꩜ summary ━━ you tell clark “i got it.” so many times and he is sick of it.
꩜ content ━━ 2.3k words | fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, reader almost has a full blown a panic attack, clark is super duper sweet, reader has… issues but she’s just human <3
꩜ a/n ━━ i wrote this with a plus size in mind but it’s very appearance friendly! and clark being absolutely obsessed with her. might be a smidge little self indulgent im sorry </3 might also have grammatical errors! this is so personal to me i hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i liked writing it 🫶
as always comments are very deeply appreciated ♡
masterlist | navi
Clark knows you can take care of yourself.
It's one of the things he admires about you. You and your stubbornness, you and your inability to let people help. You, oh you, who is too scared to let Clark all the way in. So unconsciously, you don’t let him do anything for you, including something small as opening the car door.
Clark finds this out on your first date together.
And boy, you never thought you would be on a date with Clark Kent.
You did imagine it (more than you would like to admit) I mean how could you not? This hulking, tall, 6 '4 broad man that looks like he can throw you around turned out to be the most gentle person you have ever met.
It’s hard not to form a crush.
“I had fun tonight.”
Clark now walks beside you to his car, his height looming and begging for attention. He sounds bashful, and when you turn your head to look at him, you could see how the tips of his ears turn a light shade of pink with him staring down at you.
You softly smile, nervously meeting his eyes, “Me too.”
The walk wasn’t long, and before you could reach for the door handle of his car, his large palm had situated itself there.
You chuckle, “I got it. Thanks, Clark.” placing your hand on top of his to open the door.
Clark’s eyes widened with surprise, his cheeks dusting a light hue at the contact. He was also quite baffled at the fact that you didn’t want him to open the door for you.
He was raised to be a gentleman, opening doors isn’t anything new. Especially on dates. It’s mandatory for him.
He couldn’t even form complete thoughts as the car door opened, your fingers tightening on top of his. You slide in the passenger seat, throwing a cheeky grin at him. You didn’t even let him close the door for you, as you shut it by yourself.
Clark stood outside in the cold night air, staring at you from the window. He cannot believe that just happened.
For once in his life, he didn’t open the door for his date.
The same thing happened when he dropped you off at your apartment. You didn’t even think twice before opening the car door yourself as Clark scrambled out of his seat, racing to open it before you did.
He failed.
But it’s okay, cause you’re pretty and you smell nice, and you’re wearing this giddy smile, eyes a little tired but still sparkling. He stared down at you, with a matching grin and twinkling eyes.
A moment passed, “See you tomorrow?” Clark dumbly asks.
You nod and bite your lip, tummy flipping with excitement and nerves, “See you tomorrow, Clark.”
.
.
.
The past few weeks of seeing Clark has been…nice. He’s sweet, thoughtful and very nice to look at. So when accidentally you snapped at him, you were sure he didn’t want to see you ever again.
The summer heat is nipping at your skin, you had been stressing out about the printer since morning, the ancient machine that the Daily Planet has kept in store for ‘memories’ will be the death of you.
“Fuck— fucking stupid machine, shit—“
“You need some help there?”
You jump at the sudden voice, butterflies appearing in your stomach as you realise who it belonged to.
“This thing is pissing me off.” you grumble, not even looking at Clark, too busy glaring at the printer in front of you.
The man chuckles, leaning against the wall with hands tucked in his pants pockets as his eyes shamelessly trails over your figure.
“You look pretty.” he absentmindedly said.
The sudden compliment made you freeze your banging on the machine. Finally turning to meet his eyes, with a few strands of hair covering your vision. You tucked them behind your ear.
Because of your frustration at the machine, the small printing room has gotten more hot, which made you more agitated. So, you had put your hair up in a very messy bun, hair coming out in all sorts of directions, two buttons on your top were undone, giving Clark a nice view of your collarbone and a tiny glimpse of your cleavage. He swallowed hard as you fully turned to him.
"I'm a mess." you chuckle, hand resting on your full hips, head tilting to the side.
You look hot and bothered, your cheeks a little pink, your smile is teasing, and your hips are tantalising him. It's making his brain short circuit.
You, successfully making Superman weak in the knees.
He shrugs, hand scratching the back of his neck and awkwardly coughs, "My statement still stands."
Huffing, you face the machine again, "Go back to work Clark, or did you come here just to bother me?"
Clark moves inside the tiny room, his huge figure taking in half of the capacity. You could feel his body heat as he comfortably stood behind you, looking over your shoulder. Stomach flipping when you feel his slow and steady breathing.
"Do you know what's wrong with it?"
"If I did, I wouldn't be here, would I?" you accidentally snapped, eyes widening in horror. Oh no, he's going to hate you. "Sorry. I'm just annoyed and it's so hot in here and—“
His deep laugh stops you from continuing, "It's alright," he shakes his head, "I shouldn't have stressed you out more."
You sigh, guilt eating up your senses. You liked having here with you. He brings a sense of comfort, safety, calmness. He doesn't deserve your little outburst.
Clark sensed the air getting thicker with tension, so he clears his throat, backing up from your personal space, "I can call Jimmy to help you out-"
"It's okay, I got it." you rushed out. Hand clutching tightly at the edge of the printer. You cannot fail this. Don't embarrass yourself.
Clark nodded awkwardly, lingering on the door for a second too long, gazing at you with a certain look before hesitantly leaving you in your little room.
As you hear his footsteps retract, your shoulders slumped in relief, the guilt never once leaving your system.
"Stupid fucking machine."
.
.
.
Turns out Clark doesn’t hate you.
You have been going steady and now have created a little routine. The grocery runs has been fun, a routine that you two have made after 1 month of dating. Restocking in your respective place every first Saturday of the month, has been consistent.
“Aw, you two lovebirds are too cute.” the cashier complimented, “You match each other very well.”
Your cheeks turn warm, hands occupied by putting the groceries in the bags. Glancing at Clark to see his reaction, your stomach flutters when you see his adorable dimples. A shy smile stretching over his face.
He clears his throat, “Thank you, ma’am.” eyes shifting to yours. Fond, warm, and very much in a daze.
You quietly giggled, sending the cashier a quick smile before leaving the store.
Clark falls in step beside you, nudging your shoulder, “She said we look like we’re made for each other.” he shyly muttered.
You raised your eyebrows, glancing at him from the side, “She didn’t say all of that.” you smirk.
He shrugs, “I filled in the blanks.” his voice soft.
Your heart stutters.
Two heavy recycle bags settle in your arms as you try to balance them using your hips. Clark immediately took note of your fidgeting, and quickly moved his hand to grab the bottom of the bags, helping you stabilise yourself.
“Clark, I got it.” you grumble.
The tall man sighed, almost ripping the bags out of your hands. If anyone looked for too long it was like he was trying to steal them.
“I know you do, sweetheart,” he deeply sighed, fingers pressing against his eyebrows, “but I can do it. Do you see these guns?” he jokes, flexing his biceps close to your face. You laughed. He’s so silly.
Clark was also carrying his 2 bags of groceries, which is why you do not want him to carry yours. It’s yours. Why would you inconvenience him?
But Clark was adamant, Clark’s other fingers securely tucked in near your wrist where the bag handle is.
You playfully roll your eyes, “Back off, Kent.”
He gasps— loud, dramatic and offended, “I can’t believe you just called me Kent.”
You affectionately rolled your eyes and pushed past him, almost sprinting to the car so that he couldn’t keep up.
Oh, but Clark definitely could.
He chuckled to himself, shaking his head fondly at how stubborn you are. But you’re already opening the back trunk, organising your bags in. He underestimated your dedication, sighing softly with a giddy smile on his face, definitely his girl.
.
.
.
This particular day has been awful.
You’re suffering from writer's block and can’t find to type out any good comments and sentences. Everything you created sounded bleak, bland, boring and Perry has been waiting for a piece from you for days.
When he came to your desk, you gave him a thousand apologies, and Perry looked at you sadly… disappointed, if you would add.
“Should I give this to Cat to cover?”
“No!” you stood up abruptly, chair squeaking and making a few heads turn to you. You could feel a pair of specifically worried eyes on your back, “I got it. I promise. I will have this ready by tomorrow.”
Perry sighed, head nodding slowly, “Alright kid, I trust your abilities but tomorrow is final.” he stated, walking away.
You gripped the edge of your table, fingers twitching and heart suddenly pounding in your chest, “Fuck.” your breathing starts to pick up.
No, no, no. Please, not now.
Your feet moved before you could think and Clark was up on his feet the second he could hear your uneven breathing. Going to the only place he knows you would go.
The air on the roof is cold, the sky is so blue it reminds you of someone. But your chest starts to tighten, your vision starts to blur and sweat is forming behind your neck and hairline.
“Please, please–” sobs start to wreck your body, and your feet are now all wobbly.
Clark could hear everything from the elevator and it made his stomach drop and eyebrows furrow, as he fidgeted in the small metal box, “Why is it moving so slow—” he angrily muttered to himself, fingers aggressively pressing the button level repeatedly. Not caring the weird stares people are giving him.
The rooftop door violently swung open, so hard it almost flew off its hinges and you knew immediately who was on the other side.
“Clark, leave me alone.” you turn, not letting him see you. Your voice sounded so small, it tore his heart in two and he’s supposed to be indestructible.
He takes small steps closer to you, “I’m sorry, pretty, but there is no way I’m leaving you up here alone.”
"I got it, it's okay." your voice trembles, lips quivering.
Clark huffed, standing straighter, "No." he clenched his jaw, he sounded... angry.
You glance at him through your teary eyes, "What–?"
"Stop saying that line."
You scoff, "What line?"
Clark stares at you with wide eyes, like the audacity of you to even question that insane, "Your 'I got it' line."
Your stomach drops as your sniffling continues.
He deeply breathes out, moving to stand directly behind you, hands placed on your hips to turn you to face him fully. His thumbs softly caressing your shirt covered waist.
He leaned down, eyes trying to meet yours, "Look at me." he softly mutters.
Your eyes were fixated on the floor for a couple more seconds before they met his ones. Him and his soft, apologetic, blue eyes. Your breathing slows down.
He stares at you for a moment, searching, evaluating, you don’t even know.
But you would never guess what he was going to say.
"I. Got. You." he states, a pause in between every word. It wasn’t an opinion, it wasn't a joke, it's a statement. A fact. Like the nature of it is embedded in him, "Okay?"
Your lips wobbled, nose twitching and a new fresh of tears making their appearance on your eye line. Panicked eyes staring into his ones, trying to come into terms in what he just uttered out of his mouth.
"I will be here, with you." Clark continues, his hand now moving up to brush your falling tears away, "You can try to push me away but you need to call some reinforcements because I am not budging. You understand me?"
Slowly your arms moves to wrap around him, head tucking in his warm chest. "You got me?" your voice hoarse, his heart sinks seeing you tightly shut your eyes and hearing the hesitance in your tone.
His big arms wrapped tightly around your frame, hands softly caressing your back, "Of course, sweetheart. Always."
“Thank you.”
“My baby.” he sighs, emotional and heavy. His head tucking in your neck as he holds you tighter, “No need to thank me.”
“You make me feel so safe.” your trembling voice continues, a new wave of tears making you choke up.
Clark’s stomach flutters and drops at the same time.
For the strongest man alive, he sure feels pretty useless right now.
Because what has happened before that made you need to say that outloud? He thought it was given? He’s your boyfriend?
He doesn’t dwell on it for long, “I can help you with your paper.” he suggests, pulling your face out of his chest, his large hand on your jaw, thumb softly brushing your skin.
“Clark—“
“I swear to God if you say—“
You giggled. Clark’s eyes widens at your beautiful voice, goosebumps appearing on his skin.
“I was gonna say, ‘Yes, I would love your help’.” your voice turned down to a whisper, “Save me, Clark Kent.”
Clark grins, the tears are still in your eyes, some running down your cheeks but your eyes are a little bit brighter, your voice a little lighter, your breathing evening out and you’re still hugging him.
It makes him melt.
“I got you, baby. Don’t worry.”
Now Clark is making it his sole mission to take care of you.
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Harry had slipped out before the footsteps on the stairs reached the bathroom door.
No moment to acknowledge what they’d just done.
Just the echo of the door clicking shut behind him and the silence that felt deafening.
YN stood alone in the bathroom now, fingers gripping the edges of the sink like it might somehow ground her, like it might give her answers.
Her gaze flicked up to the mirror, but she could barely look at herself.
Her reflection didn’t look different—if anything she had a post-orgasm glow, her lips swollen, and her eyes wet.
She should be gutted, disgusted with herself.
She waits for it, actually—for the guilt to tear through her, to reduce her to nothing but regret and horror and that sick, hollow ache in her stomach that comes from knowing you can’t undo something awful.
But it doesn’t come, at least not in the way she expects.
Instead, what comes is the memory.
It replays in her mind like a favorite movie scene she’s watched too many times—his mouth on hers, the way he touched her like he couldn’t get close enough, like he’d been starving and she was the first taste of heaven.
The sound of his voice when he spoke to her, praised her, called her honey.
The way her body had arched into his without hesitation liked they'd done it many times before.
The way she’d wanted it.
And that was the most damning part of it all.
Because YN doesn’t wish she could undo it.
She would do it again.
She wants to do it again.
She isn’t sorry for the act—she’s sorry for the implications.
She used to think cheating was a hard line.
A clear boundary.
A dealbreaker to any relationship.
And now here she was, standing in the aftermath of her own choices, wondering how she’d ever believed in that kind of moral.
She can’t go back out there.
She can’t sit next to Ben like nothing happened, like the last twenty minutes hasn't rattled her entire being.
She can’t make eye contact with Lauren either—especially not Lauren.
So instead, she locks the bathroom door and gets into the shower.
The smell of Harry—his cologne, his skin, his mouth clings to her like the campfire smoke, and she scrubs and scrubs until the scent is gone and the grief sinks in.
Because it is grief, in some strange way.
The awareness that she can’t unknow what it feels like to be wanted like that.
Cherished like that.
Touched like that.
She turns off the water but doesn’t get out immediately. .
Her nipples are tender from where his mouth had claimed them, a dull throb where he’d nipped too hard, too eager.
And then she sees it—a faint bruise just beneath the curve of her breast, dangerously close to her nipple, something she hadn’t even registered in the heat of the moment.
She presses a thumb to it, and it aches, and somehow that small, physical confirmation—proof that it really happened undoes her more than anything else.
She sleeps better than she expects.
There’s no tossing and turning, no dramatic spiral.
Instead, her dreams blur into the feeling of his hands on her waist, his voice in her ear.
++
The next morning is a new challenge.
YN doesn’t know how to act around him.
Her body stiffens when he walks into the room, embarrassingly enough, even in the morning she gets this gut punch of arousal from merely seeing him.
She isn’t overtly avoiding him—she tells herself that again and again but she’s curbing everything.
Her gaze, tone, presence because she knows.
No one else knows but it feels like they could.
Any second now, someone will say something or see something—some flash in her eyes, some tension in the way she shifts when Harry enters a room.
It feels like she’s wearing it.
And when she looks at Ben, really looks at him—she feels nothing.
It’s like she’s looking at a man who spent years tearing her down slowly, carefully, without ever raising his voice.
A man who made her feel like her body was an inconvenience, something to be tolerated or criticized but never worshipped.
The memory of Harry’s hands, the admiration in his touch, feels like a slap in the face when she compares it to the way Ben used to sigh before touching her, like he was doing her a favor.
She can’t look at him the same way.
But it’s not Ben that’s aching in her chest.
It’s Harry.
Harry, who’s sitting across the room while Lauren loops her arm through his and laughs at something he says.
Harry, who doesn’t pull away from her touch but doesn’t exactly lean into it either.
Harry, who’s pretending like nothing happened, who keeps trying to catch YN’s gaze like when his fingertips were pressed into her backside to guide her cunt to his mouth.
And YN hates how it affects her.
How something green and ugly coils in her stomach every time Lauren brushes her hand over his thigh or leans her head against his shoulder.
She has no right to feel possessive.
She knows that.
But she does.
She wishes she could say it didn’t matter, that she wasn’t keeping score, but when Harry sits beside her on the couch and she immediately stands to go get something from the kitchen, she feels his eyes track her the entire way.
When she comes back and settles cross-legged on the floor instead of beside him, his eyes narrow ever so slightly.
She tells herself it’s about privacy, about timing, about not having this conversation in front of a house full of people.
But deep down, she knows that’s only part of it.
The rest is fear.
Harry doesn’t seem as concerned about timing.
She can feel it—the way he keeps drifting closer, like he’s just waiting for the moment she can’t dodge him anymore.
And she was right.
He’s strategic, calculated, in that quiet way of his—subtle, but deliberate.
She has to give him credit for that, even if it makes her want to scream.
He waits until everyone’s seated around the living room coffee table, shuffling cards, casual as ever.
It’s some complicated game that YN doesn’t know how to play—one with too many rules and not enough explanation and no one’s really offering to teach her, either.
Harry, suddenly, claims the same ignorance.
“I don’t remember how to play either,” He says with a shrug, grabbing his coffee from the side table and sipping it like he hadn’t just lied.
Niall frowns, confused, “Didn’t we play this last summer at your place? You got way too competitive and lost a bet to Trist—”
Harry cuts him off with a low chuckle and a casual wave of his hand, brushing the memory away like it’s irrelevant, “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
It’s a lie.
A lazy one.
YN knows it immediately, the same way she knows how Harry’s hands felt on her thighs just hours ago.
Niall accepts it with a laugh, already distracted, but YN's stomach twists tight.
She recognizes exactly what Harry’s doing.
He’s making out space or more accurately, he’s isolating them.
Creating the moment.
And then he says it, “Will you help me start bringing supplies down to the boat?”
He doesn’t look at her when he asks—not fully.
His tone is neutral enough to pass as casual to anyone not paying attention, but the weight behind the words leaves no room for misinterpretation.
It’s not a suggestion.
And something in his eyes flickers—annoyance?
Frustration?
He’s never looked at her like that before.
“Sure, Harry,” She says, pasting on a smile on her face.
She catches it—that tiny shift in his expression- relief, surprise, maybe even a bit of softness that slips through before he masks it again.
He didn’t think she’d go quietly.
But she does.
Fuck.
----
No one blinks when they leave.
It’s natural enough to be brushed off.
Then they’re gone—out of the house, down the back path, through the screen of trees that shelters the dock from the house windows.
Out of sight.
Harry doesn’t speak at first.
Just moves methodically, stacking folded towels in his arms, grabbing a few lifejackets, nodding at her to follow as if this is all normal like they’re just doing chores together.
Her legs feel like lead, heavy and awkward, and she hates how badly she wants to reach for him, pull him down to sit beside her on the dock, press her mouth to his and pretend that nothing else exists.
Instead, she scolds herself for even thinking about it.
She shames herself for wanting.
And when Harry finally speaks, it’s not what she expects.
“Are you angry with me?” He asks, voice measured and cautious as he kneels to shove the lifejackets under the storage bench.
His shoulders are so broad in his T-shirt, and the veins in his arms flex as he pushes the last one into place.
He crosses his arms as he stands, looking at her fully now, and the air around them feels dense, charged, thick.
She blinks.
“What? No,” She answers quickly, a bit too quickly, her voice almost defensive with how startled she is.
And really, how could she be surprised?
She’s been acting like he’s got the plague by avoiding eye contact, dodging proximity, stepping around him like her own guilt.
Harry’s mouth twists.
His brow furrows just slightly, and there’s something vulnerable flickering there beneath the frustration.
“Then why are you avoiding me? You’ve done it twice now,” He says, and it’s not just irritation—there’s hurt threaded through it, too, “You’re making it really fucking hard to not feel like you regret all of it.”
She lets out a breathless laugh, dry and brittle, “I don’t know, Harry. Maybe because what we did was fucked? What did you expect? That we’d skip out and hold hands ?”
His jaw clenches.
He doesn’t rise to the sarcasm, but he doesn’t shrink from it either, “I don’t understand, YN.”
Because he thinks this is about attraction, about chemistry about lust igniting but for her, it’s always been so much more.
The way he looks at her.
The way he listens.
The way he makes her feel seen, not judged.
She’s spent years pretending it was nothing.
She can’t pretend anymore—but she’s also nowhere near ready to say any of it aloud.
“We’re both in relationships, Harry,” She says stiffly, redirecting, deflecting, desperate to drag the conversation back to safer, more reasonable ground, “That’s the issue, isn't it obvious?”
Harry rolls his eyes.
And it’s not playful—it’s exasperated, disbelieving.
“Come the fuck on.”
Her mouth drops open, “Excuse me? What does that mean? I think it’s a pretty big fucking issue.”
“I’m not saying it’s not,” Harry replies, biting down on his inner cheek to control his tone, “But let’s not pretend like those relationships are solid. You and I both know they’re not, clearly not after last night.”
“I didn’t say that,” YN snaps, defensive without even thinking—because she hates the idea of him painting her so spot on.
Harry scoffs out a humorless laugh.
“Right. Okay,” He steps a bit closer, his voice lower, tighter, “You want to pretend like everything’s fine in your relationship? Go ahead. But I’ve known for a while that Lauren and I should break up. At least I can admit I’m not happy.”
“Well, that’s your relationship. You don’t know anything about mine.”
He stares at her for a moment, then shakes his head, lips curling into a bitter, knowing smirk, “I know enough to make some educated guesses.”
She can’t think of a retort.
She wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to kiss him.
Instead, she huffs out a sharp breath, “Okay, Harry.”
But he doesn’t let it go.
“I know your relationship is bad enough that you let someone else touch you. That you let me touch you,” He says, and now the heat in his voice is unmistakable, blistering, “Bad enough that you came on my tongue without a second thought.”
The words slam into her, vulgar and raw and true.
“It was a mistake,” She spits, even though it’s the biggest lie she’s ever told.
Harry recoils slightly, like she’s slapped him.
It’s subtle—but she sees it.
The flicker of pain.
The shift in his jaw.
The blow lands, and for a second, it feels like she might throw up.
“You regret it?” He asks quietly, and it’s not just hurt—it’s devastation laced with disbelief.
Her heart stutters.
Of course not.
Not even a little.
It was the first time in so long that she’d felt alive.
But none of that makes it out of her mouth.
“Of course, I do,” She lies again, her voice barely above a whisper,“You should too.”
And even to her own ears, the words sound like bullshit.
Harry’s eyes search her face, like he’s looking for the truth behind the performance.
YN and Harry had never argued like this before.
Not even close.
Their connection had always been unspoken and easy.
They never needed to raise their voices, never needed to defend themselves—until now.
And this?
This didn’t feel like a disagreement.
It felt like the beginning of a wedge.
Harry’s face had shifted fully into something she wasn’t used to seeing from him—emotionless, cold, his jaw locked, and his gaze hard in that way that made her feel suddenly very small.
He spoke with calculated calm, each word weighted and clipped, like he wanted her to feel them down to her bones.
“I know the choices I made last night,” He said, voice low and deliberate, “And no matter what you think, I stand by them. Because I know my relationship. I know the hurt and I don’t feel enough for her to care anymore. The only reason I’d even begin to regret what happened is because of how you’re acting right now.”
Her stomach dropped.
The words landed like heavy bricks on her chest.
She wasn’t validating him.
She was pushing him away.
And worse—she was lying through her teeth to keep herself afloat, to not drown in the weight of her own fear.
But still, something in her ached at the thought that he could reject her over this.
That she could drive him to indifference.
That she might ruin something that meant so much more than she could bear to admit.
It wasn’t fair—none of this was fair.
But she didn’t stop.
Because what terrified her more than losing him… was wanting him this much.
She couldn’t even admit that she was falling, that she had already fallen—and that the idea of him not being on the same page would gut her beyond repair.
So instead, she twisted the blade deeper.
“It was just sex,” She said flatly, the words hitting the air like poison.
It wasn’t even a good lie.
It cracked in her tone before it fully left her lips.
Harry’s brow lifted slightly, his arms crossed over his chest, and she hated how defined his biceps looked, even now.
He tilted his head, voice low, incredulous.
“Really?” He asked, with a slow, sharp edge, “You’re telling me that’s all it was?”
She knew that if she opened her mouth, her voice would shake so she just nodded instead, eyes dropping to the dock between them.
Harry wasn’t buying it.
“You didn’t feel anything?” He pushed, clearly trying to drag the truth out of her, desperate or angry—she couldn’t quite tell.
She didn’t know what answer he was even looking for—because she couldn’t tell the difference anymore between physical want and the deeper, dangerous longing that had been rooted in her for so long, growing quietly in the heart of her miserable relationship.
Her throat was tight.
The back of her neck prickled with the warning of tears, and she swallowed hard to push them down.
She couldn’t cry so she shrugged.
Harry scoffed, a sound that was both offended and exhausted, as he shook his head.
His voice was rough when he replied, “Whatever. I know what I felt.”
“And what was that?” She asked, voice barely recognizable as her own, hollow and hoarse.
“No,” he said sharply, pointing a finger at her, “You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?” She shot back, confused and defensive and unraveling.
“You don’t get to shut down on me and then ask me for vulnerability like it’s owed,” Harry growled, “You don’t get to lie to my face and then demand honesty from me.”
His anger was simmering, not exploding—but controlled.
YN’s cheeks flamed, stung by the truth because he was right.
She was asking him to lay it all out while she built walls and hid behind them.
She felt like she was being scolded, called out on the kind of behavior she usually hated in other people.
“Did you feel anything?” Harry asked again, stepping closer now, voice quieter, but still intense.
The question felt too big, too overwhelming.
What did it even mean?
Anything?
“Don’t ask me that,” YN pleaded, shaking her head, her voice shaking too, “I’m… I’m in a relationship.”
Harry’s lip curled with frustration, his voice getting sharper again, “Not a good enough one that you wanted to be faithful.”
“You don’t—”
“He’s a fucking prick, YN,” Harry interrupted, not letting her finish, “No one will say it to you, but I will. We all hate him. No one understands what you’re doing with him. And last night just proved it even more—when you flinched about your own goddamn body, when you told me the shit he says to you.”
Harry was fired up now, his voice louder but not threatening.
Just emotionally charged.
“It’s fucked up, YN,” He seethed, stepping forward again, “That he talks to you like that, that he’s made you feel like that. And if you ask me, no—I don’t feel a fucking ounce of regret over last night. Not even a little. The only thing that’s goddamn disappointing is that you are acting this way.”
Her heart was pounding so loudly she could hear it in her ears, and for a moment, she didn’t know what her body was going to do.
Collapse? Vomit? Hyperventilate?
But in the end, it was tears.
The tears broke first.
They spilled over faster than she could stop them, as her mouth trembled and her shoulders sagged.
Her hands lifted in a weak attempt to hide it, to save face, but Harry saw.
And the shift in him was immediate.
His anger faded in an instant, his body moving without hesitation toward her, hand reaching out—gentle now.
“Honey—” He said softly, voice breaking on the nickname, his expression unraveling into concern, into guilt.
But then—
“Everything good?” A voice cut through them.
Niall.
His voice was awkward, his body half-turned as if he was unsure whether to approach or retreat.
“I, uh… just came to tell you we switched to Monopoly,” He said, glancing between them with a raised brow, clearly trying to figure out what he’d walked into but smart enough to know not to ask.
YN’s face burned, and she wiped at her cheeks quickly, shoving all the pieces of herself back into place.
“Yeah,” She said, voice too chipper, too fake, “All good. I’ll play.”
She moved before Harry could stop her, before he could say anything else.
“YN—” He called, ignoring Niall entirely, voice rough with urgency.
But she turned to him, her gaze hard, final.
“You can set up the rest, right?” She asked, and though her words were polite, the look in her eyes was not.
It was a warning.
Harry’s jaw clenched.
His eyes flashed something like irritation and desperation but he didn’t push.
“Yeah,” He said quietly, gaze locked to hers, “I’m good. Go have fun.”
And she left him there—alone on the dock, in the sun, surrounded by supplies they were supposed to carry together.
Ignoring the tension that transferred onto Niall.
*
I have so much planned for these two! I'm going to try to do smutty angsts which I haven't done a lot of!! If ever really!
A Friends-to-lovers, contractor H, bookstore best friends, old reliable pick up trucks, modernized log cabins, sexual tension so thick you can barely see through it, everyone-knows-but-us sort of story.
Warnings- sexual content, mention of kinks, tension, but ultimately a fun read!
Hello… here is another mini series I started even tho I have other things I definitely need to finish…. But I’m kinda obsessed with them so I hope you guys like them 🫢
Check out our Patreon for early access to part 2 and 180+ exclusive writings!
WC- 2.8k
Warnings- y/n being oblivious, stupidly sweet h, things alluding to masturbation
“Y’know that isn’t normal for him, right?” Gia murmured as she came up next to Y/N. The low light of the bar had her squinting slightly, but thankfully the rock music wasn’t blaring too loud over the speakers over here. Coming after work, she had looked forward to meeting up with her friends for some much needed socialization- even if she was exhausted.
Confusion painted her features, looking at her friend with furrowed brows. “What are you talking about?”
“Harry. He’s like, all over you. All the time” She looked over to the man with a smirk, who had previously excused himself to participate in this round of pool. Y/N wasn’t much for the game so she stayed back in their seats, taking a moment to decompress. Or, try to. Sometimes it got a bit overwhelming with so many people talking at once.
“He’s just touchy, isn’t he?” Y/N had only known Harry for a few months, moving here to teach and one of her coworkers so kindly helped integrate Y/N into her friend group. Harry owned a contracting business, actually, and Y/N had been getting lots of help from him on a variety of projects. Specifically, the latest project regarding his expertise in what sort of bannister she should have for the staircase. It was antique, and she didn’t want to be like those flippers she saw online who ruined the charm of old houses. If she wanted a brand new build, she would have bought one. “See?”
Harry had his arm around Mitch, laughing about something probably a little dumb. The man was borderline tipsy but he’d just started his water rounds. He seemed to be an affectionate person, cuddly. At least to her and Mitch and Niall, all of whom seemed used to it.
“Yeah, but not with women. He’s more reserved when it comes to them but not with you. Like… what was that before?” Her cheeks flushed slightly as dhe knew exactly when her friend was talking about. Harry had come back from the bar with their soft pretzel and another drink for her, and when he sat down she was promptly dragged into his lap. She’d let out a yelp but it turned into a laugh, settling in his thighs. Of course there was no admitting that her stomach had erupted in butterflies and she felt them kick up every time he rested his chin on her or squeezed her a little tighter to him. That the scent of his cologne had become something that grounded her anxiety in the moment, and it was weird how he seemed to be an anchor for her every time he pulled something like that. Somehow he just had that sort of effect on her.
Now that she mentioned it, she had noticed Sarah’s eyes widening when he did that, but she had assumed it was just for the pure audacity of a man manhandling a woman into his lap and ripping off a piece of cheese dipped pretzel and bringing it to her mouth.
Y/N knew Harry was a cuddle bug. He was needy, like a pup, nosing and pawing his way into peoples hearts. But she assumed he did this sort of stuff with everyone. Maybe she wasn’t paying enough attention, but she had been too nervous to allow herself to think of his touches as flirtation. It would bring down the wall she’d tried to set there to not get her hopes up and look too deep into things. It had gotten her heart bruised a few times already. “Oh.” She replied, looking at her slowly emptying glass. “I, um, didn’t really think about that. He’s been pretty handsy for a long time.” He was also a flirt. Said things on purpose to make her flustered, but only in her ear so she’d get even more worked up. That was something he really liked to do- whisper in her ear or close to her to share something only with her.
“Babes, you need to open your eyes. That man is completely gone for you. Smitten kitten. I was convinced you guys were secretly banging but I was trying to mind my business… but you mentioned a dating site earlier and I got confused.” She’d wholeheartedly thought they were already an item. “You need to talk to him or make a move or something. He’s all but pissed on you to claim you from the rest of the group, and he keeps looking over here to check on you. He acts like your boyfriend already, but there are more benefits you can cash in on if you just go for it.” She wiggled her brows making Y/N groan, hiding her head in her hands.
She was way too sober for this conversation.
Of course she had interest in Harry. Some feelings, even, but he’d never expressed interest in dating anyone. How could she not? He was almost unreal, checking loads of boxes she had in her mental list of ‘what my dream man would have’, including the dimple thing. The fact that he always said he was “waiting for the right one to find me” when she’d ask floated back into her mind, clearing a bit of the fog that usually surrounded her when she thought about him. Had he been trying to tell her something?
Y/N could admit she wasn’t the most perceptive at times. She was a little oblivious, some could say, and didn’t read into signs well. The trait was something that used to get her into trouble when she was younger, her head always off in the clouds instead of where it needed to be according to the adults around her. It was possible she missed something, but she wanted to find out how to rectify that.
“Speak of the devil…” Gia whispered, moving over a bit with a snicker as Harry seamlessly slipped back into the booth and ran his hand over her hair. Y/N felt his presence like a blanket, face turning to look at him and his concerned features. That little wrinkle between his brow she always noticed when he was upset or focusing heavily on something.
“Hi, petal. Something wrong? Headache?” He asked delicately in case the answer was yes. She got migraines frequently, as much as it sucked- but Harry had brought her some pain relievers while she was at work once to save her ass. God, her head was a mess but it wasn’t from the migraine this time around.
“No, I’m okay.” She lifted her head, feeling his hand slide under her hair to hold the back of her neck. Hopefully he wouldn’t see the chills settling on her skin as his thumb rubbed over the side of her throat, concern still etched on his features. “Was just a bit dehydrated but I’m fine now.” Her smile must not have been as convincing as she tried, his lips pursing as he shook his head.
“Got t’be careful with eating the salty chips and then having the drinks… one glass isn’t gonna be enough.” He sighed. “Stay here for me, yeah? I’ll be right back, let me get you some water.” Without thinking he leaned in and pressed a peck to her temple, sliding back out of the booth leaving the spot tingling. Sitting there with rapidly blinking eyes, she watched the stretch of muscles flex under his tee shirt as he made his way towards the bar to order said water.
Okay. Yeah. Now that she mentioned it, she definitely knew he didn’t press little kisses to the rest of the girl’s heads, or give that amount of attention to her but… again, she had tried to ignore it. Tried not to get her hopes up.
“Girl… you’ve got to see it now.” Gia’s brows were raised up. “You’ve got him wrapped around your finger.”
Maybe she was right.
——
“I’m okay, H. I promise.” Y/N laughed out the words as he brought the straw back to her mouth and gave her a look. “Fine. But I’m gonna have t’piss soon if you keep force feeding water down my throat.” She shook her head as she took another drink, making a show of swallowing it. “See? Done.”
Harry’s eyes had dipped down to her throat when she swallowed and back up to her mouth, taking a beat too long to respond. “Good. You… we can’t have you feeling poorly tomorrow. Are y’still up for it?” His hand was traveling around her body. Not in a sexual way, not really, but over her shoulders. Rubbing her arm. Cupping the back of her neck. Fiddling with her hair. For the first time, Y/N could consciously see what Gia was talking about. Maybe it was sad she needed someone else’s validation of it first, but now that she had it she didn’t feel as crazy for the emotions she felt.
“Of course.” Harry was taking her to a sick used bookstore that he had helped remodel a few years back. When he found out she had gotten back into a reading mood lately, he’d suggested it immediately over text under the table, which now that she was thinking about it…. It was obviously to ensure it would be just the two of them. No one else. He wanted to take her by herself, a little outing for just the two of them.
Stupid butterflies kicked in overdrive. “I’ve been dying to grab some new books.”
“I know. I remembered it when the owner called me a few days back about something and knew I had t’take you.” He grinned, leaning in a bit as he tucked the hair behind her ear. “I really hope you’ll like it.”
Y/N didn’t have much time to respond before the chatter got louder and the group that had gone back up to the bar for more drink ambled back and climbed into the booth. This time it wasn’t as much of a shock when she was scooped up into his lap, but it still made her hot under the skin. Her tummy swirled as he wrapped one solid arm around her and rested his chin on her shoulder, the other running over her thigh. It wasn’t suggestive, closer to her knee as he began to rub his thumb over the soft skin there.
For some reason it was getting to her, making her worked up. The gentle touches, the wholesome nature of it made her feel a bit ashamed as she felt herself throb between her thighs, but it only got worse when he adjusted her in his lap, lifting her like it was nothing. Of course he had strength, the man hauled lumber by himself and did all sorts of superhuman shit when it came to construction, but it still shocked her every time she got to experience it first hand.
Taking a moment to think about it, it was always apparent that he was a beautiful man with a beautiful body. One thing that she really liked were his arms. Just as a whole. Hands, arms, how they’d built out a bit from all the hands on work. His hands could be a little rough with some callouses from those tools, but her grandma always did tell her that was the sign of a hard working man. It wasn’t something she focused on before because she had tried to deny the possibility of not only rejection but not being able to be in the friend group if things went sour.. At the moment she was past that.
She could see the vein in his arm just a bit, near the anchor tattoo. His hand curled over her knee, almost possessively. This entire position was him claiming her. Realizing now he’d never pulled any of the other girls as close as he did her made her head spin. Hell, he really didn’t do much than give a friendly hug or hand to help them if they were stumbling. Fuck, he could actually feel something for her. Far past friendship.
“You’re quiet.” His words were so close they almost vibrated in her ear, making her startle a bit. “Shit, sorry Petal. Didn’t mean to scare you.” The little smile given to her made its way into her bloodstream, heating her up the longer he looked at her. “Why are you in your head, hm? Tired?”
The way he spoke to her was so tender and sweet… gah! Now that she was allowing the possibility to be a thought, it was shaking her up.
“Yeah, getting tired.” She wasn’t lying. Her Friday classes had been a handful. That was the truth. “Need to take a long shower and sleep until an hour before you come to pick me up.”
“Sounds like a good plan. What kind of soap or shampoo do you use?” He asked, a noticeable shift in his voice. A little deeper, softer for her ears only. It was intimate, she realized. How he spoke to her privately with her tucked in his lap. Her body melted further into him, but the lump in her throat had expanded from the realization. “You always smell fuckin’ amazing.” His nose skimmed over the side of her jaw making her exhale shakily. He was taking an inhale of her as he hugged her body against him. Her poor vibrator was in for it when she got home.
“Uh- it’s like a coconut citrus mix?” She had to think about it. It was hard to focus on anything with her revelations at hand and the man of the hour touching her so liberally. Like she was his to touch. It wasn’t disrespectful and she knew he was the first person to read her body language- hell, he probably could read her mind better than she could process her own thoughts. But it was still sinking in, the feelings gripping her stomach. “Thank you. I try my best. No one wants to be stinky.” Nose crinkling in disgust, she felt him shake his head against her.
“Trust me when I say you’re the best smelling person I’ve met. Wouldn’t complain if all my things smelled like you.” Oh? He didn’t elaborate, but there was a barely there kiss to the hinge of her jaw rendering her speechless. His reaction was to place his chin back on her shoulder, interjecting into Niall’s rant while Y/N sat there trying to process what that was.
Deciding to test something made her really nervous, but she wanted to see what he’d do. While he was always the affectionate one and she never pushed him away, she didn’t usually return it as much. He always sought her out and she reciprocated but she wasn’t one to initiate a lot… so she wanted to see what he’d do.
Letting out a yawn, she leaned her head against his shoulder and let her head nuzzle into his neck. Without saying a word, her hand went for his on her thigh and weaved their fingers together, pulling it further up her thigh. Holding his hand, she could feel his body stiffen ever so slightly for a mere moment and his heart rate pick up. His other arm around her tightened, thumb rubbing the back of her hand. “Comfy?” He mumbled to her.
“Mhm.” She nodded, letting his hand squeeze hers. He was just solid and sturdy. She could lean against him and feel protected in a way. Why she hadn’t tried this sooner she didn’t know, but she could hear his mood get better as he spoke. It was palpable, like he was vibrating a little bit, squeezing her hand every once in a while to remind her he was there. Or maybe it was for his own mind?
It continued like this for a bit until everyone decided to get going, Harry being the last to stand. He was gentle about helping her off his lap, beating her to get on his feet and offered his hand to her to help her up. “C’mon, sleepy Flower. Time for your shower and sleep. Can’t have you too tired for the selection of books, hm?” His hand steady on the small of her back, he led her to the car with a bit of a delay as they said good, a hug tight and lifting her off the ground a bit as he did so before having her promise to text when she got home.
She fulfilled the promise, as well as her guilty vibrator session thinking about that tiny kiss on her skin and his hand on her knee, hoping that would make her chill out. It didn’t.
Description: friends don’t kiss like that… and they definitely don’t spend the night tangled up in each other, learning what it sounds like when years of tension finally snap. But here you are. In his bed. Breathless. Wrecked. His hands shaking on your skin like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. And you both know—there’s no going back now.
author note: hopefully you’ll love this one; I had a writer’s block trying to finish this one up 🥺
Main Masterlist
Marked by Midnight’s Masterlist
***
It's the same Friday night ritual you've fallen into for years now—predictable in a way that should feel boring by now, but somehow never does. You don't remember when exactly it became your thing, but you know it started sometime after his last relationship went up in flames. Somewhere between his dry, sarcastic text—"bring snacks or don't bother showing up"—and the way he always leaves the door unlocked when he knows it's you coming over. You don't knock anymore. Haven't in ages. You just toe off your shoes by muscle memory, drop your bag on the little hook by the door he hung there for you a year ago, and slip into your usual spot on his couch like it's second nature. It is, really.
Tonight's no different. The air smells like leftover pizza and the two cheap beers you grabbed from his fridge on your way in. You're half-curled under one of his worn-out throw blankets, your legs stretched long across the couch, your bare feet pressing into his thigh like they always do. He doesn't even flinch when you do it anymore. Just rests his warm palm on your shin absentmindedly like it's the most natural thing in the world. It's reckless, really, how easy this all is. How dangerous it feels sometimes when he doesn't pull away.
The TV's playing something you've both seen a thousand times—something neither of you are really paying attention to. The real entertainment, like always, is the stupid conversation unraveling between sips of cheap beer and leftover takeout. He makes a joke about your taste in men, you roll your eyes and throw one right back at him. The back-and-forth feels sharper tonight though, like you're both playing closer to some invisible line neither of you have dared to cross. Not really.
You don't know what makes you say it. Maybe it's the second beer loosening your tongue, or maybe it's the way his laugh curls in your stomach when you throw your head back against the cushion and groan dramatically. You mock the high-pitched whine one of his exes once made you promise not to bring up again. You pitch your voice higher on purpose, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead in the most ridiculous overacting you can manage.
"Oh, Harry... oh my God... you're so—so loud—" you gasp, drawing the word out, clutching your chest like you're seconds away from fainting.
You expect him to laugh. That's how it always goes. You take the piss, he rolls his eyes, throws something back, and you both move on. But tonight... tonight he doesn't laugh.
Instead, he goes still. His palm on your shin tightens just a little—barely noticeable, really, if you weren't suddenly hyperaware of every inch of his skin touching yours.
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing, and for the first time all night, you swear the air between you crackles like something you shouldn't touch.
"You really wanna keep pushing, sweetheart?"
The words come out low. Thicker. Not playful like they should be.
And your mouth goes dry.
Because that's not the kind of thing he says to you. Not like that.
You blink, heart stuttering, trying to laugh it off, but it comes out wrong—too breathless, too tight. "What? I'm kidding. Relax."
But he doesn't.
He leans back a little, his arm curling casually along the back of the sofa like he's suddenly aware of how close you are, how easy it would be to pull you closer. His jaw flexes as he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, like he's thinking too hard about something he shouldn't say.
And then he does.
"Maybe you should find out for yourself before you start laughing."
You freeze.
So does he.
The silence that falls between you isn't the usual kind—the one you fill with easy shrugs or dumb jokes. This one feels loaded. Heavy. Like you've both been balancing on this stupid little edge for so long you didn't even realize how close you'd gotten until you both looked down.
He swallows hard, flicking his gaze to your mouth and back up again so fast you almost think you imagined it.
You could laugh. You should laugh. That's how you survive this. You let it roll off your back, you change the subject, you make another joke and pretend you didn't hear it like that.
But you did. God, you did.
And something in your stomach twists.
Your voice comes out quieter than you mean for it to. Barely above a whisper. "What if I did?"
Harry's breath catches. You feel it more than hear it—right there where his palm is still pressed to your leg, fingers curling in slow motion like he's grounding himself. His mouth opens and closes again, like he's trying to figure out if you're fucking with him, if this is just another game.
You're not sure what kind of answer you're expecting—some dumb, cocky retort, maybe, or worse, a nervous laugh to remind you this is all one big misunderstanding. But when he finally speaks, it's nothing like that.
"Then you're gonna have to come over here and show me."
It knocks the air clean out of your lungs.
Because that's not a dare. Not a joke. Not something he can walk back if you say yes.
His hand slides a little higher on your shin, thumb dragging slow and steady like he's making sure you feel it. His gaze doesn't drop this time. Doesn't waver.
"C'mon, love. What's stoppin' you?"
You've never moved so slowly in your life. Shifting your weight, setting your half-finished beer down on the coffee table like you're moving underwater. Your heart's thundering so hard you're half-convinced he can hear it. You swing one leg over his lap, knees sinking into the sofa on either side of his hips until you're straddling him, palms braced on his chest to steady yourself.
And he's just... looking at you. Like you're the fucking answer to a question he didn't know he was allowed to ask.
"Hi," you whisper, suddenly breathless, nerves crashing over you in one dizzy wave.
The corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to laugh, but he doesn't. His hands find your waist, curling slow and careful, as if he's terrified you'll shift back and realize this is a mistake.
"Hey."
It's the softest thing you've ever heard from him. No edge, no teasing, just quiet and wrecked and right there between you like you've already passed the point of no return.
His thumb drags along your waist, and you swear you feel his hands tremble just a little.
"You gonna kiss me or what?" he whispers, voice cracking on the last word like it's killing him to hold back.
There's a second—just one—where the fear kicks in. Not the bad kind, not really. It's more the holy-shit-what-are-we-doing kind, the one that flickers right behind your ribs like a warning bell that's come a little too late. Because this is Harry. Your Harry. The one who steals your fries without asking and makes you playlists when you're having a bad day. The one who's held your hair back when you've had too much to drink, who's let you crash in his bed more times than you can count without ever once making it weird. He's always been safe. Uncomplicated. Yours in every way that didn't require you to risk everything by leaning in and closing the gap.
But now? Now his breath fans across your cheek, his hands tense on your waist like he's waiting for you to change your mind, and you know there's no coming back from this if you do it. No pressing rewind. No laugh-it-off in the morning.
And still—you lean in.
You don't even really kiss him at first. It's slower than that. Softer. Like you're both testing the weight of the moment, hovering close enough that you could pull back if you had to. You feel his breath catch when your nose brushes his, feel the tiniest tremor run through him when your fingers curl tighter in the worn fabric of his t-shirt. His lashes flutter against your cheekbone when you tilt your head, nudging your mouth toward his. And just when you start to wonder if he's going to make you do all of it—if he's going to sit there and let you chase the whole thing all the way down—he meets you halfway.
It starts careful. Almost clumsy with how long you've both tiptoed around this. His lips part slow, brushing yours once, twice, barely there. You almost pull back to say something stupid like "was that okay?" but then—God—he makes that sound.
Low in his throat, wrecked and quiet and so fucking real it short-circuits every rational thought you have left.
You melt.
The second time you kiss him, it isn't careful at all. You tilt your head, fingers sliding up into his curls like they've always wanted to, pulling him closer, chasing that sound like it's oxygen. He groans again, louder this time, and you feel him sink under you like his whole body's giving out.
"Fuck," he breathes, muffled between kisses, hands flexing tighter on your waist. "Fuck, baby, you're gonna ruin me."
The word baby snaps something loose in your chest, like you've just unlocked a part of him you never knew you were allowed to touch.
Your breath stumbles out in a shaky laugh, your lips brushing his as you gasp, "You really are loud."
He freezes for half a second like he's about to pull back, but you barely give him the chance. You roll your hips over his, testing the friction, chasing the heat, and it punches another groan right out of him—louder, needier this time.
"Yeah?" he pants, teeth scraping your jaw as he pulls you closer, rougher, like he's trying to fuse you to him. "You like that? Huh? Wanna keep mocking me, baby? Gonna let you hear it all fuckin' night if you let me."
You suck in a sharp breath, fingers tightening in his hair.
And God, you should stop. You should slow down, give yourself half a second to think this through, to figure out what the hell this means. But his mouth finds that spot under your ear that makes your whole body jolt, and suddenly you don't care about what tomorrow's going to feel like.
You rock against him again, chasing the pressure, the heat curling low in your belly. He hisses, dragging his hands up under your t-shirt like he's starving to touch you.
"Tell me to stop," he whispers, voice cracking like he already knows you won't. "Tell me right fuckin' now if this isn't what you want."
But you don't. You can't. Not when you're already dizzy with it. Not when you've wanted this longer than you've let yourself admit.
So instead, you lean in again, brushing your mouth against his ear until you feel him shudder under you.
"I don't want you to stop."
His breath hitches, hands curling tighter like he's barely holding himself back.
"You sure?" he rasps, nose brushing along your jaw, voice so wrecked it makes your chest ache. "Tell me you mean it. Tell me this isn't just the fuckin' beer talking, baby, 'cause I swear to God—"
You pull back just enough to look at him. Really look at him.
He looks wrecked already. Like this is costing him. Like this has been sitting on the tip of his tongue for longer than you've even dared to hope.
And you swear something inside you snaps.
"It's not," you breathe, shaking your head as you cup his jaw in your hands. "Swear it's not."
He curses under his breath, dragging his hands down to your thighs like he's grounding himself, like he's trying to keep himself from breaking.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes screwed shut like it physically hurts to keep his hands from sliding under your shorts. "Need you to tell me what you want, baby. Please."
And it's there, on the tip of your tongue.
The thing you swore you'd never risk saying.
But it's too late now, isn't it? You've already crossed the line.
So you whisper it like a secret, like it's been sitting there in your chest for years.
"I want you."
It happens fast after that. Like the air finally snaps between you and there's no holding it back. One second you're still hovering, trembling with it, your hands on his jaw like you're terrified he's going to pull away—and the next, you feel him exhale the most broken sound you've ever heard from him, his grip tightening on your thighs like he's lost the battle with himself.
"Come here," he groans, breath hitching, voice barely holding together, and before you can even blink, he's dragging you closer—sitting up straighter, chest pressed to yours, his mouth finding yours again like he's starving.
This time, it's different. Hotter. Desperate. There's no hesitation now, no teasing, no careful second-guessing. It's messy, frantic, like you've both finally stopped pretending this wasn't inevitable. His hands are everywhere—sliding up under your shirt, fingers dragging across your skin like he's trying to memorize every inch of you. You gasp into his mouth, shivering when his palms flatten against your back, pulling you flush to him, your thighs tightening around his waist instinctively like you can't stand even an inch of space between you.
You swear you feel him shudder under you, like you've knocked the breath clean out of him.
"Fuck, baby," he pants, dragging his mouth across your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck that make your whole body jolt. "Feel that? Feel what you fuckin' do to me?"
You do feel it—hard and hot between your legs, pressing up through your thin shorts—and the realization knocks every ounce of breath from your lungs. You roll your hips without thinking, grinding down with more pressure this time, and you feel him stiffen, hear the sharp curse tear from his throat.
His head falls back, curls brushing the back of the sofa, and you watch the muscles in his throat work as he swallows hard, jaw so tight you can see the effort it's taking him not to lose control right there.
"Jesus Christ, you're killin' me," he groans, one hand sliding up to fist in your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. "Tell me what you want, baby. Say it. Please."
You don't even hesitate. You can't. You're already shaking with it. Already soaked in it. Your voice comes out as more of a gasp than a whisper, breathless and messy against his jaw.
"Want you to touch me. Want you so bad it hurts."
The groan he lets out sounds like it physically knocks the breath out of him.
Before you can process it, he's moving. One strong arm sweeps under your thighs, the other curls tight around your back, and you let out a squeak of surprise when he stands, lifting you off the couch like you weigh nothing.
"Harry!" you gasp, clinging to him, laughing breathlessly as he stumbles toward the hallway.
"Shut up," he breathes against your neck, mouth dragging hot along your skin, "Not lettin' you go. Not now. Not ever."
You swear you feel your heart split in two right there.
By the time your back hits his mattress, you're trembling with it—skin buzzing, breath catching, heart pounding so hard it almost hurts.
He doesn't move for a second, just hovers over you, curls falling into his eyes, his chest heaving like he's trying to memorize every inch of you before he ruins it.
"Tell me again," he rasps, voice cracking. "Please. Need to hear you say it's not just the beer talkin', baby."
You sit up on your elbows, heart swelling so painfully full it feels like it might burst, and reach for the hem of your shirt.
"It's not," you whisper as you pull it over your head and toss it somewhere over the side of the bed. You're trembling a little now, but you don't stop. You meet his eyes—wide, glassy, hungry—and you nod, slow and certain. "It's me. I swear."
His eyes drop to your bare skin, and he drags his hand through his curls like he can't fucking believe this is happening.
"Jesus," he breathes, crawling over you again on his forearms like he's scared to crush you. "You're perfect. So fuckin' perfect."
You barely recognize the sound you make when he kisses you again—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, like your body is short-circuiting under his hands. You've kissed him before—drunken pecks on the cheek, playful lips pressed to his jaw when he made you laugh too hard—but never like this. Never with the weight of every line you've tiptoed around collapsing all at once between your bodies.
His hands are greedy now, trembling just slightly as they trail along your sides, slipping under the curve of your ribs like he's afraid to rush, like he wants to memorize every inch of skin he's never dared to touch. He dips his head, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, sucking softly at the base of your neck, and you swear your back arches off the bed all on its own.
"So fuckin' soft," he murmurs under his breath, voice low and rough and right against your skin like it's a prayer you weren't meant to hear. His hands slide higher, fingertips brushing the underside of your bra, hesitating just barely like he's giving you that last out.
You nod before he even asks.
"Please," you whisper, breath catching, "I want you to touch me."
He groans like you've wrecked him completely, leaning up just enough to tug the fabric over your head and toss it aside with your shirt. The moment your chest is bare to him, he just... stops. Stares. Like you're the first thing in his life that's ever left him speechless.
His palms come up slowly, reverently, cupping you like he's terrified you'll vanish if he blinks too long. His thumbs brush over your nipples and your whole body jerks with the heat of it, breath spilling out in something dangerously close to a moan.
"Fuck me," he whispers, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, like he's trying to keep himself from coming undone too fast. "You're... fuck, you're unreal."
You can't stop yourself—you hook your legs tighter around his waist, grinding up into him again, desperate to feel all of him. His breath stutters, hips jerking like he can't help himself.
And then he's moving again, dragging his mouth down your body—slow, lingering kisses pressed to every inch of skin he can reach. Down your ribs, over your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts.
He looks up at you from there, lips pink and swollen, curls a mess, chest still heaving.
"Can I take these off, baby?" he asks, voice so thick and wrecked it makes your stomach clench. "Wanna see all of you. Need to."
You nod so fast it almost embarrasses you, lifting your hips for him without a second thought. He drags your shorts and underwear down slow, eyes never leaving yours as he bares you completely.
The air feels electric on your skin. Too much and not enough at the same time. You feel exposed, trembling, but the way he looks at you—like you're the only thing in the world that matters—makes you feel like you could fall apart right there and he'd hold every single piece.
He sucks in a sharp breath, dragging his hand through his hair again like he doesn't know what to do with himself.
"Jesus, you're beautiful," he whispers, voice cracking, like it's physically painful to hold back. "Can't believe I get to touch you."
You reach for him again, curling your fingers into his shirt, tugging at the fabric until he gets the message. He peels it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him, and when his bare chest presses to yours, skin to skin, you swear you could die from how right it feels.
"Please, Harry," you breathe, burying your face in his neck, rocking your hips up again without thinking. "Need you so bad it hurts."
He shudders, dragging his mouth back to yours, kissing you slower this time—deeper, like he's trying to pour every unspoken word into you.
"Gonna take care of you, baby," he whispers between kisses. "Promise. Gonna make you feel so good."
And you believe him. God, you believe him with every shaking breath you take.
You barely register the way your breath shudders in your throat when his mouth finds yours again. It's slower now. Deeper. Less frantic, more certain—like every kiss is meant to make you feel it. Like he knows you already do. His weight settles a little heavier on top of you, hips sinking between your thighs, skin hot and slick where his chest presses to yours.
You can feel him—all of him—hard and thick, pressing right where you need him, just separated by the thin fabric of his boxers. The pressure makes your breath catch, makes your hips tilt up instinctively like you're chasing something you're both too far gone to slow down for.
He groans into your mouth, one hand sliding down your side to grip your thigh, pulling it higher up his waist like he needs to feel closer, needs to make sure you know how badly he wants this. How badly he wants you.
"Fuck," he breathes, voice cracking as he drops his forehead to yours, hips rocking forward once—slow, steady—grinding into you just enough to make your whole body jolt. "Baby... I—"
He doesn't finish. Doesn't have to. You already feel him shaking above you, like he's holding himself together by the thinnest thread.
"Harry..." You can't even hear your own voice, breathless and wrecked, but you know he hears it by the way his grip tightens on your skin. "Need you. Please."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, wide green eyes flicking between yours like he's trying to memorize every single thing about you in this exact second.
"You sure?" he whispers, voice barely steady. "I don't—fuck—I don't wanna do this if you're not sure, baby."
You almost sob. "I've never been more sure of anything."
His face crumples like you've broken him, lips crashing onto yours again with so much force it steals every bit of air from your lungs. You feel his hand slide between you, pressing low over your stomach, slipping down until his fingers brush over the slick heat of you.
You let out a noise that sounds nothing like you—high and desperate, something you'd be embarrassed about if you weren't already too far gone to care.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, voice shaking like he's seconds from losing control. "You're so wet, baby. All for me, yeah?"
You nod frantically, clinging to him, your nails digging into his back as you roll your hips into his touch.
"All for you," you whisper back, voice cracking, "Please, Harry, just—please."
He shudders so hard you feel it in your bones, his breath spilling hot and shaky over your skin as his fingers slide through the mess between your legs, circling your clit so slow you could scream.
"Gonna take my time with you," he whispers, "Wanna feel you come on my fingers first. Wanna feel you fall apart for me."
And God, the way he says it—wrecked and hungry and like it's the only thing he's ever wanted—you don't think you've ever wanted anything more in your life.
You try to brace yourself. You know you should. But it's useless the second his fingers slip lower, dragging through your folds like he's already memorized every part of you. He's so gentle at first, so fucking careful, like he's afraid to hurt you or rush it. Like he's determined to make this the best thing you've ever felt.
Your body arches off the bed before you even realize you're moving, a broken moan catching in your throat when his fingers find that perfect spot again and again. It's slow, torturous, the way he circles your clit—light at first, just a tease, until your hips are chasing his touch, until you're gasping his name like you've forgotten how to say anything else.
"That's it, baby," he murmurs, breath hot against your jaw as he keeps moving, building you higher with every slow stroke. "You're doin' so good for me. Sound so fuckin' pretty when you fall apart, you know that?"
You dig your nails into his shoulder, gripping him like he's the only thing keeping you from slipping under. You've never been this sensitive, never been this wound up, like every nerve in your body is buzzing under his touch.
You try to warn him—you really do. But the words die in your throat when he adds just a little more pressure, a little more speed, his mouth pressing hot kisses down your neck while his fingers work you open.
"C'mon, baby," he breathes, "Wanna feel you let go for me. Been dreamin' about this for fuckin' years, swear to God—"
You cry out, hips stuttering, body shaking as the pressure coils tighter and tighter until it snaps, crashing over you so hard it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.
You feel yourself clench around his fingers, feel him groan right against your ear like he feels it too, like he's just as wrecked by it as you are.
You're still gasping, still trying to catch your breath, when he pulls back just enough to cup your face in both hands. His lips are pink, swollen, his hair a complete mess. But it's his eyes that leave you breathless.
Wide. Shiny. Like you've just torn him to pieces and he doesn't know how to put himself back together.
"Baby," he whispers, voice breaking like it's too much, "Need to be inside you. Please. Please tell me you want that too."
You don't even hesitate. You reach for him, curling your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down until you feel him bare and hot and thick against your thigh.
You look up at him, heart in your throat, and whisper the only thing that's been sitting on your tongue since the moment this started: "I've always wanted you."
And you swear, in that split second before he sinks into you, he breaks all over again.
You feel him hesitate just for a breath—just long enough to make sure you don't change your mind. His forehead presses to yours, his nose brushing yours softly, like he's checking again without needing to ask out loud.
You slide your hands up his back, nails scraping lightly across his skin, and whisper the only thing you know will tip him over the edge.
"Please, Harry... I need you inside me."
The groan that rips out of him sounds almost pained. His fingers curl tighter around your waist, pulling your body up to meet him, and when you feel the thick head of him nudging at your entrance, you nearly stop breathing altogether.
He moves slow. So slow it's almost unbearable—like he's savoring every inch, dragging it out just to make you feel it. You gasp, clawing at his shoulders, your body stretching around him inch by inch until you're completely full, until there's no part of you that isn't pressed to him, surrounded by him.
"Fuck—" his voice cracks, shaking like he's seconds from losing it. "So fuckin' tight... Jesus Christ, baby, you feel... you feel like heaven."
You're trembling beneath him, breath stuttering out in little gasps you can't control. You feel stretched, full, claimed in a way that makes your head spin. Your nails dig deeper into his skin, grounding yourself against the overwhelming ache and pressure that feels like it's going to swallow you whole.
"Move," you gasp, hips tilting up to meet his, "Harry, please— need you to move."*
He groans again, low and wrecked, and finally—finally—he starts to move.
Slow at first. Barely pulling back before pressing right back in, hips rocking steady, grinding deep like he's tasting you from the inside. You cry out, biting your lip to muffle the sound, but he shakes his head, catching your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him.
"No," he pants, voice thick and ruined, "Let me hear you. Don't fuckin' hold back, baby. Want everyone to know how good I'm makin' you feel."
You let go of the breath you've been holding, head tipping back as a moan rips from your throat, loud and broken and real. His hips snap a little harder, a little faster, and the sound of it—skin on skin, your name falling from his lips like it's the only thing he knows how to say—makes you feel like you're coming undone all over again.
He presses his mouth to your ear, breath hot and shaking as he fucks into you harder, deeper, each stroke dragging a wrecked little whimper from your lips.
"Tell me this is mine now," he growls, voice pure filth in your ear. "Tell me no one else gets to touch you like this, baby. Ever again."
You can't think, can't breathe, can barely get the words out between gasps.
"It's yours," you choke out, clinging to him like your life depends on it. "Only you, Harry. Fuck—only you."
You don't know how he manages to keep it together. You're falling apart with every slow, deep thrust—clutching at him like you'll float away if you don't anchor yourself to his body. He's everywhere. Filling you, surrounding you, breathing you in like you're the only thing keeping him alive.
His hands frame your face like he needs to feel all of you to believe this is real. His thumbs swipe at the damp skin under your eyes, like he's trying to catch the little gasps and wrecked sounds falling from your lips. His mouth finds your jaw, your throat, dragging open-mouthed kisses down your skin as he groans, low and breathless.
"You feel so fuckin' good," he pants, hips rocking harder now, the bed creaking with every deep push. "Could stay right here all fuckin' night, baby. Stuffed full of me... takin' every inch so good... fuck— look at you."*
His voice hits something deep in you—something raw and helpless—and your back arches off the bed like your body's chasing every word.
"You're killin' me," you gasp, barely able to hold yourself together. "Harry— please—* harder, I—fuck, I need—"*
You don't even finish. He growls, actually growls into your neck, like you've snapped whatever restraint he had left. He pulls back, grabs your hips, and slams back into you, so deep and rough you choke on a cry you can't hold in.
"Like that?" he rasps, voice shaking as his hips piston faster now, driving into you like he's making up for every second you both wasted pretending you didn't want this. "S'that what you fuckin' need, baby? You need me to ruin you properly, huh?"
You nod, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes—not from pain, not even from pleasure—but from the way he's looking at you like you're his entire fucking world.
"Yes," you whimper, breath catching on a sob you didn't know was there. "Please— ruin me—* all yours—* always—"
He groans again, shaking above you, forehead pressed to yours like he's trying to climb inside your skin. His breath fans hot across your mouth as he slows just a little, grinding deep again, hips rocking in filthy little circles that make your whole body lock up.
"That's it," he pants, "Let me feel you again, baby. Wanna feel you come all over my cock. Can you do that for me? Huh? Wanna hear you fall apart one more time."
You can barely nod, already so close you could taste it. You grab at his back, wrapping your legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper, faster, until you can't even think anymore.
"Harry— I—* fuck—* I'm gonna—"*
He doesn't stop. Doesn't let up. He keeps fucking you steady and deep, his hand sliding between your bodies, finding your clit again, rubbing fast messy circles that destroy you.
You come hard, stars bursting behind your eyes, your whole body locking up under him as you cry out his name loud enough to echo through the room.
You hear him groan so deep it's almost a snarl, feel him jerk, hips snapping faster now, losing his rhythm like he's chasing his own release.
"Where— fuck—* where do you want me, baby? Tell me—* fuck—"
Your head spins. Your body's still shaking, still buzzing, but you manage to drag him down, mouth at his ear, whispering the filthiest thing you've ever said in your life.
"Want you inside me... fill me up, Harry... please— want all of you."
He loses it. Full-body shuddering, hands gripping your hips so tight you'll probably bruise, burying himself deep with a wrecked cry as he comes inside you, hips rocking through every last pulse of it until he finally collapses on top of you, shaking and breathless.
Neither of you moves for a long time.
His body is heavy on top of you, but you don't care. You wrap your arms around him tighter, as if letting go might shatter whatever spell has just woven itself between your ribs. His breath fans hot and uneven across your neck, every exhale trembling like he's still coming down from it—like he doesn't quite know how to land.
You feel him shift slightly, just enough to brace his weight on his elbows again, careful not to crush you. His nose brushes yours as he pulls back to look at you, curls sticking to his damp forehead, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. You've never seen him like this before. Wrecked. Fragile. Wide-eyed and terrified in the best possible way.
He blinks, searching your face like he's waiting for you to wake up and realize this was a mistake.
"Are you okay?" he whispers, so quiet you almost don't hear it.
Your throat tightens. You reach up, cupping his jaw with both hands, pulling him closer until your lips brush softly over his.
"I've never been better," you breathe. "Promise."
You feel him sigh, like you've just cut every string holding him together. His forehead presses to yours again, eyes squeezing shut like he doesn't know how to say what he needs to say without falling apart.
"I—" His voice cracks. He pulls in a shaking breath. "I don't wanna ruin this. Don't wanna fuck this up."
Your heart breaks a little at how scared he sounds. Like you could somehow forget what just happened. Like you haven't already fallen so far there's no way back.
You trace your thumb along his jaw, tilting his face until he's looking at you again.
"You couldn't ruin this if you tried," you whisper. "I'm yours, Harry. I've been yours for so fucking long."
He lets out the softest sound—somewhere between a breath and a laugh—and leans in to kiss you again. This one's slower, softer. No heat, no urgency. Just yours. Just his.
You don't know how long you lie there tangled together, skin sticky, hearts pounding in sync. Long enough for the air to shift. Long enough for the weight of it all to settle over you both in the best kind of way.
When he finally rolls to his side, pulling you with him, tucking you into his chest like you belong there, you hear him murmur against your hair:
"You're not leavin' me after this, yeah?"
You smile, nose brushing his throat as you snuggle closer.
"Not a chance."
And you swear you feel him smile against your skin, arms tightening around you like he's never letting go.
In which y/n and Harry aren’t really close until y/n falls in the shower, and Harry falls in love. (9.7k words)
Harry wasn’t really doing anything when it happened. He had just been sitting in his room, trying to figure out what to do with his day.
It was still fairly early in the morning, but, since Harry was an early riser, he had already gone to the gym, showered, and made himself some pancakes. On any other day, Harry would have gone to class or done some homework – but considering it was a Saturday, Harry had no classes for the rest of the day, and the only homework he had over the weekend was a literary analysis for his Literature class that he had already finished (He had a four hour gap on Fridays between his International Political Economy and European History classes that he usually utilized to knock out a majority of his weekend assignments). Plus, he didn’t really feel like leaving the house anyway. The forecast said there was a 40% chance of rain, and who wants to go outside when the weather is bleak and dreary?
So he’s just sitting in his room, lying on his bed, and fiddling with his guitar… until he hears a thud.
A thud that really resembles the sound of someone falling. In the shower. Followed by a pained cry of his name.
prompt: it's casual, right? but god, it really doesn't feel that way
word count: 6k
warnings: subspace, lack of aftercare, angst, lack of communication
author's note:
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+
The bar was clearing out, trivia night had come to a conclusion, and everything was winding down.
The big chalkboard in the corner still displayed the final scores, a lopsided tally where “Team Niall” had tragically lost by two points.
It was Tuesday night and everyone had work the next day which meant that there was a rush through the door and left them as the last ones to filter out because they always tended to lollygag even though most of them had early mornings.
The group of friends were all saying their goodbyes.
YN stood with Georgia near the AC vent, arm linked through hers for warmth because the cold blast from above made her huddle in closer.
Hailee and Jessa were a few feet away, still laughing about the last round of questions, and how the boys were such sore losers at every turn.
Someone always tended to leave Trivia night with their feelings hurt.
Niall, Harry, and Mitch were all arguing about the question that had them lose the game.
“Why the fuck would you say Delaware?” Harry scolds as he runs his hand through his hair, a scowl that was saved for Niall and Niall alone, “It's not even a fucking city. It's a state.”
“I got confused! Delaware is the smallest state!” Niall defends putting his hands up, pinks cheek from the beer he's had.
“No, it's really fucking not. It's Rhode Island!” Harry shouts back at him with exasperation, hands thrown up in annoyance, “Come on!”
“You're off the team,” Mitch adds in, monotone and bored as he tugged his keys out from his jean pocket - slowly but obviously trying to see himself out of the argument.
“That's bullshit! We're literally named Team Niall,” He argues with wide disbelieving eyes.
“It's not hard to change the name,” Harry adds in, agreeing with Mitch, and an annoyed roll of his eyes because even though the two have been friends since diapers - they fought more than middle school girls and made up just as quickly.
“Okay, well we work tomorrow morning and have seen enough of this cat fight,” Hailee announces as she wraps her hand around Mitch’s wrist, guiding her boyfriend towards the door.
Jessa trailed behind, waving goodnight to everyone with an amused smile tugging at her lips.
Niall is mumbling about unfair treatment as they all start heading towards the door.
“You did good,” Harry manages to slip next to YN, bumping her hip and then glancing over at Georgia, “You too. I didn't know about Montana's state flower.”
“Better do some studying before next Tuesday,” Georgia quips as she throws her arm around YN, who just laughs softly.
“You did a good job too, Harry,” YN compliments as she leads Georgia towards where they parked next to each other.
“Thanks,” He replies with a slight smile, he pauses as he realizes his car is next to Niall’s on the other side of the lot, “I'll see you guys next Tuesday, yeah?”
“Yeah,” YN said, both she and Georgia giving a small wave as he headed off.
“You two should totally date,” Georgia says as soon as Harry is out of earshot, glancing back quickly to double check, “You'd be so cute together.”
YN shakes her head with an annoyed scowl towards her friend, “We both just got out of long-term relationships. I don't think that would be a good idea.”
Georgia made a dismissive sound, clicking her tongue, “Harry’s been broken up with Lauren for, what, four months? You and Ben ended things at least three ago.”
YN bit the inside of her cheek, the familiar tightness crawling up her chest, “You literally just think we should date because we’re both single.”
“And you guys would look hot together,” Georgia doesn't disagree with her accusation, “I mean…look at him. He's insanely fit. He carried four drinks with one hand!”
YN had noticed.
She wasn’t blind.
She remembered the way his hand had dwarfed the copper mug as he slid the Moscow Mule in front of her before passing out three other beer bottles.
And the size of his hands… yeah, she noticed that too.
“No, I'm not looking for a relationship and I doubt he is either,” YN reiterates as they get to their cars, “He's nice but I'm not ready to commit again.”
Georgia scoffed, pressing the button on her key fob - her car chirped and blinked to life, “Who said anything about commitment? I said a date, not a full ass wedding.”
“Goodnight, George,” YN sighed, her tone exasperated but affectionate, she unlocked her own car with a quiet beep,“I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Georgia groaned, slumping dramatically with a frown coating her features, “I’ve got that god-awful presentation. You better pretend to care.”
“Always do,” YN said with a laugh as she slipped into the driver’s seat, glad the conversation had moved on.
Her head was already too full, her thoughts spiraling the moment Harry came up.
Ben.
Just the name made her temples throb, an implosion that she was trying to avoid because it made her head hurt at least once a day, sometimes more if she thought about him for too long.
It's been three months and it's been amazing to be out of a relationship with an immature man child who got insecure when she went to trivia night so he always tagged along, needed to be included when he hated trivia and rarely ever answered correctly.
So yeah, it had been a relief.
Being single was better than babysitting a grown man’s ego.
Georgia blew her a kiss before backing out of the parking spot with a little screech of tires.
YN gave her the middle finger with a smirk before starting her own engine.
It seems like every week now she was bringing it up, trying to play matchmaker for two people who were healing from heartbreaks.
YN only knows a little about the break-up.
Lauren rarely came to trivia.
When she did, she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.
YN knew that Harry had ended it, even though it was hard—he’d said once, in a rare vulnerable moment, that he wanted someone he could build a life with.
Lauren didn’t want that.
She hadn’t gone easily either.
She’d shown up at trivia twice post-breakup, trying to win him back.
Each time, the group acted like they weren’t watching as Harry gently pulled her aside, voice low and kind, guiding her to the other side of the bar before walking her out to her car.
Ben had shown up a few times too, clumsy and bitter, trying to stake some kind of claim.
That hadn’t ended as well as with Lauren.
It didn’t end quietly because Niall and Mitch had to guide him out of the bar while Harry stood between them to make sure that Ben didn’t approach her again - acting as her makeshift bodyguard.
So now Georgia was rooting for two broken people to get together—not necessarily out of romance, but maybe just because the group missed their spark.
Missed the way YN used to laugh, the way Harry used to be sharper, quicker.
+ few minutes later +
“Hips up, come on. You’ve been teasing all night,” Harry grunts, voice low and rough the moment the backseat door thuds closed behind them.
There’s no hesitation—he’s already on her.
His hands at the waist of her skirt, fumbling big hands trying to find the zipper as he bullies her further into the space until her back hits the opposite door.
YN has to remind herself that she's just romanticizing this whole situation because it's her first time having a sexual relationship with someone she's not dating.
She convinces herself the excitement is what makes their chemistry so magnetic and nothing else but she knows she never felt like this with Ben or any other partner.
“Wasn't teasing,” YN manages to get out but she was already breathless, eager in a way she's never been with sex, her thighs dampening was a new sensation.
“No?” His tone is almost mocking, but laced with something darker—something feral, his fingers finally land on the zipper at her side, tugging it slowly down with infuriating precision, “Then your cunt isn’t needy? Am I reading the signs wrong?”
Her breath hitches.
God, she should be annoyed.
She should be offended.
But the filth coming from his mouth only fuels the heat already pooling low in her belly.
The way he says it—so confident, so cocky lights her up in a way she didn’t know words could.
“What signs?” YN pushes back because their back and forth only build up her arousal even further, searching for more dirty words out of his mouth.
Harry leans in, his mouth a breath away from her ear.
His words send a full-body shiver down her spine.
“The way you watched my mouth all night,” Harry murmurs, voice thick and gravelly.
His fingers press insistently into the soft, plush flesh just above the waistband of her tight skirt, “Saw you clench your thighs when I took off my coat.”
“You’re full of yourself,” YN manages, but the protest comes out barely above a whisper.
Her fingers curl into the fabric of his jacketat his shoulder, grounding herself in him because it still doesn't feel real—being able to touch him like this, have him this close.
There’s something that happens when she’s with Harry—this overwhelming impatience, a hunger that feels heavier, more intense than lust.
Like if she doesn’t get his hands on her, in her, she might actually combust.
“So you didn't want this? Haven't been looking forward to Trivia night for this?” Harry has this cocky smile on his face, his fingers haven't move at all from her waist and it was making her tick.
“Didn’t cross my mind once,” YN bites out, teeth clenched, her toes curling inside her boots, heels digging into the expensive leather of the car seat.
Her body is aching to be touched—every inch of her buzzing with restless need but she’s trying to keep control of the dynamic.
Barely.
Harry narrows his eyes slightly, amusement and heat flickering behind them as he begins to pull back.
The shift is subtle, but she feels the loss instantly—his weight, his warmth.
And that just won’t do.
Before he can move another inch, her other hand snaps up to grab at his jacket, fisting the fabric roughly and yanking him back toward her.
Their lips collide in a kiss so heated it steals the breath from her lungs.
His hand flies up to cup the side of her face, fingers splayed against her cheek and jaw, holding her in place like he’s claiming her.
The way he kisses her—hungry and messy and unrelenting, it feels like he’s trying to devour her, like he earned her mouth, like he owns it.
“Admit it,” Harry’s mouth is still against hers, barely separating to speak before he's dipping his tongue back into her mouth like he can't help himself.
“No,” YN chases after his tongue as he pulls back, trying to follow his lips because they were addictive and she wanted more.
Harry doesn’t let her take.
He sits back just enough, his body still caging her in, but now his eyes are on fire.
That same molten look she’s only ever seen when he’s like this—turned on and completely focused.
“Why are you being difficult, honey?” Harry hums as he moves to cup her knees where they're bent around him, ghosting down her right, and dancing along the hem of her skirt, “I know what you want. Don't need to be ashamed of it.”
YN feels a swoop on her stomach, the way he spoke never managed to not get her even more turned on for him, and the whole dynamic of feeling this aroused and playful was new.
“Then give it to me,” YN huffs out as she hitches her hips impatiently, blinking down at him - she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.
He reaches up and captures one of her wrists, the same one curled tight into his jacket.
Gently but deliberately, he pries it free and guides it downward.
With his other hand, he hikes her skirt up, bunching the fabric at her hips until she’s fully exposed, her thighs spread, her breath trembling in her throat.
Then he moves her hand between her legs.
It takes her breath away—literally.
Her gasp cuts sharply through the close air of the backseat, a startled, needy sound as her own fingertips brush the soaked heat of her thong.
Harry doesn’t look away from her, not for a second.
She can’t help the shudder that racks through her when her fingers press more firmly to her clit.
It’s not the same as when it’s his hands on her, his mouth.
But it still eases the throbbing, even if just a little.
“Feel nice, sweet girl?” Harry nearly croons, it sounds fonder than it should for what they're doing, what they are, and aren't to each other, “You're filthy, touching yourself like this in front of me.”
There’s something unbearably hot about the way he guides her, how he’s using her fingers to pleasure herself the way he wants.
She opens her mouth to throw the insult back at him, to call him filthy, but all that escapes is a whimper as he withdraws her hand suddenly.
He holds it between them, his grip gentle but commanding.
Her slick glistens on her fingertips under the dim lights filtering through the foggy windows.
“Not wet for me?” Harry asks, cocking a brow with mock innocence.
“No,” she replies with a bratty edge, her chin lifting in defiance.
She’s proud of the attitude—but it doesn’t last long.
Because without missing a beat, Harry brings her hand up to her face, rubbing her soaked fingertips across her lips until her own arousal glosses them.
He doesn’t stop there.
Harry leans in and presses his mouth to hers again, tongue sweeping over the same place he’d just marked with her slick.
It’s possessive, greedy.
He licks into her mouth like he’s starving, and the kiss nearly sends her reeling.
“Please, I was wet for you all night,” YN finally gives in, “Was thinking about this.”
There’s no point in pretending anymore.
She knows how patient he can be.
Harry doesn’t rush.
He waits, teases, stretches her thin until she’s begging—and she always breaks first.
“About what? Getting your needy cunt touched?” Harry laughs meanly , albeit pleased that she relented because then he can really start being a menace, “Do you think about it all week? Do you think about me all week?”
She should say no.
She should lie.
Because she does think about him, not just the sex.
His laugh, his stupid jokes, the way he looks when he’s concentrating on a trivia question.
But she doesn’t tell him that.
She can’t.
“I want to come,” YN says instead because it seems safer than telling him the truth, she bucks her hips upwards towards his center but doesn't make contact.
“And I want you to behave,” Harry grunts with annoyance in his tone, hands coming to press her hips back down with a harshness that she hadn't had from previous partners.
She loved it.
She lets out a soft moan at the contact, even as frustration builds.
She wishes they weren’t crammed into the backseat of his car.
Wishes she could be stretched out on his bed, bare and unhurried, with his full weight pressing her into the mattress.
“I’ll be good,” YN says, her voice gone kitten-soft and breathy.
It surprises even her, the way it sounds—submissive and sweet.
Not like her at all.
“Show me what I want to see then. Be a good girl,” Harry sits back, his eyes tracing over her body, and resting down on the thick of her thigh - squeezing.
YN briefly wonders if this is how Harry had been with Lauren - dominant but attentive, and that's a twist of jealousy in her stomach that she'd rather not consider right now.
The skirt is already bunched at her waist, fabric wrinkled and forgotten.
Her hand trembles slightly as she dips back down to her center, hooking the gusset of her thong around her fingers and tugging it aside.
It was nerve-wracking to expose the most private part of herself to the man she was crushing on so deeply, had been for so long, and even though he's seen her like this before - it still hadn't become any less intimidating.
“Fuck,” Harry curses when she does so, his hand coming down to almost curiously roll her swollen, hard bud until his thumb, “So puffy f’me. Never seen a prettier pussy.”
And it's probably just a line, he has said those words to the girls that came before her but it still boosted her ego quite a bit.
Emboldened, YN arches her hips into his touch, a pretty moan slipping out as her head tilts back, exposing the soft, pale column of her throat.
“Desperate for my touch, huh?” Harry rasps, ghosting down to tease around her entrance, not dipping in but gathering the wetness there.
“If you don't make me come soon, i'll go back in that bar and get Will,” YN threans with her own smile because she knew he wouldn't like that, “He would get me off.”
Will was one of the DJ’s who ran trivia and he had taken quite a liking to YN, had made it known, and had asked her out a few times.
Harry didn't outwardly admit jealousy but would make snarky comments about how pathetic Will was, how annoying he was, and how he just needed to do his job.
His expression hardens instantly, brows furrowing, top lip curling.
“You think Will could get you off?” He snaps, glancing up from where his fingers still hover just shy of her cunt, “That fucker doesn’t even know where the clit is. You’d be getting licked out until next year.”
“It’d still be quicker than how long it takes you to get me off,” YN shoots back, chin tilted.
Her pulse is thundering in her ears—because she’s poking the bear, and she knows it.
Harry’s easy to rile when it comes to showing off.
He never backs down when his pride is challenged.
His jaw ticks once, eyes narrowing.
Then, in a flash, he's had enough.
“Stop fuckin’ running your mouth,” Harry hisses finally hitting his breaking point, it was impressive because he rarely got to that point this quickly.
Before she can fire off another comeback, Harry grips her hips and yanks her down the seat, until she’s lying flat, skirt bunched at her waist, legs parted.
The leather squeaks under her, echoing in the silence of the car.
His hands grips her ass, firm and rough, pulling her pelvis up until she arches toward him—and then he’s there, his mouth crashing onto her with no warning.
YN cries out as his lips close around her clit, tugging it into his mouth with punishing accuracy.
Her body jolts, trying to flinch back from the intense pressure, but his grip tightens—keeping her locked in place and leaving her no room to wriggle away.
Harry’s nose nudges against her mound, his lips and tongue relentless, like a man feral.
He barely comes up for air, working her over with deep, rhythmic licks and suction that feel like they’re pulling the pleasure straight from the source.
YN reaches down to grab at him, fingers tangled in his curls as she pushes into his mouth before trying to shy away.
He moves one hand from her ass, thumbing over her seam before he's nudging two fingers in until he can pet at the front of her inner walls, scissoring them to make her feel the light, welcome stretch.
“Ye-yeah,” YN can only gasp as the stimulation grows more quickly than she's used to, his fingers and mouth are so knowledgeable , know exactly what their doing, “Oh, I'm clo-close, H.”
His eyes flick up to her, barely visible from this angle, but the glint in them is unmistakable—dark, electric.
His mouth never lets up, tongue lapping at her, lips sealing around her clit again in a rhythm that has her thighs trembling.
His fingers pump into her at a steady, sure pace, and he knows she’s right at the edge.
And then he stops.
Just like that.
He lets her drop back to the leather seat, slick and desperate, the cool air hitting her exposed skin.
She blinks in disbelief, mouth open in shock, hips twitching in search of the sensation that vanished too fast, and watches as he rubs his face against the calf that was hooked over his shoulder.
Harry’s the filthy one, really, because he runs his tongue over where he'd just wiped off her arousal without any shame.
“No, no,” YN complains desperately, she had been so fucking close, tryin to hold it at that delicious almost there bliss for as long as possible and it was starting to fizzle, “No, I didn't come- Harry, I didn't-”
Harry comes to cup her jaw, effectively shutting her up with a thumb pressed roughly against her lip.
“If only our friends knew what a mouthy, greedy lil’ thing you are,” Harry admonishes as he tugs down her bottom lip, his nose nearly brushing hers, “I know you didn’t come, silly girl. I didn’t want you to.”
“But why?” YN snaps at him, the sensitivity was continuing to fizzle out like a sparkler come to the end of it’s life, and it left this unsettled, uncomfortable ache that she was never used to feeling because if a partner was getting her that close - she didn’t have the luxury to edge or she wouldn’t get it back then she just wouldn’t come that time when they had sex.
Harry doesn’t answer with words at first.
His hand drops sharply to her inner thigh, a slap of dominance that makes her yelp—not from pain exactly, but the sting of surprise, of being handled like that.
“Because I said so,” Harry retorts lowly, teeth clenched as his brow draw further together, “I don’t think you’ve earned it. Not sweet ‘nough for me yet.”
“I’m sweet, I’m sweet,” YN knows she sounds like a begging puppy but he was the only person who brought of this desperation in her, this unhinged beahvior where she had no shame because she wanted him so much more than she wanted to keep her dignity.
Harry’s face softens—just a little.
His gaze travels over her flushed face, her trembling body, her wide, needy eyes.
Something fond flickers in his expression, just for a beat, and it makes her chest ache.
“Are you?” He murmurs, voice gone almost gentle in contrast. “How are you gonna show me?”
YN nudges forward to steal a kiss, relieved when he allows it but only for a moment before he’s biting down on her lip as punishment.
Her hand comes down to his center, gripping at him through the tight denim of his jeans, and it made her confidence skyrocket when she felt how rock hard he was for her, twitching underneath her palm at the unexpected touch.
“I’ll suck you,” YN tells him, it’s nowhere near the filth that he spills out but it still felt so foreign rolling off of her tongue, “Please, I want you in my mouth.”
“You’re already getting sweeter,” Harry croons as he bats her hand away, moving to unbutton his jeans, and shove them as well as his briefs down his thighs - he was intimidating, the size - the length and girth of him was enough to stretch the corner of her lips and make them ache, she remembers how it felt last week when she had swallowed him down and made her eyes water.
They’d only been doing this for a few weeks, with a break in between during the holidays when there was no trivia, and she still wasn’t use to handle someone as well endowed as him, her eyes had gone wide the first time she’d seen how pretty he was and he had given her this sleazy, proud smile at the time.
Harry wraps a hand around the base of his cock, thumb brushing the slick head.
Her breath hitches.
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t ask.
That she’d wait for him to initiate.
But they hadn’t had penetrative sex yet, sure they’d only hooked up in his car a total of three times now but it hadn’t come up, he hadn’t mentioned even one word of it yet, and she realizes just how much she has been craving him, having him fill her up in a way she’d never felt before.
“C’mon, darling. You’re been so good for me now,” Harry hums as he thumbs over the ruddy, wet tip, it was welcoming, tempting.
“No, I -” YN cuts off because she wants to stop herself, she told herself she wouldn’t, “Want you to fuck me.”
Harry’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, his composed facial expression fades momentarily with the surprise of her words, and his hand stops on his length, “Fuck you?”
“Yes,” YN tries to sound sure of herself but it’s faltering, because she’s not.
“And you’ve earned that?” Harry prompts, his cool demeanor right back in place, the shock disappearing just as fast as it had happened, “Or are you being selfish and trying to get out of sucking cock now that you’ve gotten your own?”
YN’s brow furrow, “I didn’t come though.”
Harry snickers, boyishly because he’s getting off of this, “I forgot, your mouthiness has me distracted.”
And looking back, YN thinks this is what people talk about when they use the term subspace.
She’s never felt like this—never felt safe enough to let go.
Because she’d never experienced it before this point but something in her just breaks, she feels floaty and unashamed - there’s no insecurity, no worries about how desperate she’s acting because all she can thinking about is Harry.
It’s an arousal that clouds anything logical and it feels like she’s in the clouds, drifting and weightless, and that’s she’s fully relying on him to take control.
Tears prickle in the corners of her eyes, not from sadness, but from sheer overwhelm.
“Want it,” she whispers, voice cracking, “Please. I’ll s—”
“Whoa, whoa,” Harry hushes softly, his tone is more like his normal cadence and not that deep, horny rasp that he gets, “Honey, are you alright?”
YN swallows, her fingers dug into his arms, “Just want t’come.”
Harry laughs quietly, it’s one of the nicest sounds that she’s ever heard, and right now it seems like the most beautiful music to her ears.
“Okay, pretty,” Harry simpers, his demeanor shifts into something more careful, more cautious as he helps pull her up, “Not many ways to do it comfortably in here.”
Invite me back, please.
Is her needy thought, she wants to be spread out on his bed.
But his next words shut down that hope.
“Will you ride me?”
It’s not really a question.
He’s already guiding her, and she follows without fussing.
She doesn’t have time to mourn—he’s sitting back, pulling her into his lap, and her thighs bracket his hips as she lowers down, the thick, flushed head of him brushing against her folds.
The sight of it is obscene.
She wishes she could take a picture, frame it, live inside this moment where he’s so hard and she’s so desperate, spread open and slick with need.
YN’s impatient, she’s never felt so needy in her life, and she couldn’t believe they were actually about to have sex because even when she was with Ben - she fantasized about this more than she’d ever willingly admit to anyone, especially him.
YN goes to grip at him, to guide him but he bumps her out of the way to do it himself, his other hand comes up to cup her cheek, “Tell me what you want.”
“You, want you,” YN babbles, willing to say just about anything if that means that he’ll stop drawing this out.
Harry shakes his head, his expression suddenly serious, and voice more firm, “No, YN. What do you want me to do?”
“Fuck me, I want you to fuck me - oh,” YN cuts out with a high-pitched moan because he’s painting himself down towards to press into her folds, thumping against her clit once before he’s tucking himself inside, and once his tip has breached his hands move to her hips to start moving her to sit down on him.
And it stretches, more intense than it’s ever felt with her partners in the past but it wasn’t painful, it was just a new sensation of accommodating, and he was bringing her down slowly, pushing her skirt higher up so he could grip her bare hips.
“Jesus,” Harry grunts out, it’s louder than he’s been since they had piled into his car, startling in the otherwise quiet space apart from their heavy breathing.
YN’s eyes widen, glancing up at him, and she’s knows she must just be moony-eyed, looking at him like he was the best thing in the world, her hair was falling into her eyes, startening to dampen as it got hotter, more humid in the confined area.
Harry lets out a low chuckle, his hand come to pet the hair back and behind her eye, voice hushed and sweet as maple syrup, “I’m sorry, sorry honey, didn’t mean to startle you. You just feel so good.”
“Yeah?” YN blinks at him, it was hard to keep anything straight but he was filling her up so fucking well that she didn’t feel like she was about to rip at the seams anymore.
Harry laughs again, happy and private as he bumps his forehead against hers, “Yeah.”
YN doesn’t do much of the work, her limbs are jello and the way Harry utilizes his grip on her hips has him doing the heavy lifting, hitting her spot dead on every single time, and his rhytmn isn’t fast but it’s steady, consistent, and hard.
There’s tears trickling down her cheeks as her orgasm starts to build again, faster than expected, and she actually feels a swoop of disappointment because it she doesn’t want it to be over when it feels like it really just began.
Her clit brushes up against his pubic bone, smearing her slick there as it gives her the perfect friction, and her fingertips are digging into the skin of his clothed shoulder because he was still fully dressed and that didn’t feel quite right but it was too late now.
“Can feel you squeezin’ on me,” Harry hums as he brings her down and sits her there, stops her hips from moving as he plants his feet and starts to thrust up into her, “Are you close, sweetheart? Do you need help?”
YN shakes her head, sniffling slightly as she rolls her hips into his thrusts, “Don’t wan’na.”
Harry doesn’t stop all together but he slows his rhythm, “Don’t want to what, honey? Talk to me.”
“Don’t want to come, don’t want it to be over,” YN admits as she blinks through the film at him and the look he has on his face, well it’s one that she’s never seen before but her brain isn’t in the place to be able to decipher that right now.
“I’ll give you another,” Harry promises, his hands slipping down to grip her bum and pull her even fruther into his lap until their chests are pressing together, tilting his head up to bite at the underside of her jaw, “I’ve earned a squeeze though, haven’t I? Get me wet, darling.” And YN wishes those words didn’t get to her as easily as they did but it works, her hilts jittling to a stop as she grinds harshly into him, head falling backwards, and he starts sucking a mark right at the center of her throat that she can’t even start to be mad about.
“You’re so pretty, never seen anything prettier on my cock,” Harry groans as he picks up his thrusts, she was sensitive, it didn’t feel as pleasant but she still wanted it, wanted to feel how much he wanted her, and he was throbbing, “Fuck, where do you -”
“In me,” YN’s hand cups the nape of his neck, it felt like there was no other thoughts in her mind.
“Fuckin’ christ,” Harry responds as he squeezes her backside hard enough that she feels pinpricks of pain, knowing it was going to leave marks, and being happy about that, a memento from the best sex of her life, “How’d I get so lucky to get you on me?”
YN doesn’t have time to respond, wasn’t going to anyways when she feels him start to pulse, twitch as he starts to come, his hips slowing to a sluggish pace as he starts to come down from it, panting as sweat beads on his forehead - it was hot, sticky in the car now after all the physical activity.
Harry moves quicker than she can keep up with, plopping her back onto the seat and pinning her against the door as he wedges himself between her thighs.
It’s filthy, it’s something she’s never had anyone do but he swipes at her entrance, tasting himself before he’s wrapping his lips around her bud, and starting that tortuous pulsing that he’d done prior, only this time it doesn’t take more than a minute because she’s already hypersensitive from the first orgasm and he doesn’t tease.
No, instead he rides her through it, chasing after her like a starving man when she rears her hips away, and whines after she’s rode it out, “Too much.”
She was still floating, still teary as Harry wipes her up with a clean gym towel he had in his duffel, hands her an unopened bottle water before helping hero ut of the backseat, and walking her towards her car with a hand on her lower back.
He gives her a hug that seems far to platonic for what they just did, things suddenly awkward like they have been after every single time they’ve done this, and then he’s opening her car door and waving ‘bye’ before he’s heading back to his own.
YN doesn’t know why she starts crying as soon as she pulls out of the lot, why she has to park on a side road because her brain isn’t cooperating, and the pit of emptiness in her chest that wasn’t there prior was now gnawing away at her.
prompt: a look into h and yn's relationship/ how it started
word count: 4.5k
warnings: body shaming, bullying/teasing, toxic relationships, infidelity
PART ONE
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---
YN didn’t know why she felt so off the entire next day at work.
There was no specific trigger she could point to—no hangover, no fight, no tangible reason for the discomfort prickling beneath her skin.
But she could link it to knowing that she felt it instantly after getting her own car after saying ‘goodbye’ to Harry.
The moment she stepped into the office that morning, everything felt... misaligned.
Her usual rhythm was gone.
Tasks she could normally do with her eyes closed took longer, her mind drifting constantly, and her body felt disconnected, almost like she was watching herself go through the motions from a few feet above.
It didn’t take long for Georgia to notice.
After her own presentation mid-morning, Georgia made a detour into YN’s office.
She leaned casually against the doorframe, but there was a suspicion in the way she was looking at YN.
“You’re not hungover, are you?” She asked, tilting her head slightly, “You alright?”
YN managed a quick nod, followed by a small, forced smile,“Yeah. Just… tired, I guess.”
It wasn’t a lie, not exactly.
She was tired—but more in the emotional, soul-crushing way than physically.
She was exhausted by the whirlwind of last night, the closeness, the intimacy, the thrill—and now, this strange emotional hangover she couldn’t seem to shake.
She wished she could tell Georgia everything.
She always told her everything.
Georgia was her best friend, her rock, her sounding board through every high and low.
Maybe if she shared what had happened, what was happening, Georgia could help her make sense of why she felt like this.
But it was too deep now.
Too far gone.
What she had with Harry didn’t feel like something she could hand over for analysis just yet.
It was special, wrapped in something soft and untouchable.
So she kept it quiet, close to her chest.
Part of it was selfishness.
She wanted to keep it hers for just a little while longer.
And another part—the bigger one, maybe was fear.
Fear that once other people knew, once it left the cocoon of secrecy, it would change.
Shift and maybe even end.
Because if she admitted it out loud, it would suddenly feel real.
And if it was real, it could break.
The restlessness hadn’t left her all day.
It sat in her chest like an itch she couldn’t reach, an unsettled fluttering that made her check her phone more often than she should, hoping for a text, a message, anything.
She felt like she couldn’t breathe properly until she saw him again.
Did he enjoy their night?
Did she do a good job?
It was all this anxiety spurring around whether or not she had pleased him when she knew she did, she had clear evidence dripping down her thighs on the drive home that he had but it was still eating at her because she just wanted to be good for him and she hoped that she had been.
Georgia wouldn’t tell anyone if YN asked her not to.
That wasn’t the issue but Georgia—subtle as she could be was always observant.
Always catching things others didn’t.
If she knew, even subconsciously, she’d start noticing things.
Little glances, lingering touches, moments where Harry and YN looked at each other for just a second too long.
She’d piece it together, not because she meant to but because she couldn't help it.
And YN didn’t want anyone looking at them like that.
Especially not Georgia.
Because Georgia would remind her that this might not be a good idea.
That despite all the chemistry, all the history, there were things at play here that could make everything fall apart.
Georgia knew YN had always had a little thing for Harry.
It was an old joke among their group, really—a harmless little crush that had bloomed years ago when they first met.
Back when Harry was still dating Lauren, and YN was still tangled up in things with Ben.
She never admitted the depth of it, how often he crossed her mind, how her stomach flipped every time he smiled in her direction.
It faded in and out, when things were going alright with Ben - she thought much less about him, maybe fleeting or admiring how pretty his smile is from afar but nothing more than that.
When things were going poorly with Ben, that’s when she would be hyper aware of what a gentleman Harry was.
The way Harry would pull out chairs for Lauren, the way he always seemed to be attuned to her needs—refilling her drink without being asked, checking on her without being annoying.
The way he touched her, casually but consistently, that steady arm around her shoulders, the quiet presence at her side.
YN found herself wondering what it felt like to be in her place.
Not to be Lauren.
Just… to be his.
She told herself it was normal.
Everyone had crushes.
But there was one night, one very specific night, that changed everything.
It was almost five months ago now.
A week before Harry and Lauren split up.
About a month before she and Ben finally fell apart completely.
They were at Jessa’s parents’ vacation home on the lake, just a few hours out of the city.
It was a stunning place—, big windows overlooking the water, and a wrap-around deck where the group gathered for drinks most nights.
YN just wanted to go home.
The whole thing was supposed to be carefree -swimming, drinking, boating, lazy afternoons in hammocks and loud, wine-drunk dinners.
A friend group reunion where everyone could unwind.
But all YN could feel was the constant pressure in her chest—the heaviness that came from being surrounded by happy, touchy couples while her own relationship teetered on the edge of collapse.
Ben had been picking fights since they pulled out of the driveway, and YN was no longer biting her tongue.
She was too tired to pretend anymore, every word between them was tinged with irritation.
Harry, though… Harry was different.
He had a calmness to him that put her at ease, over the last couple years, they'd gotten close in a quiet way— just shared conversations and glances that lingered too long.
They didn’t text every day, didn’t hang out one-on-one, but when they talked, it was deeper than anything she ever managed with Ben.
Their conversations felt safe and real, like being seen without having to ask for it.
It was the first night at the lake house.
A big drinking game had started on the back deck—flip cup, then beer pong—but YN and Harry had quietly opted out after the first round, drifting away from the table.
It wasn’t intentional.
Their seats were just next to each other.
Then one topic turned into another, and the game quickly became background noise.
He had a few beers in him.
Not drunk, but loosened enough to speak more freely than usual.
They started with her promotion—she was newly promoted at work, and Harry was genuinely interested, asking thoughtful questions about what it meant, what she wanted to do with it.
Then the conversation shifted, he admitted, almost shyly, how overwhelmed he was with his business, how being self-employed, with no employees, meant that every responsibility was his—and that sometimes, the weight of it crushed him a little.
He got quieter, more serious, as he spoke about his mom, about how she couldn’t afford a medication she needed a few years back, and how that moment lit something in him.
That was when he knew he needed to build something sustainable—not just for himself, but to be able to take care of her.
The way he talked about her was so soft, protective, grateful—it nearly undid YN.
Her eyes prickled with tears she didn’t want to explain.
It was rare, so rare, to see a man speak so openly and lovingly about his mother.
The game was wrapping up, noise and movement shifted their way.
Ben was slowly stumbling toward her, drink in hand.
Lauren was making her way toward Harry, too, giggling and clearly far too drunk, her voice shrill even before she got close.
And that’s when Harry said it—quiet, like it slipped out without permission.
“Thanks for listening. I can’t talk to Lauren like this.”
YN blinked at him, caught off guard, a response was forming on her tongue—What? Talk about your feelings? but she swallowed it.
Instead, she leaned over and squeezed his knee gently, a reassurance, “You can talk to me anytime, Harry.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her.
There was a sadness there she hadn’t expected.
His hand, warm and steady, wrapped around hers, “You're too sweet, you know that?”
She barely had time to process it before Lauren practically collapsed into his lap, laughing and wrapping her arms around him.
YN pulled her hand back immediately, heart skipping.
Lauren didn’t notice—too drunk, too loud, too focused on getting Harry’s attention.
But YN noticed.
And so did Harry.
+
The next day, the heat was vicious.
Most of the group had migrated down to the lake to cool off, but the core crew—Mitch, Hailee, Georgia, Jessa, Niall, Harry, and Ben—had stayed back at the house pool.
Lauren had tried to coax Harry to join her and her friends at the lake, but he’d refused, gently but firmly.
YN had watched the tension build in Lauren’s posture before she stormed off with a passive-aggressive comment under her breath.
Harry’s jaw tightened, she saw the way he stared after her like he wanted to shout something—but didn’t.
Instead, he just turned back to the pool and slipped into the water like nothing had happened.
YN and Ben hadn’t been having a good morning.
He’d woken her up—twice trying to initiate sex even after she told him no.
She was exhausted, emotionally and physically, and had made a snide comment about his "functioning hand" and the lotion in the bathroom which sparked a meltdown.
He slammed the bathroom door, only to storm out moments later, furious that she hadn’t chased after him.
It was always like that—she was either cruel for ignoring him or manipulative for engaging.
She was so tired of the drama, of walking on eggshells, of being made to feel like she was impossible to love.
She didn’t want to be here.
No, she would much rather be at her own apartment and away from all the alcohol, all the mean girls, and most importantly she wanted to be away from her own boyfriend which was pathetic.
She didn’t want to think about how he'd casually mentioned engagement the night before, and how she’d had to fight the urge to physically gag at the idea.
YN was at the point of knowing that she needed to break up with him, she thought about it everyday but hesitated constantly because she didn’t want to do with the meltdown that he would have, the messiness that would be their breakup because he was convinced that they were going to get married.
But it was fine.
At some point while everyone was chatting, Harry swam up beside her, casual, but with serious eyes—as he asked, “Alright?”
YN nodded subtly, but she knew it didn’t match her demeanor—her body was tense, her jaw tight, and she hadn’t managed even the faintest smile.
But before she could answer, Niall was yelling something at Harry, pulling his attention away, and by the time he turned back to ask again, YN had already swum off—wanting to avoid the conversation entirely.
-
Someone decided that it would be a good idea to play chicken.
YN was perched on Ben’s shoulders, legs wrapped around his neck awkwardly for balance.
Hailee was on Mitch’s.
It was chaotic and loud—everyone laughing, cheering, the water sloshing around them in waves.
YN was laughing too, even if it felt a little forced, until suddenly—she toppled off Ben’s shoulders.
One second she was upright, and the next she was plunging under the surface, her mouth open in a surprised gasp that filled with water.
She came up sputtering, blinking chlorine from her eyes, heart pounding.
Something didn’t feel right.
Then the cold hit her chest, bare skin where there should have been fabric.
Her bikini top was gone.
Instinctively, her hands flew to her breasts, trying to cover as much as she could.
And there was Ben grinning like an idiot, waving her neon pink bikini top in the air like it was some kind of sick trophy.
He let out a loud, mocking catcall, “Wooo! There are the girls!”
YN flinched in horror, the noise drawing attention to her.
When she turned toward him, she saw the glint in his eye—playful, smug, and entirely unkind.
“Ben, stop,” She squeaked, voice cracking as she reached for the top with one hand, still desperately trying to shield herself with the other, “Please, give it back.”
Her chest was half-exposed, at least one nipple visible, and the realization made her stomach turn.
“What do I get for giving it back?” Ben teased, his voice boyish and cruel.
He laughed as he held the top just out of her reach, standing a head taller than her in the water.
It was the kind of joke a schoolyard bully would make—mean-spirited, immature, humiliating.
Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes.
She felt small.
Exposed.
Powerless.
Her boyfriend—the person who was supposed to protect her, make her feel safe was the one putting her through this.
He didn’t care that other people could see her, didn’t care that she was clearly distressed.
And then, like the final punchline to his awful little joke, he whipped the bikini top out of the pool and flung it toward the grass, where it landed in a limp, fluorescent pile.
That was it.
Tears were streaming freely now—hot with embarrassment and shame.
No one was laughing anymore.
She heard someone mutter under their breath, quiet but cutting.
“That’s kind of fucked up.”
It was Niall.
And then, everything happened fast.
Water splashed violently as Harry stormed across the pool, his expression thunderous.
His jaw was clenched, chest heaving slightly as he shoved Ben back with both hands, nearly knocking him off balance.
“What the fuck is your issue?” He roared, loud enough that it echoed.
Ben stumbled, caught off guard, arms flailing for balance, “Jesus, relax—”
But Harry was already turning away from him, walking through the water toward YN.
She froze.
She’d never seen him this angry—never even close.
It was intense, nearly frightening in its rawness but when he reached her, his expression shifted—anger still simmering beneath the surface, but his voice was calm and firm.
“Get out of the pool,” He said, not a question, “Walk in front of me.”
She knew she looked pitiful—her soaked hair clinging to her cheeks, red-rimmed eyes, lips trembling as she tried to keep her arms folded tightly over her chest.
“Look the other fuckin’ way!” Harry snapped over his shoulder at the group.
His hand pressed gently to her lower back, guiding her forward with quiet urgency.
Her cheeks were hot and flushed, not just from shame, but from the self-consciousness she’d carried for so long—her chest was small, her nipples puffy in a way Ben had often joked about.
She hated that people had seen her like this, hated that it had happened in front of him.
Harry steered her to the side of the pool where the lounge chairs were, grabbed his crumpled t-shirt from a cushion, and without a word, pulled it gently over her head.
He held it carefully so that she was covered the entire time, only letting go when her arms were through the sleeves and the oversized fabric draped over her hips.
“Thank you,” She sniffled, voice shaky, weak.
Her cheeks burned hotter.
She didn’t know if she was more embarrassed that people had seen the most insecure part of her body… or that her boyfriend had been the one to expose it, to ridicule her when she was vulnerable.
It was overwhelming.
It was shameful.
Harry’s voice was soft again, quieter now. “I ca—”
“I’m, uh…” She cut in, shaking her head, trying to keep her voice even, it cracked anyway, “I’m just going to go to my room for a bit.”
He didn’t get a chance to respond.
She was already scurrying off, the hem of his shirt clinging to her wet skin as she fled.
-
Ben followed eventually.
His apology was weak at best.
More of a backhanded dismissal—mumbling things like, “You can’t take a joke,” and “Sorry you don’t have a sense of humor.”
The cherry on top: “They’re just tits.”
YN kicked him out twice.
She didn’t show her face the rest of the day.
By the time Ben returned to the room to get ready for dinner, she hadn’t moved from the bed.
Her back was to him, knees drawn up toward her chest beneath the covers, the TV playing some trashy reality show on low volume.
This wasn’t how she’d imagined her vacation.
Ben came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and an annoyed scowl on his face.
“Why aren’t you getting ready? The dinner reservation’s at seven. Everyone’s going.”
“I don’t feel like it,” YN said softly, voice flat.
She didn’t look at him.
Ben huffed like he was the one being inconvenienced, “Are you seriously still throwing a temper tantrum about earlier?”
She swallowed down the hurt, tried to steady the anger swirling just beneath her skin, “I said I don’t feel like it.”
“Whatever,” He muttered, grabbing a shirt from his suitcase, “I don’t want you to come if you’re going to have a piss-poor attitude anyway. Fucking bullshit. You always manage to find something wrong.”
-
The house was empty.
Everyone had gone out to dinner.
YN stayed behind.
Eventually, after some mindless comfort TV and a generous handful of junk food, she started to feel the tight grip on her chest begin to loosen.
One of her favorite things to do was go for a night swim—when the sun was setting, and the sky turned neon orange and pink, and the air was still warm but quiet.
So she changed into a fresh bathing suit, assuming her old top was still out on the grass where it had landed, and made her way outside.
The pool was still.
Peaceful.
Exactly what she needed.
She brought a book with her, propping her elbows on the edge of the pool as she read.
“S’that book any good?”
YN screams, a girlish high-pitched yelp because when the fuck did Harry appear?
He was standing towards the shallow end of the pool, still in his short swim shorts and a fresh shirt.
“Jesus,” YN puts a hand on her chest, “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Harry’s mouth curved into a soft smile, eyes crinkling with amusement.
“Sorry, darling,” he said gently, voice teasing but careful, his steps slow as he approached the edge of the pool.
His voice was warm—teasing, but careful.
Darling.
He’d called that a few times when they’d have private conversations but never in front of others.
“What are you doing here? Why didn’t you go to dinner?” YN asks with confusion, she does a quick glance around and doesn’t see Lauren or anyone else for that matter.
Harry eased down beside her, slipping his feet into the water.
“Lauren and I weren’t getting along,” He admitted, watching the ripples curl away from his ankles, “I needed a break. She wasn’t too happy about earlier.”
YN wanted to point out that he hadn’t even spent any of the day with her and he needed a break already.
YN’s brows pinched. “Earlier?”
He let out a dry, humorless laugh and shook his head, “Yeah. Georgia told her what happened. She told me I overstepped, that I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Then she asked if I saw your tits.”
YN rolled her eyes, the sound more tired than annoyed, “Did you tell her not to worry? That there’s nothing to see anyway?”
Harry’s eyes snapped to hers, his jaw tightening, “Why would you talk about yourself like that?”
She glanced away, shoulders shrinking in on themselves, feeling put on the spot suddenly, “It’s just the truth. I already feel insecure about them on a good day. And today…” She trailed off, swallowing hard, “It felt like Ben was trying to humiliate me on purpose. Like he wanted to spotlight what I hate most about my body.”
Harry snorted—a sudden, unexpected sound and it made her eyes narrow.
“You think that’s funny?” She asked, the tension in her chest tightening with anger.
“No,” Harry said, shaking his head, his grin still faint, “I think it’s ridiculous that you don’t see yourself the way everyone else does. I’m not trying to be crude or cross any lines, but I did see them—and I was impressed. Genuinely. They’re the prettiest pair I’ve ever seen.”
And just like that, YN’s whole world shifts on it’s axis.
It was inappropriate.
They were both in relationships.
She wasn’t supposed to like hearing that but the words sank into the cracks Ben had left in her, spreading warmth where there had only been cold, embarrassed silence earlier.
“Okay, Harry,” She bleats , trying to deflect but also maybe fishing for some more compliments.
“What’s wrong with ‘em then?” Harry presses, she swears either she’s drifted closer or he’s scooted towards her subtly because her shoulder was bumping his calf now.
YN flushes at having to point out exactly what was wrong with them,, “I don’t know. I never minded them but Ben always teases me about how small they are, how small my nipples are, how puffy they are.”
Harry brow furrows, “Your own boyfriend is criticizing your body? He’s fucking blind and a douchebag. I’m not saying it just to say it. I’m a man and I can appreciate a nice pair of tits. And I am fully certified to say that.” YN can’t help but giggle, easily when a wider grin breaks out on his face like he was pleased with himself for being able to make her laugh.
To hear that her crush thought she was attractive, at least that her breasts were, did something crazy with boosting her ego.
And then, without warning, he tugged off his shirt and slipped into the pool.
The water rose and shifted around him, glinting in the sunset light.
He carefully closed her book and set it aside so it wouldn’t get wet.
The quiet intimacy of it made something twist deep in her stomach.
“Why are you with him?” Harry asked after a long beat, moving further into the water.
His voice was low, thoughtful—but there was a thread of tension under it.
YN’s taken back by the question, “I…What?”
“He treats you like shit, YN. You should break up with him over what happened earlier, let alone all the shit I’ve seen in the past,” Harry tells her with seriousness, “You deserve a million times better than a prick like him. Seriously, fuck him. No one here likes him.” And YN…well no one had told her that before but she kenw that her friends only put up with Ben because they loved her but otherwise, he wouldn’t be a part of their friend group.
“No real man would’ve let you stand there like that, exposed and crying,” Harry continued, his voice rising just a touch, “And no decent man would say something cruel about your body.”
“He can have an opinion about how he feels about my ches-”
“No, YN. No, he really fuckin’ can’t,” Harry says firmly cutting her off, “He should love every part of you, puffy, small, or elsewise.”
Something hot and sharp flared in her.
“You can say that because your girlfriend has like perfect boobs,” YN points out, nose scrunching with frustration.
Harry shakes his head, “Did you not hear me earlier? I told you that you have the prettiest pair I’ve seen. It’s not a god damn competetion but I’m actively telling you what Ben said isn’t true.”
She rolled her eyes, muttering, “You’re romanticizing them. You saw them for all of two seconds.”
“Then show them to me again.”
Their eyes lock, YN is trying to play the words again and again because what the fuck, what the fuck, what the actual fuck?
Time stopped.
Her brain scrambled to process what he just said, but her hands were already moving, her thumbs hooked under the cups of her bikini top.
She should stop.
She should stop.
But she didn’t.
She pulled the fabric down.
The sun had dipped just low enough to cast everything in soft, pink-orange light.
The water shimmered against her skin, droplets clung to the curve of her breasts, and her nipples, tight from the cold, pebbled beneath Harry’s gaze.
“Fuck,” Harry curses as he comes towards her, his hand reaches out but he stops himself, his voice hoarse and raspy in a way he’s never heard, “Can I?”
And YN finds herself nodding with a dry throat, watching him carefully as his hand comes up to cup one of them, and it is fully engulfed by his palm, and he squeezes.
YN can’t help the slight gasp that leaves her lips when he thumbs over her nipple.
She jerked away, yanking her top back up like it burned her, “I can’t—fuck, we can’t do this.”
Harry froze, instantly sobering.
His expression crumpled slightly, regret written all over his features, “Shit. YN, I didn’t mean to—can we just—”
But she was already moving, already climbing out of the pool as fast as she could, water sloshing at her knees, heart pounding in her chest like it was trying to warn her:
warnings: idiots in love trope, long-distance fwb (sounds weird but it makes sense just give her a read luv), switch!harry and switch!reader, detailed descriptions of female and male masterbation, maladaptive daydreaming during a fanfic, mentions of exhibitionism, edging, one singular ‘daddy’, cum swapping, breeding kink, praise kink and degradation, rope play, spitting, choking, mutual masterbation, overstimulation, use of toys (vibrator mostly), crying after sex (iconic)
word count: 13.3k
synopsis: harry records erotic audios, and y/n is an avid listener
author’s note: hello nasties, here’s another filth fic for ya! this has been a long time in the making, and i am so sorry i have been mia for so long, but i am back for the time being to give you this fic. i have wanted to do something like this for a while now, but it’s been a struggle (lots of blood, sweat, and tears put into this). i’m kinda proud of her to be honest, and i hope you enjoy :)
tags: @victoria-styles
masterlist
—
Y/N finally sinks into her mattress after yet another tiring day. She can hear her roommate on the other side of the wall, chatting with her girlfriend over the phone, blissfully ignorant to the fact that she currently has a hand teasing the band of her sweatpants while the other scrolls aimlessly through her phone.
Exhaustion burns behind her eyes, but there’s a desperate ache in her belly, one that demands satiety. She opens the internet app to find it unchanged from the night before, still lighting up in the profile named tangointhenight. His profile picture is a tantalizing photo of his hand, splayed across his thigh, which are clad in tight, floral printed pants, doing wonders for the very prominent bulge. Pieces of paint linger on his thumbnail, a pretty pale mint color, and his skin, tanned with faint freckles and etches of dark ink, looks tempting in the golden light. At his wrist is a braided twine bracelet with cheap beads that have letters that she can’t make out, which looks old and wilted.
She scrolls down, only lingering for a moment to appreciate the photo one final time.
There are some cute little posts and polls in addition to his erotic audios. The newest one, posted just that afternoon, warns not to listen to this in public with a series of cute little emoticons following. If there’s one thing she’s learned about Tango, that’s what she and other listeners call him, is that he’s a bit of an exhibitionist; his audios tend to lean toward nearly getting caught or even being caught (oftentimes leading to a “helping out” situation). She honestly wasn’t into that sort of thing until he started talking about it, and now, she finds it incredibly sexy, the thrill of the quick high and the fear of being caught in such a vulnerable moment.
She’ll definitely have to give the new audio a listen on one of her morning commute trips to the university; perhaps, she could give it a listen while she waits for her class to start, his deep voice teasing and coaxing her into an aching mess. She hopes that it’ll leave her trembling and throbbing for the rest of the day. She wonders if she’ll be able to make it until night before she has to finish herself off or if she’ll have to sneak off to the restrooms during one of her seven minute breaks, foot propped up on the toilet paper dispenser while she rubs herself to her bitter end.
She scrolls down a bit, passing over audios that vary from pillow talk to a dirty fuck in back alleys, before tapping on the familiar link, purple from use, the description teasingly saying: we’ve been visiting my mum for a week, and I haven’t been able to taste you... I guess we’ll just have to be quiet.
It’s one of the first audios she listened to when she was just discovering this new world of pleasure, so it has a special place in her heart. It’s one of his firsts from nearly a year ago, of fuzzy listening quality and nervous voice, but she finds his ramblings endearing; although, admittedly, she thinks anything he does is cute.
She tucks in her earbuds and presses the play button. Tossing the phone to the side, her eyes flutter closed, visions of white dotting through the darkness as they adjust. There’s a subtle cracking sound that indicates that it has finally loaded, and a fuzzy droning sound filters through the headphones. There’s a fan going in the background; it squeaks and grumbles nearby. A door creaks open, one of those fake sound effects that you can buy, but she appreciates the effort.
“Hey, lovie, feelin’ better?”
His familiar voice floats through her ears. She settles even more into her sheets. His voice is a nice, hot cup of tea at the end of a hard day, a drug that leaves her head foggy and senses dulled. His voice reminds her of sleep: deep, soothing, persistent, yet ever fleeting. She yearns for it, like being able to listen to that one mazing song for the first time again or the feeling of sunshine after the long winter months. His voice is intoxicating, reaching a baritone timbre that she can’t quite put to words.
At first, she wanted to put a face to the man who hummed sweet nothings in her ears, who coaxed her to oblivion for nights on end. Now, she’s at ease with never knowing. It keeps things interesting, and she doesn’t think about it as much anymore.
“If only mum wasn’t home, maybe we could’ve snuck a quick one in the shower,” he says. She smirks, picturing him tucked into his childhood bed, a cozy twin that would be a struggle for the both of them to fit in, and he has his old quilt tucked up to his neck, leaving his bare feet exposed because of how little it is.
There’s a moment of silence, then a cute little laugh.
“I know. You wouldn’t want to sin in her godly home, but she loves you, probably more than me. I don't think she would think any differently of you.”
Another beat of silence, then his voice catches in his throat. Y/N smiles softly as he stutters pitifully, slowly, struggling to find his words.
“N-no, y’know tha's not how I meant it,” he says. “Like, she loves you more than she loves me. Not that I don’t love you as much as she does.” He moves, the rustling of his sheets crackling in her ears. She can hear his hand run over his stubble, nails scratching over short little hairs. She wonders if he usually grows out his facial hair or if he’s the type to keep clean shaven.
“She couldn’t possibly love you more than I do.” The bed creaks as he shifts again. “C’mon, babe, join me. ‘S all nice and warm.”
She herself burrows further into her blankets, knowing full well that she’s probably going to be kicking them off in a few minutes. She turns to her side, blinking her eyes open, trying to immerse herself into the fantasy.
“‘M glad you got time off of work to come here with me. I know you could've been spending time back home, but you came here with me instead.” His voice is closer than before, however whispered. Every accentuated vowel that passes through his lips is like a breath of fresh air, and she hums quietly at the sound.
“I really appreciate it. ‘M glad we got to spend this time together.”
She imagines that he tucks her into his neck, coddling her while his fingers trace over the curves of her face, from the furrow of her brow, down to the apple of her cheeks, before stopping at her lips, lingering only momentarily before his thumb would push just past them.
He chuckles suddenly.
“What does it look like I’m doing? Jus’ lovin’ on my girl.”
His short pecks turn into slow, passionate kisses, deep sighs of relief falling from his lips, and she swears she can almost feel his breath on her skin, nose pressed tight to the pulsepoint in her neck as he sponges his lips over her collarbone, teeth nibbling lightly. She tugs the tee up from where it’s settled at her hips to where the curves of her breasts begin, the material squeezing them tightly to her chest. The sensitive skin aches under the tight pressure. She teases her nipples through her thin bra, feeling the tenderness coax chills down her spine.
“Please,” he whines. “Wanna taste you. You can be quiet. I believe in you, love.”
She could picture him now, chin resting on her stomach, eyes pleading with her. She would flick his head at the patronizing tone before brushing her fingers through his hair. Would he have short tuffs or long tresses that she could run her fingers through after a long day, breaking apart the knots that accumulate throughout the day? Does he have pin straight, dark locks that are cut close to his scalp or sand coloured curls that fall gracefully on his forehead? Perhaps, he has a bit of gray peaking through his hairline to match his wise and weathered voice. She could almost moan at the thought. She has always had a thing for older men.
Tango says something, but she can’t really hear it, his words muffled by her racing heart. She pries her pants down shaky legs, leaving them dangling around her ankle, and her fingers work quickly in massaging her puffy clit, arousal wetting the tender skin. Not one for having much patience, she doesn’t wait for him to finish worshiping her body with his mouth before she is rubbing herself through her panties, feeling the cold wetness on her fingertips. Eyes closed, her head falls back on her pillows, legs tensing when she stops suddenly.
“Pretty thighs,” he mumbles to himself between kisses, and she could almost feel his tender touches on the backs of her thighs, which tremble with anticipation. A wetly placed kiss followed by an appreciative hum signals his final descent to her cunt. The sound of languid licks are nearly enough to make her finish, walls clenching miserably around nothing. Fingers slowing close to a dead stop, barely more than a faint fluttering on her sensitive skin, she attempts to collect herself, but it’s difficult when he moans once again, muffled by his furiously working lips.
“Love your pussy, baby.” She melts at his words, eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure rack through her body, hips stuttering in time with each flick of her wrist. “So warm and wet and jus’ perfect for me.” His voice, low with need, makes her throb, arousal slipping into her panties.
She’s close already, an unfortunate effect he has on her. Barely five minutes into her alone time, and she can feel the orgasm begin to build, like an unyielding inferno spreading through every nerve. The stress from her day, the exhaustion with the world, everything melts into just one prominent feeling threatening to burst from her pores. She has to force herself to stop before she falls over the edge in order to draw out this experience as much as possible. She nearly cries out when she pulls her hand away altogether, her poor, puffy clit throbbing painfully.
This continues for a while, the undulating waves of a blistering release and the torture of a cut off orgasm, until the air becomes thick, her heaving breaths heating her empty room.
“There’s my good girl,” he says. “Use me, lovie. Want you to choke me with your pretty thighs.”
His voice is more firm this time, and she could only picture his baleful eyes staring up at her, eager to please her and guide her over the edge. It makes her wonder what they look like; she wonders if they’re a soulful, deep chocolate that darken with lust, a pale blue that reminds her of warm afternoons, or a striking hazel that flickers with green hues in the light.
No matter the color, she is sure that they’re undoubtedly pretty.
“Please,” she whispers faintly.
“More? You want more, my greedy girl?” She nods pitifully, feeling the orgasm build quickly in her belly before she stops once again, fingers pressing into her throbbing clit. “You want my fingers?”
Her walls flutter fruitlessly for some sort of release, for some sort of stimulation. He moans out sharply.
“Feel so good, babylove,” he coos. “So warm and wet f’me.”
She wants to slip her fingers inside, to tease and massage that tender spot that she can barely reach until she struggles to breathe. She wants to feel full, but she doesn’t want to take care of the mess, and it surely won’t be comfortable sleeping in wet sheets. The wipes hidden alongside her other secret toys, beneath mounds of socks and crumpled underwear, do little to take care of the arousal that has pooled between her legs.
She fishes around her bedside table, fingers raking through bundles of panties to find her vibrator, a cheap little thing she got in a set when she first moved into her apartment. Unfortunately, she ran through the other ones that were in the set, and this is the only one left.
She nestles the vibrator on her swollen clit and ticks it on to the lowest setting. This stimulation is different than before; a vague rumbling rattles her bones, making her lips tremble, with choked cries teetering on her tongue. Obscene wet sounds fill her ears, and for a moment, she wonders whether they are coming from the audio or from her dripping pussy, and her thighs tighten around her wrist. She could only imagine the sight of his hands splayed over her hips and on her belly, perfectly pastel painted nails pressing into her wet skin. The shifting of her mattress worries her for only a moment, but her shame melts away, and she loses herself in the sound of his heavy, stifled groans, as if he is truly choking on her. The addition of the vibrator only serves to tease her more as she inches toward the end, brutally building in slow, abrupt waves. She struggles to swallow her whimpers.
He spits suddenly, and her hips jut forward at the sound, an erotic display of dominance, but he makes it seem like such a tender act; she could just melt.
“Can you take another?”
A beat of silence and a sharp intake of breath, squelching sounds growing louder.
“No? That’s alright, lovie, just two, then,” he coos. Her toes curl up a little at his words, hips rising from the mattress. On any other night, she would have craved more; she would have wanted him to coax her open with him telling her that she can take just one more and that she’s his good girl. It’s sad to be turned on by a man simply respecting her limits, but her clit throbs pitifully and some arousal slips out into her underwear.
“Gonna come for me, babe?” His words are slurred and wet. “Make me proud.”
Chills rushing down her spine, her body curls into itself, eager for her release. She wants to come so badly; she wants to feel the pleasure for days afterward, to tremble around her hand until she can’t take it anymore, to come until she’s seeing stars. She wants to make him proud, but she knows that she can’t come yet, or else she won’t be able to hear him finish. She doesn’t have another orgasm in her tonight, and she wants to prolong this experience as much as possible, even if that means holding out on her orgasm. The world spins behind her tightly screwed eyes as she slows her ministrations, the vibrator ticking back down to nothing. Her body reacts before she can even consider the loss, her hips bucking against the toy, attempting desperately to find that little bit of stimulation she needs to finally reach euphoria.
His lips smack loudly as he presses simulated kisses to skin, pulling her back from her foggy mind.
“So good f’me, pretty,” he says, words muted by skin. “So good. Hmm, I knew you could be quiet.” His kisses are slow and tired, unlike before when they were rushed and eager. His mattress grumbles as he moves once again, taking his time to, presumably, trail up the length of her trembling body until they’re suffocating in each other's embrace.
He sighs behind closed lips, heavy and wanton, and she can picture him working his hips into the mattress to find some sort of release. She would pull him up until he was right between her aching legs and press her lips to his neck, feeling his pulse jump at the contact. She would cup his cock through his thin pair of pajamas, teasingly massaging him until he just couldn't take it anymore, caution flying out of his mind as he is overcome by thoughts of her name, her skin, simply <i>her. Trying to form a coherent thought, he would barely be able to hold himself up. She moans quietly at the thought.
“Babylove, we can’t—” He moans, his deep voice splintering. “I don’ know if I’ll be able to control myself.”
She has listened to this audio enough to know what to say to fill the silent gaps to fulfill the ultimate fantasy.
“Please,” she whispers into the dead air, barely audible over her roommate's voice in the next room. “Wanna feel you.” She wishes he was there for her to whisper in his ear, her fingers running up the plain of his back, feeling the heated skin tense at her words. He would quirk an eyebrow.
“Yeah? Y’wanna feel my big cock in y’tummy, pretty baby?”
“Yes,” she whimpers quietly, suddenly very aware of how much she truly wanted to be filled, to have him so impossibly close to her.
“Y’know I can’t say no to you.” She can hear the smile in his voice. She wonders what it looks like, if he beams with an eye-searing grin, his face splitting with happiness, or if he has a shy little smirk, just barely toying on his lips. She likes to think that he has a beautiful smile, filled with warmth and love. She melts a little, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her limbs to the tips of her fingers.
“Get on top.”
She does, eyes still closed as she sits and kneels on her mattress, one hand still between her legs, trying desperately to catch her poor, swollen clit at just the right angle that will leave her thighs quaking, her stomach clenching. Her underwear, which are still stuck around her knees, stretch and snap as her thighs slip and spread further on the sheets.
He moans sharply, and she can feel her hips unconsciously move, as if to pull that sound from him once again. The low vibrations from her little handheld leave her aching for more, nothing more than a faint rumble, but if she flicked it up to the next highest setting, it would surely be heard through the thin walls. Besides, she loves the teasing nearly as much as she hates it, just pushing to the brink before the rush subsides and settles into a quiet lull. Speechless, she gasps for air as yet another jilted orgasm subsides.
She works her hips slowly, careful of the squeaking of her mattress; there are only so many noises that can be passed off as her simply shifting around in her sleep. Her wrist aches at such an awkward angle, but she continues, the burning euphoria just beyond the horizon. He moans, and she nearly follows him, a crest of a cry nearly bursting from her chest but it comes out as a small whimper. She pushes her earbud deeper into her ear, as if to pull him closer.
“Sorry, jus’ feel so good,” he says sheepishly, and she can tell that he’s biting his lip by the faint lisp in his words. It would be torture for the both of them, to be so close but unable to move any faster or harder to finally reach the deepest, most pleasurable part, just barely scratching the itch for intimacy. He whimpers pitifully, and she thinks she might fall apart at the sound, but her stupid vibrator leaves her teetering back and forth between over the edge. She wiggles her hips to try to get a better angle, but with just a hint of stimulation, it’s a torturously slow build up.
“There it is, pretty,” he says, breaths faltering. “That’s the spot. Make yourself feel good, lovie. Use me.” Her legs ache at the awkward angle, trembling with overexertion. She wishes that she could let go of it, leaving it on the mattress with her pussy and thighs holding it in place, so she can grind on it, unhindered by her own body’s exhaustion, eagerly chasing her high. It would also free her hands to tease her breasts again, pulling and pinching at her hardened nipples.
“Love the way you feel, babylove,” he whispers. “Fuck, so wet f’me.” He curses again and again, as if no other words can properly describe the feeling of her, so soft, so warm, so fucking good. She could only picture him in abridged visions, his undoubtedly pretty lips parted with his pretty whimpers sneaking through, his features pinched in pleasure. Her eyes roll back as her orgasm quickly approaches.
“‘M gonna come,” he says suddenly. “Are you close, too?” She whimpers, arousal slips down her swollen lips and into her furiously working fingers, eager to finish alongside him. “Yeah? Y’gonna come with me? Y’gonna come on my cock, pretty?”
She is so close, so unbelievably close, and she struggles to relax her muscles to hold off for just a little longer.
“So fuckin’ good, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he says sharply. His mattress squeaks now, unable to hold back the sharp jolts of his hips, and he lets go of all inhibitions, moaning freely. She could imagine his hand tracing up her belly, cupping her swinging breasts, and he would suckle on her nipples until her fervent hips faltered. He would brush his hands up the curve of her back, digging into the muscles of her shoulders until she fell forward. Faces nestled together, interlocking like pieces of a puzzle, they would breathe each other in, savoring such a close moment of intimacy. It would feel like a lifetime as they waited with bated breath, using each other to get the most pleasure possible.
She comes when he does, holding her breath to keep the moans from slipping, which makes it all the more euphoric, the chance of nearly getting caught at her most vulnerable and the faint lightheadedness making her vision foggy. Her orgasm leaves her legs trembling, slipping away from her still buzzing toy, falling forward into her sheets. She breathes in sharply, barely holding back a pained cry; fat tears of pleasure soak into her blanket as euphoria crashes and beats into her muscles. The heart-racing, earth-shattering, limb-thrashing orgasm makes her chest heave. Just like she wanted, she is left spent on her mattress, the powerful rush still lingering in her trembling body.
She flips onto her back, quickly pulling her bottoms back up onto her hips. In her drunken stupor, her earbuds fell out, and she can vaguely hear Tango’s praises. She picks her phone back up, eyes straining under the bright light, and closes out of the audio.
Her head is light, foggy with the residual high. A dazed smile flickers over her lips, exhaustion settling deep in her bones, finally satiated by her orgasm.
She scrolls through his account once again, this time reading through some of his other posts, like links to playlists and cute stories. Suddenly, the little message icon in the corner looks so appealing, teasing and taunting. Perhaps, she’s feeling a little giddy from her high or maybe it’s from the exhaustion, but she can’t seem to find a reason to not do it.
She sends him a message.
Meanwhile, Harry stares at the blinking cursor petulantly. It taunts him amidst a sea of white, a blank canvas in what should have been a completed midterm paper that’s due in a couple of days. His eyes sink closed, and he starts to drift off, only waking when his hand slips from his cheek, knocking his glasses askew. An old sitcom plays in the background, the canned laughter providing a break in the silence every five seconds. He sighs for the billionth time that evening, struggling to find motivation to even think at this point.
His phone dings, and he happily divulges the distraction, his brows furrowing as he reads a direct message from a user called honeyhi. He’s used to getting comments on his post, with the occasional direct message (which he usually deletes instantly because of poor past experiences), and now, he usually doesn’t think much of them. He isn’t doing it to gain anything from anyone. He just wants to put his thoughts out there, and it’s just an added bonus to get validation from beautiful people.
She doesn’t have a profile picture, not uncommon on that corner of the web, especially since his posts aren’t a lot of people’s taste. He wouldn’t usually indulge in them, deleting them usually instantly, but something compels him to open her message.
Not to be too forward, but I had the best orgasm of my life, listening to your audios. I’ve listened to your audios for a long time, and honestly, listening to you has become the highlight of my evenings ;)
Honey, you have no idea what that means to me.
Truly, his heart swells at her sweet words. It’s nice to get complimented on something you put so much effort into. He bares himself for strangers, expressing such an intimate part of himself for their shared pleasure, and it feels reassuring to get compliments.
I mean it. Also, Tango in the Night is arguably one of Fleetwood Mac’s best albums. Definitely top three.
Most people assume it’s a sex thing.
I wonder why.
He laughs a little at the dry comment.
So, what are the other two in your top three albums?
Pre or post Stevie Nicks?
Post, of course. What kind of question is that?
That was a test. You passed. I think we’ll get along just fine, Tango.
I think so, too, Honey.
—
Y/N rushes past the postman, nearly toppling over when her bag shifts slightly on her arm, her thick binders peek out of the top and dig into her arm. Her hand furiously slaps the elevator button, and she stands impatiently, her dangling keys shaking at her hip. The doors tremble as the weight teeters down to the main floor, far too slowly in her opinion. For a moment, she considers just running up the three flights of stairs to her floor, but that feels a little too eager.
She and Tango have their weekly phone call tonight, and her classes ran long today; that coupled with the stand-still traffic made her more anxious than usual to get home. She always calls first, since her schedule is the most complicated, and she’ll feel absolutely awful if she was late for their call. She feels silly getting worked up over such a small thing, but their friendship progressed beyond the occasional messages in the past month, and she honestly looks forward to their weekly talks. Tango is such a beautiful and humble person, and he is such a stable place of comfort. She knows that he will be understanding and have an independent, secondary perspective on any situation.
He is someone she can rely on for just about anything.
The bell dings above her, and the elevator doors finally part. After barreling inside, she sinks against the railing, glancing at the time, which is still just before her usual calling time. She sighs sharply when the doors begin to close, relief tugging on her shoulders.
However, a hand pushes through the lift’s doors before they can shut, and she bites back an irritated groan; she probably could have made it to her apartment by now if she had ran up the stairs. The man slides in and gives her a grateful nod, accompanied by a small smile. Much to her delight, he presses the ‘close door’ button quickly, and they’re met with no interruptions this time. It’s a quiet ride, despite her nervous feet tapping, and he taps away on his phone,
She admires him out of the corner of her eye, forgetting momentarily about her anxiety. Half of his hair is pulled back in a small bun, exposing the darker locks underneath, and a bandana pushes back the frizzy flyaways that would normally frame his face. The thick strands curl slightly at the ends; there’s one tight coil that she wants to tug on. She could easily become enamored with him, with his pretty green eyes and day-old stubble. His bag has H.E.S embroidered on the bottom corner. A coral colored, gem necklace rests beautifully on his tanned chest, which is mostly covered by a near see-through white top, covered with a baggy, gingham jumper.
After living in the building for two years, they have run into one another on several occasions but have never really spoken. He lives on the second floor, and he goes to the university as well.
When he leaves, after offering another nod and quick smile, she calls Tango. He answers after the second ring.
“Hey, sweets,” he grumbles, not as chipper as his usual self. Her heart sinks a little. He had his midterms last week, and she can only assume that the results are not what he had hoped.
“Oh, no,” she says. “What happened?”
“‘S nothin’,” he insists, but she can hear the irritation in his voice. “‘M jus’ getting myself worked up over nothin’. How was your day?”
Clearly not wanting to talk, he changes the subject, which is something Y/N has grown used to over the past few months. He doesn’t like to vent when he’s too upset because he’s afraid of lashing out and taking his aggression out on her. Thankfully, she has also learned how to distract him. Usually, his annoyance melts away within minutes, and he is his usual, bubbly self again.
“Well, let me tell you, I nearly killed the postman today, and someone nearly hit my car today.”
“What?” He asks incredulously. “Please, elaborate.”
And so, she does.
A couple hours later, Y/N’s in her kitchen, making avocado and tomato toast for the fifth time this week. Her roommate is gone for the weekend, thankfully, which means she can get more stuff done without interruptions (and she can talk to Tango for as long as she wants without getting interrogated about it). His mood had improved significantly after she was able to make him laugh at her own expense (he especially liked the story about how she grabbed her iced coffee too quickly this morning and spilled it all over the barista’s hand).
“I have a question,” he says quickly, as if he wouldn’t have the courage to ask if he held onto it for a moment longer.
“Okay,” she says slowly, almost fearful at the sudden change of tone in his voice.
“Would you be able to listen to something I recorded the other day?” He giggles nervously. “I dunno. I just feel a little,” he makes a little noise, “off about it.”
Stunned, she stares at her phone, the seconds ticking by before her very eyes, and despite the fact that the only reason why they know each other is because she listened to his audios, she’s a little taken aback by the question. Before she knows it, too much time has passed for her to brush off as anything but bewilderment. She stutters.
“I—uh—sure?”
“You don’t sound too sure.”
“No, I am.” Stubborn and not willing to back down, she digs herself a deeper hole, despite the odd feeling growing in her stomach. “Yes, I will listen to it for you.”
“Okay, then,” he says breathlessly. “I’ll send it to you.”
Neither know what to say now. Conversation usually came easy to them, so it feels so strange to be stuck in such an uncomfortable silence. Now, she’s gone and ruined everything because of her hesitation. Why did she even hesitate? There’s no reason to be embarrassed. They’re both very open, sexual people, and it’s nothing to get so worked up over. Maybe, it’s the fact that it’s him, and she knows him so well now. Compared to before, when he was just some stranger on the internet, she knows his likes, dislikes; hell, she has even spoken to his cat, and it feels wrong because he is her friend, and that’s not what friends are supposed to do.
“It’s not weird. Is it?” He asks shyly.
“Of course not.” She says it a little too quickly. Admittedly, it feels a <i>little weird, now that she thinks about it. It would be like walking in on your friend having sex. Then again, the only reason why they really know each other is because she listened to his audios (which is basically him jerking off to his dirty thoughts). However, it’s not an aspect they spoke about too often, usually after a couple of drinks. Their friendship, despite how it began, is purely innocent. They were each other’s comfort person; they were there to vent, laugh, and talk with. Neither ever hinted toward anything different, other than the occasional, playful flirting.
“No, I’ll listen to it for you. What are friends for?”
She doesn’t know why her heart is beating so fast.
“Thank you,” he says.
“So,” she says, “do you want me to listen to it now?”
“Eager, are we?” He hums teasingly.
“Shut up,” she scoffs.
“I mean, if you wanted to hear some dirty talk, all you had to do was ask.”
“Please, stop talking.”
“Y’know I’m always down to clown.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
True to her words, she doesn’t wait for him to answer before she ends the call.
Her phone dings a second later with the link along with another cheeky message. The link is to a private web upload platform, and she feels special for a moment. She wonders if she should just listen to it while eating her toast and go about her usual routine, or if she should do what she usually does when listening to his audios. Is that what he would want, though? Would it make him feel uncomfortable? Is it more weird to just listen to him moan in her ear while doing mundane tasks around the house?
Granted, they have had some conversations about sex and the like, but this feels so much more intimate, especially because he knows that she’s going to listen to him jerk off, not to even mention the obscene things that come from his mouth.
What does it mean for their friendship? Perhaps, it’s not even meant to mean anything, just a sincere favor asked between two friends. Maybe, it’s meant to be a step toward something more on his part. Is that even what she wants?
She brushes off that thought quickly, as she has for months, because deep down, she knows it would just end up in disappointment.
Oh, what a mess.
She’s headed on a downward spiral that has no chance of stopping unless it’s hit by a freight train to hell.
She opts to forgetting her toast and slips into her bedroom, falling onto her blankets giddily. She presses play on the audio, her heart racing as it loads, and leaves her phone face down next to her ear, eyes closing to fully immerse herself, trying to ignore her anxiety.
“Hello,” he says slowly, almost shyly, and it feels like one of their late nights again, with him talking through her phone and her cuddled in bed, listening eagerly. “I’ve just gotten home, but I’ve been thinkin’ about this all day. Couldn’t go to sleep before gettin’ it out there, y’know.” He giggles, a pretty little noise she’s heard many times now. He laughs a lot, sometimes at himself, but mostly in response to her. He even laughs at her corny, little puns, which she appreciated.
“And ‘m really hard right now, so that doesn’t help either. I haven’t really been able to come in the past two weeks. Been too busy with… life, I guess. But a friend of mine talked to me about the world of BDSM. She’s a kinky little shit.”
Y/N’s heart lurches, stomach twisting with an unrecognizable feeling, knowing that the certain friend he is talking about is her. She remembers the conversation well, even though she was a little tipsy and very high, mostly because it was also the first time they had actually spoken on the phone, and it began as it normally does, about mundane things that happened that week. Somehow, the conversation shifted to kinks, and she told him that she wouldn’t be opposed to more sinful acts in the bedroom, most of which her previous partners had not indulged.
“I’m pretty vanilla, I guess. I just love to love people. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I’ve never really been into that sort of thing, but now, I can’t stop thinking about it, and I’ve been kinda into some dark, dom stuff lately,” he admits slowly. “Dark for me, at least, which, again, doesn’t say much.” There’s another laugh, radiant and delicate.
“I dunno why, but I’ve been fantasizing about taking you into our room. A little lackluster, I know, but I’m not into the dark, dingy places, like those sex dungeons they have in the movies, where there’s lots of leather, red lights, music, quite the ambience.” He stops suddenly, and she could imagine his lips pursing to cease his ramblings. She wishes he wouldn’t do that so much; she wishes that he wouldn’t doubt himself and his beautiful way with words. If only he could be as confident in himself as she is in him.
“I just want to lay you down on our bed with our fluffy blankets pushed off to the side. Then, if either of us need to take a moment or stop, we can.” Her heart swells a little at his words. Even though he’s trying to talk about, in his words, “dark, dom stuff”, he is still so sweet and considerate, and she can’t help but soften. He trails off.
Faintly, she can hear him yank his belt from the loops, and it’s, honestly, one of the hottest things she has ever heard; the teasing glimpse of what could come far more erotic than anything any of her other partners could do. She could only imagine what it would feel like to have him in front of her, shirtless with his pants low on his hips; maybe he would be wearing the same floral pants he is in his profile picture, the ones that are unbelievably tight. She would be splayed on the bed, just observing this beauty of a man, waiting patiently for him to come and ravish her.
She’s sure that his tattoos cover more than just his arms, but how many more is a question that haunts her. The thought of a big tattoo on his thigh that she can grind on while he moans about how much of a good girl she is has led to many obscene dreams. She imagines black images carved into his chest, perhaps a trail of floating rose petals from his collar bone to his peck or a hellish looking snake wrapped around his waist. More vividly, she envisions a bold tattoo just beneath his belly button, one that she would scratch at while he violently pounded into her, one that she would kiss and lick before she would take him in her mouth.
Oh, what she would do to be able to feel his skin on hers.
She dips her hand beneath the band of her shorts out of habit, toying with the silky material of her panties. She tries not to think too much about her feelings, fearing it would deepen the ache in her heart.
“Anyway, you’d be on the bed,” he says, his usual slow, stifling voice pulling her deeper into the fantasy, “naked, on your knees with your pretty pussy facing me. You’re all tied up, starting at your wrists and ankles, and there would be a pretty knot down your spine that I can grab while I fuck you from behind.”
Her cunt throbs at the sudden turn. She could only imagine: her face pressed into the pillows, choking on the sheets, her muscles tight, aching beneath the restraints, and her voice raw, sobbing from overstimulation. Exhausted and wanton, she would take anything that he would be willing to give her. He would shove her face into the mattress, mounting her, and he would tug on the rope until it felt like it would permanently embedded in her wet skin, telling her how much of a good little slut she is, taking him so well.
She doesn't know why she’s drawn to rope play; perhaps, it’s all a part of the subtle nuances of the sex, the intimacy of tying the complex binds around your partner and the intricacies of sensory manipulation with such overwhelming stimulation. It’s so much more than just being bound while fucking. There is such a deep reliance on the other person to understand your body, your limits, your needs. It’s about trust and vulnerability. She thinks of it in such a melodic and romantic way; it must have resonated with Tango.
“Or I’d tie your arms to your legs, keeping you spread open for me on your back, with knots around your belly, the lead falling between your tits.” Her eyes flutter closed. While rope play is something that she has always wanted to try but never felt comfortable enough with another person to act on it. He would be different though. She cups her pussy, languidly running her fingers through her wet folds, feeling the arousal slip down her skin before settling on her sheets.
She pinches her clit, and her legs immediately jerk around her arm. Feeling far too sensitive for that type of stimulation, she simply strokes through her lips, focusing her ministrations on the delicate inside, close to her sopping entrance, enjoying the slow build.
“Then, I could hold onto your neck while I fuck you, and I like being able to see your face, to see how good I’m making you feel, to see tears of pleasure run down your pretty face. You could suck on my fingers while I fuck you, deep and hard. D’ya wanna choke on my fingers, pretty?”
She wants absolutely nothing more. She would gladly suck on his fingers if it meant that she could see the look of awe in his eyes, lust darkening his features when she bites teasingly on his nail.
“But if you’re on your knees, I could watch you in the mirror and still see your face. From behind, I can see your pretty, tight pussy take my cock.” He whimpers. “I haven’t decided which I would rather have.”
She can’t decide, either.
Then again, they could always have both.
“Of course, I wouldn’t give you my cock that easily. No, you’re going to be crying for me, begging for me to fuck you, and I dunno if I would fuck you right away or make you beg for it. I think for the first bit, after you’re all tied up for me, I’ll tease you, just barely touching you, pulling on the lead, the ropes tightening around your aching body. I think your tits would look so pretty all tied up f’me, babylove.
“When you’ve finally had enough, crying for me to stuff you full of my cock, I’d let you come, but I’d only use my fingers, never giving you what you really want. Maybe I’ll put a little vibrator on your clit and leave you there, having you come again and again until it hurts. I’d have you keep your panties on, of course. Don’t want you making a mess of the sheets, and then, when I finally give you my cock, I’ll put them in your mouth to keep you quiet, and so you can taste yourself.”
His moans are in the forefront in his sensual song, mixed amongst a symphony of bed and friction sounds. She matches his pace, flicking her wrist in time with the sound of him working his wet cock. She massages the entirety of her pussy, messily rubbing her fingers from the tip of her poor, swollen clit to her throbbing opening.
“Fuck, babylove, you’d be so good f’me, taking my cock so deep in your pussy. Would you cry f’me, pretty? Cry for daddy to fuck you into the mattress.” A rumbling groan finally breaks free, and she is so close to falling apart, her high festering into her muscles, burning through her nerves; her skin feels hot to the touch. She struggles to breathe, but she doesn't yearn for air as much as she does her end. Tears in her eyes, she clutches onto her blanket, tugging it in her mouth to keep from crying too loudly. She sobs, feeling a familiar tightness in her body, just beyond her grasp. Her hand still moves over her pussy, arousal seeping through trembling fingers, but she can’t reach her peak with such light, varied stimulation, her hips buckling.
“My pretty rope bunny,” he mutters. He’s desperate, truly just rambling on and on about anything that comes to mind. “My pretty honey,” he whimpers, almost inaudibly, “honey, honey.”
For a second, she thinks of the times that word has passed through his lips in less sinful situations, a slow, lulling honey when he’s trying to get her attention, sweet and innocent. That’s his special name for her, and she wonders if, possibly, he thinks about her in the same way she does, if he wishes to be with her in such an intimate way, just as she does. She thinks, incredulously, that maybe she isn’t overanalyzing the situation.
His bed squeaks faintly in the background, just barely heard over his withering voice. She can only begin to imagine what he looks like in that moment, legs tense, feet digging into the mattress, his hips thrusting to fuck himself into his fist. The head of his cock would peek through the top of his fist as he coerced his release free. She wishes she could see what he looks like when he comes, when he finally reaches his most euphoric moment. It’s such a primal thing to witness, to see someone liberated of all inhibitions, to observe them completely succumbing to their instincts. It’s such a beautiful thing to see someone acquiesce control and thrive so harmoniously with their body.
“I wanna wrap my belt around your throat.” He swallows thickly. She whines along with him. Perhaps, she’s just fooling herself, but she can swear that she could almost hear the sound of a leather belt squeezing in his fist. A pitiful pool of wetness slips between her ass cheeks.
“My cock hurts just thinking about how you’d sound.” He moans, mimicking the desperate heaves that would undoubtedly slip through her lips as he pulls his belt tightly around her throat. “Then, when you’re bratty, I can just wrap my hand around the belt and make it tighter.
“Please,” he mocks weakly, “please, sir, I’ll be good. But you’re just saying that to get what you want. You’re just a naughty, little slut aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she returns weakly.
“Maybe, I could get you a collar and pull you around with that. Would you like that?” He hums. “Of course, you would. You’re my pretty, little bunny.”
In any other instance, she would feel humiliated to be so aroused at being so weak and submissive to another, but he could convince her to do anything at this point. She’s close, toes curling and muscles tightening, and she waits for his familiar profession that he is also near the edge, but the silence that follows is deafening, a disappointing resolution to an intense narrative. It makes her stop completely, wet hand flipping her phone over to see that, indeed, she had listened to all of the audio. It knocks the air from her lungs when she realizes that that was it. She isn’t going to hear his cute little whimpers as he comes nor his sweet aftercare.
Frustrated from her ruined orgasm, she calls him instantly, and he picks up after the fourth ring this time, as if he <i>knows</i> that she is this needy and frustrated. She doesn’t give him the chance to greet her.
“That couldn’t have been all of it.”
“Well, hello to you, too—”
“I didn’t get to hear you come.”
“Is that what you wanna hear, honey?”
“Well, yeah, I always come with—” She stops before she says something she’ll regret, but by the sound of his laughter, it’s already too late. She wants to hide away in embarrassment.
“It’s only partially finished. I thought I told you that.” She can hear the teasing smirk he surely has plastered on his face, the cheeky bastard. “I just wanted to hear what you thought so far before I finished it. There’s no point in finishing something that I already feel isn’t worth the time.”
“Well, then,” she stutters quickly, “How does it end?”
“How do you think it should end?”
There’s a certainty in his words, as if he has already accepted her as a lover, and she knows that he is giving her the opportunity to initiate the next step. Fear squeezes her chest, and for a second, she worries that she isn’t brave enough to follow through. Every fiber of her being is pleading with her to just take that risk, but another, more rational side of her, is saying it’s better to say a quick I don’t know, and they would move on as normal.
“Where would you come?”
Oh, it feels so filthy to ask that, but it’s so relieving to hear the hum of approval that passes through his lips.
Her heart races, not like before; this is exciting and new and arousing, and it feels wrong. She doesn’t even know what he looks like; hell, she doesn’t even know his real name, and she’s so fucking ready and willing to give herself to him. There’s just so many reasons to not pursue him. She feels ashamed, almost, that she is weak for a man she knows nothing about.
“Hmm, that’s a good question. Where would you like me to come?”
But how can she not get weak when he asks her things like that?
Shivers bloom on her skin in sunflower blossoms. She knows what he wants to hear, and usually, she would tease him, telling him that he didn’t care if he even came or not, but the throbbing between her legs is relentless, and she’s just lust-drunk that she’ll say just about anything to get what she needs. She begins rubbing herself again, focusing solely on her clit this time instead of the entirety of her pussy in the palm of her hand. Breathing out shakily, she answers honestly.
“Everywhere.”
He moans, and she knows that was the right answer.
“Everywhere? Such a greedy girl. You want me to come down your throat? You wanna taste it? Maybe, I’ll have you choke on my cock, fuck y’face until you’re crying.”
After he was done fucking her, she’s sure that he would yank her up either by the rope around her breasts or by the belt around her neck (she can’t decide which yet) and put his cock by her mouth, rubbing himself over her lips and chin, but never quite pushing past the barrier of her lips; no, she would be the one to open her sweet mouth for him, her jaw lax and tongue wet as she takes everything he’d give her.
God, yes, she wants to taste him. She wants him to use her in every possible, degrading way: to use her mouth while she tied up, under his mercy, to fuck her face until she has tears dripping down her cheeks, wetting her heaving chest, to come down her throat until she’s choking on him, but he would pinch her nose and make her taste it until her vision was blurry.
“You’d take it all, babylove. Won’t you?”
He asks so innocently, his deep voice having a soft twinge, but she knows that it’s not optional, not that she would choose otherwise. She would greedily lap at his cum and drink it all, proudly showing off her empty mouth when she’s done. Maybe, he would insist that she keep it in her mouth and pull her into a wet, heated kiss, prying her lips apart so he can taste himself on her tongue.
“I could make a mess on your belly or your tits, and then, I could lick you clean. Or I could mark up your thighs and watch it drip onto the sheets.”
The thought of him marking her with his come is nearly enough for her to reach her peak. A voice in the back of her head chastises her for being so greedy; this is something she has fantasized about since they started talking, and it’s going to be over before it can even begin at this rate. She needs to distract herself, to focus on anything other than the painful throbbing between her legs.
“Or I could come inside you.”
That’s the last thing she needed to hear.
Only because it makes a thick bead of arousal seep into her sheets. It makes her finally give in and sink two fingers inside herself, and <i>fuck, she’s so wet and swollen and pliable. She sobs, truly biting back even louder cries behind gritted teeth. She curses again and again at the feeling coursing through her veins, heat spreading in her belly as her hips frantically move against her ministrations.
“By the sound of that moan, I think that’s definitely preferred. Such a filthy girl. Y’want me to fill your belly? Want me to mark you as mine?”
She just knows that he could fill her to the brim, but he would want to prolong the experience as much as possible, teasing her with his cock and coaxing her to beg for his cum.
She could just imagine the determined look in his eyes, so close to coming, but he would pull out, just barely teasing her trembling entrance with his twitching cock. He wouldn’t move, and when she would beg for him to put it back in and just fuck her until she couldn’t breath, he would say very simply: if y’want my cum so bad, put my cock back inside.
God, his face would be gleaming with this power, satisfied with seeing her so needy for his cum. Shamefully, she would put one of her hands on his hip while the other grasps his cock, pushing on him until he sinks entirely inside her once again, but he still wouldn’t move, simply filling her, the both of them twitching with arousal. He would demand that she make him come if she wants it so bad, as if it's a gift from the heavens.
“Are you touching yourself?” He asks, and only then does she realize that she was drowning in her fantasy; the sudden change makes her stop rubbing herself, her vision hazy. She parts her lips with wet fingers, slipping back down to her entrance, gently prodding inside until that euphoria builds once again.
“Yes,” she admits shamefully. “‘M so fucking wet for you.”
“Dirty little slut,” he says sharply. He has no room to judge, especially since she can hear the all-too-familiar sounds to him jerking his cock, wet sounds of his fist passing over the thick head echoing in her empty room. She is near tears at this point, so needy and high and horny, but she wants to make this last.
“Would you let me come? Please, can I come?”
It’s his turn to moan with approval, and she feels proud. His heavy breathing in time with hers, he seems to be lost in pleasure, voice hitching as he struggles to find words. Her orgasm swells to a near crest once again, but she wants to hear him finish. At this point, she knows what it sounds like, from the frantic ramblings to the guttural moans, and he’s not quite there yet.
“Do you think you deserve to come, honey? You think you’ve been a good girl f’me?”
“Yes, I’m a good girl—fuck—please, please, I need to come.” She stumbles through her words, what little power she held in her withering grasp deflating instantly from his words.
“I dunno, I think you’re a brat who just wants to get off.”
It’s painful how much his words impact her, volatile muscles spasming while she staves of hee end. She whimpers, sinking further in her headspace; she feels a cloud settle in her vision (or perhaps those are tears), overwhelming yet freeing.
“No, I’m your good girl,” she insists.
“I think you’ll have to prove it to me, honey,” he replies slyly. “I don’t think I’ll let you come quickly. I want you to beg for it. Can you do that f’me, babylove? Beg me to come.”
“Fuck, I’m so close,” she says. “Please, please, I need it. Please, let me come.”
“You can do better than that,” he says, voice cracking. Their harmonious sounds of excitement drive both of them closer to their orgasms.
“Oh, god—please, I—fuck—I need it so bad. ‘M so close, please.” She can barely speak coherently. Chills wrack her sore body, waves of throbbing pleasure threatening to break her. She wanted—no, needed—him to finish.
“Come f’me, Honey,” he says. “You’re my good girl, so good f’me. C’mon, babylove, come with me.”
She does. With ears ringing and eyes closing, she comes until her pussy aches. It feels never ending, euphoria consuming every part of her sweat-laden flesh, chilling and fiery, for hours—or perhaps only seconds. She can’t tell.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her vision blurry. Her body trembles with residual aftershocks of her intense orgasm. She lays spread open on her bed, her pussy still too sensitive to close her legs entirely.
“Thank you for letting me come.” In her daze, her limbs fall away limply. All she can do is exist at this moment. She vaguely wonders if he finished with her, the thought of his deep moans fueling another fire. A part of her is disappointed that she wasn't present enough to listen to him, but another part knows that more opportunities will come.
“You’re so welcome, honey,” he says sweetly. “I think we both really needed that today.”
She hums, still recovering from such a powerful end. She slowly regains her breathing.
“I guess I should be thanking you because that’s one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had,” he says. She laughs.
“You flatter me.”
“I’m serious. Nearly gave myself a pearl necklace.”
And just like that, everything continues as normal. Both know that the other is naked and satiated, but neither feels uncomfortable with the fact. If anything, it makes things relieved, open, or comfortable. They’re both giggly in the golden after-glow.
“What does this mean for us, Honey?”
As, yes, the dreaded ‘talk’. Fear immediately spikes in her veins, and she struggles to find her words. Before she can answer, he begins speaking again.
“Look, I really like talking with you, and I don’t want this to make things weird, but I meant what I said earlier. That was probably one of the best orgasms of my life, and I don’t think that I could live without your pretty little moans now that I’ve heard them. Maybe, we can do that again. We don’t have to put a label on it or anything, if you don’t want to.”
Her heart sinks. Is that all that he wants?
“Right, it doesn’t have to be anything serious, just us having some stress relief.” Her words are dry and forced, feeling like bile in her mouth. She grits her teeth. What the hell had she just gotten herself into?
“Hey, uh, it’s late, and I have to wake up early tomorrow. Same time next week?”
She hopes that he doesn’t think that she regrets what they did, and she hopes he doesn’t think too much into her abrupt ending of the call. It’s not a total lie; she does have work early tomorrow morning, but she has had more than a few days where she was running on two hours of sleep and a miracle. She just wants to get off the phone before he hears the contemplation in her voice.
“You think I can wait a week after that? You have too much faith in me.”
“I think you’ll survive, babe,” she says.
“Good night, babylove.”
“Good night.”
She falls asleep quickly after, dreaming of the nameless, faceless man who she bares her soul to.
Later that night, as Harry edits the finally finished audio, he thinks back to Honey and their mutual pleasure, feeling like an absolute idiot for saying that it was nothing serious. He wasn’t expecting her to agree so emphatically, so quickly.
Although, what had he expected? He was the one who suggested it. No matter, he can’t have a relationship right now, especially a long distance one. He would just end up getting hurt, but he likes her too much to stop talking to her completely. He finally took their relationship further even if it won’t lead to anything more.
—
“Are you ready to admit defeat?”
Y/N lets out a breathy laugh, despite her current situation, her hand rubbing leisure circles on her already sensitive clit, which still throbs from her first orgasm of the night. Tango murmurs praise in her humming ears.
She’s not really sure what they are, and she doesn’t want to think about it. It would only complicate things more.
Friends? Definitely.
Well, maybe not definitely, since she doesn’t even know his name, but what other word could she use to define their relationship? What sort of friends would say such filthy things to each other? Why would he call her ‘my honey’ so emphatically if they were ‘just friends’? Too afraid of misinterpreting his intentions and embarrassing herself, she doesn’t mention anything, and he never does either, but it keeps her awake at night, wondering what they could be if she could just put her feelings to words.
This would be the second hour of their phone call, and it only took them ten minutes for the conversation to turn into one of their “stress relieving sessions”. Both of them had a terrible day; she was late for the first day at her new job (they were understanding given the circumstances, but it still left a sour taste in her mouth), and he slept through an exam. She eased him into a submissive headspace quickly, babbling about what a good boy he is and how proud she is of him. Within minutes, he came, and she whispered all the filthy things she wanted to do to him until he was completely spent, his cock milked of all remnants of his seed, twitching and throbbing with empty orgasms.
He easily fell into the dominant headspace after his quick high, and he was adamant that he could make her come more than any of her other partners, even without him truly there. She knows that he can; hell, she has touched herself to his voice more times than she could count, but she likes teasing him, hearing him get all riled up and stubborn.
“Are you gonna come again, honey?”
“Nope,” she breathes, “Not even a little close.”
“You’re obviously lying or not trying,” he says sharply, and a sense of pride swells in her chest at her ability to get a rise out of him without even trying. She smirks.
“What are you gonna do? Punish me?”
“I might have to.”
She’s sure he would, too, but it would be in the most pleasurable way possible, with his mouth and fingers and cock stimulating her until she comes so many times she can’t take anymore. Her fingers trace her most intimate area, nails scraping against her quivering core. She sinks two fingers inside, feeling her sopping pussy swallow them easily, adjusting quickly and craving more. She tries to find that sweet, spongy spot inside her, but she can’t seem to reach it.
“Wish it was your fingers,” she mumbles, her movements certain and even, but it’s never enough for her greedy body.
“Yeah, lovie?” He croons, “they’d be so big in your tight little pussy.” She hums, wishing that he was there to stuff her in every way possible.
“Would you wear your rings?”
“For you? Of course.” Her eyes roll back at the thought; his thick fingers could tear her at the seams, and with the added texture of his rings, she would be coming within seconds. Her clit throbs, blood rushing in time with her racing heart, and she massages it harder, wanton and waiting for yet another release. “C’mon, babylove, Come for me. Make me proud,” he coaxes. His words make her fall over that edge once more, thighs shaking and pussy weeping. She’s sure there’s a creamy stain beneath her, seeping into her wet skin.
“Again,” he demands. She thinks she may break. “Keep going, babylove. Where’s that toy you told me about?”
He knows that she won’t be able to come much longer on her own, with the pain overwhelming the pleasure.
“It’s so far away,” she whines.
“Go grab it, love,”
Her legs tremble as she twists around, reaching blindly into her bedside drawer. She can’t close her legs too much without getting overstimulated; her legs ache and twitch. Once the toy is situated just above her clit, she ticks it on. Her body reacts immediately, limbs jolting about, hips ducking away, and her voice catching. Gasping, she almost wants to take the toy away, the stimulation being far too much.
He thinks differently.
“Turn it up higher, lovie,” he says so sweetly. Her chest feels like it could almost collapse into itself. Still dizzy from her orgasm, she’s not sure if she can take it, her body fighting against her. She wants to beg and plead for something, but she doesn’t even know what for. Is it for yet another orgasm that will surely be more powerful that any other? Or is it for the burning at every nerve ending to stop?
“I dunno—”
“You can take it, such a good little bunny for me.”
The vibrator ticks to the next setting, a sharp, persistent sound echoes in her empty room, followed by an even louder shout. She has not control anymore. Thankfully, she’s home alone or else it would be an awkward morning with her roommate listening to her cries of pleasure well into the night. Her hand shakes, but she presses the head of the toy harder to her clit. She lets out a guttural groan, feeling euphoria seep from every pore.
“There it is,” he moans, breathing growing ragged. He’s surely jerking himself off, basking in the pleasure with her, and it makes her arousal burn deeper. She wants to put on a show for him, to egg him on and make him feel as good as he makes her feel.
“There’s my pretty girl. Let me hear you, baby.”
She can barely squeeze out a few breathless whimpers from her chest, hedonistic—no, animalistic—sobs crash through her. Pain and pleasure fight for control, just as her mind and body do.
“Feel good?”
“Yes,” she says weakly. “Feels so good.”
She comes quickly with a silent cry, her lips parted and face scrunched. Saliva slips from her open mouth, and she is unable to wipe it away, lewdly dripping down her chin to her neck before finding it’s place on her dirtied sjeets. The recovery period is quicker this time; it’s either that or her body is becoming numb to anything but pleasure. It feels like it’s never ending with the vibrator still nestled tightly to her puffy cilt. Her lips are surely swollen now too, tender from too many orgasms, yet still sopping with arousal.
“Don’t take it away,” he says, “You got another one in ya. You can do it, lovie.”
His voice is muffled beneath blankets where her phone lies, lost in her ravenous bouts of pleasure, limbs writhing and tossing. Her body aches when she twists to put it back up by her ear to hear him more clearly, muscles tight from her previous orgasms. Legs closing slightly, she whines when the toy presses harder against her clit, hips ducking away from the strong vibrations, eyes fluttering closed. Her phone falls out of her grasp once more, but the light illuminates the dark room, casting a warm glow.
“Please—”
She’s not really sure what she’s begging for; it just slips out, a weak plea. Perhaps, she just wants him to be there instead of on the other end of a phone call, in some faraway place she doesn’t even know. The room would feel so much warmer with him here, her back pressed to his chest, their sweat mingling. Maybe he would wear those pretty lace stockings he showed her a picture of once, the glittery fabric coarse against her skin as he teases his toes along her leg, keeping them spread. His freckled and inked arms wrapped tightly around her middle, paying special attention to her tummy, he would whisper sweet things in her ear and press on the area right below her belly button, telling her of how he wants to grind his pretty cock against her soft middle until she is sticky with his precum, how he can fuck himself that deep inside her. She would feel him for days after.
“I know it hurts, baby, but just one more, then you can go to bed.”
It sounds so nice, the thought of sinking into her pillows for a good night's rest, but an orgasm sounds even better, one leaving her spent and satiated and sleepy.
“Such a good girl f’me.”
As much as she wants to, the sensitivity becoming nearly unbearable, she can’t stop; she wants to make him proud, to prove to him that she’s his good girl who can take it. Even though he’s not truly there with her to hold her and make sure she comes, she still wants to do as he says. Her legs tremble, threatening to close.
She squeaks when the vibrator hits a particularly sensitive angle on her clit, and she bites into her pillow to keep from crying out. Her hips work desperately, to reach that high for the last time, just one more, like an addict itching for one more hit. It’s her fourth orgasm within ten minutes, and this might just be her breaking point.
“I dunno if I can.” Her words slur, and she can feel spit dripping down her puckered lips. She suddenly wishes he was there to wipe it away, thumb soft and subtle against her skin, lingering on her puffy lips.
“One more, babylove,” he insists. “Just one more. You’re doing so well.” She bites back a mangled cry, eyes squeezing shut, her thoughts lost in a dark chaos. His voice is the only anchor amidst a dizzying high, coaxing her through her stupor with sweet words.
“My pretty girl, my good fucking girl, taking it so well.” His gravelly voice pulls her from drowning, his words gritty from his clenched jaw. “You’re not hurting too much, are ya?”
His deep voice is soft, lilting with a tender care she needs. She could simply melt, blanketed in the warmth of his rich voice.
“A little,” she admits, a dull ache in her belly when she clenches too tightly. “But it feels so good.”
The vibrations pulse through her body, leaving her voice shaky, and she shifts slightly, hips digging into the mattress. It settles on the underside of her clit, and it’s so close to that one spot, until finally—there, there, there—right there. She groans, low and guttural, drawn out from the depths of her chest, animalistic almost. Her body burns and trembles for a second before yet another strong, unrelenting wave drowns her. Every muscle in her body tenses as the head of the vibrator finds the one tender spot on her clit, catching at just the right angle that leaves her eyes teary, world dizzy. She knows it’ll be painful if she doesn’t pull away, a harsh orgasm building, but she can’t stop, not with him listening to her, waiting for her final bitter end.
She’s doing so good for him, such a good bunny. She trembles in the wake of such a violent euphoria, weak moans slipping in time with her belated breathing. It passes through in waves, the pain, a bittersweet burning welling deep inside her, but a different ache persists, one that leaves her yearning for more, one that makes her dig her feet into the mattress and press herself harder on the toy. Her toes curl, and her back arches, free hand twisting the sheets.
He hums appreciatively.
“My bunny likes it when it hurts. Doesn’t she?”
“Yes,” she sobs, “I want it to hurt.” Hips shuttering away from the relentless vibrator, Y/N feels her final orgasm build, pain lingering around the edges as her muscles twitch.
“Such a dirty little slut.” Her back arches at his filthy words, arousal pooling beneath her. She could feel it wetting her thighs. “Just f’me, right, honey? Just my pretty slut.”
She comes quickly, eyes rolling back as it overwhelms all of her senses. She feels tense yet relaxed. A broken cry breaks from her swollen lips as she shatters, falling apart for the final time. Her muscles quiver, tiny shocks lingering in the aftermath of so many orgasms in such quick succession. Her limbs ache. Her heart races. Her pussy throbs. She knows that this will be all she can take, her body completely spent. She can’t find the energy to keep her eyes open, and they roll back.
“You alright?”
“Yeah,” she says, still struggling to find her breath and collect her thoughts, but when she does, a smile breaks her face. She feels everything and nothing all at once, so perfectly numb. She finds herself laughing incredulously because that cocky little bastard was right: he made her come more times than anyone has before. She laughs until tears slip down her warm cheeks.
This is the part where the emotions start to become just as overwhelming as her release. So much sinks in all at once, and she realizes just how alone she is, and she wishes he was here to pull her back down to earth, to hold and to love. She feels deflated. The sexual release is such a rush, but it brings devastating lows. With tears in her eyes, she struggles not to cave into herself.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” she lies, a sob curling in her lungs, forcing its way out in a blubbering mess. Once the first one escapes, the rest follow easily. She can’t seem to stop, heaving cries wracking her already sore body as she clutches onto her pillow. She fists her phone to her ear in an attempt to be closer to him, but that makes the feeling grow worse, settling to a black hole in her stomach, sucking all euphoria from her. Tears soak into her skin and sink into her ear, muffling his comforting words.
“Let it out, babylove,” he says softly. “I know, I know. I know. Sometimes it can just get really overwhelming.” His words are gentle, just as he is, and maybe that’s what makes this even worse. He is everything she wants. He is just so perfect for her in every way, but he is ao far from her reach. Maybe it would be better if he wasn’t such a good person. Maybe that would make the yearning go away. She’s quiet, slowly breathing through stuttering sniffles.
“Hey,” he says softly, “Go pee and clean yourself up, babe. Know you don’t like feeling all wet down there. It makes your peach all sticky.”
She nods, knowing full well that he can’t see her, but doesn’t move. She honestly doesn’t think she can.
“Go on,” he murmurs when he doesn’t hear the familiar rustling of her sheets. “‘M right here, honey.”
A few more tears squeeze out of her eyes at his words. It makes her whole demeanor crumble once again; she’s upset because he’s not really there, he’s not there to hold her and kiss her and love her, and that’s not fair. She just wants to have him here to tell her that everything will be alright; she wants him to be there to laugh with, to just be with. He is such a good part of her life, but she just wishes that he could physically be there in the way she dreams.
She cleans up quickly, tossing her spent underwear into her dirty laundry. Just as she had suspected, the remnants of her orgasms stained her thighs.
What’s that ache in her chest?
“Good girl, feel better, lovie?”
She nods and whimpers, unable to calm her trembling lips.
“Good, ‘m right here, babylove. Y’did so good, so proud of you.”
She crawls back to bed moments later, shuddering breaths and swollen eyes being the only remnants of her breakdown. She sniffles and wipes her wet eyes with the back of her hand, which smells vaguely of her feminine wipes.
“Sorry, if it was too much,” he says.
“No, no need to apologize,” she says quickly to get rid of any lingering guilt he has. It felt amazing, to be tested just beyond her limits, to be pushed to a shattering breaking point, to trust him to know what she can take. “It was nice. I just sorta—” Her voice breaks. “I dunno. Everything just got a little overwhelming. I think I’m better now.”
“What do you need from me, honey?”
She nearly starts crying again at how sweet he is. She almost could imagine that only a few minutes ago he was calling her his dirty little slut and demanding her to come until she could handle it.
“Just talk to me,” she says.
“So, I saw a couple dogs today,” he begins awkwardly. “Well, I was attacked by two little frenchie’s when I was walking to class, and it completely made my day ten-times better. They were so cute with their chubby little legs.”
He rambles on about his week, and it feels nice and familiar.
She’s nearly asleep when he begins talking about his mother. Apparently, she was visiting him last week, which was nice for about a day; then, he began realizing why he moved away in the first place: she is so smothering.
“And my mum is always nagging me to go out and socialize. She was like,” he breathes in, adjusting his tone to a falsetto. “Harry, you’re never gonna be able to find anyone if you don’t…”
He continues as normal, chattering away in his low, sleepy voice. She doesn’t think he even realizes his slip up, words spluttering out of his mouth so quickly that even he probably couldn’t hear it. She smiles as sleep finally overwhelms her.
From me: here she is. gonna be at least one more part (probs 2) sorry. I didn't mean to do a series. I just can't shut up and I introduced too many fun characters. I don't know a lot about hockey so a lot of this is probably unrealistic.
Warnings: douchey ex-boyfriend, a little violent (it's hockey after all)
Summary: When the assistant coach's niece comes to take pictures of the team, her lens isn't the only thing capturing Harry Styles heart and soul on and off the ice. Harry wants to win her over more than he wants to win the entire league championship. (Although it would be nice to rub it in her ex's stupid face if he won that too).
The rink was chilly even with the appropriate clothes on. Despite the fact she practically lived in ice arenas for the two years, it never ceased to catch her off guard with how cold it was. To be fair, she was a lot closer to the ice this time around. Her camera pressed into the little glass cutout, her eye checking the visual before she clicked the shutter.
Quickly she pulled away as two of the guys pressed against the glass right next to her. “Hey Sweetheart,” Noah Ashford smiled briefly as he skated off in the other direction. She rolled her eyes. Uncle Charlie, assistant coach of The Arctic Chargers, warned the entire team that his niece was taking residence at the rink and would be part of media photos, headshots, and would be submitting to all major sport reporting outlets. The team was told without question, not to bother her in any way.
Naturally the group of twenty twenty-something year-old hockey players were going to do nothing of the sort.
Captain Evander Langston swished almost gracefully over to her. He stopped in front of her with a puff of ice at his feet. “Do you think I have a good side?”
She shook her head with a smirk and looked over the photos she just took in the last three minutes. “Probably not the left. You’ve been checked into the board over there about five times this practice alone.”
He put a hand on his chest. “Sweetheart, you wound me.” Sweetheart was the name Uncle Charlie called her in front of the whole team during the introduction and so it was the only thing any of them paid attention to from their coach. “Don’t say that in front of the others,” he pleaded quietly.
“I would never, Cap,” she smiled kindly.
He returned her grin with his own. “You call me Cap, and I’m going to have a problem with Coach’s rule, Sweetheart. But I know we’re all going to like having you around to keep us in check.”
“Lang, you better not be flirting when your technique needs work!” Kian Calloway shouted across the ice where he slapped a puck into the open net from the blue line.
“You better not be flirting, period, Lang!” Uncle Charlie called.
“Yeah!” Callie repeated to his captain. She had gone over the nicknames with her uncle before starting. Lang, Asher, and Callie were easy and as some of the major stars of the team, it made sense she would chat with them most. “If anyone is going to flirt with her, it’s going to be me!”
“I’ll sit you for less, Callie,” Charlie warned.
She couldn’t help but laugh. But she didn’t mind the attention nor care. It was adorable. Like a group of puppies looking for attention. With a shake of her head, she made her way around the glass and boards for another angle of the players on the ice. She wanted shots of the goalie. Niall Horan seemed much too nice to be a hockey player but perhaps that’s why he was the goalie. He was the first one to introduce himself and he didn’t seem to have the temper that the other players did over trivial things (like tying skates together or putting salt in someone’s Gatorade). Niall blocked shots from his teammates as if it was nothing but breathing. In a way it was stunning, nearly beautiful.
Hockey was violent, yes. But there was beauty in it, too. The way players skated backwards, cupped the puck on their stick. The speed, agility, and gracefulness required to stay standing. It was all really beautiful, and she was excited to be up close this time around. For the last two or so years she had been in a box cheering for her ex-boyfriend, right forward for the Glacier Wolves, Kael Crowe.
To be completely honest, she should have known it wouldn’t have worked out. Among the cheating, the belittling, and all the other things that were, in hindsight, an abysmal part of dating him, the orange and blue coloring wasn’t her favorite. The Arctic Chargers black and silver jerseys were much more her speed. Kael was her boyfriend of years and years but once he made it to the majors three years ago, things were very different.
“You can come on the ice, Sweetheart, we’re almost done!” Asher said.
Even though she had dated a hockey player for nearly a decade (most of which took place during college) she couldn’t skate. Uncle Charlie tried when she was younger to teach her, but the balance and coordination was not in her wheelhouse. She longed to skate better. Figure skaters were so dainty and beautiful as they glided on the ice. She was neither of those things and almost dreaded getting on the ice in the boots she was wearing. If she fell in front of her uncle, it was embarrassing. She could only imagine how embarrassing it would be in front of an entire professional hockey team.
“One second!”
She wanted to prolong the agony. Plus, with her fragile camera it seemed like a death sentence to send her out there. Even if it was what she was getting paid to do. It wasn’t the most lucrative job she had, but it was what she wanted to do most. She was grateful for the opportunity and hoped it would kickstart into something more. Photography was a major passion for her. Pictures of anything. Her computer was filled with pictures of the sun and sky from the summer. Snowy days in the winter. Pictures of her parents’ dog. Her uncle’s kids on birthdays. She was the official photographer of family weddings and more. But it wasn’t steady. A lot of her post-college young life had been put on hold to dote on Kael. Something she regretted but couldn’t do anything about now.
Uncle Charlie was kind to help her out and she thought starting now was better than never starting at all.
“Styles is that you?!”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t piss yourselves in excitement,” the voice was right beside her.
“You better be fucking cleared before touching this rink,” Ray Wheeler, head coach and another surrogate uncle to her was a bit gruffer in his delivery to the players than Charlie most of the time.
The man beside her slapped his hand, paper held pressed to the glass. “Doctor-cleared for takeoff,” he called. A round of cheers went up and she snapped another picture of the excitement, ignoring the one and only Harry Styles beside her.
Harry Styles was Kael’s rival. The same draft class (although begrudgingly, Kael would admit Harry went first), and almost the same position—left forward. Fortunately, they were in different conferences, so they only ever played one another twice a season. Unless they made it to finals which hadn’t happened yet. But in her opinion, it was only a matter of time. Harry made headlines for his skill and ability, fitness, and overall dominance on the ice. He was protective of his best friend in goal—he and Niall were a pair like no other. Which meant when they did play each other, Kael knew exactly how to get under Harry’s skin.
“Who are you?” He asked.
Harry wasn’t here for her formal introduction to the team. Before she could open her mouth, Uncle Charlie was there. “That’s my niece Styles. She’s off limits so just make your way to the locker room.”
“Ah,” he smiled.
It should have been noted that in addition to skill and ability, fitness, and dominance on the ice, Harry was one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen. His eyes were green which sure as hell meant God was in fact a woman because no man would know to make Harry even more beautiful with forest green eyes. He was tall, even taller on skates. His skin glowed in a way that should have been illegal when she spent half an hour dousing her face in ten moisturizing products each night to achieve the same look and Harry spent most of his time indoors on an ice rink. Was it the chill that made his cheeks pinker? Would she get the same glow working here all season? She could only hope.
But it was that smile that did her in. His straight teeth peeking out from his lips. The dimples. The arrogance behind the expression. The pink curve of his upturned lips went right through her as he grinned at her.
“Nice t’meet you,” he held his hand out.
“Hands off!” Charlie shouted again.
Harry chuckled as she took his hand with an eyeroll introducing herself. “I’m your photo media specialist, if you will.”
“Excellent,” Harry grinned. “Let me know if y’need me t’pose a certain way,” he winked.
She shook her head and Niall skated up to the side. “Hey Sweetheart,” he said.
“Hi, baby, I missed you,” Harry answered with a grin. Niall shook his head flipping his friend off which made her giggle. Niall remained focused on her.
“Your Uncle said you might need help walking out here.”
“Oh, do we have a skating rookie on our hands?” Harry asked. Her cheeks felt hot under the assumption. Even though it was accurate.
“I suck at skating,” she shrugged. There wasn’t any use playing it off—they would know in a matter of seconds. “I get too nervous and lose my balance,” she admitted.
They both tilted their heads at her. She knew that vulnerability wasn’t something seen on the ice. It seemed almost trivial to admit, but she knew it clearly threw them for a loop. “I can walk you out,” Harry offered with that sinfully delicious smile.
“Coach said he was going to rebreak all of your fingers if you touch her."
“Oh, please let me walk you out,” Harry practically bounced with excitement.
She worried her eyes were going to remain in the back of her head from rolling them so much, but she supposed that would come with the territory with working for a group of boys. “Thank you, Niall. I should be okay. Just don’t let anyone laugh at me too much if I fall on my butt.”
“We don’t want you t’fall on such a pretty asset, Rookie. Are y’sure I can’t help?”
She ignored Harry, keeping her eyes on Niall. “No one will laugh,” he assured her, a smile toying at his lips as he slipped his helmet back on. “I offered, but she’s stubborn like you, Coach!”
The laughter that ensued was a good distraction for her to make her move. She unlocked the rink door and stepped onto the ice following behind Niall. Each step was carefully taken, knowing the traction of her winter boots were better than any other pair of shoes she owned but would never compare to the blade of skate.
Three little steps was about as far as she could go it seemed. Right as her footing was about to be lost on her and send her to the hard ice, a hand caught her elbow and kept her upright. “Rookie, love,” he tisked. “I told you I could help.”
She looked at him briefly knowing that his good looks got him any girl he wanted. She heard the rumors of the string of girls he had (perhaps one for every city he visited) and she knew of every bad thing that Kael had to say about him. But the kindness of him to catch her was sweet. Even she couldn’t deny that. Kael merely laughed each time she fell, it wasn’t mean spirited per se, but it was almost like he was glad she couldn’t skate. A way to be better than her.
God, she wished she had taken the hint a lot sooner.
Harry’s skates weren’t even tied yet. “Jus’ wait,” he said and knelt to lace them up. She had to imagine he rushed to get out here just knowing she wouldn’t make it across the ice.
Once tied, Harry held her elbow again and skated so effortlessly beside her barely moving as he glided alongside her. No one paid attention to her slow steps, and she could feel Harry’s grip firm but not hard on her arm. Almost sensing when she was going to misstep before she did. It made her heart skip a beat.
No. She couldn’t think like that. She wasn’t going to fall for another hockey player ever.
“M’teaching m’niece t’skate. I can teach you,” he shrugged. It wasn’t arrogant the way he said it. She was sure anyone else that knew she was in their mid-twenties (especially someone with a famous hockey player for an ex-boyfriend of eight years, and famous major league hockey coach for an uncle) would expect her to be able to skate. Instead, one of the top players in the league was at her elbow barely acknowledging that it was weird. Perhaps the vulnerability she mentioned to him and Niall really meant something to him. Or maybe she was just reading into it—which she definitely shouldn’t have been reading into it.
“It’s a real shame you won’t have that hand to play with after all, Harry,” Uncle Charlie shook his head.
“Don’t worry, Uncle Charlie, I can handle a group of boys,” she rolled her eyes again, earning a bout of laughter from the group. But she knew that Uncle Charlie was worried about Harry specifically. He was a lot like Kael. In another life, Harry would have been a weakness for her. But not anymore. She was done with hockey guys.
“M’jus’ making sure she doesn’t fall. Sad y’couldn’t teach her t’skate. Some uncle you are,” he shrugged casually.
The group laughed again, and she smirked. Charlie ignored the childish behavior of his players but rubbed his middle finger on his nose like he had an itch aimed for Harry “They’re all yours, Sweetheart. Just tell them where you want them. They’ve all been instructed to listen carefully unless they want to do suicides tomorrow at practice, so be honest if they don’t listen. Or lie if you see fit,” Uncle Charlie remarked making everyone groan. “Harry, go get your gear she needs individual pictures too.”
His eyes flickered to Niall for several seconds. Right as he released her arm, Niall now stood beside her and waited for direction. He didn’t hold her elbow like Harry did, but it was clear there was an unspoken message they shared telepathically. That little flutter in her chest made it’s appearance once more solely because Harry was kind to her about her inability to skate.
No, she wasn’t going to fall for it.
She wasn’t going to fall for the hot left wing of her uncle’s team just because he offered to teach her to skate and didn’t make fun of her because she couldn’t.
Nope. She wasn’t.
Not even a little.
Right?
*
The boys were decidedly sweet. Despite the fact it was like trying to wrangle a group of twenty toddlers into one spot. They sat nicely for their headshots individually, but once she tried to get them into various poses and group shots with their respective lines it proved a little more difficult. (Don’t even get her started on how the whole team shot went).
Harry stood beside her while she took pictures of everyone but him. His presence was comforting in a way she didn’t want to admit so readily. It had been less than an hour since she spoke to him. When he returned with all his gear in place, he held a small rug that the coaches often used to stand at center ice and call drills. He laid it before her feet, and she didn’t have to worry as much about falling. Niall was her test subject in front of the goal. When she wanted to get another angle, Harry scooped up the little mat and held her elbow and let her guide while he slid alongside her at a pace that was much too slow for a professional hockey player. But Harry didn’t seem to mind.
“Can I see?” He asked while the others skated around, messing around at the other end of the rink. She was now at the bench where she was safe from slipping. Harry leaned over the rail, dropping his gloves onto the wooden seat beside her. She offered her camera to him. Carefully he cradled it, like he knew it really was precious to her. Silently, he looked at the little screen. A smile grew on his face as he admired how his pictures came out. “These are awesome, Rookie.”
“Thank you,” did her cheeks feel warmer from the compliment? She smiled softly as he looked through several photos of himself. Harry Styles was lucky he didn’t have a bad side. Not that she would tell him that.
“How come y’didn’t do this for Crowe’s team?” He asked clicking through photos of his teammates.
She blinked, the smile melting from her face. “You know about me and Kael?”
“Well, yeah. S’the whole hands-off talk Coach gave us. Said you’re done with hockey players,” Harry shrugged one shoulder, his gaze focused on the lines and group shots on the screen of her camera. “Fortunately for me, I don’t consider your ex a real hockey player,” he smiled at the screen. “But I haven’t told Coach ‘bout that loophole jus’ yet.”
She snorted and shook her head. The flirty comment was cute. She could admit that. Plus, a dig at her shitty ex made her feel a little lighter. But she wasn’t going to fall for Harry’s easy-going charisma.
If she repeated it to herself enough, it would stick.
“I will not be dating real and-or imaginary hockey players,” she told him.
“At least give me a chance t’change your mind, Rookie,” he offered.
“No, thank you,” she shook her head politely. He frowned. She laughed softly. “You genuinely look down by my answer.”
“Hell yeah,” he scowled. “Y’take pretty pictures and y’wrangled this ragtag group,” he sighed almost dreamily. “And you’re absolutely beautiful t’boot.”
That made her smile, at least. He was an expert flirter. “Thank you, Harry. I appreciate that.”
“Enough t’let me take you on a date?”
“No.”
“Ugh.”
She laughed again. “Thank you for helping me around the ice,” she said graciously. “I’ll tell Uncle Charlie you were a perfect gentleman after he left.”
“Rookie, love, you’ll ruin m’reputation,” he called after her as she made her way around the rink toward the exit.
*
Her apartment was not in the nice part of town. To be fair, it was only just over the border from the nicer side. From her place she could see the bar she would be working at on the days she wouldn’t be at the rink. She hadn’t told Uncle Charlie about it because she knew he would be pissed if he saw where she lived. But it was the right price and honestly, the other tenants weren’t bad.
She suspected one of her neighbors on the first floor was... an entrepreneur... for his... small business. Michael was very wary of her at first, but she was lucky because he wore a hockey jersey the day, she met him, Callie’s number and name on the front and back. She hadn’t gone to the rink yet because she was getting a lot of her things and affairs settled. That evening she moved in, she got him tickets to a home game through her uncle (along with a dozen cookies to welcome herself to the building). To his credit, Michael looked weary that the tickets were fake, but the cookies were good. They weren’t special seats or anything, but they weren’t bad seats either. He knocked on her door the day after the game and it was clear she wasn’t going to have any issues with her neighbor. “That was cool. If you need anything, I got you,” he assured her with a grin. “That car you got, I’ll keep an eye on it for you when you’re not around... you’re too sweet to be living here.”
She smiled. “Thanks Michael.”
On the second floor lived an older couple. They kept to themselves, but she was sure to give them a dozen cookies as well and offered to shovel out their cars when it snowed. But once Michael saw her out there shoveling, he joined her as well. She brought a hockey stick autographed by the whole team for their grandson. She couldn’t wait to hear how he enjoyed that Christmas gift.
Her neighbor on the third floor just down the hall was Marcellus. He went by Marc and told her that he had a boyfriend and if she had an issue with that, it was too fucking bad. The previous tenant must have been a piece of work. She laughed at him, handed off her dozen cookies and shrugged. “If he breaks your heart, I have a team of hockey boys who can take him on,” she giggled.
So, Marc loved her too.
She wouldn’t be jogging around the neighborhood any time soon, but it was nice she wouldn’t have to worry about her car being stolen (although good luck to anyone who tried to get that piece of crap to start without a prayer), or getting robbed on her way into the building.
Inside her little studio apartment was a small kitchen. There was enough space for a small loveseat, a bed, and TV. She had a coffee table and a counter to sit at for breakfast. The bathroom was surprisingly spacious and modern for a rundown studio apartment building.
After a full day at the rink, she was chilly. A shower was just what she needed before she ventured into the cold again. Letting the hot water soothe her cold neck and back was so nice. While her hair air-dried, she transferred and then sifted through her pictures on her laptop. The edits she made were small. The lighting and shadows only needed to be adjusted a little. She loved the natural look of the of the players in their element.
She forwarded the photos to Charlie for approval, and he would send them to the higher ups for printing.
They look stunning, Sweetheart. Incredible job.
Grinning she looked over the photos she took of Harry again. He was by far the best-looking guy on the team (not that the others weren’t good-looking but alas). Even in the photos where you couldn’t see his pretty face, there was a presence that made him look more attractive. It was obvious he was a good player. His talent was evident in the photos, and she was proud of herself for being able to capture it.
There was a knock on her door. She padded quietly across the room, peeked through the peephole to see Marc, before she opened it. “Hi,” she smiled.
“You have to teach me hockey,” he said. “This man is obsessed, and I don’t even know what you call the ball.”
“Puck.”
“Exactly.” She laughed. He glanced around her apartment. “Your talents are wasted on this run-down place—holy hottie, who’s that?”
Her computer screen remained on Harry’s smiling individual photo. Dimples on full display and looking intense but happy. “That’s Harry Styles.”
“I think I’ll like hockey after all.”
Shaking her head, she sighed. “Listen, I have a shift I have to get to, but there’s a game on tomorrow afternoon, come over and we’ll watch it, and I’ll teach you,” she offered.
“Bring flashcards of the players. It’ll make me more interested.”
She tied the apron around her waist as he sifted through the photos. “God damn, is this what all hockey players look like?” He asked.
“Bye Marc,” she pulled his arm and pushed him toward her door. “See you tomorrow.”
*
The Locker Room was a local restaurant owned by Louis Tomlinson. It was a hot spot for the players to go to on off days and after a win (they refrained from going after a loss unless absolutely necessary). The fans that went were not allowed to be aggressive about the players, but after a while, they got used to seeing the players so often, it became a nice place to be themselves.
Asher and Lang were playing darts while Niall and Callie focused on a game of pool. Harry sat back sipping his beer analyzing his contacts looking for the hookup he wanted for the evening. They had curfew at midnight since there was a game tomorrow evening which left him with ample time to peruse his list, meet up with the girl, and get home by midnight before he turned into a pumpkin.
“Who’s the lucky lady tonight?” Louis asked clapping a hand on Harry’s back.
“Haven’t decided yet,” he chuckled.
“Well, when the new waitress comes over, you are not to make her uncomfortable. I already warned her.”
“I would never,” he rolled his eyes, still scanning the names.
“Uh-huh,” Louis nodded. “Of course. Tell your teammates too. She’s off limits.”
“What’s up with every new girl being off limits in our life?” Callie asked.
“Coach won’t let us date his niece and you won’t let us date the new girl,” Niall explained to Louis for clarification.
“Fortunately, it’s the same person, so you don’t have to lose out on two girls.”
Harry pulled away from his screen to admire the pretty girl he met at the rink earlier in the day. His grin grew. “Oh, Rookie, it’s you,” he cooed.
“Oh Jesus,” Louis sighed. “Watch out for that one, love,” he patted her on the back.
“So, I’ve heard,” she smiled.
“Is she ours?” Asher asked excitedly.
“As long as you don’t torture her,” Louis shrugged.
“We would never!”
“Eleanor refuses to set foot back here because of you all.”
“Hire meaner waitstaff.”
“Best of luck, love,” Louis shook his head.
“What can I get you guys?” She asked sweetly.
“Uncle Charlie doesn’t pay you enough that you have to slum it here?” Lang asked.
“I heard that!” Louis shouted.
Harry was...quite taken. From the moment he laid eyes on her. The concentration on her face as she took pictures, the way her hair was pinned up, how bundled she was. Her smile was sexy. The quips that spilt from her mouth perhaps even sexier. Harry was certain she was a dream because good things at the rink consisted of goals, interviews, and the pizza from the snack bar. Not a pretty girl with an expensive camera and his assistant coach as her uncle.
Now her hair was still pinned back, an apron tied around her waist, and the black and silver uniform as homage to his own. Harry wanted her draped in the number eleven and his name on her back ASAP.
It was cute she couldn’t skate. Cute how passionate she was on day one taking pictures. She wasn’t flustered by their rowdiness, or their annoying nature. Harry knew that she was used to hockey boys—had to be if her ex was one of the top forwards in the league (although Harry didn’t recognize that too often). He liked how she didn’t take shit from them but was still kind. She was funny, creative, and lovely.
And he only saw her in action for a short time.
But it was enough to make him put his phone away and not think about hooking up with someone tonight. His focus would be on her waiting on the team and (hopefully) getting to know her more so he could rationalize falling for someone so out of his league and someone so off limits.
“Hi Rookie, love,” Harry smiled as she approached his table. She took orders from the other four hanging around.
“Hi Harry,” she answered.
“M’happy to see you again.”
She nodded. “It’s only been a few hours, Harry.”
“S’too long t’go without seeing your pretty face,” he assured her.
She rolled her eyes, but Harry noticed how her cheeks flushed with color. “What do you want to drink?” She asked instead.
“Are you on the menu?”
“Does that work on other girls?”
“Yes.”
“It’s probably because of the hockey thing you have going on. I promise it wouldn’t work if you weren’t a professional,” she shrugged.
“Good thing m’very professional,” he continued, his voice flirty.
“I’m putting down whatever the other guys said,” she shook her head and headed off to get the drinks.
“Harry, don’t bother her. Coach said she’s off-limits,” Niall reminded him while Callie took his shot.
“Yeah, she doesn’t strike me as one-night-stand material,” Asher murmured focusing on his dart going directly into the board.
“Mmm,” Harry sighed. In the brief interaction he had with her, he kind of figured that too. In fact, given she had been with Crowe for nearly a decade, he imagined she didn’t have too much experience dating other than her ex. Not that he would force her—or any woman. Like he said they all knew what they signed up for. Harry wasn’t great at the whole relationship thing. He was constantly traveling with the team. Practice most days, games most nights. Relationships were often one-sided and tiresome. It wasn’t fair to expect someone to wait for five months of the year to have a relationship.
One-night stands were better for him.
But he could at least ask her if she was willing to try him out. God, knew he wanted to try her out the second he looked at her.
“Your drinks,” she announced setting them on Harry’s table. He eyed her as she set the drinks down from the little tray in her arm. “Do you guys want food?” She asked.
“Are you on the menu now?”
“Jesus Christ,” Lang shook his head.
“You’re embarrassing us, Styles,” Callie sighed.
“Chicken wings, you said?” She asked scribbling on the pad of paper in her hand. “Great choice. Do you want anything else?” Harry smiled, opened his mouth to speak but she turned immediately. “Not you,” she said over her shoulder and sauntered over to the pool table. Lang and Asher chuckled to themselves at Harry’s strike out.
When Harry was on the ice there were zero thoughts of anything but slicing up the ice with the blade of his skate. He thought about the opponent across from him. The puck sliding across the ice and into the net. Protecting Niall in goal if anyone dared to lay a hand on him.
But now when they had timeouts, or when he was waiting for the puck to come up to him, he saw the pretty girl with her camera lens pressed to the glass, or in the cut out for the press. Her little badge draped around her neck looked so cute. Everything about her was cute and dainty.
Crowe was a fucking idiot to let her go.
Which made him wonder why he chose to break up with someone so pretty and witty. Creative as well.
Fuck. Coach was going to kill him.
But she really stood her ground. In the month that she had been part of the team, she seemed damn near impervious to Harry’s flirting. Harry worked hard to make her blush (which he could see was easy) but it took a lot to make her speechless. It was obvious Crowe didn’t treat her well. It seemed like Harry’s attention to her was the only time she had been shown affection. That alone pissed him off and made him hate him more. It was like she had never been told how pretty she was. Even when Harry wasn’t actively flirting with her, when he complimented her hair or how her pictures came out, she seemed completely off-guard.
What a fucking dick.
Harry once more wondered why they broke up. He still hadn’t figured it out. There was no way she wasn’t the perfect girlfriend. Especially for a hockey player. For all the reasons Harry didn’t date, she knew precisely what she was getting into and did it anyway. But she doted on his teammates as if she was dating all of them (there was no other way to describe it.) She always had extra tape for sticks. She walked with her cross body filled with supplies for hangovers, minor injuries, and the like. When she waited on them at Louis’ place, she knew their orders and had them ready almost like clockwork for when they arrived.
“Styles!” Coach Wheeler called. “If you’re not going to practice, you can sit out!” He shouted.
Shaking his head, Harry tried to rid his mind of the team’s photographer. The coach’s niece. His pretty waitress.
The star of all his dreams as of late.
*
“Sweetheart, where do you want us?!” Lang called.
She was on the bench, waiting to take some gameday photos. Today she was wearing skates, which made Harry nervous. He knew if she went down, she would protect her precious camera and he didn’t blame her, but it he hated the thought of her getting hurt. “Just by the—” She sighed, closing her eyes mid-sentence and she put her phone to her ear. “Stop fucking calling,” she snapped and then put her phone in her pocket again. “By the goal,” she cleared her throat.
The team stared at her. “Do you have a stalker, babe?” Asher asked.
“No,” she snorted and looked at her camera. She took a test shot of the empty net to make sure everything was set. She stepped tentatively onto the ice, more graceful than the last time she did. But Harry glided over to her quickly. He didn’t touch her, but he was more than ready to catch her. She ignored his presence, not in a mean way at all. Not an ounce of her was mean. Which is why it was so surprising she had that much malice in her voice on the phone.
“Everything okay, Sweetheart?” Charlie asked.
“Yup,” she popped the ‘puh’ sound.
She slid forward very carefully. “S’kind of shooting yourself in the foot here, Rookie. Figure skates have a better blade for beginners. S’harder t’skate on hockey skates for what you’re doing.”
“Oh, I was always told a hockey blade was thicker, so it was better.”
Harry shrugged. “S’not really that big of a deal in m’opinion. Figure skates have a longer blade, better for y’balance. Charlie set y’up with those?” She shook her head.
“No,” her voice was quiet.
“You bought hockey skates on your own?”
“Can you go stand with your team?” She asked dodging his question. He frowned.
“Yeah, sorry, Rookie, love,” he skated off but whistled at his younger teammate, Garrett, the third string forward for his position. Harry tilted his head in her direction and Garrett went over to her, standing way too far away in case she did fall.
“Who got her the skates?” He mumbled to Charlie. He shrugged.
“Not sure. Probably Kael. I would imagine he got a deal from his sponsors.”
God Harry hated him.
*
Mila was someone he saw on a semi-regular basis. Which meant she knew the drill. After their win, they would do their thing. Harry would stay until she fell asleep—because he wasn’t an asshole; and he wasn’t too proud to admit that he liked cuddling. Even if it was only for a little while—and he would send a text the next day to make sure she felt okay. There was no breakfast, no awkward small talk. Just sex. There was no setup to get feelings hurt or hearts broken. Harry was too busy for a girlfriend, and he would make for a shitty boyfriend.
It was cold when he left her place, and he blew into his hands for warmth when he as he headed to his car. There was a text on his phone from an unknown number.
Thought you would want to see the picture that’s on the front page of the sports section for tomorrow :) There was an impressive picture of Harry’s game winning goal. It wasn’t time sensitive but it was the one that broke the tie. The rest of the team held off the offensive line for the remaining ten minutes of the game.
Thanks, Rookie. I’m going to send it to Mum. She’ll print it for the fridge. How’d you get my number?
Kian gave it to me. Is that alright?
Who?
Callie 🙄 You should really learn your friends’ names. Is it okay I have your number?
Of course it’s alright. Just surprised YOU asked for it. Didn’t know you would want to talk to me so bad. You could have asked me yourself.
Sorry, I think have the wrong number.
He chuckled to himself while his car warmed up. The seat heater was heaven on his stiff muscles. Harry liked the cold—he had to being a hockey player. But it was her funny wit that warmed him from the inside out. Are you all still at Louis’?
Yes. Niall and Noah are about to break the air hockey machine.
Who?
🙄 Asher. Sorry. Jesus.
I’ll be right there, Rookie.
*
The next time the team won, Harry looked at the message from Layla asking if he wanted to come over to celebrate. He didn’t really want to. The guys were headed home because they had an early flight and there was no celebrating. Which meant that the pretty girl he wanted to celebrate with wasn’t going to be out and about either. She wouldn’t be doting on his drunk teammates. Wouldn’t be stopping their stupid fights about who’s turn it was to play her in darts. She wouldn’t be making sure they all made it home safely in the Ubers she ordered.
But Harry couldn’t just hang out with her either. There was no reason. She was basically his teammate and he couldn’t figure why she was so guarded. At least not beyond whatever it was she was dealing with Crowe.
“Is he still calling?” Niall asked looking at her phone the bench while she looked at her camera. Her hair always fell so perfectly as she watched the screen.
“Who?” Lang asked.
She sighed. “It’s just Kael.”
“Why?” Callie asked.
She shrugged. “I would have to answer to find out. Which is the last thing I want to do. I need a new phone number; I just haven’t gotten around to it. My schedule conflicts with most regular business hours so I could go to the store.”
“Charlie, you can’t spare her to give her a day off?” Asher asked.
Her uncle rolled his eyes, flipped him off, and continued practicing with the second and third stringers.
Harry sat beside her and peeked over her shoulder at her photos. “Do y’have any non-hockey photos?” She nodded and picked up her phone that was still showing Crowe blowing up her phone with calls and texts. “Why don’t y’block him, Rookie?” She swiped his notification away and she opened the web browser. It was currently on a recipe for carrot cake cupcakes. “Those look good,” he smiled.
She smirked. “It’s Ray’s birthday next week. Carrot cake is his favorite. Figured I’d make you all cupcakes.”
Harry thought she was too sweet for him. Someone with a lineup of women didn’t deserve her sweetness. Someone who was meeting Arya at her place after practice because he could didn’t get a girl like her. Him meeting Nyla after tomorrow’s away game three states away didn’t get someone like the pretty photographer.
Kael’s name kept popping up. “Y’probably never had t’block anybody before,” Harry said quietly. “D’you know how?” He hoped he didn’t sound condescending. But he had the unfortunate pleasure of blocking someone every now and again.
“I know how,” she laughed softly. “It’s just... with Kael, it’s likely to be a thing, you know?” She shrugged. “It’s easier to ignore him.”
“It probably gives him hope,” Harry frowned.
She held out her phone to him and shrugged. “That’s not my problem. I’ll see him in a couple weeks when we’re up North,” she reminded him. “Hopefully by then he’ll get the message; or I’ll have to talk to him in person.”
Harry took her phone and admired the portfolio of photos she displayed for him. The website was all black making her images pop. She was so talented. There were babies and weddings. There were family portraits and just general landscape shots. All of differing but equal beauty and perfection. Natural. Lovely.
Harry swiped away Kael’s name again and clicked on the menu item of the about section.
Two side by side pictures of the pretty girl next to him were on the screen. One with the camera in front of her eye, the other a sweet smile on her face camera in front of her like a prop. Behind the Lens... Thank you for browsing. If you like what you see, I’d be happy to quote you for any need. I have experience in just about any area of photographing. Thank you for letting me part of you day!
Too sweet for someone who was going to never be able to settle down because of his job. No matter how much he wished she could be part of his day.
Kael’s stupid name popped up again. Without another rational thought, Harry answered the call, pressed the phone to his ear, and skated off knowing she couldn’t go after him.
“Finally, baby,” Kael groaned.
“STYLES HOW DARE YOU!” She screamed.
“Crowe, nice t’hear from you.”
“Who the fuck is this?” He growled.
“HARRY!” She was on the ice in her ever-present boots. They weren’t great for walking on ice. She slipped immediately but Lang was right nearby to help her up. Harry was going to feel guilty about that for ages.
“None of your business,” he shook his head. “She doesn’t want y’calling anymore.”
“What the fuck? Put her on the phone!”
“No,” Harry said defiantly. “She doesn’t want t’talk t’you. Ever. Stop calling y’piece of shit.”
Lang looked at Harry wildly as he glided with the pretty girl clutching to his arm. She smacked Harry multiple times on the arm and chest making the coaches laugh. “Give me the phone!” She snapped.
“Give her the phone!” He repeated. “Listen to her!”
“No, y’don’t deserve her,” Harry stepped out of her reach where she lost her balance as she lunged for him. She fell again catching her hands. Thank God she didn’t have her camera. Lang helped her to her feet again and Harry felt a wave of guilt wash over him again. “Y’didn’t appreciate her, her talent, or anything. Y’didn’t get her the right skates, and I don’t know what y’did t’piss her off so bad, but y’not getting her back,” Harry said it so casually. But every word was meant for her.
“Is that you, Styles?” Crowe snarled.
“Bye Crowe, see you in a month!” He said cheerily handing the phone off to her.
She nearly fell again despite holding onto Lang. “What the hell, Harry!”
“I got rid of him,” he shrugged. “You’re welcome.”
Her face was beat red with embarrassment. Her hands had to be cold from the fall. But she still looked adorable as always. Even with a sour expression, she was sweet. Pretty beyond belief. Wide eyes, soft skin, even her nose was cute. She glared at him and spun on her heel. “Get me away from him,” she snapped.
Harry sighed, feeling bummed he pissed her off too much. Lang shook his head at Harry as he helped her back to the bench. She packed up her things and left.
But he couldn’t help but notice that her phone had stopped ringing.
*
She was still mad at him a week later. If she ignored his flirting before, this was an entire new level. She hardly acknowledged his presence. He missed her. In a weird way. He enjoyed bugging her, but perhaps it went to far. It was an invasion of her personal life that he wasn’t privy to, and he didn’t really have any right to deal with her ex-boyfriend.
That didn’t mean anything he said wasn’t anything but the truth.
“Hey Rookie,” he said as she entered the room to get their drink orders for the evening.
“Hi everybody,” she grinned at everyone in turn and glared at Harry.
“Boy you pissed her off,” Niall chuckled.
He shrugged. “Worth it,” because it was. He hated Kael before, he hoped he got the clue.
“You know she had to talk to him, right?” Callie asked. Harry’s head snapped up from his phone screen looking at his contacts once more. Harry wasn’t sure he could pinpoint it exactly but his evenings with the women in his phone were leaving him less and less fulfilled. He wasn’t looking for any grand pronouncements of love. That wasn’t his thing. But the idea of spending the evening with someone didn’t give him the same excitement as it used to.
It was probably the day he met her. But it was sinking in more over the week she had barely spoken to him. “What do y’mean?” He frowned.
“Crowe? She had to talk to him after that stunt you pulled.”
Harry glowered at the table. “Why?”
“Because he wouldn’t stop blowing up her phone and he was threatening to come to her if she didn’t just talk to him. Why do you think she didn’t come with us on the plane the next day?”
Harry felt like a jerk. “Oh.”
“She hates you,” Asher reminded him.
He rolled his eyes. “She could have told one of us,” he mumbled. Harry would have sat outside her apartment waiting for him.
“I don’t know if you noticed Harry, but she’s pretty private,” Niall sighed leaning on his pool stick. “I know you meant well, but it kind of fucked up her day.”
Harry pouted. He met her gaze as she brought their drinks out.
And if she spilled Harry’s on him, well, he supposed he deserved that.
*
Harry was a great hockey player, a great friend. A great brother and son. Not to toot his own horn but he thought he truly was the World’s Best Uncle like it said on the T-shirt Gemma had got him when she told him she was pregnant. He was still pretty humble all things considered; always looking to improve. Coach Wheeler was one of his favorite mentors (right after his mum) and he strived to do better by them.
He was bad at Chemistry in school. He wasn’t good at Sudoku. Most recently he felt like he was bad at having sex. The thing he had going with the women he knew didn’t seem to be working for him the way it used to. There was an awkwardness to the hookups when he left. He wasn’t mentally present in the moment.
Harry was pretty certain he would be a shitty boyfriend.
He needed her forgiveness, or the other remaining areas of his life were going to get worse too.
Most notably, he was shit in practice. He worried he was going to be demoted to second string.
Harry arrived early to practice, putting goals in the net two hours before everyone else arrived. He would have to pay to resurface the ice twenty minutes before practice officially started. But he hoped that she was going to show up early with her carrot cake cupcakes. He anticipated she would be just one short. Which Harry deserved on top of everything else too.
Fortunately, she did arrive early.
“Hey,” he waved.
She ignored him, set the cupcakes down on the bench and pulled out her camera. She fiddled with it, wiping the lens off with a cloth, and took some test shots of the ice.
“Rookie, love,” he sighed and skated over to the bench.
“Yes, Mr. Styles? Can I help you?”
“C’mon, Rookie, I’m sorry,” he frowned. “I was just trying to help.”
She rolled her eyes and ignored him. “You must get whatever you want all the time.”
He frowned. “No, I don’t actually,” although from her perspective he could see what she meant.
“Well, me either, so if I’m going to be miserable. So are you.”
He snorted, shook his head. He stepped off the ice and sat on the bench beside her. “I’m sorry, Bunny. Really. I hated that he was bothering you. I didn’t mean t’make it worse, honest. I would have done the same for m’sister or any one of the guys’ girls.”
“I am an adult Harry. I’m independent and I can handle my own shit. You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I understand. M’sorry, really. I won’t do it again. But m’sick of y’being mad at me. S’been no fun this week without skating you around, grossly overtipping you jus’ so you’ll spend extra time with us,” he smiled shyly at her.
She sucked her lip into her mouth. For a moment she looked at her lap, obviously thinking something over. “How’d you know he bought me the wrong skates?” Her voice was quiet.
Harry blinked wondering how long she had that question locked and loaded. He shrugged. “I asked Charlie. He said he didn’t. So, I assumed it had to be him.”
She sighed and looked up. “He said figure skates would make me look like try-hard. Hockey skates would make me look more like I belonged on his arm,” she explained. “I didn’t know. I would have...” she shook her head. “It was eye-opening when you said that, and it hurt... and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry too.”
Harry sighed with relief. “You don’t have t’apologize,” he promised. “I’m sorry. Seriously.”
“Apology accepted.”
Harry grabbed her shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Thanks Bunny.”
She wrinkled her nose at him in distaste. “I don’t like Bunny.”
“Oh...” his smile grew by the second. “Y’don’t Rookie, love?” He chuckled standing up and getting back on the ice. “Y’probably shouldn’t have told me that,” he winked and skated off.
“There’s no cupcake for you!” She called.
“That’s okay, Bunny!” He shouted back with a grin and sank a shot from half-ice.
Maybe Harry would be a shitty boyfriend, but he was going to be her best friend instead.
--
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This is slowwww burn. Enemies to lovers. I love a good slow burn
7k+ words
Y/N’s breath puffed into the frozen air as she slammed her car door shut, the sound echoing across the quiet clearing. Snow crunched beneath her boots as she stepped forward, scarf pulled tighter around her neck, eyes lifting toward the cabin nestled between towering pines.
It was bigger than she expected—three stories of rich timber and stone, with a wraparound porch and smoke curling lazily from the chimney. Warm golden light spilled from the windows, glowing like a promise against the cold gray sky. It would’ve been the perfect winter escape—if he wasn’t coming.
She sighed sharply, her breath fogging up her glasses. Of course Harry Styles was coming. Of course he had to be part of this.
The group trip had sounded great in theory: a week in a mountain cabin with friends, no work, just snow, booze, board games, and long mornings in pajamas. Y/N had needed the break—desperately. And it might’ve been just what she needed, if it weren’t for the single walking migraine that came bundled with dimples and a British accent.
Harry Styles was a menace. A flirty, smug, utterly infuriating headache of a man who lived to push her buttons. He always knew just what to say, what look to give, how to hover one second too long. Every interaction was a tug-of-war—one he acted like he was enjoying a little too much. She swore he only said her name like that—low and drawn out—just to make her skin crawl.
And worse? It worked.
She’d made sure to arrive first. If she had to be stuck here all week, she’d at least claim the best room. Hoisting her duffel bag onto one shoulder, she trudged up the porch stairs and brushed snow from her sleeves. The front door creaked open with a gentle push—unlocked, just like Mitch promised.
Inside, the cabin was warm and still, filled with the soft glow of firelight and the scent of cedar. Thick beams crossed the ceiling, a stone fireplace crackled quietly at the far end of the room, and plush rugs softened the dark wood floors. She stepped in slowly, letting the quiet settle over her like a blanket. For just a moment, it was perfect.
Then the front door flew open behind her with a burst of icy air.
“Don’t tell me you beat me here,” called a voice that made her jaw tighten on instinct.
She didn’t even need to look. She knew that voice.
Harry Styles stepped inside like he owned the place, snow dusting his boots and curls poking out from beneath a black beanie. His cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, eyes bright and full of mischief. That stupid, irresistible grin was already on his face.
“Unfortunately,” she muttered without turning around.
“Wow,” he said, unzipping his coat. “You came early. That’s cute. Trying to set up booby traps before I arrive?”
“Actually, I came early so I wouldn’t have to see your face for a few hours.”
He let out a laugh that was far too delighted. “God, you missed me.”
“I missed peace.”
Harry strolled farther in, glancing around like he was already rating the decor. “You know, the more you insult me, the more I’m convinced you dream about me at night.”
“I don’t dream about clowns.”
He raised a brow. “That’s weird. I dream about you sometimes.”
Y/N turned slowly, fixing him with a glare. “You’re disgusting.”
“And yet,” he said, gesturing around them with mock innocence, “here you are. Sharing a roof with me.”
Before she could snap back, her phone buzzed so did Harry’s . Then again. Then a third time. She pulled it out and opened the group chat.
Dan: Roads are closing—storm’s worse than they predicted
Lauren: They won’t let us past the ranger checkpoint
Mitch: They’re putting us up at this little lodge halfway up the mountain
Jessica: We’ll have to wait out the storm, prob can’t get to the cabin tonight
Dan: You guys hold it down. Try not to kill each other
Lauren: Or worse... hook up lol
Y/N: I hope the snow swallows you all
She stared at the screen. Then slowly looked up. Harry was already grinning. “You have got to be kidding me.” She said under her breath.
“Just us,” he said, arms outstretched like it was a dream come true. “In a beautiful, secluded cabin. Four bedrooms. And yet, I know you’ll still find ways to bump into me.”
“In your dreams.”
Harry waggled his eyebrows. “Exactly.”
Y/N groaned and turned for the stairs. “I’m claiming the biggest room.”
“Already did.”
She froze. “Excuse me?”
“I was here first,” he said, smug. “Technically. I parked in the back, took the back stairs. My bag’s already on the bed. Mountain view, window seat, king bed. Super cozy.”
“You sneaky little—”
“Now, now,” he said, holding up his hands like he was diffusing a bomb. “Still three other bedrooms left. Unless, of course... you want to share?”
She turned slowly, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. “I’d rather eat a blue jean jacket.”
He burst out laughing as she stormed up the stairs.
Y/N flung open the second bedroom door with more force than necessary. It wasn’t as big as the master, but it would do—queen bed, soft blankets, a little window with a snow-covered view. Most importantly, it was far enough away from Harry’s room that she wouldn’t have to hear him breathing.
She tossed her bag onto the bed and sat down, still bundled in her coat. Outside, the snow was falling faster now—thick, heavy flakes swirling in the wind. It was almost hypnotic, the way it danced through the air, piling higher along the porch and creeping up the trees.
They weren’t going anywhere tonight. That much was clear.
She had just finished unpacking when it happened.
Click.
The heater cut off.
A strange silence followed—no humming refrigerator, no subtle buzz of electricity. Just the low crackle of the fire from downstairs and the eerie groan of the wind pressing against the walls.
Then darkness.
Y/N paused, mid-step, her pulse skipping as the reality settled in.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, flicking the light switch a few more times.
Nothing.
From downstairs came Harry’s voice: “Power’s out!”
She rolled her eyes and shouted back, “Thanks, Sherlock!”
She quickly changed into some pjs, looking in bag for some kind of light source besides her phone to save battery.
Nothing.
Just a book, a portable charger, Yarn, and her pride.
The wind howled again, louder now, rattling the window beside her like a warning. The room was already getting colder. Upstairs suddenly felt very far away from the fire—and far too close to the storm.
With a grumble, she grabbed her phone and her book and headed downstairs.
The living room was dim, lit only by the fireplace’s faint orange glow. Harry was crouched in front of it, sleeves rolled up, feeding a fresh log into the flames. Sparks popped and danced up the chimney, and the heat slowly returned to the room.
Y/N stopped at the bottom step, arms crossed over her chest.
Harry looked up. “Look who finally decided to join me.”
“It’s freezing upstairs,” she said flatly. “And I don’t feel like being trapped in a horror movie setting alone.”
“Sure. That’s why,” he said, grinning. “Not because you missed me?”
She gave him a look. “I’d rather sleep outside.”
Harry stood and brushed off his hands. “Suit yourself. But unless you want to become a human popsicle, this fire is your best friend now.”
She walked to the far end of the couch and sat down stiffly, curling her legs under her. “Don’t talk to me.”
“No promises,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen.
A few moments later, he returned with a cardboard box and a lighter. “Found these in the drawer next to the fridge. Candles.”
Y/N took them wordlessly and began lighting them one by one, placing them across the room—on the mantle, the windowsill, the coffee table. Warm golden light flickered to life in small halos, casting long shadows and softening the edges of the cabin.
The room shrank around them, cozier now, quieter.
She picked up her book, flipped to her dogeared page, and began reading. Harry dropped into the armchair closest to the fire, his long legs stretching out in front of him as he stared into the flames.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke.
Outside, the storm roared like an angry beast, but inside, all was still.
Until—
Growl.
It was faint, but unmistakable.
Y/N froze, eyes locked on the page. She tried to play it off by flipping to the next chapter like nothing happened.
Harry opened one eye. “Was that… you?”
She didn’t answer.
“That was your stomach,” he said, grinning.
“It was the wind.”
“The wind doesn’t sound hungry, Y/N.”
She snapped her book shut. “Do not start.”
Harry stood with a stretch, heading into the kitchen. “Relax. I brought food.”
“Oh good,” she called. “Protein bars and bad decisions?”
“Funny. But no,” he said, rummaging through his bag. “Tonight, we dine like kings.”
He returned with two packs of instant ramen, a small pot, and a grin that made her immediately suspicious.
“You brought ramen?”
“Laugh all you want, but I knew we’d end up needing it. Mountain weather waits for no man.”
“I’d rather starve.”
Harry shrugged and headed toward the stove. “Suit yourself. But when you faint from hunger, I’m not catching you.”
She didn’t reply—but her eyes followed him as he knelt beside the wood-burning stove, coaxing the flames higher. He looked completely in his element, sleeves pushed up, focus sharp, hands steady. It was annoying how competent he looked.
And how good.
She turned back to her book, scowling at the page like it had personally offended her.
Behind her, she heard the familiar sound of water heating. Then the soft rustle of plastic as he tore open the ramen packets.
“Just so you know,” Harry said, “I’m making two bowls. Because I know you. You’ll pretend you’re not hungry, then creep into the kitchen at midnight like a raccoon.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
The scent of ramen filled the room, savory and warm. Her stomach growled again.
“I’m not eating that,” she said, sharper this time.
“Didn’t say you were,” he said casually, pouring noodles into the steaming water. “But I’m placing one bowl near you and walking away. What happens after that is between you and your integrity.”
Y/N didn’t answer. But her eyes flicked toward the stove. The ramen smelled criminally good. Salty, warm, comforting in the way only cheap noodles could be when you’re snowed in, half-frozen, and pretending not to starve in front of your nemesis.
Y/N tried to ignore it.
Harry stirred the pot slowly, adding the seasoning packets like he was cooking for a five-star review. When the noodles were ready, he ladled them into two mismatched ceramic bowls and grabbed a pair of forks.
He approached the couch and, without a word, set one steaming bowl down on the coffee table in front of her.
She glanced at it.
Then back at him.
“It’s not poisoned,” he said, settling into the other end of the couch. “But if it was, honestly? I’d be impressed with myself.”
She glared. Her stomach growled again.
He wiggled his brows. “You gonna eat it or dramatically waste it to prove a point?”
Y/N let out a low groan and snatched the bowl. “I hate you.”
“You say that,” Harry said, twirling noodles onto his fork, “but you’re eating my food. Sitting in my firelight. Basking in my radiant charm.”
“Basking in your delusions.”
They both dug in, the room quiet except for the clink of forks and the soft whistle of wind outside. For a long stretch of time, they didn’t speak. Just ate. And sat. And didn’t hate it.
The silence felt different now.
Not stiff.
Not hostile.
Just… warm.
Y/N leaned back into the couch when her bowl was empty, curling the blanket tighter around her legs. Harry remained at the other end, his posture loose, gaze on the fire.
“You know,” he said, voice soft, “if this storm keeps up, I’m calling dibs on the big blanket tomorrow.”
She didn’t look over. “I’ll smother you with it.”
He chuckled, low and rough. “Sounds romantic.”
They lapsed into silence again, but this time it was laced with something unspoken.
Something new.
The fire crackled, burning low and golden. The storm continued to rage outside, but inside, it felt distant. Muted.
Eventually, Harry stood and gathered their empty bowls, placing them in the sink before returning to the couch with a heavy sigh. He dropped beside her again, lounging like it was his right.
She gave him a look. “You have your own space.”
“And yet,” he said, propping his feet on the coffee table, “this couch is cozy. Candle-lit. Warm. And you didn’t tell me to leave.”
Y/N rolled her eyes and turned back to her book. She flipped a page, pretending to be immersed in the story—but his presence was louder than any paragraph.
After a few minutes, he tilted his head toward her.
“What are you reading?”
She didn’t look up. “You wouldn’t care.”
“You don’t know that.”
“It’s not a comic or a sports article, so…”
He smirked. “You’re adorable when you’re judgmental.” She ignored that.
“Come on,” he said, nudging her with his foot. “Read it out loud.”
She glanced at him, confused. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Your voice is nice. And the wind sounds like it’s trying to eat the house. Distract me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “No.”
“You owe me.”
“For what?”
“For feeding you. I could’ve made one bowl. I made two. That’s sacrifice.”
“That’s survival.”
“Still counts.”
She sighed, long and theatrical, then flipped back to the top of the chapter. “Fine. But if you interrupt me, I stop.”
He grinned and held up both hands. “Scout’s honor.”
Y/N cleared her throat and began reading, her voice steady and calm. The flickering fire beside them cast moving shadows along the walls, and Harry leaned back, watching her with quiet interest.
For once, he didn’t interrupt.
He didn’t tease.
He just listened.
She wasn’t used to that—not from him. But something about the way he was looking at her made her cheeks warm. Made her voice wobble just slightly before she caught herself.
She read until the end of the chapter, then gently folded the corner of the page and shut the book.
“There,” she said. “Happy?”
Harry blinked slowly, like waking from a dream. “That’s where it ends?”
“Yes. Thats the end of the chapter."
“That’s criminal. Rachel’s about to ruin her life.”
“You were actually paying attention?”
“Obviously. She slept with Dex, Darcy's Fiance. There’s no turning back now.”
Y/N stared at him. “You know all their names?”
“I’m invested,” he said seriously. “You roped me into a soap opera.”
She laughed before she could stop herself—a soft, reluctant sound that made Harry smile wider.
“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered.
“And you,” he said, shifting closer, “are kind of cute when you read."
She scoffed. “You’re pushing it.”
He held out his hand. “Give me the book. I’ll read the next chapter.”
“You?”
“I have a British accent. It’ll be very dramatic.”
She rolled her eyes, but handed it over.
Harry adjusted on the couch, stretching his legs out with the book in his lap. He cleared his throat with exaggerated flair.
“Chapter Nine,” he announced in a mock-theatrical voice. “The morning after, I woke up feeling guilty… but not quite guilty enough.”
Y/N groaned, pulling the blanket over her face.
“Regret.”
“Shh. I’m reading.”
To her surprise, he wasn’t half bad. His voice, while occasionally dramatic for effect, dipped low and smooth at the right moments. His pacing was steady, and when he didn’t know a word, he rolled right through it like it didn’t matter. And it didn’t—not when he made the story sound like it belonged to him.
She peeked out from under the blanket and studied him quietly.
Harry’s curls had fallen into his face again, his lips moving softly with each line. His brow furrowed a little when the main character said something reckless. His mouth twitched into a smirk when the tension in the story spiked. He was... focused. Softened by firelight. And honestly, kind of beautiful.
Y/N blinked that thought away immediately.
Nope.
No.
Absolutely not.
But then he stopped again—mid-sentence—and raised his brows with that familiar, knowing grin.
“Oh, this one’s good,” he said, holding the book up like it was evidence. Then he read, “‘I knew I was flirting. And I knew he was flirting back. But I also knew I wouldn’t stop.’”
Y/N groaned. “Okay, that’s enough.”
Harry looked over the top of the book, grinning. “You sure? Sounds familiar.”
“In what world?”
“In this cabin. Right now.”
“You are delusional.”
He laughed, eyes crinkling. “Maybe. But you’re smiling.”
She rolled her eyes, trying to hide the curve of her mouth. “Back to reading, pretty boy.”
Harry paused. Blinked. Then slowly smiled—this time softer. More real.
“You think I’m pretty?”
Y/N opened her mouth. Closed it.
There was something in the way he said it—like it wasn’t a joke this time. Like he really wanted to know. And with the firelight flickering behind him, casting a golden glow on his skin and catching in his lashes, she couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t.
She looked away, fingers tightening slightly in the blanket. “Shut up.”
Harry chuckled, but the grin he wore wasn’t teasing now—it was warm. Gentle. The kind of smile that lingered, even after he turned back to the page.
He cleared his throat and read on, but Y/N wasn’t really listening anymore.
Because now she was the one sneaking glances.
And for the first time since they’d gotten snowed in…
She wasn’t sure if she hated it.
She turned her attention back to the fire—but it was no use. Her eyes kept drifting back to him. To the way he absently tapped the side of the book with his finger.
She didn’t realize she was slipping until her head gently tilted toward the arm of the couch. Her eyelids blinked slower. The warmth of the room, the steady cadence of his voice, the way her body had finally stopped fighting—all of it lulled her deeper.
By the time Harry flipped the next page, she was completely still.
He glanced over.
Y/N was curled up in her corner of the couch, her face relaxed, her lips parted slightly in sleep. One hand still held the edge of the blanket, like she’d tried to fight it, but lost.
He smiled to himself and lowered the book.
“You couldn’t hang, huh?” he whispered.
Carefully, he set the book down on the coffee table, then turned back toward her. She looked peaceful—peaceful in a way he’d never seen her. All the snark and sharp edges melted off, just warmth and soft lashes and slow breaths.
Harry hesitated.
Then he reached behind her, grabbed the throw blanket and gently draped it over her. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake.
He paused a moment longer, looking at her.
He’d spent years getting under her skin.
Teasing her, pushing her, watching her snap back at him with fire in her voice. And yeah, he’d loved every second of it. But this? This quiet moment, where she trusted him enough to fall asleep beside him?
It undid something in him.
“Goodnight angry,” he murmured.
He considered heading to his room, giving her space—but the warmth of the fire, the soft light of the candles, and her presence just a few inches away kept him still.
So he stayed.
He shifted gently onto his side of the couch, pulling the blanket over himself, careful not to disturb her.
And for the first time since arriving, Harry didn’t feel like pretending he didn’t care.
He closed his eyes, the storm still whispering outside, and let sleep take him too.
//
Y/N stirred in her sleep, the creeping chill tugging her gently out of her dreams. Her nose twitched. Her fingers flexed, brushing against something warm and solid.
That was the first clue something was… off.
The rest hit her all at once.
There was a strong arm wrapped snug around her waist. A warm chest pressed up against her back. A leg—oh god, someone’s leg—tangled over hers. And she wasn’t cold. Not really. Not where they were touching. She was actually kind of… cozy?
Still half-asleep, she nestled into the warmth, letting herself enjoy it for a moment. Whoever it was, they were warm and still and—
Wait.
Wait.
That scent.
Cedarwood. Laundry detergent. Trouble.
Her eyes snapped open.
No. No, no, no.
She shifted her head slowly, heart beginning to race as her gaze dropped to the pale arm curled tightly around her midsection. That was not her blanket. That was a man. And that—
“Oh my god,” she whispered, her voice rasping out into the quiet.
In one sharp motion, she jolted upright like she’d just discovered a tarantula in her bed.
The blanket flew off, and Harry groaned behind her, arm flopping where she’d been.
“What the—”
He blinked up at her, bleary-eyed and confused, his curls a mess and his voice thick with sleep. “Why’d you move? We were warm.”
Y/N stared at him like she was trying to manifest fire from her pupils. “Were we cuddling?!”
Harry yawned. “It’s called body heat, sweetheart.”
She scrambled off the couch like she’d been electrocuted. “No. Nope. No, no, no.”
Still lounging on his side, Harry propped his head up with one hand, a crooked smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“For what?”
“For saving your life. It’s called survival cuddling.”
“I’d rather freeze to death.”
“You didn’t seem to mind a second ago.”
Her mouth opened. Then closed. Because damn it, she had liked it just for a second. Before she realized who it was. Before Harry’s obnoxious charm showed up at full volume.
She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders like armor. “I must’ve been sleep-deprived. Or delusional.”
Harry stretched lazily, unbothered and still shirtless. “I’m a great cuddler, Y/N. It’s okay to admit that.”
“You spooned me like a heat-seeking missile.”
He grinned. “You were the one radiating warmth.”
She gave him a flat look. “You’re not cute.”
He shrugged. “You did call me pretty last night.”
“That was sarcasm.”
“Sure it was.”
Before she could fire back, a frigid gust whistled against the windows, and they both turned to glance at the hearth. The fire was completely out. Just ash and cold logs.
Y/N sighed and rubbed her arms. “Perfect. Now we’re actually gonna freeze.”
Harry sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll get more firewood. Don’t go passing out without me.”
“Trust me,” she muttered, stalking toward the kitchen. “You’ve cured me of any desire to sleep.”
As he disappeared into the hall to grab wood from the closet, she watched him go—shirtless, annoyingly tall, and still wearing that smug grin.
She scowled.
And yet, the ghost of warmth where he’d held her still lingered. And for some reason… that annoyed her most of all.
By the time Harry dragged himself off the floor and toward the stack of firewood in the back room, Y/N had wrapped herself in a blanket so tightly she looked like a grumpy little burrito—warm, silent, and very much Not In The Mood.
The cabin was freezing—again. The fire had gone out overnight, and without power, the chill seeped into everything that wasn’t pressed up against the hearth.
She didn’t say anything as Harry disappeared down the hall. When he returned with an armful of logs, she watched from the couch—quietly, like a cat perched on alert. He didn’t speak either, just dropped to his knees and got to work rebuilding the fire.
It only took him a few minutes to get it going again—he was weirdly good at it, crouched low in his hoodie and sweats, sleeves pushed up, curls falling into his eyes as he coaxed flames from kindling like he did this all the time.
And maybe he did.
Which was somehow more irritating.
Y/N pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, biting back the part of her brain that wanted to compliment him. Or at the very least... thank him.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
"Fire’s back," he said finally, brushing ash from his palms as he stood. The fire crackled again, warm golden light spilling across the cabin floor. “You’re welcome.”
She didn’t look up. “Congratulations on fulfilling basic survival instincts.”
"You really know how to say ‘thank you,’" he muttered, walking past her toward the kitchen. “And to think I was sensing improvement.”
Y/N didn’t respond. Instead, she reached into her tote bag and pulled out a tangled skein of golden-brown yarn and her favorite crochet hook—slipping into rhythm the moment the yarn touched her fingers. Hook. Pull. Twist. Loop. Her mind began to settle. A scarf, maybe. She didn’t care what it was. It was something to do with her hands while her brain spun in circles.
Across the room, she heard the familiar rustling of a duffel bag being unzipped. Water clinking into a small pot. The stove creaked open—still warm from last night—and a match hissed to life. No eggs this morning.
Just ramen. Again.
It was weirdly comforting.
She didn’t say anything, but her stomach did.
Harry didn’t even turn around. “Didn’t even argue this time. Growth.”
“I’m reserving my insults for later,” she said coolly, not looking up from her stitches.
“Save your energy,” he called back. “You’re gonna need it to slurp this world-class noodle masterpiece.”
“You mean boil noodles and dump powder in?”
“Gordon Ramsay’s shaking.”
Y/N rolled her eyes but kept crocheting. The crackle of the fire, the bubbling pot, and the smell of salty broth slowly warming the room—it was peaceful, in a weird, very not normal way.
Twenty minutes later, he appeared at the edge of her vision, holding out a ceramic bowl with a fork sticking out.
She eyed it warily.
“It’s not poisoned,” he said, nudging it closer.
“Unless you count sodium as a weapon.” Y/N took the bowl with a soft grunt of thanks, still not meeting his eyes.
Harry dropped onto the floor beside the couch, cross-legged, cradling his own bowl. “We’ve officially peaked. Noodles by candlelight.”
“You’re romanticizing instant ramen,” she muttered, digging in.
He slurped dramatically. “That’s because this is romantic.”
She smirked, barely.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, the kind of silence that was… not awkward. Not quite comfortable either. Something in between. Something new.
Y/N peeked at him once. Just once.
But of course, he caught her.
“What?” he asked, noodles hanging out of his mouth like a fool.
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“You were staring.”
“I was judging.”
“Same thing,” he said, swallowing. “But go ahead, admit it. I make excellent apocalypse noodles.”
She considered. “They’re edible.”
“High praise,” he said, mock-bowing his head.
When she finished her bowl, she set it aside and reached for her yarn again. Harry leaned back on one hand and watched her fingers move.
“So… that your new scarf?”
“Maybe.”
He watched a little longer, then added, “You always crochet when you’re annoyed?”
She didn’t look up. “It’s either this or fight someone.”
He snorted. “You’re full of sunshine.”
She kept going, calm and rhythmic. “Crochet doesn’t talk back. Doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t leave its socks everywhere.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “I do none of those things.”
“You flirted with a squirrel yesterday.”
“That squirrel was asking for it.”
Y/N choked on a laugh and shook her head. The moment stretched, softening like dough under a rolling pin. No tension. No snark. Just two people thawing—slowly—beside the fire.
Harry tilted his head, eyeing her half-finished piece. “Make me something?”
She looked at him like he had sprouted antlers. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Because I’ll wear it. And think of you every time I do.”
“That’s supposed to make me want to make you something?”
His grin widened. “Come on. I’d look good in something you made.”
Y/N paused, stared at him, then muttered, “A muzzle.”
Harry laughed—really laughed. Not one of his smug little chuckles or sarcastic scoffs, but a genuine, warm burst of amusement that crinkled his eyes and curled his dimples.
She wasn’t used to hearing that kind of laugh from him.
She definitely wasn’t used to liking it.And that unsettled her more than the blizzard howling outside. It cracked something open in her chest, something quiet and hesitant and unfamiliar.
They fell into an easy silence after that. The fire glowed steadily now, golden and soft, casting lazy shadows on the cabin walls. Their ramen bowls sat empty on the floor beside them. Y/N’s yarn moved between her fingers like it had a heartbeat of its own—loop, pull, twist, repeat. Soothing, steady. But her eyes kept drifting, flicking toward him more often than she wanted to admit.
Then Harry leaned forward and picked up the book they’d started the night before—the same one she’d read to him by candlelight. His thumb brushed over the dog-eared corner he'd folded down before he fell asleep.
“I could read a bit more,” he said casually, already flipping it open. “Unless you’re too busy knitting me a muzzle.”
“It’s crochet,” she corrected, without missing a stitch.
He smirked. “Still not denying it.”
“I’m considering gag options.”
“Charming,” he murmured with a grin, already settling back into the couch. He adjusted until he was half-reclined again, legs stretched out and the book open on his lap. The firelight danced across his face and the worn paperback, softening both in a way that made her throat tighten unexpectedly.
Y/N didn’t stop him.
Didn’t tease.
Didn’t even roll her eyes.
Instead, she just kept crocheting as his voice filled the room again—low and warm and surprisingly steady, each word threading between them like another row in the blanket between her hands.
The fire crackled quietly, a low hum behind Harry’s words. Outside, the wind pressed against the windows like a whisper, muffled by thick snow. Inside, everything felt smaller. Closer.
Safer.
Before they knew it Time clicked away, Harry read without pause, his voice dipping with tension, rising with humor. The tips of his fingers tapped the page as he spoke. He didn’t rush. Didn’t perform. It almost felt like he forgot she was there—like he read for himself.
Y/N curled her legs beneath her and tried to focus on her stitches, but her hands were stiff with cold. The blanket wrapped around her wasn’t cutting it anymore. The fire helped, sure—but her body craved something more immediate. Something warm and alive.
Something like the man sitting next to her.
She told herself it was just the temperature. Just comfort. Just necessity.
But her body was already leaning before her mind caught up.
First, her shoulder brushed against his arm.
Harry’s eyes flicked to her, a quiet glance, but he didn’t stop reading. He didn’t flinch or shift away. Instead, he adjusted slightly, tilting the book so she could see the page better. His posture relaxed, the corner of the throw blanket brushing her knee now.
It was a silent invitation.
She didn’t pull back.
A few pages later, her knee nudged against his.
Then the blanket slipped off one shoulder, goosebumps rising instantly along her skin.
Without missing a word, Harry reached behind them, grabbed the thicker throw blanket draped over the couch, and gently, wordlessly laid it across both of them. His hand grazed her arm in the process—warm and steady, grounding her like an anchor.
Y/N’s breath caught.
It was subtle.
Barely anything.
But somehow… it was everything.
She didn’t lean away. Didn’t speak.
She just listened—to the story, to the fire, to the steady, deliberate rhythm of his voice beside her.
And when she finally let her hook fall into her lap, resting her yarn beside her, she didn’t even notice her head tipping onto his shoulder.
She should’ve shifted. Should’ve made a sarcastic quip. Should’ve rebuilt the distance they’d so carefully maintained since the moment they met.
But instead… she let it happen.
Harry didn’t speak. Didn’t tease.
His arm moved slowly behind her back, slipping across her shoulders and resting with gentle weight along the curve of her body. He didn’t squeeze. Didn’t pull. Just held her—warm and patient, as if he’d known all along she would fold eventually.
He read on like nothing had changed.
But it had.
Y/N sat curled beneath his arm, blanket pooled around them both, the steady rise and fall of his voice softening into something she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time—safe. It wasn’t the story anymore that had her full attention. It was him. The way his chest moved beneath her cheek. The slow cadence of his breathing. The warmth that radiated off him like a second fire.
Her fingers twitched slightly beneath the blanket and—without meaning to—came to rest lightly over his chest.
Harry’s voice faltered for half a second. Barely noticeable. But she heard it.
He cleared his throat, blinked down at the page, and continued reading.
The book was hitting its emotional stride. Rachel was unraveling. Dex was making excuses. Darcy was still in the dark. The drama should’ve made Y/N roll her eyes—but now, it felt different. Like every word was being read not just aloud, but to her.
Specifically.
Intentionally.
And yet, it wasn’t performative. There was no smugness, no smirk on his face. Harry wasn’t playing a role anymore. He was just a boy reading a book, holding a girl who used to swear she hated him.
Somewhere around the middle of the chapter, her eyes started to flutter shut. Not from boredom. Not even from sleep. But from the calm—the peace—that had settled deep in her chest.
Her head dropped fully onto his shoulder. She felt his muscles tense just a little. Then relax again.
She didn’t mean to nuzzle closer.
But she did.
And he didn’t stop her.
His hand shifted slightly, brushing up her arm until it rested at the bend of her shoulder. The pads of his fingers touched her like she might disappear if he held too tight.
She didn’t.
She stayed.
By the time he finished the chapter, the room had gone quiet again.
He glanced down at her.
Y/N was still awake—barely—but her eyes were half-lidded, lashes brushing her cheeks, mouth parted the slightest bit. Her fingers were still resting against his chest. Her body tucked along his side like it had always belonged there.
Harry closed the book slowly and rested it on the table.
He didn’t say anything.
Didn’t want to break the moment.
Instead, he looked at her. Really looked.
She wasn’t scowling.
Wasn’t rolling her eyes.
Wasn’t biting back a sharp remark.
She just looked… soft.
Warm.
Real.
Like someone he hadn’t fully met yet—but wanted to.
He exhaled slowly and let his head fall back against the cushion. One arm still around her, his other hand drifted beneath the blanket and found her wrist, thumb brushing gently against her skin.
///
The room was quiet now.
Outside, the wind had calmed, settling into a gentle hush as snow drifted steadily from the sky. Inside, the fire burned low—an amber flicker casting long, slow shadows across the wood-paneled walls. The candles had melted into puddles at their bases, the scent of wax and cedar still hanging faintly in the air.
Y/N stirred.
She blinked slowly, breath catching as her brain registered warmth. Not just from the fire—but from beneath her. Around her.
Soft cotton brushed her cheek.
A rhythmic rise and fall pressed against her ear.
She was warm—warmer than she had been in days.
And then… she realized why.
She was in Harry’s lap.
Her entire body, tucked up in the fetal position, was curled over him like he was a makeshift mattress. Her head rested against his chest, right over his heart. One of his arms cradled her back, the other resting lazily on the armrest. Her legs were folded across the couch cushions—but she was definitely on him.
Panic flared first. Sharp and fast.
She jolted upright a little too quickly, like she’d just realized she’d been snuggling the devil himself. “Oh my god,” she breathed.
Harry, still half-asleep, cracked one eye open. His lashes were mussed, his curls a soft halo around his face, and his T-shirt was wrinkled from the weight of her cheek. He looked far too good for someone just waking up.
A crooked smirk curved his lips. “Well, well,” he murmured, voice deep and sleep-slicked. “Look who decided to wake up.”
She stared at him, still trying to get her brain to reboot. “I—I didn’t mean to—”
“You were out cold,” he said, stretching slightly beneath her. “Didn’t move when I shifted. Or when the fire popped. Or when I put the blanket back on you.”
“I—” She paused, biting her lip. “I thought I fell asleep on the couch.”
He blinked. “You did. I just happened to be part of it.”
She groaned and flopped forward again, face hitting his chest with a muffled thud. “God. This is humiliating.”
“Disagree,” he said lightly, his fingers brushing her arm through the blanket. “You’re surprisingly cuddly.”
“I’m cold,” she mumbled into his shirt.
“You’re clingy,” he corrected.
“You’re annoying.”
“And yet, here we are.”
His arm was still around her—loose, casual, but firm enough to remind her just how close they’d gotten. Her hand was resting on his stomach, blanket slipped halfway off her shoulder, and she hadn’t even noticed.
She thought about pulling away again. She really did.
But the fire was barely burning, and his chest was warm, and his voice sounded like home in a way it had absolutely no right to.
So she stayed.
Harry didn’t say anything more. Just shifted a little to give her more room, then leaned his head back and exhaled softly through his nose. His fingers trailed slow, absentminded circles on the back of her sweatshirt—barely-there movements, rhythmic and comforting.
Y/N's pulse thudded louder in her ears.
This wasn’t just convenience. This wasn’t just about staying warm.
It was something else.
Eventually, she whispered, “You’re not… what I thought you were.”
Harry tilted his head just enough to glance down at her. “No?”
“I mean, you are. Kind of. But also not.”
He chuckled. “That clears it up.”
She pulled the blanket higher. “I mean… I thought you were all talk. Just ego and flirting and jokes.”
“I am.”
“But you’re also…” She trailed off.
Softer.
Sweeter.
Steadier than she wanted to admit.
Harry smiled lazily. “You can say devastatingly charming. I won’t stop you.”
She elbowed him lightly. “Shut up.”
He laughed again—low and genuine—and this time it tugged something loose in her chest.
For a while, they didn’t say anything. Just laid there, tangled under the blanket, breathing in sync.
Y/N’s eyes began to droop again. Her fingers curled loosely into the hem of his T-shirt. Harry’s hand never stopped tracing her back. The fire crackled, and somewhere between the silence and the comfort, she let herself drift off again
/
The morning sunlight crept in slow and honeyed, stretching long arms across the hardwood floors and casting warm halos around the quiet room. The fire had burned down to ash, leaving only a faint smell of smoke and the chilled hush of a new day. But still, there was warmth.
Because of him.
Y/N stirred, her face nestled against smooth cotton and bare skin. Her cheek rested squarely on Harry’s chest—his shirt nowhere in sight. One of his arms was tucked behind his head, the other curled tightly around her waist, anchoring her to him. Her thigh draped across his, tangled under the thick blanket that had slipped slightly to reveal the sculpted lines of his stomach.
She blinked slowly.
Took in the rise and fall of his chest beneath her ear. The way his hand rested just beneath her ribs. His scent—soap, firewood, and something inherently him.
And for the briefest, most dangerous moment… she smiled.
It was peaceful. Soothing.
Safe.
And then—the creak.
The front door groaned against the cold.
Voices.
Footsteps crunching snow on the porch. A laugh. A loud, familiar one.
Her heart stopped.
She jolted upright like she’d been electrocuted. “Oh my God—”
Harry stirred, a low sleepy groan rumbling in his chest. “What—?”
She was already wriggling out of his arms, panicking, shoving the blanket aside with a flurry of limbs and regret. Her bare foot hit the cold floor. “Shit, shit, shit—”
“Y/N?” he mumbled, voice gravelly and dazed.
Too late.
The door flew open with a ding from the old bell overhead, and cold air rushed in.
Jessica stomped into the cabin first, wrapped in a marshmallow of a puffer coat, cheeks flushed from the snow. “Y/N! You’re still alive!”
Y/N, halfway to standing, scrambled upright and grabbed the nearest throw blanket, hugging it around her like armor. She forced a tight smile, trying not to breathe like she’d just been sprinting across landmines.
“Hey,” she choked out. “Glad you made it safely.”
Behind Jessica, a second girl stepped inside—shaking snow from her coat, eyes bright and curious.
Taylor.
Long, shiny waves of chestnut-brown hair framed her face like a shampoo commercial. Her skin glowed against the cold, and her bright blue eyes immediately scanned the room like she was taking inventory of the space—and the people in it.
Y/N felt her stomach twist.
Not because Taylor wasn’t nice. But because she was perfect. The kind of effortless pretty that made you question your own reflection. And the way she looked at Harry when her eyes landed on him?
Well. That said enough.
Harry, who was only just now sitting up, blinked blearily, shirtless and still blanket-wrapped. His curls were messy. His voice was thick with sleep. “Morning…”
Taylor stopped mid-step, jaw slightly slack.
Jessica’s brows rose as her eyes ping-ponged from Harry’s bare chest to Y/N’s flustered appearance.
“Did we interrupt something?” Jessica asked, too casual to be casual.
Y/N snorted—too loud, too fake. “No. No! God, no. I was just… up early. Reading.”
Taylor blinked slowly, eyes still glued to Harry like she hadn’t heard a word. “Hi,” she said, smiling. “You must be Harry.”
Harry rubbed his eyes, squinting toward the sound of her voice. “Uh… I think so?”
Jessica smirked. “He’s usually a little more charming once he’s fully conscious.”
Taylor giggled, stepping farther into the room, but Harry’s gaze had already drifted past her—landing briefly on Y/N.
She wasn’t looking at him.
She was looking anywhere but him.
Still, he caught the way her fingers clenched tighter around the blanket at her chest. The flush across her cheeks that wasn’t from the cold.
Y/N turned her back quickly, darting toward the kitchen, mumbling something about tea.
Jessica didn’t miss it.
Behind her, Harry stood, blanket slipping down slightly as he stretched. His skin glowed in the morning light, shadows cutting across his arms and torso like artwork. Taylor’s stare was hungry. Obvious.
“Ohh its so cold in here” Taylor sad sweetly.
Harry yawned and reached for his shirt.
“Yeah. I’ll go grab some more firewood.”
As he padded past, Taylor turned to watch him, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip just slightly.
Y/N, from the kitchen, poured water into the kettle a little too forcefully.
Jessica leaned against the counter, one eyebrow cocked. “You good?”
“Peachy,” Y/N muttered.
Jessica smirked. “You’re glowing.”
Y/N gave her a look. “I’m actually coming down from high after thinking someone was breaking in to kill us.”
“Uh huh.”
Behind them, the door creaked again as Harry stepped into the back room to get firewood, and Taylor moved a little further just to watch him.
Y/N stared down at the tea kettle, face tight.
Jessica studied her best friend for a moment, then casually said, “So You and didn't kill each other?"
Hello love bugs, we've got a huge one shot here. I see a lot of writing where the guy helps the girl out with inexperience, but I thought I'd like to write something where he's the one asking for help. I had a lot of fun putting this together so I hope you guys like it. I may do more but I have a lot of other stuffed planned but let me know your thoughts!
Check out our Patreon for early access and 260+ exclusive writings!
WC- 12.3k
Warnings- mentions of insecurity, anxiety, oral, soft!Dom H, soft!Dom Y/N, switchy vibes but mostly Dom!H, Y/N pokes fun at him for being nerdy but she loves it,
"Hey..." Harry began casually, wiping his hands on a towel after washing. Her best friend had invited himself over for dinner, which meant he was going to do the dishes. It was an unspoken rule of their friendship. If you invite yourself, you clean up. But seeing as Y/N was the one who cooked nine out of ten times, it had become a normal to see him at her kitchen sink. Her eyes peeked up at him from her phone, giving him a look to continue. "Can I ask you something? It's a kinda...weird request." He scratched the back of his neck nervously, looking at her with an attempt at puppy dog eyes. He wanted something and it made her narrow her eyes.
“I’m not going to the convention with you again, Har. It’s not my scene, I told you. I’ll watch any series of movies until our brains leak out our ears but if I have to sit through panels and Q&As where they ask what the characters favorite food is again I may lose my mind.” She knew it was coming up… but apparently that wasn’t his point. Thank God.
"No! No. Adam is going with me this year. Rude. But besides that…” It made her a lot more curious as to what it could be because he did genuinely look nervous. “It's a weird question, actually." He sat down next to her on the couch, twisting his hands together. "And you can totally say no... but..." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Would you... maybe..." The hesitance had her sitting up a little straighter, raising her brow higher to urge him forward. "God..." He muttered softly, trying to find the words. "You promise not to judge?" He saw her raise an eyebrow. "I mean it. No making fun of me." He watched as she slowly nodded, waiting.
“I make fun of you for a lot of things, but if you’re asking me not to, I won’t. Are you okay?” Y/N asked softly, unused to his behavior. He was usually playful and could take any joke, so it wasn’t exactly like him to ask her not to do it.
"I'm okay." He assured her, but still had the nervous look in his eyes. "It's just... I've recently realized... kinda an embarrassing thing about myself." He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I don’t think… I don’t think I’m actually making girls finish properly when I hook up with them. At least not every time. And I feel like shit about it.”
That was a surprise to her. Harry had the whole hot and nerdy thing going on, and he pulled plenty. Not that he always attempted or took them up on the offers, but he’d had a few girls he had hooked up with that she knew of. Usually he kept pretty quiet about it, but that didn’t bother her. Y/N had assumed a lot about him because… He did have some big dick energy going on. He had really nice hands too. The idea of him being unskilled in bed didn’t feel like it was right, but she was hearing him out. “What’s making you think this?” She asked curiously. “Did someone say something?”
"No, no one's ever said anything. Not to my face." His face flushed slightly pink as he shifted again, trying to get comfortable. "I just... well. Sometimes I noticed they'd tense up or seem kinda disappointed later. Like they were expecting something else. More? I dunno. And they don’t usually text me again, which is fine and all but I hate thinking I let someone down. It’s embarrassing." He avoided looking at her while he talked, staring at his fidgeting fingers instead. "I don't want to be one of those guys who only thinks about themselves. That’s the last thing I want to do." He trailed off, clearly embarrassed. So unlike him that it made her heart hurt a little bit. Harry was a happy guy and seeing him not like that was like seeing a wet puppy in the street. She had to fix it.
“Well the fact that you even care at all is really good. I know, the bar is on the floor but, unfortunately a lot of men don’t give a shit if we finish or not.” Y/N knew plenty of men- had experienced them herself- that didn’t care if it felt good for her. They wanted a quick nut and go. Harry never seemed to be the type. Honestly, he was very thorough in most things and she’d assumed that would properly bleed over to sex.
“Wanting to be better is half the battle. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. The first time I sucked someone off I gagged really awfully, the sound made him go soft.” She laughed at her own bad time. “We all start somewhere.”
He laughed softly at her story, feeling a little more at ease knowing he wasn’t the only one. Y/N was far more experienced and open about being a little freak, so it felt better to know even she had some weirder experiences. It wasn’t just him. "Yeah, I can imagine." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Gagging on dick is not the most pleasant experience, is it?" He turned to look at her, his eyes serious again. "But, um, thanks for listening and all that. I just... I want to be good at it. For them, and for myself." He looked down at his hands again, picking at his fingernails nervously. He needed to paint them again so he would stop doing it. His pink polish was chipped. "And that's why I was wondering…” He bit his lip, his heart racing as he tried to work up the nerve to ask his best friend a very personal favor. The most personal you could probably get.
"Would you... would you maybe let me practice on you?” The silence lingered for a moment longer than he was okay with, panicking slightly as he continue. “I promise I'll listen to everything you say, and we can stop anytime you want. We don’t even have to! You can say no, obviously.” The man was babbling as he tried to untwist his tongue. “But I really trust you and I think you'd give me good feedback. Honest feedback." He looked up at her with pleading eyes, his cheeks flushed a darker pink that she hadn’t seen before- all the way up to his ears.
“Me?” That… was not at all what she had expected. To be fair she hadn’t been sure what to expect but that would probably be lower on the list. “You want to… practice eating pussy or something, on me? I just want to make sure I heard you correctly.” Because she sure as hell didn’t know if this was some sort of dream or delusion.
Harry nodded quickly, his ears turning an even deeper shade of red. "Yeah, you. I mean, if you're comfortable with it. I know it's a really fucking weird request and all, I swear I’m not trying to make anything weird with us but... you're my best friend, and I trust you. And I know you'd be honest with me." Y/N was known for being honest even if it wasn’t the most appropriate time to be. He looked at her with those big, hopeful eyes, his bottom lip worried between his teeth. "Please? I promise I'll do everything I can to make it good for you, if you let me. I just really want to get better at this."
It could fuck up the friendship. Y/N knew that, because it was every sort of cliche thing that tells you do not, under any circumstances, hook up with your best friend. But… it had been a while. Harry didn’t ask much of her besides her dinners and to go to some events with him so he wasn’t alone. He listened to her rants and brought her food when she was hungry and didn’t want to go out. He made her bed for her sometimes just because he was near and tidy like that. He swept the kitchen after dinner. He bought tickets to movies and concerts on his card and told her to pay him back whenever she could. He protected her if people acted weird at the rare chance they went out to the bar. Harry was a really fucking good friend, the best she’d ever had.
She also couldn’t lie to herself and say she didn’t think he had a spectacularly pretty mouth and even better hands. They had always been really nice. Soft, long fingers, big palm. The tattoos that trickled down… Fuck. She was going to say yes. Fuck it. “Okay. I guess we can, but I’ve got some rules.”
He blinked, surprised but trying to hide it, his heart racing faster at her surprisingly quick answer. "Rules?" He nodded, leaning forward slightly, completely focused on her words. "Of course. I mean... I'll do anything you say." That came out a bit too smooth, and they both caught the double meaning. He cleared his throat, trying to appear casual and failing miserably. "What are they?" His eyes were fixed on her, his hands folded in his lap to stop them from shaking nervously.
“I mean, I’m being a little dramatic. It’s only a few.” She laughed, leaning back on the couch. “One being we don’t tell anyone. Our friends are already weird about how much time we spend together. Two, you don’t touch me and then another woman. If you find someone else that’s completely fine, but I don’t want her germs and shit on me.” That was not something she liked at all. “If you’re practicing on me, it’s me. I won’t fuck around with other people either, but I don’t fuck with STIs and all that.” It was doubtful he would need to be reminded of that.
“I’m assuming this is going to be a couple times because the way you get good at stuff is practicing. I won’t complain if I get a few orgasms out of this.” She shrugged as if this was a normal thing to be discussing. Best friends having sex. “But the last one is you don’t make things weird after you’re all good with your skills. Don’t make stuff weird.”
"Those are..." He cleared his throat, trying to process everything she had just said. "Those are actually very reasonable rules." He nodded, making sure to emphasize each point so she know he heard her loud and clear. "One: Not telling our friends is smart. Two: Of course, no cheating. We aren’t dating but I’m a one woman type of man. My mother raised me better than that. You know she would kill me." He managed a small smile. "Three: I, uh, plan on practicing. A lot, if you let me." His eyes lingered just a moment too long on her lips, then quickly flicked away.
“Good.” Harry was efficient in most things. It’s exactly why she understood how much it probably bothered the hell out of him to not really be able to get a woman off, or so he thinks. She was just being a good friend, right? helping him out. “So walk me through what you usually do when you bring someone home. We start there. I can tell you if something you’re doing is weird.”
He swallowed nervously, trying to collect his thoughts as he shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Well, uh... usually I'd start by kissing them, ya know? Get them a little worked up before moving down." He gestured vaguely with his hands, as if physically trailing kisses down an imaginary body. "Then I'd kinda... kiss around the area, maybe use my fingers first to make sure they're wet and all..." He trailed off, wincing as he realized how clinical it sounded when he said it out loud.
“That sounds decent, but kind of like a routine.” Harry was like that, she knew, but sex wasn’t. “Not all women are the same, though. We’re all different. You don’t experiment at all to see where her sensitive spots are? Do you keep kissing to the lips and her cunt?” The question was blunt, but she usually was.
"Well... No, actually. I kinda just do the same thing every time." He ran a hand through his hair nervously, realizing how basic that sounded compared to how she spoke about sex. "And yeah, I guess I do stop kissing once I get down there. Why?" He was listening intently, genuinely curious about her approach. For all his perceived experience with women, he was suddenly feeling very inexperienced in this one area. Something about the way she talked about sex was... different. Confident, like it was no big deal.
“Because women are sensual creatures, Harry. Sure, we have similar biological things that happen but the way we get horny is with our minds. Teasing a little. Dirty talk, if you’re good at it, ease into it. Kissing places that aren’t just the obvious.” Shifting to face him, she grabbed one of his hands and put it on her shoulder. He was definitely nervous. It was a little cute. “I’ll give you a cheat sheet for me. I really like to be kissed under my ear, over my throat. Sometimes a lick or a suck. A bite, if I’m in the mood. I like to be kissed over my stomach, tops of my breasts, inner thighs, hips. They aren’t necessarily obvious, but the exploration is nice.”
Taking his hand, she moved it to her neck and then dragged it down past her tits, down her stomach to the waistband of her joggers. “You can have a general path, but you need to be comfortable deviating from it when that’s what she responds to.”
"Fuck..." The curse slipped out quietly as his breath caught, noticing how comfortable she was with his hand on her body. His fingers lingered at her waistband, acutely aware of the sensitive skin just inches beneath. "I never really thought about it like that. I always just went straight for the pussy." He cleared his throat, realizing how crude that sounded coming out loud. "I mean..." She chuckled at his flustered state, finding it endearing. "So you're saying I should take my time? Like, really tease her out?" He moved his hand slightly, fingertips brushing the bare skin of her lower abdomen just beneath her shirt hem. "Kiss other places, see what makes her squirm?"
His gaze flickered down to where his hand rested, then back up to meet her eyes. There was a new spark of understanding there, like pieces clicking into place. "And if I find somewhere she likes? I should... explore that?"
“Yeah.” Her stomach had jumped as he moved his hand but didn’t say anything about it. “Every person is different. I’m sure you have places you like to be touched that people haven’t tried yet either. Being in tune with your body and hers, being able to read the cues that’s what could be your strength.” It was something a lot of men didn’t bother to take into consideration.
"Like, if she makes a certain noise or tenses up?" He was genuinely intrigued now, his mind racing with possibilities. "What if she pulls my hair or digs her nails into my back?" He shifted his hand lower, fingers splaying out on her stomach curiously. "Does that mean she likes it?" He was so focused on the hypotheticals that he almost missed the way his hand resting on her stomach made her stomach muscles twitch slightly beneath his palm.
“Yes, exactly that. Sometimes you’ll be able to feel her pulse if you’re holding her wrist, or.. Well, if you’ve got your hand around her throat. We’ll talk about proper choking another day, but you can see if her pulse jumps from that.” His hands were perfect for that, honestly, and she shouldn’t let her mind wander. Nope. “The noises she makes, if she pulls you further in, bucks her hips, those are all good signs. Not everyone is extremely vocal, but checking in to make sure she likes it, if she wants you to give more, it can help.
"Checking in?" He repeated, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he tried to wrap his head around the idea. "You mean like... asking her if she likes it?" He shifted his hand lower still, fingertips brushing the hem of her joggers. "Like, 'is this okay?' Or 'do you like this?'" He could see how that might be helpful, especially with quieter partners. "But wouldn't that ruin the moment?" He looked up at her, genuinely curious and seeking approval.
“You don’t have to ask in such a sterile way. You can just say something like ‘does that feel good?’ or ‘that’s nice, baby?’ and see her response. You’ve got a nice voice, Har. Use it.” She gave him the compliment easily. He did need a bit of confidence boosting, that much she could already tell. “Checking in shouldn’t ruin the moment. It’s safe, it’s a sign of a good partner. You’ll figure out how to check in in a less… abrupt way.”
"Right... fuck me." He muttered under his breath, actually feeling slightly embarrassed about how little thought he'd put into this before. "I've been a clueless fuck, haven't I?" He sighed, running his fingers along her waistband more deliberately now, testing how she responded. His heart stuttered slightly when she complimented his voice."So like..." He traced patterns on her lower stomach with his fingertips, almost unconsciously. “Feels good?” Testing out the way she had suggested.
Y/N swallowed, feeling a bit of a shift. He had seemed to be having a good time touching her stomach, the light tracing on her skin making her heat up a little bit. She wasn’t blind- Harry had most definitely gotten hotter over the years, and he was just attractive in general. Though she hadn’t allowed herself to look at him as anything but the quirky best friend he was, getting to see a different side of him was something she was intrigued by.
“Mhm.” She tilted her head slightly to the side. “See? It doesn’t have to be straight into it. Just touches like that can get a girl wet.” It was starting to get to her, weirdly enough. “Tell me about kissing. How do you usually start it?”
"Kissing..." He trailed off, his mind briefly distracted by the way her skin felt beneath his fingers. "Uh... well. I usually start with a simple peck, just to see if they're into it." His other hand came up to gently tilt her chin, exposing her neck to him. "If they seem like I have the go ahead, I'll press my lips to theirs more firmly- it’s kinda hard to explain with words." Being a little bold, he let his thumb brush over her bottom lip absently as he spoke, his gaze fixed on her mouth.
“Well if you’re going to eat me out, I don’t see why you can’t just show me.” Kissing Harry had not been something she had anticipated actually doing, really ever, but she can’t say she hadn’t thought about it. The man had an incredible mouth. Soft looking lips, deep pink, the cute little birthmark, all of it was appealing- it was just that it wasn't a possibility for her prior. “Show me how you do it with them.”
His thumb brushed her bottom lip again, his breath hitching slightly at the idea of kissing her. It was just an exercise, he reminded himself firmly. This was just a dry run, to help him figure out his technique. But as he slowly leaned in, his heart rate picked up, eyes flicking between her lips and onto her eyes. "Like... this." He whispered hoarsely, sliding his hand back into her hair to tilt her head further. His lips pressed to hers gently, just a soft brush at first to test the waters. His lips were soft and warm against hers, the kiss gentle at first. He waited for her to react, to see if she would pull away or lean into it. As she didn't, he took it as his sign to keep going, slowly increased the pressure, his lips molding to hers in a soft, sweet kiss.
Feeling emboldened when she began to press her lips back to his, Harry peppered her lips with a series of short, sweet kisses. His lips brushed against hers once, twice, three times in rapid succession, each kiss a little firmer than the last. He could feel her starting to relax into it, her lips softening beneath his own. Encouraged, he let his tongue flick out briefly, a teasing taste before pulling back slightly to gauge her reaction. She tasted like the lemon lime soda she’d had with dinner, a sweet surprise. All of this had been. He hadn’t been sure if she would say yes and if this would potentially make things weird, but thankfully Y/N seemed at least a little receptive to it. His hand remained in her hair, holding her gently as he studied her face for any signs of discomfort or approval. “Okay?”
Y/N knew he would be a good kisser, but he was playing it safe. However, even with the safety still on, she knew he had it in him. He wasn’t as shy as he had been before and that had surprised her a bit when he had gripped her to keep her in place. That had been exceptionally hot. At least to her. “Yeah. You did well.” She cleared her throat to rid herself of the rasp. “You’re playing it safe, though. Here.”
Swinging her knee over his lap, she pushed him back against the back of the couch so his posture was more relaxed. “You’re stiff. Pun not intended.” She snickered, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You’ve got to relax a little bit. I don’t know if it’s just me or you get anxious when you kiss other girls too. The thing you did holding my face still? That was hot. It’s gonna depend on the girl but you seem to have an idea on what to do.” Placing her hands on his broad shoulders, she settled her weight on top of him. Hm.. he really had been doing well at the gym. “You okay with me on your lap?”
Harry blinked in surprise, trying to catch up to the fact that she was currently in his lap. Closer than she usually got to him, voluntarily hopping on up. “Y-yes! I mean, yes, please. Go on." His voice cracked slightly at the end, betraying his nerves. He wasn’t sure if it was from the unexpected closeness or just the sudden shift in dynamic between them. Her weight felt nice on his lap, but besides a cuddle or two this was definitely the closest they’d ever been. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be nervous.”
Y/N nearly cooed. His frown was precious, really. He was precious. Sliding a hand over his jaw, she tilted his head to meet her eyes. “It’s okay to be nervous, but it’s just me. I’m not going to judge you. You asked for my help, and I’m gonna give it to you.” Slipping her fingers in his hair, she made herself familiar with touching him. They hadn’t been super touchy to begin with but she knew Harry liked physical touch. He was clingy with their other friends physically, but he had always respected that Y/N typically wasn’t the type. Now though? It was free game. “You can touch me how you want. Get familiar with me.”
Y/N wasn’t the type to truly judge if you really needed her and he knew that. Hell, that was why he had come to her in the first place- but she was intimidatingly beautiful. It set him off to be even more nervous. His mind briefly wondered if this was how he was in bed- overthinking everything- maybe that was why he didn’t get calls back.
“Shit.” He muttered softly, then snapped back to attention as she told him to touch her. He wanted to do that, he had always wanted to but Y/N only really liked to be cuddled when drunk. When she was, she would be giggly and happy, hold on to his hand and swing them back and forth, especially when he helped her get into the car. It had always made him feel special, but this? It was a privilege to touch her. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms loosely around her, testing the waters. “Like this?” He spread his fingers out slightly on her back, his thumbs nearly brushing the bottom of her bra strap under her top.
“Yeah, that’s nice.” Leaning into him, she let her fingers run over the rims of his glasses. “These are cute. I like them.” His new glasses suited him. They were a little bit thinner than his old ones and it was a tad bit more modern. She hadn’t been lying to him when she said he had the hot n’ nerdy advantage. “You’ve got really nice hands, Har. Use them.”
He blushed slightly at the compliment on his glasses, his fingers tightening slightly on her waist possessively. "You really think?" He asked softly, tilting his head to the side to give her better access to his face. He liked when she did little things like that, adjusting his glasses or messing with his hair. Maybe it was because he felt touch starved, particularly from her, but the simple brushes of her fingers made him feel that heat in his lower stomach. It was so simple but the air felt a lot thicker than it had before. He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves to be more bold as he slowly dragged his hands over her hips.
“Mhm.” She nodded, gently running her nails over his scalp. “See? I’m not too scary.” Though she had to admit that the feeling of his big hands pawing at her and running over her hips and waist made her feel a little bit giddy. Maybe she could attribute it to the fact it really had been a while since she had been touched in a way that wasn’t friendly, but her body liked the way it felt. “You’re being polite, which is nice. But as cute as your little gentleman thing is, I know you want to grab my ass, Harry. You can do it.”
Harry's breath caught as she said that, his eyes darkening slightly behind his glasses. He had definitely been thinking about it, doubted there was anyone who saw it and didn’t want to, but he hadn't wanted to overstep. Hearing her give him permission was like a green light and he couldn't help himself. His hands squeezed her hips before slowly sliding down to grip her ass, his fingers spreading out to knead the soft flesh. "Fuck..." He muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. "You're so soft."
His grip on her ass tightened reflexively as he pulled her more firmly against him, a low groan escaping his lips. The heat of her pressed deliciously against his hardening cock, and he couldn't help but roll his hips slightly, seeking friction. "Shit, Y/N...Sorry. I don't want to get carried away." He breathed, his face flushing darker. Here he was, rock hard with his best friend in his lap, from a little ass grab. It was embarrassing how quickly he had gotten worked up- But God, it felt good.
There was a sigh out of her mouth as she felt him start to relax and do what he wanted to do. This was closer to where she wanted him to get, but she hadn’t expected it to feel as good just being rubbed over his lap. “There you go- it’s okay.” She whispered. “That’s hot. You want to show her that you’re eager for her.” With her grip in his hair, she tugged his head back slightly to look at his pink cheek. “You’re a faster learner, I know. But you remember what I told you? Try kissing my neck. I told you the spots I like.”
His eyes fluttered shut as she tugged on his hair, his throat exposed to her. "Yeah. I can do it. S’long as you feel good, m’happy..." He whispered, his voice rougher than she had ever heard it. Leaning into her touch, he let her guide his face into her neck and followed instructions quickly to press open mouth kisses to her skin. He started at the spot just below her ear, as she had told him about, sucking gently on the soft skin. His hands continued to grab at her ass, pulling her flush against him as he kissed and sucked his way down her neck.
The kisses trailed lower, his lips hot and damp against her neck. Each press of his mouth made chills rise on her skin, his stubble lightly scratching her sensitive skin in the most delicious way. As he sucked gently on a particularly sweet spot, she couldn't help but tip her head to give him better access, a soft gasp escaping her lips. None of this had been expected, but liking his mouth on her skin hadn’t been. Maybe it really was just the fact it had been a while but… it felt better than her last hookup.
Harry was her friend and she trusted him. She felt safe, and that probably made her feel a lot more comfortable, just as it probably did for him. But having his hands all over her was something her whole body was responding to. A quick learner, he had realized how much she liked feeling the friction and did something about it. His strong hands gripped her ass harder, pulling her over his lap and letting feel the throb of him through their clothes.
He could feel her getting heavier in his lap, her breath growing shallow as he continued his adoration of her neck. It felt amazing, yes, but he was in a bit of awe. Harry really should have known that Y/N didn’t half ass anything. She was thorough in everything she did- apparently it extended to teaching him how to please a woman. His hands roamed freely as he adjusted, taking a risk in spreading her legs wider over his lap to better fit her between his thighs.
"Am I doing okay?" He mumbled into her neck, his voice muffled. "Is this warming you up enough? Or should I be doing more?" His fingers flexed on her hips before sliding down, spreading out to rest on her thighs.
“You’re doing good.” The thickness in her throat made her voice a bit raspier, unsure how she had managed to let herself get to this point. It felt really fucking good. His hands strong and so fucking big, splaying over her thighs. The heat of them seeming to radiate through her skin and down to her bones, she wanted to lean into that touch.
God, she was touch deprived.
He had done a good job in making her panties damp and it felt almost embarrassing that a little bit of heavy petting and kissing on the neck had her pussy throbbing, but she couldn’t exactly deny it. Lightly rubbing herself against him again to get more of the friction her body was demanding, she closed her eyes and let her head lean back before she admitted it to him. “You’re making me wet.”
His whole body seemed to tense up at her whispered admission, his hands flexing on her as he took a breath. "You are?" He whispered back, his voice not able to contain his surprise. He had hoped he was doing something right- especially after all the apparent failures he’d had- but hearing that she was wet from just his touch and kisses was... something else. He wasn't used to being this effective. His ego swelled slightly, making him bolder. "Can I... touch more?" He asked hesitantly, his fingers inching higher up her thighs. "Can I feel what I’m doing to you?"
His words had her gritting his teeth. Where the fuck did that come from, and why did it made her throb? Letting out a breath through her nose, she opened her eyes to look at him. It shocked her a little, seeing his lips swollen and eyes a little hazy, glasses a tiny bit crooked. He looked disheveled in a way he usually didn’t. Of course he had always been hot but this look in particular, knowing it was caused by her specifically? It fueled her ego too.
“Y-Yeah.” She nodded, clearing her throat. “Yeah, you can. That’s what I’d tell you to do next. You have good instincts.” It was a mystery to her how Harry, who was good at almost everything, had struggled to make a girl cum- but she was the teacher now. “You can slip your hand into the waistband.”
"Fuck. Thank you." Harry muttered under his breath. He couldn't believe he was actually about to touch Y/N intimately, after all these years of being just friends… It was insane. He wasn’t unable to see how insanely fucking hot she was, that had never been an issue. He’d had a few questionable wet dreams about her- but the actual idea of ever touching her hadn’t come up until recently, and he was liking it a bit more than he probably should be for a lesson.
With trembling fingers, he slowly slipped one large hand down the front of her joggers, sliding it along her stomach until he reached the top of her panties. "Can... can I? Under them?" His breath was warm against her neck as he asked permission, albeit a bit jumbled, waiting for her nod before slowly slipping under the final piece of fabric that kept him from her most intimate place.
At her nod, he released a deep breath through his nose. His heart was racing as he slowly pushed his hand under her panties, the back of his fingers brushing against the soft, damp fabric. He could feel the heat emanating from between her legs, his own body responded accordingly. His cock was pulsing in his briefs, surely starting to make a bit of a mess. "Holy shit." Harry breathed, his voice shaking slightly as he explored her with his hand. His fingers dipped lower, feeling the slickness coating her folds. “You really are fucking soaked.” Tilting his head up with an awed smile, he met her eyes. “I did that t’you?”
“Mhm.” It felt slightly harder to breathe as she looked at his eyes, seeing the pride in his face, feeling his fingers cupping her wet pussy and giving a little squeeze. It had her inhaling sharply, fingers on his shoulder digging into his shirt. “You did. I- I want you to show me what you do when you get to this stage with the girls you hook up with.” It was taking everything in her not to rock against his hand, staying still as she tried to ground herself.
His fingers trembled slightly as he tried to mimic what he thought he had seen in porn or heard from his friends. He had forgotten what to do. Another symptom of his damn nerves taking over. He roughly spread her lips apart, his thumb pressing against her clit as his middle finger pushed inside her soaked pussy. "Shit... I'm... I'm not really sure what to do..." He admitted, his voice shaking as he started to rub her clit in slightly sporadic circles while thrusting his finger inside her. It was clumsy and a bit rough, but he was trying his best.
“Okay- alright. Stop.” Making sure to keep her voice soft and not like she was scolding him, she held his face in her hands. “You’re jumping right into it a bit too fast, Honey.” The nickname fell from her lips a bit too easily but she decided to ignore that. “You need to ease into it. Find a rhythm. Pull your fingers out.” She instructed, gently stroking over his cheekbone. It was obvious he was embarrassed from his flushed cheeks, and she didn’t want that. He wasn’t doing too badly, but he’d asked for a lesson. That’s what she was going to give him.
“Hey… Look at me.” Tilting his chin up, she gave him a soft smile. “S’okay, Har. You came to me for help. I’m gonna help you. You didn’t do anything inherently wrong.” Still, she could see he felt some type of way about it, and she knew he needed a bit more comforting. Leaning in, her lips pressed against his in a soft peck. It was more intimate than it should have been, but she was again, going to ignore that. “Hi.” Smoothing the skin under his eye, she gave him a giggle. “Okay, so… You’ve got incredible hands. They’re so nice… and I know you can be good with them. So let’s start slow, okay? Do slow circles over my clit with your thumb. Nice n’gentle.”
His shoulders had dropped slightly after her small kiss, ignoring the flutter he’d felt in his chest from it. He hadn't realized how tense he had gotten, like he had failed the test- but this was Y/N. Y/N was safe, she was kind despite how blunt she was, and she was helping him. There was no evidence of her making fun of him in her tone, simply sweet. Unusual, maybe, but it seemed like she knew what she needed.
"Okay." He mumbled softly, his cheeks slightly less red. Her compliments helped a bit- He had always had confidence issues when it came to this. "Like this?" He asked shyly, his large thumb slowly making small, loose circles over her clit. He was careful to keep his touch gentle like she asked, watching her face for any signs that he was doing it wrong again.
He felt her body tense pleasantly at his touch, a soft exhale escaping her lips. Encouraged by her response, he maintained the slow circles, his thumb brushing over her clit with deliberate gentleness. Her hips gave a tiny involuntary roll against his hand, seeking more of the pleasant friction. Harry's fingers twitched slightly, wanting to increase his pace but remembering her instruction. He resisted the urge, keeping the rhythm maddeningly slow.
“Yeah. That’s so nice.” She whispered. It was experimenting, letting him explore and get the hang of it. “Every woman is different. Some people will want it faster, some will want it rougher, but I like this to start.” She admitted, leaning into him. “Here.” Dragging the cropped top off of her body, she exposed the lacy bralette she had heard good reviews for to him. It was quite nice, holding her tits up in a way she hasn’t expected- but she’d chosen correctly today, unknowing that a man would be able to see it firsthand. “When you’re doing this, you keep kissing her. Licking. Sucking her nipples, if she’s into it.”
His eyes roamed over her bralette-clad breasts, the delicate lace contrasting with her soft, smooth skin. He felt his mouth watering, the urge to taste her growing stronger as he watched them move as she breathed- but thankfully, thank god, she had given the go ahead to touch. To taste. "Okay. I definitely can do that." He murmured, his thumb continuing its slow circles on her clit as he leaned in to press open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone.
His lips trailed lower, his kisses growing more intentional. The lace of her bralette tickled his lips as he worked his way down. He could see her nipples hardening beneath the fabric, making his mouth water. His thumb continued its steady, slow rhythm on her clit, causing her to shift slightly in his lap. It was surreal to feel her breathing, hear it so close up as he kissed over her pounding heart.
He was doing this to her. Harry was making her wet, making her squirm. The confidence the breathy moan she let out had him pushing for more. With one hand, he gently pushed the lace down to expose one breast fully, making her gasp softly. His lips immediately found her hard nipple, surrounding it completely and sucking gently.
“Oh, Jesus.” The words were pathetically, a mewl that came from the back of her throat as his hot tongue lapped over her swollen nipple. The suction was light, soft, just like his thumb on her clit- and it was enough to make her feel like she was going insane. “T-That’s really fucking nice.” She praised, raising her hand to card it through his fluffy curls. He must have just washed them, they always looked pretty when he did.
Hearing her moan like that, praising him so freely, sent a jolt straight to his cock. He hummed around her nipple, the vibrations deliberate this time. His tongue flicked over the hardened bud before he switched to sucking harder, desperate to elicit another gorgeous noise from her.
“Yeah- like that.” Rocking her hips slightly into his hand, she pulled his head closed onto her breast. It felt too good, too hot to stop. Yeah, this was a lesson, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy teaching him. “Some girls won’t get much enjoyment out of this. Their nipples aren’t sensitive to it as much. If they aren’t responsive, you can keep it moving- or a-ask them if they want you to keep going.” Her voice was higher in pitch than she had meant for it to be but it wasn’t possible for her to control that right now. “I really like it, though. So it’s doing the job. You can rub my clit a little harder- give it more pressure.”
Her words had him nearly purring around her nipple. The little thrill went up his spine as her hips rolled into his hand, knowing that now he had a decent idea of what he was doing and could feel less nervous about it. Listening to instructions like he had promised he would, Harry added more pressure to his thumb, rubbing it harder over her little bundle of nerves. It was impossible not to feel her getting slicker against his palm, her breast filled his mouth perfectly, his tongue swirling around the peak before sucking it back between his lips. Almost overstimulation for his mind, but he wanted to keep going. He was trying his best to be good with his hands- he really was- But damn. Her body was so responsive.
Y/N wanted to continue this as long as she could. She wanted to feel him get more and more confident with it, but he seemed to have a grasp on it. There would probably be… a few times where they’d get to do this, and if she was honest? If they kept this up, she was going to cum and be too sensitive for his mouth. And by the way he kissed? She wanted to feel his mouth.
“Mmmm.. Har, Honey.” She whispered, gently tugging his mouth off of her tits with a gentle tug of his hair. “Hi. Hello.” It was stupidly cute, the slightly lost look on his face. “S’okay. You were doing good. A bit too good actually. I just think that we should get to teaching you how to eat pussy. I’ll cum if you keep going.”
He blinked rapidly, a slightly dazed look on his face as he tried to process why he’d been pulled away when he’d obviously been making her feel good. It felt incredible to have her nipple in his mouth, hearing her soft noises of pleasure. The haze of lust in his mind slowly cleared at her words, realizing she was probably right, even if he selfishly wanted to keep going. "Oh..." He murmured softly, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks. "Right. Okay." He adjusted his glasses, trying to regain some semblance of focus.
“Good.” She stroked his hair back with a tender smile, pulling him to kiss her again before taking a look at his face. “I’m gonna lay back, like this.” Sliding off his lap, Y/N settled against the arm of the couch pulling a pillow to rest her head on. The position had her sitting up slightly, but gave a more relaxed vision. Hopefully that would have him feeling calmer. “And you’re gonna lay between my legs once I get these off.” Her bottoms needed to get off immediately.
When he sat back, she tugged on the waistband and squirmed to get them off, haphazardly kicking them to the floor- along with her panties. There wasn’t much hesitance in showing her body to him. Y/N liked her body, she felt proud of it, and she embraced it. There was always those nerves though, being intimate with someone new- even if it was for a lesson. Spreading her thighs, she placed a hand over her cunt and motioned for him to lay down. “Do you remember what I said, Honey? About teasing?”
He nodded slowly, trying to remember all the instructions she had given him. "Tease first..." He murmured softly, adjusting his glasses nervously as he positioned himself between her thighs. Using his elbows to keep him up a bit, he swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched her spread them wider for his body to fit between. "Kiss, lick, don't go straight for the... the main event?" He asked hesitantly, his hands resting on her inner thighs.
“Very good.” Her face lit up as he looked at her for reassurance. “It’s the little things that get me. You know? The soft brushing of fingers on the thighs, the stomach, right above my pussy…” She trailed off with a sigh. “Kiss my thighs, Har. Can you do that for me?” Taking her hand off her cunt, she properly revealed it for the first time for his eyes to see.
Harry felt the breath catch in his throat as the sight of her bare pussy caught him off guard. It wasn’t lost on him that he was very lucky to be able to experience this. Y/N was beautiful and he adored her, but there was a new appreciation in him for how kind she was being. This wasn’t something you could just ask anyone. "Fuck..." He whispered, his hands squeezing her inner thighs gently as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the delicate skin. "Like this?" He murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her sensitive skin, his lips brushing over the crease where her leg met her hip.
“Mhm.”
He could see her body relax into the touch, her thighs parting a bit more to give him better access. Her skin was so soft and warm under his lips, and he could smell her scent growing stronger the closer he got to her center. Harry took his time, pressing gentle kisses along her inner thighs, his hands brushing along the skin in a featherlight touch. He could hear her breathing growing a bit shallower, her chest rising and falling a bit faster. It emboldened him to continue, to keep teasing her like she had told him to.
"You're... you're doing so good." Y/N breathed out, one hand coming to rest in his hair as she spread her legs wider, hooking one over his shoulder. She could feel herself growing wetter with each kiss, more aroused knowing he was taking his time to learn her body. Such a good little student. "Lower. Just a bit..." she whispered, guiding his head with gentle fingers. Her other hand drifted down to her breast, plucking at her nipple as she watched him between her legs. "Kiss right above my cunt.”
Eagerly following her guidance, he moved up to press a soft kiss just above her pussy, his lips brushing against her soft curls. He could feel the heat radiating off of her, smell her arousal. It was intoxicating, and he found himself nuzzling into her a bit, his nose pressing against her. "Fuck, you smell so good..." he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin. He pressed another kiss right at the top of her slit.
“Oh fuck- that was good.” She gasped in surprise. “That’s filthy. Rubbing yourself against me but… it’s so hot. Showing how eager you are to make the person you’re gonna pleasure, it’s really sexy.” Brushing his hair out of his face, she felt the heat of his breath over her cunt. “Tell me you want to eat me out. Talk to me.”
"I do..." His voice came out huskier than he'd planned, his eyes flicking up to meet hers briefly before focusing back on her exposed pussy. "Fuck, Y/N... I really want t’taste you." Without waiting for further instruction, he used his fingers to spread her open for him and pressed a gentle kiss directly to her clit, making her gasp loudly. "You're so fucking wet… Can’t believe I did this." His finger traced down her slit slowly, as if showing instead of telling how aroused she was.
"Your cunt is fucking glistening. I can already tell your pussy is sweet..." He muttered against her skin, his tongue peeking out to give her one soft lick. Tasting her for the first time, savoring the flavor on his tongue, he was proving that fact. She was perfect to taste- a pussy like this deserved the best of the best, and he wanted her to show him exactly what she liked. Y/N moaned loudly, her hips rolling slightly, a clear indication that she liked what he was doing. "Yeah? You like that? S’good for you?" Harry asked, his voice encouraging as he licked her again, this time a bit slower, applying a bit more pressure.
“Uh-huh… Shit.” She cussed, feeling his tongue swipe up and over her clit. “D-Do what you want. Let me see where it’s going wrong because right now from my perspective, you’re doing perfectly.” Why would he even need help? Was it a ploy to fuck her? That was doubtful considering Harry really, really wasn’t like that. The worst part was that she was liking it a lot more than she was supposed to. If she was training him on how to pleasure how she liked it, it was going to be hard not to lose it.
Harry smiled slightly at her words, feeling a bit more confident in his actions. He started slowly, his tongue flicking out to lap at her gently, his fingers keeping her open for him to fully access her. He could feel her wetness spread onto his chin, and he couldn't help but push himself, wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking softly. He looked up at her, checking her face for any signs of discomfort or pleasure.
He was learning, trying to remember how she had said she liked it. His tongue swiped up again, swirling around her entrance slowly before pushing inside slightly. "Like this?" He mumbled softly, his chin wet with her juices. He kept his movements slow and unhurried, his touch soft. He was tentative, like he was scared of messing up. "Is this good?"
“I.. Normally would say that’s a bit fast to push your tongue in but fuck, that felt nice.” She giggled breathlessly. “Here…” Her fingers were careful as she took his glasses off and tossed them further down the couch so they wouldn’t get in the way- or worse, crushed. “Wanted to see those pretty eyes.” Her fingers kept the hair out of his eyes as she felt a few kisses over her mound, in the thatch of curls above her cunt. His face was slightly wet, but it was erotic. “That feels so nice. The kisses…” She hummed. “You have the instincts. Don’t think too much about it. Doing things like that- That’s good. Just make me feel good. See what I respond to.”
Harry blinked owlishly at her, surprised by the sudden loss of his glasses but pleased when he realized she liked his eyes. His face flushed slightly at the praise, his tongue darting out to lick over her clit hesitantly. "Okay. You’ll tell me if y’don’t like it, yeah?" He asked, his breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. He leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her pussy, the sound drowning out the tv playing at a lowered volume.
She nodded slowly, watching him between her thighs. He was almost shy like this, his face buried in her pussy as he kissed around it sweetly. His lips were soft, his kisses unhurried. He spread her wider with his thumbs, his tongue poking out to give her one slow lick from bottom to top. Her hips shifted slightly, chasing the feeling. "You taste so good." He mumbled softly, his voice sending vibrations against her. “I didn’t expect you t’get so wet for me. Soaking my chin. I love it.”
His words seemed to have struck a chord in her, judging by how sharply her breath hitched and her legs involuntarily tried to press around his head. She visibly flustered, clearly flattered by his filthy compliments- and shocked. Had he always had that in him? "Harry..." She whimpered, the sound of his wet mouth against her flesh combined with his sweet, dirty words making her pulse against his tongue. "You... should be careful with that mouth." She whispered, her hand tangling in his hair again, guiding him slightly without putting any pressure.
He chuckled softly, the vibrations traveling pleasantly through her core. "Why's that?" He murmured teasingly against her skin, his tongue darting out for another long, slow lick. He could feel her practically melting under his mouth, her thighs quivering slightly. This was how it was supposed to be. Maybe it was because he didn’t feel as anxious with her, they had repor, he truly trusted her- but it felt like he had a better sense of her body and what she liked.
She’d given him clues and tips, but he was finding out on his own what she liked. It was something he was enjoying the longer he did it, feeling more eager to bury his face in her pretty pussy and never leave. Especially when he felt her hand tighten in his hair and her body shift to get more. "Worried I might make you cum too hard?" His tone was playful, a little more confident now, and that was dangerous for her. Feeling him nipp gently at her clit, soothing it with a flicker of his tongue immediately after was enough proof of that. Looking up at her he tried to see if that was okay, but the noise she let out had him feeling fairly sure it was.
"Fuck, Harry... You smartass.” The giggle turned into a pitched moan very quickly after though, her back arching as he sucked on her clit in retaliation, her hips rolling against his mouth. Harry could feel her getting closer, her pussy getting wetter. He knew the signs, she was teaching him. His hands gripped her hips tightly, holding her in place as he licked into her eagerly. She was so responsive, her body reacting to his every move. He felt powerful, in control- and it was a heady feeling.
"Jesus, your pussy is perfect." He mumbled between kisses, not caring if she could hear him. He could see her getting close- her thighs trembling, her breathing quickening, and the way her fingers were now tight in his hair. That was his goal. He wanted to make her cum so fucking bad it hurt. His cock was a mess in his trousers but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to make her cum, hard. He wanted to clean it up as he made himself messy. "Do you want my fingers inside you?" He whispered, not missing a beat with his mouth returning to his suckling. He kept the pace steady but increased the pressure just slightly, wanting to hear her response.
"Yes..." Y/N breathed out the single word, squirming helplessly against his face. His mouth felt incredible and he obviously felt better about what he was doing now, taking more risks that only worked out in her favor. "So good, honey. You’re doing so good, your mouth is perfect."
How had he been bad with these other women? All it took was a little bit of instruction with a soft voice and he was licking into her like she was his last fucking meal.
She gasped, her nails nearly digging into his scalp as he slipped one finger inside her easily. "Your fingers are so big. Holy shit..." She panted, grinding down on his hand. "More..." She begged, knowing damn well she hadn’t wanted to be this needy for it but god damn. He was a good student. A very fast learner. "Please." The woman’s voice cracked with need. "Harry, please..."
He curled his fingers slightly inside her, hitting that spot he’d read about but had never actually found on a woman before. He must be doing it right, because she was practically sobbing his name, her hips bucking against his hand. He added another finger, stretching her slowly but surely, his tongue never stopping its slow, deliberate lapping.
It was obvious what she liked, what made her feel good, and he wanted to keep doing it. Memorize it so he knew how to do it perfectly next time- or continue practicing until he had it down. His head felt fuzzy with the need to get her there, to make her feel hot under the skin like he had been clueless about before. "Look at me." he mumbled against her, his voice muffled but insistent. He wanted to see her face contort with pleasure, wanted to watch her get closer.
It felt like her entire world had narrowed down to his fingers inside her and his tongue on her clit. It really had been far too long since she’d been touched and even longer since she had been eaten out with this amount of vigor. Maybe it hadn’t ever happened prior to him, but her brain wasn’t fully working. She was so close, teetering on the edge and he just... he just kept pushing her. Adding more, curling just right, licking and sucking in a rhythm that seemed designed to drive her insane.
Y/‘ couldn’t see him fully, not with his face buried smugly between her thighs, but she managed to lift her head, her eyes finding his own as he had demanded. The intensity in his gaze, the desperate need, it was too much. “Just like that, you’re going t’make me cum. Just like that, keep it like that- fuck.” Her groan seemed angry but it was anything but. She was worked over and sulking at how good it felt. “Shit, you love eating pussy. Don’t you, Harry? Just needed s-someone to show you how they like it.”
"Fuck yeah." He breathed against her, his eyelids drooping with pleasure at her accusation. He loved this, every fucking second. The slick sounds of her arousal, the way her pussy clenched around his fingers, the taste, how she grabbed at his hair, the sounds she made, the changes in her breathing, her squirming, the way her words slurred a little bit, the pulsing against his tongue.
God. Harry fucking loved it- he just didn’t know it could be this good. Addicting.
The vibrations as he groaned happily between her lips had to be adding something extra. "Knew I'd love it. Jus’ want to be able to make you feel good."
"Cum on my face baby, okay? Just let go. I wanna taste you." He whispered hoarsely, pressing a sloppy kiss to her clit before sucking it back into his mouth. His fingers curled again and again inside her, hitting that elusive spot over and over as she dripped all over his fingers and down the back of his hand. He wanted to make her shatter, wanted to feel her cum all over his face and fingers like he had been working toward.
There was no way she could even respond properly. The constant stimulation to her g-spot, his repeated sucking on her clit, the way he sloppily ate her cunt with little regard of the mess she was making on his face- the only thing he seemed to give a fuck about was making her cum. Who was she to take that from him?
Her body tensed, her back arching as she let out a long, drawn-out moan. It was a sound of pure pleasure, her entire being focused on the overwhelming sensation of him working her over. She came hard, her pussy clamping down on his fingers as she gushed all over his face and hand. Her hand was tight in his locks, tugging as a garbled moan left her mouth and she attempted to writhe. He kept her held still as he moaned loudly against her.
In fact, Harry didn’t stop. Even as she came, he kept eating her, his fingers still curled inside her as he lapped up her cum, cleaning her up. He was fucking starving for it, for the taste and the sound and the feeling of her losing control. He sucked and licked her pussy, feeling it spasming occasionally, until he was certain he had cleaned up every last drop- And her weak push of her hand against his head. Only then did he slowly pull his fingers out, his face and hand coated in her.
She was a goddess, slumped back against the cushions with a flushed, dazed expression. Harry couldn't help but kiss her inner thigh as it twitched before wiping his mouth. "Fuck, you’re amazing." The man murmured. Crawling up her body, he claimed her lips in a messy kiss, letting her taste herself. “Thank you.” It was mumbled between lazy kisses. “Thank you, Thank you.”
His hands roamed over her as he continued to kiss her sloppily, his body heavy on top of hers. He was still fully dressed, his erection painfully trapped in his pants. "Y/N... I’m sorry, but can I?" He asked softly, his fingers already working at the button of his jeans, his intent clear. "I gotta cum. Can I cum on your cunt? Please?” If he wasn’t so horny he would be embarrassed for doing this, but he was losing it. When it died down, he would definitely be embarrassed for how insane he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe the lack of blood flow to the head, it was going directly to the other.
“Shit.” Y/N laughed weakly, her body feeling like pins and needles as it came down from the orgasm. The idea was one she had considered, especially with how good he had listened- a reward. “Yeah, Honey. As a reward.” She sighed, leaning her head up further. “I wanna watch.”
He almost whined at her words, practically tearing his jeans open wide enough to pull out his stiff cock. He pushed his pants down towards his calves, staying there between her spread legs. His hand gripped his dick tightly, squeezing as he looked up at her face from his spot between her legs. "Yeah- yeah, please watch. I love being watched.” His hips moved forward unconsciously as he ran his cock over her, the head of his dick smearing pre-cum all over her cunt.
“Cute little exhibitionist.” Y/N cooed, running her hand over her stomach. “Go ahead. You’ve got such a pretty cock, but it looks like it hurts.” Her lips formed a soft pout. “Stroke yourself and cum all over that pussy, Harry.”
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He chanted under his breath, his hand moving faster over his shaft. With his tip pressing against her clit, he ran it up and down her slit. "You're so pretty. Your cunt is beautiful- all of you, so fucking gorgeous." He complimented her, his words coming out in short gasps. It was so hot, the way her lips spread around him, how she looked all fucked out and messy from his mouth. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum all over you, baby."
Y/N looked up at him with a soft, encouraging smile, her eyes staring into his with that tinge of desire. "Cum for me, Harry. Cum all over my pretty little pussy. I wanna see it, I wanna see you lose it." Her hand moved down to spread herself, holding herself open for him. "You've been so good, so obedient. You deserve it. Such a good student, a fast learner… You can have it. Cum on my cunt." Her voice was gentle but commanding, the perfect blend of sweet and dirty that had him right on the edge.
"Fuck, Y/N..." Harry whimpered, his eyes fluttering shut as her words pushed him over the edge. With a final thrust of his hips, he came undone. He felt the first spurt of his hot, sticky cum hit her pussy lips, coating them in his release. He groaned loudly, his body shuddering as he pumped out rope after rope of cum, covering her cunt completely. "Oh my god... Oh my god."
Even as he finished cumming, a few last spurts dribbling out to make a mess across her lower stomach, he couldn't look away from where his cum coated her pussy lips, right in her thatch curls and the surrounding skin. It was obscene, filthy, and he loved it. Y/N had made him lose his mind a bit, but he didn’t really want to find it.
Breathing heavily, he finally met her gaze with a slightly embarrassed but mostly pleased grin. "Holy fuck, that was hot." He murmured, swallowing hard. "Never done that before. Came so fucking hard..."
"Good, cause you made a mess." She giggled, watching him as his chest heaved. The sight of his stomach and abs glistened with a light sheen of sweat- his hair was ruffled and he looked like he’d had a workout instead of jerking off on her body. "You like that, I think. Making a mess." She asked softly, watching as he continued to stroke himself slowly, milking himself. Her eyes were drawn back to his dick. It really was beautiful- and really fucking big. “Where the hell were you hiding that? God damn.”
He couldn't help but chuckle at her comment, glancing down at his slowly softening dick with a smirk. "Guess I just needed the right inspiration, huh?" He teased lightly, finally releasing his grip on himself and leaning forward to rest his forearms on either side of her head, caging her in slightly. His face was mere inches from hers now, his glasses gone and his hair disheveled in the sexiest way possible. “Just need t’do this before we clean up and act normal again. Don’t yell at me.”
His mouth claimed hers slowly, lips moving softly against hers. He licked into her mouth slowly, like he was savoring her taste, his body half covering hers. His hand cupped her cheek as he deepened the kiss slowly, like he was trying to imprint himself onto her. Just as quick as it started though, it was over. She shouldn’t have been so sad about that. He pulled back slowly, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes opened slowly to find her watching him softly, their lips still wet and swollen from the kiss. He grinned slightly, licking his lips again. “See? Not so bad.”
“Yeah.” She laughed, feeling dazed. Who the fuck was this? And why did he kiss so good it made her toes curl? Who was this and what had they done to her best friend? “I think your problem isn’t that you don’t have skill. Naturally you seem to get it. I think you’ve just gotten into your own head and you think too much.” She had been a safe person and it was easier for him to lose that anxiety with her, knowing she had already agreed to teach him.
“It can be hard to perform if you’re not able to properly get into it. Your dick can be hard as nails, but your mind not being in it will be a mood killer and they’re gonna know.” The smile on her face was slightly sad but she knew it was what he had to hear. “Because honestly? I haven’t orgasmed like that in ages. All it took was a few tweaks and you had it down. Maybe you just aren’t a hookup guy. Did that feel a lot different than the other people?” Maybe he needed someone who could openly communicate. The expectation of someone just knowing wasn’t always fair.
"Yeah." He hesitated, shifting slightly to prop himself up on one elbow next to her. His other hand traced patterns on her stomach absentmindedly. "It was... different." He seemed to struggle with the words for a moment. "With those other girls, I was always nervous. Overthinking every single fucking thing. Like you said." He glanced at her face, a slight blush forming across his cheeks. "With you... it felt natural. Real. And fuck, listening to you moan like that… Where did those lungs come from?"
“You freak!” She laughed, pushing his shoulder to get him to sit up. Adjusting her bralette back over her breasts she didn’t bother with the bottoms yet, because she really needed to go clean up. Secretly she was pleased that she had been different. It was so cliche to say it, but she wanted to be different than them. She just… wasn’t quite sure why yet. Her brain hadn’t come back down to earth fully and she couldn’t be bothered to truly question it. “You won’t need many lessons on how to pleasure a woman with results like that, I’m telling you that. Good job.” Reaching out, she squished his cheeks with a soft coo before he shot her a look.
"Oi!" He laughed, swatting her hand away playfully but with a big smile on his face. "Don't treat me like a puppy. And..." He hesitated, reaching up to cup her face gently, his thumb brushing her lower lip. "Did it really feel that good? I mean." His voice dropped to a slightly embarrassed whisper. "Am I actually good at this stuff?" For someone who had just made her orgasm so hard, he suddenly seemed insecure again. Like he needed validation. "I know you don’t lie like that, but it just feels weird. Cause everyone else seemed disappointed… I thought I’d be completely awful.”
“Oh, H.” She frowned at his vulnerability. “It was really good for me. I think maybe you just need some lessons on how to let go and relax when you’re being intimate. And I’m happy to teach you that.” Brushing her hand over his stubble she gave his chin a pinch. “Trust me. I’d tell you if you needed a lot of work. It can be hard for women to cum from oral sometimes too. It’s hit or miss for me, and you had me cumming so easily so, I would say it was probably a mix of feeling safe and you having some good natural instincts you couldn’t tap into before because you were anxious and your brain was in overdrive.” Pulling him into a hug, she squeezed him lightly as she inhaled his scent. He smelled like mint and sex, with a tinge of laundry detergent. Appropriate.
“When I’m done with you, we’ll have it all squared away and figured out. Okay? Don’t think about those times. Think about the fact you’re gonna get to fuck your really hot best friend.” Standing up from the couch with a laugh and a pat to his head, she walked to the bathroom to get herself clean- and take a minute to breathe. Her chest was doing a weird thing it hadn’t before and she didn’t want to think about it. “Hey, can you order something from that cookie place to be delivered while I shower please? Use my phone, my card is already in the app. Thank youuuu.”
He watched her leave, a small smile on his face at her words. It was a relief to hear that he wasn't completely incompetent. Flopping back against the cushions, he stared at her ceiling fan as it whirred around with a content sigh.
As requested, he ordered a batch of her favorite cookies from the nearby bakery, adding a special request for extra chocolate chips with a small chuckle. She had ordered quite a few times recently, so he had tried to replicate it while adding white choc macadamia for himself. A classic, even if Y/N would wrinkle her nose for them sharing a box.
After submitting it for the delivery, he found himself humming softly, a warmth spreading through his chest at the thought of learning more from her. That had been so good, he felt so relieved that he wasn’t defective- but he did have to wonder how he was going to be this comfortable with anyone else. Y/N was easy to unwind around. It was hard to imagine him getting as comfortable with anyone else in the way he was with her.
Getting closer to her in a vulnerable and intimate way was sure to grow their friendship. He couldn’t really see it backfiring. Their friendship was too strong.
prompt: it's casual, right? but god, it really doesn't feel that way
word count: 6k
warnings: subspace, lack of aftercare, angst, lack of communication
author's note:
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+
The bar was clearing out, trivia night had come to a conclusion, and everything was winding down.
The big chalkboard in the corner still displayed the final scores, a lopsided tally where “Team Niall” had tragically lost by two points.
It was Tuesday night and everyone had work the next day which meant that there was a rush through the door and left them as the last ones to filter out because they always tended to lollygag even though most of them had early mornings.
The group of friends were all saying their goodbyes.
YN stood with Georgia near the AC vent, arm linked through hers for warmth because the cold blast from above made her huddle in closer.
Hailee and Jessa were a few feet away, still laughing about the last round of questions, and how the boys were such sore losers at every turn.
Someone always tended to leave Trivia night with their feelings hurt.
Niall, Harry, and Mitch were all arguing about the question that had them lose the game.
“Why the fuck would you say Delaware?” Harry scolds as he runs his hand through his hair, a scowl that was saved for Niall and Niall alone, “It's not even a fucking city. It's a state.”
“I got confused! Delaware is the smallest state!” Niall defends putting his hands up, pinks cheek from the beer he's had.
“No, it's really fucking not. It's Rhode Island!” Harry shouts back at him with exasperation, hands thrown up in annoyance, “Come on!”
“You're off the team,” Mitch adds in, monotone and bored as he tugged his keys out from his jean pocket - slowly but obviously trying to see himself out of the argument.
“That's bullshit! We're literally named Team Niall,” He argues with wide disbelieving eyes.
“It's not hard to change the name,” Harry adds in, agreeing with Mitch, and an annoyed roll of his eyes because even though the two have been friends since diapers - they fought more than middle school girls and made up just as quickly.
“Okay, well we work tomorrow morning and have seen enough of this cat fight,” Hailee announces as she wraps her hand around Mitch’s wrist, guiding her boyfriend towards the door.
Jessa trailed behind, waving goodnight to everyone with an amused smile tugging at her lips.
Niall is mumbling about unfair treatment as they all start heading towards the door.
“You did good,” Harry manages to slip next to YN, bumping her hip and then glancing over at Georgia, “You too. I didn't know about Montana's state flower.”
“Better do some studying before next Tuesday,” Georgia quips as she throws her arm around YN, who just laughs softly.
“You did a good job too, Harry,” YN compliments as she leads Georgia towards where they parked next to each other.
“Thanks,” He replies with a slight smile, he pauses as he realizes his car is next to Niall’s on the other side of the lot, “I'll see you guys next Tuesday, yeah?”
“Yeah,” YN said, both she and Georgia giving a small wave as he headed off.
“You two should totally date,” Georgia says as soon as Harry is out of earshot, glancing back quickly to double check, “You'd be so cute together.”
YN shakes her head with an annoyed scowl towards her friend, “We both just got out of long-term relationships. I don't think that would be a good idea.”
Georgia made a dismissive sound, clicking her tongue, “Harry’s been broken up with Lauren for, what, four months? You and Ben ended things at least three ago.”
YN bit the inside of her cheek, the familiar tightness crawling up her chest, “You literally just think we should date because we’re both single.”
“And you guys would look hot together,” Georgia doesn't disagree with her accusation, “I mean…look at him. He's insanely fit. He carried four drinks with one hand!”
YN had noticed.
She wasn’t blind.
She remembered the way his hand had dwarfed the copper mug as he slid the Moscow Mule in front of her before passing out three other beer bottles.
And the size of his hands… yeah, she noticed that too.
“No, I'm not looking for a relationship and I doubt he is either,” YN reiterates as they get to their cars, “He's nice but I'm not ready to commit again.”
Georgia scoffed, pressing the button on her key fob - her car chirped and blinked to life, “Who said anything about commitment? I said a date, not a full ass wedding.”
“Goodnight, George,” YN sighed, her tone exasperated but affectionate, she unlocked her own car with a quiet beep,“I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Georgia groaned, slumping dramatically with a frown coating her features, “I’ve got that god-awful presentation. You better pretend to care.”
“Always do,” YN said with a laugh as she slipped into the driver’s seat, glad the conversation had moved on.
Her head was already too full, her thoughts spiraling the moment Harry came up.
Ben.
Just the name made her temples throb, an implosion that she was trying to avoid because it made her head hurt at least once a day, sometimes more if she thought about him for too long.
It's been three months and it's been amazing to be out of a relationship with an immature man child who got insecure when she went to trivia night so he always tagged along, needed to be included when he hated trivia and rarely ever answered correctly.
So yeah, it had been a relief.
Being single was better than babysitting a grown man’s ego.
Georgia blew her a kiss before backing out of the parking spot with a little screech of tires.
YN gave her the middle finger with a smirk before starting her own engine.
It seems like every week now she was bringing it up, trying to play matchmaker for two people who were healing from heartbreaks.
YN only knows a little about the break-up.
Lauren rarely came to trivia.
When she did, she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.
YN knew that Harry had ended it, even though it was hard—he’d said once, in a rare vulnerable moment, that he wanted someone he could build a life with.
Lauren didn’t want that.
She hadn’t gone easily either.
She’d shown up at trivia twice post-breakup, trying to win him back.
Each time, the group acted like they weren’t watching as Harry gently pulled her aside, voice low and kind, guiding her to the other side of the bar before walking her out to her car.
Ben had shown up a few times too, clumsy and bitter, trying to stake some kind of claim.
That hadn’t ended as well as with Lauren.
It didn’t end quietly because Niall and Mitch had to guide him out of the bar while Harry stood between them to make sure that Ben didn’t approach her again - acting as her makeshift bodyguard.
So now Georgia was rooting for two broken people to get together—not necessarily out of romance, but maybe just because the group missed their spark.
Missed the way YN used to laugh, the way Harry used to be sharper, quicker.
+ few minutes later +
“Hips up, come on. You’ve been teasing all night,” Harry grunts, voice low and rough the moment the backseat door thuds closed behind them.
There’s no hesitation—he’s already on her.
His hands at the waist of her skirt, fumbling big hands trying to find the zipper as he bullies her further into the space until her back hits the opposite door.
YN has to remind herself that she's just romanticizing this whole situation because it's her first time having a sexual relationship with someone she's not dating.
She convinces herself the excitement is what makes their chemistry so magnetic and nothing else but she knows she never felt like this with Ben or any other partner.
“Wasn't teasing,” YN manages to get out but she was already breathless, eager in a way she's never been with sex, her thighs dampening was a new sensation.
“No?” His tone is almost mocking, but laced with something darker—something feral, his fingers finally land on the zipper at her side, tugging it slowly down with infuriating precision, “Then your cunt isn’t needy? Am I reading the signs wrong?”
Her breath hitches.
God, she should be annoyed.
She should be offended.
But the filth coming from his mouth only fuels the heat already pooling low in her belly.
The way he says it—so confident, so cocky lights her up in a way she didn’t know words could.
“What signs?” YN pushes back because their back and forth only build up her arousal even further, searching for more dirty words out of his mouth.
Harry leans in, his mouth a breath away from her ear.
His words send a full-body shiver down her spine.
“The way you watched my mouth all night,” Harry murmurs, voice thick and gravelly.
His fingers press insistently into the soft, plush flesh just above the waistband of her tight skirt, “Saw you clench your thighs when I took off my coat.”
“You’re full of yourself,” YN manages, but the protest comes out barely above a whisper.
Her fingers curl into the fabric of his jacketat his shoulder, grounding herself in him because it still doesn't feel real—being able to touch him like this, have him this close.
There’s something that happens when she’s with Harry—this overwhelming impatience, a hunger that feels heavier, more intense than lust.
Like if she doesn’t get his hands on her, in her, she might actually combust.
“So you didn't want this? Haven't been looking forward to Trivia night for this?” Harry has this cocky smile on his face, his fingers haven't move at all from her waist and it was making her tick.
“Didn’t cross my mind once,” YN bites out, teeth clenched, her toes curling inside her boots, heels digging into the expensive leather of the car seat.
Her body is aching to be touched—every inch of her buzzing with restless need but she’s trying to keep control of the dynamic.
Barely.
Harry narrows his eyes slightly, amusement and heat flickering behind them as he begins to pull back.
The shift is subtle, but she feels the loss instantly—his weight, his warmth.
And that just won’t do.
Before he can move another inch, her other hand snaps up to grab at his jacket, fisting the fabric roughly and yanking him back toward her.
Their lips collide in a kiss so heated it steals the breath from her lungs.
His hand flies up to cup the side of her face, fingers splayed against her cheek and jaw, holding her in place like he’s claiming her.
The way he kisses her—hungry and messy and unrelenting, it feels like he’s trying to devour her, like he earned her mouth, like he owns it.
“Admit it,” Harry’s mouth is still against hers, barely separating to speak before he's dipping his tongue back into her mouth like he can't help himself.
“No,” YN chases after his tongue as he pulls back, trying to follow his lips because they were addictive and she wanted more.
Harry doesn’t let her take.
He sits back just enough, his body still caging her in, but now his eyes are on fire.
That same molten look she’s only ever seen when he’s like this—turned on and completely focused.
“Why are you being difficult, honey?” Harry hums as he moves to cup her knees where they're bent around him, ghosting down her right, and dancing along the hem of her skirt, “I know what you want. Don't need to be ashamed of it.”
YN feels a swoop on her stomach, the way he spoke never managed to not get her even more turned on for him, and the whole dynamic of feeling this aroused and playful was new.
“Then give it to me,” YN huffs out as she hitches her hips impatiently, blinking down at him - she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.
He reaches up and captures one of her wrists, the same one curled tight into his jacket.
Gently but deliberately, he pries it free and guides it downward.
With his other hand, he hikes her skirt up, bunching the fabric at her hips until she’s fully exposed, her thighs spread, her breath trembling in her throat.
Then he moves her hand between her legs.
It takes her breath away—literally.
Her gasp cuts sharply through the close air of the backseat, a startled, needy sound as her own fingertips brush the soaked heat of her thong.
Harry doesn’t look away from her, not for a second.
She can’t help the shudder that racks through her when her fingers press more firmly to her clit.
It’s not the same as when it’s his hands on her, his mouth.
But it still eases the throbbing, even if just a little.
“Feel nice, sweet girl?” Harry nearly croons, it sounds fonder than it should for what they're doing, what they are, and aren't to each other, “You're filthy, touching yourself like this in front of me.”
There’s something unbearably hot about the way he guides her, how he’s using her fingers to pleasure herself the way he wants.
She opens her mouth to throw the insult back at him, to call him filthy, but all that escapes is a whimper as he withdraws her hand suddenly.
He holds it between them, his grip gentle but commanding.
Her slick glistens on her fingertips under the dim lights filtering through the foggy windows.
“Not wet for me?” Harry asks, cocking a brow with mock innocence.
“No,” she replies with a bratty edge, her chin lifting in defiance.
She’s proud of the attitude—but it doesn’t last long.
Because without missing a beat, Harry brings her hand up to her face, rubbing her soaked fingertips across her lips until her own arousal glosses them.
He doesn’t stop there.
Harry leans in and presses his mouth to hers again, tongue sweeping over the same place he’d just marked with her slick.
It’s possessive, greedy.
He licks into her mouth like he’s starving, and the kiss nearly sends her reeling.
“Please, I was wet for you all night,” YN finally gives in, “Was thinking about this.”
There’s no point in pretending anymore.
She knows how patient he can be.
Harry doesn’t rush.
He waits, teases, stretches her thin until she’s begging—and she always breaks first.
“About what? Getting your needy cunt touched?” Harry laughs meanly , albeit pleased that she relented because then he can really start being a menace, “Do you think about it all week? Do you think about me all week?”
She should say no.
She should lie.
Because she does think about him, not just the sex.
His laugh, his stupid jokes, the way he looks when he’s concentrating on a trivia question.
But she doesn’t tell him that.
She can’t.
“I want to come,” YN says instead because it seems safer than telling him the truth, she bucks her hips upwards towards his center but doesn't make contact.
“And I want you to behave,” Harry grunts with annoyance in his tone, hands coming to press her hips back down with a harshness that she hadn't had from previous partners.
She loved it.
She lets out a soft moan at the contact, even as frustration builds.
She wishes they weren’t crammed into the backseat of his car.
Wishes she could be stretched out on his bed, bare and unhurried, with his full weight pressing her into the mattress.
“I’ll be good,” YN says, her voice gone kitten-soft and breathy.
It surprises even her, the way it sounds—submissive and sweet.
Not like her at all.
“Show me what I want to see then. Be a good girl,” Harry sits back, his eyes tracing over her body, and resting down on the thick of her thigh - squeezing.
YN briefly wonders if this is how Harry had been with Lauren - dominant but attentive, and that's a twist of jealousy in her stomach that she'd rather not consider right now.
The skirt is already bunched at her waist, fabric wrinkled and forgotten.
Her hand trembles slightly as she dips back down to her center, hooking the gusset of her thong around her fingers and tugging it aside.
It was nerve-wracking to expose the most private part of herself to the man she was crushing on so deeply, had been for so long, and even though he's seen her like this before - it still hadn't become any less intimidating.
“Fuck,” Harry curses when she does so, his hand coming down to almost curiously roll her swollen, hard bud until his thumb, “So puffy f’me. Never seen a prettier pussy.”
And it's probably just a line, he has said those words to the girls that came before her but it still boosted her ego quite a bit.
Emboldened, YN arches her hips into his touch, a pretty moan slipping out as her head tilts back, exposing the soft, pale column of her throat.
“Desperate for my touch, huh?” Harry rasps, ghosting down to tease around her entrance, not dipping in but gathering the wetness there.
“If you don't make me come soon, i'll go back in that bar and get Will,” YN threans with her own smile because she knew he wouldn't like that, “He would get me off.”
Will was one of the DJ’s who ran trivia and he had taken quite a liking to YN, had made it known, and had asked her out a few times.
Harry didn't outwardly admit jealousy but would make snarky comments about how pathetic Will was, how annoying he was, and how he just needed to do his job.
His expression hardens instantly, brows furrowing, top lip curling.
“You think Will could get you off?” He snaps, glancing up from where his fingers still hover just shy of her cunt, “That fucker doesn’t even know where the clit is. You’d be getting licked out until next year.”
“It’d still be quicker than how long it takes you to get me off,” YN shoots back, chin tilted.
Her pulse is thundering in her ears—because she’s poking the bear, and she knows it.
Harry’s easy to rile when it comes to showing off.
He never backs down when his pride is challenged.
His jaw ticks once, eyes narrowing.
Then, in a flash, he's had enough.
“Stop fuckin’ running your mouth,” Harry hisses finally hitting his breaking point, it was impressive because he rarely got to that point this quickly.
Before she can fire off another comeback, Harry grips her hips and yanks her down the seat, until she’s lying flat, skirt bunched at her waist, legs parted.
The leather squeaks under her, echoing in the silence of the car.
His hands grips her ass, firm and rough, pulling her pelvis up until she arches toward him—and then he’s there, his mouth crashing onto her with no warning.
YN cries out as his lips close around her clit, tugging it into his mouth with punishing accuracy.
Her body jolts, trying to flinch back from the intense pressure, but his grip tightens—keeping her locked in place and leaving her no room to wriggle away.
Harry’s nose nudges against her mound, his lips and tongue relentless, like a man feral.
He barely comes up for air, working her over with deep, rhythmic licks and suction that feel like they’re pulling the pleasure straight from the source.
YN reaches down to grab at him, fingers tangled in his curls as she pushes into his mouth before trying to shy away.
He moves one hand from her ass, thumbing over her seam before he's nudging two fingers in until he can pet at the front of her inner walls, scissoring them to make her feel the light, welcome stretch.
“Ye-yeah,” YN can only gasp as the stimulation grows more quickly than she's used to, his fingers and mouth are so knowledgeable , know exactly what their doing, “Oh, I'm clo-close, H.”
His eyes flick up to her, barely visible from this angle, but the glint in them is unmistakable—dark, electric.
His mouth never lets up, tongue lapping at her, lips sealing around her clit again in a rhythm that has her thighs trembling.
His fingers pump into her at a steady, sure pace, and he knows she’s right at the edge.
And then he stops.
Just like that.
He lets her drop back to the leather seat, slick and desperate, the cool air hitting her exposed skin.
She blinks in disbelief, mouth open in shock, hips twitching in search of the sensation that vanished too fast, and watches as he rubs his face against the calf that was hooked over his shoulder.
Harry’s the filthy one, really, because he runs his tongue over where he'd just wiped off her arousal without any shame.
“No, no,” YN complains desperately, she had been so fucking close, tryin to hold it at that delicious almost there bliss for as long as possible and it was starting to fizzle, “No, I didn't come- Harry, I didn't-”
Harry comes to cup her jaw, effectively shutting her up with a thumb pressed roughly against her lip.
“If only our friends knew what a mouthy, greedy lil’ thing you are,” Harry admonishes as he tugs down her bottom lip, his nose nearly brushing hers, “I know you didn’t come, silly girl. I didn’t want you to.”
“But why?” YN snaps at him, the sensitivity was continuing to fizzle out like a sparkler come to the end of it’s life, and it left this unsettled, uncomfortable ache that she was never used to feeling because if a partner was getting her that close - she didn’t have the luxury to edge or she wouldn’t get it back then she just wouldn’t come that time when they had sex.
Harry doesn’t answer with words at first.
His hand drops sharply to her inner thigh, a slap of dominance that makes her yelp—not from pain exactly, but the sting of surprise, of being handled like that.
“Because I said so,” Harry retorts lowly, teeth clenched as his brow draw further together, “I don’t think you’ve earned it. Not sweet ‘nough for me yet.”
“I’m sweet, I’m sweet,” YN knows she sounds like a begging puppy but he was the only person who brought of this desperation in her, this unhinged beahvior where she had no shame because she wanted him so much more than she wanted to keep her dignity.
Harry’s face softens—just a little.
His gaze travels over her flushed face, her trembling body, her wide, needy eyes.
Something fond flickers in his expression, just for a beat, and it makes her chest ache.
“Are you?” He murmurs, voice gone almost gentle in contrast. “How are you gonna show me?”
YN nudges forward to steal a kiss, relieved when he allows it but only for a moment before he’s biting down on her lip as punishment.
Her hand comes down to his center, gripping at him through the tight denim of his jeans, and it made her confidence skyrocket when she felt how rock hard he was for her, twitching underneath her palm at the unexpected touch.
“I’ll suck you,” YN tells him, it’s nowhere near the filth that he spills out but it still felt so foreign rolling off of her tongue, “Please, I want you in my mouth.”
“You’re already getting sweeter,” Harry croons as he bats her hand away, moving to unbutton his jeans, and shove them as well as his briefs down his thighs - he was intimidating, the size - the length and girth of him was enough to stretch the corner of her lips and make them ache, she remembers how it felt last week when she had swallowed him down and made her eyes water.
They’d only been doing this for a few weeks, with a break in between during the holidays when there was no trivia, and she still wasn’t use to handle someone as well endowed as him, her eyes had gone wide the first time she’d seen how pretty he was and he had given her this sleazy, proud smile at the time.
Harry wraps a hand around the base of his cock, thumb brushing the slick head.
Her breath hitches.
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t ask.
That she’d wait for him to initiate.
But they hadn’t had penetrative sex yet, sure they’d only hooked up in his car a total of three times now but it hadn’t come up, he hadn’t mentioned even one word of it yet, and she realizes just how much she has been craving him, having him fill her up in a way she’d never felt before.
“C’mon, darling. You’re been so good for me now,” Harry hums as he thumbs over the ruddy, wet tip, it was welcoming, tempting.
“No, I -” YN cuts off because she wants to stop herself, she told herself she wouldn’t, “Want you to fuck me.”
Harry’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, his composed facial expression fades momentarily with the surprise of her words, and his hand stops on his length, “Fuck you?”
“Yes,” YN tries to sound sure of herself but it’s faltering, because she’s not.
“And you’ve earned that?” Harry prompts, his cool demeanor right back in place, the shock disappearing just as fast as it had happened, “Or are you being selfish and trying to get out of sucking cock now that you’ve gotten your own?”
YN’s brow furrow, “I didn’t come though.”
Harry snickers, boyishly because he’s getting off of this, “I forgot, your mouthiness has me distracted.”
And looking back, YN thinks this is what people talk about when they use the term subspace.
She’s never felt like this—never felt safe enough to let go.
Because she’d never experienced it before this point but something in her just breaks, she feels floaty and unashamed - there’s no insecurity, no worries about how desperate she’s acting because all she can thinking about is Harry.
It’s an arousal that clouds anything logical and it feels like she’s in the clouds, drifting and weightless, and that’s she’s fully relying on him to take control.
Tears prickle in the corners of her eyes, not from sadness, but from sheer overwhelm.
“Want it,” she whispers, voice cracking, “Please. I’ll s—”
“Whoa, whoa,” Harry hushes softly, his tone is more like his normal cadence and not that deep, horny rasp that he gets, “Honey, are you alright?”
YN swallows, her fingers dug into his arms, “Just want t’come.”
Harry laughs quietly, it’s one of the nicest sounds that she’s ever heard, and right now it seems like the most beautiful music to her ears.
“Okay, pretty,” Harry simpers, his demeanor shifts into something more careful, more cautious as he helps pull her up, “Not many ways to do it comfortably in here.”
Invite me back, please.
Is her needy thought, she wants to be spread out on his bed.
But his next words shut down that hope.
“Will you ride me?”
It’s not really a question.
He’s already guiding her, and she follows without fussing.
She doesn’t have time to mourn—he’s sitting back, pulling her into his lap, and her thighs bracket his hips as she lowers down, the thick, flushed head of him brushing against her folds.
The sight of it is obscene.
She wishes she could take a picture, frame it, live inside this moment where he’s so hard and she’s so desperate, spread open and slick with need.
YN’s impatient, she’s never felt so needy in her life, and she couldn’t believe they were actually about to have sex because even when she was with Ben - she fantasized about this more than she’d ever willingly admit to anyone, especially him.
YN goes to grip at him, to guide him but he bumps her out of the way to do it himself, his other hand comes up to cup her cheek, “Tell me what you want.”
“You, want you,” YN babbles, willing to say just about anything if that means that he’ll stop drawing this out.
Harry shakes his head, his expression suddenly serious, and voice more firm, “No, YN. What do you want me to do?”
“Fuck me, I want you to fuck me - oh,” YN cuts out with a high-pitched moan because he’s painting himself down towards to press into her folds, thumping against her clit once before he’s tucking himself inside, and once his tip has breached his hands move to her hips to start moving her to sit down on him.
And it stretches, more intense than it’s ever felt with her partners in the past but it wasn’t painful, it was just a new sensation of accommodating, and he was bringing her down slowly, pushing her skirt higher up so he could grip her bare hips.
“Jesus,” Harry grunts out, it’s louder than he’s been since they had piled into his car, startling in the otherwise quiet space apart from their heavy breathing.
YN’s eyes widen, glancing up at him, and she’s knows she must just be moony-eyed, looking at him like he was the best thing in the world, her hair was falling into her eyes, startening to dampen as it got hotter, more humid in the confined area.
Harry lets out a low chuckle, his hand come to pet the hair back and behind her eye, voice hushed and sweet as maple syrup, “I’m sorry, sorry honey, didn’t mean to startle you. You just feel so good.”
“Yeah?” YN blinks at him, it was hard to keep anything straight but he was filling her up so fucking well that she didn’t feel like she was about to rip at the seams anymore.
Harry laughs again, happy and private as he bumps his forehead against hers, “Yeah.”
YN doesn’t do much of the work, her limbs are jello and the way Harry utilizes his grip on her hips has him doing the heavy lifting, hitting her spot dead on every single time, and his rhytmn isn’t fast but it’s steady, consistent, and hard.
There’s tears trickling down her cheeks as her orgasm starts to build again, faster than expected, and she actually feels a swoop of disappointment because it she doesn’t want it to be over when it feels like it really just began.
Her clit brushes up against his pubic bone, smearing her slick there as it gives her the perfect friction, and her fingertips are digging into the skin of his clothed shoulder because he was still fully dressed and that didn’t feel quite right but it was too late now.
“Can feel you squeezin’ on me,” Harry hums as he brings her down and sits her there, stops her hips from moving as he plants his feet and starts to thrust up into her, “Are you close, sweetheart? Do you need help?”
YN shakes her head, sniffling slightly as she rolls her hips into his thrusts, “Don’t wan’na.”
Harry doesn’t stop all together but he slows his rhythm, “Don’t want to what, honey? Talk to me.”
“Don’t want to come, don’t want it to be over,” YN admits as she blinks through the film at him and the look he has on his face, well it’s one that she’s never seen before but her brain isn’t in the place to be able to decipher that right now.
“I’ll give you another,” Harry promises, his hands slipping down to grip her bum and pull her even fruther into his lap until their chests are pressing together, tilting his head up to bite at the underside of her jaw, “I’ve earned a squeeze though, haven’t I? Get me wet, darling.” And YN wishes those words didn’t get to her as easily as they did but it works, her hilts jittling to a stop as she grinds harshly into him, head falling backwards, and he starts sucking a mark right at the center of her throat that she can’t even start to be mad about.
“You’re so pretty, never seen anything prettier on my cock,” Harry groans as he picks up his thrusts, she was sensitive, it didn’t feel as pleasant but she still wanted it, wanted to feel how much he wanted her, and he was throbbing, “Fuck, where do you -”
“In me,” YN’s hand cups the nape of his neck, it felt like there was no other thoughts in her mind.
“Fuckin’ christ,” Harry responds as he squeezes her backside hard enough that she feels pinpricks of pain, knowing it was going to leave marks, and being happy about that, a memento from the best sex of her life, “How’d I get so lucky to get you on me?”
YN doesn’t have time to respond, wasn’t going to anyways when she feels him start to pulse, twitch as he starts to come, his hips slowing to a sluggish pace as he starts to come down from it, panting as sweat beads on his forehead - it was hot, sticky in the car now after all the physical activity.
Harry moves quicker than she can keep up with, plopping her back onto the seat and pinning her against the door as he wedges himself between her thighs.
It’s filthy, it’s something she’s never had anyone do but he swipes at her entrance, tasting himself before he’s wrapping his lips around her bud, and starting that tortuous pulsing that he’d done prior, only this time it doesn’t take more than a minute because she’s already hypersensitive from the first orgasm and he doesn’t tease.
No, instead he rides her through it, chasing after her like a starving man when she rears her hips away, and whines after she’s rode it out, “Too much.”
She was still floating, still teary as Harry wipes her up with a clean gym towel he had in his duffel, hands her an unopened bottle water before helping hero ut of the backseat, and walking her towards her car with a hand on her lower back.
He gives her a hug that seems far to platonic for what they just did, things suddenly awkward like they have been after every single time they’ve done this, and then he’s opening her car door and waving ‘bye’ before he’s heading back to his own.
YN doesn’t know why she starts crying as soon as she pulls out of the lot, why she has to park on a side road because her brain isn’t cooperating, and the pit of emptiness in her chest that wasn’t there prior was now gnawing away at her.
Y/N has an itch she can’t scratch, one that her boyfriend refuses to touch- so he calls in someone who knows what he’s doing. Harry is a seasoned player of kink, a man of many talents and the perfect person to teach her all about the intricacies and dynamics of the world she had been denied by her lover.
It shouldn’t be that complicated. Right?
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this is a kink heavy fic so the warnings include but are not limited to
Angst, blurred lines, slut shaming, BDSM, Dom/sub dynamics, hair pulling, spitting, choking, impact play, anal play, sex toys, temperature play, cum play, edging, overstimulation, use of safe words, face fucking, exhibitionism, voyuerism, roleplay, unprotected sex, possible threesome, knife/blood play, bondage, handcuffs, humiliation, degradation, breeding kink, daddy kink, oral sex, blindfolds, cuckolding, primal play, gagging, wax play…
If you are uncomfortable with any of these we will make sure to have markers at the beginning of the parts!
hii so i wanted to know if you could do a frat boy harry who’s a hockey player and reader who’s a figure skater. and it’s like enemies to lovers type of thing like rivals.
idk how to feel about this one...but here you go!
Part 2
You positioned your arms in the correct position, taking some deep breaths before the music began. The opening chords sounded—a lilting, breathy harp—and when you were ready, you bent down gracefully, and started the routine you'd been perfecting for months.
Your skates glided across the ice, your body letting the music move you through each trick. Nothing else existed for the next two and a half minutes. Drowning out every single distraction was the only way to achieve perfection, in your mind.
The music finally stopped as you skated back to the center to land in your final position. Your breathing was heavy, but you tried your hardest not to let it show. The routine needed to appear effortless, and panting like you'd just run a marathon would give the opposite effect.
There was light applause from some of the other girls you skated with after you left the center of the rink, but otherwise it was still fairly quiet. That is, until Harry showed up.
“Oh, come on, Princess, you can do better than that!”
“Suck my dick, Harry!”
“I’d rather suck on something else, love, you know that. But only if you let me.”
You rolled your eyes, but didn’t look over at him once, knowing that would only give him more satisfaction.
Harry Styles was the captain of your school’s hockey team. He was the best goalie in the state, had an excellent record, had his pick of any NHL team from coast to coast, could even be selected for the Olympic team next year. He was one of the most popular guys at your school, students and professors alike wrapped around his finger, but to you he was just a cocky, arrogant son of a bitch.
You skated at the same university, but instead of holding a stick and getting into fights and shoving opponents against plexiglass, you performed. Your competitions weren't so barbaric. You were a figure skater, an excellent one at that. Not that anyone at your school really cared. If it wasn’t aired on the a big sports network, it wasn't worth talking about. It didn't matter that you were a world class figure skater, or that you were mastering tricks that only the best skaters in the world merely considered putting in their routines. It didn't matter that you'd won competition after competition. You weren’t praised for your flawless technique or your effortless grace the way that Harry was praised for blocking an impossible shot. Statistically speaking, you technically had a better record than Harry did as far as victories went, but as history has shown, boys always got more recognition.
It didn’t bother you that Harry and his teammates were more popular than you, that wasn’t your issue. The problem was that it went straight to their heads. They lorded their talent over everyone like they were God’s gift to humankind. It drove you insane, and the fact that you all practiced and trained at the same rink made it that much worse.
You skated back to the center of the rink again, more laser focused than ever now that you knew Harry was watching. The only good thing that came out of his assholish ways was that it drove you to work ten times harder. When the music started, you could feel his eyes watching your every move, but you let it fuel you. You didn't just achieve perfection, you were perfection. And where you might have bobbled a landing last go around, this time you stuck it without a hitch.
“Yeah! That’s my girl!” Harry whistled, the sound of his hands clapping bouncing off the pretty much empty rink.
At that, you turned and glared at him, only to see him smiling and wiggling his eyebrows at you. Everything about him irritated you to the highest degree, from the self-satisfied smirk to the way his dark curly hair fanned out beneath his backward baseball cap, the one that rarely left his head unless he was wearing his goalie helmet. The most annoying thing about him was how cute he was. If he wasn’t such a dick you actually might be interested.
Before you could reply with a snide remark, your coach walked over to where Harry was pressed up against the rim of the rink. “Stop distracting my skaters, Styles!”
“Sorry, Coach,” Harry called, but he didn’t look apologetic in the slightest. Winking at you, he walked off, taking his hat off for a moment to run a hand through his hair before putting it back on again.
Shaking Harry off, you finished the rest of your training in peace. It went pretty quick, which was why Harry was there in the first place. Once you and your friends got out of your skates and changed into regular clothes in the locker room, you were all on your way to the parking lot.
“I swear he’s into you or something,” Kate, one of your best friend said when she saw Harry waiting by your car, a couple of his friends/teammates with him.
“As he should, but it’s never gonna happen,” you said.
Kate nudged you. “Why? I mean he’s annoying as fuck, but he’s the hottest guy at our school. And I’ve heard he’s, like, you know, good in bed.”
“Ugh, not you too, Kate,” you groaned, though you weren’t all that surprised she was playing devil’s advocate. She went to the dark side a few months ago when one of the other boys on the hockey team asked her to to some fraternity dance and had been together ever since. “And for the record, no one our age is actually ‘good.’ According to my sister, it takes years of practice.”
“If you’re worried I don’t have any experience, you shouldn't. I have plenty of it, Princess.”
You rolled your eyes. “Your hand doesn’t count as experience, Harry,” you said, walking past him and his friends to put your things in the trunk of your car.
His friends all laughed and pushed him around, but you ignored all of it, waiting for them all to leave. From your vantage point, you saw Kate walk over to Harry and her boyfriend Zayn. She went over and gave him a hug, but you stayed where you were, not looking Harry in the eye.
“There’s a party tonight,” Zayn said to you and Kate. “You guys should come.”
Before you could say no, Kate spoke first. “Yeah, we’ll definitely be there.” After telling you that she’d be at your house to pick you up later, she and Zayn walked off, leaving you and Harry alone.
“I’m assuming you’re sticking around because you need a ride?” you asked, slowly inching forward.
Harry nodded, reaching his hand out to you. You took it reluctantly, letting him pull you closer. Once you were close enough, though, you couldn’t help yourself. You surged forward and kissed him, pressing your body against his. Harry was more than receptive, letting you take his baseball cap off and run your hands through his hair. His kiss set you on fire, and you hated how much you loved it.
“You have to stop doing that,” you said once Harry’s lips attached to your neck. You almost couldn’t get the words out because he knew exactly which spots made your breath hitch, but you managed.
“I thought we were supposed to be keeping up appearances,” he panted, speaking the words into your skin. “You’re the one who doesn’t want anyone to know we’re dating.”
“We’re not dating.” Your response was immediate. You expected Harry to stop his attack on your neck, but he didn’t. In fact, you felt him grin against you.
“Sure, whatever you say.”
Screwing around with Harry was not something you expected. He was cocky and got on your nerves constantly. But he flirted with you just as often, and one day it just got to you. You dragged him into a closet at a party, and you’d been secretly doing whatever you were doing ever since.
“No one finds out, got it?” you whispered, unbuttoning his shirt.
“Whatever you want, Princess. We done talking now?”
So you were a thing. Friends with benefits. But not really friends because outside of closed doors Harry still pissed you off to no end. Rivals with benefits? No, that didn't have the same ring to it.
It didn't really matter, though. Even giving that much thought to the situation at hand was too much.
Harry slid into the passenger seat of your car after throwing his gear in the trunk. Giving him a ride wasn't something you foresaw after that first night you spent with him, but he didn't own a car and didn't live with his friends, and after he mentioned nearly getting jumped at a bus station, you offered to drive him home. Harry was a thorn in your side, but you weren't heartless.
His hand settled comfortably on your knee as you pulled out of the parking lot, his thumb moving back and forth along the soft material of your sweatpants.
“Don’t,” you warned.
“Don’t what?” Harry asked, though you didn't even have to look over to know he was smirking at you.
“Last time you tried something in the car we almost crashed”
“That’s because your eyes were closed. I'm completely innocent,” Harry reasoned.
“You had your fingers—”
“Now, now, Princess. Stay calm before you nearly kill us again.”
You groaned in sheer annoyance. At Harry's childishness, at yourself for letting his immaturity get to you. He knew just how to push your buttons, and you absolutely despised him for it.
“Tell her you’re sick,” Harry interrupted, kissing your bare shoulder. “You didn’t even want to go in the first place. Just stay here.”
You wouldn't lie, staying in Harry's bed sounded much more appealing than holding a plastic cup of stale beer and shouting over music to be heard. Parties were never really your thing, but it was something to do on the weekends, so you went. But now Harry was presenting another option, though it was one that wandered beyond the boundaries of your arrangement.
“Don’t you think people might get the wrong idea if both of us don't show up?” you asked. You felt like you needed a reason to say no, and this was the best one you could come up with.
“Everyone thinks we hate each other,” Harry replied. His voice was raspy and slow, the way it got when he was tired. You weren't sure when you started to recognize little details like that, but now you did. “Come on. My roommate is gone for the weekend. We'd have the whole place to ourselves.”
“We’d probably kill each other,” you mused, though the idea did spark something in you.
“Maybe.”
His voice was muffled as his lips dragged across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. One hand moved your hair to the side so he had better access to the spot just below your ear while the other traced lazy circles on your hip. You were tired, utterly spent really, but the sensation of Harry’s skin and the occasional nip of his teeth was hard to ignore. You leaned into his touch almost involuntarily, humming as his hands continued to dip and stroke apply pressure in the places he knew were your most sensitive.
“What were you gonna do at that party anyway?” he said. “Pretend to have a good time? Talk to guys who think they have a chance with you when they don't?”
“Who says they don't?” you asked, though it was mostly to egg Harry on. You didn't miss the glares pointed in your direction whenever you talked to other guys at parties. There weren't any kind of rules that the two of you abided by, but both of you were well aware of the fact that you weren't seeing anyone else. And Harry would always let you know how he felt about you flirting with other guys when he finally got you alone.
You'd hoped that your remark would set Harry's jealousy aflame and make him remind you how wrong you actually were. It was the kind of cat and mouse game you played often, but instead of responding the way he normally did, Harry did the oddest thing. He let go of you completely.
“Fine then. Go and have fun at your party.”
You were inexplicably cold as Harry's arms released their hold on you and he shuffled towards the edge of the bed so he wasn't touching you.
Totally and utterly surprised, you laid still, unsure of what was going on. Finally, you said, “Really?”
Harry shrugged as he pulled a book from his nightstand and opened it up, completely nonplussed. “If you think that anyone at that stupid party is going to measure up to me, then by all means,” he said, gesturing towards the bedroom door with his book.
Without another word, he went back to reading, leaving you virtually alone with your thoughts.
Something stirred in you. Guilt didn't feel like the right word, but you felt...kind of bad for making Harry feel that way, and even worse now that he wasn't paying attention to you. It was ludicrous, seeing as he drove you insane and you hated him, but at the moment, all you wanted to do was crawl over to him and have his attention again. At the very least to have him finish what he'd started.
So, perhaps against your better judgement, you did.
“I’m sorry,” you said, squishing your cheek against his shoulder and spreading your hand across his torso.
By now you didn't even have to look at him to know which tattoos you were tracing, so you kept your eyes on his face as your fingers traveled from the butterfly on his stomach down to the fern leaves on his hips. Up, down, lower, grazing until you got a reaction from him.
“You’re gonna have to do a lot better than that,” he mumbled. His eyes were still on his book, but he had yet to turn a page, so you knew progress was being made.
You added kisses to the mix. All across his chest you kissed him, sucking a hickey right where his heart was. You could feel Harry's heart beat faster, but he still wouldn't look at you, which made your brows furrow with mild annoyance.
“Hmm. Now we're getting somewhere,” he said, a satisfied grin on his face, when your hand finally stopped teasing and got to work.
Still, it took another couple minutes of you practically groveling for him to finally look at you. His chest was flushed, but his face still remained as calm as ever. He'd hardly reacted at all to what you were doing, which made you want to please him that much more.
Pouting at him, you took the book out of his hands and chucked it across his bedroom, then placed one of his hands on you.
With one brow raised, Harry looked down at you. “You ready to behave?”
The logical part of your brain was saying this was madness. You hated how smug he was acting, how sure of himself he was. You were stroking his ego, and he was eating it up, something you never thought you would do voluntarily. But you wanted to, and you hated how much you loved it, loved having to work for it.
You nodded, leaning towards him. He would most likely never let you live this moment down, and you would have to exact some kind of revenge on him in the future, but all of that was far from your mind. The only thing you cared about was Harry's lips meeting your own as he pushed you back against the mattress, finally ready to give you both what you wanted.
prompt: YN is learning she has no self-preservation. It’s why she keeps running into her stranger. A man who won’t tell her anything, gives her instructions, and occasionally isn’t downright awful.
word count: 9.5k+
warnings: h is obviously not a good person, violence, blood, medical stuff, mean H, dark H
author's note:
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———
YN was too kind.
She knew that.
It’s why she became a nurse, to help others in their time of need, and that’s exactly what she did in the emergency department of her local hospital.
When she was walking down a back alley one night (she knew it wasn’t safe but it was such a quicker shortcut after a thirteen hour shift she couldn’t ignore it even if it was one in the morning).
YN’s half-asleep on her feet when she runs into quite the scene, a man who has to be around her age was dressed in dark jeans and a black tee shirt.
There was blood dripping from his jaw and his bottom lip was swollen up, already bruising under the drying blood.
He had just tossed something into the dumpster before slamming the lid shut with a deafening echo and despite the warning signals, YN can’t ignore him.
“Oh my goodness. You’re bleeding, sir,” YN jumps into nurse mode, hurrying up to him and without permission, tilting his head gently to the side.
The man narrows his eyes at her, clearly taken aback, and takes three big steps away from her reach towards the opposite building.
He makes a show of spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the pavement before wiping his mouth crudely with the back of his hand.
His voice was deep and scratchy, it matched his appearance, his accent thick and rough, “M’fucking fine. Back off and mind your own god damn business.”
YN is used to fiesty patients, it doesn’t phase her much as she examines him from afar now, “I’m a nurse.”
The man sneers at her, “Surprisingly, I’m not fucking blind. I don’t want your help. Run the fuck along now, little miss hero.”
YN glances down, still in her scrubs, of course he would see she’s a nurse, and distraught at this man refusing help.
She’s tired, she’s overworked, and the fact that she knows she’ll perseverate on this if he doesn’t let her help makes her choke out a frustrated sniffle.
The brunette man, with a scowl of impatience scoffs of disbelief, “Are you really about to fuckin’ cry?”
“I jus-just want to help. I lost tw-two patients today and couldn’t-couldn’t save them,” YN begins to tear up now, wiping her eyes, it was always a hard day when she lost patients.
Two today.
An older woman with a heart attack.
A teen in a car accident.
“Fucks sake,” The bloody man groans under his breath, his eyes darting up and down the alleyway, “You’re going to cause a scene over this, aren’t you? I don’t have bloody time for this.”
He stomps towards her which makes her freeze but he stands in front of her with a agitated flick of his hand, “If you’re going to do your nurse shit, do it! I don’t have god damn time for your cry baby act. Of course, I get my plans ruined.”
YN obviously doesn’t know what he’s talking about but he seems like he has places to be and she’s holding him up.
Where on earth could he go with his face looking like that anyways?
“I-I don’t have anything with me,” YN stutters after a moment, this man was intimidating as he had major height advantage, he appeared lean but his muscle definition proved he was strong.
“Okay, then see ya’,” He grunts lowly, moving to turn on his heel but YN grabs his wrist without thinking to stop him.
“My-uh, my apartment,” YN’s throat is dry, what the fuck is she doing, “I have the stuff at my apartment up the street.”
“Did your parents never teach you stranger danger? Inviting a man you’ve never met, bleeding, up to your apartment?” He asks with an eyebrow raise, wiping his continuous bleeding wound with his shirt, flashing a sliver of his carved abdominal muscles.
“You need help,” YN replies unsurely, her behaviors are so uncharacteristic but she felt drawn to help this stranger.
A small group of people pass the corridor of the alleyway, with laughs and drunk words, and the man she’s standing with perks up at high alert.
“Fuck,” He hisses angrily, that seemed to be his favorite word, yanking his hand out of her grip and muttering so softly YN doesn’t know whether she heard him right, “gonna get me caught.”
“Stand over there and turn around,” The man demands sharply, YN wasn’t used to being talked to that way but she finds herself walking towards the edge of the alley and turning away.
YN hears rustling, the dumpster being open and closed again, and a few unidentifiable noises before she hears his footsteps approaching.
His hand on her shoulder is tight as he spins her around, “If I let you fix me up, will you leave me the fuck alone and more importantly, never mention this to anyone?”
YN’s brow furrows, “Why can’t I tell-“
The man hisses in agitation, fingers digging into her skin more has harshly, “Answer me.”
It’s the first time that chills are sent down her spine at his gritted words, everything in her is screaming to run, her fight or flight triggered.
“I-I won’t tell,” YN agrees breathlessly, skin tingling when he lets go and pushes her forward, not aggressively but enough that she stumbles.
“Then move already,” He orders and when she tries to turn around to look at him, his hand comes to her neck, keeping her facing forward.
Whatever he was doing in that alley, he really didn’t want her to see, and he didn’t seem like he was open to answering questions.
YN keeps trying to justify why she’s letting a bleeding, angry man into her home as she shakily unlocks the door.
There’s no justification.
She’s putting herself in so much danger.
It had to be something about how attractive he was that made her trusting that he wouldn’t hurt her, like he was too pretty to be deadly.
A trick of the eye, maybe.
He stands in the entry hall, unmoving, and uncomfortable as he doesn’t look around, keeping his gaze on her.
“I want you to know that I’m only allowing you to do this so that you don’t run around and squeal, alright?” He reminds her, voice a bit louder to scare her.
YN nods.
“I also know where you live now, stupid girl,” He shakes his head, like he’s in disbelief YN was such an idiot, “I won’t hesitate to come back.”
She was.
Stupid.
Now her fingers were trembling as she accidentally drops her keys.
“Bat-bathroom,” YN whispers as she pokes her thumb in that direction, “Uh, my supplies.”
“I’ll stay here. I’m not coming in any further,” He crosses his arms, akin to a cornered animal who’s about to be trapped.
YN hopes he doesn’t see when she nearly trips over her own feet as she makes her way to her small bathroom, her nursing/first aid kit was under the sink.
He’s standing in the exact same place he was before, he hadn’t moved an inch, and fuck, he’s scary.
“Um, can you please sit there?” YN points nervously to the entryway bench, not coming closer until he begrudgingly sits on the edge.
“Hurry the fuck up,” He snaps at her suddenly, shaking his leg impatiently and the abruptness makes her jump, “I haven’t got all day, miss lil’ hero.”
It doesn’t sound like an compliment rolling off his tongue.
YN pulls out a cotton pad, soaking it with antiseptic fluid, and shakily says, “This is going to sting a bit. I’m just cleaning it first.”
He doesn’t acknowledge her but he does flinch when she puts her fingertips on his jaw to move his head more to the side.
When she applies the pad, if it hurts, he doesn’t give anything away, his eyes don’t even blink as he sits with his hands on his knees.
After get a fresh cotton pad and drenching it again, she moves onto his lip, and she’s so on-edge, she stumbles over his foot and falls forward.
The man grips her hips hard, pushing her back upright, and appears even more agitated as he huffs, “Chill the fuck out, alright? M’not going to do shit to you. I don’t even want to be here. You’re the one who dragged me to your apartment. Stop being so fuckin’ dramatic.”
YN’s not going to cry despite her bottom lip quivering.
YN’s father was a calm quiet man
She didn’t grow up with brothers.
She wasn’t used to being treated so bluntly, so rudely by anyone, let alone a stranger she was trying to help.
“Are you about to cry?” He asks in surprise, a cruel laugh leaving his throat as he smiles widely, he has dimples, “You’re such a delicate little flower.”
Again, it was definitely an insult.
YN’s throat contracts as she pushes down tears and it wasn’t just because of him, today was hard and she was tired.
“You don’t need stiches. The cut on your jaw is superficial, just a lot bleeding ,” YN determines as she uses a butterfly bandage to close the wound tightly.
YN tilts his chin towards her, his eyes were striking in how green they were as they blinked up at her from under dark lashes.
They were just as frightening as they were beautiful because there was something about meeting his gaze that was like staring at a hungry lion.
YN starts to dab at it with the pad again as it slowly oozes.
She can feel his gaze on her face, it’s making the hair stand up on her arms.
“Skin is just uh, irritated. Nothing major,” YN tells him, holding pressure to stop the bleeding, “How did you get this banged up anyways?”
That triggers him.
He stands up suddenly, making her stumble backwards, and he steps into her space until her back is up against the wall and he’s cornering her.
“I don’t know what bad luck I was dealt to have to deal with such a nosey bitch in my business but you better stop asking questions,” He warns as she can feels his breath, he smelled surprisingly good like citrus and sage.
“I’m sorry,” YN chokes out, it was feeling harder to breathe now.
What the fuck did she get herself into?
“For fucks sake, calm your ass down,” He grunts as he directs her to sit on the bench he was just on, “Stop being a god damn drama queen.”
YN can’t reply, simply nods and stares at the ground.
Why did she let this man in her home?
She needed her head examined, clearly.
He squats in front of her, eyes deadly intent, “I’m going to leave right now. You’re going to keep your mouth shut. If you talk about anything that you saw tonight, I’ll have no problem visiting here again.”
YN nods again, watching him stand and he’s still looking at her as he sighs, hand on the doorknob and says, “Do not ever invite a stranger into your house again, you stupid girl.”
+
YN wishes that she didn’t think about that man again.
But she does.
Over and over.
Every time she walks past an alley.
When she walks home at one in the morning.
But months pass.
No signs of him.
It was a big city.
She didn’t know whether he lived here or not, hell, she didn’t even get his first name during the interaction.
Six months and no signs.
YN dreams about him three separate times.
One of which make her question her sanity.
+
“Be quiet f’me,” He whispers against her lips, hand wrapped around her throat, “Don’t want to hear you unless you’re moaning pretty.”
YN’s staring wide eyed at him, trying to beg with her eyes as he brings her lips to his by the grip on her neck.zzz
“Gonna show me what a nice lil’ pet you can be?” His dimple is popping as he licks her lips before squeezing a bit tighter, “Can’t wait to feel your cun-“
YN wakes up by her alarm, heart pounding, and a hand coming up to touch her throat, the ghost of where she felt his fingertips.
She takes a very cold shower that morning before work.
++
Matthew was nice enough.
He was an emergency medicine doctor which is how they met in the unit.
They rarely worked the same shift but in passing, he had managed to pull YN aside and ask if she’d be interested in going on a date.
YN wasn’t necessarily jumping for joy but she was bored, life was pretty mundane at the moment, and her romantic life was nonexistent.
He was overly cocky, the type of doctor who liked to wear his scrubs into the grocery store so everyone knew his title, corrected people when they didn’t address him with Doctor first.
She didn’t realize that this is how she would meet her stranger once again.
++
The first date was in the afternoon, at a coffee shop in midtown and he had picked the spot.
“I come here atleast once a day,” He laughs as he orders a large black coffee and a bran muffin of all things, “Same ole’ routine.”
“I’ve only been here a handful of times-“ YN pauses when she catches a familiar flash of green, knowing the color distinctly.
She’s been dreaming of it.
Her stranger.
He was sitting in a booth, in the furtherest spot back in the corner with a coffee and a pastry that hadn’t even been taken out of the wax paper.
YN’s heart seizes, blinking twice to make sure that she is not imaging this, that it isn’t just a look alike man.
His unsettlingly intense stare, the scowl etched on his face, it was no doubt the man who had been invading her thoughts for the last six months.
He doesn’t break eye contact first, YN glances back to her steaming chai tea first, lying easily, “Sorry, thought I saw an old friend.”
“Yeah, I run in to quite a few here too,” Matthew agrees without notices her slight shift in demeanor as she forces herself to focus on their conversation.
YN gives herself permission about three minutes later to let her eyes flit across the room, back to that corner.
He was gone.
His coffee and pastry gone.
There was already a new couple sitting there.
YN is half-convinced that she imagined it in the first place, how did she not see him get up and walk past her?
Had that couple been sitting there the whole time?
“I’m so sorry, Matthew. I have to run to the restroom, excuse me a minute?” YN smiles, hoping it doesn’t come off as forced as she stands up and heads towards the back.
YN goes into one of the stalls, sitting down for a moment and just taking a deep breathe because she can’t figure herself out right now.
YN can’t sit in her forever which she wishes she hadn’t even agreed to this date.
When YN unlocks the stall door, she begins to let out a scream when there’s a figure leaning up against the sink, waiting for her.
The person rushes forward, clamping a hand over her mouth as citrus and sage overwhelm her senses .
“Shut the fuck up, right now.”
Why does YN almost slump in relief at the harsh words?
Maybe because this proves that she didn’t conjure him up in her head.
To confirm that he was as startlingly handsome as she has been remembering him to be in the last months.
Even more so actually.
“Are you going scream when I take my hand off?” He asks pointedly, his lips were near her ear, whispering but seeming so loud.
YN shakes her head vehemently that she won’t.
She should scream.
She’s not going to though.
He takes a few steps back, no longer even close to touching her, and once again, he looks angry at her as complains, “Lil’ fucking drama queen.”
This is definitely her stranger.
YN just stares at him, eyes as wide as saucers.
“Why are you here with him?” He asks with the same agitation, his fists were clenched against his sides tightly.
“Do you know Matthew?” YN was confused by his question or why he would care.
“What did I tell you?” He snaps at her, taking a step forward again like he wants to grab her, “Don’t ask me questions.”
“Why can you ask me then?” YN doesn’t know where the confidence is coming from, puffing up her chest.
It gets finished quickly when he brings his hand up to hold her chin, “It’s different. Now answer me.”
YN’s blood pressure must be through the roof right now as she manages to find her voice, “I’m on a date with him.”
The stranger doesn’t like that answer.
His fingertips tighten on her skin before releasing, his tongue peeks out to run over his bottom lip, “I recommend you stay the fuck away from him.”
“Why?”
“You clearly have no sense of self-preservation so I’m trying to save you a lot of trouble in the future. End the date, make an excuse, and don’t go out with him again.”
“I want to know one thing,” YN request as she chews on her bottom lip.
“No.”
“What’s your name?”
“Harry.”
They stare at each other.
YN can’t decipher if he’s being truthful or not.
As he did the night they first met, her puts a firm hand on her shoulder, and guides her towards the bathroom exit.
With his lips touching the shell of her ear, he reminds her with a hiss, “Go do exactly as I say. Leave and go the fuck home.”
He pushes her forward, she puts her arms up to avoid smashing her face off the door, and pushes it open, tripping out into the hallway.
YN legs are wobbly as she makes her way back the table, “Matthew, I am so sorry. I’m really not feeling well.”
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” He teases as he stands up and pushes his chair in.
No, I just saw my stranger.
“Would you like me to walk you home?”
“Nope. I’m good, don’t want you coming down with whatever bug I have,” She replies with a dismisses wave of her hand, willing herself not to look back towards the bathrooms.
“I’ll text you to reschedule. I hope you start to feel better soon. Please text me if you need anything,” Matt smiles genuinely, a concerned expression on his face.
Why didn’t Harry want her to be around him?
How did he have the right to order her around when he wouldn’t answer simple questions?
YN’s mind is reeling as she walks home.
It’s like she expects to see her stranger, watching her walk home but there’s no sign of him, and just like that he disappeared into thin air.
++
YN visits the coffee shop multiple more times.
He’s never there.
Matthew texts her multiple times checking on her, offering to bring her soup or medication, and telling her what a good time he had.
In an act of defiance, against her stranger who has only come into her life twice but has occupied her mind ten-fold, she agrees to another date.
It’s not as if Harry will find out but it still felt freeing to actively disobey his warning.
And so when Matthew asks…
Matthew: If you’re feeling better, I would love to take you out this weekend.
YN feels a sense of guilt that she’s thinking more of her stranger than Matthew when she replies.
YN: I would absolutely love that. Just let me know how to dress. :)
+
That is how she finds herself inside of a nice restaurant on Saturday night, dressed in a satin dress and strappy heels that she hadn’t worn in ages.
Matthew had picked her up in his run of the mill, base model sports car, that was flashy but in quite an unimpressive way.
He was dressed in a nice suit and managed to get reservations at an exclusive, small restaurant in the heart of the city.
Matthew and her were sitting at a two person table toward the back.
Next to them was a round table with place settings for six that was yet to be occupied, the notecard only specifying, ‘Styles, Party of Six.’
They are being poured their first very expensive glass of Pinot Noir when a group of men, somewhat boisterous and rowdy for the setting, are seated at the round table next to them.
“And so Doctor Flint told me that the cadaver ligament we were to use was lost. How on earth do you misplace a body part?” Matthew laughs whilst he tells her this story from the old hospital he worked at.
YN was trying to focus but she hears a voice that is eerily familiar.
“Settle down. This isn’t a fucking bar.”
The hair on the back of her neck stands straight up.
Her stranger.
This isn’t a coincidence.
It can’t be.
YN refuses to look up, past Matthew’s head because she’s terrified of what she might see or more like what she knows she’ll see.
“He put it in the employee fridge! Can you believe that?” Matthew honks out a laugh, slapping the table like he just told the world's funniest jokes.
“That’s insane,” YN agrees, forcing a fake laugh out of her suddenly dry throat, “Sounds like it could be a scene from a movie.”
YN knows that he’s watching her.
It’s the untold feeling that’s inkling up her spine.
She feels in danger for the first time.
Real danger.
How on earth is he sitting across from her?
Is he following her?
That had to be the only answer.
Had she acquired a stalker by helping him all those months ago and the coffee shop just sparked it again?
But that does equate to what he warned about Matthew?
YN convinces herself that she didn’t hear his voice, that it’s all in her head, and she’s going to look up to confirm that she was in fact going insane.
After a deep breath, YN tilts her chin up and gazes directly into the eyes of the man she was praying wasn’t staring back.
Her stranger was positively fuming, he was leveling her with a downright murderous glare that actually made her concerned for her safety.
YN darts her eyes back towards Matthew and ignores Harry for as long as humanly possible as he chats on with his friends.
Everything is working out until her date excuses himself to the restroom, before the main course comes out.
Fuck.
YN anxiously pulls out her phone to distract herself.
Until someone is plucking her mobile right out her hands, a thumb pressing into the nape of her neck as a warning to keep looking forward.
“Bathroom. Five minutes after he gets back,” Her stranger leans down to speak into her ear, he moves so sleekly that she’s never even been alerted he got up.
“My pho-“
“You’ll get it back when you meet me in the bathroom,” Harry tells her before he’s standing up and walking back to his table, slipping her cell into his suit jacket pocket.
Did he really just steal her phone?
YN digs her nails into her palm, keeping an eye on the clock after Matthew sits down, waiting until the five minute mark before excusing herself.
There’s only a single bathroom which when she pushes through the already cracked open door, her stranger is leaning against the counter like last time.
YN takes the initiative to lock it behind her.
She shouldn’t but she does.
“Give me my phone back,” YN demands, unsure of where the bravado is coming from as she steps further into the room.
Harry doesn’t give her a wicked smile, his lips are tight, and his jaw is clenched.
He is absolutely pissed.
“What the fuck did I tell you last time, stupid girl?” Harry’s volume is louder than she anticipated, making her jump in surprise.
YN doesn’t respond, the heart palpitations that were now the norm for her interaction with this man are in full effect.
“Come here,” Harry orders furiously, moving away from the counter.
YN stands her ground.
“I said come the fuck here or I’ll smash your phone right off this god damn floor,” He threatens as he watches her, lip twitching in displeasure at her not listening the first time.
YN really would rather not pay for a new cell phone at the moment and slowly, she drags her feet towards him.
”Yeah, I don’t have time for your lil’ drama queen bullshit tonight, darling,” Harry sneers as he grabs her by the waist, moving her forcefully until he can pick her up and sit her on the sink counter.
YN readjusts her dress, she’d heard a slight rip but she wasn’t going to point that out at the moment.
Harry’s hand comes to her jaw, gripping it and forcing their eyes level, “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Is that what this is? Or do you lack any semblance of common sense?”
It’s hard for YN to talk with his hand holding her jaw, her words jumbled when she garbles out, “Why are you following me?”
His brows furrow in confusion, “You think I’m following you?”
”What are the chances that you show up in two places that I’ve been? While I’m on a date? Unless you’re following Matt….” YN trails off because that would make no sense, it was much more likely that he was following her around.
It was clear Matt had no idea who Harry was because he hadn’t recognized or acknowledge him at the coffee shop or at dinner when Matt would have definetly seen him when he was returning from his bathroom break.
Harry grip tightens enough that she squeaks, trying to pull away, and he hadn’t even seemed to realize he was using much force because it instantly loosens again.
Oddly, he reaches his thumb out to run along her jawbone, and it’s half comforting, half annoyed when he mutters, “You’re fine. Stop.”
She was pretty far from fine at this point.
”Are you that desperate for a lay?” Harry asks bluntly, he was standing in between her thighs and if anyone would have walked into this room, they would be under a much different impression than what’s actually going on.
”Excuse me?” YN gasps, affronted at his questioning.
Harry rolls his eyes at he reaction, his thumb was still rubbing against her skin but his grip had him in control, “I specifically told you to never associate with that guy. Here you are a week later, dressed up all pretty f’him, and what…you gonna let him take you home?”
If YN didn’t know any better, there sounded like some jealously in his tone.
”I don’t know what was going to happen after dinner,” YN bites out, trying to exercise her jaw muscle against his fingertips, “Maybe I would have let him take me home and fuck me.”
Harry’s eyes darken, his pupils dialating further in his anger, and his hand moves from her jaw to the side of her neck, thumb ghosting over her pressure point as a silent threat.
”Can I tell you what I think?” Harry murmurs, with the smallest hint of a smile like he’s cracked the code to something.
”You’re going to anyways,” YN mumbles, her own annoyance flooding her body.
”You’re not even into him. I think you agreed to this date just to spite my warning, huh? Tell me I’m wrong,” Harry’s voice is deeper, smoother, and downright dangerous.
”I do-“
”Tell. Me. I’m. Wrong,” He recites each word distinctly, his teeth gritted as his eyes dart from her eyes to his grip on her throat to her lips back to her eyes in a vicious cycle.
YN bites at her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth as she doesn’t know why Harry is so good at figuring her out but now she doesn’t feel like she’s in a position to lie either.
She avoids it by saying, “I don’t know you. You won’t let me ask questions. Why should I trust you? There was no reason not to go on another date. Why because of your ominous warning?”
”Yes because of my fucking warning,” He snaps back at her, stepping further between her thighs until their chests are nearly bumping and his familiar scent is lingering against her, “I know what I’m talking about. Stay the fuck away from him.”
YN shouldn’t push his buttons.
She should oblige, agree, and then avoid him for the rest of her life.
But as always, she goes against all those natural instincts and eggs him on further.
”Well then who would I go home with tonight?”
Harry doesn’t appreciate that comment.
Not by the way he’s moving to wraps his fingers around her wrist and tug her off the counter, “I’m taking you home now.”
“Wait, I-“ YN responds in surprise, not resisting his hold as he helps her onto her feet, her high heels were not made for this type of activity.
”No, you want to keep playing with me? You’re going to lose, every fucking time,” Harry retorts as he begins to lead her towards the door, “You’re going to go home to your own apartment, by yourself. Use your fingers, a toy, I don’t really care but you’re not going home with that guy.”
YN feels awful that Matthew is sitting out there, their main courses about to be served, and it will be the second time that she is ditching him when neither had been her intention.
“My dress,” YN stops moving, right as his hand is on the doorknob, “You fucking ripped it. I cannot go outside like this.”
It was true, from the stretch of the countertop, the already high-cut slit on the right side of her dress was now up to her hip, flashing the obnoxiously red lace she had on underneath.
Harry’s eyes move down with a cluck of his tongue, “Really fuckin’ desperate, huh?”
But before YN can defend herself, he’s shrugging out of his suit jacket and wrapping it around her waist, tying it in the front, and it hangs enough to cover at least where her underwear is flashing.
”There, now come the fuck on. I have shit to do,” Harry retakes her hand, tight and firm as he opens the bathroom door, and instead of going towards the dining hall, he’s going further back into the hallway.
He’s letting them out of an emergency exit into an alleyway.
She expects him to dismiss her, to tell her to get home, and to not contact Matt again.
Instead, what actually happens is that he continues walking with her, out of the alleyway and towards the streets that will lead to her apartment, seeing as he definetly didn’t forget where she lived.
YN was cold, goosebumps breaking out along her arms as her bare arms hit the windchill, her jacket left at the restaurant.
“My jacket,” YN points out, pauses quick enough that Harry nearly bumps into her from where he was following closely behind.
His hands come to her shoulders, encouraging her with a bit of force to keep walking, “I’ll have one of my friends grab it.”
YN hated walking in these heels, it’s why she had spent the money on the Uber.
“It’s cold,” YN complains as they’re about halfway there, he’s only a step behind her, ready to grab her at any moment.
“Walk faster then,” Harry replies in a bored tone, his hands once again moving to her shoulder to give her a light shove forward.
YN wants to scream, maybe unstrap her heel, and hit him with it because he was truly the most incorrigible person that she has ever met in her life.
Her stranger stays silent until they make it to her door, he easily ignores the unflattering comments YN makes under her breath, only receiving a shove or push as a response.
When YN fumbles for her keys, Harry waits like he’s invited in, and YN doesn’t have the will right now to fight.
As soon as they get in, Harry shuts the door behind them and she plops on her couch to start unstrapping the heels.
Her hands are shaking.
She wants to blame the cold but she knows it’s her nerves.
“Pathetic, shaking like a leaf,” Harry huffs as he watches, kneeling down and smacking her hands away, heavy rings stinging her skin, and he begins to undo them himself, “Can’t even get your own shoes off and you want to act like you're tough with me.”
YN watches, heart in her throat at the sight of her stranger kneeling in front of her, his hand wrapped tightly around her ankle as the other fusses with the straps.
Why does she get this deep pitted urge to rile him up, just when he starts to act calm?
“I’m going to see Matthew again,” YN wishes her words had come out with a bit more confidence even though they were a downright lie.
Harry stops his actions, blinking up at her with an unreadable expression, “No.”
“You can’t-“
Harry lunges upward, eye level and angry once again, his teeth were gritted as he went to his usual means of control.
A firm grip of her chin.
“I can. I am telling you I can. Leave it the fuck alone and move on. You don’t even like the bloke,” Harry calls her out, it’s a statement, not a question.
“I haven’t even got to know him-“
“Nor do you need to. Stop fuckin’ around because you’re making my life harder by doing this. And I really don’t like when people make my life harder. Especially spoiled lil’ drama queens,” He’s getting agitated enough that his grip gets harsh, painful, and she flinches in response.
Just like last time, he loosens his hold and his frown deepens, “M’not going to hurt you. Don’t have to act like that.”
“Yes, as you squeeze me. I don’t even know who the fuck you are,” YN pulls out of his grip, he allows it but his other hand is still on her ankle.
“It doesn’t matter who I am,” Her stranger argues, “Bottom line. Stop. Fucking. Up. My. Plans.”
”I don’t even know what they are,” YN shots back, she felt like they were talking in riddles at this point.
”Go to work, do your cute little nurse shit, and come home,” Harry repeats through clenched teeth, he finally moves to take off her other high heel.
”Forever?” YN snorts sarcastically, wriggling until she can untie his suit jacket from around her waist, making it a point to toss it next to him on the floor.
She felt even more satisfaction when she realized it was a Gucci piece.
Harry’s eyes stay directly staring into hers.
”Until I tell you elsewise,” He replies cryptically, “You’ve ruined enough things f’me. I need you to stop or m’going to have to do something to make you. Don’t try to think you’re smart and defy me. I’ll know.”
YN’s head is spinning, “You’re telling me I’m not supposed to date or have a social life until you say so? A stranger I don’t even know?”
”If you want to stay out of danger. Yes,” He replies like it’s that simple, he’d taken off both of her heels by this point and didn’t seem to realize that he was still holding her foot, thumb pressing into the arch on the bottom.
”This isn’t fair,” YN feels her throat tighten.
Fuck, she was not going to cry.
”It doesn’t have to be fair. Life isn’t fuckin’ fair, darling,” Harry’s voice is venomous as he speaks, his accent was distinct and each word was enounciated harshly.
”Maybe I should just risk it,” YN slouches back into the couch, kicking his hand off of her.
”No, you won’t fuckin’ risk it,” Harry leans up, his hands on either side of her knees, and it would be an intimate position giving any other circumstance, “You need a date that bad? Having a dry spell, pet?”
There’s a roughness in his voice that makes her want to close her thighs.
God, what the fuck is wrong with her?
She is quiet literally being threatened by a stranger and she feels arousal pooling in her belly?
She’s going to fucking die at this rate.
”You said I can’t go out. It doesn’t mean that I can’t have someone come back to my place,” YN is fucking with him at this point, to rile him up even further when she should be doing the exact opposite, “My sex life counldn’t possible interfere with your ‘plans’.”
Harry’s jaw flexes under his skin, if looks could fucking kill.
”Do you need a lesson?” Harry sits up, his hand shifting to her hip and it sends a shockwave through her.
His fingertips were ghosting over the exposed red lace, lightly, curiously.
”A le-lesson?” YN stutters, eyes wide and god, she wanted to spread her legs further.
”Yes, a lesson. To keep you in this god damn house,” Harry reiterates as his fingers slip underneath the thin fabric near the waistband, snapping the elastic against her hips and making her jump, “Do I need to show you how to use your fingers? Buy you a god damn toy? Something because I need you to stay in this fuckin’ house and I don’t know how many different ways to emphasize it.”
YN knows how to use her fingers but there’s something about the texture, calloused roughness of her stranger’s that make her want his instead.
She wasn’t some sex-hungry feign.
Her currently dry spell had been lasting over the past year.
It was something in particular about her stranger that made her realize just how long it had been.
She wasn’t made uncomfortable by his finger wandering by her hip.
Despite how threatening, how out of line this man was, for some reason she felt like she could trust him not to hurt or take advantage of her.
She had never been this risk-taking in her entire life.
And this isn’t normal risk-taking.
”I know how to use them,” YN bleats back, heart jumping when his thumb rubs over the thin skin of her hip, his hand slipping just underneath the fabric of her dress, “Just don’t like to.”
“Then you’re not doing it right,” Harry shakes his head, a bit more solemn and quiet for the moment as he watches his hand.
There’s a pause.
A long enough moment of silence that it reels Harry right back into reality.
He straightens up before standing, kicking her shoes aggressively out of his way as he storms towards the door, “You better fuckin’ listen to me. It really won’t end well for you if you don’t.”
“When will I -“
When will I see you again?
When can I not be a prisoner in my own house?
Why am I going to be a prisoner in my own house?
What the fuck is he trying to protect me from?
What plans am I fucking up?
There’s all those questions and more on the tip of her tongue but she can’t even get the first one out before Harry is cutting her off.
”You’ll know. Now lock your fuckin’ doors and go the fuck to sleep.”
YN also doesn’t know anyone who used the word ‘fuck’ as much as her stranger.
But she finds herself listening as he slams the door on his way out, trembling on it’s rusty hinges, and locking it behind him like he couldn’t manage a way in if he really want.
YN didn’t know exactly what he was up to, but it wasn’t good.
++
It was six days until YN had to face Matthew.
YN had been surprised that she hadn’t received any text or calls.
Then she goes into her settings, realizing that while Harry had stolen her phone that he’d manage to block his number, delete their conversation, and delete his contact information on top of it.
Fucking dick.
YN can’t avoid Matthew in the cafeteria.
As she’s waiting in line for her salad to be made and he strides right up to her with a displeased expression she’d never seen on his normally smile-laden face.
”If you didn’t like me, you could have just said so before standing me up twice,” Matthew tells her, he’s trying to keep his tone casual as he acts like he’s reading the nutritional facts on the back of his energy drink.
”I am so sorry,” YN doesn’t look at him, looking directly at the woman making their food instead as she works, “It’s…this isn’t like me. It has nothing to do with you, I promise. I’ve just had some….issues that had unexpectantly popped up.”
Matthew scoffs, slamming his tray down a bit too aggressively, “If you’re going to lie, at least make it beleiveable. Do you know how lucky you were that I gave you a chance? I’m a fucking doctor. You’re a nurse. You should be chasing me, not elsewise.”
YN squeezes her eyes shut because it’s not worth starting a fight in the middle of their workplace, “Matt, I’m really just trying to enjoy my lunch break on my fourteen hour shift. Please, just leave me alone. Like I said, I’m sorry about what transpired. It’s on me.”
Matthew surprises her by ducking to whisper in her ear, “You are a no one, YN.”
++
None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for her stranger.
She wouldn’t be feeling so useless.
Alone.
It had been four months since she’d seen her stranger.
Not one trace of him.
Despite the fact that she had been listening, she didn’t go out on dates, and she didn’t bring anyone home.
A nice nurse anesthetist named Paul had wanted to take her out on a date, YN was somewhat interested but turned him down gently, stating that she wasn’t ready for a relationship.
It made her angrier as the months went on.
She hated her stranger.
She missed her stranger.
++
It’s takes four and a half excruciatingly isolating months until something changes.
YN had a ten hour shift tonight which wouldn’t have been bad but she hasn’t had a day off in nearly two weeks and she was run ragged.
YN had the next three off to recuperate which would start by passing out immediately in her bed after showering.
When YN unlocks her front door, her eyes are heavily lidded as she locks it behind her, flipping on the switch, and kicking off her black tennis shoes.
”It’s ‘bout fuckin’ time.”
YN drops her water bottle, her phone, and her purse - causing all the contents to start to spill and roll out.
”Jesus Christ, so jumpy, m’little drama queen,” He laughs meanly as his voice doesn’t come any closer.
YN hasn’t looked at him yet but has a sneaking suspicion that her stranger is sitting comfortably on her couch after breaking in.
She should be worried as to why he’s here.
Instead she feels a flair of anger bubble up in her chest, “Four and half fucking months. You let me be alone with nothing and no one for four and a half months, Harry.”
When she turns to face him, her anger quickly dissipates when she realizes that he’s injured.
He’s shirtless, which YN doesn’t have time to let herself look over his tattoos, his rippled muscles, any of it because he’s currently holding his balled up white shirt to his eyebrow.
There was barely any white fabric to be seen, sodden with dark red blood.
“Oh my god,” YN gasps as she steps over her spilled items, rushing towards the couch.
There were streaks of blood trailing down the side of his face, leaving a trace all the way down to his pecs where it finally dried.
“I’m fine. I just need you to do your lil’ hero act on me, okay?” His teeth are stained red from where his bloody lip has poured into his mouth.
YN feels awake suddenly, rushing to her bathroom to retrieve her kit, and running back to her living room just as fast.
“Harry, I don’t-“ YN fumbles, nearly dropping her supplies, going completely scatter-brained in panic and the shock of seeing her stranger after so long.
”Hey,” Harry replies, loud enough to make her jump, and with his free hand, he does what he always does, grips her chin and levels their eye contact, “Stop freaking out. Isn’t this what your fuckin’ job is? Do you do this at the hospital?”
YN shakes her head, “This is different.”
“Well then act like it’s not,” Harry’s hold on her isn’t as rough as it normally is and she has a creeping suspicion that he’s smeared his blood on her face but that was the least of her concerns.
YN goes to her kitchen sink, scrubbing her hand thoroughly before tucking her hands into a pair of latex gloves before she’s removing his destroyed shirt to examine the actual injury.
It wasn’t the worst that she had ever seen but it was far more serious than the injuries that he had the first time that she saw him.
”I’m going to do the same thing as last time. I’m going to clean it first,” YN informs him through shaky breath as she soaks a cotton pad to begin to swipe over the split skin gently.
Harry, once again, doesn’t show any type of reaction that it’s painful.
He only continues to stare at her face as she does her job.
When the cut is completely cleaned up, YN’s able to examine it better, and realizes that he definitely needs stitches.
”You need at least five or six stitches,” YN tells him after taking a step back, peeling off the gloves, “Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?”
Harry doesn’t move, his chest is moving steadily, calm as ever.
”No, I want you to stitch me up,” Harry replies like that’s a normal request.
”I don’t have numbing medication or pain medication, I-“
”I don’t need it. Will you come the fuck on?” He pushes, sitting up a bit straighter, and he has no right to get annoyed at her right now when he’s the one causing all of this.
YN knows she shouldn’t do what he’s asking.
Shouldn’t give in to another one of his demands.
But she does.
”Fine,” YN lets out a long exhale, digging through her kit for another pair of gloves and the material for sutures.
”Wait f’a minute,” Her stranger interrupts her, hand coming to grip her hip, and bring her attention back to him, “I don’t want you fuckin’ shaking while you do it. I need you to calm down, okay? Everything is fine, right? You know that.”
”I don’t know that,” YN frowns as she rummages through her kit, ignoring that he wants her eyes on him, “I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t even know you but I’ve listened to you for the past five months.”
“I know you have,” He replies simply.
Was he watching her?
”And nothing bad happened to you, did it?” Harry prompts, squeezing her hip encouraging her to look at him.
YN begrudgingly does, surprised by the softness on his face, his normal harsh frown lines had dissipated.
”No,” YN agrees honestly, “I have just been lonel- never mind.”
She finds herself choking up on the word, tears threatening to spill because she’s tired, confused, and fucking lonely.
Harry’s eyes are unreadable like the usually are, they’re concerned and his squeezing turns almost into a gentle massage of her plush right there.
”I’ll fix it, okay?” Harry sighs as YN tugs on another pair of gloves, “I need you to continue to listen to me, follow my instructions, and I’ll make sure you’re not lonely, okay?”
YN doesn’t believe him for a moment but doesn’t have the energy to argue, “Okay.”
Harry knows that she isn’t buying it, “I mean it. I stick by my fucking word. I’ll fix it if you continue to listen.”
YN nods in agreement, carefully taking the curved needle from the sterilized packaging and threading it through the suture material, “You’ll need to come back here or go to the doctor in about a week and a half to get these remove. They don’t dissolve.”
”Okay,” Harry acknowledges but he’s more subdued, like something about YN complaining about her loneliness had stuck with him.
”Sit back,” YN orders as she’s ready to start work and when she leans over, she not only realizes it’s a shitty angle but her lower back is screaming at her from being on her feet for an unreasonable amount of hours today.
Harry must recognize it, surprisingly perceptive for how cold and disconnected he can be, “C’mere.”
YN should put up a fight.
YN should do a lot of things that she doesn’t.
Harry pulls her in until she’s sitting in his lap, thighs straddling over his closed ones, and she rests her bum on the thick of his quad muscle.
It actually was a much easier angle to do what she needed to do.
Her strangers hands come up to steady her hips, resting in the dip above her hip, and his hands were massive, his fingertips nearly reaching her bellybutton from the way that they were splayed.
”It’s going to hurt. Try not to flinch or anything,” YN mumbles, ignoring the butterflies that were starting to go crazy in her belly.
The roles are reversed when YN grips his chin to keep his head at the angle she needed it as she decided how to go about this.
She can with one hundred percent certainty say that she’s never sat on a patient’s lap while giving them stitches.
Harry doesn’t so much as flinch as she begins, his eyes were studying her face the whole time, hands firm around her waist, and unrelenting in their grip to keep her steady.
The only noise in the room is their breathing, more so YN’s, and a sharper intake from Harry when she has to pierce the needle through his sensitive, bruised skin to pull it shut.
”D-done,” YN replies after she ties the thread of neatly, snipping it with a small pair of scissors before sitting back, her back was still aching.
Harry hadn’t said anything during the whole thing, he doesn’t smile but he isn’t frowning either as he moves to hold her chin, his favorite thing apparently, and his thumb swipes over her bottom lip.
It was oddly intimate.
”Thank you,” Her stranger tells her sincerely, no teasing or harshness.
YN nods, swallowing because she should get off of his lap but she feels planted where she’s at.
Until she can’t help the massive yawn that has her eyes watering, bringing her hand to cover her mouth.
”S’time to get you to sleep,” Harry decides as he stands up and positions her on her feet, “You need to stop workin’ so much. You’re going to die of exhaustion.”
How does he know how much she works?
YN’s too tired to question it further.
”Need t’shower,” YN mumbles back, rubbing at her eye.
”It can wait, you’re ‘bout dead on your feet. Hold on,” Harry disappears down her hallway, she can hear him going into her bathroom like he just has full permission to explore her house.
He comes out a moment later with a damp washcloth, without asking, he begins to wipe at her face, and when the white fabric starts to stain red - she’s alarmed before she realize that it wasn’t her own blood that had dried on her face.
”You can…um, you can shower before you leave if you want,” YN offers as she allows him to wipe her off, moving down her jawline and throat.
She expects him to turn it down.
”I might actually take you up on that. This…this wasn’t part of my plan for the night and I still have things to do. I’ll lock up on the way out?” Her stranger tosses the washcloth on her kitchen counter.
”Yeah, m’going to go to sleep,” YN waves her hand at him, her eyes were starting to close without her permission as she drug her feet towards her bedroom.
”Jesus Christ, I’m fucked.”
YN hears him mutter that under his breath, not meant for her to hear, and she doesn’t know what it means anyways, it was probaly about his plans that didn’t go his way.
After she changes into her pajamas, YN realizes that Harry doesn’t have a shirt on, and she rifles through her drawers until she finds a shirt from an old boyfriend that would fit him.
She folds it, leaves it right in front of the bathroom door, and goes back into her bedroom.
Underneath the covers, she tries to sleep but instead finds herself listening to her stranger.
He must drop a bottle in the shower at some point.
Then the water’s being shut off after awhile.
A bit of shuffling and the door opening.
What she doesn’t expect is when he steps into her doorway, leaning against her doorframe, in the shirt that she had left for him.
”Bye,” He replies simply, no ‘thank you’ or anything.
YN sits up, “No, not ‘bye’. When…when is this going to end? I can’t keep living like this, Harry. I -“
”I said I would fix it, didn’t I? So stop bitching,” Harry snaps, the calmness that had settled between them had disappeared, all the softness that he’d shown just a bit ago had been lost now.
YN frowns at him, “I’m so nice to you. I don’t understand why you treat me so poorly.”
”If you think I’m treating you poorly, you don’t want to know how I treat others,” Harry laughs, the cruelty seeping back into each syllable, “You’re just a sensitive lil’ drama queen.”
”Fuck you,” YN shoots back for the first time because she had been overly nice and accommodating for a man she didn’t know anything about.
The frown lines are back, his scowl set where it normally was.
”Goodnight, my queen,” Harry smirks as the insult rolls off his tongue.
”Get the fuck out,” YN’s voice is quivering but not from fear or upset, from rage.
”My pleasure,” He agrees easily, stepping away from the doorframe and disappearing down the hall.
YN’s too tired to have anymore thoughts after she hears the front door click closed.
What. The. Fuck
++
The next morning, she’s awoken to an obnxious pounding on her front door.
There’s no way that it would be her stranger, right?
He would have let himself in if it was anything like last night.
She had never even questioned where he got the injury from.
When she makes it to the front door, there’s no one in front of her peephole which confuses her, and makes her unlock it to open it up.
There’s a massive cardboard box on her front mat, with small holes poked into the sides, and her name scrawled on the top of it in what looked to be boyish handwriting in marker.
YN hears rustling of all things.
Which makes her kneel down to open the loosely shut box.
When she hears the most feisty mewl of her life.
After opening the flaps, there’s two black kittens inside with a blanket surrounding them.
They were jet black with sleek, shiny coats and bright green eyes- looking up at her expectantly.
Two kittens on her doorstep.
YN is confused but she brings them inside.
When she looks in the box for any explanation, there’s a small note that is in the same handwriting as the scribbles on the cardboard.
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