Fic Recs

“Good morning,” he greets, not having seen you yet this morning.

Your cheeks fade a deep pink and your hands hold onto themselves to cope with your embarassment—somehow having completely forgotten to say hello to your boss.

It really wasn’t your fault. Just look at him. It was hard to remember how to walk when you were clocked in let alone say good morning.

“Good morning,” you quickly respond, a small grin on your face out of pure politeness. Slightly forced but nevertheless intentional.

He liked to look at you when you got flustered like this. Worked up at the thought of displeasing him and constantly doing your very best to succeed. You were a determined little thing, always kind and always on top of everything he couldn’t be.

You were cute, too. So new in the business and eager to learn. Adorned in sheer black tights and a beige mini dress that came high to your neck. You always had on the sweetest little pair of heels too—never too high but always doing their job at displaying your legs the right way.

“I hope your coffee was okay this morning,” you start again, “they ran out of the usual dark blend so I had to get a different roast. If it tastes off I can go run out to the coffee shop down the street and see if they have something similar. Or if you don’t want the coffee at all I can just go grab you a glass of water.”

You were always nervous to disappoint him. From the moment you scored the job, you only kept one thing in mind—keep him satisfied.

He stared at you intently as you spoke. A barely noticeable grin curving up his lips that you really would only be able to spot if you were looking at him as closely as you always did.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he scanned up and around your face and watched how you squirmed a bit. Even down to your legs, watching as they rubbed against each other in a nervous tic.

“That’s alright. Tastes fine.”

Simple. Calm. As all of his responses were. A small amused smile on his face that worked as a much needed sense of reassurance.

“Ok,” you nod, “should I send them in?”

“That’d be great. Thank you.”

You send him one last kind smile before backing yourself out of his doorway, trotting back to your little desk as you come face to face with his clients.

“He’s ready for you now,” you call to the pair seated on the small couch, both of them sitting straight and tapping their feet against the floor nervously.

You noticed this was how most of his client meetings went. An extreme level of nervousness and a hint of them wanting to turn around and just go home.

It’s not like you could blame them. You were half sure he maybe even knew about your little crush on him. Of course it was unprofessional, you knew that. That’s why you kept it to yourself—you hadn’t told a soul. Not even your best friend. It was just too ridiculously immature and you figured maybe it would disappear if you never mentioned it out loud.

It didn’t.

The rest of the day went quite smoothly. Organizing his calendar and shifting his schedule when need be. Grabbing his lunch at noon and sitting in on an investors meeting at 1:00. 2:00 flew by quickly. By the time it hit 3:00, you were shuffling through paperwork when Harry opened the door to his office.

“What’re you working on?” His voice startled you, so lost in the papers on your desk that you missed his entrance.

“Oh, um, I’m just going over the travel details for the Milan trip. What can I do for you?” You asked, sitting up straighter in your desk chair with a soft smile.

He couldn’t stop his lips from curling upward at your sweet ask, always desperate to please him and ready to serve.

“Nothing,” is all he said, and when he started taking strides closer to you, you nearly fainted.

His hands were in his pockets as he walked, long sleeves tugged up his arms to reveal his inked skin. The rich smell of deep vanilla musk and wood wafted up to you the moment he stood beside you, leveling himself against your desk with his right hand as the other rested on the back of your chair.

You were going only mildly insane.

“Um, this is just how I sort out which driver I need in which car and such. I’m just figuring out how to get you from your lunch with Jack over to your showing without double booking the same driver.”

You don’t know why you felt like you had to explain. Why would he care? He hired you for a reason. He never had any concern about how he got where.

But he just nodded, leaning further into your desk and bringing the side of his face even closer to yours. You clawed at yourself to keep your composure, keeping your eyes on the papers beneath you instead of his face beside you.

“And how are you going to make that happen for me?” His voice was low, mouth not far from your ear and throat graveled.

And you were dripping.

And hated yourself for it.

You’re not sure what it was. Maybe the way he sounded or the way he asked how you would accomplish something for him. Maybe a mix of it all.

“Oh, well,” you took a deep breath as you flipped through the stack of papers, “First, I’ll coordinate with Marcus to handle your trip to lunch. I’ll confirm his availability, align his pickup time with your schedule, and make sure the car is ready to go. Then I’ll book Daniel for the pickup from lunch to the showing, timing it so he’s staged and ready right when you’re finished. You know, so you won’t be late.”

You spoke for too long. You felt it swarming around in the tight space and the suffocation that swam deep in your lungs.

He nodded, slow, analyzing the papers ahead of you as his grip on the back of your chair tightened.

“You don’t think it’d make more sense to keep Marcus on both?” He asked, no judgement. Not in a way to make him seem like it was the better idea. Just, genuinely wondering.

“Marcus is also assigned to Rita that afternoon. I’ve been in contact with her assistant to arrange both of your days. He is free to take you to your showing, but it’d be better to not risk it,” you keep it brief, not wanting to ramble on like you’ve been doing all day. Like you always do around him.

“Tell me why.”

You gulp. Thick and heavy and press your thighs together in the subtlest way you could. Hoping to god he wouldn’t notice your disturbing arousal at his demand.

But he did notice. He always did.

“That way, each leg of your schedule is covered independently. If I tried to keep the same driver on both, there’s a real risk of overlap; if lunch runs long or traffic delays the first leg, it could push into the next commitment and leave you waiting. When I assign two drivers, I avoid any double-booking conflicts and keep everything running on time, sir.”

Too much talking. Your face was hot and your palms were sweating furiously.

And he seemed to be shifting even closer to you with every passing second. Discreetly enough. But you could tell.

“Good.” He nods, finally breaking away and standing up straight again. You could take your first real breath.

There’s no response for you to say, so you just stay quiet. More than satisfied with his approval and tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“Take the rest of the day. I’m leaving early,” he knocks his knuckle twice on your desk before strutting away, hands back in his pockets and leather shoes clacking.

“Oh, thank you sir.”

He couldn’t help his smile. Your respect for him was honestly admirable, always on high alert and so polite. You were sweet behind your little wooden desk, palms flattening over your dress and back up straight.

“You’re welcome, y/n.” He grinned, eyes hung low as he preyed down on you. His bag was slung over his shoulder and his right hand wrapped around the silver knob of the door loosely, hanging there for a moment before letting himself out.

Even when he left the room, your body remained heightened. Limbs jelly and mind fuzzy. Like you’d been slapped from reality just from a basic interaction with your boss. Who you see every fucking day. And somehow, even after all these months, it’s never gotten easier.

It was embarrassing how worked up you got. He was far too old for you and you were far too immature. You worked so close to him everyday, following him everywhere and knowing each and every detail of his private life. It would never be a good idea. No matter how much you’d like to convince yourself it was.

The other part of you knew that’s what you liked about it. The forbiddenness of it all. The thought that touching him would ruin your life and change you forever. It was sickening how wet the idea of it had you.

But he was always so pleased by your work for him. So proud of how you kept his life together and always brought your sweetest smile to the office. He looked forward to seeing your cute little outfits, the way you styled your thick hair and kept yourself pampered.

It was your favorite thing—pleasing him. Seeing him feel satisfied at what you’ve done for him. You lived for it. In the least disturbing way possible, you felt like nothing if he wasn’t there with a nod and a smile. And you rarely ever let him down too—you always knew what to do and how to do it and worked until you felt he couldn’t be pleased further.

You packed up the few things you had and made your way home, calling small goodbyes and gentle waves to random coworkers as you pushed out through the big glass doors of the building.

Even then, with the gust of chilled air flowing across your skin, you were humiliatingly flustered and even more humiliatingly wet.

Shit.

-

Harry really did take the day to himself. He’d been out drinking with friends since 6:00, and now that it was nearly 11:30 he was more than gone.

Probably a bad idea, considering it was a Tuesday, but he worked hard and he didn’t let fun stop once it started. It felt unfair to himself. He preferred to let the night carry itself.

You, on the other hand, were restless on your bed. Planted atop your soft pink comforter as you rested flat on your stomach.

You’re not totally sure why you couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was the extra coffee you had with your dinner. Or maybe it was the stress of your job that always seemed to follow you. The pressure to do everything right.

Or, maybe, and just maybe, it was because your boss was whispering deep into your ear as his gruffled scent swarmed through your head.

You tried to ignore it.

It was exhausting how many times you had reminded yourself that you were his assistant. He was your boss. He was much too old for you. And you were far too young for him. It was unprofessional and honestly a disgrace to even think about such things.

But you couldn’t help your daydreams. The thoughts of his big strong hands tugging you down the bed by your ankles. Legs spread, eyes wide, dripping for him as he eyed you down.

You figured he’d enjoy manhandling your nimble body. Throwing you around and placing you how he’d like as if you were a little fuck doll. Ready to please him and do as he demands.

You groaned at your sick thoughts, so twisted and a disgusting display of your character.

You never showed this side of you to anyone. Not particularly because you were ashamed of it, but more because you’ve never found a man who could pull off what you wanted. Who could treat you the way you always dreamed of without giving you second hand embarrassment.

The moment you met Harry, on your first day, you knew he could be that for you. He could dominate you and fuck around with you and handle you the way you’d like. And it wouldn’t be embarrassing. He’d do it the right way. You knew he would. And you were so confident you could be good for him too.

What you didn’t know, yet, was that Harry’s mind wasn’t too far from where yours was. Of course he’d dreamed of his cock shoved far down your throat. Or his tip nuzzled deep into your tummy until you squirmed in a mix of pain and pleasure.

He knew you’d be so good. He knew you’d take him until you cried and suck him off until he was all milked out. He even dreamt of his cum coating your pretty perky tits, dripping down your pink nipples until it slipped into your cute belly button.

It was wrong. He knew he should focus on something realistic. On a woman his own age who he can settle down with, start a family. He really did try to remind himself of that.

But, now, several drinks deep and back at the privacy of his home, he was thinking anything but that. You were so sweet today. Dressed properly and your pretty face pampered.

He enjoyed listening to your darling voice explain your thought process. You had a beautiful mind, so smart and organized, and he loved it. He loved how keen you were to satisfy him and how soft you’d get at every praise.

He was stumbling through his living room as he lingered on the sick thoughts, cock hard in his pants and vision crossed.

He was fucked up.

Bad.

And if his feet tripping over one another didn’t say so, his decision to ring your contact sure did.

It was more than unprofessional, and part of him enjoyed that thought. He wasn’t totally sure what he’d say to you. If you answered, that is. It was nearly midnight after all, and you did both work tomorrow.

But you were awake. And the sight of his number calling your phone had you…to put it lightly…erratic.

Your breath hitched, staring at the big bold name and blinking a couple times just to make sure you were seeing it right.

Of course it was common for Harry to call you. You were his assistant. He actually called you multiple times a day.

But at midnight on a week night? When he would be seeing you the next morning? It was unprecedented.

You even considered pretending to be asleep. Apologize for missing his call the next morning and pretend it never happened.

But, at the slim chance of him having an emergency, you decided the profressionally correct thing to do would be to answer.

“Harry?”

Not a good greeting. But you just couldn’t hide your confusion at his call, even if you really tried. And you weren’t really trying.

“Y/n,” his voice was crackled through the speaker, “you’re awake.”

You pause. Blinking to yourself and squinting your eyes.

“Yeah…” you clear your throat, “what can I do for you? Do you need something from me?”

With a question like that, could you really blame Harry for what he said next?

“Mhm,” he hummed, “I need so much from you. All the time.”

His words were slurred, barely pieced together and it almost sounded like he was…touching himself.

But he wasn’t. Not yet, anyway. He was grossly aware of the tension in his pants, but for ethical reasons decided maybe touching himself to the sound of his assistant's voice wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

“L-like what? Are you okay?” You stuttered over your words as you swallowed what he said, knowing deep in your stomach what he was insinuating.

He chuckled through the line, “you want me to tell you what I want from you? What I think about?”

“Um,” you shift higher to your bed, “if you want.”

He pauses. For a moment you even think he may have gone on mute.

But then the silence breaks.

Heavily.

“I want you to tell me how you’re laying right now,” he starts, breathless.

And right before you’re about to respond, his next line slaps you stupid and leaves you dizzy.

“That way I can picture how I’d be fucking you instead of my fist.”

Of course it was a risk. More than a risk, really. It was a direct call for disaster and there was absolutely no way to turn back from that.

You froze for longer than you should have. Mouth agape, cheeks hot, legs clamped so tight together that you figured the friction would leave the skin inflamed.

He was on the other line, eyes rolled back while he basked in the silence over the other line. His fingers were wrapped tight around the girth of his cock as he stroked himself slowly, holding in a groan at the mental image of your shocked face. So pretty and in disbelief, he would give anything to see it for himself.

“H-Harry, are you drunk?” You whisper out, because what do you say when your boss admits that he’s masturbating while on the phone with you? While thinking about fucking you, too?

“Mhm,” he sighs, “doesn’t matter though. Would be doing the same thing if I wasn’t.”

And then, a deep, drawn out chuckle.

“Probably wouldn’t be calling you and telling you though.”

Your brain was fuzzy. Swarming around itself in your skull and prying for the right thing to say. The professional thing to say. The thing to say that wouldn’t get you fired.

“T-This isn’t right sir, I work for you.”

It only turned Harry on more. In fact, his hand worked quicker against himself the moment you said it.

He ignored your comment completely, “how are you lying? On your bed? On the couch?”

You swallow thick, nibbing at your finger nails as you try to tame the heat between your legs.

“I’m on my bed, sir.”

You probably shouldn’t have said it. You shouldn’t have given in and told him what he wanted to hear.

But that was the thing about you. You couldn’t not tell him what he wanted. Comply to him. Do what he asked of you. It was like a chemical imbalance in your head that had you immediately listening to every word he said.

“And how are you laying? Are you on your back? Are you sat up straight?” He flinched before asking his last question, “are you on your stomach?”

You could feel the red of your cheeks through your hot skin.

“Y-yes. Yes, I am.”

“Oh,” he groaned, long and drawn out and the furthest thing from innocent.

His palm was fucking against himself as he pictured you as you described—tummy flat against your mattress, ass perked up a bit and legs held so tight together. He imagined how tight the little slit between your legs would be, how it would swell when he spoke to you and dampen when he told you what he wanted.

“Need you to talk to me,” he breathed out, “so I can cum.”

Your chest heaved at his words, your teeth tearing apart your finger tips as rubbed your thighs together harshly. You were so fucking horny that it stung, your little clit aching for some sort of relief but you didn’t want to give in. You wanted to imagine you weren’t as weak as you really were.

“This is…um, unprofessional. I-I can’t,” it was cute how hard you tried to stand your ground. It was even cuter how miserably you had failed.

“You don’t want to help me? You can’t do what I asked? But, I need you to, y/n,” he was fucked up for saying it like that. Manipulative, even, but you liked it that way.

You always did as he asked. In fact, you lived for it. It was the only thing that gave you a sense of purpose. It was sad, but you knew that. You didn’t care. You loved how it felt when you pleased him, how he praised you when you made his life easier.

So, when you really thought about it, what was so different about helping him this time than all the other times?

“No, I want to help you, sir. H-how do I help you?”

The real difference was that this time he was fucking his hand to the sound of your voice and the thought of your naked body on your bed.

But you chose to ignore that. For the time being.

Another dark chuckle from his end of the call.

“You’re always so good, y/n. You know that? Never failed me. Not once. You do everything right for me. Always do such a good job,” he was rambling, nearly to himself, as his hand stroked quicker. He was embarrassingly close and you had barely even spoken. The idea of you, flat on your belly and legs held tight together, was enough for him.

“I try,” you nod to yourself. And then, hesitantly, you add, “I like to satisfy you.”

His face twitched, hand quickened, and breaths staggered.

“Yeah? Tell me about that.”

This was what he wanted. To listen to your sweet little voice ramble about how much you liked to please him. He was even convinced that the second you started talking, he’d have to pull his hand away so as to not cum prematurely.

“I like to feel useful to you. I like being helpful. Y-you give me good instructions, and you’re patient with me. I like to follow through and make you feel that I’m worth your while. I never want to fail you.”

You were in too deep, and you knew you were. Even just listening to yourself had you even wetter. You knew if you saw him, he’d be so proud to hear you say that. He’d let a low grin shine through and nod his head at your honest words.

On the other line, he was nearly there just at your first sentence.

“Good job, baby,” he pushed out through heavy breaths, “was that hard for you to tell me?”

You gulped at the nickname as you considered the question, desperately not wanting to disappoint him.

“Yes. It was,” you admit shallowly, biting at the inside of your cheek as your thighs press even tighter together.

“But you did it for me? Because I asked?”

He knew the answer. He also knew hearing it would take him over the edge.

“Yes, sir.”

It was two words that made him wish he’d recorded this call. Two words that he wished could swim around his bedroom on repeat until he came over, and over, and over again. All to the sound of your sweet voice telling him how desperate you were to please him.

“Want you to lay completely flat, ok? Press your face up against your mattress.”

It didn’t take much convincing for you to comply. You put the call on speaker phone and laid flat, stomach still pressed to the comforter and the side of your cheek now joining it.

“Now lift your ass a little bit…press your back into itself and spread your legs apart.”

With a shaky breath, you followed his instruction. Closing your eyes and imagining he was right next to you as he spoke, leading you through the motions with heavy breaths.

“Pick a number.”

Your eyes snapped open, staring at the screen with a cocked brow and your ass still high in the air.

You looked ridiculous, really. Like an idiot. But you liked the humiliation. You liked it because this is what he told of you. This is what he expected you to do for him and who were you to ever say no?

“A number?”

“Pick,” he spit quicker, growing more and more impatient as his hand fucks into himself.

“Four.”

He laughs at this, low and gravelled and truly amused.

“I don’t think you can take four,” he breathes, “but you will. I know you will.”

Your breathing picks up as your ass sways mindlessly above you, desperate for some sort of relief and searching for it in the open air.

“Take four?”

“Want you to put four of your little fingers inside of you. Fuck yourself and imagine it’s my cock.”

Your heart smacks against your chest as you take in his words, letting them float aimlessly throughout you head as you process the situation you’ve gotten yourself in.

Your boss, who you will be seeing tomorrow, fucking his fist as he asks you to do the same. It was a dream. A dream you’ve been helplessly trying to avoid and remain professional.

But you wanted it. No matter how hard your mind tried to convince you otherwise. You were dripping and clenching around the air and sick at the thought of his thick cock shoved deep inside of you.

So you obeyed. Reaching behind you and slowly pressing every finger, apart from your thumb, deep inside of you. You took your time as you stretched yourself out, your tight hole weeping at the sudden pressure and your gooey arousal doing its job as it’s aid.

You don’t mean to let out the soft whimper at the feeling of your pussy being stuffed, but it expelled itself loud enough to reach your microphone.

And now, Harry was shaking in his seat.

“Fuck,” he cursed, “you’re so—fuck.”

He was a mess, falling undone at one tiny sound that slipped through your lips and pumping against himself furiously.

“It’s—ah, feels so full,” you sigh as you arch your back further into your mattress, pressing your four fingers in and out of yourself in a sloppy mess.

You were half positive that he could hear the wet gushes of your pussy as you fucked yourself, slurping agaisnt the stretch of your hole and swallowing the volume.

“Keep going,” he breathed, “fuck, you feel so good around me. So tight. So wet, fuck. Fuck my cock into you deeper, press it into your belly.”

You pressed your fingers deeper into you at his instruction, ass raising higher and back pressing deep inwards. You quickened your pace as the heat in your tummy grew, lulling in the feeling of his hips fucking into you instead of your wrist.

“Oh-oh, Harry, fuck,” you whisper into the mattress as you adjust to the stretch of all your fingers, finally shifting to a point of pleasure that you know you won’t come back from.

“Feel good? Tell me what you feel,” he stutters before spitting a glob of his spit onto his tip to help in his strokes.

“I—ah! Shhhit, it’s…” you pry at your mind for any words but fall short, tears welling in your eyes as you fuck faster from behind.

Your arm was cramped, your back was aching, and your fingers were pruned in your slick but you didn’t care. You were already so close to an orgasm and it wasn’t even his actual dick. No matter how much your mind was convincing you it was.

“No. Use your words.”

You catch your breath, curling the tips of your fingers upwards until you hit that spot that has you dizzy.

“I—I feel your cock. So deep inside of me, in my stomach. So thick, fucking me so good,” you ramble on and feel your cheeks go hot, suddenly remembering that this is your boss and sinking into a pit of misbehavior.

“That’s right, good. Now tell me what I feel, and don’t stop talking until I come.”

You whine, mustering up the courage to speak again even through the distraction of your fingers. You could barely keep yourself upright let alone make coherent sentences.

“Y-You feel my pussy, so tight around you,” you moan, “so wet. It’s so small around your thick cock, so fresh and tugging you till it hurts.”

“Fuck, keep going, make me come,” he was so breathless that you cried at the sound, fucking into yourself quicker as your orgasm begin to build with his.

“S’gonna make you cum, fill me up until I’m full of you. Can I have your cum? Want you to fuck your babies into me, please, wanna make you satisfied, it’s all I want.”

“Y/n, fuck!” He groaned as he came into his own hand, palming at himself until he soaked his skin and made a mess.

You followed quickly after to the sound of your name rolling through his chest, dark and desperate and full of everything they shouldn’t be doing. You came hard, too. Soaking your fingers and clenching tight around them until they were lodged deep inside of you.

The only sound left over the phone call was the meshing symphony of your heavy breaths mixing within one another, your hands slowing down and your hearts returning to a normal speed.

And then, after all was said and done and you were both limp and sweaty, there was silence.

A long, drawn out silence that lingered heavy above you.

You pulled out your chunk of fingers and laid flat against your mattress, rolling onto your back as you stared up at the ceiling through flushed cheeks.

Harry, over at his place, slouched back into his place and wiped his hand against his thigh, heaving thick breaths as he shut his eyes in bliss.

You both sat like this for a while. Returning back to earth and giving your bodies and minds a second to catch up.

And while Harry’s mind was thinking, fuck, that was so hot. Your mind was thinking, fuck, I can never show my face at work again.

“Alright,” he finally broke the silence, “See you tomorrow morning.”

It wasn’t cold hearted. It wasn’t impersonal. It was just…typical Harry.

You still froze for a moment. Staring at your screen in disbelief at his calm demeanor. As if you two just wrapped up a casual business call.

“Ok,” you nod, “see you tomorrow.”

And he hung up, a smug smile on his face that only he could see.

A smile that soon found your face a few seconds later, masking over your nauseous and instead replacing it with the thrill of your misconduct.

You were melting into your mattress at the sensations rolling through your skin still, even minutes after your orgasm had ended and your breath had caught up.

He hadn’t even touched you and you were drunk off of him. Playing back certain lines in your head and drooling at the thought of what his real cock would feel like shoved so deep inside of you.

And then there was the anxiety of it all. The deafening realization that this was your boss and you were his assistant. This wasn’t just your coworker. You worked directly under him every single day and spent nearly ever single minute with him.

And now, walking into the office tomorrow morning, you’d come face to face with the man who you just begged to fill your belly with his babies. When he wasn’t even actually fucking there. Your sick little head just told itself that he was and he did the same for his hand.

Fuck.

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The extreme heat has switched up the planned outfits a little bit, going from pants to shorts at the past couple of shows, but the fans are definitely not complaining and Harry kind of likes flaunting his toned legs as well, so it’s a win-win. 

Standing in front of the mirror he is humming Bridge Over Troubled Water while trying to fix his tie when there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in!” he calls out, eyes still fixated on his reflection. 

The door opens and he doesn’t even have to turn around to know who it is. It’s like he has a sixth sense when it comes to you. 

“Oh, I see the slutty little shorts are coming out to play again,” you tease him instantly upon walking into the room and closing the door behind you. Harry smirks as he turns around, though his smile halters for a second when he sees you.

He hasn’t been the only one the heatwave has been affecting when it comes to outfits. As his shorts got shorter, you, his long-time assistant, started putting on shorter dresses as well. Tonight you chose to put on a pale yellow sundress, one that’s short but flowy, demands his attention in an instant, making his eyes glued to your smooth legs and flirty neckline. 

Fuck, he thinks to himself before recovering as quick as humanly possible. Truth is, he’s been crushing on you since… well, probably day one, but only admitted it to himself about a year ago, when the two of you somehow ended up sharing a bed at a mutual friend’s party and he woke up with you curled to his side, your scent filled his nose and as he listened to your quiet snoring, which you absolutely denied you did, he realized just how much in love he was with you. 

But he’s been doing everything he could to keep his feelings at bay, not wanting to ruin your friendship and he also happened to be your boss, though your work relationship is quite different than at an office job. However at moments like this, when you completely take his breath away and make it quite hard for him to think of anything else than ripping your dress off and–

“You okay, Styles?” you snap him out of his thoughts. 

“Yeah,” he smiles, shaking his head. “Not a fan of shorts?” he asks with a flirty smirk, still fiddling with his tie. 

There’s a beat of silence on your end, something crosses your face, but it’s gone before he could catch it. 

“Everyone is a fan of the shorts,” you end up saying. “Let me help you with that,” you offer as you step closer and swat his hands away so you can fix his tie. 

The AC is working perfectly in the room, but suddenly Harry feels like he is burning up, standing so close to you, your hands brushing against his chest a few times and even though it’s only through the fabric of his shirt, it’s maddening. He can only hope you can’t feel or hear his hammering heartbeat. 

“There,” you smile softly stepping back and admiring your work. 

“All good?” he asks, squaring his shoulders.

“The best,” you reply, smile widening. “Everything is set, Shania just got off the stage,” you inform him. “Sarah and Mitch are here as well.”

Harry hums with a nod. His drummer and guitarist have been the last ones to arrive at the venue after doing bathtime with their kids and leaving them with the nanny before heading out for their night shift at the stadium. 

Harry looks at you and notices a bit of worry etched onto your expression. Tilting his head he narrows his eyes at you.

“Something is wrong,” he says and it’s not a question. He knows you enough to notice these small details. 

“Nope,” you shake your head.

“Oh yeah. Tell me, I can handle it, I’m a big boy.”

You chuckle, shaking your head.

“It’s nothing work related.”

“Okay, I still want to know about it.”

You hesitate for a second before giving up, knowing he’ll bug you until eternity if you don’t tell him. 

“Just… I had some problems with a pipe in my apartment,” you say dismissingly. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine if it’s bothering you. There’s still an issue?”

“Kinda,” you sigh. “I need to change the pain pipe in the bathroom, which means they have to rip the wall out. But they are coming in the weekend, so hopefully it’ll be settled.”

“But can you use the bathroom until then?” Harry asks suspiciously. You don’t answer and avoid looking into his eyes at first before shaking your head no. “So you can’t use your bathroom until the end of the week?”

“It’s fine, I’m gonna stay at my sister’s place until then.”

Harry gives you an amused look. 

“Y/N, your sister lives in Southampton. That’s… what, like a three hour commute to London?”

“Two,” you correct him, earning an eye-roll. 

“You’re not going to your sister’s.”

“Well, I’m not paying for a hotel either,” you stubbornly say. 

“Of course not, because you’re gonna stay at mine.”

He says it out loud before he could even think it through. But as soon as his words land, he knows he might have brought hell on himself. It’s challenging enough to spend so much time with you during the day, but having you in his home might be another level of torture. 

You bark out a laugh. 

“No I’m not,” you simply say, not even taking him seriously.

“Yes, you are. I live close, I have two guest rooms, this is the best solution,” he argues, pushing his own doubts to the back of his mind, because putting his feelings aside, this is actually the best solution, saving you from the hours spent on a train every day just to get to London. 

“Harry, I can’t just move in with you.”

“Just until your apartment is fixed,” he shrugs. “I’ll drive over to your place after the show, you can grab whatever you need.”

You stand there, just blinking at him for a couple of long minutes, like you’re expecting him to say he was just joking, but he stands his ground. As bad of an idea it is regarding his situation, he would never let you down. 

“I mean… If you’re sure,” you give in. Harry nods with a satisfied smile.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay, thank you then. Show time in twenty,” you remind him then, switching back to work mode before walking out of the dressing room. 

The second the door clicks shut, Harry lets his head fall back with a quiet groan. Brilliant idea, he thinks to himself. Invite the woman you've been secretly in love with into your house, for several days. What an idiot you are, Styles!

A generous, caring idiot, but still an idiot, because he might have just made the worst decision in his life. 

The show goes down without a hiccup. He puts on his best performance, as always and the fans love him, as always. 

You watch most of the show from backstage, but you love Season 2 Weight Loss way too much not to go out, so you dance in Circle for a little and sneak back before any of the fans could recognize you. Harry however totally saw you and the smile that stretched across his face is the absolute sweetest. 

When the show is over Harry quickly showers while you do your usual rounds settling things. When he’s ready the two of you roll out of the garage in his car, passing by the fans leaving the stadium. 

You’ve just bought your apartment last year and Harry realizes he hasn’t even been there when he pulls up in front of the building. He follows you up to the third floor and bites back the excitement he feels upon stepping into the apartment. 

“I’ll try to be quick. Make yourself at home,” you tell him before disappearing in the bedroom, leaving him alone in the open concept kitchen and living room. 

“No need to hurry,” he calls after you, already curiously eyeing up the place. 

The apartment is small, not cramped, but very lived-in. The vibe suits his expectations of your home pretty well. The couch is tucked beneath a large window overlooking the street, a knitted blanket carelessly thrown over one arm. Books are stacked on every available surface instead of neatly shelved, plants occupy nearly every windowsill and there are tiny trinkets everywhere, little ceramic animals, candles in mismatched holders, postcards pinned to a corkboard over the faux fireplace. 

It looks exactly like you and it makes him smile as he wanders farther inside, hands buried in his pockets as if touching anything would somehow feel too intrusive.

His attention lands on the fridge, it’s covered in magnets, lists, sticky notes and quite some polaroids. He instantly moves closer to look at them. He sees his family, friends, crew members and random moments from the past years, including ones with him as well. 

One of them is from Tokyo last year, the two of you squeezed into a photo booth, both pulling ridiculous faces. 

Another one is from backstage at Madison Square Garden where you're laughing so hard your head is thrown back while he's clearly saying something dramatic, a moment Anthony caught on camera. 

There’s one where he is giving you a piggy back ride in Italy and one taken in his mom’s backyard, the two of you posing like the worst models. 

His smile stretches wider with each photo he spots that features him, feeling warm that you cherish these memories just as much as he does. 

Then he moves over to the living room and the cushions seem familiar. It takes a moment for him to realize it’s because they have the cases on them the two of you chose out together at a flea market in Berlin two years ago. He teased you, saying you’ll probably never use them, but now you’re proving him wrong. 

His eyes continue roaming the room until they snag on the wall opposite him. His smile softens instantly. There’s a painting hanging over the couch, one he gifted you for your birthday three years ago. An abstract piece he found in a gallery and instantly thought the vibrant colors would fit you so well. He was afraid you wouldn’t like it, but here it is, hanging in your home years later. 

“Snooping around, I see.” Your voice makes him turn. You're standing in the hallway now, duffel bag slung over your shoulder, another backpack hanging from one arm.

“Nice decor you have,” he nods towards the painting. 

“Ah, yeah, right? Some rando just gave it to me,” you tease him, pulling a laugh out of him. 

“Dude’s got taste,” he adds. “You’re done?”

“Yes. If I forgot anything I’ll just swing by.”

Harry nods and follows you out of the apartment, glancing back one last time, a smile tugging on his lips knowing he is there, in your home in the tiny details. 

Unlike him, you’ve been at Harry’s place a million times, so there’s nothing surprising there. Walking into the spacious townhouse he bought a couple of years ago in Hampstead you already know the way to the guest rooms. 

“The one facing the backyard has AC, use that one,” he tells you. 

“Ah, I get the fancy room?” you tease him, standing on the stairs.

“You’re VIP,” he grins before he disappears down the hallway leading to the kitchen and you make your way up to the room. 

He pours himself a glass of water and stares out the window sipping on it. That’s when he hears you shuffling around upstairs. The faint footsteps, the closet opening and closing, the facet in the bathroom turning on before you shut it off. He’s so used to being alone here, it’s an odd feeling having someone else here, but knowing it’s you warms him. 

A couple of minutes later you appear in the kitchen as well. 

“Hungry?” he asks, leaning onto the kitchen island and he catches your gaze jumping to his biceps just for the shortest second before shaking your head. 

“I inhaled half of the catering at the stadium,” you admit, making him laugh. 

“Well, feel free to raid the fridge anytime. And… you know where to find everything,” he chuckles.

“Thanks,” you smile at him bashfully. “And for letting me stay here too.”

“I didn’t let you, practically ordered you to stay,” he corrects you, making you laugh. 

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower and then head to bed. Good show tonight.”

“Thanks,” he smiles softly before you nod and then head back upstairs. 

Minutes later he hears the shower running in the guest bathroom and his thoughts are quick to wander. Knowing that you’re up there, standing under the shower naked has him going crazy. All evening he tried to convince himself it won’t be any different than staying at the same hotel, but it is. There’s a kind of domesticity in your presence he is not used to and it has him spiraling a bit. 

He shakes his head, annoyed at himself.

“Get it together, Styles,” he mutters under his breath, finishing his water and forcing himself to move.

He has spent years being around you. Years of late nights, long drives, hotel rooms, dressing rooms and airports. He knows what your coffee order is, how you like your fries, the exact face you make when you’re trying not to laugh during serious moments.

So why does hearing you move around his house feel so different? Probably because you’re not here because you’re working late or because everyone decided to stay over after a party. You’re here because he asked you to be. Because he wanted to make things easier for you. Because a selfish part of him wanted you here, sharing the same living space, spending even more time together. 

By the time he finally gets ready for bed, the house is completely quiet again. He walks past the guest room on his way to his bedroom and stops for a second, staring at the closed door. The ridiculous thought crosses his mind that maybe he should knock and say goodnight, but he is quick to shake it. 

Instead, he lies in his bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, thinking of you sleeping just down the hallway until his spiraling thoughts eat him away and he finally falls asleep. 

He is gonna have a rough couple of days. 

***

The next few days pass in a blur. Somehow, somewhere between rushed mornings, stadium chaos and late-night drives back home, the weirdness of having you in his house disappears. It becomes normal, having you around not just while working but at the end of the day as well, when Harry retreats from being Harry Styles, the pop icon. 

It probably helped that he didn’t need to act like a host because you didn’t act like a guest. It was like you belonged there, in his home and he realized he liked it a lot.

Having coffee with you in the morning, running to the grocery store together or grabbing lunch from the nearby Chinese restaurant. He liked finding you on the couch, typing away on your laptop or making calls when he came back from his run and he liked that on show days you left together, did your own things and went home together at the end of the night, had a a glass of wine or two on the patio before going to bed and starting it all over again. 

When you got a call three days into your stay at Harry’s that your bathroom works will be postponed to next week Harry tried to focus on easing your stress instead of the absolute happiness he felt for having you at his place even longer. It’s like even fate wanted him to enjoy more of the time spent together. 

It’s another show day and Harry is already downstairs, getting ready to leave while you’re still upstairs. 

“Have you seen my charger?” he calls up.

“Which one?” comes your answer.

“The black one.”

“It’s in the kitchen!”

He runs into the kitchen and is not surprised to find the item he’s been looking for everywhere lying on the counter. Laughing at himself he walks back to the front door while tucking the cord into his totebag, just when you come down the stairs. 

Glancing up he freezes for a second, because you’re wearing jean shorts and an old band tee. His band tee to be precise and you look a lot better in it than he ever did. He doesn’t even care that it's one of his favorite ones, he would be fine if you wore it from now on. 

“Is that my shirt?” he asks, recovering. 

You look up at him innocently.

“Is it?”

“Yes, it is,” he chuckles. 

“Ah, it must have ended up in my pile of laundry.”

“Interesting, because I haven’t worn it in a while, so it was not even near the laundry,” he keeps teasing you with a growing smirk. 

“Your memory is shit, Styles,” you wave at him dismissingly. “Let’s go, we’re gonna be late,” you say, changing the subject. Harry just shakes his head chuckling, but follows you out the door. 

That stupid t-shirt messes with his head. Or to be more precise, seeing you wearing his clothes is what has his panties in a twist. 

Every time you walk past him it’s like electricity buzzes through him. Then he starts picturing you more of his things. His running shorts. His shirt. His boxer briefs… It’s a trap he walked straight into. 

When the show starts he manages to shut you out, but then you decide to go into the pit again. No matter how badly he fights the urge to ignore you, he can’t. During Dance No More he stops right in front of you, dancing while looking straight into your eyes. At first you just shake your head at him and try to shoo him away, but when he doesn’t, you end up mirroring his dance moves that makes him laugh. 

“Okay, I accept defeat,” he says into the mic before finally moving on, the fans going crazy over what they just witnessed and that’s when you decide to return backstage. 

By the time the show ends, Harry is still smiling. Partially because the show felt extra good tonight, but mostly because of the interaction he had with you and the thought that now he gets to go home with you. 

“You’re in a good mood,” Mitch comments when they’re backstage, wiping sweat from his face.

Harry looks up from the bottle of water in his hand. “Am I?”

“Yes,” Anthony answers from beside him, his camera is still in his hand. “It’s actually slightly annoying.”

“Sorry my happiness is inconveniencing you,” Harry chuckles. 

“Not the happiness,” Mitch says, pointing at him. “The lovesick teenage boy energy.”

Harry almost chokes on his water. “What?”

“Please, I’m kind of hurt you think I wouldn’t notice the change in you,” Mitch scoffs. “Besides, I know this exact feeling,” he adds, his gaze jumping over to Sarah who is talking to a crew member in the corner of the room. 

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry shakes his head, but he can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips. 

“Yeah, okay. Keep lying to yourself. See you tomorrow,” Mitch pats his shoulder before walking over to his wife. 

Harry looks at Anthony who has his camera in front of his face and snaps a picture of him. Then he checks the screen and nods to himself.

“Yep, lovesick teenage boy,” he says before walking away. 

Harry just shakes his head in disbelief before heading over to you, throwing his towel at you.

“Ew! Get your sweaty towel off me!” You cry out, throwing the towel right back at him. 

“I’m gonna shower and then we can leave.”

“Take your time, you stink!” You call after him teasingly, to which he just flips you off before walking away. 

By the time Harry finally finishes showering, you’re already waiting by his dressing room, scrolling through your phone.

“Done?” you ask, looking up from the screen.

“Squeaky clean,” he grins, proud of himself for quoting his own song. You just roll your eyes, but he spots the smile hiding in the corners of your mouth. 

The ride home is the same. You’re talking about bits from the show and then sing along to some music, it’s been his favorite after-show ritual lately. 

Arriving home you’re already heading into the kitchen to pour the usual glass of wine for the two of you while Harry heads up to his room to drop his stuff off before joining you downstairs. Just outside his bedroom he starts to feel like something is off, but only realizes what it is when he walks in. 

It feels like hell in there. It’s hotter than in a sauna. 

“What the…” He grabs his phone to check the app that’s connected to the AC system in the house and sees that the one in his bedroom is not working. He taps on it several times, but it just wouldn’t turn on. 

Then he digs out the remote, hoping to start it with that, but that doesn’t work either. It’s dead.

“Hey, what’s taking you so long?” You walk in with two glasses of wine, but instantly feel the heat in his room. “Holy shit, did you set your room on fire or something?”

“The AC is not working,” he sighs in defeat. 

“Damn, okay, no worries. We can call someone tomorrow,” you say, handing him one of the wines. He takes a big gulp, since it’s pretty cold at least. 

“Sure. I’ll just sleep in the other guest room tonight,” he says, but then he quickly realizes. “Fuck, there’s no AC there either,” he groans, his head rolling back in frustration. “Okay, then the couch it is for tonight.”

“What?” your eyes widen. “You’re not sleeping on the couch, you need to rest, you have a show tomorrow.”

“Where else am I gonna sleep then?” he chuckles helplessly. 

“In my room. I’ll take the couch,” you say right away. 

“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head. 

“Harry–”

“No.”

“You need to fucking sleep! In a bed!” you argue, slightly raising your voice from the frustration of how stubborn he is being.

“And you don’t need the rest? You’re working too, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but I’m not performing at Wembley.”

“You’re not sleeping on the couch in my house,” he states, making you roll your eyes. 

“Well, you’re not sleeping on the couch in your house either.”

“Y/N, I’m not taking your bed–”

“It’s your bed in your guest room in your house.”

“No, right now it’s your bed.”

“Jesus, you’re so fucking annoying!” you growl. “Then we’re sharing the bed,” you then say, surprising probably the both of you. 

“What?” he chuckles awkwardly.

“It’s big enough, we can just share it tonight and then we can have the AC fixed tomorrow. No big deal,” you explain and this time he can’t argue.

Well, he would love to, but he would rather not say out loud his arguments. He can’t just say he doesn’t want to share the bed because it’s too intimate for him and he would very likely spiral, so he chickens out and just nods.

“Okay. I guess… you’re right.”

Satisfaction takes over your expression. 

“See? There was no need to be this dramatic about the whole situation,” you say, taking a sip from your wine. Harry’s eyebrows arch.

“I’m literally the least dramatic person you know.”

You look at him and that look speaks for you. 

“Okay,” he sighs. “That might be a lie,” he mumbles. 

You carry on with the evening as usual. It’s still so hot outside that you don’t sit on the patio too long, just until you both finish your wine and then head back inside. Harry uses his own bathroom and you use the guest one just like every evening since you’ve been here. 

But once he is done he feels ridiculous for being nervous at the thought of going over to your room and get in bed beside you. 

“Get your shit together,” he mumbles to himself before finally making his way down the hallway. 

The door is open and you’re already sitting on the bed, scrolling on your phone when he walks in. When you look up you smile softly at him that already has his stomach sinking. 

“Come on in! Make yourself home!” you gesture at the bed. Harry chuckles.

“Well, it is my home.”

“Shut up,” you flip him off as he takes the right side of the bed. 

Tentatively he sits on the edge at first, then a little awkwardly lies down.

“Are you going to lie like a board all night?” you tease him.

“What if I am?” he scoffs.

“Okay, do whatever you want. It really is your home,” you say teasingly.

Harry wills himself to relax and get under the covers finally. The bed is big. Big enough that you’ll probably not touch all night, but Harry is still worried. 

“I hope you haven’t started snoring since the last time we slept in the same room,” you break the silence. Harry peeks over at you.

“You’re the one who snores.”

You gape at him dramatically.

“I told you I don’t snore!”

“Can you hear yourself while sleeping?” he arches an eyebrow.

“Well, of course not. I’m sleeping!”

“Okay, I have heard you. And you were definitely snoring.”

That’s a lie. It was just loud breathing probably, but he loves teasing you with that, he loves seeing you get all heated up while defending yourself. 

“Yeah? Then you fart all night!” 

At that, you both stay silent for a second before uncontrollable laughter bursts right out of you both. 

“Fart all night? That’s the best you could come up with?” Harry asks, wiping the tears away from his eyes. 

“Did you want me to say you pee your pants?” you wheeze out, making him laugh even harder. 

It takes long minutes for you to calm down, silence settling over the room. Now Harry feels a lot less awkward about the whole bed sharing situation. 

“Goodnight, Harry,” you whisper at last.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replies and falls asleep with a smile on his face. 

***

Harry wakes up before his alarm, which is unusual. With his eyes still closed he buries his face further into the pillow and at first the scent doesn’t even register, your scent all over the pillow. Then feels the warmth, not excruciating, but definitely warmer than what he feels in the morning. Almost like… A body. Pressed against his. 

The memories of the two of you fighting over the bed situation last night creep back into his mind and then he slowly puts the picture together before he even opens his eyes, that it’s you who’s pressed up against him. 

he is lying on his side, one arm stretched out forward, right under the pillow on which your head is resting. You’re lying with your back plastered against his front, his other arm thrown over your waist, his palm touching your bare stomach where your top has ridden up in your sleep. Your legs are tangled together and the cherry on top is what’s happening around your midsections. 

Spooning you his crotch is perfectly pressed up against your ass and just to make things even more interesting, he is sporting an erection. 

It’s all settling in slowly but surely, his pulse picking up and then he completely freezes when you stir in your sleep and rub your ass even more against his cock. A silent groan slips from his lips. He’s still groggy and half asleep, but he can tell this should not be happening. 

The rational part of his brain is screaming at him to pull back and get as far from her as possible, but that voice is tuned out as he takes a deep breath and your scent fills his nose, making his cock twitch from the need to touch you. He stays put, slight panic creeping up his spine as he tries to figure out what to do, but that’s when you start moving again. At first he thinks you’re just wriggling in your sleep, but after a few seconds he realizes it’s different. 

You’re rubbing against him. Like, fully rubbing. 

His muscles flex as he tries to control himself, another groan bubbling from him as he dances on the edge of a very dangerous territory. 

You must be still asleep and it’s just an instinct, it’s totally normal to get horny in your dreams, he tells himself, so he shouldn’t take advantage of it, but it’s getting so fucking hard to resist. 

But then…

“Harry…” you breathe out, arching even more against him and that’s when he snaps. 

His hand that’s been on your stomach grips your hip and he finally lets himself grind against you, creating more friction and making you both moan. 

“Fuck,” he grunts as he keeps moving his hips, his cock straining against his briefs. 

Your hand finds his on your hips and taking it you tug it towards your core. He is quick to realize what you need and he gladly slips his hand under the elastic of your sleeping shorts, cupping your heated cunt at first, before gliding two fingers between your wet folds. 

“Yes, please,” you groan, head falling back and he rests his forehead against your shoulder as he keeps rocking against you, his fingers slipping inside you. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes, feeling like he is losing his mind as you grind against his palm and cock at the same time, chasing your own relief while he is inching closer to his as well. 

Your hands find his that’s under the pillow, gripping the sheets and you bring it to your mouth, placing an open-mouthed kiss into his palm at first but then bite the tender skin when his fingers inside you hit the right spot. 

“More,” you choke out. 

The hand you bit moves to your chest, slipping under your top, palming your breast and you arch into his touch, eager to get more of him. You’re both close to the edge, panting and moaning, Harry is in a state of disbelief and overflowing joy at what’s happening and that’s when the bubble is popped.

His phone starts to ring on the nightstand, loud and sharp, making you both jerk at the interruption. You both move away and sit up, looking at each other like you were just caught doing something you shouldn’t have, the pleasure you were feeling quickly morphing into shock and panic. 

The phone is still ringing and Harry snatches it clearing his throat before answering the call. He tries his best to focus on whatever is being said to him, but his mind is still stuck from just moments ago when he was basically dry-humping you and he was very much on the edge of coming. 

“Yeah,” he croaks out. “Sure, I’ll head over.”

When he ends the call you’ve moved to the very edge of the bed, an unreadable expression on your face. 

“I need to go to the stadium, something is wrong with the sound system, they need to do an emergency sound check,” he tells you and you nod. He hesitates for a second then tries to reach out towards you just when you jump out of the bed. 

“Then we need to get ready,” you say, looking everywhere but at him. 

“Y/N…”

“I’m gonna take a shower and then… You know what? You’ll have to go alone, I have some errands to run.”

That’s a fat lie, he knows. But he doesn’t call you out as you practically sprint into the bathroom, shutting him out. He stays there, sitting and staring after you for a few more seconds, absolutely no idea what to do. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a frustrated breath as he stands and walks out of the room. He is dying to go after you and talk to you, ask you what you’re thinking, but the look on your face sent a clear message that talking to him was the last thing you wanted to do. He definitely doesn’t want to push you too far, so he is left with drawing his own conclusions and right now those are pretty clear.

You regretted it and now everything is fucked. 

***

You don’t go to the stadium with him and when he returns home you’re gone. He fights the urge to call you and beg you to come back and talk to him, but instead he just texts you that the issue has been solved, to which you just reply with liking his message. 

He is on the edge, waiting for you to return until the very last minute he needs to leave for tonight’s show, but you text him you’ll just get a taxi to the stadium, he doesn’t have to wait for you. Harry swallows down the disappointment, but forces himself to carry on. 

He has done this a thousand times. Walk into a stadium, leave everything else behind, become the person everyone came to see, except today he is having a hard time shutting his mind off. He keeps looking for you everywhere as he goes through his usual pre-show rituals, but you’re nowhere to be found. But he knows you’re there, because everything gets done, it’s just as if a ghost is doing your job. 

When he steps out onto the stage he more or less manages to get his focus straight, but he can tell he is not giving his best performance. He can only hope the fans won’t notice it. When he runs out to his short break after Fine Line and he is on his way back, that’s when he runs into you for the first time. 

“Hey, you’re here,” he stops in his tracks.

“Of course, where else would I be?” you ask with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. He is debating being late for the next set just to talk to you.

“Are we going home together afterwards?” he ends up asking. 

“Sure,” you nod shortly, though your expression has him worried. He doesn’t have time to talk more however. 

He somehow gets through the second half of the show, even kind of gets more into the flow after the short interaction with you, but once he is off the stage he is eager to get home with you as soon as possible so you can talk. 

When he walks out of his dressing room and you’re there relief washes over him. Part of him was afraid you might ditch him and say you’re spending the night at your sister’s place. 

“Ready?” he asks, slinging his bag over his shoulder and you nod. 

The ride home is suffocating. Silence takes over the car and it’s driving Harry crazy how just hours ago in the morning he had his hands on your body and now you feel miles away even though you’re sitting right beside him. 

He is working up the courage to start a conversation when you walk into the house and that’s when realization hits him. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out.

“What?” you ask him. 

“I forgot… I didn’t get anyone to fix the AC.”

You stare back at him for a second, expression unreadable.

“That’s okay. I’ll just sleep on the couch,” you say at last. 

“No, Y/N.”

“Shut up, I’m not arguing about this tonight,” you snap back, but it triggers something in him.

“Oh, okay. Then let’s argue about why you’ve been avoiding me all day.”

“I was not avoiding you.”

“What a fucking lie,” he scoffs in disbelief, his bluntness making your eyes widen. 

“I’m not having this conversation, Harry,” you shake your head.

“Why?” he challenges.

“What?” you blink at him. 

“Why are you not having this conversation?”

Your jaw tightens as you stare back at him. 

“Because I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.” Your voice is low and steady, but he can see the tornado behind your eyes. Harry lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“Nothing to talk about?”

He takes a step closer, but stops himself before he gets too close. He’s not going to corner you, not when you already look like you’re moments away from running away again.

“Y/N, this morning we were moments away from making each other come.”

“I know,” you hiss.

“And then you just ran away.”

“I did not.”

“You locked yourself in the bathroom and didn’t come out until I was gone.”

“Okay, fine!” you snap. “I’ve been avoiding you. Happy? Can we move on?”

“No, not until we walk about this!”

“There is nothing to talk about!” Your voice is raised, chest heaving as you stare back at him. 

“I beg to differ,” he scoffs. 

“Then let me rephrase it. I’m not gonna listen to you say it was a mistake and we shouldn’t have done it.”

That hits him hard in the head and chest, his anger quickly morphing into confusion.

“What?” he asks quietly.

“Don’t give me this lost puppy face,” you huff out a dry laugh. “That’s where we would have ended up at. You saying shit like let’s pretend it never happened and just go back to how it was, so I was just cutting it short.” Your voice wavers at the end and it finally clicks for Harry.

You weren’t acting this way because you regretted it, you did it because you thought he would want to forget about it. The realization hits him so hard he almost laughs, except there is nothing funny about it.

“Y/N…” he breathes out.

You look away, suddenly uncomfortable now that you’ve said it out loud.

“Don’t,” you mumble.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t stand there looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you feel bad for me.”

Something in his chest twists as he takes a step closer.

“Y/N, that’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” you ask, looking back at him. “Because I know you, Harry. I know you better than almost anyone. You’re going to tell me you didn’t mean it, that you were caught up in the moment, that it’s complicated and we shouldn’t ruin what we have.” A tear rolls down your cheek, but you continue. “And you know what? You’re right, it’s way too complicated and I feel stupid, because there’s no way you–”

He cuts you off with a rough kiss, making you instantly forget what you were talking about as you melt into his arms. It’s desperate, passionate and ignites a fire inside you in an instant. It’s also speaking for him, loud and clear, because as his tongue licks into your mouth you have no doubt he did not regret what happened in the morning, in fact, he is aching for more. 

You’re fisting his shirt and his fingers dig into your waist, pulling you even closer, though that’s not possible anymore. His hands then start roaming your body, your back, your ass and then thighs before he grabs the back of them and urges you to jump, legs curling around his waist as he holds you. 

He carries you up the stairs without breaking the kiss, but you both start laughing when he almost slips, throwing you both down the stairs.

“Fuck, please don’t kill us now,” you laugh, planting a hand onto the wall next to you.

“That would be pretty unfortunate,” he grins, but then his face turns serious for a second and he even puts you down. Standing on the step above him, you’re about the same height. “This is real, Y/N. I want you, so fucking bad, I’ve wanted you for so long and–”

Now you’re the one cutting him off with a kiss, though it’s a lot less aggressive than his. When you pull back, you just smile at him. 

“It’s real. Now would you just keep talking or we could–”

The words turn into a laugh as he picks you up, running into your room so fast, you haven’t seen him move this fast before, not even on stage. He throws you onto the bed and once he is on top of you, the broken AC in his room is long forgotten, along with all the unnecessary tension you put each other through today. 

***

The heatwave is still raging, melting London and Wembley Stadium, but the residency continues. The show blows up the place as usual and Harry parades around the stage in his slutty little shorts, as they are now officially called. 

It’s the part of the show where everyone is moved out to the runway, bringing the show even closer to the fans in the pit. Harry is dripping from sweat as he dances past Mitch.

“Feeling hot?” the guitarist asks, trying to shout over the music. Harry laughs nodding as he saunters closer, Mitch then leans over to his ear. “Did you get your AC fixed?”

“What AC?” he asks, confused.

“In your fucking bedroom! Have you been sleeping in hell all week?” he asks, but then it clicks for the both of them. “Holy shit!” Mitch laughs as Harry just dances away with a knowing smile. “Holy shit! You and Y/N!” he shouts after him.

But Harry just giggles and grabs his mic and then starts singing.

“Ready, steady, go!”

You pushed up from the edge of the dock where you'd been sunning, and sauntered toward the table, just shy of the zone where your dad would bark. On your way to the cooler, you gave Harry a small, private smile, then bent for a beer and let him have the view. Tits, ass, whatever he chose to take. You just needed his eyes on you.

The first swallow of cold ale carved a clean line down your throat as you stood right where Harry could watch. He glanced, but not too long. You tossed him another look, then drifted toward the cedar-and-stone house, slipped through the sliding doors, and let the air-conditioning lift the heat from your skin.

Even as your sweat began to dry, you were still heated from all the inappropriate thoughts about Harry. His arms were strong and tattooed, his shoulders were broad, he was tall, big hands… There wasn't a single thing you could find about him that wasn't appealing. He was even a little bit boorish, which you loved. You wouldn't call him mean, but he definitely wasn't nice. He'd never been rude to you, but you'd let him if he wanted.

And best of all, you were positive he had a huge cock. You'd seen the bulky line of him after pulling himself out of the lake, the way he plucked his shorts away from the heavy lump that swayed in his navy swim shorts. Plus, there was no way a man like that wasn't nicely endowed. You wanted to see it for yourself, though.

You took another drink of your beer, your forearms pressed over the granite kitchen island, just as Mark walked in and set his dark eyes all over your skin before he walked behind you. Rolling your eyes, you took another swig and turned around, propping your elbows on the island behind yourself to look at him. "Like the color green. Or you just like my ass?"

He laughed and reached into the fridge to grab out a few more of the special beers. The ones that didn't go in the cooler because they were too expensive to sit amongst the common lagers and ales that sat drowning in water and ice in the Igloo cooler. "You got some mouth on you, Y/n."

"I saw you lookin'. Don't pretend you weren't. If Darius finds out, he'd probably kill you, though."

"If your dad finds out what?" Harry's voice cut through from the sliding door as he stepped inside, eyes on Mark. There was tension.

"Nothin'."

"He was looking at my ass," you smirked and then took another drink of your beer.

"She's right. Darius'll kill you. So will I. Go back outside, Mark."

Mark scoffed and gestured toward you. "I wasn't looking at her ass, Harry. She's just a kid. Why would—"

"I'm 23. Full-grown woman," you corrected.

Both Harry and Mark looked at you and laughed. You rolled your eyes. Harry kept his sight on you as he spoke. "Go outside, Mark, before you do anything stupid."

You licked your lips and grinned at Harry, swaying your hips just a little as you shifted. His eyes grazed your thighs before he stepped in front of you, jaw set hard.

"Don't be playin' with Mark. He's going through a lot right now."

"I know. Poor thing," you mock-pouted. "Heard his wife left him. Probably desperate to get laid. That's why he was staring at me."

"You need to behave, Y/n. You're lookin' for trouble." Harry glanced out the window then back at you.

You fluttered, your lashes innocently. "Hmm… Not looking for trouble. Honest. Not from Mark anyway."

He shook his head and sucked at the front of his teeth like what you'd said was unbelievable. But you think he got the hint. "God help me."

And just like that, he walked away. Left you standing there in the air-conditioned kitchen as he stepped back out to the patio with his friends. All boring older men his age who he knew couldn't entertain him the way you could if he just let you.

.

The wifi sucked at the lakehouse. That was one of the only things you hated about the place. The rest was kind of magical. You sat on the balcony off of your room, a joint perched between your fingers as you watched the sun slip down, and one by one, your dad and his friends began to come inside. Bedtime for the old men. But that meant go-time for you.

Patting out your joint, you stepped back inside your room and checked yourself in the mirror. Your button-up shirt was unbuttoned, nothing underneath. You grinned and felt your nerves ramp up as you tiptoed from your room, down the hallway to the one off the shared bathroom. Harry's room.

None of the men had made it upstairs yet. You could hear them all down in the kitchen still. Once again, the thrill of doing something you knew you shouldn't was too big to pull back from. Just one night with Harry would cure you. Definitely.

His room was dark when you stepped inside and closed the door behind yourself. The rush of what you were doing made your heart race as you climbed into his bed and pulled the shirt off, dropping it onto the floor next. You turned your head to inhale the pillow he'd used the night before.

It was like a dopamine hit to your brain. Harry always smelled good, and now, lying in the bed, he'd soon be coming to… your insides were churning, and your skin was prickling with heat.

Look, you knew you were ridiculous. You knew it was dumb. But you really didn't care. You should have cared. You should have gone to therapy instead of going to older, unavailable men to fill in the gaps of whatever it was that was missing in you. But for you, rational thought rarely won. For better or worse. You were a walking disaster.

When footsteps began to hit the stairs and deep voices laughed and lulled, doors opened, and then closed, you pulled his blankets over your head and bit your lip in anticipation. You had a feeling he was going to kick you out of his room. Tell you that you needed help and that you were barking up the wrong tree or something like that.

The moment his door opened, you held your breath. You heard his footsteps, the door closing behind him, then locking. When the light came on, you could see it slip through the edges of the blanket, and then everything went silent. You slowly inhaled and blinked your eyes against the dark of the blankets over you and tried to listen for any single noise, but there was nothing. Not a footstep, nor a breath. Was he playing a game? There was no way he didn't notice the clear outline of your body under his blankets, and there was no way he didn't know it was you.

Just before you were about to pull the covers from your face to find out what was going on, all of the blankets were suddenly ripped from you and pulled to the floor, cold air hitting your bare skin. You gasped and sat up to see him standing at the end of the bed, an unreadable expression on his face as he trailed his eyes down your nude figure sitting right in the spot he would be sleeping.

He pressed his lips together tight and nodded before he crossed to the side of the bed to casually plug his cellphone in to charge it. You blinked, confused, and shifted to sit with your legs tucked under your thighs as you watched him. Why wasn't he giving you some kind of reaction?

"Um…" You said thinly. "You gonna say something?"

He slid his gaze to yours, and he sniffed before he sat at the edge of the bed and began to remove his shoes. "What do you want me to say?"

Shaking your head, you frowned. "I don't know. I thought it'd be funny. Maybe make you laugh."

He pushed out a laugh, but it was missing its edge of humor. "Funny? This is you being funny, Y/n?"

"Well…" You looked down at your lap and suddenly felt like escaping. You could just grab your shirt and dash back to your room, pretend you'd never done it.

"Well, what?"

"I don't know. I don't know why I did it."

"Not every day a man steps into his room to find a naked girl in his bed. Worse when it's his friend's daughter."

Biting your lip hard, you lifted an arm to cover your breasts and hook your fingers over your upper arm, suddenly not feeling like your usual bold self. Harry's reaction had not been what you'd expected at all. You were used to an extreme response. But this?

He brought a hand up and pulled at your lip, voice soft. "Don't bite it. Make yourself bleed."

You blinked slowly, eyes on his as you parted your lips where he pulled and grabbed his wrist, pushing your lips over his thumb and sucking around it. It was automatic when you did it. He didn't pull away.

"Fuck me," he muttered under his breath. But it came out sounding less like a man excited and more like a man with a conundrum.

You laved your tongue all around and moaned softly, pushing and then pulling your lips over his digit as he watched you. Shifting your hips, you scooted closer to him, his thumb still in your mouth. And you thought maybe it was just that easy. Show him how nasty you could be right off and he'd give in.

But he moved away and stood, your hand falling to your lap. He bent and grabbed the blankets, tossing them back over the bottom of the mattress. You watched him pull his wallet from his back pocket and place it on the dresser, with his back to you. You had no idea what was going on. But he wasn't kicking you out. Yet.

You were honestly used to one of two reactions from men when you pulled this kind of shit—not that you'd done this exact thing before, but still.

Men would either respond with a lot of enthusiasm in favor of getting to fuck you, or they'd freak out and leave (or tell you to leave).

Of course, your actual "body count" was not nearly as high as that makes it seem. You were no virgin, but you were also not really a "bop" either. Well, maybe you were a little bit, but you preferred thinking of yourself as a lover girl, really. Just a girl looking to be loved. Looking for something real, but probably in all the wrong places.

He turned to face you, bracing his hands against the edge of the dresser behind him. "Why are you here?"

You tipped your chin up to make it look like you had more confidence than you did, given that you were naked, in his bed, uninvited.

"I just wanted to see what would happen."

"To see what would happen," he repeated. You watched him nod and drag his eyes down your body to where your feet were tucked under your bottom.

"I think I already know what you want. But I need you to tell me first. Otherwise, you'll return to your room. This isn't a game. Tell me why you're here."

You swallowed and put your palms on your knees. "To see if I could get you to..."

He waited to let you finish your thought but when you didn't, he did it for you. "To see if you could get me to… what? Look at you? Pay attention to you?"

You nodded, your throat tightening. "Yeah. I wanted you to like me."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "You think I don't like you?"

Right then, you really wished you had some clothes on. "Hard to really tell."

He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling. "If I didn't like you, you would not be sitting here right now."

It was pathetic but the edge of your lip nudged upward at that admission. So he did like you. At least enough to keep you sitting on his bed, naked.

"Tell me why you're here."

God, you were so out of your depth with Harry. You slowly inhaled and sank your nails into the skin on the outside of your knee. "I wanted attention. Your attention specifically."

"Attention. Okay. Well, you got it. You realize I'm not much younger than your dad."

"I know. I just… like you."

He laughed and pushed away from the dresser, stepping next to the bed closer to you. "I can see that. Not very wise, though. Is it?"

You shook your head, looking up at him through your lashes.

"No, it's not." He blew out a slow breath. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Nothing since dinner. I’m not even tipsy. Well, I smoked a half joint before I came in here.”

His eyes stayed on yours long enough to make you feel naked in a different way. “A joint? And now you're sitting here without any clothes on in my bed? Your dad would be very disappointed in you.” He glanced at the door, then back to you.

Your heart thudded as you let out a humorless laugh. “He won't ever know unless you say something. Besides, he doesn't care about me anyway. Mom either.”

Harry reached down and took your chin between his thumb and middle finger, palm cradling the underside. "Darius doesn't give you enough attention? Is that what this is? You're desperate for someone to take care of you?"

You nodded, chin padded by his palm as you rounded your eyes on his. You reached up to grab his forearm, but he tsk'd at you and moved his hand away. "Hands back in your lap. You want attention from me, then we're doing this my way. Is that clear?"

"Yes," you spoke in a whisper.

"Good." His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile he didn’t want to have, but you saw it. "Few rules first." He stepped away, moving toward the door to double-check that he'd locked it before he returned to your side next to the bed.

"You'll listen to me. You keep your voice down. If I say stop, you stop. That door stays locked until I unlock it. You'll go back to your room when I say. And in the morning, you are polite and distant, and you don’t make me a liar in front of your dad."

You nodded too fast, blinking your eyes as you swallowed.

“Understood?”

“Yes,” you said, throat tight. “I can do that.”

He lifted a hand toward your face, and you leaned into it. His knuckles skimmed your jaw, the heat of his palm cupping your cheek. The careful way he touched you made your bravado feel small and your want feel enormous.

“There can be no loud noises coming from you, much as I'd like to hear it,” he said. “Are you able to keep yourself quiet?”

“Yes,” you said plainly. You hoped you could.

"Good, because one peep too loud and you're out of here. I'm not risking my relationship with your dad so some spoiled, bored girl can get her kicks and play out her twisted fantasy on an older man. We're both adults here, Y/n. Let's call it what it is."

You frowned, brows pinching together.

"What? Did you think this was gonna turn into a love story? Honey, this is what you get when you play around with people you shouldn't."

You turned your gaze toward the edge of the room, your heart thundering so loud you could hear it in your ears. You just wanted to find a man to love you at the end of the day, but you knew the way you went about it was all wrong. The kind of men you went after weren't fit for that. Harry wasn't going to be your knight in shining armour and sweep you away to his city penthouse and take care of every want and need you had.

"I know," you said, your voice hollow like the space inside of you that you so desperately wanted filled.

The bed dipped when he sat down. "Hey. Look at me, Y/n."

Blinking, you shifted your gaze back to his. His clear rules were making you confront yourself in a way you didn't usually need to, and you felt very outmatched for it.

"Where'd all your sass go? Hm? Don't tell me you're this easy to break."

"I don't… Most men don't care about rules. I'm used to just…" You shook your head, picking at your nails in your lap.

"Most men? How many?"

"What?"

He raised his brows. "How often do you do shit like this?"

"Well, not like… all the time. Like a few."

"You usually go for older men?"

You nodded.

"Right. So this is a pattern. You could have picked any of the guys here this weekend, and you'd have been satisfied. Mark would probably already be fucking you if you'd picked his room."

"No. I didn't want anyone else. That's why I came here."

"And you're used to men not giving a damn about the consequences. Thought I'd be easy to seduce, didn't you?"

Shaking your head quickly, you spoke. "No. I honestly thought you'd just kick me out."

He tilted his head, a slow grin pulling at his lips. "You did all this thinking I was just gonna send you out of here? You like being humiliated, Y/n?"

You shrugged. "Just for attention. Even if you just yelled at me and told me to get out, that would've been fine. Take what I can get."

He blinked, eyes shifting between yours. "That's kind of fucked up. You realize that, right?"

You pushed out a breath of a laugh, embarrassed, and looked back down at your lap. "I know. I have issues that I should probably work out in therapy."

He slid his palm over your knee, and you flicked your gaze back to his. "Probably? Baby, this is a whole shit sandwich you got goin' on here."

You laughed, a little too loud, and covered your mouth quickly, eyes wide.

"Shh…" he smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Get on your tummy. Tush up."

Your face went hot immediately, and every inch of flesh burned as your vision went bleary from the sudden shift in his demeanor and the drop in his voice. But you quickly did as he said, moving to your side and then lowering your tummy to the mattress. You kept your neck turned so you could see him in your peripheral. He didn't move at first, but you could hear his breath.

It felt like minutes that he sat there and just stared at your backside. Like he needed to make sure he was ready for it himself. But when he finally touched you, a big hand pressing at your low back and tracing upward along your spine, you smiled and sighed a soft moan.

"Jesus, Y/n." His hand paused at your shoulder blade. "Acting like you never get touched. Need it that bad?"

You breathed out and nodded into the crook of your arm. You didn't want him to stop touching you. However he wanted to do it, you'd be happy. You just needed it.

He shifted, his hands pressing flat into the mattress on either side of your waist as he leaned over you, his voice next to your ear. "Bet you like to be spanked, don't you? Like to get smacked around just to feel a man's hands on you? Like it rough?"

You nodded, your eyes pressing toward the limn of your vision so you could see the outline of his face over you.

"Not happening tonight. Too much noise. Understood?"

You nodded again. "Mmhm."

When he pushed away, he didn't move far. He pulled your hands down and placed them on your tailbone. "Keep these here."

You threaded your fingers together to hold your hands still as he moved behind you. A shift of fabric, the bed tipped under his weight and then lifted when he stood. He was taking off his shirt. Maybe everything, you weren't sure.

He turned on the lamp on the side table and then walked across the room to shut off the overhead light. Then you saw him grab his cellphone. A few moments passed before you heard the sound of white noise coming from his phone. The pulse of waves and the soft lapping of water receding from a shoreline. The constant, gentle drone of sound that could drown out small noises while putting someone to sleep. Only tonight, the white noise wasn't for sleeping. It would serve as a disguise.

With your hands still exactly where he put them, you turned your head to see him walking toward a small suitcase on the other side of the bed. He'd removed his shirt and his jeans, but was still wearing a pair of black boxer briefs that hugged his thighs and glutes tightly. He pulled something from his suitcase that you couldn't see before he stepped around to the bedside table, and you turned your head again to watch as he laid down two condoms. Two.

"I'm on birth control," you said, your eyes following his movements.

"Oh, I'm sure you are, honey."

And that was all he said before he was kneeing back up onto the bed behind you, his hands moving up the backs of your thighs and pressing them apart. You squeezed your eyes closed, feeling more exposed and naked than you ever had.

Then he was touching you with purpose. His hands sliding over your skin and around the curve of your ass before he squeezed and pulled. You could hear his breath as he went. The warm span of his palm and fingers wrapped your sides and then he pinched gently. You rocked your hips and moaned softly.

"You let men fuck you without condoms?"

You swallowed. "Sometimes. Not usually."

"Is that why you told me you're on birth control? Want my cock bare?"

You nodded and lifted your head to look back at him, but your hands, being where they were, made it difficult to turn. "I'd let you."

"Lie down."

You lay back into the position you'd been in and waited. He took your hips and lifted gently and you heard him inhale through his teeth before his thumbs found your labia and he pulled. "Looks pretty. Would love to fuck you raw, but I don't think that's a good idea tonight."

Tonight. There it was again. Your heart beat picked up faster at just the idea. Not tonight, but perhaps another. Not that that was what he meant, but the way he said it…

His fingers prodded and pulled at your folds slowly. It was strange to be scrutinized so closely like that. You felt cool air hit your skin before his lips pressed against your pussy and you moaned, turning your mouth down into the blankets to muffle the sound.

"Good girl. You do know how to listen." He squeezed your ass again and yanked you up further, bottom higher in the air, knees digging into the mattress, before he shifted and you felt his thighs line up with the back of yours. You immediately rocked back against him and felt the line of him pressing into you.

He let you rub yourself against him, your hips pressing, swaying against him as you whimpered like an idiot into the blanket. His hands were light on your hips as you moved, like he enjoyed watching you do it. And given how hard he was under his briefs, you figured he did.

He pushed out something that could have been considered a moan when he tightened his grip on you and then rutted forward, his big dick pressing harder against your ass. But then he pulled back, and you felt his fingers on your crease again, sliding them through, up and down.

"Knew this ass would be cute."

The sudden press of two of his fingers inside of you had you gasping as you rolled against him. He groaned quietly and began to finger you with one of his hands, his other holding your hip loosely so you could still push back onto his digits.

"There you go. Fuck my fingers, honey."

You arched harder, letting your body rear back and shift forward so you could keep sinking down onto his fingers. The white noise coming from his phone did a good job of covering up the gushy, wet sounds your pussy made as you rocked. But then he moved again, his fingers were gone, and the mattress dipped.

"Sit up."

You released your hands and scrambled up quickly to face him, and he laughed at how obedient you were. He stepped onto the floor to the edge of the bed and pointed. "On your back, head at the edge here."

You moved right away, scooting your bottom until you were where he wanted you, head slightly hanging from the mattress, throat exposed. You looked up at him and just saw his tall frame, upside down, standing over you as he pulled his cock from his briefs. Long and thick… just like you knew it would be. You reached for him, but he swatted your hand away.

"Hands down by your side for now."

You pressed your arms to your sides and balled your fists tight as he grabbed your throat and bent enough that he could smear his tip against your chin and then your lips. You opened your mouth wide, and he huffed a quiet laugh.

"Love the enthusiasm. Stick out your tongue."

You jutted your tongue out as he reached over you, and his hands found your breasts for a quick squeeze before he took his cock in one palm and tapped it to your tongue. He ran his dick along your tongue and passed your lips a few times, wetting himself with your saliva.

He started off slow like that. Gently pushing in, not too far, and dragging himself back. He held his base as he went, working into you until you felt more relaxed with the angle and his girth before he snapped his hips down and thrust in past your gag reflex.

He chuckled darkly when he did it again, and you gurgled. His crown curved into your throat as he gasped and you swallowed around him with a quiet sputter. But you were determined to give him what he wanted and be the best you could be. Only when he moaned and reached forward to squeeze your nipples did you feel like it was a job well done. He liked it. You were making him feel good.

You'd had a couple of men fuck your face before and do it rough. You didn't mind because it felt like a reward when someone was enjoying your body. If he was having a good time, then so were you. And the small gasps coming from Harry, the salty precome dripping down your throat, the pulse in his thick vein, the way he was pinching your nipples… You felt like you were on your way to winning first prize.

"Fuck… That's it…"

Your face was numb, your throat was raw, saliva dripped down your temples and into your ears and hair, your eyes were blurry, and you could hardly breathe… But you were being enjoyed and that's all you wanted. It turned you on more than anything else.

Harry pulled out, his chest was heaving and he cursed under his breath. "Goddamn, Y/n."

You blinked tears from your eyes and moved your head to look up at him, still upside down from your vantage point. He walked around to the other side of the bed and you followed with your eyes as far as you could until you felt his hands on your ankles, pulling you to lie lengthwise on the bed before he climbed between your legs and pulled your thighs over his shoulders.

"Fuck, baby…"

Then his mouth was on you, soft, hot, wet… His tongue drew silent lines up and down your center before he sucked at your clit. You lifted your hips sharply with a gasp, throwing your arm across your mouth to keep as quiet as possible.

He moaned into your pussy and pressed in harder with his lips and tongue. But it was the way he slid the tip of his tongue quickly back and forth on your bud that made it hard to stop the noises from falling out of your mouth.

You reached down to stuff your fingers into his thick hair and rolled your hips up against his mouth. He didn't let up, and he didn't make you put your hands down. It was heaven being eaten out by Harry. It was like being loved on, which was something you craved constantly. Most men skipped foreplay with you because they figured you were just a slut who didn't need that kind of thing. But of course, you never asked for it because you figured they were at least partly right.

"Mmmm…" you moaned, mouth closed as your spine bowed from the bed. Harry pulled away and spat over your pussy and then looked up at you.

"Never seen a girl get this wet before," he said as he slid three fingers flat on your clit to rub his saliva in with your slick arousal. He kept his eyes on you as he rubbed your pussy, and then he reached up to your tit, wiping your wetness on your nipple and then then thumbing over your peak. He pushed his mouth against your hip and moaned before he sat back, pressing the insides of your knees further apart, pupils drawing through the space of your pussy and everything between your legs.

You moaned quietly and blinked up at him, your hands drifting up to your breasts as you lifted your hips in a silent plea.

"Shit." He shook his head and sighed. "Gonna want more of this." He traced his palms up your thigh and to your hips. "Which is dangerous. But I need to hear you beg til you're crying." He smoothed his hands around to your hips and then under to your ass as he squeezed. "Wanna take you over my knee and spank you when you make a mistake, when you mouth off. Can't do any of that here, can we?"

You swallowed and shook your head, a whisper of a no coming out as you lifted your hips again, impatient.

"Fuck. Hold on."

He reached over you, his strong arm stretching to the bedside table where he grabbed his phone and a condom. He laid the condom on your tummy and fiddled with his phone until you heard it ringing, speaker phone on. He put his finger up to his lips to signal for you to be quiet the moment a woman answered.

"Hi, handsome."

"Hey. Got a sec?"

"Sure, what's up?"

You blinked and pushed yourself up by your elbows as Harry laid the phone down next to your hip, glancing at you before he plucked up the condom and tore it open.

"Hate to do this on the phone, but it couldn't wait." He laid the rubber over his tip and began to roll it down as he continued speaking. "Can't see you anymore. Something came up and wouldn't be right to drag this out any longer. Really sorry."

"Wait. You're breaking up with me? What happened?"

"What happened is that something came up. I really am sorry. I just wanted to let you know before we took it any further. Okay?"

When the condom was rolled down as far as it could reach, he scooted closer to you and lay his cock over your tummy.

"Harry, I don't get it."

"Nothing to get. No hard feelings. I wish you luck."

He reached down and ended the call, the white noise returning with a soft crashing wave, and then he looked down at you, your brows pinched together.

"You had a girlfriend? I thought you were single?"

"She wasn't a girlfriend. Just someone I was seeing casually. Wasn't serious."

"So, why'd you end it with her if it was casual?" Your heart was racing.

He pushed out a laugh and dragged his hands to the underside of your thighs. "It was a courtesy. Was gonna break it off anyway. Least I could do was be a gentleman about it and break up with her before I fuck someone else. Shoulda done it before I laid my hands on you, but kinda forgot she existed there for a bit."

You smiled, a small laugh puffing from your lips. "You could've just texted. That's usually all the courtesy I get from men, and then they block me so I can't call back. Woulda made that a lot easier."

He stared at you blankly and ran his hands up your thighs to your hips. "You haven't been getting treated right, Y/n. Breaking up over text is for cowards. Not my style."

You bit your lip and ran your palms over your tits, pressing them together gently. It made you feel special that he broke up with some woman while he was there with you, sliding a condom onto his dick, fucked up as it was. "You're a lot nicer than I thought you'd be."

The smirk that worked its way up on his mouth was almost villainous as he brushed his tip through your crease and pressed it just to your opening. "Is that what that was? Nice?"

"Well… yeah. Wasn't it?"

He breathed out a laugh and shook his head. "Was it nice of me when I made you choke on my cock before the call?"

You opened your mouth, but your response was cut off when he pushed himself in past your tight muscle, your insides opening up for his cock as he went. Inhaling sharply, you reached to close your hands around his biceps as he nudged deep into you.

"But you liked it. That's all that matters to you, isn't it? Like taking men from other women. Spoiled brat behavior."

You whined quietly, your mouth still opened wide as he forced himself in further, taking the back of your knees and pushing your legs apart for him.

"Think she'd agree it's nice that I'm fucking a cute young thing with a pretty, wet pussy just minutes after breaking it off with her?" He spoke low, rocking into you. "Feels really fucking nice," he moaned under his breath. "But this is far from nice, Y/n."

You puffed out a breath, and he reached down, taking your breast into his palm, squeezing. "She loves nice guys, but you? You don't want a nice guy, do you?"

You blinked, shaking your head, the breath of a no falling out of your mouth as he pushed himself in and dragged back, your insides splitting apart for him when he drilled down into you. It was hard to answer the question when he was plunging in the way he was, when he had you bent in half under him, one hand gripping tight under your knee and the other over your tit to hold you in place.

"Hm? Tell me. You want a nice guy, Y/n? Or are you lookin' for someone to sort you out? Someone to fix you?" He spoke quietly as he fucked into you, pushing his dick to the hilt every time he bottomed out.

"Hnnhh—" You wobbled out some kind of noise and gasped. "Yes… Fff… Need to be fixed."

He moaned, hips pumping into you harder, making the bed creak under your back. He slowed his thrusts, and the mattress springs went silent again. You watched his eyes flutter shut and his mouth drop open as he released your breast and placed his hand back to the underside of your knee, holding your legs apart. He dipped his hips shallowly, and you were so wet that the sound of his cock dragging in and out of you couldn't be disguised by the white noise coming from his phone. But he kept going.

When he opened his eyes again and looked down at you, the expression on his face was tight, pained. You'd seen that look on men before. When they were getting lost in lust. Lost in the way you felt around them. He panted a breath as he pushed his big dick deep into your tummy and ground down on your pelvis. You both inhaled, your body clinging snugly around him.

"Oh, baby. Shame I can't fuck your brains out like you need me to. Hear all those pathetic noises you want to make, turn you into a slobbering little mess on your knees for me."

"I want it, please…" You moaned, stretching your neck out as you gushed around his thrusting dick. Suddenly, his palm was on your mouth, stopping the noise from escaping further. He rutted into you hard, your body jolting.

"What did I say? You want to go back to your room?"

You shook your head, eyes wide on him, his hand still covering your entire mouth.

"No? If you want to stay here, then you need to be good and keep quiet. Let me work, and you just lie here for me. Should be really easy for you."

Easy? You'd hardly call it easy. Harry's girth pushing into your guts, his strong, solid body, tattooed arms and chest, wicked green eyes, the way he was speaking to you… You pinched your eyes closed and moaned, damp, into his palm when he drove in deep.

Then you felt him squeezing at your cheeks, and you opened your eyes to look up at him just as he slid his thumb past your lips. You sucked around it as he pumped his cock into you slowly, being careful not to move too fast or make too much noise.

"Know how hard this is for me? Having to be gentle with you like this…"

You laved your tongue over his thumb and moaned, his dick nudging to your end. You wanted his lips on yours. You wanted to know what he'd be like with his tongue against your mouth, sliding softly over you. One kiss from him and you'd never ask for anything else again.

"Knowing you like it a little rough, just like I do. Knowing you need something I can't give you right now."

You whimpered around his thumb and he hissed when he bottomed out, stuffing his entire length into you and feeling the tight squeeze of you pulling him in. "Sucking my thumb like a proper baby, aren't you?"

There was a time when he just thought you were an innocent young woman. It had been easy to ignore how cute you were when he met you just after you turned 20 years old, his friend's daughter with sweet eyes and a nice ass under your jeans. He wasn't interested in innocent and cute, especially not when you were Darius's daughter. And especially not when you were so damn young.

But then, as time went on, he started to notice your attitude. The comments you'd make when he'd stop by to see his friend. The way Darius would yell at you and you'd roll your eyes at him but then smile at Harry with a kind of sultry smirk that had blood rushing through his veins. Eventually, it became clear that you weren't so innocent. You were seeking something risky, and Harry certainly couldn't get involved with any of that. So he kept his distance.

Until that night when he walked into his room and saw you naked in his bed… pretty tits, soft hips, dirty grin on your face. He should have kicked you out, like you thought he'd do. He should have sent you on your way and pretended it never happened. But there was something about you that he needed to uncover, and right then, as he was balls deep inside of your warm pussy, he knew he was fucked cause he was thinking with his dick and not his head.

It was a terrible idea to give in to you, but he couldn't seem to help himself. You'd been a bratty temptress earlier, and now here you were all pliable and submissive, needy. You had something he'd been missing in the women he'd dated over the last few years. It wasn't easy to find a woman who liked what he did. A little punishment. A little guidance. He'd pretty much given up, resigning himself to vanilla sex, which was still fun, but didn't fulfill his deeper desires.

"Christ. What am I gonna do with you, hm?" He drilled down into you, hips pasted to yours as you sucked his thumb into your mouth with a whine.

Suddenly, he pulled out, rearing back, and pressed both of his hands down on the bed by your hips, your legs falling flat. You watched him drop his head, shoulders rising and falling heavy like he was trying to recharge himself. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to yours, green irises nearly hidden under blown-out pupils.

He sat back and grabbed your calf, lifting your leg, and used his opposite hand to squeeze your ass, fingers pinching into your skin with a painful bite. You pressed your lips flat to stop the yelp from falling into the room, and he smiled at your restraint.

"Good fucking girl."

Good fucking girl… You would have purred if it were possible. He'd been mixing in little drops of praise between scolding words. You rolled your eyes to the back of your head at the praise and moaned, mouth still closed. Then he let go and his hands were on your hips and then your breasts, fingers pinching your nipples, rolling them between the pads of his fingers and you arched your back from the bed with a gasp.

When he moved over you, he ran his tongue along the edge of a nipple before he pulled it into his mouth, a hand on your other one, pinching. He sucked your bud softly, wetting, tongue swirling, and then you felt the sharp nip. You wiggled, and your hands flew to his hair.

"Harry, fuck…" You breathed his name into the room, focusing really hard to keep your voice quiet.

He moaned against your breast and went harder before he moved his mouth to the other side. The room was spinning as he pinched and sucked. But every time you felt his teeth graze your nipple, everything halted, and your vision blurred.

You couldn't stop rolling your hips up into him. It was involuntary, the way you needed more and more. Little whimpers bubbled from your mouth when he lifted his lips and began to dot wet kisses up to your clavicle, along the column of your neck and then… oh god… when his lips pressed over yours, you grasped onto the back of his neck with both hands and wrapped your thighs around his waist to get him closer.

He grunted, tongue sliding against yours as he closed his mouth over your lips softly. When he plunged his cock back into you, thick head bullying its way through your little opening, it felt different than before with his lips on yours. Like everything you needed. He thrusted in, pelvis grinding against your clit, and you moaned into his mouth.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" He murmured against your mouth with a smile as he buried in as far as he could go. "God… You just need someone to take care of you."

You nodded, lips brushing his, still clinging tight to him as your thighs began to shake. He lifted his face to look down at you. "This is a disaster in the making," he said, shaking his head. "Open your mouth, Y/n."

When you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out for him, he groaned softly at your obedience. He grinned and dipped down, licking your tongue, before you felt his saliva sliding into your mouth. Then he was kissing you again, making you swallow his spit.

You felt one of his hands smooth down your side to your hip and squeeze to hold you still, his other sliding under your neck as he worked his mouth against yours. He felt so good on you like that… his body pressed to yours, cock slid deep, pelvis pressed to your clit, lips smearing against yours…

Your insides were twisting, pulsing, gushing with every dip, every lap of his tongue. The muscles in your body began to tense as your orgasm slowly swelled in your tummy. And Harry seemed to notice it. He kept his pace and moaned, the bed squeaking quietly under the weight of his thrusts. But he didn't stop because your grip felt so good around him, tightly squeezing in little pulses that were making his cock throb.

And then your body gave in completely, limbs shaking, loud moan that he captured with his mouth, pussy shuddering and spasming around him with every wave of pleasure that leaked through your guts. Your nails carved the smallest little half moons into the nape of his neck as he pumped his hips, working you through it all the way until you went limp.

When it was safe, he pulled away to look down at your face, eyes closed, lips parted. He moved his hand around to brush his knuckles on your cheek. "Did good for me, Y/n. Gonna flip you over, okay?"

You knocked your head up and down, fluttering your eyes opened slowly as he moved, cock slipping out of you, his warm body lifting away. It felt so gentle the way he helped you to your tummy, hands gripping at your hips and waist and carefully laying you down flat as he whispered to you how pretty you were when you were coming, how good you'd done. Your heart was kicking hard in your chest at his words and the way his hands were holding you.

Then he squeezed the round of your ass and pulled you apart before you felt his cock dragging into you with a tight push. He inhaled as he went, lifting your hips up just enough that he could angle himself down into you properly and fuck into you a little harder. The plap of his skin against yours filled the room, and his moans were slowly getting deeper, breathier. You felt him faltering, hips jerking, breaths jagged.

He pressed a hand to the back of your neck and worked into you in deep, languid strokes. "Fuck baby… I'm coming… fuck…"

He slid his hand around to the front of your throat, lowered his chest to your back, and pressed his lips to the curve of where your neck and shoulder met as he pumped into his condom, cock throbbing heavy against your walls. You moaned into the blanket, a smile on your face. His release was your prize.

When he relaxed over you, he slowly kissed the skin at the back of your neck, and the weight of him pressed you hard into the mattress. You sighed, content. The sound of white noise from his phone filled the room again as you both quieted.

You could feel his heart pounding against your back, your own heartbeat racing with his. Your body felt like melty, gooey happiness as you closed your eyes and felt him lift off of you. He didn't kick you out of his bed and send you back to your room like you thought he might, which would have been totally fine given the circumstances. Instead, he slowly flipped you over, hands sliding over your skin before he wiped a clean t-shirt between your legs and then shut off the bedside lamp, pulled you into his arms, and let you drift off to sleep against his chest.

.

"Y/n. Wake up, honey."

You blinked your eyes open slowly and saw the shadow of Harry just above you. The room was still dark, and you had no idea what time it was or what time you'd fallen asleep as he shifted next to you.

"Gotta get you back to your room. Before Darius wakes up. Come on. Sit up."

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut and then open. He pulled your shirt over your back, helping you slide your arms inside, and then buttoned up the front for you. You were pulled to your feet, an arm sweeping around your low back to hold you upright before he walked you to your room quietly.

When he lowered you to your bed, you held tight to his forearms. "Gotta let go, Y/n. Can't have anyone seeing us."

You blinked up at him in the dark, suddenly aware that this was probably the last time you'd ever get to see him like that, and you sat up. "Harry, don't leave."

He sat down next to you. "I have to. You promised me you'd be good. Now let go."

"This is it, isn't it? Got what you wanted and now you're done with me."

"I shouldn't have even touched you, Y/n. But I did." He reached up to your face, thumb running gently over your cheekbone as you kept your hand gripped on his forearm. "And I should end it here. But I don't think I'm done with you yet."

You lifted to your knees, hands reaching up to his face. "Really? Don't lie to me."

He placed his big hands on your thighs and slid them up under your shirt to your hips. "Really, Y/n. Trust me. We'll talk about this later, okay? But your dad gets up early, and if he sees me in here with you, then there will be no later for us."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and grinned so wide your cheeks started to hurt when he had to peel you off with a huff. He gave your bottom the softest swat and spoke quietly into your ear, be good, before he got up and walked out of your room, closing the door behind him.

.

You rolled over to see the bright sun shining through your balcony doors and stretched your limbs. It was after 11 am so you were positive all the men were already up. You sat up and grinned, squealing quietly to yourself, throwing your body back down to the bed as you kicked your feet when you remembered Harry's promise of "later".

But you also remembered your promise to him—And in the morning, you are polite and distant, and you don’t make me a liar in front of your dad.

When you finally made your way downstairs in your little pink bikini, you could hear their voices in the kitchen. Taking a breath, you stepped in, eyes sweeping over everyone before you opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice to pour a glass for yourself.

"It's almost noon, Y/n. Do you really have nothing better to do than sleep the day away?" Your dad spoke.

You took a long drink of orange juice and put the carton away before you turned to look at your dad and sighed dramatically. "No. I don't. You guys are all boring, and WiFi barely works. My choices are limited to sleeping, drinking, and lying out by the lake."

"Just like your mother," his words cut through to your bones, and he laughed, looking at the other men.

Everyone laughed. Except Harry. You glanced at him quickly before quietly putting your glass into the sink and stepping past them to go outside.

“Beer's in the cooler, ready to go if you want one now. Or... later,” Harry said, casual. But nothing about it was casual. You understood it was an attempt to quell your dad's harsh words for you.

With your fingers on the sliding door handle, you turned to look at him and blinked, flicking your gaze to the other men and then back to Harry.

“Later,” you said, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “I’ll come grab it when I’m thirsty.”

You slid the door open and stepped into the wash of sun, the men’s voices dissolving into background noise. Outside, it was only the lake and the heat on your skin, but your insides churned with the sound of his voice. Later. It was a promise you were already restless to keep.

. .

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For three seconds, the room is quiet again. Then the phone rings a second time and Harry makes a noise into the pillow. Beside him, you stir, half buried beneath the duvet, one of his t-shirts twisted around your body from sleep. The bedroom is dark, Amsterdam is quiet below, or as quiet as a city can be with canals and late-night taxis and a hotel full of people living in different time zones.

Harry grabs the phone again and this time, he answers without looking. “Unless someone is on fire,” he says, voice rough with sleep, “this is illegal.”

Jeff’s voice comes through fast enough to wake him by force. “Did you delete your Instagram?”

Harry’s eyes remain closed and there is a long pause as he processes Jeff's question. “What?”

“Your Instagram. Did you delete it?”

Harry opens one eye into the darkness, then shuts it again because the night is still too early to exist in. “Why would I delete my Instagram at three in the morning?”

“I don’t know, Harry, that’s why I’m asking.”

“Course I didn’t delete it.”

You shift beside him. “Who’s that?”

Harry rubs a hand over his face. “Jeff. Having some sort of spiritual crisis.”

Jeff doesn't appreciate the summary. “Are you with y/n?”

Harry goes still for half a second, confusion making it through the fog of sleep now. “What?”

“Is she with you?”

“It’s the middle of the night. Where else would she be?”

“Wake her up.”

Harry blinks at the ceiling and rubs his eyes with his free hand. “No.”

“Harry.”

“She’s asleep.”

“This is urgent.”

Harry pushes himself up onto one elbow, his hair messy, eyes narrowed at nothing. “Jeff, why are you calling at three in the morning asking if I deleted Instagram and demanding my sleeping girlfriend?”

You turn onto your back, blinking slowly up at him with the expression of someone trying to work out whether the dream has become very boring or real life has become very strange.

Jeff exhales sharply. “Your account is gone.”

Harry processes, nothing in his face changes at first. “What d’you mean gone?”

“I mean unavailable. Gone. Not loading. Fans are already losing it. HSHQ’s DMs are full, X is moving like someone announced the end of the world, and I’ve had three people personally text me asking if you’re retiring again.”

Harry sits up properly now, duvet slipping to his waist. “Where would it go?”

There is a brief silence on the other end before Jeff sighs. “Harry, please.”

“I’m asking, Jeffrey.”

“It obviously didn’t just wander off. It’s either deleted, suspended, hacked, or there’s some massive platform issue. I need y/n.”

Harry looks down at you. You squint back up at him. “Why does Jeff need me?”

He lowers the phone slightly. “Did you delete my Instagram?”

You stare at him. “What?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Why would I delete your Instagram?”

“That’s also what I said.”

Jeff’s voice rises from the phone. “Can you hand it to her, please?”

Harry passes you the phone while still looking completely bewildered. You take it with one hand and reach for your work phone with the other, already more awake than you want to be. “Hi, Jeff,” you say, voice thick with sleep. “What’s happening?”

“Harry’s account looks like it’s gone. I can’t access it publicly, the team can’t see it, and fans are already acting like it’s a hostage situation.”

You sit up so quickly the duvet falls from your shoulder. “What do you mean gone?”

Harry points at the phone with faint satisfaction, as if to say, ‘See? Reasonable question.’

You unlock your work phone, thumb moving fast despite the hour. Instagram opens to the last account you used earlier, the tour account, where notifications are already piling in. You switch to Harry’s profile and the app stalls. You try again: nothing. Then a message appears and your whole body goes still. “Jeff,” you say carefully, “it says the account has been suspended.”

Harry turns his head towards you now. Jeff says something under his breath that is not fit for a professional call and Harry reaches over and taps your knee. “Put him on speaker.”

You do, setting his phone on the duvet between you both. The bedroom has gone from sleepy and warm to suddenly too bright, even though no one has turned on anything except your screen. “How could it be suspended?” Harry asks.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Jeff says. “Did you get any warnings? Any emails? Anything from Meta?”

You're already checking. Work email, backup email, security notifications, account status. Nothing useful. Nothing that explains why an account with over forty-five million followers and fourteen years of posts has suddenly vanished from the public internet. “Last time I was on it, everything was normal,” you say. “I checked comments for moderation flags, answered one message from a photographer, and logged out. No warnings, no violations, no restriction notice.”

“Could it have been hacked?” Jeff asks.

“I don’t know yet. It doesn’t look like a standard login issue. It’s not asking for identity verification. It’s just locked behind a suspension screen.” Your fingers move faster. “I’ll check the connected email, backup codes, security activity—”

“Do you need the Meta contact?”

“Yes.”

“I have a direct partner support number from the last time we had an issue with another client's account. I’ll text it to you now.”

Harry looks at you, but you're staring at the phone, posture rigid, eyes scanning every line as if you can force the answer to appear by reading quickly enough.

Jeff’s voice lowers a fraction. “Can you get it back?”

You inhale, then answer as professionally as you can. “I’ll do everything I can. I need to speak to them first and figure out why it happened.”

“Okay. Call me as soon as you know anything.”

“I will.”

The call ends, and for exactly one second, neither of you moves. Then you throw the duvet off and climb out of bed. Harry watches you cross the room in his shirt and nothing else, hair messy from sleep, work phone in one hand, personal phone in the other, moving with the sharp, focused panic of someone whose brain has decided the building is on fire even if the flames are digital. “It has to be a bug,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “Or an automated enforcement mistake. Or someone mass-reported the account, but that shouldn’t take down a verified profile like that, not without— unless something triggered the integrity system. But we didn’t post anything risky. We didn’t even use copyrighted audio outside platform tools. Did I click something? No, I didn’t. Did I schedule something wrong?”

You don't hear him. “What if the archive is affected?” you continue, tapping through emails. “The old posts, the early tour photos, the album announcements, all the One Direction-era things still on the grid— God, if the profile is gone, people are going to think—”

Harry’s eyes follow you as you pace past the foot of the bed. Left. Right. Left again. He looks like he is watching a tennis match he never agreed to attend.

“Love.”

“Love.”

Now your head snaps towards him. Harry is sitting in bed, duvet low around his waist, hair sticking up on one side, looking far calmer than the situation deserves. “You're aware,” he says gently, “that it’s just an Instagram profile?”

You stare at him, the silence that follows is severe. Harry lifts both hands slightly. “I’m not saying it doesn’t matter.”

“It has over forty-five million followers.”

“I know.”

“It has fourteen years of your public life on it.”

“I know.”

“It matters to your fans. It matters to the tour. It matters to the team. It matters to your whole digital presence, Harry.”

“I know, baby.”

“And you’re saying it’s just an Instagram profile?”

“I’m saying no one’s going to die because it’s suspended for a bit.”

“You don’t know that.”

You look at him as if he has just suggested solving the issue by tossing the phone into the canal. He climbs out of bed and reaches for a shirt from the chair and pulls it on, then walks over to you slowly. “I know it’s important,” he says, voice quieter now. “To them. To you. To the team. To me, too, in its own way. But it’s not the end of the world. We’ll get it back.”

“No. But I know you.”

You look away, jaw set. That is when he sees it properly, not just stress, guilt. You're already halfway to blaming yourself for something that likely has nothing to do with you. He can read it in the way your shoulders are held, in the way you keep refreshing screens as though some mistake of yours is hiding between the lines, in the way you don't let yourself blink long enough to breathe. “Hey,” he says, but you keep looking at your phone. Harry reaches for it, but gently, giving you time to resist if you want, you don't. He lowers both your hands between you and steps closer. “Come here.”

“I need to—”

“You need to breathe first.”

“I can breathe while calling Meta.”

“You’re not breathing, you’re speed-running a breakdown in the middle of the night.”

Despite yourself, a tiny sound almost becomes a laugh, but the stress crushes it before it fully arrives. Harry pulls you into his chest, no big speech at first, no solution. Just his arms around you, one hand warm between your shoulder blades, the other resting at the back of your head. He holds you with the kind of calm certainty that doesn't ask you to stop caring, only to stop carrying it alone. You resist for about two seconds, then you fold into him. Your face presses against the soft cotton of his shirt, his skin is still warm from sleep, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. The room is dark and quiet around you, your phones still alive with notifications, but for a moment, the whole disaster shrinks to the size of his arms. “We’ll get it back,” he murmurs.

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can promise we’ll handle it.”

You close your eyes, and that helps, Harry always helps. Not because he makes problems vanish, but because he makes them feel less like they are standing over you with sharp teeth. He is the place your panic goes when it needs somewhere softer to land. Then your phone buzzes, you pull back at once. “Jeff sent the number.”

Harry lets you go, though his hands stay on your arms for one more second. “Go call them. I’ll order coffee.”

“At three in the morning?”

“You clearly aren’t going back to sleep.”

“I might not be able to drink coffee. My hands are already shaking.”

“Then I’ll order fruit too. For emotional balance.”

You glance down at yourself. “I’m in your shirt.”

“Meta won’t know.”

“I’m going outside.”

“Take a blanket.”

You grab a blanket from the end of the bed, wrap it around your shoulders, and head towards the rooftop terrace with your work phone already dialling. Harry watches you go through the sliding glass doors, the city air catching the hem of his shirt around your thighs. Then he rubs both hands over his face, exhales, and calls room service. And because it is a luxury hotel, because Harry is Harry, and because the night staff has apparently seen stranger things than a half-asleep pop star ordering two coffees and a fruit platter at 3:17 in the morning, the tray arrives quickly. Harry takes it at the door, murmurs a grateful thank you, leaves a generous tip, and carries everything out onto the terrace.

The rooftop still holds some memory of the night you spent outside recently, the same outdoor bed sits beneath the pale curtains, now untouched. The lounge area nearby is cooler, washed in the dark blue of the hour before morning begins considering itself. Beyond the terrace edge, Amsterdam is a spread of rooftops, narrow streets, still canals, and scattered windows glowing like private little planets while you're pacing barefoot across the terrace, blanket around your shoulders, phone pressed to your ear.

Harry sits on the arm of the lounge sofa and listens. You pause, jaw working as you absorb whatever the person on the other end says. “No, there was no notice in the account centre. No email, no prior warning. We have full records of our recent posts and login activity. Nothing violates policy from our side.” Another pause. “Yes, I can send the account ID, the associated email, and screenshots of the suspension message. I can also confirm identity through the partner portal if you trigger the request.”

Harry sets the tray on the low lounge table. Black coffee for him, oat cappuccino for you, a plate of fruit arranged beautifully enough that he briefly wonders whether someone in the kitchen thought this was a romantic gesture rather than a crisis snack. You don't notice any of it anyway. “I understand that,” you're saying, voice controlled but tight. “But this is a verified celebrity account with active tour obligations and a major public audience. We need to know if this is an enforcement action, an account integrity issue, or a platform-side error.”

You stop walking. “Okay,” you say slowly. “So you don’t know why it was triggered yet?”

Harry takes a sip of coffee and watches you pace, he knows this version of you too. Sharp, competent, on fire. The person who can solve three problems before most people realise there is one. The person who remembers tiny details, keeps documents organised, knows exactly when to push and when to stay polite. He loves that about you, always has. But underneath the professionalism, he can still see your panic trying to claw its way through.

Harry’s gaze lifts as you listen, lips pressed together.

You hang up, and for half a second, you stand very still. Then you say one single word, “Fuck.”

“And there’s no option to reactivate manually at this stage?” Another pause. “Right. Yes. Please escalate it to account integrity. Mark it urgent. The account is tied to an ongoing international tour and there is significant public confusion already. You can reach me on this number at any time.” You listen for a few more seconds, then nod even though the man on the phone cannot see you. “Thank you. I’ll wait for your call.”

Harry rises immediately. Before you can refresh anything else, he walks over, takes the phone from your hand, and places it on the lounge table. You look offended. “I need that.”

“In a minute.”

“Harry—”

“What did they say?”

You drag both hands over your face, the blanket slipping slightly off one shoulder. “They don’t know what triggered it. The person I spoke to thinks it might be an automated false positive or an issue in their integrity system, but they can’t reactivate it from partner support because the account is locked behind an internal review state. They’ve escalated it to the account integrity team.”

Harry blinks in confusion. “So… computer said no?”

You glare at him. Then, despite everything, a laugh breaks out of you. Small and exhausted and annoyed as you nod once. “Basically.”

“There we are. I understand now.”

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“It is not.”

“It will be later.”

“Maybe in five years.”

You say nothing. He presses his cheek lightly to the top of your head. “I know you’re trying to find the exact second where you ruined everything, but you didn’t.”

He steps close again and wraps you back into his arms. This time, you go without arguing, forehead against his chest, hands curled loosely at his sides. “It’s not your fault,” he says.

“I’m responsible for it.”

“You’re responsible for managing it. Not for Meta’s computer having a tantrum.”

“But if there was something I missed—”

“There wasn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you don’t miss things.”

You let out a breath, but it trembles with leftover adrenaline. Harry’s hand moves slowly over your back. “You’re doing a brilliant job. With the accounts, with the tour, with all of it. This doesn’t change that.”

“It feels awful.”

“I know.”

“Your fans are going to think everything’s been deleted.”

“And then it’ll come back, and they can all make dramatic posts about surviving the great Instagram disappearance of 2026.”

You laugh into his shirt. “They would.”

“They absolutely would. There’ll be edits.”

“Probably.”

He smiles against your hair. “See? Content.”

You pull back enough to look at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re freezing.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re barefoot on a roof in a t-shirt at almost four am.”

“And a blanket.”

“A heroic blanket.”

He leads you to the lounge sofa and sits you down with gentle insistence. Then he takes the throw blanket from the back of the sofa and adds it over the one already around your shoulders, tucking it around you with the kind of serious concentration he usually reserves for stage cues. “There,” he says. “Crisis burrito.”

You look down at yourself. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look adorable.”

“I’m in a social media emergency.”

“Very adorable emergency.”

He sits beside you and hands you the oat cappuccino and you accept it with both hands, letting the warmth seep into your fingers. “You ordered my favourite coffee.”

“Of course I did.”

“And fruit.”

“Mhm.”

You look at the plate. “That is a lot of fruit.”

“You pace fast. I assumed you’d need fuel.”

You take a sip of the cappuccino, and it's warm and familiar and exactly sweet enough and the first proper breath you take all night comes after it. Harry notices but doesn't comment on it. He only sits beside you, one arm along the back of the sofa, close enough that his thigh rests against yours. For a few minutes, neither of you speaks much. You eat fruit because he keeps nudging the plate towards you, and because stress is less convincing when paired with strawberries. He feeds you a piece of watermelon from a little fork, and when juice threatens to drip onto the blanket, you lean forward too quickly and nearly bump your forehead against his chin.

Harry laughs softly. “Careful.”

“You attacked me with fruit.”

“I offered hydration.”

“You lunged.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’re a known lunger.”

He grins mischievously. “Am I?”

“With fruit, apparently.”

The lightness helps. Not enough to erase the problem, but enough for you to sit still.

After a while, you sink into his side with your coffee in hand. “I can’t believe this is happening now.”

“I noticed.”

“No, I mean now. When you’re finally back on tour and the account is alive again. Before I took over, it was basically a museum with occasional album promotion.”

Harry looks amused. “A museum?”

“A beautiful, very inactive museum.”

“I was on a break.”

“You were allergic to posting.”

“I value privacy.”

“You value purposely forgetting you have social media.”

“That too.”

You sigh, staring out at the city. “I just wanted everything to run properly. Not perfectly, but properly. Clean posts, good timing, fan engagement, a better balance of behind-the-scenes things without making it feel forced. And then the main account disappears in the middle of the night.”

Harry’s expression turns warm as he watches you and it's there again, that aching admiration he never quite knows what to do with. Your ambition, your care, the way you treat his work as if it matters because you know it matters to him, and because it matters to people who love him. He understands that kind of perfectionism, he has lived inside it for years. But he also knows what it does when nobody interrupts it. “Not everything goes to plan,” he says gently.

You look down at your coffee. “I know.”

“And it’s horrible.”

“I know that too.”

“But you’re still doing an amazing job.”

“You’re biased.”

“Very.”

“Harry.”

“I am biased,” he admits. “I’m biased because I love you. But I’m also right. The team trusts you. Jeff wouldn’t have called in a panic and asked for you if he didn’t think you were the person to handle it.”

That makes you pause and Harry continues, voice low in the quiet. “You’ve made the accounts feel human again. You’ve found a way to let people in without making me feel like I’m being watched every second. That’s not easy. And even if you were terrible at it — which you’re not — it wouldn’t change who you are to me.”

Your eyes lift to his, he holds your gaze steadily. “You’re not valuable because you’re useful,” he says. “You know that, right?”

You stare at him for a second, then you start laughing, partly because of the carrier pigeons and partly because if you don't laugh, you might cry. “Jeff in a cabin?”

The question lands softer than it should. You try to answer quickly, then realise you can't quite manage it. Harry’s hand finds yours under the blanket. “I love how good you are at your job. I love watching you work. I love when you get that little focused face and start saying words like ‘engagement strategy’ as if it’s normal breakfast conversation.” You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “But I don’t love you because you keep things running,” he says. “I love you because you’re you. If Instagram vanished forever tonight, and Jeff moved to a cabin to recover, and the fans had to communicate through carrier pigeons, I’d still be sitting here with you at four in the morning thinking I’m the luckiest person alive.”

“Flannel shirt. Very dramatic beard.”

“Fans would train the pigeons in three days.”

“Probably faster.”

You lean into him more fully, and Harry kisses the top of your head.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“For the pigeons?”

“For knowing how to calm me down.”

“Learned from the best.”

You smile against his shoulder. “That’s my line.”

“You can have it back tomorrow.”

The rooftop falls quiet around you, your phone stays on the table, screen dark for once. You resist the urge to check it every ten seconds, mostly because Harry is holding your hand and you don't want to let go. The sky above Amsterdam is unusually clear, the city lights make the stars faint, but not invisible. A few scatter over the dark like small pinpricks, stubborn against the glow below. Harry tilts his head back. “Look.”

You follow his gaze and for a while, there is nothing but the quiet sky. Then, suddenly, a line of light slips across it. Fast, silver, gone almost before your mind has time to name it. A shooting star. You both fall silent. It's childish, maybe, the way both of you instinctively close your eyes for a second. Neither of you says it aloud, neither of you needs to, some habits survive adulthood because they are small enough to keep. Make a wish.

Harry’s hand tightens around yours, in his mind, the wish isn't loud or detailed. It doesn't arrive with wedding bells or a calendar date or a house already chosen, it comes as a feeling. You in the morning. You on quiet rooftops. You laughing in kitchens. A smaller hand in his one day, maybe, with your smile and his eyes. A life built from ordinary days with you at the centre of them.

Beside him, your wish takes almost the same shape. Harry, years from now. Still reaching for you in his sleep. Still leaving socks in criminal locations. Still singing under his breath while making coffee. A home that isn’t dependent on a city. A future that has room for both of your work, both of your dreams, and maybe one day, if life is kind, a child who learns early that love can be safe and silly and steady.

You open your eyes at the same time and Harry looks at you. “What did you wish for?”

You smile. “Can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Then it won’t come true.”

He hums. “Thought so.”

“You tell me yours?”

“Can’t. Very serious wish rules.”

“Hypocrite.”

“Traditionalist.”

You look at him for a second longer, and there is a flicker of recognition between you. Not certainty, maybe, not words either, but something close enough to make your smile soften. Harry sees it too, but he doesn't ask again. Instead, he lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles, slow and warm.

Suddenly the phone rings and you both jump slightly. Then you lunge for it so quickly Harry nearly loses his coffee. “It’s them,” you say, already answering. “Hi, this is y/n.”

Harry watches your face as you listen, he can tell within ten seconds that the news is better. Your shoulders drop first, then your eyes widen, then your free hand presses to your forehead as you nod quickly. “Okay. Okay, that’s great. So it was platform-side?” You listen. “A mistaken enforcement lock triggered by an automated review? Right. And the account integrity team is reversing it now?”

Harry mouths, “Computer said sorry?”

You hang up, and for one second, you stare at the phone. Then you collapse back against the sofa cushions with the deepest, most dramatic exhale of your life. “They’re bringing it back.”

You swat at his knee without looking at him. “Yes,” you say into the phone. “I’ll monitor access from our side. Within the hour? Perfect. Thank you. No, really, thank you. Please send the confirmation to my email as well.” A pause. “Thanks. Bye.”

Harry smiles. “Told you.”

You point at him. “Don't be smug.”

“I’m not smug, I’m right.”

“They said it was an automated error on their side. The account got caught in an internal review state by mistake, and their engineers are reversing it. I should be able to log back in within the hour.”

“Good.”

“Good?” You stare at him. “That’s it?”

“What else should I say?”

“I don’t know. Something more emotional.”

Harry sets his coffee down and turns towards you. “I’m very relieved that my beautiful, inactive museum will live to ignore posting trends another day.”

You laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And you are terrifyingly good in a crisis.”

“I was pacing.”

“Professionally.”

“I swore at the phone.”

“Also professionally.”

You shake your head, but the relief is so enormous now that everything feels funny. The panic, the pacing, the coffee, his calm face when he said no one would die from a suspended Instagram account. You glance at him. “It really doesn’t matter to you that much, does it?”

“What?”

“Your profile. I mean, I know you’re glad it’s coming back, but you were so calm. It goes back to 2012. There are posts from One Direction, your first solo years, everything. Doesn’t it feel… huge to almost lose that?”

He leans back, thinking about it properly. “It’s nice to have,” he says after a moment. “I’m glad it’s not gone. I know what it means to people, and I know there are memories there. But I don’t think those memories live in the app for me.”

You're quiet for a moment, then you nod. “I understand that.”

You look at him, he shrugs, sleepy and sincere. “The important bits are elsewhere. They’re in people I still talk to. In my mum’s photo albums. In songs. In strange little videos saved on old phones. In fans I meet out in the streets who tell me about a show from 13 years ago like it was yesterday. In rooms I remember because of how they felt.” His fingers move absently over yours. “The internet keeps a version of things,” he says. “And that version matters. But it’s not the whole thing. My life isn’t in there. It’s here.” He looks around the terrace, then at you. “It’s this. You. Coffee at stupid o’clock. Shows. Friends. Family. Real faces. Real life. That’s the bit I care about most.”

“But I’m glad you saved the museum.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Maybe I’ll post a picture of a pigeon to celebrate.”

“You won’t.”

“I thought you wanted me active.”

“Not like that.”

He laughs, pulling you closer until your head rests against his shoulder again. The eastern edge of the sky has started to pale. It happens gradually, then all at once. The black-blue of night softens into the light blue of a sunny day, and the rooftops around you begin to separate from their shadows. Somewhere below, the earliest sounds of morning appear: a delivery truck, a bicycle rolling over stone, the city stretching before the day officially starts. Harry kisses your temple. “Want to go back to bed?”

You look towards the brightening horizon. “Not yet.”

He smiles before you even finish the sentence. “Sunrise?”

“Sunrise.”

“We’re going to be exhausted later.”

“You can nap.”

“So can you.”

“I have to make sure your Instagram comes back.”

“And then nap.”

You lift your head, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re very bossy at sunrise.”

“I care for you, at all hours.”

“That’s true.”

“No returns.”

You laugh softly, remembering the rooftop promise from a few nights before, or maybe every night before that just in different words. “No returns,” you agree.

Harry settles deeper into the sofa and pulls the blanket tighter around both of you. Your phone rests on the table beside the fruit plate, waiting to buzz again. His coffee has gone lukewarm, your cappuccino is almost finished. The panic has drained away, leaving behind only tired relief and the strange intimacy of having survived a tiny digital apocalypse before dawn.

Taglist: @lizsogolden @avensgreenvans @maudie-duan @chocostyles @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @pops234 @lomlcamy

iv.

“Hey, who is ‘Daddy’?” 

Y/N thinks she should probably crawl under a rock. 

Her dynamic with Harry was different now, after that run-in at the park. It had shifted and morphed into something else, beyond whatever weird friendship that they’d crafted out of necessity and proximity. They weren’t vocal about it, by any means; both had just accepted it and continued as they normally would. Like, what was she going to say? Hey Harry, I feel like we’re close enough now that I sort of want to fuck you all the time, but I don’t know if it’s because you protected me and take care of me, or if it’s something else? That would probably be the healthier form of communication, which means Y/N would not be able to go through with that. She preaches it, but she doesn’t always practice it – Niall and Aki haven’t noticed that yet, so they can’t call her a hypocrite when she waxes poetic about how they should be open with their feelings. 

And, seriously, she’s more open with her feelings with Harry than she’s probably been with any other man in her life (save for Ni). This is just something outside the range of being open about. There’s a difference between telling Harry that that entire night was scary, and she appreciated that he’d been understanding with her even though she went against what he said, and how he made her feel safe, and then there was telling him that she’s been wanting to ride him until her thighs burn and she gets a cramp in her calves. One of those is innocent and sweet, and there’s no room for rejection, and one of those Harry could politely decline and then stop sharing a bed with her, and honestly, she isn’t ready to give that up yet. 

She thought it would only be that first night. After the initial scare, she figured that one night with him directly at her side would make her feel safe, and then she could work on getting over the encounter the subsequent nights. However, the following day, when the sun lowered in the sky and black started inking over the sunset hues of oranges and pinks, Y/N felt a pit of anxiety well up in her stomach. It must have shown all over her face, because Harry clocked it instantly as he collected the plates off the coffee table from dinner. “What’s wrong, Bunny? Was something not good?” 

“No, that’s not it,” she shook her head, scratched worriedly at her arm, and tried desperately not to nibble at her nails, still fresh and pretty from her manicure, “I’m just. . .um. . .would it be weird if we shared a bed again? Like, just for tonight?” She wriggled in her spot, dodging eye contact at all costs so that when he refused, he wouldn’t see something stupid on her face, like a frown or tears. “I’m just sort of – y’know – about it still.” 

Harry was quiet for a second, and at the time, Y/N convinced herself it was because he was trying to figure out an easy way to let her down. What he’d really been doing was carefully setting the plates back on the coffee table and stepping closer to her, leaning over to wrap his arms around her body. Y/N squeaked, because she isn’t sure Harry realizes how tight he hugs or not – his arms feel huge around her though, and he squeezed like he might be trying to crush her lungs from the outside. Honestly, given how strong he is, she didn't doubt he’d be able to if he wanted to. 

But even with all the strength in the hug, it’s immediately softened by his sweet tone, “Of course I will,” he replied, “I’ll sleep in there every night until you’re absolutely sick of me, yeah? Anything to make you feel better.” 

Y/N let herself melt into him when her arms looped around his body. She decided to pretend that this wasn’t because she was sort of a charity case, but because he was secretly hoping that she’d ask him to spend another night in her bed. That made her smile to herself, a little – she’d always been prone to delusional thoughts to get her through things. If she imagined that Harry was just obsessed with her and not that he felt bad for her, then this was actually pretty sweet. 

She could never claim to be touch-starved. Niall and Aki had actually made it their personal mission to be touching a part of her at all times, at any given moment, and vice versa. They were just a very touchy-feely, ‘all up in your business’ kind of friend group. But Y/N hadn’t shared a bed with someone like this in a while. Niall is a horrific bed and blanket hog, so she’s just shivering on the edge of the bed if they’re forced to share. And Aki gets too hot to cuddle or anything, so Y/N is still freezing, but at least she has plenty of blankets because Aki kicks them all off. 

With Harry, though, it’s really nice. Like all things, he was a perfect fit for her and her bed. He took up the perfect amount of space, he moved the right amount, he shared an appropriate amount of blanket, and he was always the appropriate temperature. They would fall asleep shoulder to shoulder, mostly, sometimes back to back, and it would feel warm and comforting to have his spine pressed against hers. No matter what position they’d fall asleep in, they managed to meet in the middle somewhere. 

Y/N was always waking up in the middle of the night, sometimes several times – it’s something that had always happened to her, even when she was little. With Harry in her bed, it still happened, but far less, and that itch beneath her skin and under her bones to get out of bed and do something has all but disappeared. The first time she woke up when she was sharing a bed with Harry, she’d found his arm slung around her waist, her back pressed to his chest, and their legs all tangled up with each other. She was just awake enough to register that they were cuddling, but not conscious enough to panic about it. When she’d woken up the following morning, alone in bed, she’d wondered briefly if she had dreamt the entire thing. 

But then the next night, she woke up in a similar but different position. This time, she was the one wrapped around Harry, his head all but buried against her chest, and her arms cradling him to her body. She had a leg stretched across his hips too, like – it was a very intimate position for the second night sleeping together. That night, she did wake up just enough to panic a little over it and was able to successfully wiggle her arms from around him. Not because she was uncomfortable, but because she didn’t want him to feel suffocated by her presence. Especially when she was the one who propositioned them to sleep together – even she could look past her deluded thoughts to recognize that this might be too much. 

However, when she tried to pull her leg away, there was a soft, sleepy whimper and a hand gripping her thigh tightly before she could move it. Y/N struggled not to make a startled sound in her throat. She wasn’t nearly awake enough to stay awake – her head felt heavy and melty against the pillow, and that, coupled with the warmth of his hand on her thigh – well, she fell back asleep pretty quickly. Though once again, when she woke up, she was alone in bed. 

(Harry was an early riser, even though he was late to fall asleep. It’s on the weekends that she saw how intense a napper he was; sure, he’d be awake before her, but he was passed out on the couch after lunch, and K.O’d for a couple of hours at least. Y/N tiptoes around the flat when he’s napping because he’ll wake up at the sound of a glass being set on the counter.) 

She’d suspect that she’d been hallucinating the whole thing if not for how often it happened. Six nights in a row, she’s woken up tangled in Harry’s limbs and snuggled pressed against his body. Maybe Harry was the touch-starved one? She hadn’t considered that. Though she couldn’t be absolved of all the initiation to cuddling, she surely wasn’t tugging his arm across her body, or snaking his bicep beneath her head. She might have been the one to roll over and rest her cheek against his chest, but he was the one who had his other hand stretched across his torso to rest on her forearm. When’s the last time he shared a bed with someone? Maybe he was the needy, clingy one in their sleep, but neither of them was awake to know it. 

Nevertheless, neither of them brings it up. It seemed silly to; a fat lot of good it would do, because it isn’t like they could stop it – they were asleep. Or, well, they could stop it, but that would mean Harry not sharing the bed with her anymore, and she didn’t want that. She didn’t necessarily want the cuddling to stop either, actually. So the only route to take was for Y/N not to bring it up. What if Harry didn’t even know about it? What if, by the time he woke up, they had already found themselves on the opposite sides of the bed again? And then Y/N would bring it up to him, he’d probably suggest that he leave her bed so that they could put an end to it. And, yeah. . .Y/N is just not super chill with that happening. 

She likes it, sue her. It’s not even like she could tell anyone about it, either. She’d finally had to come clean about him staying with her to Niall and Aki, who all but exploded with the information handed to them. Of course, she doesn’t give them the real reason that he’s staying. They think that he needed a place to shower and sleep because his flat had a crazy plumbing issue, and the unit above his had a pipe that burst and flooded his living room and bedroom. So they’d be working on it for a while, and in the meantime, Y/N had politely offered her building because it was close to his job. 

It was a dodgy lie at best, and again, she’s not the best at lying, so she had to tell them via message. It was starting to get suspicious that Harry was taking her to work every single day, on top of her telling them that the ‘girlie pop sleepover’ couldn’t happen at her place this month. She had to come clean, at least a little bit, and when she did, the thread was filled with all caps, exclamation points, and stupid, meme-ified emojis. Niall was flabbergasted. Aki inquired if she’d gotten in his pants yet, and both wondered if he would really mind them spending the night since they’d initiated him into their circle at the club. He passed all of their checks and balances for what makes an appropriate fourth to occasionally interweave in their group. 

Y/N told them she’d ask if he minded, because it really didn’t hurt to. And she meant to ask a while ago, really, but she’d completely forgotten. Not until Niall was blowing up her phone while she had it face up on the counter, spooning her seconds of the stew he’d made into a bowl. Y/N had been playing music through the speaker hooked to her phone. She told him to skip the song that came on for her while she was serving herself. Not thinking, of course, that Niall has zero filtered, even knowing that Harry could be looking over her shoulder at any moment. 

“Hey, who is Daddy?” He’d asked it so innocently that Y/N had almost confused herself trying to figure out what he meant, until he explained it, “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to be nosy or anything. It just sort of stuck out on your lock screen.” 

It was then, with sudden and horrific realization, that he was talking about Niall, who was probably calling him Daddy on the phone. Harry, who was standing beside her, carefully plucked the ladle from the pot so he could get more too. Her heart dropped to her stomach, and the soft whisper of ‘oh my god’ made it out of her mouth before she could stifle it. When she looked over at him, his brows were pinched inward, like he was concerned and maybe a little irritated. 

Oh god. . .oh god, Niall pissed him off? Was he really mad about the nickname? Y/N never wanted him to know that’s what they called him, but she’d always thought if he accidentally found out, he’d just chuckle and move on. But what if he was legitimately pissed? Shit, this is so bad, it’s – “Oh, uh, Niall’s just. . .you know. Being Niall.” 

Harry’s head tilted, the irritation not leaving his face, “Hn,” he murmured, “So, in reference to ‘Y/N, did Daddy say we could come over’. . .Daddy is. . .” 

God, of course, he wasn’t going to let her get away with not sharing! He may not have been trying to be nosy, but Harry – at the end of the day – is nosy as hell! So is she, so she couldn’t even blame him, but shit. Couldn’t he have just let her move on from that? Did he really need to know what some offhanded nickname was? Also, if she were smarter, then she wouldn’t have stalled with that last statement and made something up about how Niall’s talking about this guy that he met recently or something. He surely wouldn’t believe her now that she’s dragged it out this long. Plus, all it would take is scrolling through her messages once before realizing that the ‘Daddy’ mentioned is often mentioned in relation to her. 

She was going to have to just come clean. It was easier than trying to keep some rouse up, especially with someone who seems like they have an innate ability to sense a liar. Not that she’d ever seen him utilize these moves before – she just knew that her stomach and chest felt squidgy and guilt-ridden anytime she even considered a lie to him. This did not bode well for keeping up a good lie – he’d be able to see right through her. 

“Ah, well, that’s kind of his nickname for you,” she admitted, feeling hot in the face, wishing she could blame it on the steam from the stew, but both of them would know and realize what it was actually from, “He’s never been great at doing non-vulgar nicknames.” 

Harry stared at her for a second before his smile broke out into a grin, and he started to chuckle like that couldn’t be funnier. Something lifts from his gaze – Y/N was unsure what exactly had been there in the first place, but it was much darker than it had been at the beginning of the night. Had he been irritated with the thought of someone else being referred to as Daddy in their chat? Especially when she was being sort of suspicious about it. Honestly, maybe she was making things up, but he seemed sort of relieved, actually? Like him being ‘Daddy’ was the best outcome. 

“Wow, really?” His dimples were dotting either side of his big grin, “Now why is Niall referring to me as Daddy?” 

Because we talked in detail about your BDSM history and potentially all of the things that you could be into, including – but not limited to – a daddy kink. 

“Ah, is there ever really an answer for the inner workings of Niall’s brain?” She answered instead, “He’s just wanting to come over for a sleepover, is all. Aki, Niall, and I do one every month at one of our flats, but I told them you were staying with me, so it might not be best to have it here.” 

Harry pouted his bottom lip, “No, you can have it here!” He assured her, “I don’t want you to change how you live just because I’m around. Could I set up shop in your bedroom or something? I could even leave if you wanted, and like – hang in my car or something.” He motioned around them, “I’ll make my presence as brief as possible, yeah? That way, it’d just be like a regular night for you, yeah?” 

Y/N raised her brows, “Really? Wouldn’t that be annoying for you, though?” 

“Not at all,” he told her, “Besides, I like seeing you with them. You’re so pretty when you’re having fun.” 

Y/N’s face feels warm from the compliment, but she looks away to her phone before he can say anything about how shy she gets when he says things like that. She pulled up her message thread with the two of them and cleared her throat, “Okay, well, then I’ll tell them, sure,” she feels like the hair on the nape of her neck is raised, because Harry is actually way too close to her right now while she’s got their thread open. Honestly, his knowing that Niall called him Daddy was probably the least ridiculous thing he could find in here. Y/N didn’t even want to think about Harry figuring out what the omegaverse was.

“They usually get here around dinner time,” Y/N tells him while her thumbs move across the screen, “Um, we order in and then do stereotypically cute sleepover things. Nails, sometimes we practice make-up on each other, face masks at the end of the night, watch movies, and talk over them  – things like that.” 

Harry smiles, “That sounds great. Let me pick the food up for you guys.” 

“Oh, Harry, you really don’t have to –” 

“Delivery fees are killer, especially on a Friday night!” He reasons, “Just let me, yeah? It’s the least I can do.” 

Her brows crinkle, “Why are you saying that like you owe me something?” 

“I do! Did you forget the whole park incident or. . .” 

“No, of course I didn’t, but you’ve already made up for that. Like, you’ve been sleeping in my bed for a while, I feel like that’s more than enough.” Muffy toddles from wherever she’d been hiding, bonking her head into Y/N’s calf before looping around her legs. 

“Is it really paying you back if I’m benefiting from it?” He inquires, a soft, teasing gleam, and Y/N’s eyes go wide, “Anyway, I’m not taking no for an answer, so you’ll just have to deal with it, ‘kay? Gotta pull my weight somehow.” 

Y/N does eventually give up, because sometimes that’s just easier. Harry is very headstrong, and it’s never about things she’s uncomfortable with. Honestly, everything he offers and enforces just makes her life easier and better in the end. So she relents – the food would be warmer if Harry were the one picking it up anyway.  

“Oh, and I’ll get you guys some cute matching things while I’m out,” he adds, “You know what. . .you’re going to need ice cream and stuff too, aren’t you?” 

“Wait, Harry –” 

“Hold on, I’m making a list.” 

                                                               .                      .                      . 

Niall and Aki turn up around 5 PM, already dressed in pajamas with their overnight bags slung on their shoulders. Aki has a stuffed bear that she has to sleep with her cheek pressed up against since she was little (for as old as it was, it was well taken care off, and didn’t look incredibly worn or carry the scent that old things seem to carry), and Niall carries one of his many board games (that they no doubt would be arguing over in the next couple of hours). There’s a kaboodle in the mix, too, for the makeup they’ll try on each other. Y/N barely has time to step to the side to let them in before they’re pushing past one another through the door. 

They drop all of their things in the living room, where Y/N had carefully constructed a massive pallet on the floor for them to sleep on. There were a ton of blankets making the base, and a ton of additional blankets bunched and crumbled up around the edges so that they could pull them up when they got chilly. She had a dozen pillows too, because she always has a thousand pillows (with enough left over for Harry to have four to sleep with in her room), and stuffed animals that she’d gathered and collected through the years. Harry had watched her create it, praising her pallet-making skills, saying something like, “Maybe I should’ve had you make me a pallet instead of sleeping in bed together.” She clicked her tongue and told him to shut up. 

This is why they always have it at her place, because Y/N has all of the fodder for the perfect sleepover vibe. Down to the lighting that she’ll hang up, the LED strips that light the back of her telly, and her candle selection is amazing, she would be the first to say. So the room is warm, cozy, and pink, and Y/N thinks this might be her best work yet. 

“God, I love when you make us an omega nest.” Aki drops her things at the edge of the pallet before lowering to her knees and flopping face-first into the pillows, “These are new scent beads you’re using.” 

“She started using my brand,” Harry’s voice chimes in, his keys in hand, “Isn’t it nice? It’s so fruity.” 

Niall gasps, “Harry, are you going to let us put makeup on you? Aki can do a killer makeover.” 

“It’s true.” Aki muffles into the pillow, twisting to look back at them, “I probably should be doing makeup for weddings and charging them thousands of dollars, but my calling is music marketing for whatever reason.” 

Harry grins, “Ah, as fun as that sounds, I’ll just be working in Y/N’s room tonight.” He points toward the door, “But I’m going to pick up dinner before that! I need to stop at the store before that, so just message me what you guys want to eat.” 

“Oh, what?” Niall seems surprised, “Harry, you really don’t have to –” 

“He doesn’t listen to reason,” Y/N cuts in, also lowering down into the pallet, less theatrically than Aki, but she does huff out a breath when her head hits one of the pillows outlining the edge of the. . .nest, as described by Niall, “I tried to tell him he didn’t need to, but he insists.” 

Harry nods, “Yes, I absolutely insist. She’s helping me out by letting me stay here with the plumbing issue and all that, so it’s the least I can do.” 

In this situation, Y/N couldn’t necessarily fight him without exposing everything in front of Aki and Niall, so she keeps her mouth shut. Harry left with a wave and the soft click of the door, and both Aki and Niall turned to her with wild eyes. 

“Have you fucked yet?” 

“What? No!” Y/N shakes her head, not entirely surprised that this is Niall’s follow-up question as soon as Harry steps out of the door, “Of course not, it isn’t like that.” 

Aki snorts, “I mean, he definitely wants to,” she pointed her thumb toward the door. “Did you see how he was looking at you? Those are ‘fuck-me’ eyes.” 

Y/N rolled her own, “No, they aren’t, stop it,” she shakes her head again, “You two are hellbent on me being just as delusional as you! You’re trying to set me up for heartbreak.” 

“But your heart is in a place to get broken?” Niall presses, finally dropping onto the pallet and leaning his weight onto his right hand, arm outstretched. Muffy crawls into his lap cautiously, balancing on his thighs. 

Scowling, Y/N reaches for her phone so she doesn’t have to look them in the eyes, “It’s complicated,” she tells them, and she wishes she could explain just why it was so complicated. This wasn’t just some random meet-cute where she reconnected with a university crush years later. The first time Harry met her, it was with a knife to her throat. He spent the first few weeks of their interaction lowkey stalking her to make sure she didn’t say anything, and, weird enough, stuff keeps happening; he feels obligated to stick around her to keep her safe. They get along well, their chemistry is good, but at the end of the day, he isn’t here because he chooses to be. It’s not because Y/N is so amazing that he has permanently made himself a spot in her life. 

Y/N likes him, yeah. She has a crush on him. It would be difficult not to develop some sort of feelings when they were around each other all of the time, and when he made her feel safe and protected. Plus, there’s the issue of his generally very flirty personality that starts putting brain worms in her head, making her think that there was something there between them. And how could you not have further developing feelings when that same person who makes you feel safe, holds you at night like you’re something very precious to them. Cooks for you, takes you out, spends an insane amount of time with you, and doesn’t even seem burnt out by it. 

She stood no chance, really. And then there was the whole fact that his job was dangerous and scary, and that he had killed people before. Was she really okay with that? He says they were bad people, and she trusts Harry, sure, but. . .well, she doesn’t know. It’s a hard pill to swallow. Especially when that very same Harry, up until recently, she couldn’t imagine doing more than a threat or two. Even after experiencing him the first night they met, he’d done a good job at washing away any semblance of the person she first stuttered a plea to let her go. 

God, but he’s so fucking honest, too. Like he has absolutely nothing to hide from her. She thinks she could ask him to show her proof and evidence of every single person he’s ever had a case on, and he would pull up the documents if they were available to prove himself. 

“Complicated or not,” Aki began, taking Y/N’s phone and clicking on the Italian place she’s been pressing for them to try, “You get all gooey and sweet when you’re with him. Just try it out, baby, or Niall might.” 

“I’m bros before hoes, but if it makes you act faster, then I’ll start flirting.” He nudges her leg with his toe, “I can see you’re getting all shy about it, so we don’t have to keep going. Or – actually, one more question – his dick size? Do we know it yet?” 

The rest of the night goes by with little fuss. It’s fun – Harry comes back with the food that they wanted and grocery bags full of things: fancy wine, extra blankets, matching sleep masks, bags of crisps, toys for Muffy. He also has a box of baked goods from a very pricy bakery near the Italian place he picked up their food from. 

“Sorry,” he laughed, “I – uh – got a little excited. I think this is a really cute idea, and I reckon I should convince my friends to start doing something like this.” 

All of them had wide eyes, staring at the bags. “Holy shit,” Aki gasps, “What is your Venmo?” 

“Oh, don’t worry about it; this was on me.” 

“But –” 

“I’m telling you,” Y/N says gently, “He doesn’t listen to reason.” 

Harry does eat dinner with them, sits on the pallet with the lap trays Y/N has for eating since her coffee table – for the most part – she usually has shoved away from in front of her sofa so that she could have more space. But after, he packs up, tells them to have fun and not to worry about noise or anything, that he’s usually listening to music while he works anyway. When he shuts himself away, Aki lowers her voice, just above a whisper, “Y/N,” she said, very seriously, “You need to lock him down now, baby, because if someone else snatches him we’ll have to kill them to take him back, and neither of us wants to do that.” 

Their night continues as they always do. They talk about pop culture, Niall’s recent conquests, Aki’s recent conquests (Aki is keen on situationships and they’re always a little messy – most recently she found out the woman she’d been sleeping with was married with children), new make up that’s come out, current trends that they think are awful, this show that Niall is heavily invested in and has been trying to get Y/N and Aki to watch for months at this point. Just fun things, cute sleepover things – make Pinterest boards with concert outfit ideas and watch music videos on her telly. Drinking wine, getting a little tipsy, Niall and Aki convincing Y/N to figure out what Harry’s dick size is. 

That last bit was. . .well. . .

“I cannotttt, do that,” she tells them, but she’s giggling, because whatever wine Harry got them was some fancy brand that she thinks has more alcohol per serving than a normal one. Y/N wasn’t feeling dizzy or anything bad, but she was existing in a fun, giggly, little hazy bubble. If she drank one more glass, then she’d probably be drunk, but instead, she was eating one of the croissants that he had brought home. She had crumbs on her mouth and all over her hands, but she was leaning over the nest so she didn’t dirty it (her floors, however, were a different story), “He would – he would totally not answer.” 

“A non-answer means below 5,” Niall informs her, tipping his glass back to get the last swig, “I think he’ll answer, though, he gives that honest vibe. Even if he’s small, which I know he isn’t.” 

Aki rests her chin in her hands, snuggled around her bear, “Aren’t you curious? I’m curious. He walks like it’s heavy.” 

“Tell him it was a dare!” Niall says, voice quiet so that – if Harry was listening in – he wouldn’t hear. 

And, like, Y/N is pretty curious. She couldn’t help but wonder how big he was, like – isn’t she allowed to wonder things? They’re right, he is pretty honest, and he does walk like it’s massive. It would satiate some of her curiosity, like. . .y’know, if she’d be able to take him comfortably or not. Not like that would happen, for any reason! Just in case one day she wanted to get a dildo his exact size and figure it out. If she’d even have time to do that – Harry spends a lot of time here, and even when he leaves, she doesn’t necessarily feel like she has enough time to get herself off, so she hasn’t in a while. 

Y/N chooses to blame it on a combination of curiosity, Niall and Aki’s goading, and this pervading level of horniness that seems to strike every time she has had a drink or two. She does scramble up after she swipes her hands on her legs and her face on the inside of her shirt to rid herself of any crumbs. Y/N doesn’t stumble, but she does have to steady and steel herself for a minute, turning back to look at her friends one more time before pressing forward to her room. 

She does have the courtesy to knock on the door, but when he doesn’t answer, she remembers he said his headphones would be on. So she pops it open and peeks through to find Harry, sitting at her desk with his computer and everything out, headphones tucked around his ears. He seems to be doing his actual, normal job if the spreadsheets were anything to go by. And he must sense a secondary presence in the room, because he twists in the chair to face her, a soft smile twitching over his lips when he pulls the headphones down around his neck. 

“Hey, is everything okay? Were you grabbing something?” 

“Oh, um, yes,” she answers at first, but then shakes her head, “I mean – I’m grabbing information.” 

Harry chuckled a bit, “Information, yeah? What information?” 

She steps forward and shuts the door just barely enough that it isn’t open all the way, but Muffy would be able to butt her head against it and get inside. “This is a dare, by the way.” 

He seemed more pleased by this, leaning back in the chair a little with his hands resting over his tummy, “Oooh, okay, I love a game of truth or dare, no matter how old I get. Hit me with your question, I’m ready!” 

Y/N swallows thickly, because he may be ready, but she definitely isn’t. She’d made it this far, though, even though her liquid courage seemed to run out right when it was most imperative. “Ah, well. . .I was just wondering how big your. . .well, how big you are?” 

He blinks rapidly for a second, like the questions registering in his brain, “How big I am?” Y/N nods, her face feeling hot, like you could crack an egg and cook it right on her face, “Like. . .like, my. . .” he trails off, then looks at his crotch, the loose shorts he was wearing, that would be looser if his thighs weren’t so big and strong (and in desperate need of biting, from her mouth, actually), “That?” 

“Uh, yes, that,” she agrees, “If that’s okay for me to know. And then relay.” 

Harry laughs a little, breathless and a little stunned, it seems like. Which is fair – they really don’t talk about things like that together. Ever since Y/N had embarrassingly cried after asking about his BDSM experience, and then he later on explained it to her via text – they’d actually pretended like that never happened. Or, at least verbally – Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about it most of the time. 

“Sure, I don’t mind if you know, or if you tell,” he shrugs, “I haven’t measured myself in a while, but I don’t think it’s something that changes over time necessarily?” Y/N also shrugs, because she does not know, actually, but she’s holding her breath waiting for his reply, “So, I’m around 8ish inches? I think, give or take a couple of centimeters.”  

Her eyes went wide, mouth falling open, “Ah, wow,” was all she could muster to say, “That’s – you’re huge.” 

He has the nerve to get all pink, “Mm, yeah? I guess it is quite big,” the blush spreads from his face, down toward his neck, “Is that. . .a good enough response?” 

She swallows hard again, nods again, “Yep!” Because words escape her at the best of times, and especially in moments like these, where she’s certain all the blood in her brain has rushed below her pajama bottoms, “Thank you! Enjoy your – enjoy your night!” 

He laughs breathlessly, “You too, baby,” he waves and twists back to the computer while Y/N tries to be normal, walking out the door, closing it behind her, and walking back out to the living room. 

Aki and Niall are awaiting the news anxiously. Aki held Muffy against her chest, where she was purring and making biscuits, and Niall was cradling a fruit pizza slice like it was pure gold (it sort of was). “So?” Aki breaks the silence. 

Y/N closes her eyes, then lifts 8 fingers. 

“Oh my god, I fucking knew it!” Niall exclaims, maybe a little too loudly. 

                                                            .                            .                       .

Y/N’s scared. 

She didn’t start the day scared. No, she started the day feeling safe, as she always does with Harry snuggled around her body. Really, she hadn’t realized how much she had started depending on him until she was sleeping – or trying to sleep – on her pallet she’d made for their sleepover. Y/N never had trouble sleeping on it before, but that night, she had needed to be pressed against Niall’s blanket-stealing self to feel even a little like she could fall asleep. And even then, she was struggling more than she usually does. Part of her, several times, almost thought she should get up and crawl into bed with Harry. Instead, she just pitifully pretended he was the body beside her and imagined how his arm wraps around her and holds her close, the rise and fall of his chest, the sleepy little murmurs he does when she wiggles even a little. That did eventually push her into sleep, though a fitful rest at best. 

Anyway, this morning in particular, she was snuggled up against him, feeling peaceful and soft. Y/N had work this morning, and usually he was up before her, but he’d been sleepier lately. The last couple of days, he’d been out late into the night, only coming home when Y/N had already started shutting down for bed. He looked tired too, even though he was still smiling sweetly for her, and kept apologizing nonstop for not being home for dinner. 

“The end of all this should be soon,” Harry told her one night, after brushing his teeth. He’d started ditching a sleep shirt, so Y/N was being greeted with an eyeful of bare torso that she knew she’d be pressed against later that night, “I can feel it. They’re doing stupid shit – the kind of stuff you do when you’re backed into a corner.” 

Y/N’s face was flush against her pillow. Muffy snuggled against the curve of her belly, “What stuff?” 

Harry paused, a dark look crossed over his face – not at her, necessarily, but just like he’s remembering just exactly what they did, “Are you sure you want to know?” He asked, and it made something in her chest stir. 

“Never mind,” she held Muffy a little closer, “It seems like it’s been hard for you, though. Is there anything I can do?” 

He shook his head, a soft little noise in his throat, “Just keep being you, that’s all I need,” he said, in a voice so incredibly gentle she almost wanted to turn into a puddle, “You have no idea how nice it has been to come home to you, y’know? Usually, I’m dealing with all this bullshit and go back to an empty place, but it’s just – so good,” he turned to face her, lying his cheek against his palm, “To come back here, and it’s just cozy and sweet, it smells good, and you and Muffy are always here so cute. It settles something inside me.” 

Y/N smiled, feeling like she could buzz out of her skin, “Really?” 

“Yeah,” he told her, then reached out, and for the first time awake, he’d scooted across the mattress preemptively, looping an arm over her waist and wiggling his legs between hers, “It’s nice.” 

So, yeah, she woke up feeling all warm and cozy, happy. Y/N tried not to wake Harry when she was crawling out of bed, but failed miserably because he could probably wake up to the sound of an eyelash falling. His arms tightened around her, and Y/N huffed, “Harry, I need to get ready for work.” 

“No,” he whined, and it was so cute that Y/N could have turned around and bit him, “Not ready for the day yet.” 

Y/N giggled, slid her hand over his wrist and then his hand, slid her fingers into the spaces between his, and pulled up, “I can tell.” She told him, “You’re never asleep longer than me. But I gotta get ready.” 

He let her get up just a little further, but then his arm tightened around her again, and this time his body moved, his face pressing into her lower back. Y/N laughed a little louder this time. She batted at him, ticklish from his nose digging into her spine, “Harry!” 

“Ughh, I know, I know,” his voice vibrated against her, but still, he nuzzled against her, then breathed in deep and giggled when she gasped and wriggled. Y/N is all tangled in the blankets, twisted to look at him. He was staring at her with one eye squinted closed still, and a sleepy smile. Harry looked extra cute when he was just woken up – she couldn’t believe that this was a gaze she hadn’t been privy to before. His voice was lower too, rougher, and Y/N hated that it made her insides all twisted up, “I’ll make breakfast.” 

She got ready, she ate breakfast, and Harry took her to work. All normal things. He dropped her off in the garage, Y/N met Niall outside of the elevators, they rode up to their floor, and Y/N had a semi-boring work day. Nothing super exciting happened. Now that the album rollout had finished for the bigger artist from before, they had separated the floor into different segments for a variety of smaller artists to start working on their marketing plans. The music industry was oversaturated with a lot of the same stuff, so sometimes it’s difficult to get people hyped for artists without a largely established fan base. Still, they try their best to help push them into the public eye a little more. 

Y/N doesn’t hear from Harry much today, but that was the usual as of late. He’s been busy, so she mostly gets a couple of messages from him in the morning and nothing else until she sees him to pick her up later that night. Even if he has to turn around and drop her off at home, he never misses the timing to come get her, so she hasn’t ever felt the need to remind him. It’s why she isn’t worried when she hasn’t heard from him, after she blew kisses to Niall and Aki, who – both of their groups had to stay back for a meeting with the artist that their group was assigned. Y/N would have her meeting with them next week, so she didn’t have to worry about it. 

It’s quiet when she’s going down the stairwell, not interested in the borderline traffic jam of the elevators that comes with clocking out and everyone rushing home. Her feet echoed on the stairs, the click of her flats. Y/N was humming to herself, a song that Aki got stuck in her head from an edit she saw, but she had no idea what the song was, and when she looked through the comments, none of them said what it was. She’s tired, excited to take off her shoes in Harry’s car, and she wondered if they would have time to stop and get a fruit tea on the way home. 

But when Y/N exited the stairwell, into the parking garage, Harry wasn’t in his typical spot. Which was weird. . .was he parked a little further down? She isn’t sure – she clutched her bag a little closer to her shoulder and started to walk between the cars. As she does so, she starts to unzip her purse so that she can grab her phone and make sure that he hadn’t messaged her saying that he’d be late, or that she’d need to take the subway. 

Maybe it was her intuition that made her stomach twist a little. That same cold feeling of panic rushes through her thighs that had been there the night that they’d been getting followed, like her brain was telling her something was wrong, Harry wouldn’t be late without calling her, and –

As soon as she turned around to hoof it back inside, the SUV she’d been standing beside opened up. She’s almost immediately discombobulated, like when you trip and fall but you don’t realize you’re falling yet, and which way is up doesn’t make sense, and you aren’t sure that you fell until you’re on the ground looking up. Y/N opened her mouth with a mix between a gasp and a scream, thrashing against the sudden force pulling her. A piece of fabric is stuffed between her mouth and quickly tied behind her head. Her body collides with the backseat of a car that wasn’t Harry’s, and another scream builds up in her throat, though it’s muffled. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” a voice she’d never heard spoke to her, and Y/N’s eyes are suddenly covered too, she isn’t sure by what, but no amount of her moving her head and bucking her body is getting it to stop, “You need to calm down and stop screaming.” Y/N doesn’t listen, because why would she, but then the voice gets serious again, more stern, “I’m serious. I don’t want to knock you out, okay? I just need to transport you from point A to point B, and I’d rather do that with as little force as possible. But I will, if I need to.” 

Y/N is breathless, her chest heaving as she’s repositioned in the car that she can tell is already moving. She doesn’t know what to do. Her heart is beating faster than a rabbit’s, and her stomach is turning. Her eyes want to swell up with tears because she’s feeling incredibly helpless, and what’s worse, she doesn’t know if Harry’s okay. 

“Okay, okay, just relax. You aren’t wanted for anythin’ bad, yeah? Honestly, this is probably the least violent reason we’ve taken someone.” 

“Promise you that ain’t gonna make her feel any better.” Someone else said they were further away – around the front seat, she thinks, most likely the one driving. Her toes curl up in her shoes, Y/N whines in her throat, but feels herself getting buckled in. “Really, we’re hoping that if this goes south, that bloke you’ve been with don’t try killing us. Our job is transport, nothing more, nothing less; we don’t want a scratch on you.” 

Y/N makes another noise, the fabric tastes bland and rubs against her tongue weirdly, getting wet from her spit. Through muffled words, she asks them where he is, but they really can’t understand her. Now the guy in the back with her tucked his fingers into the fabric and pulled it down. Spit drags down her chin, and it’s a sensory issue that she’d deal with later. It smells like leather in here, even though the seat she was on wasn't leather. The air is blasting, and though she’s sweating, she’s got goosebumps all over her skin. 

“Where is he?” She won’t say his name. Y/N remembered distinctly Harry telling her the night they met that he normally doesn’t tell people his name – that he’d only been honest with her because he felt bad, and it was a show of good faith. “What did you do?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” the guy beside her said, and she hated that she couldn’t see him or read his face, “Seriously, they just sliced a tire or two to keep him stuck. Is he a cop or summat? He was sort of scaring us when we were following him.” 

“Yeah, what’s up with the gun, hm? He’s got it strapped ‘round his waist like he needs it in a quick second.” 

“We are not interested in any of that if he comes looking for you.” 

Y/N is confused. Did they not know Harry was who he was? They must have really thought he was merely her boyfriend who carried a gun around. Does that mean Finley didn’t know who Harry was? Did he also just see him as her dutiful boyfriend who was just always around? They were worried about him coming to kill them, but they must have just been weirded out by the gun. Which is fair enough – Y/N is also concerned when she sees someone with a weapon and no uniform out in public. 

“Where are we going?” Y/N asks – for no reason, she isn’t that scared of these guys. She isn’t, by any means, feeling any warm and fuzzies, but they do seem adamantly against hurting her, at least. Was Harry’s presence really that frightening? Or did they actually know what he did, and they were pretending not to? 

“Can’t tell you,” the one beside her says, “But it’ll be a quick drive, yeah? They just need you for something.” He pats her shoulder, and Y/N startles, “Oh! Sorry – don’t know what it is, but it ain't bad.”

They talk amongst each other the rest of the way while her brain supplies her with the worst possible scenarios. Yeah, they’re telling her that it isn’t bad, but they could also just be trying to settle her so she doesn’t keep fighting. She doesn’t know these guys – they have no reason to be telling her the truth or anything like it. She would move her hands, but he’s got her wrists gripped in one of them, and he’s holding firm. Didn’t Harry tell her there was trafficking going on? Guns and drugs for sure, but she couldn’t help but get a sick feeling that there could be more to it than just that. Like maybe Harry had been sparing her, so she thought it was only those two and nothing more. 

Y/N guesses that she and Harry never discussed what she should do in a situation like this. Maybe they should have had some sort of game plan for her. How she should act or what she should do. For now, she thinks it might be smart to conserve her energy in case an opportunity to run away arises. Still, the feeling in her legs is all but gone from fear alone. She thinks if she were to stand up right now, then she’d crumple to the ground almost instantly. They would probably have to hold her up to get her inside of. . .wherever it was.  

It smelled like leather and cologne; it was clogging up her nose. The air in here felt thick from smoke, but she guessed they wouldn’t be cracking a window because of her right now, and the chance she would scream. The windows were tinted when she’d been walking by them before, so she knew nobody could see inside. She hears cars pass them, so they still must be in a heavily populated area, which brought her some comfort at least. If they were headed toward country roads or highways, then she would’ve contemplated just chucking herself out of the car and hoping for the best. 

There are about ten minutes that pass before they slow to a stop somewhere. The car hums softly, and the sound of a text being sent echoes in a near-silent car. Y/N stays still, like she’s hoping they’d forget she was there if she didn’t move a single muscle, but of course, she had no such luck. Movement comes from her right, “Again, I don’t want to knock you out or nothin’, just want to take you from point A to point B.” Something is looping around her wrist, then twisting it behind her back, and the fabric is pulled back into her mouth despite a murmured protest from her. That was her last warning, before the car door popped open and she felt herself being tugged outside. Or, well – outside of the car, at least. From the echo and the lack of wind, she could tell she was in a garage of some kind. 

Y/N is ushered into what feels like an elevator. Her heart speeds up again, and the rush of her blood roaring through her ears is all she can focus on. She whips her head left to right like that would help her see through the fabric at all, but it doesn’t. It does, however, earn her a small grunt from whoever has their fingers wrapped around her bicep. “Watch your head,” he tells her, voice a little lower than it was in the car, “You’re g’na knock us both out if we hit each other.” 

She would love to knock him out, probably, but she would like to stay awake and lucid through the duration of whatever this was. The tears that would have spilled had been rescinded for now, like her body knew it was not the time to get emotional. She really couldn’t afford that, right now. If she were hiccuping and snotty, sniffling, it’d be harder to focus. 

When the elevator comes to a stop, she’s brought off of it. There are no voices or anything heard in this new area they have her in; their feet click and echo on what she would guess is linoleum or something. The staticky hum above her head is giving fluorescent lighting vibes – it sounds like her job when she turns up early enough in the morning that the only people there are the manager and smut-reading Holly. Was she in an office? 

She’s brought somewhere and pressed down into a chair. It bounces slightly and rolls, before there are two sets of shoes walking away, out of the room, “I reckon you hurry,” one of the voices calls back, the one who was driving, “The bloke she’s with seems like he could change a tire fast.” 

Y/N swallows thickly, then flinches again when the fabric is pulled from her mouth again (and seriously, they need to get this damp piece off her neck before she freaks out). Then the fabric is pulled away from her eyes, and it takes her a second to adjust to the blinding light, blinking several times until they adjust to the world after being hidden away. When her vision finally clears, she sees she’s in an office, like she thought. It looks like she’s in the boss's office, though, on a high floor if the windows were anything to go by, showing the tops of several buildings. In the chair across from her sat Finley, and behind him, leaning on the desk, stood someone with a similar complexion to hers and hair that was maybe just one shade away from being her own, even pulled back in the same style that Y/N had hers in. Their outfits, however, do not match, because this woman, whom she’s guessing is Antonyia, is dressed in designer clothes from head to toe. Y/N had a linen button-up and a skirt that Harry had called her a garden fairy this morning. 

“You’re fucking joking.” Is the first thing Y/N says, her fists clenching behind her back, “What the hell?” 

“I know,” Finley grimaces, “I really didn’t want it to come to this, but you practically ran away from me in the mall when I tried to set up a date, so –” 

“Yeah, because it was fucking creepy!” Y/N exclaims, “You stood me up once and then expected me to just jump at the chance to get coffee?” 

Finley raised his hands, “Listen, I’m well aware that that hadn’t been the best way to go about it,” he motions toward Antonyia, “She actually told me that I couldn’t have come off creepier. But you seemed pretty resolute in not speaking with me, so I had to take a more. . .intense approach.” He then motions toward her, referencing the state of her. Y/N’s heart is still thudding, but with something like anger too – this is so fucking stupid! 

“Where’s – where’s my boyfriend?” Y/N phrases it instead, trying to gauge if Finley had any idea who Harry was. She was still careful not to give his name or anything, though she stumbled a little over her words. 

Finley peeks at his watch, like they’re on a time crunch. “He’s fine,” he waves her off, like it’s not a concern. “The twins slashed his tire somewhere with dodgy cell service. It’s why he couldn’t come get you.” 

Y/N huffed, “So what, you’ve been following me? Is that why you knew where to pick me up?” He nods, “This is fucking crazy.” Because why has Y/N gone almost all of her life without being followed, only for two different sides of the same debacle to have followed her at some point in the last couple of months? This is ridiculous! 

“Listen, I know, and we really don’t have time for all of this, okay? We have a flight out of here, but we have some people following us. I’m hoping we sent them on something close to a wild goose chase to buy us a bit more time, but they’re smart – they’d be able to find us eventually. There was a mic in my house, I found, so we gave them some false info as to where we’d be. Where she’d be –” he nodded again, toward Antonyia standing behind him, still silent for now, “So really, we just need you to pretend to be her. We’ll get you changed into her clothes and have you down at the pier, where they think I’m meeting her at my yacht for a private dinner. While they are confused by who you are, she and I will be elsewhere, sneaking out. Nobody gets hurt, everything is nice and easy.” 

Y/N’s brows are furrowed, pinched right in the center. 

“Why would I do that?” She inquires, “What do I get out of helping you? Why would I want to when you kidnapped me off a lot!” 

Finley patted his pocket, “I’ll cut you a check.” He said simply, because all rich people think that everything could be solved with money, “10,000 quid? More?” 

And, had Y/N had no idea what was going on, she might have been convinced. Money for pretending to be someone? It was kind of hard to beat, when the most she’d have to do is probably walk onto a yacht, as long as nobody started shooting at her or something. But she couldn’t be a part of whatever the hell this was. And she didn’t want money that was pulled from a gun trafficking ring, or drugs, or anything that is meant to ruin people’s lives. 

“I don’t want to.” She told him. 

Antonyia rolls her eyes, “I told you this was a waste of fucking time.” She pushes herself off the desk and storms off, shouldering through the door and leaving Y/N alone with Finley, who gave a deep, heavy sigh. 

“How about you think about it, hm? I’ll give you some time.” 

He follows after her, and then Y/N is alone. Or, at least she thought she would be. Another person replaces Finley – this guy is quiet, with what definitely looks like a gun underneath his shirt. He stands with his hands behind his back and a bored look on his face, and Y/N wants to cry again. 

“Just don’t move or anything.” He tells her, and then goes back to being quiet. 

Y/N nods. 

Surely Harry would realize something has happened to her, right? 

                                                               .                        .                      . 

Harry is immediately thrown off when his low-pressure light comes on for his tire. He’s thankful that he has a spare, sure, and that he knows how to change a tire, but he had literally just started driving when all of a sudden it felt like he was practically on the rim. Something nasty settles in his gut when he checks the time – it’s too close to when he picks Y/N up from work, and when he tries to send a message to her to stay inside, or to go with Niall and Aki – it won’t go through. He has no service at all. 

All of this was very horror movie sketchy, and he half expected Jeepers Creepers to roll up on him or something in some big, evil truck. It does put a more intense kick in his step so that he can get to her. 

What really makes him feel sick, though, is when he checks out his tire and finds a thin gash right between the grooves. Too long and precise to have been an accident. This was definitely on purpose, and if there hadn’t already been a sweat building up on his neck, then he would have broken out into one almost instantly. This was bad. This was really, really bad. 

Harry started working even quicker, looking at the time, imagining Y/N walking out of the doors into the parking garage waiting for him. Someone else being there instead of him. Fuck. Fuck! 

The spare goes on easily, thankfully, but he has to waste time airing it up, so there weren’t any other mishaps on the way. He’s too far fucking away, even if he drove well over the speed limit, Y/N would have already been out of work. Did someone know who he was? Or did they just notice he drives her around all of the time? They had kept the fuck who was following them around, and, from what he’d told them, he had no clue who Harry was or what they wanted from Y/N. That he was paid 10,000 quid to follow a girl in her mid-20s and see what times she would most likely be alone (Harry had punched him again for that – he couldn’t help himself). He’d just thought Harry was her boyfriend – an overly dutiful one. And he hadn’t been released until all of this was done, so that he couldn’t expose Harry or Adam for being involved. 

Harry felt like something was coming; he just didn't know what. They finally had a lead that he’d be down at the pier tonight with Antonyia on his yacht, which would be a perfect escape route because it does take some time to steal and rig up another person’s boat to chase after them. They could be off into the night sea, and nobody would have a clue where they disappeared off to. But his assistant is the one who spilled, after being snatched outside of his house by Adam and being scruffed up a bit. They had plans to stake the place out until they showed up – Harry had been down at the pier, but was hurrying to take Y/N home, drop her off where he knew she’d be nice and safe, and then come back.

He stopped for gas, and then he came out, drove for a while, and his tire is completely fucked. Wherever they had sliced into it had been perfect to only lose steam when he was far from the gas station – enough that he wouldn’t be able to make a call. This is so fucked. 

Harry steps on the gas. He’s whipping and weaving through cars in a way that would give his driving instructor from his teens a reason to go back in time and never pass him. His palms are sweating, and his mind feels frantic – this is the first time in a very long time that Harry feels legitimately scared. Scared for what they’ll do to her – scared for what she’ll say. They never talked about what she should do if something like this should happen, because he didn’t want to worry her. He had vowed to always be there for her so she wouldn’t ever need to worry about something like this. 

God, he doesn’t even want to think about what could be happening. His only solace is offered in the fact that they want her for their own benefit. That they need her to be a stand-in, and to be a stand-in for some wannabe kingpin’s girl, you can’t really have them limping or bleeding anywhere, or else it would be too obviously a ruse. At least, that’s what he’s telling himself to calm down. He needs to check her location – he keeps his phone up on the little tracking dot for when it finally switches from ‘No Location Found’ to a little blue dot. 

His poor baby – she’s probably so fucking scared. 

If they laid even a single finger on her, he’ll fucking kill them. 

                                                                .                          .                        .

Y/N thinks 30ish minutes pass before Finley comes back into the room. It’s longer than she imagined him giving her, since they seem like they crunched for time, but if they don’t know who Harry is, then they must think the most he’d do is call the police or something. They wouldn’t know that Harry has her location, and honestly, whoever took her didn’t seem to be digging around in her purse at any point. Her purse was on Finley’s desk, actually, just out of reach. If anyone was calling her, she’d have no clue because she has the ringer off during work days, but she could only imagine that Harry realized something was fucked by now. 

“Any thoughts?” Finley inquired, “We really don’t have time for you to sit and chew on it for any longer.” 

“Well, I’m still refusing.” She huffs, swallowing hard. 

This time, he rolls his eyes, “Okay, listen,” he began, lowering so that his face was mere centimeters from hers. She could smell liquor on his breath, and her nose scrunched because of it, turning away so that it was hitting the side of her face. He grabs her chin, though, and yanks her to look at him, and a distressed noise leaves her throat, “I was trying to be nice, yeah? Give you the illusion of a choice and even put some money in your fucking pocket, but if you’re going to be a bitch about this, then I can be a bitch too. Either you come willingly, get paid, and keep your mouth fucking shut, or we force you, no money, and you’ll be lucky not to end up at the bottom of the fucking oce–” 

There’s commotion outside. Finley gets distracted in whatever he was saying, eyes darting to the side like he was looking out the door. Y/N cranes her neck the best she can to look as well, his hand still on her chin. There were more people than it had sounded like when she first came in, all scattered about, moving, some rushing toward the left and some rushing away. Y/N is confused – she can’t make out what they’re saying, but muted whispers become shouting. 

There’s gun shots, and Y/N almost screams, a full body jump where she nearly launches herself off the chair. Her blood runs cold – is she really about to get trapped in the middle of a fucking shoot-out? Oh my god, this seriously could not get any worse. Unless – was it Harry? Was it Harry’s team? Or was it the cops? 

Antonyia, who had previously been out of the room, rushes in while the guy who had been armed rushes out. Just as she does, Y/N sees the glimmer of Harry around the corner. Relief floods through her almost instantly, and her mouth opens, “Harry!” She screamed before a palm collided with her mouth, muffling her, but it was too late – from where he was, he may not be able to see her, but he definitely could hear her. Y/N can’t see anymore because Antonyia slams the door shut and locks it. 

“Fuck!” Finley yells out, especially because now, Y/N does start fighting against him. Harry’s here; he could get her out of this. If she fought before, she wouldn’t know the first thing to do to get away, especially since there were fucking armed guys lining the office floor. But now, she stood more of a chance. Now it would be better. She wriggles and bucks and tries to flail, but he grips her tight. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Antonyia, get the gun.” 

“The gun?” She asks, shaking her hand, “What gun? What gun?” 

“The – fuck, the one in my drawer.” 

Antonyia runs over to the desk and starts to pull at the drawers, but all of them are locked. She keeps yanking and yanking, noticeably worked up, frantic, panicking. Y/N thinks both of their hearts are bouncing out of their chests – honestly, hers too, especially the more she hears happening outside. There’s yelling and hitting; there hadn’t been any more gunshots, but Y/N doesn’t particularly trust that. 

“They’re all fucking locked!” 

“The key is on the table, idiot, you have to –” 

The door handle twisted. Finley stops talking, Antonyia stops moving, Y/N swallows hard, and wonders if her heart is going to burst right out of her throat. Once whoever is turning it registers that it’s locked, they let go of the handle. All of them can hear the person take a couple of steps back, the shift in the flooring outside the office. Then there is a thud. It makes all of them jump, the door rattling against its hinges. 

Then there’s another one. 

And another one. 

On the fourth, there’s a sickening crack and the door busts open. There stands Harry, pissed off, and intimidating with his gun in hand. Finley scrambles up and covers as much of his body with Y/N’s as he can. Y/N says breathlessly, “Harry,” before her eyes really do start welling up with tears. Her hands are shaking – she knows she’s safer now than she has been, but she wants to be with him, pressed up against him, up under his arm. 

Harry points his gun at Antonyia without thinking twice. 

“Get your hands off her,” Harry’s voice is low, demanding, and Y/N doesn’t doubt for a second that he means his next sentence, “I’ll shoot her, and then I’ll kill you, if you don’t let go of her right fucking now.” 

And Finley is an idiot, in most things it seems, but for once, he does appear to make a smart decision. Y/N feels the pressure around her body loosen as his arms fall from her, and Y/N trips forward toward Harry, while more people rush in through the door behind him. They’re swarming with orders and yelling, Y/N doesn’t know if they’re cops, or detectives, or just people in Harry’s group. She doesn’t know, and she really doesn’t give a fuck either, as she stumbles into Harry’s body and collides against him. 

Y/N buries her face into his chest while he presses the back of her head with his palm, “I know, baby, I know, I know, I’m so sorry, I’m here now.” He loosens the ties around her back so her arms are free. She nods, and when he pulls her face from his chest to have her look at him, he locks eyes with her, “Yeah? I’m here now, baby, I’m here now. You’re okay.” 

She peeks to the side to see Finley face down on the floor, and Antonyia with her arms tied behind her back. Harry guides her face back to his chest, “I’m taking you home.” 

“But – but don’t they need you to –” 

“No, none of that shit matters anymore, okay? I’m taking you home,” he is resolute, scratching gently at her scalp with his nails, when someone hands him her purse, “C’mon, baby, we’re going to leave here. But when we do, I need you to keep your eyes closed for me. And I mean it, don’t open them for anything.” 

Y/N takes a shaky breath, nodding, having some idea what that means. She huddles closer to him, squeezing her eyes shut, and Harry starts walking her through the door, moving her around. There’s still a lot of commotion and ruckus around her, but she keeps her eyes closed as he told her to. Y/N doesn’t want to see anything that was going to traumatize her further. This was traumatizing enough without any visuals, really. 

But they make it to the elevator, Y/N keeps her eyes closed the whole way down, and is guided out to the car. It’s very similar to how she’d been taken up there, only this time she feels safe. She doesn’t open her eyes until Harry has her seated in the car and she lets them flutter to the darkness of a parking garage again, feeling as he snaps the seat belt across her. Harry, for the most part, looks relatively unscathed. Clear of any bruises or scratches, no sight of blood, whether it be his own or someone else's.  Harry holds the side of her face again, petting over her forehead, then her temple with his thumb, “Did they hurt you anywhere?” He pulls the gag off of her, and tosses it on the floor of his car, shaking his head, “Did the kick you or punch you? Cut you? Anything?” 

“No,” she shakes her head, “No, no they didn’t I – they were worried to, the guys who took me – they said you seemed scary, so they didn’t want – didn’t want to do anything.” She answers, “Finley sort of started to threaten it, but nothing happened. My wrists are just a little sore.” 

He nods, like he’s cataloging everything she’s saying while also doing a brief overview of her. Then, in a moment extra tender, he leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to her forehead, “Okay,” he nestles his nose against the top of her head, “Okay, good. As long as you’re okay.” 

Harry shuts the door and comes around on the other side. He doesn’t even wait a second before he pulls out, “I hope you  don’t mind, but early today I installed a more intense security system in your flat.” 

“I don’t mind, but –” she pinches at the fabric beside her thigh, “I – if you have to leave tonight at any point, I understand, but –” 

“Baby, listen to me,” he cuts her off, then reaches over and places his hand on her thigh. It’s warm, where the heat from his palm seeps into her skin. “The only way I’m leaving your side is if you tell me you want me gone. Do you want me to leave?” 

“No,” she replies, “Of course not, I want – I want you to stay.” 

“Then I’m staying.” He replies decisively, “I’m staying until you ask me to leave.” 

Y/N hardly thinks that will ever happen. 

                                                                       .                        .                       .

Once they got home, Harry showed her the security system and explained to her that if she didn’t type in the keypad and use her fingerprint within one minute of entering the home, it would send an alert to his phone, and subsequently, the police. He registered her index finger into the system and told her that he could delete his if she wanted, but Y/N told him it wouldn’t be necessary. 

She feels too shaken to eat, but Harry warms her up a little bit of the soup he’d made yesterday for dinner. Y/N can stomach it at least, since it’s light, and she tries to scrub her brain clean of any memories of the last couple of hours. When she realizes that it is not going to work, she says she needs a shower, and Harry gets it started for her. He sets the temperature and tells her he’ll warm her towel in the dryer again. 

But she was still shaken, nervous, and a little jumpy. 

“Do you think you could maybe stay in here with me? Like – like while I’m in there?” 

Harry’s gaze, which had already been quite soft, softened even more. He agreed, folding the towel in his lap and sitting on the toilet, “Okay, Sweetheart, I can do that,” he told her, “How was your morning, hm? Was separating into different teams stressful?” 

Y/N knows he’s trying to get her mind off of what happened, and she lets him. She prattles on about the new artist, about some of their newer marketing tactics they’ll be utilizing, how streaming has influenced the industry beyond physical copies. . .a ton of shit that she usually doesn’t bother getting into. It made her feel better, though. When she was done, she turned the water off, and he stuck his hand past the curtain and into the shower. Y/N took it from him, looped it around her body, then tugged it open. 

“I want to wear one of your shirts.” She sort of demanded, and Harry got on it right away. Y/N followed after him while he dug in his suitcases, and made a noise when she saw the one she wanted. It was just a plain shirt, but it’s one he slept in before he started forgoing a shirt altogether. She wears that and just some underwear, and then brushes her teeth before crawling into bed. 

Harry showers with the door open while Y/N scrolled on her phone and snuggled a concerned Muffy, who kept purring and pressing herself further and further against Y/N’s neck until the kitten fell asleep. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her, threatening to pull her into the mattress. She went from a wired adrenaline rush to feeling waterlogged. Her brain was begging her to sleep. 

But she couldn’t quite settle until Harry crawled into bed beside her. Neither fake any pretenses. Y/N scooted over to him instantly, and Harry opened his arms for her readily, until she was pressed as close to him as Muffy was to her. 

“It doesn’t have to be now,” he murmured softly, “But I think you should talk to a therapist about what happened. We have one that works with us – I see them every now and then. They already know what we do, so there’s no risk of them exposing anything if you’re worried about it. It’d be good to work through some of these. . .these experiences, you know? Only when you’re ready.” 

Y/N hummed softly, let her eyes close, and fell into a dreamless sleep. 

It lasts for only a few hours. Eventually, she stirs like she always does, still in Harry’s arms but faced away from him. She batted blindly around for her phone before finding it, squinting open, and seeing the time. It was late – 1 AM, and the moon was seeping through the curtains. Y/N didn’t let Harry turn all of the lights off last night, so her fairy lights twinkle, lining the ceiling and bringing a sense of warmth and comfort that not being submerged in total darkness provides. Her left shoulder aches, so she has no idea how long she’s been lying on it. She twists around in his arms carefully so she wouldn’t wake him up, but when she turns all the way around, she finds his eyes already open, gaze already set on her. 

She jumps a little, a soft sleepy sound in her throat that makes him smile, “Sorry,” he says quietly, “Did I scare you?” 

Y/N pouts at him a little, “Have you not – have you not been to sleep?” 

He shakes his head, “No, but I’ve been watching you.” 

His hand, as it has several times that day, finds her face again. He cradles the side of it, petting her like the feeling of her skin beneath his thumb is confirming that she’s real. That things ended the absolute best that they could, and that she was uninjured. Like it was his fault, and he would be spending a great deal of time trying to rectify it. 

“This wasn’t on you,” she speaks as his fingers trace down her cheeks, over the curve of them, “It wasn’t your fault. I hope you’re not blaming yourself.” 

“How could I not?” He replies, “I should’ve been there.” 

Y/N’s brows furrow, “You can’t be everywhere all the time, you’re one man,” she feels like she’s reminding him, “And they slashed your tire. There was no way.” 

“But I –” 

“There’s no buts about it.” 

He still seems unsettled, “I put you in danger.” 

“I was in danger the moment they realized I looked like her – they didn’t even know who you were.” She reasons, “You’re the only reason why I’m safe and sound right now.” 

“I just –” 

Y/N doesn’t know what came over her. Maybe she wanted him to stop doubting himself and blaming his actions for why tonight went how it did. Maybe she wanted it so that he could feel how real she was and how okay she was, despite all of it. Maybe it was really just for herself, actually, because she wanted to be close and feel close to him. Whatever the reason, she surges forward and presses her mouth to his in a searing kiss. 

She feels a little dramatic to say it, but it feels like two pieces coming together – like something meant to click into place finally has. Harry only takes a second before he reciprocates, deepening it, leaning into her mouth, and sliding the hand that had been on her face to the back of her head again. He holds her tightly, and when she parts for her tiny breath, he only chases after her lips until they meet again. It’s nice, his lips are soft, she feels warm and puddled. 

Once he does part, the tip of his nose brushes against hers, his eyes closed as he mouths over her again. He presses her from her side to her back, covering her body and supporting himself with a forearm on the opposite side of her. A soft noise leaves him, like he’s been wanting this – needing this. The way you moan after taking a drink when your mouth is so dry. 

Y/N parts her lips and carefully slips her tongue out, caressing the seam of his mouth. Harry opens readily, slides his tongue against her own. She moans a little this time, from her throat, feeling the careful weight he presses against her chest, the way his leg slides from her side, between her thighs with a knee bent to keep himself even just a little raised. Y/N wanted his full body weight on her, though. She liked how it felt to be completely covered by him. It’s why she snakes her arms around his shoulder and drags him down further. Her hands press against his back, feeling the strength of the muscles there, how easy it is for him to support himself on mostly one arm while still kissing her. 

One of his hands finds her throat. Not to do anything, just to lie there, dragging his thumb across her pulse. He nips on her bottom lip, she thinks so he can feel her throat vibrate with the whine that leaves her, before he soothes it over with his wet tongue. When he drags himself away, it’s only to smear kisses against her chin, down her jawline, against the opposite side of her throat where his hand isn’t resting. Not only is he kissing her, but he’s rubbing his nose against her, breathing in slowly and deep, dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin. Parts of her he sucks into his mouth, between his teeth to make blooming marks. Y/N’s okay with it – she likes it. She’s calling into work tomorrow anyway, so he might as well mark her all up. 

If he’s satisfied with one spot, he moves to another. He does it again and again, until his lips are dotting around her collarbones and his teeth are meeting her shoulder. His hand slides from her neck, down, and he hovers just above her breast before he leans away. Y/N’s eyes had been closed, but at the sudden departure, she blinked them open. 

“You have to tell me to stop,” he says, breathless, chest heaving as his gaze darts around her face, her neck, where his hand hovers, “I’ve wanted this for so long, baby, but if you don’t want it, then tell me to stop.” 

“I want you,” she mewls, rocking her hips to press herself closer, “Please, I want to feel close, I want you.” 

He kisses her again, this time with his hands skating up her shirt and finding her boobs. Harry kneads them, squeezes them – he seems to like how they feel against his hands, and how if he holds just right and squeezes just so, the flesh will start to pool around his knuckles. He flicks her nipples beneath his fingers before kissing down her neck again, only this time he goes further, stopping at her tits and dragging his tongue over the fabric. Y/N whines again, reaching for the hem of the shirt and hiking it up, up, up, until she can pull it over the swell of her breasts. 

From her POV, it looks like Harry had just been bestowed a feast before his very eyes. He pulls her nipple into his mouth and swirls around it until it pebbles up for him, feeling the ridge of each bump with the tip of his tongue. Harry doesn’t do the annoying thing she’s seen plenty of men do in porn, where they just keep popping on and popping off. He sticks on, only pulling his lips back when he’s sucking at them, before pulling more skin into his mouth so he can lave against it again. Y/N’s nipples haven’t ever been the most sensitive, but the show he’s putting on is making her feel like they are. She’s getting wetter, the thin material of the panties starting to stick to her lips as he dots kisses across her chest to her other nipple. 

Y/N’s fingers find his hair, carding through the strands and gripping tightly at the nape of his neck and at the top of his head. Her chest heaves with every little breath she takes, and he chuckles against her when she starts to press his head down, arching her back. 

“I didn’t take you for a head pusher, Sweetheart,” he murmurs against her skin, but he gets the memo, dragging the tip of his nose and his upper lip down her torso, like he was drawing a line. Her stomach jumps, ticklish from these feathery kisses he starts giving her just below her belly button, “You want me to make you feel good, hm? Want Daddy to make you feel good?”

She shakes all over and moans, a heated coil twirling in her belly the way it always does when she’s reading something she’s surprised that she’s into. His hands are slipping down her sides, skating along the skin until he gets to her hips. Her hips twitch under his hold, but he presses her down and makes sure she can’t move, and she thinks if she tried hard enough, she could cum just from this and her clit pushing against the fabric of her underwear. 

“Use your words,” he orders, “What do you want?” 

“Make me feel good,” she twitches again, only to be held down, and yeah – she really could cum from just this, “Please, please, I want to feel good, I haven’t in so long.” 

Harry noses down to her folds, the tip of it dipping against the wet fabric, “Poor baby,” he murmurs softly, “Just need someone to take care of you, yeah?” 

“Just want you to take care of me,” she whines, “Just want – just want Daddy to.” 

Harry makes a noise between a moan and a growl before he buries his face against her pussy. It’s almost animalistic in the way that he doesn’t seem to care how much of his face gets wet. He breathes in deep and hangs his tongue out so that it’s stroking past her with every swipe up and down. Like he couldn’t even wait to get them off of her – like he needed this more than he could even put into words. 

Y/N spreads out her legs for him, knees pulled up on either side and split open. His fingers pressed into the bottom of her thigh like he needed something to grip onto, to maintain his handle on reality. That’s how she felt, holding onto his other hand that she’d noticed on her right side, just lying there, digging into the blankets. Maybe it was too sentimental and mushy for whatever they were, but Y/N slots her fingers between his anyway, and he held onto her like she was something sweet and precious to him. 

When he finally tugs her panties to the side, he must overestimate how much strength he would need for it because they rip in half. It wasn’t helped by the fact that they already had a tiny tear in the seam, but he widened it, stretched it out, and the show of strength was enough to get her moaning again. Harry doesn’t seem concerned by it, just immediately slips his tongue between her folds like there’d been a magnet drawing him there. He presses in firm and deep, the tip just barely fluttering against her hole that she can’t help but pucker a little for him. He drags it up, wet and full, against her clit, before he briefly sucks it into his mouth.

Y/N gasps, her legs jerk like they might try closing around his head, but he keeps her pressed open as he does it again. Starting low and dragging his tongue up, barely suckling her clit before going back down. He does it until she’s rocking her hips against his tongue, whining at him, “More –” she feels greedy, but she can’t help it, “More, please – suck on me more.” 

“Filthy little thing,” he says, his words vibrating against her pussy – he stays close, like he couldn’t bear the thought of pulling his lips any further away, “Want me to keep this tasty little button in my mouth, yeah? Suck on it until you cum?” 

Her other hand is digging into his scalp, tugging, “Yes,” her toes curl so tightly they pop, her clit throbbing like it heard that they were talking about it. He’s unrelenting on her slit, slurping up everything she drools and leaks for him, before he licks around her clit. This time, instead of the tiny little sucks, he treats it how he’d been treating her nipples. He takes her clit and just a few centimeters beneath it, into his mouth, suctioning against her, fluttering his tongue back and forth while she pulsed around nothing. It’s hard for her thighs not to tremble; it feels too good, better than anything she’s ever felt before. She could tell he was practiced and enjoying himself, not just doing it as an obligatory precursor to fucking her. 

Two fingers carefully prod at her hole, circling in her slick before sliding in slowly. Harry’s fingers are long and on the thicker side, so the stretch is felt, but it wasn’t horrible. She was wet enough and horny enough that her walls were coaxing and accommodating, like she’d been waiting for something to get inside of her this whole time. He pulls off her clit for a small breath before latching back on, and when she squeezes tightly around his two fingers, he moans a soft, “Mhm,” that makes her eyes flutter and roll back. Now that he doesn't have a hand on her thigh, Y/N tries to hold herself up and open for him, but she’s doing a bad job of it. Especially when his fingers curl and nudge at her G-spot. 

Once Harry finds it, he doesn’t let up. He only retracts for a moment to slip a third finger in as he strokes against her spongy bump, sucking on her clit in the way no man has ever done for her. Her eyes brim with tears – it’s too much, and it feels too good. Her orgasm feels like a lightning bolt zipping down from her brain to a hot coiling spring in her belly. He must be able to feel it, because he moans another hum against her like he’s encouraging her. But he doesn’t go any faster – he doesn’t change his pace at all, while Y/N’s eyes are squinted closed, her spine starts to curl inward, as she pushes her hips closer, shoving herself against his mouth. 

“Cumming, I’m cumming,” she whined, when it finally hits her, full body waves rolling through her as she jumps and twitches against him. At first, she’s quiet, her breath stolen from her, but when she finally sucks in air, the sound that leaves her is a little guttural and sort of embarrassing. She’s worried she’s going to get a cramp from how tight she has all of her muscles. 

When she finally comes down, she’s sensitive, pressing his head away, melting into the mattress. It opens her up further for his fingers, which spread out and stretch, opening her up even more. He places kisses on the tender insides of her thighs, nosing against the junction of where they meet her pussy. 

“How do you want me, baby?” He asks, “Do you want to be on top? Do you want me on top of you?” 

She thinks about it – thinks about what she wants right now, and right now, she sort of wants to be surrounded by him. Engulfed in him, and if he’s inside of her on top of that, that was even better. 

So she flips around onto her belly when he eases his fingers out of her (and pops them into his mouth – he was a real eater, for sure), “I want your – your bicep wrapped around me, kinda like a chokehold but not actually choking me. Just there, y’know, I’d – I’d like that.” 

Harry chuckles, sliding his hand down the center of her back toward her bum, spreading her open, “Yeah, Daddy can do that for you.” 

She whines when his thumb brushes past her other hole, tightly puckered, and she reaches back to bat at him, “Don’t – don’t look at my butthole,” she grumbles, and he laughs again. 

“Sorry, baby,” he positions her legs beneath a pillow, before leaning over to her bedside drawer and finding a condom, “S’just a cute little hole, I might need to play with it one day.” The head of his prick tap, tap, taps against her drippy slit. He paints it up and down, stroking the tip through the mess of spit and slick before he slowly starts to press forward. 

The stretch of his cock is more intense than his fingers, with less give, and a little girthier than 3 stacked on top of each other. She thinks this position, too, in particular, makes it feel more intense. She doesn’t even have a chance to be upset that she didn’t actually get to look at it before he slid it inside of her, because it’s so much. So big and thick, she thinks she can feel it in her throat when he finally bottoms out, his balls swollen and full, tucked against her pussy. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, stretching over the top of her. She feels his chest and belly press against her back, and his arm carefully loops up under her head, curling around her neck. It isn’t tight, but it’s reassuring, holding her close, and she can rest her cheek comfortably against his bicep. “That’s it, pretty girl. How do you feel?” 

Y/N has to urge every brain cell that controls her mouth to work, “Full,” she feels herself squeeze around him, and Harry’s hips jerk a little deeper, “So full.” 

“Yeah?” He pets her side before he brings his other arm around her body, across her shoulders, so she can fully rest against his arms. “You like feeling full.” 

She nods, eyes closing as she soaks it in, “Is it good for you?” She inquires, “Do I feel good for you?” 

“You feel perfect.” His cheek is pressed against the side of his head, so his words are right in her ear, “So perfect for me. Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” 

Harry’s careful as he starts. First, he grinds slowly and deeply, letting her walls get used to the stretch and size of him, before he rolls his hips out just a little, then sinks back in. Then he does a little more, and sinks back in, then even more – he does it again and again until just the tip is in before he fucks back into her. Each thrust is punctuated by the slap of their skin meeting, and Y/N gasping and whining with each movement. He’s all around her, just like she wanted. In her ear, around her torso, tucked inside of her. Every part of him crowds her, and she feels safe, and full, and good, so, so good. 

“Talk to me,” she demands, her hands curling around his arm, “Wanna hear your voice.” 

He giggles softly, “Yeah? You’re so soft, Sweetheart. Want me to tell you how badly I’ve been wanting this?” He keeps his pace, and even talking during it, it doesn’t even sound like he’s breaking a sweat, “How every night that I’m holding you, I just want to make you feel good? Have you cum on my fingers, my tongue, and my cock until you’re too worn out to wake up in the middle of the night, even for a second? My restless girl.” The way her pussy is stretching is probably obscene, if she could see it. All she can do is imagine how wide she’s spread for him, and how tightly her walls hug him. Y/N can feel it, how she sucks him back in every time he pulls out. 

“Want me to tell you that I’ve been thinking about you calling me Daddy? How, when you had that stupid little dare to ask me the size of my cock and couldn’t stop looking at my crotch, I wanted to flip you over the desk and show you just how big it was?” Y/N moans, her thighs trying to close, but with how he’s positioned, his knees keep her spread open, their legs locked together, “Yeah, baby, I’ve been wanting you since the moment you teared up when I asked if we were friends. Fuck, I needed to eat you right then and there.” 

With a whine, she tilts her face and bites into his bicep, “Don’t bring that up,” she fusses, “It was embarrassing.” 

“It was perfect,” he murmurs, “You’re fucking perfect. I almost can’t stand it. Need to feel you like this every day – need to feel this tight, wet pussy sucking me right in, soaking my cock. Need to be pressed close to you like this. So happy you’re okay,” he noses at the side of her head again, “So happy to have you in my arms like this.” 

The coil twists, warm, hot, and bright, “Harry,” she feels pathetic, how much she’s whimpering, how pitiful she sounds, “Again, m’g’na cum again.” 

“Cum for me,” he murmurs, “Love making you feel good, baby, cum all over my cock.” 

It’s more intense with him inside of her like this. More intense now that she can feel herself pulsing and squeezing, milking around his cock. Just like with his fingers, Harry keeps pace, the same ease, thrust and buck of his hips while he works her through it, curling tighter around her body to hold her still. It somehow manages to prolong her orgasm, she thinks. It feels like it lasts forever, trapezing through her body. 

Harry cums soon after, only speeding his hips when he knew she was completely finished. He grinds in deep when he finishes, and Y/N is bummed that she’s not feeling it inside of her, spilling all over, slipping out when he keeps going. Still, the elation and pure bliss she feels outweigh any negative emotion. Her brain feels buzzy and tingly in a good way – one she’s never experienced before, as her body completely melts into the mattress, and therefore, further into his arms. They stay like this for a little while, catching their breath, feeling the sweat of each other’s skin pressed together. 

When Harry eases up and carefully pulls out of her, he is only away from her body for as long as it takes to twist the condom and throw it away. Then he’s right back against her, “Did so well for me,” he murmurs, “Such a good girl, feeling so good for me. Do you want to cuddle some more, baby? Before I clean you up?” She nods, and Harry pulls her back in against his body, like he read her mind. Like he knows she wants him to completely swallow her up, wrapping his legs around hers, his arms around her, pressing her face into his neck. It wasn’t even too warm – it was perfect. So perfect, and she feels safe, secure, and satiated. 

His fingers play carefully at her nape, doing light, feathery touches that tickle a little in the best way. Y/N giggles, wrapping her arm around his body, letting her fingers feel each nob and bump of his spine. 

“Yeah?” He hums, “Are you feeling good?” 

Y/N nods, because she’s doing better than that even. All things considered. 

“I’m feeling great.” 

“Good,” he hums, “You’re all mine now.” 

                                                              .                           .                           .

Things settle out quite nicely, after all the drama of it is over. In the following week, the news is released to the public about Finley and Antonyia. Their mugshots are all over the news, and she gets a frantic call from Niall, who is crying about the fact that he almost set her up with a criminal. Harry gets to have some time off from his dangerous job, because that’s how it is after working for months on a bust like this – there’s vacation time in order, so he gets to relax a little, only working on his “normal” job. 

He stays over more nights than he doesn’t. It had been so long since he’d been to his flat before, he told her he had to go and make sure the place hadn’t been actually flooded with sewage water, since they put that into the universe. At least twice a week, he goes back home to make sure everything is in order, but he always comes back with new clothes to store here for when he spends the night. Y/N doesn’t mind it at all – she likes her alone time, sure, but she prefers to have it knowing someone else is in the flat with her. Then it’s not as scary or creepy. 

They aren’t like. . .officially anything yet. Y/N wants to ask him about it, but she doesn’t know how to without seeming clingy, even though he’s definitely the clingier of the two of them. But every version of her asking turns into him telling her they’re better off as friends who fuck sometimes, or him giving some half-baked excuse about his job being dangerous, or just anything that doesn’t end with them running off into the sunset. Niall and Aki tell her she’s being stupid, but that’s easy for them to say – they’re never the ones who need to confess first. They always have people falling at their feet practically, begging them to date before they’d even need to ask. 

But one day, Y/N comes out of work one day with her coworker Jacob, who makes her laugh and slap his arm before they part ways (he never comes down the stairwell, but he told her about how he’d gotten stuck on the elevator this morning, and how the firemen actually had to come and get him out, and it was the most humiliating experience of his life – but he’s a funny guy, so it all comes out very hilarious), she doesn’t think anything of it when Harry asks, “Who is that?” 

Y/N hums, because she’d been looking at the picture Niall sent her, and she lifted it higher for Harry to see, “It’s this guy Niall matched with on Hinge, we’re trying to find out if his profile is real or not. He’s Russian, apparently.” 

“No, not him – but tell me more about him later, I have some software we can use to see if he’s a fake or not,” Harry motioned toward the door, “That guy you walked out with.” 

“Oh! That’s Jacob! He’s one of the secretaries,” she answers, slipping her phone back in her purse, “He’s really funny.” 

“Not funnier than me, right?” 

“Well…..” 

“Hey!” Harry made an affronted sound, “You’re not supposed to think any man is funnier than your boyfriend, didn’t you know that?” 

Y/N paused. Her eyes widened when she turned to look at Harry, who did not appear like he’d said anything out of the ordinary. She blinked a couple of times, registering it, before repeating, “Boyfriend?” 

“Uh, yeah?” Harry replied, tilting his head, “I am your boyfriend. You’re supposed to think I’m the funniest guy in the world next to Niall.” 

“I – I mean, yes, you’re very funny, I just didn’t know – I mean. . .we’re dating?” 

A look of pure horror warps Harry’s face, “Oh my god,” he says quietly, then immediately turns into a different parking space, pushes the gear shift into park, and turns to face her, “Baby, what? Yes!” 

“Oh!” Y/N exclaimed, “Oh, I just didn’t know! You never asked so –” 

“Oh, wow, this is what it felt like the night I asked if we were friends, isn’t it? I think I’m going to cry,” he looks as shocked as Y/N feels, “We’ve – I mean, yeah, according to me, we’ve been dating.” Then, he looks a little worried, “I mean, are you not interested in –” 

“No! That isn’t it at all,” she denies, “I – no, Harry, I want to be dating you very badly, I just didn’t know we already were,” Y/N puffs out a disbelieving laugh, “I’ve been spending the last like three weeks trying to figure out how to tell you I liked you more than just friends.” 

Harry seems to relax, shoulders slumping a little as he melts back into his seat, “Well, great news for you, baby, that’s unnecessary. I don’t kiss my friends. If I did, I would’ve been laying them on you the moment your eyes watered that night.”

“I really need you to stop bringing that up.” 

He grins at her, leaning forward and pushes a soft, chaste kiss to her lips. 

“I guess, I could ask properly, instead of just assuming we were on the same page.” He slid his hand into hers, squeezing when the sides of their knuckles met, “It feels a little backwards, since we’re already coparenting a kitten, but Y/N – I like you a lot. I like you so much, in fact, that it makes me look so stupid sometimes. I want to be around you all of the time, and I want to sniff you, and cuddle you, and be weird about you. Would you maybe want to date me?”  

It’s hard not to break out into a matching smile. 

She nodded, her eyes flickering down to his crotch where his hard cock was still straining against his boxers. The thought of him inside her made her worked up even before she had been in this situation, but to have him so close and promising she could have it? She felt light headed, giddy. The nerves from before that had lingered were all but gone as she watched Harry quickly rise to his feet and peel his boxers down, freeing his cock properly. 

She’d known it. Every time people had said he had the energy to be hung, she had agreed, but seeing it was something else. Thick and hard, with a slight curve to the left and ruddy tip, it was perfect. Before seeing his she wasn’t sure one could be considered such, but it was exactly what she would have wanted. It felt silly to be gawking the way she was, but seeing his proud smirk as he noticed it made it a whole lot better. 

“Not what you’re used to?” 

“No. It’s better.” She swallowed the lump in her throat as she listened to him bark out a laugh. 

“That’s what I like to hear.” He grabbed a condom from the nightstand where she had left it and rolled it on swiftly before settling back between her legs. His hands gently pushed her thighs apart wider, giving them a soft squeeze before taking himself in his hand, giving a few strokes with a little hiss from behind his teeth. “How do you want it? Like this?”

“Can I be on top? At first?” She requested it as she sat up, her elbows digging into the bed. “Just… You’re big. I want to feel it like that first, and then… You can do whatever you want to me.”

"Oh, I like that plan, baby.” He rumbled, shifting to lie back against the pillows while guiding her up with him and settling her atop him. “Get comfortable. Take your time. I want you to feel good.” His hands settled on her hips as she straddled him, her wet heat pressing against the tip of his cock. "Ride it slow. Get used to to it.” 

The position change gave her a little bit of perceived control, and she appreciated it. He was definitely the biggest she’d ever taken before and it was slightly intimidating to know all of him was would inside of her, so she let herself take her time to breath as she settled over him, feeling the tip brush against her clit.

It felt like a defining moment as she felt his hands gently stroke up her hips and settle at her waist, eyes locked on her. He didn’t let his gaze stray from her, a little encouraging nod making her let out a little sigh. 

His cock was hot in her hand as she guided him to her entrance, feeling the tip nudge against her still-sensitive cunt, rubbing it over her to get him wet. She was plenty soaked, embarrassingly so, over her inner thighs and down to her ass, so she had forgone anything extra yet- but she wasn’t sure she’d need it for him. 

Another first. A Harry exclusive. 

Letting out a shaky breath, she lowered herself onto him, inch by inch. The stretch of him was intense-far fuller than what she was used to, especially in the last few months- and she had to stop midways to catch her breath. “Jesus, you’re big.” She repeated in a giggle, looking down to his form laid back against her pillows. It wasn’t just his cock, but all of him. He was big in every way that counted, in his arms and his hands, his chest, his personality. All of it laid out for her on display gave her the understanding of why he’d wanted to see her splayed out for him. 

It was quite a view.

He was a steady presence, strong hands fallen back to her hips to help guide her the way she needed. No pushing, just reassurance as he ;et her take it at her pace. "There you go, sweetheart. That's it." His voice was low, patient, his thumbs rubbing back and forth against her skin. "I've got you. Just take your time. I’m here as long as you’ll let me have you.”

Her throat felt thick as she heard him say it. It felt like it had a double meaning, one she didn’t have the bandwidth to process right now, but it was filed away for later. She could only hope that's what it meant, anyway.

Slowly, she pressed herself down further, letting the stretch consume her as she took more and more of him. His hands squeezed reassuringly against her hips, encouraging her to move at her own pace as she finally felt his thighs against her ass. It was a long moment where she just breathed through the feeling of being so completely full to the brim, letting her head drop down as her hands settled on his chest. 

“God, baby. You’re so beautiful.” His voice was hoarse as he looked up at her, letting his hands roam. Harry wasn’t in a rush. He seemed content just sitting here with her on top of him, soaking it all up- while she soaked him. “I know it’s a lot to take. Just sit for second and then I want you to grind yourself on me a little bit. Get used to what it feels like to have a real cock inside you.”

She nodded, her hips shifting experimentally as the pressure slowly shifted from borderline overwhelming to growing pleasurable, his hand guiding her as she started to roll them against him. A light moan escaped her lips as she found a rhythm, the shift of him against her making her breathe a little harder. Slow, gentle, grinding herself against him as she found the pleasure in it. 

"There you go. That's it, sweetheart." His fingers dug slightly into her hips, anchoring her as she found her footing, slowly rolling in his lap. “You feel so good. Just like this, feeling you wrapped around me.” His words were quiet but she could hear them clearly as she leaned her weight into her palms. Splayed out against his chest and the tattoos on them, he didn’t seem bothered by it at all- if anything, she could see his eyes flutter when her nails lightly dug into his skin in return. 

“It’s like… Like it’s in my stomach.” Her voice was slightly strained, feeling the slick of herself start to rub into the spot right above is cock. Getting him wet, pubic hair and all, she felt the slip of it making it easier to nudge her clit and the sensitivity making her hips stutter.

The stretch of him made her feel owned, marked in a way she hadn’t even known she wanted until this moment. Her inner walls fluttered around him, adjusting to his girth as his hands held her steady, thumbs brushing over the dimples of her lower back. "That's right," he rumbled, voice thick with pleasure. "Take your time, baby. Learn how you like it." His hips lifted subtly, just enough to grind up into her when she rolled down, hitting a spot that made her vision blur. 

"Oh fuck." She whimpered, her hips twitching as she found the spot. It was like heaven, his cock head pressing against something inside of her that had her toes curling. "Harry..." She moaned his name, her body wracking with a shudder as she found herself grinding down on him harder, chasing the feeling. "Shit." 

“Already? Found that spot so easily… I thought I’d have to work harder to find it.” It was a surprise for both of them. “Think you just needed my cock right up there, didn’t you?” The tone was smug as he looked between them, seeing her move, stretched around the girth of him, feeling the clench of her cunt around him. 

“Mhm… I needed it so badly.” Y/N nodded, nails digging back into his chest as she found the spot again. It was so simple, grinding on his dick, but it felt better than anything she’d had in months. The ease of how their bodies worked together made her feel the heat all over her, especially when he lifted his hips again and let the tip nudge that spot again. “Oh fuck, that’s what I needed. I need to be f-fucked right, I knew you could do it. I knew it.”

"I know, honey. S’alight. I’m here now to take care of it." He cooed, hips lifting again to punctuate his point, making her gasp as he hit that spot perfectly. "Knew you needed a real man to take care of you. To fuck you like you deserve. Like you've been craving." His voice dropped, possessive in the way that had her head spinning. 

It was a repeated theme. Y/N shouldn’t love it as much as she did, the way he was looking at her, the way he was talking about her like she was his now, but she didn’t stop it. Maybe she should. Maybe it would be good to reset those boundaries- but if she didn’t want them, and there was no safe word being used… Was there a point? 

"Now look at you, riding my dick like it's the only thing keeping you together." He gripped her hips with a firm hold, guiding her movements with more certainty now that she had found her footing, watching every little reaction. It felt like she was being studied- she had a feeling she was- but it was to her benefit. Harry was finding exactly how she liked it and giving her what she needed. “You don’t need to keep it together though. You can fall apart with me. I’ll take care of you.”

Y/N whimpered, her body already responding to his words. The way he was speaking to her, the way he was handling her- it was like she was a completely different person. One that needed this kind of attention, one that needed to be praised and taken care of in this way. “H…” She moaned his nickname, feeling the stretch of him inside of her as she ground down onto him again. “Fuck me like I deserve.”

Was it possible to be cockdrunk when she had only been on it for a few minutes? It was a mystery, but it felt like it. Picking herself up and dropping down, even just a little more had her wanting more. There was more he could give her and she could feel that he was holding it all back. 

There would always be appreciation in the care that he took for her to adjust but now that she could take it, she wanted to take it. “Please? I can take it. I promise, I can- I want it.” Begging wasn’t something she really did, but it came out of her mouth anyway. It felt amazing even just like this, the slow shallow bounces and deep grinds, but she remembered just how easily he had picked her up. He trained in the gym, he used his body for work, and she wanted to feel him use it on her. 

“Baby- Sweet girl, you don’t have to beg. As pretty as it sounds-“ His hips pushed up into her, the motion sending him into her as he pulled her down. “As much as I love hearing your voice, I’ll give you what you want. Hold on t’me.”

Y/N didn’t have time to respond when a corded arm pulled her to his chest, shifting his knees up and pinning her to him. Cheek pressed against his slightly sweaty shoulder, a gasp escaped her as he thrust up into her. Heavy, deep, enough to knock the breath out of her. “Oh, fuck.” Her voice was a deep groan, feeling it again, and again. One arm latched over her back, keeping her pressed to him as he fucked up into her, she felt every little bit of him.

"There we go, beautiful girl." He murmured against her ear, feeling her tighten around him with each deep thrust. It was messy. Sticky. The squelch of her was audible as he took her, obvious to how much she was loving it. "Taking my cock so well. So fucking perfect for me." His other hand snaked down to grope her ass, pulling her cheeks apart. Selfish in his handling, he indulged in what he wanted, too. Her ass had always been a weak spot.

"You like this better, baby? Need it faster, deeper?" He demonstrated with another powerful push that had her crying out, her nails digging into his shoulder.

“Just like that. Don’t stop that. Keep it.” Her voice was slurred as she felt her eyes close, letting him take over. The feeling was so full, so thorough that it left nothing to be desired. No wishing for a little bit to the side, or just a little more- what he was giving her was perfect. 

 "Good girl. Let me know what you need. I’m right here. You’re what I’m here for.” 

Not for Devon’s pleasure. The other man was in the corner, hand wrapped around his cock as he watched Harry fuck deep into his girlfriend. He got off on it just as much as he knew he would, but that wasn’t either of their focus. 

No, it was clear that Harry only gave a fuck about Y/N. He liked showing off, he liked that the man who had neglected her would know by the end of this that Y/N deserved better, and he wasn’t afraid to voice the fact that he knew he was better for her.

"Yes- yes, Harry. Just like that." Her voice came out broken, whiny as his thrusts pounded into her. Her thighs squeezed around his hips, body jolting with each hit to that spot that had her seeing white. "I need it- I need it like this. Don't stop, please don't stop. I need you."

"Never. Have no plans to stop, sweetheart." He bit down on her shoulder, the feeling of his teeth making her cry out, grabbing at the pillow next to his head. The sting of the pain melded into hot pleasure, a sticky shot up to her stomach as her pussy pulsed on top of him. “M’yours until you’re done with me.”

He meant it, too. The way he gripped her body, the way he marked her skin, the way he fucked into her like he was trying to brand her- and it all spoke to a level of possessiveness that she hadn't expected from him. But god, did it feel good. Every thrust, every bite, every growled word in her ear pushed her higher and higher until she was a mess of moans and whimpers, her entire body trembling with the heated pleasure shooting through it. 

It was when he turned them over, laying her out that his words dropped just for her to hear. 

Y/N had squeaked at the change of position but it had been quick enough that he’d only pulled out momentarily, a moan melting her into the bed under her as her legs wrapped around his hips. She needed him close, feeling the pants of his breath as he kissed her hard. The taste of her was still on his tongue. She could smell it on him in a way that was primal and heady, the desire to give, give, give and own making it hard to do anything but give right back to him. 

There was a whine when he pulled away from the kiss, but the sloppy kisses down to her ear as slowed the pace of his fucking and gave it a bit harder hard her distracted. That was until his lips met her ear. 

“Wish I wasn’t wearing this condom.” He mumbled, breath hot and heavy against her. “Wish I was fucking you bare. He’s never gotten to do that, has he?” 

No, he hadn’t.

 No one had, and that had been by design. But in the moment, having Harry without a barrier sounded like the best thing ever. If he wanted that, she would give it to him. In a way that was slightly irrational and definitely irresponsible, she would give it up to him in an instant and likely wouldn’t regret it. 

Now that he’d put the idea in her head, that’s what she wanted.

“Do it. Take it off.” She goaded, loosening her legs slightly around his hips. “You can do it. No one else has but I want it. I want to feel it.” Her voice was whiny, pleading for it, but he responded with a pained groan. 

“No. Can’t… Not when you’re not mine yet.” He nipped the lobe of her ear, pushing all the way in and staying there to make her squirm from the depth and fullness she had from his body as close as it could get. “When you’re mine; when there’s no one else around, you can have it all. As much as I want to show that pathetic little fuck that I can fuck you better, the fist time I take you raw s’when you belong to me.” 

Y/N would have believed someone if they told her what she’d heard was out of a dream, but her sex hazed, needy brain wanted it. She was gagging for it, really. Just feeling the differences of it all, feeling how he handled her, it made her want to give herself to him. 

“Harry, please?” Her plea only made him shake his head, pulling back to thrust again. “I want… you said you’d give me what I want.” 

Was she bratty? Yeah, a little bit, but when he dangled that in front of her and made her want it so bad she could cry, it felt appropriate. 

“And I will. But you need to be mine properly first.” He pulled from her ear and gave her a kiss that was far sweeter than the environment called for. “We can talk about that later. But right now m’gonna make you cum on my cock, run you a bath and let you sleep for a little bit after. Take care of you the way you need.” 

And God knew she needed it. 

The conversation was closed for now, it seemed, but the fucking wasn’t. The kiss he finished with was filthy, pushing her legs further up his hips and let himself in deeper as she moaned against his mouth. 

It was the best sex she’d ever had. 

Y/N was being fucked by the friend her boyfriend had supposedly hated while he was watching and she couldn’t think about anything other than the fact that she couldn’t only do this once. She couldn’t just settle for this. 

One single taste had shown her who the better fit was. 

“Oh, I felt that.” He crooned, loud enough for his voice to carry. “You’re about to cum on my cock. Listen to that wet little pussy, how messy she gets for me.” His nose nudged hers as he pulled back slightly, looking over to the side. 

She didn’t need to look to know that he was looking at her boyfriend. 

“Tell me you love this cock, baby.” 

Y/N did. She really, really loved how it felt inside of her and how he used it, so the response was immediate. “I love your cock, Harry.” She bleated, hands running up his shoulder blades. “So much.”

“Yeah? Am I the best you’ve ever had?” He was goading Devon, using the humiliation he clearly liked to prove a point- but the answer was obvious. 

“Yeah, it’s… You’re the best. So good. It fits the best, I’ve never felt so good.” She wanted to stroke his ego and it was working by the way his hips stuttered. 

“I’ll always take care of this cunt. It’s mine- You’re mine now, aren’t you, beautiful girl?” He looked back at her, sweat dripping down his brow. It was hard to talk with how close she was, her legs tight right back around his hips as he adjusted just enough to hit where she needed. Clit brushing his stomach, cock as deep as she could get it, it had never been this intense.

“Yours.” She gasped, the flood of heat starting to roll over her body again. “Oh my god, it’s yours if you- if you want it, it’s so much better, I… I’m gonna cum, H.” Wild eyes met his dark ones, the feral grin returning to his face. 

“Go on, baby. Give it t’me. Show me it’s mine. I’ll never leave you without orgasms, never make someone else fuck you to give you what you need. I’ll take such good care of you. Let it all go.” 

It was enough that she screamed. Silent at first, gurgling into a groan as she arched her back off the now damp with sweat duvet cover, clawing at his back as she sobbed out his name. The way it had rushed over her like a sudden storm after the clouds turned dark shouldn’t have been a surprise but it was, body shuddering as she felt his body grow tense on top of hers. 

The snarl was a sound she’d never heard from him, head dipping into her throat as his hips bucked and cock pulsed as he filled the condom. Arms shaking a little as he lowered himself and snuck one under her shoulders, pulling her into his embrace as he pumped himself into her a few more times before stilling, she felt her toes cramp from how hard they’d curled. 

The panting was loud. The smell of sex permeating the room. His body sticky and sweaty on top of hers, holding her as close as she could get, there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

Her body was lax underneath him. The feeling was unfamiliar, but all she could focus on was Harry as he pulled himself from her neck and kissed her again, saying her name a few times before she gave him what sounded to be a drunken giggle, pouting her lips for another kiss. 

He said something, looking off to his left, but Y/N wasn’t paying attention to that. Her pout remained, watching him change his expression to tight and irritated before it lightened, the sound of a door clicking shut making her refocus back onto the man. 

“Hi.” The girl grinned up at him, pushing his sweaty hair from his face. It got a smile from him, the dimple returning to his cheek enough of a temptation to poke. “You’re so cute. S’not fair.”

His chuffed laugh was quiet as he shook his head, pulling his arm from around her and reaching off to the side. “First time I’ve been called that after making someone orgasm so hard they cried.” The sound of her water bottle being popped open was what alerted her to the top being pushed to her mouth. “Drink for me, sweetheart.” 

She hadn’t been able to tell the difference between tears or sweat, but for the first time, that was a good thing.

Y/N did what she was told, only dribbling a little when he pulled it away. “I feel so tingly.” The admission was met with a hum as his thumb brushed the water from dripping all the way down her cheek. “Think you fucked me dumb, maybe.” 

“No. You’re not dumb.” Harry mumbled, pushing the hair from her face in return. The strands were longer, making her sputter when she realized she had a little in her mouth but he didn’t miss a beat as he tucked it behind her ear. “Just a bit overwhelmed, is all. But I’m going to take care of you. I have t’pull out and it’s going to be a little uncomfortable but I need to get you cleaned up. Okay?” 

“Do y’have to? I want you to stay in.” Her frown was enough to make him want to stay in and she could see it, but he stuck with his response. 

“Next time. You’re gonna have to wee too, but I’ll give you some time to find your legs before that.”

Harry was right about it being uncomfortable, but she tried to be brave and only winced without the hiss she wanted to let out. “I know. M’sorry.” He soothed her with a kiss between her brows before standing off the bed, wavering only for a second before finding his footing. “You defintely fucked me dumb though, baby. Christ.” 

A hand ran over his face as he looked her over for a moment, splayed out on the bed before he cursed to himself, forcing himself to look away and pull the condom off. “You stay seated, Miss. I’ll be right back.” 

It didn’t take him long to return, a warm, wet cloth in hand that he tenderly swiped over her swollen pussy. It made her hiss this time but he whispered his apologies, cleaning her up in a strangely chaste way. Sweet. “You said that I’m bigger than I’m used to, so I knew you’d be a bit uncomfortable later.”

The reminder had her thinking of Devon. 

Truthfully? Besides Harry talking about himself being better (which was very true) and the strange interruption they’d had after he’d eaten her out, she had forgotten he was there. That had been her own goal, really, but she hadn’t expected to be as lost into Harry as she had gotten. 

The way she had gotten so into Harry’s possessive remarks and the way she had liked the idea of being owned by the other man while her boyfriend watched wasn’t boding well for what she had thought could have been their relationship. It had been an attempt to fix it, maybe, but she had known going into this that she was possibly, definitely, far too excited to have Harry inside of her. 

To explore that connection was a gift- but now she knew that it had become more than that. It was palpable in the way he was treating her even now. 

It was strange to feel like his reminder was a cloud over her, but her frown was enough to make Harry pull her back to him. “Hey. Don’t know where you went, but you’re needed here.” The words were lighthearted and enough to make her smile, thanking him when he placed the cloth to the side and settled himself in beside her. “Come here. I need a snuggle.” 

Y/N knew that they’d need to talk about what it all meant soon. His proclamations of what they could do once she was really his weren’t something that she thought to be just dirty talk- but for now, she was just going to enjoy this. Sitting in the afterglow of getting what she needed for all this time, the bubble of curiosity finally popped. 

Being pulled into his arms, her sigh was satisfied as her face nuzzled into his chest and his fingers ran down the length of her bare back, the sound of the front door closing making her relax. Another thing she wouldn’t have to face today, even if it was cowardly to be thankful for it. 

iii.

The heat was suffocating. 

Really, Y/N was being a little dramatic; she could admit that. It was still technically Spring, so it wasn’t even the hottest that it could be, but it was the warmest day of the year so far. The kind of heat that had her wondering if her tiny laundry day shorts were really that inappropriate for her office, or if she could make it work as long as she had granny panties for full coverage of her bum. If she showed up in a tank top and those itty-bitty shorts, she knew Niall and Aki would be supportive (probably wouldn’t even mention it, honestly, because at the end of the day, they are not going to fuss over what she was wearing and would actually try to start an HR case if someone else did), but their floor manager would definitely have an issue. 

Still, she wore her airiest dress that was still work appropriate, but there wasn’t even the whisper of a breeze in the air to keep her cool. It was the sort of stifling, still heat of a desert that she’s never been to. Where you could see heat waves in typically motionless air, and even the sight of them somehow made it feel that much warmer. Y/N so desperately wanted to crawl inside of this video she’d seen of the Japanese countryside this morning, in the cold stream of clear water running over rocks near a bridge. She could just plop right in there and dip her body back, then float her way anywhere that it ended up. It was almost like her homepage had been teasing her with what she couldn’t have before she stepped into the unforgiving heat outside. 

It could be much worse, though. If she had to do her usual commute, then she’d have had to walk like ten minutes in the heat to the subway. Underground was always just a little cooler, but with how many bodies were packed together in the station and then subsequently in the train, there was always more heat generated. Which was nice in winter, when the freezing temps would make her fingers stiff, but at this point of the year, it was not going to work for her. After a heated subway ride, they’d pile out of the subway car, and it would feel nice for all of 2 minutes once she was in the fresh air again, and then the sun would get quite hot again. A lot of this wouldn’t be as bad if she weren’t on her way to work, but everything is always exacerbated tenfold, since chances are she had been rushing around that morning trying to get ready. 

But, instead of having to go through that, she was getting the princess treatment and being carted to and fro, via Harry Styles Car Services. 

It’s not like she’d asked! Harry more or less demanded, actually, and Y/N wasn’t in the business of denying something that would benefit her in the end. Just as she hadn’t denied him when he told her that he should probably hang around her flat for a couple of weeks after what happened at the mall. If it kept her safe and less paranoid, why would she tell him no? Even though her flat wasn’t necessarily hostess material – she thinks that hardly mattered when Muffy was there. 

That first night, after her run-in with Finley, Harry had brought her home and stayed with her until she woke up from her post-adrenalin-rush nap. He offered to buy her dinner (which meant he’d already bought it), then proposed that he at least stay the night if it was okay with her, just to make sure nothing weird happened. Y/N had been relieved, because she had no idea how she was going to trick him into staying the night before he offered. That had removed any trickery needed, so she made a nice bed for him on her sofa and settled Muffy on his belly, with a bottle of water on the coffee table so that he could drink it. 

“I understand if you need to close or lock your door or anything.” Harry told her, “To feel safe, I get that.”  

“Oh, well, Muffy and I kind of have an open door policy,” she explained, “I don’t know if she’s willing to sacrifice that. Once the door shut when the air conditioner kicked on, and she cried at my door for 30 minutes.” 

“To be let in?” 

“To be let out,” Y/N stressed, “She hates a closed door. Anyway, as long as I don’t wake up to you staring at me from the side of my bed, Paranormal Activity style, then I’m okay.” 

Y/N slept better than she probably should have with Harry in her flat. She woke up once to pee, and when she dipped her head around the corner to peek at him, he was snoring on the couch, one leg kicked out of the blanket, and on the back of the cushion. Muffy was cuddled to his throat, which was a little traitor-esque, but she’d accept it for now. When she went back to bed, Y/N fell asleep in all of two minutes. 

She had suspected he would only stay that one night to make sure nothing sketchy happened, and then he’d go back to his flat. However, the following morning, during the breakfast that he’d woken up early to cook for her, he plated a waffle and eggs; he’d found her fruit that she had not bothered taking out of the package yet to wash, and he washed, prepped, and sliced it. It was the sort of breakfast that your boyfriend makes you after he cheated on you and has no intention of telling you, but his guilty conscience compels him to do something kind (not that she’s ever been in that situation or something). 

So, Y/N was slightly suspicious, narrowed eyes on him on her sofa where she’d balanced on the folded blanket he’d placed at the right end. “What’s with the 'I’m sorry I cheated on you' meal?” 

Harry’s head tilted, “I’m sorry I cheated on you?” He repeated, but then shook his head, “Well, no, there was no cheating involved. You’re the only person I’m in an unintentional mutual stalking dynamic with. This is more so, ‘Hear me out, even though it might be a little crazy’ meal.” Y/N had dipped a piece of waffle into the syrup, feeling it sticky and sweet on her lips when she slid it into her mouth, “I’ll be honest, I don’t like the Finley thing at all. He's suddenly showing up at a mall, full suit, just 'happening' to run into you, and recognizing you, then wanting to go out for coffee? Either he’s the world’s dumbest prick, or there’s some weird ulterior motive. And with how similar you look to Antonyia, I just feel like. . .they might be trying something. I don’t know – I need to do more digging, and I need Adam to look into it too, while I’m preoccupied with. . .well, with you.” 

“With me?” She repeated, the syrup sugary on her teeth. 

“Yeah, so – I propose that I sort of hang out with you for a while, a little closer than we have.” He motioned around them with his hand, “Like, if it is okay with you, I’d stay here with you. Maybe I’d go to the store and things with you, stuff like that – just for a bit, to make sure everything is status quo. They don’t know who I am, hopefully, but maybe if anyone is following, they might be deterred from approaching with me around.” 

Y/N raised her eyebrows, lulling her tongue around the syrup sticking to her mouth – she loves waffles, but it’s a sensory nightmare to eat, “I mean – do you have time for all of that?” 

She actually didn’t mind. Maybe she should, but she didn’t even really care that much when she thought Harry was legitimately following her around. At least he would be right at her side rather than somewhere in the shadows, making the back of her neck tingle. Plus, it would sort of be like having a bodyguard to some degree, right? That would make her feel. . .nice, actually. Harry was the one she called when she was scared anyway, so why not cut out the middle man and just have him with her?

“That’s okay,” she poked into a strawberry, “I probably would have bothered you calling every time I got scared.” 

Harry seemed surprised by how easily she’d agreed. Y/N was a little surprised with herself by how easily she agreed, but again, if the assassin for hire is paranoid, she’s going to be paranoid too. Also, she thinks, even if she said no, Harry would have still just followed her out of a sheer sense of guilty responsibility. He probably would have gone ahead and installed that camera outside her door, too. This made things easier for both of them, right? 

“Right,” he agreed, “Um, okay, yeah! You don’t mind if I sleep here?” 

“Nope,” she shook her head, “I think Muffy would like it too.” 

So, yeah, it was sort of easy to agree to it. That was just a couple of days ago, and so far, Harry had integrated himself into her flat with little fuss. He brought two computers and a suitcase of clothes. . .well, she thinks it’s clothes, but she didn’t want to dig through it to see what else he might have put in there. Harry had offered for her to thumb through the fabric, but she denied it. Typically, the offer was enough for her. 

There was no arrangement for him to take her to and from work. On Sunday, they didn’t do much of anything together. Y/N lived her life as she usually did on Sunday, stressed about the upcoming week, sad that the weekend was over, doing her laundry, and taking a nap. Harry offered to cook for her, but since he’d cooked breakfast, Y/N told him that she would cook dinner. Not that it was anything elaborate – just pasta, and she did nothing but heat up the noodles and warm up the sauce, but Harry acted as if she’d made the noodles from scratch. He praised her, ate seconds, then washed the dishes and dried them afterward. Now that Y/N thinks about it, they did not leave the house. 

In the mornings, Harry makes her breakfast before Y/N goes to work. The first day, she commuted like she normally did (they discussed it, that the general morning traffic between here and her job was deemed safe enough that someone couldn’t try anything too nefarious out in the open), but that evening, Harry just came to pick her up instead of her getting on the subway. “What use am I just milking your energy bill while you’re at work without doing anything to deserve it? At least let me drive you to and fro.” 

And she would hardly say that he’s doing nothing to deserve it, but Y/N wouldn’t say no to a free ride. Which ended up being super beneficial on a day as hot as this one, so his air conditioner is on the highest setting, almost cold enough that goosebumps were starting to pebble across her skin. It was good though, otherwise she would have caught aflame. To start off a date at work blistering hot and sweaty was just asking for her to be in an overstimulated, horrific mood the entire day. She should probably have Niall and Aki send him thank-you cards because she’d be in much better spirits than she would have been otherwise. 

He had rolled them through a coffee drive-through – a little shack that Y/N had always passed and thought looked sort of suspicious, but Harry swore by them. He bought her a drink and a little sweet pastry for her to eat later (she tried to hand him her card, and he took it between his index and middle fingers, slid it back into her purse, and then slid his wallet from his pocket to grab his card). Then he pointed all of the vents toward her, which made her laugh, holding the sweating cup in her palm, listening to the ice cubes click together. 

“Thank you,” she breathed out, “I can’t believe you left the air-conditioned flat to take me to work. You’re a better man than like. . .any of the people I’ve dated.” 

“Babe, every anecdote about your prior relationships is starting to break my heart. Where were you finding these men?” 

Y/N scrunched her nose, “Inside the tortured tiles of a frat house,” she told him, “Then the tormented wooden grains of the bar.” 

Harry groaned. He really did hate every dating story she’s ever told, no matter how mild Y/N thought the offense was. She had learned a little while ago that her taste in men was piss poor, and somehow all of the dickheads found her like lost ships spotting a lighthouse in the night. They just never left her alone, and Y/N must have a big, bright sign floating above her head that says something along the lines of ARE YOU A SHITTY GUY WHO LIKES TO LIE? THIS GIRL IS FOR YOU!!! 

But when she tells the stories, they’re more of a haha funny rather than a ‘this is a horrible thing that happened to me.’ However, when she tells Harry these stories, he legitimately seems horrified. No giggling or eye rolling and clowning the men of her past. Actually, he seemed set on reminding her that this behavior was unacceptable and that there was no reason she should have ever gone through any of these scenarios with any of these men. Y/N is on the fence about how she feels with it – she appreciated the sentiment, but unless he planned on fixing everything these men had ever done to her, she’s going to need him to giggle with her. 

They pull up to her job, and Harry always takes them into the parking garage, then drops her off at the door to the lobby on the first level. Y/N gathered her things up, heaving her purse up over her shoulder, and gave him a sullen look with a deep pout, “Well, I guess I’m off then,” she complained, because she hadn’t realized how hard it was to leave the house when someone else worked from home, even though he was chauffeuring her. The fact that he gets to go back to her flat and hang out with Muffy, sit on her couch, where he could probably take a nap if he wanted to – sort of drives her crazy. He gets cutesy-girl flat ambient lighting, and Y/N has to bake under the fluorescent light of an office for the next 8 to 9 hours. It’s totally unfair, “Enjoy my beautiful, comfy home.” That is, unless he has some mission or something. Y/N still very loosely understands what he does exactly.

“Poor baby,” he raised his hand, plucking her bottom lip, and it forced Y/N’s brain to shut down, then promptly reboot. Has he ever touched her like that before? The closest he’d gotten was when they were LARPing at the BDSM club, or whatever, and speaking of – she didn’t nearly get enough information about that as she thought necessary. Like, what, she’s just supposed to continue her day-to-day without knowing the exact ins and outs of what Harry was doing with someone else? She is so nosy, she has to know every nook and cranny of it; every nitty, gritty aspect of something that has nothing to do with her. But in the same breath, she also doesn’t want to know anything about it at all, because it sort of makes her feel sick with something like jealousy every time she imagines him with someone else. And that’s nothing, she is ready to confront just yet. 

“Do you want me to bring you something for lunch?” He asked, and he meant it; his hand slipped from her mouth to rest back in his lap, “I can bring Niall and Aki something too?” 

“You already packed me lunch, though?” Y/N’s gaze flitted to the lunchbox she had buckled to the strap of her purse, “It’d be rude not to eat it. And you sliced my kiwi so nicely.” 

Harry sighed, almost dreamily, “You’re the only one who appreciates my doting,” he told her, “Honestly, I haven’t been able to in a while, so it’s nice to take care of someone a bit. Send me pictures of you eating the kiwi.” 

“Okayyyy,” she finally popped the latch of the door, “Kiss Muffy’s head for me.” 

“Course I will.” 

It’s domestic, all of it. So weirdly domestic for such a weird situation, but it just works. 

Y/N knew that she should ask more questions. She knew it would be beneficial to have some idea of what was going on, but as nosy as she is about some things, for others, she just didn’t need to know. In a spiritual sense, she wanted to keep the peace in her life as much as she could, given the circumstances. If that meant only knowing vaguely that Finley is just some sketched-out pet food company CEO who does shady shit, then so be it. Because she knows herself, and she knew that if it was deeper than money, or more violent, it would keep her up at night, even with Harry sleeping so nearby. Then she’d just be stressed out about what Harry was getting up to when he wasn’t with her, and if he was safe. Not that the safety of an assassin should be her biggest concern, but it definitely ranks pretty high when said assassin has vowed to keep her safe. And when said assassin makes her stomach feel all flippy floppy, and her heart twists up in erratic, messy knots. 

So in her head, he’s just following some people around. He watches from afar and stays relatively safe, free of any bumps or bruises. Nothing she needed to worry about. 

He wished her a good day, and she could hear the car idle behind her until she waved her work ID in front of the badge reader. Only when she walked through the security entrance did she hear him actually drive away, as the gruff-looking man behind the desk signed her in. Niall is waiting for her inside by the elevators, and Y/N tilted the straw of her drink toward his mouth before he could whine or ask. 

“Yummy,” he sighed after a sip, “Did Daddy get you this?” 

“I need you to stop calling him that,” Y/N kept a lot of Harry and hers interactions a secret, once again considering the circumstances they were under, but if she said absolutely nothing about him, then Niall would have gotten suspicious. Harry’s her type, and he’s around a fair amount; not speaking about him screams an omission of guilt about something. Niall wouldn’t know what, but he would know to start probing her, and she can never keep a secret from him for long when he knows that she’s hiding something. 

Which is why she started telling him the truth about little, inconsequential things. Like, when it finally clicked in Niall’s head four days after they went clubbing that for Harry to send her to the right club, he would have had to be at the BDSM club to begin with. So she told him, not that Harry was actually there spying on some guy, but that he’d had a previous BDSM relationship and it was something he was interested in. She isn’t technically lying then, is she? She’s just not telling him the entire truth, but to be fair, he didn’t ask, ‘Was Harry spying on a friend of the guy that I set you up on the blind date with?’ he’d asked ‘Wait a minute, what the hell was Harry doing at a sex club?’ 

Of course, all truths come with the responsibility of dealing with Niall after the fact. He was as floored by this realization as Y/N had been, and demanded to know every single aspect of it. Y/N gave him her limited knowledge of the situation, to which he asked for more, and Y/N had to tell him she sadly only knew that scant amount. “And he barely told me that,” she explained, “I had to go through a lot to get that little bit.” 

So, Niall had no choice but to let his mind run wild, and in turn, run Y/N’s mind wild. Thus far, he’s decided that Harry likes being called Daddy, is into tickling, and probably leaves an ass bright red from spanking. He’d also deduced from his limited time spent with him that Harry is great at aftercare, that he can go for hours, and from his catching print efficiency, he’d determined that his dick was big. According to Niall, big enough to “change your life and make you believe in deities you’d never even heard of,” and. . .well, she could buy that. 

“How lucky are you that some hot rando from your psych lecture just stumbled upon you with a fat cock and dominant, caretaking tendencies?” He clicked his tongue, “The other day, this guy hit me up on Hinge and said for a blow job, he’d take me out for steak. I should be getting the steak for my beautiful eyes alone.” 

Aki appeared like an apparition, stepping into the elevator with them, “You need to find a Daddy like Harry.” 

“That’s what I’m saying.” 

“God, guys, shh!” Y/N whined, and she couldn’t necessarily say it was because he had proposed the idea of mic’ing her again so that if she needed him, she wouldn’t even have to bother calling. He would just listen all the time. But Y/N knew who her friends were and what they liked to talk about, so she asked if he’d let her think about it. Which, sure, she told him to hold off on it, but that didn’t mean he had to listen to her. For all she knew, he was hearing everything right now, which is precisely why she needed Aki and Niall to shut up, “You’re going to get another HR case against us.” 

Aki pouted, “See, and that one wasn’t even fair, because why were they eavesdropping on our very private conversation?” 

“Yeah, it’s like they’ve never seen someone demonstrate the mating press before.” 

Despite their grumbling, they both do settle into a different discussion. Aki tries a sip of Y/N’s drink next, and they all whine about how hectic the weeks following this particular album’s release have been. Usually, there’s a little bit of a lull right after release. Everything has been scheduled and ready, so all they needed to do was click some buttons, make a few calls, and let things fall as they do. Hell, they even had Aki making edits to popular shows and movies with singles in the background to generate more hype and encourage more sales. For whatever reason, it just seemed like the entire process was determined to be difficult. Interviews cancelled, radio shows claiming to have never gotten access, Spotify forgetting to send a ‘new album’ alert to monthly listeners. It was one thing after the next, so everyone at work was pretty on edge. 

The days were going by quickly, at least, and before she knew it, Harry would be messaging her an hour before she clocked out to let her know that he was there, but to take her time. He really was like the boyfriend that she had read about online, but never got to experience for herself. It was messing with her head a little, but she could admit that it was, which she thinks would benefit her in the long run. To be too delusional and think she didn’t have feelings would make a problem, and to be too delusional and create feelings on his end toward her would also be a problem. As long as she kept these feelings in check and recognized that Harry was doing all of this out of a sense of responsibility and guilt for accidentally tying her up in all of this. 

Y/N had begun to wonder recently what her part was in all of this. Was she really just some accidental acquisition? Or had this been something preplanned by people much richer than her, with much more money? Y/N did find it rather weird that the CEO of a company would need a blind date to be set up with someone, especially when he isn’t bad-looking. And yeah, it was a blind date, but was the date ever really that secretive? She knew what he did for work, so she’s certain he knew what she did, and unless he had a sudden interest in music talent marketing, she couldn’t imagine why he’d want to even pretend to give her a chance. Unless there was some ulterior motive. Unless there was someone involved in all of this that she allegedly looked a lot like. 

But what would they even use her for? As a stand-in? Had someone really tipped them off the night of the blind date that Harry would be waiting? Or had he ever even planned on showing up to begin with? Maybe he tipped off Harry’s team that he would be there with Antonyia or whoever, then didn’t show up, but see if she was mistaken for the woman? Maybe they would threaten her to pretend to be her, like in a spy movie or something. Y/N leading them on a goose chase through the city, jumping over fences and ducking behind buildings, only for them to catch up and realize that she’s just wearing a wig, and she’s actually someone with much less money and power. Then the real version is flying off on some private jet to the countryside of some remote country, where she’d carry on correspondence from the safety of a farmhouse. 

All of it is too much to even try to sort through. She’d like to ask Harry what was going on, his theories and thoughts, what he thinks about the situation that she’s in. . .that they’re in. She just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Harry is normally so happy and open, but she suspected that this would be the one thing he’s sort of cagey about. And Y/N just cannot bear the thought of making it awkward for even a moment in time, especially when Harry is staying at her flat. If she asks and he, for once, refuses to answer, well, that will just keep her awake for days. Maybe she could ask when he was drunk? Or maybe, one day, he’ll give her an opportunity accidentally, where it would make sense for the conversation to head that direction. 

Y/N sighed, digging the pad of her thumb into her temple, “What’s wrong?” Aki asked, already reaching into her purse, “Do you have a headache? Need a pain killer?” 

“No,” she shook her head, “Just wondering why it feels stifling in here. Don’t they have industrialized air conditioners?” Y/N already reached behind her computer monitor to reveal her pink, portable fan that was a little loud, but always cooled her off instantly. 

“They probably have it rigged so it only pipes cold air to the top of the chain,” Niall added unhelpfully, dangling off the side of their cubicle while Y/N and Aki get settled inside of it. Stringing their purses on the hook, clicking on their computers, and rearranging things in a manner that suited Y/N’s brain more. “We’ll feel like this all day, most likely.”

Y/N did for a moment think about whether she was at home. How Harry would probably offer to routinely switch out cold washcloths on her head or the back of her neck and have all the fans pointed at her. He’d be enforcing her water intake for sure, but she knew he would be the one bringing it to her, even if he was in the middle of working. Harry just liked to do things like that – it was how he showed his care; pampering people with the devotion of a servant with his royal member of the castle. 

Maybe it was an act. Maybe it wouldn’t last long, and this was all a ploy to trick her into thinking that he was a good guy (though she believed that was highly unlikely). Y/N doesn’t know; she just knew that she was going to enjoy it for as long as she could. 

                                                                       .                      .                   .

“Do you want to get your nails done?” 

Y/N looked at her bare nail beds – she couldn’t even remember the last time they had something on them. She used to be pretty good at that, keeping up with them. She’d get just gel sometimes, she’d get acrylics the other, but the price got too high, and she had become far too impatient to sit there for an hour while they did it. No matter how much she liked the results or how pretty and girly they made her feel, at the end of the day, Y/N is lazy and spends too much money on a Gacha game to justify the cost.  

But she’d been complaining about how bitten up her nails looked, and how long it’d been since she’d gotten a pedicure. These were conversations that Harry had to get used to while he stayed with her, because some days, even after spending all day with each other, Niall or Aki (or both) would end up on the phone with her for most of the evening too. And usually they’re doing all the whining and complaining that they couldn’t do throughout the day, at risk of creating a “negative work space,” so they do it at home instead. 

Y/N offered to get up to leave the room, but Harry assured her it was okay, that she could live as normal without having to worry about him changing her typical routine. And somehow, someway, he’d figured out how she didn’t like getting into her bed with outside clothes on, so before she showers, she usually rots for a little while on the couch. She’ll eat, scroll on her phone, decompress from work, and then finally take her shower, brush her teeth, wash her face, and get ready for bed. 

So she’s on the floor while Harry is on the couch – he’d spent all day out too, and had some minor bruises on his knuckles that she’d caught sight of. Y/N had been trying to figure out how to ask about them, but kept choking over the words and bringing something else up instead. She did that about three times before her phone started ringing, and it was Niall and Aki. 

They had spoken about a lot of things, just this and that, new tops, Aki bottoming for the first time in like three years, a game that she and Aki had been playing that they’re slowly convincing Niall to start with, Niall’s newest movie hyperfixation, this album they’re excited about, this one edit song that’s made them want to live in 2000s cyberpunk architecture. Aki was showing off her new set of nails, and Y/N gushed over them, how long she gets them, and how cool they were – a deep purple-y red that had jewels glued to the tips. Aki said she’d give her the number to the salon she goes to. 

“Ah, I wish, but I can’t defend the cost, y’know, with all the other random shit I buy,” she sighed, “It has to be budgeted into your life because your nails are at least 20% of what makes you, you.” 

“True, true.” 

“But I think about it sometimes,” she continued, plucking at the hangnail on her pinky, “They’d probably gasp if they saw the state of them now. Hey, Ni, did you –” 

To be honest, an hour later, by the end of the conversation, Y/N hadn’t even remembered what they’d talked about. She had just been relieved that neither of them had brought up ‘Daddy’ referring to Harry, and Y/N having to explain herself out of that. When she twisted around so she lay on her side on the floor instead of on her belly, Muffy had been mid-zoomie and slid, then slammed on the hardwood right into Y/N’s body. She laughed, plucking her up by the belly and mocking her big meow to pull her close to her chest. 

That’s when Harry asked her if she wanted her nails done. Now she’s wondering if he noticed how eaten up her fingers looked, and he’s about to start encouraging her to drop the money on them. She’s deciding if she should feel offended or not, pouting, “Yikes, do they really look that bad?” She tilted her head to look at him, where his legs are tucked in a criss-cross, his laptop balancing on top of them. His bruised knuckles are in full view when he scratches above his ear, and she wonders if they ached at all, “I mean, I’d like to, but I –” 

“No, no, I know, you said you can’t justify the cost, but I can,” he smiled softly, “Just pick a day, and I can pull out some money.” 

Y/N’s eyebrows raised, “Oh?” She shook her head, mouth falling open, “Oh, Harry, that’s so sweet, but really, you don’t have to do that! I’m just whining, is all.” 

“I insist,” he told her, “I want you to – if that’s something you want to do. See it as me showing my gratitude for letting me stay here.” 

“Your gratitude? Harry! I’m not sure you realize it, but you’re staying here to protect me, yeah?” 

Harry pouted, “For my peace of mind. It’s not entirely selfless, so I think that helping you get your nails done is in order. Now, either you’ll take the money in cash, or I’ll transfer it into your account, you can pick.” 

Y/N scoffed, “Harry, I –” 

“I won’t ask it again,” he clicked his tongue, “Choose or I’ll choose for you.” 

There’s a curl of something tight in her belly, warm and hot, and it sort of makes her feel like she’s sweating a little. Her heart skips a beat, and she imagines this in a little different context, but immediately almost shakes her head like a dog to throw it out through her ear. She huffed a little breath, opening her mouth to tell him that she won’t accept it in any form, but her phone vibrates on the floor. When she looked at the screen, it was a notification from her bank, 150 quid transferred into her account. 

She gasped, shoving herself up from the floor, “Harry! That amount is –” 

“Not enough? I can send some more.” 

“Too much! Oh my god,” she grabbed her phone, swiping it open, “How did you even –” 

“It’s easy when I have your account numbers,” he told her, then shut the lid of his computer. “You should never allow a man in your house without him spending money on you.” 

She was frowning, “But I have been letting you. You buy me coffee almost every day before work, you’ve sent me lunch, and you’ve been paying for groceries for the last like week and a half, Harry. Not to mention all the money you’ve spent on gas getting me to and from work.” Y/N looked around for something to throw at him, but came up short, unless she wants to chuck her phone across the room, but she’s trying to make a point, not bruise him. 

“And that’s bare minimum necessities. Let me spoil you with something fun.” 

“But –” 

“Y/N,” his voice is serious, stern, her heart feels like it’s thundering in her chest now, “It’s a done deal, Sweetheart. I’m excited to see what nails you get.” 

Y/N sighed a little, pressing the pads of her fingers into her floor and watching them blanch. She’d learned very early on that Harry is hard to deter once he has his mind set on something, especially if it has to do with making her life better. Which is nice, really, she doesn’t think anyone apart from Niall and Aki has had her best interest in mind to this extent. Y/N really could not see any ulterior motive for this with him. He merely wants her to get her nails done on his dime, for whatever reason. 

“Well, I’ll. . .I’ll have to get a pedicure too. You sent me too much for just one.” 

Harry grinned widely and brightly, showing each dimple. “That’s a good girl,” he praised her, and Y/N’s belly curled hot and tight in a way that is getting very difficult to ignore now. Did he have any idea how he sounded when he said things like that? Did he know how it made her feel? Y/N felt like he was teasing her right now. “Just let me know the day, and I’ll take you.” 

That night in bed, after her shower and her skincare, she rolled around helplessly. She hadn’t really been ready for bed yet, but she thought if she spent any more time with Harry in the living room, he’d start trying to buy her a car, so she fled. The reprieve is nice, and just for a moment, there’s a little relief from the intense twisting and fluttering in her chest. But knowing he’s just right down the hall doesn’t do anything to settle her either. 

Especially with her and Muffy’s open-door policy, and an overactive (as well as horny) imagination that Y/N has, she just kept imagining him slipping inside. Telling her that he needed to sleep in the same bed with her to keep her extra safe, before wrapping his arms around her body and sneaking his hands into her undies. Or something – she doesn’t know. Maybe she’d have a filthy dream, and he’d hear her, come to her room to make sure she was okay, and find her writhing and rocking her hips into the bundled up blankets on her bed that she stuffs between her legs for hip alignment. Then he’d get hard and have to go back to the couch and touch himself to her breathy, needy sounds or something. 

Wow, like, typically, she isn’t this worked up over next to nothing, but she can’t help it. She can’t explain herself either. The air conditioner is working overtime, and the ceiling fan is whipping soundly above her head, creating a mindless hum that she is trying to let lull her to sleep. Goosebumps dot along her arms from where they are outside of the covers, so she stuffed them back beneath them, mindful of the sleeping kitty stretched long ways at her left side. Muffy typically started half of the night with one of them, got up to pee, then ended the night with the other one, like true shared custody. She was thankful to have her warm little body to fall asleep with, but would miss waking up to her purring the following morning. 

It’d be easier if Harry just slept in her room with her. . .but that wasn’t a good idea. Y/N wouldn’t even suggest it because she knew he’d say no – he probably wanted to sleep in the living room so he’d be closer to the front door than she was. And she had a suspicion that her safety would nullify any feelings that she had, like wanting the cat to be with her all night without shutting the door. 

So she’d have to deal with it for now. It’s for the best anyway – she’d definitely do something embarrassing if she had unremitted nightly access to Harry in her room. And when would she have time to tilt her face into her pillow and squeal quietly? Harry would ask what she was doing right away, because he’s as nosy as she is, and wouldn’t let it slide. 

Y/N plucked her phone up from the nightstand, where she had laid it to charge and hopefully to sleep, but went on Pinterest instead. If someone is paying for her nails, she'd better make it count. 

                                                                         .                 .                . 

The day starts with her nail appointment. 

Well, technically, it doesn’t start like that. It starts with her being at work, but they had a half-day scheduled for them to work on the pipes or something (she didn’t know, and she didn’t care, because a half-day was a half-day no matter what the circumstances were), where she revealed to Niall and Aki that Harry was taking her to get her nails done. She’d mentioned it offhandedly, not even thinking about the reaction she was bound to get when she told them, but she regretted it almost instantly when their twin gasps just about echoed off the cubicle. 

Niall, who once again was nowhere near his desk, is sitting on a mini roller chair with his iPad in his lap (he gets his work done well enough that nobody can really complain at him for never sitting where he’s supposed to), grips her arm tightly, “Oh my god,” he squeezed, “From start to finish, how did this happen?”

Y/N laughed a little, realizing her mistake only then, “Ahh, well, it wasn’t anything crazy. I just said I hadn’t gotten my nails done in a while, and so he offered to pay. He wouldn’t necessarily take no as an answer, though.” 

“So he’s Sugar Daddy now, instead of just Daddy,” Aki spun back around, holding her chin in her hand. “Wow, I already liked him, but now I really like him. When are you locking him down? Men like that don’t stay single for long.” 

Her face felt hot, “It’s not like that,” she told them, “He’s just being nice.” 

“Men are never this nice unless they want to get their hands in your pants at least a little bit,” Aki replied immediately, “Or maybe he wants to see your nice manicured nails on his. . .you know. I’d say it, but we have snitches around here that like to start HR cases,” she glared over the top of their cubicle at their coworker pair beside them (Aki refers to them as their evil, prude counterparts, but their names are just Stanley and Holly; they’re both early 40s and Holly definitely reads smut, so they were all a little surprised she didn’t like sex convo), “You ought to ask him if that’s what he wants.” 

Even Niall gasped, scandalized, “She can’t just ask, Aki, that’s way too bold!” He turned to look at Y/N again, “I’ll ask for you. Is he coming to pick you up today?” 

“I’m not asking, and you’re definitely not asking,” Y/N denied him, “It really isn’t like that, guys, he just owes me one for –” For mistaking me for someone one time? For holding me at knifepoint when he thought I was some bad person, involved with some bad thing? For accidentally getting me entangled in something beyond a measly little music marketing office worker? For going through my messages and internet history and tracking my location for weeks? For sleeping on my sofa to keep me safe, even though he drives me to work and cooks for me? “For helping him embroider this present for his Nan,” she lied through her teeth, wiggling her fingers, “It took a lot of time, and I broke my nails messing with the embroidery hoop, so he felt bad. He thought that I should have them pampered or something.” 

“Still,” Niall grabbed Aki's hand, mindlessly plucking at her acrylics, “To pay for your nails is so boyfriend. So,” he lowered his voice, just above a whisper, “Sugar Daddy Dom – if you will. I think you have a chance if you just let him know the feelings are reciprocal.” 

Y/N shook her head, “You two are as delusional as I am, so I really can’t trust your take on this.” 

Aki peeked her head up over their cubicle wall and looked around before catching the attention of Levi, one of their coworkers. She all but calls him over like a dog, with a click of her tongue and a call of his name, and he trotted over like a dog, too. He had a big crush on Aki, she thinks, and he also may have had something for Niall at some point (or still does). Honestly, Y/N always got the feeling that Levi wanted to bury her under a rock and take her spot as their friend, so it makes sense that he barely looks at her when he dangled over the wall. 

“Would you pay for someone’s nails if you didn’t have a crush on them?” 

Levi tilted his head, “Uh, no?” 

“Perfect, thank you,” Aki grinned, then waved him off, “Talk to you later.” 

“Seeeeee,” Niall’s hand was still on her thigh, squeezing, “An undeluded source.” 

“Ugh, I don’t know,” she covered her face with her hands, hid in her palms, and groaned, “He’s just really nice, guys, I don’t want to make anything weird.” 

Niall rolled closer, slotted their legs together, “You won’t,” he promised, “Just say you want to kiss and see where it goes!” 

It sucked not being able to tell them the whole truth. Had they known, then they would have realized why Harry was being as nice as he was to her. Even if they were technically friends now, and shared the same interests, and spent so much time together, Y/N knew that it was mostly tied to a sense of guilt and responsibility. Plus, Y/N has always believed that the more time you spend with someone, the more likely you are to feel attracted to them, and perhaps develop a teeny crush on them. Even if he did find her attractive right now, once the need to be around her disappeared, any sort of desire he might feel for her might disappear too. Like all of the guys and girls in UNI lectures that she’d convinced herself she was in love with, only to forget about them as soon as she passed her exam and walked out the door. 

Yeah, the context was a bit different, but humans are all the same when you really think about it. 

Still, she tried not to think about it when Harry picked her up because it would put her in a sad mood, and this was not a sad-mood kind of day. This was a good day, a fun day, because the sun was out, but it wasn’t blisteringly warm, and Y/N was about to get her nails done for the first time in a year. When Harry pulled up to get her, he had a milk tea waiting in the car for her (and a Lactaid so it didn’t mess with her stomach too badly), and he had the album she’d been listening to on. 

“Hi, Sweetheart,” he all but sang when she crawled into the car, “Have you decided what design you want?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” she told him, “But I’m still unsure whether or not I should get acrylics.” 

“My vote is yes,” he replied without a beat, “Then you can tap on things ASMR style, I like listening to that.” 

At first, when they pulled up to Aki’s regular place, Y/N imagined Harry just dropping her off and coming to get her afterward, but instead, he parked the car and unbuckled. 

Y/N’s brows raised, “Oh, you’re coming in?” 

“Duhhh,” he pocketed his keys and hopped out of the car, “I love watching nails get done. You don’t mind, do you?” 

“No! No, not at all, just – I guess I just wasn’t expecting it,” she waited patiently in her seat, because Harry fussed at her when she didn’t let him open the car door. He looped around the front, tucking his sunglasses up into his hair like a headband to keep his flyaways out of his face. He always dressed like he had a lot of money, Y/N noticed, even his comfy clothes at home were cashmeres and silks. Today, he wore an olive green knitted tank top that made his shoulders look massive, and nice white trousers. She wondered what he’d gotten into today, while she was at work for the brief period of time she was. And felt severely underdressed in her own work clothes, because office-appropriate meant rocking summer camp jorts, and that’s just how life has to be. 

Y/N signed in for her appointment, and they got her back right away, since it’s the middle of the day during a work week. There aren’t that many people there, which is a relief. Another big reason she hadn’t been going was that she could only go on the weekend, and there were always about 3000 people who were also there, so it was crowded, took forever, and her whole Saturday was practically gone by the time she was free. This is much better. And they let Harry shack up in the spot beside her, and – like always – Harry did very well in assimilating himself in the space. It was a Vietnamese-owned salon, and apparently, Harry had spent half a year in Vietnam for his father’s work. 

This was news to her, so Y/N is as engaged as her nail technician, asking him questions and poking his brain. It’s things like this that make Y/N realize she doesn’t know Harry all that well. Y/N is so intrigued, looking at the photos, listening to him share stories, hearing similar childhood stories from her technician, and Y/N didn’t even notice when they were done with her pedicure. She had collagen socks on, ice cold on her feet that were now lacquered in a pretty, sparkly Boysonberry color. 

“Yeah, it was pretty cool.” He told her, “We moved around a lot when I was younger, but that was one of my favorite places to live! I wish we could have stayed longer.” 

Y/N stretched her toes when the socks were pulled off, “Have you gone back since?” 

“Yeah,” he grinned, nodding, “A couple of years ago! I stayed for a month after a pretty bad breakup. I was just hopping from country to country for a while. I said it was to 'rediscover myself, ' but really I just didn’t want to face my friends and family afterward.” 

The nail tech, Tracy, asked the question Y/N probably would have been scared out of, “Why was it so bad?” It was the sort of question that only older women could get away with asking (or maybe Niall). Y/N wanted to know desperately, though, so she didn’t say anything to stop him from sharing. She just stared at him with big eyes, waiting for him to tell them. 

Harry’s face gets a little rosy. “Ahhh,” he started, awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck while she slid the foam flip-flops onto her feet for her to waddle over to the manicure chair, “Well, that’s the thing – we were going to be engaged.” 

Y/N gasped – she couldn’t help herself – and Tracy gave her a look that said Girl, do not ruin this, he’s about to divulge secrets, be chill. So after the gasp, Y/N attempted to stay chill, once again quietly listening, which was – in itself – a prompt to continue again. Harry is a very open person, about all things (besides the obvious), and Y/N thinks it’s one of the reasons people begin to favor him so quickly. It feels like you know him before you ever truly do, because he answers openly and honestly, no matter the question being thrown at him. 

That being said, this is the first time that Y/N has ever witnessed him seem hesitant to share a story. She wondered if it still hurt him, or if he was embarrassed by what happened. Oh god, had he cheated? Was he a bad guy? Finding out like this would totally blow. Morally, Y/N could not be developing a crush on a cheater. 

“I mean, it’s sort of a long story, but like a Cliff Notes version? Basically, I had bought the ring, told everyone I was going to propose, and went on vacation with our families to Fiji, hired a photographer. . .all of the things. I’m pretty sure someone had already ruined the surprise and told her my plan with everything,” he motioned his hand around in the air. “She’d been crazy giddy for the entire trip. More giddy than normal, and I had even caught her looking at wedding dressers over her shoulder one evening. But when it came time to drop on one knee I. . .y’know. I just couldn’t do it,” Y/N held in another gasp, but her eyes went wide. Harry scrunched his face a little, a small, pitying smile, and a shrug of his shoulders, “It just felt like I couldn’t be my true self with her, y’know? Not to be crass, but like. . .I couldn’t burp, toot, have morning breath, or be in a bad mood. And I wasn’t necessarily honest about some aspects of my job, you know. . .I used to have to travel a lot for it, but she wouldn’t have been able to come along—things like that. So I didn’t get on one knee, and like – I actually broke up with her right then, which if I could go back, I would do that differently. She smacked me, ran off, and then. . .well, yeah, so did I. I booked a flight home and moved out all my things, then booked another flight to Vietnam.” 

Y/N didn’t know what to say. She could barely wrap her head around it, so he broke up with her because he couldn’t be himself? Or he called it off because he hadn’t been honest about the whole hitman thing? Was it both? Or was he just really not ready to commit yet? 

“Wow, that’s. . .” Y/N nodded, “That’s heavy.” 

“Yeahhhhh, but you know, it was for the best. She’s much happier now, with a bloke who took her to Maui and proposed to her by the seaside. We’ve since reconciled, as much as we could have, all things considered. I deserved her tearing into me, and she really tore me a new one, and then a new one, inside of the new one. But yeah, there’s my story.” 

Tracy clicked her tongue. “Crazy,” is what she offered, nodding her head toward Y/N, “What about you? Any stories?” 

Y/N startled, “Oh, um – I’m not sure, all of my exes kind of sucked.” But you don’t really have to pay her to go on a tirade about a couple of them, namely her last serious-ish relationship. It was around the time Harry was fleeing Fiji, Y/N was getting cheated on by a situationship turned boyfriend because he’d gotten jealous she was talking to other guys. At least, she’d thought that he was her boyfriend, but she soon learned that he actually wanted to siphon his emotional needs off her while barely putting in any effort on his end, and continuing what their “original arrangement” was. Only this time, he gets to fuck whoever he wants, and Y/N is left in the dark, thinking nothing of it.  

She hated him for it, and unlike Harry, there was no reconciliation that they faced together down the line. Y/N actually had decided that if she ran into him in public, she would have no choice but to swing at him on sight. 

Harry seemed horrified by her story, “What a dickhead,” he tapped Y/N’s phone screen for Tracy so that the image of her nail design wouldn’t disappear, “If we ever run into him in public, let me know, and I’ll swing on him.” 

It makes Y/N laugh. They move on from exes and start talking about a new movie that’s supposed to come out, and sort of make plans on seeing it together. By the end of it, Y/N has a nice, pretty set of acrylics that look like jelly and a big smile on her face while she clicks them against the table. Harry praised Tracy’s work, complimenting something about her technique, and then slid her a tip (at the front desk, it said they preferred cash). Y/N hadn’t seen how much it was, but she knew it was enough to make Tracy grin widely and thank them profusely, so that was nice. 

She walked them to the front, but when Y/N reached into her purse to grab her card, Harry all but hip checks her out of the way with his card already pulled out and shoved in the reader. 

“Wha–hey! Harry, I –” 

“Hm? What?” Harry looked around, then to Tracy, “Do you hear something?”  

Y/N scoffed, “Harry, I have the money!” 

“You can’t tell me a story about your shitty ex and expect me to let you swipe your card,” he typed his code into the PIN pad and removed the card when the reader started alarming at him, “Use that money for something else.” 

Y/N huffed again, but ultimately, it was too late. She didn’t know Harry’s information to send him the money back, so it was going to sit in her account until she used it. Maybe she could use it on him or something? Would she be able to beat him in ordering them dinner? Or buying them drinks? 

It just feels wrong, like she takes, and takes, and takes from him. Even if he’s okay with that, there’s still a guilty welt that sits in her chest that she won’t be able to shake unless he lets her do something for him. She’s unused to this unremitted selflessness, even if it’s because he’s feeling guilty. Nobody had ever tried to take care of her to this extent before, so she’s unsure what to do with it. 

Harry looped his arm around her shoulder and guided her out of the salon, humming, “C’mon, let’s look at them in the light.” 

They are very pretty, inside under the regular lighting, but even more so when they glitter in the sun. Harry gushed at them, even slotted their fingers together so that he could flip her hand over and move them how he wanted to let the light catch them. His hands are a little rough, still slightly bruised around his knuckles, and parts of his hands are calloused. “How does it feel, hm? Do they hurt?” 

“No, not – not too badly,” she kept hold of his hand – did hers feel soft to him? Y/N felt sort of dainty with him holding her, which is a way she has never felt before, really. Even when she wears dainty jewelry or dainty shoes, she’s always felt more like a bull surrounded by blown glass rather than a gazelle carefully maneuvering through a room of ceramic. But Harry, all broad, roughed, bruised hands, and she thinks if she sat between his legs, he could crush her between them – he makes her feel all soft and cute. “They’re pretty?” 

“They’re gorgeous,” he squeezed her hand, kept a hold of it as he led her back to the car, “But it’s hard for anything not to look gorgeous on you.”

Y/N rumpled her lips, “Okay, okay, wrap it up,” she wiggled his hand off, listening to him giggle when he popped open the door, “Sweet talker.” 

“This sweet talker is starving, baby,” he murmured, “Do you want to get something to eat?” 

They end up staying out all day. It was around 2 PM when they got out of the nail salon, so they went for a late lunch. Harry chose a Mediterranean place that he said she had to try, and Y/N trusted him, so she went along with it. Y/N was starving, so she’s happy that it isn’t technically a sit-down with a waiter kind of place, and more of an order at the counter and they’ll bring the food to you kind of place. Harry ordered first so that she knew what to do, but she had her card in a tight grip and used all of her force to slam Harry out of the way to Tap-to-Pay. Does he barely budge? Yes, but he’s startled enough by it happening that Y/N is able to pay. 

The man at the cashier let out a startled laugh, along with Harry, who soon complained with a big whine, “Heyyy –” 

“I don’t want to hear it.” Y/N cut him off quickly. It was nowhere near the price of her nails, but it was something at least, and it made her feel better. 

The food is good, and Harry told her about this new craft store that opened up about twenty minutes away, so after they eat (she does try some of Harry’s food out of his basket, but not without asking – and a sip of his drink, which is very Niall/Aki/Y/N behavior, but Harry seemed okay with it), they head there. It’s new enough that it’s pretty crowded, so she sticks to Harry’s side like he’d glued her there, and he is happy with that. He actually told her a couple of times not to stray too far from him. 

Then, after the craft store, they piddle around at different shops in the area. They get ice cream and decide to walk through a park nearby, and Y/N is thinking about how good of a day she’s been having. Spending time with Harry is always quite fun, but she could admit that being spoiled was pretty fun too. She liked how he kept close to her, a hand on her shoulder or at her waist, maybe even her lower back as he guided her around. The sun was starting to get lower in the sky, so she knew they would go home soon, but there was joy in knowing that they could still spend time together. Not at any point in his stay with her had she been annoyed or wanted to not see him, which was nice. But it also meant she was going to be really sad when he finally did have to leave. The flat was going to seem very empty. . .Muffy would probably be pretty upset, too. 

Everything is good and normal until it isn’t. 

There’s a shift in Harry from one moment to the next. They’d been walking around the newly planted flowerbeds, idly talking about the glow bugs that would pretty soon start lighting up the open fields closer to late Spring. Y/N had been reminiscing about catching them in her hands and letting them crawl around over the creases of her palms and the dips of her fingers, when Harry’s phone vibrated in his pocket. The first one he ignores, but the second and third happen in rapid succession. When he slid it from his jeans, he read over the messages, and it suddenly wasn’t a lighthearted, fun little walk anymore. 

Harry quietly took hold of her wrist with his free hand, “Come on, baby.” Her eyes widened at the pet name, startled by the sudden use of it, “Let’s go back to the car.” 

“Oh? Yeah, okay,” she agreed, her eyes started to dart around – what had he seen? With a lowered voice, she asked, “Is. . .is everything okay?” 

He’s silent for a moment, apart from a soft hum that was neither a reassurance nor a denial. The grip on his wrist is firm – it isn’t too tight, but it’s still the sort of grip that lets her know it was pretty serious. Y/N’s heart is starting to thud against her sternum, a prickle along the back of her neck, and the sort of empty, “losing feeling” thing her thighs do when she starts to feel scared. There is this sort of fight or flight tingle that starts to knock around her cells, but Harry had already chosen flight for them. 

The car is nearby at least, and Harry opened her door, then buckled her in, which was also new, “I’m going to need you to stay in the car, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

Y/N’s eyes go wider, “Wait, what? Don’t – no, don’t leave me alone!” 

“I have to, Sweet Girl, but it will only be a minute.” He shut her door, then wrapped around the car, went to the front seat, and clicked open the bottom half of the seat as he had told her it did. Y/N’s eyes widen when she sees what’s there – most of it is covered and in cases, but he pulled a gun out, and a shocked sound escaped her throat, “Ah, fuck, I was hoping I could at least show you how to hold a gun if you needed to, but –” 

“What? Harry, what the fuck!” 

“I know, I don’t have time to explain, okay. I’m leaving the keys with you. Don’t unlock this door for anyone but me, okay?” 

Y/N hated how whiny her voice sounded when she spoke again, but she couldn’t help it, she was freaked the fuck out! “Harry, I’m scared, I –” 

“I know, I’ll explain everything when I come back, okay? I’m so sorry, I really – I have to go, I’ll be only a second.” 

He clicked a button on his door, shut the door, and then jogged off back into the park. Harry followed the pavement to a trail that led into the wooded area before disappearing from her sight entirely. Y/N doesn’t like this; she really, really doesn’t, and she hates how hopeless she feels just sitting here. Y/N checked her phone, but she isn’t sure what for. Her heart is racing, and she’s looking around. As soon as the car door had been closed, the silence in the car was deafening; he hadn’t even turned it on. She can hear her blood roaring in her ears, her lip threatening to tremble – this is fucked up! What had he seen? Or, what had been sent to him? Why did he rush her off like that? Y/N hadn’t noticed anything sketchy – fuck, they were the only ones in the park! What could have happened? Was someone following them? 

Y/N does wait. She waited, and she waited, and she waited, until her stomach felt sick, and she couldn’t wait anymore. It was stupid to get out of the car, she knew that, but she at least reached over and lifted Harry’s seat. Her hands were trembling as she reached toward the bags, carefully peeling them open and reaching in. She finds a taser, which she has a very loose understanding of how to use, but she knows better a taser than a gun, and wielding a knife just doesn’t seem smart.  

She needed to stay in the car. Y/N needed to be smart, wait patiently, as she’s meant to, because if Harry’s okay in there, he’s going to be so pissed at her for coming out to find him. But that’s only if he’s okay. If he isn’t okay, then he might be happy that she came to see what was taking him so long. She’d just never been good at being a sitting duck; if he wanted her to stay put, then he probably should have tied her up or knocked her out, she doesn’t know. There was just no way she was going to sit and wait in the car any longer. 

The park is eerie now, under these circumstances. Before it smelled like spring, the air was nice, and Y/N was just thinking about how beautiful the world is. Now it feels like she’d been plucked out of whatever romantic comedy film she’d been in, and into the horror movie this was turning out to be. She’d always had light footsteps, which had never benefited her (unless she was sneaking to the kitchen late at night for sweets when she was younger, but this is her adult life) until right now. She swallowed thickly and walked briskly until she disappeared behind the tree line and strained her ears to hear something. 

There were low, murmuring voices coming from the left, she thinks. Y/N was no Eagle Scout, but she could tell where sound was coming from, and there was still just enough light from the setting sun to make out where she was going. The further she went in, the louder the voices were, and when she picked up on Harry’s, there was a tiny little part of her that settled. His voice sounded clear, not like he’d been getting his ass beat or anything, and really, that should have probably calmed her down enough to go back to the car. 

But she pushed forward, listened closely, though she could only make out a few words here and there, beyond the shuffle and shifting. There were two other voices that she didn’t recognize. She squinted until she could sort of see them coming into view. 

“. . .lucky that we didn’t. . .” 

They’re barely talking above a whisper, which is the problem. Or, Y/N guesses that makes more sense than in movies where everyone is speaking at top volume when they’re in public about to kill someone in an alleyway. This was a public park, and while not a well-trafficked one, there were still enough people coming through to be careful. 

“Fucker,” there’s a spitting sound, “Mind your fucking business –” 

“No, I think you need to mind yours,” Y/N could hear better, pressed her body against the bark of a tree, one palm against the trunk, and then her cheek against her knuckles, “You’re fucking stupid to follow her.”  

There’s a scoff from the other end – Y/N can’t see them well, but she thinks if she stepped out anymore, she’d definitely be in view of them, “What, are you mad that your bitch is involved now?” 

Y/N grimaced when she heard the crack of what she imagined was a fist meeting a body part, the huff of air leaving someone’s lungs. More scuffling sounds, while her heart is still doing flips, taking her stomach along for the ride. There’s a sweat building at the back of her nape – she’d never really been around anything violent before, and the sounds are horrible. 

“Fuck, okay, okay, let up, man, shit,” the man spoke again – “S’not. . .it’s like I said before, I’m just following orders. I don’t know what they’re planning.”  

She swallowed thickly, still trying to catch her breath. Y/N lulled her tongue over her mouth, her lips feeling dry and cracked as the wind started to pick up, rustling the leaves surrounding them. Her mind was at least a little at ease now that she knew Harry was okay. It was also a little tied in knots because, from her eavesdropping, she’s just found out this guy has been following her. Has it been for a while now? Or just today? How did Harry find out? And who was with Harry beating this guy up? The aforementioned Adam? Or someone else he worked with. 

There’s another thud, like a body hitting the ground, and a low groan, “Will you take care of him?” Harry sighed, “We need to get back to the car.” 

Y/N mouths ‘fuck’ to herself before pivoting on her heel. Would she be able to make it back to the car without Harry seeing her? Stupid idiot, she should have left as soon as she realized that he was okay! Now he’s going to know she chased after him, because there’s no way she’s going to be able to maneuver these trees, get to the path, and get back to the car without him noticing at all. Her heart is racing for a whole different reason now, as she tries to avoid any twigs or leaves that would crunch beneath her feet. She’s lucky it wasn’t autumn, or else every single step would’ve echoed like a plate shattering in a silent room. 

Still, she was out of breath, panting as soon as her feet hit the actual pavement. It’s only when she’s out of the treeline that she realizes Harry said We need to get back to the car, instead of I need to get back to the car. 

“Y/N,” Harry’s voice emerges from behind her, and startles her so bad, she thinks if she needed to pee, it would’ve been down her leg by now. His tone is nowhere near the silly, softhearted one he usually gives her. “I thought I told you to wait in the car?” 

Slowly does she turn around to face him. The image is shocking, to say the least – the cute knitted top was spared, but his fist was covered in blood that wasn’t his own. There’s a smear of dirt and something dark on his bottoms too, near the cuff on the left side. She’d never seen Harry like this before – whatever he was getting up to during the day, he’d always been relatively cleaned up before he came to get her from work. All dimpled smiles and fresh clothes, with cuts and bruises lining his knuckles. If someone asks about them in public (namely, the sweet old women he bewitches into loving him at all their regular stores), he tells them that he boxes in his free time and his gloves aren’t very good. 

And sure, he kind of does box in his free time, only it’s someone’s face, not a bag of cut-up textiles and rubber mulch. Her brain is swimming, slurring around as she tries to make sense of this. The sinking sun leaves shadows all over, dancing across her pupils, obscuring her view, and confusing her further. 

Harry looked down at himself, his brows raised like he hadn’t realized there was blood on his fist, on his arm, up to his elbow like he’d really hit the guy hard. He looked back up at her, gaze much softer, “Baby, are you scared?” 

Was she scared? Y/N is really confused. She’s frightened that someone was following her, yeah, and Y/N wondered how long that had been happening. The fact that someone could be trailing behind, and she didn’t have even an inkling of an idea, made her insides twist uncomfortably. There’s room to go down a rabbit hole of panic-inducing thoughts about how many times she could have been followed, but she has to wipe that away. What was scarier was that someone wanted her for something, but she wasn’t sure what it was. That guy didn’t even know, or at least he said he didn’t. Did Harry know? 

And the other scary thing. . .the elephant in the room (or in the park, she guesses). Harry had only ever been fun-loving and silly after the mess of their first meeting. That night, he had truly scared her, with a knife to her throat and a threat in her ear, but as soon as he realized she was telling the truth, he was all giggles and apologetic smiles. Even at his freakiest, when she knew he was tapped into her phone and probably stalking her every move to make sure she didn’t go to the police station, she wasn’t that afraid of him. It was hard to be when he went to bowling parties for his niece, liked to embroider, and sweet-talked Gladys at the fruit tea place, when he was always so gentle with her, and sweet, calm, and patient. 

To hear that serious, stone-cold, threatening tone again was scary, yeah. To hear him beat that guy up was scary. But could she really fault him for any of that? This was his job, she knew what it was, even though he tried to keep her as separate from it as he could. But she knows what he does – she’s known. Seeing it in person is just a different thing entirely. 

The thing was, too, that he was in this predicament, with this particular man, because he was protecting her. At least that’s what she’d gathered from the limited amount of conversation she’d heard. 

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of wet towelettes – the same ones he used to wipe her hands when she’d gotten ice cream all over them. He runs them over his knuckles and up his arm, a hasty clean up, though there was very little he could do about his bottoms. Harry pockets the messy napkin, tucked away out of sight, like the gun that she has no idea where he put it. 

“I’m sorry,” Y/N’s voice sounds hoarse, like she hadn’t spoken for hours when it’d only been just a few minutes, “I’m – ah. . .I’m really sorry, I just.  . .I got worried and –” 

“No, I’m sorry,” he rushed forward, using his cleaner hand to turn her, pivoting them in the direction of the car, “C’mon, baby, let's get you home. You shouldn’t have had to see that.” 

Technically, it’s Y/N’s fault that she saw it, but she doesn’t fight him on the semantics. She just lets him guide her to the car, still with great haste, but less urgent and scary than before. He takes the keys from her (that she’d stuffed in her jort pockets, knowing they’d be way harder to grab), then takes her to her seat, buckles her in again, and shuts the door. When he pops open his seat again, he reveals that the gun had been tucked in his waistband before he carefully deposits it back in its proper bag. Y/N is suddenly re-aware of the taser she’d shoved in her cardigan. 

“Oh, I –” she pulled it back out before he could close up his seat, “I took this. Just in case.” 

Harry’s eyes lit up, surprised, and a soft smile graced his mouth, “Good girl,” he murmured, and the praise stroked something inside of her that longs to be petted and patted. Especially when she thought he was going to lay into her – which is still an option, probably, but at least not right now. 

Before he got in, he did a quick sweep, it seemed. Y/N isn’t sure what he’s searching for, but he checks the little pockets, nooks, and crannies of the outside like he’s searching for something. He seemed pleased when he came up short, with a little nod. He crawled into the car, started it up, and immediately pulled them out of the parking lot. There were no other cars there at all, besides a random bike and the owner of it sitting on a bench with his dog and a coffee cup. Y/N wondered if he was sketchy too, but he didn’t even look up when they were driving off (she knew this because she stared at him through the rearview the entire time, now swallowed with paranoia). 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to drive us around for a while, okay? Just to make sure nobody is following us. I’ll explain what’s going on while we do, okay?” 

She swallowed hard again, “Yeah,” she agreed, “That sounds good.” 

                                                             .                             .                            .

They drive for an hour. 

Y/N is unsure where they all go; she just knows that he’s taking roads and ways that she’d never been before herself. Once they leave the more city area, she gets lost in the roads that make up the suburbs, but she guesses that’s for the best. It’d be more obvious if someone were following them on roads where there were only a few cars in each lane, rather than the near-constant influx and flow of taxis, SUVs, and sedans downtown. The trees are really flourishing here; there are long roads where there are only trees on either side of them, and houses hidden at the end of paths and trails that start from the road and disappear inward. The silence out here is more eerie than it is comforting, and for that reason, Y/N is glad that Harry is not only talking, but has music playing very low in the background, just as some additional noise. 

How he explains it is that when Harry is unable to put his full focus on monitoring their surroundings and/or is in a situation where he can’t really “work” to the extent that he needs to (i.e. fucking around with her all day instead of high-speed chases and gun fights, or whatever it is that he does) – he has Adam cover some of the slack. Adam is someone he works for/with, so he trusts him wholeheartedly. Harry explained to her some high-tech software that they utilize, but most of it goes over her head, so the long and short of it was that there was an unregistered vehicle that had been flagged once at the nail place, which wasn’t too concerning, but once again, in a gravel parking lot adjacent to the one she and Harry were in, on the opposite side of the wooded area he’d been hidden in. 

So Adam messaged Harry, snuck into the woods, and. . .well, yeah – they beat the guy’s ass but didn’t get much out of him. 

“Ugh, I really try to keep you out of most of it,” he tells her, “Because I don’t want you to worry about anything or think too deeply about shit, but now that you’re like, pretty much directly involved, I feel like you have a right to know more.” He combed his hair from his face, shaking it out, “Finley, the pet food guy? The whole pet food thing is a pretty big rouse – I mean, he definitely does sell it, but it’s shit quality, and full of fillers and severely limited in nutrients, like it’s seriously worse than –” 

“Harry.” 

“Right, sorry,” he got back on track, “Basically, there’s a lot of drug and gun trafficking going on – real sick shit, y’know? It’s not a big ring, by any means, he’s no cartel, but it’s polluted enough of the city that government officials started to take note of it. And with a relatively sharp and random increase in crime rates, it looks bad on them, is bad for funding, things like that.” He waved his hand around, “A ton of legal B.S. gets involved when you’re trying to take something like this down, even at a small scale, so sometimes it’s easier to hire out, y’know? Which is where my, uh. . . “company” comes in. Adam and I have been following this for a very, very long time. The night you were meant to have your blind date, he was supposed to meet up with Antonyia.” He took another turn, through a little town area with grocery stores, fast food, and sit-down restaurants, different furniture stores, and chains. It’s bright, and there are a lot of people. 

“Antonyia, we believe, has connections to his seller. You know, when you hire an exterminator for bugs whose main diet is other bugs? You have to get rid of the bugs that are being eaten, as well as the bugs that are overrunning your house. Take away their food source, and then they don’t come back, y’know? We could get rid of Finley, sure, but then they’d distribute to another stupid bloke that’s hungry for a power trip. And we could get rid of them, but then there’d be another, again, and again, and again – so we need to take out their food. Right? Was that a good metaphor or was it shit?” 

Y/N giggled a little, “No, it’s good, I understand what you’re saying, I’m pretty sure,” she scratched her thigh around the bottom of the jorts, which went from being more comfortable than itty bitty shorts digging into her crotch, to being just as irritating. Y/N thinks she just can’t stand denim against her skin, honestly, “So you were hired by the government to do illegal shit like kidnapping and. . .I’m guessing like violence or whatnot?” 

“Yeahh, pretty much. So we find out who they are, where they are, tell who needs to know, they get the FBI involved, blah, blah, blah. All that. I couldn’t have you telling the police what you saw, though, because it would’ve put a huge wrench in everything. This is all a very ‘need to know’ kind of situation. I think their chief might be aware, but nobody else in the precinct.”

Y/N’s mouth feels dry – she wishes she had water or something, “So what does this have to do with me?” 

Harry heaved a hefty sigh, “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he almost whined a little, shaking his head, “I reckon he really just wants to use you, to trick us, not knowing that we know you are not Antonyia. Like, I think he wants you as a body double to fool us while they sneak her somewhere. She’s still in town, though. All the calls he makes to her come from a 40-mile radius of us, but they ping and bounce off the cell towers, so we can’t pinpoint her for sure. It’s seriously annoying. Anyway,” he glanced at her, and she was already staring at him, so of course she noticed, “I know this is all upsetting, and scary, and you deserved to know more about what was going on even before someone started following you. But baby, seriously – if I tell you to stay in the car, I really need you to, okay? If there was someone else with him. . .if they had gotten to you before you’d found me, I just. . . I can’t even stomach thinking about it. I need you to listen to me, yeah? I need you to trust me.” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” she reached up, pressing her knuckles into her eyes, and was reminded by the poke of her nails that she got them done today, “I was so nervous, and I was worried that you were in there by yourself, like – like getting your ass beat or something. I knew I wouldn’t be of great help, but I thought I could be like. . .at least a distraction so you could get the jump on them.” 

Harry laughed, and with one hand, reached over and squeezed her bare knee, “I don’t know if I should be touched that you would’ve put yourself in danger for me, or offended that you think I’d get my ass beat.” 

They drive around for a little over an hour and a half in total before Harry feels comfortable taking her home. Y/N doesn’t ask what Adam is going to do with the man who was following her, because she doesn’t know if she actually wants to know (she’s okay with being in the dark about some things, actually). Her brain is so overstuffed with everything that she can barely wrap her head around all of it, but having a clearer picture of what’s going on does sort of make her feel better. She thinks it does, at least. She isn’t really sure. 

Harry parks the car, he hops out first, and rounds the car to get her again. He opens the door and holds his hand for her to take when she climbs out, then follows behind her so closely she might as well be standing on his feet and letting him walk her. She gets it, though, and honestly, she appreciates it. It feels like he’s shielding her from the public eye, and that relaxes her a little. He ushers her inside, escorting her like a bodyguard, and at this point, she doesn’t know how she could think of his role as anything but that. He is her bodyguard, keeping her safe. 

Once they get to her flat, Y/N goes in the shower immediately. She had to get these jorts off her body before she had a panic attack, so she wriggled out of them and turned the water scorching, let it pelt hot at her skin. It was weird – the day had felt like 2-in-1. Maybe even 3 – the fact that she had just been at work doing her normal job, giggling with Niall and Aki in her cubicle, not even 10 hours ago, was sort of insane. 

Y/N scrubs the day off, soaks in one of her nice oils, and lets it seep into her skin before she washes it off. By the time there’s a knock on the door, Y/N had just been sort of standing underneath the spray for a little bit with her eyes closed. “Um, yes? Come in.” She called out, peeking an eye open to make sure that, for whatever reason, she wasn’t showering with the curtain pulled wide open. 

“Sorry, I don’t want to bother you,” Harry began, “But I warmed up a towel in the dryer for you. I can just leave it on the counter?” 

“Oh! Wow, thank you, yeah, you can just leave it on the counter, I’m getting out of here in a second. Then you can have one,” she grimaced, “I guess I should have offered you the shower first since you – y’know – and the blood.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” he clicked his tongue, “Enjoy your shower, yeah? You deserve it.” 

Y/N hardly thinks she deserves it, but she appreciates him. Still, shortly after he closes the door, she gets out – steam has filled up the room and is even lifting off her damp skin while she curls the warm, fluffy towel around her body. It’s so nice, and almost immediately soothes away the goosebumps that are dotting all along her skin. How his brain works is a mystery to her – he’d just done this to be sweet? Y/N knows she should stop comparing him to past boyfriends, but she just really can’t think of any of them who treated her nearly as sweetly as he has. And she was putting out with them. 

After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she shuffles to her room to get dressed for bed, while Harry slips into the bathroom behind her. The washing machine was going, so she imagined he was running his pants through a cycle. Muffy toddles into her room, jumps onto her bed, and waits patiently on Y/N’s pillow because she knows it's almost time for sleep. 

But Y/N knew she’d be restless, no matter how many stops she pulled out. She could spray her lavender scented room mist, read her favorite fanfics until her eyes grew heavy, or scroll mindlessly on an app for hours, but she knew that her brain wouldn’t shut off. Even after a hot shower, underneath her blankets with her fan whipping above her, and her kitten snuggled warm against her belly – Y/N’s body is exhausted, but her mind is absolutely wired. She could probably stay up for hours and rattle on about anything. 

For a while, she just listens to Harry bop around her flat. After his shower, he typically gets dressed in the bathroom and comes out smelling like his body wash and lotion. He’ll get a glass of water and drink it in one sitting, go to her door and make sure it’s all locked before securing it with three mobile locking mechanisms. He does the same for her windows, only he just reinforces their locks with one single mechanism beyond their usual. Y/N can hear him pull the blankets out of the basket she keeps them in, in the living room, and then she can hear him get on the couch too. 

“Harry!” She calls out to him without thinking, and can hear him pause in his routine. 

“Yeah? Are you okay?” 

“I’m okay,” she reassured him, “Could you – do you think you could come in here?” 

Harry appeared at her doorway in a little under five seconds, face drawn into a concerned pout with a soft tilt of his head, “What do you need, hm? Is it too cold? I can adjust the thermostat.” He must be referring to how she’s completely bundled up to her neck, the blankets and sheets hiding all of her body besides her head. 

That’s not her issue, though – she’s actually nice and warm under her blankets. 

“Do you think. . .” Y/N shuffled a little, “Do you think you could maybe sleep in here tonight?” 

Harry’s gaze was already soft, and yet, it somehow softens even more, “Of course, baby,” he murmurs, “Do you want me to make a pallet on the floor?”

She shook her head, “You can just get in the bed,” she told him, “I don’t mind. Besides, I hardly think the couch has been good for your back.” 

He laughed. He was in briefs, and he had some random shirt on that looked big and worn, the print on the front so faded she couldn’t make out any of it. His fabric softener smells so good, though, when he peels back the blankets and crawls in with her (Y/N thinks he usually sleeps shirtless, because sometimes she’ll go out in the living room and he’ll have pulled it off in the night, in a bundle on the back of the couch). There’s a flush of cold air that zips beneath her covers as he sets his phone on the nightstand, before he stretches out his legs and lies on her other pillow, and tucks them both back in. But still, even at his most “comfortable-looking”, after he pulled the blanket over his body, she could tell that there were all of two centimeters between him and the other end of the bed. 

Harry looked over to her, then startled at the fact that she was glaring – eyes narrowed and lips in a frown. 

“What, do I stink? Why are you all the way over there?” 

“Well, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable so – oh!” Y/N wrapped her fingers around his arm, digging the new nails into his biceps a little and tugging until he got the hint and started to shuffle over to her. They’re still a little sore after getting done, but not as bad as they had been before. Harry had her take a paracetamol when they got home anyway, because she’d been complaining about a little headache, and it had alleviated it a bit. 

“If I were uncomfortable, I would’ve told you to make the pallet on the floor,” she reassured him. They were much closer now; Y/N was on her side, and Muffy was still nestled up against her belly, but she was really the only thing stopping them from being pressed right up against each other. Y/N hadn’t shared a bed with someone in a very long time, now that she thinks about it. The additional weight on the mattress and the shared body heat were even more reassuring to her than she’d imagined when she suggested it. 

Harry makes a soft noise in his throat, a small shiver rattles through him in the way it always does when you crawl under warm blankets after being in a cold room. And then she watches him physically melt into the mattress, with one big deep breath, sinking into the cushions around him. He even tilted his nose down a little, pressing the tip into her comforter and taking a big, deep breath in. 

“This is nice,” he told her, his head turned to the side so that he could look at her. Y/N wasn’t even trying to be secretive about staring at him – she had no energy to, “Your room smells so good. Same with your sheets. And, wow, this bed is really soft too.” 

“Thank you,” she replied, then realized her hand was still gripping his bicep. She lets go, but she does skim the tip of her index nail along where she knew the boat tattoo was, looping a little design, “And thank you for protecting me today. And everything else.” 

Harry stretches his other hand over to her and slips his fingers into the slots between hers, “Don’t thank me for something like that. Protecting you is a given.” He squeezed softly, “I’m sorry for scaring you, and I’m sorry for what you heard and saw, Bunny.” Bunny – that’s new. Y/N likes it more than she probably should. “And all on the day you got these pretty nails? I’m so irritated.” 

“Noo, don’t, it’s – it’s okay. I mean, aside from all of that, I had a really good day with you,” she’s being maybe too honest right now, but she doesn’t care. Harry being in her room, in her bed, makes her feel warm, safe, and all too cozy. She went from a wired, overexcitable brain to something softer and quieter. Something way closer to sleep than she thought she’d be able to get tonight.  “I always have a good day with you.” 

Her eyes were closed – she doesn’t remember closing them, but she knows that she doesn’t see Harry smile, but she can hear it in his voice when he replies, with their fingers still locked together. 

“That makes me happy, Bunny,” he tells her, “I’m so glad.” 

                                                                      .                      .                      .

Y/N is a snuggly little thing. 

Harry had his suspicions. He saw how she was with Niall and Aki at the club, how she was always slouching and snuggled close to someone’s side. Or in the way she melted into him when they were at the sex club, when he looped around her back and made her pretend to be his kitten. She was gentle and sweet, prone to turning soft as putty and mold along whoever was at her side. There had been a few times on the couch, even, just sitting side by side, that he could tell she wanted to rest against him in some way. She was someone who thrived on contact, and Harry always thought people like that were so cute. How adorable of the human body to love being pressed against another warm being, feeling dopamine and comfort from just their presence close to their skin. 

So, Harry had felt self-denying by not cuddling with her a ton, but he also didn’t want to overstep an unspoken boundary. He hardly thought he was Niall and Aki's status, who were able to receive these cuddles with next to no warning or forethought. It’s why he never really took the chance to pull her in close without permission. 

But she’d been scared today. The beginning of it had started so nicely, only to sour toward the end, and he knew her head was filled with confusion and a little distress. He isn’t sure how much she saw or heard of him talking to the fuck that was following them, but it was enough to have her shaken up at the sight of him. Enough that, when he saw her face, any form of scolding for leaving the car had faltered from his mouth. She’d seemed startled stiff and unmoving – like a poor bunny that was caught off guard eating clovers in the forest or someone’s front yard, unsuspecting.  

Had she not asked him to share her bed, he probably would have slept outside her door anyway. He’d been getting on the couch afterward, but something was unsettled in his bones. Harry needed to be closer, for his own peace of mind. He wanted her within an arm’s reach, but he’d been willing to settle for being a meter away. 

So it really wasn’t a problem for him to share the bed with her. And as soon as she fell asleep, it was like her body was a magnet to whoever was nearby. Muffy readjusted, going near their heads and getting comfortable on the pillow above her sleeping form. In an instant, Y/N was glued to his side, legs slipping over his, arm pushed up against him, her face close enough that he could feel her breath on his neck. Who was he to deny this sweet, sleeping thing, anything at all? Harry turned on his side to better accommodate her, opened up his arms, and felt as she burrowed into his chest. 

Then she truly melts into his hold, and he even hears the tiniest little snore. It’s all she needed to be sent deep into her dreams, and he’s glad. Y/N doesn’t sleep very well – he hears her get up throughout the night because he doesn’t sleep very well either. But as sleep starts to pull at him, he can sense that they’d both be sleeping pretty well tonight, snuggled together like this. 

“Cut!” The director calls again, “I'm getting nothing. One last take and then we’re calling it for the day.”

You gulp, hard and frustrated at his words. You were trying your hardest. It’s not like you were purposely fucking it up. You just genuinely had no idea how to perform.

“Do you want me to try something different?” Harry, your co-star, asks from above you as he reads your frustrated face.

“No,” you shake your head, “it’s just me. It’s fine.”

He just nods, not questioning any further and settling back into position. Overtop of you, forehead against yours as you simulated sex for the camera.

“And, action.”

You pick up from where you left off before—the rise of your orgasm. Harry performed beautifully and the two of you melded your eyes into one another passionately, breathing heavily and sweating against each other.

And now, here it comes. The part where you’re supposed to finish.

You breathe heavier, even moaning a bit, shutting your eyes and trying to desperately recall what an orgasm looked like in porn. You moaned and grabbed him tighter and really put on a show, all for the scene to be brought to an abrupt cut! once again.

“We’ll pick up here again tomorrow,” the director said, “and be prepared to do better then. Please. For the sake of all of us.”

And he left, pushing the door of the studio open harsh and slamming it shut behind him.

You huff as Harry lifts off of you, watching you in concern as your cheeks fade red and you shake your head in disbelief. You were fucking pissed. You genuinely had no idea what else to change about your performance and were convinced it would never be satisfactory to the director. It was unfair and ridiculous.

“Don’t listen to him, he’s just tired and-”

“It’s fine,” you cut Harry off, “it’s just bullshit. Whatever.”

You couldn’t contain your huffs and puffs as you threw your shirt back on and hopped up off of the bed. He was just watching you, a small frown on his face as he took in your frustration. He desperately wanted to help make you smile.

He was also, however, still mounted on top of the bed. He really couldn’t go anywhere anytime soon. After a full day of listening to your moans and groans and kissing you all over, he was…just slightly tense. In the sense of having a rock hard erection between his legs that was ridiculously unprofessional. So, he’d stay there until he calmed down.

He was only a little embarrassed at his absurdly immature crush on you. He was always usually very professional, getting through jobs easily and never really letting personal relationships falter over the line. But with you, it was really just human nature. What was he supposed to do about it?

You were beautiful. Incredibly talented and always held yourself well. Everyone was always captivated by you. So, of course, working close to you as your love interest over the span of a multi-month filming process, meant he was the most captivated by you.

And, specifically, in this scene. The scene where your two characters finally slept together in a passionate fit of love. Heavy, sensual, and long. Very long. A huge part of the movie that needed to be absolutely perfect. Which meant the filming time was about double compared to what’s already been done. It was torture.

After a bit of waiting and a slow drop of his embarrassing erection, Harry was up and wandering the set as usual. No real direction, just slumming along sets and running over miscellaneous lines in his head. Eventually making it into his trailer to decompress. As he always did at the end of a long day of filming.

You, however, weren’t so calm. You were spiraling. Completely swarmed with anxiety from a very unsuccessful day of shooting.

You were great at what you did. Landing roles in projects most actresses would dream about, and you were always perfect. It was rare for you to ever need more than 2 takes for a scene, let alone 8 long takes. 8 failed takes. You couldn’t believe you’ve wrapped for the day with an unfinished scene. It was humiliating.

So, through scrabbled brains and wonky walking, you found yourself stomping around set until you made it to the sweet safety of your trailer. Head to the ground and twiddling with your fingers anxiously as you tried to rid yourself of your self-hatred.

You pushed into your trailer and took a long, deep sigh of relief, shutting your eyes and cracking your neck on either side. The pops rolled through your body and up to your ears like firecrackers, a true proof of your stressful day.

Pulling your hair out of its pony tail, you shook your head loose and rubbed at your scalp to release some of the pressure. It was a heavenly feeling to finally get to unwind.

And then, as you go to pull up the hem of your t-shirt-

“Hi.”

You quickly shoved your shirt back down onto you, snapping your head up with wide eyes and a thudding heart.

“Shit! What the hell? You just scared the living shit out of me,” you breathe out with a hand pressed over your pounding chest as you stare at a shirtless Harry, resting lax on a chair.

“M’sorry,” he chuckled, “I thought you knew I was in here.”

You’re confused now, staring at him with a corked brow as you continue to settle your shaky breaths. He really did scare the life out of you.

“Uh, no, I don’t usually expect my coworkers to be lounging in my trailer," it was rude; your tone. Tired and snarky. But he didn’t take it too much to heart, you’ve had a hard day.

He just looked up at you, a small smile pressing his dimple outwards and an amused raise of his lids. He was still shirtless from your scene, shirt slung along the back of his neck lazily. There’s nothing you can do except stare back, looking at him with an impatient stare that says ‘what? Can I help you?’

“This is my trailer.”

You paused. And if you weren’t already embarrassed enough from your awful performance in front of him today, now you were shrinking. Silently begging the universe to pick you up and put you back in time so that you wouldn’t have to live through this.

You take a slow look around now, realizing that yes, this is in fact not your trailer. A step you probably should’ve taken upon first arrival.

“God, I’m sorry,” you let your head fall into your hands, “I’m sorry to be rude, I’ve just had a hard day.”

He was quiet for a moment, looking up at you as if he was waiting to see if you’d continue. And when you didn’t, he took a slow and steady breath, shifting in his seat carefully.

“You know, he’s just giving you a hard time. Pushing you. It’s his job,” he refers to our director, trying his hardest to be helpful.

“Yeah, I know that. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating.”

You bring yourself to sit on the chair next to him, bringing a knee up against your chest as the other rests against the floor.

“I know you’re used to acing your scenes, but this is normal. It’s okay to need a couple takes,” he adds on, letting his legs spread outwards as his knee grazes over your leg. Subtle. So subtle that you really hadn’t even noticed the contact.

“I’m trying to remind myself of that,” you press out an uneasy laugh, “it’s just…I don’t know. This scene is just…complicated. For me.”

Your words seem to intrigue him. His body shifting up just a hair straighter as his face turns inward in wonderment.

“Complicated?”

You take a beat. Consider telling him. Consider letting him know that, yeah, you’re a full grown woman and actually haven’t ever orgasmed in your life. Not like that would be embarassing, or anything.

But your silence reaches a deep place in him. He can’t help himself when his brain digs to piece things together. He’s landed on two things throughout the duration of your silence: Either you had weirdly sensual feelings for him, or you just didn’t even know how to do the scene because you’ve never experienced it. Considering he’s pretty much totally sure you've never thought of him romantically, he stuck with the latter.

“Have you, um,” he adds in an awkward cough, “have you never…had an orgasm?”

You wanted to die.

Like seriously and truly just pass away right there. Lazer a big old hole open in the bottom of his trailer and just let it take you to another dimension.

“Um,” you swallow thick, “if I say yes does that make me the strangest woman you’ve ever met?”

No, not to Harry. To Harry, this was a bright and shiny door opened wide for him. He was practically ripping through his shorts at the new knowledge of his secret crush.

“No,” he answered quickly, “not at all.”

You smile, brief and uncompleted. Just a tiny press of your lips together to silently thank him for not further humiliating you.

“Have you not ever tried? Like, by yourself?”

He knew it was a risky question to be asking. Totally crossing a line and he was fully prepared to be shut down the moment the question left his lips.

“Of course,” you shrug casually, “I’ve tried pretty much everything. Nothing works for me.”

“Hm.”

And then he thinks. Looking at you deep and leaning back into his chair calmly. He presses his lips together into a firm line and nods softly to himself, like he’s swallowing what you’re telling him and waiting for his brain to think of something for him to spit back out to you.

“Toys?”

“Yup.”

“Fingers?”

“Yes.”

“Porn?”

“Once.”

“Vibrator?”

“Mhm.”

He was stumped. Taking a deep breath as he tried to come up with a solution for you.

And when he thought of it, he had to bite his tongue hard until it bled a bit. He couldn’t ask you that. He just couldn’t. It’s a ridiculously unprofessional thought and you’d never go for it. Not with him. Not in a million years.

“Are you a virgin?” He asks instead. Still unprofessional. Still crossing a line.

“No,” you laugh, “I’m definitely not a virgin.”

“Multiple men then?”

“6.”

“And you’ve not orgasmed with a single one?”

“Nope.”

“Close?”

“Eh,” you shrug.

“Hm.”

He sits back again. Taking an even deeper breath as he peels further back on your sex life. Well, your lack of a sex life more like. He figured you had to really have little interest in it at all at this point.

He thought long and hard. Similar to what’s been poking at him through his shorts, stuck on the thought of being the thing that robs you from this sad life.

“I can give you one.”

You choked. Taking in the words that he said way too casually. As if it was the simplest offer he’d ever given you.

“Youre not going to be able to make me finish. I just can’t orgasm,” you laugh at him, tugging your knee tighter against your chest as you adjust to the new energy in the room. Hot, shallow, tense.

“I can,” he nods, “if you’d want me to. Purely for professional reasons, of course.”

He was lying. He’d been dreaming of this since the moment he saw you. But, you didn’t have to know that. Not yet, at least. He’d wait to tell you that part until he was between your legs.

You hesitated, staring at him as he keeps him composure strong and sure of himself. There was something about the way he spoke, so confident of himself, that had you wondering.

“You’re pretty confident for a guy who just found out I’ve never came in my life,” is all you can think to say.

It was risky. Too risky for you and you were far too professional for this sort of behavior. But, then again, as his legs spread further and he kept on his calm demeanor, it was hard to ignore the tingle between your thighs.

“Well,” he shrugged again, “I just know I can give you one. So, I’d like to help you out and give you your first, if you let me. If not, just forget about it. We can pretend I never offered.”

You sat there quiet for a little while. Bouncing back and forth between the idea which was already surprising to you. But, he had made a good case for himself. Not too demanding. Not any pressure. Just…offering up his skills. Politely. Professionally.

Or at least you’d tell yourself that.

“Hypothetically,” you start carefully, “let’s say I said yes.”

He nods, inhaling and lifting his back off of the chair. He lets his elbows rest against the tops of his thighs now, hunched over a bit with his bare chest as he looks up at you, considering his options.

“Ok, hypothetically, if you say yes, I could really go any way you’d want. I can use my fingers, my mouth, or even my dick if you wanted. I don’t mind. It’s up to you.”

He was so unbelievably calm about this that it was sickening. So sick in the way that it turned you on. And you hadn’t really ever thought of Harry this way before…sure, he was very physically attractive. But anyone with two eyes could notice that. This was different. This was him, his confidence, the way he held himself. He was unknowingly dampening your panties with every passing second.

“Ok…” you nod slow, “and, hypothetically, if you don’t make me orgasm?”

He’s grinning now, deep and smirked and prominent. Like you’ve truly amused him now.

“Y/n, I’m gonna be able to make you come.”

You’re not sure what it was; the way he spoke, the way he was sitting, the low drop of his voice, but you were…convinced. Truly and genuinely. He’d put it right into your head that he was fully capable of doing a thing that’s proven itself impossible over the span of your life. You were crazy to believe him. In retrospect, it was even stupid to believe him.

“Okay.”

He forced himself to ignore the twitch of his tip beneath his shorts at your acceptance, instead widening his eyes at yours with a wide grin.

“Yeah?” He was ecstatic, and you could tell. His excitement didn’t disturb you, if anything, it had you excited too.

“For professional purposes, of course,” you preface, smiling back at him as you press your thighs together.

“Right,” he nods with a grin, “strictly professional.”

And then you stare at each other, in the awkward way that two do when they know they’re about to start playing with each other. In the way of silently not knowing who should move first or if this is a good idea or not.

“So, should I tell you like, what I like? So you have a better idea of what to do?” You ask unsurely, breaths deepening without him even starting. It was his look. His gaze. Deep and darkened from how it usually rests on you.

“No,” he shakes his head calmly, “I’ll figure it out.”

And that, knowing he’d take care of you without you even having to think, was the sexiest thing you’d ever been told in your life.

“You can go sit over there,” he gestures towards the small couch in the back of his trailer. “Get yourself comfortable, lay how you want. I’ll lock this.”

You nod at his instruction, trotting over to the little red couch that rested at the end of his long room. He follows close behind, locking the door shut on his way and closing any blinds that are peaked open.

You weren’t sure what the rules really were with this stuff. You should probably look further into it before you get started, you know, check if this is a job ending decision or not. But you don’t. Because why would you when he’s walking towards you, abs clenched and jaw tight, with the promise of your first orgasm?

You were lying on your back against the soft couch, a small throw pillow behind your head and propping it up just barely enough. You were comfortable, very nervous but very comfortable.

He sat at the edge of the sofa, a hand resting mindlessly on your thigh as you two settled. His hand was cold, rugged against your smooth skin and brushing over you softly.

Thankfully, with the constant strum of music that was always going on around set, the quiet felt less intense. Muffled sounds of singing on the loud speakers crawled through the walls of the trailer and hummed around you two in a gentle blanket, breaking some of the tension that would’ve been there otherwise.

“Comfortable?” He asks, shifting his hands further up to your shorts in a non-chalant motion. Your mind barely processed the slide, but your body didn’t miss a beat. You were throbbing, a feeling that was already so foreign to you in general, let alone with your co-star Harry.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, slightly shaken.

“Hey, y/n,” he pulls your attention to his face, “don’t be nervous, ok? M’gonna make you feel good. Gonna help you with our scene…just relax.”

You nod, taking him in as he slowly starts to tug down on your shorts. He was pulling them off smoothly, leaving the thin material of your thong on along the way.

And now, this was real. This was really happening. Harry was taking your pants off in his trailer and there was absolutely no part of you that wanted to stop it. Not even for a second.

“Want you to close your eyes, and take three deep breaths,” he’s whispering now, pulling your shorts passed your ankles and letting them rest neatly next to you.

You do as he says, grateful that he suggested to keep your eyes shut. It was intimidating to stare at Harry while he sat beside you, hands up where they haven’t been before and eyes locked onto you. You were worried if you’d kept them open you wouldn’t get yourself to fully relax.

Your lungs fill and empty to their full extent three long times, and you melt into the sofa at the feeling of your body’s tension releasing. You were calm, fully at peace and absorbing into the cushions beneath you.

And then, you felt his fingers press against the cotton of your panties and your eyes snapped open.

“It’s ok,” he coos, “close them again. Just relax. Gonna get you wet for a bit and then use my fingers.”

So you did. You shut your eyes, letting your thighs fall open as his fingers pressed delicately over your clothed core. Your breath was heavier than expected, rising and falling quickly as the mix of nerves washed over you.

He used his middle and ring fingers to slide up the soft texture of your thong, smirking to himself when he felt the damp spot in the fabric that he really didn’t expect to be there. He thought he’d for sure have to get you there. But to feel you already soaking for him? He felt like he was floating.

“So wet already,” he whispered, “keep yourself relaxed. Keep breathing. Just like how you’ve been.”

He really wasn’t sure if he should’ve said that or not—the comment on your wetness. It’s not like you two had any sexual history and he wasn’t sure if the comment would embarrass you or not. It really just slipped out.

But, at the sight of your tiny smile through closed eyes and the subtle roll of your hips into his hand, he knew you liked it. He knew he could talk you through it and say what he pleased to get you going.

And when he pulled your panties to the side to reveal your dripping slit, you desperately tried to stabilize your breathing. You were so nervous that you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You even thought about snapping your thighs back together right then and forgetting the whole idea completely, but all it took was one press of his finger onto you to drop that thought.

“Shit, y/n,” he breathed out, “you always get this wet?”

You exhaled softly at his words as he ran his finger tip up your wet folds, sighing at the slick that was drenching his fingers. He’d dreamed of this feeling—your sticky arousal coated around his fingers as your hips bucked against him.

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head no, “feels good.”

He smiled at this, a little boost to his already overflowing ego.

“Gonna start slow, work your clit a bit,” his voice was lower than it was before, locked in a trance as he watched you squirm at his barely-there trance.

You just nodded, eyes still closed, feeling a little silly having him walk you through basic pleasure. But you didn’t care, not when his touch had you this sensitive and his voice had your thighs weak.

He brought his fingers to your swollen bud, watching as it hissed beneath his touch and your face squinted slightly inwards. He rubbed soft, small circles to test the waters, watching what hit you hardest and what had your breath catching.

He took his promise as a challenge—keeping an intense eye on your expressions and body language with every touch. He watched how your brows turned in when he pressed harder and how your stomach tensed when he circled in a certain direction. He was figuring you out, desperately searching for the best way to get you there.

“Feel good?” It was an empty ask, as it was quite clear that you were. If your face didn’t say so, your muffled moans and heavy breaths gave him just the smallest clue.

“Y-yeah,” you nod through heavy breaths, “really good. Faster?”

He grins at your cute ask, happy to hear you using your words and even happier to oblige. His fingers pick up their pace within a half a second, rubbing steady circles against you now and waiting to see your body react.

You squirmed harder beneath him, gentle moans slipping out now that you couldn’t hold inside.

He continued this way for a while, watching as you fell apart beneath him and reddened your cheeks with every hitch of your breath. He was patient as you fell into the pleasure, using his free hand to dance against the skin of your thighs in soothing drawings.

“Gonna use my fingers now, that ok?” He asks softly, never stopping the rhythm on your clit as he could tell you were building to something.

“Yes! Please,” your yelp has him smirking to himself again, so pleased with himself to see you stuck in a haze of his fingers.

And when he replaced the pressure on your clit with his thumb and pressed two thick fingers inside of you, he knew he had you.

Your back sprung up at the pressure, stretching your little hole as you clenched desperately around his fingers. He pushed in slow and curved, brushing against every sweet spot until he landed on the one you groaned at.

“F-fuck, Harry,” you groaned softly, head thrown back against the pillow as his girthy fingers rolled up into you.

The pressure was sickening, pressing into the same spongy spot over and over again as his thumb rubbed magic to the ball of your clit. He had you at every place you needed him, never missing a beat and zeroed in to the last millimeter. It was a talent far more impressive than what he brought to the camera.

And him? He was reeling at the treat in front of him. His wet dream sprawled out for him as he finger fucked you, basking in the sweet sounds of your moans and groans and airy words.

They were different from the ones he’d heard you force out on set. These were full, wrapped in the moment you two shared and threading out of your chest with no effort at all.

“That’s it, it feels good, huh?” He spurs on, quickening his fingers once he starts to feel your walls flutter around him.

“So good! So good, fuck,” you were breathless as he pumped in and out of you, his forearms burning but he didn’t care. Not when you look like this, weak and spasming around his skin with just the simple touch of his fingers.

Before you knew it, a deep heat brewed in the bottom of your stomach so foreign that it actually freaked you out. You were completely overwhelmed with the sensations spreading through you, pumping through your blood and racing to your brain. It was indescribable.

He felt it too. Your soaking wet insides gushing around his fingers with every curl and the way you tensed around him so tight. You were trapping him deep inside of you, walls clenching firm around his fingers in a patternless fashion.

And you were…quite vocal. More than you knew, considering you were stuck in such a blurry haze that you could barely hear your own voice. But Harry was well aware of the loud sounds swimming out of you and the way you stumbled over your own breaths. He was fucking aching beneath his shorts and silently praying to himself that you’d let him fuck you properly after this.

“You’re close, y/n, you feel that? You feel that pressure in your belly? Gonna ride it out for you until you come on my fingers,” he quickened everything, rubbing faster against your clit and thrusting into you at an unfathomable pace.

Your mind was spinning and your chest was tight, heart throbbing harsh against your bones as it echoed up to your ear drums.

“H-how will I- fuck! How will I know? H-how do I know if I came?” You can barely speak as you ask your naive question, too lodged in your pleasure to worry about embarrassment. Besides, you knew you were passed the point of embarrassment. To Harry, anyway.

He chuckled, low to himself but not in a way that had you feeling made fun of. Just a quiet knowing laugh that had your pussy clenching even tighter around him.

“You’ll know, y/n.”

Your breaths picked up, heaving at this point, as you legs vibrated and spasmed against the red velvet of the couch beneath you. Your brain was mush and your knuckles white, spinning helplessly into his touch as you thrashed against yourself beneath him.

And then, you knew.

Your mind went fuzzy as your body surrendered to the feeling, consuming you whole as you froze into the pleasure. Your body stilled, cunt locking tight around his fingers as it pulsed throughout his movements. You trembled and your voice held silent, breath stuck inside of your lungs as you unraveled beneath him.

He watched in a daze, mouth flaking apart unknowingly as he watched you pulse beneath him. It was intoxicating—to watch such a vulnerable moment in time inflicted by his own hands. Still shoved deep inside of you to extend your orgasm for as long as humanly possible.

It really was long. You were flooded in the warmth of your peak and riding through your surging orgasm like it was the most heavenly thing to ever grace your life. You were sure you’d be chasing this feeling from the moment you come down, craving the addicted tingle that’s been swarming through your body for what’s felt like hours.

As you finally come down, breaths resuming and body falling limp, Harry slows his movements before removing himself completely, careful of your sensitivity and not wanting to push it. Your slick pussy quenched at his fingers as they left you, splurging in wet sounds and clenching around the air at the loss of his touch.

“Good?” He asks calmly, as if he’s not completely bursting through his pants right next to you.

You laugh, finally opening your eyes to look at him again. He looked proud. Genuinely pleased with himself and desperately awaiting your review.

“Harry,” you shake your head through a laugh, “fuck.”

He smiles wide now, tossing his hands up softly at your lack of words.

“So? Anything? Good? Bad?”

You squint at him, shifting your legs back together with a hot face.

“What if I told you I faked it,” you shrug, slipping further back into the pillow beneath you.

“You didn’t fake it,” he laughs, shaking his head.

“You don’t know that,” you say, a twinge of a smile laced through your voice.

“I do know that. I've watched you orgasm 9 times today and all I can say is that 8 of them were definitely faked.”

You cover your face with your hands to muffle your laughter, rolling into the couch further and still basking in the afterglow of your first orgasm.

“Thank you,” you slip through a smile before peering down to the sudden shift of his arm. He was readjusting what was beneath his shorts, trying to be sly without you noticing but failing miserably.

The moment he noticed your stare he removed his hand quickly, snapping it down against his thigh in a not-so-casual manner.

“Are you-?”

“Sorry,” he cuts you off, “S’hard to not be when you’re making a girl cum for the first time.”

A soft grin finds its way to your face at his shameless honesty, and you’re even further drawn towards him. The way he held himself was intoxicating, sucking you into him with no way to stop it.

“I can help,” you gesture your head towards his lap.

He’s grinning now too, peering down at his crotch and then back up at you as if to silently ask, …really?

You smile, curving further upward as you start to daydream about what he’d look like when he came. If you’d also get turned on from watching him just as he had for you.

He takes your smile as a quiet agreement, pulling for his dick before you stop him.

“But, I wanna cum too. Again.”

You don’t know why you said it. You could’ve kept it to yourself, save the desperation and just suck his cock like you probably should’ve.

But, no. You were greedy now. Already wincing at the thought of a second orgasm and even more worked up at the thought of his hard cock giving it to you.

“Ok,” he smiled with a nod, “I can make you cum again first. What do you want? My mouth?”

You shake your head, even knowing that you should probably say yes because fucking your co-star in their trailer is definitely a terrible idea.

He’s smirking again now himself, catching onto your cryptic wish with a quick palm to his erection. Who was he to say no? This was purely professional, after all. You two consider it…homework.

“You want me to fuck you?” He knew the answer was yes. He needed to hear you say it.

“Yes,” you nod, “please. Can you? I wanna try to cum from that, you know, for the scene tomorrow.”

“Ah,” he nods along with your little play, “right. This is just good practice.”

He shifts closer to you with every passing word, absentmindedly drawn to your lips without really having to think about it.

“Mhm,” your voice lowers as he pulls closer, “good practice.”

He hover over you for a moment, lips just above yours as you both breath hot silent breaths into one another.

“I don’t have to kiss you, if you don’t want,” he tells you, so close to your face. You two had obviously kissed before in the film countless times. But this was different. The cameras weren’t rolling. Yes, he’d been touching you and he’d be fucking you soon, but kissing was intimate. It’s the kissing that could make things one big sloppy mess for the two of you.

You flick your eyes between his, still buzzing from your orgasm and hot in proximity.

“You can kiss me, if you want,” you nod as you repeat his same words back to him, watching as his lips smile just briefly before lowering themselves again.

He kissed you soft and rushed, groaning into the taste of you as if he hadn’t tried it so many times before.

Now he could fall into it, touch you where he wanted and not pretend to be calm about it. He was kissing you and no director was about to yell cut.

“All honesty,” he breathes into your kiss, "M'probably not gonna last.”

You grin, pressing your teeth to his lips accidentally at his confession.

“That's okay,” you say, “still wanna feel you inside.”

He groans, low and grumbled like you’ve broken him. Like those were five words that he’d imagined coming out of your lips for months.

“Can’t say stuff like that when I'm trying to last,” he chuckles against you, letting his hands shift around your midsection for the first time. It was chilling, his hands on the bare skin underneath your tshirt, hovering over the area in a way he held back from on film.

“Can I? Now? I’m fucking aching,” he grasps harder at your skin, desperately trying to avoid the growing pain between his thighs.

You nod profusely, “please.”

He slips his cock out of his loose cotton shorts and you peer down between your bodies to gauge what was coming your way. He was thick and heavy, dripping in precum and strained in a throb. You were practically drooling at the sight, wincing at the idea of the stretch yet craving it all the same.

He pulls for a condom from a random drawer in his trailer, and you really didn’t care why he had them. You were just relieved, over the moon even. He could just fuck you right now and not have to go run off to find a condom somehwere.

“Sure?” He asks one last time, rolling the latex down his dick with heavy breaths.

“Please,” you nod quick, watch intently as he aligns himself with your weeping hole.

You were soaking, so wet that he didn’t even use his spit at all before pressing into you slowly. You were so tight wrapped around him, suffocating his cock inside of you as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. This was pure bliss, everything he’d been dreaming about and beyond that.

You were feeling nothing short of the same, stuck in a loop of euphoria as he pushed his hips further and further inside of you. Once he bottomed out you fell sewn into a state of shock, surrendering to what’s taken you over completely.

“Harry, oh my god,” you groaned, face twisting as he nudged his cock around your depth. He was playing with you, feeling you out and testing your limits. He was nearly to your cervix, inflicting just the right amount of pain to have your head spinning.

“Shit,” he drops his head, “feel so good wrapped around me like this.”

He didn’t really stop to think of how this would change things for him. How it would bring him back here each time he stared at her beneath him while they filmed. How everytime he forced fake thrusts into her for the camera he’d be glistening in the memory of his tip kissing the inside of her belly.

He brought a hand to your clit, stimulating the sensitive area again as he felt himself already building to an orgasm. He’d make sure you came again before he did, but it would have to be quick. And, according to his breathing, very quick.

“Ohh,” you groan out at the feeling of his fingers back to your clit, the sensitive sensation rolling around with the feeling of his dick shoved inside of you through your head.

Luckily for Harry, you were so freshly taken by your first orgasm that your second one took less than half the time of the first. You were nearly already there the moment he started to pound into you, sharp and steady and a perfect pace.

He was struggling. Living through his fantasies in real life while stuck on the very important goal of helping you orgasm. He needed to wait for you to cum. Not only because he always makes sure a girl finishes before him, but also because he wanted to know what it’d be like to have your pussy stutter around him and drag out his own.

It wasn’t long before you were there. He held your hips firm in his grasp as he pressed solid blows into you over and over and over, smacking into the perfect spot every time and massaging over your swollen bead.

“Oh- fuck! Yes!” You moan out, “fuck, Harry!”

He squeezed his eyes shut to drown out your words, your screams bringing him much too close for comfort. And you were right there, he could feel it. He could definitely hear it.

You came hard after a particularly deep stroke, shaking around his cock as you clenched and engulfed his aching shaft. This was different than the first, and you maybe thought it was even better. He was shoved so deep inside of you that you could feel him pressing up into your tummy, tingling your insides and rubbing your through your high.

Harry filled the condom as he continued to fuck into you, groaning out between you two as he revelled in the feeling of his long-awaited orgasm. He’d literally been hard because of you all day.

You both whined and sighed out into one another as you tricked to the end, breath slowing as you came back down to earth. Absolutely exhausted and fucked out of your mind. You’d never felt this relaxed in your whole life.

“Good?” He asks the same question as before, out of breath and panting above you.

You smile, nodding lazily though closed eyes, “good.”

He pulls out slowly, pulling the condom off and tossing it to the can beside him. He sat back against the couch, neck tossed back as he began to catch his breath. You were resting on your back still, eyes closed and soft breaths and a cute attempt to try to stay awake.

“I think we can shoot this thing in one take tomorrow,” he breaks the silence, peering down at you from his spot on the couch.

“Maybe. If I don’t accidentally mess it up and we have to do it again,” you let a lazy grin fall to your face as you tease him, soaked up in the floaty haze of a second orgasm and a good dick.

He laughs with you, letting hand fall to your ankle without thinking too much about it.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

You hum with closed eyes, resting back into the sofa and stretching your limbs to get comfy. You don’t know how long you stay here—him sat up and rubbing your legs as you doze off on the couch—but it was peaceful. Unrushed. Just, happening.

And suddenly, you couldn’t wait to resume filming tomorrow.

i’ve reread this so many times now through editing that i kinda hate itttt, so im sorry if my writing is off in this!!😭😭

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check out my recent work on wattpad -> here.

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You were used to it.

The glares. The corked eyebrows. The subtle tinge of ‘I’m sure that I know what you’re here for and our business does not allow it.’

But you were no prostitute, and you weren’t out of place here. You belonged here and were overly exhausted of stingy employees thinking otherwise.

So when you got the text from Harry, you had already mentally prepared yourself for what would come of your night.

H: Booked us a room at the Ritz on West 28th. Finishing up in the studio and then I’ll meet you there. It’s under your name.

A usual text to receive from your secret lover.

He was older than you, ridiculously older than you to the point where you were sure it would cause some controversy if the public gained any awareness. So, sneaky over-nights at fancy hotels and cryptic stares are what you were used to.

And you liked it—the forbiddenness of it all. You were his cute little thing, a pretty girl to play with and spoil however he pleased.

So when you walked through the big glass door of the luxurious building, you found yourself wet just at the smell.

That was the thing about what you and Harry had going on. He’d opened up new parts of you that you would’ve never known existed if it weren’t for him. You were addicted to the riches of it all. His money. His wealth, more like.

Smooth tile and obscene light fixtures and quiet jazz turned you on, at this point. And it wasn’t because of the fine craftsmanship, it’s because his money brought you here. Allowed you to echo your tiny feet across the slick flooring and take in the thick smell of an expensive room spray.

You pattered confidently over to the front counter, dressed in a cute little outfit that was to Harry’s liking, and placed the tips of your fingers against the tall podium.

“Hello,” you smile politely, “I have a room for tonight under Y/L/N.”

The receptionist peers up from her desk to scan you over, a soft smile on her face as she takes you in silently.

And then, there was that look. The one you were more than used to, at this point.

“Hello,” she finally greets you, “you said you had a room at this hotel?”

A smile smacked on her face so condescending that you nearly screamed.

“I do, yes,” you keep on your smile, remaining composure as you readjust the duffle bag against your side.

She peers down at the movement to take in the bag that was hung over your shoulder, staring at it for a bit longer than you appreciated. It was a soft pink, white stripes down the fabric with your initials embroidered on the side. It was childish, you know. But it’s been yours since you were small and why change something that’s not broken?

“Let me take a look, dear,” she nods, slow and unhurried.

So you wait. Tapping your finger tips against the sleek wood of the counter as she takes her sweet time.

And then, another buzz from your phone.

H: Get to the room okay? I’m wrapping up.

Y: just waiting to be let up

You keep it brief, knowing not enough time has passed to really know if the staff was judging you just yet. You’d like to think the best of them. Maybe your reservation was just dug deep in their files.

H: Are they giving you trouble?

You take a thick swallow, reading over the 5 words like they were here in front of you, low and threatening.

Y: i don’t think so, probably just super busy tonight

He types, stops, types, and then the bubbles go away completely. You just shut off your phone, slipping it back into your purse before peering back up at the front desk.

And when you look up, she’s peering behind you, looking at the nicely dressed man that stood after you in the line of the lobby.

“Hello, sir. How can I assist you?”

Your brows furrow, peering back and forth between the man and the receptionist with innocent confusion.

But then, you think, this is a nice place, right? You’re sure they’ve got you all checked in and probably sending down a concierge to lead you to your room as we speak. Nothing to worry about.

So, you stand off to the side with a sweet smile and toy with the ends of your hair as the two start their conversation.

But then she gave him a room key. And a kind smile, one different from the one you had been given just a couple minutes prior. And ushered him to the elevator with directions that would lead right to his door.

Now, you were stumped.

“Um, excuse me,” you ask so quietly that she doesn’t hear you at all.

You were always like this. Too sweet for your own good and always afraid to rub off the wrong impression.

The receptionist was busy (or so she looked) at her desk, scrabbling through papers and binders that you were only half sure actually had anything written on them. So, you mustered up the courage to speak again.

“Excuse me, ma'am?" A bit louder this time, but still never without your fragile twinge of politeness.

She looks up at you as you stood in front of the tall counter. Glasses hung low on her nose and her red lips glued to a straight and very unamused line.

“Yes?”

“Um, was there a problem with my reservation?” You ask, lacking confidence just a little bit too much. You knew it. The receptionist knew it, too.

She takes her glasses off, glaring up at you from her seat behind the thick counter and takes a deep breath.

“What was the name again, hon?”

You cringed at the nickname.

“Y/L/N. Maybe Y/N.”

She pauses her fingers though the stack of papers and tilts her head at you in a stare of disbelief.

“You’re not sure what your reservation is under?”

Yes, you were used to this. But no, that didn’t mean it got any easier for you. This was always stress for you. An unbelievable amount of anxiety and you almost never handled it well.

“I, um, I’m not totally sure, no. I wasn’t the one who made the reservation,” you say through red cheeks.

She smiles up at you, cold and knowing, like she’s got you all figured out now. Like she’s seen this sort of thing before.

“I see,” she nods, “let me take another look.”

You just nod, backing away slightly and trying to ignore the growing need to nib at your nailbeds and twist around your hair. You didn’t want to seem even more immature.

Another phone vibration from your purse.

H: Assuming you’ve gotten to the room now? Just about to leave.

Y: no not yet, its ok tho they’re looking again now i think

H: Looking for what? You’re still in the lobby?

Y: for our reservation, i think maybe i gave them the wrong name or something. and yes i am

H: I put it under your last name. If that helps.

Y: yeah that’s what i told them, im sure they’re just looking for it

But you weren’t sure. And Harry could smell bullshit right through his phone screen.

H: This is ridiculous. You’ve been there nearly 20 minutes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

You couldn’t ignore the ping between your thighs at the message, slightly embarrassed to feel so turned on by a string of black letters across your tiny phone screen.

“Here you are,” your texting is interrupted by the shove of a thin black card in your face, sudden and disruptive.

“Oh,” you grab onto it, “ok, thank you. Where is my room?”

She sighs again, acting as if your simple question has seriously disturbed her peace.

“The room number is on the card. There are signs on the walls.”

Your brows turn inward with a small frown, literally having just watched her direct the last young man to his room. You really didn’t want to spend the next couple minutes following plastic signs on the walls like an idiot.

But, you don’t fuss. Don’t put up a fit and don’t mention it. Instead, you just nod, walking away from the counter with really no idea of where to go at all.

You were clearly confused as you walked around the first floor of the luxurious hotel, desperately searching for the signs on the walls and any indication of where an elevator could be.

The staff saw you. They saw how confused you were and they watched as you dawdled around the big tall lobby. Yet, they remained mounted in their place, even looking somewhat amused at your struggle. As if you were a baby deer trapped in the overbearing headlights of an 18 wheeler.

Once you land on the sweet sight of the elevators, you b-line over the large room with your little pink bag clinched tighter against you. You were desperate to get to the safety of your room.

“Can I help you?” A man, tall and dressed formally in a suit, asks as he guards the buttons to the elevator.

“Hi, yes please! I’m in room…” you look at your card, “614. Is that the sixth floor?”

He stares at you. Takes you in, grazes over your cute little outfit that was surely not a fancy dress or a designer brand. Then peers to your bag. Then back up at you—young. Naive. Cute.

“I’m sorry, these elevators are for hotel residents only.”

If you weren’t already confused before, now you are stumped.

Are you not a hotel resident? Are you more of a…hotel guest? Do residents have some sort of special card or something? You were too nervous to ask, so you didn’t.

“Oh,” your brows turn in, “ok.. Can you please tell me how to get up to my room then? I’m sorry, I guess I'm having some trouble finding it.”

“I’m sure,” he chuckles. “You can go speak to the front desk. They will escort you to your room.”

He drew out the word like he was claiming that that’s what you were. Nothing other than a little escort for some rich slob of a man who couldn’t find a woman on his own.

“Um, she already directed me to the…signs. So, should I try to follow those again? I just feel like maybe I'm supposed to be going up the elevator.”

You were rambling now, soft and unsure and all he could do was stare at you unamused.

“The signs will lead you to where you’d like to go,” is all he says, with a nod.

Defeated, you slump away and now you’re left right back where you just were. Wandering around the lobby, peering at every sign you see, desperately trying to get the hell out of this situation.

It wasn’t ‘where you'd like to go,’ it was where you should go. Where you belonged. You knew it, but you just couldn’t muster up the courage to tell them that you knew it.

After another couple minutes of walking back and forth and desperately trying to find any signs other than roof top or pool or buffet, you give up and tip toe your way back over to the front desk. Back in front of the woman who looked like she was already tired of you before you even opened your mouth.

“Hi, you gave me my room key a bit ago but I just can’t seem to-”

“I remember.”

You blink, not sure what to think of her rude interruption but continuing anyway.

“I, um,” you were even more nervous now, “I guess I’m just not sure how to get to my room and no one really seems to be helping me out.”

“And what exactly would you need help with?”

You blink again. Slower this time.

“Finding my room…” you’re confused, feeling like you literally just explained that not even 4 seconds prior.

“I have already explained this to you, as long as you follow the-”

“Is there an issue here? Does anyone want to explain to me why she got here half an hour ago and is still standing in this lobby?”

There he was, Harry, tall and broad and two creases stuck between his brows that were only there when he got angry. Two creases that had your crease dripping.

“Hi, baby,” he drops his voice softer as he comes behind you, letting his big hand rest on your tiny frame as he presses a kiss to your forehead. Your cheeks fade pink at his gentle greeting as you smile up at him kindly, a contrast from his fury towards the staff.

“Mr. Styles, hello! It’s lovely to see you, we were just getting her set up to the room-”

“But you weren’t,” he cuts her off, “if you were half competent and even somewhat decent at your job she would’ve been resting in the privacy of that room ages ago. So really, does anyone want to tell me what’s been going on here?”

He was… terrifying. Deliciously terrifying and just who you needed to come and save you. You were helpless without him and he knew it. Too trusting for your own good and ever so naive.

“Mr. Styles, really, we were just gathering some documents together and then we were going to send her straight up to your room.”

Other staff members were slipping away while they could, leaving the lonely receptionist to take all of the blame. And, to be totally honest, that was fine with you.

“Up to her room,” he corrected, “a room that was booked under her name and a room that she should have had no issue getting into. So, and I do ask that you be honest this time, are you going to tell me what’s been going on?”

She stares at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted as she stutters on her own breath. You just stood there, protected in Harry’s grasp as he stood behind you.

“I apologize on behalf of the hotel for any trouble that this misunderstanding has caused and-”

He’s laughing now, deep and cynical and just truly in disbelief.

“And what exactly was misunderstood? I’m yet to hear the reason and I think I’ve asked quite a couple times now,” he knows what went on. It hadn’t been the first time something like this had happened. But he was stubborn. For you, at least. And if anyone even dared to make life difficult for you, he’d wait til they were fully humiliated before he was done.

“I-I’m sorry, we were under the impression that she may have been here for reasons against our policies as a company and we were mistaken.”

He lets out a deeply intimidating smirk before peering down at you, waiting for your attention before he speaks to you.

“I’m sorry, is she speaking some language that only imbeciles can understand? Or has she still not explained why you weren’t let up to your room?”

You shook your head up at him with your big round doe eyes, basking in his behavior and clenching your thighs together tight.

“We were under the impression that she was here for some sort of explicit work, sir. I’m very sorry for this incredibly wrong misunderstanding.” She corrected herself under a mumbled breath, ashamed and terrified of the man on the other side of the counter.

He nods, slow with a deep breath like that’d been what he was expecting.

“Full refund.” He mutters, closer to the desk now with a diving stare that you were lucky you weren’t on the receiving end of.

“I-I’m sorry?” She’s taken aback at his well justified request, but he doesn’t budge.

You knew how much this room cost…it was the largest and nicest room in the building. It was tens of thousands of dollars a night and to stay there for free would be detrimental to them. Harry knew it. He didn’t care. They were lucky he wasn’t shutting them down.

“Full. Refund.” He enunciated sharper this time, pressing his fingers into the wood of the counter and pressing his body closer.

“Y-yes, of course, sir. Again, we apologize for any-”

He walked away before she could finish, hand in yours as he tugged you over to the elevators. His grip was tight and his long legs moved quickly through the dazzling lobby, steps echoing up and down the tall ceilings until we reached the elevators.

And this time, with Harry at your side, the man at the doors pressed the up button hastily and stood to the side with a shaky smile. The wide gold of the elevator doors crank open, and Harry calls out one more thing to the receptionist before you both step in.

“Breakfast sent to the room by 10:30.”

She nodded quickly, “Of course! What would you like?”

“The menu.”

She swallowed thick and nodded without argument, and her reaction had your panties even more soaked than they already were. You were obsessed watching him dominate everyone around him. Controlling them with every little word and watching as they slip further into their fear. It was erotic.

And as the two of you walked into the private confines of the elevator, you were trembling. Nervous to what he would say and daydreaming about how he’d man handle you after this.

They seemed to shut in slow motion, swallowing all the outside noise with them and leaving you two in deafening silence. You gripped the handle of your bag tighter.

“Jesus, y/n,” he shook his head, “You ever gonna be able to speak for yourself? Or are you gonna need me to come and pick up your scraps every fucking time?”

You rounded your eyes as you peered up at him submissively, just how he liked, to find him already staring down on you. Preying on you. Jaw clenched tight and jutted outwards.

“I’m sorry, sir. I thought I could handle myself without you. I thought I was doing good,” you know you weren’t. But you wanted him to tell you that you weren’t. You wanted him to tell you that you were nothing without him.

“You didn’t do shit,” he spits, “you stood there all pathetic and let them walk over you. Fucking embarassing.”

The elevator dinged open. You were dripping. Cheeks red. Lashes fluttering up at him. Legs wobbly and mind fuzzy.

He waited for you to leave the elevator before following suit, staying close behind until you reached your room.

And once you heard that click of the door unlock and the handle twist open, you were quivering in excitement for what would come next behind this closed door.

The room was ridiculously ginormous. Big for a group of fifteen, let alone two people who were constantly attached at the hip. They might as well have counted as one guest.

It was shimmering and spacious and gloriously luxurious. The curtains were pulled open to reveal the most beautiful view of the city you had ever seen, dazzling and high and something you knew was a treasure to get to lay your eyes on.

He followed you into his wealth, barely even acknowledging the space as he was used to it. This was an everyday encounter for him.

But he was watching you. He liked to watch your pretty little face as you took in what he gives you. How he spoils you. It was his favorite thing. He’d even felt himself growing hard just from your reaction to the hotel room.

“All this shit I do for you,” he tossed the key onto the entryway table, “fixing your problems. Treating you to expensive hotels. Buying you whatever you want. Don’t you think you owe me some gratitude? To give me something in return for once instead of swimming in my money like a brat?”

You knew he wasn’t serious. You knew it was play. He’d never expect anything from you in return. And, besides, you did well enough for him already. More than he could ever beg for.

“You’re right, sir, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so greedy,” you say, walking closer towards him as he stands in front of the big window.

His eyes turn into themselves as he locks them on you, resting low and staring into your own with a straight face. So monotone that you nearly faint.

“Get to your knees,” he waves his head forward in demand, signaling for you to drop.

And you do, slow, teasing. Staring up at him with those big glossy eyes during your whole way down.

“Want you to choke on my cum,” he spits, “think you can piece together in your dumb little head how to do that right? Or do you need my help with that too?”

You were dizzy, drunk off of the man in front of you as you bruised your knees for him. You were embarrassingly wet and thought you might even cum while you sucked him off.

“I don’t know, sir,” you played, “Maybe just some help to get started…and then I’ll do it all by myself.”

You weren’t stupid. And he knew you weren’t. In fact, you were smart enough that you knew exactly what he wanted. Exactly how he wanted you to speak to him and exactly the kind of fuck toy he’d been dreaming of.

But, now, with you below him as he peered down to you, he wanted to imagine that you were that fucking dumb. That you were so ridiculously helpless that you couldn’t even shove a cock down your throat without stumbling.

“Fucking useless,” he mutters, taking off his belt for you like you weren’t smart enough to figure out how to do it on your own.

You watched in a daze, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in concentration. He undid his button after too, pulling the zipper down and even shoving all of his clothes off. So helpful to you.

You instinctively hummed at the sight of his rock hard cock in front of you, so big and rigged and swelling for you. His tip was a pretty bright red, aching for relief and glistening in the glory of his precum. It swung heavy against his thigh at the release, steadying now as it adjusts to the world outside of his boxers.

His balls hung low beneath his thick shaft, framing it perfectly and resting against the dark hairs of his thighs.

That was another thing that had you shaking—his thighs. Bare and exposed and paler than any part of his body. A piece that only you see. So raw and meaty and inviting. You lulled on what it feels like to have your wet folds dragging up them, running over his roaring tiger until you hissed just like it.

You lick your lips to keep in your drool, staring at the treat in front of you and not even noticing when your jaw goes slack. It was pure reflex—to open wide for his cock. You hadn’t even known you’d done it until you heard the dark scornful laughter above you.

“You’re a joke,” he taunts at the sight, and it does something sick to you.

Your thighs pressed even harder together than they already were as you kneeled, begging for some sort of friction.

You looked pathetic like this. Squirming on your knees and mouth spread open mindlessly. You even let your tongue fall out flat without thinking too, a silent beg for what was in front of you.

He grabs the base of himself, pulling his hips forward until his salty tip is laid against your tongue. He taps his crown three teasing times against the muscle, watching as your lips flinched in rejection of their reflex to close around you.

He pushed forward, holding your head still with his hand. His hand covered your entire scalp, the heel of his hand at the line of your forehead and the tips of his fingers curved to the back.

He fucked himself into your mouth slowly, pushing deeper than he should. But you didn’t care. You gagged and gurgled around his thick head and even sucked around the length as he did it.

“There we go,” he breathes low, “good for something.”

You moan around him, vibrating up him until it tingles at his balls. His hips stutter and quiver just barely against you, but it’s enough for you to notice and feel satisfied with yourself. You were making him feel good.

You were completely stuffed with his cock, dripping in bubbling saliva and throat aching. It throbbed back into you and slipped around and between your swelling lips, so pink and pretty wrapped around him.

He pushed into you again and again as your hands stayed resting on your lap. You hadn’t been given any instruction to touch him, yet. He was happy you behaved without being asked.

And you looked so pretty. Your rounded eyes were welling in tears and your cheeks were flushed in a deep mauve. You were taking him down your throat so good and you would never dare to complain of the pain he was inflicting onto you. It felt like heaven. In fact, you craved it. You were worried if you showed how much it stung that he would stop.

“Gonna fuck my fist to the thought of this later,” he groans, “letting me treat you like shit just like you let everyone else.”

You were crying around his cock at how turned on you were, how badly you wanted him to fuck you until you passed out. But you wanted this more, this was more fulfilling to you than any orgasm of your own.

He pulls his dick out of you and pinches your chin between his thumb and index finger, lifting your head further upwards to look at him. He examined your fucked face. The way you panted and the way you were swallowing to try and ease the pain in the back of your throat. The way you were looking back up at him, pleading and ready for more.

“Now do it by yourself,” he nudged, “like you said.”

You nodded and grasped the girth of him into your small hand, stroking softly around the skin covered in your saliva.

He exhaled long and deep at the feeling of your sweet hands around him, where they belonged. Hands grasping the hem of his shirt before tugging up and over his head, revealing his ink and the valleys of his abs.

You whimpered at the sight, darting your eyes around his bare chest in defeat. He just smirked at the little sound you made, pushing your hair out of your face as he took in your stare.

You grazed around every inch of him, going stupid at the distracting sight of his dark tattoos and the way they shrunk and stretched with every breath. You watched as they flinched with every sudden flex of his muscles, specifically when you squeezed his cock a little harder or stroked up a little closer to his tip.

“You see that?” He gestures to the butterfly on his stomach. You gasped soft as it moved, deep and slow with every breath he took. Staggered through the pleasure of your hand tugging on him.

“Yes, sir,” you nod, batting up at him as your strokes quickened absentmindedly. You were getting quite worked up, after all.

“Suck me off and watch it flap, baby,” he whispers low and gravelly as he watches you whine.

You obey instantly, locking your lips around his tip again and keeping your eyes up at his stomach. He looked incredible like this, the curve of his pecs so firm from this angle and covered in dark hairs.

You sucked and swirled and gagged around him. Taking him so good and you could tell by the way his face twitched that he liked it.

But you weren’t all that focused on his face. You were doing what was told of you, watching his pretty inked butterfly flutter and flap above you with every breath he took. Sometimes you could make the creature fly quicker, if you licked a certain spot or tugged a bit harder. It was an addicting game and even more addicting sight, one that you were sure you’d masturbate to for weeks on end.

And when you released the suction of your mouth with a pop and instead sucked around his balls, that butterfly flew.

He groaned at the dirty act and you hummed at the taste of them, sucking and rolling them around in your mouth like a filthy whore. Your hand continued to pump at his shaft as you did so, sometimes even massaging his frenulum at the same time which you noticed he liked the most.

His deep ink shuttered and flinched and shape shifted so many times that you felt dizzy, drooling around his heavy balls at the sight of his work melding over you.

“Fuck, y/n,” his hand found your head again, “just like that.”

It was the best thing you’d ever heard. You were so proud and so hungry for him still, even after all that you’ve been fed. He was squirming and twitching and falling undone right before you.

You pull off from his balls to reattach to his cock, replacing your mouth with a hand down there instead which he was relieved about. You peered up at him, exhausted but desperate as his stomach heaved.

“Am I doing good for you? Making you feel good?” You ask, hand still stroking his cock.

“You are, baby. Making up for all your other shit,” he nods, twitching into your hold as he tries to contain himself.

You smile to yourself as you wrap your lips around him again, sucking him hard and watching as his face corrupts into itself. You lapped your tongue around his throbbing head and shoved him down into you over and over and over again, suffocating yourself.

His thick cock pulsated a quick couple of times, and you knew he was about to cum. Your pace quickened and your hands worked overtime on his balls and up his shaft, desperately trying to get him there and have him satisfied.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “that’s right, tire yourself out. Sweat for me.”

You did. You pumped your arm and bobbed your head, working your tongue simultaneously and even humming around his tip to send the waves through to him. You were humiliatingly desperate for his cum and he was fucking obsessed.

He came into the back of your throat sudden and hot, spurting into you with a long and drawn out groan.

“Fuck, swallow it all. Don’t be selfish,” he demands and you quickly follow.

You swallowed up his thick salty insides and let it soothe down your throat, so yummy and addictive. You were obsessed with his cum. You were so fucking greedy for it, constantly craving it in your tummy and on your tongue. You were even wishing he could’ve come in your pussy instead of your mouth, because that’s where it belonged. You wanted his cum constantly swarming up inside of you and dripping out through your creases.

“Mmm,” you hum against him as it swirls in your belly and warms you up, milking him dry until his body relaxed his breathing steadied.

You pop him out of your mouth, kissing the tip before shimmying his underwear and pants pack up while he watches you. You were sweet—zipping them up and buttoning them too. Eyes squinted in concentration.

And when you stood up to face him, wiping your mouth dry with the back of your hand, he realized he had forgotten to kiss you.

So he wasted no time, pressing his lips against yours softly and falling into it in bliss. He tasted the remains of himself in your mouth as you kissed him back, face hot and hair ruffled.

Your hands fall against the back of his neck as the two of you kiss gently, a silent hello to one another as you sort of skipped over your initial greeting. Not that either of you were really complaining.

“How was work?” You ask softly as you pull away from his lips for a moment.

He chuckled, low and barely audible into your mouth. The casualness of your question after such a filthy act messing with his mind. You always did.

“It was good,” he nodded into you, “wrote about you.”

You pull away, hands on his cheeks as you look him deep in the eyes. You weren’t sure if he was toying with you—trying to see if you’d be gullible enough to believe it. But he wasn’t. You knew the second you looked at him.

“Really?”

He breathes out a laugh again, “yeah.”

And you just looked at him, a smile growing up your cheeks and chest swelling full.

“Can I hear it?” You ask, carefully. You weren’t really sure what the proper protocol is for when someone tells you they’re written a song about you. Especially when that someone is a world famous celebrity.

“Mhm,” he kisses your forehead, “why don’t you get into your PJs and wait for me on the bed. Okay?”

You nod with a shy smile, skipping away to your bag as you go to change for the night. The night that you’d be spending here, in this ridiculously expensive hotel room, with a hunk of a man sleeping next to you.

It really couldn’t get better than this.

Or maybe it could.

You’d have to hear the song first.

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“Well, I’m happy we’re working together.” He slid a plate toward her across the counter. “Here, have a quick snack. I made a lot.”

A club sandwich with fries sat untouched, clearly meant just for her, like always.

“Thank you, Enzo.” She picked it up and took a bite, the warmth of the food grounding her.

The diner was quiet, as usual. Just the two of them running the night shift while the world outside slowed to a crawl. Most customers didn’t stay long anyway, just coffee orders from people waiting for their laundry next door.

“How was school today, kid?”

“It was fine,” she replied softly, already drifting off, her thoughts looping through the same routine: classes, tests, training. Becoming a kindergarten teacher was both exhausting and rewarding in ways she couldn’t quite put into words.

“Earth to kid?” Enzo snapped his fingers in front of her face, pulling her back. “Those kids did a number on you today?”

She let out a tired breath, nodding. “Yeah. They kept climbing all over me during recess.”

She finished the last bite of her sandwich and stood, carrying her plate to the sink. “This was delicious, Enzo. Thank you.”

“I aim to please.” He gave her an exaggerated bow, earning the faintest smile from her.

Fortunately, their shift lasted until two in the morning.

“I’ll go open the cash register,” she said, already moving.

Enzo responded with a small huff, turning back to his station.

Y/N slipped into her nightly routine: flipping the open sign, brewing a fresh pot of coffee, wiping down the tables, and powering up the POS system.

Then, she paused for just a second.

And mentally prepared herself for the long night ahead.

...

Five hours into their shift, Y/N checked her watch.

12:17 a.m.

She sighed softly. Dear God, this had to be the dullest shift yet.

But she knew better than to get too comfortable. It always started like this—slow, dragging, almost painfully quiet—before the late-night crowd trickled in. Drunk customers looking for something greasy, others nursing cups of coffee.

Right on cue—

“Hey, love, give me another cup of coffee.”

Y/N straightened immediately, reaching for the pot out of habit.

Before she could move, Enzo’s voice cut in sharply but controlled.

“Ey!” He leaned slightly over the counter, brows raised. “Maybe talk to my friend properly before she gives you your coffee, huh?”

The man blinked, caught off guard.

“Sorry… miss. Another cup, please.”

Y/N gave a small nod, already pouring the coffee, the quiet clink of ceramic against the counter filling the space between them.

…

As Y/N cleared a table, the soft chime of the door echoed through the diner.

Another customer.

“I’ll be with you shortly,” she called out, only half-heartedly, her voice blending into the low hum of the night.

She wiped the table clean, stacked the plates, then reached for her notepad and trusty pen before making her way over.

The man had already taken a seat.

He looked… off. Like he wasn’t entirely there.

“Hello,” she said, offering a polite smile. “I’m your server tonight. Would you like some iced water while you look over the menu?”

No response.

His eyes stayed fixed on the laminated page in front of him.

Damn. This guy’s out of it. Same, she thought, almost amused.

She tried again, a little more gently this time.

“Good morning, sir. Have you found what you’re looking for?”

A beat passed.

Then he looked up.

His eyes caught her off guard, striking. Blue… or green? She couldn’t quite tell under the dim lights. But they were pretty. Tired, too. Like they carried something heavier than the hour.

“Sir?” she prompted softly.

“I’ll have the chicken special,” he said at last, voice low but steady.

He placed the menu down with care, almost deliberately.

“Just—hold the gravy. Thanks.”

She nodded, jotting it down in one smooth motion.

“Got it. Chicken special, no gravy.”

Y/N stepped up to the kitchen window, notepad still in hand.

“Enzo! One chicken special—hold the gravy, please!”

“Got it!” he called back without missing a beat.

She moved to the POS, quickly punching in the order before leaning lightly against the counter, waiting.

That’s when it hit her.

The drowsiness.

Slow, creeping, settling behind her eyes.

“What would be a good pick-me-up?” she murmured under her breath.

“Coffee? No… I’m already sick of it.”

Then she remembered.

The morning shift had left behind a batch of green juice—something they made for family meals.

She grabbed a glass from the rack, the cool surface grounding in her hand, and poured herself a serving. The pale green liquid swirled softly as it filled the glass.

“Enzo, want some green juice?” she called out, glancing toward the kitchen.

“That green shit?” he scoffed. “No, thanks. Drink it all, Y/N.”

She let out a quiet huff of amusement, lifting the glass to her lips.

“Suit yourself.”

“Two minutes for table two!” Enzo added.

“Got it,” she replied, taking a small sip, the fresh, slightly bitter taste waking her up just enough.

Just enough to get through the last stretch of the night.

As Y/N finished the last of her drink, her eyes drifted back to the man.

He ran a hand through his hair—once, then again—just a little too rough, like he was trying to shake something off that wouldn’t leave.

She paused.

There was still one serving of the green juice left.

“…Might as well,” she muttered under her breath, giving a small shrug.

When the bell rang—

“Chicken special, no gravy!”

“Thank you!” she called back, already reaching for a tray.

She set the plate down carefully, added the cutlery, then grabbed the extra glass of green juice before heading out.

“Here’s your chicken special—no gravy,” she said, placing the dish in front of him. “And a green juice on the house.”

She offered a polite smile.

He glanced at the glass, brows knitting slightly. “Sorry… I didn’t order that.”

She shrugged lightly. “You look like you need it.”

That made him pause.

“And what does that mean?” he asked, quieter now.

She tilted her head, studying him just a second longer than necessary.

“You look tired,” she said simply. “Not sleepy. Just… tired-tired.”

A beat.

“Right,” he murmured, his fingers wrapping around the cool glass. “Thank you.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then—

“You do that often?” he asked, glancing up at her. “Offer unsolicited remedies to strangers?”

She gave a small shrug. “Well… everyone needs a little bit of kindness.”

His gaze lingered, something unreadable passing through it.

“That’s a dangerous way to live,” he said quietly. “People take advantage of that.”

She didn’t argue.

Just another small shrug.

“Still,” he added, looking down as he picked up his fork, “doesn’t mean it isn’t appreciated.”

A pause.

“Even if it’s misplaced.”

Enzo had seen the whole thing unfold.

He leaned against the counter as you returned, drying his hands on a towel. “That guy giving you a hard time?”

You shook your head, slipping your notepad back into your apron. “Nope. He’s good. The man’s just… tired.”

Enzo hummed, not entirely convinced, but he let it go.

“Alright,” he said after a beat, glancing at the clock. “Hey—almost quitting time. Clean up what you need to clean up, then you head home first. I’ll close.”

You paused mid-step. “Are you sure, Enzo? I don’t want to leave you all alone here.”

He gave you a look—familiar, stubborn.

“We argue about this every shift you take,” he said, pointing the towel at you. “I mean it. You go finish up and go.”

There was no budging him when he got like that.

You sighed softly, but there was a hint of a smile. “Okay, okay… boss.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, already turning back toward the kitchen.

As you moved around the diner, picking up empty mugs and wiping down tables, your eyes drifted—almost without thinking—back to table two.

And there he was.

Sitting quietly, shoulders a little less tense now, absentmindedly sipping the green juice.

The same one he questioned.

You caught yourself biting your lip.

Because for a second there, you thought you’d overstepped—misread him completely.

But he was still drinking it.

Finishing it, even.

And somehow… that felt like enough.

...

The man lifted his hand to signal for his check. You moved quickly, printing his receipt and bringing it over. You also carried a pitcher of water, quietly refilling his glass before leaving him to it.

When you came back, you saw that he had already signed the receipt.

“I hope you enjoyed your meal,” you said softly, offering him a small, polite smile as he pushed his chair back.

“Thank you… Compliments to the chef,” he replied.

You let out a light giggle before you could stop yourself. “Oh, I’ll absolutely tell that to Enzo.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you realised. “Sorry, that wasn’t very professional.”

He shook his head, already reaching for his coat. “No, it was…” He paused, like he was choosing his words more carefully than necessary. “It was nice.”

There was a brief, quiet beat between you. Something unspoken, but not uncomfortable.

You stepped back, giving him space, hands clasped neatly in front of you again. “Goodnight, sir.”

You gave a small wave.

Then he responded, softer this time. “Goodnight.”

You picked up the receipt, eyes flicking down to the total.

Then the tip.

Your brows lifted. “Damn…” you murmured under your breath. It was more than the cost of his meal.

You walked back toward the counter, holding the slip up slightly. “Hey, Enzo—he left us a hundred each.”

You nodded, still a little surprised. “Yeah. And he even said, ‘compliments to the chef.’”

A soft giggle slipped out of you as you replayed the moment in your head.

Enzo turned, eyebrows shooting up. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” You let out a small huff, still a little surprised. “The guy’s cool.”

Enzo shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Damn… he’s being way too sweet with that.”

You hummed softly in agreement, folding the receipt and tucking it away.

He is, you thought quietly.

Your eyes drifted, just for a second, toward the now-empty seat at table two.

You found yourself thinking—

Hope you have a good night. Truly.

...

You quietly finished the rest of your shift, moving on autopilot.

Your mind, unfortunately, didn’t.

I need to finish that report… I need to check on that letter… wait, that bill needs to be paid first, though…

The thoughts stacked on top of each other, faster and faster, until your head felt light.

Dizzy.

“God…” you sighed under your breath.

You flipped the sign on the door to closed, the soft click echoing in the empty diner. One by one, you turned off the lights above the booths, the space dimming into something softer, quieter. Familiar.

Back at the counter, you closed out the POS and started counting the tips for the night.

Your fingers paused mid-count.

“…Whoa.”

You bit your lip.

That man’s tip alone was enough to cover your share of rent for the month. A small, disbelieving breath left you as you finished sorting the bills.

You slipped Enzo’s share into an envelope and walked it over to him.

“Goodnight, Enzo.”

He glanced up, hands still busy with the dishes, music humming softly through the speakers. He gave you a small wave in return. “Night, kid. Get home safe.”

You grabbed your things and headed out the back.

The night air hit you immediately, cool and grounding.

By the time you reached your door, the exhaustion had settled back into your bones. You pushed it open, letting out a tired huff.

Because tomorrow—

Or later, rather—

It was going to be another long, tiring day.

As you drove home, the quiet of the road gave your thoughts too much space to wander.

You thought about how you got here.

Once, you had everything mapped out.

You dreamed big, studied harder, and became an overachiever throughout high school. The kind of student teachers relied on, the kind who always had their hand raised, always had a plan.

And then… somewhere along the way, it shifted.

You dwindled into something quieter. Not a failure, not even close, but no longer exceptional. Just… mediocre. Trying to pass the next class, trying to keep up, and stay afloat.

Now, you have finished your Bachelor’s degree in Early Childhood Education just last year.

And here you were.

Taking morning classes for your teaching certification, juggling training, and doing your kindergarten internship.

Working night shifts in between.

Running on little sleep, stretched thin between who you used to be and who you were trying to become.

Especially when you start to dread the thought of a teacher's salary these days, and student debt you're trying to repay.

The road ahead was dark, lit only by passing streetlights.

You wondered—

If this was always how it was going to feel.

...

YN had never once asked him to change his morning routine, never suggested he should sleep in or slow down for her own sake but it had become obvious fairly quickly that the routine he had kept when he was a miserable bachelor did not work anymore.

Before YN, Harry used to get up at three-thirty in the morning no matter what time he had gone to bed and no matter how many hours of sleep he had managed to get.

He never once allowed himself to snooze the alarm or  give himself the luxury of sleeping in because, reflecting on it now with the hindsight that only came after his life had changed, he can admit that he had been punishing himself.

There had never been a real reason for it.

He had just done it.

Every single day.

He had dragged himself out of bed before the sun came up and forced himself into routines that left him exhausted before the day had even started, convincing himself this is what successful people did, they didn’t relax, they weren’t lazy.

It had been easier to stay exhausted.

Easier to keep his body running on empty because when he was that tired all the time, when every morning began already feeling tired, burnt out, and too much responsibility already waiting for him, it numbed everything else.

The loneliness that sat loudly if he didn’t shut it the fuck up in the background, no matter how much money he made or how many people surrounded him, it never went away unless he made it.

Harry had built an empire before he turned thirty and somehow he had still managed to feel completely empty standing in the middle of it.

That routine had worked when he was alone.

It does not work anymore because now he has a clingy little octopus of a creature who somehow manages to wrap herself around him during the night no matter how they fall asleep, her limbs tangling with his until one of the are trapped enough it is impossible to move.

In the mornings she is so fucking warm and soft in that sleepy way that only happens before she fully wakes up, her body pliable and heavy against him while she refuses to acknowledge that the day has started.

It is far too early for her liking.

She is whiny in the mornings.

Grumpy.

And she complains the moment he so much as readjusts if it means she loses even a fraction of the body contact she demanded on maintaining while she sleeps.

Harry had rarely ever slept in the same bed as someone before YN and if it had happened, it was usually nothing more than a fluke because he had been too tired to leave the hotel room after a quick fuck.

Never because he had wanted to linger there afterward or gotten lost in the post-sex cuddling because he simply did not do that type of shit.

He had never had anyone in his bed inside his own home before YN.

Not once.

He had never invited a hookup back here, never allowed anyone into this space that was meant to be his privacy, and instead he spent ridiculous amounts of money on luxury hotel suites where things could stay surface level and on a time limit.

An hour or two at most before he left again and headed back to the house alone, restless and still desperately unsatisfied. 

Harry had convinced himself a long time ago, most likely out of self-preservation, that he simply would not enjoy sharing a bed with someone.

He told himself he needed the quiet, the space, the ability to wake up without another person touching him or breathing beside him.

He had been certain that sharing a bed would feel suffocating, that it would be overbearing and intrusive and far too much for someone who had already spent every waking hour surrounded by people demanding something from him.

But Harry had been wrong about a lot of things when it came to relationships.

YN had proven him wrong on all of these things without even trying.

First of all, Harry fucking loved sharing a bed with her.

When he had to go on business trips where she didn’t get to come with him, he did not sleep nearly as well without his wife curled up against him, without the weight of her on top of him in some way, making him sweat and overheat because she insisted on burrowing into him even when the room was already warm.

He even missed the small annoyances that would have driven the old version of him insane, like the occasional elbow to his ribs when she rolled over or the way she would yawn directly into his ear without the slightest bit of apology.

And the difference in how he slept without her beside him was so obvious that even Harry had eventually been forced to admit something that the old version of himself would have laughed at.

He needed her there.

Before YN, his mornings had been bleak like the rest of his life.

He would wake up at three-thirty, drag himself out of bed, and drink his pre-workout while leaning against the same space of marble counter in the kitchen.

His unnecessarily massive kitchen.

It always felt too large for one person because it really fucking was.

Too quiet.

The early mornings and late nights were the worst because every small sound echoed around the huge open space and high ceilings, bouncing off all of the glass in a way that reminded him that he was alone here.

The house itself was practically unused, fucking usless, it was.

Entire wings that he never went in even.

It was excessive.

Laughably excessive because why the fuck does a single man with no plans for a family need a nine-bedroom, twenty-two-bathroom house?

The answer had always been the same because he could.

Because seventy-nine million pounds on a house didn’t even make a dent in his bank account.

Though, it hadn’t brought any type of excitement to make such a big purchase, it was just another day, like if he went to the store and brought groceries.

He had fucking hated that house and everything it represented.

He didn’t even particularly like the way it looked.

The sleek, hyper-modern design with a stupid amount glass, neutral stone, and sharp detailed angles and lines had never appealed to him in the first place.

It had been something that popped up on the market at the right time, something expensive and impressive enough to match the idea that people expected from him, and he had bought it without putting any real thought into the decision.

If he looked back on it now with any honesty, he could admit that he had never actually searched for a home he wanted.

He had simply purchased something that looked appropriate for a man in his position.

Something massive.

Something expensive.

Something that screamed success.

The truth was that Harry had always imagined a different kind of house entirely, one that looked nothing like this sterile museum he had ended up with.

He imagined older, brick, worn a bit with love, and ivy crawling up the sides of it with sprawling green for miles, no other house in sight.

He had imagined children running down hallways.

Imagined toys left in every single room, making the expensive place still look like a home.

Somewhere along the way he had convinced himself that those things were never going to happen for him and once he accepted that idea, it had stopped making sense to search for a house that looked like a home.

So he bought the cold one instead.

The one that was impressive enough that it was all over all the magazines when he purchased it, Architect Digest basically wrote a love letter about it, and all of its features.

After his pre-workout, he would head down into his private gym and run on the treadmill until his body hurt, always pushing himself far past the point that was healthy because the burn in his muscles and the tightness in his lungs gave him something to focus on that was physical.

Once he was done, he would step into the cold plunge in the spa until his skin went numb, then move into the sauna, shower, and eventually stand in his massive walk-in closet to pick out a suit for the day before deciding which stupidly priced car he would drive into work.

The cars were the only small thing that brought him any genuine enjoyment.

He liked them.

Actually liked them.

That had been his routine every single day without exception, if he was away on business, he’d find the closest thing to routine he could, and none of it brought him any real sense of joy or satisfaction but he doesn’t think that had ever been the goal in the first place.

Because by the time Harry walked into his skyscraper in the heart of London every morning, dressed in a tailored suit with the entire building already tense and alert for his arrival, he was already a nightmare to deal with.

Now…

His alarm goes off at four-forty-five every morning, the vibration buzzing against the nightstand, and he immediately reaches over to snooze it for fifteen minutes.

That is the first change he ever made to his old routine.

Those fifteen minutes belong entirely to YN.

He rolls onto his side the moment the alarm is off, already reaching for her, his arm sliding around her waist as she instinctively curls further into him, and her sleepy body warm and heavy against his.

She always grumbles when the alarm goes off.

Every single morning.

A quiet, annoyed little noise into the pillow as though she was being inconvenienced with having to disrupt her beauty sleep.

And Harry always laughs under his breath when she does it because she is the cutest fucking thing.

She nuzzles deeper into him when she realizes he is awake, nosing into his chest, her arms tightening around him with the stubborn hold with absolutely no intention of letting him leave the bed anytime soon.

Harry always lets her.

Those fifteen minutes are spent entirely fussing over her.

His hands move slowly over her back, massaging the ache from sleeping from her shoulders and along her spine, his fingers always underneath whatever she was wearing, on her bare skin.

He presses lazy kisses against her shoulder blades when she starts to squirm about, brushing his lips against the skin there while she wriggles and grumbles about the early hour, and he murmurs soft little reassurances into her hair that she doesn’t even fully respond to because she is still half asleep.

His hand slides up to cradle the back of her head, fingers gently combing through her hair while he holds her there.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes,” He murmurs against her temple, his voice soft in that way it never is with anyone else.

Her body is toasty from sleep and she always smells faintly like the vanilla almond shampoo she uses mixed with his cologne from the night before.

He never compromises on these moments. 

Sometimes she grumbles at him for moving too much.

Sometimes she just buries her face deeper into his chest like she can just go right back to sleep and have a few more hours with him.

Sometimes she nips at his throat, scolding him without any fight about waking her up.

And Harry fucking loves every single second of it.

There is still a small, unreal part of him that wakes up every morning and has to remind himself that this is real.

That this warm, sleepy girl clinging to him is actually his wife.

Eventually, around five, she starts to wake up properly, her voice still thick with sleep as they begin to talk about their plans for the day.

He still drinks his pre-workout.

He still works out most mornings but the workouts are different now.

He still pushes himself but it’s within a healthy range, not to numb but to truly improve.

By the time he finishes and comes back upstairs, YN is usually already in the shower.

And more often than not, Harry ends up stepping in with her under the excuse that they are “saving water.”

That is his little pocket of time to be spoiled in the morning.

YN washes his hair for him, her fingers working through the strands slowly while she scratches lightly at his scalp in a way that makes his eyes close like a god damn cat, and she takes her time with it always.

She washes his body for him too and the entire time she murmurs sweet things, little compliments about what a good husband he is or teasing remarks that make him laugh against her hair.

Harry never rushes her when she does it.

He just stands there and lets himself be taken care of.

It feels nice.

He never imagined a version of his mornings where someone was standing under warm water with him, letting them wash his hair and touch him like he was something special.

Now he is finally in a place where he can acknowledge how much he likes it.

How much he likes her taking care of him.

However, this morning is a little different.

Harry has a rest day from working out and he had already showered the night before, so now he is just standing in front of the bathroom mirror finishing brushing his teeth when he feels the warmth of her hands on his skin.

Her palms slide slowly over his sides, thumbs grazing along the definition of muscle there before drifting to rest more against his belly.

She presses herself against his back immediately after, gluing herself to him like space between them is illegal, her cheek smushing against the skin between his shoulder blades while she noses along the line of his spine.

“Don’t go,” She tells him softly, her voice still thick with sleep and carrying that sad, pleading tone she knows he is completely unable to ignore.

It is manipulative.

He knows it.

And God, he loves her for it.

“Wish I didn’t have to, m’heart,” Harry replies after spitting out the toothpaste, his voice still rough as he reaches forward to rinse his mouth, “I have some important meetings today that I can’t miss.”

YN drags her teeth lightly along his skin in response, the small bite telling him just what she thinks about it.

“You always have important meetings,” She grumbles against his back, her annoyance weak but obvious as Harry sets his toothbrush back in its holder.

“I am the CEO and owner,” Harry reminds her with a teasing edge to his voice, his hand coming down to cover hers where it rests against his stomach, holding it there.

“So am I,” YN quips instantly and Harry is suddenly very grateful that she cannot feel the way his cock twitches at that statement. 

The world had called him a lovesick idiot when he married her.

His lawyers had tried to talk him out of it all together.

His accountants had mental breakdowns over his unwillingness to consider any protective options to his assets. 

Even the financial advisors who had worked with him for years had sat him down more than once and carefully explained just how reckless it would be to marry without a prenup.

Harry had listened to every single one of them with a lack of patience before ignoring them completely because if he was marrying YN, he was going to do it right, they were going to be equals no matter what sat in their bank account.

So her name went on everything.

Half of the company.

Half of the assets.

Half of everything he had built.

“You’re right, baby,” Harry hums in agreement, pride in his own tone, “My pretty business partner.”

Most days he still cannot quite believe that this is real, that he somehow ended up with the one person in the world who makes all of this feel worth it, and even after a year and a half of married life it still feels like things are getting better.

“Am I your boss then?” YN teases, her lips smoothing against the skin of his back as she speaks, suddenly a bit more perky.

He reaches behind himself to squeeze her hip, his fingers pressing into the soft plush there as he answers easily, “In more than one way, my love.”

“What is so important?” YN asks after a moment, her voice curious now instead of whining because despite the fact that she technically owns half of everything with him, she doesn’t involve herself in the business.

Harry had never expected her to.

If something major was happening he would tell her, of course.

If something important happened that would affect their lives, she would always know the minute it came up but day-to-day wasn’t something she cared much about.

YN has gone completely handsy while she speaks and Harry can feel the shift in her attention as soon as it happens because her fingertips start wandering with slow, curious intent over the plane of his stomach like she’s never felt him up before.

She does it casually at first, simply tracing shapes over his tattoos while she listens to him talk, her nails dragging lightly over the skin there as she outlines the moth below his sternum.

Harry’s stomach tightens beneath her hand when she traces along the lines of ink.

They travel lower after a moment, sliding down the firm lines of muscle along his stomach until her fingertips reach the fern tattoos that trail along his hips, and she traces both of them lazily.

Harry watches the movement in the mirror even though he knows he shouldn’t, his jaw flexing slightly as he sees how she touches him like she owns him, how comfortable she is with touching what is hers.

It really fucking is hers.

Her thumb drifts lower again, brushing through the coarse line of hair just beneath his belly button, and Harry exhales slowly through his nose as she begins to toy with it.

And now her kisses are changing too.

What had started as soft little presses of her lips along his back turn into something more purposeful, more distracting, as she begins to nip lightly at his shoulder blades.

She sucks gently, following each teasing bite with another drag of her teeth as though she is testing exactly how much she can push him until he does something about it.

Harry can feel the way she smiles against his skin when his shoulders finally start to tense up.

Harry doesn’t even realize how much his voice has dropped when he starts speaking, his attention caught on the reflection in the mirror as he watches her hands move lower.

Her fingers follow the vee of muscle along his hips, sliding into the indents there and it’s more obscene than it sounds.

He clears his throat gruffly and tries to sound unaffected when he answers her question.

“Well you know we’re looking to hire a new assistant chief financial officer to replace Janice when she retires in a year or two,” He explains, trying to get himself to focus on the words instead of the way her hands keep drifting lower,“We want someone who can transition into the role easily when the time comes.”

He glances at her hands again in the mirror before continuing.

“The board has apparently found some good candidates and I have to meet them today. They’ve already gone through months of interviews and assessments so this is the final stage where they actually sit down with me and the rest of the board,” He continues as steadily as possible, “Up until now they’ve only been dealing with human resources and recruitment.”

YN hums in acknowledgement that she heard him, though it is clear she is only half listening because her attention has drifted somewhere else entirely.

Her fingers have slipped beneath the band of his briefs now, her touch slow and curious as she smooths them along the coarse line of hair at his lower stomach, tracing lazy little patterns over the warm skin there while he talks.

Harry can feel the way her thumb moves there, it brushes against the base of him, where he is, of course, already hard for her.

It’s enough to make it impossible for him to ignore even as she continues humming softly like she is being perfectly innocent.

“M’heart,” Harry warns, attempting to give her a stern look over his shoulder.

YN immediately does that bratty fucking thing she does whenever she isn’t getting her way, the one that somehow manages to work on him every single time despite the fact that he knows exactly what she is doing.

She goes still for half a second like she has been scolded, like he’d literally just screamed at her instead of calling her a pet name.

Her hand pauses where it rests against his stomach.

And then she lifts her chin just enough to give him that fucking look.

Her mouth pulls into an obvious pout, her lashes lowering slightly like she is deeply hurt that he would even think about stopping her, that it’s her god given right to touch him.

Any other woman who had ever tried something like this with him would have irritated him almost immediately.

It would have felt needy.

Manipulative.

A quick way to lose his interest.

But with his wife, he eats it the fuck up every single time.

She gives him that attitude whenever she doesn’t get her way, the kind that makes it seem like he is some horrible, neglectful partner who refuses to give her even the smallest bit of attention, as though he does not already revolve all of his world around her.

All because she is not getting exactly what she wants the moment she wants it.

She’s not greedy in the way people would assume, she doesn’t care about money or possession, she’s downright fucking greedy when it comes to getting what she wants out of him.

She lets out an exaggerated little huff, her hand pulling away from his stomach as she tosses out a bratty remark over her shoulder, “Fine, go to work then. Since you love it so much more than me.”

Harry watches her detach from him, her arms sliding away from around his waist as she turns her back and starts to walk out of the bathroom like she’s just been banished.

The fucking drama of it all.

He knows exactly what she is doing.

And worse than that, he knows he is willingly walking straight into the trap she has set.

Literally anytime she sets it, he’s there.

They both know that.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Harry rumbles as he turns toward her, his hand coming up to the back of her neck in a touch that is gentle but firm enough to stop her from moving forward.

He draws her back into his chest before she can get more than a step away, her back settling against him as he cages her there easily like she was hoping that would happen the entire time.

“Are you pouting right now?” Harry asks, already knowing the answer before the words have even finished leaving his mouth.

“No,” YN pouts immediately, the lie obvious as she wriggles slightly in his hold, her body restless and defiant in a way that makes it clear she is doing everything she can to wind him up this morning.

Harry lets out a quiet huff of amusement at that, tightening his grip on her hips as he pulls her back against him.

“You have my everything and it’s still not enough?” Harry teases as he shifts his stance and nudges her hips back into him, “Marriage has made you a greedy little monster, hm?”

He chuckles softly when she pouts even harder at the teasing, clearly annoyed that she is not immediately getting exactly what she had been trying to provoke out of him.

“Don’t have everything,” YN bleats as she pushes her bum back into him, adding with deliberate emphasis, “Don’t have your cock right now,” and the shamelessness of it makes his breath hitch despite himself.

In response, his cock twitches against her backside, and he knows she feels it because she stills for half a second in a way that tells him she is absolutely delighted with herself.

He can practically picture the grin spreading across her face without even seeing it.

“Oh,” Harry hums in exaggerated concern as if the revelation has truly surprised him, his tone far too thoughtful for the situation. “Is that what this is about?”

“You’re supposed to be doing your husbandly duties,” YN replies with a distinctly entitled edge to her voice, the words carrying that bratty confidence she always gets when she knows she is about to win.

Harry reaches around the front of her body, his hand finding the loose knot tied at the front of her robe, and he gives it a firm tug until the fabric falls open easily beneath his fingers.

“Isn’t it convenient that you’re pouting over cock when I’m getting ready to go to work and you don’t want me to leave?” Harry coaxes, his voice low with amusement as he lets the robe hang open.

“No connection,” YN lies immediately, though the lie loses most of its credibility when she arches forward the moment his hand comes up to cup her breast.

His thumb drags slowly over her hard nipple, and she pushes into his palm like she is performing for him, exaggerating the movement just enough to make it clear she knows exactly what she is doing.

She is absolutely putting on a show for him.

And he really fucking appreciates it.

He always will.

Because it works every time.

Harry gives in with a quiet laugh under his breath, shuffling them towards the vanity, his hand sliding from her breast to guide her forward until she bends over the counter, her palms bracing against the marble as he crowds in behind her.

He licks her out like he has all the time in the world but he’s not surprised to find her already swollen and puffy for him.

It takes nearly no time at all for the first orgasm to hit her, her fingers knotted in her hair, and her head thrown back as she lets her moans echo through the big open space.

By the time he finally pulls her more upright until her back is to his chest, her thighs are still trembling slightly beneath the robe that was barely hanging, and his arm comes around her front.

His forearm presses across her sternum to keep her held firmly against him, keeping her there while his other hand stays at her hip, guiding so she stays arched into him exactly the way he wants.

The angle keeps her facing the mirror, forcing her to look at them in the reflection and meet his eyes as he moves behind her, “My pretty fuckin’ wife. You take me so fuckin’ well.”

For a moment she manages to maintain it, her gaze locking with his but her eyes are a bit moony like they tend to after an orgasm, her breath catching every time he thrusts forward.

But as his pace picks up, as he fucks in harder, and with more target thrusts on her spot, her eyes squeeze shut as she comes again.

Her body tensing up before she goes soft in his arms, the strength leaving her all at once as she melts back against him.

She turns whiny and oversensitive immediately, her shoulders trembling while he keeps her held upright, his forearm still firm across her chest to support her weight.

“Need me to stop?” He murmurs near her ear, he already knows the answer, it’s the same everytime but he still checks to make sure that the whines aren’t of it being too much for her to handle.

YN shakes her head immediately.

“No,” She insists breathlessly, even though she continues to whine, gripping onto him, and pushing back even though she’s spent.

She is completely ridiculous.

And god, he fucking loves her.

Oh, married life.

+

Harry was rarely late to work before YN.

If he ever was, it had always been because of something outside his control — traffic, an accident blocking the motorway, construction.

It had never been because of him but today Harry is striding into the office nearly an hour late to an important meeting and the reason is something that happens every so often.

He cannot say no to his pretty little wife when she decides she wants something.

Especially when she is both horny and stubborn about it.

When she is clinging to him with sleepy little whines that made it impossible to put on his suit when she was like that.

Harry had ended up tucking her back into bed instead, pulling the covers up around her while she curled onto her side and nuzzled in, still a little dewy but too tired to shower.

He stayed there longer than he had the time to.

He murmurs sweet things to her about good she was for him, how he loved her more than anything else in the world, and pet all over her while he did it which she fucking preened at.

He finally pulled back once her breathing had evened out, drifting back to sleep easily, and he hated leaving but he had to.

At the end of the day, though, it didn’t really matter, Harry could be late if he goddamn wanted to be.

This was his company, after all.

And no one was going to fire him for showing up an hour late.

He does not acknowledge that he has kept these men waiting for nearly an hour when he finally strides into the conference room with a coffee in hand.

There is no apology offered and no explanation given because Harry has never felt the need to justify himself.

The moment he enters, the room shifts abruptly.

The group of men seated along the long conference table move almost on instinct, their relaxed postures changing as they straighten in their chairs, the casual conversation that had been filling the space moments before cutting off mid-thought without prompting.

Just seconds earlier they had been talking amongst themselves, Harry heard bits and pieces of topics like crypto, golf courses, and whatever bullshit they decided to spend their paychecks on.

Now that Harry is here, that atmosphere vanishes completely.

Every single pair of eyes shifts toward him instead.

Harry does not greet them, he doesn’t acknowledge their patience or the fact that they have all been sitting in this room waiting for him to arrive which was undoubtedly rude.

He simply walks to the table and pulls out the chair at the head without hesitation because in this building, Harry’s time is the only time that truly matters.

The tension in the room thickens while he sets his coffee beside him and leans back slightly in the chair, the movement unrushed like he has no where else he needs to be.

Harry’s assistant steps forward quietly and places an iPad in front of him, already prepared with every file and background detail he might need for the meeting.

Harry accepts it without looking up at anyone else in the room, his attention already scanning across the screen as he reviews the first candidate’s information.

The silence remains while he does it.

They simply sit there and wait for him to decide when the meeting will actually begin.

The first candidate is brought into the room a few minutes later and directed to the chair at the opposite end of the long conference table, sitting there with the stiff, uncomfortable posture of someone who doesn’t have great confidence.

Harry is already bored with the entire process.

Tere are no pleasantries when the first man sits down, no polite introductions, and no small talk.

Harry barely looks up from the iPad in front of him before he goes straight to business.

“George Frick,” He says, his voice even but direct as he finally lifts his eyes toward the other end of the table, “What can you offer that someone else with the same experience and background as you couldn’t?”

It is not a complicated question, Harry has asked some variation of it a million times over the years, and in his mind it is the most basic starting point of any interview.

George, however, looks like a deer caught directly in the headlights of an oncoming car.

For a moment he simply stares back at Harry, his mouth opening slightly as though he hadn’t expected for Harry to even address him, blindsided that the billionaire owner was talking to him.

Then George clears his throat awkwardly and shifts in his chair.

“Sorry, um… could you — uh — repeat the question?” He stammers, his voice already carrying the nervous edge of someone who isn’t prepared enough for the assignment.

The men seated around the table grow noticeably more tense the moment George asks him to repeat the question because everyone in the room knows exactly what their boss is thinking.

A man who wants a C-suite position in a company this size should not be sitting across from him shaking like a leaf before the conversation has even properly begun.

This is already going badly.

Harry’s patience, which had been thin to begin with, lessens even further as he leans back slightly in his chair and repeats the question, his voice slower this time and his pronunciation far more deliberate.

“George Frick,” He says again, the edge impossible to ignore, “What can you offer that someone else with the same experience and background as you could not?”

He does not bother hiding the irritation creeping into his expression.

If anything, he allows it to show because if George cannot handle this version of Harry, the restrained and relatively polite version who is simply asking a direct question across a conference table then he would be completely fucked in a moment something actually went wrong inside the company.

George nods his head several times in quick order, the movement almost frantic as though he needs those few extra seconds just to process what Harry is even asking him.

Finally George clears his throat and begins to answer, but the words that follow are exactly what Harry had expected.

Useless and robotic.

He starts talking about willingness to learn, about adaptability and strong problem-solving skills, all the basic trigger words to perk up a hiring manager's ears.

Harry has heard it all before.

He has heard it hundreds of times.

These are the types of answers candidates memorize after reading leadership articles online or skimming interview advice written by people who think they know shit.

Instead of thinking critically about the question or offering something specific about their own experience, he falls back on the same hollow phrases that don’t mean anything when asked to explain further.

George keeps talking.

Harry stops listening.

Especially once the board members begin stepping in with their own questions, Harry makes absolutely no effort to disguise the fact that his interest in this conversation is gone, and he’s already been crossed of the candidate list.

He glances down at his watch, trying to get a smudge off of the glass, and adjusting it on his wrist.

He swipes absently across the screen of the iPad in front of him.

At one point he even picks up his personal phone to check emails that he needs to answer that are more important than this.

The shift in his attention does not go unnoticed.

George begins stumbling over his words more frequently.

The board members notice it too, though they continue the questioning for the sake of finishing the interview properly and being professional.

Eventually one of them leans back slightly and turns toward Harry.

“Harry, what are your thoughts on George’s response?” The man asks, clearly aware they don’t get to make the final call and that he has all the control here.

He glances down at the notes on his screen once more before looking up toward the other end of the table, his expression neutral and giving nothing away.

“I think,” Harry says evenly, “That I’ve heard these exact same answers from twenty different candidates for all different jobs in the past month.”

Harry doesn’t give mercy.

“Which means one of two things is happening here,” He adds, his gaze settling on George, “Either everyone applying for positions in my company has had the same exact experiences and learning opportunities or you googled ‘how to answer executive interview questions’ before you walked in here and decided to memorize a few keywords and phrases to get bonus points in here.”

A few of the board members shift uncomfortably in their chairs.

He leans back slightly, his tone remaining level and bored as he finishes, “And if that’s the case, George, I’m going to need something more interesting than willingness to learn and problem-solving skills because those are basic expectations for anyone asking to sit in a C-suite office. I would expect that from my fucking unpaid interns, not someone looking at a three million pound salary.”

George’s mouth opens slightly as though he might attempt to smooth this over but he falls flat.

“Thank you for coming in,” Harry says calmly, the words sound polite enough but his tone is anything but, it’s saying that this was a waste of his time and he’s not happy that he’ll never get these thirty minutes back to himself.

There is no warmth in the statement, no suggestion that the conversation might continue.

George hesitates for half a second before nodding anxiously, clearly realizing that the interview is already over even though they are barely halfway through the set aside time.

He gathers his folder from the table, murmuring a quiet thank you to the board members before pushing his chair back, it nearly topples over in his haste to exit.

Harry simply watches George walk out of the room with the same distant, bored expression he had worn throughout most of the conversation.

The door closes behind him.

“Next candidate.”

++

The next candidate barely manages to answer a single question before the entire tone of the meeting shifts into something else.

Harry is only half listening to the man speak while he scrolls through the electronic file on the screen in front of him.

Across the table, Kurt is in the middle of a rehearsed explanation about his leadership experience, his voice somewhat steady as he speaks with knowledge and skill that isn’t deniable.

However..

“I typically enjoy leadership roles as I find that—”

“What the fuck is this?”Harry’s voice cuts straight through the room without warning.

The words are not loud at first but the sharpness in his tone immediately halts the flow of the interview.

Harry continues staring down at the screen in front of him, his jaw tightening as his thumb scrolls back up through the document as if confirming that what he just read is actually there.

When he finally lifts his head, the calm composure he had worn throughout this is nowhere to be found.

His expression is cold and unforgiving.

“What the fuck is this?” He repeats, this time directing the question into the room as his gaze finally lifts from the screen.

He is not looking at Kurt.

His eyes move instead toward the HR representative sitting halfway down the table, the unspoken demand for an explanation obvious as he stares them down.

“In your file,” Harry continues, his voice raising slightly, “It says that there have been three harassment complaints filed against you from three different women.”

Kurt shifts in his chair almost immediately, pulling at the collar of his button-up like he was hoping that it wouldn't be brought up.

“We—er—we did investigations and we couldn’t prove the women’s claims,” The HR representative explains, his voice faltering under the weight of Harry’s attention.

Harry’s jaw flexes hard enough his jaw aches as he leans back slightly in his chair, one hand coming up to rub briefly along his mouth as though he is trying to process what he has just heard without losing his temper.

It doesn’t fucking work.

“This woman filed a complaint saying that when they were alone in the break room he would say inappropriate things to her,” Harry says slowly, reading directly from the report in front of him before looking up again, his expression hard, “How exactly do you expect proof of a verbal interaction?”

The HR representative shifts uncomfortably in his chair, “We just—”

“And all three women filed complaints with nearly identical details,” Harry cuts in sharply, his voice rising now as his patience finally snaps, “Three different women. From three different unrelated departments.”

He sits forward again, the movement sudden enough that several people at the table flinch slightly, “How the fuck is that not proof of misconduct?” 

Harry’s patience finally snaps.

“It is fucking absurd that you’d screen this creep through as a candidate,” Harry says, his voice loud and scolding as his gaze finally flicks toward Kurt for the first time since the file had come up, “Because not only is he not getting this job, I want him fucking fired, and removed from this premises today.”

Kurt’s composure collapses almost immediately.

He had walked into the room expecting a promotion opportunity, expecting to impress the CEO of the company he already worked for, and the realization that this interview is instead turning into a dismissal hits him.

“What—wait—” Kurt stammers, the panic obvious in his voice as he looks between the other executives seated at the table, “You can’t just—”

“All women should feel safe at fucking work and not have to put up with any type of inappropriate behavior,” Harry says with no room for argument, “Their human resources department should believe them when they come forward.”

His gaze shifts briefly toward the HR representative again.

“We will be reviewing and restructuring our policies around harassment,” He adds, it’s not a suggestion, it is an order that will be followed through on, and he’ll make sure of it.

Harry has never had any tolerance for that type of behavior.

He is fully aware that everyone considers him an heartless asshole and he doesn’t fucking care, he knows that he curates the image but being difficult to work with and being careless are two different things.

The idea that someone could walk into work every day and feel uncomfortable or unsafe because of a man in a leadership position is something Harry refuses to tolerate under any circumstances.

Harry also knows that stance surprises people more often than not because from the outside he does not look like the kind of man who would have hard moral boundaries around something like workplace behavior.

His reputation in the industry has always been cold, intimidating, and ruthless which people tend to assume that he only cares about profit.

Firing Kurt during the interview process wasn’t the first time that he had to step in when others (like HR) weren’t doing their job.

Hell, two weeks ago he had an incident that he dealt with himself instead of letting Human Resources take care of it.

-

Harry had been walking down the hallway that led through the C-suite offices after a tense meeting with the board as he headed toward the escalator that would take him up to the private top floor where his office sat alone.

He had an espresso in his hand, his thoughts already shifting toward the next meeting on his schedule with a group of executives he had to talk to like they were fucking primary school kids.

Harry noticed someone standing near the small seating area outside the conference corridor but he didn’t pay any attention to it.

People stood around this hallway all the time waiting for someone all the time.

But after a moment it became clear that the person near the sitting area had not been waiting for just anyone.

They had been waiting for him.

Harry was already in a piss-poor mood, the frustration from the meeting still tight underneath his skin, and all he wanted at that moment was to get upstairs to his office where he could close the door and have a few minutes to himself before he has to deal with the same cycle of idiots all over again.

When that someone reaches out and lightly brushes his elbow as he passes, not grabbing him but touching him just enough to get his attention, Harry feels his irritation spike instantly.

He turns sharply, already prepared to snap at whoever thought they could just grab his attention like that but the words never make it out of his mouth because the person standing beside him is not another executive or assistant trying to push paperwork into his hands.

It is a young woman.

She looks to be around the same age as YN, somewhere in her mid-to-late twenties.

And the moment Harry looks at her properly, the anger he had been about to unleash hesitates because she looks nervous.

But not the normal kind of nervousness someone feels when speaking to him because he is who he is.

The expression on her face is strained, an attempt at a controlled look of someone trying very hard to hold themselves together long enough to say what they came here to say.

Her eyes are red-rimmed and her face is puffy in the way that comes from crying and she is clearly struggling to get the words out as she tries to steady herself in front of him.

“I’m s-so sorry to bother you—” She manages, her voice catching slightly halfway through the sentence.

Harry forces himself to pause instead of brushing past her the way he normally would when someone stops him in the hallway, keeping his expression even as he looks down at her. 

He does not look particularly pleased about the interruption but he pulls in the irritation that he felt from the meeting he just left.

“What can I help you with?” He asks, his tone neutral and measured even if it is was far away from being warm or welcoming.

“I’m having a really big issue with my boss, the director of brand—” She begins, the words rushing out too quickly as her skin flushes with embarrassment. 

Her eyes dart upward toward the ceiling as she tries to blink back the tears threatening to spill again, the same thing Harry has seen YN do countless times when she refuses to let herself cry over something.

“That sounds like a Human Resources concern,” Harry replies, keeping his professional because as harsh as it might sound he does not have the capacity to personally handle every employee problem that happens inside a company with hundreds of thousands of employees.

He begins to turn away, intending to keep moving toward the escalator but before he can take more than a step, he hears her speak again.

“I tried to—” s=She says quietly, the words trailing off as her voice falters, “I can’t… never mind.”

Harry stops.

He turns back around and sees the way her shoulders pull in, the shame on her face as though she already regrets stopping him in the first place, and something about that expression tugs at him in a way he does not particularly enjoy.

Like she knew he wouldn’t listen and he was proving her right.

Empathy has never been his strongest instinct but he has spent enough time with YN to know exactly what she would say if she ever saw him brush past someone who looked like this.

She would be disappointed in him.

And that thought alone is enough to make him stop walking.

“Wait,” Harry says, turning back toward her fully now and giving her his attention instead of half listening over his shoulder, “You’ve run this past HR and it is still an issue?”

“Well,” The girl mumbles, her breath hitching, “He told me if I went to HR that he would get me fired and I can’t afford to lose this job. I know you have better things to do than this but I feel lost and scared.”

Harry feels something shift in his chest when she says it because beneath all the cold and sharp edges of his personality there has always been something in him that reacts badly when someone tries to threaten or hurt people who they have power over.

Harry shakes his head slightly, dismissing the idea that she is wasting his time.

“No,” He says, his voice steady as he looks directly at her, “You’re my employee. This is my job.”

“What’s your name?” He asks as his mind starts to process the information he’s being given.

“Elaina Owen,” She answers quietly, her voice small and the surprise on her face makes it obvious she had not expected the CEO of the company to actually stop and listen to her.

Harry glances briefly at the watch on his wrist, mentally running through the next meetings and to-dos on his schedule before making the decision.

“Okay, Elaina,” Harry says as he gestures toward the escalator that leads to the private executive floor above them, “I have thirty minutes before my next meeting. Let’s go to my office and figure out a solution.”

Harry solves it in less than ten minutes.

Once they are inside his office, Elaina sits awkwardly in one of the chairs across from his desk while Harry asks her a line of direct questions to get the full story.

He does not interrupt her when she speaks.

He does not rush her when she has moments she needs to pause because she’s getting upset recounting some of the interactions.

He simply listens to get the story and lead him to his next decision which is an easy one.

Harry reaches for the phone on his desk.

The line rings twice before someone answers.

“Director of Branding Sales, Stanley Utz,” The man on the other end says, his voice casual, clearly unaware that the CEO of the company is about to speak to him

Harry does not waste time with pleasantries.

“Mr. Utz.”

There is a brief pause on the other end of the line as the man realizes who he is speaking to.

“Oh—wow, hello-”

Harry cuts him off immediately.

“I’m calling because one of your employees is sitting in my office right now explaining that you’ve been making inappropriate comments toward her and threatening her job if she reported you,” Harry says, his voice eerily steady.

The man begins talking quickly, attempting to defend himself, the words tumbling over each other in a mixture of denial and excuses, pushing the blame back onto her.

Harry listens for ten seconds before he’s interuppting, “You’re fucking done.”

“What?” The man replies, clearly caught off guard.

“You heard me,” Harry continues, leaning back slightly in his chair as he speaks into the receiver, “I want you off my fuckin’ payroll. I don’t fund the lifestyles of fucking creeps. ”

The man immediately starts protesting, his voice rising with panic as he tries to talk over Harry, “You can’t just fire me like that, I’ve been with this company for—”

“Are you forgetting this is my company and I can do whatever the fuck I want to?” Harry chuckles dryly but sharp, “And if you think I’m even the slightest bit concerned about you attempting to file a claim for unfair dismissal, you’re welcome to try your luck with our legal department and I’ll see to pressing charges against you on behalf of our employee.”

The man tries again.

Harry does not let him finish.

“Let me make something crystal fuckin’ clear,” He continues, his voice sharpening slightly as the irritation creeps back in at being pushed against, “The moment an employee tells me they feel unsafe because of someone in a leadership position that person stops working here.”

The silence on the other end of the line is immediate.

Elaina sits frozen in the chair across from his desk while the conversation unfolds, her eyes wide with disbelief as Harry rips this man to shreds without any doubt in her story.

Harry hangs up.

The office falls quiet for a moment.

Harry sets the phone back and stands from his chair, adjusting the front of his suit jacket as he walks around the desk with the calm composure he always has, like he didn’t just ruin someone's livelihood without much thought into it.

Elaina is still sitting there, stunned.

“Your issue should be resolved now,” Harry tells her evenly.

He pauses briefly before continuing, his tone softening just slightly as he adds, “However, if you need further assistance, please reach out to Human Resources. They can provide you with information about our free therapy services and other helpful resources.”

For a moment Elaina just sits there staring at him like she is still trying to process what just happened.

Harry is already reaching for a folder on his desk, ready to move on to the next thing on his schedule now that the issue has been handled when Elaina suddenly stands.

“Thank you,” She says, the words coming out a little breathlessly.

Harry nods once, already turning slightly toward his desk again.

“You’re welcome,” He replies simply, brushing it off like what he did was nothing.

But before he can take another step, Elaina moves forward ad suddenly she puts her arms around him.

Harry freezes, in a way that would have made YN absolutely cackle at him for.

The reaction is immediate and instinctive, his entire body going still in surprise as he stands there.

For a brief second he does not know what to do because employees don’t fucking hug him.

Then he hears her sniff quietly against his shoulder and feels the way she squeezes him like someone who has been carrying worry for too long and finally feels like she can breathe again.

Harry exhales softly through his nose.

His arms lift after a moment and he returns the hug, brief and professional but an attempt at reassurance.

“Alright,” He murmurs quietly, the words much gentler than his usual tone, “No problem.”

After a moment she pulls back quickly, clearly realizing what she just did as embarrassment flashes across her face.

“I’m so sorry,” She blurts, wiping quickly at her eyes, “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Harry can’t help but quirk a quick, amused smile at her before dismissing.

And if she tells people about this interaction, well she does, and they don’t fucking believe a bit of it

–

The next candidate who walks into the conference room looks nothing like the nervous men who came before him.

He is older than Harry by at least twenty years, maybe more.

Harry notices it immediately.

He’s not nervous one bit.

Almost all candidates come into this room with some level of nerves.

This one does not.

Harry scrolls through the file on his iPad while the board member beside him introduces the man.

“Richard Caldwell, currently Director of Financial Systems. Twenty-seven years of experience in corporate finance, previously with—”

Harry lifts one hand slightly without looking up.

The introduction stops immediately.

He finishes scanning the paragraph on the screen before setting the iPad down in front of him, finally lifting his gaze toward the man seated across the table.

Richard meets his eyes without hesitation.

Harry leans back slightly in his chair.

“Director of Financial Systems,” He says evenly, “That’s a long time to spend managing the systems that run the company’s finances.”

Richard smiles faintly.

“I’d describe it a little differently,” He replies smoothly, passive disagreement “My job is designing the financial systems that allow companies to grow without collapsing. It is important when an organization expands as quickly as yours has.”

There is a subtle tone on the last sentence.

Harry hears it.

So does everyone else in the room.

Richard continues speaking before Harry responds.

“Rapid growth is impressive,” He says, folding his hands together on the table, “But when companies grow that quickly, parts of the operation usually suffer. My job is fixing those problems.”

The implication is heavy, reading between the lines.

One of the board members shifts in his seat.

Harry remains perfectly still.

He watches the man for several seconds without speaking, the silence stretching long enough that Richard’s confidence begins to look slightly shaken.

Finally Harry reaches for his coffee and takes a slow sip, when he sets the cup down again, his gaze settles on Richard.

“Let me make sure I understand you correctly,” Harry says almost conversationally, deceptively understanding, “You walked into an interview for a position in my company and decided to open by suggesting the company is lacking.”

“I’m suggesting improvement opportunities exist in any organization,” He replies but his tone is condescending, like he’s talking to a child, and not his fucking boss.

“You’re suggesting that you know how to run this company better than I do.”

Richard isn’t stuttering or stammering, he’s digging his heel in, and not backing down.

“I’m simply saying I know what I’m talking about,” He shrugs, the tilt of his lips refusing to drop.

Harry nods slowly before he picks up the iPad again and scrolls through the file once more.

“Twenty-seven years,” Harry murmurs almost to himself.

Richard nods, proud of that, “Yes.”

Harry looks up again.

“You’ve spent twenty-seven years working for other people, correct? Who built these systems well before you,” He reframes it, there’s a level of judgement, of not being anywhere near impressed.

Richard’s expression tightens.

Harry continues before he can respond, “As you work in systems that I have built from the ground up.”

Harry leans back again.

“So let me ask you a very simple question,” Harry reaches for his coffee, sipping it like this was any conversation, “If you believe my company is lacking, why do you want to work here instead of building something better yourself?”

Richard opens his mouth and then closes it.

After a moment Richard begins speaking, clearly attempting to regain control of the conversation, “Well, I believe that to get to a greater goal of leadership and collabor-”

Harry lifts a hand.

“No,” Harry says calmly, “I didn’t ask for a bullshit answer that you pulled from your ass. I asked a direct question. Tell me why you can run my company better.”

Richard hesitates again.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry says flatly, a rude shake of his head in disbelief.

Richard frowns, “I haven’t answered yet.”

Harry glances up briefly, “You’ve said enough. Thank you so much for your valuable time.”

He does not offer a handshake.

He simply moves on.

“Next candidate.”

+

The door opens again a minute later, and the next candidate walks into the conference room with the calmness of someone who isn’t intimidated by the setting nor overly confident either.

Harry glances up from the iPad in front of him, already prepared to skim through another file and endure another dreadful conversation.

The man walking toward the chair at the far end of the table is younger than the previous candidates, somewhere in his early thirties possibly.

Harry’s eyes flick down briefly to the name at the top of the file on the iPad.

Theo Ellis.

He scans the first few lines of the profile.

Ten years in the business.

Former senior advisor promoted to director-level within five years.

Harry’s interest sharpens almost instantly, the first promising aspect.

Unlike the previous candidates, the resume in front of him is not overloaded with corporate lingo or endless buzzwords that mean nothing to him but disguise the lack of experience.

And every promotion listed on the page happened faster than the average in their industry.

“Theo Ellis,” He greets with a nod.

“Yes Sir.”

There is no nervousness in the response.

“What can you do,” Harry asks without any more pleasantry than that, “That the last five candidates couldn’t?”

Theo does not answer immediately.

He thinks about it.

Actually thinks.

“I don’t waste time telling executives what they want to hear,” Theo says with a shrug like it’s that simple, “I fix problems and if they don’t like the solution I know will work, I’ll stand by my ideas and process.”

Several board members shift slightly.

Harry’s gaze sharpens.

“That’s vague,” Harry challenges, just to see what kind of reaction that he would get out of it.

Theo nods easily in agreement, not tensing or shaking.

“You’re right,” He laughs to himself like he realizes he didn’t expand enough on his words.

“Your systems are still operating for the size of the company five years ago. You’ve expanded by nearly twenty-fold since then,” Theo says, he’s not challenging or being dismissive, “When you merge new companies into this business, the process takes too long, which means you’re paying operational costs longer than you need to. Based on your last report, you could be profiting more than you are if you improved the process and decreased the acquisition time.”

The room goes silent and they’re all bracing for his response to Theo.

“None of those problems are catastrophic,” He adds, almost kindly, “But they’re costing you.”

Harry’s very interested in what he has to say.

“That said, the company itself is clearly very strong,” He goes on, thinking, “You’ve grown the company faster than any other in history without major issues popping up, which usually means the process behind it is solid. What you’re doing is working.”

He pauses briefly, as if choosing his words carefully.

“My point isn’t that the company is being run poorly or had been set up with error,” He finishes up, “You know what you’re doing but there’s room for improvement.Which is actually a good problem to have that will only increase your revenue.”

One of the board members clears his throat nervously.

Harry does not move.

He watches the man at the end of the table with interest ecause for the first time that morning, someone has said something that actually makes him think.

Finally Harry asks bluntly, “And you can fix that?”

Theo nods slightly, “Yes.”

Harry studies him for another moment.

When Harry finally sets the tablet back down on the table, his expression remains even but the shift in his posture makes it clear that the interview is interesting to him.

“You’re the first person today who’s actually said something useful to me,” Harry points out as he clasps his fingers together, “Your thoughts about reworking to systems are accurate as that has already been a discussion.”

“I don’t need another round of board interviews,” He says finally, “You’ll move to the final round. Next week.”

He simply nods once.

“What will that involve?” Theo asks in return.

“You and me,” Harry replies with a slight smirk, “One-on-one.”

“That will be all for today,” Harry dismisses but it’s not harsh or cruel.

Theo stands, offering a nod to the board before leaving the room.

Harry exhales slowly through his nose and leans back in his chair, “At least someone has a god damn brain in this office.”

Two days later +

“Not allowed out lookin’ like this, m’heart,” Harry grumbles as he greets YN at the front entrance of the hotel.

There was a dinner tonight for several major clients and the leadership team to celebrate a particularly successful quarter, it was something the events teams coordinated because Harry would much rather be at home with his wife.

YN’s dress fits her beautifully, hugging her in a way that makes Harry’s possessiveness flair, he just wants to hide her away selfishly, and when he dips down to kiss her in greeting she lets out a soft giggle.

“Well, I’m going for the richest man in the room,” She teases as she presses her lips to his, murmuring against them, “So there’s no competition for you tonight.”

Harry chuckles quietly at that before pinching her bum hard enough to make her squeak, which only makes her laugh harder as she swats at his chest.

It still feels new to him bringing her to events like this.

Yes, they have been married for nearly two years now and had dated for a year before that but there is a big part of Harry that wants to shield her from this part of his world.

YN has met most of the people attending tonight.

She has been introduced but Harry has never fully liked having this to himself, the privacy of their marriage, their life together, who he was outside of the suit.

They have barely stepped inside the ballroom before Harry is taken away for some business chats.

Years of these events have made it easy to get through these mindnumbing boring conversations.

The steady eye contact, the bland responses that keep the conversation going and giving off the idea that he’s interested in what these people actually have to say.

But tonight, his attention drifts because while the clients are talking, YN quietly slips away as she normally does.

She gives him a look that says this is boring as fuck and squeezes his hand once before wandering toward the bar on the other side of the ballroom because they had yet to get a drink.

She reaches the bar and settles onto one of the stools where she’ll most likely stay until Harry’s done, the bartender taking her order, and he knows she’s ordering something fruity and sweet.

Harry forces himself to turn back to the conversation even though he just wants to be next to his wife.

He nods at something one of the clients is saying, offering a response that is half-hearted and uninterested but people here hang on his every word like it’s gospel - it dones’t really matter what he’s saying.

And then he sees him.

Theo.

Harry notices his preferred candidate for CFO crossing the room in a similar line that YN just walked.

He is navigating through the crowd without hesitation before stopping beside YN at the bar.

Harry’s attention sharpens to it immediately.

He watches as Theo reaches out and places a hand lightly on YN’s shoulder to get her attention over the noise of the room.

The ballroom is loud tonight.

Theo leans down slightly toward her so she can hear him, his mouth near her ear as he says something that Harry obviously can’t make out from across the room.

YN turns in her seat to look at him.

And suddenly Harry realizes he has not heard a single word the clients standing in front of him have been saying for the last several seconds.

His focus is completely gone because now all he can see is the man standing beside his wife.

++

ugh this felt so OG and i loved it

His office sat high above the city, all glass walls and quiet power, the kind of place where deals worth millions were spoken about in low voices, where every handshake meant something binding, where people either left victorious or ruined.

And Harry?

He was always the one who decided which it would be.

Clients trusted him because he was ruthless. Opponents feared him because he was precise. He didn’t waste words, didn’t entertain emotions, didn’t lose.

He couldn’t afford to.

But the thing about reaching every goal you’ve ever set for yourself… is realising that nothing is waiting on the other side. No quiet sense of fulfilment. Happiness is numbered.

His days blurred into one another, early mornings, late nights, contracts stacked neatly on his desk, assistants filtering his life into manageable pieces. Coffee had gone cold more often than not. Meals were skipped. Calls were taken in moving cars, in hallways, and in between breaths.

Win after win after win.

And still—

Just silence with no substance.

It didn’t feel the same anymore. When he was younger, every praise and every win gave him power, gave him control.

His office lights were the last thing on at night, long after everyone else had gone home. Harry would sit there, tie loosened, sleeves rolled, staring out at a city that never seemed to sleep, wondering why he felt detached from it all.

There were no celebrations anymore. No one to call. No one he wanted to call except his family, but he rarely calls them anymore.

Because somewhere along the way, in becoming the best, he had stripped himself down to only the useful parts.

Efficient and cold.

A beast in a tailored suit and beasts don’t get tired, don’t hesitate, don’t feel.

At least that’s what he told himself.

Until the routine started to feel less like control and more like a cage.

Harry checked his watch—12:17 a.m.

Too late for dinner by most standards. Too early to call it a night.

But hunger didn’t care about schedules, and neither did the dull ache sitting behind his eyes. He loosened his tie as he walked, thumb already swiping across his phone, scanning through the rigid grid of his calendar. Every hour accounted for. Every meeting is planned with intention. Every second is optimised.

Tomorrow—no, today—was already suffocating.

A client call at eight. Internal review at ten. Court appearance by one. Dinner meeting that wasn’t really dinner, just another negotiation disguised under dim lighting and expensive wine.

He paused.

There wasn’t a single blank space.

Not even for something as simple as breathing.

Harry locked his phone with a quiet exhale, jaw tightening as he stepped into his car, quietly thanking the valet. The door shut with a muted thud, sealing him into the familiar silence. For a moment, he just sat there, hands resting on the steering wheel, staring at nothing in particular. Then he inhaled, reminding himself how to breathe.

The engine started, smooth and obedient, and he drove without much thought, just instinct guiding him through near-empty streets washed in amber streetlights. The city at this hour felt… different. Less demanding. Less loud.

Almost honest.

He passed by the usual late-night spots he’d frequent, upscale places still open for men like him, where staff knew his name and never asked unnecessary questions.

But tonight, something in him resisted.

It felt exhausting to be known or acknowledged that way.

So he kept driving.

Until the skyline gave way to quieter roads, until polished glass buildings turned into older structures, until he found himself slowing down in front of a small diner tucked between a closed hardware store and a dimly lit laundromat.

The neon sign flickered.

Unimpressive. Unimportant.

Perfect.

Harry hesitated for only a second before pulling into the empty lot. The gravel crunched softly under his tires, a stark contrast to the smooth, silent garages he was used to.

He turned off the engine.

Silence settled again, but this time, it felt different. Not heavy. Not suffocating.

Just… still.

He stepped out, the cool night air brushing against his skin, carrying the faint scent of grease and something warm, comforting, in a way he couldn’t quite place.

The bell above the diner door chimed softly as he walked in.

The vinyl seat creaked softly as Harry slid into the booth, the table cool beneath his fingertips. A laminated menu sat propped against the napkin holder, edges worn, corners slightly curled. He picked it up more out of habit than interest, eyes skimming past items without really reading them.

Something fried and indulgent.

Fuel.

That’s all it was.

“Good morning, sir. Have you found what you’re looking for?”

The voice was gentle and light, but grounded. Not rehearsed. Not the polished tone he was used to hearing from assistants, receptionists, or anyone trying to impress him.

Harry looked up.

And for a second—

Nothing moved.

Not the quiet hum of the fridge behind the counter. Not the faint buzz of the flickering light overhead. Not even his own thoughts.

Love at first sight was for people who had time for distractions. For people who weren’t him.

He didn’t believe in things like this. Never had.

But you—

You stood there like something completely out of place in his carefully structured world. Not because you were loud or extravagant, but because you were… real. Warm in a way that didn’t feel forced. Awake in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

A breath of fresh air in a life that had long gone stale.

“Sir?”

Harry blinked, the moment snapping just slightly, though something in his chest lingered—tight, unfamiliar.

"Right, give your order, Harry," he thought.

“I’ll have the chicken special,” he said, voice steady, almost too controlled. He placed the menu down carefully, like he needed the extra second to gather himself. “Just—hold the gravy. Thanks.”

You nodded, scribbling it down with a small, easy motion. “Got it. Chicken special, no gravy.”

No hesitation. No unnecessary chatter. Just… simple.

Effortless.

You turned to leave, but Harry found himself watching, something he never did. He didn’t linger. Didn’t indulge. Didn’t… care.

Yet his eyes followed you anyway.

The way you moved between tables. The way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The quiet focus on everything you did.

It was ordinary.

And somehow, it felt more captivating than anything he’d ever seen in the high-rise offices, the luxury restaurants, the world he had built for himself.

Harry leaned back slightly in his seat, exhaling under his breath, one hand coming up to rub along his jaw.

Ridiculous.

He’d been in this diner for less than five minutes, and he's already a different man.

...

Harry hadn’t realized he’d been staring at nothing until the soft clink of a plate pulled him back.

“Here’s your chicken special and no gravy,” you said, setting it down. “And a green juice on the house.”

He glanced at the pale glass. Fresh. Unexpected.

“Sorry, I didn’t order that.”

You shrugged, smiling lightly. “You look like you need it.”

That caught him off guard.

People didn’t speak to him like that. They anticipated, calculated—but never just… decided for him.

“And what does that mean?” he asked, quieter now.

You tilted your head. “You look tired. Not sleepy. Just… tired-tired.”

No hesitation. Just truth.

He didn’t argue.

Because you weren’t wrong.

“Right,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers around the cool glass. He took a sip, and it was light and delicious.

“Thank you.”

The words felt unfamiliar.

“You do that often?” he asked, glancing up. “Offer unsolicited remedies to strangers?”

Dry, but softer now. Almost reaching.

“Well… everyone needs a little bit of kindness.”

Somehow, it landed heavier than anything he’d heard in a long time.

Harry stilled. Kindness?

In his world, everything was earned. Traded and Controlled.

“That’s a dangerous way to live,” he said quietly. “People take advantage of that,” he thought, given from his own experience.

His gaze lingered, trying to understand how someone could be so open when he had built his life on the opposite.

Walls. Distance. Control.

"Still,” he added, looking down as he picked up his fork, “doesn’t mean it isn’t appreciated.” “Even if it’s misplaced.”

Harry finished his meal in quiet, though not in the same detached way he usually did. There was a lingering awareness now of the place, of the night, of something subtle shifting under his skin that he couldn’t quite name.

He didn’t stay long after that.

His pen hovered over the receipt before he wrote down a number, far larger than what the meal called for. Not out of habit or obligation. But a bit of kindness for the waitress who served him.

“I hope you enjoyed your meal,” you said softly, offering him a small, polite smile as he pushed his chair back.

Harry glanced down at you, something warmer flickering behind his usual composed expression. “Thank you… compliments to the chef,” he replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

You let out a light giggle before you could stop yourself. “Oh, I’ll absolutely tell that to Enzo.”

The sound seemed to catch him off guard, just for a second.

Your eyes widened slightly as you realized. “Sorry, that wasn’t very professional.”

Harry shook his head, already reaching for his coat. “No, it was…” He paused, like he was choosing his words more carefully than necessary. “It was nice.”

There was a brief, quiet beat between you, something unspoken, but not uncomfortable.

You stepped back, giving him space, hands clasped neatly in front of you again. “Goodnight, sir.”

You gave a small wave.

He didn’t leave right away.

Instead, Harry looked at you for a moment longer than usual, like he was trying to memorize something he couldn’t quite place.

Then, softer this time, “Goodnight.”

And only then did he turn, heading for the door, though not without a subtle glance back before he disappeared into the night, thinking of the girl who generously gave him a green juice.

...

ii.

Y/N doesn’t know if she should be suspicious or not. 

Because here is the thing: she sees Harry everywhere. Everywhere. It started first with the boba place beside the vet, sure, and then at the bowling alley, but soon he pops up in places that she often frequents. Places she’s never seen him before, until after she met him, though she isn’t sure she could use that against him. Maybe they’d been passing by each other this whole time and had no idea how prevalent they’d become in one another’s lives. Or maybe Harry is following her much closer than he’d initially led her to believe. 

She isn’t sure. It wouldn’t make sense, she thinks, if this were him following her. He had told her from the very start that if he wanted to follow her, she wouldn’t know or notice, but maybe that had just been to throw her off? Like, he said it so that if he ever did get caught, then it wouldn’t be obvious he was following her? 

Because every time Y/N sees him, he is heavily involved in doing something else. Like, if he were following her, he was not doing a good job at paying attention to her at all, or at least that’s what she thinks. If she were to stalk someone, then she’d make more of an effort to focus.  

For example, she ran into him at the grocery store near her flat. It was a big one in the area, but it was a chain, so there were multiple around the city, meaning it wasn’t like he needed to be at that very one specifically. The weather was so nice that week, which – if you asked Niall – was always around the time Y/N started on her “Girl Who is Going To Be Okay” tour, so she’s meal prepping and making vows to eat better. That means she’s filling up her cart with lots of fruits and veggies, tofu, whole grains, and a couple of snacks for when she inevitably gives up because cooking every fucking day is too hard (and how dare you expect her to eat leftovers for more than lunch the following day?). 

Anyway, she was pushing a heavy cart out of the snack cake aisle when she almost slammed her cart into someone rounding the corner. “Oh my god! I’m sorry,” she rushed, feeling as rattled as her cart, but then she looked up at the person, expecting a soccer mom with a cart full of juice boxes – and instead, she saw Harry. Her eyes widened, calling his name. 

Once he registered it was her, Harry’s smile stretched wide and bright, “Oh, Y/N, hi,” his dimples are deep crevices in his cheeks, and her thumbs itch to dig into them, but she shoves the thought away, “Wow, your trolley is pretty heavy, isn’t it? Do you need some help pushing?” He’d inquired as if he wasn’t pushing his own full cart of groceries. 

Y/N couldn’t help but peer at him, though, “You come to this store?” 

He nodded, “Yeah, all the time.” 

“Really? That’s so crazy, I’ve never – I’ve never seen you here before.” 

Harry hummed, running his palm along the handle of his cart, “Yeah, isn’t that crazy? I’ve never seen you either, haha, are you stalking me?” He was teasing, at least she’s pretty sure he was, “If you’re concerned, though, I have some receipts from the last couple of months, before you and I ever met. I have an app that, if I scan the receipts, gives me points toward a gift card. Would that make you feel better? If I send you some?” Y/N opened her mouth to tell him no, because she wasn’t trying to seem crazy, but he cut her off, “Actually, I’ll just go ahead and send them.” Then he motioned toward her cart, “But seriously, Sweetheart, that’s full. You’ll have trouble carrying those home, won’t you? Let me help.” 

She did end up letting him take her home with little fuss because he was right, it would have been horrible trying to cart all this home alone. Then he helped her pull it all upstairs, put it away, rearranged her fridge and pantry in a way that was more “palatable” and easy to go through if she was going to be meal prepping, gave Muffy a thousand kisses on her tiny head, then went on his way. Y/N is a little bit boggled by how quickly she went from suspicion and distrust to allowing him in her home again. She wondered if he was just good at manipulating the situation, if she was stupid, or if it was a little bit of both. Who knows? 

And, listen, if that was one off, Y/N wouldn’t have thought anything about it. 

But then she sees him at a craft store, lingering around the embroidery hoops with a basket full of supplies. Y/N had been planning on going for a couple of days before she finally did it. Aki’s birthday was coming up, and she was a clay keychain making god, so Y/N was going to get her some more of the supplies that she likes to use. They’re relatively inexpensive, but “annoying to buy,” as Aki had put it. Plus, there were some paints and a new type of resin she’d mentioned that she’d like to dabble with as well, so Y/N had filled her cart full of things. Enough that she had a feeling the “inexpensive” aspect of this was no longer going to be a factor. 

That’s besides the point, though. This was the second time in the span of only a few days that she and Harry ran into each other outside of any sort of spot it’d make sense for them to meet (which, they didn’t have many – maybe an alleyway would make sense, or her flat, since he probably already knows how to get in and out through her window, no matter her being on the fifth floor). Then, she was really getting suspicious – her eyes narrowed from across the aisle. As if he had a sixth sense (and he probably does), he turned to face her. He must have felt her gaze burning into his side. 

“Oh, wow, this is getting kind of creepy,” Harry noted. 

“You’re telling me,” Y/N replied, only she was the one to approach him, keeping her cart in front of her so she didn’t have to slam it into him, “I didn’t know you embroidered.” 

There were a lot of things Y/N didn’t know about him, so it was sort of stupid to say. Like, she didn’t know what exactly his job entailed. She didn’t know how someone so weird but also kind of normal, and nowhere near gloomy enough, got involved in a job like the one he has. On top of that, Y/N doesn’t know if he is actually a psychopath who is doing a really good job at seeming normal. 

But she doesn’t know what his favorite food might be, or if he knows how to ride a bike well. She doesn’t know if he’s a shower-in-the-morning or in-the-evening kind of guy, and if he sticks to a strict skincare routine. Y/N doesn’t know if he folds his laundry neatly and puts it away, or if he just pulls from his hamper and lives out of it like a suitcase. What was his favorite color? Did he have a favorite show? Did he like going out to eat? And why did Y/N care about any of this? 

The things she does know? Harry likes cats (he likes Muffy, especially), he actually puts his fruits and veggies in the labeled drawers in the fridge, and refuses to have cereal and granola bars on the same shelf (granola bars are a snack food, not just a breakfast food, they should be put with the snacks), his biceps are big, he likes boba tea (Gladys does love him Y/N found out when she went after one of Muffy’s vet appointments, because Y/N caved and asked) he’s the “best uncle ever”, and he thinks that she’s beautiful. 

And, apparently, he likes to embroider. 

“I’m not the best at it,” he admitted to her, slipped his phone out of his pocket, and started scrolling to his photo album labeled Crafting Attempts, and he scrolled through it to show her his different “attempts”. Y/N found that Harry’s “not the best at it” and her “not the best at it” are two completely separate things. When she’s attempting something, it is usually sort of ugly: the stitches are uneven, the paint is runny, the clay has fingerprints all over it – whatever the media she’s trying to work with, because she convinces herself that she could become really good at a different craft every couple of weeks to keep life magical. 

Harry’s attempt, Y/N found, is a beautiful and intricate piece that someone would probably spend 100 quid on without batting an eyelash. He’s not just embroidering cheesy sayings with flowers around them – he’s embroidering scenes. Mountainsides and trails, coral reefs and sea sunsets – things that Y/N would have never thought to even try. Her mouth fell open as he scrolled through them, clearly his hand holding the hoop, or a couple of them, he took a selfie with them like he was proudly sending them to someone. 

“Wait, what the fuck?” Y/N touched his phone, zoomed in closer on his work, “What do you mean you aren’t the best at it? This is amazing!” 

He smiled sheepishly, and his cheeks even had the nerve to color a little, “Really? You think? My nan says I still have a long way to go.” 

“I’m like. . .horrified and intrigued to see what her pieces must look like if this is what has a long way to go.” 

His dimple was cute when it popped out on the left side, and Y/N really wanted to dig her thumb into it again, but she refrained (she’s so strong-willed). “Do you work with clay?” 

So, somehow, they finish out the rest of that shopping trip together, too. Y/N explained that she was really here for Aki, and somehow or another, Harry wheedles out some information that Y/N wanted to learn how to learn how to tunisian crochet. Then he showed her the best hooks for it, the best yarn, and she was convinced she could crochet a summer tube top with the pattern he promised to send her, because he’d made one for his sister. This time, Harry doesn’t follow her home, but he does give her an air kiss and specifies that it was for her to keep, save, and give to Muffy.

Y/N sees him at the boba place again, and they sit down for a drink together. When she and Niall are picking up lunch, Harry is at the same sandwich spot (where he told the guy over the counter, “I’ll have the usual,” so it’s obviously somewhere he frequents). Getting coffee with Aki and Harry is plucking his lip at one of the tables and typing on a computer. For fuck sake, she went to get a newer, bigger telly because there was a sale at one of the department stores closer to her, and Harry is in the same store, trying to decide what LEDs to get for wrapping around his TV.  

It’s suspicious – if it were anyone else, Y/N would have for sure been convinced that they were stalking her and that was that. And, if it were anyone else, she would have probably filed a police report a long time ago and started carrying around mace. She had every reason to believe that Harry would be stalking her, due to the nature of their relationship, but every time they bumped into each other, he had just as much of a reason to be there as she did. Plus, he is always so willing to prove to her that it wasn’t him tracking her location, because “I trust you’re not going to go to the police at this point. Also, I’ll get an alert if you’re within 1 kilometer of a station, so I’m not worried.” 

There’s also the fact that wherever she ends up, Harry already seems to have been established there. His basket is always fuller, his food is typically a quarter to halfway gone, the seat he’s sitting in is warm, and the workers know him. Even in places Y/N has never been, she bumped into him. Honestly, it really is starting to look like Y/N was the one stalking him, and even Niall had questioned her on it, after the fourth coincidental run-in with Harry when she suggested they try out a new cafe across town. 

“Like, I’m not going to judge you, I’ve done my fair share of cyber stalking, but babe, if you’re trying to make a good impression, we should probably be a little less obvious that you’re following him around.” He had a straw tucked into the corner of his mouth – Harry had come to sit with them for a while, then suggested they try the peach lemonade for something refreshing and his favorite fruit tart (“I hope it isn’t too tart-y of a treat for you, to pair the both together. I’m a big fan though.”). They did,  and tried it in front of him, and after they told him how good it was, he left. 

“I’m not stalking him,” Y/N stressed, and if she could explain to Niall how, actually, it had been the other way around for a while, she would have, but she has to bite her tongue, “It is like the universe is desperate to make us cross paths at any given moment.” 

Niall hummed low, thumbing a crumb off the corner of his mouth, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but he must be your soulmate then. Like, your red string of fate is making damn sure you’ll bump into each other several times a week.” He scratched the side of his jaw, “I read this one story where Cupid was getting pissed because this couple kept ignoring blatant signs they were supposed to get together, so he came off his cloud and shoved their heads until they kissed.” He took another drink. 

Y/N sighed, “Is this the same story where Cupid had 'huge, tit-like pecs and a giant bulge’? The yaoi?” 

“Ugh, yes, it was so good,” Niall unlocked his phone, “Let me send you the link again.”  

It was weird, all of it, but again – she fully believes that if Harry was stalking her still, he’d A: Tell her about it, or B: Be so stealthy and secretive that she’d have no clue. This did seem like a next-level sort of Cupid-like fate, trying to get them to run into each other in a normal, meet-cute kind of way. Like that had been the plan all along, but they screwed it up by Y/N going on the blind date and Harry mistaking her for some model, knees deep in some garbage. 

The only time this now routine interaction starts going differently is when she accidentally goes to a sex club. 

Now, it was more complicated than it sounded. Y/N, Aki, and Niall had all made plans to go to this new spot in the city that had special, coordinated theme nights. Y2K, cybercore, burlesque, kpop, 90s hits, 80s party – things like that. They had never been before, but they had all been seeing advertisements around, whether in person, on the back of a bench, the side of the bus stop, or online, when FYP and home pages started getting a little too clued in on the area they live. And there was J.J., the receptionist at work, who overheard them speaking about it and let them know she’d gone on ‘Hippie Hooray Thursday’  and it was a great experience. The drinks were still relatively cheap, and it wasn’t overcrowded yet, like most places like it tend to get. The vibes were also very “girlie pop,” which was comforting and at least gave them a little more of a chance at escaping borderline harassment from drunk dickheads at the bar. 

On a normal day, the three of them would pull up together, not only to save money when they Lyft but also because none of them likes walking in alone. Whether that be at a restaurant, at a club, a bar, or a random swim meet, so Niall’s nephew has more people rooting for him, or Aki’s cousin’s graduation, that she didn’t want to be bored during – arriving together is a must. Namely, because it saved them from the horrible and awkward interaction of scanning the crowd in search of your friends, not being able to find them, trying to message them, and having terrible service in that moment for no other reason but to make life harder. Also, that’s too much time for an unwanted suitor to stumble up, smelling like he might have missed the toilet during his last piss, and smelling like he might have gone into a sauna without deodorant early in the morning (when everyone is at their stinkiest, or at least that’s what Y/N thinks). 

But tonight, Y/N would be a little under an hour late. She had made a promise to her neighbor that she would help them hang something – his name is Mikey. Mikey is really nice, and he and his boyfriend have helped Y/N bring in some pretty heavy boxes from the mailroom, so she thought it was the least she could do. She had a studfinder and a drill, and was at least proficient-ish enough to use them to help hang his new telly. It wouldn’t take long, but Mikey didn’t get off work until 7 PM, so it would stunt her getting-ready time by a little. 

Theoretically, Niall and Aki could wait for her, but she doesn’t want them to miss out on any time since she had made a promise to someone. And this particular club stops selling drinks at a certain time – earlier than the others, for whatever reason – so she didn’t want them to miss out on that either. They liked drinking more than her anyway, so it wasn’t like she felt pressured to catch up either. So she told them to just go ahead, and she would catch up with them. Niall sent her the address for her to put into Lyft. 

Y/N should have known something was up the moment her Lyft driver, a nicer, older woman (thank god), who raised her eyebrows when she saw where they were headed, “Oh, wow,” her voice was soft, but shocked, “I didn’t realize they’d opened up yet.” She looked through the rearview, a glint in her gaze, “My husband's been wanting to go, but I don’t know if it’s necessarily our scene.” 

“Oh no, you should definitely go! I think stuff like this can be anyone’s scene,” Y/N smiled, not thinking anything of it. She’d imagined a middle-aged couple dressed like the red carpet in the early 2000s, or in their best 1920s Hollywood glamor, having the time of their lives, and it made her heart warm. Just because you’re on the older end doesn’t mean you can’t have fun anymore – she hated that notion. 

The intersection was innocent enough. Her car smelled how they do when they’re fresh from the dealer, and the interior is sleek and dark, so she pretends that she’s a celebrity with her driver taking her to the city for a big gala. The shorts she was wearing were riding up her ass, and the seam was shoved up against her puss, but she could bear it when she was maladaptively daydreaming. Y/N messaged them that she was en route and to at least keep an eye on the door so someone could grab her when she walked in. 

When they pulled up, there was red lighting pouring out of the door, highlighting half of the bouncer's face. The theme tonight was some hybrid version of cybercore and the feeling you get when you’re in the title screen of a game on one of the first PlayStation consoles. Aki sent her a couple of Pinterest boards and brought her a bag of clothes to pick through so that she could construct an outfit. So Y/N has a glittery, silvery belt that isn’t functional mostly just for fashion, and everything is white and blue. She surprisingly had these sort of reflective boots from a rave that her cousin begged her to go to. And her hair was filled with silver hair clips, enough that she thinks if she walked through a metal detector, it would start screeching. There’s also a little Tamagotchi clipped to one of the belt loops – she hopes this is the actual vibe, or she’s going to feel like an idiot. She is a little confused by the lighting, though. 

“Be safe!” The driver told her, waving, “Remember to use protection!” 

Y/N gave a shocked giggle as she left the backseat – she had not been expecting that for sure. It was sort of presumptuous of her to think that Y/N was going to be fucking, but she is a young woman going to a club, so – fair enough. She thanked her, closed the door, and then walked up to the bouncer. It was 20 quid at the door, which Niall hadn’t mentioned, but she figured that with as many advertisements as they have and their current social media presence, they needed to recoup some, somehow. 

When she walked in. . .well, she was a little confused. Y/N seemed to be the only person who took the theme seriously, which automatically makes her want to crawl under a rock. It’s a little smoky here, like they had a fog machine somewhere, almost, but she had a feeling that it was just a lot of vapes, cigarettes, and weed – her lungs would definitely be upset with her after this. The air felt heavy and warm except for a few spaces where the air conditioner was blowing hard, and she could tell there were more clusters of people hovering around. There are more sitting areas than she’d anticipated, and the music is not as electronic as she was expecting, either. Plus, everyone was moving very. . .horn-ily? Y/N doesn’t know what else to say. People were pressed close, with not a ton of space, and they’re grabbing and holding places that are not super respectful for a first meet, and unless all of these people know each other, she’s imagining that some of these people are strangers. 

And Y/N doesn’t slutshame! She just had no idea that this was the vibe here – J.J. did not mention that this was so sex driven. She would have definitely prepared herself a little more mentally (and physically, too, hell) if she knew that was the main objective of this place. Y/N’s squinting, searching for her friends, and reaching into her purse to find her phone to let them know she was here. 

When she was looking down at her phone, she accidentally knocked into someone. Hard enough that she nearly stumbled back, a gasp leaving her mouth when she felt someone grip around her waist to steady her, “Whoa, whoa!” The voice reached her, and Y/N looked up from her phone to the guy who caught her before she made more of a spectacle, “You alright?” 

“Yeah, sorry,” she righted herself, standing up straighter, and his hands fell away from her. The man before her looks sort of familiar, but she wouldn’t be able to place him if she tried. Maybe he just had one of those faces, honestly. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” 

“I could tell,” he chuckled, reaching a hand to comb through his hair – in the lighting she couldn’t tell what color it was, but it was dark. He’s in a tank top, but in a fashion way, over a douche-y frat guy way, she thinks. Y/N is suspicious of the sunglasses that he has, pushing his hair from his face, but he has an earring that dangles from his left ear that catches in the glimmering neon sign. He’s cute, and if she were in a situation, she better understood she might think he was cuter, but she’s a little disoriented right now. His gaze comes up and down her body without even bothering to hide it. “Are you here alone?” 

Y/N blinked, “Oh, um –” 

“There you are, baby.” More hands slip around her belly, the sliver of skin from where her shirt rides up, only this voice she knows quite well at this point, “You’re late.” 

When she tilted her head to look up at him, he was already looking at her, a soft but exasperated smile with a gentle huff, shaking his head, and there was something in his gaze that said play along,  “You need to watch where you walk, Sweet girl.” Then his arms squeezed around her a little tighter. This is as close as she’d been to him since he’d held her at knife point in an alleyway. She thinks she should be somewhere in a sympathetic response, all things considered, but she melts into him instead. Harry feels so broad like this, and she can feel his chest through whatever he’s wearing, 

The guy doesn’t walk away at first, looking at the two of them curiously, “Hm. Is she a puppy?” 

Harry’s hand, feathery, snakes up to her throat. He drags the pad of his thumb across her thudding pulse, and Y/N’s brain completely blanks, “She’s more of my kitty,” he presses down a little, her eyelids flutter – what the fuck is happening, “But she’s too shy to be collared in public.” 

“Hmm,” the man hums, “You should get her a necklace then, to ease into it.” 

“Ahhh! You’re so smart,” he taps her, “Isn’t he smart?” 

Y/N nods, at least being able to respond when prompted, “Yes,” she answers, blinking, probably looking like he’d cleaned out all the thoughts in her brain because he did – there was nothing left to knock around in there, “So smart.” 

The guy chuckles, holding out his hand to shake, and Harry meets it first, gently, then Y/N. His grip is firm, and his rings are still cold, pressed to her sweaty palms. “I go by Ben,” he replied, “Are you and your kitty up for a third for a night? I wouldn’t mind helping you train her.” 

What the fuck is going on?!! 

Harry laughs, presses his cheek into the top of her head, “Hmm, that’s really a nice offer, but we’re still quite shy – this is our first time. Maybe next time?” 

Ben is thankfully (or maybe she isn’t thankful – what the hell, she doesn’t know), Ben takes it well, “Of course,” he nods, “I come on most Fridays, if you ever change your mind. Have a good time, yeah? Be safe.” 

He touches them both lightly, then heads in the direction opposite to them. Harry doesn’t take his arms from around her, waddling them deeper inside the club. “Just come with me, okay, kitty?” He murmurs close to her ear, and Y/N nods, resting her arms over his arms and letting him lead her. She should probably yank away. Honestly, she probably should have pulled away the moment that he started whatever role-playing scheme she had somehow gotten caught in.

But instead, for whatever reason, she just goes with him. There’s a large, open archway that leads to a hallway that’s a little darker, but still a muted red-ish pink. A ton of doors line either side – it almost looks like one of those backroom edits, but Harry seems to know that one three down and to the left is empty. At least he opens the door pretty confidently, twisting the knob and shoving it without a second thought. He ushers her inside before they finally separate, and she feels far colder than she had. The heat immediately left, and Y/N is left shivering, frowning a little. 

The room is nice. It’s a little small, but she guesses that a sex club doesn’t necessarily need a luxury master bedroom to fuck in. Still, the walls are a velvet blue, and the red lighting is finally exchanged for something warm and yellow – string lantern lights and lamps that bring this nice, comforting glow. The bed is on the wall perpendicular to the one with the door, neatly made with light colored sheets, which might be both a blessing and a curse (she’d love to use a blacklight on that, and the walls, that must be horrible to try and clean). There’s a small loveseat adjacent to the bed, a small coffee table, and beneath the table top, there’s what seems to be different whips and cuffs. A few random art pieces are on the wall, all varying sensual pieces – how could a blob of colors be sensual, she doesn’t know, but she’s just catching a vibe from it. 

“Sweetheart, I’m going to ask something, and I don’t want you to be offended,” Harry finally began, and Y/N turned to him, where he was standing in front of the table, looking concerned. Her brows dip, and the frown that had been on her mouth pulls just a little deeper on her cheeks, “Are you following me?” 

Y/N blinked at him. Her brain, which had finally started working again, starts to short-circuit again, “What? Excuse me?” 

“It’s just – I see you everywhere, and most of those things I can kind of explain away – especially since I had access to your internet. Well, technically I still do –” he runs his fingers through his hair, “But I know for a fact that this sort of scene is not for you at all. You’ve shown no interest in a BDSM club, and I don’t think you’d just randomly hook up with someone here either.” He shook his head, “If you’re following me, sweetheart, I don’t mind it, but I’d rather you just ask me if where I’m headed is work-related, because I don’t want you to get caught up in something dangerous again. Like with –” 

“Okay, wait, wait, wait!” Y/N put her hands up, “Why would I be following you around? What would that do for me? Jesus Christ, Harry,” she huffed, “I haven’t been following you, I’ve been wondering if you were following me. I’ve been going to the places we run into each other for years now! And I promise you the last thing I want is to get mixed up in all of the – whatever it is, since the first time I did, I was almost killed.” Harry grimaces at that, like the memory is just as horrible as being held at knifepoint, “Plus, if I were some mastermind, wouldn’t you know that already? You’ve got access to all of my shit.” 

Harry considers it, nodding a little, “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that. But still,” he searches her face, “Why are you here? This really doesn’t seem like your thing. And you aren’t necessarily dressed for it.” 

She is still frowning, pointing outside, “I’m meeting up with my friends. But I have a feeling that Ni sent me the wrong address,” she pulls out her phone, pulling up their message thread and flipping it over, “See?” 

Harry’s eyes darted across the screen, then he pouted his mouth, “Ah, I see –” he pointed in the vague direction of outside, “The themed club is a few spots down.” 

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, flipping her phone back around and replying to a slightly panicking Niall and Aki, who are wondering where she is. She tells them that she just went into the wrong place and that she’d be on her way in a minute, before slipping her phone back into her purse, “So that’s my explanation. What are you doing here?” 

He scratches the back of his neck, “Ah, well – that guy you and I bumped into? He’s got a link to ‘pet food man’,” he explains, and Y/N realizes then why he’d looked so familiar. When she’d done a hate stalk of the pet food guy post being stood up, this dude must have been in a lot of photos with him. At least enough that she could recognize him a little, seeing him in the low, red lighting of a club, “I rented this room in particular because he was using the room next door, but I stepped out for a drink once I realized he was really just in there to fuck. When I was at the bar, I saw you bump into him and – yeah. Sorry about all that, I was just. . .I was worried that he might try to sleep with you.”