Okay so... I've been meaning to write something about this for a while and it absolutely won't be everyone's cup of tea, which I completely understand. But since writing The Favor I had felt the need to write a scene like this properly and it's been on my mind. This will be 3 parts, already finished (so don't worry). The full thing is already up on Patreon but will come here over time :)
Check out our Patreon for early access to parts 2 and 3 and the exclusive aftermath, plus 350 exclusive writings and series!
WC- 3.1k
warnings- Cuckolding, talk of kink, unhappy relationship, anxiety, what could be perceived as cheating*
*This is Y/N's BF's idea but this is also a H story so... we all know that he's the main star. There is some grey area here considering she and H have a connection (even unexplored) and she keeps this from him. Harry also DGAF about this boyfriend at all, so while this isn't cheating it's still adjacent so I wanted to put that disclaimer in.
Y/N wasn’t sure how to go about it.
When Devon had opened up about his particular, somewhat peculiar fantasy, she had tried her very best to be open minded. Speaking generally she was, in pretty much every way. She didn’t usually feel too much judgement from people when they spoke about kinks or things they were into.
Different strokes for different folks, right?
She tried to be open about what she liked, at least. They’d had a bit of a rocky relationship but Devon was trying and he was being more open. That’s what counted to her, and she had promised when they had decided to give it one more shot that she would give him the benefit of the doubt and be open to suggestions.
When they’d started the discussion about what they could do to improve their bedroom activities, Y/N had been going to suggest practice. Toys. More oral, because her orgasms were somewhat (very) lacking. It would have sounded mean to say in the way it truly was, but it had been a problem for them.
As sweet as Devon tried to be, he just… wasn’t hitting it. He was trying (she thinks?) but he wasn’t able to give her what she needed. She didn’t think she had to orgasm every single time but the tally marks were off.
It had become a point of resentment for her, washing his cum off her stomach while he fell asleep and she was just sore from lack of preparation and unfulfilled from lack of orgasm.
Everything was lacking.
She had avoided talking too much of her own current bedroom activities to her friends when they discussed it because, well… she didn’t have much to report on. It made that resentment grow. Sex wasn’t everything, but it was a good part of a relationship! It was intimacy, something meant to bond them closer, but Y/N only felt herself drift further apart when they had sex.
They’d almost called it quits when they had agreed to sit down and try and talk those things out. It had been hard to tell him that their sex life wasn’t giving her much of anything and he had obviously felt really embarrassed about it. She had seen him flush and the way he looked genuinely saddened, he’d apologized for being selfish, and that had been the beginning of them trying to patch it up.
Talking about their fantasies as they sat on her couch hadn’t been where she imagined her night to begin with when he had suggested a pizza and movie date, but she sure as hell hadn’t been prepared for him to tell her what he wanted.
“I want to watch you fuck someone else.”
The statement was rushed as Y/N’s eyes widened, pizza getting cold on her plate as she waited for him to laugh or say he was kidding- but all that followed was a nervous swallow and silence.
“I… What?” Y/N blinked rapidly as if she was going to wake up from a dream, but the vision remained the same. Her boyfriend looking red in the face as he wrung his hands together.
“I want to watch someone else fuck you. It’s my fantasy. I-I know it’s weird, but I’ve thought about it a lot. Especially after you said… I didn’t satisfy you. I want to see you feel good a-and see how they do it. I even know of who I’d want to see you fuck, if that’s something you’d ever be up for.”
The rambling had made her own face feel hot. He’d been thinking of this for a while, apparently. But he even had a person in mind? It went that far deep?
Y/N wasn’t sure, but she was curious.
“Okay… Sorry, I’m not judging you or seem like you need to be ashamed or anything. I just didn’t at all expect that.” Placing her paper plate on the coffee table, she raised the Diet Pepsi to her mouth to take a sip from the straw to give herself something to do other than stare.
“I know. I know it’s weird and that’s why I never wanted to tell you but I just, I’ve thought about it for ages and I want to see it, if that’s something you’re comfortable with.” Devon looked to his lap before meeting her eyes again.
“Who is it that you want to fuck me?” Y/N felt no need to beat around the bush at this point. She wanted to know what it was that he wanted so she could mentally go through it. Give him an answer.
If this was in any of her past relationships, it would likely be a ‘hell no’ off the bat. She was pretty much strictly monogamous, but… she couldn’t deny the prospect of having good sex didn’t appeal to her. It wasn’t cheating he wanted it and she wouldn’t lie and say she hadn’t fantasized about other people. It made her feel bad, but being as unfulfilled as she felt… it just happened.
Shifting in the cushion, Devon took a deep breath before muttering an all too familiar name. “Harry.”
If she thought she couldn’t be more shocked, she was wrong.
Harry was her friend. Her close friend of quite a few years that belonged to her core friend group, and a man that Devon had been resentful of since day one.
He’d tried to make her pick between the two of them in the past. The beginnings of their realtionship after a night out, he’d said Harry stared a bit too much and was too handsy- he really wasn’t, at least in her mind- and he wanted her to stop hanging around him so much or he wasn’t sure he could do it.
Y/N had told him she wasn’t choosing between friends and a boyfriend and if he felt so strongly he could go- but he didn’t. He stayed, albeit unsettled and irritated whenever Harry was around.
She could tell he was intimidated by him though considering he barely ever talked to him. When asked about it, Y/N had told Harry that he was jealous and that he was unsure about their friendship but she hadn’t cared, and since then she had noticed he had been a tiny bit more distant.
Not enough to be worrisome but enough to let her know he was trying to be as respectful as he could. Because Harry was a good guy.
He was a professional MMA fighter, he had a good amount of tattoos and he was bigger than Devon in most ways, so she could see why he was intimidated. He wasn’t the most talkative person in the world, but he was kind and genuinely a wonderful friend. Y/N wouldn’t choose a relationship over a guy who had come with chicken soup when she had caught the flu after attending one of his fights, or who never minded picking up her drunk ramble calls, or who always made sure to walk on the outside of the sidewalk.
He was one of the good ones. And ironically? Someone Y/N had a teensy crush on whenever she was between relationships.
That should have been an automatic contender for her to say no. Harry was complicated both with Devon’s resentment in the past and her own feelings which were never disclosed to him- and never would be.
It was selfish and wrong but she didn’t want to have to stay completely away from him if Devon found out. It wasn’t like she’d ever act upon the feelings whilst in a relationship either. Y/N wasn’t a cheater.
This new opportunity was something else altogether. It was unexpected, yes, but maybe it was something she could potentially get behind.
“Harry?” She asked cautiously. “As in, my friend Harry? The… The one you hate?”
“I don’t hate him.” Devon rushed to say. “I never have. I just know… He likes you. I can tell. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said he was staring. He always sat near you or close enough to stare at least. And I know he’s like… bigger than me. More manly and all of that.” Clearing his throat he crossed his ankles, avoiding Y/N’s gaze. “And I wasn’t happy at the idea of him stealing you. But the more I thought about it the more I considered the both of you… together. That way. Where I can see. And it bloomed into wanting to actually see it.”
Y/N's chest feel tight at his admission, but it was her face that felt hot. Harry? Liked her? She had noticed that he stared sometimes but truthfully she hadn’t let herself daydream that he was properly looking at her. It was easier to always chalk it up to fleeting glances she happened to catch, nothing more. But Devon seemed certain both then and now.
"I..." She swallowed, lips opening for a moment before closing. It felt hard to believe this was a real conversation that they were having. "Harry wouldn't want that. We're just friends."
Devon scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. "He'd want you. I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching. You're the only person in this friend group he actually... softens around."
That wasn’t the first time she had heard that particular thing and Devon wasn’t the first one to point it out. Their friends had been convinced they’d get together one day but she hadn’t seen it happening. Quite a few of her girlfriends had told her that he was different around her and if she let herself observe it was true, but especially as of late she hadn’t let herself notice a thing.
Not when Devon appeared as self conscious about him as he had.
Now though, she wondered how much of that was true.
“Is this something you really want, Devon? It could potentially go bad. It could change us for the worst.” The caution had to be said, regardless if her body was thrumming at the idea of Harry taking her. She owed their relationship that much.
Who’s to say Devon would actually enjoy it? Sometimes fantasies were better off being fantasy- but she couldn’t deny that she liked the idea the longer she sat on it.
“Yes.” His answer was sure. “I’d like this. I-I’ll even ask him, if you want. If you give me his number. I’ll ask him and explain so you don’t have to. Or I’ll go see him in person.”
She hesitated, chewing on her lip. If Devon asked, she wouldn't have to face Harry and potentially ruin their friendship if he said no. That part was appealing, letting Devon handle the awkwardness. But if Harry said yes... If Harry actually agreed to this, then what? Would she be able to handle seeing him differently? Touching him differently? Having him inside her while Devon watched, getting to experience something she had been thinking about for ages with guilt that lingered, but with the full permission to indulge? The thought made her stomach clench.
It was complicated. Harry wasn’t a stranger. He was someone she saw on a monthly, if not weekly basis depending on the time of year. It had the potential to be awkward and messy and ruin what was left of the relationship she was trying to salvage… But it wasn’t something she wanted to pass up.
Was it selfish? Yes. But she hadn’t been the one to ask. It was what Devon wanted, and if he was handling the risk, he had to know what the potential outcome could be. There would always be risk in adding a third person to intimacy, but Y/N wanted to fucking cum, and she knew Harry could give it to her.
He just… had that energy about him.
"Okay.” Y/N nodded slowly, letting the reality set in. “Alright. Yeah. If you ask him, I’m willing to do it. But you know that fantasy may be different than the reality, right?” Her hand gently brushed his, giving him one last chance to back out. “You could hate watching.”
“I won’t.” Standing up quickly, he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. “I have to ask him now. If I don’t, I’ll chicken out. He works at the gym down on Fern, right?”
Y/N was surprised, honestly, watching Devon nearly vibrate as he grabbed his keys. The nerve was hard to gather she would imagine, but she didn’t think he’d ask him today.
“Uh, yeah, but I don’t know if that the best idea-“
“I’m going now or I’ll lose my confidence. Okay? I’ll set it all up. It’ll be good, I promise.”
Y/N watched the door close behind him with the words echoing in her head.
It would be good, alright. For her, at least.
——
It was 45 minutes later that she got a text from him.
Harry🥊: Do you really want to do this? Or do I need to fight your boyfriend for making shit up?
Y/N snorted, wiping her fingers on her pajama pants printed with kittens and flowers so she didn’t get butter from her popcorn on her phone. The streaks would drive her nuts.
The swirl of nerves hit her stomach as she typed out her response.
Y/N: He said it was his fantasy to watch you with me. I’m not opposed… sorry for such a shock. I tried to tell him not to go to your job.
Harry🥊: I need an overwhelming yes before I actually agree. I’m not doing it unless you really want to.
Harry🥊: Respectfully, I don’t give a fuck what he wants. I care about what you want and how you feel.
God. Y/N felt the heat between her legs already just reading his response. The way he talked had always been a bit blunt and to the point, but reading that he cared the most about her made her feel special in a way she hadn’t in a long while.
Y/N: it is an overwhelming yes :)
Y/N: I’d like to. Is that weird? I don’t want to make it weird for you.
Harry🥊: It’s not weird. I just never expected your sweaty boyfriend to come into my gym shaking and ask to talk to me privately before stumbling all over his words to tell me he wants me to fuck his girl.
Harry🥊: If you were my girlfriend there would be no way in fucking hell that I’d let anyone else touch you, but I suppose that’s just me.
Why? Why did he have to make her flush like that? Why did he make her so giddy as she stretched her legs out, abandoning her popcorn with her full attention on her phone as the little bubble popped back up to show he was typing.
Harry🥊: He’s always hated me, or I thought so. Never thought that he’d ask me that. But I suppose he had good reason to.
Y/N: Why? You didn’t do anything to deserve him hating you… You’re always polite.
Harry🥊: Well, he wasn’t wrong about me staring at you. Or wanting to touch you. And he really wasn’t wrong about me wanting to fuck his girlfriend, but that seems to work in both of our favors now. Doesn’t it?
Y/N let out a shaky breath, inhaling slowly through her nose as she looked at the message in disbelief.
So she hadn’t been imagining the energy between them. The vibe.
It shouldn’t excite her as much as it did, but she kicked her feet in the air as she rolled onto her stomach and let her fingers type out a message back. Risky, maybe, but testing the waters.
Y/N: Yeah, I think so. The feeling is mutual.
Y/N: I was surprised when he said he had someone in mind and he said you… but I was happy about it. Excited.
The bubble showing his typing came up and went back down again, like maybe he was typing and deleting. It made her a little nervous, wondering if confessing that was a little much- until she read his response.
Harry🥊: I am too. He told me that he had trouble getting you to cum, but I’m not going to have that problem with you.
Y/N: oh, you think so?
She could feel the throb between her legs as she squirmed, crossing her legs behind her as she felt her phone buzz again.
Harry🥊: I know so. Not just once, either. I’ll make sure it’s something you don’t forget.
Y/N: I’m sure he won’t, either.
Harry🥊: To put it bluntly, I don’t really care that much about him. He wants us to ignore him, and I plan on doing that, but not for him. My attention is going to be on you and I’m going to make you feel good. It’s not fair you’ve been going without and dealing with the shit he’s out you through.
Harry🥊: I can’t fix everything, but I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. Whenever you want. Just… let me know. I’ll make myself available for you.
Was this cheating? No. It wasn’t, because Devon wanted this to happen. He had looked overjoyed that she had agreed and ran off to ask Harry himself.
It did make her question herself for a moment because she was far more giggly and excited over the prospect of Harry. His hands on her, his voice in her ear, his body on top of hers… All of that was milking about in her brain as she shot off her text.
Y/N: I’d like to make this happen tomorrow if we can.
Harry🥊: Give me a time and I’ll be there. Just let me know of any limits you have, and safe words.
Y/N: Uh… I think I don’t want to be blindfolded. I don’t want to look at him when we’re doing it so I’ll find a way to keep him hidden from us. No rope for my hands, not when he’s watching. Besides that, don’t just like… shove it in my ass with no prep or anything.
Harry🥊: Christ, babe. I’d never do that.
Harry🥊: Don’t tell me if he’s ever tried that. Not yet. I’ll end up killing him.
Harry🥊: You okay with kissing? Spanking? Spit? A hand on the throat?
Y/N had to groan into her sweatshirt, loudly after letting herself think about it. His hands, she loved his hands and she wanted them everywhere. All the time. Letting herself imagine it, letting herself know it would be a reality… It was fucking her up.
Y/N: yes :) please.
Harry🥊: Polite. You’re cute.
Harry🥊: Okay. We’ll discuss more tomorrow. Tell your boyfriend we’ll see him then.
She thinks she’s pretty. Not in an obnoxious, self-obsessed way! She knows she’s not a supermodel, and she definitely has a lot of days where she looks and feels totally dead – but at the end of the day, she’s not hideous. She splurges on pretty makeup products, does her hair in the mornings, spends a decent amount of time planning out cute outfits… you know, little things to make herself feel pretty!
She brushes her teeth twice a day, showers regularly, flosses. Wears pretty perfumes that smell like flowers and lip gloss that tastes like strawberries. There’s a stash of gum in her bag that she’s always chewing on, so she knows she doesn’t have bad breath; and she carries an extra deodorant in her backpack too, so you can’t tell her she’s repulsive or anything like that.
She’s kind. She smiles at strangers and always laughs at people’s jokes (even if they aren’t funny)— holds the elevator door open and says a polite “good morning” or “hello!” with her happy, cheery voice. And even though she’s a bit shy, she tries her best to spread love and kindness in the world. It just makes her happy to make other people happy!
Plus, being nice means that everyone else is nicer to you. So even if she’s in a bad mood, she’ll fake a smile and pretend like she’s happy y/n.
But, she wonders... if she has all of these amazing qualities– if she really is as pretty and kind and wonderful as she makes herself out to be– then why hasn’t she been kissed yet?
She loves her friends, of course she does! But how is she so different from them? Why do all of her friends get asked out on dates and have amazing boyfriends while she’s still a lonely virgin who hasn’t even been kissed yet?
It’s not like she’s this super virginal person who gets grossed out by boys! She wants to be kissed, she wants to get fucked! She’s toyed around with the idea of just downloading tinder and losing it all to some stranger in one night stand, but her romantic heart just can’t stand the thought of it.
Yes, she’s desperate… but she’s also romantic. Love is on her mind 24/7. It’s what she thinks about before she falls asleep, what she daydreams about whenever she gets bored. She could spend hours with a romance novel, hyper fixating on the little things that most people wouldn’t blink an eye at. The way the boy’s hand cupped the girl’s jaw while they kissed, or how their fingers brushed as they walked down the street. Little things like forehead kisses and prolonged glances across a room.
She craves it for herself, desperately aches for the affection that she reads of. She wants to rest her head on someone’s chest and listen to their heartbeat as she falls asleep, feel their fingers playing with her hair, or their lips skimming her cheek. Wants to laugh under the covers and share secrets and be vulnerable and in love. She wants it more than anything in the world!
And yet, she hasn’t even been kissed!
Everyone else seems to do it so easily – find a nice guy, go out on a date, and fall in love. So why is it so hard for her? Her friends tell her that she's the prettiest and sweetest girl out there, and that the right guy simply hasn’t come around yet… but y/n can’t help but think, is any of it true?
They’re loud and stuffy, with way too many people crammed into one room for his liking. The alcohol is cheap, the music is annoying. The entire apartment smells like weed, and there’s not even a secluded corner for him to mope around in without some group of drunk girls completely invading his personal space. Everything about these parties sucks.
If he could, he’d leave. But he’s meant to give a ride home to his roomie Blake, and Blake’s currently hooking up with the host of this party.
So Harry’s stuck here. Great.
He checks his phone, and it’s nearly midnight. Blake should be done soon, right? The blonde girl who’s been talking to him for the past 20 minutes is getting awfully close, her hand trailing on his biceps and migrating towards his chest, and she’s blinking up at him with fluttery bambi eyes.
Any other night and Harry might be into whatever this girl is hinting at, but he’s 100% sober and 100% not in the mood to hook up with a girl who’s taken one too many shots. He grabs the girl's hands and peels them off of his chest gently, muttering something about needing to use the restroom (he doesn’t even need to use the bathroom, he just needs a minute away from the pounding music).
He sends her off in the direction of her friends, who are giggling to each other in a corner across the room and not-so-inconspicuously checking to see if their friend has managed to successfully get with Harry. He’s sure they’ve realized that he rejected her when they all glare at him. Sorry to disappoint, he thinks to himself.
He’s nearly positive that any bathrooms in this shitty college apartment will probably be occupied, either with someone throwing up all the drinks they’ve had or with a couple hooking up. But no harm in trying anyway.
The first door that he tries to open is locked. The second door opens up to reveal a coat closet.
The third door however, opens up to a bedroom.
The walls are decorated with posters and pictures, fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, and tiny pots of succulents placed all over the room… but the one thing that stands out the most is the overwhelming number of books scattered all over the room. There’s a bookshelf on each wall, cluttered with books of all colors and sizes. Stacks of books lie on the nightstand by the bed, a stray book sits on top of a dresser, and a pile of new, untouched books sits pristinely in the far right corner of the room.
Books, books, and more books all over the room. And, a book in the hands of a girl sitting quietly in her bed, staring at Harry.
Dressed in a hoodie and some fuzzy pj pants, the book that she’d once held up closely to her face now rests on her lap as she blinks up at this strange intruder. She sits upright, closing the book but sticking her finger between the pages so that she doesn’t lose her place. “Um… hi?” she says quietly.
He steps into the room, and looks at her blankly. “Hi.” She blinks at him. “S’this room taken?” he asks.
“Um. Well,” she looks at him curiously. “No, I guess not.”
“Okay, good,” he responds, quickly closing the door behind him. He sits on a spinny chair that he pulls out from under a desk and leans his head back, letting out a deep sigh of relief.
The girl, with her finger still lodged between her book, stares at him confused. Who is this guy?
He’s cute, and she’s mildly embarrassed that he’s come into her room when she’s looking so… sleepy. But he also seems kinda grumpy and is obviously not in the mood to talk. He’s leaning back in her chair and closing his eyes, gently rubbing his temples as if he’s meditating.
She observes him with wide eyes. Then after a minute of silence she awkwardly picks her book back up and tries to resume reading.
Kinda hard to do with some random guy sitting in her bedroom, though.
In this secluded bedroom, the sound of the music has decreased dramatically. Harry’s pounding headache starts to fade away, and he feels himself start to relax for the first time since he arrived at this stupid party. He looks around the room that he so luckily stumbled into.
The desk in front of him is, to no surprise, cluttered with more books. A laptop is plugged in in front of him, and there’s a cup full of colorful pens and markers sitting against the wall. Hanging on the wall is a string of pictures starring the same girl with different groups of people.
He looks at the pictures hanging from the walls. Then he looks back at the girl laying in the bed.
“S’this your room?” he asks, finally connecting the dots.
She looks up from the book again and nods.
“Oh,” he hums, surprised. He supposes he should’ve realized it as soon as he walked in. Girl in a room full of books, reading a book. Face clean of all makeup, snuggled up in a blanket, nice and comfy as though she’s just about ready for bed. It’s a bit silly that he only made the connection once he saw her pictures up on the walls. “Why aren’t you out there partying?”
“Um… not really my scene,” she says, closing the book and looking at Harry properly. Her nose scrunches up, “And it smells really bad in there.”
“Jesus, tell me about it,” he groans. “Could hardly breathe in there. In fact–” he says, already standing up, “d’ya mind if we open up a window? Still feels stuffy in here.”
She shows no resistance as he slides the window open, accepting the fact that she’d be sharing her room with this stranger until the party was over. Harry sticks his head out and takes a deep breath of the cool, fresh air. Much better than the sweaty, smoky, sickly smell going on inside the apartment.
When he turns back around, the girl has rearranged herself. She sits criss-crossed on her bed and looks up at Harry, fidgeting nervously with her lip bitten between her teeth.
She’s kind of cute.
Harry breaks the silence again. “I think your roommate is hooking up with my roommate right now.”
“Oh.” She blinks. “Is your roommate Blake?”
He nods.
“Yeah, Maddie’s been saying that she, um… you know,” she looks down at her hands as they play with a loose thread on the hem of her pants. “Wants to hook up with him or whatever.”
He nods his head, leaning back against her wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest. As refreshing as the air is, the night time breeze is cold.
“No offense,” he says, “But you don’t seem like you’d be friends with Maddie.” Maddie (y/n’s roommate) has jet black hair, wears heavy eyeliner and black lipstick everyday, and is at least a little bit high 90% of the time. Y/n, in comparison, has flowery bed sheets, a stuffed bunny tucked in next to her, and is hiding in her bedroom while a party being thrown in her own apartment.
She just smiles softly. “Yeah, we met online. But she’s really nice.”
He raises his eyebrow. “She seems like a bitch.”
She defends her roommate immediately. “She’s not a bitch!” But then she thinks about it for a second. Maddie can definitely come off a bit… harsh at times. “Well… she’s usually really nice to me, at least.”
That makes sense. It would be very hard to be mean to this girl, he imagines. She’s too nice. It would be like being mean to a puppy or something.
Good thing Harry isn’t mean. He’s just… a bit of a grump.
She taps her fingers against the cover of her book awkwardly, staring at Harry as he looks up to her ceiling and closes his eyes. He just wants to be in his bed right now.
After a few more minutes of silence, Harry pushes himself off the wall. “I think Blake should be done,” he says, checking the time on his phone. “I’m going to leave now.”
“Okay,” says the girl quietly. She watches as he leaves with a nod of his head, and shuts the door behind him.
That was weird, she thinks.
Whatever, though. She opens her book and forgets about it.
+++
Don’t people say that drowsy driving is just as bad as drunk driving? What constitutes drowsy driving? Should y/n even be out on the road right now?
She doesn’t know. All she knows is that Maddie woke her up with a phone call at 2 AM, asking if y/n would come pick her up from Blake’s apartment cause she was too high to get back on her own and she doesn’t want to stay the night there.
Y/n, being the sweetheart that she is, obviously wants her roommate to get back safe. So she’s in her car, at 2 AM, yawning every three seconds as she drives to the location Maddie sent her.
She texts Maddie from the car, but Maddie doesn’t respond. She calls her, then sends another text, but still no answer. After 10 minutes of no response, she goes up to the door and knocks.
Maddie doesn’t answer. Instead, it’s Harry.
His eyebrows furrow as recognizes the girl from that party he’d been at two weeks ago. She looks just as comfortable as she did then, in a big pink hoodie and a pair of sweats. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice confused and his eyes doubting. Not many people come knocking at his door at 2 AM.
Unlike y/n, who looks like she just rolled out of bed and drove here (that is exactly what she did), Harry looks like he’s been up all night (he’s been playing COD). He’s not wearing a shirt and has a pair of sweats slung low on his hips, showing off a chiseled abdomen that acts as a canvas for a multitude of pretty tattoos. Y/n finds herself staring at the swallows that lie under his collarbones, the butterfly painted above his stomach, and the ferns lining a yummy pair of v-lines that point downwards… she swallows thickly and forces herself to look away.
“Um,” she covers her mouth as she yawns, hiding her cold fingers with the sleeves of her hoodie, “Maddie needed me to drive her home.” She blinks sleepily, and can’t even bring herself to be embarrassed that she looks so dead.
“It’s 2 in the morning,” he scoffs. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
She blinks sleepily again. “I was.”
Harry rolls his eyes. If it were him, he would not have gotten up and driven all the way over here. Someone else’s problems are not enough to get him out of bed. But, this girl… she’s too nice.
He leaves her at the door and goes to Blake’s room, pounding on the door rudely. “Hey!” he yells, irritation evident in his tone, “your roommate’s here.”
He hears a bit of shuffling, before Maddie stumbles out of Blake’s room, makeup askew and clothing only half on. She giggles up at Harry and apologizes playfully, but he just glares at her. Her eyes are glazed over and the whites of her eyes bloodshot, very obviously high if the way she couldn’t walk straight wasn’t enough of an indication.
He feels bad for the stupid girl who drove all the way over here in the middle of the night because her roommate wanted to get high.
Maddie trips over her own feet and falls into y/n, who uses all of her strength to keep her roommate upright and walks her slowly down to the car. “Are you feeling okay?” Harry hears her ask quietly. He scoffs to himself.
He doesn’t get it. How the fuck has this girl not lost her shit? Her irresponsible roommate woke her up at 2 am and made her drive all the way to some stranger’s house, and yet she still manages to be so… gentle. So kind, to someone who barely even deserves it. So caring, to someone who seems to care so little.
As y/n helps Maddie get into the car, she looks back up to the apartment and sees Harry watching them from the doorstep. They make eye contact for a few seconds, his eyebrows furrowed as he leans against the doorframe. His gaze makes her heart stutter, a chill running down her spine. He looks… upset. Almost like he’s mad at her.
It makes her frown. She wants to say something to him, apologize for ruining his night… but then Maddie sticks her head out of the car and vomits.
Harry shakes his head and turns away.
That girl is too nice for her own good.
+++
“Hey.” Blake pokes his head into Harry’s room, where Harry’s busy playing a round on his computer, “Do you mind if Maddie and her friend come over?”
“Don’t care,” Harry mumbles, uninterested, not looking away from his game.
“Sick,” he turns around to go back into his own room, but stops when Harry suddenly pauses his game and calls out to him.
“Who’s the friend?” Harry asks, turning around.
“Y/n,” Blake answers. Harry stares at him, his brows furrowed. The name doesn’t ring a bell. “Her roommate.”
“That quiet girl?” Harry clarifies.
“Yeah, that one.”
Oh. So her name was y/n.
Good to know.
+++
It’s dark out when Harry finally turns off his game, sliding his headset off and stretching his back. He lets out a long groan as he feels his spine crack, a delicious feeling after being hunched over his controller for three hours straight.
Standing up, he scratches at his stomach lazily, throwing his headset onto his chair. His arms feel a bit sore, having been to the gym earlier that day, and his hair is still wet from when he showered. He puts on a sweatshirt, finding his apartment too cold to be roaming around shirtless, and heads to the kitchen to find something to eat.
He stops in his tracks when he finds y/n sitting in his living room all alone.
She’s got a book in her hands, a thick, worn-out novel that looks older than herself. She’s sitting comfortably on their couch with her legs tucked underneath her butt, so engulfed in whatever she’s reading that she doesn’t even realize that she’s not alone anymore.
It’s the first time he’s ever seen her outside of her sleep attire. She’s wearing a pair of loose, comfy looking corduroy pants, and a tight top that cuts off just below her ribs. Her chest rises and falls steadily, eyes skimming across the pages of her book so quickly that he wonders if she’s actually absorbing any of the words or not. She chews on her lip as she reads, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
When Harry finally speaks, it makes her jump in her place. “Where are Blake and Maddie?”
Her book nearly falls out of her hands as she whips her head around. When she sees it’s him, she relaxes. “Oh. Um,” she sits upright, closing her book, “They’re in his room.”
He nods slowly, squinting his eyes. There’s no nice way to ask his next question, so he just spits it out bluntly. “Why’d you come over if you’re just sitting out here while they hook up?”
She tucks her hair behind her ear nervously, feeling a little shy under his intimidating gaze. “Maddie was my ride to campus today. And she wanted to stop by here before we went home.” She shrugs quietly, “So I kinda had no choice.”
He huffs. Of course.
Y/n says that Maddie’s nice, but Harry really doesn’t like her. How weird is it to drag your friend somewhere just to have them sit alone while you go hook up with someone?
“How long have you guys been here?” he asks.
“Like, an hour.”
“So you’ve been sitting around doing nothing for an hour?”
She pouts. “I had my book.”
He blinks. She just sat here reading for an hour, while her roommate abandoned her to go hookup with Blake… and she’s okay with it?
She is too nice for her own good.
“Do y’want some pizza?” he asks, already opening the freezer.
Normally, y/n would say no. She’s kind of an unwelcome guest and she doesn’t want to be a burden on Harry. But… she hasn’t had anything since breakfast. And Maddie still hasn’t come out. She’s kind of starving.
“What kind?” she asks politely.
“Umm… cheese or pepperoni.”
“I don’t like pepperoni,” she confesses shyly. “But also I could just pick it off if you want pepperoni. Whatever you want.”
He rolls his eyes, shoving the pepperoni pizza back into the freezer. He wants to scream at her to stop being so nice! Stop being so considerate and just say what you want!
He puts it in the oven to bake, setting a timer for 15 minutes, then takes a moment to contemplate his next move. He could either go back into his room, where he could lie in bed and nap until the pizza was ready… or he could stay in here and sit awkwardly on the couch so that y/n wouldn’t be all alone.
99% of him wants to just go back into his room where he can be grumpy and alone in peace… but then he looks over at y/n, who’s sitting on the couch all by herself. She looks so uncomfortable and out of place, tracing her thumb over the raised up font on the hardcover in her hands.
The 1% of him that feels bad for her wins. He sits down next to her on the couch.
He nods his head towards the worn out book, which looks thicker than anything he’s ever read. “Are you reading the fuckin’ bible?”
“No,” she shakes her head, laughing to herself quietly. She runs her fingers over the grooves of the title, a feeling so familiar that it comforts her when she’s feeling so out of place. “It’s Wuthering Heights.”
He furrows his brow. “Never heard of it.”
“It’s good,” she says. “Kinda dense, but I’ve already read it a few times. It’s one of my favorites.”
He nods again, tapping his fingers on his thighs as silence overtakes the apartment once more. He looks around the living room, trying to find something else to say.
Y/n’s heart pitter patters in her chest nervously. She can’t help but feel a bit nervous around Harry. She’s pretty shy in general, and Harry’s stoic demeanor certainly doesn’t help her relax. Her voice is quiet as she asks, “Um… what’s your major?” A feeble attempt on her end at a conversation.
“Math.”
“Just math?” she parrots.
“Mhm,” he cracks his knuckles. “Pure math.”
She huffs out a quiet breath, a pout on her lips. “I’m in a math class right now.” Her fingers pick at a piece of fuzz that’s stuck on the couch. “Calc 1. It’s really hard.”
“Mm, yeah.” Harry hums, “Took that during my first year.”
She looks at him with wide eyes, “Did you pass?”
He holds back a smile. It’s amusing, how earnestly she’s asking him – a math major – if he passed Calculus 1. That class was generally easy for him, mostly just beginner stuff compared to the math he does now that he’s in his third year. But he doesn’t say that. “Yeah, I did,” he says simply, not wanting to make her feel bad.
She nods, looking back down at her book. “I’m kinda scared. Our first midterm was really hard.”
He hums sympathetically. Even though it was easy for him, he knows that calc class is infamously hard for others – especially for those who aren’t math inclined like himself. “How about you? What’s your major?”
His legs are spread apart so that he takes up nearly half the couch, whereas y/n sits curled up on the other corner, trying to take up as little space as possible. “Bio,” she readjusts herself so that she’s sitting crisscrossed, her book still clutched to her chest protectively. “With a concentration in ecology.”
Ew. He hates biology. Actually… he hates everything except math. Math is easy for him.
The oven beeps. A rush of relief fills his chest, finally free from this awkward conversation, and he eagerly abandons y/n on the couch to get the pizza out. He’s hungry, starving, and doesn’t bother with a plate or anything before grabbing a slice and shoving it in his mouth.
“Come have some,” he mumbles, mouth full.
She timidly walks over to the kitchen counter that he’s standing at, wiping her sweaty hands on her pants, and takes a slice as well. Blowing on it, she takes a much smaller bite than Harry did since it’s still so hot. She doesn’t know how he managed to already finish a whole slice.
Now that they can focus on eating their food, there’s no need for any more small talk. They eat comfortably in silence, only acknowledging each other when y/n asks for a napkin. He nods towards one of the drawers, asking her to grab him one too, and then they’re back to eating in silence.
Blake and Maddie burst out of his room a few minutes later.
“Harry made dinner!” exclaims Blake, coming over and reaching for a slice of pizza.
Harry yanks the tray out of his reach. “Get your own pizza,” he mumbles, putting the pizza back down in front of y/n. He looks at her, and nods his head towards the pizza, inviting her to take another slice.
Maddie stops her before she can reach for a second slice. “Ready to go?” she asks.
Y/n nods, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Thanks for the pizza,” she whispers to Harry, quiet enough so that only he hears.
“Yeah,” is all he says. He barely looks at her, too busy scarfing down his third (maybe fourth) slice.
She grabs her stuff and follows Maddie out of the boys apartment.
+++
“Hey!” Maddie pushes her way through the stuffed apartment, reaching her hand out towards y/n. “Listen, I’m gonna go home with Blake.”
“W-What?” Y/n’s head is foggy, her brain a little clouded from the few drinks that she’s had. Y/n doesn’t normally drink, so the little bit of alcohol in her system has had its intended effect and gone a bit further as well – her cheeks are warm, and she feels the world sway a little bit as she looks up at Maddie with a pout. “But– but what about me?”
Normally, y/n stays home whenever Maddie wants to go out and party. She prefers the comfort of her own bed and hates the anxiety she feels when she’s drunk and wobbly and surrounded by a bunch of strangers. But Maddie had assured her that they’d be together all night, that she’d take care of her if she got drunk, and that she’d drive them home whenever y/n wanted to leave.
She’s broken all three of those promises.
When they got to the party, Maddie abandoned her as soon as she saw Blake across the room. Luckily, y/n saw some of her own friends that she was able to hang out with, some girls from her ecology class who gave her a yummy strawberry smirnoff. They talked and laughed and y/n was having a good time, slowly but surely getting a little bit tipsy. The drink was so yummy, and Maddie wasn’t there to keep an eye on her, so she didn’t realize that she’d gone a bit over her tolerance.
She’s a bit tipsier than she’d like to be in a public setting, surrounded with people she doesn’t know, and it’s too dark outside for her to get home safely on her own. And now… Maddie wants to abandon her? For Blake?
“Don’t worry!” Maddie exclaims, completely disregarding the worry flickering in y/n’s glazed eyes. “I’ll order you an uber home!”
Y/n bites her lip nervously. An uber? At this time of night, when she’s all drunk and stumbling around like a sad little baby deer?
“Um… can’t you take me home before you go with Blake?”
Maddie rolls her eyes, “come on, really? I’ll pay for the uber. It'll be fine.”
Y/n’s heart beats loudly in her chest, “I-I’m scared of going by myself, Maddie. I think I had too much to drink, I don’t feel safe.”
Her roommate purses her lips in a firm line, as if she’s annoyed. She looks around the apartment, tapping her foot impatiently, then she lights up with an idea. “Stay here,” she tells y/n.
“Harry!” Maddie calls out, making her way back to the other side of the apartment. “Hey, Harry!”
He’s sitting on a couch, next to a pretty girl in a tight black dress who has her legs splayed across his lap comfortably. There’s a furrow in his brow that makes him look pissed off, but his hand rests very comfortably on this girl's thigh and he makes no objections as she plays with the collar of his shirt. His head whips over to Maddie as she tramples her way over to him.
“What is it?” he snaps, voice closed off and irritated.
“Can you drive y/n home?”
He blinks. “Huh?”
“Can you drive y/n home??” she says again, frustrated.
“Why?”
“Cause I’m going over to your apartment with Blake and she needs a ride home.”
He stares at Maddie unbelievingly, and peers over at y/n, who’s sitting all alone on the other side of the apartment. Her lips are pouted sadly, staring down at the floor with a far off look in her eyes.
“Why can’t you take her home?” he grumbles, looking up at Maddie with a glare in his eye.
She huffs, impatiently stomping her foot. “Cause I’m going home with Blake right now! Come on Harry, it’s not that far! Please?”
He shakes his head. “Fuckin’ unbelieveable,” he mutters under his breath, pushing the girl off of him as he stands up.
“Thank you,” she sighs, dragging him behind her. “Y/n,” Maddie says, stopping in front of her. “Harry’s gonna drive you home.”
She looks up, eyes wide and round. “H-Harry?”
“Yes,” she says harshly, “you guys are friends, aren’t you?”
“Um…” y/n doesn’t know what to say. She wouldn’t necessarily consider them friends just because they shared a pizza.
Her night out with Maddie was meant to be fun, but right now, she just feels abandoned and kinda scared. And Harry doesn’t seem too happy about this either, which makes her feel even worse.
“Lets go,” he snaps, jaw clenching tightly as he swings his car keys around his index finger. She flinches at his tone and digs her nails into her palms nervously.
She’s trapped. It’s either Harry takes her home, or she takes an uber all by herself. And she’s too scared to get home alone right now.
With a final look towards Maddie, who stares back at her dismissively and shoos her towards Harry, she stands up shakily and follows Harry out of the crowded apartment.
The air outside is much colder than the apartment, goosebumps immediately rising on y/n’s skin and making her shiver. Harry doesn’t acknowledge the way she stumbles over her feet, walking ahead of her briskly. She’s forced to keep herself composed, wrapping her arms around herself to keep warm and nearly jogging to keep up with Harry’s long strides.
He unlocks his car doors and gets into the driver’s seat. Y/n opens the passenger’s side door for herself and takes a seat, buckling herself in quietly.
Turning on the car, he notices the way her arms are tightly crossed in front of her chest. He turns up the heat, and pulls out of the parking lot.
They play no music and say nothing, driving in silence.
“Sorry you have to drive me home,” she says faintly after a few minutes.
His turn signal blinks softly. “Can’t believe your roommate just left you,” he mutters irritatedly.
She says nothing in response. She stares out the window, a lump in her throat as the drive past the streets of college houses and apartments. The red light they stop at and the name of the streets go blurry from the tears gathering at her waterline. She sniffles softly.
Harry whips his head to her. “Why are you crying?”
Her lower lip wobbles as the first tear falls from her lashes. She wipes it away quickly. “I don’t know,” is all she says with a watery voice.
He stares at her befuddled, brows furrowed and eyes a piercing green, but she refuses to meet his gaze. She just looks outside the window in a melancholy haze, lost in thought, eyes unfocused as tears drip down her face silently.
He sighs deeply and taps his fingers against the steering wheel, praying for the red light to turn green so that he can get this girl home as soon as possible.
+++
When they arrive at her place, he sits in his car and watches as she stumbles up the steps of her apartment. She mumbled out a soft thank you through her tears and managed to climb out of his car smoothly, but the way she wobbles on her feet makes Harry worry that he shouldn’t leave until he’s sure she got in.
She stands in front of her door for a solid two minutes, trying to find her keys, and Harry taps his fingers against his thigh impatiently. When she finally finds them, she struggles to fit the key in the lock, hands shaky and her vision still blurred from the tears. Aaaand then she drops them.
Harry sighs and puts the car in park. By the time she’s picked the keys back up, Harry’s already gotten out of his car and reached the top step. He takes the keys from her and easily unlocks her door. “In,” he mutters, ushering her into her apartment impatiently.
He follows her into her bathroom and turns the light on for her. Their eyes meet in the mirror as he asks, “can you get yourself ready for bed?”
She nods, looking down at the ground sheepishly as he leaves her to take off her makeup and brush her teeth. She opts to skip her skincare routine and doesn’t even bother with putting her jewelry back in her jewelry box, simply just leaving her earrings on her bathroom counter to deal with tomorrow.
Harry’s probably gone back down to his car by now, she thinks. It’s so embarrassing, how he had to drive her home and guide her into her bathroom. He seemed annoyed with her. He probably thought she was so messy – an annoying, overdramatic girl who started crying in his car for no reason.
More tears bubble in her tears as the hot wave of embarrassment washes over her. She was such a mess, of course she’s never been in a relationship. Nobody would want to date someone like her.
She takes off her clothes and whips off her bra, sniffling to herself sadly. Slipping on her favorite sweatshirt, a huge pink one that goes down to her mid thighs and covers her hands, she uses the sleeves to wipe away the excess tears in her eyes. She stumbles over herself a bit and bangs her foot against her dresser as she reaches for a pair of sleep shorts and it only makes her want to cry even harder. Drunk y/n is extra emotional, and every little thing is sending over the edge.
As she’s stepping into her pair of sleep shorts, her bedroom door opens, Harry walking in with a glass of water in one hand and a pill bottle in the other. She trips over herself as she tries to pull her clothes on as soon as possible, but it just makes her lose balance and stumble to the side. His eyes widen and he turns around quickly, muttering a quick fuck to himself.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “Are you decent?”
Y/n regains her composure, cheeks burning as she pulls her shorts over her hips. This night could not be going any worse. “Yeah,” she says quietly. She hopes it’s dark enough in the room so that he doesn’t see her flaming cheeks and puffy eyes.
He turns around and hands her the water, which she immediately starts chugging down. She didn’t realize how thirsty she’d been until she’d seen the glass in Harry’s large, tattooed hand.
“Slow down,” he grunts. He pops open the pill bottle and takes out one Advil for her. “Take this.”
She grabs the pill from him obediently and swallows it down with the rest of her water. Then she looks up at him, as if waiting for his next instructions.
“Bed,” he says, nodding his head towards her daisy printed sheets. She goes to climb in but trips over her shoe that she’d messily discarded on the floor. Harry grabs her waist before she can fall to the floor though.
“Jesus,” he murmurs. This was like the seventh time she’s almost fallen over tonight. Is she always this clumsy or was it the drinks?
He grabs her hand and physically guides her into her bed, making sure she lays down properly and lifting the sheets for her to climb under. Grabbing her ankle, he literally has to guide her under the blanket, then lets the duvet fall over her gracefully.
“All good?” he asks, once she’s tucked nicely into her bed, teeth brushed and medicine taken so that she wouldn’t wake up feeling gross tomorrow.
She looks up at him, eyes no longer tear filled but still clearly sad. “Yeah..” she says quietly, however her eyes flicker around her room as if she’s searching for something.
He furrows his brows, and glances in the direction her eyes have landed. A stuffed bunny lies on the floor next to the shoe that she tripped over. He bends over and picks it up, handing it to her questioningly. She takes the bunny and snuggles it into her neck, eyes fluttering as if she can finally relax. “Thanks,” she whispers.
Harry nods curtly and heads for the door. When he turns around one final, y/n is watching him with sleepy eyes. “Bye, Harry,” she squeaks out.
He stares at her for a second. “Bye.” Then he closes the door behind himself.
+++
Y/n wakes up with a pounding headache and an upset tummy.
That was mortifying.
She’s never gonna be able to face Harry again. He was so annoyed with her, she just knows it! The way she dragged him away from that party, cried in his car, and tripped over herself like a stupid goat with clanky legs… oh, he probably thinks she’s the worst!
She wishes she had more control over her emotions, that she could’ve held in the tears until she was alone in her bed… but she just felt so miserable last night. She had wanted to start crying literally when Maddie first yelled at her at the party, but she tried to stay strong. Kept herself together so that she at least didn’t start crying in the middle of a party.
But then… getting in the car with Harry. God. The deafening silence, the irritation radiating off of him… it made her feel terrible. She felt like a nuisance, like an annoyance and a burden.
And she completely humiliated herself in front of Harry! The cute guy that she maybe sort of had started to have a tiny little crush on, simply because he was cute and mildly nice to her and she has a habit of romanticizing small interactions.
There was no chance he’d ever want to be in a room with her after this. He probably wants nothing to do with her.
She stumbles out of her bed and plants her feet on the ground, her head spinning a little bit as she squints her eyes. Her little stuffed bunny has fallen onto the floor again, and she picks it up and places it onto the bed next to herself. She remembers how Harry had picked the bunny up and given it to her before she fell asleep last night, like she was some little kid that he was stuck babysitting.
Ugh. She’s never going to talk to him again.
+++
Harry stands outside of his lecture hall, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed angrily. His eyebrows are furrowed in classic Grumpy Harry fashion and his lips are pursed in a disgruntled frown.
He’s annoyed.
He stares at y/n, who’s sitting on a bench not too far away. Her tote bag sits on the floor next to her feet and there’s a book in her hand, her finger in between the pages as a temporary bookmark to not lose the page she’s on.
There’s something about her that just… annoys him so much. He can’t quite explain it.
The way her cheeks dimple as she smiles up at the guy talking to her, tucking her hair behind her ear gently when it falls into her face… it makes his jaw clench angrily as he watches her from a distance. She’s so nice. Too nice.
She laughs at something the guy she’s talking to says and it makes his stomach feel sour. He doesn’t like it.
Blake’s hand snaps in front of Harry’s face. “Bro. Stop staring.”
Harry forces his eyes to look away, brows still furrowed grumpily. “Wasn’t staring,” he mumbles, pushing himself off the wall and going into the lecture hall.
“You were,” he responds, following closely behind. “She’s really nice… I dunno why you hate her.”
“Who says I hate her?” Harry scoffs. “I never talk to her.” Especially as of late, she’s quiet as a mouse around him. He was over at her apartment to pick Blake up the other day and she’d only said a quiet “hi” before scurrying back into her room, like a scared little bunny in the presence of a snake or something.
“Well… I mean, you could be nicer.”
Harry furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”
Blake hesitates. “Like… I dunno. Maddie says you made her cry.”
“Huh?” He thinks back to that night… “How was that my fault?” All he’d done was driven her home and tucked her into bed? She just started crying on her own!
“She’s just kind of sensitive,” says Blake. “I know you probably weren’t trying to mean, but you’re definitely not sunshine and rainbows. You’re scary, did y’know that?”
Harry rolls his eyes. Everyone seems to have this preconceived notion that Harry's this huge dick who never smiles… and though it’s true that he rarely smiles in the presence of strangers, he’s not an asshole! He just doesn’t feel like wasting his energy in pretending to like people he doesn’t actually like. Or smile when it’s much more comfortable to furrow his brows and pout grumpily.
And he finds that usually his grumpy demeanor works in his favor – people stay out of his way, and he gets to avoid the headache that comes with interacting with people. But now this girl… this sunshine girl who always has her nose in a little book and always says please and thank you and is nice to everyone and stumbles over herself like a little puppy who's learning how to walk… she’s gone on and made him feel bad about it.
How annoying is that? To have the nicest person on the planet think you’re scary?
“I wasn’t trying to make her cry,” he mutters, irritated. “I didn’t even say anything to her.”
“Well maybe that’s the problem. Like… just try. I think you’ll like her.”
He doesn’t think so. She’s too nice. They probably wouldn’t get along.
+++
There are three things y/n does a lot.
The first is studying. Her grades come first, always. She’ll be at the library for hours at a time, snuggled up in a booth with an iced coffee and her color coded notes, studying until she can barely keep her eyes open. It’s unhealthy, and she really should take breaks more often… but she just gets really nervous about her grades!
She’s used to being at the top of her class, and has always been a straight A student. But recently, she’s been struggling. She’s doing fine in her chemistry class, and absolutely thriving in biology. But calculus… calculus is her worst enemy.
The second thing she does a lot is reading. She’s been a bookworm for as long as she can remember. Her most frequent genre is romance (obviously!), but she’ll dabble a little bit in the popular fantasy series, maybe pick up a thriller every once in a while. And if she’s feeling sophisticated, she’ll try to read one of the classics… something philosophical, like Camus, or maybe something a little heavier, like War and Peace. But those situations are rare. She prefers her little world of romance.
The third thing that y/n does a lot… is cry.
She’ll cry if she watches a sad movie, she’ll cry over a sad book. She cried when Finnick died in The Hunger Games, and she cried when she finished Of Mice and Men. She cries every single time she watches Pride and Prejudice (2005), sobs her eyes out when Mr. Darcy says, “You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love- I love- I love you.”
She cries if someone yells at her, and she cries if she thinks someone doesn’t like her. She cries almost every time she’s drunk (example: when Harry drove her home), and she cries in the middle of the night when she’s feeling homesick. She cries for no reason when she’s getting close to her period… and sometimes, she cries because she’s just lonely.
Now, you might be thinking… y/n sounds super annoying. But please don’t think that! That would also probably make her cry.
She’s just a tad bit sensitive! She has so many emotions in her little heart, and she’s trying so hard to be responsible and manage life as a young adult but at the end of the day she’s just a girl!!! She’s just a girl, and she’s tired and stressed out and lonely and touch deprived, and sometimes she has a hard time keeping everything together so she just… cries.
If she could control it, she would! Do you really think she wants to be crying in the library? Of course, not! It’s embarrassing, and she’s trying really hard to keep her sniffles quiet and to suck the tears back into her eyeballs… but when she’s sad, she can’t stop the tears.
So now she’s crying in the library. And it’s all because of Issac Newton.
Why did he have to invent calculus? Like, what was even the point? Why did she, as a girl studying ecology, have to take this stupid class?
She buries her face in her arms, the tears unstoppable at this point, and just hopes that anyone walking past will think she’s napping and not crying her eyes out.
She’d studied really hard for that last midterm. Like– she’d literally been in the library for a week straight, just doing calculus problems over and over again. She went to office hours to get help on all the questions she was stuck on, and was watching the Organic Chemistry Tutor’s videos religiously. She did so much math that she was literally having dreams about doing calculus.
And yet, even with all of her studying, she still managed to fail the midterm. Like… she seriously failed it. As in, if she doesn’t get an A on the final, she will literally have to retake the class.
She’s so sad. She’s never gotten a grade this low, ever in her life. And she’d tried so hard!!! The morning of the midterm, she’d actually felt confident! She thought she had it in the bag!
She was so, so wrong.
She feels stupid – not just because she failed the midterm, but because she’s literally having a breakdown about it in the library.
This is stupid. Everything is stupid. School is stupid, Issac Newton is stupid, calculus is stupid–
“Y/n?”
Uh oh. She tries to wipe away her tears discreetly, licking her lips and clearing her throat and desperately hoping that it’s not obvious that she’s been crying.
When she lifts her head, she finds Harry standing in front of her. “Why’re you crying?” he asks bluntly, looking down at her with his brows furrowed.
Ok. So it is obvious.
“Um,” she sniffles, “Hi Harry.” She hopes that maybe if she pretends like everything is fine, then he won’t pry any further.
It doesn’t work.
“Why are you crying?” he asks again. There’s not much compassion or comfort in his voice. Same old grumpy Harry, so blank and impassive.
She shrugs her shoulders, feeling small and embarrassed. “I– it’s silly,” she stammers, looking down at her fingers.
Harry doesn’t say anything, staring at her and waiting for her to continue.
She swallows thickly. “I failed my midterm,” she whispers, her voice catching as a new lump grows in her throat.
“How bad?”
One lone tear falls down her face as she shakes her head disappointedly, which she wipes away quickly. “Really bad,” she whimpers. Her cheeks burn hot as she realizes that she can’t hold back the tears any longer. She quickly averts her eyes from him, staring into her lap and hoping that he can’t see her face.
This is the second time he’s seen her cry, which is two times more than she would like. He probably thinks she’s some silly, over emotional girl… probably thinks she’s so annoying. She just wants to curl up in a ball, hide in a dark hole and cry by herself. She can’t handle Harry’s judgment on top of her shitty midterm grade.
He stands there silently for a moment. Her lower lip has pouted out cutely and he can hear her sniffling quietly. “Was it math?” he asks.
“Yeah,” she grumbles sadly. Stupid math.
He hums. After another tense moment he asks, “Do you want help?”
“Help with what?” She stares down at her fingers, her tone dejected. The happy glimmer that usually sparkles in her eye is gone.
“With math,” he clarifies. “I can help you.”
She looks up at him curiously, still pouting. “You’d help me with math?”
He nods, pulling out the chair next to her. “Let me see your midterm,” he says, nodding his head towards the packet of math problems she’d just been sobbing over. Embarrassingly, the front page is stained with a few tears, but she hands it over nonetheless.
He scans over the first page quickly, reading the question and seeing how she answered it. “Do you know why you got this one wrong?”
She sniffles and shrugs. She hadn’t even tried to look over the questions, too mentally exhausted to even try and understand what mistakes she’d made.
“Look. You tried to cancel out the tan3x, which would make sense in any other case… but since it’s to the power of 4 you could really easily have used integration by parts.”
“Wish I knew that before I took the fucking midterm,” she huffs.
“Hey,” he tsks. “Learn from your mistakes so that you don’t make them again. You need to know this stuff to do integral tests later.”
She shakes her head. “I tried so hard, Harry,” she barely whispers, her voice exhausted. “Like I studied so much, and I really really tried to make it all make sense. But it’s just so hard for me.” She sniffles and wipes away more tears, taking a shaky breath and looking away from Harry.
She doesn’t want to try anymore. She just wants to give up.
He purses his lips, brows furrowed. There’s something about seeing y/n upset that just feels so wrong. She usually brings so much… light into a room. Seeing her cry makes it seem like the entire universe has gotten a little sadder.
“You’ve got the right idea when you’re solving these…” he tries to comfort her (though he’s never really been good at comforting people), “It’s just little things that you’re doing wrong. And it’s probably because you’ve got a shit professor who just has you copy down problems.”
“That’s literally all we do!” she whines, not even caring if she sounds like a baby. “He does the problems so fast and then I have to go home and try and figure out how he did it all by myself!” She sniffles and puts her head in her hands, more tears dropping from her eyelashes. She’s exhausted, her head starting to hurt as she exhales a shuddery breath.
He lets her cry a little bit. “Listen,” he says gently, turning to face her. The normal furrow in his brow is gone, his gaze a little bit softer. “Next time you come over with Maddie, bring your notes and we can go over them together, okay?”
She sniffles. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Like actually?”
“Yes,” he says again exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. He stands up from the table and puts her midterm back down in front of her. “Lighten up, sunshine. One bad score is not the end of the world.”
She feels a bit silly now that Harry’s witnessed her having another breakdown in the library. But, despite how little he said… he actually helped her calm down. This was not the end of the world.
“I’m going out,” Maddie says as she walks into the kitchen, discarding her half full coffee mug on the counter as she grabs her car keys from the hook in front of the door.
“Your mug!” y/n tuts like a mother. Maddie rolls her eyes as she pours the last of her coffee down the sink and puts the mug in the dishwasher. Y/n ignores the dramatic eye roll, knowing that Maddie’s just playing around, and asks, “Where are you going?”
“Over to Blake’s,” she responds with a wink. She’s been telling y/n about how she’s been waiting for Blake to text her all week because she doesn’t want to be the one texting first all the time… weird situation-ship stuff that y/n’s never experienced before. Seems like he finally texted her, with how excited Maddie is to be going over.
Just as Maddie is about to step out the door, y/n remembers Harry’s offer. He’d been serious, right? He hadn’t just said that because she was crying… right? She really hopes not, because she really could use his help. She’d been up for hours last night, trying to do the homework, but ultimately giving up because she got too frustrated with herself. Maybe… maybe he’d be able to help her?
“Wait!” y/n calls out, “Um… can I come with you?”
Maddie raises an eyebrow, “Why do you want to come over to Blake’s apartment?”
Y/n turns a bit shy, “Harry… he’s, um, helping me with math.”
“Harry?” Maddie’s eyes glimmer curiously. “He’s literally such a dick. He’s helping you?”
“He’s not that bad…” y/n mumbles, remembering the ounce of kindness he’d shown to her in the library the other day. He’s just a little bit… reserved, she’s started to realize.
“Please. He literally never smiles. I dunno how you got him to talk to you, he always ignores me when I’m over.”
(Honestly, she doesn’t blame Harry for not talking to Maddie… she sometimes ignores Maddie in her own apartment too…)
“You have two minutes to meet me in the car or I’m leaving without you!”
With her schoolbag in hand, y/n taps lightly on Harry’s door. Blake had told her to just go in, but she feels like that’s rude, so she stands in front of his door nervously and waits patiently for him to open.
“What?” he grunts, opening his bedroom door. “Oh.” The furrow in his brow softens the slightest bit when he sees it’s y/n. He’d thought it was Blake bugging him about something. Y/n is a much… nicer surprise.
“Hi,” she says, chewing on the inside of her lip nervously. “I was wondering if… um, you could help me out with my calc stuff?”
He stares at her for a second, then says, “yeah.”
He opens the door wider and she follows him in. His room is messy, but not gross. The bed is unmade, three half full water bottles on his nightstand, and there’s a pair of sweatpants on the floor… but at least it doesn’t stink!
His computer screen is paused mid-game, and she realizes that he’d still been holding his controller when he’d opened up the door for her. He throws a jacket that had been thrown on the back of his chair onto the bed, and motions for her to sit. Then he pulls up another chair that was sitting in the corner of his room to sit next to her.
“Let’s see it,” he says, shutting down his computer.
“So…” she takes her laptop out of her bag, setting it down on his desk and turning it on so that she can open up her homework assignment. While it loads, she unlocks her ipad to the scratch work she’d done last night. “I was trying to do the homework last night, and I think I’m supposed to be doing integration by parts but honestly I’m not even sure how to do that… so I’m kind of lost.”
Harry leans over her ipad and looks at the work she’d done. It’s… wrong.
“Can I see your notes for integration by parts?” He asks, trying to figure out how she ended up with 1 as her answer when it should be a much larger, much more complicated mix of trig and integrals. She scrolls up until she lands on a page titled Chapter 7, and points to the second example on the problem. Her notes are cute, written in pink with girlish, bubbly handwriting. However, it’s clear that she’d been struggling to keep up with the lecture, some of her work completely scribbled out and replaced with messy numbers and formulas. Next to one of the big portions of scribbled out math, she's written “WHAT???” along with a sad face doodled underneath it.
Clearly she’s a bit confused.
“Okay…” he scrolls down to a new page in her digital notebook and copies down the example problem that had confused her. “Let me show you how you do integration by parts first, and then we’ll look at the homework problem, okay?”
“M’kay,” she hums compliantly, crossing her legs and hiding her hands in her sleeves. She feels a bit… nervous. She doesn’t want Harry to think she’s stupid. But she’d rather have her ego a little bruised than fail the next midterm too.
“So… you do integration by parts when you can’t just do normal integration… usually if there’s e^x in there or a natural log then you know that you have to do integration by parts.”
She nods, following along quietly.
“In this one… you have x times e^x dx… you have to break it up into two parts, U and dV. And then you take the derivative of U and find the integral of dV. And you plug that into the formula. Do you know the formula?”
She blinks at him. “Um…” she shuffles through her notes and finds it. “It’s this.”
“Good… so what you do is you assign x to either U or dV and then e^x(dx) to the other… and then you find dU and V based off of that. Should we make x be U or dV?”
She purses her lips, “Make x=U?”
“Yes…” he nods. “Do you know why?”
She shrugs. “I guessed.”
His lip quirks up in the first smile y/n’s ever seen from him, a slight dimple popping up in his cheek. “S’cos we have to either find the derivative of U, or find the integral of dV. It’s way easier to use the derivative of x, cause it’s just one. If we made x equal to dV… then we’d add a fraction and a power of two to our equation and it’ll just make things ugly.”
“Oh.” She stares at his hands as he writes down what he just said in math terms, scribbling in his boyish handwriting that U=x and dU=1. “Okay.”
“So if U=x, then dV is equal to….”
“e^x?” she answers.
“Good,” he says gently. “And what is V?”
She stays silent for a moment, searching the paper as if it’ll give her an answer. He senses her confusion and helps her out, saying, “IF V is the integral of dV, and dV is e^x…”
“Well Isn’t the integral of e^x still e^x?” Her voice is unconfident, looking up at Harry with wide, round eyes.
“You’re right,” he says encouragingly, a soft smile on his face. “Stop doubting yourself so much.”
A reciprocating smile spreads on her face, feeling a little more confident with Harry’s praise.
“All you do now is put your numbers into the formula. Can you do it?”
He hands the pen over to her, their fingers brushing. Her hair falls in front of her face as she leans over the page to write down her answer, and Harry watches softly as she tucks it back behind her ear. He notices how long and delicate her eyelashes are as he stares at her side profile.
“Is that right?” she asks quietly, trying hard to be confident but still so nervous that she’s done it wrong.
He tears his eyes away from her face. “Almost,” he says, leaning forward. Their arms brush against each other, the space that they initially had set between their chairs having shrunk as they worked on the problem together. She can feel his breath as he quietly murmurs next to her ear, “You just need to add +C at the end.”
She furrows her eyebrows and turns her head towards him, and feels her heart stutter as she realizes how close their faces actually are. “What does the +C mean?”
“It’s just like… it’s supposed to represent any constants that we couldn’t find. Because when you take the derivative of a constant it just ends up being zero, so when you’re given an integral and doing the anti-differential process… you don’t know if there was actually a constant there or what it was. So the +C is just representing any constant value that could’ve been in the answer, even though you don’t know what the number is.”
She blinks at him. “Um… okay. I’ll just pretend like that made sense.”
He chuckles, the first time she’s probably ever heard him laugh. “It’s honestly not that important to get it. Just remember to add +C every time you take an integral.”
“Got it…” she says, adding the +C.
“Think you can do the next one on your own?”
+++
“Harry,” y/n pouts. “It says I’m wrong but I dunno why.”
He pauses his game and slides out of his seat, going over to y/n. She’d relocated to his bed after they did a couple more problems together and felt confident enough to do the rest by herself. His chest brushing against her back softly as he leans over her shoulder, going over her work. “What’s the integral of sin(x)?”
“Cos(x),” she says confidently.
“Not quite…”
She sits there for a second, brows furrowed. “Oh!” she adds a negative in front of the cos(x).
“There you go,” he grins down at her.
She lays down on his bed, her hair splaying out behind her as she throws her ipad on his bed, relieved. “Harry. You’re a genius.”
He laughs, a quiet huff of air that passes out of his nose with an amused smile on his face. “So it makes sense?”
“I think you should be teaching our class. You’re so good. Thank you for helping me.”
He hums, giving her a satisfied smirk, and goes back to his game while she finishes her homework. It's a strange setup, sitting in his bed and doing her homework while he plays, but she doesn’t mind it.
hope u guys loved it!!!!!! part 2 is up on my patreon already, and will come to tumblr next saturday (july 29) pleeeeaaaase lmk what u rhink and give her a rb and a comment i love u guys so so much!!!
sunshine - part 2 (already posted on patreon!) : In which Harry's a little bit nicer, and y/n is very excited to possibly, hopefully, maybe be kissed.
series summary: In the cold northern kingdom of Alderham, King Harry Styles rules with silence, steel, and a legacy he never asked for. Raised to believe emotion is weakness, he commands with distance—his crown a burden worn without question, his twin brother a shadow he’s long tried to outpace. Far south in the polished courts of Edevane, Margaret Fitzgerald is the daughter no one sees. Quiet, overlooked, and dressed in the remnants of her sister’s life, she exists on the edges of a family that prizes beauty and ambition; neither of which were ever hers. What follows is not a love story. It is a reckoning. A tale of power, silence, and what happens when two people find themselves undone not by war or betrayal, but by the quiet things no one ever dares to say aloud. Based off "Lover, You Should Come Over" by Jeff Buckley.
warnings: none, will be posted with each chapter.
word count: 6.4k
a/n: welcome to chapter 1! sit back and enjoy. forgive me for any mistakes, i've had sleepy brain all day. please don't let me flop!! <3
Margaret woke to the hollow creak of the rafters and the soft clatter of footsteps below. The hour before dawn had always belonged to first light, when the blackened hills surrounding Edevane began to shimmer faintly with the gold of waking lanterns. From her narrow attic window, Margaret could see pinpricks of flame bobbing along the curved roads—the villagers and street workers moving like ghosts across the dark, lifting their torches high to hook them onto the iron posts that lined the sloping hills.
The house was already alive beneath her. Sharp voices floated up through the floorboards—her mother's brisk orders, her sister’s light laughter, the clatter of servants preparing trunks and parcels for the journey ahead. Another maid had mercifully taken the morning shift, sparing Margaret from having to sweep hearths and draw bathwater before she could even think to dress. A small grace, rare enough not to question.
She slipped from her thin mattress, wincing as the creaky bedframe gave a low, protesting groan that seemed far too loud in the stillness of early morning. Her toes met the chill of the attic’s wooden floor, the boards worn smooth with age and dust. The air smelled faintly of moth-eaten linen, old stone, and something else, perhaps something forgotten, like the lingering ghost of candle smoke from nights long past. Here, at the highest point of Briarbourne Hall, it always felt like time had stopped moving.
Margaret gathered the dress she had laid carefully at the foot of her bed the night before, a patchwork of hand-me-downs and salvaged fabrics, lovingly sewn together in the hours no one cared to notice she was missing. The soft square neckline complimented the frill at the bottom. She pressed the bundle of cloth to her chest and tiptoed across the attic, careful to avoid the loudest of the floorboards, until she reached the narrow, rickety stair that led down to the servants’ entrance.
The back door groaned on its hinges as she slipped outside into the pale breath of dawn. The world was still half-asleep; the gardens were blanketed in mist, and the stones of the courtyard were slick with dew. Margaret padded barefoot across the cold, uneven stones to where a fresh bucket of water and clean cloths had been left at the corner by the kitchen maids.
Kneeling beside the bucket, she set her dress safely atop a dry patch of stone and braced herself. The water was bitterly cold, biting at her skin like needles. She splashed her face, her neck, her arms, scrubbing quickly with a coarse linen cloth. The roughness scratched at her skin, leaving it tingling and pink, but it washed away the heavy fog of sleep from her mind.
The world around her stirred to life: the low hum of distant conversation, the rhythmic clink of metal as the lantern lighters worked the hillsides beyond the Hall. She could just make out their tiny figures moving against the horizon, their soft voices carrying on the crisp air as they hooked the last of the night’s lanterns onto tall wooden posts. First light was creeping steadily over Edevane now, spilling pale gold across the fields, catching in the lace of fog still tangled in the hedgerows.
Margaret hurriedly dried herself off, her fingers stiff with cold, and slipped into her homemade dress. It hung loose around her slender frame, the seams slightly crooked where she had sewn them by candlelight. She tied the thin, worn sash around her waist and smoothed the wrinkled fabric with trembling hands, willing it to look presentable—though she knew it never truly would.
For a moment, she lingered outside, drawing in the fresh, damp scent of the morning; the earth, the moss, the faint trace of woodsmoke from distant cottages. She closed her eyes and let herself feel it: the fleeting quiet, the freedom of being unseen.
But there was no time to waste. She turned back to the Hall, pulling open the back door once more, and crept up the narrow servants’ stair to her attic. The air grew thinner with each step, the ceiling slanting sharply until she had to duck to avoid the low beams. The attic was dim and cramped, but it was hers, and that counted for something.
Crossing the tiny room in a few strides, she knelt by the small, battered trunk tucked beneath the eaves. It was her secret trove, the only corner of the world she could call her own. Carefully, she lifted the lid. Inside lay a neatly folded mended shawl, a handful of worn, dog-eared books, and a journal bound in cracked brown leather.
Sitting on the edge of her frail bed, Margaret let the worn journal settle in her lap, the cracked leather cool beneath her fingertips. She opened it carefully, mindful of the fragile spine, and a thin photograph, tucked between the first pages, fluttered free. It drifted down like a falling leaf and landed soundlessly against her skirt.
She stared at it for a moment before picking it up between her trembling fingers.
The photograph was aged nearly to sepia, its edges curling inward, browned and delicate from the slow burn of time. Yet the image it held was stubbornly clear, stubbornly sharp enough to sting. It showed her family standing tall before the pristine façade of Briarbourne Hall in its younger days, when the stone was still new, the paint still bright, the gardens lush and untamed.
There was Nora at the center, poised and regal even then, her hand resting lightly on Thomas’s arm. Thomas stood stiff-backed and unsmiling, a man already heavy with the expectations of legacy. Beatrice was a bright flare beside them, her hair in glossy ringlets, her small face beaming with the easy assurance of someone destined to be adored.
And there—off to the side, almost out of frame—was Margaret.
Three years old, dwarfed by the grandeur around her, her hair a wild tangle that caught the light like spun gold. Her small hand was curled tightly around her mother’s, her round cheeks flushed from play. She looked up toward Nora, wide-eyed, expectant, clinging.
A memory unspooled itself, as fragile as the breath of winter across glass.
They had been running, she and Beatrice, through the tall grasses in the field behind the house, where the earth still smelled sweet and alive and the wind tangled itself in their hair. Margaret remembered the feeling of the grass brushing against her legs, the sun hot on her back, her heart hammering in the way only a child's could—with no fear, only delight.
Beatrice, in a white muslin dress, ran ahead with all the effortless grace that would one day turn heads in every ballroom. Margaret stumbled after her, skirts hiked up awkwardly in both fists, her laughter bubbling uncontrollably from her lips. She could still hear it—the high, shrill giggle of uncontained joy.
Nora had stood by the great oak tree at the edge of the field, skirts gathered in one hand, her other hand shading her eyes as she watched them. There had been no sternness then, no sharp tongue or cutting glance. Only a laugh; light, unguarded, almost girlish.
"Margie, slow down before you topple!" her mother had called, her voice bright with laughter, the smile stretching across her usually severe mouth like a miracle.
‘Margie.’ The name hung in Margaret’s mind like a ghost.
It was a name she hadn’t heard in years, one that now seemed to belong to someone else entirely, a girl who had once been cherished, if only fleetingly. A girl who had once been seen.
The memory trembled like a flame in a breeze, threatening to go out. It felt brittle now, foreign, as though it had been pressed too hard against the waking reality of her life and had cracked under the strain. A dream she wasn't sure had ever truly belonged to her.
Margaret touched the photograph with aching gentleness, her thumb brushing the faded faces. She half-feared that if she looked too long, they might vanish altogether—this brief, golden sliver of a past that had long since been buried beneath years of cold glances and clipped orders.
She closed her eyes and held the photo against her chest, letting herself feel, for just a moment, the ghost of the warmth that had once been hers.
“Margaret Jones!”
Her father's voice, sharp, commanding, and utterly devoid of affection, sliced through the thin attic door like the crack of a whip.
She startled, the photograph slipping from her fingers and landing soundlessly on the worn floorboards. Her heart kicked painfully against her ribs. Fingers fumbling, she gathered the fragile photograph and journal, tucking them hastily back into the battered trunk as if hiding away a guilty secret.
Below, the house had roused into a flurry of activity. She could hear the heavy thud of trunks being carried down the stairs, the shuffle of hurried feet on stone floors, the clipped farewells of servants they would leave behind. First light was brushing up against the horizon now, gilding the attic windowpanes in a thin, cold silver. The carriage would not wait for her.
Margaret smoothed her dress with quick, trembling hands, feeling the rough weave catch against her calloused fingers. She squared her shoulders, drawing in a deep breath to steady herself, and slipped out of the attic.
The air grew colder as she descended the narrow staircase, the grandness of Briarbourne Hall pressing down with every step. The once-warm home of her childhood now loomed with the icy stiffness of a house grown used to her silence.
In the main hall, Beatrice spun before a tall, gilt-framed mirror, her new satin traveling cloak flaring out around her in glossy ripples, catching the light like water. She laughed—a light, tinkling sound rehearsed for the ears of courtiers—and Nora stood nearby, adjusting a fold in her daughter's sleeve, her face soft with approval.
Thomas stood apart, checking the time against his polished pocket watch, the glint of gold catching the edge of his cold gaze. He looked up briefly, his mouth thinning in irritation at the sight of Margaret before snapping the watch closed with a click of finality.
"You lot look lovely," Margaret offered into the charged air, her voice small, careful, the words as practiced as a prayer she no longer believed in. She kept her slim fingers clasped behind her, thumbs fiddling in anticipation. It had been months since Margaret had left the palace past the gates, besides for a usual gather for produce at the markets.
Beatrice turned just enough to catch Margaret's eye, her lips curling into a slow, triumphant smirk that didn’t reach her coldly shining eyes. Nora gave only the faintest of nods in acknowledgment, her fingers already back at work adjusting the angle of Beatrice’s bonnet, ensuring every ribbon and bow sat with effortless perfection.
Margaret bowed her head, murmuring another hollow compliment she knew they would not hear, and accepted the shawl a waiting maid thrust into her arms with mechanical indifference. She wrapped it around her shoulders, grateful at least for the meager shield against the creeping morning chill.
Within moments, they were ushered out into the courtyard. The air was sharp and biting, carrying the fresh scent of damp earth and woodsmoke. Margaret flinched as the cold kissed her cheeks, but she kept her expression still, trained. Before them loomed the family carriage, grand and heavy, its deep blue panels freshly polished and emblazoned with the Fitzgerald crest—a bear rampant, roaring in silent pride.
Margaret climbed in after her parents, tucking herself into the farthest corner of the plush interior. She folded her hands neatly in her lap, her fingers tightening until her knuckles turned white as the horses stamped and frothed impatiently at the bit, their breath pluming in the frosty air.
The carriage gave a lurch, the wheels groaning as they began their long journey northward. Margaret kept her eyes on the road ahead, refusing to look back at Briarbourne Hall, its chimneys silhouetted against the awakening sky.
The path stretched out before them—four long hours through misted hills, along roads that wound through shadowed woods where light struggled to reach. Alderham was waiting at the end of it, a place Margaret had only ever heard of in careful murmurs and wary warnings, a place of power and cold stone and royal blood.
She pressed her palm against the windowpane, watching as the mist thickened, swallowing the world in a pale gray hush.
Somewhere beyond that veil of fog, Wrosley Keep loomed, patient and immovable.
•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•
The great hall of Wrosley Keep stood as still as a tomb, thick with a silence that settled deep into the stone walls. Only the occasional crack of the hearth fire gnawing at its last stubborn logs offered any sign of life, the sound snapping sharply in the heavy air. Morning light, dim and shrouded by Alderham’s eternal mist, slanted weakly through the narrow, arched windows, painting long, wan stripes across the cold flagstone floor. The lingering fog outside made even the bold banners on the high walls seem muted, their colors dulled as if bleached by centuries of waiting.
At the end of the long black oak dining table sat King Harry Styles, solitary at the head, his figure carved out in stark lines against the throne-like chair he occupied. His posture was ramrod straight, every inch the king he had been raised to be, shoulders squared beneath the heavy cut of his dark jacket. The deep blue fabric, trimmed with subtle silver embroidery along the cuffs and collar, caught the faintest gleam of the firelight. As he meticulously adjusted the cuffs at his wrist, the small movements spoke volumes—rituals of control, of composure sharpened to a blade’s edge.
His hair, dark and thick, was neatly combed back from his brow, not a strand out of place. It gleamed faintly in the low light, the rich, natural wave of it tamed into order, like everything else about him.
Across the vast, yawning stretch of table—too long for comfort, too cold for true conversation—his twin brother, Edward, slouched in his chair with a boneless ease that seemed almost deliberately disrespectful. His ankles were crossed lazily beneath the table, boots scuffed with the dust of some unspoken misadventure, and his shoulders slumped as if the very notion of formality was a burden too great to bear.
A young maid, pale, slight, and visibly trembling, moved with silent urgency as she set down the last of the polished silver cutlery. Her hands fluttered like nervous birds. She offered a low, swift curtsey, her head bowed so low the limp ties of her apron brushed the floor. Without daring a glance at either brother, she backed out of the hall, the soft scrape of the door closing behind her like the final note of a funeral march.
Then Edward moved, quick and careless. He seized the metal lid covering his breakfast and tore it free with a theatrical flourish. It clattered noisily across the gleaming surface of the table, spinning and skipping like a tossed shield until it collided with a silver pitcher at the center with a metallic bang.
The echo rolled through the cavernous hall.
Harry’s jaw tightened so sharply a muscle leapt in his cheek, the only betrayal of his irritation. His hand paused mid-motion, fork hovering just above his plate.
"Must you behave like an ungoverned hound?" Harry said without lifting his gaze, each syllable clipped and wrapped in the kind of low, withering disdain that could wither even the boldest spirit.
Edward only chuckled, a deep, lazy sound, utterly unfazed by the rebuke. He speared a thick slab of meat with a single, cavalier jab of his fork, dragging it toward himself with a scraping sound that made Harry’s teeth grind.
"Morning to you as well, brother," Edward said around a mouthful of food, his voice warm with amusement and irreverence.
Harry returned to his meal with the same rigid, silent discipline with which he did everything else. His knife sliced through the ham with clean, efficient strokes, movements so precise they might have been measured with a ruler. Every bite was deliberate, not a crumb or smear of sauce left as evidence of indulgence.
In sharp contrast, Edward wielded his utensils with the gracelessness of a street brawler—switching hands without care, sawing into bread and meat with the same dull knife, elbows planted firmly on the table as he leaned forward like a boy who had never been taught a single table manner. He lounged and sprawled and ate without shame, his dark hair tied back haphazardly in a leather cord, the ends curling rebelliously against the nape of his neck.
After several minutes of taut silence, broken only by the muted scrape of silver against china and the distant whisper of the fire, Edward flung his fork down with a clatter that rang out across the cavernous hall. He leaned back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh, the legs of it creaking beneath his lazy sprawl. His long hair, having worked itself free from its earlier binding, spilled in unruly waves over the crumpled shoulders of his shirt, the loose strands catching the weak light like dulled copper. His collar was undone at the throat, exposing the smooth, bronzed skin of his collarbone, and his sleeves were shoved up past his elbows in a careless, half-drunk sort of fashion.
"So," Edward drawled, his voice rough with sleep and sarcasm, "the illustrious Fitzgeralds are due to arrive today?"
Harry did not immediately respond. He merely gave the smallest nod, so slight it might have been mistaken for the tilt of a shadow, his attention never once wavering from the careful, measured cuts he made into his meal. His movements were slow and deliberate, each slice of his knife a whisper against the plate.
Edward shifted, reaching for the nearest loaf of bread. He tore at it absently with long, calloused fingers, shredding the crust as a hawk might rip into a hare, his posture slouched and feral despite the grandeur around him. The pieces fell onto his plate in a rough pile, forgotten as quickly as they were made.
"What’s the fuss about, then?" Edward said, tossing a scrap of bread into his mouth and speaking around it. "Bit far to travel just for tea and pleasantries, isn’t it?"
Harry’s hand paused. He set his utensils down with almost surgical care, the faint clink of polished silver on fine china disturbingly soft. Without a word, he lifted his gaze; cool, commanding, and edged with warning.
"They need our help," he said simply, each word clipped and weighted, his tone stripped of any warmth or sympathy.
Edward snorted into his goblet, the low, derisive sound ricocheting off the stone walls. He tossed another piece of bread onto his plate with a bored flick of his fingers.
"Help?" he echoed, his mouth curling into a smirk. "Why would we waste our time bailing out a family with more pride than sense?"
Harry offered no immediate reply. Instead, he resumed his meal with mechanical precision, methodically cutting into another slice of ham. The blade of his knife bit through the tender meat with a quiet, clean hiss, like the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath.
"It is not a matter of want," Harry said at last, his voice low and implacable, like the slow shifting of stone beneath a mountain. "It is a matter of duty."
Edward tilted his head, studying his twin as if he were some curious artifact, grinning as though Harry’s words were the punchline of a particularly dry jest.
"Ah yes," Edward said, leaning forward with a theatrical air. "Our sacred duty. To lift the burdens of lesser houses. How terribly noble of us."
For the first time, a flicker of real irritation crossed Harry’s face. His fingers tightened minutely around the handle of his knife, the knuckles whitening, but he gave no other sign that Edward’s mockery had landed. He finished the bite he had prepared with methodical grace, then reached for the linen cloth beside his plate, dabbing the corner of his mouth with restrained, practiced elegance.
"You will remember your place when they arrive," Harry said after a beat, each syllable sliding out slow and deliberate, like the grinding turn of a rusted key in a stubborn lock.
Edward only grinned wider, raising his goblet in a mock salute that dripped insolence. His hair fell untamed around his face, the wild strands catching the muted gray light and turning it to glinting fire.
Harry’s eyes narrowed, sharpening into a cutting stare that could have chilled molten iron.
"And for God's sake," Harry said, the words bitten off as coldly as the northern cliffs outside, "bind your damned hair. You look like some half-bred poet loitering at court doors."
Edward laughed a low, reckless sound that spilled far too loudly into the solemn vastness of the great hall. It was the laugh of someone who cared little for consequences, who had built a life on poking at the sharp edges of his brother’s patience.
Still, under the weight of Harry’s blistering gaze, Edward eventually dragged a hand through his hair with exaggerated compliance, shoving the tangled mass back from his face and tying it off with a rough leather thong he fished from his pocket. His movements were slow, deliberate, mocking.
"You do love your little spectacles of propriety," Edward mused, voice full of half-hearted admiration as he slouched even farther down in his chair, the picture of unruliness disguised as nonchalance.
"And you," Harry said, returning to his meal with a cool finality, "love humiliating yourself."
With that, the room lapsed once more into a brittle, strained silence, broken only by the steady scrape of knife against plate, the low pop of the hearth, and the distant, hollow thrum of the banners outside Wrosley Keep flapping against the oncoming storm.
The Fitzgeralds would arrive by afternoon. And Harry intended to be ready.
•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•
The carriage rattled over the uneven roads that wound through the countryside of Edevane, the early morning sun now fully risen and casting pale gold across the fields. Dust and the sweet, heavy scent of wet earth kicked up in their wake. The horses' hooves clattered rhythmically against the stone-laid roads, a steady drumbeat beneath the low chatter of birds darting from the hedgerows.
Margaret sat tightly beside her sister, her shoulder brushing against the overstuffed skirts of Beatrice’s traveling gown. The silk and tulle ballooned against the cramped quarters, forcing Margaret to shrink inward all the more. She folded her hands primly in her lap, her patched dress of stitched scraps looking even sadder beside her sister’s fine lavender silks, the fabric catching the light like mist.
Their parents sat across from them, poised and straight-backed despite the jostling of the carriage wheels. Lord Thomas Fitzgerald barely moved a muscle, his gloved hands resting on an ivory-handled cane, while Lady Nora kept herself busied with small, constant adjustments—pulling her shawl closer, smoothing the folds of her gown, glancing sharply now and then toward Beatrice.
"Remember," Nora said sharply, her voice slicing through the confined air, "head high. Shoulders back. Speak with care and caution. You are not merely our daughter today, you are the future face of this family."
Beatrice gave a demure nod, twirling the end of one pale glove between her fingers with a casual grace that was well-practiced.
Margaret said nothing. She pressed her forehead lightly against the cool windowpane, letting her gaze blur over the endless roll of green and gold hills, the shadowed woods beyond them. Occasionally, a village boy or a weary farmer would pause to watch the passing carriage, hats tugged low over their brows, but Margaret hardly saw them. She let the rhythm of the horses, the creak of the wheels, the distant shushing of the bushes along the roadside lull her into a quiet fog.
"How grand it shall be," Beatrice said, breaking the stillness with a voice touched by barely restrained excitement. "To show my face properly this time. To be seen not as a child, but as the next heir. Imagine it… the future of Fitzgerald resting in my hands."
She smiled, the kind of smile that was all white teeth and ambition hidden behind a curtain of charm.
Lady Nora offered her daughter a thin, pleased smile in return. "You have been groomed for this, Beatrice. Do not forget it. And should fortune favor us..." She leaned slightly forward, voice dropping low and intent, "you may well have the opportunity to become Harry Styles’ missus."
At this, Beatrice's cheeks pinked with barely concealed glee. Margaret sat still, her gaze dropping to her hands folded tightly in her lap.
"The more the brothers, moreso Harry, favor us," Nora continued briskly, "the better our standing. We require their allegiance as much as they require the appearance of unity. Do not embarrass us. And do not think for a moment they will forgive carelessness."
Thomas grunted in vague agreement, his eyes still trained out the window.
A sudden tap of fingers against the carriage wall snapped Margaret back to attention.
"And you," Lady Nora said sharply, her steely gaze fixing on Margaret like a hawk's on a mouse. "You will speak only if you are spoken to. When you greet the brothers, you will curtsy politely and say nothing more unless addressed."
Margaret turned her head, sitting straighter, folding her patched skirts beneath her with aching care.
"Yes, my lady," she murmured, her voice low, nearly lost beneath the clatter of hooves.
"You will stand behind us," Nora continued, voice crisp. "You will not interfere. You will not embarrass yourself, or us. Should you be asked to leave, you will do so without hesitation."
Thomas said nothing. He never did when it came to Margaret. His gaze remained pinned out the opposite window, as though she were merely another piece of luggage making the journey.
Margaret bowed her head obediently, feeling the familiar flush of shame rise up the back of her neck. Her palms, folded tightly in her lap, left small damp prints against the fabric of her skirt.
"Of course, mother," she whispered, offering a curt nod.
Beatrice gave a small, satisfied smirk and returned to adjusting the lace cuffs at her wrists, as if the matter were settled beyond all dispute.
The carriage jostled sharply over a rut, and Margaret’s head knocked lightly against the wooden frame of the window. She hardly flinched. She only turned her face back toward the glass, watching the misty hills of Alderham grow nearer with each lurching turn of the wheels.
The air seemed to grow colder the farther north they traveled, the fields giving way to long stretches of moorland, where the wind bent the grasses low and dark clouds loomed distantly along the horizon. Somewhere ahead, hidden among the hills and cliffs, lay Wrosley Keep—the seat of the House of Styles.
Margaret pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, but it did little to chase away the chill creeping into her bones.
•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•
The long hall of the north wing was chilled with the breath of the early morning fog, a low mist pressing against the tall windows like ghostly fingers. Beyond the glass, the fields of Alderham stretched out in a pale, colorless sprawl, the sun straining through the mist in gauzy ribbons of gold, as if the world itself was still waking, hesitant to embrace the new day.
Harry Styles stood in stillness at the window, one gloved hand resting lightly on the cold stone ledge, his eyes lost in the view that had become so familiar it barely registered anymore. His reflection, sharp and princely, stared back at him through the pale glass, the contours of his face sharpened by the dim light. His dark blue coat, cut sharply across his broad shoulders, swept neatly to the tops of his polished black boots, the fabric rich and heavy, like the weight of his title. A brooch bearing the House of Styles sigil, a lion crowned with ivy, clipped his heavy velvet cloak at the throat, glimmering faintly under the low sun. Beneath the cloak, a crisp white cravat was tied precisely at his collar, the folds symmetrical and flawless. His black waistcoat fit snug against his chest, the fabric stitched with faint embroidery in thread so dark it was barely visible unless caught in the right light, a detail most would miss but one that only added to the meticulous perfection of his appearance.
A pocket watch gleamed in his hand, the silver casing flashing briefly as he thumbed open the lid and checked the time. They were due any moment now.
The Fitzgeralds.
Their meeting had been arranged through a careful back-and-forth of handwritten letters, sealed with too much wax, and couched in the kind of formalities that Harry found irksome but unavoidable. The need for this meeting was not one born of mutual respect or kinship, but necessity. The Fitzgeralds needed money after the unfortunate, very public collapse of a portion of their estate wealth. It had become a scandal, one that could not be ignored, especially given how they had once been among the most influential families in the kingdom.
Harry, urged by Edward’s strange, persistent prodding, had agreed to this... display of generosity. At first, it had seemed like nothing more than an act of diplomacy, an arrangement to maintain the delicate balance of power between noble houses. But Edward had insisted, his voice heavy with persuasive charm, that this could be more, much more. Pity, Edward had argued, was not weakness if wielded properly. It was power: the power to bestow favor, to raise up those who could not stand on their own, and in doing so, show the kingdom that King Harry Styles was not just a ruler but a savior.
The thought of it left a bitter taste in Harry's mouth. It was so very... calculated. So very Edward. He had always been the one to see power in places where others saw only weakness, to turn the very act of charity into a tool of dominance. And Harry, always the more cautious, had reluctantly agreed. There was no real danger in extending a hand to the Fitzgeralds. They would remain beneath him, as all others did. Their presence at Wrosley Keep was a show, nothing more—proof of his strength disguised as kindness, as benevolence.
The thought lingered in his mind, cold and steady, until a sharp voice echoed down the hall, dragging him from his thoughts.
"Your Majesty."
The voice was unmistakable. Edward.
Harry didn’t bother to turn, his expression already sliding into a mask of polite restraint.
Edward emerged from the west wing archway, his wild hair now tamed into a neat bun tied with a slim ribbon of red silk at the crown of his head. He wore a white shirt with billowing sleeves tucked into a black waistcoat, silver buttons gleaming, and fitted dark trousers tucked into knee-high riding boots. There was a rakish elegance about him, like a man pretending at courtly behavior but unable, or unwilling, to hide the scoundrel underneath.
"You’re late," Harry’s lips tightened, the words slipping out like the snap of a drawn bowstring. His hand flexed once around the smooth casing of the pocket watch before he snapped the lid shut with a sharp click and tucked it back into the inner pocket of his waistcoat. The movement was crisp, exacting, as if even small gestures could not afford to be careless.
With a slow, practiced stillness, he turned toward the direction of the voice, his frame rigid beneath the heavy drape of his cloak. His face, honed into an expression of distant resolve, betrayed none of the irritation that simmered low beneath his skin.
Edward grinned in response, wide and unbothered, his stance a study in irreverence. His dark cloak hung open and loose at his sides, the finer points of his attire rumpled with a careless charm that somehow only made him look more princely, not less.
"I’m early by my own clock," Edward said lightly, voice lilting with amusement as he strolled forward, hands tucked lazily behind his back.
Harry’s eyes flickered once, a brief roll of temper he was too well-trained to fully show. "You don’t have a clock," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Edward, as he brushed an invisible crease from the sleeve of his coat and adjusted the cuffs with slow, deliberate precision.
"All the more reason I’m never wrong," Edward replied with a shrug, his voice rich with self-satisfaction. He came to stand beside Harry, their twin reflections caught faintly in the dim glass of the window—two halves of the same whole, yet impossibly different.
The hall stretched wide around them, a cavern of stone and echo, lined with suits of armor that glinted dully in the thin, reluctant light. Tapestries bearing the ancient crest of their house stirred slightly from the draft seeping through the cracks in the stone walls. Every sound, the scrape of a heel, the breath of the fog beyond the windows, seemed amplified by the vast emptiness.
Harry exhaled slowly through his nose, the breath controlled, tempered, as he turned his gaze toward the distant outline of the main gates, barely visible through the thick white gauze of mist that clung to the outer courtyard. The carriages would be there soon, he knew. The sound of wheels grinding over gravel, the snort of impatient horses, the flutter of banners—he could almost hear it already, ghosting through the cold air.
Without looking at Edward, Harry lifted one hand, a sharp, commanding gesture, and called out, "Open the gates. They’ll arrive shortly."
His words cracked across the space like a whip. Down the hall, the guards straightened at attention, the polished steel of their armor flashing briefly in the dim light. With practiced efficiency, they bowed low, the motion deep and synchronized, before sweeping away toward the outer doors with the hollow thud of boots against stone and the low, rhythmic clank of armor plates shifting.
The brothers remained where they stood, silent as sentinels.
For a moment, there was nothing but the hush of the empty hall, thick with waiting, and the soft, ceaseless groan of the wind pressing against the high windows. Somewhere farther off, the faint metallic moan of the gate mechanisms starting to turn echoed up through the stone like the slow stirring of some great beast waking from slumber.
Harry watched without moving, his posture a portrait of patience sharpened into a weapon. Edward, beside him, rocked back slightly on his heels, humming a soft, tuneless sound under his breath, as if the moment's gravity did not touch him at all.
As Edward rocked idly on his heels, the soles of his boots made the faintest creak against the flagstones. He tilted his head, casting a sidelong glance at Harry, who stood rigid as a drawn sword beside him.
"Tell me again why we’re offering a lifeline to a family that couldn’t even keep their coffers guarded?" Edward asked, his voice low, coaxing, almost playful.
Harry’s jaw tightened, a muscle feathering beneath the skin as he remained unmoving, his gaze locked out toward the mist-veiled road. The fog lay thick and heavy, muting the edges of the world beyond the gates into little more than ghostly outlines.
"Because it is our duty," Harry said at last, his tone clipped and cool as a blade's edge. "A king does not merely conquer. He uplifts, when it suits him."
His words held the weight of a rehearsed lesson, something he had long ago carved into himself with careful precision. Yet even now, the bitterness laced subtly through his voice, a reminder that duty rarely tasted sweet.
Edward smirked, slow and crooked, the kind of smile meant to provoke. "Sounds like you’re going soft," he drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching with barely concealed mischief.
In a single, fluid motion, Harry turned to face him. His cloak snapped behind him with the sharp crack of heavy velvet slicing the cold air. The movement was so sudden, so forceful, that Edward instinctively straightened, the lazy smirk lingering but his posture subtly less mocking.
Harry’s glare pinned him where he stood; cold, searing, and honed with the precision of a dagger’s thrust.
"Say that again at court," Harry said, his voice low enough to be a warning, "and see how fast you find yourself posted to the borderlands."
The threat, though spoken softly, hit like a slap. The borderlands, windswept, treacherous, and crawling with unrest, were not where one went to bask in favor. It was where inconvenient men were sent to fade into obscurity, or die.
Edward raised his hands in an exaggerated gesture of surrender, the chain at his wrist glinting faintly as it caught the dim light. Laughter flickered in his dark eyes, the easy, reckless kind that had always marked him as Harry’s greatest frustration, and perhaps his only true equal.
"As you say, Your Majesty," Edward teased, sketching an irreverent half-bow that was far too casual to be respectful. His tone danced on the edge of mockery, but there was an acknowledgment buried beneath it, a deference neither of them would ever admit aloud.
Harry said nothing in return. Instead, he rolled his shoulders back beneath the heavy drape of his cloak, adjusting the set of it until it fell in precise, commanding folds. His gloved hands smoothed down the front of his coat, each movement methodical, controlled.
Without another word, the two of them turned and began to move in measured strides down the long hall toward the main entrance. Their boots struck the stone floor in a steady rhythm, echoing faintly through the cavernous space.
The air between them, though outwardly casual, thrummed with an electric tension—the constant, unspoken current that ran deep between twin brothers who had been raised together yet shaped by the crown to walk entirely different paths.
Outside, the ancient iron gates had begun to groan open, the sound deep and grating, like the yawning of some slumbering beast. Mist coiled greedily through the widening gap, spilling over the gravel like thick smoke from an unseen fire.
From beyond the wall of fog came the soft, rhythmic crunch of hooves meeting gravel, steady and deliberate.
The horses slowed, their breath misting the cold air in great silver plumes. A black carriage, lacquered to a mirror shine and bearing the Fitzgerald family crest, emerged slowly from the mist and drew to a halt before the steps of Wrosley Keep.
I saw the pictures and I had an idea...so here's a quick little one shot in which Y/N is very horny for her boyfriend but Harry is really wrapped up in the Brazil vs. South Korea match.
(I hate to toot my own horn but I think this is some of my best work yet 😮💨)
@jessitpwk @permanentllyharry @here4thefanfics @angelbabyyy99 and @victoria-styles I think you'll like this one 😈
Y/N had been able to take a few weeks vacation (after saving all of her vacation time) and was able to join Harry for his latin America leg of tour. She had been having a blast at the shows, she’d been to plenty of his shows and they were all impressive, but seeing him playing stadiums of that sheer magnitude all on his own made her feel so proud of him. It had just been a phenomenal experience. Harry was also very happy to be able to bring his girlfriend along, she was a working girl and they rarely got this much time together. However now the world cup was in full swing and Harry was suddenly very invested. It was amusing to her because never once had he ever talked to her about soccer in the years they had known each other. He watched if his friends or cousins did but he didn’t follow any teams or care to know about the players, their stats, and drafts like he did for American football - he would even bet on American football and would win a lot because that was a sport that he cared about and knew surprisingly well - but like tons of other bandwagonners out there he suddenly gave a shit about soccer because it was the world cup. But this meant that he had been ditching her to watch the matches.
At first she didn’t really care, but now it was getting out of hand. Their time like this was limited and it was a bit annoying that once this tournament was all over he would go back to not giving a flying fuck about soccer, like many people, and their time together would have been completely wasted. Maybe it was bothering her so much because she was ovulating and was inconsolably horny, Harry had read but hadn’t answered any of her texts asking him to come back to the room and for the third time on this trip she was panting as she pulled her vibrator away from her sopping center. Her pussy was pulsing steadily as she came down from her orgasm, but it wasn’t enough - not in the slightest. She was aching for more and despite the sensitivity she was sure to feel she moaned quietly as she pressed the tip of the silicone vibrator to her clit again, swirling it around to create more friction. Her legs fell open even wider as she thrust up against it, getting there even faster than before.
“Mmmmm, fuck!” She gasped as the vibrations started to fulfill their purpose. Her toes curled and her stomach muscles flexed up as her mouth dropped open in a silent cry as she started to unravel again, “Oh shit!” She whimpered quietly as the waves of pleasure rippled through her entire body, giving her the chills as she worked her way through it all. It was good, but it could be better, so much better. She needed to get stretched and filled up and she hummed in satisfaction as she dragged the vibrator down to her entrance and bit her lip as she teased her entrance with it, the vibrations tickled her in the best way as she coaxed her needy, little hole open for it, but it wasn’t the same…she didn’t want to come again like this. She wanted Harry’s dick, it was bigger than this vibrator, thicker and longer and it reached the parts of her that ached for a pounding. She huffed and shut it off before reaching for her phone again and opened their texts in her state of frustration.
Baaaabeeeeeeee 😭 please come to the room I’m so horny for you. Need you. Been all wet and achey for you. Look.
Is what she typed out and sent it. Then she ran her fingers through her sticky and aroused folds and then dipped them right at her entrance where it was all being gathered and she snapped a picture of her fingers dripping with her arousal. How could he deny her when he saw that? He was just as much of a horn-ball as she was, if not worse, so there was no way he would resist this. She waited patiently and after about ten minutes she checked her phone again and saw that he had read the message and she got upset and started to type again angrily.
You know what, nvm. I’m glad I had the foresight to bring my vibrator with me on this trip. Keep watching your game, I’m gonna go out. See you later.
Y/N was nearly boiling over with frustration, sexual and the regular kind. With an aggravated groan she grabbed her vibrator and rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom to wash it properly. She then decided she would take a quick body shower to cool down before she headed off to explore.
*********
Harry had been completely consumed by the game, his friends and some crew members were around and he was having fun with everyone. Yeah, soccer was not a sport he really cared about but it was more entertaining with everyone else. When Y/N texted him the first few times it was just things like “come back”, “I’m bored”, and then a gif of Vanessa Hudgens singing “Baby Come Back to Me” and it made him chuckle and roll his eyes but then something happened in the game and he set his phone down. It was nearing halftime when she had sent a new message about her being horny and as he read over the message a picture came in and he swallowed thickly as he saw just how wet she was. They hadn’t had sex in a couple of days, he’d been a little jet lagged and worn out from prancing around the large stages he had been occupying. She had just sucked him off after that first night in Argentina, he had been at the stadium all day admittedly watching the game and he was exhausted, so after he came he quite literally knocked out. And now he had grown evidently hard in his shorts and he couldn’t stand up right now. These were thin running shorts he was in and there was nothing he could do to hide it. He also knew that there were fans stalking him at the hotel and taking photos so he didn’t want to do anything. He started typing out a message about giving him a bit to get over there but then the team they were rooting for got scored on and they started going off.
“Fuck…” he grumbled. That goal, on top of being fully hard and unable to do anything about it, plus dying of the obscene Brazilian heat outside had his mood souring quickly. And then his phone went off again and he groaned in irritation as he opened up yet another message from Y/N:
"You know what, nvm. I’m glad I had the foresight to bring my vibrator with me on this trip. Keep watching your game, I’m gonna go out. See you later."
Reading that made him even more upset. He was fuming mad at her insinuation that he cared more about this stupid game than what time they had together, it was one fucking game and he was hanging out with his friends and his crew. She was being a selfish brat and, it was about to be halftime so he knew he had at least fifteen minutes to set her straight. He decided to just grab the towel he intended on using at the gym and held it strategically as he stood with a huff.
“I’ll be back, I’m just gonna check on Y/N real quick.” He said to Pauli before heading off. He was walking fast with his head down, avoiding making eye contact with any potential fans or staff who would surely ask him for a picture or something. He was more than grateful that he was able to make it into the lift without anyone bugging him and he rode on up to their floor. She was in for something when he got up there.
********
Y/N’s shower had helped curb her horniness, but she was still upset and her feelings were a little bit hurt. She didn’t want to be grumpy so she needed to find something to do for fun, just for a few hours until she was properly cooled off. She reached for the fresh towel on the rack and wrapped her body up in it before stepping out and drying off her feet before sliding into her slippers and trudging out to the room where her suitcase was. She started looking through her clothes, pulling out a fresh pair of undies and bra to get on and then she picked a t-shirt and after debating, between two bottoms she chose a pair of denim shorts. She laid her outfit out on the bed neatly, just giving it a final look over when she heard the lock on the door beep before Harry barged in looking upset.
“Hey, what’s gotten into you?” She asked carefully as he came up to her and just pushed her face down into the bed and she gasped as his hands yanked the towel from around her and dropped it on the ground then she yelped as his heavy palm came down and smacked her ass hard. “So fucking impatient. Sending a picture like that knowing I am out in public!” He scolded her and smacked her ass hard again and she hissed, “Acting like a brat. Like I’ve got nothing else to do than roll around in bed with you all fucking day.” He seethed as he shoved his shorts down his legs. She first thought he was just playing at something, but he was actually upset at her and it made her feel confused.
“Wait. You’re mad at me when this whole time you’ve-”
“I don’t want to hear it, Y/N. You’re so fucking horny for my cock? Shut up and take it.” He growled lowly and she gasped as he grabbed her hips hard and lined his hard cock up with her pussy from behind. He didn’t warn her at all when he thrust into her hard in one fluid motion. His girth spread her open for him forcefully and finally, the ache she had been feeling for him was satisfied. She felt her legs tense up at the sheer force as he held himself inside, it was so deep it hurt a little bit but in the best way. In the way that only he could make it hurt, it mad her eyes screw shut and her jaw drop as he ground his hips against her, “Such a selfish and needy little slut.” He said as one of his hands left her hip and slid up her spine. She felt him grab her hair and she wasn’t ready for the pounding he was about to give her.
“Baby-”
“Don’t baby me.” He seethed as he drew back and then thrust back into her hard and he drew back out again and started pounding into her at a brutal pace as he pulled her hair back, stretching her neck out, “You act like you’re the only. Fucking. Person. That matters. In. The world.” He punctuated his words with harsh crippling thrusts, he was so fucking deep she was sure he was bruising her cervix and she just let out strangled cries. Despite his frustration with her, her tight walls were getting wetter for him and squeezing his aching cock in the most delicious way.
“Harry, y-you’re going really hard!” She whimpered out in a strangled cry and he groaned.
“You can take it.” He mumbled, “A greedy, little cock whore like you can take it. Or am I wrong?” He grunted as once again, the tip of his cock collided harshly into her cervix and she clawed at the sheets as she cried out an indescribable sound. Harry moaned at the warmth and tight fit of her pussy around his erection and he pulsed his hips steadily into the same spot, “Now you’re all out of words for me?” He questioned her mockingly as her eyes rolled back and she was paralyzed, this was too much. It was too much. She was struggling to breathe as he thrust into her but it felt so fucking good that she couldn’t even think. He had never been this rough and forceful with her and it completely ruined her, she was in a daze as he started to slow down his pace but kept fucking in until his balls would collide with her ass.
Harry had never been this rough or forceful with her and he wanted to keep going, but he grew slightly concerned at her lack of response, maybe she didn’t want to have sex anymore and he just…assumed she would still want to, “Do you want me to stop?” He asked her and she hummed and shook her head, “Are you OK?” He asked and she nodded.
“I just-I just…I can’t…Ohhhh!” she trailed off into a loud moan as he ground into her. He grinned as her back arched up and she fisted the sheets so hard her knuckles turned white. He bit his lip and groaned deep as the head of his cock rubbed into the softest and hottest part of her.
“Fuuuuck…” he hummed with a smile at the feeling coursing through his veins, “Fucked you stupid, brat? Is that it?” He taunted her as he started picking up the pace again and the irritation she felt at his patronizing was riling her up but oddly she didn’t want him to stop, “Answer me. Or are you too fucked out to speak? Hmmm?” He grinned again as she let out a soft whimper, “If you don’t answer me I’m gonna stop and you’re not going to come.” He warned and she hummed and grinned. If he wanted a brat, she’d be a brat. He started to pound into her relentlessly again, making her thighs quake, but she found her voice.
“W-what do I c-care. Already-” she swallowed thickly, “Came twice no fucking thanks t-to you.” She managed and he felt his anger flaring up inside of him once again and he pulled out of her and flipped her over. One of his large hands came down to her neck as he thrust back into her hard again, making her wince as he lowered his face to be over hers.
“Then why the fuck are you bothering me then, huh?” He asked as he started railing her into the mattress and she pouted, “Don’t pout at me, baby. You’re just being a pain in my ass.” He scolded her as he started squeezing tighter around her neck and her eyes fluttered shut. She was soaking his cock and even his balls felt sticky from how wet she was, “Just an annoying. Little. Attention whore.” He grunted. He felt her walls start to pulse around him and he grinned, “Halftime’s about to be over, have friends waiting for me. F’you wanna redeem yourself be a good girl for me and tighten up so that I can come.” He demanded and she bit her lip and tightened up her pelvic floor, causing her walls to squeeze around his bare cock deliciously, “Fuck, that’s it baby. So fucking good for me.” He praised her, “Love your tight little cunt, always makes me come so hard.” He panted and she moaned how she could with her restricted airflow. Her vision was getting spotty and she was starting to struggle a bit. He was close, she could feel it.
“Come inside me.” She breathed out and he groaned as he leaned down and kissed her ardently, releasing some of the pressure around her throat and she inhaled deeply when he parted from her lips. His blown out eyes met her own teary ones.
“Yeah, want me to fill you up with my cum?” He asked mockingly, “Not just my personal little groupie, but also my little cum slut?” He panted and she moaned again as she bucked her hips up against his own, meeting his thrusts, “Fuck, I’m gonna come!” He groaned as he picked up his pace, chasing his orgasm. His thrusts were all over the place but she was still so fucking close, “Got such a big load for you, baby girl.”
“Mmmm. Give it to me.” She moaned seductively and he grinned as he thrust into her a few more times before his eyes closed and his jaw dropped as he groaned, brows creased deep as he started to shoot his thick, milky ropes of sperm deep into her pussy. “Fuck…” she giggled breathily, “I can feel it.” She panted as he snaked a hand down in between them and rubbed at her clit, which made her arch her back as he thrust in a couple more times, looking down between them to see his cum start to leak out of her entrance and suddenly he pulled out and removed his hand from her and she huffed in protest. But then she saw him start to bend over and she smiled as she settled into the mattress, lip between her teeth, itching to feel the first lick of his tongue on her pussy and she even opened her legs a bit wider, she was so ready to come for him. But then she felt an odd tickle on her shin and she sat up on her elbows to see the towel in his hand as he wiped off his half-hard cock before he just dropped the damp towel over her hips, “Clean yourself up before you make a mess of the bed.” He said as he then reached down to slip his legs into his shorts and she frowned.
“Wait, baby but what about-”
“Your orgasm? You already came twice, right? No thanks to me?” He asked in a snippy tone as he slid his bare feet into his vans haphazardly and she pouted.
“Harry, what the fuck?” She asked, fully offended and he leaned down and grabbed her face in his large hands and quickly smushed his lips into hers.
“Gotta go, s’three minutes until halftime’s over.” He said lowly, “Fix your fucking attitude by the time I come back and maybe then I’ll make you come.” He mumbled against her lips before he headed to the door, “And use that fucking vibrator one more time and I won’t make you come until the day you leave!” He called back before the heavy thud of the door closing resounded through the room and she fell back onto the bed boiling over in anger. She wasn’t even sure how long she was laying there, but she reached for her phone near the top of the bed and opened up her instagram and immediately scoffed at the first picture on her explore page. Harry all chipper greeting some fans, after what he’d just put her through?
“That petty little son of a bitch…” she whispered spitefully.
Y/n was worried she did something wrong. It had been almost two weeks since Harry had her rocking against his thigh and cuming . Had she said or done something wrong. She keep going over that night in her head she didn’t think he would just stop teaching her. She wanted to learn more he’ll she wanted wanted to lean anything Harry was willing to teach her. She knows she is still extremely shy and nervous in these matters but she had thought he was pleased with her when he tucked her in.
Harry wasn’t ignoring her y/n couldn’t say that he still ate meals with her and even took her out a few times but the vibe around him just felt different. She felt like he was blowing her off. As she tossed and turned in her bed that night, she heard the front door open which she assumes is Harry but she didn’t just hear his voice no the was definitely another voice and y/n realized it was a woman’s voice.
She tiptoed to her door opening it slowly as to not make any noise and there it was the answer to question about why she felt Harry was ignoring her lately. He was kissing a beautiful dark haired woman and it didn’t look like any kids she ever had, she could tell there was passion behind their kiss. She closed her door not even trying to be quiet this time and slunk back to her bed. As she laid her head down she felt hot tears pool in her eyes, what was she going to do now, she had no where else to go and she knew this and figured Harry knowing this is doing what he is doing because he knows she is stuck here.
Harry
Downstairs Harry walks the pretty woman backwards towards a door, she is so lost in him that she doesn’t see one of his men come up behind her and put a bullet in her head. Thank God for silencer’s Harry thinks no one heard a thing. He had been so tense lately this job was different he didn’t like killing woman tried to never do it but this one had to go. He couldn’t believe how easy it was to make her loose focus on her goal which was to murder Y/n. He wind her and dined her pretending he was interested and she sang like a canary, not even know she was sealing not only her own fate but the people who wanted y/n dead. Stupid old man was he that upset he didn’t get to take her virginity that he wanted her dead, apparently so. He was no longer an issue and neither was that horrid woman with the foul perfume and obnoxious laugh. He knew he has kept y/n at a distance but it was for her own good, he just want to keep his baby safe. He would go to her tomorrow and spend the time he knew that had both been missing and also explain everything to her, he could tell she was feeling hurt but he would take care of it tomorrow, tonight he just needed some sleep.
Y/n wakes up early the next morning, showering, dressing and then she quietly goes out the door. She had no desire to run into Harry and his”friend” this morning she feels sick at the thought of them. She decided to go to the park it was a nice day she would spend it there. Y/n purposely put her phone on silent it doesn’t matter she thinks Harry will be to busy to worry about calling her.
At home Harry tries y/n’s phone again with no answer. He has been calling since he discovered while surprising her with breakfast in bed, that she there, he was n’s his men searched the entire house and she was no where. Harry was definitely feeling anxious something that never happens to him he is always in control he has to be in his position, but not knowing where y/n is is making him frantic. Finally one of his men suggested searching her location of her phone Harry wants to punch himself how was he so stupid to forget that.
It’s coming close to noon when Harry pulls his car into the parking lot of the park that y/n’s phone pinged off of. He walks up the pathway and his eyes land on a pretty little thing sitting on a bench. As Harry gets closer he can see how sad she looks. She doesn’t even notice him walk up and sit down next to her, headphones drowning out any noise. He reaches up and removes her head phone and she startles. As soon as her eyes land on him they grow hard.
Harry is taken back by her reaction, but tries not to let his anger rise and begins to talk to her. “ Is there a reason that you left the house without telling anyone and are not answering your phone angel?” She literally side eyed him before letting a bitter laugh slip out. “Are you serious. I don’t have to tell you anything.”
Harry thinks he might just loose his fucking shit, she has never acted this way. Trying to contain himself his hand still flies up to the back of her neck and squeezes rendering her motionless. “Oh angel, I think you need to try again, I’m gonna let your first answer slide. So be a good girl and answer me huh?” Y/n looked at him and for the first time he saw the tears in her eyes. He wants to grab her and hug her to his chest but he needs answers first. “ I-I sa-saw y-you and her last night. So,so I know why you don’t want to be with me anymore.” The tears start to stream as she trys to turn away so he can’t see her pain.
“Oh baby no. No no no, fuck angel please don’t cry.” He grabs her chin to make her look into his eyes. “ I want you so much baby, so fucking much. I know what you think you saw and I understand what it looked like. I could say if you kept watching but that’s stupid why would you have wanted to but anyway, she was just a job baby she had to be dealt with, I can’t tell you anymore just know that she didn’t live long after you saw her and I was keeping you at a safe distance for safety.” He reached over and wiped her tears away. “Silly little girl, you think I don’t want you.” He shakes his head.
Y/n doesn’t know all the details but she believes Harry and thinks she understands his actions behind being with that woman, she just hopes she isn’t being to gullible.
Later after dinner they sat on the couch cuddling and kissing Harry was being sweet but he was still pissed about her actions and was definitely pent up. “Angel, do you wanna learn something new tonight? Something that will please me?” Y/n nods her head and Harry smirks.
“First baby I want you to strip for me.” Y/n just looks at him not moving”is there a problem baby?” She shakes her head no and gets up to stand in front of him. She slowly undressed standing in just her panties and hands covering her breasts. Harry motions her over with a finger and she slowly makes her way to stand between his legs. “Kneel” he barks and she sinks to her knees. “ First thing is pretty simple you need to take me out of my sweatpants, do you know what it means to jerkoff?” He asked she nods. “Him the little virgin actually knows something.” He spat. Y/n wanted to cry because Harry had just started being really nasty to her but she feels is to blame by running off and worrying him. “Well then what are you waiting for, lick your palm first don’t need you to make this painful for me.” She does as she is told and after taking out his long thick cock she licks her palm and starts moving her hand up and down Harry’s cock, he put his hand over hers and quickly showed her how to twist her wrist when she got to the top.
“There you go, don’t stop.” He gruffs. “Now lean over and let your spit drip out over the head of my cock, that’s it finally doing what your told.”
After a few minutes Harry speaks again. “Your take that pretty little mouth of yours and suck daddy’s cock until I’m coming so hard down your throat you think your going to choke.” Y/n looks up at him for guidance. “Just take the head and suck on it nice and slow and make sure no matter what you keep your teeth behind your lips understand.” “Yes sir” y:n unconsciously says and bends her head and opens her lips to do what she was told. “”Yes fuck like that but I want you to keep working your mouth up and down my cock each time taking more of me in.”
She is doing ok well she is trying she thinks but a harsh grab of her hair has her pulled off of him. “Open your mouth.” She does as she’s told and Harry leans forward and spits in her mouth. “ don’t swallow it, hold it.” She sits there mouth open and trying hard not to swallow as he stands right in front of her his cock almost even with her mouth. “I’m close to coming but I’m gonna finish by fucking your face.” Y/n’s eyes get wide. “Don’t look at me like that your gonna love it.” He pushes his cock in her mouth. “Close your lips around me and you better swallow everything I give you.”
Harry roughly grabbed y/n’s hair and started fucking her face harshly. She wasn’t sure if she might get sick when he gagged her or pass out from not being able to breath but before she knows it Harry is finally praising her. “Fuck that’s my good girl, making me feel so good. I’m gonna cum now baby take it alll, take all of me. Swallow me down.” Harry is satisfied when he makes y:n open her mouth and she has swallows it all. “Good girl angel. Come on I’m gonna give you a bath and then we’ll cuddle ok?” Y/n smiles and nods.
Y/n thinks to herself hmmm he was right I did love it!!
a/n: hello helloo hellooooo, here i go with a new series where harry is a cocky, mean doctor. we love to see it. this will have multiple parts sooo i hope you guys love it! feedback is always welcomed! (u guys might hate harry at first IM SORRY but i promise he will get better)
word count: 2k
warnings: angst, rude harry, surgery mentioned (nothing gory, just the mention of it happening)
--
There are no words in the English dictionary to describe how much Harry despises (Y/N). Worst part? He is the only one with this sentiment because everyone else adores her. No one understands him but he has his reasons.
Harry and (Y/N) are brain surgeons at Springs Medical and they both have the same goal: chief position of neurology surgery. There is no denying that they are both amazing surgeons and the whole hospital knows it. Harry is cockier about it than (Y/N) but she has no problem humbling him and reminding him that she is just as good, if not better.
Anyone might easily fall for (Y/N). She is a hotshot surgeon, people come from across the country to see her (albeit they do for Harry too), she is beautiful, she is intelligent, but she is also terribly hardheaded and when she wants something, she gets it no matter what.
--
Harry stood in front of the surgery schedule, wondering why the hell his Craniotomy was moved for a later time. But of course, he saw her name above his for an aneurysm repair and it made his blood boil. He shook his head with an angry huff escaping his lips, stomping his was over to the doctor’s lounge where he knew she’d be. There was another doctor a few tables away, but he couldn’t find it in him to care enough to be civil about the situation.
“Why the hell did you move my craniotomy without permission?” (Y/N) was unfazed, her eyes still glued to the tablet in front of her with a stoic look on her face. “In case those pretty eyes failed you and you don’t know how to read, I’ve got an aneurysm to repair. Your craniotomy can wait another hour whereas my patient will die if he waits any longer.” She finally looked up with her eyebrows raised. “Come on, doctor. You should know this.”
(Y/N) knew exactly how to get on his nerves. He hated when she called him doctor in a mocking manner as if he really weren’t and how unfortunate that it was her favorite thing to call him. “I’m tired of you moving my schedule around to your convenience and poaching my surgeries. Oh yeah, don’t think I forgot about you taking my patient last week.” (Y/N) laughed softly with a shake of her head, “Not my fault they heard I was better and requested me instead.”
--
Like usual, (Y/N) had the last word in the argument and Harry angrily stormed away from her in defeat because she was right. His craniotomy could wait.
(Y/N) isn’t really a hateful person. She’s sweet, she loves her job, she always stays longer after her shift to make sure the other doctor is well aware of the cases they’re taking over, and she is always striving to do better. Harry always challenged her in that sense. He came in after she did and from day one, Harry felt like he had something to prove, and it’s driven her wild. All she could do is continue being the great doctor she is and do her bit of challenging the man too.
There were a couple of times where they’d both have to jump in on a surgery together and though (Y/N) would never admit it, those were her favorite surgeries. Those were the only moments where they didn’t fight about who took whose surgery or who was better than who. Harry’s intelligence shined and seeing him in action made her knees weak. But out of the operating room? It was a constant battle. Especially now that they were both being watched for the position of chief of neurology surgery.
(Y/N) and Harry were both aware that it was going to be hard. Even more so since they both had amazing stats and had great work ethic. She hated how bitter she was towards Harry because God, it was so exhausting. Harry could be so cocky and mean and it was hard for her to keep up when outside of this constant battle, she was the sweetest person to walk the earth.
And the worst part of their little work war? The intense sexual tension between them. Oh, it was undeniable, and they both knew of it. Two young, talented doctors going at each other’s necks over who is better but if given the chance, they’d only be battling over who is better in bed. (Y/N) was sure that Harry had a God complex for a reason and a major part of her was dying to find out, only for it dissipate when he’d run to her like a child to complain over something she’d done to him.
Harry felt it too. (Y/N)’s eyes speak much louder than her body does, and he couldn’t even count the times he’d catch her eyeing him too long during a surgery when her eyes had to be focused on something else. The few times they’d be decent towards each other, Harry could see himself going to her at the end of the day to talk about a difficult case on his mind, maybe ask for her opinion. But that seemed like something so farfetched, so intangible.
--
It was lunch time and like usual, Harry spent it in the doctor’s lounge with his lunch and a chart on his lap. He never rested. Always working on finding a new solution for a patient with a difficult case or simply educating himself further.
(Y/N) walked in with a Tupperware filled with food in her hand and a tablet nestled in her arm, Harry eyeing her with a confused gaze since she’d never really come here for lunch. He decided against making any comments, looking back down to the chart though he noticed her sitting on the table beside his through his peripheral vision.
“We find out who gets the position tomorrow.” Harry breaks the silence, turning to face her as she blew air onto the forkful. “Mhm. Nervous?” She looks up at him, chewing on her food as he chuckled softly and shook his head. “Not at all. May the best man win, right?” (Y/N) smirked and shrugged. “Yeah, something like that.” Silence sneaked within the walls of the room once more, Harry turning back around to let her eat in peace since he didn’t really have the energy for a banter right now.
The two left each other alone for the duration of their lunch, Harry getting up once his pager goes off but before he left, he stood at the door and turned to her with a genuine small smile, “Good luck.” (Y/N) was shocked to see anything other than cockiness come out of him, especially for something so serious where just a week before they were fighting each other for the toughest surgeries or the most challenging patients.
The rest of the day was quiet for both, not running into each other for the remainder of their shift and (Y/N) was happy about that. She didn’t want to go home more nervous than she already was.
(Y/N) went straight home after her shift since she had a date with a bottle of wine and watching Mamma Mia! again for the millionth time, but Harry had other plans.
He made a trip to his favorite bar, deciding he’d have his own pre-celebration for the position he was sure he was going to get. Harry felt like he outdid himself since the beginning and there was nothing that could change his mind about him being the best fit for chief. But under the cape of egocentrism and confidence, he was highly strung. (Y/N) was fucking amazing and maybe that’s why he would get so upset when she’d get a better surgery, or someone would specifically ask for her instead of him (though the whole thing made him hot and flustered at the idea that she was a hot independent woman that didn’t take shit from nobody.)
Harry’s night ended after one beer too many, having to take an uber home because the man was too besotted to even walk to the door of his car. He figured he’d pick it up the next day.
--
(Y/N) decided against scrubs for the day, picking out navy blue fitted slacks and a pretty blouse under her coat. Just in case, right? Her nerves were washing over her, but she did her best to keep them tamed so it wouldn’t taint her bedside manner for the day. This was just like any other day and all her patients needed her in her A game.
Harry, on the other hand? He went to work as if today meant nothing, he made the choice of pretending that today wasn’t decision day though he put an alarm on his phone for 3:50 P.M. since the email would be sent at 4 P.M. so he needed just a bit of mental preparation.
The time couldn’t come any sooner. (Y/N) felt like time was passing so slow even though she had a pretty tight and busy schedule which usually meant her day would go faster and Harry was stuck in surgery all day which was good for him because he’d be distracted.
But soon enough, the time came. (Y/N) was in a consult with a patient when her phone buzzed in the pocket of her coat, her eyes momentarily steering to the clock to realize that it was 4. She swore she didn’t hurry the consult but she couldn’t wait for it to be over so she can check her emails. Unfortunately for her, she got an extremely anxious patient and she spent nearly 15 minutes reassuring her that everything will be fine after surgery and that she was in the best care.
(Y/N) rushed out the room, sprinting into an empty room as she shoved her hand in her pocket, unlocking her phone and opening the email. Her eyes widened, a loud gasp leaving her body as she read her name across the screen along the lines of congratulations and having to meet with someone about the renewal of her contract. She was over the moon, quickly calling her sister to tell her the news with excitement laced in her words. But right after she came off the high, she couldn’t help but feel just a little bit bad for Harry because she knew he would be devasted at the news. And man oh man, he was fucking devasted once he found out.
Harry didn’t come out of his last surgery until about 4:45, leaving the room very anxiously because there was something waiting for him in this locker that he couldn’t want to find out. Harry nearly ran for his phone, quickly typing in his password since he didn’t even think about taking off his mask and his Face ID wasn’t recognizing him, and immediately as he read the words on the screen, he felt defeat and anger wash over him.
(Y/N) got the position.
Harry felt like shit. He felt like he could’ve done so much better to prove himself but clearly, he didn’t do enough. But there was one flaw Harry had that often got him in trouble. When he was angry, he did and said things he didn’t mean.
He looked at the time and realized that (Y/N)’s shift was over and around this time, she’d probably be on her way to her car so he ran like a man on a mission, trying to catch her before she’d leave. And he did. “(Y/N)!” He called out, her turning around with shocked look on her face as she halted her walk. “I guess congratulations is in order, huh?” (Y/N) would’ve thanked him for that but it came out bitter and rude, her head tilting with a furrow of her eyebrows. “Y’know, I was wondering why you came dressed so nicely today when you never do but it makes sense. You came all pretty for whoever the hell you had to fuck to get this position to thank him for it. Seems unfair when other people had to work for it and weren’t even considered.”
Just as soon as those words came out, instant regret filled Harry. But it was too late. He fucked up and man, was it bad.
idk if this is too much but what about harry degrading y/n while she’s pregnant ? like he’s telling her he only uses her for making babies or something
drabble/talk- warnings: mean dom harry, breeding, degrading
_
Y/n was overwhelmed, between her bump weighing on her lungs, the words spilling out of her husbands mouth and his cock ramming itself painfully deep inside her, she didn’t know where to focus.
“Can’t wait to knock yeh up right after this ones born. Better make sure you don’t stretch out this cunt too much, no one wants a loose cock sleeve. Only thing ya’ worth to me is this dirty cunt and that womb. My baby makin’ machine aren’t ya?”
Harry was thrusting into the woman at lightning speed, eager to watch his cum drip out of his already pregnant wife. Everything about getting her pregnant and seeing her pregnant made him fill with a primal lust, they’d always been a sexually adventurous couple and now that she was pregnant the dominant Harry loved to make her feel like his property even more.
“I fuckin’ own you. Got my baby inside your belly, dont ya? Hopefully the kid gets everything from me, not much to inherit from a brain dead nympho is there?”
Upon request, here is a rec list of fics where Harry is mean to Louis at the beginning of the fic or story. We tried to include fics that were more of just Harry being mean to Louis at the beginning rather than fics whether they’re mean to each other (which is a lot of a enemies to lovers fic). We hope you enjoy this rec list! Please give it a reblog if you did. Happy reading!
1) Where The Lights Are Beautiful | Mature | 31170 words
The accidental bonding a/b/o fic.
2) Once Upon A Dream | Explicit | 33319 words | Sequel
Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.
3) Give Me a Memory I Can Use | Explicit | 41653 words
Louis is a brilliant, yet broke PhD student, Harry’s a pretentious and arrogant vampire, and first impressions have never been more deceiving.
4) Kiss Me On The Mouth And Set Me Free (But Please Don't Bite) | Mature | 41686 words
Harry is the CEO of Flora Corp, Louis is his new secretary.
5) You Put The Sun In Sunday | Mature | 42319 words
Louis is a love-brainwashed-teenager of hope drenched in dreams, clad in oversized clothes damaged with holes, and standing waist-high in novels. Harry is a selfish closeted football captain with a head too big for his heart, and a bad habit of not thinking before he opens his mouth. No one ever said love was easy, Louis learned the hard way.
6) Stole My Heart | Mature | 51343 words
Louis doesn't want much. A warm bed, and people who care about him.
Harry has everything he needs, despite his mother insisting he needs a mate. Money, status, and any omega he wants, why lock his heart down.
Until Louis comes along, and steals it.
7) So Much We Didn’t Say | Explicit | 52083 words
Harry’s near fatal accident exposed the cracks in his and Louis’ eleven year marriage. A serious error in judgment by Louis shattered it completely.
8) Taken Over By The Feeling | Mature | 53654 words
After almost a year of increasingly troubling behavior, Louis agrees to let his sister live with him. It's a last resort before more drastic measures are taken by their mom.
Harry Styles runs Given A Chance, a program for troubled and disadvantaged teens out of the bakery he owns. He offers the kids in his program what he believes they need to start on a different and better path for their lives.
Louis learns all too quickly that Harry's goodwill does not extend to him. Only because he happens to remind Harry of an ex he'd rather forget. It's not the smoothest of beginnings, but in the end Louis' own issues might be the real problem.
9) Elysian | Mature | 81886 words
Harry is running out of time to fall in love, but with Louis, it seems as if there’s all the time in the world.
10) I Want You So Much (But Hate Your Guts) | Mature | 83648 words
AU in which Louis gets accepted to play for the Manchester University Alpha-Beta Football Team. The only problem: Louis is actually an Omega. He is determined to make it big in the football world, though, and he can't do that bound to an Omega team. With the help of a faked doctor's certificate and some pretty strong suppressants he is ready to fight for his dream.
That Harry Styles (Alpha, second year and youngest football captain of the A-B team in ages) doesn't seem to like him complicates matters, though.
11) Bite Me | Explicit | 93222 words
This is so very different from the abo I had already written out.
12) You Drive Me Crazy (But It Feels Alright) | Teen & Up | 102036 words
Note: This fic has BH mentions.
Bridget Jones' Diary AU.
13) Blue Ice | Mature | 102967 words
An AU where Louis finds himself in a marriage he didn't bargain for.
14) Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices | Mature | 126057 words
A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.
Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.
