H

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

You knew the moment Blake turned off the main road that this had been a mistake. Miles of dark, empty industrial buildings stretched along the old highway. She told you the event always took place out here (because technically it was illegal) but you really started to feel anxious the closer you got.

Then she pulled her little Ford into an industrial park, the tires hitting gravel. The hulking warehouse looked like it might've been forgotten twenty years ago if it hadn't been all lit up with dozens of cars parked in front and loud music pouring from the entrance. Deep bass vibrated through into the car and you swallowed as you watched out the window with wide eyes. A crowd spilled around a wide loading dock and people clustered in groups beneath bright floodlights mounted on the building’s corners.

Blake parked in a random spot between a dented pickup and a matte-black motorcycle before cutting the engine.

“You okay over there?” she asked.

“I’m just… taking it in.”

“Lot to see. Even more when we get inside.”

You glanced toward the warehouse entrance where a heavyset guy in a black hoodie stood beside a folding table collecting cash.

“I didn't realize it was going to look like this, like… sketchy. Dangerous…” you admitted.

Blake laughed under her breath as she grabbed her bag. "Well, I mean it is illegal fighting and betting in an old warehouse outside of town. If it looks sketchy… that's cause it is.”

That wasn’t reassuring. You climbed out of the car, your sneakers hitting the gravel as the cool night air hit your face, making you glad you'd grabbed your cat sweater last second, even if it screamed—this person does not belong here! The closer you got to the building, the more alive the place felt. The more real it all was.

There was a low murmur of people talking over the music, smoking, and a few guys leaning against the side of a truck passing around a bottle of something potent.

“Wait,” you said, catching Blake’s arm before she started toward the entrance. “How do know this is safe? I mean, look at these people. I'm not judging, but… Do you trust Victor?”

She grinned like she’d been waiting for that question. "Of course I do. I've been fucking him for like three months now."

You huffed a nervous laugh, not convinced that the act of sex made anyone all that trustworthy. “But just two days ago you said you hated him and that it was 'complicated' with him.”

“Hey,” she said, pointing a finger at you. “Don’t start. I like complicated. And I've been here before. It's fine.”

You raised your hands in surrender. “I’m just saying… we could have had a fun girls' night, like, out dancing or something. What does Victor do here again?”

She continued toward the warehouse as she spoke. "He trains here sometimes. Helps run bets on fight nights.”

“I am just not a fan of participating in illegal stuff.”

“It's only illegal… technically. Like, if the police show up, everyone will just get sent home. Don't worry.”

“Blake.” You stopped and stared at her in surprise. "Police?"

“Oh relax,” she said, looping her arm through yours and dragging you forward. “No one’s going to raid the place. It’s been running for years.”

The bass inside thudded harder as you got closer, the metal siding of the warehouse practically vibrating with it. The air smelled like cigarettes, gasoline, and beer. You had no idea what you'd just gotten into, and now you were truly wishing you hadn't been so curious about it in the first place.

At the folding table near the door, the guy in the black hoodie counted cash while another marked wrists with a black marker. Blake slipped him a couple of bills.

“Two.”

The man barely looked up before marking an X on both of your wrists and jerking his chin toward the entrance. Inside, the noise and the scene was more overwhelming than it had been outside. Your eyes widened instantly.

The warehouse had been cleared out except for a massive open space in the center where a makeshift ring had been taped off on the concrete floor. Heavy industrial lights hung overhead, casting everything in sharp white beams.

The crowd pressed in close around the edges as people shouted numbers and pointed toward a chalkboard. It was leaning against a support beam listing names and odds, next to a folding table that had stacks of cash, plastic cups, and a cooler full of beer.

You turned slowly, trying to take everything in. “This is insane.”

Blake just smiled like this was exactly the reaction she expected. “Told you.”

Your gaze drifted toward the center where two guys wrapped their hands with white athletic tape while others shouted words you couldn't make out over the music. It was sensory overload. The music was so loud that it was hard to hear yourself think, much less anything that anyone was saying. People were leaning close to speak into ears, bass vibrated under your feet, the occasional shout of voices carried, and the view of people crowded together…

The crowd suddenly roared, making you startle. “What—”

“That guy won that round,” Blake said, speaking loudly so you could hear. “Next round starts in a minute.”

You watched as someone near the chalkboard wiped away a name and wrote another. The crowd moved as bodies pressed closer to the taped ring, and you stepped forward almost without realizing it, curiosity pulling you along with everyone else.

A guy climbed over the taped boundary first… lean, quick-looking, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he rolled his shoulders. He looked mean.

The music filtered through every shout and scream as another man approached. Your eyes followed the movement as he stepped into the light next to his opponent.

He was tall with broad shoulders, tight muscles marked with fading bruises and ink on his arms and chest. His hands were wrapped in tape, knuckles thick, and he rolled his neck. His shoulder-length hair was messy, falling slightly into his face as he calmly looked at his opponent. This one looked even meaner.

The other man was pacing, bouncing, shouting who-knows-what at the tattooed guy. Their demeanors couldn't have been more different. Mr. Tattoos was just standing there, eyes sharp and focused, like a man waiting to get something done.

You didn’t even realize you’d leaned forward slightly until Blake’s voice cut in beside you. “He's the one everyone’s betting on tonight. Main event.”

Your eyes didn’t leave him. “What’s his name?”

“Harry.”

Harry's gaze lifted from the floor and he scanned the crowd slowly. Shouts grew louder as he turned himself look toward his audience, eyes roaming over every head who stood just outside the space of the taped ring. It was as if he were silently telling everyone there to bet on him. That he would win and that a bet against him was a mistake.

Then the referee stepped between them, and someone shouted the final odds, as the music was lowered just enough to give you a subtle jolt of brief calm. And then the fight started.

The two men circled each other as the referee stepped back out of the taped square. The crowd carried clearly now that the music wasn't as loud, shouts, whistles, someone yelling out last-second bets. Your heartbeat picked up.

Harry didn’t bounce like the other man did. He stood loose and steady, shoulders relaxed, eyes locked on the man in front of him. Watching him up close made your tummy flip in half. There was a kind of quiet confidence in the way he held himself, like he already knew exactly how this was going to end.

The other guy rushed first. He lunged forward with a wild swing that made the crowd shout in approval, but Harry barely moved. He stepped back half a pace and the punch cut through empty air where his jaw had been a second before. The motion was so casual it almost looked lazy.

Then Harry hit him before you even saw his arm lift. The sound of it cracked through the space loud enough to make you flinch. His fist connected clean against the man’s ribs and the man grunted, stumbling sideways as the air rushed out of him.

The crowd roared excitedly, and you looked around at the insanity of people enjoying this kind of sport. “Jesus,” you said.

Blake leaned closer to your ear, grinning. “Jesus ain't here tonight.”

The other fighter recovered quickly, shaking it off as he came back swinging harder this time. Two quick punches flew toward Harry’s face. One grazed his shoulder, the other missed entirely as Harry ducked beneath it and stepped inside the man’s reach.

He moved differently than the other guy. You knew next to nothing about boxing, or fighting, or whatever this was exactly. But you knew enough to see how different the pair in the ring acted. Harry was controlled and patient. Every movement he made was practical, and every punch he threw landed. He didn't attack at the air or miss like the other guy.

Harry drove another punch into the man’s stomach, then followed it with one quick hook to the jaw that snapped the man’s head to the side. The sound of the crowd rose again as the fighters grappled.

The other one staggered back a step, blinking hard as he tried to reset himself, shaking his head like he was seeing stars. His chest rose and fell faster now while Harry's barely moved.

They circled again for a few seconds before the other man charged again, clearly frustrated now. His swing was bigger this time, reckless, and Harry slipped past it with a quick pivot that made the whole exchange look almost effortless. You couldn't help but feel a thrill at how easy he made it look and a surprised smile found your lips without you even meaning to put it there.

Then his fist came up from below. A brutal uppercut landed squarely under the man’s chin and the impact lifted him clean off his feet.

For a split second, everything went strangely quiet in your head as the man’s body crashed down onto the concrete inside the taped ring. You stared, waiting with your breath held, but the man didn't get back up.

The crowd exploded. People were shouting, cheering, slapping each other’s shoulders as cash started changing hands around the edges of the ring. The referee stepped forward immediately, crouching beside the fallen fighter while someone waved a hand in front of his face.

Harry stepped back, breathing a little heavier now but otherwise looking almost untouched. A thin line of sweat ran down the side of his chest as he rolled his shoulders again and flexed his taped hands. You stared at him, mouth dropped open, your heart racing like you'd just been given the biggest rush of your life.

“That’s it?” you asked, stunned.

Blake laughed beside you. “That’s it. None of the fights last very long.”

The referee waved it off a moment later, and the music blasted back to full volume again, the bass hitting so hard you felt it in your ribs. You wouldn't call yourself a convert or anything, you still didn't like that all this was illegal, but there was something so electrifying about what you'd just seen that made you want to watch again.

You kept your gaze on Harry as he turned away from the downed fighter and stepped over the taped boundary as if the whole thing had just been another routine task for him. A couple of guys patted him on the back as he moved through the crowd, someone pressing a plastic cup into his hand as he passed. He nodded to a man standing near the betting table before disappearing between bodies toward the back of the warehouse.

You swallowed, only then realizing you'd been following his movements from the ring all the way until he'd disappeared. You were a bit hypnotized by the whole thing. By him.

Blake nudged you with her elbow. “Careful,” she teased over the music. “You’re staring.”

You blinked, forcing yourself to look away as heat crept over your skin. “Hard not to.”

Your attention drifted toward the spot where he’d vanished, curiosity tugging at you despite yourself. The crowd was already shifting again as the next names were written on the chalkboard and more fighters began wrapping their hands near the edge of the taped square.

But Harry was gone, swallowed by the warehouse and out of your line of sight. And you couldn’t quite shake the image of him walking away through the crowd, sweat still shining on his skin and that same calm look on his face, like the fight had barely meant anything to him at all.

Blake wasted no time pulling you through the crowd once the next fighters were about to step into the ring. “Come on. Victor’s in the back.”

You followed her as she wove through the crowd, slipping between shoulders and ducking past a group arguing loudly over a bet they’d apparently just lost. The deeper you moved into the warehouse, the more the noise changed. The music still pounded behind you, but the roar of noise faded slightly as you passed through a doorway and into a long side hall lined with metal doors and stacked crates.

The lighting back there was harsher, fluorescent strips buzzing faintly overhead. You stepped past men leaned into walls and watched as someone sat on an overturned crate icing his knuckles while another guy discreetly counted money inside an envelope.

Blake pulled you into a room where you spotted Victor. He stood near a folding table with two other men. When he lifted his head and saw her, his face broke into a grin and he pulled her into a quick kiss before she even had a chance to say hello.

“There she is,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Havin' fun?”

“Of course we are,” she replied, already leaning into him.

“Couple of decent fights tonight. You missed the first knockout, though. Gray laid Shane flat in under a minute.”

Blake nodded. "I think we got here right after that one."

Victor’s gaze flicked to you then, giving you a quick once-over before he nodded in greeting. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you said, though the word came out a little breathless. “It’s… a lot.”

He laughed and nodded, and Blake slipped from his arms, heading toward the cooler where cups were stacked. A moment later she handed you a plastic cup filled with something amber and fizzy, and had one for herself.

“It’s just rum and coke,” she said when you hesitated. “I made it. It’s safe.”

You nodded and took a sip. You were glad it wasn't too heavy on the rum, but it was just enough to relax you a little.

The group fell into conversation, talking over the distant bass and the muffled shouts drifting from the main warehouse. You tried to follow along, but most of it sounded like inside jokes and betting talk you didn’t quite understand. Someone mentioned odds changing after Harry’s fight, and Victor shook his head, muttering something about people being stupid enough to keep betting against him. That part you understood.

You leaned back against the wall with your cup in hand, half listening and half letting your mind drift. Even back there you could still hear the rhythm of the event out front. The music suddenly dipped lower again, and a fresh wave of shouting carried through the building as another fight had apparently started.

Your heart kicked up a little at the sound. You pictured the taped ring again, the bright lights overhead, the moment Harry’s fist connected with that brutal uppercut. The image replayed in your mind as you took another sip of your drink to steady yourself.

It had been shocking to witness, but also… exciting. You shifted your weight, feeling electric nerves buzzing through you. It made you feel anxious and unsettled. You were in a place where you definitely didn't belong. But as you emptied your cup, another problem made itself known.

You leaned toward Blake, raising your voice slightly so she could hear you. “Hey… where’s the bathroom?”

“Oh, uh… right," she said as she looked at Victor.

Victor pointed down the hall behind you. “Just follow the hallway you came down all the way to the end. There’s a door that goes outside. When you step out, go left and there should be two doors marked ‘employees only.’ One of those is the bathroom.”

“That’s it?” you asked.

“Pretty much.”

"Pretty much?" You looked at Blake, hoping that she would volunteer to go with you.

Instead, she gave you a quick squeeze on the arm. “You’ll be fine. Just come right back.”

You nodded and set the empty cup on the table, slipping out into the flow of people in the hallway. The space was tighter now than when you’d first walked through it, and you had to excuse yourself a few times as you squeezed past a group arguing over something.

The further down the corridor you went, the quieter it became, and the lights were dimmer. At the very end of the hall, you found the metal door with a sign that read 'EXIT'. It creaked loudly when you pushed it open, and it thudded shut heavily as you stepped out.

The back of the warehouse looked completely different from the front. Instead of floodlights and crowds, the space behind the building was dim and mostly empty. A single overhead light cast a weak yellow glow over a patch of cracked pavement and a row of dented dumpsters.

You turned left like Victor had said and spotted the doors almost immediately. Both were old metal with faded signs that read EMPLOYEES ONLY in peeling black letters. The first one opened when you tried it.

Inside, the bathroom was exactly what you'd expected from a place like this. Small, a little grimy, and smelling faintly of citrus and stale water. But when you checked the stall and saw an actual roll of toilet paper hanging on the holder, you felt an absurd wave of gratitude.

“Well… that’s something,” you whispered to yourself.

A minute later you stepped back outside, brushing your hands on your jeans as if that would somehow replace a sink with running water and soap (neither of which existed inside the bathroom). For a moment you just stood there, taking a breath and enjoying the brief quiet away from the pounding music and crowded hallways. It was almost too much inside.

Then you noticed you weren’t alone. Across the small stretch of pavement, someone was leaning back against the brick wall of the warehouse, one foot braced behind him. The overhead light caught the shape of broad shoulders beneath an open button-up shirt, the fabric hanging loose and open over his chest.

Harry lifted a plastic cup to his mouth and took a slow drink as he stared at you. You froze for a second, letting your eyes rake down his long frame. He was wearing jeans now too, instead of the athletic shorts he'd worn in the ring.

Up close, without the noise and lights of the ring, he somehow looked even bigger. Or maybe it was because you were alone out there with him. His presence was quite intimidating. The tattoos along his arms were clearer now from where you stood, and the muscles in his forearms flexed as he lowered his cup.

You managed a small, nervous smile and reached for the metal door behind you, hoping to slip right back inside before it became awkward. Only the handle didn't budge. You frowned and tried again, but it was locked..

A small rush of panic fluttered through your chest as you turned the handle a third time just to be sure, but the door remained stubbornly closed. And when you glanced up again, Harry was still watching you.

“You lost?”

His voice carried across the short stretch of pavement between you, calmly, like the two of you were standing in a quiet bar instead of behind an illegal fight ring. The words startled you enough that you stepped away from the door, letting your palm fall from the handle as you gave a small shrug.

“Just trying to get back in,” you said, forcing a smile that felt a little tight around the edges. “Didn’t realize it would lock.”

“It’s an exit.” Harry said as he tipped the plastic cup toward his mouth again, taking a slow drink without breaking eye contact.

You let out a short, nervous laugh. “Well, yeah… I should've figured.”

He watched you for another second, that same steady look from the ring now fixed on you instead of an opponent. Something about it made your pulse thrum, though it wasn’t exactly fear. It felt more like the kind of awareness you got when someone was paying very close attention to you and it felt like you were in the spotlight.

You shifted your weight and glanced toward the row of dumpsters, then back toward him. “So… I guess I just walk around the building to get back inside?”

“Probably easier.”

His tone wasn’t unkind, but it carried a hint of amusement that made you feel like he’d already figured out exactly how out of place you were. He leaned his shoulder more firmly into the brick, the overhead light catching the line of his jaw as he studied you.

“You’re with someone inside?” he asked.

“My friend,” you said. “Blake. She knows Victor.”

Harry’s brow lifted slightly in recognition. “I know Victor.”

You nodded and looked toward the building again, unsure of what to do next. You should probably have started walking to head back around the building, but the cool breeze outside, the quiet, and the company of one handsome fighter seemed a lot more intriguing to you suddenly.

He shifted, letting the cup hang loosely from his fingers as his gaze drifted over you again. You couldn’t quite decide if the look was just curious or assessing. Maybe a little of both.

The silence stretched for a moment before you cleared your throat. “Your fight was… impressive.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Oh, yeah?”

You nodded, suddenly aware of how strange it felt to be complimenting someone for knocking another person unconscious. “I mean… I don’t really know anything about fighting, but it looked like you knew exactly what you were doing.”

Harry pushed one foot off the wall and adjusted his stance slightly, rolling his shoulder like the muscles were still unwinding from the adrenaline. “I do know what I'm doing. Yes," he paused, letting his gaze drift over your sweater. "You come to places like this often?”

You laughed immediately, shaking your head. “No. Definitely not.”

That earned you a real smirk full of dimples and a pretty row of straight teeth. “Oh, I can tell. I was kidding.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “You can tell?”

“You don’t look like the kind that spends her Saturday nights in warehouses watching people punch each other.”

You glanced down at yourself. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” he said slowly, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours, “you look a little out of place.”

The honesty of it caught you off guard, but there was something teasing in his tone that softened the words.

“Well,” you admitted with a small smile, “I did just get locked outside. I am a bit out of my depth here.”

He nodded, pressing his lips together, still staring you down like he was trying to figure you out. “And the jumper." He motioned a hand toward your sweater. "With the cartoon cats and flowers… Declaration of innocence.”

You sputtered a laugh and looked down at your top. You lifted the bottom hem upward and flashed him a peek of the plain black t-shirt you had on underneath.

"Was just gonna wear a black shirt, but I didn't want to get cold."

He took another sip from his cup before pushing himself off the wall completely. The movement made your attention drift back to his arms without meaning to. Up close you could see faint bruising along his pecs where his shirt draped open, and a small cut across one knuckle where the tape had already started to darken.

“So, this is your first time at one of these?" he asked.

“Yeah.” You nodded.

“What did you think?”

You hesitated for a second, trying to figure out how honest you should be. “Honestly, it was kind of terrifying,” you said. “But also… exciting.”

His eyes warmed a fraction at that.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s usually how people describe it their first time.”

You glanced toward the warehouse wall, listening as another burst of cheers rose from inside. The music dipped for a moment and then surged back again, vibrating through the brick behind him.

“So is this something you do a lot?” you asked.

“Sometimes. Once a month maybe.”

“Do you ever lose?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it. For half a second you worried you’d said the wrong thing, but Harry just huffed out a quiet laugh.

“Not tonight, I didn't.”

Something about the confidence in his answer made heat creep up your neck again. You folded your arms loosely across your stomach, trying to look less like someone who was fighting for her life, not to let her nerves get the best of her.

“Well,” you said after a moment, “for what it’s worth… I’m glad I got here in time to see it. To see your fight.”

His gaze lingered, and you watched him slide his eyes down to your tennis shoes.

“You came just to watch, or did you put a bet in too?”

You shook your head. "No, just to watch. My friend said it was fun. I was curious, so I tagged along."

He nodded. "And you had fun, thought it was exciting."

You gestured vaguely toward the warehouse behind yourself. “It definitely was fun. More than I thought.”

Harry’s smirk returned slowly. “Careful,” he said. “People get hooked on the adrenaline. And especially once you start winning bets, gets hard to stop.”

You held his gaze, surprised by how much steadier your nerves felt now compared to a few minutes ago.

“I guess that could be true.” You shrugged and let yourself smile wider. "Is that why you do this? The adrenaline of fighting?"

He shrugged a shoulder. “Something like that.”

You were quiet for a moment. Not sure of what to say next or if you should say anything more. If you were wise, you'd have already gone back into the building and found Blake and then convinced her to take you home. But there was something about Harry…

“You not in a hurry to get back inside?” he asked, brows lifted.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your grin grow.

“I was,” you said. “Before I got locked out. Kinda nice out here. Quiet.”

His eyes flicked to the door behind you and then back to your face.

“Lucky accident, then.”

The way he said it made your stomach flutter, and you couldn’t quite decide whether the feeling came from nerves… or curiosity. Harry didn’t look away as he lifted his cup again and finished the last of whatever was inside it, tipping it back slowly, and you noticed the movement of his throat when he swallowed.

For a moment, you were both quiet. The silence behind the warehouse wrapped around you again, broken only by the distant sound of cheers from inside and the bass vibrating through the brick and the metal. Suddenly the feeling inside of you was alive, charged…

“So what happens after this?” he asked.

You blinked at the question. “After… the fight?”

“After tonight.” He motioned vaguely toward the warehouse with his chin. “You heading home?”

“Probably,” you said with a small shrug. “I mean, that's the plan. Afterwards, my friend is gonna drop me off at home.”

Harry nodded slowly. His eyes dipped briefly to your sweater again before lifting back to your face. “Seems like a shame.”

Your brows lifted. “A shame?”

“You finally get a taste of the adrenaline,” he said, leaning one shoulder back against the brick again, eyes fixed on you, “and then you just go home.”

You laughed lightly. “What exactly would you suggest instead?”

Harry’s mouth tilted slightly, and there was something unmistakably playful in his expression now. “Burn it off.”

You stared at him for a breath, the words settling in your mind.

“Burn it off?” you repeated slowly.

He watched your reaction with obvious amusement. “Yeah.”

Your face warmed as the implication crept in, though you weren’t entirely sure if you were reading him correctly. “And… how exactly does one do that?”

The corner of his mouth pulled higher. “Couple different ways. Some more fun than others.”

You scoffed a laugh and shook your head, glancing toward the warehouse again before looking back at him. “You’re being very vague.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

Harry pushed off the wall again and stepped a little closer to where you stood. “Let’s say,” he said calmly, “you’ve got a lot of nervous energy after watching something like that. Right?”

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“You could get another drink,” he continued, “go back in and watch some more fights. Find a club to go dancing, work off the energy that way… Or, maybe you and I can get outta here, find somewhere private to burn off the adrenaline together.”

Your heart thudded as he watched the thought unfold in your head. You blinked up at him, shocked. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"I'm… You don't know me and I don't know you. Like…" You looked at him as he moved closer, your head tilting back as he stood over you. "You mean… sex, right?"

He laughed. “What? You don't like sex?” he asked, a dangerous smile on his face that made your insides feel like hot slush.

You blinked. "Well, yeah… But… I—we…"

"You have a boyfriend?"

You shook your head, stunned that any of this was happening.

"You attracted to men?"

You nodded and tried to go for a yes, but the words didn't come out.

"Are you scared of me?"

You shook your head. "No, I just… we don't know each other."

He held out a hand toward you, brows raised. "I'm Harry. It's nice to meet you…"

You let out a laugh and slid your palm against his, still looking up at him. "I'm… Y/n."

He grinned. "Y/n…" He nodded and dropped your hand but didn't move back to ease the distance. "I think you're cute. I like your smile. I'd love to burn off some adrenaline with you, but if you don't want to, that's okay. I understand. I'm a stranger and you just watched me knock out another man. Should we go back inside?"

You nodded, releasing your breath but half disappointed in yourself, if you were honest. Because Harry looked like he'd show you a really good time. And he was hot as fuck. But you were a practical girl who made good, smart decisions with her life. You were definitely not someone willing to throw caution to the wind with a strange, hot fighter… who you'd just met… who was basically asking you to have sex with him.

Harry slipped a hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small key ring, twirling it once around his finger as he stepped past you and walked toward the back door where you'd been locked out.

You watched in surprise as he slid the key into the metal door and then pulled it open halfway before glancing back at you.

You cocked your head and dropped your mouth open. “You had a key the whole time?”

He shrugged, a grin still on his face. “Yeah.”

“You watched me struggle with the door,” you said, incredulous.

“I did.”

“And you didn’t open it.”

Harry’s shoulders lifted. “If I'd done that, you’d have gone right back inside.”

You stared at him, half shocked and half amused. “That was dishonest of you.”

“It was. I apologize. But I wanted you to stick around a little longer. Thought you were pretty and figured it was a good way to get you to talk to me.”

The whole thing was flattering, even though it shouldn't have been. You should have just walked away and gone around to the front of the building and found Blake. You didn't know this man, but you were curious. And he was hot…

You let out a breath through a small smile, shaking your head as you stepped toward the doorway. “You’re a bit too confident.”

Harry’s smirk returned. “Probably. I mean, I did just win the feature fight, though.”

You passed the threshold as he held the door for you and smelled the scent of a dark amber and vanilla cologne he must have been wearing. A little sweet and a little masculine. Then you glanced at his pecs, the dark tattoos etched over strong muscle.

When you heard the door close behind you, you turned to make sure he was still there, and he just grinned at you before he was next to you, walking in stride toward the room where you'd left Blake.

And for reasons you didn’t entirely understand yet, the idea of walking away from him, of saying goodnight and it was nice to meet you… suddenly felt less appealing than it probably should have. The heat of him next to you, the way he seemed to know everyone he passed by in the hallway, the way he stood tall over everyone and guided you without so much as laying a finger on you… It made you wonder if you should give him a chance.

The music slammed back into your ears as you both neared the main part of the warehouse and then stepped into the room where Victor and Blake still were. They both looked up when you appeared in the doorway.

Blake’s brows rose immediately when she saw Harry behind you.

“You okay?” she asked, glancing between the two of you.

Victor gave Harry a curious look but didn’t say anything.

You hesitated for a second as you looked back up at Harry, and it was either a moment of complete clarity or insanity, but you weren't about to miss out on where the night could go if you left with Harry. If you took him up on his offer.

“Hey… I think I’m actually gonna head out. With him…" You glanced up at him and watched his expression shift into surprise.

Blake blinked. “Already?”

Harry nudged you, eyebrows knitting together. "Really?"

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound casual despite the flutter of nerves in your chest. You decided it was in fact a moment of insanity, but you were committed now.

Her eyes slid past you to Harry again, and her expression slowly shifted into something far more knowing. “Oh,” she said slowly. "You sure?"

Heat crept up your neck, but you held her gaze. “I’ll text you. Okay?”

Victor chuckled quietly under his breath while Harry stood, a bit stunned that you had changed your mind, his expression told you as much.

Blake looked between the two of you once more before letting out a dramatic sigh.

“Well… alright,” she said. “Be careful. Harry, Victor knows where you live, so… be nice.”

He let out a laugh, looking at you as if to double-check that you were serious. “I'll be as nice as she wants me to be.”

Victor stepped away from the table then and held his hand out toward Harry. "Before you leave, I need the key back."

You watched Harry reach into his pocket and drop the small key into Victor’s palm without a word before he handed over a thick envelope that was full of cash, you assumed. Harry took it, tucking it away without checking inside, as if he already knew exactly what was in there. Victor patted him on the back, and then glanced at you with a look that was hard to read but it felt a little like you were being sized up. Like maybe Victor was trying to figure out if you were gonna be able to handle Harry or not.

"Well," Victor said dryly, "that was quicker than I expected."

Blake shot him a look before stepping closer to you. The teasing in her face had softened some now that you were actually leaving. "Text me if you need anything," she said quietly. "I mean it."

You nodded, trying not to let it show just how fast your heart was beating now that everything had shifted from impulsive idea to reality. "I will."

Harry stayed beside you, quiet still, one hand in his pocket while the other hung at his side. You were already feeling awkward about everything after having just announced to the room that you were leaving with a man who'd just pummeled someone for money. A man you hardly knew at all.

Everyone in the room already knew what happened next, and that made you feel extra uncomfortable about the curious, amused eyes that slid between you and Harry. You'd go home with him, have a good time (hopefully), and then… well, you hadn't thought too much about what happened after but you were trying to live on the edge a little. A far cry from your usual daily life.

Blake looked between the two of you one more time, then let out a breath through her nose as if she’d already accepted that there was no talking you out of this now. "Alright," she said. "Go on then. Have fun. But text me if you need me."

You laughed nervously. "I said I would."

Victor smirked as he looked at Harry. "Try not to corrupt her."

Harry’s mouth quirked just at the edge, but he said nothing.

That sent another wave of heat creeping up your neck, and you shook your head a little as if that might calm the flutter in your stomach. Then Harry tipped his head toward the hall, soft green eyes on you, wordlessly asking if you were ready, and when you nodded, he turned and stepped into the hall. You followed him toward the main room and heard raucous shouting over the next fight. You wondered how many fights there were at these events.

The warehouse felt different now than it had when you first arrived. Maybe because you were leaving it with him. As you walked through the side corridor and back out toward the main entrance, people moved around you with drinks in hand, smoke curling into the floodlit space. The gravel lot was still full, cars parked at odd angles, bass vibrating faintly beneath your shoes as you trailed Harry outside.

He led you without a word across the lot, weaving between cars until he stopped beside the matte black motorcycle you’d noticed earlier when Blake parked. For a second, you just stared at it, then at him.

"This is yours?"

Harry glanced back at you over his shoulder as he reached down to the handlebars. "Yeah."

You opened your mouth, though you weren’t sure what you were going to say. Something about that made sense. Of course, he rode a motorcycle. Of course he did. He turned and looked at you, eyes narrowing briefly as if in thought, then his gaze shifted past you, scanning the lot. His expression lifted like he'd just realized something.

"Stay right here," he said, lifting a finger.

Before you could ask what he meant, he turned and jogged off across the lot.

You watched him in confusion as he crossed two rows over toward another motorcycle parked under a floodlight. Whoever owned it had left a helmet looped over the handlebars. You saw Harry glance around, then unhook it and head back toward you casually, as if he'd just grabbed his order from the counter at a Starbucks.

Your jaw dropped as he came to a stop in front of you, holding the helmet.

"Harry…"

He was already checking the strap, barely looking up at you. "Hold still."

You did, mostly because you were too startled not to, and he lowered the helmet over your head gently. His fingers brushed your jaw as he reached under your chin to adjust the strap.

You blinked at him. "Whose helmet is this?"

He didn’t answer.

Your eyes narrowed. "I just watched you take this off someone else’s bike."

Harry grinned, still wordless, as he snapped the buckle under your chin.

"Did you steal this?"

He looked at you then, close enough now that the overhead lights caught the almost transparent green in his eyes. "What," he asked mildly, "you want me to put it back?"

You stared at him in disbelief. "Yes. We can’t just steal somebody’s helmet."

"You don’t wanna come with me?"

The question landed in a way that made your protest skitter to a halt. His hands were still at your jaw, and there was something so calm in the way he looked at you that it made the whole thing feel completely surreal. The noise from the warehouse seemed farther away suddenly, the crowd and the smoke and the lights blurring around the edges while his attention stayed fixed on you.

"Well," you said, trying to hold on to your common sense, "that’s not really the point."

"Feels like it is. Cause I'm not letting you on this bike if you're not wearing a helmet. Simple as that. Not risking it."

You let out a breath of disbelief, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "You’re unbelievable."

"I’ve heard worse."

You were still looking at him like you meant to argue more when he reached up, curled a hand lightly at the space where your shoulder met your neck, and kissed you.

It was quick, but it most definitely was not casual. His mouth was warm and firm against yours, just enough to leave you stunned by the time he pulled back. Every thought in your head seemed to scatter, and for a second, all you could do was stare at him.

Harry’s expression didn’t change much, but there was satisfaction in it now, like he already knew exactly what that kiss had done to you. Then he turned, swung one leg over the bike, and started it up. The engine rumbled to life beneath him, low and choppy, and he looked back over his shoulder as he held an arm out toward you.

You stood there for a second, heart pounding, helmet slightly too big on your head, and shook your head at yourself. You could not believe you were doing this.

But your body was still warm from the kiss, your thoughts still tangled from the look on his face, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and climbed on behind him. The seat dipped beneath your weight and you carefully settled yourself, your hands hovering awkwardly for a moment before finally landing at his waist.

"Where’s your helmet?" you asked, leaning closer so he could hear you over the engine.

Harry looked back at you, one hand still on the handlebar. "After what you just saw me do in there, you think I’m worried about my own safety?"

You frowned behind the visor. "That’s not funny."

"I’m serious." His hand slid back and touched your knee, which felt way too sweet for what was actually happening. "Only one I’m worried about wearing one is you."

And that… it made you feel a little sad. There was no bravado in the way he said it. He wasn't bragging about being a tough guy. He was simply telling you that he didn't care much about himself.

Then Harry reached down, shifted the bike into gear, and pulled out.

The sudden motion made your heart leap and your arms tighten around him automatically. Gravel crunched beneath the tires before the motorcycle found the road, and then the night opened up around you, cool air rushing past as the warehouse lights fell behind. Every single sound was swallowed by the engine and the wind, and you pressed a little closer to him, clinging to the solid line of his body as he drove you away into the dark.

Once he took you off the industrial roads and toward the city, the darkness began to break away into streetlights, gas stations, late-night storefronts, and the occasional car passing by. You had no real sense of direction with the helmet on and your cheek pressed near his shoulder, but you noticed when the scenery changed.

But when he slowed the bike and turned into the parking lot of a squat little diner with a glowing sign that read OPEN 24 HOURS, you blinked in confusion. You had expected him to take you straight to his place.

Harry shut off the engine and the sudden quiet felt strange after the rush of noise and vibration under your thighs. You carefully climbed off the back of the bike and pulled the helmet off before he took it from you and hooked it over the handlebar, then glanced at you as if nothing about the detour required explanation.

You looked up at the diner and then back at him. "What are we doing?"

"Eating."

The answer came so simply that you stared at him for a second. "Eating?"

Harry started toward the entrance. "Yeah."

This had not been what you'd imagined at all. You’d assumed, maybe unfairly, that once you agreed to leave with him the night would move in one very obvious direction. The fact that he’d brought you to a diner first instead of straight to his place caught you off guard.

You followed him inside, everything about the place was classic diner vibes… including the smell. It was mostly empty at that hour, just a couple of booths occupied. The lights were bright, the vinyl booths worn, and behind the counter a radio played music because it appeared the place was not set up with any kind of modern sound system.

Harry led you to a booth near the windows and slid in across from you. A few seconds later an older man shuffled over with two menus tucked beneath one arm. He had a lined face, thinning gray hair, and the kind of posture that suggested life had worked him over more than once. But his expression was bright and familiar as he looked at Harry.

"Well, look who finally remembered this place existed," he said, handing over the menus. "Haven’t seen you in what, three weeks?"

Harry took his menu and glanced up at him. "Been busy."

You looked between them quietly, surprised by the ease in Harry’s voice. The older man made a face like he didn’t quite buy the excuse, and then he broke into a rough cough, turning his head away from the table as he brought a fist to his mouth. It lasted only a few seconds, but by the time he straightened again, you noticed Harry was already watching him with a faint frown.

"Sorry about that," the man muttered.

Harry leaned back slightly against the booth. "Need to stop smoking, Marty."

That earned him a laugh. "Do you see a cigarette in my hand, son?"

Harry pointed lazily toward the old man’s chest. "No. But I see a pack of Winstons right there, which tells me all I need to know."

You glanced where Harry's finger pointed and, and sure enough, there was the outline of a cigarette pack tucked neatly into the breast pocket of his shirt. The old man followed your gaze and then laughed again, shaking his head in good humor as he leaned down, bracing both hands against the edge of the table.

"Interesting," he said, looking directly at Harry, "how you think my smoking is worse than your own self-sabotage." He squinted his eyes. "We both probably got some lessons to learn. Difference is, I’m old and it’s too late for me. You’ve still got your whole life ahead of you."

Harry lifted his brows and shook his head, as if to say he wasn't going to be discussing life's hardships right then. It felt to you like this was a conversation they’d had before. It made you wish they'd keep going so you could learn more.

The old man’s attention turned to you then, and his face softened. "And who’s this?"

Harry glanced over at you. "This is Y/n."

You gave him a small smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Marty," he said. "Likewise."

There was a little pause after that, just enough for you to get the feeling Marty was putting pieces together in his head and deciding not to comment on any of them. Instead, he straightened again and tapped a finger against the menu in Harry’s hand.

"You eating the usual, or are you gonna surprise me?"

Harry didn’t even open the menu. "What’s good tonight?"

Marty looked offended. "Everything’s good tonight. You know that."

That made the corner of Harry’s mouth tug upward. "Alright. Then give me the usual."

Marty turned to you. "And for you?"

You looked down at the menu, then back up, a little embarrassed by how impossible it suddenly felt to make a decision. Everything on the page looked heavy and diner-specific in a way you weren’t used to ordering at nearly midnight.

Harry noticed your hesitation. "Burgers are good," he said. "Pie, too, if you’re a dessert person."

You smiled. "Okay, I'll go with the burger."

Marty looked between the two of you with open amusement now. "A burger for the pretty lady. Comes with fries, that work?"

You nodded, closing the menu. "Yes. That's fine."

"And what would you like to drink?"

You shrugged and flitted your eyes at Harry and then up to Marty. "Water?"

He smiled at you. "Is that a question? Or is that what you'd like?"

"Um. Yeah. Water, please. That… yeah." You looked down at the formica table top and the aluminum edging as Marty made a sound of approval.

"Alright. Harry's usual, and for the lady a burger and fries with water… and let me guess… no pie because young people don’t know how to live?"

You laughed softly, looking back up at him. "Maybe pie."

"If you're still hungry, we'll split a piece when we're done eating," Harry added.

Marty gathered the menus from the table, gave Harry some kind of knowing look, and then headed toward the kitchen.

Once he was gone, you looked across at Harry, who had stretched one arm along the back of the booth and was watching you with that same calm, unreadable attention that seemed to be a constant with him.

You smiled a little. "So you bring all the girls to late-night diners?"

Harry’s gaze stayed on your face. "No."

You tilted your head. "Then why’d you bring me here?"

He looked down for a second, dragging his thumb slowly over the edge of the table like he was thinking about how much truth he wanted to give you. When he looked back up, his expression had softened.

"You seemed nervous," he said. "Thought you might wanna eat first. Give you a chance to change your mind before it's too late."

You pushed out a half laugh and tilted your head at him like he was some kind of alien. "Before it's too late? What's that mean?"

"Just means I can tell you're not used to any of this. You've got this… good girl thing going on and so, this is kind of a buffer for you. If you need it."

"Okay… I guess that's true in a way. I'm definitely not used to watching fights in warehouses," you said.

Harry’s mouth lifted. "Or jumping onto the backs of motorcycles with men you don't know."

A scoff fell from you as you looked down again. "Who also steals helmets," you said, a smile creeping up on your mouth as you looked back at him again.

His grin lifted entirely then, and the dimples that carved into his cheeks made him look almost innocent. He nodded and ran a finger under his nose. "Who does a lot of things he shouldn't do."

You studied him for a moment, this man who had just knocked someone out cold in front of a screaming crowd and then stolen a helmet like it was nothing, only to bring you to a diner and make sure you ate before the night went any further. The contradiction of him was getting harder and harder to pin down.

"Marty seems to know you pretty well," you said.

He shrugged one shoulder. "I come here often enough."

"You always stop here after fights?"

"Sometimes after work. Sometimes late." He glanced toward the counter where Marty had disappeared. "He’s been here a long time."

You rested your forearms on the table and looked at him more openly now. "So you and Marty just became friends over coffee and burgers?"

Harry huffed a quiet laugh. "Something like that."

There was a beat of silence, and then you smiled. "I didn’t picture you as a diner regular."

He looked at you like he was examining, though the teasing was back in his eyes now. "What did you picture me as?"

You looked at him over the smooth laminated table, the fluorescent lights catching the bruises peeking through the open collar of his shirt, the roughness in his hands, and the tiredness that seemed to sit just beneath all of his confidence.

"I’m still figuring that out," you said.

He pressed his lips flat before pursing them. "Fair enough." Settling his own forearms over the table he kept his eyes on you. "What do you usually do for fun?"

Licking your lips, you took a breath. You imagined you were about to bore the tears out of him. "Flowers." You nodded, clearing your throat and forcing yourself to feel more confident about what you were about to tell him. "I like to press flowers and frame them. I know all about flowers too. I even… work at a flower shop."

He huffed a laugh. "Flowers. I'm only a little surprised. Imagined you'd say something like reading and sipping tea, spending time with your family…"

You shrugged. "I like those things too. What, you don't like reading and tea? Or… your family?"

He lifted his brows, clearing some kind of unwanted thought from his head. "Not particularly. Can't remember the last time I drank tea. Or saw my family. And can't seem to sit long enough to read anything that keeps my attention either."

"Well, I make fresh chamomile honey tea and the recipe is pretty much perfected… There's a balance between dried and fresh… I have this method where I use honey to age the flowers. Anyway. We even sell it at the shop because people love it so much. I bet if I gave you some, you'd change your mind about tea."

"You make and sell homemade chamomile tea? What's the name of the shop?"

You laughed. "Lavendar Lane Florals. I hate the name, personally, but my aunt named it when she opened the shop like… 25 years ago. Can't go and change it now."

Harry nodded slowly. "You work at your aunt's shop. Okay…"

"Something wrong with that?"

"No," he said with zero amusement. "Of course not."

"I mean… I run the shop, so it's not like I'm just her employee. Well, I guess I am technically her employee since she owns it but I'm like… taking over and in a few years since she's planning on retiring." You paused as he continued nodding. "And… well anyway. What about you? Do you just… fight for a living?"

He let out a loud laugh that made his shoulders shake a few times before he shook his head and licked his lips. "No. I do not fight for a living. I'm a package delivery driver. Northline Logistics. Fighting is for getting out all the stuff in my head and making a little extra on the side."

You took a breath again, not expecting that at all. "Oh, wow. Northline…That one's like, the most expensive delivery carrier. We usually go with Rapid Delivery for the shop. How do you like it?"

"It's work. Keeps my mind occupied. Good benefits. Pay's alright. Steady schedule."

Just before you could respond, Marty appeared with a tray with all the food and your drinks. You watched him place your plate down in front of you. A steaming burger piled with lettuce and tomatoes, and a side of rough cut fries, piping hot just next to it. Then your ice water in a tall, hard plastic, opaque cup before he gave Harry his order.

He’d gotten a roast beef sandwich with gravy on thick toasted bread, a heap of fries on the side, and a little cup of coleslaw shoved into the corner of the plate. Beside it, Marty placed a plain black coffee in a heavy white mug that had seen better days.

"There you are," Marty said. "And don’t complain the coffee’s stale this time. I made a fresh pot just for you."

Harry looked down at it and gave a small nod. "I'd never complain to you, Marty."

The old man snorted as if he didn’t believe that for a second, then walked off toward the counter again.

You looked at Harry’s plate, then at your own. "That looks good. So, that's what you always get here?"

Harry picked up the mug first and took a sip of the coffee before answering. "Most of the time."

You reached for one of your fries and shoved it into your mouth. The food was hot enough to make you wince a little, but it was good, greasy just as diner food was supposed to be, and you realized only then that you actually were hungry.

Harry ate like someone who was used to being hungry—efficiently, without fuss. Quietly. He didn’t seem self-conscious about the silence, but you were because your nerves were still a little on edge over everything and silence felt too awkward for you at the moment.

"My parents would lose their minds if they knew where I was tonight."

Harry looked up briefly from his sandwich, then back down again as if to signal he was listening.

"They already think I’m incapable of making any good choices on my own," you went on, tearing off a piece of lettuce that had slipped from your burger. "And I’m twenty-seven. Twenty-seven. But somehow they still act like I’m seventeen and can’t be trusted to cross a street without supervision."

Harry nodded, chewing.

You kept going, partly because he was listening and partly because now that you’d started, you couldn’t seem to stop. "They’re not bad, just… overbearing. My mom calls constantly. My dad likes to phrase everything as concern, but really it’s just because he's super controlling. And then there’s my aunt, which doesn’t help because if anything even remotely interesting happens at the flower shop, somehow my parents hear about it before I’ve even made it home."

That got the edge of Harry's mouth lifting.

You pointed at him with one fry. "See? That’s horrible, isn't it? They're so annoying."

"Sounds annoying," he said simply before taking another bite.

"It is." You sat back a little, shaking your head. "I moved out two years ago and they still act like I’m having some kind of extended rebellion. Like any minute now I’m gonna come to my senses and move back home and ask my mother what I should wear every day for the rest of my life."

That made him huff a quiet laugh, and the sound of it pulled a smile from you before you could help it.

"I’m serious," you said. "Blake stopped by the shop one time and my aunt told my mom she thought Blake looked…" you lifted both hands making air quotes, "a little too alternative and then suddenly I was getting a lecture over dinner about surrounding myself with stable influences."

Harry lifted his coffee mug and took another sip, eyes on you over the rim this time. "You seem stable enough."

You smiled and looked down at your plate for a second. "I feel like I'm going crazy. All I want is my independence. I'm a grown woman. I love them, it's just… too much at times."

He set the mug down again and reached for one of his fries. You noticed he still hadn’t offered anything about his own life beyond the delivery job and the fights. He listened well, though it seemed. He just let you talk, like he didn’t mind hearing you untangle your thoughts out loud.

"I know it probably sounds stupid," you said after a second. "There are way worse problems to have than parents who care too much."

Harry’s expression shifted. "Doesn’t mean it’s not still a problem."

You looked at him more carefully then. "You don’t talk to your family much?"

Harry picked up half his sandwich again and shrugged one shoulder. "No."

There was something in the way he said it that made it clear the subject was closed before it had even opened. You could have pushed, maybe, but it would have felt wrong. So instead, you just nodded and let the moment pass.

"I see," you said softly.

You switched subjects and talked a little more about the flower shop, about wedding clients who wanted impossible peony arrangements in the wrong season and the older woman who came in every Friday for fresh roses just because she liked them. Harry listened calmly as he ate and occasionally asked short questions that told you he was paying more attention than he let on. By the time you’d finished eating, your nerves had eased just a little. You weren’t exactly relaxed, because the part of the night where he took you to his place was still coming, and soon.

Marty came by just as Harry was drinking the last of his coffee.

"You alive over there?" he asked Harry, reaching for the empty plate.

"Barely."

"Thought so." Marty stacked the plates, then glanced at you. "How was the burger?"

"Really good," you said. "And the fries."

He gave you a satisfied little nod like he’d personally cooked every item in the place.

"How about that pie?"

Harry looked at you, brows raised and you shook your head. "I'm too full to eat another bite of anything."

"We'll just get the check then, Marty."

The old man nodded, reaching into his apron to pull out the bill and handed it to Harry. "You working tomorrow?"

Harry nodded. "Early."

"Then don’t be out all night doing anything dumb."

You looked between them, smiling a little at the way Marty said it, like he’d probably said similar things to Harry more than once.

Harry reached into his pocket for cash. "We'll see."

Marty took the bills from him, glanced down at the amount, and shook his head. "You tip like you’re trying to buy my affection."

Harry stood, sliding out of the booth. "Thought I already had it."

Marty laughed under his breath and gathered the last of the dishes. "Get out of here. And make sure she gets home safe."

You stood too, smoothing your hands over your jeans as Harry waited for you at the end of the booth. Marty headed back toward the counter, but not before throwing one last look over his shoulder at Harry that seemed to carry a whole conversation inside it.

Then it was just you and Harry by the door before he pushed it open for you. You walked in step with him as you moved to where he'd parked. He stopped beside the bike and looked at you.

"Changed your mind yet?"

You looked at him, at the bruises scattered just beneath the opening of his shirt, at his tired eyes and the way he held himself like he was confident but had too many secrets to really bare himself to anyone. Maybe you should have changed your mind, but you hadn't.

"No."

He paused and looked you over for a moment before he reached for the helmet hooked over the handlebars.

"Alright then," he said.

And a few minutes later you were back on the motorcycle behind him, your arms wrapped around his waist as he pulled away from the diner and carried you deeper into the city night.

It wasn't but a few minutes later that he was turning into an older apartment complex and parking his bike in a numbered spot next to a utility van.

You climbed down slowly and Harry followed, taking the helmet from you and tucking it under his arm before leading you up a short flight of stairs and down a dim exterior walkway. He unlocked the door near the end and pushed it open, stepping aside so you could go in first.

The apartment was clean, but plain, devoid of any life aside from a weight bench near the wall, a rack stacked with weights next to it, and closer to the corner, hanging from a brace in the ceiling, a bright red punching bag. It wasn't messy at all, just otherwise stripped down to the essentials: a couch, a coffee table, a television, a small kitchen with almost nothing left out on the counters. No framed photos. No decorations. No books stacked anywhere. No little pieces of a person scattered through the room anywhere.

You stepped farther inside, taking it in while Harry shut the door behind you and tossed his keys onto the small table beside the couch and then placed the helmet next to them.

There was so little of him in the place that it made you turn to look at him again.

"What do you do in your spare time?"

Harry glanced at you as he plucked at the last few buttons on his shirt, leaving it hanging open so you had a full view of his chest up close. "Work out."

Obviously.

You let out a small breath that was almost a laugh. "That can’t be all you do."

"Well, it’s most of it."

The answer made you smile, though there was something kind of sad about it too. The bare bones decor of his place suddenly made more sense if that was the case. If he was being honest.

You were still looking around when he crossed the room toward you.

The shift in him was so quick it startled you. One moment he was across the apartment answering you casually, and the next he was standing right in front of you, crowding into your space until your back brushed the edge of the counter behind you.

His hands came up and cupped your face, warm and large. You inhaled a soft breath.

"What?" he said, looking down at you with a not-so-innocent smile. "You trying to figure me out already?"

You swallowed. "Your apartment’s just… very plain."

"You saying it's boring?"

A nervous little laugh escaped you. "Maybe."

Harry’s thumbs brushed lightly at your cheeks, his eyes moving over your face in a way that made every inch of you feel noticed. Then his gaze dipped to your sweater, and his mouth curved.

"You really did show up at the fight dressed like this," he said softly, teasing. "Little cat jumper. Soft as anything. You look too innocent to be standing in my apartment right now, Y/n. Too sweet."

Heat rushed straight into your face. "It’s just a sweater."

"Mm." He leaned closer, the tip of his nose nearly brushing yours. "That’s not what I said."

Then he kissed you. It was nothing like the quick kiss in the parking lot just after he'd stolen the helmet. It was deeper, a little filthy with his tongue tasting slowly before pressing it over yours… like now that he had you there he meant to take his time and make you feel every second of it. His mouth moved over yours like he'd been yearning for it all night. It made your knees soften almost immediately, and when he let out a deep sound against your lips, it went straight through you.

"Fuck," he whispered, barely pulling back. "Even your mouth is sweet."

You could hardly think. Your hands had somehow ended up on his chest, fingers pressing lightly against warm skin and old bruises, and he seemed to like that because his grip on your face shifted just slightly, one hand sliding down to the side of your neck, thumb brushing over your pulse point.

"I’m gonna have fun with you," he said, voice rougher now, his eyes flicking down to your mouth. "Been thinking about getting this sweater off you since I saw you outside the warehouse."

A small sound slipped out of you before you could stop it, embarrassed and breathy.

Harry groaned, lips brushing yours. "Yeah," he said quietly. "That sound. Want to hear that one again."

You felt yourself melting under the way he looked at you, under the press in his hands and the fact that he seemed so completely in control while you were losing your footing by the second. He kissed you again, as one of his hands slid to your chin, holding you steady exactly where he wanted you while his mouth moved over yours until you were clinging to him just to stay upright.

Then he took your hand and pressed it over the line of his zipper through his jeans, still kissing you, still guiding you with a calm confidence that made your thoughts go fuzzy around the edges. The heat and bulk of him through the denim made your world tilt just a little, and when he finally pulled back, you were left standing there dazed and staring up at him, hand still in place over him where he'd left it.

The grin that spread across his face was wicked and warm at the same time.

"You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Y/n?" he asked softly. "What is it you like?"

You blinked at him, still trying to catch up. "I… uh…"

Harry took your hand then, threading his fingers through yours as if the question didn’t need answering yet. He started backing you down the short hallway, eyes never leaving your face.

"I like, um…" You laughed nervously, already flustered by the question. "I don’t really… I uh…"

He pushed open the bedroom door and led you inside, amusement spreading across his face as he turned to look at you. "That’s what I thought," he said.

His hands slid slowly down your arms over the soft knit of your sweater, and the look in his eyes told you very clearly that he planned on finding out exactly what you liked. He backed away a step and clicked on a lamp that sat on a bedside table and suddenly something skittered past your feet and into the bedroom.

You jumped back and looked at Harry with wide eyes just as he bent and reached down toward something that had ducked past the table with the lamp and when he stood back up, you were completely shocked to see him cradling a cat in his arms.

The cat was older, gray all over except for a white patch at his throat and another at one paw. His face looked permanently displeased, with one ear nicked and eyes the color of bright amber.

Your expression softened instantly. "Oh my god."

You reached out toward it, fingertips barely lifting before Harry’s voice stopped you.

"Wouldn’t do that."

You looked up at him. "He doesn’t like being pet?"

"He doesn’t like people," Harry said simply. "Except me."

That made you draw your hand back to your side again, though your eyes stayed fixed on the grumpy-faced cat. He stared at you for a second from the safety of Harry’s arms, unimpressed and vaguely judgmental—if cats could be judgmental—then Harry bent and set him back down. The cat landed lightly, flicked his tail, and wandered out of the room at an unhurried pace like he had more important things to do than supervise whatever was about to happen in there.

You watched him disappear into the hallway before looking back at Harry. "What’s his name?"

"Tyson."

You blinked, then laughed. "Tyson?"

Harry’s mouth tilted. "Like Mike Tyson."

"You named your cat after a professional boxer…"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Seemed fitting."

You smiled and glanced toward the door where the cat had vanished. "He’s cute."

"He’s mean."

"He looked fine to me."

Harry stepped closer again, that calm confidence settling right back over him now that the brief interruption had passed. His eyes dropped to your mouth, then lifted, green and far too pretty for a man with busted knuckles and countless bruises on his body.

He slid a hand down to your waist, the other settling at the back of your neck as he pulled you in close again, and when he kissed you, it felt like he was picking up exactly where he’d left off in the hall. You leaned into him and your hands rose to his chest, palms flattening over his sturdy muscles as he kissed you harder. He made a quiet sound against your mouth, and the hand at your waist tightened just enough to make your breath stall.

He squeezed harder, fingers sliding up under the sweater and you let out a breathy, nervous laugh that turned into another small, helpless sound when he kissed the corner of your mouth and then your cheek, his nose grazing your skin.

"Still nervous?" he asked softly.

"A little."

"Mm." He pulled back just enough to look at you, both hands settling at your hips now. "Cute. So fuckin' cute."

That only made you more flustered, which he clearly enjoyed if the slow rise of the grin on his face was any indication. He dipped his head again and kissed you until your thoughts blurred, until the apartment and the bike and the warehouse all felt far away, and there was only the lamp-lit room, and his hands on you.

Harry’s mouth moved slowly against yours, like he knew what you wanted. Like he knew just how to make you melt into him, how to make you weak.

Your hands were still resting against his chest when he shifted them, guiding your wrists gently outward until your palms slid over the warm breadth of his shoulders instead. The movement pressed you closer to him, your body fitting flush against his.

His hand slipped under the hem of your sweater, fingers lifting, dragging the soft knit of it upward and over your head, making your arms lift before he tossed it away to the side. You put your hands on his shoulders again as his fingers spread over the bare skin of your waist under your black-t-shirt. He had rough calluses from training, and the contact made a heat trail up the notches of your spine. His mouth curved against yours as his hand slowly glided the thinner material up inch by inch.

"You feelin' shy?" he asked, amused.

"I’m not," you protested weakly, though no one would have ever been convinced by the sound of your voice.

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, you are. Like it, though."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, green eyes dragging slowly over your face, fingers still curled into the fabric of your shirt.

"Arms up for me again."

You lifted your arms slowly and he tugged the shirt up and over your head. The cool air of the room brushed over your skin instantly, and your instinctive reaction was to bring your arms down across your stomach. You really, really couldn't believe you were doing this.

Harry took your wrists. "Hey," he said quietly, making you look up at him.

He laced his fingers through yours so you couldn't cover yourself. Then he lifted your hands and pressed them gently against his own chest, right over his heart.

"Don’t do that," he said.

Your nerves twisted even tighter as his eyes moved over you slowly. He grinned, gaze raking over your stomach and your arms, the line of your shoulders, and then over the swell of your breasts pushing at the soft fabric of the totally unsexy bra you wore.

"You’re fuckin’ adorable," he said under his breath. "Like a little treat for me."

He let go of your hands and reached around to the back of your bra before he paused and looked at you. "You gonna let me keep going?"

You nodded almost immediately. You were nervous, but well past the point of no return.

"That a yes?" he teased softly.

"Yes." You were boiling hot. Every inch of you felt like it was steaming, mostly because of the way Harry was being with you, but definitely also because you were a bit out of your depth with someone like him.

The clasp popped open under his fingers at your yes. He slid the straps slowly down your arms, letting the fabric fall away before tossing it aside. The moment your chest was bare, Harry inhaled, lips parting.

"Jesus. That is… you are so pretty."

His hands came up immediately, large, rough palms cupping your breasts, making your knees loosen again. His thumbs brushed slowly over the sensitive peaks, testing the reaction, and when a quiet sound slipped out of you he smiled.

"There it is again."

Before you could swallow the sound, he bent his head and his mouth closed around one nipple with a wet warmth that sent a jolt straight through you. You reached up to his shoulders as his tongue flicked over the sensitive skin, his other hand cradling the opposite breast.

"Sweet girl," he hummed against your skin, like he was enjoying himself far too much.

His mouth traveled upward then, leaving a damp trail of kisses over your collarbone, your throat, the side of your neck. Every place he touched lingered just long enough to make you want more.

You were barely aware of his hands sliding lower until the button of your jeans popped open. You gasped quietly against his mouth when his fingers slipped inside the waistband, brushing against the soft skin of your low stomach before tugging the denim downward.

"Step out," he said gently.

Your legs felt a little shaky as you moved. Harry bent to pull the jeans the rest of the way off, and when he stood again, there was something distinctly darker in his expression. Hotter.

For a moment he stayed a foot back, just looking at you. Almost completely bare from head to toe under the warm glow of the bedside lamp. His gaze dragged slowly down your body and back up again as you pressed your thighs together from the scrutiny.

"Fuck," he breathed, reaching toward you as a finger trailed along your hip. "Even these panties."

You looked down at yourself, nipples peaked, goosebumps on your tummy, full coverage cotton panties with colorful flowers printed on the fabric. You swallowed and looked back up at him to see his eyes on your face.

"You weren't expecting to get fucked tonight, were you?"

You shook your head, a puffed laugh falling out. You thought you were going to shake out of your skin standing there like that, practically naked while he was still clothed.

He grinned. "Did not expect to meet such a nice girl tonight."

He moved closer and pulled you by your hips, eyes wandering over your skin and your breasts and then back up to your eyes. "I don't deserve anything this nice."

Heat rushed into your face and you shifted your weight as he lifted a hand up to your face, thumb smoothing against your bottom lip. "Shaking. Need a minute?"

You let out a sound, chest heaving. "No. I'm…" You swallowed, yet again. "I'm okay."

He groaned and leaned in, running his nose along your jaw as he spoke, heat trailing with his breath. "You are gonna make me want something I don't get to have."

You were far too gone to make sense of his words at that moment when he pressed his lips on your neck again, arms wrapping around your back before his hands slid down, fingers spreading over your hips before gliding around to the front of your body again. One hand slipped between your thighs, but only the ghost of a touch at first.

You inhaled a shaky sound and placed your hands on his shoulders when you wobbled.

Harry looked at you. "Relax for me, Y/n," he murmured.

His fingers moved slowly, tracing along your inner thigh before drifting higher. When he finally brushed against the soft, sensitive center of you, your entire body reacted with a small, involuntary jerk.

Harry chuckled quietly. "Just touching. Can we get these panties off?"

You nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

"Yeah? Okay?" He teased, looking at you as he tucked his fingers into the elastic of your panties at your hips and began to slide them down. Once they were pushed just to your knees, they dropped by themselves to the floor at your feet.

He groaned as he put his hands on your hip and smoothed them down to the outside of your thighs before he drew his fingers again to the space between your legs. "Keep making those cute sounds for me. Yeah?"

You didn’t answer, mostly because the moment he touched you again your thoughts scattered completely. His fingers slid through the slick warmth between your legs, and he let out a low, satisfied sound.

"Well, look at that."

You bit your lip, skin hot yet covered in goosebumps as he drew a finger upward and found your tender bud, circling. "Even your clit is all wet," he said softly.

"H-Harry—"

He pulled in a breath through his teeth as he dipped his fingers lower. "Oh, sweet girl. Yes, that's what I wanna hear. Keep making those noises, keep saying my name."

One of his fingers pressed gently inside you, and he hissed when he realized how open you already were. The sensation made your head tip forward against his shoulder with a quiet gasp.

"Easy," he murmured before pushing in deeper.

Your fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt as he slowly worked his digit in and out, gushy. He pulled out his finger and placed a hand between your thighs, making you spread your legs the slightest before he pushed back in, adding a second finger. The soft stretch made a sound squeak from your throat.

Harry kissed your temple as he fingered you right there next to his bed. You'd never had anything like that happen to you before. Being fingered standing up was new, and the fact that you were stark naked while he was still wearing his clothes made it feel all the more intense.

"How long's it been since you've been fucked?"

You lifted your head to look at him, clinging tight as he fucked your pussy with his fingers. "I… Last year."

He blew out a breath, eyes locked on your face. "And you're sure you wanna be fucked tonight? Still all shaky."

You nodded and moaned, hips moving against his hand erratically.

"Mmm…" he moaned, amused, fingers still pumping.

His thumb brushed lightly against the sensitive bundle of nerves above where his fingers moved inside you, and the sudden combination made a helpless sound slip from your throat again, and he groaned softly at the noise.

"That’s it," he said.

He pulled his fingers out slowly before guiding you toward the bed. "Come on."

His lips found yours again as he eased you down onto the mattress, the kiss slow and deep as he followed you onto the bed. His hands immediately returned to your body, sliding over your stomach, your hips, your thighs like he couldn’t stop touching you.

"You’re so fuckin’ cute," he murmured.

His fingers slipped between your legs again.

"And you feel even better than you look."

Before he pressed his fingers back in, he pushed himself from you and stood back. "Rub your pussy for me while I take my clothes off."

You reached down at once, watching Harry as you found your clit and began sliding your fingers over yourself. He kept his gaze locked on the space between your legs as he shrugged his shirt off to the floor and then unbuttoned his jeans.

When he shoved them down, he was left in his boxer briefs. The thick bulge that sat under them looked so big and long already, the thin fabric stretched tight over the heavy outline beneath it. But his attention was fixed on you. On the way your hand moved slowly between your legs. On the way your thighs trembled slightly as you touched yourself.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Just like that."

You were feeling all flushed and exposed like that. You'd never done anything like it before… rubbing yourself in front of anyone. Especially a man you hardly knew at all. But there was something about him that made you want to just say yes to everything he asked of you.

"Look at you," he murmured.

You forced your eyes up from where you’d been staring at his bulge through the boxer briefs. Looking into his eyes hadn’t helped your concentration at all.

Harry stood at the edge of the bed, broad shoulders rising and falling slowly as he breathed. Up close you could see every mark on him now… deep purple bruises blooming across his ribs, light yellowed ones along his abdomen where older hits had been healing. A thin scar ran diagonally over one side of his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Your eyes drifted over every hard dip and muscled curve. Across the hard lines of his chest, over the scattered tattoos across his skin, down the defined ridges of his abs that flexed when he shifted. He had laurel tattoos that curved low at his hips, just above the waistband, drawing your gaze right back to the thick shape pressing against the fabric there.

You stopped moving your fingers as you were too caught up in the way his body looked. There was so much there to see and explore.

"Hey," he said.

Your eyes flicked back to his face as he stepped closer, climbing onto the bed with you in a smooth motion. The mattress dipped under his weight as he moved you gently toward the center, guiding your hips with both hands.

"Don’t stop touching yourself, pretty."

Your breath shuddered as you resumed the slow motion of your fingers, making the little gushy noises start up again. Harry watched for another second before lowering himself between your legs. The position made your heart gallop wildly.

And then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of your knee. Then another. His mouth traveled upward over your thigh, warm and lingering, his hands sliding along your hips to keep you open beneath him.

"You’re so sweet," he murmured against your skin as his lips moved higher.

"So fuckin’ pretty." Another kiss at your belly button.

"And you make the cutest sounds for me."

You let out one of those "cute" sounds immediately, accidentally, soft and breathy, and Harry groaned quietly.

"Yeah," he said under his breath.

His fingers slid between your legs again, replacing your hand. You gasped softly when he pushed two fingers back inside you without warning, the stretch somehow more intense now that you were lying open beneath him.

"You got this wet all for me," he murmured, almost impressed.

Your hips lifted upward, and you moaned. Harry dipped down to kiss your stomach then, while his fingers slid through you, deeper than before, his knuckles brushing against you with every thrust.

"God, Harry…" you whispered.

He leaned down beside you, his mouth brushing your ear.

"You feel that?" he murmured.

You nodded weakly.

"Yeah, you do. Little pussy is just sucking my fingers in, begging for more."

His breath was warm against your skin as he continued speaking softly against your ear.

"Such a good girl," he said.

Your fingers twisted in the sheets.

"So sweet for me. Letting me play with you like this."

His hand slid over yours then, guiding it back down between your legs.

"Here," he said.

His fingers kept moving inside you as he repositioned your hand over your clit again.

"Keep rubbing for me."

The moment your fingers began circling there again, the combination made your entire body jolt, and Harry groaned quietly at your ear.

"That’s it."

His fingers pumped deeper now, curling slightly in a way that made your back arch off the mattress. It was good. You were already feeling the rush of what he was doing to your body, and his deep voice vibrating at the lobe of your ear sounded like sex.

"Fuck," you gasped.

Your hand trembled against yourself, the rhythm becoming messy as your hips began chasing the sensation. You couldn't believe that you were on the edge of coming already. For you, it was unusual, especially when it included another person.

Harry’s voice stayed soft and close. "Look at you." His lips brushed your temple. "Already shaking."

You knew you were trembling already. Your thighs quivered around his arm, breath coming faster now as the pressure inside you built higher and higher. You gasped as he curled and you hastened the pace of your fingers.

"Mmm," he murmured, slowing his fingers suddenly.

You let out a broken groan but before you could even process what he was doing he slid down between your legs, his body settling against the mattress as he pulled your hips slightly closer to his mouth. Your hand hovered uselessly over yourself for half a second, then his mouth replaced where your fingers had been.

The first drag of his tongue over your clit made your entire body jerk violently.

"Harry—Yes!"

Your hand shot downward but he caught your wrist before you could pull away, and he guided it to his head where your fingers tangled in his hair.

Harry looked up at you from between your thighs, green eyes dark under the low light.

"Pull," he murmured.

You whimpered when he pumped his fingers deep.

"As hard as you want."

Your fingers tightened in his hair as his mouth returned to you immediately, tongue pressing slow, deliberate strokes against the sensitive bundle of nerves he’d just abandoned seconds ago. His fingers continued to glide into you as he sucked you into his mouth.

The sensation was overwhelming. "Oh my god!"

Harry groaned softly against you at the sound. "Squeezing my fingers so hard," he murmured before leaning down again and wrapping his lips around your bud.

Your hips lifted helplessly, chasing his mouth as his fingers thrust steadily upward inside you again. His tongue moved faster now, every movement sending sharp waves through your body. Your legs shook hard around his shoulders.

Harry looked up again, watching your face as he continued licking you.

"Come on," he murmured against you.

Your fingers pulled harder in his hair as you let out a loud moan into his room.

"I know you’re close."

And you were already falling apart. Your back arched violently off the mattress as the tension snapped through you, your entire body shaking as the orgasm tore through you and Harry licked you through every wave of ecstasy. His tongue stayed on you, fingers still filling you, as your thighs trembled uncontrollably around him.

Harry didn’t stop working you until the tremors running through you started to soften. Your fingers were still tangled in his hair, chest rising and falling as the last warm waves of your orgasm rolled through you. Everything felt loose and floaty, like your bones had turned soft under your skin.

When he finally pulled his fingers from you, he lifted his head and shifted his hands to the backs of your thighs, nudging them apart again so he could look at you. Study your puffy, wet folds and everything else there between your legs. His eyes moved slowly over the flushed skin there, the slick shine still clinging to your thighs, and a crooked smile pulled at his mouth.

"Well," he said.

Your face burned from the scrutiny of his eyes on you. Harry brushed a fingertip lightly along the inside of your thigh before dragging it slowly through the wetness between your legs again, watching the way your body reacted to even that small touch.

"Look at that."

You let out a flustered sound and tried to shift your legs closed in embarrassment, but he caught your thigh easily and squeezed it.

"No," he said with a smile, amused. "Let me see."

His thumb brushed over your skin before he leaned down and pressed a wet kiss to the inside of your knee.

"Even your pussy looks cute," he added quietly. "All soft and shy."

You covered your face with your hands, and he chuckled under his breath.

"C’mon," he murmured.

He guided you farther onto the bed, easing you back against the pillows until your head sank into them. Your body still felt a little fluttery from the orgasm, limbs loose as you watched him move.

He stepped off the mattress for a second.

Your eyes followed him automatically as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pushed them down his legs. And oh god. He was certainly… hung.

You’d already noticed how thick he was through the fabric earlier, but seeing him fully now made your stomach flutter all over again. He was big. Heavy and thick in a way that made heat coil low in your stomach even through the lingering haze of your orgasm.

Harry grinned as he reached into the nightstand, pulled the drawer open, and took out a condom. He placed it on top of the wood before turning back toward the bed with you. When he climbed onto the mattress beside you, the movement shifted the bed slightly and he reached for your hip, making you roll toward him.

You were still a little stunned, mind a bit mushy when he leaned over and kissed you. He slid a hand down your thigh and pulled it, draping it over his hip so your body turned toward him.

He pulled you closer so that his cock was pressed against your stomach. You moaned against his mouth as Harry grinned, before shifting back just enough to take your hand. His fingers guided yours slowly downward and your palm brushed against him, making you freeze immediately.

He was warm and so hard. Your fingers wrapped around him and your eyes widened slightly as you felt just how thick he actually was in your hand.

Harry huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah," he moaned.

You glanced up at him, still holding him carefully, scared to squeeze too hard. You shouldn't have been surprised that his dick was as ample as it was. Because there was something about Harry that made it seem like exactly what you should have expected.

You began to move your hand slowly, gently. You stroked him carefully, your grip light and cautious like you weren’t quite sure how hard you were supposed to hold him. Harry watched you for a second as a small grin tugged at his mouth.

"That’s cute."

Your brows pulled together as you looked him, a little lost at what he meant.

"You’re being real gentle with it."

You slowed your hand uncertainly, and he brushed his thumb along your cheek.

"Don’t stop," he said softly.

You resumed the motion, still careful.

Harry watched your hand move along him for a few more strokes before his gaze lifted back to your face. "Let me see something."

Your paused your motions.

"Let me see those pretty lips wrap around it for a little bit," he said. "Wanna do that for me? Suck it a little?"

You blinked as you nodded and released his girth from your palm before shifting. Moving carefully, you sat on your knees between his legs while Harry leaned back against the headboard, settling comfortably against the pillows so he could watch you.

The truth was that you had some experience. But not like this. You'd given blow jobs, hand jobs, and even had sex in various positions before… This felt like an entirely different undertaking with Harry.

You rested your hands lightly on his thighs and looked up at him before leaning forward slowly. Then you dipped your head and ran your tongue along the underside of him.

Harry inhaled sharply. "Fuck."

You glanced up at him again to check his face. His jaw had tightened, pupils spread dark as he watched you.

"That’s good," he murmured, licking his lips.

You smiled and leaned down to try again. Your tongue traced another delicate path before you finally wrapped your lips around the head of him and suckled the tip gently as you peered up at him.

Harry swore under his breath as his hand came up to cup your cheek as he watched you. "You are the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen," he whispered, voice rougher now.

Your lips moved slowly over him, trying to take a little more. A soft wet sound slipped from your mouth when you tried again and Harry groaned quietly.

"It’s a lot for you, huh, pretty?"

His thumb brushed your cheek. "But you like that. Don't you?"

You tried to take him deeper, blinking your eyes and concentrating on not scraping your teeth against him. But he was a lot in your mouth and it felt like an almost impossible task.

You inhaled through your nose, forcing another inch of him into your mouth as you gripped the tops of his thighs. You coughed and pulled back to suck more air into your lungs.

Harry smiled. "Wish we had time to let you practice on it more."

His fingers slid gently into your hair. "Get you used to gagging on it a little."

You leaned down again, taking him into your mouth as far as you could, leading with your tongue and sucking as you went.

This time he pushed lightly at the back of your head, testing the movement and your throat tightened and you swallowed around him. A soft gurgling sound slipped out.

Harry’s head tipped back with a low groan. "Oh, baby…"

He held you there for another second before easing the pressure and guiding you back up. A thin string of saliva followed as you lifted your head and Harry caught your chin between his fingers and pulled you up toward him.

He pulled you to his mouth, kissing you hard and slow, tongue pressing against yours. When he pulled back, his eyes searched your face.

"What position do you like?" he asked.

You blinked at him. "I… I don’t…" Your words stumbled over each other.

Harry laughed softly. "Yeah… Fuckin' too cute for me."

Before you could answer, he pulled you further up, dragging you over his thighs and into his lap. You straddled his him as his hands slid slowly down your sides, warm palms smoothing over your ribs and around your waist.

"God," he said quietly.

His hands moved lower, spreading over the curve of your hips before sliding around to your bottom.

"You’re making this too hard for me," he said, lip parted. "Not gonna wanna say goodbye to you in the morning."

You weren't exactly sure what he meant, but there was something sad in his words just then. And you'd picked up on a bit of melancholy in him. Like he'd been really hurt by someone in his past. It made you wonder about him. Want to know more about everything, but he didn't seem the type willing to divulge his secrets easily.

His hands moved upward again, cupping your breasts as he leaned forward to kiss one nipple, and then the other. Slow and warm, his lips wrapped and wetted as he fluttered his eyes closed briefly.

"Fuck me," he groaned against your skin.

His thumbs brushed lightly over the sensitive peaks as he parted from them.

"Too sweet."

He pressed a kiss to your collarbone. "Too cute, baby."

You shifted in his lap, the movement sliding your body against him and dragging your sensitive clit across the hard line of him.

Harry groaned quietly and then he leaned over to the nightstand, grabbed the condom, and tore it open before rolling it slowly down over himself while watching your face as if he liked watching every little reaction that crossed it. The soft lamp light caught the green of his eyes as he smoothed his palm down the length of himself, making sure it was seated properly, before his gaze drifted back to your body sitting there in his lap.

He huffed out a quiet breath through his nose and shook his head. "Jesus."

He slid his hands back to your hips, thumbs brushing against your skin before he leaned in and kissed you again. His mouth moved lazily over yours for a moment before he pulled back and gave your hips a gentle squeeze.

"C’mon," he said softly.

He guided you carefully off his lap, turning you around to face away from him with steady hands until your knees settled into the mattress in front of him. His palms stayed on your hips as he moved you forward a little farther onto the bed, easing you down until your elbows rested in the sheets.

The position left you spread out with your ass up in the center of the bed and Harry shifted behind you as he got himself into position. Your skin prickled under the feeling of his eyes moving slowly over your backside, over the curve of your waist and the soft line of your hips…

Then he gently settled a hand at the small of your back. His thumb brushed lightly over your skin and his thumb traced the small inky design there carefully.

Right above the curve of your ass at the back of your hip sat a delicate little flower tattoo, the thin petals shaded softly against your skin.

Harry leaned down slightly to look at it closer, then he bent and pressed a kiss right against the ink.

"Is this a daisy?" he asked.

You turned your head, glancing back over your shoulder at him.

"It’s a chamomile flower," you said.

Harry looked at your face and then he let out a low groan of laughter. "Oh, my god."

He leaned down again and kissed the little flower a second time, open-mouthed this time, his lips lingering against your skin.

"You are so fuckin’ cute, Y/n," he moaned.

He slid his hand up the curve of your waist again. "Goddamn," he added under his breath. "You’re precious."

You felt his palm settle against your hip. "Got my heart pounding and everything."

Then he moved a hand lower, one stayed at your hip while the other drifted lower between your thighs. His fingers spread your cheeks slowly, his breath leaving him in a soft hiss when he saw you like that from behind.

"Jesus, fuck…" he muttered.

His hands nudged your knees a little wider.

"There we go… let me see that..."

You shifted, thighs parting a little more as you bit down on your lip hard to push down the heat of bashfulness. You'd never had anyone really take in the view of your bits like that before. Except your gynecologist.

Harry dragged two fingers slowly through your folds, the touch making you gasp softly as he gathered the lingering slickness there.

"Oh, honey," he said.

You felt his hand guiding himself behind you, dragging and pressing, before, he slowly pushed forward. The first press of him against you made your thighs wobble, your fingers tightening in the sheets beneath you.

Harry paused for a second and then he eased forward again, letting you feel every inch as he worked himself deeper inside you. Once he stuffed himself into the hilt, he stayed there a moment, completely still.

You inhaled softly as your thighs trembled slightly, letting your body adjust around the thick stretch of him. You heard Harry let out a breath.

"Fuck," he moaned.

His hands slid up the backs of your thighs and settled at your hips as he looked down between your bodies. From where he knelt behind you he could see the way the two of you were joined, the thick length of him slowly disappearing into the slick spread of you. He groaned quietly at the sight, hips giving the gentlest experimental roll that made you gasp.

"Oh my god. Look at that," he breathed.

Your stomach fluttered at the way he said it, like he was half talking to himself about the way your body looked around him.

"So fuckin’ pretty."

He pulled back slowly, just enough that you felt the gradual drag of him sliding outward before he eased forward again, pushing back into you at the same slow pace. Your mouth parted around a shaky breath as he repeated the motion.

"You’re so wet."

Another slow thrust had your body rocking forward slightly from the pressure, elbows sliding against the mattress as you tried to steady yourself.

"Feel how your pussy wraps around me?" he said softly.

You let out a small broken sound in response, and Harry groaned again.

The pace stayed slow for a moment longer, the steady glide of him in and out of you filling the room with soft, slick sounds that made your face burn even as your body pressed back helplessly into the rhythm. The bed creaked faintly beneath the two of you, the quiet noise mixing with the sound of your breathing and the occasional low groan slipping from Harry’s throat.

Then, his grip on your hips tightened, and the next thrust came harder. Your breath punched out of your lungs as he drove into you deeper that time, the sudden force making the mattress shift beneath your elbows.

"Oh! Mmmm!" you cried.

His hips began moving faster now, the slow rhythm breaking apart into deeper, stronger strokes that pushed your body forward each time he buried himself inside you again. The sound between your bodies grew louder with every movement, wet and messy and impossible to ignore.

Your voice came out choked as you tried to breathe through it and Harry moaned behind you, like he was feeling the same thing.

"Oh, shit…" he muttered.

One of his hands slid down the curve of your hip and squeezed your ass firmly as he thrust again. Your whole body jolted before his palm tapped lightly against the soft curve of your bottom. Like a test swat. The sound popped softly in the room and your back arched immediately at the sensation, breasts dropping toward the mattress as your hips lifted higher into him without you even thinking about it.

Harry sucked in a breath. "Oh, baby… You like that?"

Another deep thrust had you pressing your cheek down to the bed, mouth dropped open wide.

"Sweet girl like you wants a spanking?"

Even if you had an answer for him, you couldn't. The only thing that came out of your mouth was a broken string of sounds as his hips drove forward again, the thick stretch of him filling you so completely it made your head spin.

Your thoughts had gone hazy and gooey and all you could feel was him. How big his cock felt in you. How achingly deep he reached inside you. The front of his thighs against the back of yours…

He swatted at your bottom again. This time a little harder so you really felt it. Your body jolted forward, a surprised sound bursting from your throat as the sting melted across your skin. Harry immediately thrust deep behind it, burying himself all the way inside you until his hips pressed flush against your ass.

Then he stopped moving. For a second the room filled with nothing but the sound of both of you breathing. You could feel his cock throbbing inside of you as he stayed seated deep in you and completely still.

You lifted your head to turn and look at him over your shoulder and you saw that his eyes were closed. His face was twisted in concentration like the feeling of you wrapped around him had hit him all at once. When he opened his eyes, the expression in them made your stomach flip. He looked like he’d forgotten everything else for a second.

Harry leaned forward suddenly, his hand slid gently to the side of your neck, fingers curling there just enough to keep your head turned toward him as he bent, chest against your back, and caught your mouth with his.

The kiss was crooked from the angle. Your lips brushed his unevenly as he started moving again, hips driving forward, deep into your guts, each thrust pressing you slightly into the mattress as his mouth kept finding yours in messy little kisses along the corner of your lips and your cheek.

"Rub your clit again for me," he said against your mouth.

You reached down and slid your hand down between your legs and the moment your fingers found the sensitive bundle there your body jerked as Harry thrust deeper. Your breath broke into small gasps as delicious sparks filled your tummy.

The sound of your bodies filled the room now. The wet slide of him inside you, the creak of the bed frame, the rough rhythm of Harry’s breathing against your ear.

Your fingers moved faster and Harry groaned shakily against your mouth. "Just like that."

His balls pressed softly against your fingers each time he pushed forward, the sensation sending little shocks through your already trembling body. The pace between you kept building, his thrusts growing rougher, less controlled as you bunched at the sheets beneath you with the hand you used to keep yourself steady.

You could feel him starting to shake. Harry’s breathing grew ragged behind you, the sounds slipping from his throat deeper now as he rocked harder into you, lips still at your mouth but almost not kissing anymore.

Your own body tightened in response to him as tension gathered low in your stomach, spreading outward with every thick thrust, every drag of your fingers against your clit, until the pressure inside you felt almost unbearable.

Harry groaned your name under his breath, and suddenly your vision blurred. He let go of your neck and he pressed both palms down on the bed on either side of you as he fucked in and in. The rhythm was so sharp that it made your toes curl.

Your fingers were moving desperately between your legs while Harry’s hips drove into you again and again, thudding into your skin… and then your entire body seized around him, a sharp cry breaking from your throat. The orgasm rushed through you as your back arched as your thighs trembled beneath him.

"Fuckfuckfuck—" Harry cursed behind you.

He felt it the instant your body clamped down around him, the tight pulsing squeeze of you making his thrust stutter as a long, rough groan tore from his chest. His hands tightened on your hips, holding you there while your body shook beneath him, and you could hear the sound of him losing control right behind you.

"Jesus, Y/n— Ah…"

Your name broke apart in his mouth as your body kept tightening around him, the tremors rolling through you in waves. Harry groaned louder when you squeezed again, his hips driving forward one last time before he buried himself as deep as he could and came hard into the condom, his breath leaving him in a long, helpless sound against your shoulder.

For a few seconds neither of you moved. The room filled with the sound of both of you breathing hard, the mattress creaking faintly beneath your weight while the last little tremors worked their way through you both.

Your strength drained out of you all at once and your elbows finally gave out and you sank forward onto the bed, cheek turning into the comforter as your arms stretched out beneath you. Your body felt warm and heavy and pleasantly loose, like every muscle had melted at the same time.

Behind you Harry stayed where he was, still kneeling between your legs. You could hear him breathing, deep and unsteady. And then a moment later, you felt his hands return to you.

They settled gently on the backs of your thighs first, his thumbs brushing slowly over your skin as if he was using the feel of your skin to ground himself. One of his palms slid up over the curve of your bottom, the touch softer as his breathing gradually slowed.

When he finally shifted, you heard the quiet rustle of movement behind you as he carefully pulled away and reached for something near the nightstand. The motions were brief and soft and quiet as he helped you wipe up and then cleaned himself.

Your body still felt pleasantly hazy. The kind of warm, floating tired that came after a good workout or a long day when you'd finally laid down in bed, exhausted. But this was even better. It was because of Harry and the orgasms he'd just given you.

It had been… really good. Better than you expected. Better than you'd ever experienced. And he didn't even really know you.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you stared toward him, sliding his boxer briefs up his legs in silence. You hadn’t expected him to be like that at all. For someone whose hobby was fighting in a warehouse and walking around with bruises all over his ribs, he had been surprisingly gentle. And attentive.

Harry sat beside you on the edge of the bed, one forearm resting loosely across his thigh as he leaned forward slightly and reached for his phone. The light from the screen traced across the line of his chest and over his shoulders and the scattered bruises still blooming along his ribs, catching in the messy fall of his hair.

But he seemed different suddenly. He laid his phone down and stared toward the door of his room. He stayed quiet like that for a moment. Like he was deep in thought. His mind had drifted somewhere else entirely, and you didn't know if you should ask him if he was okay or if it was better to just remain quiet.

Slowly you reached a hand up to touch his back and when your fingers pressed against his shoulder blade he startled just slightly and stood up, running a hand through his hair.

"You can uh, get some rest. I'll be in, in a little while. Need to… do something." He didn't even look at you when he said it. You watched him step out of his room and you were suddenly filled with shame and confusion. After what you two had just shared, you thought this would have gone down a lot differently. It wasn't like you were expecting him to fall in love or anything, but the sudden disassociation had you on edge.

You climbed from the bed and picked up your sweater to bring it over your head and pull it down your body to cover yourself before you stepped into the hallway and then toward his living room to see what he was doing. He had his phone in his hand and he was looking at his screen like he was in pain. You didn't understand what was going on but part of you thought that he was acting this way because he was already seeing someone.

"What's wrong?" You blurted out.

He looked up at you, brows shot up before he closed his phone and set it down, shaking his head as he stepped into his kitchen. "Nothing. Just got something to do."

You followed him, now completely convinced he was cheating on someone with you and you weren't about to let it go now. You placed your hands on your hips and stared at him as he grabbed a cup from his cabinet.

"You have a girlfriend, don't you?"

He stopped mid-motion and turned to look at you. "What? No. God, no. It's nothing like that, Y/n. Just… don't worry about it, okay?"

You hummed, still unconvinced, and leaned back into the counter, watching as he poured water into his cup. "Then what's all this? Why are you acting guilty?"

He sighed and shook his head before he took a long drink from his cup. He finally turned to face you, and the expression that twisted there made it look like he'd just been punched. "Damnit. You gotta wear that? Come on…"

Your brows knitted together as you looked down at yourself and back at him. "Wear the sweater? I didn't want to walk out here naked to confront you."

He weakly gestured at you. "It's just… It's too… You shouldn't even be here. You're way too good for me. So yeah. I do feel guilty. I should've…" He let his eyes drag over your sweater and down your legs.

Suddenly Tyson stepped into the kitchen and moved toward your ankles before brushing against you so lightly at first that you almost thought you imagined it. But then the old cat curved around the back of your leg and rubbed against you again, slowly, his tail flicking as he passed. You froze, looking down at him, just as Harry did.

His eyes dropped straight to the cat, and he looked genuinely caught off guard… shocked. Tyson circled back and bumped his side against your calf again.

Harry stared at him. "What the hell?"

You looked down, then back up at him. "What?"

"He doesn’t do that." Harry’s voice had gone flat with disbelief. "He doesn’t do that with people. I was surprised when he ran into the bedroom the first time because he usually just hides. But this…"

The cat moved around you once more, brushing against the other leg now as if he had decided you belonged there after all. You didn’t know what to make of it, and judging by the look on Harry’s face, neither did he.

"Oh," you said. Not really knowing what else to offer.

Harry let out a short breath through his nose and dragged a hand down over his mouth. "I’ve never seen him do that before."

You folded your arms over your chest, the confusion and embarrassment from the last few minutes still sitting in you. "Do you want me to call a cab?"

Harry’s gaze snapped back to your face. "What? No."

"You just said I shouldn’t even be here." Your voice came out tighter than you meant it to, but you couldn't help it. Your feelings were hurt. "And you feel guilty, and now you’re acting like something terrible just happened, so if you want me to go, just say that."

"It’s not that I want you to go."

"Then what is it?"

He looked away first, clenching his jaw. For a second you thought he might just avoid the question altogether, but then he muttered, "I just can’t be getting attached."

You blinked at him. "Attached?"

His expression shifted instantly, like he regretted the word the second it left his mouth. "That’s not what I meant."

"Well, that's the word you used."

Harry exhaled hard and shook his head, already trying to pull back into himself. "Forget I said that. I’ll take you home in the morning."

You stared at him, incredulous. "In the morning?"

"Yeah." He gestured vaguely toward the bedroom with his cup still in hand. "You should get some sleep."

You let out a disbelieving laugh. "No, I don’t think so."

His brows drew together. "Y/n—"

"Why not just take me home now?" You pushed off the counter, the sweater bunching around your crossed arms as you looked at him. "I don’t want to sleep in your bed while you’re out here sneaking around being weird after we just—" You stopped yourself, cheeks heating, then pressed on anyway. "Like… I just don't know you all that well and this is… it's weird. The way you're acting."

Tyson bumped your leg again. Harry looked down at the cat and made a low, frustrated sound, raking a hand back through his hair. "Jesus Christ."

You stood there waiting, heart beating too fast, while he stared at the floor for a second like he was trying to get control of himself. When he looked back at you, some of the tension in his face had eased, replaced by something more tired than defensive.

"You wanna go home?" he asked quietly.

You swallowed and nodded. "I’d rather be at home if you’re going to act like this. Whatever this is."

That seemed to hit him. "If I lie down with you," he said, "will you stay till I have to get you home?"

You hesitated. "What time?"

"Five-thirty."

You stared at him for a second, unable to believe this was where the night had landed.

"I don't know, Harry."

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm… I don't sleep well. I maybe get three hours a night. Four. And if I sleep longer, it's for… like two days. I'm all fucked up, Y/n." He looked up at you, and the look of apology on his face was sincere. "Got a lot of shit in my head. You're genuinely… really nice. I apologize for ruining the night like this. I just didn't expect…"

He trailed off and looked away, eyes blinking as he swallowed and shook his head. "I would prefer you to stay. We can get a little sleep, okay? Like four hours? Then I'll bring you home and you never have to hear from me again."

You frowned. Part of you wanted to wrap him up and comfort him. Have him tell you everything, lay it all out for you so you could just listen to him. But you knew better than to push at someone you didn't know well enough. Whatever he was going through, and whether or not any of it was true, you felt like at least you could stay for a few more hours until he was ready to get you home.

"Okay."

His eyes lifted, and he looked surprised and then relieved. His shoulders dropped a little, and after a long moment he set the cup down on the counter and reached past you to switch off the kitchen light. The room dimmed, leaving only the softer glow from the living room and the faint light spilling in from the streetlights outside.

When you both stepped back into the bedroom, Harry was moving silently, none of the teasing swagger from earlier left in him. He pulled the covers back, waited for you to climb in, and then joined you a second later before switching off the lamp, and the room dropped into darkness.

For a moment you lay there on your side, tense and uncertain, listening to the shift of the mattress and his breath as he settled. Then he moved closer behind you and wrapped an arm around your waist, drawing you back against him gently.

He didn’t say anything else. He just held you there, quietly, his breathing gradually evening out against the back of your neck until your body gave in to the exhaustion of the night and you drifted off in his arms.

𑁍ࠬܓ

It was still dark outside when the two of you left his apartment. Neither of you said much as you stepped out into the early morning. Harry locked the door behind him and you followed him down the exterior walkway with your arms folded over yourself.

He had the helmet in one hand, dangling from his fingers as he moved. Sleep had softened him a little, but only on the surface. You could feel the sadness in him more clearly now. It seemed to emanate from him, to settle over the line of his shoulders and the way he moved, like something unseen had its grip at his throat and refused to allow him up for air.

You hadn’t known him long enough to say for sure what haunted him, and you knew better than to pretend you understood. But between what he’d said in the kitchen, the way he barely slept, the near-emptiness of his apartment, the hollow look that had crossed his face when he mentioned he hadn't talked to his family in a while… it all added up to something heavy, you were sure.

Harry handed you the helmet once you reached the bike and waited while you put it on. Then he climbed on, and after giving him your address, you settled in behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist and held him a little tighter than you had the night before.

When he turned into your apartment complex, you expected him to stop at the curb, let you off, and disappear before you’d even gotten your key into the door. But instead he parked properly, killed the engine, and climbed off first before turning to help steady the bike while you got down. You pulled the helmet off and blinked at him, surprised when he didn’t immediately reach for it.

"What are you doing?" you asked as he started walking with you toward your building.

He glanced at you. "Walking you up."

"It’s okay, you don’t have to."

Harry’s mouth quirked like he found that mildly ridiculous. "Not safe to let you go wandering around alone like that, even if it’s a decent neighborhood."

You didn’t argue. You just carried the helmet against your hip and walked beside him through the dim, quiet courtyard toward your door. You were tired enough that your thoughts felt a little loose at the edges.

You stopped at your door and turned toward him. "Thank you," you breathed.

Harry shook his head. "Don’t thank me. I'm sorry for how the night turned out."

Your fingers tightened around the helmet. "You don't need to apologize. I did have a good time."

His expression shifted at that, something tired and regretful passing across his face before it smoothed over again.

Then, before you could stop yourself, the question slipped out. "Are we gonna… see each other again?"

The second you asked it, embarrassment washed over you. You almost winced at yourself. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Either way, the question was out now, hanging there between you where you couldn’t take it back.

Harry smiled then, but it was sad enough that your stomach sank before he even answered.

"I don’t know," he said quietly. "We’ll see. Okay?"

You nodded and looked down, pretending to adjust your grip on the helmet so he wouldn’t have to see too clearly that you understood exactly what that meant. He hadn’t asked for your number. He hadn’t offered his. And now the simple answer only confirmed what some part of you had already known.

Then you lifted the helmet slightly toward him. "Here."

Harry looked down at the helmet and smiled. "Keep it."

A little laugh escaped you. "I can’t use this, Harry."

He shrugged. "Neither can I."

You lowered your hand and looked at him for a beat before dropping your gaze again, wishing you could just make this moment disappear forever. Then his fingers were at your chin, lifting your face back up until you had no choice but to look at him.

"Don’t be sad," he murmured. "None of this is worth being sad about."

You tried for a smile, though you weren’t sure how convincing it was. You nodded quietly, and he dropped his hand before you faced toward your door to stick your key in it.

Pushing at the door, you turned back to look at him as he stepped away, hands in his pockets. The edge of his mouth turned up into a crooked grin aimed at you before he finally turned, broad shoulders hunched as he led himself down the stairs and kept walking until he was gone.

. .

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Harry finishes binding the material to the headboard and tightens the knot, eyes wandering over you as he does so, before testing your movement, or rather lack of.

“Is it too tight?” he asks, placing a finger underneath your chin and forcing you to look at him, a seriousness washing over his features whilst he awaits your answer.

Your mouth is dry as you tug at your restraints a little, testing them out to confirm.

It’s tight enough. Just how you like it.

“No,” you tell him, quietly, body sinking into the mattress as your heart pounds with anticipation.

“Good,” he smirks again, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, soft at first, before parting yours with a practiced ease, delving his tongue hungrily into your mouth.

Normally, you’d snake your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you, maybe even lightly scratching at his back and leaving nail marks across his skin, but that proves to be impossible now.

Your underwear maintains your dignity, whilst Harry’s still adorned in his suit, minus the tie, and the roughness of his clothes against your almost naked body has you raising your hips to meet him, the contrast sparking something within you.

You whimper into his mouth as he moans into yours, his length becoming more prominent as he presses himself harder against you.

“What’s your colour?” he asks, slightly breathless as he raises himself above you to make eye contact with you.

His palms are flat, either side of your head, and despite the slight distance he’s put between your bodies, you can still feel the bulge within his trousers.

“Green,” you reply in the same tone.

He pulls away, completely, and without warning, climbing off you and coming to stand beside the bed, watching your breath hitch as you tug at the tie around your wrists.

“Harry,” you desperately pant.

“What colour do we use if it’s getting too much, darling?”

You suck in a sharp breath, your eyes meeting his before answering with conviction. 

“Yellow.”

“Good girl,” he smiles down at you before sitting beside you, his fingertips dancing on your upper thigh, delicately stroking your skin.

You buck your hips at his touch, whimpering at the contact, gently tugging at the tie.

“What colour do we use when you need to stop?” he asks.

“Harry—” you whine.

You know the answer, you both know the answer, and whilst you know he just wants to keep you safe, you’re desperate for him and he’s wasting time. 

His hand stills atop your thigh.

“Darling,” it’s a gentle warning, with a raised eyebrow, one that means activity could cease if you don’t provide him with the answer he’s looking for.

“Red,” you reply, immediately. “Red.”

“Good girl,” he repeats, stroking his fingers along the inside of your thighs this time, dangerously close to the dampness forming between them.

“Please,” you beg, in a whisper.

You clamp them together softly, keeping his hand there, trying to relieve yourself as you raise your hips off the bed.

A pathetic moan escapes you when he pulls his hand away from you.

“I’m going t’ have a shower,” he tells you, standing up and watching over you again, awaiting the reaction he knows is coming.

“Wh— no, Harry—” you plead.

Your eyes avert to the tie binding your wrists to the headboard, your chest heaving slightly as your breath leaves you.

“Harry—” you whine again.

He leans down, lips hovering over yours, but not making contact. He’s so close, yet so far.

“Trust me?” he asks.

“Hmm,” you hum in reply, a small nod to confirm, as you try to lift yourself off the mattress and meet his lips with your own.

“Darling—” his second warning of the night comes sooner than he anticipated.

His hot breath fans over you, his lips still so close to yours as you mumble incoherently against them, breathless as you do so.

Harry can hear the mantra of please’s, desperation evident in your tone.

Sensing your need for comfort, he reaches for your bound hands, enveloping them in one of his.

It’s affectionate, a reminder that you’re in control, that exploring your boundaries together is an act of love.

“You trust me?” he questions again.

“Yes,” you provide a solid answer this time, eyes averting from his plush lips to meet his gaze. “I trust you,” you vocalise. 

Harry smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. No hunger, no desperation behind it. Soft and gentle, and then he pulls away, again.

“Be a good girl for me.” 

~

You have no concept of time. With no way to access your phone, you can only imagine how long you’ve been lying here, bound to the bed in the suite you’re residing in with Harry during this leg of the tour.

He’s been gone at least twenty minutes, you estimate, leaving you in a pool of your own arousal, desperate and wanting.

Showering almost immediately after a show was the norm for Harry. Two hours spent singing, dancing, and running on stage, keeping the audience entertained and in the palm of his hand, had him working up a sweat.

Leaving you tied to the bed while he showered was a first, though.

You’re restless already, anticipation building within you. Occasionally bucking and raising your hips for relief achieves nothing if Harry’s hand isn’t between your legs.

Your thoughts run away with you as you imagine Harry in the shower, his hands massaging the spicy scented gel over his sweaty body.

The mental image of his impressive frame — his toned abdomen after several marathon runs, his muscular arms and legs since Brad had put him on a strict training regime — has you feeling absolutely feral.

You imagine Harry’s thighs between yours as he fucks himself into you, the veins in his arms protruding as he holds his weight above you, telling you to take it like a good girl.

A whimper escapes you as you buck your hips again, the scenario playing out so easily in your mind.

You need him, now.

He’s taking too long.

You ponder for a moment, then visualise him playing with himself in the shower, the thought of his hands travelling down through his pubic hair, before reaching his hard length crossing your mind.

He would have his dominant hand wrapped around his shaft, whilst the other would hold the tiled wall for support, bowing his head as water droplets roam freely over his body.

He’d groan as the ridges of his cock become more prominent, squeezing softly in the palm of his hand, taunting himself with slower strokes because it feels so good, angel, before pumping hard.

Squeeze. Stroke. Pump.

He would repeat the actions, teasing himself, allowing for the tension to build up to his release.

His laboured breathing would be the first sign that he’s close, and the second would be the groan that escapes his parted lips when he throws his head back in ecstasy. 

The rest of his release follows immediately after, his cock twitching in his hand as the tip begins to leak with his pre-come. He’d emit a guttural groan as the last pump relieves him of the pleasure that had been building, thick ropes of come expelling from his manhood.

You almost orgasm at the thought alone.

You’re needy and desperate and aching for him.

~

Harry’s trying desperately to make this last.

He stays in the shower for longer than he intended, knowing that leaving you for a period of time will only benefit you, becoming more slick for him. 

It’s a welcome thought, imagining you squirming and writhing in your bonds, the tie only pulling at your wrists tighter and holding you firmly in place.

He can already hear the desperate please please please’s coming from you in his mind, maybe his name resounding on your tongue as you beg for him to make you come.

He groans as he grasps himself, pumping hard at the image of you bound and at his mercy.

The same tie that had adorned his neck only mere hours earlier was now tied around your wrists, securing you to the bed. He imagines that tie gagging your pretty mouth when you moan for him, his cock hardening as he considers what your muffled whimpers would sound like behind the material.

Harry’s preparing himself for the sight of you, spread open before him as you buck your hips, unable to relieve yourself, your knickers sopping with your arousal.

“Be a good girl for me,” should have done it for you already, and he smirks at the image of you quivering, cute whimpers escaping you as you coat your underwear with your own slick, to please him.

You’re always a good girl for him.

He’s going to work you, hard.

He’ll tease you with his fingers, encouraging you to take more because you can while you cry out for him.

Maybe he’ll even use the Pleasing vibrator that he knows you snuck into your suitcase.

He’d edge you, play with you, torment you.

He’ll please you like he means it.

Scenarios carry him away as his hand warms around himself, and he pictures his cock delving into your soaking cunt. So wet and warm, and made for him.

A guttural groan escapes him, from annoyance as opposed to pleasure, because he releases his hold on his manhood, stopping himself just in time from coming.

He wants it to be intense.

He wants to make it last.

He needs to come with you.

~

“Harry—” you whimper, eyes frantically searching over him as he leaves the bathroom.

He’s changed from his tour outfit and into a pair of Calvin Klein boxers, barely able to maintain the dignity of the obvious bulge within them.

“Shh, angel,” he reassures.

Your breath hitches at the pet name reserved only for you.

He doesn’t immediately approach you, which surprises you and disappoints you.

Instead, he heads towards your suitcase, opened out on the carpeted flooring of the suite. You were practically living out of the luggage holdall, not bothering to unpack too many of your belongings, consumed by bone idle laziness if you were being honest with yourself.

“Harry—” you try again, straining your neck to look at him, groaning at the restraints that prevent you from doing anything.

He barely rummages in your suitcase so it’s obvious he’s looking for something in particular. 

You know he’s found something when he stays crouched in position. When he stands, you notice the maroon coloured object held loosely in his hand.

“Fuck—” you whisper, closing your eyes briefly, only to find Harry standing at the end of the bed when you open them again.

"Care to tell me why you brought this along, darling?” he asks, a knowing smirk gracing his lips as he holds up the object in question.

The Pleasing vibrator.

“Harry—” you whine his name, continuing to tug pathetically at the restraint around your wrists.

You’ve been caught out.

“Want me to use it on you? Hmm? ’s that it?”

You buck your hips towards him at the mere thought of him using the vibrator made by the company he founded.

“’s that a yes?” he smirks again.

You nod in reply, your mouth too dry to vocalise anything coherent right now.

“I need words, darling.”

“Uh huh.”

“Words,” he demands this time.

“Yes— Harry— please—” you’re begging now.

His movements are slow and torturous as he kneels on the bed between your legs, his fingers stroking the apex of your thighs as you part them, with ease, for him.

“Clever girl,” he murmurs, his eyes watching hungrily over you, admiring just how wet you are for him.

You whimper softly at your exposure and despite Harry being between your legs, you attempt to close them together.

“Keep them open, darling,” he tells you.

You whine, turning your head away from him as you flush under his gaze, self-consciousness consuming you as he watches you.

“Eyes on me, darling,” he tells you, placing the vibrator on the duvet and resting his hands on your thighs, encouraging them to stay parted.

Your breath hitches as you follow his command, biting your lip as you shyly make eye contact.

“Want t’ watch you.”

You hear the vibrations rumble through the toy before you feel them, anticipation building between your legs as heat continues to pool, your stomach rolling with an unexplainable excitement.

“Gonna make it so good, darling, so good.” 

He presses the rounded head of the wand gently against your clothed core, the low setting making you yearn for more.

You moan first, a relief that he’s finally touching you, bucking your hips in desperation.

For a minute, he holds the device in place while you circle your hips to match the rhythm of the vibrator.

You whimper as he works you with the toy.

Harry rests a hand on one thigh, a reassuring gesture more than anything, rotating the device as your body desires. 

He can read your body like a book.

He knows what you like.

He knows what you need.

You moan again, breathless this time, as you tug against your restraints. 

Harry presses the device harder against you. Whilst your knickers are a frustrating barrier, his cock hardens at the sight of you sopping into his favourite pair.

An oxymoron of emotions overwhelm you.

You need control in every other area of your life but you give yourself to Harry, completely, in the bedroom. You trust him and allow him to dominate you.

The setting isn’t high enough, and your body is aching for a release that won’t come. You buck your hips again, unashamedly trying to fuck yourself against the vibrator, the tie only restraining you more.

“Thought you liked this one, hmm?” 

Harry tips his chin towards the tie, watching the material bite into your delicate skin every time you writhe in the tight binding.

You don’t answer with words. You can’t.

Instead, your body responds for you, sinking into the mattress as you spread your legs further apart, before raising your knees and rotating your hips, desperate to relieve your swollen nub.

“Uh huh,” you eventually manage, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you work yourself over the vibrator. 

Harry leans forward, hovering over you, keeping the wand in place.

There’s something so intimate about the scene unfolding, both of you in only underwear, you drenched in your own arousal while Harry’s length strains against his pants.

His lips find your ear, hot breath fanning over you, his facial hair tickling your lobe.

“Then stop struggling—” he whispers.

His cock presses against your pubic bone, him and the vibrator working in tandem to pleasure you.

“—and take it like a good girl.” 

His words earn the moan he’d expected from you but he catches it with his mouth, his tongue dominating you as he steals a kiss.

You pant breathlessly into him, a series of Harry Harry Harry escaping you as you ache for him.

You’re sure you could come now, even with the device on its lowest setting, everything that has built to this moment — the bondage, the teasing, Harry’s words.

Taking the opportunity beneath him, you fuck yourself against his hardened cock within the confines of his pants, rubbing the soaked gusset of your underwear over his bulge.

“Harry—” you moan, the soft, floral tie biting into your flesh.

You’re close.

You’re so close.

Harry suddenly pulls away, kneeling back to his original position between your legs. His feet are tucked underneath him, as he sits cock first, the impressive length remaining his most prominent feature.

“No—” your bottom lip trembles slightly as he removes the vibrator from between your thighs.

The overstimulation that had washed over you has now been snatched away by him and you quickly realise he’s edging you.

“Harry—” you whine.

“Shh, angel. You’re gonna be good for me, aren’t you? Gonna take it for me?” 

Your breath hitches as you squirm in the restraint, pulling against the headboard harder now as you become restless. 

“What’s your colour?” he asks, immediately.

He’s not too concerned, but your slight distress makes him check in with you.

“Harry—” you whine again.

“Colour,” he demands. It’s not a question.

“Green,” you pant. “Green— please— H—”

He presses the wand to your stomach, rotating it on your skin. Your cheeks redden with embarrassment when you feel the bulbous head coated in your slick. 

Slowly and torturously, he drags the wand up your body and through the valley of your chest, his attention settling on your right breast. He rotates the head, your nipple pebbling through the lace material at the sensation as the blood flows to the surface of your skin.

Harry groans at the sight, shifting slightly to adjust himself. The damp patch forming on his pants is a mix of your own arousal from grinding against him and the pre-come from his leaky tip.

“Perfect tits,” he murmurs. “Made just for me.” 

His thumb skims the mound, hooking two fingers inside your bra. In a swift movement, he pulls the material down to expose you, the underwire sitting snugly beneath your left breast.

He follows suit with your right one, focussing his attention on arousing the nipple further, before mirroring the action and revealing both of your tits to him.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, his teeth grazing against your hard nipple, his attention flitting between both of them.

Biting, sucking and blowing cool air over the pebbled nubs earns himself a series of aaah’s and hisses as you arch your back, silently begging for the assault to continue.

“Harry—” you whimper, the plea having him groan above you, leaning down to grind his cock against your pubic bone again.

You shift your hips, meeting him rhythmically.

He groans again, clothes a barrier to your contact, as his lips hover over yours.

“Kiss me,” he almost pleads, a gentle demand.

You do as he asks, straining your neck to meet his mouth, squirming pathetically in your bondage as you desire to run your fingers through his damp, tousled hair.

It’s a searing kiss, one full of passion, Harry’s tongue dominant in your mouth as you whimper into him.

He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting softly at the plushness.

“Y’taste like strawberries,” he breathes.

His tongue swipes across your lips, hungrily licking at the strawberry balm you’d applied earlier this evening.

“So fucking sweet.”

Effortlessly, he changes the setting of the vibrator, increasing the speed from the low hum to the highest setting.

“Christ, darling—” he grunts at how responsive you are for him, drenching you both with your arousal.

He remains above you, his hand dipped between your thighs to control the wand, whilst simultaneously grinding his straining cock against yours knickers. 

“Harry—” you desperately pant, that rubber band feeling deep within your stomach, constricting, loosening, constricting again, threatening to snap.

“Harry—” it’s a whimpered plea, a beg.

“Harry—” you moan his name now.

“Please—” you’re not really asking for permission, you know he’s going to give it to you.

The wand batters against your clit, the swollen nub trembling, intensity rising in your core as you grind against the silicone, frantically searching for your release. 

“Yes,” he clarifies, permission granted.

Ethereal sounds escape you, whimpers and moans filling the room as you tug against the tie and buck beneath him, greedily fucking yourself against the device and Harry’s erection, your knickers sopping in your arousal.

“Yes, mi amor, come for me.”

His words coax you through your orgasms as you moan for him, waves crashing over you as you’re brought to the edge over and over again, the wand relentless on your throbbing clit as you find your release each time.

“There she is,” he coos softly, smirking against your lips as you emit a breathy sob, each orgasm more intense than the previous.

You shake beneath him, thighs trembling around him, whimpering as your toes curl, and your chest heaves, and your attempts to escape your restraints have stopped.

“There’s my good girl.” 

He talks you through it, removing the wand from between your legs and discarding it beside you. His frame remains above yours, although parting ever so slightly, leaving a sliver of a gap between the two of you.

You whine at the loss of contact.

“Shh, angel, ‘ve got you.” 

He cups your face, encouraging you to look at him as you nuzzle into the palm of his hand, his thumb affectionately skimming your cheek.

“Open your eyes for me, darling.”

You do.

He drinks in your glossy expression; not sad, just exhausted.

“Intense?” he asks, knowingly.

A breathy laugh escapes you in response as you continue to come down from your high, your legs still shaking around him.

“Did so good for me, darling.”

Your breath hitches at his words, the aftershocks of your orgasm pulsing through you, as you try desperately to regulate your breathing.

“Need you t’ come back to me, darling.” 

“‘m here,” you mumble, softly.

He can tell by your exhausted tone itself that you’re well spent and overstimulated, your eyes fluttering tiredly. He allows you a few minutes to recover, your body still coming down from the multiple orgasms he’d inflicted upon you.

His lips find yours, occasionally sweeping across your jawline as he cups your neck in his palm, mindlessly rubbing circles on your skin.

You whimper when he brushes your hair off your forehead, tucking the loose strands behind your ear, and the beads of sweat that finally begin to evaporate are proof of how hard he’d worked you.

Your thighs are no longer shaking as intensely as before, but there’s a slight tremble to them, the occasional bucking of your hips, an indication to him that you need more.

“You still with me?” he asks.

“I’m here,” you tell him again, more conviction in your voice this time.

He pulls his face away and scans your features, settling for eye contact with his next statement.

“Need t’ know where we’re at.” 

Your laboured breathing had settled completely, and you’re no longer drunk on orgasms, able to give him a coherent and clear-minded answer.

“Green.”

He licks his lips, a hunger igniting within him.

“Need t’ taste you, sweetheart.” 

He dips his hand between your thighs, his fingers circling your clothed clit, massaging the wetness that had pooled in your underwear throughout the course of the night.

You moan at his action, cheeks flushing as you try fucking yourself against the palm of his hand.

“So fucking wet,” he murmurs, coating his fingers in your arousal, the sound of your slick toyed between his digits, reverberating around you.

He leans back, sitting on his heels again, watching over you while he plays with you, confident in his ability in having you like this — putty in his hands.

“Who made you this wet, darling?” 

You circle your hips again, searching for relief from him.

The pad of his thumb presses down harder onto your swollen clit, and a breathy moan escapes you.

“Who made you this wet?” he asks again.

“Uh— aah— you— Harry, please,” you gasp.

“Good girl,” he praises, bringing his hand to his lips as you’re forced to watch him tauntingly lick your arousal off each of his fingers, one by one.

You blush again, tugging desperately at the restraint around your wrists, wishing you could hide your embarrassment.

“Need t’ taste you, properly,” he smirks.

You moan at his teasing words.

“May I?” he asks.

“Please,” you practically beg him, from your bound position, to take you with his mouth.

Harry doesn’t need any further encouragement.

He dips his head between your thighs, pressing sloppy kisses along the inside, his facial hair tickling you as he does so.

He can smell your arousal, his cock straining for you as he tastes the last remnants of you on his tongue, having licked his fingers clean.

His moans of appreciation have you shifting towards him, unashamedly squirming to get closer to his face, desperate for him.

“Fucking hell, darling,” he groans, as he presses his lips to the gusset of your knickers, inhaling your scent.

You moan loudly, eyes averting down at him through the valley of your exposed breasts.

Harry going down on you is one of your favourite things, and his experience in performing oral sex is second to none.

Usually, you’d vocalise your arousal — moaning and gasping and whimpering — but hair pulling was always a given. To have your fingers freely roaming his curls, earning groans from him, and tugging at them when you were close.

You sob, the mere thought of touching him a distant memory as you struggle in your bonds, fighting against the tie that secures you in place.

“I know, angel, I know,” he sighs, nuzzling himself into your underwear.

You buck your hips, desperate for release.

“Y’fucking my face, doll? Hmm? ’s that what you want, ‘s it?” he asks, smirking into the material that does nothing to maintain your dignity now.

Your core aches for him.

“Gonna give it t’ you properly, now.”

He pulls your knickers to the side, exposing you. Placing his hands on your thighs, he keeps them open, holding them down with a gentle force, his access to you so easy.

“You’re gonna love this, doll. Promise.” 

He blows against your core, cool air a stark contrast to the heat pooling between your legs. He wastes no time in delving inside of you, spreading you apart with a practiced ease, the flat of his tongue pressed heavily against you as he licks a stripe up through your cunt.

His tongue oscillates, up and down, left to right, your increased arousal showing him where needs more attention.

Your struggle entices him further, thighs attempting to clench around his head which he stops every time with a warning.

“Keep ‘em open for me.”

He holds them down, palms flat against your fleshy skin, his nails pressed gently into them.

Unable to escape his welcome assault, your body begins to shudder, your nipples hardening again, your whimpers and moans become progressively louder. 

“C’mon darling,” he begs.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, focussing on the pleasure building, that invisible rubber band threatening to violently snap again, as it had done earlier.

“Give me a good one,” he pleads.

You whimper at his words this time, desperate to please him.

“C’mon angel, make a mess for me,” he goads, coaxing you as you near your high.

“Harry—” you cry out.

You try to clench your thighs together, but Harry holds them down with a little more force than before, knowing you’ll come harder that way.

“Harry— please please please— Harry— H—” you moan his name like a prayer, unravelling before him as you release yourself all over his tongue.

He feasts on it, sucking on your clit and cleaning up your arousal. Your aftershocks have you continuing to buck into him. His lips close around the bud, suctioning it, draining you of everything you have.

“So fucking sweet,” he moans.

Your taste dances on his tongue.

He wants you to taste it, too.

Removing his head from between your legs, he comes to lean over you, dipping down to passionately kiss you. He bites your bottom lip and runs his tongue across it, sharing every last drop of your arousal. 

“Tell me what you can taste,” he demands.

You respond, kissing him back, with equally as much fervour, swallowing down your own taste.

“Strawberries,” you whisper.

He groans, grinding down on you, matching your rhythm as you fuck each other through your clothes, a breathless whimper leaving him as he reaches his high.

“Coming,” he tells you, breathlessly.

The sudden intake of breath has him gasping your name, a mantra on his lips as he swallows your taste.

“Coming, coming, Christ, love.”

He grunts as his cock twitches within the confines of his underwear, his manhood threatening to explode into the material.

“Fuck,” he whispers, as he empties himself, his cock spasming as he stains his pants with the release of his creamy substance.

You buck against him, your knickers sopping wet, a combination of both of your releases.

“Y’milking me dry, darling,” he breathes, as he holds his weight above you, hands either side of your head, whilst his shaky thighs threaten to give out beneath him.

You stay like that for a while, both shaking from your orgasms, coming down from your high.

“You ok?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you give him a small smile.

You share breathless kisses in between, a silent reassurance to each other. Whimpers and moans escape you both as you regulate your breathing, your bodies occasionally twitching from the aftershocks.

Harry presses a tender kiss to your lips, before his hand reaches for the knot in the tie.

He’ll massage your wrists later to ease any discomfort, tell you that you’ve been such a good girl, and then fuck you properly. He grins at the thought.

“Did so good for me, darling, so good.”

His words ground you and you sigh contentedly when you’re released from your bonds. Harry takes you into his arms immediately, enveloping you in his embrace.

With your head upon his chest, you can hear his rapid heartbeat thrumming beneath you, a sign that he’s exhausted the both of you tonight.

The aftercare is affectionate. Harry presses kisses to your hair and absentmindedly strokes your upper arm, his fingertips dancing on your skin.

“Harry?” you whisper in question.

The room is mostly dark, with only the glow of the lamp in the corner radiating a warm white.

“Yeah, angel?” his eyes gaze down at you.

You feign confidence and meet his.

He continues caressing your skin and presses another kiss to your temple, encouraging you to go on.

“I like—” you clear your throat.

You draw in a shaky breath, steadying yourself.

It’s just Harry. Your Harry.

With his thumb stroking her temple, his touch remained gentle despite the friction and heat between them. "Good girl..." He murmured, his voice strained but sweet as he tried to keep as quiet as he could.

He had to be, considering all the people milling about. Doing this backstage wasn’t the smartest idea, but he’d never claim to be a genius. The moment she had pawed at him through his gym shorts when he’d returned from his jog through the stadium, he’d been a goner.

Harry would have liked to say he behaved himself in his dressing rooms considering he knew it was definitely risky and 100% unprofessional, but having Y/N alongside him on a tour had turned him into a little bit of a whore.

Feeling her gag slightly as she took him deeper, his hips twitched involuntarily and moved up without his permission, making him curse under his breath. His digits tightened in her hair briefly before relaxing again, removing his grip to stroke the locks he’d pulled a little bit. 

It hadn’t been on purpose, but her hot mouth felt so good that he hadn’t been able to help it. 

"Shit-M’sorry, baby." He whispered, trying to soothe any discomfort she might feel from taking too much, too fast. She wasn’t going to complain, but he didn’t like it. His other hand reached down to cup her cheek tenderly, peering down at her with a strained smile. "Just breathe through your nose, yeah? Don’t force too much in. M’happy just like this." 

Y/N didn’t protest, humming around him as he guided her head slowly up and down his length, being careful not to push too far, too fast. Knowing his girlfriend, she’d take it- she wanted to take it- but he didn’t want to hurt her. “I know y’want to take it all, but it’s a bit too much for you yet. You’ll get it eventually, but I… fuck, I don’t want you hurting yourself.” 

Even if it did feel fucking incredible to have her throat contracting around his dick, he knew she was discouraged by how much she could take. 

Personally, he loved any part of her mouth on him and he could cum just from her kissing on the tip, but she was determined.

The sound of her pulling back was obscene- wet, slick, and making his cock twitch with the damn sight of her. A thin string of saliva connected her swollen, puffy lips to his tip, glistening before finally breaking and falling onto his thigh before running her pursed mouth across the ruddy head of his prick. With her chin wet, her lips flushed and pouty, she looked thoroughly wrecked and so fucking gorgeous albeit seemingly frustratingly denied.

The pout? Fuck. That pout. So pretty with her swollen, wet lips and the softness he could still feel.

His hand moved from his side to brush away the stray saliva at the corner of her mouth, his thumb lingering on her lower lip.

"You good, baby?"

He was being a bit of a shit, really, because he knew what she wanted, but it wasn’t something he was giving her right now. In fact, it was probably one of the few things he denied her of. Pushing her down to take all of him was what she wanted, but he wasn’t going to do that when she wasn’t nearly close to that. 

Especially backstage, where anyone could fucking hear.

She didn’t answer with words, just that familiar wounded, stubborn little glare that made his lips twitch up and his cock throb against her mouth. Y/N had no idea how much he loved it when she got like this, a little bratty and spoiled in a way he’d only enjoyed with her. Her eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, and looking so unfairly used even though she’d only gotten a half of him down. 

Fuck, he was pathetic for her.

A slight huff pushed past her lips before she leaned forward again, but Harry’s hand returning to her hair stopped her with the lightest grip.

"None of that, now," he murmured, barely able to hold back the chuckle that wanted to escape. “Speak t’me.”

“I just want to take it all. It’s pissing me off.” She definitely meant it too, based on the way she was looking at him. “It’s okay if I choke a little.”

His eyes darkened at the grumbling, his hand tightening in her hair before he caught himself. "Baby... you know that's not what I want." He leaned forward, his voice low and gentle despite the light scolding in his tone. "I don't want you choking too much, I don't want you hurting yourself. Don’t want t’bruise your poor throat, especially not before a show. Slowly is better. Trust me, it feels fucking amazing just like this." His thumb brushed over her cheek, his other hand loosely carding through her hair.

He’d never thought he’d have someone pouting about wanting to deepthroat him, but it was a common occurrence now. 

Y/N loved his cock. She’d about salivated over it the first time she’d felt him through his trousers and whenever she could get her hands, mouth, or cunt on it, she did. It had shocked him at first, experiencing just how much she truly enjoyed sex with him, but he’d become a bit spoiled now.

It was ironic, really. Harry had actually been a bit nervous about her seeing him at first considering the fact that the relationships he’d had in the past had reacted along the lines of nerves and being unsure if they wanted to take it, but she’d been eager to get her hands on it. 

If you asked him, they were a perfect match. 

“I know.” She whispered, leaning her cheek into his hand. “I just want to make you feel good.”

"You always make me feel good." He promised, his thumb stroking over the apple of her cheek. "You have no idea how good you make me feel, sweetheart. You could jus' kiss it and I’d be a goner." He wanted to kiss that pout right off her face, knowing she was genuinely frustrated but it boiled down to the fact she wanted to please him. He’d never even hinted at her trying to take it all, but it had become her goal. 

The inability to take it all wasn't a lack of skill, it was genuinely biology- him being a bit too much for her mouth. 

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t let her try, eventually.

"But I love that you want to try. You take as much as you can without hurting, hm? Anything you give me will make me happy."

The shift was instant. The tiny smile on her face was sweet and determined, recognizing his permission to keep trying, and she very much did. Leaning back in, her pout wrapped back around the leaking tip of his cock, humming softly as she peered up at him with renewed vigor. Her tongue swirled messily over the slit, tasting the pre-cum with another soft hum of satisfaction, sucking wetly with little shame at the filthy noise it brought into the air.

It was arguably Harry’s favorite visual. One would think it would be the adoring crowd looking at him that he was going to face in a few hours, and that was one of them, but this image was above that. Her cheeks flushed, eyelashes fluttering, and swollen mouth wrapped around his cock, there was nothing prettier than watching her be so pleased with herself while pleasing him. 

“Gentle this time, m’love. Slow. Take a little more.”

Her eyelashes fluttered at his low voice as he gave his instruction, her pupils blown and locked onto his. She took him a little deeper without rushing, her lips pursing as she tried to relax her throat the way he'd taught her. It was a lot for her and he knew that it upset her that she couldn’t take him all the way, but she had done far better than anyone else ever had. Working on it for months, he’d been training her for it to make her happy and feel accomplished… but he would never complain if she got to take it all, either. Even taking this much was incredible. Her mouth was fucking heaven wrapped around him.

Bobbing her head a little as she moved a little further down, a whine escaped around his cock that vibrated through his length.

"Shit, that’s a good girl." He praised, his hand sliding back to cradle the base of her skull, fingers spreading wide. Nails gently scratched over her scalp, soothing both her and himself to keep his hips from bucking up into the slick heat of her mouth. "That's perfect. Just like that. You can get messy with it, baby. Y’know how I like it."

She took him a fraction deeper, throat opening slightly around him, and he hissed through clenched teeth. The wet, sloppy sounds increased as she leaned into it more confidently, tongue working the underside of his shaft. Pre-cum leaked more freely, mixing with her saliva and dribbling down his length, dripping onto her chin and smearing onto his sack, but there was no attempts to keep it clean. She looked so fucking pretty like that - mouth full, eyes glassy, spit coating his cock.

"That's it... fuck, sweetheart." His hips barely moved, just a tiny twitch.

Her mouth was a mess and he fucking loved it.

The wet noises filled the room as she pulled back until only the tip was inside, sucking fully and hollowing out her cheeks. She released it with a wet plop, licking up some of the spit that had dribbled from her mouth and down the length of him before taking a shuddering breath and diving back down, taking him deeper than she had before. 

“Oh, fuck.”

He felt her gag slightly, a cough vibrating around his length making him hiss as his stomach jumped from the way it had his dick pulsing, but he watched her. She wasn’t too far gone yet, wasn’t hurting herself, so he didn’t stop her. “Y’alright? I know it’s big, baby. So much for that little throat to take, you’ve got t’be careful.” 

She paused, breathing through her nose before giving him a hum that sounded a lot like ‘mmm-hm’ before pushing herself a bit further. Her throat convulsed slightly around the head of his cock again, and he felt the back of her mouth open up to take a little more. It was a tight fit, and he could feel the pressure building in his balls as she slowly took more and more of him, and drooling over the rest of his cock as her mouth watered. 

The sight of her struggling to fit him all in her mouth was both stupidly hot and troubling, making his heart rate pick up. He knew she was pushing herself to make him happy, and that alone was a huge turn-on, but he also knew his girl was very stubborn and she wanted to take it all more than anything. So fucking sweet, but so fucking stubborn.  

It wasn’t going to happen today, though. It was too much too soon, and his balls felt so full that it was uncomfortable. They were wet with her spit, heavy with the need to empty into her perfect throat, and he couldn’t hold on much longer. 

“That’s enough. D-Don’t take any more. Y’have to be quiet, m’love. Gonna make me fuckin’ cum.” 

The noises she was making, choking a little and sputtering on him on her own volition would capture the attention of anyone who paid too much attention walking by and he knew that. “Where do y’want it, hm? Want it on your face? Down that throat? Show me where.”

Her eyes were swimming with unshed tears as she looked up at him, pupils blown, her cheeks flushed, and saliva dripping freely down her chin onto his thighs in a messy web of strings that had him taking a shaky breath himself. She looked completely wrecked and yet completely focused, determined to push further. 

She made a sound - a frustrated whine against his cock - and shook her head. She wanted more. 

"Greedy fuckin’ thing, you're already at your limit," he warned, his voice rough. “It’s too big for that throat yet. You’ll… You’ll get more next time, fuck.” He cursed, head falling back as she added her hand cupping his sac. 

She was trying to get him to thrust up into her mouth, but he knew better than that.

Fingers tightening in her hair, he grit his teeth as he looked down at her with his jaw tight. “I said no. Don’t be a brat. You’be taken more than anyone else ever has. M’not letting you hurt yourself for this. You’re making progress.” He pulled her up and off of him, ignoring how his cock twitched it fell against his stomach. The devastated look on her face only made it worse. 

Never had he had a person be so completely determined to take it all. He’d be lucky if they took half, and she’d beat them all. Her infatuation with his dick was to his benefit, but she had no patience. 

“But H-“

“But nothing. Tell me where you want my cum so I can lick that cute little pussy up after. M’getting impatient. Know it’s dripping onto my rug right now. We’ll work on you taking more at home, but you’ve been edging me too long.” He caressed the back of her scalp, allowing her tongue to glide up the length of him despite her glaring at him. 

“Want it in my mouth.” 

“That’s my girl.” He praised, guiding the tip back into her mouth. The suction was back immediately, but he controlled how much she took- her free reign was done. “Such a sweet girl, just wants t’make me feel good. So determined and s-stubborn.” Tripping over words as he guided her mouth up and down a more manageable bit of him, he wrapped his other hand around the base and stroked in time with her mouth. “My poor baby’s a cockslut. Love it so much, but you need to be patient.” 

Maybe it had been the edging from her insisting on taking more and making him hold off his orgasm, but seeing her heated eyes staring at him, feeling her drooling down his shaft and onto his fingers, the vibration of her whine did him in. 

“Oh, there it is baby, take it. Take it, take it, don’t waste a drop.”

His hips barely moved but his cock jumped against her tongue, ropes of hot cum spilling right out onto it as the heat washed over him.

Y/N took it eagerly like she always did, her tongue working to catch every drop, her teary eyes looking up to his. The sounds were filthy, wet, sloppy, desperate, and he couldn’t get enough. So much so that he didn’t manage to bite back the deep, mangled groan he let out into the dressing room, head falling back as his balls emptied right onto her tongue.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck.” With his control back, he allowed himself to rock against her tongue, gently thrusting into her mouth as his thighs trembled and he watched her eyes water a little more as he went a little deeper than intended only to draw out pleased noise from her.

"Sorry, m’sweet girl. Got carried away. Just swallow it all for me, baby." His fingers held through her hair, gently holding her in place as the last spurts dribbled onto her tongue and she did as he asked, as his cock twitched inside her mouth.

"That's what I needed. Thank you. M’so lucky to have such a stubborn girl." He laughed breathlessly, voice wrecked and raspy as he stroked over her scalp, admiring the view in front of him. Y/N was the most beautiful thing in the world, but seeing her pleased with herself like this was one of his favorites. "Such a good girl for me. Took me so well." 

She pulled off with a wet pop, lips swollen and shiny, cum leaking from the corner of her mouth that he quickly wiped away with his thumb, bringing it back to her tongue. “Clean it up, hm?”

Y/N didn’t miss a beat, doing what he said and licked the pad of his finger up before resting her face on his thigh with the pout returning. “I could have taken more.”

"Could’ve, shouldn't." He corrected, his now wet thumb brushing her cheek as he regarded her with amusement. "You were gagging pretty hard on it, sweetheart. Not gonna let you hurt yourself. Especially when you have to talk to people comin’ to the show tonight. As much as I love that rasp it gives you, I don’t want you too sore and having to push through it." He knew she'd just try again next time, harder, deeper, determined to beat her previous record like it was some personal challenge. 

And he was definitely going to have to deal with that later. Alone, without potential ears hearing her gag on it and him growl the way he wanted to when he felt her choke.

"You did good though." He conceded, tilting her chin up to look at him. “So proud of you, even if you were a bit of a brat. I definitely wasn’t as quiet as I should’ve been, and that’s all your fault.”

Reaching for the box of tissues on the side table, he pulled one out and gently dabbed at her chin, wiping away the saliva and cum that had dribbled down. His touch was as tender as it was thorough, wiping beneath her jaw, around her swollen lips and down to her chin, smoothing away the mess with an almost clinical care.

"There we go. Pretties girl in the world." He murmured with a smile as she turned her face to kiss his thigh. “Sweet, too. I meant it when I said no one’s ever been so good to me. I love how eager you are, but I’m satisfied with what we do now. I know you can take it all, but remember how it took a few tries for you to take it all in that cute little pussy?” 

It had taken a few weeks to get to that point. Even now, it wasn’t every time that he got all the way in and despite her being a self described ‘size queen’, he refused to let her do too much. 

“Yeah, but that was easier.” Climbing up in his lap, she settled herself in it and stroked his chin, admiring the stubble there. “I can’t help that I love it so much. You’re my dream man. Even without the singing and dancing, which I love, you’re just perfect and I want to give you as much as you give me.” Her lips pursed as she kissed the tip of his nose before laying her weight on top of him, which he took to easily. 

Everyone was always commenting on how good of friends you were, how beautiful it is to see such a professional yet well rounded relationship between you and Harry. As his assistant, you would be the first to agree on how well you work together. But it was the tension that simmered underneath that they didn’t realise. That was something that was kept very quietly, and very unaddressed between the two of you for years…

The late nights you spent going over his schedule with him in hotel rooms, how he’d always hug you goodnight when you’d leave— hands lingering at the low of your back. How you’d always be the first to tell him he looked good in the morning when you’d bring him and yourself a coffee, just to see the smirk that would bloom on his face and how he’d roll his eyes. All the little looks that piled up over so long they turned into a mountain of tension. Something so taut that it finally snapped a few days ago in this very green room before he went on stage.

15 minutes before he preformed to thousands upon thousands of people. You fixing his tie.

You were probably a little flushed in the cheeks from having him standing right in front of you, looking down as your hands fiddled with the fabric around his neck.

“You look good.” You hummed, looking up to catch his eyes— perhaps a stupid thing to say. But it was true.

“Y’think?” His eyes looked half lidded as he gazed down at you, pupils a little blown out.

“You shouldn’t have to ask me that, not when you’ll go out there and everyone will scream so loud half the Netherlands will hear it.” You let out a quiet chuckle, finishing the knot and tugging the fabric till it was even.

There was a beat of silence that hung between you both, and then, “it’s not about them, though.”

“It’s not now?” You ask, voice very steady, testing the waters as you let your eyes wander over his expression. Carefully trying to unravel what the bob of his throat, or the twitch of his mouth means in this delicate context.

“No…” he slowly speaks out, accent like honey melting through you, “want to know what you think.”

“I told you what I think.” You mumbled, pursing your lips. Hyper aware at the time of how little space there was between you, and that there was no longer a reason for it now your hands fell away from the tie.

“And if I want to know more?”

His voice was so quiet, almost coming out as a rasp. Your own heart was beating like a jack rabbit as he stepped half a step closer.

It all went out the window then. When you let your hands very gently brace his hips, and he slowly leant down, breath fanning over your mouth.

It hung in the balance for a few seconds, the warmth of his breath over your lips, the squeeze of your fingers over his hip bones…

Then you were headfirst into one idiotic, unthought out decision later, and with T-minus 15 minutes before the man in front of you went on stage, you let his hand hook around the back of your neck and you took the liberty to slam your lips into his.

You were kissing so hard you thought you might blackout. Hands everywhere, in fabric, pulling, pushing.

It was a flurry of groans and quiet whines, muffled by eachothers lips, pressing to one another in frantic, heated kisses. The two of you unravelled fast, stumbling backwards to the wall, Harry’s back hitting it with a thud. Quick to flip you around into it, pulling your hips forward till they clashed into his.

Until a rap on the thankfully locked door reminded with a quick and polite call that there was 7 more minutes till he was out there.

He’d broke the kiss panting, sucking in a breath to call out some form of acknowledgement to whoever was at the door. Before licking a long, slow stripe up your neck.

Whispering something about how he could cancel the show right fucking now.

He didn’t. And he did go out onstage. And you had to watch him dance, sing and run around all night, looking so good you wanted to rip your hair out…

Peaks of his tan skin, tattoos you’d ran your hands over the top of through his clothes. You wanted more, and that’s exactly what you were about to hinder yourself from getting.

He had a few days break. Of which you’d planned to leave after the show and head home to see your family for a birthday event that was planned.

Already committed to it, transport and all booked, you had to leave. Three excruciatingly long days of not knowing what the fuck was going on, and atleast five undoubtedly flirty texts threads between you and again, your boss.

Hiding your smiling with pursed lips as you texted him, your phone on your thigh under the table like a fucking school girl.

Still can’t believe you ran off on me. Rude.

i believe you were the one that left first, to go preform that sold out show or something…?

You’re acting like you weren’t there watching.

okay well of course i was watching. you were amazing, it’s an incredible show and i wouldn’t miss that for the world.

I see, being all sweet about it now x

Really, you needed to go touch some grass, reconnect with nature. But you still sent the text you wrote anyway. Closing your phone because it was risky enough you wanted to go throw your electronic device into a large body of water.

im trying to keep the compliments up, i enjoyed how they panned out last time.

And when he replied, you wanted to go throw yourself into a body of water.

Remind me how many more hours till you’re back in Amsterdam with me?

But now here you were. You had survived those days, and barely survived having to act normal around everyone when you were back in time to see him play his next show in Amsterdam. And then finally, the look he gave you backstage said it all.

It beckoned you to follow him to his room backstage. All normal to the eyes of others, perhaps aside from the quickly paced walk down the halls of the stadium… all the usual, until the door shut behind him and his hands were on you barely a second later.

A groan sounded from his lips as pulled back to practically hiss out a plea, begging for you to part your lips for him, “baby, let me taste you—“

You hummed, a kiss-drunk whine, unable to think anything except the words “Harry” and “more”. So instead you settled with parting your mouth, and letting his tongue meet yours in a long, hot press.

He swore against your lips, and you let your hands run over the tattooed laurels that peaked from the low wasted black pants he wore. It was the hottest thing, seeing the dark ink, how it brackets his v-line, framing his belly button and the trail of hair that leads down to what you’ve unregrettably been dreaming about for so fucking long. Long enough you’re convinced you accidentally manifested this, or something.

“Harry, fuck—“ you gasped out as he pushes you both back, stepping your feet backwards until your lower back meets the table in here. One you haven’t even looked at since coming into the room, busy with the man in front of you. And his mouth.

But now his hips press you into it, making you arch your spine and toss you head back.

“All fuckin’ night—“ he says— voice deep from singing for two hours, husky as it enters your ears— his body is crowding your space until he’s pressing himself to every inch of you, “thinking about you, your mouth, your body…”

Your head spins as he lets his hands lift your ass to sit on the table, taking up the space between your spread thighs, “up on that stage trying to stop thinking about what i want to do to you,”

A whine splits from your lips as you card your fingers into his hair, feeling his stubble scrape down your neck as he kisses along it, sucking gently at the skin above your pulse.

Thankfully, the tie he wore tonight is already off, gone to a place you do not care about in the slightest, and your free hand runs up his chest to desperately pop the buttons of the butter yellow shirt he’s in.

“Harry… oh my god—“ you moan out, palming at his abs, pressing your legs to the backs of his thighs trying to bring him closer— to have more pressure, more friction.

“Mhm, I know, i know love,” he almost coos out against your skin, “felt like this all night… ‘nd the last three days.”

“I missed you, so much—“ you blurted out, lips finding his again, the two of you mouthing hard against one another. Tongues meeting hot in the middle, a slick exchange, bodies pushing together.

“God, i missed you— gonna make you feel good, yeah? Make the wait worth it for you…”

The words hit your stomach like a tonne of bricks, making it weigh low and hot as his hands met the button of your jeans. And then, you did the same, fingers fumbling with the belt on the stupidly low, awfully sexy pair of black trousers that fitted over his muscled legs.

“I wanna return the favour too…” You whispered against his ear.

You knew then, at the shudder that went through him, and how he kissed you in response, that this was something you’d be chasing the rest of your life. But the thing was, he’d gladly just let you have it, and have him.

—

"Hey angel, open your eyes to me, please," Harry asked, kissing her cheeks and rubbing his thumb on the red skin of her hands. "Miss you, baby. I wanna know if you are alright."

He kissed her nose and forehead, watching as her eyes were slowly opening. Y/n stared at him, breathing still unevenly, she took her hands from Harry's hold, which made the man confused.

"Don't do that, you'll hurt yourself–"

"I don't want it," she said anxiously while moving her legs, realizing they were still restrained to the bed. "I- please, I don't want it anymore.”

A wave of fear went through Harry's body. She was ok when they were having sex minutes ago, what happened?

"It's ok, look I'm putting the handcuffs away," he said, wanting her to look at him while he freed her ankles, throwing them somewhere on the floor. "See? You are ok now, you can move." He assured Y/n.

She timidly moved her legs together and brought her hands close to her naked chest. Harry had been with her long enough to know the signs of subspace, she looked nervous, shy, and as if she wasn't sure of what was happening.

"Can I lay by your side baby? We can cuddle, do you want that?"

She took some time to answer him, but she finally nodded her head, which made Harry smile. The man slowly laid his head on the pillow and brought Y/n close, putting her head on his chest and he stroked her back, feeling well aware that he still needed to clean both of them up and change the sheets, but he just couldn't do that if she wasn't feeling well.

"I like when you lay down with me," she whispered, hiding her head on his chest and breathing him in.

"I always lay down with you, silly," Harry said. He looked to the side and saw the glass of water he placed there for when the scene was over. "Why don't you sit down so you can drink some water, huh? Is your throat sore? I can make tea if you want."

He held her waist, putting her in between his legs, her back against his chest as he brought the glass to her mouth, he cleaned some drops of water from her chin before making sure she drank it all. "Thank you," she said, letting her body fall completely into Harry's chest.

The man wrapped his left arm around her belly, and with the other one, he opened the bedside table's drawer, taking out a package of baby wipes to clean her.

He kissed her neck softly. "Open your legs for me, baby."

But the girl shook her head, turning her body to him. "I don't want it, please," she said, tears starting to form in her eyes.

Harry quickly cleaned her cheeks from her tears. "Shh, the scene is done baby, I just want to take care of you know, ok? We won't do anything anymore, but you need to let me take care of you."

"I'm already clean, sir," she said, tilting her head in the direction of his hand, so her whole cheek was squeezed on the palm of his hand as she looked up to him.

"You aren’t, baby, none of us are, that's why we need to clean up and take a bath." He said gently. "We are a bit of a mess now," Harry joked, but the girl didn't understand the playful tone of her voice.

"I'm not a mess, and I didn't make any messes," Y/n said looking down.

"You didn’t, darling, I'm the one who did, but we need to clean it up, ok? Your thighs are all sticky now, that's not nice, is it?"

"No, not nice.

"So let me clean it, angel."

"Ok," she said, shyly spreading her legs. Harry took the baby wipe and cleaned the inside of her thighs and pussy, noticing how much of his cum had already dipped into the bed.

"See, all done," he told her, getting out of the bed and throwing the wipes in the bin. Harry also took his sweatpants from the floor, dressing himself so he wasn’t completely naked.

He also took a clean t-shirt from the closet, heading in Y/n's direction. She was still sitting in the same place, but she was holding the blanket to her body, eyes fastly looking around the room.

"Here, let's put you in this shirt," he said, putting the blanket down, his eyes dropped to her naked chest, he just couldn't help himself.

The girl put her arms up as Harry dressed her. "You look so cute, did you know that?" He caressed her jaw with his thumb, but she let out a whine of pain." What is wrong? Are you hurt?" He asked worriedly, looking at her neck and trying to find the cause of her discomfort.

"My neck is a bit sore, but don't worry about it," she said. "Can we cuddle? Please?"

"We are not cuddling if you are in pain. Was it choking?" He asked, resting his fingertips at the exact spot that had his lion ring mark, which was caused by the amount of pressure he put on her neck while doing breath play. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I'm gonna get some cream for your neck and wrist, stay here."

He got up from the bed but Y/n grabbed his forearm, not letting him go. "Stop, you are always leaving me, stay here please, I want you, why can't we just cuddle?" She cried.

Harry hated watching her cry, especially if it was something he had power over. He sat on the mattress and let her hug him while he patted her back, wrapping his arms around her and listening to her soft cries. "My darling, I know you are a bit light-headed right now, but I need to take care of your body too."

"And we need to eat something before we head to the tub. The scene was heavy, love, we need to care for you, you know it's one of the rules." He continued, resting his chin on her head. “I promise to cuddle with you as much as you want later, but now we need to eat something and take care of your skin.”

Harry grabbed a moisturizer from her vanity and carefully held her hand, applying it on both of her wrists and sore ankles, which were handcuffed for way too long, next time he was going to remember not to let her restrained for so long. “Turn your head to the side, please,” he asked, applying the cream even though it wouldn’t do much.

“See, we are halfway done,” he said happily, trying to get the girl to smile, which she did. “There is the prettiest view in the world, now let’s go, I’m gonna make you a bowl of fruits.”

“I was actually thinking of chocolate pancakes,” Y/n said, giving his puppy eyes.

“That’s not very healthy, is it?” Harry said, raising his eyebrows.

“Neither is being chained up to a bed while having my boyfriend choke me, but look where we are,” Y/n said sarcastically, laughing when Harry’s face went pale.

“You are so annoying sometimes,” he mumbled, helping her off the bed. “Two pancakes, alright?”

“Three.”

He rolled his eyes. “Three, and that’s it.”

“Can we also have pizza for dinner? Please?”

“You are a taste of my patience.”

“Can we though?” She asked eagerly.

“Yes, yes we can.” He said grumpily.

..

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i.

Y/N has never been to a beach house. 

She’s been to a beach, yeah, and she’s been to a house, obviously, but the mix of the two? That’s for people who own shares in oil companies and sleep on Egyptian cotton sheets that they can regularly afford to change. Owning a house in an area even remotely near a beach could be a hole in the pocket, but owning a separate house, away from where you live, just so that you have somewhere fun to spend a couple of weeks in the Summer? That’s a whole separate type of wealth Y/N has never once experienced; one that had been relegated to maladaptive daydreams where she’s famous and getting paparazzi photos taken of her near the ocean for a new single. 

So when her friends suggested they rent one in Japan for a little summer vacation, she snorted and asked them if everybody had 3000 each to put toward it. But it turned out that Niall’s uncle’s friend actually owned one. His wife grew up in Minamiizu and wanted to be able to travel back easily now and then when she wanted to visit, but didn’t necessarily want a house there. There was a beach house in Shimoda for sale at the time of them looking, which directly bordered Minamiizu on the southern tip of the Izu Peninsula.  It was roughly a two-and-a-half-hour train ride to Tokyo, so they could spend a couple of days in the city as well. 

His uncle’s friend was offering them a cheaper rate than anyone would on Airbnb, so long as they promised not to do any gross damage that would need fixing afterward. Which meant, for half the price that a typical Airbnb would charge, they would have a week and a half at a beach house. And when they all managed to get PTO from their respective jobs, managed their other non-work-related commitments around it, and bought their plane tickets, Y/N realized that this was actually happening. They do a lot of talking and fantasizing about different trips that they want to take, but not very often do they come to fruition. 

Y/N was excited, though, and a little nervous. It was her friend group, sure, but she had only travelled long distances with Niall (it was on a whim, in his pursuit to meet a man he’d been talking to in Spain, whom she thought they were about to bring back with them on some sort of spousal visa, but he ended up lowkey being a catfish). Y/N was unsure of what all of their travel types were – who was type A, type B, or (in Niall’s case) type C? Y/N knew Adam would be type A, because he’s type A in every other aspect of his life, but how many type As could be in a group without it being too many chefs in the kitchen? And how many type B’s can there be before they get nothing done because nobody has a set itinerary? And how many people were going to threaten to beat Niall for the state he often leaves bathrooms in after he’s done getting ready? 

She isn’t sure. Niall, Adam, Mei, and Y/N have known each other since UNI, where they all got disgustingly close in their dorm the first year, when they all used the common room often because they hated their randomly assigned roommates. Then, for the next three years, they shared a four-bedroom flat just a block or two from campus and saw each other at various states of disarray. Then, Mei introduced them to Chris, who worked in the same cafe she did while she was looking for a job that pertained to her degree, and he slid into their group quickly and easily. Niall met Maeve during a mixer that they both happened to attend because they both thought they might be Bi (Niall is still on the fence; Maeve has come to realize she is), and while sparks didn’t fly in a relationship sense, Niall invited her to the bar, and they all hit it off well. And Adam met Harry in the lab where he works, and. . . .

The thing is – Harry is very sweet. He was the person who trained Adam at his job for the two-month period during which they were oriented to the new position. Apparently, lab politics could be sort of intense, and the drama that brewed there was as aggressive as the Bacillus species (whatever that means), and new people get eaten alive there. Harry, allegedly, wouldn’t let Adam get caught up in the drama and once took the fall for something he knew that he would be forgiven for, but Adam would never be able to live down. From that point on, Adam invited Harry to everything they did, and Harry fit in nicely. 

But Harry didn’t fit in because his humor was the same or because he necessarily liked the same things as them. Chris and Maeve were as brash and crass as they all could be. Harry fit in because he was polite – he was tender and kindhearted, and very gentle. He didn’t speak much, but his eyes were always very sweet and soft, and when he spoke, it was thought-out and careful. Harry was the opposite of brazen; he cared plenty about how he came off to others, and she thinks that’s why he holds himself the way he does. Yet it was still genuine. His nature was just good, honestly. He was born to save kittens from trees, help kids cross roads, and load up groceries in the elderly’s cars. 

For this reason, Harry also seems to have to do a lot of emotional labor for the group, which Y/N isn’t a fan of. It’s because he’s so kind and gentle that everyone is always bothering him with their problems. It’s one thing to express stress or feelings to a friend, but it’s another thing to know that Harry will listen, no matter if it’s the same issue a billion times, with gentle guidance and a soft suggestion. His feelings don’t get hurt when you don’t take the suggestion, though, and he’ll always act like it’s his first time hearing you complain about the same thing, though the little things he remembers tell you that he is intimately aware of every nook and cranny of the problem.

There were plenty of times that Y/N had to coax a drunk Mei or an overly disgruntled Niall away from Harry when they were out and he’d been trapped in their hot seat for a while. “Why don’t we let Harry enjoy some of his night too?” She’d suggested as she guided them away, then ended up lending her ear to the same problem that they were ignoring the answer to.

It didn’t help that Harry was ridiculously smart, too, in all the things that you’d need a smart friend for, so he’s always getting bothered with finance questions, medical questions, and even house-related issues (“Should I get a contractor or do you think I could do this myself?” “Well, do you know how to do it yourself?” “No, but I think I could watch a video on it or something?” “I mean. . .well, that is one option, and you’re welcome to try it, but I think it’d be smarter to get a contractor. I actually know a couple, I can get something scheduled for you?”). 

It’s not always like that – they don’t keep him around just to use his brain – but it does happen quite a bit. Y/N thinks Harry might like it too. There’s always a pleased smile on his face whenever the conversation is over, and he never seems to be too annoyed when someone treats him a little like a search engine. He still laughs with all of them, still jokes, and keeps turning up, so he must enjoy them. Hell, Y/N thinks she gets more annoyed with it than he does. 

She thinks maybe that’s why she and Harry had never gotten super close. They were friends, yes, but he was the only one she’d never hung out with one-on-one. Y/N isn’t sure why. . .maybe because she just never got an “in”, so to speak? Like, he helped Niall through a pretty difficult situationship debacle that Y/N’s only answer to solve was ‘burn him alive’, and now he and Harry routinely go out for coffee, trying new cafes together as one of their hobbies. He directed Chris to a trusted gutter guy who would quote him a reasonable price on a complete gutter overhaul, and for this reason, he and Chris got together to do house projects a lot with each other (Chris had even helped Harry build his sister’s gazebo – Y/N didn’t know either of them could operate a drill until that). Usually, it went like this: Harry helps a friend, the relationship opens, and Harry and the friend get closer because of it. 

But Y/N didn’t want to bother Harry with her issues. She barely wanted to tell anyone when she was going through something because she didn’t want to be a burden. And that doesn’t really fit well with the order Harry does things in, so they just never got past the overly polite stage of their dynamic. 

Still, Y/N has noticed that Harry stares quite a bit. She doesn’t know if he realizes he’s doing it, but if she feels eyes on her, there’s a 9 out of 10 chance that it’s Harry’s gaze. Almost like he was trying to figure her out or something? She doesn’t know. As soon as she locked eyes with him, he’d dart to look away with a blushing face, and Y/N never called him out on it because. . .well, that’s just not their relationship. 

(She had brought it up to Niall in passing, who said something along the lines of, “Hate to break it to you, but you’re a pretty girl – he probably likes you, and it makes him awkward.”).  

That’s why it’s just a little awkward when Y/N realizes that she and Harry are sitting right beside each other on the plane. It’s a long way to Japan to be sitting beside someone you don’t even regularly speak to. She was less worried about not knowing what to say to him and more worried about Harry realizing that she didn’t know what to say to him. Like, the last thing she wanted was for Harry to think that she didn’t like him, and she’s a grade-A yapper, so if she all of a sudden just didn’t speak, it would look a little suspicious, no? And Harry would be the person to notice something like that, because he notices things about everybody and everything – he’s very observant. 

For that reason, she does her best to wipe any sense of hesitation from her face. She doesn’t want Harry to see it and feel like she was upset, because she wasn’t upset at all. At least, not with him, just at her complete inability to speak with him in a meaningful way that would make him comfortable. 

“Looks like you and I are together!” Y/N smiled softly as they looked at their tickets. 

Harry smiled too, but followed up his smile with, “Do you want me to switch with Niall or Mei? That way, you could sit next to a friend?” 

And how he said it sort of made her feel sick to her stomach. It was a genuine suggestion and statement – he didn’t say it with any vitriol or spite, but it was the way he’d said it so nonchalantly that unsettled her. Like, he didn’t believe for a second that they were close enough to sit on the plane with each other forever, which, maybe, was true, but she didn’t like how it sounded. 

“What? No! You’re my friend too.” 

Y/N must have seemed as legitimately startled and unsettled as she felt, because his eyes widened: “Oh, I didn’t mean – I didn’t mean like, we weren’t or anything! I just meant so – you know, because you’re closer, and – I didn’t –” 

“Well, Mei snores, and Niall is the worst manspreader in the world,” she told him, “So unless you don’t want to sit with me, then you’re stuck with me.” 

“No, I do! I don’t mind sitting with you at all.” 

So Y/N is in front of Harry as they make their way to their seats in the tight walkway between rows. When they are stowing their carry-ons overhead, Harry grabs for hers first and makes sure that it slips in easily before working his own on. Even though Y/N’s seat wasn’t technically the window seat, he ushered her in first and took the one in the middle, so he’d be sitting next to the stranger. Y/N is almost overwhelmed by the amount he had taken care of her in all of 5-minutes. Is this the same treatment he’s giving all of their friends? 

“I hope this doesn’t come off as rude,” Harry began, pointing at his headphones, “But I have a few audiobooks that I downloaded for the flight. I was going to listen to one of them after we took off, if that’s okay?” 

“Oh, no, that’s – that’s perfectly fine, don’t worry about me.” 

It was as simple as that. Y/N had been all worried for nothing, just for Harry to be the one to shut her out. Hell, maybe he didn’t like her or something – not that she expected him to speak to her the entire flight. She’d just been panicking about not knowing what to say to him, but she does wonder if he would have put his headphones on for anyone else soon after takeoff. Or, well, Y/N wondered if anyone else would have given him the chance to. He’d said he’d downloaded the audiobooks for the flight, so maybe this was his plan all along. 

God, why the hell is she overthinking this? It’s stupid, and she decides that she’s going to take her melatonin and try to sleep for as long as she can, as she’d intended to do no matter who was sitting beside her. Y/N chews the gummies thoroughly and swallows them, just as Harry is about to put the headphones over his ears. 

“Just tap me if you need anything,” he offers before placing them snugly over his ears and letting his eyes flutter shut. Y/N stares at him for a little while; she’s able to without seeming like a creep. He’s got his glasses on, resting on the bridge of his nose. His hair is neatly styled like it always is, smoothed away from his face, but she thinks the headphones will muss it up a little. Y/N tries to think back if this is her first time seeing Harry dressed so casually, too – he’s usually a button-up kind of guy, but right now he has an oversized university tee on and soft linen bottoms that – with any of her other friends – Y/N would have just reached out and felt them between her fingertips. Instead, her fingers just itch to touch it where they lie on her thigh. 

She turned her head forward again, then to the left so she could peer outside at the clouds that passed them with a soft sigh. She just needs to turn her brain off, probably. Vacations always make her sort of anxious, and her dynamic with Harry seemed to be a little source of anxiety for her as well. Everything she’s anxious about only exacerbates when she’s already nervous. 

Y/N lets her eyes flutter shut. 

She’s sure they’ll probably get closer during this trip, at least. 

                                                                  .                         .                        .

The plane ride wasn’t that horrible.

It was long- somewhere in hour three, she stirred from her melatonin, her legs felt cramped, and the urge to stretch them became so overwhelming that she was about to toss them over Harry’s lap. Y/N knew that with the type of person Harry is, he would have accepted it without a second thought – lifted the armrest between them and let her rest her legs there. Hell, he’d probably even start rubbing them too if she wanted. He’s always absentmindedly squeezing or feeling something, and sometimes that happens to be his friends', whoever's and whatever body part is closest to grabbing. 

But she refrained. She only caught Harry looking at her once when she was wriggling, trying to lock her knees, and stretching her feet beneath the seat in front of them. When she met his gaze, she gave what she hoped was a reassuring “I’m totally good and not at all uncomfortable and moments from freaking out” kind of smile, which he returned softly – still looking concerned. A couple of minutes went by, then he showed her how to move the seat back. He didn’t speak, just carefully pointed at the lever on the side of the seat and showed her. 

It did make it a little better, which was good. She didn’t love using the toilet on the plane either, but Harry went first, and when she asked him how it was in there, he told her it wasn’t so bad. “It’s more spacious than some I’ve been in the past,” he told her, so Y/N went after him. When she came back, Harry hadn’t put his headphones back in yet. Mei had reached out and squeezed Y/N’s bum from across the aisle, which made her gasp and jolt forward, and Harry all but jumped, prepared to catch her if she hadn’t caught herself on the seats. 

Those were the only interesting things to happen, though; otherwise, the plane ride was just long and boring. They had coordinated their flight so that, by the time they arrived in Japan, it would be early afternoon. That way, they could land at their airport, take the train to Shimoda, and get acquainted with their Airbnb before going out to dinner. They didn’t necessarily count this in their days here, since most of it would be taken up by travel. 

The airport was busy, and with immigration, customs, and security screening, it did take a bigger bite out of the day than they thought it would, but it wasn’t so bad. Y/N and Christopher made it to the other side far more quickly than anyone else. Harry, who had been beside her to start, had made his way to the back of the line so he could coach their friends on what to do. He was a good person like that, always making his own processes longer so he could benefit others. And it was then, from Christopher, that she found out Harry had actually traveled to Japan before. Though instead of staying in the countryside, he was in Tokyo for the duration of his trip. Which meant he was more familiar with this airport than any of them, even though he’d only been there once, so everyone was relying heavily on him. 

The train ride was long but beautiful. Y/N stares out the window at all of the greenery – the further they get from the city, the brighter and clearer it appears. She feels like a dog, pressing her face against the glass with wide eyes, watching the trees and buildings whip past. Niall even petted the top of her head and asked if the “good girl wanted a treat,” but she batted him away. She feels excited and incredibly exhausted, and her belly is growling so intensely that she needs to eat soon or she will start getting snappy. Two hours fly by when you’re able to stretch your legs, and there’s so much scenery to look at that you’ve never seen before.  

They (and by "they," she means Maeve) coordinated a ride service to pick them up in two separate cars and take them to the house. That ride was much shorter; the sun in the sky was still visible, but noticeably beginning to be painted pink and orange by evening. It smells like the nearby ocean when they step out of the train car. The sun is warm, but the breeze is cool and brushes across the sweat that has begun building on the back of her neck. Once more, somehow Harry is sitting beside her – before they’d gotten in the car, he started to reach for her suitcase to lift it into the trunk, but she grabbed it before he could. She felt bad because he’d already had to wrestle with her carry-on earlier, so she didn’t want him to do it again, trying to fit both her suitcases into the trunk with everyone else's. 

Y/N felt that familiar burn of eyes on her, but when she turned around, Harry had tilted his head down, looking at his phone. Both Mei and Christopher studied Japanese at university, so one of them had to be with a group (if they split into groups) at all times to avoid looking like stupid tourists. Harry has the third most knowledge. Y/N can get by with the little she does know, certain questions she can ask, how to order food, and how to carry on at least a little bit of small talk. The driver knew English, though, so nobody necessarily got to practice their skills or anything. 

The house is a good size. It isn’t massive, but it would comfortably fit all of them, even though they’d have to double up on rooms. There were three rooms: two had two people each, and one had three. They thought the best way to decide who roomed where would be to use a random generator, since all of them were close enough that the pairings didn’t really matter. Plus, it would be the fairest in choosing who had to be in the group of three, with slightly less space to work with. 

Or, well, it would have been fine, but for some reason, the universe is just desperate to smash her and Harry together. So they do get a nice room for just the two of them, but that’s the issue, isn’t it? It’s just the two of them. If Y/N had been worried about the plane ride being awkward, then a week and a half of her and Harry sharing a space was probably going to be even worse. She could suggest switching too, but there’s a look on Harry’s face. . .well, she isn’t sure what it means. Y/N can’t tell if he hates it or loves it. He seemed indifferent as he heaved his duffel over his shoulder and dragged his wheeled suitcase behind him, going toward their room.

Niall slipped into the space beside her. “Do you think you two are going to cuddle?” He whispered in her ear, “Harry’s a cuddler, y’know?” 

No, Y/N didn’t know because she doesn’t know Harry that well at all! 

She is trying to be positive about this. Maybe this would actually encourage her and Harry to get closer? That would be nice, she thinks – there’s nothing like sleeping in the same room together during vacation to increase your bond. The first time she realized that Adam was repositioning her head in the middle of the night when she was lying weird, she was like wow, we might be best friends, so maybe something like that would happen. And she’d not felt as close to Mei as she did until they stayed the night in a hotel bed together when their flat was being fumigated (Adam and Niall were sharing the other bed across from them), when she woke up pressed back to back and was so warm and cozy she fell right back to sleep despite needing to pee. 

Y/N and Harry could grow a lot from this, right? This could be really nice if it works out. 

So hopefully it works out. 

                                                           .                         .                   .

The first night wasn't so bad. 

They go out to eat at one of the top-rated places, and they are all dressed relatively cozily for the occasion. The last thing anyone wanted to do after a full day of travel was get ready for anything. They all planned to eat, go home, shower (for the ones who hadn’t already), and get into bed. Y/N eats Kinmedai Nitsuke, which is their prized local speciality, and it’s so tender and delicious that she wonders how many things in the world are this good that she’s been geographically limited to. They do walk down to the beach to at least get a look at it, though nobody could necessarily hop in unless they wanted to soak their clothes.

White, powdery sand is what slips between her toes and coats her flip-flops. From what she could see, the water was a pretty turquoise as well – she was excited to do more than dip her toes in it tomorrow. They’d planned several full-blown beach days so they could truly soak up their time near the water.  They take some silly photos, watch the sun set, and Y/N spots a crab that scurries away from her feet, then disappears into the sand – she squeals because it’s cute and also because she’s a little terrified of it. 

When they go back to the Airbnb, Y/N is full, content, and ready to shower. Harry needed to as well, but he offered for her to go first. When she all but refused (because he was always putting people ahead of himself), he hurried to gather his towel, his loofah, and his soaps and shampoos. He might have taken what Y/N could only describe as the world’s quickest shower, because as soon as the water had turned on, it was on for maybe five minutes before it turned off. The door to their shared bathroom opened, and Y/N got more of an eyeful of Harry than she thinks she’s ever received before. 

To be fair, she’d probably be seeing this much of him anyway tomorrow in his bathing suit. Only then would she know that there was something beyond a towel covering his prick. But right then, with him still dripping wet from the shower, he only had a towel looped around his waist, and it did very, very little to hide an incredibly impressive bulge. One that Y/N had only accidentally seen in a pair of too-tight jeans Niall had squeezed him into one night (and Y/N had to keep staring at his crotch, because he kept readjusting, and whining about how the button was digging into his bladder and wow – she had to try and ignore how cute he sounded when he was whining). 

His cheeks are flushed, but so is the rest of his skin, like the water had been scalding. There was a lot of torso she was seeing too, tattoos mapped out on relatively tanned skin – she’d seen these a couple of times too. Harry definitely did not seem like the type to have tattoos, so when she had met him in the wintertime, all he ever wore was long sleeves, and she never suspected a thing. Then Spring came that year, with warmer temperatures and shorter sleeves, and she was finally exposed to Harry’s skin in all its glory. She’d seen bits and pieces but never all of them: how they decorate his skin, how they make absolutely no sense but for some reason fit him well. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes, and Y/N yanks her gaze from his torso back up to his body, “I just – I rushed out of here and forgot to bring my clothes. I don’t think I used too much hot water.” 

Y/N pressed herself up from where she was sitting beside her open suitcase on the floor. “And it would be okay if you did,” she told him, grabbing for her toiletries and the clothes she was changing into, “I’ll let you get dressed.” 

So what if Y/N thinks about Harry’s body the entire time she’s in the shower? That’s her own business. He had a nice body – sue her! Y/N may not know much about him and may not be very close to him, but she can appreciate a nice body when she sees one. Hell, she’ll probably be oogling over all of her friends when they’re here together. It didn’t help that the little beads of water were dripping through the swell of his tits. Y/N shivered a little as she scrubbed herself down, trying not to take up too much time since Harry was in and out. This also cut off her “free-thinking-about-Harry’s-body” time, so it was probably for the best. 

She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and put on her cute night set that she didn’t know she was going to be showing off to Harry first. Once she made it back into the room, Harry was sitting on his bed, and Niall and Mei were sitting on her bed across from him. He is still flushed, but this time with many more clothes – pajama bottoms and an oversized shirt. Mei cheered when she saw her, “This is so cute, what the fuck? When did you get these?” 

“My Hangyodon nighties,” she grinned, the fish man with the red little octopus sidekick in the middle of his tank top and then speckled all over the pajama shorts, “You love them?” 

“Do I love them? I’m going to steal them off you in your sleep!” Mei ran her fingers beneath the spaghetti straps, pulling them until they snapped. “Harry will help me sneak in, right, Harry?”

Harry shook his head with a soft laugh. “No, no,” he told her, “I’m loyal to my roomie.” 

Mei grumbled, pulling Y/N into the bed, “Annoying,” she threw her leg over Y/N’s thighs while Niall pulled her head into his lap, “You’ve already bewitched him, hm? I’m cutting it off myself.” 

Harry just watches, gaze pleased and soft from his side of the bed. He is leaning back on his palms, stretched out, his legs parted and. . .yeah, Y/N is looking a little, but nothing crazy. 

Eventually, Niall and Mei leave, and Y/N gets up under her blankets and smells the gentle, citrus scent of the blankets. Harry’s voice is soft when he murmurs, “Goodnight, Y/N,” he tells her, “Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

She snuggles deeper into her blanket. 

“Goodnight, Harry.” 

                                                                      .                         .                       .

On the first night of any vacation, Y/N never slept very well. She wakes up periodically throughout the night, checks her phone to see the time, realizes only an hour has passed, and then eventually lulls back to sleep. She isn’t sure why – it’s not like she wasn’t dog tired in the first place. A full day of travel always wore her down to the bone, but being in an unfamiliar space without her familiar comforts left her in a liminal state between consciousness and unconsciousness. Not to mention the time change was fucking with her too. 

Y/N thinks the last time she looked at the clock was 4 AM at least, and then the next time she woke up, it was to Harry stretching, standing on the side of his bed. Sun poured in through the blinds, cutting through the curtains and filling up the room. She grumbled a little; the sound of her feet moving against the mattress pulled Harry’s attention over to her. His eyes are all sleep-swollen and soft – he smiled at her, then made his way to the bathroom. He was kind of cute when he woke up, but whatever. Y/N doesn’t care about that. She pressed her face into the pillow and huffed – the sun still looked like it might just barely be 7 in the morning. Of course she’d get paired with an early riser. 

She flopped around in bed for a while, at least an additional 30 minutes to an hour, before she finally answered the call of her bladder and went to pee. The dire need to pee plus the pressing urge to see where the hell Harry had disappeared for 30 minutes after waking up is what drags her from the call of sleep. What could he possibly be busy with? And why would she care what he was doing? Her stupid brain just needed something to focus on, she thinks, when there were too many unfamiliar things and too many unfamiliar surroundings. But really, she should be fixating on their beautiful surroundings, the soft, flower-bloom scent that over takes the entire neighborhood they’re in, and the sea salt wind of the ocean nearby. 

Y/N peed, then tiptoed out of the room. When she checked her phone, it was 7:05 AM, and she knew all too well that if Maeve and Adam didn’t get to sleep in, they would have two (surprisingly) very crabby adults on their hands. More crabby than Niall or Mei combined, because at least when they’re tired they get a little loopy and silly – Maeve is a bit scary, and Adam is just downright pouty the whole day. Paired with this, both of them are incredibly light sleepers, so something like a creaky floorboard could draw them from slumber in an instant. 

Y/N found Harry in the kitchen, quietly making breakfast. When he spotted her, he was just about to flip the eggs. With the pan in one hand and the spatula in the other, he pointed at the table where there was a pile of French toast and fruit sliced already. One plate had already been made up. He works efficiently – how had he done all of this in 30 minutes? “I cut the crusts off that one already,” he told her, voice just barely above a whisper, “They’re still on the plate in case you want them, though.” 

“You didn’t have to do that for me.” Her eyes were wide; she could feel them. How had he known she didn’t like the crusts on bread? Also, where the hell did he get groceries from? “How’d you get put on breakfast duty?” 

“Oh, I didn’t,” he shook his head, “I just like to cook. Reckon if we are going to be out in the sun all day, we should have something in our bellies.” He nodded his head in the direction of the other rooms. “Niall and Mei came into my room last night to ask what I wanted from the grocery because they were having it delivered. I think they meant to ask you too, but got distracted by your pajamas.” 

That made sense. She’d been wondering why they were in her room, but once she was accosted about her pajamas, she’d forgotten to ask. 

Y/N made her way to the kitchen table, “Thank you, Harry.” 

“No problem,” he told her, “I hope you enjoy it.” 

When Y/N took the first bite, she held back a gasp. It was really good – she didn’t know how much of that was because Harry was adept in the kitchen and how much was because of the geographical ingredients. Either way, it was sweet and syrupy without Y/N needing to add any syrup onto her plate. The powder from the sugar covers her lips – she can feel it, tacky and sweet. Her eyelids flutter a couple of times, blinking rapidly before a presence suddenly looms over her. 

Harry is there, sliding two eggs onto her plate. They’re over medium- another weird fact to know about how she liked her food. He looks absolutely chuffed watching her eat, his glasses slipping to the tip of his nose, “It’s good?” 

“It’s great,” she tells him, nodding, “Thank you, really, this is – really yummy.” 

The twinkles in Harry’s eyes are something different. Before the moment could linger any longer, Chris appeared at the doorframe with Mei in tow. “Oh, thank fuck,” he sighed softly, “I woke up like an hour ago, starving to death – I ate like ten of those jelly candies I got from the airport.” 

“Loveeee Harry’s cooking,” Mei hums, eyes barely open, “Y/N, I’m sitting next to you. Someone get me scissors so I can cut this tank off her.” 

Everyone wakes up pretty soon after that, because while Y/N and Harry are willing to tiptoe around, Mei and Christopher go by the beat of their own drum. And that drum wakes up the whole house when Christopher drops an egg on the floor and all but cries out, wondering what he did to deserve this from the universe. They all finish eating, brush their teeth, and get ready for the beach. They pack up all of their towels and sunscreen, Y/N fits a hat over her head, and she packs a portable fan for when Maeve inevitably starts sweating on the beach, but refuses to get in the water (she likes to swim for about 30 minutes at a time, with 1-hour intervals in between because she doesn’t like how the salt water feels on her skin and how pruny she gets). She also blows up a floaty with every last bit of air in her lungs, which will undoubtedly get stolen by Niall about ten minutes in. 

By the time they get down to the beach, the sun is a little higher, but not too hot. The water glimmers and glistens beneath the rays; the water is crystalline blue and turquoise. Apparently, almost everyone had lathered up on sunscreen before they left the house, but Y/N had been distracted packing her day bag, so she waited too late. When she’d finally laid out her towel and peeled off her cover-up, though, there was nobody available to help her get her back. 

Well, nobody except for – 

“I can get your back for you?” Harry’s voice is soft, as gentle as he can be, holding out his hand for the bottle she is holding. 

Y/N’s eyes darted to where everyone else was already splashing around in the water, excited, dropping down to their chins. She looked back to Harry, nodding softly – she felt bad, keeping him out of the water to help her. Harry probably would’ve already been in there had he not seen her looking around hopelessly. 

“Yeah, that’d be nice, thank you. I’m sorry.” 

He took the sunscreen, popping the cap. “Ah, what are you apologizing for?” Y/N turned away from her, hearing the spurt of the sunscreen into his hand, “I’ll need some help too, if that’s okay?” 

It’s cold when his hands touch her – Y/N jumps, hissing from the temperature and Harry. . .well, it sounds like he almost coos, “It’s a bit cold,” he warns her late, “Sorry, I should’ve told you.” 

His hands are careful as they massage the sunscreen into her shoulders, between them, and down her spine. They feel huge against her, over her, the back side of her sides and hips. When he rubs over the back of her neck, Y/N swallows thickly – it’s a little hard not to have a little pervy thought float through her. Because if he wanted to, he could probably press her forward and grab her hips, follow her down to the ground, and – 

“Okay! All done,” she can hear the smile in his voice, and she instantly feels like a lecher. What the hell was she doing having a thought like that? “Would you get me?” 

It’s no better, rubbing the sunscreen into his shoulders. Harry is so broad – he never wears clothes that show it off much, but Y/N had seen him in a workout tank top once and almost gasped. His shoulders are big; his back is sculpted – it’s the sort of thing you might see on an inspo page for working out. It leads into the shape of his biceps and triceps, and maybe it’s for the best that she isn’t that close to Harry? Because clearly, she’d been around him for like a day and a half and she can’t have a normal thought to save her fucking life. 

Beneath her fingers, his skin is warm and soft. She doesn’t even realize that the sunscreen is gone until she’s been rubbing it on him for like two minutes. 

“Ah, I used too much,” she lied through her teeth, patting his shoulders gently, “There you go, all done.” 

She kicked off her shoes and all but stumbled over the little hills of white sand while she ran to the water because she couldn’t look at his face right now. Harry would probably be able to take one peek at her face and read that she’d been thinking something less than. . .morally pure. So she runs right over to the water, only slowing when she gets to the edge of the water, the waves pulling back, then sloshing over her ankles. Niall had already stolen the floatie, so he found it and flopped over, hooking her arm over the edge of the sparkly inflatable. She splashed Niall a bit, and he let out a silent scream, “Dick, you dick!” 

“You were feeling Harry up a little bit.” Adam appeared behind her, reaching for her hand that was in the water and pulling it out, flipping it over so she was palm up. He places a big shell in her hand: “Hide this from MeiMei; she’s after it.” 

“I was not feeling him up.” She grumbled. 

Adam raised his eyebrows, “I mean, baby, I’ve got 20/20 vision and –” 

“Mei! Look at this pretty shell!” Y/N hollers, and Adam gasps, grabbing the shell back from her and floating deeper in. 

“Oh, evil, you’re evil!” 

It was pretty, the water was cool on their skin, and the sun was warm but not oppressive today. Y/N had been prepared for intense humidity, but it wasn’t horrible. They swim for hours, get out to look for shells, take more photos, dig in the sand, and make a sad excuse for a sand castle. Y/N’s lips taste salty from the water, and her fingers are all pruned when they make their way to the beachside treat shack (it’s called Umi-no-le, Harry tells them).  She eats a skewer and fries, then plucks off Adam’s edamame in exchange for letting him try some of the seafood off her stick.  

Harry disappeared but returned with ice cream, somehow carrying four, keeping one between his index and middle finger and the other between his ring finger and pinky. Somehow, the cones are perfectly balanced because she thinks he could probably palm a basketball, squeeze it, and pop it in a single hand. She didn’t know he was going for ice cream – she probably would have ordered one too, but she didn’t know he was going for it. And maybe she would demand some of Niall’s, but he got Matcha, and she wanted to try the red bean. Actually, all of them had Matcha. . except for Harry. 

Stupidly, she mentioned this to Christopher, who had offered her a lick of his cone. “Oh, Harry got red bean.” He turned to find him, “Harry! Can Y/N have a lick of your ice cream?” 

Y/N blinked wide, “Oh, I don’t –” 

“Yeah.” The cone was presented in front of her mouth almost immediately. Harry hadn’t licked it yet, it seems, and Y/N thinks it’s not fair that she gets the first lick, but when she opens her mouth, Harry says gently, “Go on, it’s okay. You can tell me if it's good.” 

So Y/N does lick the cone, dragging her tongue over it slowly and trying not to focus on how Harry watches her. It’s delicious – she’d like to get another taste, sure, but she already feels bad. She’d prided herself on never needing to ask Harry for anything, and yet this entire day she’s had to bother him nonstop- it’s felt like. Even though she didn’t ask him for breakfast. She just wants him to be able to enjoy his vacation too, without having to worry about anyone but himself, yet it’s the first day, and it feels like she is using him 3 separate times. 

“Thank you.” She nodded at him, “It’s really good, Harry; you’ll like it.” 

He grinned, then licked it himself. He paid no mind to the fact that she had already licked the cone – Harry’s always been quite used to sharing, though. Which has always surprised her. From what she does know of Harry, he only has one sibling, and he’s the youngest, so he should probably be the worst at sharing. 

Should she try to do things for him? What could she even do for Harry? The only thing she could think to do was what she had been doing: to be self-sufficient enough that he didn’t need to worry about her. Encourage him to take longer showers – maybe she should take hers first so that he won’t worry about taking the hot water. That’s like. . .all she’s got. She could offer to do things for him, but she knew he would refuse – she’d just have to do it. She could try tonight to put food on his plate or something – Y/N thinks they’re planning on going to a Yakiniku place tonight. Y/N could grill him some meat? Y/N doesn’t know. She just hates feeling like she owes someone something, even if she knows Harry wasn’t expecting anything from the help he gave. 

“Do you want one?” Harry asks, waving the ice cream in his hands, “I can go get it?” 

Y/N shakes her head, “No, no, I’m okay; I’ll go get it later.” 

Harry pouts his lips a little, but continues to eat his ice cream. 

                                                               .                            .                              .

It’s the third official day of them being there (not including the travel day) that Harry surprises her. Or – shocks her, rather. 

Their mandatory Anime-level beach episode went swimmingly. They stayed out all day, alternating between playing in the water and playing on the beach. Y/N had fallen asleep briefly on the sand and woke up to an umbrella being opened above her, shoved into the ground. Through bleary eyes, she could make out that Niall was the one doing it, but it was nowhere near a selfless act, because he dropped down on the towel, pulled right beside her, and immediately closed his eyes. 

(“Should we cuddle?” 

“Too hot, Ni.” 

“Ugh, you’re right, you’re right. Imagine me cuddling you right now though.”) 

They eventually made their way back to the Airbnb around 3 PM, for those who didn’t take a nap on the beach to nap if they wanted to, to decompress, or to shower off the ocean before dinner. Y/N was sun-tired even after her nap, but she flopped down on the bottom of her bed, face pressed into the covers, the fan above her whipping a cool breeze around the room. Harry moved quietly around the room, but he didn’t stay in there for long. 

When they went out to eat that night, Y/N did just as she said she would and did most of the grilling. By no means is she enjoying herself, and after a couple of times of her friends demanding which pieces to grill, she does threaten them to stuff it and take what she gives them before she grills them on the tabletop. Whenever Harry tried to take over grilling, she snapped the tongs in his direction and told him to eat. He only tried twice before getting the hint that she wasn’t going to let him. 

That night, she showered first, as quickly as she could, before popping out of the bathroom, out of breath and slightly panting. “The water is still hot,” she told him. Harry seemed startled, like he hadn’t expected her to come out so quickly. So he gathered his things, went into the bathroom, and then showered. It wasn’t as long as she thought it should have been, but it was still longer than the one the night prior. When Y/N was about to fall asleep, Harry offered her a bottle of water, and Y/N shot up to go grab it before he could. She got one for both of them, set it at his bedside, then crawled back into bed. 

The next day, they did some local shopping, trying street foods and spending money happily. Y/N doesn’t see much of Harry on this day, but she can feel him staring multiple times throughout the shopping trip. Though any time she turned to follow the feeling, his gaze had been pulled elsewhere. Honestly, she doesn’t even know if it was Harry who was staring at her, but that’s the only person she could think of who would be. Part of her almost inquired about it in a jewelry store, but Maeve distracted her with a beautiful jeweled hairpin. 

They went back to the beach at sunset after eating, watching the pink and orangey hues that mottle the sky, and walking off their meals. That night, Y/N rushed to take her shower first again, keeping it brisk and forcing Harry in there sooner than he anticipated. Then she lied to him, told him she was doing some yoga and liked to do it without interruption, so she would stay in the shower a little longer than he normally would. 

But it’s not until the third day that something truly shifts in the air between them. The morning was normal enough – everyone made their own breakfast because Harry and Christopher woke up early to work out, taking a run on the beach during sunrise. But he still slices fruit for everyone (he’s the only one who knows how to cut a pineapple appropriately). They have a little bit of a free day, because they planned to go on Perry Road that night, whose streets are willow-lined and beautiful. There were cozy bars and izakayas that they were all eager to discover. 

Y/N, Niall, and Maeve lingered around the house, and Adam and Mei went on a trail to see if it was worth it, dragging the others out to it on a different day. Harry and Christopher. . .well, actually, Y/N didn’t know what they were doing. They went on their morning run together, and she thinks they went back to the shops today for whatever reason. Maybe there was something they wanted that they didn’t get yesterday or something. She didn’t know. All she knew was that she, Niall, and Maeve were watching a Japanese drama and wavering in and out of sleep for a lazy little day. 

Later that night, Y/N experiences Perry Road in all of its willow-covered, canal glory. She loved the sound of their feet meeting the cobblestone and the water sloshing from rocks thrown. It’s gorgeous, and they go to a tavern and eat and drink to their heart’s content. Y/N is seated beside Maeve, across from Harry, but it isn’t like she’s only left to speak to them. Everyone is chatting about everything – plans for tomorrow, Adam’s situationship, the crab that chased after Mei and how she almost got Y/N pinched when she jumped on her back to get further from it. 

“You’re much stronger than I realized,” Harry had noted as they reminisced on the event from yesterday, like it was from years ago, “You barely even stumbled when she jumped on you.” 

“Yeah, isn’t it unsettling?” Adam inquired, “I thought I could beat her in a wrestling match, and she straddled and apprehended me in like fifteen seconds flat; it was outrageous.” He motioned toward her, “She hides her strength in her cute demeanor.” 

Harry’s cheeks are pink, and Y/N doesn’t know why he’d be getting flushed thinking about it. It’s probably from the alcohol to some degree, Y/N thinks, but it was just so sudden. And like, it’s making her face feel hot too. Was he thinking about her apprehending Adam? Or maybe he’s imagining himself in Adam’s place? 

Y/N doesn’t know. She wipes her brain clean of it. When Harry was pouring sake into everyone’s shot glasses, he would have had to reach over the table to fill up hers, so she took the bottle from him to fill up her own. And when he was offering everyone a taste of his karaage, Y/N told him that it was alright (before quietly ordering her own side of it – Harry noticed, definitely, but she avoided eye contact. And she wasn’t trying to be a dick either; it’s just there was barely any left after everyone else tried, and Harry clearly liked it – she wanted him to finish it off). But it was when Y/N had stretched across the table for the salt that Harry definitely could have handed her, but he was mid-bite of his burger – that Harry got upset. 

She didn’t think about how it looked until he mumbled, “I could’ve handed you the salt.” 

In their time here, Y/N has jumped through hoops so that Harry hasn’t had to do anything for her, and not once has he questioned her about it or commented on it. Y/N didn’t know if she’d finally just pushed him too far or if the sake was getting to him. Maybe both? Y/N isn’t sure. All she knows is that she isn’t expecting him to bring it up at the end of the night. After they finish walking up and down the streets, taking pictures, visiting the beautiful shrine (or as much as they could see with the sun having gone down), they make their way back to the Airbnb. 

Y/N is about to grab her things and rush to shower before they all watch a horror movie in the living room when Harry appears in their shared room. 

“Can I talk to you for a second?” 

She pauses, arms full of her clothes and her towel, and looking at him with eyebrows raised and gaze widened. “Oh? Yeah, sure!” She nods, but her heart is sort of hammering. The face he’s making is not typical of his gentle features; it’s hardened, and he looks upset. . .almost irritated, actually. Harry had never looked at her like that before, and she finds that she really doesn’t like it. She’d actually prefer if he never looked at her like that again. “What’s wrong?” 

There’s alcohol swimming in his gaze – he might have had more sake than she originally thought – and she could tell that his cheeks were flushed from his drinks now, since they had been for most of the night at this point. He doesn’t wobble where he stands, but his eyes are just glassy enough for her to see the pink bottle they’d been pouring from for most of the night. His lips were wet too; glossy and pouted from the spirits and the number of times he’s run his tongue over his mouth. 

“You never let me do things for you,” he said with no preamble, hands clenched in each other, his thumb running over his knuckles – a nervous habit, despite him not looking or sounding it, “Every time I try to do something for you, you do it yourself. Anytime I offer, you brush me off. You make things more inconvenient for you just so that you can tell me not to. Why? Why do you do that?” His brows furrowed, “At first I just thought you were super independent, but. . .but I noticed things, y’know? You let the others pamper you – you practically begged Niall to grab the remote for you, but when I tried, you immediately scrambled up. You’ll eat off Mei’s plate, but rather order a whole side of something than try mine. You – you like, completely shut me out! Not just here, at home too,” he seemed flustered, frowning, “When we get drinks, you always order your own even if it’s my round to pay. Whenever I offer to pick you up from the store, you go out and get it yourself or go without. Hell, even little things – you know this is the 10th time you’ve reached across a table to grab something instead of just asking me to hand it to you?” Was he counting? “What did I do? Do you – is it something about me? Do you not like me? Do you think I’m gross, or – or –” 

“Harry, no, that’s not it at all!” Y/N feels a bead of panic dribble through her. This was actually the opposite of what she was trying to do! She wanted him to feel unburdened by her, not like she was intentionally avoiding him or thought he was gross. She feels miserable that this is what he’s been thinking the whole time. “You – you do so much for everyone else, Harry; I feel like you rarely worry about yourself. I just didn’t want to. . .I didn’t want to be a burden or anything, was all. You’re – I never want to be one,” and maybe she was a little drunker than she thought, too. Her brain is swimming, creating a direct channel from her reasoning to her mouth with little regard for how much she wanted to admit, “Harry, like, you’re always doing stuff for people. You’re listening to their problems, you’re contacting services for them, you’re helping them submit paperwork, and all of that. I just don’t want you to have to like. . .have your brain on when it comes to me. You should just be able to relax sometimes.” 

He seems no happier with that explanation than he seemed with her being disgusted by him. Still, he frowns, and it pulls his whole face down so sadly that Y/N feels like the worst person ever. 

“But I like that,” he stresses, “I want that. I like when people. . .when people need me, and when I can help. It makes me feel good. I never feel put out or put off or like. . .or like anything bad from it; I just feel good.” He sounds close to whining, honestly, and it makes something twist in her lower belly, “When you let me help with your sunscreen and. . .and when you tried my ice cream, I – I was so happy.” He sighs, pressing the hair away from his face, “Please, it’s okay to let me do things. Please let me. I want to make you feel good too.” 

Y/N is just. . .she’s dumbfounded, really. She wasn’t expecting such a reaction from him – not intense, nor this honest. Guilt sits like a heavy lump in her stomach, surrounded by all the sake, and she thinks that she has misread this situation entirely. Harry was definitely an acts-of-service kind of guy, as far as showing love goes, and she’d been curbing his every attempt. He probably thought she didn’t want to be friends at all. No wonder they had such a hard time getting closer. 

Because it wasn’t like she didn’t know that he liked to do things for people. She did know that – she could tell by the soft, pleased smiles he always had when someone came to him for something. Y/N guesses she just really hadn’t noticed how much it was upsetting him so badly that she wasn’t allowing him to do anything at all. 

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” her shoulders sink, lips pouting to match his, “I really – I just wanted you to have to worry about one less person, is all, but I. . .I definitely over did it, if you think that I don’t like you,” she shakes her head, rattles her brain, “I – seriously, I didn’t know it was upsetting you so much. It started with me just trying not to bother you with, like. . .my problems and stuff, but somehow it amassed into me not letting you do anything for me at all. That’s my fault.” 

He sighs softly, “I just want to be helpful to you too,” he explains, then opens his arms, and Y/N doesn’t hesitate to step forward into his embrace. She’d always heard that Harry gives really, really good hugs, but she’d never gotten to experience one for herself. He smells good, even though it was the end of the night and they’d been doing things all day. There’s the barest hint of the smoky smell from the tavern they’d been at, but beyond that, she could smell his fabric softener and cologne. Harry always chose light, airy scents that were gentle and soft. Being near him always sort of smelled like being near a fresh pile of laundry. His arms were big too, wrapped around her, and in them she felt sort of safe and warm. As she tucks herself against him, he rests his cheek against her head, and he rubs his palm up and down her back soothingly. It feels good – really, really good. She can’t believe she’d been self-denying of such comfort without even realizing it. “You’re really fun, Y/N, and you’re amazing. I want to be closer friends, but. . .but doing things for people and helping them out are how I get close. You’re not. . .doing anything wrong at all. I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t hate me.” 

“I don’t hate you at all.” Her words are a little muffled against his chest, and she’s almost hyperaware of how bulky it feels against her face, “It’d be impossible to hate you, really. I just. . .I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think this through as well as I thought I did.” She sighed, “But you have to let me do things for you too, okay? I’ll – like, not all the time- but I don’t want this to be a friendship where you give, give, give, and I take, take, take. You shouldn’t let people take advantage of you like that.” 

He’s still rubbing her back, slow and soft, “I know, I will, we can. It’ll be good. I’m excited.” 

That night, Y/N felt clean and dry after her shower, comfortable in her pajamas and snuggled up in a blanket on the couch while they watched Ringu. She’s not drunk, but she’s in that pleasant, hazy state where she’s still a little buzzed and she thinks the same goes for Harry. Mei lies between Y/N’s legs, her head resting on the inside of Y/N’s split thighs. Harry is to Y/N’s left, also in his pajamas, and one arm is thrown over the back of the couch while he leans into his corner. There’s a pillow between his hip and Y/N’s head, but she’s still tucked there, close enough that she can smell him, and close enough that Niall saw, wraggled his eyebrows, then promptly burrowed into Christopher’s side.

Typically, there is a rule that Y/N is not allowed to lie down during movies because she promptly falls asleep without fail. Adam, Mei, and Niall had started a “sleep-count” each week: how many times they’d put something on the telly and how many times Y/N would doze off during it. This extended into the rest of their friend group, and Y/N would get pillows thrown at her, or tickled, sometimes lowkey heckled until she pouted and woke up. Apparently, Mei was too drunk to really care tonight, and everyone else might have just been startled or confused by the sudden closeness of her and Harry. She can’t think of the last time she sat next to Harry when they watched a movie, let alone lay against him. 

Long story short, she definitely falls asleep. She stirs once when Harry gasps at something that happens on the screen, but her eyelids feel too heavy to keep open, even when she peeks them open to see something terrifying. Mei’s head is so heavy on her thigh that she knows for sure she was knocked out. The warmth from either side, plus the scent of Harry’s clothes, is what ultimately put her back to sleep. 

The next time she woke up, she was in bed. Y/N is unsure how she got there, but she had a sneaking suspicion it was the snoring lump in the other bed. Through her bleary eyes, she can see how he’s all rumpled, legs kicked out from the blankets, twisted around his body. Y/N doesn’t think she ever gets to see Harry asleep because he’s usually awake by the time she gets up. His mouth is hanging open, and his hair is a mess on his head. He looks cute – Y/N wishes she could press her face into his back and breathe in deeply. Or wiggle up under his bicep, see if he warps his body around to cuddle her. 

She fell back asleep, smiling a little. That’d be nice. 

                                                                 .                           .                           .

Y/N thought she and Harry were due for only one breakthrough this trip. 

It was good – not having this weird amount of negative tension between them. Harry didn’t start pouring his heart and soul into doing things for her, but he did pour milk for her cereal one morning, and he helped her with her sunscreen later that day. She even let him buy her an ice cream without being weird about it. In the same breath, Harry lets her do things for him too – there isn’t much, because he’s very self-sufficient and does everything before anyone could think to do it for him. But she tries her best! Sunscreens him right back, splits a sandwich with him when she caught him staring at it, and she even takes his side when he told them what music he listens to when he’s working out (she didn’t agree at all – Norah Jones is for cozy coffee mornings and gardening in Spring, not for lifting 200kg with your legs, and running with a 12% incline on a treadmill – but she defends him intensely). When they did go for barbecue, Y/N grilled him meat and piled his plate high with it. She even hoarded some of the cucumbers because she remembered they were his favorite from the first place they went to like this.

He still stares at her a borderline weird amount, but that’s never really bothered her. And she doesn’t mind how he swallows thickly when he watches her eat a popsicle, or lick whipped cream off her hand, or when Niall swats her bum in passing, and she gasps. Harry’s cute, and he’s sweet, and it’s fun to see a cute, sweet guy like him flustered about things like that. Especially with how pink he gets, how he fumbles over his words, and stumbles when he walks. She’d been trying to catch a peek of him adjusting or anything, but of course, he’s much too mindful to do something like that too obviously. 

It’s the night before their Tokyo day that Y/N finds they will have two breakthroughs on this trip. 

The day starts relatively normally; they wake up, they eat, they get ready, but nobody does makeup or anything because they planned to spend the morning at the beach, then the afternoon in the hot springs, and there was a bar nearby where they would get drinks. It was pretty close to where they were staying – a lot of things were within walking distance for them, which was really nice. They are at the beach early enough that the critters are out – birds are flying low, fish are closer to the shore than they are when it’s a little busier, Y/N and Mei hunt for shells while Adam and Harry swim. The others took their time getting down there, but when they show up, it’s a little less calm, and Y/N does get accidentally tackled into the water by a very rowdy Maeve. When Y/N popped back up with a gasp, Maeve apologized profusely. Harry appeared from where he’d been closer to the buoys, right at her side, all wet, with his hair slicked down the side of his head. 

“Are you alright?” His brows were furrowed, and his head was tilted. He’s close enough that she can feel the warmth of his body beneath the water. 

Y/N nodded, waving them off, “I’m okay, I’m okay.” She wiped the water from her eyes. “At least the water isn’t freezing.” 

“You’re playing favorites!” Niall accused her, “I accidentally splashed you yesterday, and you almost drowned me.” 

“That’s because Maeve is a precious angel and you are a little creature from the lagoon.” 

“What? Lagoon!” 

After the beach, they rinse the ocean water off and then head to the onsens. It was nice because the wind had picked up, so it was a little chillier than it had been before, the sun hiding behind the clouds. Sinking into the warm water was like a nice, hot bath. The heat soaked into her muscles, warmed her inside out, but the issue was that it was actually almost boiling. They rented a private one, so they spent most of the time cycling in and out of the heat. Y/N could tolerate about 15 minutes before she had to get out; then she’d cool down, then she’d stick her feet in. They had a cooling room, so after they were all done sweating half their body weight in water, they took some time to settle the temperature in their bodies. 

They had showers on site, so they could rinse off once again (“We are going to be giant prunes by the end of the day,” Christopher whined), and they brought clothes to change into. Niall and Adam lost rock, paper, scissors, so they had to take everyone's wet clothes and towels home and meet them at the beachside bar. It was one they hadn’t been to yet, with a wider drink selection and a little bit more traffic than the others. There was a younger crowd, so it was far more rambunctious, and the music was louder. 

Y/N felt Harry’s eyes on her all of the time, but she especially felt them on her tonight. And especially when someone at the bar took an interest in her. 

The thing is, Y/N rarely gets hit on in public. Y/N used to question it and be bummed out, but then she realized the one thing that pissed her off more than anything was a drunk prick, breathing his vodka breath on her face, trying to get her to blow him in the bathroom. And then, when her frontal lobe developed, she realized that dating a stranger that she met in the bar, drunk, was probably not the best thing in the world for her. So she tried to find the bright side in it, rather than mope about how people weren’t showing interest in her and feeling ugly; she reveled in the fact that she didn’t have to worry about anyone annoying her. 

All that being said, rarely doesn’t mean never. Tonight, two people had approached her — one who almost immediately suggested that they go somewhere to fuck, so she squashed it immediately. The other one was a little sweeter, gentler; he sort of reminded her of Harry now that she thinks about it. His name is Yuuki, but he tells her to call him Yuu. He ambled up to her when she was getting a drink with Mei and was normal enough that she hadn’t shipped him off immediately. How the bar was set up was that most of it was outside, and the “inside” was more like verandas with lights strung up around them. They had a table that they were all kind of staking their claim on, and Yuu followed Y/N and Mei back to it.

Truthfully, Y/N thought he was interested in Mei when he first walked up, but Mei is the sort of pretty that a lot of guys are scared of, so they chat up her friend in hopes they’ll be a wingman. That was the sort of situation Y/N thought she was about to experience. But when they got back to the table and they were all speaking, Yuu made it clear pretty quickly that his intentions were with her. Y/N didn’t realize it until he complimented how she looked tonight, and when she brushed it off, he doubled down.

“I mean it,” he assured her, “Like, you guys have been outside sweating all day, and you still look this beautiful? Isn’t that kind of unfair?” 

Y/N’s eyes went wide. “Oh, wow,” she chuckled a little, “You’re forward, huh?” 

“I try to be, if it’s someone I want.” 

There’s a tingle on the nape of her neck, burning, hot. She tried to subtly turn to look, and she locked gazes with Harry, who. . .who is always looking at her. And he looks. . .well, she’s trying to decide how he looks. Upset? No, not really. Not angry either? But he does look put off. Not to the extent that he did when he confronted her, but still, he clearly wasn’t smiling as widely as he had been throughout most of the day.

Y/N could do a couple of things. She could politely decline Yuu because she really wasn’t planning on pursuing this beyond some friendly flirting. Or. . .she could see how Harry would react if she did actually pursue something. Now that Y/N thinks about it, she doesn’t think she’s ever pursued someone in front of Harry before, so she really doesn’t know how he would react. She isn’t sure why she cares how he would react, but it’s something that has suddenly piqued her interest. Does he like her? Niall at least thinks that he thinks she’s pretty and that’s why he’s always looking at her. But she thinks she’s. . .at least a little tipsy. Not really, but that’s what she’ll blame it on if someone asks her. 

She just wants to know! It’s like. . .he and Adam do this all the time, right? The scientific method? She’s just testing something right now, creating a hypothesis and testing it immediately. It would be interesting to see his reaction, right? He’ll probably not care anyway, and Y/N would have strung this guy along for a whole lot of nothing. But it’s fun to flirt sometimes. And it’s fun to see how someone like Harry might react if he’s jealous. Heavy on the if, considering Harry might not even like her at all, so she was just wasting everyone’s time. 

But that version of Harry she saw the other night, who asked to speak with her directly, who told her exactly what was on his mind, and confidently let her know what he wanted? That was nice to see! She just wondered what other ways she could make him speak his mind. 

Still, Yuu is cute and not annoying, and he’s sweet with all the things he’s saying and calling her. It turns out that he isn’t a local, but his family summers here a lot, so he knows a lot of interesting facts and random shit about the development of the island. He also tells her that they need to check out the Shimoda Ropeway, a cable car that takes you on a ride up the Nesugata Mountain, and doesn’t insert himself into the plans like he’s trying to make a date out of it. 

Y/N giggles more than she might normally, and she stands close to him. She touches him a little more liberally than she would typically, squeezing his arm when he mentions working out, pulling a fuzz off his top, leaning in close to see the pendant on his necklace. The burn of eyes on her stays the entire time, and whenever she looks up, Harry’s frowning a little, turned away like he doesn’t want to see it but can’t help but stare. Yuu goes to get them another drink, and Niall saddles up next to her, clicking his tongue and murmuring low in her ear. 

“He looks like he either wants to cry or devour you,” he tells her, “Maybe both?” 

Y/N’s heart starts to race. Is he really looking that way, or is Niall just being delusional? She doesn’t get an answer because Niall disappears just as soon as he’d come to her side, swayed by the call of Adam, clearly getting into an argument on the phone with a drink in his hand. Y/N briefly makes eye contact with Harry before Yuu returns soon after. She couldn’t read him, not at all. 

It wasn’t until Yuu leaned in and whispered something in her ear that she heard something fall. Just a soft thud and a little gasp, and Y/N’s eyes followed the commotion, where Harry had dropped his drink in the sand. A little had splashed on his trousers, but nothing seemed broken or dangerous. She wants to get up – to tease him a little, and see if he’d smile about it – but she isn’t rude, and Yuu is mid-conversation with her still, even if it was guided in a more flirty direction. 

And she’s able to give Yuu her attention for four more minutes before her gaze tries to find Harry again, only this time, he isn’t sitting where he had been most of the night. They were all scattered around, using the table as a sort of base point, but Harry had been sort of resting against the corner edge of the bar with his drink since Yuu came up to speak to her. He was still close enough that he could be a part of the conversation with Maeve and Christopher, but far enough that he was able to fade into the background if he wanted. Harry was good at finding spots like that when he needed them. 

But he wasn’t there. Like a prairie dog, her head perks up, and she looks from left to right, searching for him, but she can’t seem to find him. Something is unsettled in her chest, a small pout forming on her mouth. 

“Sorry,” she cut Yuu off, patting his thigh as she stood up, “My friend disappeared on me; I’m g’na go find them.” 

“Take your time,” he waved to her politely, “While you do that, I’m going to catch up with my friends and make sure none of them are face down in the sand right now.” 

Y/N hunts down Adam, who is frowning at his phone and texting what seems to be a multiple-paragraph-long text with random caps lock moments and exclamation points: “Hey, did you see where Harry ran off?” 

Adam looks up at her, his frown soothing when he realizes it’s Y/N speaking to him, “Hm? He said he needed some air or something and went out toward the beach.” Adam made a vague motion with his hand. “Which is silly because we are already outside, but who knows. Would you go check on him? He sounded kind of sad.” 

For a second time, guilt warps something ugly and inky in her chest. He sounded sad?  That was not what she wanted at all! She – Y/N doesn’t know what she wanted exactly. She kind of wanted him to be – not angry, but irritated, maybe? The same sort of irritation he’d felt when she wasn’t letting him help her out, when he was blunt and to the point with his feelings, if he was feeling anything at all about the situation. Y/N thought maybe she’d get to see another side of Harry that she might not have been privy to. One that’s a little jealous. One that might like. . .do something, if he wanted to, with her. 

But instead, she thinks she made him sad. Y/N all but stumbles further onto the beach, away from the bar. Thankfully, he must have just left because she finds him relatively close by, heading off horizontally to the ocean, in the direction of the Airbnb. His head is tilted down, hands in his pockets. 

“Hey!” Y/N called out to him, starting forward, “Harry!” 

He pauses, so she knows he heard her, but he doesn’t stop. Actually, he sped up a little even, and removed his hands from his pockets, reaching them toward his face as if he might be wiping away tears, and Y/N reached down to take her shoes off so she could move quicker. The little hills and valleys of sand are making her stumble pretty badly, and she almost falls flat on her face a couple of times from how soft it is, her feet sinking in, the little grains sticking between her toes. Her dress billows from the way the wind is whipping, and she almost gets tripped up a couple of times on that, too. 

But she makes it to him with no injuries and reaches forward, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him back, “Hey, I called for you –” she starts to scold him until she sees his face. 

His eyes are watery, rimmed red, with flushed cheeks and little stained tracks from what could only be tears. Y/N’s eyes go impossibly wide, mouth falling open, “Harry –” 

He tilts his face away. “Don’t look at me for a second,” he fusses, hiding behind his hands, “I’m – I’m – don’t –” he’s flustered, she can tell, and beyond the ache she feels for making him sad, there’s a twitch somewhere else too. Somewhere deep and warm and confusing. Y/N is unaware of this bodily reaction to someone crying because she’s never experienced it before. She tries to stuff it down, though, for a second, in favor of focusing on the moment. 

Because Harry looks so sad, with a pouted mouth, and a puffy face. Y/N doesn’t know if he’s drunk or not, but when she reaches up to gently touch his face, the skin is warm. “What’s this, hm? Why are you crying?” He goes easily with how she tilts him all around, this way and that, his chin up, down, side, side, like she’s searching for a notable sign of distress, like a scrape or a scratch. She had a feeling that she might know, but that would be kind of crazy, right? If it was what she was thinking, then she was a huge dickhead. He was even more softhearted than she thought he was. 

“N-nothing,” he tells her, “There’s sand in my eye.” 

He looks unfairly pretty like this, Y/N notes while she’s looking at him. Tear drops cling to his eyelashes, and the color of them is intense, even through the lens of his glasses. His lips are slick and wet, and he sniffles every so often, looking at her with the most pitiful gaze she’s ever seen. Y/N feels horrible and weirdly horny, and she wants to wrap him in bubble wrap and swallow him whole. 

“Sand, hm?” She repeats, and he nods, “Nothing else?” 

Harry’s quiet, and Y/N sighs a little, her hand falling from his face. What was she doing? This was stupid. . .she should just tell him straight out that she wanted to see how he reacted if she was flirting with someone else, for some reason. It just felt like. . .like she just wanted to know, okay? You can only see someone as hot and pretty as Harry shirtless in tiny swim trunks for so long before you have to start wondering things. And you can only stand for them to stare at you for so long without wondering if maybe they were interested. And maybe for the last two days you’ve thought about how he carried you to bed, and how strong he was, and how big his biceps are, and how he could probably squeeze you tight. How his stamina must be insane if he’s going on runs with Adam and only Adam is returning winded, while it seems like they only had to stop exercising for his sake. 

Her fingers carefully loop around his wrist. “Well, I think I was the one to kick the sand in your eye by accident,” she tells him. “Come back with me; I wanna go back.” 

“Are you sure? We – I’m seriously fine; I just needed a second to shake some thoughts out of my head,” he told her, “If you wanted to… to stay, I know you were – um. . .speaking with someone.” And though he tries not to, it’s spoken with just enough vitriol that if Y/N hadn’t been suspicious before, she definitely would have been now. 

Y/N starts walking in the direction of the house again, fingers tightening around his arm. 

“He’ll be okay,” she answers, “Text the others and let them know we’re headed out first.” 

                                                                   .                          .                           .

They really don’t speak much on the way back to the house. Harry eventually falls into step with her instead of her dragging him behind her, but Y/N doesn’t let go of his arm at all. She can feel the thundering of his pulse beneath her fingertips, and it sort of makes her salivate like she’s a vampire or a mosquito. What the hell is going on with her? The reaction she’s having to this sniffly, crying Harry is almost visceral. Has a guy ever cried because of her before? She doesn’t know – she’s certain she would remember if this were the reaction that came from it. 

They get to the house pretty quickly. They kick off their shoes at the front door, and Y/N dips her feet into the bucket of water (that Harry has been routinely changing out) so that there’s no sand tracking through the house. She led them to their room, even though there was nobody home. It just felt wrong to be out in the open when they both have a room they share, and the others would be home every minute. If she were questioning him, and he started crying again, and in front of everyone? Y/N would feel like a monster. She doesn’t want them to see him crying because she can tell he’s a little embarrassed about it, even though it’s cute. 

“Harry –” she begins, because she’s about to apologize and try to explain herself without sounding like a maniac, but Harry starts talking before she can. 

“I think you look beautiful tonight,” he rushes to say, “And I thought it first, but I didn’t get the chance to say it. Then that man said it before me, and it just. . .upset me. I could tell he was whispering it in your ear, but I. . .I thought about it first. I know that’s stupid and childish, but –” he shook his head, “But that’s just how I’m feeling right now. I should’ve been the first to say it.”

Alarms are blaring in her head right now, but not bad ones. Good ones. Bright ones. Chirpy, twinkling, sparkling alarms that explode with sweets and whipped cream, cakes and pies. Confetti bursts from the speakers as they sound. 

Y/N doesn’t think when she leans in; she just does what her body urges her to do, and it’s urging her to kiss him. Her heart is thudding rapidly when she grabs him by the face and presses a kiss to his mouth, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth and nipping. Harry makes a startled squeak in his throat at first, but accepts her readily, meeting her tongue outside of her mouth to flicker together. He tastes like fruity alcohol plus a hint of saltiness from his tears, and Y/N feels like her head is swimming. This is too much and not enough all at once. But this feeling that she’s been feeling, niggling at the back of her head – she had to satiate it right then and there. It was demanding that she do, actually. 

Harry moves fluidly with her. He kisses like someone who definitely knows how to kiss, tilting his head, working himself into it, his hands finding her sides and squeezing. His tongue is feathery when it flickers into her mouth, touching hers softly before curling and rubbing against it. She pulses then flutters around nothing, walls coaxing something imaginary deeper inside of her. It feels good – so good that her eyes practically roll to the back of her head. The heat of his body against hers and the need to press closer and kiss deeper are what drive her. Plus the sweet noises that are leaving his throat, low and whiny, as his glasses get all screwed up, crooked and fogged between them. 

Y/N takes a step forward, and her thigh comes in contact with his erection. Her heart was already racing, but it gallops when she feels that. Harry’s big. She’d already kind of clocked this because of his swim trunks and the couple of times she’s seen him in his briefs, but seeing is way different than feeling. Feeling him, she registers that he has a monster in there and it’s something that needs to be dealt with accordingly. 

Her hands slid from his face, down his body, toward the belt around his hips, but before she could properly undo it, Harry reached down to stop her. 

The sound that she moans against him is questioning, brows pinching together when she pulls away to see him. Was she reading this wrong? Maybe she shouldn’t have kissed him? But he’d been responding so eagerly to it; she wouldn’t have guessed that this was something that he didn’t want or was unsure about. His grip around her wrists is strong, and when she realizes that he’s only using one hand, she thinks she might just pass out. 

“Sorry,” her words sound a little wet before she swallows, “Do you – did I – I’m sorry,” she doesn’t feel very drunk from her drinks, but she feels drunk with lust, and the flushed, slicked, and swollen look of Harry’s lips after being kissed. Hell, she could have been doing this every fucking night, couldn’t she have? If he wanted it, she could have given him a temporary lip stain just from pressing their mouths together. “I took it too far? You’re hard, so I thought –” 

“I want to do you,” he murmurs, cutting her off and sinking to the floor in front of her. Y/N gasps when his nose drags from her belly button, down to her crotch, pushing his nose against her and breathing in softly. Her stomach does a hot little flip-flop from arousal, his hands slowly dragging from her ribs, down to her hips, and they feel so fucking massive against her, she feels herself getting wetter. “I don’t – I don’t care if I cum tonight, I want to make you cum before the others get here.” 

And she definitely, definitely, definitely wasn’t expecting this. Y/N isn’t sure what she thought might happen if she flirted in front of him, but the last thing she imagined was that he’d end up on his knees in front of her. He makes a filthy sight – and an image that she thinks would do numbers on socials and probably inspire many blurbs and headcanons about needy boys who sink to their knees with teary eyes wanting to make you feel good. She can’t believe what she’s seeing or feeling when he starts to bunch the fabric of her dress up, shoving it over her hips and making her hold it so that he can focus on what’s underneath it. 

Her panties, she could bet, were already damp, but Harry presses his face against her and sucks in a long, deep breath. Y/N twitches, jumping and giggling from the ticklish feeling, a soft moan tickling from her throat when she feels his lips graze against her folds. Harry guides one of her legs over his shoulder, letting it dangle and encouraging her to rest her weight on him as he tugs the crotch of the panties to the side and drags his tongue up from hole to her swollen, throbbing clit. They whine in unison – Y/N at the feeling of his wet, slick tongue between her, and Harry at her taste (or at least that’s what she’s guessing). He sucks the engorged button into his mouth for two little pulls before popping off, dragging his tongue against her again. She’s happy that her panties are flimsy, stretchy little things today so they don’t get too in the way of his tongue. 

Harry eats like he’s starving for it. Like he’d been starved all day and Y/N finally let him have a taste. He laps at her like a needy mutt, desperate, hungry, flicking his tongue between her folds and slurping up what she has to give him. The gravity in how he’s eating her makes her drip directly into his mouth, and every time she squeezes or pulses, it drags him back to her hole like he’s going to suck it right out of her. Y/N’s tummy is so clenched, hips bucking into his mouth, fingers curling up tight in her dress. Her left hand is tangled in the fabric of her dress and also in his hands, where he has a firm grip on her, keeping her as still as he can so she doesn’t topple over. Y/N is wondering how many people he’s eaten out against a wall to have this down to a science, but those thoughts are silenced when he suckles her clit into his mouth again. 

His eyes alternate between being blissed out and closed, and staring up at her. Gaze is still all swollen from crying earlier because of her; she’s pretty sure. Did he have a crush on her? Is that why he’s always staring and looking at her? Is that why he was so sad she wasn’t letting him do things for her? Was she reading too far into this? 

His fingers dig into her flesh, pulling her closer, moaning against her pussy like he was the one being eaten out. Y/N would do that – she’d split him open and tongue his cute little hole too, if he’d let her. Y/N thinks she’d do anything for him right now if it meant that she could feel his tongue like this more often. There’s a burning coil tightening in her belly, ready to burst while he happily dines between her legs. Her folds feel slick, and her pussy feels a little sloppy, with how much she’s leaking onto his tongue, but he has never seemed so at ease. Even when they were soaking in the onsen today, he seemed ten times more relaxed with a face full of her cunt. His glasses push up against her when he moves closer, and for some reason that really does her in. 

Y/N’s head thuds back against the wall, her throat extending with a moan when she starts to cum, thighs shaking hard. It’s intense, more than she’s expecting. She thinks it’s the fastest and hardest that she’s cum with someone else in her life, and it’s unknotting muscles that have been wound up for years and years. Y/N’s pussy contracts like it’s begging for something to be inside of it and Harry listens, letting her grind herself against his face while he wriggles his tongue inside of her. He makes these soft, pleading hums of “Mhm, mhm,” like he’s begging for more, telling her how okay he is with this, how pleased he is. Helping her helps him; he told her that, and she’s certain that extends to cumming. 

Eventually, it’s too much. He drags her orgasm out for as long as he can before she’s twitching and sensitive, shoving against his forehead until he detaches from her with a wet pop. Her leg slid off of his shoulder, down to the floor uselessly. Honestly, she thinks his hands on her are the only reason she hasn’t toppled right over yet. 

Harry looks lewd. His face was wet and blotched pink all over; his lips were swollen and fat from the kissing and from what he’d just done to her, glistening as he lulled his tongue around them to lap up every bite of her juices he could. His glasses are all fucked, still crooked since they kissed, so she reaches down and straightens them out. Even though he’s holding his body is lewd, on his knees, legs outstretched, his cock obvious and thick in his trousers and a clear wet spot that spreads with each little throb she can see. 

Y/N feels crazed, almost, when she sees that. Her eyes wild as she blinks, “You’re – you –” she stutters, and Harry has the nerve to look sheepish. 

“Yeah,” he answers delicately, “You tasted really, really good, I – I’ve been wanting to do that since you said nobody has ever made your thighs shake while they ate you.” 

Still catching her breath, she asks, “When did I say that?” 

“Two years ago, after the movies once.” 

Y/N has no recollection of this, and that makes it even more steamy, for some reason. Has he just been thinking about that? For two years? 

She moves her foot to the wet bulge in his bottom and presses the sole of her foot along the curve of it. The sound Harry makes is delicious and a little pathetic when he grabs her ankle tightly and rolls up into the touch before jerking away, “Ah, too much,” he whined, thudding his head against her thigh, “We need – we need to – come and lie down, I’ll clean you up.”

Y/N crawled into the bed, wondering what that could entail before Harry appeared at the bedside with a warm, wet cloth in his hand. He’s still in his messy bottoms, but he doesn’t seem to care, as he delicately strips her of her panties. He’s gentle while he wipes away the spit and her cum, before placing a soft, sweet kiss on her thigh before heading to her suitcase. She watches as he picks out the pajamas from her sleepwear packing cube and brings them over to her, along with a new pair of panties. 

“Thank you for letting me,” Harry tells her as he lies them carefully beside her, then leans down and places another wet, sucking kiss to her thigh, “Your skin tastes so sweet.” 

She is still breathless, mouth opening and closing like a fish, “That – Harry, your tongue is insane – thank you,” she says, instead of asking the million other questions she wants to ask. Neither of them has the capacity for that right now. They just had two very big revelations in the last 72 hours, and Harry has cum cooling and drying probably very uncomfortably in his pants right now. The others would be back sooner rather than later, and at least Mei and Niall will probably tumble into the room, if not to catch them “in the act,” then to see if they are okay. Harry had messaged them that they were feeling dehydrated from sweating all day, and they were going back to get some rest. “I’ve never – I’ve never cum like that before.” 

He grins sweetly. Like a switch has been flipped, he’s got that sweet, gentle look in his eyes again. 

“That makes me happy. I’ll be right back, okay? I need to clean up.” 

Y/N watches him disappear behind the door with a pair of briefs and his own pajamas in his hands. She hears the sink faucet turn on and the gasp of someone who just put a wet washcloth on their softened, sensitive cock. Her mind is reeling. 

That had been something she had done at the very beginning of her dating journey, and she had vowed after the third situationship with a man she had only seen potential and not results with that she would never, ever do that again. A lesson learned too many times.

People liked to say ‘if you know, you know’, and she hadn’t been so certain about that in the past. There were lots of instances of people who had given someone a chance when they were unsure and after a few dates it had worked, and for that she was ecstatic for them, but in her case it had only ever ended up with wasted time. 

Lots of people had initially been up for the ‘challenge’ when Y/N had tried to state her standards, and at the beginning it worked out slightly, sometimes showing some promise, but she could always see the cracks in the foundation she barely laid down. The cement hadn’t even cured yet when she watched their jaw twitch or heard the sighs of exasperation, and it was then that she would keep an eye on it but knowing that it likely wouldn’t work. 

There were three chances. She liked to think she was a very understanding person and that had been part of the problem when she had first started to implement going for exactly what she wanted instead of conceding to what was ‘available’, but with each person it got easier. Depending on the offense, the person didn’t get the third chance. 

Two cancelled dates in a row? Bye bye. 

Going three days without any texts or calls? Adios. 

They said something that very obviously didn’t align with her morals and values? See ya fucking later. 

So yes, it had been easy to become cynical after a while. 

That was also why four months into being official with Harry that she knew she was going to marry him. 

It was a feeling, really, a knowing that settled into her chest and stayed warm and glowy. The idea of being with him forever didn’t panic her like it had in the past with other people, there had been no major fuck ups besides a few cancelled dates because of work which he had rectified nearly immediately by a lot of soft words and heartfelt apologies he had stepped out of said meetings to give, sending her food and calling her on his way home, asking if he could see her to give her a kiss goodnight. 

Not to fuck and leave, but a literal kiss goodnight before being prepared to drive all the way back to his home. 

Did she end up inviting him in anyways? It depended on her mood. Usually, yes.

For a man so busy with multiple companies and a charity he was actually involved in, he always made time for her. He made sure she knew ahead of time what his schedule was and if he was going to be out of touch for a while, and that was something she appreciated more than he could ever know. 

Her avoidant tendencies had shifted into something far more settled, but she still had the remnants of that nasty anxiety that lingered. Somehow he could just tell, and made it a point to soothe it whenever he could. 

“I’m so sorry, my treasure.” He looked genuinely remorseful when she picked up the phone to see him on her screen, sleepy and sad. Harry was on a trip in Italy and he’d told her that he would call her at ten in the evening, but once it got to midnight, she was more than upset when her phone had remained silent. Angry, even. 

It wasn’t fair to be. Y/N knew he was out making big moves for his career and business was sometimes unreliable when it came to timing, but the anxiety had clawed at her quickly. Again, her old demons that she hadn’t quite slaughtered to completion putting unfair assumptions in her head that maybe he had met someone there more interesting, that he was dreading calling her, or even worse, something had happened to him. 

Crying over it had seemed excessive, especially at her age, but Harry had quickly become so, so important to her that she wasn’t quite sure she knew how to deal with it. She could see long term with him, she wanted to be with him more than anything, and her brain was still having a hard time processing that he hadn’t shown any sign of being anything like the mistakes she had dated before that had fed these monsters in her head. 

So waking up to his ring tone at 1:32 in the early morning had been a bit jarring, to say the least. 

“The meeting ran over and my phone had died. I promise you, I ran to my hotel the fastest I could.” To his credit, he looked disheveled, like he had been running his hand through his normally styled hair and he had some puffiness under his eyes from lack of sleep . Y/N was aware of the fact that sometimes the things he worked on were very involved, and rationally she knew it wasn’t a big deal… but it had triggered an old wound. 

It had happened to her an embarrassing number of times before, waiting for a phone call only to say they ‘fell asleep’ or they had straight up forgotten. The feeling of humiliation had been drudged back up like someone stepping in a clear stream and kicking the mud and gunk to make her feel cloudy as she had texted him for the third time unanswered, the feeling of a girl who used to give too many chances rising back. 

This was different, though. This wasn’t some party boy or hinge match that had strung her along. This was her boyfriend, one who had given her no reason to truly doubt him. 

“And no one else had a charger?” Her irritation showed through her sleepy voice, eyes narrowing at the screen. It felt ridiculous to say and embarrassment hit her gut when she did, but he shook his head in response, not getting prickly about her tone. 

“No, my darling, and that was very irritating. I am going to buy a portable one to keep in my briefcase, alright? I won’t let this happen again.” He paused, frowning as he watched her flip on her lamp on her nightstand, letting him see the tear tracks racing down her cheeks. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I don’t like it when you cry. I can see that you did.” It looked like it pained him, no note of condescending lacing his tone. “Breaks my heart. I hate that I made you so upset.”

“It’s okay.” She sniffled, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “I… I didn’t mean to get snappy. I should have known it was something like that, but it made my imagination run a bit wild. It’s stupid.”

“It isn’t.” The strength of his response surprised her. “Nothing about the way you feel is stupid. It was a broken promise, and that’s my own fault. You didn’t do a thing wrong. It’s alright to be frustrated with me for that.” His lips turned into a sad smile, shifting his position on the bed. 

“Well… Thank you for that.” It felt strange to have a man validate her reaction like that, even if she did know it wasn’t fully warranted. “I was just anxious, I think.” 

“Why don’t you tell me why, hm? I want t’know what goes on in that pretty head of yours. I’ll make sure to keep mental notes so it doesn’t happen again.”

–

The way Harry handled her with such care was a whole new experience and in every single way. He’d made sure to make good on all of his promises so far, and while she knew it could change at any moment, she’d decided to let go of some of those fears to fully take him in. This was the man she wanted to be with and working through those things in order to trust him was important. 

Besides that, she had never felt more adored in her life. 

“You alright?” He murmured into her skin, kissing on her cheeks as she finished washing the final dish. Harry had cooked dinner so she had insisted on cleaning up, much to his protest. He’d lingered around while she did, offering a hand and chuckling when she whipped the kitchen towel at him, leaving only momentarily to take a quick call before returning right at the tail end of her cleaning spree and attaching himself to her. 

“Yeah, I’m great.” The honest answer was that she was flustered from his lips pressing kisses all over her face (at least where he could reach from the position) and down her jaw. It was like he didn’t want to leave any area untouched, tiny pecks and a soft humming from his throat along to the Nina Simone album he’d put on making her skin heat up. 

“That’s what I like to hear.” The hand on her stomach fiddled with the hem of her top, letting his pinky graze the bare skin from where it had ridden up. “I adore you. I hope you know.” 

The gentle reminder of his feelings made her beam, surely letting him feel her smile against his lips as he gave another kiss to the heated skin. He hadn’t been shy about letting her know that he felt something strongly towards her, even if it was only a few months in. 

For a man so refined, poised and controlled in every other context, when it came to letting her know how he felt, the longer they were together, the more free and messy he was in comparison. 

Y/N fucking loved it. 

“What a coincidence. I happen to adore you quite a lot, too.” She retorted, shutting the water off and wiping her hands on the clean towel hanging over the faucet before placing them on top of his. “I didn’t expect to like you this much, this quickly. Or for you to like me back equally.” Those small moments of vulnerability she sprinkled in to their conversations were sometimes intimidating to give, but the more open she was with him the more she got to know his thoughts. 

Harry was more than giving when it came to communication and giving her the validation she needed. Sometimes it felt too good to be true, but everything about it seemed so earnest it was hard to actually doubt him. “How could I not?” He sounded affronted by the idea of it, shaking his head before nosing into the crook of her neck. “You, my darling, are the most wonderful, intelligent, alluring woman I’ve ever met. I can’t describe to you how lucky I felt when you agreed to start seeing me regularly.”

Y/N snorted, running her fingers over his wrists and up to his forearms before cuffing over them. “I thought you weren’t really attracted to me at first because you didn’t try to fuck me.” 

His body stilled behind her. An interesting reaction for someone so smooth, she waited for him to move. It didn’t take long, craning his head towards her, the wrinkle in his brow showed confusion and a bit of offense before he slowly shook his head. She wanted to smooth it away, make his face relax. “That is the exact opposite of what was happening. I was doing everything in my power to show you I was serious, yes, because you deserved the respect of being treated like a lady… but please, never mistake my attraction for you. It has always been… borderline distracting. Even now, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Deciding to press his cheek against hers, he let out a sad sigh. “I never wanted you to think that. I’m sorry if you’ve ever felt undesired, my treasure. That’s never been the case. I just wanted to do it right.” The 5 o’clock shadow that had become more of an 8 o’clock one tickled her soft cheek as he spoke. 

“No, I know you did. I figured that out after the third date when you kissed me.” Her face felt hot when she recalled how carried away the kiss had gotten, her back cold against the passenger side of his car when he’d dropped her off and given her the first proper smooch. The electricity was there immediately and had lit her up, making her cling to the lapels of his jacket and his own hand sliding down her back, dangerously close to her ass. 

The memory of the groan he had let out was still something that made her knees weak. The way he’d tasted of wine and the mint he had on hand in his cupholder, too. 

“Mmm. Best first kiss of my life. I’d like it to be my last.” Thumbing over her stomach, he pressed her forward and into the sink with a sigh, moving to nose over her cheek as his mouth drifted toward her ear. “You’ve no idea how badly I wanted to say ‘fuck it’, right then and there. Hike that beautiful dress up to your hips and take you right there, because I knew immediately that you were mine and I wanted to take you. Be greedy. But I couldn’t.” Clicking his tongue in disappointment, he let himself press against her ass. 

Just the memory of the kiss had done something to him, too. 

“Really?” She breathed, swallowing the thickness in her throat. “I-I didn’t know. It was the first glimpse I saw of when you get…” 

“When I get what, sweetheart?” He questioned, letting his hand drift up, fingers running right over her breasts. A tease. Harry loved to fucking tease and it always made her squirm. He got off on making her impatient, hearing her whine, only to give in and give her the things she had only thought possible in her books and dirty dreams. It hadn’t helped her learn any patience, but thankfully he had enough for the both of them. “Hm?”

“When you get… feral. I don’t know. You’re always so proper but when you- when you grabbed the back of my neck to keep me where you wanted me, I got so wet.” Her breathy admission made him hum happily, finally allowing his hand to cup her and squeeze. Just a little bit- just another tease as his thumb grazed her nipple over the material of her top.

“Yeah? S’that what you like?” Harry knew damn well that was what she liked. He felt her get wet when he did, he felt her cum when he lost his control, he heard her sounds and how she went lax whenever he took over. “I can’t help myself sometimes. I just adore you so, so much. It takes over a part of me I’ve never seen. You’re the first to bring it out.” 

The lack of control he had over himself when it came to her was one of the things she loved most. It was nearly impossible for him to hide it now. The longer they were together the more he showed her. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise when she was bent over the kitchen counter with her fuzzy cheetah sleep shorts discarded across the tiled floor and his hands running over her curves as he thrust into her, slow and deep. 

Filling her to the brim, to the point where she let out little gasps as his hips pressed against her bum, he let out low, gravelly murmurs of appreciation.  “Look at how you take it, my treasure.” He murmured, fingertips grazing the dimples in her back. “Like you were made for me. So fucking gorgeous, it’s driving me mad.” 

Regardless of how filthy their sex got, no matter how hard he took her, how dirty his words developed into when he grunted them into her sticky skin, Y/N never felt anything less than worshipped. Seeing a man break his composure he kept around every other human being because he was so obsessed with her was a sensation that she never knew she wanted, but now that she had it? It was a necessity.

He was reverent and sweet, even, as he picked up the pace and nudged her thighs further apart. “I can’t get enough of you. It’s never enough. Just want t’be touching you every moment… I’d live inside you if I could.” 

That sounded especially tempting as his hand slipped to her stomach and down to cup her mound, thumbing over her slippery clit. “Arch for me, sweetheart. Let me see that pretty face.” The opposite hand moved the hair that had fallen in her face, cooing as she did as he requested. “There she is. There’s my girl. Fuck, you’re perfect.” 

It would be embarrassing, how wet she got for him, if Harry didn’t love it. He preened every time he saw just how slicked up she got for him, coating his cock and his sac damn near every time he got inside of her. Her body reacted almost excessively strongly to him, in ways she hadn’t known possible, and he worked to get every possible one. 

The squelch of his cock inside of her, skin against skin and her panting filled the kitchen, fingers clawing uselessly on the marble countertop when she felt his other hand make the trek from her face towards her bum- and she knew what was coming. 

Before Harry, she’d never really considered any sort of anal play to be her thing, but the first time he had gently nudged the tip of his thumb in, she had lit up. It had pleased him to no end, seeing as he knew no one else had touched her there, and he wanted to claim it. 

If only he knew just how much she belonged to him. 

“Yeah? Want me to put something in this precious little hole too?” He spoke sweetly, like he wasn’t about to do one of the filthiest things a person could do. It was the duality of the man that had her head spinning every time they were intimate, but it seemed to get better every damn time. 

“You know I do.” Her reply was breathy as she used her elbows to raise her torso, but he wasn’t having any of that. 

“No, none of that.” He scolded, abandoning her ass for a moment to urge her back down. “You aren’t doing any work. You’re going to lay there and be gorgeous while I take care of everything. S’my job.” 

Y/N had won the karma lottery for dating so many duds, she was pretty sure. Like a gift from the universe for her troubles, giving her a man who not only wanted to take care of her but thrived off of it. Harry loved to be in charge, sure, but it was the act of giving that really got him off- Caring for her in ways no one else possibly could.

“Okay, m’sorry baby.” She swallowed, taking a breath that was promptly stolen when he spit right over her hole. “Oh, fuck.” Her face went lax as she bleated the curse out, not sure if she wanted to move from the touch or back into it. It was so much, but not enough.

“You like it, I know. M’gonna give it to you. I’ve been neglecting this ass, haven’t I baby? That’s not nice.” He shook his head, rubbing over the rim of it. “So pretty and tight… Makes you feel so good, too. One day we’ll get my cock in there. Get you some toys t’open you up… but for now, I just want to make you cum. You’ve had a long day, and I’ve been thinking about my pussy all fucking day.” 

The pleasure was almost indiscribable. Feeling the intrusion of his thumb, his hand on her clit and his cock thrusting into her, she was never more full than this. In moments like this, it was abundantly clear not only who she belonged to, but who belonged to her. The noises out of his mouth, the praises, the worship, all of it in one proved just how much it was reciprocated.

“You’ll never feel undesired again.” He grunted, his thrusts catching a little speed. There was no doubt he could feel her walls clenching around him, sucking on him to try and get him to meet his end, and she could hear it in his voice. “Should have done this over the hood of my car during that third date, just so you knew how much I wanted you. Wanted you to be mine, to crave this cock like I was drooling over this perfect pussy before I had even seen it.” 

He’d hidden it quite well. She’d only had a little inkling that he wanted her after their kiss but he’d held off so gracefully that she had been unsure.

Now, there was no questioning it. She was wanted in ways she hadn’t ever fathomed. 

“I-I wanted you so bad. I love when you’re a gentleman- oh fuck.” She hiccuped when the tip of his cock brushed the spot she needed again, eyes watering at the feeling. “I love it, but I love this too. Wanna feel you wanting me.” 

That was a challenge if he ever heard one, even if she hadn’t meant it to be. 

Y/N felt his want when he focused on that spot that had her knees weak, felt it when he kept his thrusts the same to focus on that spot, and especially felt it when she came the first time and he didn’t stop. Not even a falter in his rhythm, no skipped beat. Just the continuation of pleasure. 

“I want you so much it aches. I sit at work and think about when I get to see you next, how I can get you closer to me, make up excuses to come by just to kiss you. But if you want me to do this more often? Want me to get you face down and gushing around my cock over and over again? I’ll do it. I want you forever.” His voice was slurred a little bit, but he didn’t stop. 

“Adore you so much. You’re everything I fuckin’ dreamed of. Never felt m-more lucky than seeing you on that first date. Knew you’d be mine. Knew I’d have to do anything I could to make you happy. My hands hurt from how… how bad I wanted to run them all over you, but now you’re gonna see.” He breathed, smacking lightly over her clit to get her to whimper for him. “M’gonna show you what’s going on on my head all the time.” 

That was what she wanted. Knowing he was in his office talking about god knows what business stuff he talked about, texting under the table that he couldn’t wait to have her was something she wanted. 

The extent of it had been kisses that got heated enough for her to be pressed against the passenger door of his car before he’d apologized, fixing her lipstick with his thumb and told her with a slight blush on his cheeks that he’d ’gotten carried away’ and apologized for not controlling himself, but he was very enamored with her. Even if it left her with damp panties and a second heartbeat between her legs, the tenderness in which he treated her had been the stand out of it all.

It was the exact opposite of every man she had ever been with. There had been no hint of even daring to suggest a hook up, or bypass the dates to get to the ‘fun stuff.’ Granted, she had asked him what his intentions were when he’d asked her out originally and he’d seemingly honestly told her that he wanted a real relationship and connection- but Y/N had been a bit cynical. 

So many times she had gone out with a man who said they were looking for something real but they’d attempt to speedrun the first date to get her alone, or see her a few times, fuck around and then suddenly ‘not feel the spark’ before moving on to another woman to do the exact same thing. Take, take, take without receiving. Literally, in some senses, considering an alarming amount of men didn’t know where the clitoris was located.

The dating scene had been fatigued for her for a long time, and despite the hopes she’d had for Harry, she hadn’t allowed herself to hope. That itself had been hard when it felt like her personal dream man had been laid out in front of her, with pretty seafoam green eyes and dimples she wanted to indulge in poking, so she had told herself that no matter how much she liked him, she would try to hold herself back. 

Funny, that was. It hadn’t been that long into dating when she had realized how incredible he was. How intelligent and kind he was, how he had most of the qualities she’d put down in her journals at 3 am when she needed to dream a little bit. Harry was what she wanted, and allowing herself to want it openly had been hard- but she’d been met with a warm reception. 

Being a very successful man in business with multiple companies and hats he had to wear, Harry could be seen as a bit stiff, but she’d been able to see past that because he was letting her. She’d seen him laugh and dance a little bit to music he showed her, and just because he was wearing a suit a lot of the time didn’t mean he was what she’d probably have shamefully assumed of a man like him at first glance. Harry wanted to be good, he wanted to give her what she wanted, and for once in her life, she had let go a little bit and let him. 

God, she wanted to fuck him. He hadn’t budged on that, and she hadn’t pushed too hard, but thankfully she hadn’t been made to wait an excessive amount of time. 

It had been 7 official dates, 3 coffee dates on their lunch at work and 2 times meeting for drinks until he’d asked her to be official. The meticulously prepared candlelit dinner at his place was where he’d gotten her favorite meal prepared, gotten her favorite eclairs from the bakery down the road, and had curated a playlist of artists she’d mentioned liking before he’d asked her on his couch if he would be able to have the ‘honor of being hers’ and vice versa. 

It had been the easiest yes of her life, considering the man had put in more effort than she had thought possible. For once in her life she had felt cherished and looked after. He’d sent her money for her nails earlier in the day as well; which she had never asked for but he had said was ‘a man should look after a woman he cares about, even if they are more than capable of taking care of them selves’, and she had decided in the seat while getting her feet scrubbed and the cucumber lotion slathered onto her that she would stop at nothing to lock this man down. 

Turned out he was one step ahead. He’d always been one step ahead. And it also turned out she had misjudged him, even if only just. 

He had a lot of charisma that was disguised as something else; a big energy that had let her think that he had to be good in bed. That feeling had only been slightly challenged with how quickly he had calmed things down when she had wanted more a few times. In short- she had assumed that maybe the energy he put off was a facade and perhaps his one flaw would be he wouldn’t be very adventurous in the bedroom. Maybe a missionary with the lights off type of guy which, hey! It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. She could fix that. 

Harry was a teachable man, considering how brilliant he was. He hadn’t been suggestive and she had sat back and had the self conversation about being willing to show him what she liked, to give him a crash course in dirty talk and how to fuck her how she liked because with everything else he had, sex was something she knew could be adjusted. 

It was very, very clear, feeling his large hands on him and her bare tits exposed to the cool air of his bedroom that she had been sorely mistaken. Nipples swollen and sensitive from the way he’d sucked and let his teeth graze them, dress tossed to the side leaving her splayed out naked on his bed, he’d been unable to keep his hands off of her after she asked him if they could ‘do more’ now that they were an official item.

 He’d taken the challenge very literally. 

  “Look at that little clit.” He murmured, brushing his thumb over the swollen nerve. Sitting on his knees between her spread, wet thighs, he looked more comfortable than she would be with hardwood digging into her knees, but it was most likely because of the distraction in front of him. “Poor thing. All sorts of worked up, aren’t you?”

Y/N let out a soft sigh, nodding her head as she bit back a moan. The smallest touches were setting her off. Harry had turned her body into a live wire. With him circling over her clit and the hot wash of his breath as he spread her cunt open for him to see, it was becoming difficult to breathe. Life, and Harry apparently, had come at her fast. So fast that her head was spinning, showing her just how dirty the proper man could really be.

“Yeah, I bet you are. I’ve been thinking about this for a long, long time. Did Y’know that?” Eyes looked up at her, dark and hungry as she shook her head in response. Words escaped her, but she managed to get out a strangled “N-No…” as he hummed under his breath. 

That was in fact, news to her.

“I have been. Since the first night we’ve met. I tried very hard t’be good. To not think about you in such a filthy way, but it was difficult. Talked to you for a bit… admitted how absolutely incredible you are… how beautiful… and I knew you had to have the prettiest little pussy. I was wrong, though.” He turned his head just a bit to kiss her sensitive and slightly sticky inner thigh, letting out a chuckle when she jumped just a tad. “It’s even prettier. Most gorgeous cunt I’ve ever seen.” 

It was unnerving to feel his gaze on her, to know he was well and truly up close and personal with perhaps the most vulnerable part of her, but she could see the admiration and hunger in his eyes. She couldn’t even pretend not to see it as he let his slippery thumb glide up to her mound of soft flesh above her cunt and back down to her entrance, spreading the slick around. 

“Can’t believe how wet you’ve gotten for me. I won’t lie to you, my sweet girl… I’ve been dying for this to be mine.” His voice rumbled against her thigh as he laid a line of kisses, wet and slow up the sensitive skin. She’d have burn from his mustache on her thighs, surely, but Y/N didn’t care. It felt so good, her poor clit was throbbing underneath the passes of the pad of his thumb, and she wanted more. 

“Please…” She croaked, lifting her hips. It felt hard to think, let alone speak, but he seemed to like that. Revel in the effect he had on her. “Please, Harry.”

“Please? Please what, sweetheart?” He murmured, pulling back from his kisses to spread her thighs open with his forearms. “What do you want me to do to my pussy, hm?” 

Y/N bit her lip to bite back the scream, because what the fuck? How did he do that? How did he command her body so fucking easily that she could feel the trickle of arousal drip down her ass from the soft rasp of his voice and the intensity of how he spoke. Soft spoken, but meaning every syllable he let pass his lips. 

His pussy. That was something he’d obviously been dying to say- but she hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted him to own it. 

“Because, sweet, precious girl…” He sighed, spreading the lips open as he got a good look at her. “I’m not sure m’quite done admiring my pussy yet. So I think you can sit there and be the cute little thing you always are for me while I get better acquainted with her, and then I’ll give you what you want.” 

It was hard not to let her hips jerk up as he tapped his fingertip over her clit, letting another breath wash over her as the heat of it made her stomach tingle. He was staring, admiring, analyzing her like she was art at a museum and that had never been anything close to what she experienced- so who was she to tell him no.

“Yeah I can… I can sit. I can wait.” Her throat felt thick as she spoke but she managed more than two words, and that was a feat in itself.

The smile on his lips was her even bigger reward. 

“Thatta girl.” He praised, leaning up a bit to kiss her lower tummy- very close to where she wanted him to be. “I’ll always treat you well. Make it worth your while for letting me see what you’re letting me own, hm? Suck that pretty clit and make you stain the sheets… give you anything you want. Just need to stare a bit longer before I get her all puffy and wet… ruin her a little bit.” 

She was already ruined, but she had vastly underestimated the way it would feel to have a man she desired so intensely to coo and stare at her body like it was his favorite thing. 

Honestly, she had no idea how long it had been of his sweet and filthy words. His knees had to be numb as he dragged her to the edge of the bed, chuckling at her squeal of surprise as he pulled back for a moment to run his hand down her body. From her collarbone all the way to her cunt, cupping it in his large palm as she let out a strangled moan. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Seeing you spread open for me… You have no idea what that does to me, little treasure.” Clicking his tongue, he momentarily removed his hands to roll up the sleeves of his button up. 

The always impeccably pressed and starched button ups, rolling the sleeves up his forearms as he began to look undone himself. The hair he gelled back tousled from her hands, a curl draped over his forehead and the 5 o’clock shadow was getting darker from when she’d first arrived. It was a brand new side to him. 

“I’ve tried very hard to behave, Y/N. I’m a gentleman, and I will treat you as such… but something has clued me into the fact that it may not be what you want in this scenario, hm?” He shifted on his knees and she could hear the metallic clinking of his belt, but it was hidden from view. “I have to admit to you that I’ve never felt such unadulterated hunger in my life as I have with you. I don’t feel passion to this level. But you’ve brought something out of me, and I have to tell you that I’m becoming obsessed with you.” Lifting her leg, he planted a wet kiss to her calf. “With your voice.” A kiss to her knee. “With how you look at me, your intelligence…” he rounded up her thigh. “And now, this body.”

He audibly groaned as he spread her lips open with his fingers again, pursing his lips- and surprising the hell out of her- spitting on her clit. His eyes didn’t stray as she gasped, watching it slide down her pussy before he rubbed it into her already soaked skin. “So let me show you just how crazy you’ve made me. How obsessed I am with you. And most of all… how grateful I am that you’re letting me own you.”

Harry did more than that. 

With his mouth on her, Y/N felt like she was floating. Again and again, he made her cum. Like a man starved, he’d barely pulled away from her pussy- save for letting his tongue run over her other hole which had her shuddering from the touch she wasn’t used to- and she had to wonder if he’d ever be able to be pulled away.

“You have no idea…” The usually well put together man whined against her pussy, trying to get her to cum a fourth time. It almost hurt, tingly and sharp, but she loved the pain as he sucked over her clit and sloppily spit back down over it. Webs of her arousal and his saliva stuck to his chin as he worked his fingers inside of her, the other hand keeping her down by pressing over her stomach. “No fucking idea what trouble you’ve just started.” 

Y/N only hoped she could get more of it. 

“It feels…” Y/N was finding it hard to breathe for an entirely different reason now. “God, it hurts but it feels so good. You’re r-ruining me. Like you said… oh, fuck.” Her hips tipped up as he curled his fingers, a deep chuckle vibrating against her clit. The sounds were pure filth. The squelch of his fingers fucking her deep and practiced, his mouth sucking on her cunt, his groans and her weak whimpers and whines as she tried to keep her head on straight bounced off his maroon walls. “H-Harry I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking cum a-again and… fuck, I’m gonna make a mess.”

She’d only been able to do it twice before, and she’d done it herself. Truthfully, the reason she didn’t go for it more often was because of the mess squirting made- but that didn’t deter the older man.

If anything, it spurred him on further. 

“Make a mess then, treasure.” He panted, nosing at her clit. “Make a mess all over my hand and my face. I don’t give a fuck about the sheets.” One of the first true curses she’d heard from him had her clenching around him, but more than that was seeing him so undone. Wrecked by her alone, his new fascination with her pussy. “You’re going to give it t’me now. Alright?” His hand on her stomach came down to smack at her clit, the light, sharp sting making a gasp rip from her throat. 

Fuck, that was good.

“You’re almost there. I can feel it. M’not stopping. Give it to me, Y/N. Let me see what my pretty pussy can do. Want the mess, want you to soak me. Be good for me, give it.” He was commanding it, keeping the pace just as he had it as his mouth went back to her clit. 

Her body liked to obey. 

With a scream that startled herself, she slapped her hand over her mouth as she came. Squirting on his fingers, she felt him moan against her pussy as he pulled his mouth off her clit and rubbed it frantically instead with his hand. “Give it t’me, give it baby- yes, yes, thatta-fuckin’-girl…. That’s what I want, give me what I want, let me give it to you- Fuck.” He snarled, tongue lapping over his fingers to taste her. 

Writhing on the bed, she let out a little sob as she fell back flat on the bed instead of sitting on her elbows, body jerking as little bursts of her squirted over his fingers and surely soaked his hand. Never had she heard him so unhinged as he lapped her up, thanking her in between and telling her she was a good girl, that she was perfect as his fingers slowed until they stilled inside of her, kisses pressed to her thighs and belly as she got over sensitive. 

It felt a bit fuzzy as she whined at the emptiness, a brief recalling of him saying to sit still before he was back, stroking sweaty hair out of her face and a warm washcloth gently cleaning between her thighs.

“There you are.” He murmured, voice warm and smile soft as he swiped his finger over her cheeks. “M’sorry baby. Got overwhelmed, hm? No more tears.”

Y/N hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. It just felt so good, she felt so safe, and she’d drifted away. Coming back to his smiling face felt very good, especially with his tender touch. “Hi.” She peeped, reaching up for him. There was no fight from him to come down, balancing on his one hand as he gave her the kiss she wanted. 

“Hello, beautiful girl.” He murmured with an amused smile. “Let me take care of you, okay?” 

“Mm… ‘Kay. For how long?” She asked without meaning to, but his answer was what she wanted to hear regardless.

She could hear needy little sounds through her screen; whimpering, for fuck’s sake, as his tatted hand wrapped around the base of his dick. He was pink and leaking from the top, a line of cum dripping down towards his knuckles. Y/N held her breath as he delivered the first stroke and at the same time whined lowly, “Fuck, fuck— baby, please. Please, miss you, miss fucking you— shit,” Another stroke and his hips thrusted into his fist, “Miss you on my cock, on my tongue, on my fingers. Please, angel, I’m so horny for you,” His voice was gravelly and rough, how it usually got when he was aroused. It made butterflies stir in Y/N’s tummy.

Just as things got really good and Y/N trailed her own fingers towards where she throbbed, the video ended. She groaned out loud, already feeling pent up. It was not fair that her boyfriend sent her these borderline pornographic videos all while being inaccessible on the other side of the world.

It’d been three weeks since he left, and they were the longest, driest three weeks of Y/N’s life. She was so used to being around him 24/7— waking up with him, cooking breakfast with him, shopping with him, even showering with him… she felt as if she was in the middle of a drought, the way she thirsted for even a drop of him. Just a moment with him.

Thus it was safe to say that the video he sent had her bent in ways she’d never been before for anyone in her life. Feeling quite desperate and needy herself, she geared up to send him a text back.

why are you so horny

spot a pretty girl in the audience?

12:40AM

Y/N knew the text was lowkey toxic. But she also knew that when Harry was really turned on, he got sweet and begged her nicely, so she was hoping to get some of that out of him. It didn’t happen that often, yet when it did, she always enjoyed it more than she anticipated. A smirk played at her lips as she watched the three texting bubbles appear and disappear four times in a row; it was clear to her that he was having trouble stringing a reply together.

no of course not baby

only have eyes for you

12:41AM

idk hun i think youve got someone else in mind

12:41AM

Y/N and Harry had been dating for quite some time now, and she knew he would never do anything like what she was insinuating, but it was fun to be a bit bratty and run her mouth from time-to-time. What was he going to do, fly to her country right that second and punish her? The physical distance between the two of them was what gave her the confidence to keep playing along with this bit.

Biting back a grin, she waited as the bubbles appeared and disappeared again. After a minute of this, she was worried he fell asleep or something, until her phone pinged with another video.

In this one, his legs were spread wider. He held the phone with his left hand weakly, the right one squeezing the base of his painfully hard cock before slowly stroking up towards the tip. He traced his thumb around the plump pink muscle as another drop of precum coated his knuckles. Again, in the back, he whimpered her name, bucking into his own hand, “S’only ever like this for you, lovey, I promise. Only ever want to fuck you— wanna fuck you forever. Never leave that perfect pussy. Shit— Please, baby, send me a photo, anything, need to see you—” He was cut off by the sloppy wet sound of his hand stroking himself, “Anything, please.”

Now that was something.

Y/N’s whole body was practically buzzing. She could feel herself getting more worked up as she replayed the video at least three times— each one appearing better than the last even though it was the exact same thing.

It was very rare for him to get like this; normally it was her who did all the begging and pleading. Watching and listening to him being so whiney for her always did her in. Deciding to be a tease, she purposefully left his video on seen. She wanted him to wait for her, get more desperate for her, because then she knew when he finally had her, it was going to be good. 

Y/N (regretfully, yet optimistically) put her phone on Do not Disturb and shut it off. After all, she had to be up earlier than usual tomorrow.

She had a bloody flight to catch.

-

London was unbearably hot during this time of the year.

Y/N’d seen people post about it on social media and on weather reports, blazing red on the telly warning people about the massive heatwave that was going to hit the city these couple of months; but it was so much worse than she expected. She was lucky she was dating an international popstar, though, because that meant she got access to the best of the best rooms and condos and suites whenever she stayed with him. The aircon at Harry’s house was fucked, sadly, so he had to stay at a nearby hotel which was close to the stadium. Y/N didn’t mind— as long as she was with him, that was all that mattered.

It was just after his last show when she arrived at Wembley to surprise her boyfriend. Y/N tried to keep the whole ordeal as hush hush as she could, and when he caught sight of her waiting by his dressing room after the show, he all but ran to tackle her in a sweaty hug. Seeing him after a long time was always very sweet— sometimes they got teary-eyed as they embraced, told each other how much they missed the other, kissed (heavily)— all over sometimes; Harry liked to start at her eyebrows, go down to her nose, her lips, her chin, peppering them everywhere until she pushed him away.

Now, actually, Y/N physically couldn’t push him away.

Well, it wasn’t like she really wanted to anyway— she may not show it with her tears and her incessant whining, but the truth was that this was exactly where she wanted to be. 

Exactly where she hoped to be when she sent Harry that mean, toxic text and then proceeded to ghost him.

Her wrists were bound to either side of the big bedframe. She was completely bare and at his mercy, nipples peaked and spit slicked from his constant sucking and licking at the sensitive buds. She could feel herself dripping down her thighs and staining the sheets below her. There were gnarly purple marks all over her tummy, thighs, and chest, all placed conveniently so she could hide them if needed.

After playing the perfect, doting boyfriend role in front of the world, he completely switched personas as soon as he had her alone for a moment. She could feel the tension in the air when he clicked the lock shut, told her to strip with a stern expression and set their leftover takeout down on a spare table, all about two hours ago.

 Y/N could taste tears on her tongue though she could do nothing to wipe them off. She’d already almost come three times on his tongue at this point and she was ready to sign her soul away to the devil just to feel the beginnings of a real, followed-through orgasm.

Harry was tucked between her legs, both of her knees adjacent to his ears as he blew a stream of air at her twitching pussy. His hands pulled her lips apart, making way for him to observe how her clit was engorged and throbbing for his attention. “If you weren’t such a brat when I needed you, this wouldn’t be happening,” He said, lowly. His eyes wandered up to her face where she jutted her bottom lip out and simultaneously bucked her hips towards his face. He delivered a sharp smack to her thigh to keep her in place.

“I–,” She began, but was cut-off as he traced featherlight circles on her clit with his tongue. All the sexy scruff that’d gathered on his jaw tickled her sensitive skin, “Fuck— Harry, I’m sorry, please. I was only teasing. I’ve been so good— haven’t even touched myself.” Her back arched off the bed as he wrapped his lips around the bud and suckled harshly once, twice, thrice before popping off, her body chasing him again, “I’m not sure that’s enough, pretty. I was really hurt.” He replaced his tongue with a lazy thumb, resuming the circular motions to keep her heading towards the false hope of an orgasm. 

Y/N tugged against the restraints as he spit on her pussy and mixed his saliva with her juices. She was going to beg him again as best as she could, before he suddenly pushed two fingers into her achy hole, at the same time still going strong with his thumb. Her body jerked when he curled his digits, jaw dropped open in a broken moan of his name. She had to force her hips to be still— fighting the instinct to grind them against his hand. Harry didn’t thrust his fingers; instead, massaged the tips of them against that sensitive, spongy spot inside her. If he didn’t stop now, she was worried she’d come really fast and he’d increase her punishment tenfold.

(Y/N says this having learnt from prior experience).

“I said I was sorry!” She cried, “Please, I’ll do anything. You can use me— use all of my holes, I don’t care, do whatever you want.” Harry continued his minstrations without hesitance. She could hear the nasty squelch every time he curled inside of her, each sound pushing her closer and closer. Her back came off the bed once more, “You make a tempting offer,” He stopped as he noticed her about to come. Y/N was basically sobbing now, wrists sore from his ties digging into her skin, and thighs shaking, “But I don’t think you’re coming at all tonight, baby.”

Harry gave her cunt a break and kissed the skin around her pussy tenderly. He gently set her legs down from where they wrapped around his shoulders and licked a path from her mound up to her marked sternum. Reaching her breasts, he wasted no time cupping one and dragging his tongue along the peaked nub. She struggled to keep her eyes open as he flicked it, drooling over her skin and then sucked on it, hard.

His other hand went up to her mouth, ring and middle fingers dipping inside for her to bite, “Now if I give you my cock, I’m afraid that’s just a nice little treat for you, hmm? Not really a punishment, is it?” Harry asked, parting from her tit. Strings of saliva connected him to her as he spread his spit over her chest, the sight of which was utterly filthy. 

Nodding as well as she could with his fingers in her mouth, Y/N shook her head ‘no’ and mumbled incoherently, “Mm-mm. I just want— just want to feel you,” her voice was muffled, barely audible, and Harry had to slightly pull his fingers back as he came up to face her.

“Sorry, what was that, darling?” He asked sweetly, still rubbing her nipple. Just as Y/N began talking, he stuffed his fingers in her mouth again, deep enough that she slightly gagged. Harry found all of this very amusing, apparently, because he popped a dimple and feigned confusion. He tsked, “Fucked dumb already?” In an act of tenderness, he wiped her tears from her flushed cheeks and neck.

Y/N tried to give him her best sad, desperate, hungry-for-dick look, and for a moment she thought maybe it was working when he placed two gentle kisses on each damp eyelid. He continued kissing down her cheeks, her jaw and then finally her forehead.

“My sweet girl’s all teary eyed,” He cooed, still fucking her mouth with his two fingers. Harry cocked his head condescendingly, “S’a shame they’re all going to waste,” A hand wrapped firmly around her throat, “Even more shameful that I’ll have to fuck my fist right in front if her instead of this perfect pussy to teach her a fucking lesson.”

TAGLIST: @escapismatbest @triski73 @fivesecondsofprettymuch @danny-faye @aileen1237 @peachymelonsugrr @harryyloverrr @emlovesniallhoran @almataylorsversion @toosarcastic03 @d4rlingstyles @sleekfatetower @honeyapaturairis @fkingstyles @midnightmemories-1-d @everyscarisahealingplace @witch-rry @angel-gelly @brainfullsteve @0pheliam @littlealonebutterfly @harryscherrysuckr @oifukinloser @kissallthetimeharrystyles @lillrry @withoutluv @yeah-youremymedicine @abihist91 @harrys-only-angell @jocelynlovesharrystyles @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @jackedbygravity @angelonthewallsofversailles @madilee7802 @fangirl509east @indierockgirrl @readingrockstar23 @whoopsieismelldaisies @biboliciousposts @harrystylesconcepts @ionlywritesadsongs @tpwkforever410

MASTERLIST

Ko-fi <3

“Hi, baby.” You smiled and waved at him, before returning to your collecting.

“Hi, baby.” You smiled and waved at him, before returning to your collecting.

“What are y’doing? Been looking for you for ages.”

He had changed into shorts, vans and a hoodie now. He looked very cosy and loveable. You loved him in his comfortable clothes, especially because it makes hugging him cosier.

Harry stopped to take out his phone and take a photo of you on the stage, without you knowing. He looked at the photo afterwards, zoomed into you and smiled at how pretty you looked.

He pocketed his phone as he made the rest of the way to you.

“Are you okay?” You asked, worried that he needed you for something.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Was just missing you.” He admitted.

You stopped adding flowers to your bag and watched him walk all the way over to where the archway was in the stage to get through to Johnny’s Place.

You knelt over to him and dangled your face and hands over the edge. Harry reached his hands up and held onto your hands, very careful not to pull you in case you fell.

He smiled when his hands met yours, having missed your touch for the past half an hour.

“Missed you too. Y’look good.” You told him.

“I’m in m’gym clothes, babe!” Harry laughed.

“I know.” You laughed back, squeezing onto his hands.

“Put m’best clothes on for you.”

He let go of your hands then, terrified he might accidentally pull you if he wasn’t concentrating.

“Are you sure you’re okay, though?”

“Yes babe. I’m sure.” Harry smiled at how thorough your concern was. “Gimme a minute.”

Harry shuffled along the floor and ran up some secret stairs to get to you.

You went back to picking through the flowers, to find the best ones for him. There were so many different types of flowers with lots of different colours.

You felt him come up behind you before you heard him. His presence was like a warm, comforting, blanket over you.

“What’re you doing, love?” Harry asked over your shoulder, crouching down.

You turned your head to see him, his face only inches away from yours. You smiled at him, giving him a quick peck before replying.

“Collecting these flowers.”

“Why?” Harry went in for another kiss, because he can’t keep his distance from you. Then he kissed you again because he can’t keep his lips away from yours after just one taste.

“Because I want to make you a gift and you’ll ruin it if you keep asking questions.” You turned your head away from him and secured all the flowers in the bag.

Harry moved behind you as you did so.

“Y/N?” He said softly.

“Yeah?” You turned around, to find Harry with a flower in his hands.

A pretty pink flower that matched your dress. He had snapped the flower from the stalk. He reached the flower up to being your ear, tucking it there so it would stay.

You blushed as he did so, smiling so widely as he loved on you in his own way.

“I love you.” He said.

“Do you?” You pretended like you didn’t already know.

“Yeah. Very much so. Sing all m’songs about you, don’t I?”

“What? Even Love of My Life?” You questioned, turning to sit cross legged on the floor so you could face him. Harry still crouched, probably comfortable from all the pilates. “Where you’re singing about how I was the love of your life?”

“Shut up. You know why I wrote that song.” Harry replied quietly.

You did know.

It was when you and Harry had gone on a break because the distance between you was too much. He wrote the song, sent it to you to ask whether it was okay if he put it on his new album he was creating, only for you to come knocking on his door the next day, teary eyed, demanding an explanation.

You’d talked for hours and hours that night until you decided you had something worth fighting for.

“I do. Sorry, H baby.” You cupped his cheek with your hand and rubbed over his soft skin.

“It’s okay. Only because we’re okay.” He smiled at you.

You lay down then, still a few flowers surrounding you underneath.

Harry then came and lay down beside you, close enough to interlock his hand closest to you with yours. You turned to smile at him, only to realise he was busy admiring the moon high up above Wembley.

The stars were out and shining for him. The moon beaming down on the both of you.

“She’s so pretty.” Harry said, talking about the moon.

“Prettier than me?” You teased.

“Nobody’s prettier than you, love.”

You were silent for a few moments, both of you just admiring the still and silence. It’s hard to believe this place was filled with over ninety thousand people a couple hours ago.

You’d come to realise that Lloyd snapped a photo of the two of you like this and it quickly became your favourite photo with each other. Holding hands, laying amongst the flowers, gazing at the beautiful moon.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.” He squeezed your hand.

“Sometimes, when we’re apart, like you’re in LA and I’m in London, I look up at the moon and remember that it’s looking back down at you too. Like she’s watching over both of us simultaneously. It’s comforting, knowing we’re small enough in this expensive universe to be closer than we realise. Don’t you think?”

Harry didn’t reply and you wondered maybe he just didn’t get it?

You turned to look at him and he was already looking at you, stars now reflecting in his eyes.

“It’s cool if you don’t think that. I mean, like…”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Marry me.” He smiled so widely.

“Wha–”

“Marry me. Please.” He repeated himself, sitting up to pull something out of his pocket. He pulled out a small, dainty, engagement ring - one that you recognised from Anne’s collection. “Marry me and just be with me. Always. I know marriage doesn’t change who we are or how we love each other, but I just want to make you a little bit more mine. I’m always going to pick you. You are the love of my life. Choose me? Because I choose you.”

You didn’t realise you were crying until Harry was going slightly blurry in your vision

“Yes,” You whispered, “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” You shouted more and more loudly.

You sat and reached up up to grab his cheeks for a kiss. He wasn’t ready for it, but quickly found his rhythm against you. He kissed you so lovingly and you gave him all of you in return.

He pulled away, red lipped and slightly breathless.

“Let me put this on you.”

He held you hand shakily and your own hand was shaking. He slipped the perfect ring on and you smiled with so much happiness.

“Harry, it’s gorgeous.”

“Mum gave it to me. She gave it to me the moment we went on a break and I knew that I’d screwed up. She gave it to me, making me promise that I’d work hard to earn you back and marry the one person who I’d ever fully loved.”

“You’ve been carrying it around all this time?” You asked in disbelief.

“Always knew I was going to ask you. It was just a matter of when.”

“Well this was perfect. Thank you.”

Last year on her birthday he woke up before her, slipped out of bed, and came back with coffee and a croissant with a single candle stuck in the middle because he could not find the actual birthday candles. He sang to her in a sleepy voice, hair a mess, grin crooked. She laughed so hard she almost cried.

And he just shrugged like it was nothing. Like making her feel special was as natural as breathing.

Which is why she is standing in her kitchen now, staring at a blank notebook page titled Harry’s birthday, feeling a determined little knot in her chest.

This is her turn.

He has never asked for much on his birthdays. If anything, he dodges the attention. Says he does not need a fuss. But she has noticed the way he lingers on small thoughtful things. The way he keeps old cards. The way he smiles softer when something feels personal.

So she is not planning a spectacle. She is planning a feeling.

Her phone is plugged in beside a mixing bowl, screen lit up to a group chat she created a week ago. Nothing suspicious in the name. Just a cake emoji and a balloon. Innocent enough if he ever glanced at it.

She smooths a hand over her hair and starts typing.

Y/N: Hi!! I hope this is okay. I wanted to ask a few things about Harry’s birthdays growing up.

The read receipts appear almost immediately.

Y/N: I am planning something small for him and I want to get the details right. What cake did he always ask for as a kid?

A bubble pops up from Gemma.

Gemma: Chocolate fudge. Every single year. He was very loyal to it.

Another message follows right after.

Gemma: Mum tried to switch it once and he acted personally betrayed.

Y/N laughs quietly, picturing a younger Harry being dramatic over cake. She writes chocolate fudge in her notebook, circling it.

Y/N: That is actually adorable. Did he like anything specific on it?

Anne replies this time.

Anne: Very thick icing. The overly sweet kind. And lots of candles. He loved blowing them out.

Then another message.

Anne: He always made a serious wish. Eyes closed and everything. Would never tell us what it was.

Y/N’s expression softens. She writes thick icing and lots of candles, then adds serious wish in the margin like a secret note.

Y/N: This is so helpful thank you. I want it to feel familiar for him. Not just pretty.

Gemma: He will be touched you even asked.

Y/N glances around her kitchen. Ribbon samples spread across the table. Two different candle packs because she could not choose. A bakery website open on her laptop with three chocolate fudge options pulled up.

Her nerves hum under her skin, but it is the good kind. The kind that comes from caring too much.

She types again.

Y/N: Who would you say he feels happiest having around on his birthday? I am keeping it small. Just his people.

Gemma sends a short list of names. Close friends. Family. People Y/N has heard him talk about with warmth in his voice.

Anne: Small is perfect for him. He enjoys it more when it is relaxed.

Y/N nods to herself like they can see her.

Y/N: That is exactly what I want. Just a room where he feels loved.

There is a brief pause before Anne replies.

Anne: Thank you for doing this for him.

Y/N’s chest tightens a little.

Y/N: He does this for me all the time. It is my turn.

Right then her phone buzzes with a new message. Not from the chat.

From Harry.

Harry: What are you up to today?

Her eyes flick to the half hidden decoration box by the wall. She quickly types.

Y/N: Just cleaning and running errands. Nothing exciting.

Harry: Sounds suspiciously productive. Miss you.

A smile pulls at her lips.

Y/N: You would be bored here. Go do your rockstar things.

Harry: My rockstar things are not that fun without you. I will see you later?

Y/N: Of course. Later.

She sets her phone down before he can ask more. Before she slips and ruins the surprise.

Then she looks around at the lists, the cake research, the tiny details she has been collecting about him like puzzle pieces.

He makes her feel special without even trying.

So she is going to try. Really try.

And if she gets it right, maybe when he closes his eyes to make that birthday wish this year, he will already have what he wants.

The morning of his birthday starts too early for Y/N.

Her eyes open before her alarm, mind already running through a checklist. For a second she just lies there, staring at the ceiling, heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Today is the day.

Her phone is on her nightstand, already full of notifications from the group chat. She grabs it and scrolls.

Gemma: Do you need me to bring anything?

Y/N: You being there is enough but maybe grab ice on the way later? I am weirdly paranoid about running out.

Gemma: Noted. Operation Birthday Boy is underway.

A message from Anne sits just below.

Anne: Good morning dear. Let me know what time to arrive. And please do not stress yourself.

Y/N smiles softly at that.

Y/N: Come around six. He should be here at seven. And I am trying not to stress but no promises.

She finally gets out of bed and the reality of the day hits her all at once.

Her living room is half transformed. Boxes of decorations tucked behind furniture. A folded banner hidden under a blanket. Polaroids she printed of little moments between them stacked neatly on the table, waiting to be hung.

It is going to be perfect. It has to be.

Her first task is the cake.

She drives to the bakery mid morning, repeating chocolate fudge with thick icing in her head like a mantra. The bell above the bakery door jingles when she walks in, the smell of sugar and cocoa wrapping around her instantly.

The woman behind the counter smiles. “Pickup?”

“Yes, for Y/N,” she says, trying to sound calm.

The box comes out. White. Simple. Tied with a ribbon.

Y/N’s stomach flips as she lifts the lid just a little.

Chocolate. Thick swirls of icing. Candles packaged neatly on the side.

Then she sees the writing.

Happy Birthday Henry

She blinks.

“…I am so sorry,” the baker says quickly. “We must have mixed the name from another order. We can fix it.”

Y/N laughs, but it comes out thin. “It is okay. It just needs to say Harry.”

Fifteen extra minutes. That is all it takes to fix. Fifteen minutes she did not plan for.

By the time she gets back to her car, her phone lights up.

Harry: Morning birthday to me. What are you doing today?

Her pulse jumps. She quickly types back.

Y/N: Working a bit and then probably relaxing. What about you?

Harry: Got a few things earlier but I might be done sooner than I thought.

Sooner.

That word lodges itself in her brain.

Y/N: Oh nice. Productive birthday.

Harry: Maybe I will come by later? If you are not busy.

Her eyes widen. No. No no no.

Y/N: Today might be messy for me actually. Rain check till tonight?

A pause. Then:

Harry: Mysterious. Alright. Tonight then.

She exhales so deeply she almost laughs. Crisis barely avoided.

Back at her place, the clock feels like it is moving twice as fast. She tapes streamers that refuse to stay. One side droops. She fixes it. The other falls. The banner is crooked no matter how many times she adjusts it.

Her phone buzzes again.

A friend: Running 20 minutes late. Traffic.

Another: Is six still good?

Another: Do you need drinks?

Every message feels like another spinning plate she has to keep from crashing.

By mid afternoon, there is frosting on her sleeve, tape stuck to her fingers, and a tiny knot of panic forming in her chest.

This was supposed to be simple. Thoughtful. Easy.

Instead it feels like trying to hold together a dozen little details that all want to slip.

She looks around at the half finished decorations, the cake box on the counter, the carefully planned pieces of love she has built for him.

And quietly, to herself, she says, “It is okay. He is worth a little chaos.”

And she keeps going.

By noon, Y/N realizes the hardest part of the surprise is not the cake or the decorations.

It is him.

Harry is perceptive in that quiet way. He notices tone changes. Gaps in replies. The way she types when she is distracted. If she goes too quiet, he will know something is up. If she is too cheerful, he will also know.

So she builds a plan. Act normal. Text like usual. Complain about something small. Keep the rhythm of the day the same.

Her phone lights up while she is untangling a string of fairy lights.

Harry: How is your day going?

She takes a second before answering, thumbs moving carefully.

Y/N: Honestly? Kind of rough.

The typing bubble appears almost instantly.

Harry: Rough how?

She bites her lip, then commits.

Y/N: I got my period and it is being evil. Like the kind where you question your life choices.

A few seconds pass.

Harry: Oh no. Do you need anything?

Y/N: A new uterus maybe. But I will survive.

He sends a sympathetic reply.

Harry: You should be resting then, not doing errands.

Y/N smiles to herself. Perfect. He sounds convinced.

Y/N: I am mostly just at home. Heating pad and dramatic sighs.

She actually is standing on a chair trying to tape a banner straight, but the image she paints is much calmer.

Harry: I would bring you chocolate if I could.

Her chest warms at that, even as she steps down and fixes a corner of the sign.

Y/N: You can make it up to me by choosing dinner. What do you want tonight?

There is a pause long enough that she wonders if he got busy.

Then:

Harry: You do not have to do dinner if you feel bad.

Y/N: I know. I want to. Just something easy.

He thinks about food the way he thinks about most things, slowly and seriously.

Harry: Maybe pasta? Or takeout. Whatever is easiest for you.

Y/N: Pasta I can do. Comfort food day.

Harry: You are too good to me.

She glances at the clock. Too good and currently running ten minutes behind schedule.

Y/N: Only on your birthday.

Harry: So I get special treatment today?

Y/N: Do not get used to it.

He sends a laughing reply and a heart, simple and unassuming.

Meanwhile her living room looks less simple by the second. Polaroids are clipped to a string across the wall now, tiny snapshots of them. Blurry selfies. A photo of their coffee cups from a random Tuesday. A picture of him laughing mid sentence that she secretly loves.

Every detail is a quiet I see you.

Her phone buzzes again while she is arranging candles.

Harry: What are you up to right now?

Her eyes dart to the mess around her.

Y/N: Curled up on the couch. Trying to convince my body not to be dramatic.

She is actually kneeling on the floor surrounded by wrapping paper, but he does not need to know that.

Harry: I wish I was there. I would rub your back.

That one makes her soften for a second.

Y/N: Later you can. If you still want to.

Harry: I will. Text me if you need anything before then.

She sets her phone down, heart thumping a little.

He has no idea.

No idea that his mom will be here. That his sister is already on standby. That a chocolate fudge cake with too sweet icing is sitting in her kitchen with his name finally written right across it.

No idea that this whole day is being stitched together quietly for him.

She looks around at the half chaos, half magic of her apartment and exhales.

“Okay,” she murmurs to herself. “Still on track.”

For now.

By late afternoon, Y/N’s apartment no longer looks like her apartment.

It looks like a version of it that is trying very hard to be festive but also calm. Streamers hang in soft colors she picked because they felt like him. Not loud, not flashy. Just warm. Fairy lights glow along the wall even though the sun is still up. The polaroids are finally clipped in place, a quiet timeline of little memories.

She has changed outfits twice already. The first was too dressy. The second felt too casual. She settles on something in between, something he once said she looked pretty in without realizing he was giving her a reason to keep it forever.

Her phone is practically glued to her hand now.

The group chat is alive.

Y/N: Okay important parking instructions Please do NOT park in front of my building

A few seconds later she adds:

Y/N: He is too observant and will absolutely clock random cars

Gemma: Where should we go then?

Y/N: There is a parking garage half a block down Or street parking around the corner Just not directly outside

Friend: On it. Secret agent mode.

Another message pops up.

Anne: We are leaving soon dear. Do you need me to bring anything?

Y/N: Just you And maybe help me not spiral if I start to

Anne: You are doing wonderfully already.

Y/N smiles but her stomach is in knots.

Someone buzzes her building door early. Too early. She hurries to the intercom.

“It is just me,” one of his friends says. “I can circle if needed.”

“No no you are fine,” she says quickly. “Just come up and be quiet.”

Quiet. As if this whole plan is not built on the edge of chaos.

Soon her apartment starts filling in small, careful ways. Coats placed down gently. Voices hushed. People peeking at decorations and smiling at her like she has done something impressive.

But the little things keep piling up.

The extra candles she bought are missing. She finds them still in the car. She runs down and back up, slightly out of breath.

The banner starts peeling off one side again. Tape. More tape. Why does tape never work when you need it to.

The pasta she planned for later sits half prepped on the counter. She still has to finish it so the story she told him stays believable.

Her phone buzzes.

Harry.

Her heart jumps.

Harry: How is my favorite patient doing?

She types while adjusting a crooked photo.

Y/N: Alive Barely

Harry: Still feeling bad?

Y/N: A little But I will survive

Then, before she can lock her phone, another message comes through.

Harry: I might head your way soon.

Her fingers freeze.

Soon?

Y/N: I thought you had things till later?

A typing bubble appears. Stops. Appears again.

Harry: Got done quicker But I need to make a stop first Then I will come by

Her eyes flick to the clock.

He is early. Too early.

Y/N: What kind of stop?

Harry: Just a quick thing Nothing exciting

Nothing exciting to him maybe. A disaster to her.

Y/N: Okay Just text me before you leave there

Harry: Will do

She lowers her phone slowly, like it might explode.

“He is coming early,” she whispers to the room.

Every head turns.

“How early?” Gemma asks.

“I do not know yet,” Y/N says, already moving. “But everyone needs to be ready. Like actually ready.”

Suddenly it is motion everywhere.

Someone dims the lights to test them. Someone else helps fix the banner. His mom gently moves the cake box to the safest corner of the counter.

Y/N walks in a small circle, mentally checking everything again.

Decorations Cake Candles People Music playlist ready

Her phone buzzes again in her hand.

Harry: Leaving my stop in a bit

Her pulse thumps in her ears.

Everything is almost in place. Almost.

And almost feels terrifying.

She looks around at the room full of people who love him, at the cake chosen from his childhood memories, at the tiny details built just for him.

Then she whispers to herself,

“Please just hold together a little longer.”

The apartment settles into that strange, tense quiet that only happens before a surprise.

Lights dimmed. Music queued but paused. People tucked just out of sight in the living room and kitchen, pressed behind walls and furniture like a group of very excited children trying to be subtle.

Y/N stands near the door, phone clutched in her hand, listening to the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears.

Every little noise feels loud. The hum of the fridge. A quiet whisper. Someone’s shoe scuffing the floor.

Her phone buzzes.

Harry: Heading to the car now

Her throat goes dry.

Y/N: Okay Drive safe

She turns to everyone and mouths, “He is on the way.”

A ripple of movement follows. People straighten. Someone almost knocks into a chair and then catches it. Gemma gives Y/N a small reassuring smile.

Ten minutes pass. Then fifteen.

Each one stretches forever.

Then her phone lights up again.

Harry: I am here

Her stomach flips.

Here here.

She rushes to the door and hits the buzzer to let him in, then spins back to the room, whispering urgently.

“Okay everyone ready. Stay quiet till he is fully in. Like fully in.”

Nods all around. Grins. Anticipation.

She moves fast, doing one last sweep. Cake in place. Candles nearby. Lights set.

Then she hears it. The elevator.

The soft mechanical ding down the hall.

Her pulse jumps into her throat.

“Positions,” she whispers.

She steps back toward the entryway, trying to look casual, trying to look like a girl having a normal, low key, period day like she claimed.

The lock clicks.

The door starts to open.

She turns her head to whisper one last “wait” to everyone behind her.

That is when he walks in.

And he is already halfway through the doorway.

There is no dramatic pause. No clueless expression.

He walks in like he always does, pushing the door closed with his foot because both of his hands are full.

In one arm is a bouquet of flowers. Not random ones either. Her favorites. Soft colors, the kind she once pointed out in passing at a market weeks ago.

In the other hand is a small paper bag and a chocolate bar balanced against it.

He looks up at her immediately, eyes warm and a little concerned.

“I come bearing supplies,” he says gently.

Her brain short circuits for half a second.

She looks down.

The paper bag is very clearly from a pharmacy. The top is folded but not enough to hide what is inside.

Tampons.

Chocolate.

Flowers.

Her mouth actually parts a little.

“You said you were suffering,” he adds, like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “Thought I would help.”

Behind her, thirty seconds away, is a room full of people holding their breath.

In front of her is him, sweet and completely unsuspecting, hair a little messy from the wind, looking at her like she is the only thing that matters in the room.

For a split second she forgets the plan entirely.

“You did not have to do that,” she says softly.

He shrugs, stepping closer, holding the flowers out to her.

“Course I did. It is your terrible day.”

Her heart squeezes so hard it almost hurts.

From the living room there is the faintest sound. A tiny shuffle. Someone adjusting their stance.

His eyes flick past her shoulder for half a second.

Suspicion almost sparks.

Y/N reacts on instinct. She steps forward quickly, taking the flowers, gently grabbing his wrist.

“Wait,” she says. “Do not take your shoes off yet.”

He blinks, confused. “Why?”

Her mind scrambles for half a lie.

“I, um, just cleaned and the floor is still a little wet.”

He glances down automatically.

That buys her maybe five seconds.

Five seconds to turn, wide eyed, and silently signal everyone to be ready.

Five seconds before he looks back up.

“You are acting weird,” he says lightly, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

Weird but cute. Not suspicious yet.

Not fully.

Not until he takes one more step in.

He is still looking at her with that curious little smile, head tilted slightly like he is trying to piece together a puzzle.

“You are acting strange,” he says, voice light. “First you ban me from coming over, then you claim you are dying, now I cannot even step on your floor.”

Y/N lets out a nervous laugh that is only half acting.

“I am not dying,” she says. “I am being dramatic.”

“That is my line,” he replies easily.

Behind her, the apartment is so quiet it feels staged. Because it is.

She still has the bouquet in her hands, fingers gripping the stems a little too tight. Her heart is racing now for a different reason. The good one. The here we go one.

He shifts the paper bag in his hand. “Can I at least put these down before you give me my next rule?”

This is it. It has to be now.

She steps back slowly, giving him space to walk in.

“Okay,” she says. “You can come in.”

He raises a brow like he has just won something. Then he steps forward, finally crossing fully into the apartment.

Two more steps. One glance to the side.

He notices the lights first. Dimmer than usual. The faint glow of fairy lights along the wall.

Then the polaroids. Little snapshots clipped in a line.

His smile starts to shift, confusion mixing in.

He turns back to her. “What is all this?”

And that is when the room erupts.

“Surprise!”

The lights flick on brighter. People step out from their hiding spots. Familiar faces. Friends. His mum. Gemma. All grinning, some already laughing at his expression.

He actually startles, shoulders jumping a little. His eyes go wide in real shock, hand flying to his chest.

“Oh my—” he cuts himself off with a breathy laugh. “You are joking.”

His gaze sweeps the room, landing on each person like he is making sure they are real. Then it lands back on Y/N.

Realization clicks into place.

He squints at her playfully. “You.”

She tries to look innocent. Fails completely.

“You have been lying to me all day,” he says, but he is smiling now, warmth all over his face. “The period, the suffering, the mysterious behavior.”

He lifts the little pharmacy bag. “And I showed up with emergency supplies like a fool.”

The room laughs.

Y/N covers her face for a second, laughing too. “You are not a fool. That was very sweet.”

He shakes his head, amused. “I was wondering why you would not let me come over. Thought I was in trouble.”

Then he looks around again. At the cake on the counter. At the decorations. At the people who came just for him.

His expression softens in that quiet way he gets when something actually hits him.

“All this… for me?”

His mum answers gently from across the room, “Of course for you.”

He exhales a small laugh, almost disbelieving, then walks straight to Y/N.

The flowers are still in her hands when he reaches her. He sets the chocolate and bag on the table beside them and pulls her into a hug with one arm.

“You are unbelievable,” he murmurs near her ear. “In the best way.”

She hugs him back, heart finally settling now that the secret is out.

“Happy birthday,” she says softly.

He leans back just enough to look at her. “Now it all makes sense. You have been weird for weeks.”

“Weeks?” she repeats.

“You hid your phone from me yesterday,” he says. “I noticed.”

She gasps. “You were not supposed to notice that.”

“I notice everything,” he replies smugly.

Then he smiles again, bright and real, the kind that reaches his eyes.

“And I love it.”

Behind them someone starts lighting candles. Someone else puts on music. The room fills with chatter and warmth.

But for a second, in the middle of it, he just looks at her like she gave him something bigger than a party.

Like she gave him a memory.

The party finds its rhythm quickly.

Music hums in the background, low and warm. Someone is laughing near the kitchen. His mum is telling a story from when he was little that has everyone grinning while he shakes his head in playful embarrassment. The cake has been admired at least five times already, though the candles are still waiting.

Harry moves easily through it all. Hugging people. Thanking them. Smiling in that soft, genuine way he gets when he feels comfortable.

But every so often, his eyes find Y/N across the room.

Like a quiet check in. Like she is the anchor in the middle of it.

Y/N is by the counter pretending to fix the stack of plates for the third time when she feels it. Hands sliding gently around her waist from behind. Familiar. Warm.

She does not even have to turn to know it is him.

He tucks in close, chin near her shoulder, voice low enough that it is just for her.

“You really did all this,” he murmurs.

Her breath catches a little. “Maybe.”

His arms tighten slightly around her waist. Not possessive. Just close.

“You are special, you know that?” he says softly.

The noise of the room fades for a second.

“I mean it. No one has ever…” He trails off, then tries again. “No one has ever made my birthday feel like this.”

Her heart squeezes.

“And I love you,” he adds quietly, like it is the simplest truth in the world.

That does it.

She spins in his arms so fast he has to loosen his hold to let her turn. Now she is facing him, hands landing lightly on his chest.

Her expression is half fond, half exasperated.

“I was being so weird,” she says. “Like suspiciously weird. And you still showed up with flowers and chocolate and tampons.”

He laughs, a soft huff through his nose. “You said you were suffering. I panicked.”

“It is your birthday,” she insists. “You are supposed to be the one getting things.”

“And you are supposed to be taken care of when you feel bad,” he replies easily.

She looks up at him for a second, really looks at him. At the sincerity that never feels forced with him. It is just how he is.

“You are too good,” she says.

“So are you,” he counters.

From across the room someone calls his name. Probably about the candles.

He glances over, then back at her, like he does not want to leave the moment yet.

“This is my favorite birthday,” he says quietly. “Already.”

She smiles, warmth blooming in her chest. “You have not even made a wish yet.”

He leans in just a little, voice playful now. “I might not need to.”

Then he presses a quick kiss to her forehead before stepping away toward the cake and the people calling for him.

Y/N stays there for a second, steadying herself against the counter, watching him laugh as someone hands him a lighter for the candles.

All she wanted was to make him feel special.

Somehow, he still found a way to make her feel the same.

By the time the candles are lit, the room glows golden.

Someone dims the lights again and a soft chorus of voices starts up, a little off key, a little loud, but full of love. Harry stands in front of the cake, hands on his hips for a second like he is taking it all in.

Y/N watches from beside his mum, her heart full in that quiet, steady way. This is what she wanted. Not spectacle. Not noise. Just this.

He looks around once more at everyone, then leans down toward the cake. Right before he closes his eyes, his gaze flicks to hers.

Just for a second.

Then he shuts them and makes his wish, serious like they said he always was. No joking, no theatrics. Just a quiet moment between him and whatever he believes listens.

He blows out the candles in one breath. Applause fills the room. Someone cheers. Gemma immediately starts teasing him about getting older.

Cake is cut. Plates passed around. Chocolate fudge and thick icing exactly the way he liked it. He takes one bite and laughs softly, pointing at it.

“This tastes like my childhood,” he says.

Anne looks at Y/N knowingly. Y/N just smiles.

Later, gifts are brought out. Nothing over the top. Thoughtful things. A book he mentioned months ago. A framed photo. A vinyl. He opens each one slowly, actually looking at them, thanking people in that sincere way that never feels rushed.

When he gets to Y/N’s, it is small. Just a box and a card.

He reads the card first. His expression softens in that private way again. He does not read it out loud. Just presses his thumb over the paper for a second before opening the box.

Inside is something simple but personal. Something tied to a memory they share. His smile grows, quiet and real.

“You remember everything,” he says to her.

“Only the important things,” she replies.

Eventually the night winds down. Hugs at the door. Leftover cake packed up. Promises to see each other soon. The apartment slowly returns to something resembling calm.

The fairy lights stay on though. Y/N cannot bring herself to turn them off yet.

When the last guest leaves, the silence feels soft instead of empty.

Harry helps her gather plates, refusing to just sit while she cleans. It is easy with him. Natural. Like they have done this a hundred times.

By the time they are done, it is late. The kind of late where the day finally settles into your bones.

They get ready for bed quietly. The excitement has faded into a warm hum. Y/N changes and slips under the covers first, exhausted in the best way.

A minute later the mattress dips. Harry slides in beside her, warm and familiar. He turns onto his side and, without a word, pulls her gently into him. Her back to his chest, his arm draped over her waist.

For a moment neither of them talks.

Then he murmurs, voice sleepy and sincere, “Thank you for today.”

She laces her fingers with his where his hand rests on her stomach. “Did it feel special?”

He lets out a soft breath. “It felt like me. That is rarer than you think.”

That settles deep in her chest.

“What did you wish for?” she asks quietly.

He hums like he is considering. “If I tell you, it will not come true.”

She smiles into the pillow. “Fair.”

A small pause.

Then he adds softly, “But I will say it already started coming true before I blew out the candles.”

Her heart does a slow, happy flip.

Sleep starts to tug at the edges of them. The day finally catching up.

His grip around her waist loosens just slightly as he drifts, but he never fully lets go.

And Y/N lies there in the dim fairy light glow, thinking maybe the best part of birthdays is not the party or the cake or the gifts.

Maybe it is this. The quiet after. The feeling of being chosen in a hundred small ways.

“Oooooh fuuuck,” you groan, your orgasm riding out its final waves, crashing against your body. You slump back against Harry’s chest, panting for breath until you feel your body begin to tingle back to life. “One more?” you ask, your voice wobbly and tired.

“Insatiable, aren’t you?” Harry chuckles into your ear. He slips his fingers out of you, sucking them clean of your arousal. “Wasn’t that your third one, already?”

“Please, please,” you beg, “just one more? One more, please?” You tug on his arm, trying to redirect him towards your weeping pussy. “I want it so bad, please.”

Harry doesn’t give in right away, enjoying watching your naked body writhe with distressed need. Getting you to this stage, this degree of wild desperation for your carnal desires, was one of his favorite things. One orgasm was satisfactory, two was fantastic, but after the third in a row, you turned into a weak-limbed, cock-dumb thing, pawing at him for more, more, more.

Brushing your hair with his hand, he shushes you. “It's okay, baby, you can have it. But my poor fingers need a break.” You start to whine, but he quickly reassures you. “You're okay, you're okay, we just have to get creative.” Harry kisses your head before leaning over to the nightstand, opening the drawer full of toys and pulling out the new vibrator he bought last week. “Wanna try something new?” he asks, shaking the device in front of you enticingly.

“Yeah, yeah, please, give me, please.” Without his touch, you had closed your legs, clenching your thighs together, attempting to create any kind of friction between yourself. At his offer, your legs open automatically, obedient to anything he suggests. Gripping your leg, Harry lifts it over his own, then does the same to the other, widening you further.

He turns the vibrator on and the sound makes your cunt tense in anticipation. Harry presses the bulbous head on the edge of your lips, teasing and prepping you at the same time. Your eyes slam shut, closing off your sight, heightening your other senses. You can feel Harry’s bated breath against your back, the tremor of his hand against your thigh, the heat from his hard cock against your ass. He’s restless, wanting to watch you fall apart all over again.

Then you feel the vibration travel until it’s pressed firmly against your clit, and it already feels like too much. High-pitched whimpers turn into drawn out cries, mumbles of Harry’s name spilling out of you.

“That’s it, baby. How does that feel?”

“So good.” The words come out so fast it sounds like one word. “S-so, so good.”

Harry hums approvingly in your ear. His unoccupied hand threads into yours, holding it against your pounding heart. “Give me a squeeze when you’re about to come, okay?” It takes a while for his words to process through your rattled brain, a while before you can nod in agreement.

You feel the vibrations throughout your whole body, your toes curling, fingers wiggling, shimmying as much as you can while trapped between Harry’s legs.

Harry nudges your hair aside with his nose, kissing up your shoulder until he finds that tender spot on your neck. He knows he’s found it when you gasp at the brush of his lips across it. Latching on, biting and sucking on the skin, coloring your neck in bruises, you turn into putty beneath him.

Pressure builds up inside of you, that familiar rise of tension, but this time, it feels bigger, heavier. Harry slips the vibrator back and forth across your bud, slow at first, then sharper and faster before letting up and pressing the device harder against you.

“Oh Harry, Har, Harry, oh fuck,” you babble hopelessly. That feeling in your stomach pulses, demanding to be set free. You crush Harry’s hand, signaling your impending release.

That’s when Harry presses a button, accelerating the quivering toy. The quicker pace surprises you, gasping before letting go with a scream of pleasure. Your orgasm wipes you out, knocking over you, and the continued vibrations on your clit keeps it going longer. Gushing out of you, your arousal squirts out, wetting the bedding underneath you. Another stream spurts out of you before you shove the vibrator away, one last contraction forcing out more wetness from your soaking pussy. You slump back, collapsing further into Harry’s chest, completely spent after the harshest orgasm you’ve ever experienced. A shiver overwhelms you as a drop of your come drips down your pussy, leaving an icy trail on your skin as it slides down onto the sheet.

“Holy shit, love,” Harry exclaims, in awe of the soaked spots. His fingers trace the pattern you created, revering it like artwork. “One more?” he asks.

You laugh through your pants, your eyelids fluttering open. “Who’s the insatiable one, now?”