he asked her to. But she had to go. “But I’ll be back. As soon as I can. Lie flat and stay away from the windows, alright? I will be back.”

His lips parted to protest, but she’d already gone, sprinting into the dim corridor, her silhouette swallowed by the chaos. The door clicked shut behind her as she walked out of the ward, and silence swept in, heavy and total—except for the rumble of the engines above.

The lights flickered. Harry stared at the ceiling, each second stretching like wire pulled taut. Then, from across the room, a low voice began to speak out into the darkness. Harry laid as flat as he could, pulling the blanket over him to try and silence the monsters that lay beyond him.

“Our Father, who art in heaven…”

Harry turned his head. It was John, in the next bed, voice shaking but steady in its rhythm. “Hallowed be Thy name…”

The floor beneath them gave a subtle tremor, distant, but real.

They were bombing.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut to try and push away the thoughts that were racking in his brain. He could feel it in his chest again—the fire, the fall, the absence of Dean’s voice.

“Thy kingdom come…”

He didn’t pray often, but now, he mouthed the words too. Not for himself. For Clare. For Dean. For Bennett. For the kid in his squad whose name he never learned, only the way he cried for his mother when they dragged him from the wreckage with barely an arm attached to him.

Another boom sounded—closer.

“Deliver us from evil…”

Harry pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and took a shuddering breath. He felt like he was made of glass, every breath threatening to splinter him from the inside. Then he thought of Clare. Of her voice. Her hand on his and the feeling that it left; the burning sensation from her touch rather than from the sheer pain of trauma. Her eyes when she promised she’d be back.

The fear didn’t leave him. But it no longer had full control.

A few hours had passed; he hadn’t been sure of it. Harry laid awake under the covers, eyes heavy as hell, but refusing to shut completely. The bombing and the sirens had shut off; it had ended. They had made it through another night.

Clare returned hours later, past midnight, her apron streaked with soot and blood, her face pale but calm as she approached his bedside. She noticed that he was still underneath, possibly not seeing her approach.

Without a touch that may spook him, she spoke into the universe: “I told you I’d come back.”

And he, without hesitation, pulled the covers away from his eyes to see Clare standing there, and whispered, “You’re the only thing I believe in anymore.”

With tears in her eyes, her evening had been filled with different spectrums of emotions. Her eyes told a terror; Harry could see it from the way that she stood. Someone’s blood on her hands, her own hands still shaking.

Harry bit his lip as he looked at her but knew that words weren’t enough for her right now.

“Go get some rest,” he told her softly, knowing that it was the one thing she’d say to him. “You need to rest.”

Clare let a single tear run down her face, a sniffle followed as she gave him a tight smile, “I will.”

And with that, she turned to leave his small space– one day older, and another day further.

+++

It had been a few nights since Harry had laid eyes on Clare.

Most of the men had drifted into uneasy naps, the hush broken only by the hum of distant footsteps, the occasional clatter of a tray, and the low murmur of birdsong outside the tall windowpanes.

Clare had lingered after her rounds. Not out of duty, though she told herself that was part of it.

Harry had been awake all morning, his wounds no longer fresh enough to draw constant pain but still healing, still temperamental. He’d walked a full circuit of the ward that morning, joking gruffly with one of the orderlies, pushing through the ache in his thigh like it owed him something. He looked less like a patient and more like a man waiting for orders that wouldn’t come.

Now, with the curtains half-drawn and sunlight painting lazy patterns across the floor, Clare pulled a chair to the side of his bed. No chart in hand. No task pending. Just… company.

She didn’t speak at first. She didn’t need to.

Harry sat up slowly, back against the raised bed frame, and looked at her with that same unreadable expression he often wore when he was too tired to be guarded but too proud to ask for kindness.

The air raid had passed, though the ward still trembled with the tension it left behind. There were more men than before, and Harry had noticed that there was a lot more movement around the ward.

Outside, the clouds had begun to thin, but the scent of smoke clung stubbornly to the windowpanes, like something that didn’t want to be forgotten. Inside, the ward was dim again, lit only by a few low bulbs strung across the beams and the occasional flicker of light through the curtains.

Harry sat up in his cot, blanket gathered loosely around his waist, legs bent as he leaned forward over the small wooden crate they’d turned into a makeshift table. Cards lay scattered between them, worn at the edges from too many rounds. Clare sat across from him on a low stool, knees drawn together, her uniform sleeves pushed to her elbows.

Her fingers moved over the cards with quiet precision, shuffling them into a clean stack. He’d already lost two hands in a row.

“You’re ruthless,” Harry muttered, eyeing the cards she had just dealt him.

Clare gave him a half-smile, barely more than a twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Have to be."

But something was off. She wasn’t gloating like usual. Her movements were slower, less sharp. And though her posture remained straight, her eyes weren’t quite focused.

Harry narrowed his gaze. “Everything alright?”

She kept her eyes on her cards, lips parted as if to respond—but didn’t.

The silence grew, coiled between them like a thin thread stretched too tight.

Clare laid her cards down. Not folded. Just… placed, side by side with delicate care. Her hands remained on the table for a long moment before she spoke.

“There was a man,” she said, her voice low, steady. “The night of the raid. In one of the overflow tents.”

Harry didn’t speak, only let her continue.

“Shrapnel in the abdomen,” she added, swallowing deeply. “Deep. There wasn’t anything we could do.”

Her gaze drifted down to her lap, where her fingers had clasped together. White-knuckled as she recalled.

“He kept calling for his wife,” she said, her voice even, measured. As if she’d rehearsed it to try to keep herself composed. “Didn’t know where he was. Just… cried out for her. Like if he said her name enough times, maybe she’d appear.”

Harry swallowed as the images came too easily to him. Too vividly. He knew what that looked like.

“I told him she was on her way,” Clare said, quieter now, staring at her hands. “That she’d gotten his letter. That she was coming to take him home.”

She looked up, then, just a flick of her gaze toward the window, as if she could see that other tent from that morning. That man.

“He smiled,” she said. “Right at the end. He said she made ginger cake on Sundays and always wore a yellow scarf in the spring.” Her mouth twitched, something between a laugh and a breath. “He smelled like blood – I’m not one to get lightheaded, but I felt ill.”

Harry’s chest tightened at her observation, the way she spoke and he let her speak. He didn't interrupt, he looked at her with pity but the kind that made him feel worse for bitching the way he did.

“I don’t cry with patients,” Clare went on, shaking her head. “Not once. Not even when they scream. Not even when they’re alone.”

She paused, but it was then, a single tear traced the curve of her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away. Her face remained composed, still.

“But he…” she murmured, her voice wobbly. “He was the same age as my brother.”

Harry reached across the crate slowly, deliberately. His fingers found hers and held them there, gently. No pressure, no urgency—just warmth in the palm of his hand. Contact.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough.

Clare didn’t look at him immediately. She was breathing through her nose, quiet and slow, as if trying to pull all the emotion back in before it escaped.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” she said, pushing the tear away, “I– I just needed to talk about it.”

“You didn’t – the war is affecting us all, I –“

She shook her head, almost feeling silly for bringing it up to him, “I just… I didn’t want to forget it happened.”

“You won’t,” Harry told her. “Neither will I.”

Another tear fell, catching on her chin before she pulled in a deep breath, as though that small moment of release had to be enough.

She turned her hand beneath his, palm up now, fingers curling lightly around his. Her eyes met his—tired, honest, but dry again.

Then she let out a shaky exhale and, with a soft sniff, picked up her cards.

“You’re still losing, by the way,” she said, her voice steadier, teasing just enough to make it believable.

Harry grinned faintly, the lopsided grin that she had come to know fondly. “Don’t rub it in.”

“I’d never.” She looked up from under her lashes.

“You bloody would.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Only if I thought you could take it.”

And for a little while longer, they played their quiet game, their fingers occasionally brushing across the table when they would go to pick up a card or set one down, the warmth between them chasing away just enough of the cold that lingered in the corners of the night.

“I didn’t plan on making it back,” he said, voice low. “For a while, I didn’t even want to.”

Clare blinked, then looked at him fully. His face was thinner now, sharper in profile, the hollows beneath his cheekbones dark from restless nights. But his eyes were clearer. Still tired, still storm-swept—but clear.

The color green was undeniable; something she had come to miss when she wasn't on shift. She loved the way the green danced over her when she walked, like his eyes were magnets.

“You’re not alone in that,” she replied softly.

He nodded once, setting down a pair of hearts. “I think about them all the time. The ones who didn’t come back.”

His hand, wrapped lightly in gauze over the knuckles, drifted to the side, where a book she’d lent him sat closed on the nightstand. He tapped it once.

“I write their names down sometimes. When it’s quiet. Not because I’m afraid I’ll forget—but because I already feel like the world has.”

Clare leaned in slightly. “You don’t owe them your silence, Harry.”

He gave a short, dry laugh. “No. But I owe them something.”

He looked away, toward the window, where darkness has started to overcome them, pressed against the glass.

“I’ve got a sister back home. Older than me. Sharp as anything. She’s got two little ones—Alfie and Beth. My niece is five. She sent me a letter written in pink crayon. Told me she thinks soldiers are superheroes. I didn’t have the heart to tell her we’re not.”

Clare’s chest tightened, not just at the way he opened to her but the way that he seemed to love to talk about his loved ones – something in him lighting up just at the thought of them.

“My mum’s been trying to keep herself busy. Sewing circles, church things. My dad’s a quiet man, but he’s proud – I can tell. When he thinks no one’s looking, he’ll keep my letters folded in his shirt pocket like they’re medals. Pull ‘em out and tell his mates all about my travels.”

There was a long pause.

Clare’s voice was barely above a whisper. “They’ll be so glad to have you home.”

Harry didn’t respond right away. His jaw flexed, eyes still fixed on some distant point outside.

“I’m not married,” he said finally. “No sweetheart. No children. And I still made it home. But the others… so many of them had people waiting. Wives. Toddlers. Boys who were just learning to speak themselves, really.”

Clare felt it then—his guilt settling over the room like dust.

“I know it’s not fair,” he continued. “I know it’s war. Goddamn random and cruel. But sometimes I sit up at night and think—why me? What did I do to deserve walking away when they didn’t even get to send a goodbye?”

Clare reached for his hand before she could second-guess it – she missed it between her fingers again, and even though she knew better, she was playing a game she wasn't sure she could win. She didn’t take it fully, just touched her fingers to the edge of his wrist, warm and steady.

“Harry,” she said, firm now. “You didn’t take their place. You didn’t steal their breath. You survived. And surviving doesn’t make you guilty. It makes you human.”

He looked at her. Really looked.

The hurt was there, but so was the gratitude. And something else—soft, unspoken. Like maybe, for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel quite so hollow.

He breathed in slowly. Let it out, breathing and taking in a breath. She hesitated.

“When my brother was still alive, we'd made plans. Where we’d travel, the books we’d read. The people we’d meet. Then he was gone, and the world felt smaller.”

He said nothing, but his hand turned slightly beneath hers, palm upward. This time, she took it.

“I don’t know if I believe in fate or destiny,” she said, quieter now, continuing. “But I do believe in timing. And in second chances. Maybe that’s what you have now.”

His thumb brushed over her fingers.

“What if I don’t know what to do with it?”

Clare gave a small, half-smile.

“Then maybe you take it one day at a time. Maybe you meet someone for a drink. Maybe you walk your niece to school and help your sister with her garden. Maybe you learn to live without apologizing for it, maybe you stay in London or see a new city," She swallowed, "Maybe you find yourself a sweetheart."

Harry leaned back slightly, as if the weight in his chest had eased just by her giving him choice and permission to move forward. The noise of the ward had returned, faintly—a distant conversation, a nurse laughing two rooms over.

But for a moment, everything else was still.

Clare reached for the book on his nightstand and opened it. Inside the front cover was her note—short, handwritten, her script looping in soft curves.

He looked down at the words, then back at her.

“Wasn't boring, by the way.” He told her, setting his cards down. “Was quite good.”

“Ready for another one, then?” Clare asked, setting the book back down.

Harry nodded with confirmation, giving her a faint smile. “Always ready.”

+++

It was late. The kind of late where the world went still, and the only sound in the ward was the rhythmic ticking of the clock above the supply cabinets and the soft, wheezy breath of a soldier two beds down.

Harry sat propped up in his cot, a dim reading lamp clipped to the shelf beside him. The book Clare had brought him weeks ago lay open on his lap, though his eyes hadn’t touched the words in some time. His thoughts kept drifting—to the war, to home, and mostly, to her.

Clare stepped into the ward quietly, her shoes silent on the polished floor. She wasn’t on shift. Not technically. But her hair was down and there was no clipboard in her hands, just a plain mug of tea and a knowing look.

Harry watched her approach like someone watching a secret arrive.

“You always drink a cup this late?” he asked, voice low so it wouldn’t carry.

“Only when I know someone’s still awake pretending to read, and I can sit with them for a bit.”

She offered the mug, and he took it with a small smile. “What gave me away?”

“You were on the same page when I checked an hour ago.”

He smirked, taking a sip of the tea. “Observant.”

“I’m a nurse. Comes with the territory. It's why you're getting better so quickly.”

Clare sat on the edge of the nearby supply bench, facing him. She didn’t look tired. Just quiet, thoughtful.

“I heard the brass came in today,” she said gently. “Paperwork’s through?”

Harry nodded, trying his best to put on a good face. “Yeah. I’m out in two days. Failed my physical test."

There was a long pause, then, like she was waiting for him to remember how good it would feel to leave, but knew how disappointed he had been in himself. Clare glanced down, twisting the ring on her finger that wasn’t for anyone. “You’ll be glad to get home, I’m sure.”

“Sure,” he said, a little too quickly, almost like he was lying to himself. Then, slower: “Yeah. I mean… it’s home, right?”

But the words hung there like something unfinished.

She looked up at him, keeping her eyes still. “You’ve got people waiting on you to return in one piece.”

“Haven’t seen them in… God, over two years now.” He gave a soft laugh. “They probably won’t even recognize me. Which might be for the best. No need to scare them off with all this.”

Clare frowned, her gaze flicking over the healing burns along his neck, the tension in his shoulders that came with healing.

“They’ll be proud,” she told him, honestly in her voice. He could see that she was trying to keep her hands busy, but didn’t know how to make it not obvious. “You came home, that's all that matters to them.”

Harry looked at her then, and something in his face shifted. That sharp, dry wit gave way to something bare and unsettled.

“Some of them didn’t,” he said, reminding her. “Men with wives. Children. And I’m the one packing my things.”

“Don’t do that,” Clare said softly – he could tell that he may have made a mistake in talking about men who had died, who weren’t there, “Don’t carry the guilt of being alive. You’ve carried enough,” she shook her head. “You don’t have to be brave in here.”

He was quiet for a long time, not knowing if he needed to respond, not knowing what he should say.

Then: “Feels heavier at night.”

She stood slowly, walked the few steps to his bedside, and sat beside him on the edge of the mattress. They didn’t touch. Not yet. But their arms were close enough that the warmth between them was unmistakable.

Harry’s voice was rough when he spoke. “It’s easier when you’re near.”

That silence again—thick and blooming with a charge neither of them could explain.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Clare said, but it was barely a whisper.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll want to believe them.”

His hand shifted slightly on the blanket, like he was fighting the urge to reach for hers. But she leaned in first—just enough that their shoulders brushed, their breaths mingled. Her perfume was faint but familiar by now, notes of soft lavender. Clean linen.

She turned her head and looked at him, mouth parted as if she might say something. But she didn’t. Her eyes stared at his parted lips as if remembering what it would feel like to reach out and touch them. She couldn’t recall the last time she was touched like that.

Harry leaned just slightly closer, to the point where their noses almost touched. Her hand rested on the edge of the blanket, fingers curled loosely, and for a moment he thought—hoped—she might reach for him too.

But she pulled back a heartbeat before anything could happen.

“I should go,” she said quietly, standing without another word as she smoothed down her apron.

“Clare—” he started, voice thick. His hand reached out to grab at her, but he wasn’t quick enough. A sharp pain in his shoulder radiated before he winced quietly.

She looked back at him, something complicated shining in her eyes. It was a goodbye that she wasn’t prepared for, but somehow, knowing it was coming hurt more.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

And then she was gone, the soft sound of her footsteps fading down the corridor.

Harry stared at the door for a long time, heart pounding like he was still falling from the sky. It was weird how it did that – weird how feeling that way could make him feel like living and dying and loving were all synonymous.

But was glad that his heart could feel, even if his brain struggled.

+++

Five weeks.

That’s how long it had been since Harry was dragged unconscious into the military hospital—burned, broken, half-lucid, and gripping the fading image of a smoking French sky.

Now he could walk without assistance, eat without pain, and sit in the quiet without flinching every time the wind hit the windows wrong. Physically, he’d mended well enough. But the wound that mattered most—the empty space left by Dean, the weight of a crew scattered like ash—was nowhere near healing.

Tomorrow morning, he would be discharged. He would be sent back to Manchester.

The orders sat like a stone in his stomach.

The matron had delivered the final orders that afternoon. He was being sent back home to Manchester—no reassignment, no further duty. His left shoulder was too damaged to meet active service standards, the muscle strain and scar tissue compromising his full range of motion. His service to the Royal Air Force was officially complete.

Honorable discharge, they'd called it. But it didn't feel like honor. It felt like being sent home from a war he hadn’t finished fighting.

He sat at the edge of his bed in his small private space, elbows on knees, listening to the clatter of dishes down the hall, the distant crack of a radio playing swing music somewhere. The curtain was half drawn, the soft light of early evening stretching golden fingers across the tiled floor.

A half-packed satchel sat by his nightstand—just a few changes of clothes, the worn book Clare had lent him, and a letter John had helped him send to Bennett’s hospital.

He turned the book over in his hands now, thumb brushing the corner of the faded cover. A Farewell to Arms. Ironic, really. He'd finished it two days ago and hadn’t stopped thinking about the ending since.

There was a gentle knock on the frame outside the curtain. His heart reacted before his voice did because he knew that someone had come to say their goodbyes.

“Yeah?”

Clare stepped inside, her cap slightly askew, cheeks warm with color. She was out of uniform now—just her soft cardigan and skirt, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows.

“I thought you might still be here,” she said.

“I haven’t been sleeping much.” Harry told her, putting down a few of his items that he had been holding to pack away.

She nodded like she understood, then smiled faintly. Her breath was deep as she tilted her chin up, almost like she was trying to keep it together. “I heard it’s your last night.”

“That’s what they’re telling me.”

She reached into her bag and handed him a parcel wrapped in brown paper and twine. “I brought you something.”

Harry stood then, taking it in his hands. He opened it slowly, careful not to tear it. Inside was a copy of A Farewell to Arms, a different edition than the hospital’s—hardcover, older, with a clothbound spine. He looked up at her.

“Couldn’t keep you reading the ward’s tattered one,” she said, shrugging. “Figured you’d need something to throw across the room when you get angry at the ending again.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Still not over it.”

“I know.”

He opened the cover, looking over the edition that she had given him and caught sight of her handwriting on the inside flap. Neat, but a little slanted, like she’d written it quickly.

Harry— Until you find your next story. —Clare

His throat caught around something he couldn’t quite name, eyebrows narrowing at it before he bit the inside of his cheek.

“Thanks,” he said, quieter than he meant.

“I was hoping you might write to me.” She moved to lean against the nearby dresser, arms crossed, but not defensively. More like she didn’t know what else to do with her hands. “I’d like to know how Manchester treats you once you arrive home.”

He glanced up, studying her. There was something deliberately casual in her tone, but her eyes were shining slightly. She was trying not to cry. That alone undid him.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next,” he admitted to her before he let his shoulders settle.

Clare nodded, shrugging with a small smile. “You’re not supposed to know.”

“They gave me this medal,” he said, showing her the item that was tucked into his satchel now. “Told me I’d shown bravery. I think they needed a reason to sign me off and not feel guilty.”

“You were brave.” Clare told him – a reminder she would give him forever, if he let her.

“I was lucky. That’s all.” Harry ran a hand through his hair then, sighing.

“Sometimes,” Clare said, stepping forward as she adjusted the collar of his shirt that he had been given; something different than the hospital wear, “surviving is harder than dying.”

That struck something in him, deep and cold. The kind of truth you only recognize after war has carved a hollow into you, but the way that her near him felt electrifying. Clare gave him a look before going to tuck her skirt beneath her knees, sitting on the edge of his bed. He followed.

He closed the book and set it on his lap, then looked up at her. “I want to take you for a drink sometime.”

That made her smile, slow and uncertain and lovely – not wanting to make it obvious that it was one of the things that she had wished for.

“You’d come to London?” she asked.

“I’ll make the trip,” he said. “Promise I’ll wear a clean shirt and everything.”

“Well,” she teased, “now I’m tempted to see what that looks like.”

He reached for her hand. She didn’t hesitate to give it to him.

Her fingers curled gently between his, and for a while, neither of them said anything. The hospital faded around them—the clatter and coughs, the smell of antiseptic, the ghost sounds of war.

“I don’t want this to be it,” he said finally, ghost of a whisper on his breath as he held her hand on his lap.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Her eyes were filled with tears; knowing that the five weeks together were the ones that kept her the sanest.

“But it might be.”

She didn’t argue. Clare was never the sort to make promises she couldn’t keep.

“This past month…” she began, then stopped. “It’s been different with you here, you know.”

“Better or worse?” The lopsided grin was back; eyes searching hers when they turned to face one another.

“Both,” she said, smiling gently. “But mostly better.”

He wanted to kiss her – he had never wanted to kiss her more than he had right now. But the room felt too still, too full of goodbye.

So instead, he whispered, “Will you write me back?”

Clare let out a dry laugh, shaking her head as she tried to keep her tears behind her eyelids, unsure of how she was doing it up until then, “Of course.”

Then, as if something cracked open inside him, he added, “You’re the only reason I didn’t lose my mind here.”

Clare exhaled, and the breath trembled. “I think you’re the reason I’ve lost mine.”

It was then that she found the utter need for the push and pull to draw her into him. She searched his lips, parted slightly before she allowed her hand to fall on the back of his neck, drawing her lips to his. She kissed him then—slowly, properly, like the space between them had finally closed.

When she pulled away, her hands lingered at his jaw, and her voice was low. “Don’t let this war define you. You get to choose who you are after this.”

Harry nodded, his eyes locked on hers.

“And when you’re ready,” she added, her eyes still laying on his lips as their foreheads pushed together, “come find me.”

With finality, she heard some steps around his room – she moved to her feet to move apart as she smoothed down her skirt. She stepped back, her silhouette framed by the curtain’s edge as she turned around for one last look.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Clare.”

She slipped out into the corridor, the curtain fluttering softly behind her. Harry stayed there long after she was gone, the book resting in his hands. He opened it again, rereading her note.

Until you find your next story.

He didn’t know where to start yet. But maybe—just maybe—it began with a letter.

+++

The train to Manchester had felt like it had taken one hundred years.

When Harry stepped off the train, satchel in hand, the air had smelled of coal smoke and cold steel, the same scent he'd known since boyhood. But everything else felt sharper, more fragile—like he was walking through a memory that hadn’t quite settled back into place. This didn’t feel like home anymore, it felt stranger than that.

His mum had cried as soon as she saw him. Not loud or dramatic, just a quiet kind of weeping, her hands wrapped around his face like she couldn’t believe it was real. His dad stood behind her, stiff-backed, his eyes red, though he never said why. When he finally clapped Harry on the shoulder, it was with the strength of a man who’d held back every emotion for four weeks too long.

His sister, Nora, had nearly tackled him, Alfie and Beth tumbling behind her like puppies, shouting “Uncle Harry!” and pulling at his coat like they thought he might vanish if they let go.

He’d sat at the kitchen table that night, the old kettle hissing in the background, and listened to them talk over one another. Every story, every small detail, felt like a lifeline anchoring him back to the living.

But underneath it all was the ache.

Because when Nora kissed her children goodnight, he thought about Dean, who would never see his own grow up. When his father poured him a glass of whisky, hand trembling just slightly, he thought of Bennett and wondered if he’d been able to write home yet. And when Beth handed him a drawing of the two of them standing under a rainbow, he had to turn away for a moment so she wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes.

He was home, he was where he grew up and his family was. But part of him still felt like he hadn’t landed. Not completely. Not until he made his way to London.

Not until Clare.

+++

Three Months Later.

May, 1943. London.

The train rocked gently beneath Clare’s feet, a lull in the evening rhythm that almost matched the flutter in her chest. She sat by the window, a coat in her lap for the chilly evenings, a letter in her gloved hands. She had read it more times than she could count, but tonight—on her way to see him—it felt different.

It felt real.

Clare had been able to take the train back to her flat in London for the weekend, getting a break from the hospital. She didn’t tell the other nurses about this particular meet up – she'd be teased endlessly, but she knew that they had an inkling when she started messing with lipstick in her bag.

London was a few hours away, and somewhere in the maze of its streets, Harry was waiting for her.

She found a compartment with a few older women and a quiet soldier who nodded once in her direction and returned to his paper. The train lurched forward, wheels shrieking against the tracks, and Clare leaned her forehead against the cool windowpane. Fields slipped by, blurred in the bit of drizzle, but her mind was miles ahead, already at the corner of a pub, searching the crowd.

The journey stretched long and winding, as though time itself resisted her reunion with him. The envelope was soft now, its edges creased, and corners worn from being tucked into coat pockets and beside her pillow. His handwriting filled the page in a neat, deliberate scrawl, like he had taken his time, like he wasn’t used to writing anything that wasn’t a flight log or a report.

He was writing something a bit more important to him than those.

- Postmarked - May 5th, 1943 – Manchester Lt. Styles, Harry E.

My dearest Clare,

I’ve been trying to start this letter for days, but nothing felt quite right. Every piece of paper that I started got crumpled and thrown away because I needed this to be perfect. I wrote quite a lot to my friends and family during training, but those didn’t mean as much as this does.

Manchester is colder than I remember. My mum won’t stop feeding me, but my sister and father are very happy to have me home. I can tell that they’re proud of me. Dad has been keeping me busy with putting me to work on fixing things that aren’t broken, but I know he cares and wants me to be better. The people in town stare at me like I came back missing a limb instead of just not going back at all. But you were right. I do get to decide who I am after this.

I’ve decided I’m the sort of man who keeps his promises.

So, I’m writing because I’ll be in London for a few days come next week, Thursday through Sunday. I’ll be at The Red Lion on Argyle Street Thursday evening, around seven.

If you don’t come, I will assume that what we had shared in those difficult weeks was meant to shape me for who I am and was just a small part of the story I’m supposed to be writing for myself. I will make ends with that, and I wish you all the best. You gave me hope, and I will forever be grateful for every conversation we shared. I will move on, and so will you, but I will always think of this chapter.

If you do come, I will know that everything I felt then was real, and that you felt it too. I will recognize that who I am now is stronger than who I thought I was then. I would love to see you again, Clare. I’ll be the one trying not to look like I ironed my shirt just for you.

I hope you’re well, Clare. Truly. I hope your hands are warm and you’ve found ways to sleep through the nights. I hope your laughter still comes easily after everything you’ve seen. You deserve to smile, and the world needs to see it now more than ever.

Yours, always,

H

Clare folded the letter slowly, sliding it back into her bag as the train hissed to a halt. Her breathing was uneven, as she thought of his hands scribbling against the paper, wanting to feel something so badly.

By the time the train hissed into King’s Cross, her limbs were stiff and her mouth dry from nerves. She navigated the narrow corridor and stepped off into the crowded station, swallowed by the shuffle of coats and caps, voices and suitcases thudding along the stone. There was something about London, even in the midst of a terrible war, it hummed with movement, life refusing to be quieted.

The streets outside were still wet from afternoon rain, puddles reflecting the glow of gas lamps and storefronts. She walked with purpose, her heels clicking quietly against cobblestones, heart hammering beneath her navy-blue dress—the one her friend had helped her choose, the one she hadn’t worn since before the war began.

The color matched her eyes, her hair pinned neatly away from her face.

When she reached the pub, warm light spilled from the windows, the sound of music and soft laughter carrying into the street. She hesitated at the door for just a second, smoothing the fabric of her coat, and then stepped inside. The pub was warm and crowded, the floor a scuffed checkerboard of dancing feet and shuffled boots. Men in uniform leaned over pints. Women in soft cardigans and bright lipstick sat in small groups or danced between tables.

Clare scanned the room, her heart suddenly thrumming too loudly to hear the music.

He was already there. At a table near the back, turned slightly toward the door, Harry looked up the moment she walked in.

His uniform was clean, pressed to perfection. His RAF jacket fit perfectly against his broad shoulders as he sat, hands around a pint almost like he was more anxious than her – there was no doubt, he was. His hair was combed back, though it curled a little stubbornly at the nape of his neck.

But then his eyes saw her; he didn’t move at first, almost like he had thought it was a dream. He stood when he saw her, slower than a man without pain but steady on his feet, and smiled—a little unsure, a little shy, but unmistakably him with the dimple creeping into his cheek.

He moved toward her, weaving between people without a word, the pint glass abandoned. Clare met him halfway, her pulse loud in her ears, breath catching just before she said his name.

“Clare,” he said, greeting her softly, saying her name like a prayer. It was the one thing that felt rooted in God.

“Harry.”

For a moment, neither moved. Neither of them could imagine a world where they saw each other outside of the bubble they had created behind the curtains of his hospital bed.

But, here was their moment – here was the moment that Clare had referenced in survival. Every moment that had led to this was a moment that Harry couldn’t have accounted for.

Then she crossed the room, and he pulled her into a careful embrace—his good arm around her waist, the other resting gently at her back. They stood like that longer than was proper, longer than anyone else in the pub noticed, hearts pressed close as if they were still in the silence of that hospital ward.

“I,” He stopped for a moment; the scent of her perfume was overwhelming in a way that he couldn’t have imagined, “I didn’t know you’d come”

Clare held onto his jacket, pressed in the embrace as she took in the smell of tobacco, the smell of soap and warmth of smoke that wafted from the material like he had smoked a full pack before she arrived in anticipation, holding onto him like she didn’t know how to let go.

But for a moment, it was quiet between them. Still. The kind of still that doesn’t feel empty, but full with things unsaid, things still blooming.

She only looked at him, really looked, and saw the faint shadow of the man he’d been in the hospital: pale, exhausted, trying to stitch himself back into something whole. That memory curled beside the man now standing before her, eyes soft, shoulders no longer burdened quite the same. He had color in his cheeks. He had a glint in his eye that hadn’t been there in the ward, when the light had felt too far away.

And she hadn’t realized, until this moment landing between his arms, how much she’d needed this. How much she’d needed him.

Not just the man she missed, but the very act of missing someone. Of longing. Of hoping. Of standing in a room of strangers and seeing one face that made everything feel… rooted again. Like something could begin, even now. Even after everything.

Across from her, Harry couldn’t stop looking at her — like if he blinked, the vision might vanish. His fingers curled tighter around her, grounding himself in the reality of her warmth. In the scent of her hair and the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled up at him like that.

He had been prepared for her not to come. When he had written that letter with equal parts courage and resignation, he realized that there was disappointment in life – he knew that more than anyone. But now, standing here with her hand in his and her breath still on his lips, he felt something collapse inside of him. A tension held too long. A question finally answered.

She came. She was here. She still wanted him — not the airman he used to be, but the man he was now. Scars and all.

They didn’t need to speak again just yet. There would be time for that. For stories. For apologies. For everything they hadn’t said in the soft ache of two months apart. But for now, they just stood — folded into one another like a secret, quiet and whole — while the rest of the world went on, none the wiser.

And Clare thought, as she let her head rest against his shoulder and he pressed a steady kiss to her temple,

So this is what it feels like… to be known, and still wanted. To arrive somewhere, and be seen.

She closed her eyes. She hadn’t known how much she’d needed to be held by someone who had missed her just as much. And she took a deep breath in that feeling, to know that there was something to look forward to.

Them.