I always wanted harry and reader to have like hot passionate hate sex, harry has taken a commitment to make you cry under himâŠâŠuhhhhh i really want thatâŠ..đ
MISS EFFICIENCY àłàż HARRY LEWIS .á.á
summary: a filming delay, a storage shed, and harry being unbearable as usual
content: 18+, enemies to lovers (sort of), hate sex, rough sex, degradation kink, edging, oral sex, creampie, explicit smut basically
a/n: thank you, anon, for suggesting this. it's going to be living in my head rent free for the next few days lmaoo
The air smelled like freshly cut grass and cheap plastic chairs baking in the sun. Harry sat on the edge of one, balancing a half-crushed water bottle between his knees while he scowled at his phone screen. A notification had just popped up, some bullshit about filming delays, and his mood, already frayed from the relentless heat, was tipping dangerously toward pissed off.
"Oi, mate, you gonna sulk all day or actually help?" Chris called from across the pitch.
Harry flipped him off without looking up. "I'll help when you lot stop acting like a bunch of disorganized twats."
Behind him, someone scoffed. A distinctly unimpressed, familiar scoff.
"Classy," you said, stepping around the chair just close enough that the toe of your trainer nudged his shin, hard. "Maybe if you spent half as much time grabbing footballs as you do bitching, we wouldn't be behind schedule."
Harry's head snapped up, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. "Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Efficiency. Didn't realize you were the fucking project manager now."
You leaned down, close enough that your shadow blocked the sun from his face. "Someone's got to be," you said sweetly, "since you're too busy being a professional moaner."
For a second, you thought he might actually throw the water bottle at you. Instead, he shoved his phone into his pocket and stood so abruptly the chair legs screeched against the pavement. "Fine. Let's go, then."
"The fuck are you on about?"
"The footballs," Harry bit out, already stalking toward the storage shed at the far end of the pitch like a man on a mission. "Since you're so  fucking concerned about efficiency, let's grab them together. Unless you'd rather stand here telling me off."
You rolled your eyes but fell into step beside him, matching his long strides. The shed was a squat little thing tucked behind a row of rusted bleachers, its white paint peeling under years of sun damage. Harry yanked the door open with enough force to make the hinges groan, and you caught it before it could swing back in your face, stepping inside after him.
The air inside was thick with the smell of old leather and damp concrete. Footballs were stacked haphazardly in mesh bins, some deflated, others strewn across the floor. Harry grabbed the nearest one and tossed it at your chest without warning. You caught it on reflex, your fingers digging into the worn grooves.
"Nice throw," you deadpan. "Real professional."
He didn't dignify that with a response, just snatched another ball from the pile and chucked it into the empty duffel bag at his feet. You mirrored him, your movements sharp, each toss just a little harder than necessary, like you were hoping one might smack him in the face by accident.
The tension in the shed was thick enough to choke on, each toss of a football another jab in an unspoken argument neither of you wanted to lose. Harry's jaw was clenched so tight you could practically hear his teeth grinding. You weren't doing much better, your fingers twitching with the urge to hurl a ball directly at the back of his stupid, tousled head.
Then his foot caught on a deflated ball hidden under a pile of nets, and he stumbled forward with a muttered curse. You snorted before you could stop yourself.
"Something funny?" Harry snapped, whirling around so fast the duffel bag swung wildly, nearly clocking you in the ribs.
"Just your general lack of coordination," you shot back, sidestepping the bag. "You'd think that a man who made his career off kicking things would have better footwork."
Harry's eyes narrowed, the sharp blue of them cutting through the dim light of the shed. "Oh, I've got plenty of coordination," he said, voice low and dangerous. "Just not for fetching fucking balls like some intern."
You smirked, tossing another ball into your own bag with deliberate slowness. "Right... because sulking by the pitch is so much more productive."
He took a step closer, the shed suddenly feeling ten times smaller. The heat wasn't just from the sun anymore; it was the way his chest brushed against yours when he reached past you to snag a ball from the shelf behind your head. His breath was warm against your temple, and you could smell the faint tang of his sweat mixed with whatever stupidly expensive cologne he'd drowned himself in that morning.
"You're in my way," Harry muttered, his voice rough against your ear. The words sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, one you hoped like hell he didn't notice.
"Funny," you said, tilting your chin up just enough to meet his gaze, "because last I checked, you were the one who tripped over his own feet."
Harry didn't step back. Instead, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist hard enough to make you gasp, your heart racing, not just from anger, but from the heat building low in your belly. The football you'd been holding thudded to the floor, rolling lazily toward the pile of nets. His grip wasn't painful, just firm, like he was daring you to pull away. You didn't.
"Always got a fucking answer, don't you?" His voice was barely above a whisper, but it echoed in the cramped space, bouncing off the metal shelves and dusty equipment.
You held his stare, your pulse hammering under his thumb. "Someone's got to keep you on your toes."
Something flickered in his eyes, irritation, or maybe amusement, and then his free hand was tangling in the back of your shirt, yanking you flush against him. The sudden contact knocked the air from your lungs. His body was all hard lines and restless energy, his heartbeat thundering against your ribs as if he'd just sprinted the length of the pitch.
You opened your mouth to snap something, anything, but Harry didn't give you the chance. His lips crashed into yours, messy and impatient, all teeth and frustration. He tasted like salt and stolen sips of energy drinks, his tongue dragging against yours with a roughness that made your knees wobble.
The kiss was less of a kiss and more of a collision, hot, bruising, and desperate, like two storms crashing into each other. Harry's grip on your wrist tightened, pulling your arm up until your palm was pressed flat against his chest, the rapid thud of his heartbeat vibrating through your fingertips. You could feel the way his breath hitched when you bit down on his lower lip, sharp enough to make him groan. He retaliated by nipping at your jaw, his teeth scraping down the column of your throat in a way that sent sparks skittering down your spine.
'You drive me insane,' he mutters, lips brushing your ear before he shoves you back against a stack of mats. The impact jars you, but you hook your leg behind his knee, yanking him off balance so he stumbles forward, caging you in. Your mouths collide again in a clash of teeth and fury, tongues battling as you bite his lower lip hard enough to draw a hiss.Â
'You're insufferable,' you gasp, hands shoving at his chest, but he catches them, pinning both wrists above your head with one large palm against the rough wooden wall. His other hand yanks your leggings down roughly, exposing your ass to the cool air, and he delivers a sharp slap that makes your skin sting and your pussy clench. 'Good. The feelings mutual,' he retorts, voice rough as he frees his cock, thick and rigid, veins pulsing under his grip.
He doesn't waste time, spinning you to face the wall and kicking your legs apart. His fingers slide between your thighs, finding you already wet, and he thrusts two inside your pussy without preamble, pumping deep and fast. You arch back, cursing under your breath, walls gripping him as he curls to stroke that sensitive spot. 'Soaked for me already, even when you want to scratch my eyes out,' he taunts, thumb pressing your clit in tight circles until your breath comes in pants.
Your pleasure surges, coiling tight, but he stops abruptly, withdrawing his fingers and leaving you throbbing and empty. You whip around, glaring, but he just smirks, pushing you down onto a pile of old blankets in the corner. 'On your knees,' he orders, and you comply with a snarl, hating how your body obeys. You take his cock in your mouth, sucking hard, tongue swirling the head as you hollow your cheeks. He groans, fingers tangling in your hair to guide you deeper, fucking your throat with shallow thrusts.
But he pulls out before you can make him lose control, hauling you up and stripping your top off, his mouth latching onto your breast. He sucks your nipple roughly, teeth nipping as his hand dives back between your legs, fingers plunging in again. He works you relentlessly, building you up once more, your hips bucking, moans spilling out, only to edge you again, denying your peak. Frustration burns hot, tears welling in your eyes as you claw at his shoulders. 'Harry, please... I need it,' you beg, voice breaking, body trembling on the brink.
He flips you onto your back, settling between your thighs and lining up his cock. With one powerful thrust, he sinks into your pussy, stretching you full, the sensation ripping a cry from your throat. He sets a brutal pace, hips slamming forward, each drive hitting deep and grinding against your clit. The shed fills with the wet sounds of him fucking you, your shared grunts, and the thud of crates shifting nearby. He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, pounding into you as sweat slicks your skin.
'That's it, take my cock like the needy little whore you are,' he rasps, one hand sliding up to pinch your nipple while the other rubs your clit in firm strokes. The pressure mounts unbearably, your body arching, but he slows just enough to keep you teetering. Tears stream down your cheeks now, sobs mixing with pleas. 'Fuck, Harry- let me come, please, I can't take it,' you whimper, your nails digging into his arms.
Satisfied, he surges forward, thrusting harder, fingers flying over your clit. Your orgasm hits you like a storm, your pussy clamping down on his cock, waves of ecstasy ripping through you as you scream, body shaking violently. He doesn't stop, driving through your spasms until he tenses, groaning low as he comes, pumping hot spurts deep inside you, filling your pussy until it leaks out.
You both slump against the blankets, chests heaving, his body draped over yours in the dim shed. The anger lingers in the air, sharp and unyielding, but as his fingers trace lazy patterns on your thigh, you feel that cursed tether pulling you closer, unbreakable even in the heat.
