☹

After eating everything, she washes the bowl and sits in the dish rack placed next to the sink and grabs her purse and her phone, putting all her essentials in the bag and walking to the front door. Smiling as she shuts off the living room light and closes the door behind her, she begins to make her way to the front of her apartment complex and towards the small bike rack, filled with various bikes of all sizes and colors.

- - - -

It takes her roughly less than twenty minutes when she reaches her university and sighs as she hops off her bike and ties it to the bike rack in front of her school. As she makes her way into the school, she stops as she notices a few new flowers on the side of the steps. As she makes her way over, she can feel her smile growing, the flowers are absolutely beautiful. They're a beautiful shade of pink carnations, the bright color popping against the stark bricks of the stairs and she quickly takes her phone as she snaps a picture of them.

"Leave it to the professionals, and move out my way." She hears a voice coming from somewhere behind her, she recognizes this voice. She could pick it out in a crowd and not because she likes it, but because it’s one of the only ones that can upset her. This voice throws out insults and mocks her, jeers at her for seemingly no reason, the one voice that she’ll never understand why it hates her so much.

She turns around with a frown already set on her face at the voice behind her. His long brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, a cotton white t-shirt paired with a pair of light wash denim jeans and a black leather jacket. His signature smirk is plastered on his face as two of his friends laugh and pat him on the back, he’s making his way towards her. For as long as she can remember she and Harry have been at each other's throats or more like he's been dead set on giving her absolute hell since the end of their high school while she ignores him.

"Shouldn't you be getting to class anyways, miss goody two shoes?" He asks and snickers as he purposely bumps into her shoulder as he passes as if there’s not plenty of room for him to walk, her frown deepens as she messes with her bag and makes her way to the entrance door. Just before she opens the door, she turns around and gives him a glare, a small smile slowly beginning to take over the frown.

"Oh you’re one to talk, Styles. At least, I’m not the one failing English! " She yells back before quickly walking in the door and heading to her first class of the day.

While she loves her classes, loves interacting with the teacher and adding her input in group discussions, the lack of her normal amount of sleep makes her brain unfocused and easily distracted. Her eyes flit across the room with every sound that occurs, she can't seem to sit still. She's fidgety, her hands play with the pen in her hands as if she's not supposed to be taking notes right now. She wishes she could be focused enough to take even the bare minimum of the notes on the board, she can't stay focused on anything for long before her attention is grabbed by something new.

Time seems to fly as she looks down at her bare page in the notebook; nothing written on it beside the title of her notes and she sighs. Quietly she leans over and asks the girl behind her if she can take a picture of her notes after class, she thanks her when the girl nods before going back to writing on her own paper.

A knock on the door grabs her attention as well as the sound of her fellow classmates whispering amongst each other, the scratching of the pencil of the girl next to her, and she watches the teacher make her way to the door. The clicking of her heels echo in the small classroom and finally her hand reaches for the door knob, the teacher begins to twist it and pull the door open. She can hear him before she sees him, his voice carrying through as he speaks.

"Mornin' Liz. How's my favorite girl?" She watches as the teacher rolls her eyes and swats his arm as he goes to give her a hug.

"You're late Mr. Styles. Have a seat." She says as she makes her way back to her desk and Harry chuckles as he opens the door fully, his emerald eyes scanning the room.

The only available seat is next to Y/N and he scowls. Briskly walking over to someone at the table furthest from her and asking to switch seats quietly, they shake their head and he sighs. He walks over to another table and asks to switch and in response he gets another no. Frowning, he walks over to Y/N's table and grabs the chair and moves it as far away as he can, mumbling a few words under his breath as he sits down.

Not bothering to pay attention, he lays his head down on the desk and closes his eyes. Allowing the outside noise to become faint murmurs, he bounces his leg quickly as he begins to drift to sleep.

"Can you stop please? You're shaking the table?" He huffs and rolls his eyes as he lifts his head.

"S'not bothering you." He says and she shakes her head gently.

"I'm trying to take notes." He scoffs as she points to her notebook.

"That doesn’t have shit to do with me though, does it? Gotta make sure you pass the exams, right? M'surprised you don't have it all memorized." He says dryly and lays his head back down. He can hear her sigh and the crinkling of the paper as she moves over some towards the opposite end of the table. He snickers softly to himself before closing his eyes once more.

He wakes up to the feeling of someone shaking his shoulder, it's soft, small and gentle as it shakes him. He groans as he sits up and stretches his arms over his head. When he turns he sees her standing next to him, her side of the desk cleaned up and the room’s silent.

"The fuck do you want?" He mumbles and frowns, he's never been on to be happy whenever he wakes up, especially grumpy because it’s her waking him up.

"Class is over, just figured you'd want to head wherever you need to go." She says, her voice soft and sweet and he frowns once more.

"Sure." He stands up and moves the chair back to its original position. He barely catches the sight of a small frown etched on her face before she leaves, he waits a couple of minutes before he's heading out the door and onto his next class. He doesn't care that she's upset, she lives in her own world and doesn't seem to grasp the fact that not everyone's as nice as she is or was raised with such manners, it's not his problem.

On the way to his next class, he hears his name being yelled from behind him. He turns around and sees the principal yelling and jogging his way.

"Harry! A moment please?!" He yells and Harry frowns. He knows what he wants to talk about, it can only mean one of two things, it's either his failed midterm or be found out that it's him graffitiing the various parts of the school walls and parking lots. He doubts that he knows about the graffitiing so it has to be the exam, and he just doesn’t want to talk about the exam with him at this point.

He shakes his head as he begins to walk opposite of the voice calling his name. He's never been one to care about time and his grades so he waits until the last minute and does just enough work for him to be at a D level.

"Harry Styles!" The voice booms and he huffs before turning around and grumpily begins the short trek to the principal.

"Yeah?" He says and crosses his arms, the principal nods shortly before asking Harry to follow him.

As Harry follows the older man into his office, he grumbles the whole time about how unfair and stupid all of this is. Passing by all the lockers and the small gaggle of students littering the halls as he walks, head held high and confidence is his walk because he can't be seen being embarrassed. It'd be the end of the world if that were to happen, not that he’s embarrassed about this in any way. He’s not.

When the principal opens the tall wooden door leading to his office, he steps aside to let Harry in and smiles as Harry mumbles a rough thank you in response. Harry immediately frowns when he sees the figure sitting in a chair in front of the desk, her fingers messing with her bag and her eyes seeming to stare a hole in the desk. Sitting behind his dark oak desk and opening up his laptop, the sound of clicking filling the room as he types.

"So, Harry, you know why I brought you here?" The older man asks and Harry nods.

"Think so, s'about the midterm right? And if so, I have some words. Knapick's crazy if she thinks that test was anywhere near suitable to give to us. I suggest you look into that." Harry says and the principal shakes his head, Y/N only lets out a soft scoff as if she doesn’t believe him.

The principal leans back and adjusts his glasses as he stares at Harry.

"No, Harry. It's just you I believe. Almost everyone else passed the exam with at least a C average if not better." Harry frowns at that and shakes his head.

"No way, the test is rigged I tell you. I knew Knapick never liked me. She's trying to fail me Oscar."

"No, you barely did effort. And if you wanna be able to graduate on time, I suggest you get a tutor." The principal says and Harry's frown deepens.

"No way."

"Yes, Harry. I'm serious. I'm trying to help. I can give you a list of our best tutors in the school but it’d be pointless on both of our parts, we both know you won’t take this seriously or you’ll just find a way to get them to give you the answers. I don’t want you wasting their time.

Harry shakes his head furiously, the ponytail slowly beginning to slip from the elastic's hold causing a few of his curls to frame his face.

"It's either you get the help you need or you're gonna be repeating, and I know you don’t want to ruin your little reputation by having to repeat." Harry huffs and rolls his eyes once more.

“I guess.” Harry says and the principal nods.

“Great! That’s where you come in Y/N. I know you’re real patient and won't fall for your game, Styles."

"No game. I just have the charm the ladies want, Oscar." Harry says and smirks - only briefly though, he absolutely hates the idea of spending any time with her; just being here in the same room for this short period of time is excruciating and annoying.

"But I don't want her, give me someone else."

"I'll see what I can do but I think she would be best. She’s already here, I don’t want to have to waste her time and I'm sure she works fast."

Y/N only sighs, it’s quiet and barely noticeable if Harry wasn’t already trying to stare a hole into her head.

“I can tutor him, sir. Only if he wants me to, which we all know he doesn’t.” She says and Harry huffs obnoxiously loud as he uncrosses his arms.

"She makes me want to tug my hair out." Y/N laughs to herself at this and Harry frowns again, he didn’t say anything funny.

"I’m sure she knows that. Have a good day Harry." Harry grumpily walks out of the office as fast as he can, eager to get away from her and her annoying voice, her eagerness to help, her unwavering kindness, and heads to his next class. He hears her calling after him, he doesn’t care about whatever she has to say. He hates the fact that he has to spend time with her, listen to her annoying voice and that he has to learn from her. He’s already late of course so once he’s out of the office and doesn’t have to worry about her chasing him down he slows down, walks slowly because quite frankly he doesn’t care about this class. His thoughts become a chant of how much Y/N annoys him and why she has to be so smart. If he had to be paired with her, he'd make it the worst tutor session ever. He's really gonna make her life hell, and he’s really gonna have the best time doing so.

Harry doesn’t share many classes with Y/N thankfully, but he absolutely loathes the few classes he does share with her. He hates watching her take notes in her stupid notebook, and listening to her answer any questions the teacher has and adding her own input or asking a question about whatever the teacher is talking about. When he walks into his next class, about ten minutes late because of his purposefully slow walking and sees her sitting in the front row with her notebook about and all of her colored pens and pencil laid onto her desk he immediately frowns.

Her presence just irritates him to no end, having to watch her be on top of her game all the time just doesn’t make sense to him. He doesn’t get how she’s able to do it all without wavering or failing. Either way, it just fucking irritates him. He walks to his seat towards the middle, the teacher refuses to let him sit in the back because he won’t do anything other than be on his phone. He can feel her gaze on him which only frustrates him more so he stares straight ahead, purposefully ignoring her. There’s nothing for them to talk about anymore, he just needs to get what he needs from her with no other complications or distractions.

The class drags by slowly and Harry still can't seem to shake the feeling of her eyes on him, so he just lays his head onto his desk in hopes that it’ll make the time go by faster. He can’t help but to bounce his leg as the teacher drones on about something related to History he thinks, and quite frankly he just doesn’t care. He just wants to be done, to be out of the room. He knows that he could easily just walk out and be done with this class for the day, but that won’t do him any good. He’s going to have to come back and grab his assignments if he’s assigned any and he’s going to have to come back tomorrow and suffer through.

Finally the teacher dismisses the class for the day and Harry’s one of the first ones out, or he would be one of the first one’s out if Y/N hadn’t called his name and caught up to him and grabbed his shoulder. He jerks it off roughly and turns around.

“Leave me alone. It’s bad enough that I’m going to have to deal with you for God knows how long with these stupid tutoring sessions, make both of lives easier and just fucking write down the answers to anything and give it to me.” He says, ready for this encounter to be over with. She shakes her head firmly, a frown beginning to form on her face.

“I agreed to tutor you, I’m not just going to give out the answers. I need your number so I can communicate with you,” She says with a roll of her eyes and Harry can’t help but to feel a small sense of pride and enjoyment at irritating her, to be the reason she frowns and rolls her eyes.

“You don’t need my number, just give me the answers and all of this will be done and over with. I’m not giving it to you anyways.” He says with a huff, here she goes again wanting to fix him. She wants to help him and allows her kindness to seep through even though he’s the last one she should be treating with kindness, he doesn’t want her kindness. She huffs once again and Harry can only smile briefly before he remembers why they’re even having a conversation to begin with.

“Fine, be stubborn if you want to. I’m not going to allow you to stress me out.” She says and walks past him, and because he takes joy in annoying her he makes sure to walk along with her only to bump into her before laughing and turning around.

            Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you would fall into a whirlwind romance with your dream guy. But you might not either and that was fine. Living with your best friend forever if you ended up embarrassing yourself on national television was also fine? Right?

 For a while before the cameras started up you sat by yourself. All the contestants had their own vans with an obstructed view of the villa. South Africa was a long way from home. The lush landscape and harsh temperature added to the anxiety of meeting everyone you would be spending the summer with. You leaned back in your chair and closed your eyes trying to prepare yourself. A knock on your trailer door and a high-pitched voice alerted your senses.

“Need you all in 5.”

“Here we go.” you whispered to yourself. You looked in the mirror and adjusted yourself. You were wearing your favorite color and felt like you would never truly be ready, so you fluffed your hair and exited your trailer. Three other girls exit as well. The three of you walked along with some crew members to separate spots and each of you entered one by one to a mini bar. Palm trees lined the edge of the deck and tall tables stood in the middle between the bar and the end of the deck. You sighed as your turn came.

“Oh my gosh hi how are you I’m Leila.” A girl who was much taller than you with a head of dark curly hair smiled and greeted you as you walked towards the bar. “Wow, she's cheery. If everyone is like this then summer should definitely be fun.” you thought to yourself as you smiled at her. Not only was she cheerful, but she was also beautiful. A green bikini sat on her hips and wrapped around her shoulders. You chuckled nervously to yourself. Leila took notice and sparked up some casual conversation with you.

{cut to interview}

… “Hey, I’m Leila I’m 26 years old.” music played in the background as Leila spoke during her interview.

“Originally from just outside Manchester and I'm here to find the love of my life.” She smiles as a blush rises to her cheeks and giggles a little as the camera angle changes.         

“The other girls better watch out; I've been known to be a bit feisty back home.” the music fades out and the camera returns to the bar…

{cut back to camera 3}

“It's so nice to see a friendly face first thing. I'm kind of nervous.” your smile weakens as you talk to Leila. Not too long after another girl walks in.

“Holy shit.” Leila says as the girl gets closer. You turn to have a look and almost pass out. Long tan legs leading up to the tiniest bikini bottoms that probably ever existed. Your eyes widened and you were lost for words. The girl spoke before you could even form a coherent thought.

“I’m Chloe.” Her voice was a bit high, but you supposed it might have just been all the traveling catching up to her. You watched as Leila gave her the same cheerful smile that she gave to you. Chloe gave a short smirk and twisted her neck to look at you next. Her blonde hair seemed to flow with her movement.

“Y/n.” You stuck your hand out as you introduced yourself. Chloe just looked at it and headed for the bar to get a cocktail.

“Gosh, a bit cold now, isn’t she?” Leila frowned as she watched her. You raised your brow and decided this might be a long summer.

{cut to interview}

… “Hii I’m Chloe I’m 25 from Glasgow and I’m just living life.”  Music plays again as another interview starts.

“I love a good English boy who gives good chat and has pretty eyes.” Chloe winks and laughs at herself.

“If my girls would describe me in one word it would be...Maneater.” …

{cut back to camera 3}

“I hope I’m not the only one drinking today.” Chloe spoke as she set three glasses on the table in front of you. It was odd. At least you thought so, but you took the drink anyway hoping to calm yourself.

“Oh, I’ll absolutely take this, thank you, Chloe.”

“No problem girl.” A large smile graced her lips as she watched you drink.

“Guess I’ll have another one as well. Thanks.” Leila was polite enough to escape a glare from the blonde, but you immediately noticed the tension between them. “Interesting…”

Just before anyone could continue the conversation another girl walked into the villa.

{cut to third interview}

… “I’m Genevieve I’m 27 from Dewsbury but I live in LA currently.” The brunette was calm as she spoke and smiled at the camera.

“I’m trying to find work as a model. Navigating LA life is hard but navigating my love life is harder. I just seem to always find my worst match so hopefully it’s different here.” …

{cut to camera 2}

Her confident stride and striking appearance instantly drew everyone’s attention. Chloe, the first to react, sized her up with a quick, appraising glance before flashing her trademark bright smile.

“Well, look who decided to join the party,” Chloe said, her tone dripping with a mix of faux friendliness and thinly veiled competitiveness. Genevieve smiled graciously, taking in the room. “Hey everyone,” she greeted, her voice smooth and inviting.

“I’m Genevieve. I hope I’m not too late.” Leila, who had been nursing her drink, immediately stood up and walked over to Genevieve.

“Hi Genevieve, I’m Leila,” she said warmly.

“Nice to meet you. Want a drink?” Genevieve’s smile widened.

“Sure, I’d love one. Thanks, Leila.”

As Leila prepared a drink for Genevieve, Chloe leaned in closer to you. “Another model, huh? This should be interesting,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving Genevieve. You could sense the undercurrent of tension in Chloe’s voice but chose to stay neutral.

“Yeah, let’s see how things unfold,” you replied quietly, taking another sip of your drink. Leila returned with a drink for Genevieve, who accepted it with a grateful nod. “So, Genevieve, tell us a bit about yourself,” Leila encouraged, her genuine interest in breaking the ice.

“Well, I’m 27 and I’ve been living in LA for a few years now,” Genevieve began.

“I’m trying to break into modeling. It’s tough and I have to keep the lights on by serving, but I love the challenge. And, of course, I’m here to hopefully find the right guy.”

The other girls listened intently, some nodding in understanding. Chloe, however, remained somewhat aloof, swirling her drink thoughtfully.

“LA, huh? That must be quite a change from Dewsbury,” she commented, a hint of skepticism in her voice. Genevieve nodded, unfazed by Chloe’s tone.

“It is, but I love it. The energy, the opportunities—it’s all worth it.” Chloe smirked, leaning back in her chair.

“Well, good luck to you babe. You’re going to need it.” Leila shot Chloe a disapproving look before turning back to Genevieve.

“Don’t mind Chloe. She can be a bit much sometimes as were learning,” she said with a wink. “We’re all here to find love, after all.” Genevieve laughed lightly, clearly not perturbed.

“Thanks, Leila. I’m looking forward to getting to know all of you.”

You didn’t know how Leila did it. Keep up the niceties with all these women. The relationships right now were all surface. This is the time to be strategically quiet. Or in your case just nervously so. As the conversation continued, the initial tension began to dissipate, replaced by curiosity and a tentative camaraderie. The girls were eager to see how Genevieve would fit into the group dynamics, and despite Chloe’s initial frostiness, there was a sense of anticipation about what the next days would bring.

{cut to camera 1 in a wide shot panning over the girls and host}

“Hello ladies and welcome to the villa. We have you here today in this beautiful villa to hopefully find some love, friendship, or fortune. We have gathered you here on the lawn beside the pool deck to introduce you to the guys.” The sun was high in the sky as you stood on your marked spot. The girls lined up next to you all giggled and cheered at the introduction. You smiled along and tried to calm your nerves. Were they really about to just parade a bunch of hot guys around for you to ogle over? You looked to the right, and you saw Chloe and to your left you saw Genevieve and Leila. Not knowing too much about anyone yet you felt a little out of place. 6 weeks with these people and you would be competing with them the whole time. Not a single one of them seemed to share the nerves building in your body. The camera crew hustled about, and you stood to attention after adjusting your bikini bottoms on your hips.

{cut to camera 3 on the pathway}

“First we have Daniel Jones, he is from south London.”   a blonde man with a toned physique who walked down the path leading to the pool deck where the host was standing. “He's cute.” you thought to yourself.

“How are you doing this morning Daniel?” the host turned to speak with him. The sun beat down on everyone but despite that the girls all smiled at Daniel.

“I'm doing great now that I have some eye candy to look at.” Daniel's words came out confidently as he smiled at each of you on your marks. He was definitely fit. Tan skin shining in the sun and a pair of navy-blue trunks on his waist. You eyed him from your spot, and he winked at you in acknowledgement. Heat manifested in your cheeks at the gesture.

“How are you today, ladies?” His voice was smooth, catching your attention and no doubt the other girls as well.

“Alright Daniel, go stand on that first mark and let's see the next guy, shall we?” The host smiled and turned to face the pathway.

The sun was high in the sky that morning as the next guy came out. All of the girls adjusted themselves as the cameras cut back and forth between them.

“Here we have Elias, he is from London but lives in LA. Elias, how are you?”

Elias was gorgeous. Dark hair sitting atop his head and muscles peeking out of darker skin that looked perfectly Sunkissed. He wore deep rust orange shorts and had his ears pierced. You blushed as he caught your eye and sent a small nod in your direction.

“I'm doing alright.” His voice was deep and gravely. You could only imagine what his personality was like as he stood at attention. A couple of the ladies snickered at one another, and Elias smirked at the attention he was getting. Just like Daniel, Elias moved to stand next to his mark.

“Ladies, how are we feeling about the selection so far?” The host spoke to all of you and garnered some exclamations from the whole group.

“The selection is fit; how can we complain?” Genevieve spoke up first. She was beautiful to look at and if you were one of the guys you definitely would want her to couple up with you. Long brown hair with highlights framing her face. As you were admiring her, your thoughts were interrupted by a rather whiney voice.

“Yeah exactly, but I have to say I'm excited for this special guest.” The next girl to speak was Chloe and she turned to give the other girls a light glare as if she were daring them to challenge her. Chloe was a natural blonde with green and brown eyes that peered into your soul. You made a mental note not to get in her way if you could avoid it.

The host continued on and introduced the next man to the group. All the ladies gave him their attention, as it seemed he was a crowd favorite as soon as he was in sight.

“Ladies, this is River Davis from Michigan.”

River was hot, you have to admit. Lighter hair shaved low on the sides and defined muscle tapering into his trunks. Your eyes traveled trying to find a decent place to look that wasn't suggestive.

“Nice to see you, River.”

River smiled at the host and took her hand for a light shake. Turning his attention to the ladies he kept his smile and stood up straight.

“Nice to see you too. Ladies, how are you all doing?” His voice was deep too. Elias might have some competition with this one you thought. All the ladies replied in various ways as the men stood on their marks.

“Before we get to coupling time, we have one more guest joining us. Our celebrity guest this season is…” honey smiled at the group as she paused for effect.

All the ladies waited with bated breath to hear and see who was coming out next. Your breath caught in your throat as you saw brown hair through the bushes.

“Harry Styles!” The host turned and began clapping.

Harry emerged from the trail looking amazing. Tan underneath his inked skin, Trunks resting low on his hips exposing the ferns and a freshly cut head of hair to match his mustache.

“Hello everyone, m’Harry.”

You almost melted after hearing his voice in person. There was just something about him that made you feel at home, and you didn't even know the guy yet. Did you want to get to know him? Part of you felt like maybe you shouldn't, like it would be better to remain a fan of his work and omit yourself from the possibility of him being an asshole.

First choice is coming next episode!!!!

The islanders

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When Y/N told Harry she wanted to hang out with him Friday afternoon, she didn’t quite think it would end up like this.

The original plan was to essentially do nothing all night. After a long, tiring week at work, nothing satisfied Y/N more than lazing around on her couch and snacking on all the chocolate sitting in her pantry she had been fantasising about having while at her desk. It was always nice to have someone do these things with you, though, where both parties could lie in silence, munch on snacks and glue their eyes to the television to forget everything that happened in the past workdays.

Y/N quickly realised Harry was the perfect person for this. He didn’t have much going on for him either so there was no reason why he would turn down a night of gorging Y/N’s pantry and flopping over her hunched body on the sofa so they could watch whatever show she was recently obsessing over.

And that was how the night started.

Harry came over at about 7, with a pizza for takeaway and a large soda, and claimed the furthest right corner of the couch, snuggled up with Y/N’s cat Lola. While Lola took her time sniffing Harry’s fingers and tentatively licking his knuckles, Y/N warmed up some popcorn and ruffled Harry’s hair as she walked past him to her spot on the other end of the sofa. “Heeeeeey,” he began, a furrow in his brows, “you can’t just do that. I put a lot of work into making it look this good.” Y/N rolled her eyes, “if it looks like that after all the work I’m afraid you’re not doing enough, Harry.” He didn’t say anything, only scoffed and shoved her legs slightly from where she had swung them on his lap, “you need to pull that stick out of your ass. Let off some steam or something.”

“Right and do you want to volunteer as my punching bag?” She retorted. She wasn’t really trying to be mean, a teasing grin on her lips when he feigned offence once more, “that’s not what I meant. There are other ways to release tension, you know,” he said.

“Harry, if you want me to drop-kick you, just say i—“

“What I want is for you to go out and get a good dicking so you can stop being such a menace to me.”

“I’m not being a menace, this is just how I am. I thought you’d know that by now.” Y/N’s eyes widen, looking at him like she can’t believe he hadn’t realised her quip-y and teasing comments have been entirely satire. “Menace or not, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been on edge lately and could go for an orgasm not brought to you by your vibrator.”

“Harry!”

”What? I’m just saying,” he said through a smirk. Y/N’s eyes narrow at his dishevelled sight, his hair just touching his collarbones and his black sweater swallowing him whole. “My orgasms are perfectly fine, thank you. And my vibrator does a very good job at helping me ‘let off steam’.”

He sighs, almost mockingly. “When’s the last time you got laid?”

“Why would I tell you?”

”Because I’m your friend. I promise I’m just trying to help,” he says sincerely. The dim lighting of the living room made his eyes sparkle and Y/N avoided eye contact by fiddling with her fingers.

God, there was just something about the fucker that made a person want to spill every secret before his jade gaze. “I dunno. Maybe five, six months?”

“Jesus Christ Y/N, what the fuck? Weren’t you seeing Daniel like 3 weeks ago?” His voice goes up a few octaves, looking at her all bewildered. “It’s Danny,” she corrected him, “and I stopped texting him a while back. He was a bore in real life and quite frankly, a bore in bed.” Danny was one of Y/N’s coworkers' brothers who she had tried setting her up with, and Y/N did have some fun with him at first. It was always nice having someone to flirt with back and forth and get compliments from every now and then but he just never scratched that itch for Y/N. She ended up ghosting him 2 dates in and she knows that's a dick move, but really a second more of listening to him go on and on about his mum and how much his new PC game cost would make Y/N want to gauge out her own eyeballs with a dinner fork.

“Did he ever get you off?” Harry asked. Y/N was incredibly appalled, not appreciating his prying hands all over her sex life. Or lack thereof. “No and that’s none of your business anyway, jeez.”

“There you go again, snapping at me. You know if you’ll ask me nicely I’ll stop.” He sat up against the arm rest, fingers grazing her bare leg from when he pulled it back on his lap. Y/N knew she could ask him to stop asking her all these questions and he would, but was it really a conversation with her if she wasn’t being at least a little bit hard to read?

Besides, maybe it would do her some good talking about it and whatever advice he had might actually help her out. Harry seemed to be more than well-equipped when it came to charming the heck out of someone and working his way into their pants. “Sorry,” she sighed, rubbing her eye, “no, he didn’t get me off. We never actually had sex, I just gave him a blowie once and he tried to go down on me.”

Harry smiled softly knowing he got her to crack and squeezed her calf, “tried?” He knew he was treading on dangerous waters here, wedging his fingers between Y/N’s brain and asking her to recall her time with Danny.

“Yes, tried. It was fucking awful.”

She didn’t meet his eyes, busying herself with the strings on her hoodie, “and he definitely came in your mouth?” Y/N’s cheeks went pink, and she quickly pulled her legs away from him, “Harry!” Her voice was high pitched and defensive, and while her mind told her that maybe confiding all this in Harry isn’t the smartest thing, her heart wanted to see where an odd conversation like this could lead.

“I’m just asking!”

She hesitated, narrowing her eyes. “Yeah.”

“Well fuck, Y/N, sorry to say it but you were seeing an absolute douche.” Harry makes this diagnosis like Y/N didn’t already know, his fingers reaching for her legs again, tugging them onto his thighs with a strength that made her tummy flip. He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “I know. It was fun but I didn’t want anything more with him.”

“Good. But you still need a good fuck. One where you actually get to come and don’t come back home all high and dry.”

Y/N gasps, trying to get off him again but Harry holds her down, laughing at her bright red embarrassed face, “you’re such a dick I hate you.”

His dimples dug deep into the soft of his cheeks, and he pulled her legs so she was sitting much closer to him. Her ass touched the edge of his thighs and she could feel the warmth radiating off of him, making her skin even hotter. Y/N remained frowning, shoving his chest when he wouldn’t stop giggling, “stop laughing, Harry!” For obvious reasons that doesn’t work and the little genuine crink in her eyebrows had him almost cooing and smiling wide at the same time. When she didn’t let up the frown and tried to move back to her spot, Harry only grabbed her hips and pulled her back, close enough that her ass was now on top of his thighs, “okay, okay I’m sorry. You’ve got a really funny angry face.”

Y/N was near seething at this point, gearing up for an attack, “I’ll show you an angry face,” she tried lunging for his hair again but very quickly realised she failed to take into consideration her position when he instantly caught her wrists in between his long fingers, holding them tight but not enough to hurt her, “okay, John Cena let’s take a breather.”

God, was he able to make her skin absolutely crawl at times. He was still holding her wrists when he brought them down, watching her blazingly. She didn’t realise how far she had shuffled into his lap and how close his face was to hers until now. Until she could smell the strawberry mints he was sucking on on his breath.

She made a half-hearted attempt to smack his chest, but his hold only tightened around her, suddenly dragging her even closer to him over the soft fabric of his sweats. Y/N held her breath. He was too close to her, his nose daring to touch hers. She’d never been in such a vulnerable position with him and she might possibly just faint if he didn’t stop staring at her mouth and then her eyes, flicking his gaze between the two like he couldn’t decide where to settle.

She moved her head back, trying to create some space between the pair, “what are you doing Harry.” The sound she makes is an odd one— one that she doesn’t make often and it’s desperate and needy, akin to a weepy whine. His fingers finally loosened enough for her to break free and she quickly moved her face away from his where it seems like it was magnetically pulling her closer and closer.

Harry didn’t say anything for a while and Y/N found herself frozen in her spot, still right on his lap. “What’s going on here, hmm?” He said, glancing down.

Y/N followed his gaze, confused at first and it took her a moment to realise what he was insinuating. His fingers grazed her hips. “What’s got you all squirmy on my lap?”

He was still staring right into her eyes, making her go crazy with the stolen glances at her lips with every passing second. Meanwhile Y/N’s chest heaved and she unintentionally shuffles again, “fuck, Y/N.” Harry’s voice was deep and groan-y, vibrating through her body when his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “I’m not squirmy, Harry shut up.” She was lying right to his face and her poor attempt at covering her actions made him laugh again. The sound was teasing, nothing like the light-hearted giggles spilling from his lips when he found her angry face amusing.

“You’re a terrible liar, Y/N.” His fingers fell to her upper thighs, which he gripped harshly. Only then when she couldn’t move did Y/N realise she really was practically rubbing herself against him, milking even the slightest pressure against her heat from his warm, pliant lap. Her face pinkened again, embarrassment coursing through her veins and making her want to dig a hole and hide in it forever. She couldn’t believe what she had just been caught doing.

Y/N expected him to fully push her off his lap, disgusted by her basically humping his leg, but he didn’t.

Instead, he dug his fingers into her skin and slowly helped her move back and forth, pushing her down just slightly to give her the friction she was searching for. Y/N’s mouth dropped open in another little whine.

“Will you let me, then?” His eyes searched hers, gaze sincere, though Y/N didn’t know what he was implying, only half listening to him. She was clearly preoccupied with the delicious pressure pressing right up against her clothed clit.

“What?”

Harry laughed, a large, ringed hand slipping over her ass to squeeze lightly. “I said, will you let me make you feel good? Help you relax? Have you gone dumb already, baby?” Y/N couldn’t really do much other than nod frantically, afraid he might pull away if she didn’t say yes. The pet name melts her even further, paired with the way he was holding her like he was going to swallow her whole made her insides slosh.

She preens under his gaze, now holding the front of his sweater tightly between her fingers. “Yes,” Y/N breathed, “yes please.”

Harry wondered for a second if she was agreeing to being cockdumb or agreeing to him touching her but nonetheless he took it as his queue to push her off his lap and position her the way he wanted.

“I—what, I thought you we—“ Y/N protests, neediness evident in her voice and her hands which chased after his warmth, like she was afraid he was going to leave her be in this desperate state. Harry only pressed on her shoulder until she laid back on her back, hands coming to part her legs so he could fit between them, “shh.” A wet kiss was pressed to her cheek, like comforting a rabid animal, which Y/N was feeling exactly like as she stared at Harry’s frame cowering hers.

His curls hung past his ears and tickled her face when he slotted his hips between her legs so she could continue grinding down on him, “who knew you were such a needy little thing?” Y/N sighed in response. Another suckling kiss was pressed to her jaw, “do you need me to make you feel good, baby? Hmm? Need me to make it better?”

The way he was talking to her made her feral.

She had trouble believing this was the same Harry who irritated her to no end and pushed all her buttons to rile her up. Except this time he was pushing other kinds of buttons, moving his body around hers so perfectly Y/N wondered if this was like second nature to him.

“Yes. Please don’t tease me.” She commanded him and Harry chuckled at her desperation, lips sponging these warm, slow, gooey kisses down her neck and across her collarbone. When she went to sift her fingers through his curly hair, he pulled back to look at her. “You’re so bossy,” he accuses, pulling her thighs further up his hips, “it’s okay though. I’ll fuck the attitude right of you.” He grinded down against her, one strong roll of his bulge against her heat. “Are we going to have sex, Harry?”

“No.” He grinned.

“Why?” Y/N’s eyes crinkled in pain like he just told her her cat died and her lip jutted out in a pout which Harry quickly tucked away with his thumb. “Because,” he started, using that same hand to wrap around her throat, “we need to talk about that before we do anything. Don’t want to lose my best friend, do I?”

His rejection almost made Y/N cry and she would have had Harry not tightened his hand around her jugular. The cold press of his rings sent shivers down Y/N’s spine. “Why would you say anything then?” She asked, craning her neck to allow him more room to cover with his palm.

“I said I won’t have sex with you. Didn’t say I wouldn’t make you feel good.”

With that, he took the hand that made a home around her throat and patted her cheek, hard enough that the feeling went straight down to her tummy but soft enough that it didn’t hurt her like someone might think it would. He crawled further down her body, shoving her hoodie up with his hands and exposing her stomach to the cold air of the room. Y/N thinks he was trying to keep up some boundaries, bunching the shirt just below her tits like protecting some kind of modesty and pressing ticklish kisses across her skin and down her belly button. Her body tingled with anticipation, breath bated and eyes glazed as she watched him.

She felt him nuzzle into her tummy and inhale loudly, “you smell so fucking good.” Y/N giggled, taking pride in her extensive shower routine and incessant rubbing of various lotions into her skin, “thank you.”

When his mouth reached the waistband of her tiny shorts he murmured a small, “can I take these off?” To which Y/N hummed in agreement. She couldn’t agree with anything more. If Harry walked up and out of this room right now, Y/N was certain she would die.

Once they’re off, Y/N realised she was completely at his mercy. Her underwear is the only thing protecting her modesty, and with how wet she’s feeling, she doubts there’s anything left to the imagination down there, “would you look at that. You’ve soaked right through.” His fingers toyed with the edge of her wet gusset.

Another embarrassingly desperate sound left her throat and she pushed her hips in the air in search of some friction. Harry delivered a harsh slap to her thigh, “don’t move.”

His stern voice did unimaginable things for her but she complied and tried to stay as still as she could, which seemed like a task for the impossible with the teasing touches Harry delivered to her skin.

She never thought she’d be into something like this.

Something which reduces her to such a filthy, whiney mess.

That too from her best friend.

Harry doesn’t do anything for a while, just admiring how her pussy looked soaked through her panties, playing around with the lace lining of the fabric. He grabbed the gusset and pulled it tight against her so her folds swallow the cotton, “fuck. A little manhandling and this is what happens?” He more so makes a statement rather than asking her, punctuating his words by leaning down to lick a wide, sloppy strip across the cloth. It makes Y/N squeal and attempt to shut her thighs but Harry makes sure to hold her down, biceps bulging.

He pulled back to drop his fingers firmly against her clit, just keeping them there pressed tightly, feeling her heartbeat against the tips. “I thought I told you not to move.”

“Yes, I’m sorry please, please don’t stop.”

He went back to nosing at her covered clit, not making any attempt to wrap his lips around it. At this point Y/N was itching in anticipation, every ounce of her working not to rut her hips in his face and ride his tongue like she wanted to. When he finally touches her again, it's where the wetness pooled, soft suckling kisses over the fabric which made Y/N’s heart and pussy flutter.

She was incredibly frustrated, wanting nothing more than to rip her underwear off and shove his face into her but she held back, not sure if Harry would appreciate that after he made it clear time and time again how he preferred her to remain immobile while he played with her. Instead she waited until he was through with kissing every inch of her and when he finally peeled off her panties, she could practically come just from the prospect of having his mouth on her.

He doesn’t give her a second to think though, because his mouth is unrelenting. Teasing the tip of her button with his tongue before circling his lips around it and suckling in sweet, soft pulses. The sensation has her panting and gasping, squeezing his head between her thighs while one of his arms swung across her hips to keep her down and the other wiggled between the two to push her lips apart in a V shape. With her clit now exposed to the cool air, Harry zeroed in on the nerve and worked magic with his tongue, flicking it up, down, left, right and circling the button with such fevor Y/N could burst.

What electrified the experience was the sounds in the room, which were just sinful.

Her pussy squelched with each suckle Harry gave, making Y/N moan and pull Harry’s curls which in turn had him groaning lowly against her. It was an endless cycle of pornographic music.

When he pulls away from her clit, the pulsing it does is almost amusing, like it was personally begging for Harry’s attention. Instead he kissed down the length of her slit and took his time playing around with her folds, slicking her hole and letting his spit drip down to her ass.

It was so perfect and messy.

Before she knew it, Y/N’s thighs were shaking and Harry’s tongue was back to abuse her poor button. A couple more flicks and a harsh kiss pushed Y/N over the edge, her orgasm washing over her and nearly blinding her. It’s euphoric and the most intense she’s ever felt, no vibrator of hers or cock she’s ever had compared to what she was feeling and even then Harry didn’t let up on her pussy. He continued his assault, now both of his arms locking around her hips to tone down her thrashing. Only when she pushed his forehead away did he finally depart with a final lick across her slit and smiled at her fucked-out state.

He wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb and brought it to his lips, sitting up between her legs which she clinked shut. A second passes.

“Are you okay?” Y/N’s eyes were shut, an arm thrown across her forehead. “I think so.”

Harry giggled, leaning over her to remove her arm, “how’s it feel?”

“S’good. It was really nice. Thanks.” She was slightly dazed, too far gone to really understand what was going on. Her limbs felt like jell-o and she let Harry kiss her cheek again before lending her a hand to help her sit up. “I’m glad. Come on now. We need to clean you up.”

She doesn't know how she stood up from that godforsaken couch and how she made it to the bathroom, Lola returning from her retreat to her bedroom to wind around her ankles. Harry bent down to pet between her ears, “hello babydoll. Did you miss me?” He cooed.

She looked down at the pair and Harry easily sensed her wary gaze. A dashing smile was sent her way. “Do you need me to get you some underwear? Or are you afraid I’ll stumble across your array of sex toys?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. He was still the Harry she knew before he gave her the best head she ever received.

“You’re such a dick.”

“A dick that gave you the best orgasm of your life.” She couldn’t even argue with him on that. Instead, she flipped him off and disappeared into her room. Once she was all changed and wearing a fresh pair of undies and shorts, she walked out to see Harry passed out on the couch with Lola snuggled into his throat. It was then when her head finally returned to the ground and she realised the gravity of the situation.

The looming prospect of a long, painful chat in the morning hung over Y/N like a dark cloud, filling her with a gnawing sense of dread she suddenly couldn’t seem to shake.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

It was almost time for Luke and his band to perform, they had been entirely prepared and surpassed any qualms that threatened to delay their appearance on stage, however in the last moment, another problem appeared, leading Luke to sigh irritatedly. He was wearing a button up, the first one already undone, however it appeared that it didn't matter how much the quality of the satin fabric had cost, a couple of buttons in his midsection had escaped from the threads that held them in place.

The lead singer plucked the black pearls that closed his shirt up from the trodden ground, holding the minuscule clasps in his large hand. To say he was annoyed was an understatement; he didn't even have a backup outfit, he was set on wearing the exact apparel that he had on. "Fuck sake." His tone was bitter, it was as though something always had to go wrong at the last second.

It was just his luck, he thought. "Is something wrong Luke?" The voice cut through his distress as smooth as a knife, the soft sound relaxing the tall man slightly, as he looked to the side to see you - his assistant. He felt his lips incoherently move on their own accord as he fumbled to speak, miming through oxygen that flowed between you. "I- uh." He didn't want to rant to you about something so unimportant in the world, it would make him appear nonchalant to the real problems that tainted the earth.

He had the ability to purchase anything that he wished for due to the success of his music career, and thus he felt petty. "It's nothing." Luke shrugged off the grievance that had the strength to delay his entrance beneath the stage lights, there was no justice in getting worked up over something so minuscule. "Just.. my shirt broke." To emphasise his point in an embarrassed gesture, he braced his hands awkwardly on his hips and looked down at his torso.

A crease fell between your brows, and he felt like an absolute fool. There was a hue of red blossoming on his cheeks as he noticed your eyes scanning along his body, pinpointing the ajar fabric, your pupils staring sternly at his exposed skin. "I have just the thing." Your y/e/c eyes devotedly ogled up at him, glee glowing with an ambience from your eyes as a wide smile sprawled on your lips, leaving the curly haired blonde riddled in confusion.

For a moment you ignored your employer, shuffling with a purpose through your handbag that was slung across your shoulder, all knowing with what your search was for. A sound of diluted happiness prevailed from your throat as you plucked out a small and transparent case, where sewing needles and midnight coloured thread were stored. "Did you find the buttons?" It wouldn't be a problem if he hadn't, as you had a couple of spares loosely dancing around in your bag, however Luke held out his hand.

Luke felt sparks shoot through his body as you took the buttons, your fingers digging gently in the indent lines of his palm, grasping the black spheres and preparing your tools to reattach them. He could have sworn you were an angel sent from heaven to make every day that he spent with you significantly brighter; if there was ever a barricade to his intended path, you always had a solution.

You were always prepared, however in this moment you had to try with great difficulty to ignore the his soft abs from your focused sight. All you had to do was your job, which was to provide support and anything that Luke required, and so with your black reel of thread connected to the button, you grasped the opening of his shirt, knuckles brushing his tender muscles. The contact made him shakily inhale, his heart thumping vigorously within his chest.

He had never meant to form such an unprofessional crush on you, but it was impossible, sure when he interviewed you he couldn't ignore the physical attraction that he felt for you, though it didn't blind him to your listed criteria that was on your resume. "Thanks for this." He quietly spoke, but his words were as clear as day due to the proximity that you shared. One button down, one to go - you felt sufficiently accomplished, and you held the other one, determined to finish this fixing in time.

"It's my job." You responded nonchalantly, shrugging his appreciation off as to calm the butterflies that hurtled around in your stomach. "And it's no big deal Luke, it's an easy fix." Oh god, he could feel your breath hitting his chest where he had intentionally opened his shirt, and he could feel sweat brewing against his hairline. You were so focused, and he couldn't help but take in every detail of your face.

As you finished with putting the last button on, you placed the needle and thread back where they belonged, before you grasped the sides of his shirt, readying to put them through their designated loops. As you looked up, and he looked down upon you in his heeled boots, your nose almost touched his chin, and your eyes met in a staring embrace. "Hi." You muttered, hands still on his blouse.

"Hey." He replied, his lips pulling at the sides as his pupils enlarged in their surrounding blue pools. "How long do we have?" The musician enquired, knowing that you had a better sense for time management than he did. You glanced down at your watch, only briefly, and cocked your head. "Enough." You said, your body jumping a little as you felt his hands coil delicately around your hips.

The two of you leaned in, meeting in the middle in a collision of your lips, your hands tugging softly at his natural curls as you melted with satisfaction against one another. It was a slow exchange, full of passion and desire, and you wished it would last longer, however the alarm on your watch alerted you with a beckoning siren, causing you to defiantly pull away and huff lightly. "You have five minutes until you have to go on." You informed him, humming as Luke stroked your cheek.

He wanted nothing more than to lean in and get lost in you, to fall even further than he already had for you. But duty called, and he stood up straight, running his lips against one another as he vowed to never forget the first romantic moment that you shared. "I'll see you after?" Luke asked hopefully, his ocean eyes blazing with a new lease of motivation. Without a doubt you nodded, your hands ensuring that his shirt was done up and brushing down the smooth material to stroke out any creases.

Your birthday didn't feel very worth celebrating when you looked back on the year you'd had, your freshly shattered heart stinging as a very raw memory of being walked out on a week earlier seared itself through your memory. He'd always been a dickhead, the kind of boyfriend who'd told you that he was the best thing to ever happen to you, or that the whole writing thing wouldn't work out, but what did you have if you didn't have him? He'd been a pillar in your life since, well, forever. He'd shown you your favourite holiday destination, your favourite wine, your favourite book - were you just a product of him? The thought panicked you. No, you were cool. You had loads of interests, and friends, and hobbies.

The one thing he'd not shown you was something you'd kept a secret from him.

Your favourite band.

Even now, your stomach twisted as you recalled him and your youth, nights tangled up in bed sheets and clumsy hands on sticky dance floors, the mere thought of his recurring aftershave sending a wave of nostalgia over you as you perched on the ledge, lighting up a cigarette. It'd been years since you'd spoken to Ross. Now that you thought about it, it was probably around the same time Charlie had come on the scene, private-schooled, 5'9, biology-studying Charlie. You'd ignored Ross' messages inviting you to their gigs out of guilt for Charlie (his ego would have been well and truly tarnished), reluctantly un-followed him on Instagram when there'd been questions asked about him, tried to pretend that there wasn't an invisible tattoo of his hand prints at your waist, the memory of his fingertips forever stained in your hair, remnants of his kisses on your starving lips. Nothing has ever come close to Ross, and you'd be lying if you said that when Charlie had been away for work, you'd replayed the reels of your nights together in your mind.

You looked at the time - 3:17.

His number probably wasn't even the same as the one you had in your phone.

You leaned your head back, looked up at the sky, squeezed your eyes shut. There's no way you were about to do this. He probably thinks you're a weirdo anyway, cutting contact like he'd been a random one-time snog in a club. He might not even be in the country, for all you knew, with his world-famous band and world-famous records and most likely world-famous girlfriend. You'd not thought about that up until now - his girlfriend. Perhaps non-existent, probably existent. Jealous curled up your spine, a sick feeling settling in your stomach.

It was like your hands weren't your own as you scrolled through your contacts, brain on auto-pilot and suddenly feeling 20 again, stood outside a bar at university, ringing him to come and get you. The picture you'd set all those years ago was still the same somehow, and it made you swallow heavily - his head pressed next to yours, hair swooped to one side and probably wearing a Hollister polo. You both looked so young. It stopped you in your tracks, almost. You thought of how different things could have been if you hadn't ran away from everything, panicked and settled down like you thought you'd wanted, let him go on tour with the band and forever have the 'what if' hanging in the windows of your newly-purchased house with Charlie. What a success that was.

You pressed it and waited. It rang. And it rang.

As if you'd thought he'd pick up. It probably came up as an unknown number. You felt daft as you held the phone to your ear, tears stinging at your eyes again. The only person you'd thought to call.

Your stomach dropped when the ringing came to a halt and you could hear crackling.

And then his voice. Sleepy, low, tired.

Familiar. Warm.

"Y/n? Can you hear me?" he repeated as you stood in silence, lips pressed together at the sound of his name down the line.

"Ross," you managed to choke out, running a hand through your hair.

"Is everything okay?" he sounded concerned and you could hear his footsteps across what sounded like a hardwood floor, pacing.

"I just..." You looked up again, swallowing. "I'm so sorry."

"Y/n/n? What's going on?" Coming to a halt, his voice softened.

"I'm in Manchester, and I guess I'm kind of lost? I don't know, it looks different than it used to, and I'm on my own. I don't know why I called, you're probably not even here, are you?"

There was silence from across the line for a second and you squeezed your eyes shut. If he didn't think you were crazy before, he definitely did now.

"No, I'm here. I'm in my flat." He said softly.

"Oh, right," Your head was spinning. "I'm sorry for bothering you, I just-"

"Whereabouts are you?"

You breathed in sharply.

"I'm not sure, it used to be that bar we went to every week, but it's changed now, it's a kebab shop, I think." You glance at the neon sign, voice shaky.

"Are you staying in a hotel or anything? I can order you an Uber, or-"

His voice crackled down the line.

"I was, but I've lost my friends, and I've had a drink and I can't call Charlie and I don't know what to do." Your throat feels tighter when you say it all out loud. "I don't know, I called you because it was the only thing I could think of, but it's fine, I can-"

"Stay there," you can hear him moving around, "I'm leaving now."

It felt like an eternity between him hanging up the phone and arriving, perhaps because all you could do was think about how you've ended up here.

The car pulled up slowly and your stomach dropped, the window rolling down and his smile visible as he ducked his head.

It was like your feet were frozen to the ground for a second. His lips curved at the sides, hair messy and just as dark as you remembered it, but his eyes were older. They creased at the corners a little, slightly darker, a bit more tired. It wasn't just you who'd been trying to figure things out since you graduated, exhausted by the demands of post-graduate existence.

"Just move that, sorry." he mumbled as you opened the car door, throwing an empty water bottle onto the backseats. His eyes seemed immovable for a second, like he was having the same thought process as you. You felt intensely vulnerable for a second, and suddenly remembered the ladder in your tights and the mascara stained cheeks that faced him.

"God, it's been so-"

"I've missed you-"

You both started at the same time, an airy laugh escaping as you let the silence consume you.

He started the car without another word. It took everything in you not to stare, or cry, or say how much you'd missed him and how sorry you were that you'd abandoned it all. Instead, you kept your gaze forward, drinking in the streets you'd traipsed as a student.

"We're here." he glanced at you, pulling up outside an apartment block.

"Oh, you didn't need to bring me here, it's okay, I think there's a Premier Inn up the road." You furrowed your brows at him, shaking your head and starting to rifle through your bag. "I've got my card, it's fine, I-"

"It's fine." He said with a slight smile, shaking his head. "You can stay at mine. 'Will be nice to have the company."

You smiled at him softly, in the way you might smile at a cashier or your boss. It felt strange, transactional, like maybe there was a void between the two of you. You'd put it there.

"Thank you." You said quietly, following him out of the car and up the steps.

The lift was creaky and you closed your eyes for a second, the tiredness hitting you. The past two weeks had been a lot, and you'd thought a night out might fix everything.

His flat was just as you'd expected it to be. Records and CDs and books on every available surface, a scattering of guitar picks, some empty mugs, a weeks' worth of unopened post.

"Is it just you that lives here?" You asked as you stood awkwardly in the kitchen, watching him as he put the kettle on and grabbed two mugs. A Macclesfield FC one, and a souvenir one from Germany, it seemed.

He nodded with a hum, glancing at you. "You can get comfy, it's fine."

The fluorescent kitchen light felt exposing as you slid your heels off, placing them neatly by the door with your bag. He handed you the cup of tea promptly after and you followed him into the living room. It was spacious, yet the sheer amount of stuff everywhere made it feel lived in.

"Why couldn't you ring Charlie?" he asked after at least five minutes of the two of you pretending to watch whatever random Top of the Pops repeat that BBC 2 had shoved on for the 4am slot. He looked at you intently, but his tone was calm, simply wondering.

"We've split up." You looked down at the mug, mouth drying out. "About a week ago."

"I'm sorry to hear it." He said after a beat, looking back to the TV.

"Don't be." I shook my head, lips pursed. "Wasn't as good as it seemed, all that house-owner, engaged shit."

His gaze softened, but you could sense his sadness for you.

It's strange, to sit in a room with someone you once slept with on the regular, thought you were going to marry, like people do when they're 19, and feel like you know nothing about them. You could mentally draw him, the identical placement of the birthmark on his right hip, the exact colour of his eyes, yet you couldn't identify which bedroom was his in this flat, or what he'd had for tea the night before.

"I'm sorry for calling you at this time." You said meekly, looking back at the TV.

"I was awake anyway, it's okay." He glanced at you. "It was nice to see your name on my phone."

"I'm sorry for not calling sooner, then." You corrected your earlier statement, watching as his lips tilted into the oh-so-familiar smile your fingers had traced over countless times.

"I missed hearing from you."

"I missed hearing from you, too."

The silence was deafening, almost claustrophobic as you inhaled deeply. His eye contact faltered, skitting back to the TV, blinking heavily. You wondered what he was thinking, whether memories of you under him were also still as fresh in his mind as if they'd happened yesterday.

He downed the last of his tea, sitting forward.

"There's a spare room across from mine, down the hallway. Feel free to get a shower, use some of the clothes in those drawers, whatever you need."

"Thanks." You placed the half empty mug next to his on the coffee table. "Do you have any paracetamol or anything? I can't really hack hangovers anymore, even if it is just a couple of cocktails."

"Could you ever hack hangovers?" He teased as he stood up, walking into the kitchen. You blushed - so he was thinking about those mornings, too.

He handed you the box to take to bed with you, showing you the bedroom.

"There's a clean towel in the bathroom," he pointed to the on-suite, "I'm just in here if you need anything." His neck craned to look into the bedroom behind you, pointing to the bathroom and drawers, but you could only look at him. His tan skin, his tousled hair, neat, tidy beard, the chest hair that poked from the top of his t shirt.

Standing across from each other in the hallway, you could see into his bedroom. Light green sheets, a book next to his bed, a pair of jeans thrown over the end of the bed-frame. You wanted to know him again. To know him, and his life, and his body. Charlie was superficial - his lavish proposals, extravagant holidays, Instagram posts declaring you as 'the love of his life' and lonely nights spent waiting for him to get back from a boys night out. Ross was everything. He was 'picking you up at 3am', remembering how you liked your tea after 7 years apart, dark eyes and curls and haphazardly strewn clothes and empty beer cans on bedsides and you.

"Thank you, again, for letting me stay over." you looked up at him, his gaze already fixed on you.

"It's not a problem."

A second passed before you turned on your heel, a shaky nervous hand reaching for the doorknob.

"Night," You said, with a small smile.

"Night."

You closed the door and watched his turn away, broad shoulders disappearing into the opposite room.

The shower was hot, steaming up the bathroom, as you turned it on. You'd dug out a stripy t-shirt and some joggers you could roll up from the back of the wardrobe.

You tipped your head back in the shower, letting the hot water run over you. The shower gel lathered against your skin, and it felt symbolic, to be washing away the day, the thoughts of Charlie, the fake smiles of your fake friends in fake, pose-y bars. Ross had always felt real to you, the realest thing in this city. He'd been brutally honest with you when you'd needed it, soft with you when he knew he had to be. The memory of your fight flashed into your mind - the last day before you went back home after graduation, tears in his eyes, down your cheeks, raised voices and a final, slammed door. Your eyes opened quickly as you remembered how you'd told him you wanted stability, not to follow his 'silly band around the world'. You hated yourself for it, even now. He's been hurt, like it had meant nothing to either of you, the way you'd got into your car and drove back to your parents with blurred vision, Car Seat Headrest blasting through the stereo as you fled the scene.

You thought about him laid across the hall. Was he wide awake? You tossed over onto your side, duvet pulled up to your neck. It must've been about 5am. You willed yourself to just fall asleep. The sound of floorboards creaking forced your eyes open, but they hushed as soon as they'd chorused through the flat.

The smell of coffee was the thing that roused you from your sleep. So I did sleep, you thought.

His back was to you as you entered the kitchen, the rustle of the TV and clanging of utensils echoing off the walls.

"Morning," You yawned, smiling as he jumped and turned to you. His gaze trailed up and then back down for a second, the sight of you in his clothes clearly taking him by surprise.

"Did you sleep okay?" He smiled. His hair was flat on one side, sleepy eyes, crinkled t-shirt. You nodded, heat rushing to your stomach at the sight of him. "Did you?". He just hummed in reply, pouring water in the mugs.

You sat and ate scrambled eggs on toast. You talked about work. You discussed the rugby, each other's siblings, old uni friends. It felt comfortable, and right, and you had to catch yourself when you stared at him for too long and began to picture doing this every morning.

"We leave soon, though."

"Leave?" You asked, sipping your orange juice.

"Yeah, for tour." He looked up at you from his plate. "Next Wednesday."

Next Wednesday, for tour.

You felt silly for thinking your lives would be sewn together seamlessly, that you would fit into his world like you'd never left.

There wasn't much conversation after that, and it was like you could read his mind for a second. He'd said that to warn you, to prepare you, because he too was imagining this as a constant. This wasn't going to work, and you both knew it. You wanted it to, desperately, and when you left his flat that morning, your eyes welled like they had that fateful day in 2011.

they get together at the beginning of winter. 

the last of the leaves are already a deep shade of orange, falling and falling everyday until the trees go barren and white snowflakes start fluttering all around. they’re already exclusive by the time the first proper snow of the season falls. 

ross is a boyfriend. to the girl of his dreams. it makes him feel as giddy as a teenager every time he thinks about it; every time she gives him a sweet smile and an even sweeter kiss. 

he always holds her hand just a little tighter, cuddles her closer just a little longer every time she has to go—he’s making up for the lost time, he thinks. all the time he’s wasted being stupid and a coward. and so whenever she stays over he stays near her, follows her around from room to room. she finds it infinitely amusing, so endearing that she can’t help but kiss him every two minutes for it. 

a florist’s job is pretty slow in the winter. ross learns that quite early on in their relationship when he gets to take the slow days extra slow—cuddling on the sofa and dancing in the kitchen and every other cheesy thing he can think of. 

he fucking adores the slow mornings after she stays over—loves waking up with her in his arms, loves the slow, lazy morning sex where she’s moaning and squirming and cumming on his cock barely awake, loves how she looks at him with sleepy eyes hooded with lust. 

“‘s gonna be so awful when my job picks up again and the spring weddings start happening,” she says one morning while they’re in bed still, her head on his chest. ross hums. “you’ll be lucky if you see me two days in a row.”

he pouts. “it’s not that busy is it?”

“it is! so many new flowers coming into the shop and scott wants us to make sure each one of them is absolutely perfect. individually. fuck and the pollen—you’re not allergic to pollen are you? because i get so covered in it…”

ross racks his brain. maybe he does remember being a bit more sniffly in spring but nothing severe. it’s never been noteworthy. he shrugs and holds her tighter. “nah, don’t think so. it can’t be that bad though.”

she laughs mirthlessly. “you don’t know the half of it. my ex was so allergic i had to stay away for all of spring pretty much. like three months every year where i’d move back in with my parents because it was just that bad for him.”

he pretty much stops listening halfway through, stuck on the part where she had to stay away for three whole months. he can barely stay away half the week. 

“don’t have to worry about that,” he strokes her hair, brushing off the silly unwanted thoughts. 

and it turns out to be true—even when she stays in the shop longer, busy catering to new year’s parties and other events, ross hardly ever has a reaction to it. it’s blown out of proportion, he thinks. sure pollen allergies are real, but they must be incredibly rare.

what are the odds that he has it just as bad as her ex? 

soon enough he forgets the conversation. everything is so blissful, so perfect that by the time valentine’s day rolls around, he’s already asked her to move in. 

“are you serious?” she shrieks, giddy with excitement. it works great for them—for one, the floral shop she works at is so much closer to his house. and then just as an added bonus, he doesn’t have to compromise to seeing her only half the days of the week. 

“yes. oh my god, yes! it’d be perfect…”

and he agrees. it would be perfect… until, well, it’s not. 

spring arrives with a riot of colours—little weedy flowers grow in his backyard, daisies and buttercups cover grassy patches on the ground. even the dead trees start sprouting new leaves. 

everything outside is cheery and pretty and colourful. in comparison, ross feels…weirdly tired. not that it’s an everyday thing but on days when he’s outside more, he’s way too fucking exhausted to do anything else. it’s only when the sneezing starts does the conversation come back to haunt him. 

my ex was so allergic i had to stay away for all of spring pretty much…

ross shudders, thankful that it’s not that bad for him. it’s not! he’s certain about that. it’s only a scratchy throat and mildly itchy eyes that he could have gotten from eye strain too frankly, and maybe just a little case of the sniffles. it’s annoying, sure, but it’s not the end of the world. there’s no reason she needs to know about it and worry that she'll have to be away from him when she just moved in a week ago. 

he can very easily chalk up all his symptoms to a plethora of other things. 

and well, denial’s worked great for him—for one whole week, at least. 

towards the end of her second week, ross feels more tired than usual. she’s been slightly more busy at work (there’s a big wedding coming up) and ross has taken it upon himself to do a deep clean of the house now that he has a bit more free time—spring cleaning, to get rid of the pollen that may or may not be there. 

everytime there’s a persistent cough, he brushes it off. it’s dust—of course, that’s what’s making him cough and sneeze. 

it’s all the cleaning—that’s why he’s so tired.

all of it melts away though when he hears the keys jingling and the door opening. there’s a bit of a shuffle, a door shutting softly and then he hears her. 

“ross?”

he’s out the kitchen and walking towards her the next second, smiling huge. she looks like a fucking delight—hair a bit messy from the wind, surrounded by the smell of her perfume and a whole mix of flowers, plus something inexplicably green. 

she grins when she sees him and almost tackles him into a hug. 

“i love coming home to you…” the words are muffled by his t-shirt but his heart speeds up regardless. ross smiles and tucks his nose into her hair. 

“hello, you. had a good day?”

she nods and stays exactly like she was. the bliss only lasts another second though. ross feels it only a second before it happens—the string of sneezes he lets out with only a split second’s warning from his body. 

one, two, three, fifteen… until his eyes are watery and his throat stings from the effort. she looks at him with a bewildered expression on her face, slightly confused about…all of it.

he shakes his head. “shit, sorry! must have inhaled some pepper… i was just making dinner.” 

which isn’t a lie. he was making dinner and yes he has got the pepper out on the table. she throws him one more skeptical look but doesn’t push it further. 

ross takes her bag from her. “go wash up, i’ve got a movie picked out for us.”

she brightens instantly, and gives him a gorgeous smile, one that makes the tiny dimple by her lip appear. ross watches her nod and walk away from him, making her way to their bedroom. his smile is real for the most part until she finally shuts the door and he lets the cough he’s been holding in loose. he tries not to agitate his throat more, he tries to clear it so it would get rid of the itchy, sticky feeling. 

pollen, the logical part of his brain tells him. there was a tonne of pollen in her hair. but ross stubbornly gulps a glass of water, sighing at the way it makes him feel better instantly. he splashes some water from the kitchen sink on his eyes to get rid of the stinging.

it’s only a bit of allergies, he’s not going to die from it. besides, once she showers, the pollen would be washed away…right?

the other delightful symptoms show up hours later when he’s in bed, tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. his head feels fucking heavy, like there’s suddenly a dumbbell placed on there. the itchy eyes won’t let him get comfortable and the constant urge to sneeze has him almost on the verge of fucking tears from how uncomfortable he is. 

ross curses silently, staying as far away from her without falling off the bed—for one he wants to try limiting his exposure to pollen. and if there’s a slight chance that he’s coming down with something then it’s better that he stay a bit away from her anyway. 

that just makes him even more miserable. all he wants to do is cuddle and fall asleep and not wake up until it’s at least 8 am the next morning but apparently he’s not afforded this luxury. 

sighing, ross gets up and checks his phone. 1:03 am. 

then he makes his way to the kitchen. maybe some tea might help… at least out of the bedroom he can finally sneeze into the crook of his elbow without worrying about waking her up. 

ross stumbles into the kitchen, his footsteps heavy with exhaustion and frustration. he flicks on the dim light above the stove, wincing as it illuminates the small space. his head throbs with each heartbeat, and he reaches up to massage his temples, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure. 

he tries not to be miffed about it—the fact that being out of the room instantly feels a bit better. it must the the honey in the tea, or the warm water. whatever it is, he refuses to admit it to himself that it may be her. that he’s been cocky about it this whole time only for it to bite him in the ass. 

“ross?” he startles and whirls around. 

despite the painful headache, his heart melts. she looks sleepy and soft—hair half out of the braid, his giant t-shirt drowning her a little, sliding off her shoulder. she squints her eyes against the light and rubs the sleep out of them.

“what are you doing, it’s—” she has to wait till the yawn passes “—so late. you alright?”

he nods, maybe a bit too quickly and fails to stifle a wince. the movement makes a twinge of pain slice through his head and her eyes train on him. 

“you’re being weird… are you unwell?”

“‘m not being weird,” he tries to reassure her. ross walks up to her, placing a hand on her waist so he could gently steer her back to their bedroom. “i’m fine, love. my throat feels a bit dry so i thought tea would help.” 

“your eyes are all red.”

“yeah, babe. i just woke up.” lie, lie, lie. “come on, you’ve got to be up early. go back to bed, i’ll join you in a sec.”

the skepticism on her face remains. “ross, if you’re ill—”

“i’m not ill, come on. would i do this if i were ill?” and then he kisses her. for a good thirty seconds. 

predictably (and to his delight) she goes all loose in his arms, clinging to him as if the kiss is the only thing that matters. that convinces her though and once they break apart, she hmphs. 

“fine, don’t be long.” and then she drags her feet back to the bedroom. 

ross stays in the kitchen for a bit longers, massaging his aching temples and hoping the tea works as some magical cure. he even manages to convince himself a little that it’s working, and maybe it is! 

finally, fifteen minutes later he gives up. he just wants to be in bed at this point. he’ll figure out the rest tomorrow. 

ross wakes up alone to warm sunlight streaming in from the window, perhaps a bit too warm for an early spring day. everything feels weird and uncomfortable and stuffy, almost like he can barely breathe. exhaustion coats every cell in his body. 

what the fuck… 

he just woke up too, how is it possible to be this tired, this early in the morning. he stretches a little, trying to shake off the ickiness, until his eyes land on a post it stuck on the nightstand. 

i don’t know if you remember me telling you i was leaving for work early so i thought i’d leave a note. you looked really tired and uncomfy :( call me if you need me xx 

her neat handwriting stands stark against the paper. how did he miss her leaving for work? he has absolutely no memory of being even half-awake and he never sleeps in until this late. ross frowns and checks himself for a fever but his skin feels cool to the touch, normal. 

allergies. a voice chimes in again. allergies to pollen and spring and. allergies to your girlfriend. 

it’s incredibly childish to think of it that way, he knows it. but he also knows that if she knew her job was causing him this much discomfort, she’d be quite sad about it. so ross just shrugs it away and sends her a text

awake and feeling a lot better :) 

thirty seconds later, his phone pings. 

good, because i took half the day off to spend it with you ♡

despite himself, ross beams, feeling giddy like a teenager. it takes him some effort to get out of bed and shake off the fatigue. he should probably clean the room a bit before she comes back. his thoughts wander back to the last time—to him uncontrollably sneezing and coughing because of the pollen in her hair.

ross groans and tries to clear his throat again. 

somehow he manages to pass the time, doing little things here and there, getting on his playstation to see if any of his friends are free for a game (the are, but only for a bit). he makes himself a lazy lunch, quick and easy tin ravioli that she would 100% wrinkle her nose at (“pasta should be fresh though!”) and then he waits, scrolling on his phone to pass the time. 

he wakes up to an onslaught of kisses and a huge bouquet of daisies. 

for a second ross wonders when he fell asleep. he didn’t even mean to fall asleep, the tiredness just dragged him under… 

“there you are,” she grins at him and places another kiss on his nose. ross tries not to blush like a high school girl. instead, he pulls her into a quick kiss. 

“i got you flowers!” the bouquet of daisies is thrust into his hands. the flowers are beautiful, each about the same size, white and fresh and pretty and she beams at him proudly. “made that one for you.”

“you are perfect…” he kisses her again and cradles the flowers closer. “any special occasion though?”

“nah, just thought you were a bit unwell and thought i’d get you flowers.”

ross brightens. he loves how thoughtful she is, loves that she made sure to get him flowers because she suspected he was sick.

all of it comes crashing the moment he feels the familiar itchy feeling build at the back of his throat, feels his eyes starting to water. he tries not to throw the flowers away as if they were made of fire but he has twist his body away from hers when he breaks out into a coughing fit. hacking and trying to get the flowers away from him. 

“shit, you okay?” she sounds alarmed and rubs her hand up and down his back. it barely registers while ross struggles to breathe. 

quickly she runs to the kitchen to get him some water. it takes him a bit to breathe and stop coughing so he can get some water down. 

“i didn’t know you were this sick!” 

“i’m not,” his voice sounds strained but she ignores him entirely and places the back of her hand against his forehead. 

“no fever,” she frowns. “but you looked so run down before…”

“i haven’t caught a bug i promise!”

she opens her mouth again to argue, about to say something but stops halfway through the sentence, her eyes widening and ross watches in real time as the realisation dawns on her. the room goes drop dead silent. 

“fuck…” she murmurs, “it’s hay fever, isn’t it.”

ross wants to deny it so desperately but all he can do is sit there and pout miserably. there’s nothing he can say that will undo it now. 

“how long?”

“how long what?”

“how long have you been feeling it? itchy eyes, the sneezing, coughing. you know what i’m talking about.”

he does but he doesn’t want to admit it. quietly, she move the flowers as far away as possible. ross palms the back of his neck, sheepish. “two weeks.”

“you’ve been miserable for what–two weeks? because of me! and you didn’t even tell me.” her face falls more and more with each word and ross wants to point out that this is exactly why he didn’t tell her, and now she’s upset anyway. convincing herself that she’s the reason he’s been feeling so horrible. 

“why didn’t you tell me?”

sheepishly, he spills everything—how he remembers the conversation about her ex, how he doesn’t want her to feel like she’s the one making him sick. 

“and i didn’t want you moving away for three months! you just moved in”

he sounds so petulant and childish to his own ears, he sounds like a seven year old, not a fully grown man. 

for a moment she says absolutely nothing. she only looks at him, bewildered and speechless. 

“did–do—” then she has to pause to take a deep breath. “did you take any antihistamines?”

and that’s when it dawns on him. ross opens his mouth and closes it again, like a fish. antihistamines. allergy medicine. a miracle of modern science easily available to him over the counter. something he didn’t even bother thinking about.

“did you?”

“no.”

he hangs his head in shame, embarrassed that he didn’t think about it sooner until peals of her laughter jolt him back. she looks like she’s ready to collapse on the sofa, completely fucking floored by the giggles she can’t seem to suppress. 

“you are so dramatic!” she shrieks, manages to even get the whole sentence out between gasps and giggles. “you’d think you caught the black death or something.”

“oi!” ross flicks her her on the nose but joins in on the laughter too. he has been a fucking idiot, of course he has. “you said you had to move away every spring! because your ex had it that bad!”

“yeah because he had asthma, you idiot.”

with every new piece of information she reveals, ross feels his face warm up more and more. okay yeah… he really has been fucking dramatic about all this. 

“you really are an idiot, you know that?,” she catches her breath with a bit of effort and moves a bit closer to him. ross pretends to grumble but pulls her on his lap and holds her close.

“your idiot?” 

“don’t try to be cute, you’re not living this down.” she sounds stern for about two seconds before bursting into another fit of giggles and burying her face in his shoulder.  

“i’m not moving out the house just because you’re allergic to me, you know?” she teases once she’s sobered up enough. “you’ll be fine with some pills.”

he would be, now all he wants to do is make a mad dash to the pharmacy and buy whatever otc medication they have. it’s been hell as is, he just wants this feeling to go away. 

i’m not moving out the house…

his heart leaps up to his throat and relief floods his body. ross feels like he can finally breathe again (figuratively, at least). 

“i’m not allergic to you,” he counters, “i’m obsessed with you if anything.”

“flirting will not get you out of this!” but ross doesn’t miss the way her smile widens and she struggles to meet his eyes. if only he could stay like this forever…

he would have even, if not for another round of sneezes building up again. ross cringes, turning to the side. 

“shit shit! still, radioactive, sorry.” 

ross snorts, silently begging for the sneezes to go away. 

“let me make a pharmacy run for you,” she declares, putting her shoes back on and shushing him with a look before he can even protest. it’s fine though, he thinks, it's only twenty minutes. she’s coming back home to him anyway. 

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855@beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet @thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername@celestcies @sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @thewaywewereinsaigon @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @fck-off @indiaamars @sofaritsalrightt @k4tie75 @wondersecret @humptyhoran @indierockgirrl @hanbiior @moreyoulove-moreyouknow @rossgirly @if-my-heart-bleeds @little-lovely-darling @abriefnirvana @renitypoem @sinarainbows @lady-may-targaryen @love4agesss @angrylittlebaldman @oneluckygirl @sinarainbows @starvchaser @noacfapologyst @abouttofillhisshoes @tbhnotthatfunny

She starts with a long, relaxing her aching body in the hot soapy water until her skin begins to prune. Y/N takes extra time to moisturise her body and brush her hair. Even treats herself to a face mask while she does so.

When she leaves the bathroom, it’s almost 7 p.m. and Tom has already left for work. The apartment is clean, and most importantly, quiet.

She’s a bit too excited in her movement to the sofa, a squeal slipping from her lips. Too caught up in her head, she doesn’t notice Harry leaning against his bedroom door, arms folded across his chest.

It’s not until he clears his throat that Y/N jumps out of her little happy dance with a scream. A smirk sits on his lips, amused by the way she scowls at him.

“What the hell are you doing here! You’re supposed to be out on a date!”

Her tone is accusing, pointer finger jabbing at the air in his direction. She notices his attire; grey shorts and a white hoodie. Y/N’s shoulders slump.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she huffs.

“What? I thought you liked hanging out with me?” Harry follows her to the sofa, sitting on  the opposite end of her.

Y/N crosses her arms furiously. “I do! But I was so excited to have the flat to myself for just one night.”

Harry’s brows are raised suggestively, that sick fucking smirk on his lips again. Y/N lunges a pillow at his face. “Not for those reasons, you perv.”

He barks out a laugh, hugging the pillow close to his chest as he props his feet up and on Y/N’s lap. He watches how her bottom lip pouts out and his face softens.

“Look, if you want me to fuck off out for the evening, I can.” Harry offers.

She scoffs. “That is what you were supposed to be doing.” A moment of silence passes and she sighs. “Sorry, that came out rude. I'm not about to kick you out of your own flat – though I am going to force you to watch the last three episodes of The Rookie with me.”

Harry makes no attempt to hide the groan that follows her words. It’s not that he doesn’t like the show, it’s that he hates the show. He’ll never understand Y/N’s weird obsession with emergency services.

First, it was Criminal Minds, then a month later she binge watched 9-1-1 Lone Star in six days. Now she’s on the newest season of The Rookie and he’s sure she only started season one at the beginning of the month?

“Do we have to?” he grumbles.

Y/N throws another pillow at him. “Yes. You’re the one interrupting my night, you could at least do it quietly… and with snacks.”

Her voice trails off at the end of her sentence and Harry has to bite back a grin. She could never be mad at Harry, she loves him and his company far too much. Tom, on the other hand… yeah, she would definitely be mad if it was him crashing her lazy girl night.

Harry stands from the sofa, wandering through to the kitchen. He grabs two bottles of water in one hand and scans his eyes through the cupboards in search for a suitable snack.

They’ve not been shopping for a few days, so there’s only some dry crackers, a half-eaten bag of cashew nuts (ew, Tom), and granola. Harry contemplates ubering some cookies and milkshakes when his eyes land on a bakery box on top of the microwave.

He squints as he reads the writing on the top of the box.

Tom’s. DO NOT EAT!

Harry flips the lid, six thick slices of dewey chocolate brownies. They’re like fucking slabs… he’s sure Tom won’t mind if he and Y/N share just one between them.

He pops a (massive) slice on a plate and toddles back to the kitchen. The show is paused on the opening scene, Y/N shuffled to get comfortable on the sofa. She raises a brow at the snack in question.

“We’re sharing a brownie?”

Harry huffs as he sits. “S’all we’ve got in the kitchen, and they’re Tom’s. Didn’t wanna take the piss when his little sticky note clearly says DO NOT TOUCH!”

Y/N snorts, breaking the brownie in half and handing Harry the bigger slice. She takes a bite, face screwing slightly.

“These taste a little funny… nutmeg, maybe?”

She turns to Harry who doesn’t say anything and still hasn’t taken the brownie. The look on his face irks her. She huffs, swallowing. “I feel bad that your date cancelled on you.”

His eyebrows almost raise to his hairline. “And what makes you think she was the one to cancel?”

“Was she?” Y/N asks.

Harry takes the brownie with a sigh. “Yeah.”

//

They can’t stop fucking giggling.

The show is long forgotten about, has been for the past thirty minutes. They’re both feeling warm. Harry stripped from his jumper and Y/N changed into some little shorts and one of Harry’s baggy t-shirts.

Neither of them know where this amusement came from, but there is absolutely no calming either of them down. They’re sneakily sharing a second slice of Tom’s brownies; eyes on the door in case for some reason, he comes home an hour after his shift has started.

“They taste so weird, but I can’t stop eating it.”

Harry chokes out a laugh, eyes welling with tears because he just finds Y/N so fucking funny tonight.

She’s a mess too, eyes squinted and shoulders hunched as she laughs uncontrollably. They’re both crossed-legged on the living room floor, knees knocking gently.

The more she chews, the more she begins to recognise that unfamiliar taste… the way it lingers on her tongue. Her laughter slows for a moment, as if realisation is beginning to dawn on her.

She stares at Harry with wide eyes and parted lips, mouth still full.

“Oh, my god.”

“What?”

“They’re fucking weed brownies!”

Harry can’t breathe, struggles to look away from the fear and shock on Y/N’s face. His whole body begins to shake with laughter and Y/N finds herself following.

“Harry, it’s not funny!” she shrieks. “This is so bad, Harry.”

She’s laughing through her words. Even she can’t take herself seriously in this state.

“D’you wanna play Just Dance?”

Harry’s words only make her laugh harder. The remainder of her brownie is thrown at his naked torso. Harry wastes no time to tackle her to the ground, hovering between her legs as he tickles her sides.

He's blowing raspberries on her neck, eliciting loud cackles from her mouth. Y/N tugs at his hair, her legs flailing around his hips when he nips at the skin on her throat.

They don’t say anything. She continues to chuckle, and Harry continues to bite.

Their laughter has fizzled out into breathy giggles. Neither of them are sure when Harry’s bites turned into kisses. When their fingers became intertwined. When her legs closed around his middle.

And neither of them say a fucking thing about it.

Harry’s lips travel up her neck and across her jaw. She finds his mouth feverishly, nothing but tongue and teeth but to the pair of them, it’s the best kiss they’ve ever had.

They’re needy, hot and wanton all of a sudden. Like a switch has been flipped and they’re clinging to one another like lifelines.

Harry holds her hands above her head, fingers tangled. He’s hard, rock hard. Pressing into Y/N’s tiny fucking shorts so much he’s sure he can feel her arousal through both of their clothes.

He ruts against her, testing the waters. The moan he receives sends all blood down south. He’s always known sex to be incredible when you’re high. The thought of him sharing it with her? God, he could bust there and then.

He releases her hands so he can feel up her thighs, skin hot and smooth. Their lips don’t separate, not once. She lets her hands fall into his curls, nails scratching at his scalp and she tugs at the roots.

Harry’s moaning into her mouth, eager and desperate for more. He takes her shorts off quickly and strategically. So quickly that she doesn’t notice until she feels a cool breeze between her thighs.

Y/N’s eyes roll to the back of her head, more than ready for whatever the fuck he wants to do to her.

They haven’t hesitated, not once. Not until Harry's hands are at the waistband of his shorts and he wonders if he should grab a condom or just go down on her. He knows she’s on the pill, just like they both know they’re both clean.

Harry gets tested once a month and Y/N doesn’t sleep around.

She answers his inner turmoil for him and tugs his shorts down the best she can. Harry breaks the kiss for a split second to tug his shorts to his knees. He’s back to kissing her as quickly as he pulled away, tongue against hers. Hot and messy.

Y/N feels his tip twitch against her clit, an airy sigh echoing into Harry’s mouth. He lets his fingers swirl around her wetness, smearing it across her smooth cunt and coating his thick shaft in her arousal.

They’re panting messes, eager, desperate and horny.

When he lines himself at her entrance, she locks her legs around his waist. Harry bumps forward, a shrill cry slipping from between their lips at the sensation of one another.

Harry wants to give her a moment to adjust, but Y/N doesn’t. She wants it hot and hard. She wants the pain. She wants to feel every fucking inch of him.

She probably should’ve warned Harry how she gets when she’s high. How much of a whiny, cock-hungry whore she can become. Then again, how was she supposed to know they’d accidentally eat their roommates special brownies?

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry chokes as he bottoms out.

Y/N’s struggling to catch her breath but she’s never loved the burn in her lungs more. “Fuck me, H.”

He twitches inside her. “Fuck me hard.”

His hips begin to roll, cock nuzzling itself deep inside her. He can feel everything. Every bump, dip, swell. God, she’s fucking soaked, leaking down to the floor but neither of them care.

Harry slowly begins to quicken his pace, arms bent at the elbows either side of Y/N’s head to prop himself up. She doesn’t loosen her legs around his hips. She needs him as close as he can possibly get.

Even his cock buried to the brim in her cunt isn’t enough. She needs his soul touching hers.

“You’re so fucking tight.”

“Yeah?” she breathes. “You gonna fuck my tight cunt, baby? Fuck me like you own me.”

He can’t believe his fucking ears. He’s always found Y/N attractive, but never in his wildest fucking dreams did he expect her to be this goddamn filthy.

Harry loves it.

His thrusts grow harsher. She has no time to catch her breath between hits, her mouth in a constant state of slack – eyes rolled back and eyebrows pinched.

“My perfect little cunt.” Harry seethes.

The noises of her pussy are like electric waves in Harry’s ears. He feels them in his soul, like sparks and jolts. He’s never felt more alive.

He’s fucking into her manically. Behind closed eyes all he can see shapes and colours of need and desire. Sex has always been good, always been great high. But this? Fuck, he’s never felt something so otherwordly.

He never wants it to end, wants to spend the rest of his life fucking her like a whore. She’s tugging his hair, likely making his scalp bleed but he loves it. He’d bleed a fucking river just to feel her cunt around him again.

“I’m gonna come!”

Her words awaken something animalistic within Harry. Like his life depends on feeling her release around him – like it’s what he was born to experience.

He chases her high, nipping and suckling on her neck, fucking into her cunt as fast as his restrained hips will allow. Y/N’s a blubbering mess, a sight Harry never wants to forget.

Fuck, he doesn’t think he could if he tried. This will forever be etched into his mind – her face, her body, her perfect cunt. Jesus, he’s never been so into sex in his life.

Her body begins to tremble uncontrollably, legs locked tight around his middle as she cries his name and pours over him.

Harry’s gruff and desperate moans mix with hers. She’s impossibly tighter, squeezing him; begging him to never let her feel anything but full ever again.

Harry wants to die buried in her cunt.

It takes every single fucking ounce of willpower he has to pull out and release across her thighs – painting the filthiest picture anyone could imagine.

It’s a struggle for either of them to catch their breaths. Hot and heavy panting that soon turns into light laughter, that even sooner, turns into contagious giggles.

Their bodies shake with every chuckle, Harry’s mouth ghosting hers until he nips on her bottom lip.

“We are never to talk about this, understood?”

He grins widely. “Whatever you want, Princess.”

She hums, eyes full of lust. Harry’s still achingly hard, despite coming more than he ever has before. He dips his head to her neck, sucking at her soft skin. His cock twitches against her thigh and she breathes deeply, blinks slowly.

“You wanna go again?” his voice is muffled by her neck.

She grins, legs wrapping back around his middle.

you’re rummaging through the cupboards looking for a special dish your mother gave you, a wedding gift it was beautiful clear frosted dish. your husband is off at work and you’re preparing for his arrival soon with his dinner simmering on the stove in a pan his mom had gifted.

you’d been begging him for a child since you two had gotten married not too long ago. you are utterly convinced matty and you are absolutely ready, you’re newly weds what more could you want but a child to nurture and love together. you’re hunched over on your heels searching the bottom cupboards when you hear the door open with a swing. you greet matty, saccharine and he melts. he drops his bag and hangs his coat at the door, walking over to you. you’ve almost given up looking for the dish when matty tugs at the bow of your apron it sits at your waist and he hooks his fingers into it slowly pulling the top half of your body out. you inch out as matty pulls you up, he tugs at your hair raveling his fingers through them bunching it up in his fist. your body molds into matty’s perfectly as he dips into your neck pecking. “i was thinking about you all day,” he breathes onto your neck after each kiss, you reach your hand into his wild curls resembling silver. his hair is gelled back but you pull at it when he nips at your neck with his teeth. you crane your neck pushing your bottom back into matty’s trousers as he snakes his hand down to your waist pulling at your dress. you reach back tugging at matty’s tie, and he responds pulling up the skirt of your dress to expose your panties. they’re classic white with lacing detail, and he’s pushing his black trousers into you again holding your hips in place.

matty rubs at you a bit hissing, you lean over the counter pressing your ass back into matty as he groans at the friction. he’s watching your panties get wet, and you hear him rustle with his belt and boxers never letting your left hip go. you expect a clothed cock to buck at you but it’s matty’s sliding over the outside of your panties. you feel his cock right over your entrance but your panties constrict matty, and you whine looking back at him desperately. “be good for me, i’m your husband it’s my job to take care of this, hm?” matty is sliding into your panties using the thin cloth and your throbbing cunt as a makeshift pocket. you shiver, as he rubs over you. your slick is only coaxing one side of his cock and he groans. this is different than the sex you’ve had with matty, he seems desperate and so drawn out at the same time. you’re almost buried into the counter as matty continues teasing, you know not to whine and beg it only makes him drag it out longer. matty finally pulls your panties off sliding in without hesitation. your underwear is at your ankles and you gasp feeling matty’s cock find it’s space in your cunt. he gasps pressing his body against yours over the counter “you were made just for me,” he whispers slowly dragging himself out of your cunt before gently drilling himself back in. you nod intently as matty pulls and prods at you, he holds onto the band of your apron sometimes making sure you’re falling all the way back onto him. you struggle at times to keep up with matty, he’s strong his muscles flex under you every time he lifts you to give you a break. most of the time he leaves you on your toes as your flats leave your ankles when you’re tiptoed over the tabletop. matty’s twitching inside you as his hips stutter he’s whispering incoherent curses and your name begging for permission to come inside you. he says the curses sourly, they leave his mouth almost too easily needing to escape but his tongue holds onto your name dragging out each syllable wanting to keep it with him forever.

you approve with a moan and nod, your legs shake and you’re coming undone onto your husbands cock. you’re just coming down from your orgasm as matty yanks your hips burying his cock deep inside you. his cock stutters inside you, stuffing you with his cum. it’s warm inside you, as matty pulls out panting praises. you’re cock drunk on matty, over the moon that he wants you to bare his children. you’re blushing at his words and the cum dripping out of you. matty leans forward into your neck tucking himself as deep as he can to place a kiss into the nook of your neck. your skin is electric as he grazes it with his mouth, he pulls away and goes down onto his heels kissing the back of your thighs which are still shaking. he nips and bites harshly at the skin of your legs, the most intimate part of them. matty is territorial, almost as if you two weren’t married. bonded together by the church, the silver bands around your fingers, as if you weren’t made from his exact rib. molded and shaped for him. he rubs a thumb over your throbbing cunt, tutting. “i didn’t pay attention to your poor cunt, i’m sorry princess” his words traveling to your core igniting it. you clench dismissing matty, saying it’s alright. he traces the cum running down your leg back into your pussy not wanting to waste any of it. you gasp as his fingers enter you twisting and hooking. “it’s not alright,” you hear matty say almost below you working on your cunt. “i can see you aching for more,” you whine onto matty’s fingers fucking yourself back onto them. “so cock drunk, huh?” he tsks pulling his slicked fingers out in a motion leaving you empty, “i can make it up to you,” he says running his wet fingers over your clit. you twitch at his callouses nodding, desperate for anything.

matty opens your folds with his fingers, hiding the bottom half of his face in your cunt. you feel his stubble poke at you a bit as he digs his tongue into you. matty murmurs something into your cunt and you melt with the vibrations from his voice. you’re still bent over the counter as he works into you sucking and flicking where he knows you give. matty pays special attention taking care of your clit licking long stripes over it following into the rest of your pussy. you’re a whiny mess above him as he reaches up steadying your now rotating hips. you push your body back into matty’s face never wanting it to end. he sucks onto your clit continuously wanting to send you over the edge and you respond with a tremble almost shutting your legs on matty. he keeps them open grasping onto your thighs squeezing his hands into them. with a cry you cum onto matty’s face shaking, he leaves your cunt standing up to slide his boxers and trousers on leaving his belt hanging off him. he gives your butt a pat, and you turn weakly pulling up your drenched panties onto your leaking pussy.

You and Matty have just come home from yet another awards show, another evening of having to sit close to him, his hand on your thigh, rubbing circles and knowing he’s driving you crazy in a setting where you can’t do anything about it. Whispering “be a good slut for daddy and i’ll reward you when we get home” before he goes on stage.

His previously neatly slicked back curls are now messily hanging over his forehead as a result of you holding on to them in the car ride back home, straddling him in the backseat, not worrying one bit whether the driver could hear you or not. His hands have a tight grip on your ass, rocking you back and forth across his hard bulge in need of friction.

The buttons on his shirt somewhere in the car, torn off by the force of which you ripped his shirt open, needing more skin. Your lips, plump and slightly bruised from the hungry kisses, now on his neck, making him whimper. A rare thing with Matty, but you knew that in no time he’d have you whimpering, begging, crying. Anything to make him let you cum. 

Your back hits the bed as he releases you from his hold, you feel empty without your legs wrapped around his waist. You whimper at the loss of contact.

“That’s not how good sluts behave, is it?” he raises his eyebrow at you, undoing his belt. You shake your head profusely, desperate to be a good slut for him.

“Words” he hisses. You know you’ve fucked up big time now. He is horny and mad. 

“N-no daddy, that’s not how good sluts behave” you look up at him through your eyelashes, both fear and excitement of what is about to come. He hums as he pulls the belt out of the loops in one swift motion.

“Hands above your head” he commands. You nod and lift them over your head. Soon your wrists are tied together by the coarse leather digging into your skin, you know it’ll start to chafe soon and there will be defined red and bruised marks tomorrow. The thought makes your already wet core ache and you push your legs together. 

Matty notices this immediately, pushing you down and spreading your legs wide apart.

“Daddy is the only one who gets to please you, stop trying to cheat your way out of this” he grins at the sight of you. He hasn’t even touched you yet and you’re a mess for him. 

In silence, and slowly, he starts taking your dress off of you, revealing the lack of underwear underneath. 

“You’ve been hiding all of this from me all night?” he groans, turning you on to your stomach, making you arch your back and reveal your dripping pussy to him. Thighs all slathered with your fluids, proof of what he does to you.

“P-please” you whimper. He tuts in discontent, grin growing wider.

“You’re begging to be punished, aren't you?” he chuckles at the sight in front of him, pleased that you can’t see the desperate expression on his face with your head all squished into the mattress beneath you.

You don’t answer him, you simply can’t find the words. You should’ve known better. Without warning his hand connects to your ass with enough force to make you scream out loud, your body shaking from the pain. Your throbbing hole tells another story though and Matty can no longer hold in his moans. His girlfriend, a mess at his hands.

You feel the bed underneath you shift as he gets off the bed, drops his trousers to the floor before climbing back up. You can feel the tip of his cock against your wet cunt, teasing you as he leans over your back. His hand travels from your right hip up to your boob, sending shivers through your body as his calloused hands touch your skin.

“Since you weren’t being the good slut I asked you to be, daddy is going to fuck you how he wants to fuck you” he whisperes in your ear, pinching your nipple as he does, making you both moan out at the same time. You nod in agreement.

He wastes no time, he hasn’t got the time or patience to be gentle today, knowing he is about to explode at any second. He guides himself towards your pussy, dragging the tip along your drenched slit, flicking your swollen clit before burying himself inside of you. His thick shaft stretches you as he pushes himself deeper, causing you both to moan.

It’s a primal and animalistic moan coming from him as he bottoms out, his balls resting against your skin as he lets himself get situated in the very familiar warmth.

“Are you gonna be loud for daddy?” he asks, painfully slowly pulling out almost all the way. Your legs are already shaking.

“Yes daddy” you answer him, nodding into the sheets. You can hear him chuckle. You know him, you know that this is a warning.

Barely a second later he slams his hips back into yours, making you thrust forward. You’re good on your promise, moaning loudly as he builds up a rhythm, thrusting in and out of you in desperation. Holding back his orgasm threatening to come way too quickly. He just can’t help himself, you have been taunting him in that dress all evening. The slit reaching up almost the entire length of your legs, revealing the soft skin on your thighs. Had he known earlier that you were naked under the dress he had probably been under the table, leaving bite marks all over those thighs he loved so much.

He stops and pulls out of you.

“I need to see my pretty girl, I need to see your pretty face when I cum” his voice is shaking as he turns you over, revealing the mess he has created.

Your carefully done makeup now smudged all over your face, mascara mixed with tears running down your cheeks and lipstick in all places but your lips. He moans loudly at the sight, his throbbing cock twitching as his eyes sees your stiff nipples, they could cut through glass.

“C’mere” he moans as he pulls your hips towards him, once again pushing himself into you. His thumb finds your clit, first rubbing soft and slow circles that rapidly grows faster and rougher as he once again finds his pace.

You’re both close and he can feel this as your legs shake. He removes his hand from your clit and instead uses it to pin your constrained arms, leaning over and resting his forehead against yours. It’s a soft moment, despite him fucking you roughly and his hand pushing on the already sore skin around your wrist. 

His mouth is soon on yours, absorbing both of your moans as he pressed his lips against yours. It doesn’t last long though, as his thrusts grow more uneven and frantic his mouth is resting open against yours, forehead to forehead.

“D-daddy please” you whine, it’s barely audible, but he nods in approval. You let go and let the pleasure wash over you, legs giving out as you shake uncontrollably and clench around him. He tries to hold back, determined to fuck you through your orgasm, but fails as he spills into you, coating your walls with his cum as he collapses on top of you. 

Without looking he unties the belt from around your wrists, throwing it to the side, letting your arms fall down and wrap around his back.

“Was I a good slut for daddy?” you ask, begging for his approval.

Harry gave you a side eye and then laughed along with you, the rest of the drive was quiet and soon enough you were pulling up to the hospital where a few family members already stopped by to meet the little bundle of joy.

"Are you ready to meet your niece?" you turned to look at him as you unbuckled your seat belt, noticing that he had small tears in his eyes, "H? Baby are you crying?" you grabbed his chin and couldn't help but smile tenderly when he looked at you with watery eyes, "Oh my gosh, you're too adorable."

"I just, I can't believe I'm about to meet my sister's baby, that's insane."

You kissed his lips shortly, grabbing his face with both of your hands when you pulled away.

"She's already so lucky to have the best uncle in the world," you pecked his lips again, "Now let's go, I'm eager to meet her too."

You and Harry entered the hospital, hand in hand, ready to meet the newest member of the Styles family. As you approached Gemma's room, you could hear the sounds of laughter and joy coming from inside.

When you walked in, you were greeted by a room full of close family members, the room was pretty spacious and had a spare area where visitors could hang around without disturbing Gemma and the baby. Anne immediately approached both of you, happiness radiating from her eyes.

"You made it!" she said as she hugged you, turning to Harry when you pulled away, "H, baby! I'm a grandmother!"

"And I'm an uncle! Holy shit!"

You melted at the interaction, over the years the Styles-Twist family had taken you as one of their own and you were happy to be present for important moments like this.

"How is Gem? Is she awake? Can we see the baby now?" Harry eagerly asked after hugging his mom.

"She is fine, doing amazing," Anne said proudly, "Michal is inside with her, let's go."

Anne guided you to the door that lead to Gemma's private room, Harry squeezed your hand and you walked next to him, excitement evident on his every step.

Anne opened the door, peeking her head inside, "Your brother is here."

You and Harry walked in, Gemma was lying on the bed looking tired but happy nevertheless, a tiny head peeking from the blanket on her arms.

"About damn time, I was about to pick a different godfather for her if he didn't show up soon," Gemma sassed, making Harry turn his head back in laughter.

"Dammit, you're really a mum now," he approached his sister, you decided to stay back with Anne, "The bloke your brought to my concert years ago really was the one huh? Who would've thought."

"What can I say, mate? You trying to sabotage our date was kind of our blessing." Michal chimed in, standing next to Harry and patting his back.

"Congratulations, mate. I can't think of a better guy for my sister." Harry said as he hugged him, everyone looking at the scene tenderly.

"Are you going to stand there or are you going to hold your niece now?" Gemma wiggled his eyebrows at Harry, holding out her arms to him.

Harry took the baby into his arms, his face lighting up with pure joy. He cradled her gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Hello, beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "I'm your Uncle Harry, and I already love you so much."

You felt your eyes get watery at the sight, Harry looked up at you and urged you to come closer to him and the baby.

"This is your auntie," he cooed to the baby again once you were standing next to him, "She's the coolest ever and makes the best pancakes, you're going to absolutely love her just like I do."

"She's gorgeous," you said as you looked at the baby's face, "Congratulations, Gem."

"Thank you," Gemma said softly, a tired smile on her face but her eyes shining with gratitude.

"Just so you know," Harry looked at Gemma with a serious face, "She's not allowed to have any boyfriends until she's like 30."

Michal laughed and agreed with Harry, you rolled your eyes at him and Gemma shook her head.

"Uncle overprotective, that's what you are," Gemma said, a yawn coming out of her mouth right after, "I can't even imagine how is it going to be when you have your own kid."

You felt butterflies in your stomach at this, Harry giving you a small smile and winking at you.

"Let me put a ring on her finger first please," he turned to look at Gemma, "Because unlike you, sister, I'm not having children out of wedlock."

"Come on, now!" Michal protested, making the entire room laugh.

Hours passed and Harry was glued to the baby, babbling nonsense to her and cooing at every little thing she did. Eventually Gemma drifted off to sleep and that was everyone's cue to leave and let both her and the baby rest.

"I'm so happy right now," Harry said as you drove back to your house, "I feel so happy for Gemma, and for our family."

"She's going to be the best mum ever," you looked away from the window to face him, "And you're going to be the best uncle."

"Thank you for being here with me today, for sharing this moment with me. I love you."

"I love you too," you replied, leaning in to kiss him softly. "I'm so happy for you, for all of us. Today was perfect."

"And I meant what I said back there, I'm not letting her have a boyfriend until she's 30."

Harry was being weird.

He was touching her all over, pulling her to sit in his lap and peppering kisses along the expanse of her neck, all while keeping his arms circled around her waist. He was resting his chin on her shoulder, staying mostly quiet even though he usually always had something to say. He was stroking her skin, touching wherever he could get through to her winter clothing. He was ignoring all of the strange looks he was receiving from his friends, lips molding into a slight smirk against her skin as they spoke politics and gossip at the table.

Y/N had a horrible feeling in her stomach. It was unusual for Harry to show so much affection around their friends— the two of them had just agreed that their friends didn’t need to see so much of their arrangement. It wasn’t like they were dating, or better yet, in love, so keeping it to themselves seemed like the sensible thing to do. Don’t get her wrong; their friends knew about it, but Y/N and Harry mostly kept the physical aspects in the bedroom for no one to see. He surely had never been so blatant about it.

Her heart was pounding. To be fair, her heart always did that when Harry was around. Y/N had had a crush on Harry since she’d met him years ago, but back then she hadn’t thought she’d have much of a chance with him. Y/N had heard of him dating supermodels, rich girls with a ‘perfect figure’ and scandalous backgrounds and had always kept the idea of a relationship with Harry Styles far far away in an attempt of self preservation.

But then he’d kissed her.

He’d been drunk when he did it, but Y/N hadn’t cared in the slightest. When morning came, Harry had explained that he wasn’t looking for a relationship and that while he thought Y/N was wonderful, he didn’t want anything serious with her.

She’d remembered those words and lived religiously by them.

Only calling him when she really needed him, allowing him to knock on her door whenever he felt like fucking her, being okay with acting in the role of little play toy even though she’d always liked him.

And it wasn’t like their arrangement wasn’t mutual— it had started out that way, but it was slowly eroding her mind— exhausting her until all she did some nights was cry.

And even though Harry’s touch felt wonderful, and his confident display of affection had initially warmed her heart, all she wanted to do right now was cry. Cry because she was realizing, through all of this, that something like this was all she’d ever wanted. With Harry, without Harry— she’d been needing something real, and this wasn’t real. This was all pretend, a silly arrangement between two incompatible friends; one famous bastard and one delusional office job girl, his handsome face and her insecure mind.

She couldn’t handle being with him sometimes. She would open the door of her apartment, let her eyes trail over his features and doubt that he wanted to be there with her. It seemed so farfetched that he would want to fuck her, that he’d want to touch her body and kiss away her fears. She almost felt disgusted by it, by his touch, knowing that he’d touched other, better women— and many of them.

She always made him turn the lights off.

So there was no doubt that he was drunk out of his mind right now. Because why else would inform their whole friend group— not just select friends, their whole group which consisted of some mere acquaintances, of their relationship. Situationship. Whatever it had blossomed into.

Harry’s hand was burning against her stomach and she couldn’t do it anymore. She excused herself quietly to the bathroom. Y/N knew Harry’s house like the back of her hand, so she found it rather easily and walked inside. She didn’t lock the door, just washed her hands. Over, and over, and over again. She washed away all of her horrible, degrading thoughts and tried to drown out the mean voices.

You were your own worst enemy.

The knock she heard on the door was loud, but it didn’t interrupt her train of thoughts. She kept her mind on his hands, his wonderful hands, on her disgusting skin. She wanted to wash away the pain.

She could see Harry out of her periphery. She went back to the soap dispenser.

“You okay?”

Her hands became rougher with it as his voice invaded on her privacy. Her eyes became glossy as she turned on the water again. There was no doubt in her mind that Harry was watching her every move, but she didn’t really care about that.

“Y/N, turn the water off.”

She did it almost instantaneously, like she’d been needing somebody other than herself to tell her to do it because her mind wasn’t strong enough to convince her of it. Harry grabbed a towel, slowly drying her hands and massaging them until they were warm and dry again.

He was staring at her, but she didn’t care if she looked strange to him now. She was strange. She’d always felt like she was faking around Harry— like she needed to be a certain version of herself in order for him to like her, and so there was this wall of pretentiousness that came with being around him.

Sometimes she wasn’t perfect or sensible, sometimes she wanted to wash her hands like a lunatic and cry all the while doing it, so he needed to finally see that. See the pain he was causing her.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, eyes trailing over her features delicately.

“Nothing,” she answered with her gaze on her hands, which were still in the towel.

“Do you want me to kick them out?”

“No,” she shook her head quickly, very decisive in her answer. “Don’t kick them out.”

It was a weird concept anyway, kicking his own friends out so he could… what, comfort her out of whatever state she’d landed in?

He took her hands delicately and interlaced them with his, throwing the towel onto the floor somewhere. She watched as it fell, as her hands found their new home in his, and finally looked up to see Harry already looking at her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, almost furious.

“Like what?” He had this innocent glint in his eye, void of any bad intentions and almost oblivious to her anger.

“Like you want to kiss me.”

“I do want to kiss you,” he smiled. Then he squeezed her hands, “can I?”

Y/N could never say no to that, so with her silence, but also her body inching closer to his, came the approval he’d been looking for. He anchored a hand onto her jaw, allowing his lips to linger on hers with a solid grasp.

Her eyes fluttered shut, the tears forming in them finally released.

Y/N deepened it, trying to latch into him even more to make these feelings go away, convince herself that everything was fine as long as Harry was actually kissing her, but the ill feeling in her stomach worsened.

She broke away from him, pressing her forehead to his chin and shook her head. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He was still smiling. “What?”

Panic had risen in her chest, but she still wanted to go through with this.

“I want to end this.” This because she had no idea what they were.

Harry’s eyebrows drew together in concern but when he let his hands rest on her waist, she pulled away. “I can’t. I don’t want this anymore.”

“You mean— what, you mean us?”

She nodded, “I’m sorry.”

“Why… I mean, what… since when have you—“

“Weeks, I think. I need time alone, away from you. I can’t… I want something more than this.”

He pulled away, “oh.”

“Not with you!“ she rushed to say, later realizing that it had sounded a bit offensive when he frowned in response, “but I’m getting older and I need to feel like I’m going somewhere with my life, you know? Can’t just keep being somebody’s fuck buddy.”

The words tasted sour in her mouth.

“Oh,” he said again, and it drove her crazy. Why couldn’t he just say something other than that?

He was so enigmatic that it was hard to say goodbye to him, but she had to. She had to cut ties, at least for a little, so she could recover and find somebody who didn’t make her feel bad about herself, but also did everything else exactly the way Harry did them.

“Alright, if that’s what you want,” he nodded. It was robotic, his face stoic.

There was no fight in him— she didn’t know whether she was delighted or angered by it.

She was staring at him like she wanted to memorize every curve of his mouth, his nose, the exact shade of his irises. She knew this was the end, their demise, and if she never got to be close with him again, maybe it would be fine if she could look back and remember everything about him.

Y/N left Harry in that bathroom and headed straight home.

—

Y/N hadn’t seen any of her friends in a month. Her time had been overwhelmed with work and therapy, days spent at home crying because the lack of a romantic future in her life had finally sunk in. She was broken. She was hurt and ruined, and it had all really been her fault.

But she wanted to get out again. She wanted to see her friends and let her lips curl into a relieved smile at the sight of them goofing around drunk, or making jokes about how hellish it was to be alive.

She’d gone over the possibility of running into Harry and decided it would be fine, that she’d taken enough time away to cope with seeing him again.

He arrived at Sarah’s house at 10 pm, a glass of wine latched onto his glove-covered hand. Y/N watched from the kitchen as he gave her a hug, toed off his shoes and caught her eyes. He tried to smile, as did she, and raised his arm in a wave. Y/N nodded in acknowledgement, beginning to play with the bottle of beer in her hands. She was nervous. She was broken.

Her friends had seen it, of course, the exchange, but they stayed quiet. Neither of them had spoken about their falling out, but their scattered separate arrivals at house gatherings as well as her loud absence from the last few ones had confirmed things further.

She’d tried to avoid him, but Sarah’s house wasn’t as big as Harry’s. There was less space and everywhere she was, Harry couldn’t be more than a few feet away. There was a magnetic force that she was trying to ignore, as well as the pained looks he would be so blatant about.

Once things had quieted down, and the group had left to scatter in small gatherings around the fire place, on the couch, outside on the patio, Y/N felt it the best opportunity to sneak into the hall where no one was around.

Well, no one but him. He always seemed to find her.

“I went on a date last week.”

Y/N sighed, “you’ve gotta stop following me around—“

“Because I hadn’t, you know,” he said, voice cracking and hand tightening around his glass, “I hadn’t been on one in months. Ever since we started, actually. Never thought it was necessary, or that I wanted to. But then you left, and I thought about what you said, and I really wanted to date. So I went to the bar, you know? I went to the bar and I… I saw this girl, and she was beautiful. She had long, wavy hair and she wore these really cute glasses, you know? Like, these brown tortoiseshell glasses similar to the ones you wear sometimes, and I fell in love with those glasses. Just fucking… couldn’t stop staring at them. I was thinking about you and about the night you left and I…” the words seemed to get lost somewhere in his throat, but he had this look on his face that mirrored painful confusion.

“Harry—“

“I want you to know that that was a really fucked up thing to do.”

That was it. After that, he left. He faced the other way and walked away from her. It wasn’t until he reached the door and opened it that she started following him.

“No!” She protested, “no, you don’t get to say that and walk away from me, you dick. You were the one who… who— just, you hurt me!”

That seemed to irk him (she’d wanted it to) because he turned again, stepping so close that she started backtracking, “I hurt you? I hurt you? You were the one who left!”

“Because you’re confusing as fuck!”

“What do you even—“ he shook his head, “you’re fucking quiet. You never tell me what you’re thinking or how you’re feeling and all at once, you burst at me. You never… you never say anything.”

“That’s what you wanted, Harry, so don’t tell me it’s only me when it was always about sex. You wanted the arrangement, you wanted booty calls, you wanted—“

“I wanted you to be you! The way you were when we were friends— so I tried to get you to open up, get closer to you, but you would never let me!”

Y/N was sure their friends could hear them from the living room, but she couldn’t find it in her to worry. “Why let myself get hurt when all this was was some stupid way to pass time? Cause that’s all it was, right? You call me, I call you— that’s fine, but it’s not worth exposing my secrets for.”

“Right, well I was under the impression things were going better but fine, if that’s what you think.”

She tutted. “Don’t do that. You told me you didn’t date, that we couldn’t start anything more and I never pushed you. I did exactly as you said.”

He blew out a breath, “things change.”

“I don’t know if you did, honestly.”

“I did.”

“You did?” She challenged, knowing it would blow up in her face. “What changed? Tell me exactly what changed, because it all felt pretty normal to me! But I don’t know, maybe I missed your devastating declaration of love, or maybe I—“

“Alright, I love you, okay?” He was gripping his face in frustration, not nearly confident to look her in the eyes. In a more controlled tone, he repeated himself. “I love you.”

She scoffed. Out loud. It was followed by a laugh too, her scoff, and it reverberated through the room. Then she shook her head, and she couldn’t believe the audacity of him.

“Right, okay.”

He gave a sigh, tired. “Stop invalidating my feelings.”

His voice harbored just enough vulnerability for her to feel for him.

“You’re insecure about us, I get it. You were hurt, I understand. I didn’t want more when you did, I understand that too— but you weren’t the only one who got hurt in the end. It may have started out as a simple arrangement, but you know damn well things started changing months ago. I was showing you different sides of myself so that you would show the other, imperfect sides of you, but you never compromised with me. You wanted me to turn the lights off. You don’t even believe me when I say that I love you! Do you get how devastating it feels to tell someone that you love them and not only do they not feel the same way, they don’t even believe you could be capable of it?”

And she… she didn’t know what to say after that.

He was right, she supposed. She hadn’t considered his feelings in the matter.

“I do love you. I do. But if you think we’re a joke and we were never even real anyway, then fine.”

He’d started to distance himself, taking a few steps backwards from where she stood. She wanted to cry, but she didn’t want him to think she was trying to play victim— it was just what she did whenever she felt overwhelmed.

Y/N let him leave. Let him open the door and walk out, back to their friends, as she stood there alone. He was walking away from her.

And once the door closed, she burst into tears.

Her insecurities were mean, they were heavy on every part of her being right now.

She faced the front door leading outside and cried, trying to be as quiet as she could so nobody would hear her.

He did, though, or at least he had a feeling she was crying because he came back shortly after, almost like he’d been stood just outside regretting ever leaving. She could almost picture it, the door closing, their friends staring back at him with questioning glances— how he may have shut his eyes and released a deep breath before readying himself to get swallowed whole by the dramatics of it all over again. She was facing away from him, but her shoulders trembled in fear and he could kind of see her through the reflection of the door.

“Y/N.”

She shook her head.

“Y/N, turn around.” When she didn’t comply, Harry pulled her to the front of his chest, hesitant at first but becoming more confident as he felt her relax. His mouth was near her ear as he whispered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make you cry.”

“Don’t, I’ve been horrible to you. Fucking stupid.“

He shook his head. “It’s both of our faults.”

“I just… I always thought you wouldn’t like me as anything more than what we were and I wasn’t thinking.”

“I know,” he shushed her, pressing his lips to the side of her head and letting them linger there. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

He coaxed her around, never letting go.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

She sniffled, “I forgive you.”

He chuckled against her forehead, his chest heaving against hers. Her lips were curling into a small smile as well. She couldn’t help but mirror him.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, I didn’t mean to… you know, say it like that in the middle of an argument. Shouldn’t have done that.”

She thought for a moment before settling on a subtle shrug. “Think I do though.”

He laughed, “you think?”

She moved to rest her chin on his chest, a glint in her wet eyes as she spoke, “if I say I know, will you date me for real?” She still sounded nervous.

His grin was wide. “I don’t know, don’t you think it’s a bit too soon for dating? I mean, I just told you I love you.”

The delight that sparked in her was all he’d been looking for. “You’re confusing that way, love is fine but dating’s a strict no. I wouldn’t be surprised with how anti-relationships you are.”

Harry pinched her bum, rolling his eyes. “That was before I knew you think you may be in love me. Now I’m considering it.”

She looked extra cute because her eyes were still glossy and red, but she seemed happier, a smile completely molding her features. “Hm, well I guess I better know then.”

He leaned down enough to nudge her nose with his, “you probably should.”

“I love you,” she whispered, breath hitting his lips. “I know I do.”

He kissed her then, pulling her impossibly close. “Again,” he’d said, and she obeyed. He gave her two short kisses, mumbling, “again” over and over again until he had his fill.

He couldn’t resist the last finishing kiss, lasting just a few seconds longer than the other ones. “Let’s go home.”

—

anyway, your pussy is a food group of its own for ross.

he's always ready to spread you open and dive between your legs, always ready for you to clench your thighs around his head and pull on his hair as you arch your back. you've seen the sight countless times now--his beard wet and glistening with slick, his face flushed, lips red and swollen from sucking on your clit--and yet you can never get tired of it.

somedays, you even wake up to him between your legs, the knot of your pyjama's undone, his big warm hand on your thigh as he tells you to relax and let him take care of you.

"morning, sweet girl," he murmurs against the skin of your hips. "just relax for me. let me make it a good morning."

and there you are, floating in a dreamlike state, moaning and gasping before you've even properly opened your eyes because his tongue is just that good. on days when you're a bit more awake, you grind against his face shamelessly, squeeze him between your thighs until his tongue is so deep inside you that your whole body goes slack with pleasure. on sweet, lazy days though, you pull him up and kiss him deeply until you can't tell your taste apart from the taste of his lips.

it doesn't matter if you've been good or bad to him, if you've teased him mercilessly throughout the day, paraded around him in the tiniest skirts and dresses, you know the moment you get home, he'll be on his knees, worshipping your cunt like it's his last day on earth.

sometimes there are teeth involved though, biting the soft flesh of your thigh, grazing against your sensitive clit. sometimes there's spit, and then he lazily drags his fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick, putting them in your mouth so you can taste yourself. so you can gag around them while he pounds into you until you cum over and over again.

The Interview.

The cameras are almost blinding as you stare out into the crowd of photographers shouting your name, trying to get the best angle for whatever publication they’re working for. Being a top executive at Sony Music meant you mostly worked behind the scenes; out of the spotlight. However, seeing as 18 artists on your label (five of which you yourself handpicked) were up for awards tonight, you couldn’t not show up to The Grammys. Besides, it felt good to dress up once in a while, especially if that meant wearing custom Chanel.

Continuing down the red carpet, you’re stopped by a reporter for Rolling Stone, Bryan Wilson. From the few brief interactions you’ve had with him at industry parties and the stories that have circulated about him, you know the guy’s a sleaze. But, given that there’s a Canon XF605 pointed directly in your face when he asks if you have time for a short interview, you smile sweetly and comply.

“You look stunning tonight, as always, Y/N”, he begins, in typical sleazy reporter fashion, “Can you tell us a little bit about what you’re wearing?” His eyes travel down the expanse of your body, grazing (quite slowly, to be frank) over the daring V-cut of your gown.

You couldn’t really blame him for checking you out, you did look incredible in this dress. Layers of black satin expertly draped over your body created an elegant but sexy silhouette complete with a plunging neckline and a timeless backless design. You knew you looked good, you didn’t need Wilson eye-fucking you to tell.

“Isn’t this The Rolling Stone?” You giggle in response, half-joking, “Shouldn’t you be asking me about Sony Records and leave the fashion questions to Vogue?” To the untrained ear, your tone is light-hearted and sincere, however, there’s an intended edge you’re hoping is coming through.

If he was picking up on the edge, he wasn’t showing it. Wilson continues on checking you out, responding “We hear about Sony Records enough, but it’s a treat to see the woman behind the magic,” he looks directly into the camera and gestures to your body, “especially when the woman looks like this!” He looks at you now, “Why don’t you give us a spin, Y/N?”

You clench your jaw into a tight smile, “You know, I’d really rather talk about the artists up for awards tonight. It’s a record-breaking night for my company, and I’m extremely proud to be here…” You’re trying your best to refocus the conversation on the real reason you’re on the red carpet tonight, but Wilson’s wandering eyes are making it difficult for you to focus on anything.

Finally feeling fed up, you clear your throat, “Sorry, Bryan, am I boring you?”

He breaks out of his stare from your chest and goes red. “Oh! No, I’m sorry I was just… looking at your necklace!” He gestures to the Tiffany & Co. pendant that hangs (conveniently for him) right between your boobs.

“Stunning, innit?” You hear your boyfriend say from behind you as he comes up and possessively wraps his arm around your waist on camera in a way that will definitely be circulating Twitter tomorrow. “Just bought it for her yesterday when I first got to see the dress.” Matty grips your right hip so tight that the satin puckers under his fingertips. You get a feeling he’s been watching this “interview” from afar.

“A beautiful necklace for a beautiful woman, indeed,” Wilson so boldly responds, either not noticing or not caring that Matty was already quite irritated.

With that final comment, Matty grips your hip even tighter, “Right, then,” he says shortly, “Cheers, mate!” He yells over his shoulder while quickly ushering you away from the train wreck of a media appearance.

“I’m gonna kill that guy,” he leans down to quietly whisper in your ear as the two of you make your way into the venue, “Staring at you like a piece of meat live on camera, isn’t he embarrassed?”

“It’s really not a big deal, baby,” you try to reassure him. And to you, it wasn’t, really, compared to some of the other harassment and objectification you’ve experienced in such a male-dominated industry, “He’s just some stupid reporter,”

“Yeah some stupid reporter who doesn’t know how to keep his stupid fucking eyes away from what’s mine,” he growls under his breath.

You grow a bit warm at your boyfriend’s possessive words and decide to push him a little further. “So what, people aren’t allowed to look at me now? We’re kind of on a red carpet if you haven’t realized,”

Matty rolls his eyes as the two of you take your seats at your assigned table. “You know what I mean,” he scoots a bit closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist, “People can look at you all they want, but these,” he trails his hand up your torso, palming your left tit and slightly grazing its nipple through your dress with his thumb. You gasp. “These are mine, and you know that.” he says lowly into your ear.

This was going to be a long night.

—

Seven wins, two acceptance speeches, and a few too many bottles of champagne later, the ceremony was coming to an end. You were so proud of your artists, even those who hadn’t won tonight.

To your (and your aching feet’s) misfortune, your boyfriend was insistent on “making an appearance” at the afterparty, to “touch base with some important blokes”. You weren’t thrilled about the ordeal, but you had a nice buzz going from the free champagne earlier and figured a gin and tonic to top off the night wouldn’t hurt anyone. Boy were you wrong.

You were standing by the bar by yourself, watching Matty “touch base” with the aforementioned “blokes”. Nursing your second gin and tonic, you wonder how much longer their conversation will take, and when you can finally go home (and take your boyfriend to bed). As your mind indulges your fantasies of being fucked to sleep later, you hear an annoying and familiar voice from behind you.

“It breaks my heart to see such a gorgeous woman drinking alone,” no one other than Bryan Wilson saunters up beside you at the bar, “Where’s your man? You think he’d be smarter than to leave such precious goods unattended…” he slurs to you, obviously a few more deep than you were at this point in the night.

As Wilson drunkenly gets too close to you, you turn back to where Matty was talking to see him staring holes into the man’s skull, clenching and unclenching his fists. Your nearing-on-past-tipsy mind flashes back to your boyfriend’s words earlier, and his reaction to the reporter’s initial efforts towards you. You consider your options: 1) tell Wilson to fuck off and continue being bored by yourself at the bar, or 2) play this up a bit, make Matty jealous, have some fun, and probably go home early. Your sixth drink of the night tells you option two is far more enticing, and you agree.

You lean into Wilson a bit, closing some of the distance you were intentionally making. “Ever the flatterer, Bryan,” you lean back and give him a once-over, “I’m shocked that you’re still single, a handsome guy like you with such a smooth mouth on him.”

“It’s intentional baby,” he puts a hand on your arm - uh oh. “Why would I tie down this smooth mouth to one lucky lady? There’s plenty enough to go around…” and just as you think he’s about to make a move you feel a bruising grip on your upper arm tearing you away. Away from Bryan Wilson, away from the bar, away from the party.

You get your bearings and find yourself in a secluded hallway outside the party with your very angry, very sexy boyfriend staring you in the face. “What the fuck was that?” He spits at you, fuming.

“What was what?” You respond, looking up at Matty with your best doe eyes.

He cages your body in between his own and the wall of the hallway, “Don’t play stupid with me now, things can only get worse for you from here, pet.” As you look up at your very jealous partner, and feel the energy radiating off of him, you think to yourself that things can probably only get better.

You maintain your look of faux-innocence as you reply in your sweetest voice “Baby I was just talking to-“

“Don’t ‘baby’ me,” Matty growls as he grabs your throat and pushes you harder into the wall behind you. “You were letting that perv practically fuck you in front of everybody here. Making everyone think you’re anything but mine.” He pushes his hips into yours to punctuate the word, and you can feel how hard he is. Oh dear. Maybe it’s time to drop the act.

“I’m sorry, you were just taking so long talking to those guys, and I was getting so impatient and needy for you,” You bat your eyelashes in an attempt to seduce your way out of undoubtedly being fucked silly in some corner of this hotel right now. “I just want you to take me home, baby,” You run your hands down his chest, the way you know he likes.

Matty scoffs at this. “Aw, my poor little slut can’t wait longer than an hour for me to take her home and fuck her?” You feel a heat pool at your center from his words and absolute condescension. His hand around your neck comes up to grip your jaw, holding your head so that you can’t look anywhere but his eyes. “So fucking pathetic. Having to whore yourself around in public so that I can give you some attention? Trying to embarrass me in front of all our colleagues meanwhile, the only thing embarrassing is how stupid you look letting that scumbag put his hands on you,”

He holds your face an inch away from his own, his eyes searching for a response in yours. “I think you may need to be reminded just who you belong to.” He says darkly. And with that, he’s dragging you again, this time into the bathroom at the other end of the hallway.

As soon as the door closes he has you pressed up against it face-first. He wastes no time undoing the back of your dress, practically ripping it off of your body. You hope he doesn’t do any damage to the new gown, but to be honest, you’re not sure you care in this moment either way. Upon removing the dress, your boyfriend can see that you’ve forgone any undergarments (half because of the dress itself, half because you knew it would drive him crazy - which it does).

“Oh my fucking god,” he practically moans when he sees your now naked form pressed up against the door for him. “You’ve been ready for me all night, haven’t you princess?” He whispers in your ear, pressing himself to your back, slightly grinding into your bare ass. You squirm with his words and the minimal stimulation he provides.

“Well let’s just take a look,” He reaches his hand around from where he’s standing and drags a finger through your soaking folds agonizingly slowly. Your breath hitches. “Oh my poor girl,” he tuts, “how long have you been soaking through your dress baby?” He resumes his teasing, touching everywhere that isn’t your clit or your entrance. You whine and push your hips back in protest.

Matty grabs you by your waist and holds you in place against the door. “I think I asked you a question, slut.” He barks. You only grow wetter at his words and his toying.

“Since-“ you start, but you’re cut off by a moan when he takes his free hand to pull on your left nipple. His teasing is almost overwhelming, and you’re not sure you even remember the question the way your head is clouded with lust and need.

You’re pulled out of your hazy state by a hard slap to your pussy, “Since what? Huh? I haven’t even taken my cock out and you’re already fucked dumb. Answer me. How long have you been this wet?” He asks again, rolling your nipple between his fingers while inching closer and closer to your entrance with his calloused hand.

“Since you were grabbing my hips on the red carpet,” you manage to stutter out “during the interview.”

With that answer, he removes both of his hands from you. You put your hands up to brace yourself from slamming into the door from your newfound loss of support. Matty laughs darkly.

“So that’s what this is about, huh angel?” He grabs you by your hips, spinning to face him and pushing you even harder into the door behind you, “you like it when I get riled up, so I’ll treat you like the whore that you are?”

You look up at him with your glazed-over eyes and nod dumbly.

“Well here’s the problem with that,” Matty begins sucking on your neck harshly, no doubt leaving bruises, “You… are… my… whore… no… one… else’s…” he punctuates every word by leaving a new mark on your chest with his mouth. He takes a step back, admiring his handiwork. “Gorgeous,” he mutters as he admires your now hickey-covered tits, “you should really see this baby.”

Matty leads you over to the sink of the bathroom, turning you around to see your naked and marked-up form in the mirror. Looking at the new marks on your chest, you realize that he’s left them in the distinct pattern of your dress’s neckline, meaning there’s no hiding them. No hiding the fact that you’re his. You squeeze your thighs together at the thought.

Leaning over your shoulder in the mirror, you watch as your boyfriend trails his hand down your body to the place you need him most. Unsurprisingly, though, he doesn’t touch you, he simply ghosts his hand over the outside of your now sopping heat. You press yourself into him.

“Please, baby,” you whine, making your best puppy eyes in the mirror at him. “Please, I need you to touch me.” You’re so desperate he doesn’t even need to ask you to beg.

“Do you think you deserve to be touched?” He responds, continuing his teasing, “You’ve been quite a bad girl tonight, baby. And bad girls don’t get what they want.”

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you beg even more, tears forming at your eyes with the desperation he’s built in you.

“Prove it,” Matty responds, trailing his hand up to your mouth. You gladly take his digits in, watching as he toys with you and stretches you out, wishing he would do that in other places. You hear the clinking of his belt, and you perk up, thinking that maybe he’s just going to put you out of your horny misery and fuck you already, but of course he’s not.

“Can’t have you getting yourself all over my nice trousers now can we love?” He says as he pulls his pants down to his ankles. You watch still with all four of his fingers in your mouth as he takes his newly naked thigh and roughly slots it in between your legs from behind. Your eyes roll back at the much-needed friction it provides. Matty leans in, “Right then. Be a good girl and ride my thigh, hm? You’re gonna have to get yourself off before I believe you after tonight’s theatrics.”

Embarrassing as it may be, you are in no condition to care in this moment. You immediately start feverishly fucking your boyfriend’s thigh, moaning around his fingers at the friction you’ve been needing all night, a ball already forming in the pit of your stomach. Not more than a second after your head falls forward in relief, your boyfriend grabs you by your hair to force you to look in the mirror, “Nuh-uh” he growls, “You’re gonna watch while you fuck yourself on my thigh. You’re gonna see just how pathetic you are, crying with relief and coming undone when I’ve not even touched you.”

Matty’s words and the sight of him and you in the mirror add to the very quickly growing warmth in your body. Your skin is on fire as you grip the sink in front of you, trying to use whatever leverage you can to get yourself off faster. You take one hand to start kneading your tits, playing with your nipples, hoping some added stimulation will help; you whine at the new sensation.

“There you go princess, that’s it,” he coos in your ear, “so good f’me, taking directions so well baby.”

The praise goes straight to your core and you can feel yourself clench around nothing. Matty can tell by your breathing that you’re close, so he grabs you by your hips to help you, moving you back and forth on his thigh, assisting in your rhythm. “Come on my thigh,” he demands in your ear; and you do. That white-hot pleasure you’ve been chasing since you saw your boyfriend on the red carpet this afternoon finally washes over you. But it’s not enough.

Matty takes his fingers out of your mouth but keeps you firm against him. As you come down from your high, you look at him in the mirror desperately. Your orgasm was, well, an orgasm, but you know it could be so much better if he would just fuck you.

“Matty please,” You whine, still making sweet eye contact, “Baby, I need more.”

Matty nods his head in the direction of the door. “Put your dress on, love,” You think you might cry, until he whispers in your ear, “I’m not done with you yet, princess.”

---------