heartbreak girl

It’s no secret that Harry and Y/N don’t get on, they make snide remarks about the other, bicker endlessly about stupid things (last time it was about which dog breed is the best). The only thing they seem to agree on is to disagree and really, they’ve both been warned by their friend, Emma, that if they ruin her wedding she will have them kicked out. She really had them both against the wall, index finger pointed menacingly at them as if she were scolding two kindergarteners. Emma had called them out of the dinner to warn them about their mutual disdain.

Y/N doesn’t hate Harry, she just doesn’t get his appeal. He was nice (to everyone but her it seemed), generous, attentive, and fun, but she just never experienced it for herself. Being one of Emma’s oldest friends meant that she was in her bridal party and well, Harry happened to be one of Mike’s oldest friends and that made him a groomsman, they had been spending more time together than anyone would have liked. But even after practices and such, people would not shut up about him.

“He’s just so attractive. I tripped last time we rehearsed and I grabbed his arm, he’s so fucking buff!” Syl, another bride’s maid squealed and Y/N rolled her eyes from a few seats down, “And he really is the sweetest guy, like I cannot believe Em paired me with him, bless her soul! I think I can get him to sleep with me… well, I’ll try.” Y/N rolled her eyes as the other girls started talking about how they knew he had a big package and she was over it and decided to leave.

******

Harry was experiencing a similar issue, the lads were playing some pool, he was sitting on a stool, waiting his turn, nursing a beer when John, Y/N’s assigned groomsman for the wedding, spoke up.

“So does anyone know if Y/N is single?” That made his head shoot up, the smack of the balls slamming into each other took over.

“Think so…” another guy said, “Why, you interested?” He asked and John chuckled.

“Nothing serious, she’s just really cute and I wouldn’t mind getting a bit of action before I go back to the girlfriend. What happens in Cancun stays in Cancun.” he said and the other guys chuckled along, Harry was quite frankly disgusted with what he was hearing, what a fucking prick.

“You think you can get her to give in?” Another guy asked and this John fellow, sniggered.

“It’s a wedding! It’s a poaching ground for sad, drunk, single girls…” he said and at that Harry left, he had heard enough.

He was walking through the resort, the ocean breeze was blowing against his heated skin nicely when all of a sudden he saw Y/N. She was in a large t-shirt and pajama shorts, her feet swaying back and forth in one of the many pools the resort had and he decided to maybe try and talk to her without the pressure of everyone else around them. He may not like her, but he doesn’t want her (or any girl for that matter) to get poached and fucked by some chauvinist like John.

Y/N glanced up at the sound of the pool’s gate squeaking open, trying her best not to frown when she saw Harry coming over.

“Hey, mind if I join you?” He asked and she shook her head and he sat beside her, dipping his own feet into the water and glancing up to her, only to find that she was already looking at him, “Can’t sleep?” He asked and she nodded.

“There was nothing good on the TV to lull me.” She explained and he hummed.

“I ummm- s’lucky you’re out here b’cause I was with the other lads and your aisle buddy, John, is it?” He asked, brows furrowed?

“Yes, the short sexist one?” She asked, an amused grin on her lips.

“Precisely.” He chuckled, “He’s talking about getting you into bed with him, wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to get you drunk. Said something about weddings being the perfect poaching ground for sad, drunk girls? Can you even believe that?” He scoffed, a grimace over his features and she tsk’ed, shaking her head.

“Classic John… you should hear the thing’s he’s told me when we’re in practice. Feel bad for his girlfriend.” She said and Harry nodded in agreement. Y/N wasn’t surprised that Harry was so offended by John, he had a lot of women he looked up to in his life.

“Jesus… well, I just wanted to warn you. I mean, I know we’re enemies, but there is a greater evil amongst us.” He explained and she nodded.

“The patriarchy… yes. How do we stop them?” She inquired, brows furrowed and he chuckled, “Really, though, thanks Harry.” She said quietly and he nodded, “I should also warn you that Syl was also talking about sexually assaulting you… and the rest of the bride’s maids, too… you’ve got it worse.” She said and he sighed.

“Well, thanks for the heads up. M’gonna turn in, see you at the dress rehearsal tomorrow, bright n’early.” He said, pushing himself up and she shot him a small smile as he smiled and started walking off.

“Bright and early. Sweet dreams.” She called after him and he turned around, smiling more sweetly, a warm look in his eyes as he spoke up.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

*******

In light of the information Harry had given her, Y/N was going to have a word with John about how he grabbed her and talked to her. She was marching through the resort with purpose, hoping to get to the gazebo area before tons of people showed up. She huffed when she saw that nearly everyone was there already, she’d have to talk to him later, then. They had all lined up, waiting for Emma’s instructions.

“Morning everyone!” The bride-to-be sang happily, “You all look gorgeous, thanks for doing this so early, we just wanted to do it before the resort gets busier! I know it’s very last minute, but we’ve made a switch. Sylvia, babe, you’re gonna swap with Y/N. So uh, that means you’re paired up with Harry, Y/N.” Emma reiterated and Y/N nodded, a bit shocked at the sudden change.

“Oh umm, okay.” She said, glancing back to where Harry stood with Sylvia, who was clearly irritated beyond belief.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea, Em? They’re going to ruin the ceremony with their constant bickering…” Sylvia tried to undo the mess Emma had just caused for her personal plan to bed the rock-star.

“It’ll be fine, thanks for your concern, Syl. I’m sure they can get on for twenty minutes.” She said and left it at that. Syl gave Y/N a dirty look as she settled into the line with Harry, who smiled down at her.

“Now you’ve gone and made her hate me.” Y/N said quietly as Emma gave more instructions, “What’d you say?”

“We both needed to be bailed out, no?” He said back, “I told Mike that Syl was being inappropriate with me and I was uncomfortable with her advances, so the truth. And, as much as I loathe you, we’re the best pair. You won’t try to sleep with me, I won’t try to sleep with you… it’s a win-win.” He said and she nodded.

“Clever. Also, I loathe you too.”  She whispered as she looked forward. He glanced down at her and smirked smugly before paying attention again.

*******

“How was I, partner?” He asked, smile bright as he sat beside her at the large breakfast table post-dress rehearsal.

“You didn’t press your elbow into my boob, so I’d say you did great. Just try not to step on my fucking dress tomorrow or I’ll kill you.” She said and he chuckled.

“Just giving you a hard time, s’all.”

“Nothing new…” she mumbled, taking a big sip of her mimosa and he chuckled.

Harrywill admit that sometime’s he’d just ague with her to piss her off, it was oddly satisfying because it really worked. But now he’s starting to see the real her, the one not hiding behind the “big, bad, bitch” facade. She was pleasant and quite funny, she could take a joke and return a witty jab within seconds, she was fun and definitely easier to talk to than Sylvia. So he decided he would play very nice tomorrow, after all it was their best friends’ wedding.

*******

The walk down the aisle went swimmingly, Harry didn’t trip Y/N, so she was very pleased about that. If only she could get him to stop interrupting the toasts, she was trying to pay attention. Despite that, they were having loads of fun and she was more than grateful he had asked Mike and Emma to switch Syl with herself. They were mid-conversation about John trying his luck with various women already when Mike interrupted.

“Hey guys, sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to introduce Y/N to my cousin, Jack.” Y/N and Harry both turned to greet this, Jack.

If Y/N had no self-control her eyes would’ve bulged from her face because this Jack was god-like, he bore some resemblance to Theo James, and she wanted to scoff in disbelief because did Emma and Mike really think that this guy would be into her? She turned to look at Harry to see if he was holding back a smug smile (maybe he was pranking her), but when he looked at her, his expression just as surprised, she knew this was serious.

“Jack, nice to meet you.” He spoke, it was soothing as hell, the man extended his hand and Y/N took it, shaking it firmly.

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you as well.” She smiled, starting to swoon. He also introduced himself to Harry and then asked Y/N for a dance, which she accepted. As Jack pulled her along she glanced back at Harry, eyes wide and smile wider as the man settled a hand on her waist as they swayed.

Harry really tried to ignore it, but the feeling of jealousy was brewing inside of him, simmering slowly as he watched her laugh with him. He had to do something, he didn’t think that he would actually get over all the things he disliked about Y/N, but apparently he had, and quickly, because next thing he knew, she was scurrying off to the bathroom and he was resting against the bar beside Jack.

“So have you been friends with Y/N for long?” Jack asked and Harry nodded.

“Yeah, known her about five years, actually.” Harry informed and Jack nodded.

“She seems really sweet, definitely a bit more laid-back than a few of the people I’ve been introduced to by other, less reliable family members.” He informed and Harry chuckled.

“Yeah, s’a real shame about her state though.” Harry said without thinking, really he has no idea why he was about to make up a rumor about her, but he just didn’t want her to be with this new fellow.

“What do you mean?” Jack asked, quite confused.

“The girl is jealous as hell, definitely hovers, knows no boundaries, knows no personal space… she’s looking to settle down for good, too. Pity the bastard who has to live with that.” He half-chuckled, “S’cuse me.” Harry said, scurrying off when he saw her heading back to the bar.

Needless to say, things with jack went south out of nowhere and Y/N was very confused as to why this adorably geeky, intelligent, fit as hell guy was suddenly no longer interested in her. Jack gave her some interesting looks from afar and she settled to sulking at a seat by the bar. Finally, when she got him alone, she asked Mike why Jack had avoided her, he had shrugged his shoulders and sought out the man himself… finally spotting him and walking up to him, ready to speak.

“Look Jack, if I said anything that offended you-”

“No, no, no, Y/N. It seems like you’re looking for a deep commitment and fast, and I can’t give that to you. I appreciate the gesture, but I’m not the right person for you.”

“Who said I was looking for a long term commitment?” She inquired in confusion, just then the bouquet toss was happening, which literally she had no interest in, but Emma’s bouquet happened to land right at her feet and she picked it up, making the hoard of girls come to a screeching halt before they took both her and Jack out. He glanced down to the bouquet and she rolled her eyes, “That was a coincidence.” She said and he shook his head, “Seriously, who told you I was psycho? I need to know.” She said, maybe aiding in proving that she was a little crazy. Jack glanced behind them to the bar and she turned to see Harry was the only person standing there who knew her well enough.

With anger boiling through her veins, Y/N shoved the bouquet into some girl’s hands and stormed across the salon and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him outside despite his protests and pushed him up against the wall.

“What the fuck is your problem? Why do you hate me? Why do you sabotage me?” she shouted angrily.

“Fucking Jack…” he muttered and her brows furrowed even deeper.

“What the fuck! We were doing so well, I was actually starting to tolerate you, Harry…” she seethed and he scoffed.

“Forgive me for wanting to save his ass from this. From you!” He shouted and she scoffed.

“What’s wrong with me?” She asked, a bit more hurt laced through her words, he was too riled up to hear it though.

“What isn’t? You put up this awful, cold, bitchy facade to make yourself interesting. It’s tired, it’s boring, Y/N. When are you going to put the real you out there for people to like? Why can’t you just be you?”

“Because of awful people like you, who think that I owe an explanation as to why I am the way that I am. Fucking newsflash, I don’t owe you or anyone any explanations for anything! I was having a really good time with Jack and you go and talk shit about me? Grow the fuck up, Harry.” Y/N scowled.

“I… don’t like you.” He sputtered and she chuckled through a scoff.

“Well I don’t like you either! In fact I fucking hate you! I LOATHE YOU! I loathe your stupid face and your stupid voice, and your stupid, mediocre jokes, you’re not that funny, and you’re a shit dancer!” She bellowed. She almost wanted to laugh teasingly in his face at how childish the argument was.

“I am not a shit dancer! Take the bit back about my jokes, too. You laughed!” He seethed and she rolled her eyes.

“Please, it was a pity laugh.” She scoffed and his eyes widened, and he stepped forward.

“Well you… you’re scared of birds and that’s something stupid to be scared of and your laugh scares children, and you’re a shit dancer, too!” He fired back, he had been stepping forward until her back was pressed to building opposite the one they had walked out of and they were both panting and their faces were set in deep frowns and he really didn’t know why he grabbed her face and stooped down to kiss her, but he did. Her eyes widened, before they narrowed in irritation and she shoved him back, scoffing.

“What the fuck was that?!” She yelled, looking more confused than angry now and Harry just shrugged and shook his head, just as confused, what the hell was that?

“Dunno… seemed like the right thing to do in such a tense moment.” He said and she shook her head.

“I’m psycho? You’re psycho!” She muttered in astonishment, wiping at her mouth with her palm and looking into his eyes.

Y/N really did not like him, but he had kissed her really nicely, she kind of wanted to do it again. It appears that he had the same thoughts because next thing he knew, he was pressing her against the wall and kissing her deeply. Her hands had balled up his shirt in her fists, and he drank in her moans when he suckled on her bottom lip. He let his hands squeeze harder into the pudgy bits of her hips causing her to gasp and that’s when he let his tongue tease at hers a bit and she opened up a bit more, letting him slip it further in.

The longer they kissed the heavier and filthier it became, all the tension between them, the anger, frustration… had it all just been sexual tension? Had this been all they needed from the get go? Her hands had worked their way down to the hem of his pants she could feel that he was hard against her. His lips parted around a moan as she rubbed her palm over the outline of his cock.

“Y/N, stop that or I’ll fucking ruin you.” He practically panted against her lips. She bit her lip to suppress a smirk because he was practically grinding himself against the heel of her palm all on his own.

“Ruin me then.” She challenged and he groaned, his hand coming over hers and guiding it a bit further between his legs. Her eyes widened when she felt her fingers fitting over his balls and then he tightened his grip around her hand, causing her to squeeze a bit more and he moaned into her mouth.

“M’aching, princess.” He groaned against her lips.

Y/N wasn’t usually one to sleep with people she wasn’t committed to, a lot of it had to do with her feelings towards that person. She definitely had strong feelings for Harry, but not the kind that would usually push her to sleep with someone, but christ, was she feeling hot-blooded. The tension between them was thicker than the humid air of Cancun; she could smell his cologne and still taste him in her mouth, and she wanted his warm, heavy tongue laving at her cunt and nipples, she bit her lip and brought him down for another kiss.

That’s how they ended up in his suite, both undressed and he was writhing on the bed, groaning her name (out of all the names in the world) because she was sucking him off so well he was nearly seeing stars. Who was she?

“Fuck yeah…” he whined, as she stroked his shaft with her hand and really focused her mouth on the leaking tip of his cock, “Right there, Y/N!” He panted and gasped and groaned, all sweaty and whiney. She had never seen him in such a state, but she was relishing. She’s never been with someone so vocal and it was doing things to her ego and really encouraging her to go the extra mile. Despite it being Harry, she didn’t mind because his prick was big and pretty, she thinks she could give head for the rest of her life if it was his cock.

“Oh fuck, stop, stop, m’gonna cum f’you don’t!” he warned and she pulled off. Her lips were swollen and shiny and he just wanted to bite into them, looking down at her with hazy eyes, moaning when she sucked and nibbles at his thighs. They were being brash and primal with each other, his body weighed hers down as he sucked marks into her breasts, “Still want me?” He asked and she nodded.

“Please fuck me.” She whispered and he nodded stroking over himself, but teasing her none the less. He let his cock slip between her folds, pressing it teasingly to her entrance, frustrating her to no end, “Are you gonna do it or not?” She grumbled and he chuckled.

“F’course I am, just love how easily you get riled up.”

“Well hurry or I’ll go.” She threatened, an empty threat, but a threat none the less.

“No you won’t.” He said, calling her bluff, “You’ve gone too far, compromised to much to just back out without getting something out of it. Just wanna get you so needy fo’me, Y/N. Already so wet, but want you throbbing for me.” He said and she bit her lip, goosebumps covering her skin deliciously, “Want to fuck you so hard and so deep you’re aching between your legs. Want t’give it t’you so good you leave marks down my back. Want to fuck you so good that we argue more often just so that we can have this again.” His lips lingered over hers, her fingers bunched up the sheets at his words, “You want that?” He asked and she nodded quickly, gasping as he rubbed his cock against her clit.

He was driving her mad, and although she didn’t want him to have an advantage over her it was too late to cancel all of this. He was about to stretch her out around his cock and also, she hadn’t slept with anyone in nearly a year and she needed this, even if it was Harry, who she despised, bot not while he moaned as a sticky string of pre-cum attached the tip of his cock to her clit.

“Still hate me?” He teased and she nodded, making him chuckle, “Then m’sorry princess, but you’re gonna hate me so much more after this, not gonna be able to get yourself off without thinking about me pounding into your pretty, little cunt.”

“Harr- Holy shit!” She gasped as he pressed forward, pushing past her entrance until he was settled deep inside of her. Her head fallen to the side as she panted, eyes fluttered shut from the slight burn of the stretch, but it felt good to clench down around something, to feel a weight between her legs and over her chest.

“Shit, s’fucking tight, Y/N.” He chuckled and she nodded, “How should I fuck you, hmm?” He asked, eyes hazy and pupils blown from the pleasure.

“Rough. Like you don’t like me.” She whispered.

“I don’t.” He grinned and she was irritated, but watching him moan as she tightened her walls around his thick prick was all the more satisfying, “I can play dirty, too.” He mumbled, snapping his hips forward and her thighs tried to close around him, he picked up his pace without warning, his thrusts fast and deep making her scratch down his back.

“Oh fuck, Harry!” She moaned as he angled his thrusts upwards, the tip of his cock slamming into her spot repeatedly, making her head roll back.

“That’s right, say my name, Y/N. Let me hear you, princess.” She moaned again at that as he continued at the same pace, deep and hard. The sound of skin smacking skin and he head board pounding into the wall was the perfect soundtrack to their fiery affair, “Fuck yes, taking it so well, aren’t you? Only like me for my cock, s’that it? Am I that good?” He panted and she wanted to slap him and agree with him simultaneously, but opting for the latter so he wouldn’t give er grief about cumming.

“S’that good, H. Oh fuck, it’s so good.” She groaned and he smirked.

“Fuck, you’re getting close, yeah?” He whispered and she nodded, reaching for one of his hands, the one with all his rings and she brought it up to her mouth, parting her lips and sucking her thumb between them, “So good with tha’ mouth, princess.” He huffed as he pounded into her harder, she felt like the breath was being knocked out of her lungs, grabbing his hand again and resting it at the base of her throat. His eyes darkened with more lust at her unspoken request, “Sure?”

“Please,” she whispered, “M’gonna cum soon.” She whimpered and he tightened his grip a bit, making her smile. He bit his lip and picked up his pace, feeling ready to cum, himself, “Tighter.” She mumbled, eyes rolling back, he didn’t want to push her too hard, “C’mon, y’said you loathe me, fuckin-” she gasped at the pressure against her throat.

“That it, you dirty, dirty girl.” She moaned as best she could, he could feel her pulsing around his cock and he chuckled, “You like that princess? Does my princess like that?” She nodded as best as she could, hips moving with his to get to cum, he was so deep inside that his pelvis was right up against her clit, rubbing against the bundle of nerves with every thrust until her eyes fluttered close and she gasped for the limited air she had, “Fuck, that’s right, cum for me, Y/N.” He egged her on as her thighs started shaking and then she started cumming. She was light headed and seeing stars. Her hearing muted down and everything seeming to move in slow motion as the pleasure burst from her center all the way to the extremes of her body. She was throbbing around him, nails raking down his back and mouth falling open as her walls throbbed around him.

“Oh fuck,” he panted, easing up on her throat, allowing her to breath at full capacity again, “Fuck, gonna be so full of me.” He whispered and she pressed him in further, eyes fluttering shut as she felt him still and come undone. He surely was filling her, she could feel him cumming deep inside. His eyes not leaving hers, even when they threatened to close, “Such a good, girl, taking my cum so well, princess.” He hummed as he slowly thrusted a few more times before pulling out slowly and dropping down beside her panting.

They lay in silence for a while, basking in what they’d just done, how could she hate him after that? What if she wanted him again? How could she keep this up? She bit her lip and sat up quickly.

“Wait, Y/N,” He grabbed her hand and she glanced back at him, “… ummm, sorry about what I said to Jack.” She nodded and reached for a pillow, covering up her chest. She nodded and remembered a tiny detail from their argument.

“Can I ask you something?” Her voice was smaller than usual, but he nodded and she took a deep breath, eyes burning holes into his, “Y’said you were saving him from me. S-so, uhh, what’s wrong with me?” She asked, her eyes were round and filled with worry, her voice a small whisper and he felt his heart lurch in his chest.

“Nothing’s wrong with you. Was just saying it t’piss you off, you’re-” he sighed, finally admitting something he would never say aloud, but she deserved to hear it, especially after he planted doubt in her, “You’re actually perfect. Everything about you, s’perfect.” He confessed, “At least I think so.” The sincerity in his tone made her really happy inside, more so than she would ever admit to anyone, save for her best friend.

“Well, thanks, I’ve known it all along.” She played off her giddiness and he scoffed.

“You just ruined a beautiful moment.” He groaned, standing and starting to get dressed. Y/N cackled as she reached for her undergarments, “Fucking hate you.” He grumped as he shoved his legs into his pants and she giggled quietly, “C’mere.” He said, zipping up her dress after he watched her struggle to reach. She slipped on her shoes and he very coldly (but teasingly) mumbled a, “Get out of my room.” As he followed her out the front door. They walked back to the reception salon slowly, when they finally arrived she stayed behind.

“I’ll be right in.” She said and he nodded, heading inside and she pulled out her phone quickly typing away a new message and smiling to herself for a few seconds.

*****

Emma glanced down at her phone that buzzed in her hands, yeah, it was her wedding day but she needed to be sure everything was going well and seemingly, it was. She nudged Mike’s arm, who was also reading a text, and he glanced down to her phone.

Y/N:

Harry said I’m perfect :)))))

Mike chuckled as he brought his phone down to Emma’s lap and she smiled wide as she also read a text from Harry…

H:

i.

Y/N has never been to a beach house. 

She’s been to a beach, yeah, and she’s been to a house, obviously, but the mix of the two? That’s for people who own shares in oil companies and sleep on Egyptian cotton sheets that they can regularly afford to change. Owning a house in an area even remotely near a beach could be a hole in the pocket, but owning a separate house, away from where you live, just so that you have somewhere fun to spend a couple of weeks in the Summer? That’s a whole separate type of wealth Y/N has never once experienced; one that had been relegated to maladaptive daydreams where she’s famous and getting paparazzi photos taken of her near the ocean for a new single. 

So when her friends suggested they rent one in Japan for a little summer vacation, she snorted and asked them if everybody had 3000 each to put toward it. But it turned out that Niall’s uncle’s friend actually owned one. His wife grew up in Minamiizu and wanted to be able to travel back easily now and then when she wanted to visit, but didn’t necessarily want a house there. There was a beach house in Shimoda for sale at the time of them looking, which directly bordered Minamiizu on the southern tip of the Izu Peninsula.  It was roughly a two-and-a-half-hour train ride to Tokyo, so they could spend a couple of days in the city as well. 

His uncle’s friend was offering them a cheaper rate than anyone would on Airbnb, so long as they promised not to do any gross damage that would need fixing afterward. Which meant, for half the price that a typical Airbnb would charge, they would have a week and a half at a beach house. And when they all managed to get PTO from their respective jobs, managed their other non-work-related commitments around it, and bought their plane tickets, Y/N realized that this was actually happening. They do a lot of talking and fantasizing about different trips that they want to take, but not very often do they come to fruition. 

Y/N was excited, though, and a little nervous. It was her friend group, sure, but she had only travelled long distances with Niall (it was on a whim, in his pursuit to meet a man he’d been talking to in Spain, whom she thought they were about to bring back with them on some sort of spousal visa, but he ended up lowkey being a catfish). Y/N was unsure of what all of their travel types were – who was type A, type B, or (in Niall’s case) type C? Y/N knew Adam would be type A, because he’s type A in every other aspect of his life, but how many type As could be in a group without it being too many chefs in the kitchen? And how many type B’s can there be before they get nothing done because nobody has a set itinerary? And how many people were going to threaten to beat Niall for the state he often leaves bathrooms in after he’s done getting ready? 

She isn’t sure. Niall, Adam, Mei, and Y/N have known each other since UNI, where they all got disgustingly close in their dorm the first year, when they all used the common room often because they hated their randomly assigned roommates. Then, for the next three years, they shared a four-bedroom flat just a block or two from campus and saw each other at various states of disarray. Then, Mei introduced them to Chris, who worked in the same cafe she did while she was looking for a job that pertained to her degree, and he slid into their group quickly and easily. Niall met Maeve during a mixer that they both happened to attend because they both thought they might be Bi (Niall is still on the fence; Maeve has come to realize she is), and while sparks didn’t fly in a relationship sense, Niall invited her to the bar, and they all hit it off well. And Adam met Harry in the lab where he works, and. . . .

The thing is – Harry is very sweet. He was the person who trained Adam at his job for the two-month period during which they were oriented to the new position. Apparently, lab politics could be sort of intense, and the drama that brewed there was as aggressive as the Bacillus species (whatever that means), and new people get eaten alive there. Harry, allegedly, wouldn’t let Adam get caught up in the drama and once took the fall for something he knew that he would be forgiven for, but Adam would never be able to live down. From that point on, Adam invited Harry to everything they did, and Harry fit in nicely. 

But Harry didn’t fit in because his humor was the same or because he necessarily liked the same things as them. Chris and Maeve were as brash and crass as they all could be. Harry fit in because he was polite – he was tender and kindhearted, and very gentle. He didn’t speak much, but his eyes were always very sweet and soft, and when he spoke, it was thought-out and careful. Harry was the opposite of brazen; he cared plenty about how he came off to others, and she thinks that’s why he holds himself the way he does. Yet it was still genuine. His nature was just good, honestly. He was born to save kittens from trees, help kids cross roads, and load up groceries in the elderly’s cars. 

For this reason, Harry also seems to have to do a lot of emotional labor for the group, which Y/N isn’t a fan of. It’s because he’s so kind and gentle that everyone is always bothering him with their problems. It’s one thing to express stress or feelings to a friend, but it’s another thing to know that Harry will listen, no matter if it’s the same issue a billion times, with gentle guidance and a soft suggestion. His feelings don’t get hurt when you don’t take the suggestion, though, and he’ll always act like it’s his first time hearing you complain about the same thing, though the little things he remembers tell you that he is intimately aware of every nook and cranny of the problem.

There were plenty of times that Y/N had to coax a drunk Mei or an overly disgruntled Niall away from Harry when they were out and he’d been trapped in their hot seat for a while. “Why don’t we let Harry enjoy some of his night too?” She’d suggested as she guided them away, then ended up lending her ear to the same problem that they were ignoring the answer to.

It didn’t help that Harry was ridiculously smart, too, in all the things that you’d need a smart friend for, so he’s always getting bothered with finance questions, medical questions, and even house-related issues (“Should I get a contractor or do you think I could do this myself?” “Well, do you know how to do it yourself?” “No, but I think I could watch a video on it or something?” “I mean. . .well, that is one option, and you’re welcome to try it, but I think it’d be smarter to get a contractor. I actually know a couple, I can get something scheduled for you?”). 

It’s not always like that – they don’t keep him around just to use his brain – but it does happen quite a bit. Y/N thinks Harry might like it too. There’s always a pleased smile on his face whenever the conversation is over, and he never seems to be too annoyed when someone treats him a little like a search engine. He still laughs with all of them, still jokes, and keeps turning up, so he must enjoy them. Hell, Y/N thinks she gets more annoyed with it than he does. 

She thinks maybe that’s why she and Harry had never gotten super close. They were friends, yes, but he was the only one she’d never hung out with one-on-one. Y/N isn’t sure why. . .maybe because she just never got an “in”, so to speak? Like, he helped Niall through a pretty difficult situationship debacle that Y/N’s only answer to solve was ‘burn him alive’, and now he and Harry routinely go out for coffee, trying new cafes together as one of their hobbies. He directed Chris to a trusted gutter guy who would quote him a reasonable price on a complete gutter overhaul, and for this reason, he and Chris got together to do house projects a lot with each other (Chris had even helped Harry build his sister’s gazebo – Y/N didn’t know either of them could operate a drill until that). Usually, it went like this: Harry helps a friend, the relationship opens, and Harry and the friend get closer because of it. 

But Y/N didn’t want to bother Harry with her issues. She barely wanted to tell anyone when she was going through something because she didn’t want to be a burden. And that doesn’t really fit well with the order Harry does things in, so they just never got past the overly polite stage of their dynamic. 

Still, Y/N has noticed that Harry stares quite a bit. She doesn’t know if he realizes he’s doing it, but if she feels eyes on her, there’s a 9 out of 10 chance that it’s Harry’s gaze. Almost like he was trying to figure her out or something? She doesn’t know. As soon as she locked eyes with him, he’d dart to look away with a blushing face, and Y/N never called him out on it because. . .well, that’s just not their relationship. 

(She had brought it up to Niall in passing, who said something along the lines of, “Hate to break it to you, but you’re a pretty girl – he probably likes you, and it makes him awkward.”).  

That’s why it’s just a little awkward when Y/N realizes that she and Harry are sitting right beside each other on the plane. It’s a long way to Japan to be sitting beside someone you don’t even regularly speak to. She was less worried about not knowing what to say to him and more worried about Harry realizing that she didn’t know what to say to him. Like, the last thing she wanted was for Harry to think that she didn’t like him, and she’s a grade-A yapper, so if she all of a sudden just didn’t speak, it would look a little suspicious, no? And Harry would be the person to notice something like that, because he notices things about everybody and everything – he’s very observant. 

For that reason, she does her best to wipe any sense of hesitation from her face. She doesn’t want Harry to see it and feel like she was upset, because she wasn’t upset at all. At least, not with him, just at her complete inability to speak with him in a meaningful way that would make him comfortable. 

“Looks like you and I are together!” Y/N smiled softly as they looked at their tickets. 

Harry smiled too, but followed up his smile with, “Do you want me to switch with Niall or Mei? That way, you could sit next to a friend?” 

And how he said it sort of made her feel sick to her stomach. It was a genuine suggestion and statement – he didn’t say it with any vitriol or spite, but it was the way he’d said it so nonchalantly that unsettled her. Like, he didn’t believe for a second that they were close enough to sit on the plane with each other forever, which, maybe, was true, but she didn’t like how it sounded. 

“What? No! You’re my friend too.” 

Y/N must have seemed as legitimately startled and unsettled as she felt, because his eyes widened: “Oh, I didn’t mean – I didn’t mean like, we weren’t or anything! I just meant so – you know, because you’re closer, and – I didn’t –” 

“Well, Mei snores, and Niall is the worst manspreader in the world,” she told him, “So unless you don’t want to sit with me, then you’re stuck with me.” 

“No, I do! I don’t mind sitting with you at all.” 

So Y/N is in front of Harry as they make their way to their seats in the tight walkway between rows. When they are stowing their carry-ons overhead, Harry grabs for hers first and makes sure that it slips in easily before working his own on. Even though Y/N’s seat wasn’t technically the window seat, he ushered her in first and took the one in the middle, so he’d be sitting next to the stranger. Y/N is almost overwhelmed by the amount he had taken care of her in all of 5-minutes. Is this the same treatment he’s giving all of their friends? 

“I hope this doesn’t come off as rude,” Harry began, pointing at his headphones, “But I have a few audiobooks that I downloaded for the flight. I was going to listen to one of them after we took off, if that’s okay?” 

“Oh, no, that’s – that’s perfectly fine, don’t worry about me.” 

It was as simple as that. Y/N had been all worried for nothing, just for Harry to be the one to shut her out. Hell, maybe he didn’t like her or something – not that she expected him to speak to her the entire flight. She’d just been panicking about not knowing what to say to him, but she does wonder if he would have put his headphones on for anyone else soon after takeoff. Or, well, Y/N wondered if anyone else would have given him the chance to. He’d said he’d downloaded the audiobooks for the flight, so maybe this was his plan all along. 

God, why the hell is she overthinking this? It’s stupid, and she decides that she’s going to take her melatonin and try to sleep for as long as she can, as she’d intended to do no matter who was sitting beside her. Y/N chews the gummies thoroughly and swallows them, just as Harry is about to put the headphones over his ears. 

“Just tap me if you need anything,” he offers before placing them snugly over his ears and letting his eyes flutter shut. Y/N stares at him for a little while; she’s able to without seeming like a creep. He’s got his glasses on, resting on the bridge of his nose. His hair is neatly styled like it always is, smoothed away from his face, but she thinks the headphones will muss it up a little. Y/N tries to think back if this is her first time seeing Harry dressed so casually, too – he’s usually a button-up kind of guy, but right now he has an oversized university tee on and soft linen bottoms that – with any of her other friends – Y/N would have just reached out and felt them between her fingertips. Instead, her fingers just itch to touch it where they lie on her thigh. 

She turned her head forward again, then to the left so she could peer outside at the clouds that passed them with a soft sigh. She just needs to turn her brain off, probably. Vacations always make her sort of anxious, and her dynamic with Harry seemed to be a little source of anxiety for her as well. Everything she’s anxious about only exacerbates when she’s already nervous. 

Y/N lets her eyes flutter shut. 

She’s sure they’ll probably get closer during this trip, at least. 

                                                                  .                         .                        .

The plane ride wasn’t that horrible.

It was long- somewhere in hour three, she stirred from her melatonin, her legs felt cramped, and the urge to stretch them became so overwhelming that she was about to toss them over Harry’s lap. Y/N knew that with the type of person Harry is, he would have accepted it without a second thought – lifted the armrest between them and let her rest her legs there. Hell, he’d probably even start rubbing them too if she wanted. He’s always absentmindedly squeezing or feeling something, and sometimes that happens to be his friends', whoever's and whatever body part is closest to grabbing. 

But she refrained. She only caught Harry looking at her once when she was wriggling, trying to lock her knees, and stretching her feet beneath the seat in front of them. When she met his gaze, she gave what she hoped was a reassuring “I’m totally good and not at all uncomfortable and moments from freaking out” kind of smile, which he returned softly – still looking concerned. A couple of minutes went by, then he showed her how to move the seat back. He didn’t speak, just carefully pointed at the lever on the side of the seat and showed her. 

It did make it a little better, which was good. She didn’t love using the toilet on the plane either, but Harry went first, and when she asked him how it was in there, he told her it wasn’t so bad. “It’s more spacious than some I’ve been in the past,” he told her, so Y/N went after him. When she came back, Harry hadn’t put his headphones back in yet. Mei had reached out and squeezed Y/N’s bum from across the aisle, which made her gasp and jolt forward, and Harry all but jumped, prepared to catch her if she hadn’t caught herself on the seats. 

Those were the only interesting things to happen, though; otherwise, the plane ride was just long and boring. They had coordinated their flight so that, by the time they arrived in Japan, it would be early afternoon. That way, they could land at their airport, take the train to Shimoda, and get acquainted with their Airbnb before going out to dinner. They didn’t necessarily count this in their days here, since most of it would be taken up by travel. 

The airport was busy, and with immigration, customs, and security screening, it did take a bigger bite out of the day than they thought it would, but it wasn’t so bad. Y/N and Christopher made it to the other side far more quickly than anyone else. Harry, who had been beside her to start, had made his way to the back of the line so he could coach their friends on what to do. He was a good person like that, always making his own processes longer so he could benefit others. And it was then, from Christopher, that she found out Harry had actually traveled to Japan before. Though instead of staying in the countryside, he was in Tokyo for the duration of his trip. Which meant he was more familiar with this airport than any of them, even though he’d only been there once, so everyone was relying heavily on him. 

The train ride was long but beautiful. Y/N stares out the window at all of the greenery – the further they get from the city, the brighter and clearer it appears. She feels like a dog, pressing her face against the glass with wide eyes, watching the trees and buildings whip past. Niall even petted the top of her head and asked if the “good girl wanted a treat,” but she batted him away. She feels excited and incredibly exhausted, and her belly is growling so intensely that she needs to eat soon or she will start getting snappy. Two hours fly by when you’re able to stretch your legs, and there’s so much scenery to look at that you’ve never seen before.  

They (and by "they," she means Maeve) coordinated a ride service to pick them up in two separate cars and take them to the house. That ride was much shorter; the sun in the sky was still visible, but noticeably beginning to be painted pink and orange by evening. It smells like the nearby ocean when they step out of the train car. The sun is warm, but the breeze is cool and brushes across the sweat that has begun building on the back of her neck. Once more, somehow Harry is sitting beside her – before they’d gotten in the car, he started to reach for her suitcase to lift it into the trunk, but she grabbed it before he could. She felt bad because he’d already had to wrestle with her carry-on earlier, so she didn’t want him to do it again, trying to fit both her suitcases into the trunk with everyone else's. 

Y/N felt that familiar burn of eyes on her, but when she turned around, Harry had tilted his head down, looking at his phone. Both Mei and Christopher studied Japanese at university, so one of them had to be with a group (if they split into groups) at all times to avoid looking like stupid tourists. Harry has the third most knowledge. Y/N can get by with the little she does know, certain questions she can ask, how to order food, and how to carry on at least a little bit of small talk. The driver knew English, though, so nobody necessarily got to practice their skills or anything. 

The house is a good size. It isn’t massive, but it would comfortably fit all of them, even though they’d have to double up on rooms. There were three rooms: two had two people each, and one had three. They thought the best way to decide who roomed where would be to use a random generator, since all of them were close enough that the pairings didn’t really matter. Plus, it would be the fairest in choosing who had to be in the group of three, with slightly less space to work with. 

Or, well, it would have been fine, but for some reason, the universe is just desperate to smash her and Harry together. So they do get a nice room for just the two of them, but that’s the issue, isn’t it? It’s just the two of them. If Y/N had been worried about the plane ride being awkward, then a week and a half of her and Harry sharing a space was probably going to be even worse. She could suggest switching too, but there’s a look on Harry’s face. . .well, she isn’t sure what it means. Y/N can’t tell if he hates it or loves it. He seemed indifferent as he heaved his duffel over his shoulder and dragged his wheeled suitcase behind him, going toward their room.

Niall slipped into the space beside her. “Do you think you two are going to cuddle?” He whispered in her ear, “Harry’s a cuddler, y’know?” 

No, Y/N didn’t know because she doesn’t know Harry that well at all! 

She is trying to be positive about this. Maybe this would actually encourage her and Harry to get closer? That would be nice, she thinks – there’s nothing like sleeping in the same room together during vacation to increase your bond. The first time she realized that Adam was repositioning her head in the middle of the night when she was lying weird, she was like wow, we might be best friends, so maybe something like that would happen. And she’d not felt as close to Mei as she did until they stayed the night in a hotel bed together when their flat was being fumigated (Adam and Niall were sharing the other bed across from them), when she woke up pressed back to back and was so warm and cozy she fell right back to sleep despite needing to pee. 

Y/N and Harry could grow a lot from this, right? This could be really nice if it works out. 

So hopefully it works out. 

                                                           .                         .                   .

The first night wasn't so bad. 

They go out to eat at one of the top-rated places, and they are all dressed relatively cozily for the occasion. The last thing anyone wanted to do after a full day of travel was get ready for anything. They all planned to eat, go home, shower (for the ones who hadn’t already), and get into bed. Y/N eats Kinmedai Nitsuke, which is their prized local speciality, and it’s so tender and delicious that she wonders how many things in the world are this good that she’s been geographically limited to. They do walk down to the beach to at least get a look at it, though nobody could necessarily hop in unless they wanted to soak their clothes.

White, powdery sand is what slips between her toes and coats her flip-flops. From what she could see, the water was a pretty turquoise as well – she was excited to do more than dip her toes in it tomorrow. They’d planned several full-blown beach days so they could truly soak up their time near the water.  They take some silly photos, watch the sun set, and Y/N spots a crab that scurries away from her feet, then disappears into the sand – she squeals because it’s cute and also because she’s a little terrified of it. 

When they go back to the Airbnb, Y/N is full, content, and ready to shower. Harry needed to as well, but he offered for her to go first. When she all but refused (because he was always putting people ahead of himself), he hurried to gather his towel, his loofah, and his soaps and shampoos. He might have taken what Y/N could only describe as the world’s quickest shower, because as soon as the water had turned on, it was on for maybe five minutes before it turned off. The door to their shared bathroom opened, and Y/N got more of an eyeful of Harry than she thinks she’s ever received before. 

To be fair, she’d probably be seeing this much of him anyway tomorrow in his bathing suit. Only then would she know that there was something beyond a towel covering his prick. But right then, with him still dripping wet from the shower, he only had a towel looped around his waist, and it did very, very little to hide an incredibly impressive bulge. One that Y/N had only accidentally seen in a pair of too-tight jeans Niall had squeezed him into one night (and Y/N had to keep staring at his crotch, because he kept readjusting, and whining about how the button was digging into his bladder and wow – she had to try and ignore how cute he sounded when he was whining). 

His cheeks are flushed, but so is the rest of his skin, like the water had been scalding. There was a lot of torso she was seeing too, tattoos mapped out on relatively tanned skin – she’d seen these a couple of times too. Harry definitely did not seem like the type to have tattoos, so when she had met him in the wintertime, all he ever wore was long sleeves, and she never suspected a thing. Then Spring came that year, with warmer temperatures and shorter sleeves, and she was finally exposed to Harry’s skin in all its glory. She’d seen bits and pieces but never all of them: how they decorate his skin, how they make absolutely no sense but for some reason fit him well. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes, and Y/N yanks her gaze from his torso back up to his body, “I just – I rushed out of here and forgot to bring my clothes. I don’t think I used too much hot water.” 

Y/N pressed herself up from where she was sitting beside her open suitcase on the floor. “And it would be okay if you did,” she told him, grabbing for her toiletries and the clothes she was changing into, “I’ll let you get dressed.” 

So what if Y/N thinks about Harry’s body the entire time she’s in the shower? That’s her own business. He had a nice body – sue her! Y/N may not know much about him and may not be very close to him, but she can appreciate a nice body when she sees one. Hell, she’ll probably be oogling over all of her friends when they’re here together. It didn’t help that the little beads of water were dripping through the swell of his tits. Y/N shivered a little as she scrubbed herself down, trying not to take up too much time since Harry was in and out. This also cut off her “free-thinking-about-Harry’s-body” time, so it was probably for the best. 

She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and put on her cute night set that she didn’t know she was going to be showing off to Harry first. Once she made it back into the room, Harry was sitting on his bed, and Niall and Mei were sitting on her bed across from him. He is still flushed, but this time with many more clothes – pajama bottoms and an oversized shirt. Mei cheered when she saw her, “This is so cute, what the fuck? When did you get these?” 

“My Hangyodon nighties,” she grinned, the fish man with the red little octopus sidekick in the middle of his tank top and then speckled all over the pajama shorts, “You love them?” 

“Do I love them? I’m going to steal them off you in your sleep!” Mei ran her fingers beneath the spaghetti straps, pulling them until they snapped. “Harry will help me sneak in, right, Harry?”

Harry shook his head with a soft laugh. “No, no,” he told her, “I’m loyal to my roomie.” 

Mei grumbled, pulling Y/N into the bed, “Annoying,” she threw her leg over Y/N’s thighs while Niall pulled her head into his lap, “You’ve already bewitched him, hm? I’m cutting it off myself.” 

Harry just watches, gaze pleased and soft from his side of the bed. He is leaning back on his palms, stretched out, his legs parted and. . .yeah, Y/N is looking a little, but nothing crazy. 

Eventually, Niall and Mei leave, and Y/N gets up under her blankets and smells the gentle, citrus scent of the blankets. Harry’s voice is soft when he murmurs, “Goodnight, Y/N,” he tells her, “Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

She snuggles deeper into her blanket. 

“Goodnight, Harry.” 

                                                                      .                         .                       .

On the first night of any vacation, Y/N never slept very well. She wakes up periodically throughout the night, checks her phone to see the time, realizes only an hour has passed, and then eventually lulls back to sleep. She isn’t sure why – it’s not like she wasn’t dog tired in the first place. A full day of travel always wore her down to the bone, but being in an unfamiliar space without her familiar comforts left her in a liminal state between consciousness and unconsciousness. Not to mention the time change was fucking with her too. 

Y/N thinks the last time she looked at the clock was 4 AM at least, and then the next time she woke up, it was to Harry stretching, standing on the side of his bed. Sun poured in through the blinds, cutting through the curtains and filling up the room. She grumbled a little; the sound of her feet moving against the mattress pulled Harry’s attention over to her. His eyes are all sleep-swollen and soft – he smiled at her, then made his way to the bathroom. He was kind of cute when he woke up, but whatever. Y/N doesn’t care about that. She pressed her face into the pillow and huffed – the sun still looked like it might just barely be 7 in the morning. Of course she’d get paired with an early riser. 

She flopped around in bed for a while, at least an additional 30 minutes to an hour, before she finally answered the call of her bladder and went to pee. The dire need to pee plus the pressing urge to see where the hell Harry had disappeared for 30 minutes after waking up is what drags her from the call of sleep. What could he possibly be busy with? And why would she care what he was doing? Her stupid brain just needed something to focus on, she thinks, when there were too many unfamiliar things and too many unfamiliar surroundings. But really, she should be fixating on their beautiful surroundings, the soft, flower-bloom scent that over takes the entire neighborhood they’re in, and the sea salt wind of the ocean nearby. 

Y/N peed, then tiptoed out of the room. When she checked her phone, it was 7:05 AM, and she knew all too well that if Maeve and Adam didn’t get to sleep in, they would have two (surprisingly) very crabby adults on their hands. More crabby than Niall or Mei combined, because at least when they’re tired they get a little loopy and silly – Maeve is a bit scary, and Adam is just downright pouty the whole day. Paired with this, both of them are incredibly light sleepers, so something like a creaky floorboard could draw them from slumber in an instant. 

Y/N found Harry in the kitchen, quietly making breakfast. When he spotted her, he was just about to flip the eggs. With the pan in one hand and the spatula in the other, he pointed at the table where there was a pile of French toast and fruit sliced already. One plate had already been made up. He works efficiently – how had he done all of this in 30 minutes? “I cut the crusts off that one already,” he told her, voice just barely above a whisper, “They’re still on the plate in case you want them, though.” 

“You didn’t have to do that for me.” Her eyes were wide; she could feel them. How had he known she didn’t like the crusts on bread? Also, where the hell did he get groceries from? “How’d you get put on breakfast duty?” 

“Oh, I didn’t,” he shook his head, “I just like to cook. Reckon if we are going to be out in the sun all day, we should have something in our bellies.” He nodded his head in the direction of the other rooms. “Niall and Mei came into my room last night to ask what I wanted from the grocery because they were having it delivered. I think they meant to ask you too, but got distracted by your pajamas.” 

That made sense. She’d been wondering why they were in her room, but once she was accosted about her pajamas, she’d forgotten to ask. 

Y/N made her way to the kitchen table, “Thank you, Harry.” 

“No problem,” he told her, “I hope you enjoy it.” 

When Y/N took the first bite, she held back a gasp. It was really good – she didn’t know how much of that was because Harry was adept in the kitchen and how much was because of the geographical ingredients. Either way, it was sweet and syrupy without Y/N needing to add any syrup onto her plate. The powder from the sugar covers her lips – she can feel it, tacky and sweet. Her eyelids flutter a couple of times, blinking rapidly before a presence suddenly looms over her. 

Harry is there, sliding two eggs onto her plate. They’re over medium- another weird fact to know about how she liked her food. He looks absolutely chuffed watching her eat, his glasses slipping to the tip of his nose, “It’s good?” 

“It’s great,” she tells him, nodding, “Thank you, really, this is – really yummy.” 

The twinkles in Harry’s eyes are something different. Before the moment could linger any longer, Chris appeared at the doorframe with Mei in tow. “Oh, thank fuck,” he sighed softly, “I woke up like an hour ago, starving to death – I ate like ten of those jelly candies I got from the airport.” 

“Loveeee Harry’s cooking,” Mei hums, eyes barely open, “Y/N, I’m sitting next to you. Someone get me scissors so I can cut this tank off her.” 

Everyone wakes up pretty soon after that, because while Y/N and Harry are willing to tiptoe around, Mei and Christopher go by the beat of their own drum. And that drum wakes up the whole house when Christopher drops an egg on the floor and all but cries out, wondering what he did to deserve this from the universe. They all finish eating, brush their teeth, and get ready for the beach. They pack up all of their towels and sunscreen, Y/N fits a hat over her head, and she packs a portable fan for when Maeve inevitably starts sweating on the beach, but refuses to get in the water (she likes to swim for about 30 minutes at a time, with 1-hour intervals in between because she doesn’t like how the salt water feels on her skin and how pruny she gets). She also blows up a floaty with every last bit of air in her lungs, which will undoubtedly get stolen by Niall about ten minutes in. 

By the time they get down to the beach, the sun is a little higher, but not too hot. The water glimmers and glistens beneath the rays; the water is crystalline blue and turquoise. Apparently, almost everyone had lathered up on sunscreen before they left the house, but Y/N had been distracted packing her day bag, so she waited too late. When she’d finally laid out her towel and peeled off her cover-up, though, there was nobody available to help her get her back. 

Well, nobody except for – 

“I can get your back for you?” Harry’s voice is soft, as gentle as he can be, holding out his hand for the bottle she is holding. 

Y/N’s eyes darted to where everyone else was already splashing around in the water, excited, dropping down to their chins. She looked back to Harry, nodding softly – she felt bad, keeping him out of the water to help her. Harry probably would’ve already been in there had he not seen her looking around hopelessly. 

“Yeah, that’d be nice, thank you. I’m sorry.” 

He took the sunscreen, popping the cap. “Ah, what are you apologizing for?” Y/N turned away from her, hearing the spurt of the sunscreen into his hand, “I’ll need some help too, if that’s okay?” 

It’s cold when his hands touch her – Y/N jumps, hissing from the temperature and Harry. . .well, it sounds like he almost coos, “It’s a bit cold,” he warns her late, “Sorry, I should’ve told you.” 

His hands are careful as they massage the sunscreen into her shoulders, between them, and down her spine. They feel huge against her, over her, the back side of her sides and hips. When he rubs over the back of her neck, Y/N swallows thickly – it’s a little hard not to have a little pervy thought float through her. Because if he wanted to, he could probably press her forward and grab her hips, follow her down to the ground, and – 

“Okay! All done,” she can hear the smile in his voice, and she instantly feels like a lecher. What the hell was she doing having a thought like that? “Would you get me?” 

It’s no better, rubbing the sunscreen into his shoulders. Harry is so broad – he never wears clothes that show it off much, but Y/N had seen him in a workout tank top once and almost gasped. His shoulders are big; his back is sculpted – it’s the sort of thing you might see on an inspo page for working out. It leads into the shape of his biceps and triceps, and maybe it’s for the best that she isn’t that close to Harry? Because clearly, she’d been around him for like a day and a half and she can’t have a normal thought to save her fucking life. 

Beneath her fingers, his skin is warm and soft. She doesn’t even realize that the sunscreen is gone until she’s been rubbing it on him for like two minutes. 

“Ah, I used too much,” she lied through her teeth, patting his shoulders gently, “There you go, all done.” 

She kicked off her shoes and all but stumbled over the little hills of white sand while she ran to the water because she couldn’t look at his face right now. Harry would probably be able to take one peek at her face and read that she’d been thinking something less than. . .morally pure. So she runs right over to the water, only slowing when she gets to the edge of the water, the waves pulling back, then sloshing over her ankles. Niall had already stolen the floatie, so he found it and flopped over, hooking her arm over the edge of the sparkly inflatable. She splashed Niall a bit, and he let out a silent scream, “Dick, you dick!” 

“You were feeling Harry up a little bit.” Adam appeared behind her, reaching for her hand that was in the water and pulling it out, flipping it over so she was palm up. He places a big shell in her hand: “Hide this from MeiMei; she’s after it.” 

“I was not feeling him up.” She grumbled. 

Adam raised his eyebrows, “I mean, baby, I’ve got 20/20 vision and –” 

“Mei! Look at this pretty shell!” Y/N hollers, and Adam gasps, grabbing the shell back from her and floating deeper in. 

“Oh, evil, you’re evil!” 

It was pretty, the water was cool on their skin, and the sun was warm but not oppressive today. Y/N had been prepared for intense humidity, but it wasn’t horrible. They swim for hours, get out to look for shells, take more photos, dig in the sand, and make a sad excuse for a sand castle. Y/N’s lips taste salty from the water, and her fingers are all pruned when they make their way to the beachside treat shack (it’s called Umi-no-le, Harry tells them).  She eats a skewer and fries, then plucks off Adam’s edamame in exchange for letting him try some of the seafood off her stick.  

Harry disappeared but returned with ice cream, somehow carrying four, keeping one between his index and middle finger and the other between his ring finger and pinky. Somehow, the cones are perfectly balanced because she thinks he could probably palm a basketball, squeeze it, and pop it in a single hand. She didn’t know he was going for ice cream – she probably would have ordered one too, but she didn’t know he was going for it. And maybe she would demand some of Niall’s, but he got Matcha, and she wanted to try the red bean. Actually, all of them had Matcha. . except for Harry. 

Stupidly, she mentioned this to Christopher, who had offered her a lick of his cone. “Oh, Harry got red bean.” He turned to find him, “Harry! Can Y/N have a lick of your ice cream?” 

Y/N blinked wide, “Oh, I don’t –” 

“Yeah.” The cone was presented in front of her mouth almost immediately. Harry hadn’t licked it yet, it seems, and Y/N thinks it’s not fair that she gets the first lick, but when she opens her mouth, Harry says gently, “Go on, it’s okay. You can tell me if it's good.” 

So Y/N does lick the cone, dragging her tongue over it slowly and trying not to focus on how Harry watches her. It’s delicious – she’d like to get another taste, sure, but she already feels bad. She’d prided herself on never needing to ask Harry for anything, and yet this entire day she’s had to bother him nonstop- it’s felt like. Even though she didn’t ask him for breakfast. She just wants him to be able to enjoy his vacation too, without having to worry about anyone but himself, yet it’s the first day, and it feels like she is using him 3 separate times. 

“Thank you.” She nodded at him, “It’s really good, Harry; you’ll like it.” 

He grinned, then licked it himself. He paid no mind to the fact that she had already licked the cone – Harry’s always been quite used to sharing, though. Which has always surprised her. From what she does know of Harry, he only has one sibling, and he’s the youngest, so he should probably be the worst at sharing. 

Should she try to do things for him? What could she even do for Harry? The only thing she could think to do was what she had been doing: to be self-sufficient enough that he didn’t need to worry about her. Encourage him to take longer showers – maybe she should take hers first so that he won’t worry about taking the hot water. That’s like. . .all she’s got. She could offer to do things for him, but she knew he would refuse – she’d just have to do it. She could try tonight to put food on his plate or something – Y/N thinks they’re planning on going to a Yakiniku place tonight. Y/N could grill him some meat? Y/N doesn’t know. She just hates feeling like she owes someone something, even if she knows Harry wasn’t expecting anything from the help he gave. 

“Do you want one?” Harry asks, waving the ice cream in his hands, “I can go get it?” 

Y/N shakes her head, “No, no, I’m okay; I’ll go get it later.” 

Harry pouts his lips a little, but continues to eat his ice cream. 

                                                               .                            .                              .

It’s the third official day of them being there (not including the travel day) that Harry surprises her. Or – shocks her, rather. 

Their mandatory Anime-level beach episode went swimmingly. They stayed out all day, alternating between playing in the water and playing on the beach. Y/N had fallen asleep briefly on the sand and woke up to an umbrella being opened above her, shoved into the ground. Through bleary eyes, she could make out that Niall was the one doing it, but it was nowhere near a selfless act, because he dropped down on the towel, pulled right beside her, and immediately closed his eyes. 

(“Should we cuddle?” 

“Too hot, Ni.” 

“Ugh, you’re right, you’re right. Imagine me cuddling you right now though.”) 

They eventually made their way back to the Airbnb around 3 PM, for those who didn’t take a nap on the beach to nap if they wanted to, to decompress, or to shower off the ocean before dinner. Y/N was sun-tired even after her nap, but she flopped down on the bottom of her bed, face pressed into the covers, the fan above her whipping a cool breeze around the room. Harry moved quietly around the room, but he didn’t stay in there for long. 

When they went out to eat that night, Y/N did just as she said she would and did most of the grilling. By no means is she enjoying herself, and after a couple of times of her friends demanding which pieces to grill, she does threaten them to stuff it and take what she gives them before she grills them on the tabletop. Whenever Harry tried to take over grilling, she snapped the tongs in his direction and told him to eat. He only tried twice before getting the hint that she wasn’t going to let him. 

That night, she showered first, as quickly as she could, before popping out of the bathroom, out of breath and slightly panting. “The water is still hot,” she told him. Harry seemed startled, like he hadn’t expected her to come out so quickly. So he gathered his things, went into the bathroom, and then showered. It wasn’t as long as she thought it should have been, but it was still longer than the one the night prior. When Y/N was about to fall asleep, Harry offered her a bottle of water, and Y/N shot up to go grab it before he could. She got one for both of them, set it at his bedside, then crawled back into bed. 

The next day, they did some local shopping, trying street foods and spending money happily. Y/N doesn’t see much of Harry on this day, but she can feel him staring multiple times throughout the shopping trip. Though any time she turned to follow the feeling, his gaze had been pulled elsewhere. Honestly, she doesn’t even know if it was Harry who was staring at her, but that’s the only person she could think of who would be. Part of her almost inquired about it in a jewelry store, but Maeve distracted her with a beautiful jeweled hairpin. 

They went back to the beach at sunset after eating, watching the pink and orangey hues that mottle the sky, and walking off their meals. That night, Y/N rushed to take her shower first again, keeping it brisk and forcing Harry in there sooner than he anticipated. Then she lied to him, told him she was doing some yoga and liked to do it without interruption, so she would stay in the shower a little longer than he normally would. 

But it’s not until the third day that something truly shifts in the air between them. The morning was normal enough – everyone made their own breakfast because Harry and Christopher woke up early to work out, taking a run on the beach during sunrise. But he still slices fruit for everyone (he’s the only one who knows how to cut a pineapple appropriately). They have a little bit of a free day, because they planned to go on Perry Road that night, whose streets are willow-lined and beautiful. There were cozy bars and izakayas that they were all eager to discover. 

Y/N, Niall, and Maeve lingered around the house, and Adam and Mei went on a trail to see if it was worth it, dragging the others out to it on a different day. Harry and Christopher. . .well, actually, Y/N didn’t know what they were doing. They went on their morning run together, and she thinks they went back to the shops today for whatever reason. Maybe there was something they wanted that they didn’t get yesterday or something. She didn’t know. All she knew was that she, Niall, and Maeve were watching a Japanese drama and wavering in and out of sleep for a lazy little day. 

Later that night, Y/N experiences Perry Road in all of its willow-covered, canal glory. She loved the sound of their feet meeting the cobblestone and the water sloshing from rocks thrown. It’s gorgeous, and they go to a tavern and eat and drink to their heart’s content. Y/N is seated beside Maeve, across from Harry, but it isn’t like she’s only left to speak to them. Everyone is chatting about everything – plans for tomorrow, Adam’s situationship, the crab that chased after Mei and how she almost got Y/N pinched when she jumped on her back to get further from it. 

“You’re much stronger than I realized,” Harry had noted as they reminisced on the event from yesterday, like it was from years ago, “You barely even stumbled when she jumped on you.” 

“Yeah, isn’t it unsettling?” Adam inquired, “I thought I could beat her in a wrestling match, and she straddled and apprehended me in like fifteen seconds flat; it was outrageous.” He motioned toward her, “She hides her strength in her cute demeanor.” 

Harry’s cheeks are pink, and Y/N doesn’t know why he’d be getting flushed thinking about it. It’s probably from the alcohol to some degree, Y/N thinks, but it was just so sudden. And like, it’s making her face feel hot too. Was he thinking about her apprehending Adam? Or maybe he’s imagining himself in Adam’s place? 

Y/N doesn’t know. She wipes her brain clean of it. When Harry was pouring sake into everyone’s shot glasses, he would have had to reach over the table to fill up hers, so she took the bottle from him to fill up her own. And when he was offering everyone a taste of his karaage, Y/N told him that it was alright (before quietly ordering her own side of it – Harry noticed, definitely, but she avoided eye contact. And she wasn’t trying to be a dick either; it’s just there was barely any left after everyone else tried, and Harry clearly liked it – she wanted him to finish it off). But it was when Y/N had stretched across the table for the salt that Harry definitely could have handed her, but he was mid-bite of his burger – that Harry got upset. 

She didn’t think about how it looked until he mumbled, “I could’ve handed you the salt.” 

In their time here, Y/N has jumped through hoops so that Harry hasn’t had to do anything for her, and not once has he questioned her about it or commented on it. Y/N didn’t know if she’d finally just pushed him too far or if the sake was getting to him. Maybe both? Y/N isn’t sure. All she knows is that she isn’t expecting him to bring it up at the end of the night. After they finish walking up and down the streets, taking pictures, visiting the beautiful shrine (or as much as they could see with the sun having gone down), they make their way back to the Airbnb. 

Y/N is about to grab her things and rush to shower before they all watch a horror movie in the living room when Harry appears in their shared room. 

“Can I talk to you for a second?” 

She pauses, arms full of her clothes and her towel, and looking at him with eyebrows raised and gaze widened. “Oh? Yeah, sure!” She nods, but her heart is sort of hammering. The face he’s making is not typical of his gentle features; it’s hardened, and he looks upset. . .almost irritated, actually. Harry had never looked at her like that before, and she finds that she really doesn’t like it. She’d actually prefer if he never looked at her like that again. “What’s wrong?” 

There’s alcohol swimming in his gaze – he might have had more sake than she originally thought – and she could tell that his cheeks were flushed from his drinks now, since they had been for most of the night at this point. He doesn’t wobble where he stands, but his eyes are just glassy enough for her to see the pink bottle they’d been pouring from for most of the night. His lips were wet too; glossy and pouted from the spirits and the number of times he’s run his tongue over his mouth. 

“You never let me do things for you,” he said with no preamble, hands clenched in each other, his thumb running over his knuckles – a nervous habit, despite him not looking or sounding it, “Every time I try to do something for you, you do it yourself. Anytime I offer, you brush me off. You make things more inconvenient for you just so that you can tell me not to. Why? Why do you do that?” His brows furrowed, “At first I just thought you were super independent, but. . .but I noticed things, y’know? You let the others pamper you – you practically begged Niall to grab the remote for you, but when I tried, you immediately scrambled up. You’ll eat off Mei’s plate, but rather order a whole side of something than try mine. You – you like, completely shut me out! Not just here, at home too,” he seemed flustered, frowning, “When we get drinks, you always order your own even if it’s my round to pay. Whenever I offer to pick you up from the store, you go out and get it yourself or go without. Hell, even little things – you know this is the 10th time you’ve reached across a table to grab something instead of just asking me to hand it to you?” Was he counting? “What did I do? Do you – is it something about me? Do you not like me? Do you think I’m gross, or – or –” 

“Harry, no, that’s not it at all!” Y/N feels a bead of panic dribble through her. This was actually the opposite of what she was trying to do! She wanted him to feel unburdened by her, not like she was intentionally avoiding him or thought he was gross. She feels miserable that this is what he’s been thinking the whole time. “You – you do so much for everyone else, Harry; I feel like you rarely worry about yourself. I just didn’t want to. . .I didn’t want to be a burden or anything, was all. You’re – I never want to be one,” and maybe she was a little drunker than she thought, too. Her brain is swimming, creating a direct channel from her reasoning to her mouth with little regard for how much she wanted to admit, “Harry, like, you’re always doing stuff for people. You’re listening to their problems, you’re contacting services for them, you’re helping them submit paperwork, and all of that. I just don’t want you to have to like. . .have your brain on when it comes to me. You should just be able to relax sometimes.” 

He seems no happier with that explanation than he seemed with her being disgusted by him. Still, he frowns, and it pulls his whole face down so sadly that Y/N feels like the worst person ever. 

“But I like that,” he stresses, “I want that. I like when people. . .when people need me, and when I can help. It makes me feel good. I never feel put out or put off or like. . .or like anything bad from it; I just feel good.” He sounds close to whining, honestly, and it makes something twist in her lower belly, “When you let me help with your sunscreen and. . .and when you tried my ice cream, I – I was so happy.” He sighs, pressing the hair away from his face, “Please, it’s okay to let me do things. Please let me. I want to make you feel good too.” 

Y/N is just. . .she’s dumbfounded, really. She wasn’t expecting such a reaction from him – not intense, nor this honest. Guilt sits like a heavy lump in her stomach, surrounded by all the sake, and she thinks that she has misread this situation entirely. Harry was definitely an acts-of-service kind of guy, as far as showing love goes, and she’d been curbing his every attempt. He probably thought she didn’t want to be friends at all. No wonder they had such a hard time getting closer. 

Because it wasn’t like she didn’t know that he liked to do things for people. She did know that – she could tell by the soft, pleased smiles he always had when someone came to him for something. Y/N guesses she just really hadn’t noticed how much it was upsetting him so badly that she wasn’t allowing him to do anything at all. 

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” her shoulders sink, lips pouting to match his, “I really – I just wanted you to have to worry about one less person, is all, but I. . .I definitely over did it, if you think that I don’t like you,” she shakes her head, rattles her brain, “I – seriously, I didn’t know it was upsetting you so much. It started with me just trying not to bother you with, like. . .my problems and stuff, but somehow it amassed into me not letting you do anything for me at all. That’s my fault.” 

He sighs softly, “I just want to be helpful to you too,” he explains, then opens his arms, and Y/N doesn’t hesitate to step forward into his embrace. She’d always heard that Harry gives really, really good hugs, but she’d never gotten to experience one for herself. He smells good, even though it was the end of the night and they’d been doing things all day. There’s the barest hint of the smoky smell from the tavern they’d been at, but beyond that, she could smell his fabric softener and cologne. Harry always chose light, airy scents that were gentle and soft. Being near him always sort of smelled like being near a fresh pile of laundry. His arms were big too, wrapped around her, and in them she felt sort of safe and warm. As she tucks herself against him, he rests his cheek against her head, and he rubs his palm up and down her back soothingly. It feels good – really, really good. She can’t believe she’d been self-denying of such comfort without even realizing it. “You’re really fun, Y/N, and you’re amazing. I want to be closer friends, but. . .but doing things for people and helping them out are how I get close. You’re not. . .doing anything wrong at all. I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t hate me.” 

“I don’t hate you at all.” Her words are a little muffled against his chest, and she’s almost hyperaware of how bulky it feels against her face, “It’d be impossible to hate you, really. I just. . .I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think this through as well as I thought I did.” She sighed, “But you have to let me do things for you too, okay? I’ll – like, not all the time- but I don’t want this to be a friendship where you give, give, give, and I take, take, take. You shouldn’t let people take advantage of you like that.” 

He’s still rubbing her back, slow and soft, “I know, I will, we can. It’ll be good. I’m excited.” 

That night, Y/N felt clean and dry after her shower, comfortable in her pajamas and snuggled up in a blanket on the couch while they watched Ringu. She’s not drunk, but she’s in that pleasant, hazy state where she’s still a little buzzed and she thinks the same goes for Harry. Mei lies between Y/N’s legs, her head resting on the inside of Y/N’s split thighs. Harry is to Y/N’s left, also in his pajamas, and one arm is thrown over the back of the couch while he leans into his corner. There’s a pillow between his hip and Y/N’s head, but she’s still tucked there, close enough that she can smell him, and close enough that Niall saw, wraggled his eyebrows, then promptly burrowed into Christopher’s side.

Typically, there is a rule that Y/N is not allowed to lie down during movies because she promptly falls asleep without fail. Adam, Mei, and Niall had started a “sleep-count” each week: how many times they’d put something on the telly and how many times Y/N would doze off during it. This extended into the rest of their friend group, and Y/N would get pillows thrown at her, or tickled, sometimes lowkey heckled until she pouted and woke up. Apparently, Mei was too drunk to really care tonight, and everyone else might have just been startled or confused by the sudden closeness of her and Harry. She can’t think of the last time she sat next to Harry when they watched a movie, let alone lay against him. 

Long story short, she definitely falls asleep. She stirs once when Harry gasps at something that happens on the screen, but her eyelids feel too heavy to keep open, even when she peeks them open to see something terrifying. Mei’s head is so heavy on her thigh that she knows for sure she was knocked out. The warmth from either side, plus the scent of Harry’s clothes, is what ultimately put her back to sleep. 

The next time she woke up, she was in bed. Y/N is unsure how she got there, but she had a sneaking suspicion it was the snoring lump in the other bed. Through her bleary eyes, she can see how he’s all rumpled, legs kicked out from the blankets, twisted around his body. Y/N doesn’t think she ever gets to see Harry asleep because he’s usually awake by the time she gets up. His mouth is hanging open, and his hair is a mess on his head. He looks cute – Y/N wishes she could press her face into his back and breathe in deeply. Or wiggle up under his bicep, see if he warps his body around to cuddle her. 

She fell back asleep, smiling a little. That’d be nice. 

                                                                 .                           .                           .

Y/N thought she and Harry were due for only one breakthrough this trip. 

It was good – not having this weird amount of negative tension between them. Harry didn’t start pouring his heart and soul into doing things for her, but he did pour milk for her cereal one morning, and he helped her with her sunscreen later that day. She even let him buy her an ice cream without being weird about it. In the same breath, Harry lets her do things for him too – there isn’t much, because he’s very self-sufficient and does everything before anyone could think to do it for him. But she tries her best! Sunscreens him right back, splits a sandwich with him when she caught him staring at it, and she even takes his side when he told them what music he listens to when he’s working out (she didn’t agree at all – Norah Jones is for cozy coffee mornings and gardening in Spring, not for lifting 200kg with your legs, and running with a 12% incline on a treadmill – but she defends him intensely). When they did go for barbecue, Y/N grilled him meat and piled his plate high with it. She even hoarded some of the cucumbers because she remembered they were his favorite from the first place they went to like this.

He still stares at her a borderline weird amount, but that’s never really bothered her. And she doesn’t mind how he swallows thickly when he watches her eat a popsicle, or lick whipped cream off her hand, or when Niall swats her bum in passing, and she gasps. Harry’s cute, and he’s sweet, and it’s fun to see a cute, sweet guy like him flustered about things like that. Especially with how pink he gets, how he fumbles over his words, and stumbles when he walks. She’d been trying to catch a peek of him adjusting or anything, but of course, he’s much too mindful to do something like that too obviously. 

It’s the night before their Tokyo day that Y/N finds they will have two breakthroughs on this trip. 

The day starts relatively normally; they wake up, they eat, they get ready, but nobody does makeup or anything because they planned to spend the morning at the beach, then the afternoon in the hot springs, and there was a bar nearby where they would get drinks. It was pretty close to where they were staying – a lot of things were within walking distance for them, which was really nice. They are at the beach early enough that the critters are out – birds are flying low, fish are closer to the shore than they are when it’s a little busier, Y/N and Mei hunt for shells while Adam and Harry swim. The others took their time getting down there, but when they show up, it’s a little less calm, and Y/N does get accidentally tackled into the water by a very rowdy Maeve. When Y/N popped back up with a gasp, Maeve apologized profusely. Harry appeared from where he’d been closer to the buoys, right at her side, all wet, with his hair slicked down the side of his head. 

“Are you alright?” His brows were furrowed, and his head was tilted. He’s close enough that she can feel the warmth of his body beneath the water. 

Y/N nodded, waving them off, “I’m okay, I’m okay.” She wiped the water from her eyes. “At least the water isn’t freezing.” 

“You’re playing favorites!” Niall accused her, “I accidentally splashed you yesterday, and you almost drowned me.” 

“That’s because Maeve is a precious angel and you are a little creature from the lagoon.” 

“What? Lagoon!” 

After the beach, they rinse the ocean water off and then head to the onsens. It was nice because the wind had picked up, so it was a little chillier than it had been before, the sun hiding behind the clouds. Sinking into the warm water was like a nice, hot bath. The heat soaked into her muscles, warmed her inside out, but the issue was that it was actually almost boiling. They rented a private one, so they spent most of the time cycling in and out of the heat. Y/N could tolerate about 15 minutes before she had to get out; then she’d cool down, then she’d stick her feet in. They had a cooling room, so after they were all done sweating half their body weight in water, they took some time to settle the temperature in their bodies. 

They had showers on site, so they could rinse off once again (“We are going to be giant prunes by the end of the day,” Christopher whined), and they brought clothes to change into. Niall and Adam lost rock, paper, scissors, so they had to take everyone's wet clothes and towels home and meet them at the beachside bar. It was one they hadn’t been to yet, with a wider drink selection and a little bit more traffic than the others. There was a younger crowd, so it was far more rambunctious, and the music was louder. 

Y/N felt Harry’s eyes on her all of the time, but she especially felt them on her tonight. And especially when someone at the bar took an interest in her. 

The thing is, Y/N rarely gets hit on in public. Y/N used to question it and be bummed out, but then she realized the one thing that pissed her off more than anything was a drunk prick, breathing his vodka breath on her face, trying to get her to blow him in the bathroom. And then, when her frontal lobe developed, she realized that dating a stranger that she met in the bar, drunk, was probably not the best thing in the world for her. So she tried to find the bright side in it, rather than mope about how people weren’t showing interest in her and feeling ugly; she reveled in the fact that she didn’t have to worry about anyone annoying her. 

All that being said, rarely doesn’t mean never. Tonight, two people had approached her — one who almost immediately suggested that they go somewhere to fuck, so she squashed it immediately. The other one was a little sweeter, gentler; he sort of reminded her of Harry now that she thinks about it. His name is Yuuki, but he tells her to call him Yuu. He ambled up to her when she was getting a drink with Mei and was normal enough that she hadn’t shipped him off immediately. How the bar was set up was that most of it was outside, and the “inside” was more like verandas with lights strung up around them. They had a table that they were all kind of staking their claim on, and Yuu followed Y/N and Mei back to it.

Truthfully, Y/N thought he was interested in Mei when he first walked up, but Mei is the sort of pretty that a lot of guys are scared of, so they chat up her friend in hopes they’ll be a wingman. That was the sort of situation Y/N thought she was about to experience. But when they got back to the table and they were all speaking, Yuu made it clear pretty quickly that his intentions were with her. Y/N didn’t realize it until he complimented how she looked tonight, and when she brushed it off, he doubled down.

“I mean it,” he assured her, “Like, you guys have been outside sweating all day, and you still look this beautiful? Isn’t that kind of unfair?” 

Y/N’s eyes went wide. “Oh, wow,” she chuckled a little, “You’re forward, huh?” 

“I try to be, if it’s someone I want.” 

There’s a tingle on the nape of her neck, burning, hot. She tried to subtly turn to look, and she locked gazes with Harry, who. . .who is always looking at her. And he looks. . .well, she’s trying to decide how he looks. Upset? No, not really. Not angry either? But he does look put off. Not to the extent that he did when he confronted her, but still, he clearly wasn’t smiling as widely as he had been throughout most of the day.

Y/N could do a couple of things. She could politely decline Yuu because she really wasn’t planning on pursuing this beyond some friendly flirting. Or. . .she could see how Harry would react if she did actually pursue something. Now that Y/N thinks about it, she doesn’t think she’s ever pursued someone in front of Harry before, so she really doesn’t know how he would react. She isn’t sure why she cares how he would react, but it’s something that has suddenly piqued her interest. Does he like her? Niall at least thinks that he thinks she’s pretty and that’s why he’s always looking at her. But she thinks she’s. . .at least a little tipsy. Not really, but that’s what she’ll blame it on if someone asks her. 

She just wants to know! It’s like. . .he and Adam do this all the time, right? The scientific method? She’s just testing something right now, creating a hypothesis and testing it immediately. It would be interesting to see his reaction, right? He’ll probably not care anyway, and Y/N would have strung this guy along for a whole lot of nothing. But it’s fun to flirt sometimes. And it’s fun to see how someone like Harry might react if he’s jealous. Heavy on the if, considering Harry might not even like her at all, so she was just wasting everyone’s time. 

But that version of Harry she saw the other night, who asked to speak with her directly, who told her exactly what was on his mind, and confidently let her know what he wanted? That was nice to see! She just wondered what other ways she could make him speak his mind. 

Still, Yuu is cute and not annoying, and he’s sweet with all the things he’s saying and calling her. It turns out that he isn’t a local, but his family summers here a lot, so he knows a lot of interesting facts and random shit about the development of the island. He also tells her that they need to check out the Shimoda Ropeway, a cable car that takes you on a ride up the Nesugata Mountain, and doesn’t insert himself into the plans like he’s trying to make a date out of it. 

Y/N giggles more than she might normally, and she stands close to him. She touches him a little more liberally than she would typically, squeezing his arm when he mentions working out, pulling a fuzz off his top, leaning in close to see the pendant on his necklace. The burn of eyes on her stays the entire time, and whenever she looks up, Harry’s frowning a little, turned away like he doesn’t want to see it but can’t help but stare. Yuu goes to get them another drink, and Niall saddles up next to her, clicking his tongue and murmuring low in her ear. 

“He looks like he either wants to cry or devour you,” he tells her, “Maybe both?” 

Y/N’s heart starts to race. Is he really looking that way, or is Niall just being delusional? She doesn’t get an answer because Niall disappears just as soon as he’d come to her side, swayed by the call of Adam, clearly getting into an argument on the phone with a drink in his hand. Y/N briefly makes eye contact with Harry before Yuu returns soon after. She couldn’t read him, not at all. 

It wasn’t until Yuu leaned in and whispered something in her ear that she heard something fall. Just a soft thud and a little gasp, and Y/N’s eyes followed the commotion, where Harry had dropped his drink in the sand. A little had splashed on his trousers, but nothing seemed broken or dangerous. She wants to get up – to tease him a little, and see if he’d smile about it – but she isn’t rude, and Yuu is mid-conversation with her still, even if it was guided in a more flirty direction. 

And she’s able to give Yuu her attention for four more minutes before her gaze tries to find Harry again, only this time, he isn’t sitting where he had been most of the night. They were all scattered around, using the table as a sort of base point, but Harry had been sort of resting against the corner edge of the bar with his drink since Yuu came up to speak to her. He was still close enough that he could be a part of the conversation with Maeve and Christopher, but far enough that he was able to fade into the background if he wanted. Harry was good at finding spots like that when he needed them. 

But he wasn’t there. Like a prairie dog, her head perks up, and she looks from left to right, searching for him, but she can’t seem to find him. Something is unsettled in her chest, a small pout forming on her mouth. 

“Sorry,” she cut Yuu off, patting his thigh as she stood up, “My friend disappeared on me; I’m g’na go find them.” 

“Take your time,” he waved to her politely, “While you do that, I’m going to catch up with my friends and make sure none of them are face down in the sand right now.” 

Y/N hunts down Adam, who is frowning at his phone and texting what seems to be a multiple-paragraph-long text with random caps lock moments and exclamation points: “Hey, did you see where Harry ran off?” 

Adam looks up at her, his frown soothing when he realizes it’s Y/N speaking to him, “Hm? He said he needed some air or something and went out toward the beach.” Adam made a vague motion with his hand. “Which is silly because we are already outside, but who knows. Would you go check on him? He sounded kind of sad.” 

For a second time, guilt warps something ugly and inky in her chest. He sounded sad?  That was not what she wanted at all! She – Y/N doesn’t know what she wanted exactly. She kind of wanted him to be – not angry, but irritated, maybe? The same sort of irritation he’d felt when she wasn’t letting him help her out, when he was blunt and to the point with his feelings, if he was feeling anything at all about the situation. Y/N thought maybe she’d get to see another side of Harry that she might not have been privy to. One that’s a little jealous. One that might like. . .do something, if he wanted to, with her. 

But instead, she thinks she made him sad. Y/N all but stumbles further onto the beach, away from the bar. Thankfully, he must have just left because she finds him relatively close by, heading off horizontally to the ocean, in the direction of the Airbnb. His head is tilted down, hands in his pockets. 

“Hey!” Y/N called out to him, starting forward, “Harry!” 

He pauses, so she knows he heard her, but he doesn’t stop. Actually, he sped up a little even, and removed his hands from his pockets, reaching them toward his face as if he might be wiping away tears, and Y/N reached down to take her shoes off so she could move quicker. The little hills and valleys of sand are making her stumble pretty badly, and she almost falls flat on her face a couple of times from how soft it is, her feet sinking in, the little grains sticking between her toes. Her dress billows from the way the wind is whipping, and she almost gets tripped up a couple of times on that, too. 

But she makes it to him with no injuries and reaches forward, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him back, “Hey, I called for you –” she starts to scold him until she sees his face. 

His eyes are watery, rimmed red, with flushed cheeks and little stained tracks from what could only be tears. Y/N’s eyes go impossibly wide, mouth falling open, “Harry –” 

He tilts his face away. “Don’t look at me for a second,” he fusses, hiding behind his hands, “I’m – I’m – don’t –” he’s flustered, she can tell, and beyond the ache she feels for making him sad, there’s a twitch somewhere else too. Somewhere deep and warm and confusing. Y/N is unaware of this bodily reaction to someone crying because she’s never experienced it before. She tries to stuff it down, though, for a second, in favor of focusing on the moment. 

Because Harry looks so sad, with a pouted mouth, and a puffy face. Y/N doesn’t know if he’s drunk or not, but when she reaches up to gently touch his face, the skin is warm. “What’s this, hm? Why are you crying?” He goes easily with how she tilts him all around, this way and that, his chin up, down, side, side, like she’s searching for a notable sign of distress, like a scrape or a scratch. She had a feeling that she might know, but that would be kind of crazy, right? If it was what she was thinking, then she was a huge dickhead. He was even more softhearted than she thought he was. 

“N-nothing,” he tells her, “There’s sand in my eye.” 

He looks unfairly pretty like this, Y/N notes while she’s looking at him. Tear drops cling to his eyelashes, and the color of them is intense, even through the lens of his glasses. His lips are slick and wet, and he sniffles every so often, looking at her with the most pitiful gaze she’s ever seen. Y/N feels horrible and weirdly horny, and she wants to wrap him in bubble wrap and swallow him whole. 

“Sand, hm?” She repeats, and he nods, “Nothing else?” 

Harry’s quiet, and Y/N sighs a little, her hand falling from his face. What was she doing? This was stupid. . .she should just tell him straight out that she wanted to see how he reacted if she was flirting with someone else, for some reason. It just felt like. . .like she just wanted to know, okay? You can only see someone as hot and pretty as Harry shirtless in tiny swim trunks for so long before you have to start wondering things. And you can only stand for them to stare at you for so long without wondering if maybe they were interested. And maybe for the last two days you’ve thought about how he carried you to bed, and how strong he was, and how big his biceps are, and how he could probably squeeze you tight. How his stamina must be insane if he’s going on runs with Adam and only Adam is returning winded, while it seems like they only had to stop exercising for his sake. 

Her fingers carefully loop around his wrist. “Well, I think I was the one to kick the sand in your eye by accident,” she tells him. “Come back with me; I wanna go back.” 

“Are you sure? We – I’m seriously fine; I just needed a second to shake some thoughts out of my head,” he told her, “If you wanted to… to stay, I know you were – um. . .speaking with someone.” And though he tries not to, it’s spoken with just enough vitriol that if Y/N hadn’t been suspicious before, she definitely would have been now. 

Y/N starts walking in the direction of the house again, fingers tightening around his arm. 

“He’ll be okay,” she answers, “Text the others and let them know we’re headed out first.” 

                                                                   .                          .                           .

They really don’t speak much on the way back to the house. Harry eventually falls into step with her instead of her dragging him behind her, but Y/N doesn’t let go of his arm at all. She can feel the thundering of his pulse beneath her fingertips, and it sort of makes her salivate like she’s a vampire or a mosquito. What the hell is going on with her? The reaction she’s having to this sniffly, crying Harry is almost visceral. Has a guy ever cried because of her before? She doesn’t know – she’s certain she would remember if this were the reaction that came from it. 

They get to the house pretty quickly. They kick off their shoes at the front door, and Y/N dips her feet into the bucket of water (that Harry has been routinely changing out) so that there’s no sand tracking through the house. She led them to their room, even though there was nobody home. It just felt wrong to be out in the open when they both have a room they share, and the others would be home every minute. If she were questioning him, and he started crying again, and in front of everyone? Y/N would feel like a monster. She doesn’t want them to see him crying because she can tell he’s a little embarrassed about it, even though it’s cute. 

“Harry –” she begins, because she’s about to apologize and try to explain herself without sounding like a maniac, but Harry starts talking before she can. 

“I think you look beautiful tonight,” he rushes to say, “And I thought it first, but I didn’t get the chance to say it. Then that man said it before me, and it just. . .upset me. I could tell he was whispering it in your ear, but I. . .I thought about it first. I know that’s stupid and childish, but –” he shook his head, “But that’s just how I’m feeling right now. I should’ve been the first to say it.”

Alarms are blaring in her head right now, but not bad ones. Good ones. Bright ones. Chirpy, twinkling, sparkling alarms that explode with sweets and whipped cream, cakes and pies. Confetti bursts from the speakers as they sound. 

Y/N doesn’t think when she leans in; she just does what her body urges her to do, and it’s urging her to kiss him. Her heart is thudding rapidly when she grabs him by the face and presses a kiss to his mouth, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth and nipping. Harry makes a startled squeak in his throat at first, but accepts her readily, meeting her tongue outside of her mouth to flicker together. He tastes like fruity alcohol plus a hint of saltiness from his tears, and Y/N feels like her head is swimming. This is too much and not enough all at once. But this feeling that she’s been feeling, niggling at the back of her head – she had to satiate it right then and there. It was demanding that she do, actually. 

Harry moves fluidly with her. He kisses like someone who definitely knows how to kiss, tilting his head, working himself into it, his hands finding her sides and squeezing. His tongue is feathery when it flickers into her mouth, touching hers softly before curling and rubbing against it. She pulses then flutters around nothing, walls coaxing something imaginary deeper inside of her. It feels good – so good that her eyes practically roll to the back of her head. The heat of his body against hers and the need to press closer and kiss deeper are what drive her. Plus the sweet noises that are leaving his throat, low and whiny, as his glasses get all screwed up, crooked and fogged between them. 

Y/N takes a step forward, and her thigh comes in contact with his erection. Her heart was already racing, but it gallops when she feels that. Harry’s big. She’d already kind of clocked this because of his swim trunks and the couple of times she’s seen him in his briefs, but seeing is way different than feeling. Feeling him, she registers that he has a monster in there and it’s something that needs to be dealt with accordingly. 

Her hands slid from his face, down his body, toward the belt around his hips, but before she could properly undo it, Harry reached down to stop her. 

The sound that she moans against him is questioning, brows pinching together when she pulls away to see him. Was she reading this wrong? Maybe she shouldn’t have kissed him? But he’d been responding so eagerly to it; she wouldn’t have guessed that this was something that he didn’t want or was unsure about. His grip around her wrists is strong, and when she realizes that he’s only using one hand, she thinks she might just pass out. 

“Sorry,” her words sound a little wet before she swallows, “Do you – did I – I’m sorry,” she doesn’t feel very drunk from her drinks, but she feels drunk with lust, and the flushed, slicked, and swollen look of Harry’s lips after being kissed. Hell, she could have been doing this every fucking night, couldn’t she have? If he wanted it, she could have given him a temporary lip stain just from pressing their mouths together. “I took it too far? You’re hard, so I thought –” 

“I want to do you,” he murmurs, cutting her off and sinking to the floor in front of her. Y/N gasps when his nose drags from her belly button, down to her crotch, pushing his nose against her and breathing in softly. Her stomach does a hot little flip-flop from arousal, his hands slowly dragging from her ribs, down to her hips, and they feel so fucking massive against her, she feels herself getting wetter. “I don’t – I don’t care if I cum tonight, I want to make you cum before the others get here.” 

And she definitely, definitely, definitely wasn’t expecting this. Y/N isn’t sure what she thought might happen if she flirted in front of him, but the last thing she imagined was that he’d end up on his knees in front of her. He makes a filthy sight – and an image that she thinks would do numbers on socials and probably inspire many blurbs and headcanons about needy boys who sink to their knees with teary eyes wanting to make you feel good. She can’t believe what she’s seeing or feeling when he starts to bunch the fabric of her dress up, shoving it over her hips and making her hold it so that he can focus on what’s underneath it. 

Her panties, she could bet, were already damp, but Harry presses his face against her and sucks in a long, deep breath. Y/N twitches, jumping and giggling from the ticklish feeling, a soft moan tickling from her throat when she feels his lips graze against her folds. Harry guides one of her legs over his shoulder, letting it dangle and encouraging her to rest her weight on him as he tugs the crotch of the panties to the side and drags his tongue up from hole to her swollen, throbbing clit. They whine in unison – Y/N at the feeling of his wet, slick tongue between her, and Harry at her taste (or at least that’s what she’s guessing). He sucks the engorged button into his mouth for two little pulls before popping off, dragging his tongue against her again. She’s happy that her panties are flimsy, stretchy little things today so they don’t get too in the way of his tongue. 

Harry eats like he’s starving for it. Like he’d been starved all day and Y/N finally let him have a taste. He laps at her like a needy mutt, desperate, hungry, flicking his tongue between her folds and slurping up what she has to give him. The gravity in how he’s eating her makes her drip directly into his mouth, and every time she squeezes or pulses, it drags him back to her hole like he’s going to suck it right out of her. Y/N’s tummy is so clenched, hips bucking into his mouth, fingers curling up tight in her dress. Her left hand is tangled in the fabric of her dress and also in his hands, where he has a firm grip on her, keeping her as still as he can so she doesn’t topple over. Y/N is wondering how many people he’s eaten out against a wall to have this down to a science, but those thoughts are silenced when he suckles her clit into his mouth again. 

His eyes alternate between being blissed out and closed, and staring up at her. Gaze is still all swollen from crying earlier because of her; she’s pretty sure. Did he have a crush on her? Is that why he’s always staring and looking at her? Is that why he was so sad she wasn’t letting him do things for her? Was she reading too far into this? 

His fingers dig into her flesh, pulling her closer, moaning against her pussy like he was the one being eaten out. Y/N would do that – she’d split him open and tongue his cute little hole too, if he’d let her. Y/N thinks she’d do anything for him right now if it meant that she could feel his tongue like this more often. There’s a burning coil tightening in her belly, ready to burst while he happily dines between her legs. Her folds feel slick, and her pussy feels a little sloppy, with how much she’s leaking onto his tongue, but he has never seemed so at ease. Even when they were soaking in the onsen today, he seemed ten times more relaxed with a face full of her cunt. His glasses push up against her when he moves closer, and for some reason that really does her in. 

Y/N’s head thuds back against the wall, her throat extending with a moan when she starts to cum, thighs shaking hard. It’s intense, more than she’s expecting. She thinks it’s the fastest and hardest that she’s cum with someone else in her life, and it’s unknotting muscles that have been wound up for years and years. Y/N’s pussy contracts like it’s begging for something to be inside of it and Harry listens, letting her grind herself against his face while he wriggles his tongue inside of her. He makes these soft, pleading hums of “Mhm, mhm,” like he’s begging for more, telling her how okay he is with this, how pleased he is. Helping her helps him; he told her that, and she’s certain that extends to cumming. 

Eventually, it’s too much. He drags her orgasm out for as long as he can before she’s twitching and sensitive, shoving against his forehead until he detaches from her with a wet pop. Her leg slid off of his shoulder, down to the floor uselessly. Honestly, she thinks his hands on her are the only reason she hasn’t toppled right over yet. 

Harry looks lewd. His face was wet and blotched pink all over; his lips were swollen and fat from the kissing and from what he’d just done to her, glistening as he lulled his tongue around them to lap up every bite of her juices he could. His glasses are all fucked, still crooked since they kissed, so she reaches down and straightens them out. Even though he’s holding his body is lewd, on his knees, legs outstretched, his cock obvious and thick in his trousers and a clear wet spot that spreads with each little throb she can see. 

Y/N feels crazed, almost, when she sees that. Her eyes wild as she blinks, “You’re – you –” she stutters, and Harry has the nerve to look sheepish. 

“Yeah,” he answers delicately, “You tasted really, really good, I – I’ve been wanting to do that since you said nobody has ever made your thighs shake while they ate you.” 

Still catching her breath, she asks, “When did I say that?” 

“Two years ago, after the movies once.” 

Y/N has no recollection of this, and that makes it even more steamy, for some reason. Has he just been thinking about that? For two years? 

She moves her foot to the wet bulge in his bottom and presses the sole of her foot along the curve of it. The sound Harry makes is delicious and a little pathetic when he grabs her ankle tightly and rolls up into the touch before jerking away, “Ah, too much,” he whined, thudding his head against her thigh, “We need – we need to – come and lie down, I’ll clean you up.”

Y/N crawled into the bed, wondering what that could entail before Harry appeared at the bedside with a warm, wet cloth in his hand. He’s still in his messy bottoms, but he doesn’t seem to care, as he delicately strips her of her panties. He’s gentle while he wipes away the spit and her cum, before placing a soft, sweet kiss on her thigh before heading to her suitcase. She watches as he picks out the pajamas from her sleepwear packing cube and brings them over to her, along with a new pair of panties. 

“Thank you for letting me,” Harry tells her as he lies them carefully beside her, then leans down and places another wet, sucking kiss to her thigh, “Your skin tastes so sweet.” 

She is still breathless, mouth opening and closing like a fish, “That – Harry, your tongue is insane – thank you,” she says, instead of asking the million other questions she wants to ask. Neither of them has the capacity for that right now. They just had two very big revelations in the last 72 hours, and Harry has cum cooling and drying probably very uncomfortably in his pants right now. The others would be back sooner rather than later, and at least Mei and Niall will probably tumble into the room, if not to catch them “in the act,” then to see if they are okay. Harry had messaged them that they were feeling dehydrated from sweating all day, and they were going back to get some rest. “I’ve never – I’ve never cum like that before.” 

He grins sweetly. Like a switch has been flipped, he’s got that sweet, gentle look in his eyes again. 

“That makes me happy. I’ll be right back, okay? I need to clean up.” 

Y/N watches him disappear behind the door with a pair of briefs and his own pajamas in his hands. She hears the sink faucet turn on and the gasp of someone who just put a wet washcloth on their softened, sensitive cock. Her mind is reeling. 

The last couple of days had been filled with nothing but shame. Embarrassment, really.

You'd sort of reached the point now where you were just blaming it on the drinks. You told yourself you would never make such a crass choice like that if you were thinking clearly. It was just a terrible decision clouded from slamming back one (or six) too many vodka crans.

But you could only lie to yourself for so long.

The second you saw the text, the facade fell without asking you first. You were thrown back into the reality that you’d been desperately trying to avoid and even more desperately trying to fill with excuses and carefully cultivated reasonings.

It wasn't just the drinks. And worst of all, you really weren't that regretful.

Like… at all.

It was fucked up. You knew it was. He would think it was too. But there was a certain corner of your brain that wouldn't let you feel a true regret. You dug for it daily, the feeling of wishing you could erase it completely and pretend it never happened.

But it never came.

Not true regret, anyway.

You had regret in the way of shame. In the way of waking up every morning and feeling ill at your actions and the way they framed you as a person. At the betrayal towards someone important in your life.

That was as far as the regret flew. Because honestly, the only true regret you were feeling was deciding to stop at the kiss.

So it made sense why you'd been staring at his text blankly for the last hour.

It was honestly an impossible situation. Completely.

You: hey, yeah i’m f

No. Is the Hey weird?

You: yeah i’m fre

Rude. It almost seems bothered.

You: depends what ur aski

No. Genuinely, why would it be a good idea to come off as flirty?

You: i’m free after 2

Good. Sent.

You: whats up?

Better.

Satisfied enough with your two messages, you shut off your phone and pretended to not be staring at it constantly in the corner of your eye.

You got dressed for the day. You made your bed. Cleaned up a bit. You cut up an apple, then another once the distraction of the first was gone. It was all typical and it was all a bunch of desperate nags at displacing your mind.

By one o'clock, your phone was lit again with the screaming notification you’ve been convincing yourself you weren't waiting for.

Harry: I have some things to talk about with you. I’ll be at your place at 2:15.

You had never felt so uneasy in your entire fucking life.

It wasn't really a question. At all. It was almost just like he was informing you on plans that you had no idea would be a part of your day, but definitely will be.

But you just liked the message, sent him the address to your apartment, and let your head sit in the palms of your hands for as long as it felt necessary.

The next hour was spent through deep cleaning and a desperate attempt to appear as mature as possible. Like maybe if your place looked like it belonged to someone who had their shit together, he’d forget that the girl he was grinding up against was actually a fresh grad who had more job rejection letters than a normal person should.

Your stomach melded into a pit of shame and anxiety and that deep grungy feeling you get every time you know you’re probably about to get scolded. You really weren't expecting anything other than a Hey, I get that you’re so horny that you think it’s okay to tell your dad’s friend you want to touch him, but I think it’s best I never see you again.

But then there were the reminders that slammed into those thoughts just as quick as they came. He kissed you. He went in for the second kiss. He offered to take you home. He was rock solid the second he saw you standing in front of him.

So you’d tell yourself he was the sick one to make yourself feel better. For the time being.

By 2:08 you were slipping your top over your ribs. It was a soft pink cami, sweet and clean and thin enough to keep you cool in the heat of the summer. Your shorts were white and smooth and covered enough to be considered mature. In your opinion, at least.

By 2:13 there were three knocks at your door that had your stomach flipping and your face fading white all at once.

You were fine. This was fine. Normal, even.

More than anything, it was necessary.

So with every little patter of your bare toes against the hardwood, your mind thudded in that reminder. This had to happen. It needs to. And if you end up humiliated and never want to show your face again, the worst thing that'll happen is your life returning to as it was before you cleaned his house.

Which honestly seems more peaceful than anything right now.

“Hi.”

The sight on the other side of the door was…filthy.

There he was, Harry, stood across from you with cut off sleeves and black dri-fit shorts that clung to his quads in a big sweaty mess. His body was glistened in a thin coat of sticky sweat, dripping down his thick muscles and collecting at the damp towel that swung around his neck carelessly.

And suddenly, your stomach didn’t feel so sick anymore.

“Hi,” you repeated, smacked dumb at the sight of him as he peered down onto you. Eyes on yours, flicking side to side.

He walked through the doorway and past your body as if he’d been here countless times, bringing the towel to shake against his damp hair with every stride.

“Sorry for this,” he started, walking further down the entry way. “My gym’s right next to your place. You go there too? Must be nice to be so close.”

Dumbfounded, you slowly shut the door behind you and follow him through your place, peering around the space like something will explain to you if this is normal behavior or not.

“Uh,” you speed to catch up with him, “I do, yeah. It's nice. I usually walk there. Did you, like, walk here from there or something?”

Your eyes gesture towards the sweat on his body and the pant in his breath before he can think about why you’d ask.

“Yeah,” he nods, grinning, “I don't drive to the gym. Not in the summer, anyway. I run.”

You stare blankly like he’s just mentioned something completely out of his mind.

“You run? You’re like 5 miles away from here.”

He pulls a chair from your kitchen counter and spins it to face you, rubbing the towel over his face in a quick pass as his breath continues to catch up with his rest.

“Yeah.”

That's all he says.

So you leave it.

“Here,” you breeze past him and into the kitchen, opening your fridge to grab a water for him. “I can get you some ice if you want.”

He shakes his head, grabbing the bottle from your hand and just…chugging it. Head tilted back and elbow up to the air as every drop floods from the thin plastic into his throat.

It was gone in maybe 8 seconds.

“Do you want another one?” you ask, brow raised as you slowly reach to pick up the somehow empty first bottle.

He nods. “Please.”

So you go to grab him another, passing him the bottle across the counter as if you were his fucking bartender.

“Sooo,” you start, tapping three fingers against the countertop as you wait for him. “What’d you wanna talk about?”

But it was hard to focus on anything he said next when he was…whatever this was. Chest panting, clothes wet in a sweet musk of sweat. Muscles bulging from a pump, hair damp and eyes closing slowly in exhaustion.

Since you didn't know any better, you’d let yourself imagine that this was him after sex. Tired…sweaty…a panting mess. Throat bobbing up and down with every new gulp of water that slides through his pink wet lips.

“Mm,” he nods, like you reminded him of why he was here at all. “Lets sit.”

Then he stands, scrunching the towel through his hair one last time as he slums his way over towards your couch. Head low, legs wobbled.

“Nice place.”

You nearly laugh at the delayed compliment.

“Thank you,” you call, tossing the second water bottle in the recycling before following him to the couch.

“You got a towel I can sit on?” he spins around to ask. “Dont wanna get your cushions all gross.”

You almost frowned. Genuinely.

Was it so bad to want the sweat of an older man to sink into the couch you’d later sit on?

Yes. Yes it was.

“Oh sure, I’ll get you one,” you nodded, turning away from him and heading down towards the hall closet to grab what he needed.

You’d like to say you didn't feel the burning stare on you as you trotted away from him, but if the feeling wasn't enough, the dark stare and sudden tent in the black of his shorts told you anyway.

You folded the towel into a large enough square and let him place it wherever he wanted on the cushions, taking the spot next to him as you tuck a leg beneath yourself and let your elbow rest against the top of the couch. Your cheek fell softly into that palm, peering at him comfortably as you waited for his direction.

“I, uh, I wanted to talk about us. About the bar,” he started, his blinks quickening as the distance between you both shortened.

You were far enough. Granted, your knees would graze against enough every once in a while, but apart from that you felt quite proud at the distance between you both. If it were up to you you'd be crawling in his lap and licking your tongue flat up against his sweaty neck.

He sort of knew that too.

“Ok,” you nod, slow.

“Um,” he let his head fall into his hand for a second, rubbing his temple before bringing his attention back to you in a sort of forced seriousness. Like everything he was about to say next was completely against his will and a complete force of nature.

And then his eyes landed somewhere between the rim of your jaw and line of your waist, locked there in a fuzzy haze that rerouted whatever words were about to slip from deep inside of him.

“I was, um,” he tries again, eyes drifting across the tanned skin of your belly button and up to peaked nipples that pressed through the thin pink cotton. “I was gonna talk about the bar.”

You snicker, pressing your smile together in a firm line at his repetition of what he had just said a mere moment ago.

His eyes jolt back up to your face at the sound, dazed and confused and helplessly trying to land back on his goal.

“It wasn't right,” he begins again, slower this time. “We shouldn't have done it.”

But it wasn't really remorseful as much as it was…lifeless. Like the words held no weight to them at all. If anything, it was as if the only weight to them was the pulling drag of excitement that was laced throughout it.

You nod. “You’re right. We shouldn't have.”

He nods carefully, pupils dilated and eyes swarming across every inch of you in every place he shouldn't. His breath held a short pant to it still, even after rehydration and enough time of rest to reset himself. It was like his mind was fighting against whatever fucked up motive was slamming to escape from him, posioning all logic and replacing it with something else entirely.

“Right,” he takes a slow breath, refocusing his gaze away from your rounded tits and back up to your widened eyes.

He honestly couldn't decide which was worse.

“It was wrong,” he continues, “and I came here to tell you we can't do it again.”

His free hand slid down the slick of his left thigh, like he was grounding himself. Maybe praising himself for finally spitting it out.

But there was something about the way he said it. The breathlessness. The nervousness. The panting and the sweating and the way he just couldn't seem to drag his eyes away from your body. Over the curve of your hips, up through the sweet cleavage with a gold charm resting between it.

Or maybe it was the way his shorts had been tightening since the moment he sat down, pressing upwards in a mouthwatering tent which showed right through whatever facade he’d been practicing to keep up.

“Mhm,” you nod, eyes rounding out as they lift slightly upwards. “It was wrong.”

His jaw tightened into itself as his eyes squeezed shut, sucking in a sharp thread of air through his nose before looking at you again.

“It was. So it can’t happen again, okay?”

And fuck, you were wetter than you’d ever been in your life. Thighs clamped, cheek bitten in between your molars, lashes batting as he spoke to you so carefully.

You nod in easy obedience. “Okay.”

“And no one will know about the first time, right? Can you keep that a secret for me?”

If it wasn't for the deep breath you took and the quick close of your eyes, you wouldn't have noticed the slow slide of his leg towards yours, pressing up against your smooth calves in a gentle push.

“Yes,” you lull your head, “I can.”

And then he’s nodding too, so satisfied with your easy compliance that he nearly doesn't know what to do with himself. He was throbbing against the thin fabric of his shorts, sweaty and helpless and locked onto every inch of skin that he could look at.

“Good.”

The word alone had your thighs rubbing into one another and your heart thumping deep into your ribs, breaths quickening without you even noticing it.

But he noticed.

He watched in awe as your legs shimmied themselves together in a desperate heat. He let himself dream about how wet you’d be between them and the mess that’d be left in your sweet little panties.

He sighed as your breaths heightened, such a nervous little thing sat in front of him with nowhere to relieve herself. And if he wasn't in the same boat as you were, he would've honestly felt pity for you.

The other part of him enjoyed watching you squirm. Pretending that you weren't affected when he knew you really were. When he knew you were folding inside of yourself at the thought of him and his hands and his words. It was a sick little game. He was just happy to be in control of it. In control of you.

His thoughts were silenced as you lifted yourself from the couch, leaning forward towards the coffee table to press on your phone screen. Just to see the time. It was only a quick couple of seconds before you sat back down, but the sight of your ass pressing through those little shorts, so close to his face like that, already felt like enough to throw everything you’ve just discussed out the window.

Not to mention you were suspiciously closer to him by the time you were fully seated back onto the cushions. So close that you could hear the inhales of his breaths and overlap your knee up onto one of his thighs.

“I’ll get going then,” he said, quietly, like if he said it too loud, he might actually have to do it.

You let your eyes fall to his, lids low and lashes fluttered as you sink within them. He was staring back at you with that same sort of dominance he always does, deep and dark and hung in a lazy fashion. It was effortless.

“Okay,” you nod, gaze dropping onto his lips and simmering there for a few moments. “I can show you out.”

“Okay,” he whispers, stuck in a trance as he watches your eyes drift across the plump pink of his bottom lip and the sharp corner of his stubbled jaw.

Then there was this silence. Filled by nothing but the layered breaths between the both of you, fighting against each other like they were both too intense to ever sync as one. You were close. Closer than you should be. Closer than really anyone should be.

“Okay,” you repeat again, barely audible, as your eyes continue to dart around his face and back up to his eyes.

But he wasn't looking at you this time. He was studying your cheek bones, taking in the gentle glow before trailing down to your lips and the thin coat of a deep raspberry lip balm that covered them.

He was in a completely different world.

Zeroed in on every place he wanted, lips slightly parted as hot breaths flowed through them without much of a thought. His face was still shining in the subtle glow of a fresh work out, hair pairing with it as damp brunette strands clung to the space beside his ears and behind his neck.

And thin his finger tip came to move across your forehead, so softly that it was only felt by the peach fuzz that covered your skin. He traced his finger across your skull until he reached a soft section of hair, tucking it behind your ear gently as he continued to keep his gaze on your lips.

“Harry,” you whisper out between you two, “we can’t.”

He didn't move. He just continued to keep his stare on your lips, trailing his finger tip across your face as his eyes fell into one another in a soft failure. Like he didn't hear a word you said.

Your leg had been bouncing in anxiety for so long the cushion beneath you had started to tremble with it, but you didn't want this to stop. Your fingers stayed knotted together in your lap, twisting so tightly they ached, your thumbnail scraping absentmindedly over the same patch of skin again and again.

This was a terrible idea. You knew that. You'd known it the second he stepped through the door. Yet there you sat, waiting anyway, your head spinning so fast you couldn't tell if the feeling blooming in your chest was excitement or pure panic.

The silence only made it worse. It stretched long enough for your imagination to fill every empty corner, replaying every possible version of what could happen next until they all blurred together.

And then–

“I know.”

His lips came pressing into yours soft and firm all at once, splitting the soft cushions apart until the warmth of his tongue found it’s place within you.

It was different from the parking lot. Different from anything. Every thought you'd spent the last week clinging to unraveled.

This was what you'd been trying so desperately to avoid. Every warning, every ounce of common sense, every promise you'd made to yourself dissolved beneath the warmth of him. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a quiet voice still insisted you should pull away—that you should end this before it became something impossible to explain, impossible to undo.

But it was fading, drowned out by the way his hand settled against you, by how careful he was, by how achingly familiar it already felt.

Because how could something that felt this right be the very thing you knew was so wrong?

And as your hand slipped in between the damp curls behind his head, you hated that your first instinct wasn't regret. It was to stay. To memorize the feeling before reality caught up with you.

Because you knew it would. The guilt would come. The questions would come. Tomorrow would come.

But for one impossible, stolen moment, all your mind could think was, This can't happen again, so why can’t we just let it happen?

As if your minds had melded to one and shared the same thought, his hands were at your hips and flipping you onto your back in a quick couple of seconds.

It was rough, confident. A firm grip on the bones of your hips that you’d only ever felt after begging a man to step up in the bedroom. And here he was, doing just as you pleased in the middle of your couch without ever having to ask.

“Harry,” you gasp through his salty sweaty lips, hair sprawled beneath you as he hovered over top. “This isnt right. We can't do this again.”

He groaned into your lips, fingertips pressing deep enough into your hips now that you were sure you’d have 10 grape sized bruises the next morning in prize.

“I know,” he breathed, sliding his palms up your torso and over your ribs with an indescribable need. More than whatever happened between you both outside of the bar. That almost seemed silly in comparison to what this was now. A big mess of panting and sweating and grabbing wherever you both could grab in a disgusting fashion.

The kiss continued like this for…longer than it should. You really weren't sure if it was because of the fear of going further or if it was the mutual obsession with each other's tongues overlapping, but either way, it was clear you were both more than satisfied.

Every new minute that passed was worse than the last. You were completely melded into one another now, your legs spread and wrapped around his waist as he hovered over you and in between them. His hands had landed somewhere in between your waist and your tits, going back and forth in a split decision like he just couldn't tell which was better.

And when his hard cock pressed against your core in accidental passing, that prior satisfaction flipped upside down completely.

You couldn't help the quiet moan that slipped its way up and out of you, a sweet little gasp of air that had Harry's lips curving upwards into a cocky grin in the midst of the kiss.

“Like that?” he asked through deep breaths, pressing himself against you for a second time and pulling back to watch as your face twitched.

“M-Mhm,” you nod, rolling your hips absentmindedly as your eyes squeeze shut.

Then he was back at it purposely, grinding up against your sopping wet core as he let his lips valley down to your neck and against the smooth skin of your collarbone harshly.

You were…a mess.

Panting every time he nudged himself between your legs, basking in the feeling of his rock solid dick pressing into your tight cunt the way you’d been thinking about for weeks. Since the first time it happened back at his place, bent over the dishwasher in an accidental brush.

“Fuck, so noisy, y/n,” he parts from your skin in a breathless pant, “you always so loud? Tell me how good it feels.”

Usually, youd be embarrassed by a comment like that. But from Harry, with his cock against your cunt and his lips suctioned to your collarbone, it was almost like a treat.

“So good,” you breathe, “it feels so good, Harry.”

The sound of his name alone had him shivering against you with a new hunger that he’d been trying to fight against since he got here.

And as much as he would love to act on that hunger and just fuck you the way he wanted, suddenly he had to get the fuck out of here as soon as he could.

Because as much as he’d already fucked up, he couldnt fuck you. Not now, not ever. Never.

“Gonna make you cum,” he whispered, “then I’m gonna leave, and you’re never gonna tell anyone about this. Okay?”

You’ve never nodded so fast in your entire life.

“Good girl,” he cooed, kissing down your chest and over the curve of your tits, sucking gently with every step of the way until blocked by the cotton of your cami.

But he just passes by it, moving down to the open space of your stomach and placing a line of kisses there until he meets your waist band. It was already loose enough, barely clinging to your hips at all and already showing the small hint of the cute black thong that sat beneath it.

His fingers hook into the cotton of the band slowly, eyes peering up at you in a silent ask as you nod your head quickly. The second the nod reaches him and he gets the okay, his lips are back into a sly grin and his eyes deepen into something darker than what you’ve seen before. Hungrier.

Without a second more to waste he’s yanking down on the shorts so quickly that your panties come with it, leaving you bare and spread in front of his face with nowhere to hide.

Naturally, your first instinct was to clamp your legs together and keep yourself hidden from the man who shouldn't be seeing it at all. But the second you peered down and caught the glimpse of his head between your legs, his reaction was too erotic for you to even consider taking the sight away from him. It's like it would be a punishment.

Because the moment he locked eyes on his treat his brows fell into each other and his lips fell apart in a complete surrender. It was like he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. You were puffy and swollen and glistening in sweet arousal, so tight and pretty for him in every way he dreamed you to be.

“Fuck,” he whispered, mostly to himself, as his head fell downwards in a moment of regrouping before locking back onto your dripping center.

Your breaths were heavy as you watched him decide his next move, chest pumping up and down within itself in an erratic rhythm that was hard to tame. His hands found their grip on either side of your thighs, locked around the outside as he rubbed small circles into the skin with his thumbs. Like he was locking you open in case you would ever think about closing him off from you.

And then his eyes locked onto yours, flickered up quickly as he brought his face closer and closer to where you needed him most. To where you’d been throbbing, pulsing within yourself as you wettened at the sight before you.

Harry. Head between your legs and inching for a taste.

The second his tongue pressed flat over your entrance and his eyes fell shut in bliss, your back sprung upwards in a wave of pleasure that could only be explained by weeks of tension and the forbiddenness of it all.

He didn't last long in one spot. Before you could even get a chance to think he was lapping you up and down and side to side, basking in the taste of you and the clench around his tongue every time he’d hit a spot you liked.

“Taste so good for me,” he groaned, sucking deep into your clit, “so wet.”

You moan, loud and unforgiving as he suckles harder onto you, nuzzling his stubble into you until you shudder at the feeling.

“Feels–s-so good!”

“Yeah?” he keened, peering up at you and watching your face twist as he pressed the tip of his tongue inside of you, tasting everything before it even got the chance to surface.

“Yes! Yes, god,” your head tossed back against the pillow behind you as your back raised higher off of the cushions, knuckles whitening as you gripped deep into the couch without thinking.

There was no more filtering. No stopping yourself. You were screaming and thrashing and desperately fighting against the hold of his hands at either one of your thighs.

And then his grip fell from your thigh and two of his fingers were shoved inside of you so quickly that your head spun before your body could react at all.

“Ah–fuck!” you yelped, eyes smashing shut as a new wave of pleasure filled your body in a completely different way from before. It was different this time, full.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “so tight.”

You could just whine in response, head thrown back as he pumped his fingers into you again and again until your legs were jelly and your mind was mush. Your walls pulsed around his thick fingers with every stride, gripping at the callouses and tugging him out to the point of having to work to pull out of you.

In the midst of closed eyes and scattered moans, his mouth pulled away from you and he leaned upwards to kiss upon your neck instead, fingers still working beneath you both as he nagged and bit at your skin until your whole body was vibrating in an unexplainable bliss.

The fresh musk of his sweating hair flooded up towards your nose and had your toes curling into themselves, all paired with the heavy pant of his kisses and the thrusting of his hands up inside of you. Deep, where only he could reach.

“Harry, I’m–feels so full,” you whine, gripping your hand onto the back of his head as he continues to suck below your earlobe.

“You like being stuffed?” he growled, “Little pussy can't take anymore, can it?”

His thumb came to press against your throbbing clit before the sentence finished, rubbing slow circles that contrasted so wonderfully with the sharp jabs of his fingers inside of you.

“N-no, please! Want more, please,” you whine, pulling hard at his hair between your fingers without noticing. Your body was on autopilot, reacting whatever way it needed too as you filled in the pleasure of his hands.

He just laughed, low and cynical like you were absolutely full of shit.

“You can't handle more,” he said, curling his fingers deeper into you until your body was rocking against the pillow behind you and your moans were strangled through every new thrust.

“I can! I can, please, let me feel it.”

He rubbed your clit quicker, wettening your neck and nibbling at the end of your earlobe as you felt your stomach start to warm.

“Feel what, y/n? Tell me what you want,” he spurred, pumping into you quicker with each word he spat.

“You! Please, Harry, please.”

You were practically crying for it at this point, one hand still gripped deep into his scalp as the other continued to nag at the threads of your cushion.

He just kept fucking his hand into you like your words meant nothing to him.

“What do you want of me? Just say it.”

“Your cock, Harry, please! Want it in me, please,” you spit out as your legs close in on one another in a slow bloom of pleasure, the small warmth in your tummy building into a boiling heat that’s getting harder to ignore.

You didnt have to look at him to know he was grinning, his fingers working harder and his lips back against your neck in a cocky nature. Like he had no idea this would be going as well as it was.

And god, if he could record one thing only for the rest of hsi life, it would be those 9 words. On repeat.

“Want my cock, dirty girl? Want me to fuck you the way you picture it at night?” he was up to your ear now, whispering filthy nothings until your mouth fell open and moans were rolling you through you with no end in sight.

“Yes, please! Fuck me daddy, please, please!”

And then his head fell into your neck followed by a drawn out groan that was nothing but a cry for help.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered into your skin, so wound up at the name that he could barely fuck his fingers into you the right way before your noises brought him back to earth.

Your body was mush as he pressed a third finger into you, stretching you out so wide and so tight as the tips of his fingers kissed where you needed them most.

“C’mon, baby, wanna feel this pussy cum,” he said, curling deeper inside of you and rubbing steady circles against your throbbing clit.

“I’m-m so close,” you cry, “fuck, keep going.”

So he did, pumping up inside of you and sucking at your neck until you fell apart beneath him and the heat of your tummy spread throughout your limbs.

You struck completely still under him, body tensed out and vibrated as your legs stretched outwards and clamped in around his hand in a quick snap. Your skin littered itself in goosebumps as your mouth fell open in bliss, silent for a few moments before releasing your pleasure in a long gasp.

“That’s it,” he whispered, still pumping you through it all, “feels good like that on my fingers. That’s right.”

You let your eyes stay shut as you fell down from your orgasm, breaths steadying and limbs buzzing in the sweet release of it all. Of him. Of his thick fingers slowly pulling out of you after gracing you with what you’ve wanted from him for god knows how long.

And then he was right back down to your ankles, shimmying your shorts back up your legs until they were propped nicely against the rounds of your hips. Soft and pressureless as he stayed still above you.

“You okay?” he asked, pressing a small kiss to the hand that was just tugging in his hair.

“Mhm,” you nod, eyes still shut as you stay sprawled on the cushions beneath you.

You wait for the guilt to crash into you, convinced it's only a matter of seconds before your stomach twists and your chest fills with regret.

It should. You know it should.

That's what should happen after something like this. Except it doesn't. Instead, you're met with a quietness you weren't prepared for. Your breathing evens out, your heartbeat settles into something slow and steady, and you're left staring at nothing in particular, almost confused by how at ease you feel.

“I have to go in a couple of minutes,” he says, hesitantly. Like it's uncomfortable for him to even suggest. “Is that okay?”

You just smile through lazy eyes. “I know. That’s okay.”

You don't feel ashamed. If anything, the most unsettling part is how right it felt. As if some part of you had stopped fighting a battle it never wanted to win in the first place.

The guilt is there, but only barely. It lingers somewhere deep beneath everything else, small enough that you almost have to search for it. You'll have to face it eventually, and maybe tomorrow it'll be louder. Maybe next week it'll catch up to you.

But right now, you can't bring yourself to care. You should be thinking about how to undo this, how to forget it ever happened. Instead, all you can think about is how impossible it already feels to imagine pretending it didn't.

And most of all, how badly you’ll yearn for it. Like, forever.

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You barely slept.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. You’d turned over, fluffed your pillow, closed your eyes and forced yourself to breathe slowly like that was somehow going to quiet your brain. Like it would somehow take you out of the life altering decision you just had to partake in.

Because you just really couldn’t have done the right thing and said, hey, maybe we shouldnt fuck over the phone. You know, since I work for you.

But every time things got quiet, your mind just… replayed it. Over and over. Every word, every second, every choice.

Your choices, more specifically. The way you complied without question. The way you took it over the top too—adding your own twinge of sexual grossness that he certainly did not ask of you.

By the time your alarm went off, you were already awake, staring at the ceiling with that same tight feeling in your chest.

Now you’re here. Speed walking through the long-halled building and finally making it to your desk.

You take a quick seat and a giant huff of air once you’re settled, staring up at the clock and dropping your head in your hands.

It was too early.

Embarrassingly early.

Of course you showed up early—what else were you supposed to do? Stroll in at your normal time like nothing happened? As if you hadn’t completely humiliated yourself in front of the one person you’re supposed to be the most put together around?

You smooth your hands over your outfit for what has to be the tenth time, even though there’s nothing wrong with it.

A black skirt. White button up. Maybe a little too tight for your own good, and maybe a few too many buttons unraveled. But it was nowhere out of the realm of what you usually wore. You always had fun with what you had on. You’d like to think it wasn’t for Harry’s benefit, but at this point, how would you know.

Everything is exactly how it should be. How it always is. Neat. Professional. Controlled.

“Okay,” you think out loud, staring at your computer screen without actually seeing anything. “You’re fine. You’re going to act normal. Everything is normal.”

Normal.

Right.

Because acting normal is so easy when your brain keeps helpfully reminding you of the fact that you drenched your own fingers while your mind convinced you it was a dick.

Like literally a dick. Your mind genuinely was tricked into thinking your boss was fucking you in your bed, so much so to where you came quicker than you ever had before.

The tone of his voice. The velvet draw of his laughter. The split second where you realized—too late, I’m fucked.

You squeeze your eyes shut briefly before speaking aloud once more. Just to yourself. There was no one even close to near.

“Maybe it wasn’t actually that bizarre.”

Immediately, your brain disagrees.

“No, very bizarre. Definitely abnormal assistant behavior.”

Your fingers hover over your keyboard, still and frozen in place.

“Okay, so we made a mistake. That’s fine. People make mistakes all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.”

You couldn’t even pretend to be taking yourself seriously. There was no comparable situation to what you two engaged in last night in this world.

He’s your boss.

There are lines. Obvious ones. More importantly, strict career ending ones. And somehow you managed to trip right over one like you had a half a brain and a dick of your own.

You let out a quiet breath and glance towards the door that lead into your office.

Still closed.

The room set up was private. A door that lead to your office, and then a door that was in your office that lead to his.

Creating a horribly unavoidable situation in which he would have to pass by you in order to get to his office.

Probably something that should have been further considered before you begged for his cum.

But, it was early. He wouldn’t be coming in soon. Which just gives you more time to sit here and think.

“Maybe you should say something when he comes in.”

Your stomach immediately twists.

“No, no. That would make it worse. If you bring it up, it becomes a thing. If you don’t bring it up… maybe it just fades away.”

You know, they way all sexual encounters in the workplace end up flying under the radar.

You were kidding yourself.

You tap your pen lightly against the desk, the soft rhythm doing nothing to calm the restless energy under your skin.

You still hadn’t started any work.

“But what if he brings it up?”

That thought lands heavier than the others. That one you can’t escape from.

Your posture straightens instinctively and your face tenses, legs crossing over one another as you sink into your anxiety.

“Then what? Do I apologize? Take accountability? Pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about?”

None of those options feel right. None of them were right. And you were just wasting time now.

You glance at the clock.

Too early.

Again.

Even too early to get his coffee. It’d be ice be the time he arrived.

You exhale through your nose, forcing your shoulders to relax and your brows to release their tension.

“Okay. New plan.”

You sit up a little straighter, folding your hands together like that alone might make you feel more composed.

“You’re going to be professional. Calm. Normal. You’ll greet him the way you always do. You’ll go over his schedule. You’ll do your job.”

You know, the normal thing to do.

“And if he says something…” you pause, your fingers tightening slightly, “you’ll handle it. You always do.”

That part, at least, is true. You are good at your job. You’re organized, reliable, composed…

…or at least, you usually are. Apart from shoving 4 fingers deep inside of you as you nearly snapped your arm backwards.

You also decided it was time to stop talking to yourself. As to not seem so disturbing to anyone who may come in.

Your eyes dart up to the door again.

Still closed.

But not for long.

“Morning.”

The door pressed open smoothly, a tall Harry walking through with a bag slung over his shoulder and a polite smile on his face.

You were dumbfounded. And very clearly not as prepared for the initial greeting as you thought you’d be.

“You’re in early,” he continues, shutting the door softly behind him and staring down at you at your desk.

He was dressed perfectly neat—slick ironed pants and a long sleeved button up that was nicely folded up his forearms.

And, worst of all, a smug grin that was only one thing.

Knowing.

“I—um, yes,” you say, and it comes out a bit more formal than you would’ve liked. So, in typical you-nature, you ramble on, “I just wanted to make sure everything was in order today. I didn’t realize you’d be in early too, I’m sorry. I haven’t gotten your coffee.”

There’s a small pause as he watches you speak. Him standing, you sitting. Your eyes were glossed up at him in an innocently sweet manor, and he breathed out slow at your little apology.

And then he was thinking about you. The way you were so generous to him and wrapped up in the pleasure you had given to yourself.

The sweet noises that slipped through the speaker and swarmed around his pumping fist. He felt his pants tightening at just the thought.

“Everything usually is,” he says, referring to your faux reasoning for coming in early.

It was a simple statement. And somehow, it had your stomach twisting into itself until it was locked in a knot.

“I know,” you say, too insistent, “I just thought I’d get a head start.”

He continues to watch you. Delightfully amused and analyzing your every move. The little tick of your eyelids and the way your thumb scratches against the side of your index finger. The way your eyes struggle to hold their contact with his no matter how firm his gaze is on yours.

It was nothing harsh, nothing critical.

Just…observant. Interested.

Your pulse picks up as the silence stretches over you. You reach for the nearest file on your desk, flipping open to the schedule for today and searching for something to fill the gap.

“Your nine o'clock is confirmed,” you start, “I sent over the updated notes for you early last night.”

A brief mention of the night before. Granted, you sent them over before the call, but the two words had your skin tinged.

“Mm.”

“And your branch clients are scheduled for 12:00,” you continue in a nervous rush. Like if you kept talking it would give you less time to think, “there was a slight change in the afternoon so-”

“You don’t have to rush through it,” he cuts you off, gently reminding you that no, you don’t need to inform him of his entire day within the first minute of seeing him.

Something you’ve also literally never done before. You always update him periodically. When needed.

He hasn’t moved much, still relaxed and still adorned in the smug smile of a man who knows he has a cute young thing wrapped around his finger.

“I’m not rushing,” you say, which would have been more convincing if you didn’t say it so quickly.

The corner of his lips deepen into his smile, lips still held together as his dimple presses further inward.

“Right.”

You loosen the tight grip on the file you were holding as you take a small breath, desperately trying to pull your shit together and enter this normalcy that he’s somehow achieving.

“I can go over your day in more detail later then, if you’d like,” you restart, carefully this time. “Or I can send a revised outline to your email.”

He watches you for a second longer than he should after your sentence wraps up, like he’s weighing something in his head.

Or maybe just taking you in. You weren’t sure. Neither was he.

“That won’t be necessary,” he says, “I trust you’ve handled it.”

And then there was that feeling again. The heat on your cheeks and the ping between your legs that you only felt when he praised your work like this.

He noticed your subtle shift, and it only further spurred on the dark thoughts that had been thudding against his skull since the moment he walked in.

“Of course,” you nod, clamping your thighs tight and suddenly finding it more than difficult to look directly at him.

There’s another pause, and it’s quieter this time around. It almost feels purposeful. Like he’s trying to make you feel deliberately nervous.

You expect him to turn around, walk past you and head right to his office. This would usually be the time he’d do it. He’d stay in there and wouldn’t see you again until his nine o'clock clients arrived.

But he didn’t. He stayed perfectly still and unwavering by your desk.

You didn’t know if he was looking at you, you couldn’t bring yourself to check. You were faced down towards your desk, flipping through random papers and trying to look busy.

You weren’t.

Your eyes flick up again before you can stop them, and you immediately regret it when you catch that same look—calm, steady, and unmistakably knowing. Like he’s taunting you with the memory of your misconduct.

“You’re tense.”

It was matter-of-fact as it rolled off his tongue, as if it was an observation he wasn’t particularly concerned about.

Your breath hitched for just a second.

“I’m not.”

You sounded adorably unconvincing, and he couldn’t help himself when he took just a step closer. Maybe an inch. Maybe two. Nothing to freak out over. But still enough for you to feel sick.

Then, softer, with even more amusement, “You are.”

You don’t try to argue this one. You’re already flustered enough and the lack of awareness of last night is seriously starting to weigh on you.

If he wasn’t going to mention it, you’d prefer him to just leave. Instead of sit here and toy with you.

Even if part (all) of you enjoyed it.

Finally, there’s a shift in the energy as he takes a step back towards his office. Slow and steady as he walks with a hand in his pocket.

Relief flickers over you for just a moment—fragile and prepared to snap the next time you have to interact with him.

And then, it shatters.

“Bring those files in here.”

He said it like it was nothing. Like he’s ever once in his whole life asked you to bring your work inside of his office.

He hasn’t, by the way.

Your hands still for a second, “Right now?”

There’s another beat of silence as he looks at you, taking in your flushed cheeks and your shaky hands and the way your eyes pressed further out of their sockets. Just barely.

He remained calm. Composed and completely unbothered by the fact that your whole nervous system just spiked within a half a second.

“If you’re not too busy,” he adds.

There’s something intentional in the way he says that part. Like he already knows that you’re not busy in the way you’re so desperately pretending to be.

It really was almost sarcastic.

“I’m not busy,” you respond a little too quickly, immediately embarrassed by your haste and cringing when you notice his smirk.

“Good,” he replies.

Just that. One word and a small nod.

He turns and walks into his office like he hasn’t just completely derailed your ability to think straight. His strides slow and long and hands still melded softly in the rich material of his pants.

You follow a moment later, files clutched a little too tightly in your hands, trying to convince yourself this is normal.

Part of you says it is. You are his assistant after all. It’s not totally out of realm for him to ask you to bring him something you’d been working on.

It was slightly abnormal that he needed you to come with it, but for the sake of your soaked panties and your swarming mind you chose to ignore that.

You instinctively shut the door behind you, which you immediately regret. The last thing you wanted was for Harry to fall under the impression that you were seeking privacy with him.

It was too late to go back now.

And Harry was quite pleased with your mindless decision.

“Um,” you clear the cracks from your nervous voice, “I can show you some of what your Milan schedule will be, if you’d like. I’ve started to make confirmations so I have a pretty good idea on how it’ll go.”

He nodded, dropping his bag onto his chair and leaning up against his long desk. You were standing in front of him like you didn’t have a clue of where to go, mouth dry and thoughts dangerous.

“You can mention it, you know,” he ignored your offer, folding his arms as he looked at you.

You froze.

This is precisely why you needed more time to prepare yourself.

“Mention?” You gulp, thick and trembling as you fight away your stress.

It was one of those red hot moments where you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks and just get flooded with thoughts of how red you must look. How stupid you look in front of him and how obviously embarrassed you were.

“Us. Fucking, on the phone.”

As if it was the most mundane thing to have ever happened.

You take a small breath, forcing yourself to stay composed as you break your gaze from his in a quick instinct.

“Um, I think-”

Y/n,” he cuts you off, leaning down to try to catch your wandering gaze, “can’t listen to you if you’re not looking at me.”

You nod quickly, itching your bottom lip with your teeth for a moment before blinking your way to his face. He was pleased to see his request, or demand more like, be granted so easily.

He was also pleased to catch the not-so-subtle gulp of saliva down your throat and the quick clamp of your thighs.

“I think, um, it would be best to not dwell on it, sir. I’m sorry to have violated my professional limits.”

You were proud of that one, actually. Clean. Simple.

All bullshit.

He knew it, too.

He shook his head, in no hurry, as his eyes fell down to you through low lids. Pink lips pressing together in a small line as he uncrossed his arms.

“Wasn’t bringing it up for an apology.”

You swallow harder, shutting your eyes for a moment in a sad attempt to remind yourself of reality. To not get completely and totally wrapped up in the seductive sway of Harry’s voice and the deep vanilla musk that swam around him.

“I value my position here,” you continue, ignoring his insinuation, “and I respect you, Mr. Styles. I guess we should just…move forward as usual.”

And the second his name slung its way up your chest and out of your lips, you had unknowingly put yourself in a game. In his game.

You could see it in the way his eyes darkened and his brows fell into each other, just barely, like your words had turned him to putty.

Another pause. Heavier than before.

Your pulse ticks up, but you hold his gaze, refusing to look away now. You’re sucked into the thrill of the forbiddenness of it all, the way the four small walls seemed to shrink and the room blurred.

Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifts again. Deep this time, like he’s finally decided what his next move is.

“You always are very efficient.” He said, as if he was weighing between the options of keeping you as his perfect assistant or further crossing the line.

“I try to be,” you answer softly.

And then he exhales—long, deep and drawn out in an overly dramatized way. Like he had made his decision and accepted his fate.

“You do,” he nods, “and you are. Really, you do such a good job.”

And just like that, your gig was up. You had accepted your fate too.

“Thank you,” you smile, cheeks rosy and eyes falling for a moment in a bashful tick.

He takes another small breath as he settles further back against his desk, practically sitting on it now as his hands are stabilized against the same edge.

“You’re efficient. Organized. You know what I want without having to ask. You never fuss, either,” he continues, shaking his head for just a minute as if overwhelmed with pride.

He watched as you shifted in front of him, tugging against the inside of your cheek and picking at the sides of your fingernails. He could tell you were fighting back a smile, the crowns of your cheeks darkening and flinching for just a moment.

You don’t know what it is; maybe the way he’s looking at you or maybe the way he’s leaned against the desk. But, suddenly, you felt your last wall come down with a sharp ache between your thighs.

“I like to fulfill your needs, sir. I couldn’t fuss.”

The second the words leave your mouth, you both get slammed in the chest with the shift. His smirk deepens, your eyes round.

He doesn’t even attempt to hide his growing erection. And with the way he was leaning against his desk—hands gripping the ledge behind him—it was on full display. Hips jutted out and the thin material of his fine pressed pants tenting upwards.

He was big. You could tell. Anyone with two eyes and half a brain could tell. The shadow on his crotch was deep and the curve of his cock was delicious. So much so that you forgot how long you’d been staring.

But he liked to watch you soak him in. He liked when you lingered where you shouldn’t, wide and a little unfocused like your brain forgot to tell you to look away.

There was this brief, flustered pause where your lips parted like you were about to say something but completely lost it; and it hit him all at once. The desperation.

Your breath catches as you lift your gaze too quickly to be smooth, fingers immediately fidgeting with whatever’s in front of you while a faint warmth creeps up your neck and across your cheeks.

“Is that so?” He mutters with a tilted head.

You nod slowly.

“Yes, sir. I take a lot of pride in what I do. I just…want to make you happy with my work.”

He lets out a barely audible chuckle, not criticizing. Just pleased—shocked even—by the little nervous thing in front of him. So quiet and so polite, clawing at him for just a drop of praise.

“I’m aware,” he nods, “you have me more than pleased, y/n. You’re exceptional.”

You practically whimper at that one.

He notices.

“And you know what else?” He leans off of his desk to stand in front of you, “you’re shameless. You were so good to help me out that way last night…but I think we found a place for your own pleasure too. Is that right?”

He was towered over you, eyes turned into themselves as they landed on your face and darted around it like they couldn’t find a place to stop. Yours were glassed as they peered up at him, soft skin shining and heart thudding.

“Y-Yes. Yes, sir.”

He nods, nose practically touching yours as he slips his hands back into his pockets.

And then there was another silence. But this one was different—it was full. So heavy and laced in the fucked up nature of whatever was brewing in this dimmed office.

There's a flicker of something in his expression that you’ve never really seen before. Not up close like this, anyway. Not quite hesitation, not quite intent, but something that makes your pulse spike anyway.

Like he’s on the edge of doing something he shouldn’t. Like he knows you’d give in immediately if he did it. He knew the ball was in his court.

Your body goes still, caught between reacting and not knowing how to. Your fingers toy with the hem of your little skirt as you stare up at him, waiting—but you weren’t totally sure what for.

And then it stops.

You see it happen in slow motion—the subtle shift, the way his jaw tightens just slightly before he exhales, slow and controlled, like he’s grounding himself. Stopping whatever he was so compelled to do without even starting it.

Whatever the hell that moment was, it disappeared just as quickly as it came.

He steps back, turns, and walks to his desk like nothing happened.

The change is almost jarring.

No—it is jarring. Sickening, really.

One second prior, everything was charged, heavy. You even thought he might just…you know, do it. Throw all professional boundaries out the window and close the gap that was already too small to begin with.

And the next, he’s sitting down, opening the file in front of him, his focus dropping to the pages like that’s all that matters.

Like you didn’t just feel that. Like he didn’t either.

The silence that settles is thick.

You’re still standing where you were, your mind trying to catch up with the sudden shift. Do you leave? Do you say something? Were you supposed to follow him? Was that his way of confirming that yes, this is entirely unprofessional and more than wrong.

You hesitate, shifting your weight slightly, hands hovering like you’re about to move but can’t quite decide how.

Then he looks up.

Not fully— his head stays tilted downwards. Just his eyes lifting from the page to you.

There’s no words, no gesture. Just a brief glance toward the chair across from him, subtle but deliberate.

An expectation. An instruction.

Both things that you strived to obey and both things that he knew you always followed through with.

Your stomach sinks into itself, but you nod slightly, even though he didn’t actually say anything. You move to the chair, sitting down a little more carefully than usual. Like you were scared to make too much noise or to scratch the expensive wood of his desk.

You pull the files you brought in closer, aligning them in front of you like you need the structure, the routine, something to ground yourself.

Because you really did. Your mind was mush and your muscles were jelly.

He’s already working. Flipping through pages, scanning, focused. All things that you usually never saw. This was always on the other side of the door, from your perspective.

You’re more than unsure of his goal here. To work silently across from each other? For what, the whole day? Were you supposed to just stay here until his nine o'clock clients arrived?

There would be no one at your desk to greet them. Were you meant to excuse yourself 15 minutes prior to the meeting? No, that feels rude. He’ll tell you to go. But what if he doesn’t? What if your colleagues scope you out? Is it weird that you’re working here with him?

In an attempt to not, you know, break out in a full blown panic attack, you take a breath and look down at your work.

You follow his lead, opening the next file, forcing your attention onto the words in front of you—even though you’re only aware of everything else but.

The quiet. The space between you. The way it still feels like something unresolved is sitting just beneath the surface.

Neither of you say anything. There’s just the soft sound of paper shifting, the occasional scratch of a pen, the steady rhythm of work filling the room in place of everything that almost happened.

And somehow, that’s worse.

Because now it’s contained.

But very much still there.

“You liked listening to me last night,” he breaks the silence, keeping his gaze on the work in front of him.

Your mouth opens, closes, and opens again.

“Yeah,” you nod, pushing your head down and swallowing your anxiety. As much as you can, anyway.

Which isn’t much.

He smiles at this. How easy it was for you to admit it. Eyes still down at his desk.

“Were you picturing it? Me?” He lifts his stare now, meeting your nervous eyes and watching as they stutter until they land on a place to settle.

He leans back in the chair like he owns the space without trying to, shoulders settling into it with confidence that somehow makes him look even more composed than before. His hands rest loosely in his lap, posture relaxed in a way that feels intentional rather than casual.

Nothing about him is rushed, nothing about him is uncertain. Just steady. Controlled.

And it does nothing to help you think.

Wrong words. All of them feel wrong.

Your fingers press lightly into the edge of the file in front of you, grounding yourself in something physical because your thoughts are doing the opposite of that. The silence stretches just enough to make you aware of it, aware of him watching you wait for yourself to respond.

“You’re overthinking,” he says, calm as ever.

That only makes it worse.

“Sort of.”

He slouched further back into his seat, his grin still tugging upwards and his eyes hanging low. He was truly satisfied at your constant compliance. The way you always admitted your deepest embarrassments just because he asked or pointed them out. It was admirable.

“Do you want to watch?” He asks, low and gritted, as casual as ever.

Not a casual ask, by the way.

And then your gaze drops, along with your stomach, and you notice the subtle shift of his hands on his lap. The way his palms melt flat against himself and rub softly over the tented fabric of his pants.

You gulp, thick and heavy, though nothing really slides down your throat. Your mouth is dry and your head is dizzy, caving into itself as you piece together what could possibly be the correct response to this.

Because if the consequences were eliminated, you’d be practically frothing at the mouth and shouting yes yes yes until his pants are at his ankles and his cock is in his hand.

He knew that part, too.

But there were consequences. And you were both under company time.

So, you decide to land on something that you felt was a solid middle ground.

A nod.

Slow and unsteady and paired with an adorable little smile that Harry couldn’t help but grin at. There’s a quiet confidence in the way he looks at you now, like he can already see everything you’re trying not to show.

And you are showing it.

You don’t mind that he can tell.

Because your nerves are getting harder to hide the longer he just sits there watching you. Your fingers keep fidgeting with the edge of the file, then stopping, then starting again. You try to steady your breathing, but it doesn’t fully cooperate. Every second of silence feels like it’s pulling something out of you. Anticipation, maybe.

Or just the fact that you’re waiting for him to say anything.

“You’re doing it again,” he says finally.

Your breath catches, “Doing what?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you for a second longer, like he’s deciding how honest he wants to be. Or deciding how he could get you as worked up as possible.

“Thinking too much.”

That makes your chest tighten in a way that’s almost frustrating, because he’s right and you don’t want him to be.

But you really can’t actually be frustrated.

Not when his hand continues to slowly rub against his lap in a mindless fashion, running over the hardened curve of his cock beneath his pants.

“I’m not,” you say quickly, but it comes out softer than you mean.

That faint smirk deepens just a fraction.

“You are,” he repeats, calm and with a small nod.

And somehow that calmness makes you feel even more on edge.

You try to focus on the file again, but it’s useless now. Your attention keeps slipping back to him, like you’re drawn to waiting for the next thing he’ll say. Or the next thing he’ll do.

You can’t possibly keep your eyes away from his wandering hands. The way they glide against himself with no effort at all. The way his hips jut upwards just a hair but enough for you to think about his thrusts.

You can feel it building in you—that mix of nerves and something else you don’t want to name, sitting right under your ribs.

Excited. Anxious. A little overwhelmed by how much he seems to notice without even trying.

He finally leans forward just slightly—not enough to change everything, just enough to make you more aware of him again.

“Relax,” he says, quieter now.

So you do. Well, try anyway. You take a deep breath, a nod, and keep your eyes on his.

You really do feel a bit more at ease. Your face has cooled, your breathing has regulated, your stomach has settled.

And then it snaps.

“Now unbutton your shirt.”

You actually choke on nothing, blinking at him like your brain didn’t process it correctly the first time.

You couldn’t have, right?

“I—what?” you manage, too fast, your voice catching slightly as your breathing returns to its prior erratic rhythm.

He doesn’t react too much to your reaction. Just watches you for a second, completely calm, like he’s observing the exact moment it hit you. He even seems amused. Like you just gave him exactly what he was looking for.

And you did. He loves to watch you get riled up like this. To watch your cheeks flush and your pretty pink lips part. It was honestly endearing.

His palm rubs harder against himself.

“Your shirt,” he nods towards your body, “aren’t you gonna let me see? It’s already too tight, anyway. But you knew that. Didn’t you?”

That’s the part that makes you go quiet.

Because it’s true.

You swallow, suddenly very aware of your hands, your posture, the space between you and the desk like it’s all being measured now.

You nod again, staring down at his working hands as they continue to press against himself.

And then, once you see them drift up to his belt and hear the clack of its metal, you comply.

Your shaky hands reach up to the first button of your shirt as you watch his veined fingers, your breath hitching within your chest and releasing in unsteady exhales.

His stare darkens as he watches you, pulling apart his belt and slipping it out of its hold through his pants.

You hook your fingers around the top button and start to open it, slower than you normally would, like speed alone might make you look more composed.

The button slips for half a second.

Of course it does.

You pause, adjust it carefully, then continue, your focus narrowing down to something very small and very controlled—just the act of opening the first few buttons. Nothing more. Just a view to your rounded cleavage and the dark black lace that lies beneath the fabric.

But you can see him watching. The way his jaw clenched with every new button and the way his nostrils flared outwards with every little movement.

His breathing had changed too. He was unstable, working to undo his button and pull down the zipper of his pants.

To say he was aching was an understatement. His cock was crying in pain and his hands were moving ridiculously slow, but he almost liked it this way. The drawn out nature of the beginning and the way your soft hands began to reveal more and more of your smooth skin.

And by the fifth button, he was thrown in a trance.

Your breasts looked so soft—round and firm and held perfectly in the loose restraint of the lace. Your nipples were hardened as they peeked their way through the black, a perfect bright pink that caught his eye without him even trying.

He goes quiet.

His hands pause their task at his zipper.

Not the normal kind of quiet where he’s just thinking. This is different.

His eyes stay fixed on your chest, an expression on his face that you’ve never seen in all your experience of this job. His brows draw in slightly, not tense, just focused in a way that slows everything else down around him. In a way that made him seem like his walls were crashing.

His lips part a little without him seeming to notice. Just slightly. Like his reaction slips out before he can control it.

You just sit there, chest heaving up and down in nervous breaths and bottom lip bitten between your teeth.

For a second, he doesn’t move at all. It’s like he’s caught.

Not frozen in a bad way, just… completely absorbed. Like the reveal of your perky tits has pulled all of his attention and nothing else is competing anymore.

You watch him, unsure if you should say anything.

His gaze shifts again, slower this time, like he’s making sure he’s really seeing it. Like it doesn’t make sense that it’s real, but it is.

And there’s this quiet breath he lets out, almost disbelieving.

“…shit,” he says under his breath, barely audible.

That alone makes your chest tighten a little.

He leans back slightly in his chair, still staring like his life depended on it.

His hands resume their movement as he tugs his zipper down in a haste, suddenly very desperate to give himself some relief.

His expression stays softened in that same stunned way, eyes a little unfocused now, like his mind is still caught in what he’s been gifted.

“I mean…” he starts, then stops again, shaking his head just slightly like he’s trying to reset himself.

When he finally looks at you, your face, it’s different.

Not distant.

Just honest.

“Do you want to see them?” You gain the courage to ask, voice sweet and ever so soft.

And there’s something in his reaction that makes it clear he needs it more than he’s saying.

You don’t wait for him to respond.

You undo the last of your buttons, quicker this time, before shrugging it off your shoulders and leaving you in the little black bra. Barely there. Already showing it all.

You watch him closely as he shrugs his pants down his thighs, his briefs clung tight against his erection and his eyes shutting in a brief moment of bliss.

And then you reach back, unclasp your bra, and just let it fall. No movement. No effort. You just let it slide down your arms until it pools to wrists and drops to the floor of his office.

He physically recoiled at the sight of your bare breasts ahead of him, a muted whine pressing up through his chest and his eyes turning inward.

“You’re—y/n. Fuck…” he stutters as he tugs on the spandex of his briefs, eyes locked on your perky tits and the way they curved so beautifully beneath themselves.

Of course he’d imagined this countless times. Well, he imagined them countless times. Not quite in this exact scenario. He dreamt of the creamy skin that coated them and the solid bud that rested in the center. He’d even cum to the thought more times than he could count.

But this?

It was unlike anything he’d ever seen or felt before in his life.

And if this was how he felt at just the sight of your tits, he was beginning to think he wouldn’t possibly be able to take it as far as he would want.

His hands mindlessly pull down on his underwear, revealing his cock in a slow tease that you couldn’t help but stare at.

And once you saw it, his erection bare and exposed, you couldn’t help the little gasp that slipped its way through your throat. You weren’t even sure if he heard it, but it was there.

He was long and thick and fucking hard. His cock slapped up onto his lower tummy at its initial release and then swayed slow and teasing as it adjusted to fresh air, glistening in a clear drip of what was to come.

Your chest heaved in an erratic rhythm as you took in his density, staring at it with your mouth agape and your cheeks flushed. It’d been awhile since you’ve been so struck by the sight of a good dick. Since you felt that little stab in your belly just at the sight of a heavy stocky cock.

And then there was his hand. Strong and veined and wrapped slowly around his length along with a drawn out sigh.

“Want you to keep working,” he sighs, “sit straight so I can look at you while I touch myself.”

You pull your eyes away from his cock at the sound of his voice, looking up at him with those big doe eyes and snapping your mouth shut.

So you did.

Well, you try to focus on what he asked of you. To work.

You really do.

Your eyes stay on the file, scanning the same line over and over like it’s going to suddenly make sense if you just look at it long enough—but it doesn’t.

Because every few seconds, your attention slips. Pulls. Drifts right back to the same place you’re trying so hard to ignore.

Him, his ringed hands tugging at his cock, his breaths heavy and his eyes locked to your exposed chest.

You shift slightly in your seat, straightening your posture like that alone might fix your distraction, like looking more composed will somehow make you feel more composed.

It doesn’t.

You drag your eyes back down, forcing yourself to read again, slower this time. Word by word. Intentional. Focused.

It lasts maybe three seconds.

His breaths pick up, heavier this time, and then you hear a sharp spit. He wetted his hand with his saliva before returning his feel, stroking smoother against himself this time with the added lubrication.

Then you feel it again—that awareness sitting right in front of you, impossible to ignore no matter how hard you try. Like your brain keeps circling back without permission.

The wet gush of his hand pumping against himself, lathered in his own spit and paired with the breathy sighs that come from deep in his chest.

You inhale quietly, steadying yourself.

“Focus,” he whispers.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your pen with a gulp as you underline something—anything—just to stay grounded in the task. It doesn’t even matter if it needs to be underlined. You just need something to do.

But even that doesn’t hold.

Your eyes flick up again.

Too quick.

His hand is pumping quicker. You keep your head faced down and your eyes flicked up, just peeking at what you so badly want to stare at.

You shift in your chair again, and this time you re-seat yourself with an accidental extra umph. Your tits shook at the repositioning, just barely but enough for him to notice.

Then you hear it—a groan. Deep and gravelled and gritted in his unprofessional pleasure and the sweet sight of his sweet little assistant’s tits jiggling against themselves. So soft and so full, pretty and unmarked and all for him.

And the second you process the sound that slipped through him, you drop your gaze just as fast, like you can undo it if you move quickly enough.

A heavy warmth creeps up your neck and between your legs, and you press your lips together, exhaling slowly through your nose as you try to pull yourself back into something steady.

You adjust the papers again, unnecessarily, aligning the edges with more care than they need. It gives your hands something to focus on, something precise and controlled.

But your mind isn’t cooperating.

Because you’re still aware.

Still distracted.

Still fighting the pull of looking up again.

You force yourself to stay down this time, eyes locked on the page, even though the words blur slightly at the edges.

You don’t look.

And then there’s that sound again. The low muffled groan of your boss, stroking his cock and bringing himself closer and closer to release. All while looking at you. The way you pretended to do your work, just to please him. The way your hard nipples shrunk into themselves and the way your little fingers froze at the edge of a page.

Your gaze lifts at the noise.

Just for a second.

And that’s all it takes. His eyes leave your chest to meet yours, brows furrowed and lips slightly parted. His chest was swelling and his cheeks were hot, hand pumping quicker as he locked himself to you.

You exhale sharply under your breath, heart thumping, dropping your eyes again and shaking your head just slightly at yourself.

This was just how he looked on the phone last night. This was how his chest stuttered and how his eyes fluttered open and closed. How his hand twisted and tugged at himself until his tip was a bright red, twitching in his hold as his balls tingled beneath him.

You press your pen to the paper again, writing something just to anchor yourself, even if it’s messy, even if it doesn’t fully make sense.

But you’re very aware that you’re losing the fight, little by little, every time your mind drags yourself back.

“Want you to look at me when I cum,” he breathes, “want you to watch my face.”

It really didn’t take much for you to agree. You dropped your pen and swallowed hard, watching his fist fuck down into himself in sloppy motions and strained veins.

His eyes dropped back down to your hanging tits as he brought himself to a close, pumping furiously and strangling his face. He quickly grabbed a tissue off of his desk and placed it right behind his tip, staring down at his own cock for a minute before looking back up at you.

He was so riled up and flustered that you felt faint, desperately squeezing your legs together for some sort of relief as you watched him reach his orgasm.

And with a long, drawn out groan and quick pinch of his eyes, his hand slowed and his body tensed, stilling as he came hard and intense.

It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen in your life. You were even convinced he forgot you were there for a moment.

But he didn’t. Your being there only spurred his orgasm further, bringing him to new sensitivities that he really had only felt when he was young and naive.

He soaked into his orgasm for as long as he could, basking in the pleasure and pumping his length slow and concentrated. He looked so calm like this, even more than usual and so powerful before you. He had you stuck in his trance and you were in no hurry to get out of it.

As he came down, removing his hand and tugging up his briefs, he looked…breathtaking.

So breathtaking in a way that says he hasn’t quite come down from it yet.

There’s a faint flush across his skin, warmth still lingering from the effort, and his breathing hasn’t fully evened out. Slow, deep inhales that lift his chest before falling again, just slightly heavier than normal. A few strands of hair have come loose, sticking out just enough to show his behavior.

His posture is looser than usual, like some of the tension has been worked out of him but replaced with something quieter. Still there, lingering. There’s a subtle sheen along his skin, not overdone, just enough to catch the light when he moves.

You pick up your bra off of the floor and sling it over your arms as he regulates his breathing, his eyes still closed as you pull it up your shoulders and work at the clasp behind your back.

He drags a hand back through his hair, pushing it away from his face without really thinking about it, exhaling through his nose as he does. It’s not dramatic, not exaggerated—just the natural aftermath of exertion, where everything about him feels a little warmer, a little slower, a little more unguarded than before.

And then he looks at you.

Lazy and a little sleepy with that same smug smirk on his face.

He peers up at the clock that high on his wall before sitting up straighter in his desk, leaning over the wood as he looks at you in a firm glance.

“As much as I would love to play with you some more, my clients will be here soon.”

You frowned. Not on purpose, but it happened.

You know it’s not his fault, and based off of what just happened you know what he was telling you had some truth. But it was never a good feeling to get kicked out of a room after a moment of sexual vulnerability.

“Oh, right,” you nod, grabbing your shirt, “okay. I’ll send them in when they arrive.”

He notices it the second you stand.

That small shift in you—quieter than before, a little more reserved, like you’re pulling yourself back into something safer. Your movements are careful, almost too careful, as you button your shirt and gather your things and turn toward the door.

He watches you go. Not stopping you. Not interrupting.

Just… watching.

Your chest feels tight, like something’s sitting there that you can’t quite shake loose. You replay it immediately—every breath, every pause, every look—like if you go over it enough times, you’ll find the right way to process it.

You straighten a little, forcing your shoulders back, trying to pull yourself into something more controlled, more put together.

“Hey.”

You pause, glancing back over your shoulder.

He hasn’t moved much, still relaxed behind his desk, but there’s something lighter in his expression now. Not as intense.

“Don’t overthink it,” he says for the millionth time today, like he can see exactly what you’re doing.

Your fingers tighten slightly around the handle, and you give a small shake of your head, “I’m not.”

That earns a hint of a smile from his end. It was honestly unfortunate how hard it was for you to lie to him.

“Right,” he replies, not calling you out, but letting you know he sees right through you.

There’s a brief pause, just enough to soften the moment.

“Come back after my meeting wraps up, yeah?” He adds, tone ways, like this was just part of the routine.

It’s not phrased like a command. Not quite a question either.

Just like he already expects you to. Like he thought that was mutually agreed on but wanted to verbalize it in case it wasn’t.

You hesitate for half a second, then nod again, a small smile this time, “Okay.”

“Good.”

The weight in the room lifts—just enough to let you breathe a little easier as you step out and close the door behind you, his voice lingering a second longer than it should.

Good.

-

An hour has gone by.

He was still in his meeting.

You were sat at your desk, flipping through schedules and confirming cars and making reservations. As your day usually went.

But it doesn’t feel like working. Even if it was.

It feels like waiting.

Like every second has suddenly stretched out longer than it should, your thoughts filling all the space in between. You try to look normal—open a file, click through something on your screen, straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening—but none of it sticks. Your focus slips almost immediately, dragged right back to the same thought.

Come back after my meeting wraps up, yeah?

Your stomach flips and your thighs clench.

You glance at the time.

It should really only be a couple more minutes.

You exhale, leaning back slightly, then forward again a second later because sitting still somehow makes the pain between your legs worse.

Your fingers tap once against your desk before you stop yourself, pressing your hands flat like that might quiet everything going on in your head.

What is he even going to say?

Your brain doesn’t help.

It runs through every possible version of what could come next—some normal, some not—and none of them settle. Each one just makes your chest feel tighter, your thoughts faster, like you’re trying to prepare for something you can’t actually predict.

But every scenario has a happy ending. The promise of his touch and maybe even the treat of his cock.

He’s not gonna fuck you…right?

You don’t believe that.

You whimper to yourself at the thought of him nuzzled inside of you, that long dick you just stared at for so long lodged in deep and crashing into you repeatedly.

You swallow, glancing toward his office without meaning to, then quickly looking away like you’ve been caught doing something.

Your knee bounces once under the desk before you force it still, dragging in a slow breath that doesn’t quite steady you. You try to refocus again—pull up the document, read the first line, then the second—but the words blur together, meaningless.

You’re not here.

Not really.

You’re already halfway back in that office, stuck in the before of it, the waiting part that feels worse than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your keyboard, unmoving.

He’ll be done soon.

You exhale slowly, pressing your lips together as you stare at your screen without seeing it.

“Get it together,” you think out loud.

But your thoughts don’t slow.

If anything, they just keep racing—faster, louder—the closer it gets to the moment you have to stand up and walk back in there.

Voices spill out first, polite goodbyes muffled behind the door, the scrape of chairs, the soft shift of movement in his office. You look up just in time to see the group filing toward his office door.

And then he appears.

He’s already in motion, walking them out himself.

Calm. Composed. Completely in control of the space without needing to announce it. You watch as he shakes each hand in turn, exchanging brief, professional farewells, standing just in the doorway.

There’s something about the way he carries it all so effortlessly that makes you sit a little straighter and rub your legs together without meaning to.

One by one, they step out.

A final nod. A last polite smile. And then they’re gone.

And it’s just you and him.

The room quiets almost immediately after, like it’s exhaling itself.

He doesn’t close the door, he leaves it open.

For a second, he just stands there in the frame of it, glancing back into his office, and then straight to you.

It’s quick. Subtle.

But unmistakably meant for you.

It wasn’t a call, and certainly not a question. It never was with him.

Just a look that says now.

Then he turns and walks back inside. Like there was never any doubt you’d follow.

You hesitate for only a second longer than you should, then push yourself up from your chair, papers forgotten for the moment, and start across the room. Each step feels louder than it should.

By the time you reach the doorway, he’s already inside again, moving toward his desk like he hasn’t even looked back to check.

He doesn’t need to.

You’re there. He knew you’d be.

And as you cross the threshold, you feel that shift again. The quiet pull of the space snapping back into something private, something smaller, something that suddenly feels so wrong and so right.

He glances up just as you enter and watches as you shut the door behind you.

“C’mere,” he gestures, “I need you to summarize these notes for me.”

You nod immediately, trotting over to the desk and standing by the edge as you flip through the scattered writing.

You’ve gotten ridiculously good at reading his hand writing. No matter how sloppy it could get, which was bad sometimes, you had read over it so many times that you could translate in your sleep.

“Ok,” you nod, leaning into the desk a bit, “anything specific you want me to focus on? Or just brief overviews for all.”

“No,” he calls from behind you, “however you want to do it. I trust you.”

You cant ignore the hiss in your stomach at his praise.

You start scanning through his notes, trying to piece together the structure of the meeting from the shorthand he left behind. It’s messy in places—quick, efficient, not meant for anyone but him—so you’re translating as you go, quietly organizing it in your head.

You were good at this. He knew you were. It wouldn’t take you long.

You grab a clean sheet of paper from his desk and write up a quick header, underlining it two times before thinking out loud on how you’ll begin.

“Okay, so the first section is mostly basic overview, I can just trim it down to this middle section,” you start, more to ground yourself than anything else.

You hear him move before you see him.

A step closer behind you.

Then another.

You don’t turn around, letting the moment unravel until he’s close enough that you feel it more than register it. The shift in the air, the space behind you suddenly gone.

He leans in slightly to look at the page over your shoulder.

And then, his hand settles lightly at your lower back.

Not heavy. Not forceful.

But instead, sickeningly sensual. Like the one simple breach of space had broken you completely.

His hand was cold against your back, held so low and practically to the waist of your little black skirt. It was steady too, like it was barely a concern and more like a reflex.

Your breath catches instantly and entire train of thought disappears.

“I-um-” you choke on the word, your voice catching mid sentence like it’s been cut off. He loved to see you this way, and he knew you’d get like this too.

Your fingers tighten slightly on the edge of the paper, your posture going rigid without meaning to. Your mind blanks for half a second—completely empty—before everything rushes back in all at once.

Awareness.

But too much of it.

You’re suddenly hyper aware of everything: how close he is, the cooling shock of his hand through the fabric, the way you can feel his presence right behind you without even looking.

The way his front was inching increasing closer to your back, the front of his thighs grazing against the back of yours accidentally. Or at least you thought it was accidental.

“I was just—gonna go over, um..” you try again, but it comes out uneven, your words stumbling over each other.

You swallow, forcing yourself to look back down at the notes, even though the words blur the second you try to focus on them.

His hand drifts lower, curving over your ass gently.

“Um, the second part was mostly about—about timelines,” you manage, your voice still not fully steady.

Your heart is beating a little too fast now, your thoughts scrambling to catch up while also trying very hard not to drift toward the one thing you’re actively avoiding thinking about.

His hand doesn’t move for a moment. It stays firm over the curvature of your ass, holding solid pressure with his finger tips in a way that almost feels like he’s grabbing it.

And then he shifts lower. So low that he reaches the hem of your short little skirt, pressing his body closer to yours as he stood behind you.

You pause as you wait for him to slip underneath.

But he doesn’t.

Not immediately.

And that somehow makes it worse.

You inhale quietly, trying to steady yourself, forcing your brain back into something functional, “And then they shifted into—uh—budget adjustments,” you continue, a little more quickly now, like speed might help you regain control.

Your hand jots down a sloppy outline of the words you say, helplessly thin to what he had asked if you.

But the effort didn’t matter. It would all be thrown to shit. Because when his fingers slipped low off of your skirt and made contact with the bare skin of your ass, you lost it.

Close enough to where you needed him most that your thoughts won’t fully cooperate.

And you’re very aware that you’re trying to act like it isn’t affecting you at all.

So is he.

But he finds it endearing. You’re cute when you act like you’re stronger than you are. He had to hold back a smile at the way you continued to try and work, to do as he asked because you were sure to never fail him.

“Um, I’ll put any numbers in a chart to the left for you,” you muster out, taking a deep inhale as his fingers continue to drift.

Your back curves inward without thinking about it, pressing your ass out further into his hold and shuttering at the feeling.

And then, with the fabric against his palm, he shrugged it upwards in a smooth motion. All the way up until the loose skirt rested on your waist and your ass was bare and exposed in your little black thong.

You choked.

He goes still for a second behind you.

Not the usual kind of calm stillness, this is heavier, almost reverent, like now you’ve really caught him and there’s no way for him to get out.

“…fuck,” he murmurs, soft and almost absentminded.

You barely have time to process it before you feel the lightest shift—his hand moving, not leaving completely but easing just enough as his focus drifts towards the space between your legs.

His fingertips brush lightly over the fabric of your underwear, slow and careful, like he doesn’t want to disturb it.

It’s not rushed.

Not distracted.

It’s deliberate in a way that feels… different. So intense and slow that it’s suffocating.

His touch grazes over the surface—barely there, almost thoughtful—tracing along a line, then pausing, then moving again like he’s following something only he can see.

“So…soft..” he starts, then trails off, exhaling softly instead.

You were soft. You were young and smooth and everything was just as it should be. It’s been awhile since he felt this gifted. Like you had granted him something that no one could ever deserve.

And then he pressed his middle finger right onto the damp spread of your thong, applying a light pressure and sighing at the wet fabric.

A breath slips out of you before you can stop it.

Soft at first—then it deepens into something heavier, your chest rising and falling in a way you can’t quite control. It’s not loud, but it feels louder than it should in the quiet room.

Your fingers tighten slightly against the desk as the feeling settles in, unexpected and hard to ignore. It moves through you in a quick, subtle wave—enough to make your shoulders tense before they ease again.

“You’ve gotten yourself all wet for me. Good,” he sighs, lips up to your ear as his finger continues to explore the hot area. He slips himself up and down your clothed slit, pressing firm and keeping himself behind you against his desk.

You draw in another breath, sharper this time, like you’re trying to steady yourself, but it only half works.

A faint shudder follows—small, but noticeable—running through you before you can stop it. You straighten almost immediately after, like you can recover from it if you move fast enough, if you just act normal.

You’re acting like you’ve never been touched before in your life. Like this was your first experience being rubbed over the blanket of your thong. It honestly was embarrassing that you were this riled up without him even really touching you.

But then he does. Sudden and seemingly out of nowhere, sliding the thin panties to the side and letting the cold air of the room sting against your needy clit.

Your head falls, arms stabilizing themselves with a bit more effort as your hip bones pressed against the ledge of the desk.

Suddenly, there’s an absence by your ear and by your torso where he once stood.

And before you can process it, you realize where he’d gone.

He was kneeling behind you, slow and teasing until his knees were bent in half and his hands were gripping either side of your waist. You were on full display in front of him, dripping pussy all swollen in front of his face and your body leaned over the desk just barely.

If you weren’t nervous before, now you were completely helpless.

“Relax,” he coos, “let me taste you.”

His hands brace against your upper thighs, steady, like he’s anchoring himself there.

Your breath holds deep in your chest.

He takes his time—too much time—and that’s what throws you off. Nothing rushed, nothing careless. Just slow, deliberate movement, as if he’s completely unbothered by the way the moment stretches.

He was basking in the sight of your pretty pussy in front of him, so tight and puffy and dripping down your thigh in a desperate plea.

He lets out a small breath against you, slow, relaxed, hot.

You feel it more than you hear it, and it hits the space between you in a way that makes your thoughts stumble.

Your body reacts before you can stop it—a small, involuntary shift, your weight moving from one foot to the other like you’re trying to settle and can’t quite manage it.

And then, his tongue presses flat against your throbbing clit so firm that you nearly faint.

Your shoulders drop first, just slightly, like your body doesn’t fully trust it yet.

Then more. A lap around the bud. A subtle press into your hole with the tip of his tongue. A sigh that stems deep from his chest at the sweet taste of you on him after all this time.

Another breath leaves you—longer than it should be, heavier. You really had been holding it in without noticing. Your eyes fall shut, not on purpose, just because it feels easier than keeping them open.

You don’t have to think.

For the first time in what feels like forever, your mind actually… quiets.

He hums into you as he continues to lick you up, sucking on your swollen clit and lathering yourself around him.

Sure you’ve had a man between your legs before. Sure you’ve felt the warm sensation of a tongue slung inside of you and swirling around mindlessly.

But this was different. He’d been down there, on his knees, for nearly three minutes and you were already steeping your way to a release.

The tension on your clit eases, then spreads, unraveling through you in slow waves. It’s almost overwhelming—not in a bad way, just in that finally kind of way, like your body doesn’t know what to do with the absence of the sexual build from the last 12 hours.

A soft moan falls through when he nuzzles his face back and forth into you, groaning against your clit as he licked another run of your honeyed arousal.

You sink into it without realizing, letting yourself go a little more with each passing second. You’ve stopped bracing for something and just decided to accept it.

Everything feels warmer. Looser. Lighter.

And for once, you’re not forcing yourself to stay composed, not pulling yourself together, not fighting your own thoughts.

Instead, you’re just falling completely undone. Quaking against the desk as you fight to hold yourself upright, bending further over without thinking and pressing your ass further into his face.

And he loved it. He’d have your ass and your delicious pussy suffocating around him for days on end. Willingly. If anything, he’d beg.

You sucks harder at your clit, enough to the point where your legs start to wobble and your moans tangle within each other. Your torso leans further into the desk, now halfway bent over as you press your core into his face unknowingly.

“That’s it,” he hums, “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mmm—” is all you can press out, knuckles whitened as you grip the desk and hip bones aching in their pressure against it.

Then, without warning, your hole fills with the sudden stuff of his two thick fingers. Thick and gritty and curling up into you like it was where they always meant to be.

“Ah—fuck!”

And you feel it. His smirk. Curving up against your wet pussy and leaving a trail of egotistical success.

“Hm,” he tuts, “that’s what you needed? My fingers?”

He was having fun now, watching you unravel and fall vulnerable in front of him. He only wished he could see your pretty face, so red and twisted and worked up.

“Y-Yes! God, yes, feels so good, Mr. Styles,” you groan, deep from your chest like it’d been trapped there for longer than you knew.

You don’t know why you call him that. Yes, you always have. But never when his face is shoved deep into your cunt and his fingers are jutting into you remorselessly.

But he likes it. He likes your undying respect and the way you worship him.

He also liked the reminder that this was a bad idea. The thought of someone walking in and seeing his assistant ass out over his desk had him aching in his pants for a second time today.

“Yeah? You gonna cum on my face? Get me soaked?”

It was his way of saying please, fucking suffocate me and drown me in your cum till I choke.

But he had a reputation to uphold.

So he kept that part in.

“Mmm, mhm,” you whine, leaning even further over the desk as your head untwists.

He felt how close you were, measuring the clench of your hole around his fingers and the slight vibration of your thighs that echoed through him.

His thrusts quickened, his lips sucked harder, and you were putty. Melting around him until your tummy bubbled with that familiar heat and your breaths stilled.

“I’m-I’m gonna—”

“Mm, I know, baby,” he hums, “do it.”

And as all of his asks went, it only took you half a second to comply.

You were shaking around his head as your orgasm flooded over you, coming in waves and leaving you frozen in front of him.

Your body stilled, your breaths held, your face reddened.

A light, floaty dizziness rolls through you, harsh and overwhelming. Your limbs feel heavier, but not in a bad way—more like they’ve finally stopped trying so hard to hold you up. There’s a loose, almost weightless quality to them, like you could stay exactly where you are and not move for a long time.

But then he keeps going.

Quicker.

More intense.

“Ah—I’m…” you trail off, twitching at the feeling of his tongue on your clit and the way his lips wrapped around it tighter.

Your body tenses instinctively, like it doesn’t know how to process it yet—your breath catching, your shoulders tightening, your fingers curling slightly as you try to hold steady through it.

It almost hurts.

Not sharp exactly, but overwhelming in a way that makes you pull in on yourself for a second, like you’re bracing against it.

“It’s too much,” you breathe out, twitching around him and falling further into the desk.

He just continues harder.

Your mind stumbles, trying to make sense of it, but there’s no space for clear thoughts. Just sensation, heavy and all at once, pushing past what feels comfortable.

“Breathe,” he sighs into you, “it’s not too much. You like it. Don’t act like you don’t.”

You inhale, a little shaky.

And then, it shifts.

Slowly at first.

That tight, overwhelming edge begins to soften, the intensity spreading out instead of pressing down. Your body starts to give instead of fight it, the tension easing little by little as you realize it’s not something you have to resist.

Your shoulders drop.

Your grip loosens.

The pressure that felt like too much just seconds ago turns into something warmer, something that settles into you instead of against you.

Another breath leaves you, longer this time.

“There we go,” he nods as he presses deeper inside of you, clit stinging and pulsing and swarming over you in new pleasure.

You let out a soft breath, almost a quiet stutter under it, like you don’t even recognize yourself in the moment.

“I’ve… never felt— it feels so good,” you admit, your voice a little lighter now, a little dazed around the edges.

It sounds strange even as you say it.

But it’s true.

You've never had a man bring you to an orgasm as quickly as he did, and you’ve never once had a man continue even after you’ve finished. Pushing you to your limits and watching you adjust based off of his preferences.

You shift slightly, still settling into that lingering warmth, that looseness that hasn’t fully left your body yet.

“I’m—shit,” you add, softer this time, like you’re still trying to process it.

And then you feel it, the rise of your second orgasm coming only within a couple moments from your last. Heavier this time, more intense than anything you’ve ever felt and taking up the whole of your body.

“Feel good? Tell me how I make you feel.”

Your voice drops, quieter, more honest, “so good, Mr. Styles. Thank you, it feels so good.”

He groans into your pussy, drowning in your respect and admiration and the way you were always so grateful for him.

You exhale slowly, sinking into the feeling again, like you’re chasing the last of it, hoping it doesn’t fade too quickly. Your shoulders stay relaxed this time, your body not fighting it anymore, just letting it settle wherever it wants.

“C’mon, you’re right there, give it to me again,” he whispers, licking quicker and curling into that spongy spot that has you spinning around yourself.

And in normal fashion, your mind agrees to his request immediately and your body follows with it. You shatter against him again, tensing and groaning and filling the wide office with the erotic noises of your pleasure.

He didn’t care if you got caught. He was floating with his tongue on you. There wasn’t anything in this world that would stop him from finishing the rest of your orgasm, the noises and the tensing too much for him to deny.

Your stomach falls completely flat over the edge of the desk now, cheek pressed against the wood and ass up high in his face. Your feet struggled to stay grounded as you bent in half, completely losing control of yourself and sinking into it all.

This was what he wanted. He wanted to watch his perfect little thing finally relax. You were always so tense, so eager to please him and always trying your hardest.

And yes, it was his favorite thing, to watch you try for him. Sweat for him until he was more than satisfied.

But this was different—new. You were loose, dropping your walls and showing him vulnerabilities you would’ve never dared to do in front of him.

And when he pulled his thick fingers out and finally removed the suction on your clit, you slipped into a breath of relief.

“Ok?”

“Mhm,” you nod against the desk, “ok.”

He stands from his spot on the floor, running a hand up your back until it lands on your shoulder. His face falls to the side of yours, lips near your ear as he rubs gentle circles onto your skin.

“M’gonna fuck you now,” he whispers, “slow and deep until you beg me for more.”

He flips you gently to your back before he continues.

“And I wanna see your face when I make you cum again.”

He says it so simply it almost passes like any other sentence, but you knew it was coming. Or at least part of you did.

Still, hearing it out loud makes your breath catch just a little. The way he casually lets you know that he’ll be fucking you now. Making you cum for a third time. Your boss, his assistant.

You don’t look at him right away.

Your eyes drop instead, a small, almost automatic reaction, like you suddenly don’t trust yourself to hold his gaze without giving something away. Like you feel it’s almost embarrassing how excited you are.

There’s a warmth rising in your face you can’t stop, spreading slowly, settling into your cheeks.

You nod.

Small at first. Then again, a little more certain.

“Okay,” you say quietly, your voice softer than you meant it to be, still recovering from what he had just put you through.

He smiles when you say it, a real smile, endeared at the sweet nature of your acceptance and the way you laid out on his desk in patience.

And once he gets the urge, he can’t stop himself.

He’s leaning down into you, quick, as if he doesn’t want to give himself time to rethink it, before his lips are on yours. Slow, careful. Like if he kissed you too hard he might just break you.

There’s a pause where you feel it—your own reaction, the way your chest feels a little lighter, a little warmer, like something just settled into place.

Everything felt peaceful for a moment. Like the heavy tension of what had started had faltered for a moment and instead turned into something domestic. Personal.

You bring a hand to the back of his neck without really needing to, just to have something to do, still not quite settling into it yet.

But there’s a faint smile there. Subtle. From both of you, unintentionally.

Like you’re trying to keep it in, but it shows anyway.

And when you finally pull back, it’s quick—just for a second—before you both fall back into each other, that same cohesive mesh, like you don’t need to say anything more.

His lips were soft and full against yours, coated in the residue of your last orgasm but you don’t mind. You tasted him through it. The deep mint, the strong patter of his tongue. It was intoxicating, and by the way he was kissing you back, you could tell he was feeling the same.

The two of you start to strip as you continue the kiss, your fingers working to unbutton your shirt once more and his undoing the buckle of his belt. His pants came next, then his shirt, falling down his arms and joining the others.

He shrugged your skirt down and off your legs, leaving you bare in just your bra which soon came next.

It was hasty, but tasteful. Slightly sloppy but also controlled, how it always was with you two.

And then you were both naked, your back pressed against his desk, his lips on yours and a hand tangled through your hair.

“Please, Harry,” you whispered, the first time you’d called him by his first name since the day you started working for him.

And that did it.

“Oh, y/n,” he kissed you deeper, a hand coming down to grab his own length, “been thinking about this for so long. So good to me, all the time. Want to give you what you deserve.”

You whine, slipping your tongue through his lips as he positions himself deeper between you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, his left hand holding your leg stable as his right works to align himself with you.

And once he presses in, slow, teasing, you freeze.

He was thick. So warm and inviting as he slid into your slick with the precision of a man who cares. Who cares about your pleasure and waits to work off of your reaction.

He was analyzing you as he pressed deeper, listening to little noises and pulling back from your lips for small moments just to glance at your expressions.

You felt so full, overwhelmed in the pressure but reveling in the feeling all the same. He was so thick and ridged inside of you, pressing past the tip and further to his base with every passing second.

“Tell me what you’re feeling, y/n,” he breathes out, “need to know if it feels okay. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You shake your head immediately.

“No, feels so good, don’t stop, please,” you stuttered through a breath, legs tensing around his waist as your tits melted outwards as you laid on your back.

With that, he bottomed out, hips melding into yours in some smooth motion until you were both groaning out into each other.

He starts slowly, rolling in and of you in a loose rhythm that was contained in the way it should be.

You exhale in a wave of pleasure, shoulders loosening as you sink into it again. It’s not overwhelming like before, just steady, lingering. Full in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

Your thoughts quiet on their own, slipping into the background like they’re no longer needed.

You shift on the desk slightly, more comfortable now, not searching for where to put yourself anymore. Everything feels easier—your breathing, your hands, even the way your mind moves.

“Harry,” you moan, “Feels so good inside of me.”

He was sweating already, overwhelmed in the feeling of his thick cock nuzzled deep inside of your little pussy and not quite knowing how to process it.

“Yeah? You like my cock inside of you? This how it felt last night?”

You shake your head messily, “Mm-mm, no. Never as good as this, no.”

His pace quickened, just barely, but enough to give you a hint into what it could be.

Rough. Sloppy. Aggressive.

And suddenly, you needed it that way.

“Please, harder,” you groan, the words slipping out of you before you can really even think about it.

“Hm?”

“Harder, Harry, please! Fuck me harder, please, I want it,” you were tensing around his cock on purpose, prying for him in any way you could.

“What do you want?” He played, stretching you thin until you were a desperate mess.

He just didn’t expect it to come to him so easily.

“Your cock, please, I want it to hurt,” you yelp, “fuck me harder, Harry, please, I need it!”

He growled, squeezing his eyes shut to hold himself together at your filthy pleads. You were a wreck, already so worked up and he had barely fucked you yet.

Not properly, anyway.

With a huff, he paused his gentle rhythm before grabbing onto your left ankle, throwing it up on his shoulder until it slung there naturally.

You gasped at the shift, the difference stretching you out and letting his cock kiss your insides in a new way from before.

“Mm, f—”

You were cut short at the sudden slam of his hips against yours, rough this time and leaving little space for you to process a thing.

He was harsh and unforgiving as he slammed his way into you, again and again and again and again until you were drunk and dizzy with his dick and your eyes were to the back of your head.

“Oh, Harry! Fuck, yes! Yes! Yes!” You were ridiculously loud, neck strained as you grasped onto nothing in an attempt to steady yourself against the solid surface of his desk.

“Yeah? You like this better? Tell me you like it rough,” he groans, sweat forming on the line of his curls as he ruts into you harder.

“I do, fuck! Feels so good, so deep,” your words sounded like nonsense, thoughts rambling out of you with little to no processing time.

He presses his palm flat against your lower stomach, slapping onto the space where his tip tented the skin of your tummy and groaning at the feeling of him so deep in your insides.

He grabs your hand and places it on your stomach with his, watching as you now also feel his cock jutting in and out of you and pressing up into your skin.

“You feel that? You feel my cock fucking into your belly? S’where it belongs.”

“Mm, yes! Fuck, so good, don’t stop,” you were already close, and he hadn’t even touched your clit.

He wasn’t going to, either.

He wanted to know his dick was what made you cum. Nothing else.

He fucked you harder, deeper, every passing second growing more and more intense and even more aggressive.

You were…in heaven.

You’d dreamt of this for god knows how long. You knew he’d be the man to do it. He was big and strong and fucking you just right and handling you like the little thing you were.

“Tell me how good this dick is,” he spits, shoving himself deep into your cervix.

“It’s—it’s…shit,” you tried, really, you did.

But when he was slamming himself into you the way he was, table rocking and wooden legs squeaking, who could blame you?

And when you thought he’d be patient, let you take your time, you were slapped right out of that thought the moment you felt the chill of his rings around your neck.

His hand had you pinned down, gripping tight against your veins until your face reddened and your throat felt raw in ecstasy.

“Fucking say it,” he grits, “tell me how good it is. Tell me what you want.”

You were spinning above yourself, swarming in the mix of the stretch of your leg over his shoulder and the grip on your throat and the slam of his hips.

“So good! Fuck, your dick is so good Harry I need it. Want it all the time, please, want this cock everyday, all the time.”

You were rambling, but not in the way you did when you were nervous to send over his weekly schedule.

This time was different.

You were rambling like there was no end in sight. Like if you weren’t so distracted by the fuck of his hips than you would continue on and it would never stop. Just raving about how good he felt inside of you and how you wanted it forever and ever.

“Good, baby,” he hummed, “so fucking good to me, you know that? Never let me down, never. You’re perfect, so good for me all the time.”

You whimpered at the praise, his grip tightening against your throat as you struggled to keep your eyes open.

“And now you're taking me so well,” he continued through heavy breaths, “so tight around my big cock, hm? Best pussy I’ve ever felt in my life, you’re fucking unreal.”

And that was it.

He should’ve known it would get you there—how could it not when this is what you lived for? His praise, his words, the reassurance that he was happy with what you brought to him. That you were worth his while.

More than worth his while.

“Harry! I’m—”

“I know,” he quickened his pace, “let it out. Squeeze my cock till it stings, make me cum.”

You screamed, legs clenching and extended up around him and mouth falling open in pure bliss. It was the hardest you’ve ever come in your life, so wrapped up in the moment and pulling from the lack of blood to your head.

His grip on your throat loosened a bit as you came, giving you room to breathe and steady yourself so as to not pace out right on his desk.

Because that would be hard to explain to someone.

He replaced his dick with a thumb on your clit to help you ride it out, not wanting to cut it too close as he was there himself now and wouldn’t risk cumming inside of you.

No matter how badly he wanted to watch his insides drip out of your swollen hole.

“Fuckkk,” you groaned deep as he stroked himself onto your stomach, letting it paint your milky tits and drip down to your belly button in a careless fashion.

You both watched each other's faces—the way you curled and squirmed and tensed at every new dash of a feeling. It was so intense, so wrong, so good in the way that felt like it had to be a dream.

And because you just couldn’t help yourself, as you come down from your last orgasm, you swipe your finger up your stomach until you gather a healthy helping of his cum and press your finger onto your tongue. Lapping up the salty liquid until it hit your throat and you were humming in satisfaction.

He twitched at the act, still stroking himself out and groaning at your fucked up behavior.

You would be the death of him.

He lets grabs your ankle and takes your leg off of his shoulder, sighing as his head drops and he catches his breath.

You follow the same pattern, regulating your breaths and shutting your eyes in an attempt to revive yourself.

You both end up looking at each other at the same time.

There’s a beat—just a second—where it’s quiet.

And then it breaks.

A breathy laugh slips out of you first, soft and loose, like it just falls out without asking permission. He follows right after, the same kind of laugh—easy, unguarded, like neither of you has the energy to hold it in or question it.

It’s not in humor. It’s more in bliss. Like you both just can’t beleive how fucking good you feel and how fucking insane you both are.

It feels a little unreal, like you both just came out of something you weren’t expecting to feel that deeply.

There’s that shared look again.

Tired.

Relieved.

But happy. Really happy.

Your shoulders feel heavy in the best way, like all the tension finally burned off and left nothing behind but this loose, quiet calm. His posture mirrors it, less rigid, more open, like what just happened took something out of both of you, but gave something back too.

You peer up at the clock on his wall before looking back at him.

You exhale, still smiling, softer now.

“Your 12:00 will be here soon. I’ll let them in once you’re ready.”

He lets out another small laugh, shaking his head once like he doesn’t even have the words for it.

And for a second, neither of you tries to fill the silence. Because you don’t have to.

“Mm,” he leans to kiss you for just a quick second, “perfect.”

You shift slightly, exhaling under your breath. Looking at him through his flushed cheeks and his lazy smile. His messy hair and the way his body seems a little less tense than it usually is.

He’s satisfied.

And that thought sits comfortably. Like a box checked. Like something resolved.

Good.

That’s what matters.

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“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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YN had known that Harvey was going to propose to Yasmin for a while, so she wasn’t too shocked when the announcement photo went up on Instagram, or when the wedding invite came through her door a couple of months later. She knew it was only going to be small, with only close friends and family in attendance. The one thing she just hadn’t quite anticipated that it would take place in Positano. Looking back though, she probably should have. Italy was one of YN’s favourite places, and one of Harvey’s and they’d had their fair share of holidays there with Yasmin too. It made sense that they wanted to celebrate their love there.

Yasmin was perfect for Harvey. Whilst Harvey could be a little over the top, always high-energy and bouncing between one thing and another, Yasmin calmed him. She was stiller, highly organised and kept him in line — exactly what he needed. They were in YN’s eyes a perfect match, and she couldn’t wait to watch them get married and start the rest of their lives together.

Now, that was one thing. Seeing the two of them get married at the end of the week was its own thing, in YN’s mind. The wedding itself, the week long event that they’d rented a villa for — that was the thing that YN was dreading.

The siblings were as close as they have ever been, especially after their mother died. Their father hadn’t been in the picture, so it had always just been the three of them, well now two. No matter what swirls in YN’s head about the event — she loves her brother and would always be there for him. They’ve only got each other now.

But, saying that, they were different.

YN was twenty-six, Harvey was thirty. There was a significant age gap between them that never mattered when they were younger, but grew more as they did. When YN started university at eighteen, Harvey had already graduated and was making a name for himself in the music industry.

Their lives were very different, and that meant their circles were very different.

Harvey had more friends that YN could probably name, making them throughout his long career as a music producer. It was actually how him and Yasmin met, when she was recording backing vocals on an album Harvey produced five years ago.

YN had studied English Literature at university, and worked as a junior editor for a publishing firm. She had one friend, Olive, who had been her rock throughout university and beyond, and that was pretty much it. She had acquaintances, and people she spent time with but not a lot of true friends.

Their lives were very different, and that wasn’t a bad thing but it did mean that YN often felt slightly out of place in Harvey’s circle. They were all in the music industry in some capacity, living a life completely different to what YN was. There was nothing wrong with that, it just made her slightly uncomfortable. And if she was honest, slightly insecure. She didn’t have the most money, or the biggest flat but she had worked hard for every penny, and every step she had taken in life.

There was another thing. Another thing that niggled in the back of YN’s brain, and had done since she met him eight years ago.

Harry Styles. Harvey’s best friend and partner in crime.

It was a storyline that YN had read a hundred times over, and no matter how many times she had told herself that she wasn’t going to allow herself to fall victim to something so common — she couldn’t help it.

YN had been eighteen when she first met Harry. It was actually her eighteenth birthday, and he had been twenty-four. YN was going out in London with Olive and some of her friends from college as a last hurrah before university. Harvey had asked if he could drop in with a friend or two. YN had said yes, obviously, having not seen her older brother in a while. What she hadn’t expected that night was Harry Styles to be the friend he was bringing.

YN had taken one look at him, standing next to her brother, head tipped back as he laughed at something stupid Harvey had said — and that was it. She was done for.

𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟖

YN has had too many shots. Categorically, too many shots.

It was her eighteenth birthday after all, obviously drinking had been on the cards but she just hadn’t expected to quite have so many in such close succession.

That was why when Olive had pulled her over to the bar, arguing that they needed to have more shots, YN had backed out.

They had rented out the top floor of one of their favourite bars for the event, or Harvey had. When he heard that his little sister wanted to celebrate her birthday with her friends in London, he had insisted he helped. YN wasn’t going to say no, especially when she knew her and her friends would all be safe if he did that.

“Water, please,” YN had all but gasped to the bartender.

“Boo!” Olive had drunkenly slurred from the side of her, “C’mon it’s your eighteenth, YN!”

“Yeah and I would like to live to see nineteen!” YN retorts, face lifting in joy when the bartender placed a pint of ice cold water in front of her.

YN watched as Olive picked up another shot of what YN was guessing was tequila and threw it back, taking a bite of lime afterwards.

Olive and YN were platonic soulmates. Both girls knew it and weren’t going to let anything come between them. They were slightly different though, with Olive a lot more outgoing than YN was but they balanced each other well. Despite their differences, they hardly ever argued or got annoyed with each other and if they did it was always small and easily fixed.

YN pretty much drank the entire pint of water in one gulp, feeling slightly refreshed afterwards and ready to get back to it.

“Come on!” Olive grabbed her hand and started to pull her towards the dance floor, “I wanna dance.”

YN allowed herself to pulled a step or two and then her phone vibrated in her pocket. YN pulled her arm out of Olive’s hold and held up a finger.

“One sec!”

YN stopped, watching as Olive found a group of people to dance with in the middle of the floor. Pulling her phone out, she saw a very unflattering photo of her brother (one she had chosen especially for his contact photo) and swiped to answer.

“Harvey?” YN practically shouted down the phone, trying to be heard over the background noise around her.

“YN?” He shouted just as loudly back, “We’ve just got here! Where are you?”

“Upstairs!” She called back, “Harv, I really can’t hear you.”

“Harry!” She heard Harvey call, quieter than before, “Upstairs mate!”

“Where are you?” YN asked, trying to push past the bodies towards the entrance. Just as she got there, she spotted her brother walking towards her, “Oh, I see you!”

“Jesus, YN, how many friends do you have?” She watched as Harvey, phone to his ear still scanned the crowd for her. It was only when she started to wave her arm around like a mad woman that he finally spotted her, “There you are.”

YN closed her phone and placed it back in her pocket, smiling as she bounced over to her brother. Just as she started to move, she spotted that he wasn’t alone. Well, YN knew he wasn’t alone from the conversation they had earlier, but she hadn’t quite expected that this ‘friend’ of his to be none other than Harry Styles.

YN froze.

She watched as Harvey said something to Harry. Surprisingly, it must have been funny because Harry tipped his head back in laughter, his eyes closing as it shook through his body.

“You gonna say hi or what?” YN was in that much shock that she hadn’t even noticed that the duo was now standing directly in front of her, staring at her expectantly.

“Oh,” she plastered a smile on her face, “Hi.”

“Happy birthday, squirt,” Harvey extended his arms out, and engulfed YN in what could only be described as a bear hug.

“Thank you,” she mumbled into his shoulder, “Thanks for…” she motioned to the party around them, “This.”

“Don’t mention it,” Harvey shrugged, dropping his hands into his pockets, “This is Harry… Harry this is my little sister, YN.”

YN never thought that she would have a book moment in real life. She had read so many books, so many romance books at that and she never thought she would ever experience anything like book characters do on a page. But, as she stood there in the middle of her eighteenth birthday party, and Harry Styles’ eyes settled on her, the world stilled around her. The music quietened, the people seemed to disappear and all she could focus on was the green of his eyes. Eyes that were staring directly at her.

“Happy birthday,” He gave her a smile, “It’s nice to meet you, Harv’s always talking about you.”

YN froze all over again, “Thank you… It’s… uh nice to meet you too.”

The problem was, YN hadn’t even been that big of a fan of one direction. She’d enjoyed Harry’s first album, but Harvey had helped produce that one so she felt like she had to. But, even minus her brother’s involvement it was a damn good album, and Sign of the Times was a fantastic song to sing in the shower.

“There’s a lot of people here, squirt, I didn’t think you had that many friends,” Harvey commented, looking around the room once more.

“I don’t think I know who half these people are,” YN admitted, brushing a piece of her hair away from her face, “I think they’re treating it more as a final college bash than a birthday.”

“You’re having fun though, yeah?” It was Harry that asked. It was at that point that she also realised he hadn’t stopped looking at her, “You only turn eighteen once.”

“Yeah… yes I am,” YN nodded.

“Great,” Harvey tapped her on the shoulder, “Well… we’re going to get a drink, do you want anything?”

“No thank you,” she managed to squeak out before they walked away from her and towards the bar.

It was almost as though her feet were cemented into the ground. She couldn’t move. Of course she knew that Harvey and Harry Styles were friends, but she hadn’t the slightest clue that they were close enough for Harry to tag along with him to his little sisters birthday party.

“YN,” Olive appeared directly in front of her, the girl’s hands resting on her arms and giving her a shake, “You still with me?”

“I… I think so,” YN muttered, looking at her friend with the same shocked expression.

“Is that fucking Harry Styles with Harvey?” she asked, shock evident in her own voice.

“Yes?” YN’s response sounded more like a question than anything else.

“Harry Styles is at your birthday party?”

“Yes?”

“Why is Harry Styles at your birthday party?”

YN just shrugged, “I don’t know… Harvey said he’d be bringing a friend but I didn’t know that it was going to be… him.”

“Jesus.”

“I know.”

“He’s even prettier in real life, if that’s even possible.”

“I know.”

That was the first of three things YN learnt on her eighteenth birthday. The second being that tequila is not her friend and never will be.

The third was that meeting Harry Styles on that day was one of the best and worst things to ever happen to her.

𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔

A crush had blossomed somewhere in her chest, and she hadn’t ever been able to get rid of it. That was the tale, the one as old as time — the younger sister falling for her older brother’s friend.

That eighteenth birthday party had just been the start of something that grew. All of a sudden, Harry was everywhere. Every time she saw her brother, he was there too. They became inseparable.

That’s why when she had heard the news that Harry was going to be Harvey’s best man, she hadn’t been the slightest bit shocked. But, it did cause an anxiety to blossom within her chest.

When she had arrived late last night, she had bypassed the rest of the wedding party that was already here and gone straight up to her room. She had sent Harvey and Yasmin an apologetic message, saying that she was too tired and yucky from the flight and just wanted a shower and to go to bed.

That wasn’t the truth though. What had really happened was as she arrived at the villa, she was as the message said exhausted from the flight but she just couldn’t face it. She had been directed towards the patio, and the first thing she saw was Harry Styles, in a pair of shorts and a linen shirt dancing with one of Yasmin’s bridesmaids.

She was beautiful, far too beautiful and they both had big grins on their faces and that was enough for YN to decide that she needed another night, just one to be able to face him.

YN had that one night and yet she felt no better.

Instead of showering and relaxing, she showered and then clad in the villa-issued dressing gown, towel wrapped around her hair - YN laid on the plush bed in her room and stared at the ceiling. Telling herself over and over again that she was being silly and she needed to get over it, then she would remember something, a small snippet of Harry that would cause those feelings to just come rushing back.

Sleep hadn’t come easy, and she somehow felt worse this morning than after her flight. She had dragged herself up and out of bed, showered again because she thought it would help wake her up (it hadn’t) and got dressed for the day. She’d settled on a pair of linen shorts that stopped just above her knee and a flowy white top with small flowers on it, and short straps.

Thanks to Yasmin’s very detailed itinerary, YN knew that they would be meeting for breakfast imminently and yet she just couldn’t move. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, messing with a loose thread on the edge of her shirt.

She was being silly now, and it was frustrating her. Yet every time she tried to shake her nerves, it just didn’t work. She didn’t want to see him, to have to be with him and pretend that his eyes weren’t the ones that plagued her dreams. It was so silly, and yet to YN it felt like the end of the world.

YN groaned and dropped back on her bed, arms spread at her side. She stayed for a second before she heard the sound of her phone vibrate on the bedside table.

Sitting up, she reached over to grab it. Groaning once more when she saw the notifications pop through one after another.

Harvey: Oi

Harvey: Yas’ going to be sending search and rescue in a minute

Harvey: Get your arse down here

With a sigh, YN sent a very passive aggressive thumbs up in response and pushed herself up from the bed.

Somehow, miraculously, she put one foot in front of the other and made it downstairs.

“God,” Harvey dropped down at the table across from Harry with a thud, an espresso on each hand, “I’m exhausted and it’s only day one.”

“Oh, thanks mate,” Harry went to reach for one of the cups but Harvey pulled it closer to him.

“These are both mine,” He explained with a furrowed brow, “Get your own.”

Harry was gobsmacked. He didn’t even know what to say, he just laughed and shook his head.

“I didn’t even think you were that bad yesterday,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair.

“I wasn’t,” Harvey sighs, running a hand through his hair and taking a sip of espresso, “But between Yas and my sister I’m going to go into an early grave.”

Harry tried to ignore the way his heart lurched when Harvey mentioned YN. Instead, he tapped his thigh with his finger and tried to keep his face as still as possible.

“YN’s here?” He asked, praying that Harvey didn’t notice the way her name got caught in his throat.

“Yeah she arrived late last night,” Harvey explains, running a hand over his face.

“I didn’t know,” Harry shrugs, “I haven’t seen her.”

“Nobody has,” He shakes his head, “She got here, messaged me she was tired and was going to bed and nobody has heard a peep since. Yas is freaking out because she needs to know if her dress needs steaming and if it does it needs to go today and… argh.”

Harry watches as Harvey drops his head back in his chair, both hands coming to rest over his eyes. Harry tries really hard not to laugh, but it’s impossible not to and a small chuckle escapes his lips.

“Mate, it’ll be fine,” Harry offers in support.

“I know,” Harvey sighs again, “It’s just… I sent her message five minutes ago and she replied with a thumbs up but I’ve not heard anything else.”

“See,” Harry points at Harvey’s phone, “You’ve had a sign of life, she’ll be here. It’s YN, she’ll have spotted a bookcase and become so distracted that nothing else in the world will matter.”

“It’s just…” Harvey looks as though he was contemplating sharing his next remark, but he does anyway, “I’m just worried about her… she’s been really anxious about coming here and I don’t want it to have stressed her out.”

That immediately perks Harry’s interest, “Anxious? Why?”

“She, uh, struggles with,” Harvey waves his around at the people milling around them, “This… she thinks that because she’s not in the industry or something she doesn’t fit in.”

“That’s bullshit,” Harry frowns, “Of course she fits in.”

“I know that and you know that,” Harvey recites and then shrugs, “It’s a bit harder trying to get her to realise that.”

Harry lets that settle with him. As much as he agreed that there was a part of YN that felt like she maybe didn’t fit in — he can’t help but think that there was maybe something else in it. Harry found himself looking away from Harvey, hoping that overnight his friend hadn’t turned into some kind of mind reader and could read into all his thoughts.

Then he heard it.

The sound came from just behind Harvey, at the double doors at the back of the villa that lead to the patio that they were sitting on. An unmistakable sound, a laugh that could make a smile grow on even the grumpiest of faces.

It was YN, walking down the steps. She was chatting and laughing with Yasmin, the two of them with the biggest smiles of their faces. It made Harry’s heart skip a beat. She wasn’t wearing or doing anything special, just a pair of shorts and a flowy shirt, her hair down but pinned back from her face. She looked slightly tired but he presumed that most of the wedding party were after the travel.

He looked away, especially when he realised there was no air in his lungs and Harvey had realised that he was staring intently at something.

Harvey turned, saw the two women walking down the steps and raised his arm to call them over.

“Well, well,” Harvey joked as YN slipped into the seat next to him, “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Hello to you too, Harvey,” YN just beamed.

“You’d get a nice hello if you hadn’t caused me to sprout grey hairs a few days before my wedding,” he retorts.

YN just rolled her eyes, a smile still on her face.

It was then she turned to look at Harry, and he watched as her smile dropped just the slightest. It wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone else, but he saw it and he tried to ignore the way it made his heart plummet.

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hi.”

A silence grew around them, thick and all encompassing. It happened again. Just like the first moment they met, at YN’s eighteenth birthday. His mouth became insanely dry, and his heart started to beat ten times faster in his chest. All he could hear was static, and all he could see was her. YN. Smile faltering just because he was there.

“YN?” It was Yasmin’s voice that interrupted them, causing the girl to flinch and look away from him, “After breakfast will you come and find me with your dress? They need to leave by this afternoon to be steamed in town before Friday.”

“Of course.”

Harry watched as Harvey leaned over, placing his hand on his bride’s thigh, “I thought we said no getting stressed about wedding stuff today.”

“I never said I wasn’t going to get stressed,” Yasmin responded, “You did.”

Harvey rolls his eyes, “We penciled out fun for today. The pool; maybe a walk. A couples of days to relax before the rest of the guests arrive tomorrow and we’re on high alert.”

“And we’ll get to that,” Yasmin nods, “But that doesn’t mean that everything can’t be perfect in the meantime.”

As the couple bickered back and forth, Harry watched YN. She was watching her brother and Yasmin with a smile on her face, yet there was something vacant about her eyes — almost as though watching them was hard for her somehow.

“I’m gonna..” YN pushed up from the table, “Go and get some breakfast.”

Without a second thought, Harry pushed up from the table too, “I’ll come with.”

YN didn’t say anything, and instead just gave him a small nod. They walked together back up the stairs of the villa and towards the kitchen. Harry kept a safe distance away, but all he wanted to do was reach out and touch the slip of her hip that was showing between her shorts and the way her shirt was sitting.

Harry noticed the espresso machine at the entrance to the kitchen and slowed, “Coffee?”

YN looked positively relieved at its mention, “Yes please.”

She lingered to the side, eyes seemingly trying to focus on anything and everything that wasn’t him making her a coffee.

“So,” Harry started, clearing his voice from the lump that had formed there, “How have you been?”

“Good,” It’s a short response, and Harry doesn’t like it, “You?”

“Busy… but good,” he nods, trying to focus on the coffee, “How’s Olive?”

“She’s good,” YN nods, “Wish that she could be here but kids don’t leave school for another week.”

Harry hums, “I forgot that she was a teacher… I bet she’s good at it.”

“She is,” he doesn’t miss the smile that crosses YN’s lips, “She’s insane and the kids love her… it’s the perfect mix.”

Once Harry had finished the coffees, he passed YN hers and she thanked him. They then made their way further into the kitchen, where a magical display was in front of them.

Maria, the villa’s caterer, had put on what Harry could only describe as a fantastic spread. Bread, cheese, meats, fruits, pastries. The whole spread was enticing, and Harry’s hunger grew tenfold.

“Oh god I want it all,” It seemed as though that was the same for YN.

Harry laughed, picked up two plates and passed her one. She placed her coffee to the side and looked like a woman on a mission.

He followed her around, watching as she put a blend of everything on offer on her plate, piling it up until he couldn’t see her plate anymore. He just laughed and followed suit.

“Keep going!” It was Maria that called out to them, “I like big appetites here.”

YN just giggled, continuing to place a medley of fruit on her plate. She went to pick up her plate but Harry shook his head.

“Grab the coffees,” he nodded to them, “I’ve got them.”

“Oh!” Maria gasped, “Such a gentleman… you’ve got yourself a good one there.”

“I…” Harry watches as YN hesitates, a myriad of emotions crossing her features before she finds the right words, “He’s just showing off. It’s all a front, Maria.”

Harry’s lips parted in shock, and then he couldn’t help the barking laugh that escaped them.

“I don’t believe that for one second!”

Harry followed YN out of the kitchen and towards the table where Yasmin and Harvey were still sat. Yasmin had moved so she was closer to her husband to be, his arm around her and her head on his shoulder.

Harry placed YN’s plate down, and then his. YN hesitated slightly when she realised he’d placed hers down right next to where he was sitting. But, it was only for a fraction of second and then she dropped down in the seat.

Harvey, seeing the mountain of food on her plate reached forward and grabbed a grape. YN immediately smacked his hand away, but it was too late and he popped the grape in his mouth.

“Mine,” She pointed at herself, sending her older brother a glare.

“C’mon, you’ve got enough food for a small army there,” He reached over again but she was too quick for him this time, and smacked his hand away with more force.

“Yes and Maria said a healthy appetite is good — this is all mine,” she motioned to her plate, “If I don’t finish it all, you may have some.”

“Honestly, Harvey,” Yasmin shook her head, “You’re like a child… Maria’s put on a full spread in there go get your own.”

“Thank you Yasmin,” YN nodded, continuing to butter some of the bread she had picked up, “You may take what you want from my plate… just not the grapes because they’re my favourite.”

Yasmin reached over and grabbed a piece of melon, humming when the sweetness hit her tongue.

Harvey, on the other hand looked gobsmacked. He turned to Harry with his eyes wide and lips parted.

“Did you see that?”

“See what, mate?” Harry laughed, munching on one of the pastries he’d grabbed, “What your life is going to look like in the future?”

“Exactly that,” Harvey shook his head, “I’m going to be outnumbered.”

“You already are,” Harry laughed.

Harry swore he saw the corners of YN’s lips lift up at that.

Harvey and Yasmin went to get their own plates shortly after, leaving YN and Harry sitting there in silence whilst they munched on their breakfast.

It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence at all. It was just two people sharing space with each other in the Italian morning sunlight, with the sea breeze dancing through their hair.

Harry just let it settle between them, not forcing anything. Even though there were a thousand things he could’ve said, he just didn’t.

He just wished he didn’t regret it as much as he did.

“Black and white polka dots or navy and white stripes?” YN asked, holding two bikinis up at Yasmin who was lounged across her bed, already sporting a figuring hugging yellow swimsuit and matching cover up.

“Jesus, YN,” Yasmin’s eyes widened when she saw them, “Who are you trying to impress?”

“No one,” YN answered a little too quickly to be convincing.

Yasmin just raised an eyebrow at YN, but she didn’t push.

“The polka dots,” She responded, “The stripes will be better for the boat trip tomorrow.”

“You’re so right.”

After breakfast, everyone had split up to do their own things. YN had returned to her room to have a nap, which she was more than thankful for. After seeing Harry her nerves had dissipated slightly, and an overwhelming exhaustion at the whole situation had washed over her.

She had managed a good two and half hours before Yasmin all but bashed the door to her room down, ordering that she get her swimsuit on because they were going to the pool. Scared of creating a bridezilla, YN had just said yes.

Normally YN wouldn’t wear something so revealing, but she had to get something out of this trip for herself and if topping up her tan-lines was the only thing, she’d be dammed if she didn’t get them.

The bikini tied around her neck and back, the cups flushing perfectly to her boobs. The bottoms were high waisted, and hugged her curves perfectly. Just as Maria had said earlier, YN had an appetite and it meant that she wasn’t the slimmest in the world, but she had come to embrace her curves the older she’d gotten. They were a part of her, and she wouldn’t change them.

The cover up was a thin, black lace tie-up that sat around her hips. She tied her hair up in a mess on her head, just so it didn’t get drenched and placed her sunglasses on her nose. She then stood with her hands on her hips in front of Yasmin.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

The pool itself matched the grandeur of the villa. It sat just beyond the patio, overlooking the cliff and the sea that stretched to the horizon. Some of the groomsmen and bridesmaids were already on loungers when they got there, but Yasmin and YN secured a spot underneath one of the umbrellas, shielding them from the early afternoon sun that was fierce and mighty.

Yasmin slipped into the pool first, whilst YN sat on her lounger applying a heathy sealing of suncream to her skin.

“Oi!” It was Harvey, popping his head up from where he’d been laid on the grass just to the side of the pool, “Suncream.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yas.” It was more of a warning than anything.

“Have you got ours?”

“Harry’s got it.”

It was then that YN saw Harry, sitting on a lounger a few away from them. Yasmin climbed out of the pool and made her way towards the lounger where she’d deposited her towel. Harry held out the suncream for her, and she accepted it with only a slight glare.

“Gimme a sec,” She turned to YN, “Just going to get Harv to do my back.”

YN just hummed, trying not to grow embarrassed at the fact that she was unsuccessfully trying to get her own back and was about to ask Yasmin to help her.

YN could feel Harry lingering at her side, and she tried and tried so hard not to look. He was wearing green swim shorts, low on his hips. He knew exactly what he was doing, the band of the shorts exposing the ferns resting on his toned stomach, highlighting the deep V that dipped in between his legs.

“Do you…” she hears him start before he clears his throat, “Do you need any help?”

“I’m alright thank you,” YN responds, her pitch increasing at the end.

She was struggling, but she didn’t want to admit that. She could only reach the top of her shoulders and the bottom of her back, the middle section was just completely unreachable. But, she didn’t want to say that to Harry.

“C’mon,” Harry tried again, “You’re missing your entire back, pretty much.”

Sighing, YN dropped her arms and held out her suncream to him. Harry looked at her, waiting for her to nod before taking the suncream off her. He dropped down on the sun lounger next to her. YN heard the cap go, before the sound of him squeezing the bottle. He rubbed his hands together before he placed them on her shoulders.

“Sorry if it’s cold.”

YN bit her bottom lip, “It’s fine.”

YN tried to stay focused on literally anything in front of her but she couldn’t do it. Her eyes fluttered shut as his hands started to work across her shoulders. His thumbs every now and then pressed into her muscles, and she almost whimpered. His hands worked across her shoulders, all the way down her back. They slipped under the tie of her bikini, his fingers almost brushing the cups of her bikini. Then his hands slipped lower, getting the bottom of her back.

YN gasped when his fingers brushed the plushy flesh of her hips, dangerously close to the tie in her bikini bottoms. She was frozen, completely. All of her senses had been taken over by the feeling of Harry’s hands on her, and then all of a sudden they weren’t.

Harry pulled away, jumping up from the sun lounger and passing her the suncream back.

“Uh…” he scratched the back of his neck, “Done.”

“Thanks,” before the word was even fully out of her lips, Harry was stalking off and making his way towards the villa, his steps quick and his head down. YN was slightly taken aback with how quick it had all happened.

Yasmin dropped down on the lounger next to her a second later, skin shiny with her own suncream. Her eyes were watching Harry, just like YN’s were.

“What got up his arse?”

YN shrugged, “I don’t know.”

The problem was, YN did know what was wrong with Harry, because it was the exact same thing that was wrong with her. It was the exact same reason that she pushed herself off the lounger and made her way towards the pool.

At first, she dropped herself down to the poolside and slipped her feet under the water. With it being an outdoor pool, the water wasn’t warm but thanks to the blaring Italian sun it wasn’t freezing either. After her feet became acclimatised to the water, YN slipped her whole body into the water, allowing herself to float.

Looking back, she should have said no.

She should have said no to Harry and waited for Yasmin to come back. She shouldn’t now know what it feels like to have Harry’s hands brushing across her body like that. She shouldn’t be able to wish that they were still there. It hadn’t even been a full twenty-four hour period yet in Positano, and YN’s chest felt even tighter than it was when she arrived.

YN hadn’t the slightest clue how was she was supposed to survive this week.

This crush was fine when they were miles away, when he was on an international stage and she was at her desk in her small office in central London. All YN worried about then was seeing his face whilst she scrolled through her phone.

But here, where she could walk around any corner and there he was going to be, standing in front of her — it was stressing her out more than words could explain.

“YN?” Yasmin called from where she had just slipped in the other side of the pool, “You alright?”

“Good,” YN nodded.

“You look like you’re going to throw up… please don’t throw up in the pool.”

YN shook her head lightly, “I’m not going to throw up.”

Just as YN said that, her eyes focused on a table on the patio. Sitting at the table where they had been a few hours earlier, sharing breakfast in each other’s company was Harry, laughing away to something one of the bridesmaids said. It was the same bridesmaid that YN had seen him dancing with the night prior. YN’s stomach turned. It twisted painfully when she saw her drop her hands to his shoulder, and then run it down his arm. He didn’t flinch, or push it off — he just let it happen.

She was pretty, insanely so. It was one of Yasmin’s friends from the industry, Evelyn. She was exactly the type of girl that YN imagined Harry would be with.

YN may not have felt sick before, but she definitely did now.

“Are you having the time of your life without me?”

YN was sitting at the small dressing table in her room, phone propped up against the mirror with a fierce concentration on her face as she attempted to pin her hair up. Olive, in a very similar position except for the fact she was cooking her dinner, was on facetime, wanting to know anything and everything about the trip so far.

“Its…” YN struggled to find the right word, “…nice.”

“Nice?” Olive deadpanned, her nose curling up slightly, “That’s all I get? Nice?”

“I don’t know what you want, Olive?” YN asked, slightly frustrated with her friend in a way that she definitely didn’t mean, “Sorry.”

“No it’s okay,” Olive responded, but YN could tell by her tone that she wasn’t fully convinced, “Something’s obviously happening.”

“It’s not… I’m…” YN shook her head, flinging one of the grips she had in her hand down to the desk, “I’m just… in my head.”

Olive hummed, “What’s he done?”

YN furrowed her eyebrows, “What’s who done?”

“Harry.”

YN froze in the middle of applying her lip gloss, her eyes settling on Olive who was staring at her with an expression that let her know she wasn’t going to get away with not saying anything this time.

“Nothing,” YN shook her head.

“Liar,” Olive retorted immediately, “Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Olive groaned, “Right. I don’t get to be there and see the two of you pining after each other in person so please, I’m begging you to give me a verbal recount of the events that transpired today.”

YN fell silent, “… we do not pine after each other.”

“Yes you do! And I know you’ve been hiding something from me for a while, and I’ve given you the space but this is literally the perfect opportunity for you to make you move.”

“Make my move?” YN furrowed her eyebrows.

“Yes!” Olive exclaimed, “You’re in Italy, at a wedding — romance is literally in the air YN. You need to finally grab life by the balls and do something for yourself… or grab Harry by the balls, maybe he’d enjoy it.”

“Olive!” YN all-but screeched down the phone, “Please stop talking about balls.”

“Look… I don’t know what’s happened, or what’s going on right now with the two of you but he used to make you happy,” Olive sighs, “You’d come back from seeing him and Harvey so happy, YN, and now… you just get so sad whenever anybody mentions him.”

“I don’t,” YN shakes her head, “And nothing’s happened… I’m just… I think I’m just tired.”

Olive just hums, not convinced at all, “Well… I’m here if you need me. Now get your sexy bum down there and enjoy your nibbles and drinks.”

“Thanks, Ol.”

“Anytime, babes.”

YN watched her phone go black, and she sighed. She dropped back in the chair she was sitting in and ran her hands down her thighs, her palms having clammed up under Olive’s questioning.

YN knew that it was coming from a place of love, but it pained YN to not tell Olive the whole truth. She wanted to more than anything to tell Olive everything but how could she explain something that she hadn’t even full come to terms with and understand herself? It was completely impossible, and it stressed YN out more than she could admit.

All she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and go to sleep, but there was a cocktail and nibbles party going on downstairs that she had to go to. Maybe she would go, show her face, enjoy one to many cocktails and divulge in some nibbles — and then she would go and curl up in her bed.

The dress she had chosen was a deep maroon colour. It plunged at her neckline, and had short sleeves that landed in the middle of her upper arm. It cinched at her waist and flowed out down to her ankle. She had paired it with a plain pair of sandals, not wanting to kill her feet too soon with heels.

She wasn’t trying to prove anything, she didn’t need to. But despite the mess that was currently in her brain, causing the anxiety to bubble deep in her chest — she at least wanted to feel confident in her appearance, so that could shield her from everything in her brain.

The cocktails and nibbles were being held on the patio. It had been transformed, with floral arrangements sitting on the table and lanterns hanging on strings above them. The whole thing felt so cosy and so beautiful, that YN couldn’t help but smile.

The party had seemingly already started by the time she arrived, with people milling around with colourful cocktails in their hands, or some with small plates full of whatever deliciousness Maria had cooked up.

Her first stop was for a cocktail, knowing that the evening was going to be a lot easier to handle once she had the buzz of alcohol in her system. The cocktail she had chosen was fruity, the kind of sweet that could make a person completely forget they were drinking alcohol until they woke up the next morning.

Her next stop had been the nibbles. When she saw Maria had made small half-sized bruschettas, she immediately put three on her small plate.

“Oh!” Mid bite into one the many mini bruschetta’s YN had piled onto her plate she heard a hybrid of a gasp/squeal next to her, “I love your dress!”

It was Evelyn, standing next to her with a small plate in her hand, with only one mini bruschettas on it. She was wearing a lacy camisole and long flowing skirt, dolled up to the nines. YN’s heart sank slightly just looking at her.

“Oh,” YN managed to slip out, “Thank you.”

“Where’s it from?”

YN hesitated, “I don’t know… I might have thrifted it.”

“Oh,” YN watched as her nose curled up ever so slightly, “I wish I could thrift things like that! I never find anything!”

YN just hummed, wanting nothing more than to shove the rest of her bruschetta in her mouth but she resisted.

“You’re Harvey’s sister right?”

YN furrowed her eyebrows slightly, “Yes?”

“Oh how sweet!” Her voice goes up in octave once more, “Harry said that his little sister was here but I didn’t realise how cute you were!”

Cute. CUTE.

That was it. That was the final straw for YN. Without a care she placed another small bruschetta onto her place, totalling to four small bruschettas and gave Evelyn the sweetest smile she could muster.

“Excuse me,” YN gave Evelyn the sweetest smile she could muster before making her way towards one of the empty tables on the patio.

YN had officially had enough interacting for the day. She felt socially wrung out, her head hurt slightly and all she wanted was to eat her bruschetta and drink her cocktail in peace.

She ended up just people watching. She watched as Harvey and Yasmin made their way around everybody, chatting and laughing and obviously enjoying their wedding celebration so far.

They looked happy. Truly happy. Without even meaning to, YN started to spiral. Well, it wasn’t a big spiral per se it was more her wondering if she’d ever get that. She’d watched Harvey and Yasmin fall so in love with each other over the years, becoming each other’s person. She wanted a person. She’d thought she’d found her person, or at least one of them. But, maybe she hadn’t.

“I’m happy for them, I am but I don’t know if I could do the one girl forever thing,” YN heard a voice say behind her, slightly boisterous from the obvious alcohol intake but not one that she recognised.

“C’mon man, you’ll find the one,” Another man spoke, and this time it was a recognisable voice. It was Harry. It wasn’t as loud as the other one, but it was still audible from YN’s seat.

Part of her wanted to turn around. They obviously didn’t know that she was there, or if they did they didn’t care that she could hear their entire conversation word for word.

“Coming from you!” the boisterous voice replied, “Got no plans to settle down either?”

“Nah,” the word turned YN’s stomach in an indescribable way, “I don’t think my life’s built for it, mate.”

“You could have your pick of anyone,” the voice replied, “You could choose any girl you fancied.”

“Yeah,” Harry voice was quieter this time, as though it felt unsure, “Not on the cards for me, mate.”

That was enough for YN. She’d heard enough, and from the way that her eyes were watering she wanted to get as far away as she could before they fell. Pushing back from her chair, it made a clattering sound against the patio but she didn’t care. All she scared about was going back up to her room.

She clutched her glass close to her, and made sure that her plate of bruschetta was safe before climbing the steps into the villa. Just as she got to the door, Harvey walked out, almost knocking her bruschetta out of her hands.

“Hey,” He held his hands out, almost as though if the bruschetta did fall he was going to be there to catch it. He took one look at YN’s teary eyes and his expression hardened, “You okay? What happened?”

“Nothing,” YN shook her head, blinking rapidly in hopes that it would stop the tears from falling, “I’m fine.”

Harvey just gave her a look, “You’re not. You look like you’re about to cry.”

“Harv just drop it!” Her words came out harsher than she meant, “I’m fine. Go enjoy yourself, I’m just going to go up to bed.”

“No, come on,” He pointed to the patio, “It’s still early… Yas said that she wanted to talk to you about something anyway.”

“I’ll catch her in the morning,” YN gave him a smile, “I think it’s just jet lag… I’ll be fine in the morning, I promise.”

“Okay,” he nudged her arm lightly, “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right? I know that I’ve maybe not been the best these last couple of years but…”

“I’m fine I promise,” YN interrupted him, “I’ll see you in the morning, Harv.”

He just nodded. YN took that as her opportunity to slip away, making her way towards the staircase without bumping into anybody else.

Somehow, she managed to get all the way to her room before she let any tears fall. But, when they came they were hot and they were fast. She placed her drink and her plate down on the side, and then leant her hands against it, hoping that it would at least centre her in some way.

She was stupid. So, so stupid for thinking that she could handle this. For thinking that her heart could handle seeing him in this way after everything that happened. She couldn’t, and apart of her had always known that.

She just needed to stay as far away from Harry as she could. She needed to create a distance between them, one that had needed to be put in place for a long time.

Her heart couldn’t take it anymore.

Harry watched YN walk away.

He had just watched her walk away.

As Harry sat on the balcony looking over the sea, legs spread out on the table in front of him — it was all he could think about. When Ryan had been talking to him, way too drunk for it being that early in the evening, Harry had pretty much zoned out. He’d been polite, responded to his questions and that was it. Harry knew Ryan, but definitely not enough to start divulging in his deepest and darkest secrets — so he hadn’t.

If he’d have known that YN was sitting in front of her, he’d have chosen different words.

All he had to do was take quick scan. He hadn’t seen her come down so he’d just assume she wasn’t outside yet, but he was wrong.

There was some truth into what Harry had said to Ryan, but there was also more to the story. He would have explained that it’s complicated, that there’s more to the story than just finding someone to settle down with, that real feelings often complicate matters.

He just hated that he’d upset her.

There was so much unspoken between them, so much unsaid and yet neither one of them seemed to be able to find the words. So they danced around it, they avoided it and they just pretended that nothing was happening, which it wasn’t. But, Harry just didn’t think that they could carry on the way they were without something changing.

As he stared out at the still water, the moon’s reflection showing him the ripples of the waves in the distance, he decided that something did have to change. Both of them were not going to be able to enjoy the weekend unless they spoke about it.

The problem was, Harry didn’t think that YN wanted to talk about it.

He couldn’t blame her, it wasn’t an easy thing. There were so many levels, so many reasons as to why ignoring it would be better for everyone involved and yet Harry didn’t want that. He wanted them to lay everything out on the table and get everything off their chests.

This wasn’t going to end once the weekend was finished. They were going to be in each other’s lives, well, forever. They could avoid each other, but they both cared about Harvey, and therefore they were going to both be at important events for Harvey, together.

There was just something about being at the wedding that just made Harry want to sort everything out. It wasn’t just Harvey and Yasmin’s life that were going to change, everyone’s were. Dynamics were going to change, it was inevitable.

Harry was so deep in thought, in his own spiral that he hadn’t even heard the door open beside him. Not until he noticed Harvey dropping down in the chair next to him.

“You alright, H?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “Just enjoying the quiet.”

“It’s so fucking peaceful out here,” Harvey sighed, extending his legs out in front of him just as Harry had, “Perfect place to get married.”

Harry smiled, “Anybody could tell you that… how come you’re out here anyway? I thought you and Yas would in pre-wedding bliss, planning the future.”

“She’s in with YN,” Harvey said after a few seconds or so.

“YN?” Harry asked, slightly too quick but he didn’t have the capacity to care, “She okay?”

“Yeah,” Harvey nods, and Harry could tell by his tone that he was telling the truth.

“Is Yas okay?”

“Yeah, they’re both okay, H,” Harvey nods, “I just… YN said something to me earlier and… I think she just needs family around her right now. I thought Yas would be better than me… I just… I don’t know.”

Harry nodded, “I’m sure she would’ve appreciated you checking on her.”

Harvey shrugged, “I don’t know if I might be part of the problem.”

Harry’s heart started to beat quicker in his chest. They were both dancing around something, as Harry seemed to be with both siblings, and yet neither of them wanted to say anything.

“You know what YN’s like,” Harry tries, praying that his voice came off strong enough.

“I know,” Harry watches as he rubs a hand over his face, “She just gets in her own head.”

That was something they had in common. It was so easy for everyone to get in their heads the harder things became, to ignore the problems in front of them or avoid it.

As Harry sat there in silence, sharing the space with one of his best friends in the entire world he realised something. He realised that if they didn’t talk, if they didn’t let everything that they’ve been holding in out — it wasn’t just them would feel the consequences.

Harvey was already feeling them. He didn’t know exactly what it was, and maybe he didn’t know the truth about Harry’s involvement. But, he could tell that there was something there.

Tomorrow.

Harry was going to talk to YN tomorrow. He had a full night to think about what he was going to say, and staring out at the sea whilst he did it seemed like a good idea to him.

A bloom of annoyance starts to unfold in your chest as a sound you've unfortunately grown accustomed to hits yours ears, Harry making a disgusted noise from beside you on the couch. It's not quite a sigh. It's louder than that. It's sharper, full of the particular offense of a man who believes the world has personally and intentionally wronged him.

"Don't start." You warn him as you keep your eyes on the television.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You’re about to.”

Harry shifts beside you on the couch, folding his arms over his chest. His long brown hair falls loose around his shoulders, still slightly damp from the shower you forced him to take after he declared modern plumbing to be something suspiciously similar to witchcraft. His green eyes remain fixed on the screen with open contempt.

On screen a pirate swings from one ship to another with a rope clenched between his teeth. You can feel Harry's irritation as he shakes his head and you already know what's coming next.

“That's ridiculous." He says with a scoff.

You close your eyes. “Harry.”

“His jaw would dislocate.”

“It’s a movie.”

“His teeth would be ripped out of his mouth if he did that—it's absurd." He argues as you turn your head so you can glare at him.

“How do you know?"

“I know how ropes and teeth work—it would end in a very ugly and very painful ordeal that's why no real pirate would do something so-.”

"Absurd?"

"Precisely." You let out an annoyed huff as you reach into the bowl of popcorn in your lap and throw a piece at him. He catches it without looking only making your annoyance grow as he pops it into his mouth and eats it with a satisfied hum.

“You didn’t know what a microwave was yesterday.” You remind him with a teasing tone that Harry has gotten quite familiar with over the past few weeks.

“The glowing box is irrelevant to the matter at hand—his teeth would be stuck in the rope and not in his mouth.”

“Harry." You say his name with a groan as you run a hand over your face. "I told you that you can watch this movie with me only because you agreed to watching it quietly.”

“Not true—I agreed to watch.”

“You specifically promised not to criticize everything.”

“I made no such promise." Your brows raise as he gives you a shake of his head.

“Yes you did."

“I was distracted.”

“By what?”

His gaze finally leaves the television and settles on you as he turns to give you his full attention.

“You.”

The answer comes without hesitation. It always does. That's another problem with Harry. Perhaps the biggest one. He doesn't understand restraint.

Having spent centuries alone stuck inside a ship sealed in a green glass bottle thanks to a curse from a sea witch whom he swears all he did was decline her hand in marriage, have stripped him of any ability to hide what he wants. A glass bottle you found shoved between a chipped ceramic cat and a stack of old cookbooks at a thrift store. The price was only twelve dollars and marked as nautical decor. You bought it simply because the ship inside was beautiful.

You didn't mean to uncork it accidentally while cleaning the glass. And you certainly didn't expect thick silver smoke to pour across your living room rug, followed by a full grown pirate collapsing onto the floor in leather boots, an open linen shirt and enough weapons to get you arrested in several states.

Harry took one look at you and decided you were the most beautiful treasure he's ever seen.

While you took one look at him and considered calling the police.

Luckily for him you quickly understood how difficult it would be to explain a cursed pirate to any form of law enforcement. But then you began to learn it's even more difficult to get rid of one once he becomes devoted to something, or more so someone.

That someone being you.

Harry now follows you from room to room. He watches you make coffee as though you're performing alchemy. He sits on the bathroom floor when you shower because he claims he's standing guard. He refers to every delivery driver as a potential assassin and at one point nearly challenged the mailman to a duel. He's also looking at you constantly. Not casually. Not politely. Harry looks at you like you're freedom in human form.

Most days you tolerate it.

Barely.

Tonight however, his attention feels heavier than usual.

"Stop staring." You mumble as you shift beneath his gaze and look down at the bowl in your lap.

“I’m not.”

“Uh yes—yes you are.”

“I’m looking.”

“That’s the same thing.” You tell him feeling your patience for the tall handsome pirate sitting beside you starting to grow thinner.

“No it's not.”

"Explain the difference then." You challenge as you glance over over at him intrigued.

Harry turns toward you fully, one arm stretching along the back of the couch behind your shoulders.

“Staring is mindless." He says casually. “Looking requires appreciation.” His words have your stomach doing something inconvenient, a fluttering of something goes off and it has it narrowing your eyes to compensate the unwanted feeling of warmth spreading through you.

“What—are you trying to flirt with me?” Your accusation has Harry quirking a brow.

"Flirting? I don't know what that means."

"It's when you say things that sound good just because you want the other person to—swoon over you." This has Harry titling his head to the side as he studies your face.

"Is that what's happening? Are you swooning over me?"

"God that's probably the worst thing you've ever said." You tell him with a laugh but Harry just continues to stare at you.

“Impossible." He states firmly. "I once threatened to remove a man’s tongue and feed it to him.” You stare at him with slightly wide eyes, Harry just gives you a faint smile. "He was rude." He adds as if that little piece of information helps you feel any better about what he just said.

“I don't know it sounds like you're the rude one."

“And yet you still bought me.”

“No I bought a bottle.”

“Not a bottle—a prison—one you selected even though you had many treasures to choose from.”

“It was next to a ceramic cat.” You explain trying to brush him off but you know Harry, you know he thinks the two of you are bound by some sort of fate, destined to be together all because you broke his curse. No amount of arguing will change his mind because others have owned him, placed him on their mantels or on their desks and none of them were able to uncork the bottle, not even when they tried because they just wanted his bottle and not the ship inside it.

Making Harry fully believe he was meant to wait centuries inside a glass prison until you found him.

“You chose me.”

“I chose a cheap nautical themed decoration.”

“A nautical themed decoration that doesn't fit the theme of your dwelling at all.”

"I'm eclectic—I don't keep to a single theme."

"You chose me—then you freed me."

“By accident.” Harry's smile deepens until you see the faint reminder of his dimples.

“Accident or not—I'm still free because of you."

There is something in his voice that quiets you.

It's easy to forget sometimes, that beneath the arrogance and the dramatic complaints and his refusal to wear anything you purchase for him unless it resembles something he could have stolen from a seventeenth-century nobleman, is a man that was trapped on his own ship for centuries. But then you think about how dark the bottle must have been. How the first thing he saw after centuries of nothing was your face.

Harry looks back toward the television before the moment can settle too deeply but you can't bring yourself to look away from him just yet. But then another sword fight begin and he lets out a loud dramatic groan and you no longer feel sorry for him.

“They’re gripping the hilts incorrectly.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

“Why?”

“Because one day someone may challenge you.”

“To a sword fight? Harry no one walks around with swords anymore.”

“You are remarkably argumentative.”

“You’re the one criticizing fictional pirates in my apartment.”

“Our apartment and these pirates aren't fictional they just don't exist anymore.” You turn your head towards him slowly.

“What did you just say?”

Harry remains focused on the movie though the corner of his mouth twitches.

“I said these pirates aren't fictional.”

“The other thing—you said our apartment.”

“Well I do live here.”

“You don't live here you're just staying here.”

“Indefinitely.”

“Temporarily.” You correct him with a glare.

“Indefinitely.”

“You sleep on my couch—you can't do that forever.”

“I only sleep on the couch because you deny me access to your bed.” Your mouth falls open while Harry looks pleased with himself.

“You're unbelievable.”

“So you often say.”

“You can't just say that you live here and expect me to be okay with it.”

“I have services I provide for you that earn me a place to live."

"Oh like what?"

"I protect the premises.”

“Protect the premises? That's what the doorman is for Harry—all you do is try to stab my vacuum cleaner.”

“That thing attacks without warning.”

“It doesn't attack it cleans the floors."

"Poorly."

"Excuse me? It does a great job."

“Not true—I've seen deckhands do better work and they don't almost swallow the curtains in the process.”

You shove the popcorn bowl onto the coffee table with an annoyed groan before you end up throwing the entire thing at him.

“You are the most irritating person I've ever met.”

Harry’s amusement deepens. “Yet you keep me close.”

“I don’t keep you close—you just refuse to leave.”

“I have nowhere else I wish to go.” The humor slips slightly from his face and you hate the immediate heat you feel rising up from deep in your chest.

Harry notices it. Of course he does.

His expression softens.

"You need to get out more—you might change your mind."

"Nothing would cause me to change my mind."

"You can't really say that because you've only seen my small apartment for three weeks and the inside of your bottle for the last few hundred years."

“Oh yes the bottle you threatened to put me back in this morning?”

“You drank milk directly from the carton that's gross even for a pirate.”

“I was thirsty.”

“You wiped your mouth on the my table cloth.”

“It was within reach.”

“You're worse than a feral cat.”

"And still you let me remain." Harry says as he leans closer, his voice is quieter now.

The movie continues behind him loud and bright, but your attention narrows to the inches between you.

You sit back slightly. Harry instantly follows after you. Not enough to touch you. Just enough to make the air feel crowded.

“No you just refuse to leave." You remind him as you let out a huff that has a smile spreading across Harry's face because he likes this side of you, enjoys seeing you try to deny the pull you feel towards him. Because even now as you try to argue with him your body subtly shifts so your angled towards him and away from the television.

His gaze lowers briefly to your mouth.

"You haven't asked me to." Your pulse stutters as the truth casually falls out of his mouth.

“You’re very confident for someone who spent several hundred years inside home decor.”

Harry’s eyes flash a darker shade of green as he leans in just a bit closer.

“And you're very bold for someone whose heartbeat has changed just because I'm now a few inches away.” You stare at him with furrowed brows.

“You—you can't heat my heartbeat."

“I spent thirty years listening and memorizing every sound of my ship—"

"So that means you what?…memorized all my sounds? It's only been a few weeks."

"I might not know all of the sounds you make and what causes you to make them but I can hear the way your heart is pounding in your chest right now—all because of me.”

You swallow thickly.

Harry’s gaze sharpens at the movement.

“You're very annoying.”

“And you're very beautiful.” You blink at the sudden confession but try to regain your composure.

“You argue with everything I say.”

“Because I think you're exceptionally beautiful when angry.” Your breath catches, and Harry sees it.

His eyes darken. There is no teasing in them now and that's what changes everything.

Until this moment, the argument has been familiar. Easy. A game neither of you admits to enjoying. Now his arm is still stretched behind you, and your shoulder is nearly touching his chest and the room suddenly seems too warm.

“You’re obsessed with me." You whisper.

Harry doesn't try to deny it.

“I am."

“You barely know me.”

“I know you dislike the crusts on your bread but eat it anyway because you hate wasting food—I know you sing when you think I'm asleep and I know for some reason you like to purchase books faster than you read them—I know you become quiet when you're upset because you fear saying something cruel.”

His voice lowers further.

“I know you check the bottle every night before bed.”

You go still.

Harry watches you carefully.

“You think I don't notice but I do—I watch you pick it up to make certain it hasn't taken me back.”

“I just like to look at your ship—that's all.”

"You like me."

"I tolerate you."

"You're a horrible liar."

His face is closer now and you know you should move. But at Harry's eyes search yours with a blazing intensity you can't bring yourself to move or look away. Centuries of loneliness live somewhere behind his gaze. So does gratitude. Devotion. A hunger he's never once attempted to disguise.

“You broke my curse." He whispers.

“Accidentally.”

“You gave me the sky again.”

Your irritation falters as Harry’s fingers touch a strand of hair near your cheek, careful despite the roughness of his hands.

“You gave me back the wind,” he continues. “You gave me music—food that somehow arrives at the door and water that falls from the walls.” Despite yourself you feel your lips curve upwards.

“You screamed the first time the shower turned on.”

“I thought it was a trap.”

“You tried to fight it.”

“I won.”

“You slipped and pulled down the curtain.”

“The curtain interfered—I was winning.”

A laugh escapes you. Harry smiles at the sound while his thumb remains near your cheek.

Then his expression turns serious again.

“And you—you gave me you.”His voice is gentle but holds a distinct certainty that has your heart skipping a beat as his thumb brushes your skin. “You allow me beside you.”

“Because you won’t go away.”

“You bought the coffee I like and found me shirts that don't choke me at the throat—you leave the hall lamp lit because I dislike waking in darkness and you leave your door open now when you go to sleep." His voice is rougher now as he leans closer. “You may call it tolerance my darling but I have known starvation—I know the difference between scraps and a feast.”

The word darling sends heat crawling beneath your skin.

“You can’t—you can't be so dramatic and say things like that.”

“I've spent too many years unable to speak at all.”

The reply lands between you.

Your anger disappears so suddenly it leaves you exposed. Harry notices that too as his hand slowly cups your jaw, giving you every opportunity to pull away. You know you should but instead your fingers close around the front of his shirt. Harry inhales sharply as his gaze drops to your hand and then slowly lift back up to your eyes. You tighten your grip as his mouth curves upward into a smug looking smirk.

"You're holding onto me." The satisfaction in his tone reignites your irritation.

“Only to stop you from getting closer.”

Harry glances at the almost nonexistent space between you.

“You seem to have failed.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

The challenge is soft because he knows you intend to take him up on it.and you do, you kiss him because it's the fastest way to wipe the smug expression from his face.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

Harry goes completely still and for one suspended second, the feared pirate captain who has survived mutinies, storms, curses, and centuries of imprisonment seems stunned beyond speech. Then he makes a low, broken sound against your mouth. His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck and he kisses you back. The force of it steals your breath. There's nothing tentative about Harry once he realizes you're not pulling away. He turns toward you, his other hand finding your waist as though he's imagined the feeling of his hand holding you there a thousand times.

Knowing him, he probably has.

You push at his shoulder and Harry draws back immediately, breathing hard as his green eyes search your face.

“What's wrong?”

“You’re crushing me.”You explain making him raise a brow at you with confusion taking over the features of his handsome face.

“I beg your pardon.”

“You’re heavy.”

“I'm composed primarily of muscle.”

“Yeah I can can.”

Relief flashes through his expression when he realizes you're not ending the moment just needing him to move some of his weight from atop of you.

“You kissed me.”He says with a smile as the two of you adjust so your resting against the armrest, Harry settles between your legs keeping most of his weight on his knees and the hand gripping the side of the couch while his other hands stays on your waist.

“You told me to make you shut up.”

“And such an effective method it was.”

“You’re talking again.”

“A grievous mistake.”

You pull him back down to you by his shirt.

The second kiss is different, it turns heated quickly as Harry’s hand tightens at your waist. There's still a strange carefulness beneath his hunger, as though some part of him fears any sudden movement might break the moment and return him to the bottle. He feels you shiver as his thumb slips beneath the edge of your shirt, grazing warm skin. His mouth leaves yours, trailing slowly along your cheek toward your jaw.

“You don't merely tolerate me." He mumbles against your soft skin.

“Don’t ruin this.”

“I've waited centuries for this.”

“You haven't even known me for centuries.”

“I knew someone was coming—knew they'd be worth all the years of waiting and I was right.” There's no teasing or smugness to his voice, just painful honest that pulls at your heart.

Harry kisses the corner of your mouth.

Then your cheek.

Then the place beneath your ear that makes your fingers curl harder into his shirt.

“Still annoying?" He asks.

“Yes.”

"Still want me to go and explore the world?" He asks as his lips brush your neck.

You hesitate.

Harry stops.

The question changes something in him. His head lifts, his expression suddenly turns open and unguarded. Not smug now. Not teasing. For all his bold declarations, some part of him truly doesn't know if you really want him to stick around or not. You see the effects of the bottle in him then. The years. The silence. The fear that freedom might be temporary and affection even more so.

Your hand loosens from his shirt and moves to his face.

Harry leans into your palm before he can stop himself.

“I do think you should go out and see the world but—but only if you promise to come back when you're done."

His eyes close briefly. When they open again, the devotion in them nearly undoes you.

“I would rather be cursed to spend eternity with Davy Jones than spend even one unnecessary minute away from you."

“That's a bit much.” You tell him as you playfully roll your eyes while your thumb strokes his cheek.

“It's just the truth.” Harry smiles against your palm.

Then he turns his head and kisses the center of it. The tenderness of the gesture feels more intimate than the heated kisses. You pull him toward you again before you can think too hard about what this all means.

The movie continues unnoticed, full of impossible escapes and inaccurate sword fights. Harry settles over you carefully this time as you pull him closer, one arm braced beside your head while the other still grips the side of the couch as his hair falls around both of you like a dark curtain.

His mouth hovers over yours. “For the record,” he murmurs, “this film remains an insult to piracy.”

You stare at him.

“Harry.”

“The ship rigging alone—”

You don’t give him the chance to keep talking.

Your fingers tighten in the front of his shirt and you yank him down crushing your mouth to his. The kiss is hard, demanding as you slip your tongue past his parted lips deepening it. Harry makes a low startled sound that melts into a groan as one of your hands slide under his shirt pressing your warm palm against the smooth skin of his back. His tongue meets yours eagerly, but you nip his lower lip and pull back just enough to speak his name against his mouth.

"Tell me what you want love." He whispers as his eyes flick open, dark and hazy as he looks at your flushed cheeks and hears the sound of your heart thudding against your ribs. "Want to please you—give you whatever you need."

"Really?" Your voice is soft and he only manages to give you a nod before you kiss him again.

It's deeper as your hands move to rest on top of his shoulders. When you start to push at them he happily lets you, body pliant under your direction. His lips make their way down your jaw to the side of your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses as you gently urge him lower. You can feel how hard he is against you, the insistent press of him through his pants, but he makes no move to grind or seek relief. All his focus is on following your lead, on the way your skin feels under his lips and the breathy sighs that fall from your mouth.

“Lower." The strain in your voice makes Harry smile against the fabric of your t shirt as you continue guiding his head with gentle pressure from your fingers pressing into the tops of his shoulders. His mouth leaves trails of kisses as you ease him further down.

"Gonna take these off okay?" You just nod your head as Harry sits up on his knees while his hands find the waistband of your lounge shorts. You bite your bottom lip when you glance down at him and see the hard outline of his shaft that's being painfully held back by his trousers. Harry follows your gaze and is quick to lean over so his lips are on yours in a quick but sweet kiss.

"You're so soft—you're so perfect." His words distract you from focusing on him and bring you back to the moment, he smiles when you give him a few nods as he leans back and drags your shorts and panties down your legs, tossing them behind them without a care in the world about where they might land.

"So beautiful." He says with a groan as his eyes take in your bare center, you let out a gasp as he grabs the outside of your thigh and places it over his shoulder as he leans down. Your hands instinctively reach down and tangle themselves into his long locks as you feel his warm breath fan across your slick folds.

"Gonna let me get a taste of you?—tell me how to please you with just my tongue love—wanna feel you drip down my chin." There's not even a hint of embarrassment of shyness to Harry's voice as his eyes lock with yours, there's just a deep sense of need to please you dripping off every word and it has your heart fluttering in your chest. You swallow down your nerves as Harry gives your hip an encouraging squeeze, you know the man between your thighs wants to make you feel good, all you have to do is tell him how. So that's exactly what you do.

“Use the flat of your tongue first—lick me slow from bottom to top." A shiver runs through you as he complies, tongue dragging in one long deliberate stroke through your slick folds, parting them and gathering the wetness on his tongue before circling your clit. "Feel how wet I am for you? It's all for you." His groan vibrates against you, but he stays silent otherwise as his eyes stay locked on your face from between your thighs.

“Now use the tip and circle my clit—oh yes right there—suck on it gently—perfect now add just a little pressure.” You instruct between soft moans as his hands grip your hips, holding you steady without pulling you down harder. He works exactly as you tell him, tongue flattening to lap broad stripes through your dripping cunt, then sucking your swollen clit between his lips with careful, rhythmic pulls.

"Oh yes that's—that's so good." You pant as he slides his tongue inside your tight heat, curling it to stroke your inner walls. He finds his own rhythm flicking the tip of his tongue rapidly over your clit until your thighs tremble around his head. Every time your grip tightens in his hair or your hips twitch, he doubles his efforts utterly lost in your pleasure. His own growing need is forgotten, the only need that matters is the one humming through your body. You keep talking him through it with little praises and small demands until the movie’s forgotten noise gets drowned out by the wet sounds of his tongue working itself in and out of your needy center and your ragged breathing.

"Harry I'm—oh god." You let out a moan of his name as you finally come undone for him, he moans against you as his hold on your hips turns bruising keeping you still as your hands pull at his hair keeping him exactly where he is between your thighs. He keeps his tongue moving in slow lazy strokes as he laps up your release, gently working you through the aftershocks. When he feels you loosen your grip in his hair he finally pulls away from your warm wet center, you try to catch your breath as he places his lips to the inside of your thigh.

You tug his hair gently until he lifts his head he carefully moves your leg from over his shoulder, then you grab onto his shirt and pull him up your body forcing him to place both hands behind your head, gripping the armrest. When your hands slide down to his shoulders to his back you can feel the tension in him. You can feel the way he’s still rock hard against you and you feel his hips twitch once before he forces them still. Guilt flickers through the haze of pleasure. He’s given everything and taken nothing.

You smile at him as he settles between your spread thighs, his weight pressing you into the couch cushions. His green eyes are wild, desperate to please even now, but you reach between you and unbuckle his belt and push his trousers down just enough to free him. His cock springs free thick and flushed, the head already slick with precome, and you wrap your hand around him once before lining him up against your slick folds.

“Want you to feel good." You tell him, voice soft but firm. “Just like this—let me feel you.” You roll your hips up to meet him, dragging the fat head of his cock through your wet slit in a deliberate grind, coating him in your arousal.

Harry’s breath hitches, but he follows your lead. Thrusting shallowly, the thick length of him sliding through your folds with every roll of your body. His forearms bracket your head, hair falling around both of you like a curtain, and he keeps his pace exactly as you show him. You let out a soft moan as the head of his cock catches on your clit with every pass, smearing your wetness along his shaft.

Then his control cracks. A ragged moan escapes him as he presses his forehead to yours, voice rough and shaking.

“Gods—you feel so good." He breathes, hips rolling harder. “So wet and hot—look at you all slick and open for me." His lips find your neck as he drags his cock through your slickness, the friction sends a shiver of pleasure through you. "I’ve waited centuries for this—centuries trapped with nothing but the thought of you—dreaming of how you’d feel under me like this.” Your hips rise to meet his movements, you let out a throaty moans as the head of his cock nudges your entrance without pushing in.

“Want to feel you wrapped around me one day—you're perfect little cunt is going to look so beautiful stretching around me—fuck I could stay right here forever just feeling you like this." He mumbles between kisses down your neck. You keep guiding him with your hips, letting him use the heat of your body until his thrusts grow erratic and he lets out a broken moan of your name against your throat. Your back arches as you feel him spill his release, hot and thick across your stomach, a few spurts land on your swollen clit making you gasp as his body shudders above you coating your slick folds in his release.

After a few moments he leans down and presses his forehead to yours. Both of you have little smiles on your face, both breathing hard as he's careful not to crush you as he presses his lips to every part of your face he can reach. The movie continues to play, neither of you pay it any attention. And Harry remains exactly where you put him, between your legs and even more utterly devoted to you than he was just a few hours before.

Harry wasn't processing a single word.

His eyes were completely glazed over, staring blankly toward the bright lights of the stage wings. His mind was trapped in a suffocating loop, replaying the look of absolute heartbreak on your face in the dressing room just twenty minutes ago.

The air in the dressing room was thick and humid, the kind of heavy, backstage heat that a single oscillating fan could do nothing to fix.

To your right, the soft, rhythmic puffing of your eight-month-old baby boy was the only sound cutting through the quiet. He was fast asleep in his buggy, stripped down to nothing but a nappy, his little chest rising and falling.

The poor thing had been up since 4:00 AM, teething and restless, which meant you and Harry had been running on fumes before the sun even came up.

You were sitting on the plush velvet sofa, your arms raised over your head, completely immersed in trying to get a neat French braid down the back of your head. Your fingers were tangled in your strands, your focus entirely narrowed down to sections of hair, blindly weaving them together by feel.

The heavy dressing room door clicked open and shut with a sharp thud.

Harry walked in, smelling faintly of sweat and the crisp afternoon air outside. He had just finished a grueling pre-show workout with Brad, and every line of his body screamed pure exhaustion.

He was flushed from the workout, wearing his slouchy white long-sleeve tee, dark athletic shorts, and the grey compression sleeves still pulled up over his knees. His white socks were slipped into his striped slides, dragging slightly against the carpet.

His eyes were bloodshot, heavy-lidded, and desperate. All he wanted—the only thing keeping him going—was the thought of crashing onto the sofa for a thirty-minute nap before the frantic pre-show schedule kicked into high gear.

But as he closed the door, his eyes landed on you. Sprawled out right in the middle of the couch, arms up, taking up the entire space.

Harry’s jaw instantly tightened, his brow furrowing into a hard, agitated line. The sheer fatigue of the 4:00 AM wake-up call, combined with the physical drain of his workout, had left his fuse dangerously short. He was vibrating with irritation, a dark cloud settling over his shoulders.

Your hands froze in your hair, but you didn't drop your arms. You were so hyper-focused on keeping the braid tight that you completely misread the rough edge in his voice, assuming he was just groaning about being tired.

"Oh, good, you’re back," you said, your voice breezy and fast as your fingers kept weaving. "Listen, Brad didn't keep you too long, did he? Because the tour manager was already in here looking for you. Apparently, the schedule got pushed forward by fifteen minutes. And oh, before I forget—the hotel in the next city called back about the crib. They don’t have the one we requested, so we might have to use the travel one from the bus, but the zipper on the travel bag is stuck again. Did you manage to look at it? Harry? Also, we’re almost out of the specific nappies he likes, the ones that don’t give him a rash in this heat, so I was thinking maybe one of the runners could—"

"Can you just shut up for five seconds?"

The words didn't come out as a tired grumble. They cut through the room like a whip, loud, sharp, and dripping with pure venom.

Your hands instantly dropped from your head, the half-finished braid unraveling down your neck. The sudden, violent volume in the quiet room made your heart leap into your throat. You stared at him, stunned.

Before you could even process the shock of him yelling, a sharp, frightened wail pierced the air.

To your right, the buggy rattled. The sudden shout had violently jarred your eight-month-old out of his precious sleep. He kicked his little bare legs, his chest heaving as he burst into a hard, breathless cry, terrified by the loud noise.

"Look what you did," you whispered, your own anger flashing through the shock as you immediately stood up to tend to the baby. "Harry, he’s been teething all day, he barely slept—"

"No, look what you're doing!" Harry snapped, his voice staying dangerously high, completely unravelling from the sheer exhaustion of the 4:00 AM wake-up and the crushing pressure of the tour. He threw his hands up, gesturing wildly at you and the buggy. "I have a two-hour show to give to thousands of people, I’ve been running on three hours of sleep, and I walk in here to a bloody barrage of noise! You’re suffocating me! I just wanted thirty minutes of peace on the couch, but you're taking up the whole room, prattling on about zippers and nappies!"

You froze, your hand hovering over your crying son, staring at your husband as if he were a stranger. "It's our son, Harry. It's our life. If you're stressed about the show, don't take it out on—"

"I wouldn't have to take it out on anyone if I could just get some space!" he roared, the final filter of his exhaustion snapping entirely. He stepped closer, his eyes wild and dark, and delivered the blow that made the room go completely cold. "Honestly? Maybe you shouldn’t have come on the tour if this is what you’re going to be doing every night. You’re just in the way."

The silence that followed was suffocating, save for the heart-wrenching cries of your baby.

The moment the words left his mouth, you saw the instant flash of horror in Harry's eyes. The anger drained out of him so fast it left him looking pale, his jaw going slack. He reached a hand out, his chest heaving. "Wait—no, I didn't—"

"Don't," you choked out, your voice barely a whisper but sharp enough to stop him in his tracks.

Your eyes stung with hot, furious tears, but you refused to let them fall in front of him. Carefully, deliberately, you scooped your crying baby out of the buggy, pressing his warm, nappy-clad body against your chest, bouncing him gently to soothe his whimpers. You didn't look at Harry again. You just grabbed your bag with your free hand, walked right past him—forcing him to step back against that teal wall—and marched straight out into the corridor, leaving him alone in the wreckage of what he’d just said.

His eyes were completely glazed over, staring blankly toward the bright lights of the stage wings. His mind was trapped in a suffocating loop, replaying the look of absolute heartbreak on your face in the dressing room just twenty minutes ago.

Maybe you shouldn’t have come on the tour... You’re just in the way.

The words tasted like poison in his mouth. How could he have said that? To you? To the person who had spent the last eight months sacrificing sleep….comfort.

"...and then we'll transition straight into the encore, mate. Sound good?" his friend asked, clapping him on the shoulder.

Harry just gave a dull, numb nod, not even knowing what he was agreeing to. He felt hollow, stripped of his usual pre-show energy, looking utterly defeated against that stark blue backdrop. He wanted to turn back, run down the corridor, and find you—to beg, to explain that the exhaustion had completely hijacked his brain.

But his feet felt like lead.

Suddenly, the roaring crowd let out a collective, deafening cheer as the high-energy track Shania was performing faded out. The stadium lights dimmed into a soft, intimate amber glow.

Then, the first tender, unmistakable acoustic chords of a guitar rippled through the monitors.

Harry’s entire body went rigid against the wall. His breath hitched violently in his throat.

It was "You're Still the One."

Your wedding song.

Every defense mechanism he had built up over the last half hour crumbled to dust. That wasn't just a song on Shania's setlist; it was your song.

The song you had slow-danced to at your wedding, your foreheads pressed together, whispering promises that no matter how crazy his career got, you would always be each other's home.

Hearing it right now, with the sting of his venomous words still hanging fresh in the air, felt like a physical blow to his chest.

"Looks like we made it

Look how far we've come, my baby

We mighta took the long way

We knew we'd get there someday..."

Shania’s smooth, emotive vocals soared through the backstage monitors, crisp and crystal clear. Each line felt like a targeted strike. The contrast was agonizing—the song was singing about overcoming the odds, about proving the doubters wrong, but Harry had just become the biggest threat to his own marriage over a petty argument about a stroller zipper.

As the chorus hit, the massive stadium crowd joined in, a stadium of thousands of voices echoing the declaration of enduring love.

"You're still the one I run to

The one that I belong to

You're still the one I want for life..."

Harry dropped his head. His jaw clenched so hard it ached, his eyes burning as a wave of pure, unadulterated regret crashed over him. He felt so far away from being the man you belonged to right now.

He couldn't just stand here anymore. He didn't care about the schedule, the crew, or the impending stage time. He needed you.

Slowly, his head turned, his heavy, guilt-ridden gaze tearing away from the stage and sweeping down the dim, crowded corridor, desperately searching the shadows for the only person who could put him back together.

The crushing weight of everything became too loud to bear, suffocating him. Harry couldn’t stand there for another second. He couldn't just stand against that teal wall and pretend his world wasn't ending.

Abandoning his spot, he broke into a frantic jog, his slides slapping against the concrete as he tore through the backstage corridors. He was a man possessed, his chest heaving as he threw open the heavy door to the green room.

The room was a bright, noisy haven of family life, completely oblivious to his internal agony. Across the carpet, your eight-month-old boy was wide awake, happily babbling and playing with Sarah and Mitch’s kids, alongside Jeff and Glenne’s little one. The tour family was doing what they always did—rallying around, babysitting, keeping the kids entertained.

But as Harry’s eyes frantically swept the room, his heart plummeted. You weren't there.

"Hey, man, you good?" Pauli asked, noticing the pale, frantic look on Harry’s face.

"Where is (Y/N)?" Harry panted, his voice tight and breathless. "Have you seen her?"

Pauli blinked, sensing the gravity in Harry's tone. "She's back in the dressing room, mate. Said she needed a minute."

Harry didn't even say thank you. He turned on his heel and sprinted down the final stretch of the hallway, practically throwing himself against the dressing room door.

When the door swung open, the sight inside made his breath leave him completely. You were there, but you weren't resting. You were frantically moving around the room, packing the baby’s toys, formula, and extra nappies into a travel bag. And right next to the buggy sat your own canvas duffle bag—halfway zipped, stuffed with your clothes.

"What are you doing?" he choked out, his voice cracking.

He didn't wait for an answer. He crossed the room in two large strides, his hands coming down over yours, firmly but gently wresting the baby blanket out of your grip and setting the bags down on the floor out of your reach.

"Don't touch them," you said, your voice dangerously quiet, though you didn't look up at him. You kept your eyes glued to the empty space where the bag had been. "I'm just taking him back to the hotel. It’s better if the little one gets a decent night's sleep. And... like you said. It’s probably better if we aren’t on the tour if we’re just going to be in the way every night."

"No. No, absolutely not. I am not letting you leave," Harry broke out, his voice raw and pleading. He reached for your hands, his fingers trembling as he caught your wrists, forcing you to look at him. "Please, just look at me. Look at me, sweetheart."

You finally raised your eyes, and the sheer devastation in them made him flinch.

You didn't yell.

You didn't pull away.

You just stood there, completely exhausted, as the first silent, hot tear spilled over your eyelashes and tracked down your cheek.

Then another. You were silently sobbing, your chest trembling with the effort to keep from breaking down completely.

"I am so, so sorry," Harry rushed out, the words tumbling over each other as he stared down at you, his own eyes swimming with tears. "I am a bloody idiot. I’m an absolute monster for saying that to you. I was tired, and I was stressed about the set change, and I took it out on the only person in this entire building who doesn't deserve it. The only person who keeps me grounded."

He squeezed your wrists gently, his head dropping for a second before he looked back up, his face pale with desperation.

"I was running on pure adrenaline and exhaustion, and my brain just completely short-circuited. It was a stupid zipper, a stupid schedule change, and I let the pressure of everything turn me into a stranger. I looked at you taking care of our boy, doing everything on your own while I went off to a workout, and instead of thanking you, I snapped. It’s disgusting. I hate myself for how I made you feel just now. I saw the look in your eyes when I said those words, and it's going to haunt me for the rest of my life."

You didn't answer, a choked, silent gasp escaping your lips as you closed your eyes, more tears streaming down your face. Harry’s hands moved up from your wrists to cup your face, his thumbs gently wiping at the wetness on your cheeks, though his own hands were shaking.

"You aren't in the way," he whispered, his voice cracking completely as his forehead came down to rest against yours. "You could never, ever be in the way. You and our baby are the only reasons I do this. This entire tour, the crowds, the music—it means absolutely nothing if I don't have you waiting for me when I walk off that stage. You are my home. I am so sorry I made you feel like a burden when you’re the most precious thing I have. I need you here. I need you beside me. Please don't leave me, sweetheart. I love you so much."

You closed your eyes, a broken, hitching breath tearing out of your chest as his words tore down the final wall of your anger, leaving nothing but pure, aching exhaustion.

Harry didn’t wait.

The second he felt your posture soften, he pulled you into him, his arms wrapping around your waist like a vise, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He was trembling, his chest heaving against yours as he held you so tightly it was almost hard to breathe, anchoring you to him as if he were terrified you might still vanish if he let go.

"I've got you. I'm so sorry, I've got you," he muttered frantically into your skin, his voice thick and rough.

When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were dark, dilated, and swimming with a volatile mix of leftover adrenaline and sheer desperation. He looked down at your wet cheeks, his gaze dropping to your trembling lips, and the restraint in him snapped completely.

He leaned down and crashed his mouth against yours.

The kiss was heavy, raw, and completely unraveled—an explosive release of all the suffocating tension that had been building since he walked through the door. It wasn't gentle; it was a bruising, breathless apology, a silent plea for forgiveness translated through the hard, demanding press of his lips.

He tasted like the salty sweat of his workout and the sharp sting of regret, his tongue tangling with yours in a chaotic, bruising rhythm that made your knees instantly buckle.

You let out a soft, muffled sob against his mouth, your hands flying up to grip the fabric of his baggy white long-sleeve tee, fistfuls of the cotton bunching in your fingers as you pulled him closer.

The sudden, intense heat of his body washed over you, melting away the cold isolation of the last hour in a single, devastating second.

"Harry," you gasped out when he parted your lips, your voice catching in your throat.

He didn't let you speak.

He caught your lower lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make you whimper before his tongue swept back into your mouth, deeper and hungrier this time. He backed you up blindly until your spine hit the edge of the dressing room vanity, the jars of makeup and water bottles rattling behind you.

He crowded into your space, his heavy thighs pinning yours against the wood, completely trapping you beneath him.

His hands left your face, sliding down the column of your neck to your shoulders, before his large, warm palms slipped entirely under the hem of your shirt. His fingers were slightly damp and burning hot against the bare skin of your waist.

He gripped your hips with a possessive, unhinged tightness, his thumbs digging into your skin to lift you up onto the edge of the counter.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, the friction of your bodies rubbing together through your clothes sending a sharp, electric jolt straight to your core.

Harry let out a low, wrecked growl at the contact, burying his face in your neck.

His mouth traveled down your jawline, biting and kissing a feverish path down to the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, sucking deeply until he knew it would leave a mark.

"Tell me we're okay," he breathed against your heated skin, his chest heaving violently against yours as his hands slid up to frame your ribcage, his thumbs stroking the underside of your breasts. "Tell me I didn't break us. Please."

"We're okay," you whispered, your fingers tangling into his short, damp curls, pulling his head back up so you could look into his blown-out eyes.

Your own breath was coming in ragged shorts. "We're okay, Baby. Just kiss me."

He didn't need to be told twice. He captured your mouth again with a desperate, sweeping hunger that stole the remaining air from your lungs. It was an angsty, tangled mess of teeth and tongue, both of you fighting to get closer, trying to erase the cruel words he’d spoken with the sheer, bruising force of your bodies pressed together.

His hands moved frantically over your back, mapping the curve of your spine, pulling you so flush against his chest that you could feel the frantic, hammering rhythm of his heart beating in perfect sync with your own.

He ground his hips into yours, a heavy, agonizingly slow rub that made you arch your back and cry out into his mouth. The sound only drove him wilder; his kisses grew faster, sloppier, his breathing completely ruined as he devoured your lips over and over again, cementing the fact that you were his, that he was yours, and that neither of you was going anywhere.

"I want you," you breathed against his lips, the words a jagged confession that broke through the last of the frantic chaos between you. "H, I want you. So much."

The desperation in his movements instantly shifted, a profound, heavy silence settling over him at your words. He pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes searching yours, looking at the honesty in your tear-stained face. The frantic, bruising energy melted away, replaced by something deeply reverent and achingly tender.

"Yeah?" he whispered, his voice incredibly thick as his thumbs gently brushed a final tear from your cheek. "You've got me. Always, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise me," you whispered, your fingers tightening in his shirt.

"I promise you," he murmured, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "I promise. Look at me... I am so sorry for what I said. Let me show you how much I need you."

Slowly, deliberately, he reached down to guide your legs down from his waist so you could stand on your own feet, though he kept his body pressed completely flush against yours.

With slow, trembling hands, he reached for the hem of his baggy white long-sleeve tee and pulled it over his head, tossing it onto the floor beside your duffle bags.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed, his eyes traveling over your face as he reached down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants. Slowly, gently, he pushed them down past your hips, helping you step out of them until there was nothing left between you but bare skin and raw emotion. "Just... stay with me. Please."

"I'm here," you replied softly, your voice trembling. "I'm not leaving."

He lifted you back onto the edge of the vanity, and this time, when you wrapped your legs around his waist, he stepped into you with a quiet, agonizing slowness. His eyes never left yours as his hands anchored underneath your thighs, supporting your weight.

When he slid inside you, it wasn't a sudden rush. It was a slow, deep, and unyielding push that made you both let out a long, shaky sigh.

He filled you completely, his chest rising and falling heavily against yours as he froze, letting the absolute perfect fit of your bodies sink in.

"Oh, God," he groaned quietly, closing his eyes for a brief second as he pressed his forehead against yours. "You feel so good. You have no idea how much I missed you today."

"Then don't stop," you whispered, your hands tracing the line of his bare shoulders. "Harry, please."

He began to move, and it was the furthest thing from the frantic pacing of before. It was a slow, rhythmic, agonizingly beautiful tempo.

He withdrew almost entirely, pulling himself out until the very tip of his length brushed against your entrance, making you gasp and arch into him, before he plunged back in, slow and deep, pressing his hips firmly against yours.

"Harry..." you whimpered, your fingers burying into the short curls at the nape of his neck, your forehead dropping against his shoulder as the intense, slow friction began to build a deep coil of heat in your stomach.

"I'm right here," he murmured, his breath warm and steady against your skin. "I've got you. Tell me what you need."

"More," you gasped, tightening your legs around his waist as he pulled out again, agonizingly slow, before sinking all the way back inside. "Just like that. Don't hurry."

"I'm taking my time," he whispered against your ear, his voice rough and laced with a quiet intensity. "We have all the time in the world right now. I'm right here with you. Every single part of me is yours."

He repeated the motion, pulling almost completely out, teasing the sensitive opening of your core until you were silently begging, before sinking all the way back inside you with a heavy, grounding weight.

Every single thrust was deliberate, an unspoken vow, a physical manifestation of the apology he had spoken earlier. He was taking his time, making love to you with a quiet intensity that healed the ache in your chest with every stroke.

"I love you," he murmured between shallow, heavy breaths, his lips grazing your jaw. "I love you so much. Say it."

"I love you, Harry," you cried out softly, your hands gripping his back as the pleasure started to overwhelm you. "I love you."

The room was silent save for the soft, rhythmic sound of skin against skin, your ragged, synchronized breathing, and the quiet declarations whispered between kisses.

He held you like you were the most fragile, precious thing in his world, his lips constantly pressed to your temple, your jawline, your shoulder, whispering quiet assurances between deep, slow pulses.

The tension in your core coiled tighter and tighter, driven by the torturous, beautiful slowness of his movements. You gripped his shoulders, your muscles clamping around him as the edge of your release drew closer.

"Harry, I'm close," you breathed, your voice breaking. "I can't—"

"Go ahead, sweetheart," he whispered fiercely, his pace gathering just a fraction of momentum, his deep thrusts becoming a steady, relentless rhythm that pushed you completely over the precipice. "I'm right here with you. Let go."

You let out a choked, breathless cry, your body trembling with the waves of your orgasm. The tight contraction of your walls tore the last of his restraint away. With a low, guttural groan that vibrated against your chest, Harry drove into you one last time, burying himself as deeply as possible as he came, his muscles locking tight as he poured himself into you.

"You're mine," he panted against your neck, his voice fading into a ragged whisper. "Always mine."

“Your still the one.”

He’s got his long legs stretched out over the concrete step in front of him, a strawberry lollipop stick poking out from the corner of his mouth, and a look of pure, unadulterated awe on his face.

Even on night nine of a historic twelve-night residency, the gravity of it hasn't worn off. He’s living the boyhood dream he used to kick a football around thinking about.

"You look like you're about to make a tactical substitution," you say, your voice echoing slightly in the vastness as you walk down the steps toward the pitch.

Harry snaps out of his daze, his green eyes lighting up the second he spots you.

He shifts the lollipop to the other side of his mouth, a slow, dimpled grin spreading across his face.

"Don't mock the gaffer," he teases, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He pats the seat right next to him. "Come sit. Look at the view from here. It's brilliant."

You slide into the leather seat beside him, immediately pulling your jacket tighter against the afternoon chill.

Harry notices, instantly dropping an arm around your shoulders to pull you into his side.

He smells like vanilla, and the faint, sweet scent of the strawberry lolly.

"Nine nights down, three to go," you murmur, leaning your head against his shoulder. "How are the knees holding up, manager?"

"Brilliant," he breathes, looking out at the massive stage standing at the far end of the pitch. "Honestly, look at it. I used to watch matches here on telly, and now... we're just living here, aren't we? It’s mental."

"It's not mental. You earned it," you correct gently, reaching up to nudge the lollipop stick. "Though I'm pretty sure Thomas Tuchel doesn't eat Chupa Chups on the sidelines."

"Hey, managing is stressful business," Harry chuckles, the vibration rumbling through his chest against your back.

He takes the lollipop out for a second, pointing it toward the empty tiers of seats. "Right there. Top tier. I sat there for a match when I was a lad. Thought it was the highest place on earth. Now I get to look up at it every night."

He turns his head, kissing the top of your forehead, his curls brushing against your cheek.

The quiet before the storm is always your favorite part of the tour. In just a few hours, the stadium will be a roaring sea of feather boas, cowboy hats, and deafening screams.

But right now, in the dugout, he’s just Harry.

"Thanks for being here," he whispers against your hair. "Every night. Means the world."

"Wouldn't miss the home games for anything," you smile, looking out at the pitch. "Now, what's the game plan for tonight?"

Harry pops the lollipop back in his mouth with a wink. "Go out there, leave it all on the pitch, and make 'em dance."

Harry catches the sudden shift in your gaze, his eyes dropping to the lollipop stick as you subconsciously track the slow, rhythmic movement of it between his lips.

A knowing, wicked little smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

He deliberately takes his time, swirling the candy against his cheek before slowly drawing it out with a soft, distinct click of his tongue.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, losing all of its boyish, football-manager innocence.

He leans in just a fraction closer, his breath warm against your ear as his thumb begins a slow, deliberate stroke against the bare skin of your neck. "What are you thinking, baby love?”

The vast, empty stadium suddenly feels entirely too small, the ambient hum of the crew testing the lights in the distance fading into background noise.

"We've got about forty-five minutes before doors open," he says, his green eyes dark and heavy with mischief as he glances back toward the privacy of his dressing room tunnel.

He pops the lollipop back in, his dimple flashing. "Care to discuss tactics in the manager's office?"

You don’t even have to answer.

The flush creeping up your neck gives you away completely.

Harry’s smirk widens, thoroughly satisfied with himself. He stands up, tossing the plastic lollipop stick into a nearby bin, and extends a hand down to you.

His fingers are warm, wrapping securely around yours as he yanks you up from the dugout seat and pulls you flush against his chest.

"Come on then," he murmurs, his arm wrapping around your waist to guide you quickly down the concrete steps and into the belly of the stadium, away from the open air of the pitch.

The bright stadium lights fade into the moody, dimmed atmosphere of the backstage tunnels. It’s usually a bustling hive of security and crew, but right now, it’s a ghost town.

Everyone is either grabbing dinner or finishing up soundcheck on the stage.

Harry leads you straight to his dressing room, pushing the heavy door open and pulling you inside before letting it click shut behind you.

The room is a sanctuary of plush velvet couches, lit candles that smell like tobacco and vanilla, and racks of custom outfits waiting for the show.

The moment the lock clicks, Harry turns, pinning you gently against the back of the door. His hands find your waist, lifting you slightly so you're looking him dead in the eye.

"Now," he whispers, his lips brushing against yours, tasting faintly of strawberry. "Where were we?"

The quiet of the dressing room felt entirely insulated from the rest of the world, a stark contrast to the massive, empty stadium just beyond the door.

The only sounds were the low, rhythmic hum of the air conditioning and the crackle of a candle burning on the side table.

As you sank down to your knees on the plush rug, Harry looked down at you, a sudden, dark intensity flashing in his green eyes.

The teasing smile from the dugout was completely gone.

He reached down, his fingers tangling firmly into your hair, tilting your face up to look at him.

"Suck it,"

You didn't hesitate.

His fingers tightened in your hair, guiding you as his chest rose and falls in heavy, erratic thuds beneath his loose shirt.

His hands flew to your hair, his long fingers tangling in the strands, guiding you gently as he leaned back against the edge of the heavy wooden vanity table for support.

"Fitted outfits are a nightmare, love," he panted, a breathless, strained laugh escaping him as his fingers clumsily worked at the fastening of his trousers to free himself for you. "You're testing my patience."

When you finally took him into your hands and leaned forward, Harry’s breath hitched completely.

His knuckles turned white where he was gripping the edge of the vanity behind him.

Every time you shifted your grip or tightened your lips, a low, guttural sound ripped from his throat—a sound he completely failed to stifle.

"God, you're... you're killing me, love," he pants, his voice dropping into a whisper that vibrated in the small space between you.

His wedding ring was cold against your scalp, though his touch was entirely grounded, anchoring him to the spot as his knees threatened to go weak.

He watched you through heavy, hooded eyes, completely focused on the movement of your mouth.

The boyish, teasing pop star from the dugout had vanished completely, replaced by a man entirely unraveled by the sheer sensation of you.

You picked up the pace deliberately, using your hand to stroke the length of him while your mouth stayed wrapped tightly around him, swirling your tongue over the ultra-sensitive skin.

Harry let out a choked, ragged gasp, his hips giving an involuntary jerk forward as he met your depth.

"F-fuck, wait—slow down a second," he groaned, his knuckles turning white where he was gripping the edge of the wooden table behind him.

He took a sharp, trembling breath, trying to steady himself, but as soon as you looked up at him through your lashes and gave a slow, deliberate suck, he completely lost the battle. "Ah, forget it. Don't stop. Right there, yeah... just like that."

The rhythm became intense, a blurring heat building between you on the plush rug. Harry’s breathing turned into short, shallow stutters.

He was completely at your mercy, his fingers tightening in your hair as the friction pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

The muscles in his thighs and abdomen tauten completely, his jaw clenched so hard the line of his face looked carved from stone.

"You're so good to me," he whimpers, the praise thick and breathless as his thumb swept across your cheek, smearing a stray tear from the edge of your eye. "Nearly there, love... please, right there..."

With a final, desperate roll of his hips, Harry froze, a loud, broken cry tearing from his chest as he finished.

He held you tight against him, his body trembling through the aftershocks as he spilled completely into your mouth, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps that filled the quiet room.

The heavy, ragged sound of Harry’s breathing slowly began to level out, the intense tension draining from his muscles as he stood anchored against the vanity.

His hands, still buried in your hair, softened their grip, his fingers gently massaging your scalp as he looked down at you with a gaze full of dark affection and complete awe.

"Fucking hell, love," he breathed, a weak, stunned laugh escaping his lips.

He reached down, his warm hands sliding under your arms to guide you back up to your feet.

Your knees felt a little weak from the floor, but Harry immediately caught you, pulling your body flush against his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around your waist.

He didn't care about his unbuttoned trousers or the fact that the pre-show countdown was ticking away; right now, his focus was entirely on you.

Harry hooked two fingers under your chin, tilting your head up. His green eyes searched your face, a soft, wicked smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Come here," he murmured, slamming his lips back down onto yours.

The kiss started hungry and deep, a sudden re-ignition of the heat that had just filled the room. Harry groaned into your mouth, his tongue instantly sliding past your lips to claim you.

The second he tasted the sharp, slick contrast of his own essence mixed with the lingering sweetness of the cherry lollipop on your lips, his grip on your waist tightened fiercely.

He didn't pull away. Instead, the taste seemed to drive him wilder. He deepended the kiss, his tongue stroking yours in a slow, possessive rhythm that made your head spin.

It was dirty, intimate, and intensely hot—the taste of him transferring back and forth between your mouths until the boundaries blurred completely.

Harry’s thumb stroked your jawline, tilting your head to a better angle to drink you in, his breath hitching as he sucked on your bottom lip.

When he finally broke the kiss for air, he didn't go far. He rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting, his lips glistening and bruised.

Harry let out a low chuckle, his thumb gently wiping a slick smudge from the corner of your mouth before licking his own lip, a cheeky, hooded gleam in his eyes.

She could hear needy little sounds through her screen; whimpering, for fuck’s sake, as his tatted hand wrapped around the base of his dick. He was pink and leaking from the top, a line of cum dripping down towards his knuckles. Y/N held her breath as he delivered the first stroke and at the same time whined lowly, “Fuck, fuck— baby, please. Please, miss you, miss fucking you— shit,” Another stroke and his hips thrusted into his fist, “Miss you on my cock, on my tongue, on my fingers. Please, angel, I’m so horny for you,” His voice was gravelly and rough, how it usually got when he was aroused. It made butterflies stir in Y/N’s tummy.

Just as things got really good and Y/N trailed her own fingers towards where she throbbed, the video ended. She groaned out loud, already feeling pent up. It was not fair that her boyfriend sent her these borderline pornographic videos all while being inaccessible on the other side of the world.

It’d been three weeks since he left, and they were the longest, driest three weeks of Y/N’s life. She was so used to being around him 24/7— waking up with him, cooking breakfast with him, shopping with him, even showering with him… she felt as if she was in the middle of a drought, the way she thirsted for even a drop of him. Just a moment with him.

Thus it was safe to say that the video he sent had her bent in ways she’d never been before for anyone in her life. Feeling quite desperate and needy herself, she geared up to send him a text back.

why are you so horny

spot a pretty girl in the audience?

12:40AM

Y/N knew the text was lowkey toxic. But she also knew that when Harry was really turned on, he got sweet and begged her nicely, so she was hoping to get some of that out of him. It didn’t happen that often, yet when it did, she always enjoyed it more than she anticipated. A smirk played at her lips as she watched the three texting bubbles appear and disappear four times in a row; it was clear to her that he was having trouble stringing a reply together.

no of course not baby

only have eyes for you

12:41AM

idk hun i think youve got someone else in mind

12:41AM

Y/N and Harry had been dating for quite some time now, and she knew he would never do anything like what she was insinuating, but it was fun to be a bit bratty and run her mouth from time-to-time. What was he going to do, fly to her country right that second and punish her? The physical distance between the two of them was what gave her the confidence to keep playing along with this bit.

Biting back a grin, she waited as the bubbles appeared and disappeared again. After a minute of this, she was worried he fell asleep or something, until her phone pinged with another video.

In this one, his legs were spread wider. He held the phone with his left hand weakly, the right one squeezing the base of his painfully hard cock before slowly stroking up towards the tip. He traced his thumb around the plump pink muscle as another drop of precum coated his knuckles. Again, in the back, he whimpered her name, bucking into his own hand, “S’only ever like this for you, lovey, I promise. Only ever want to fuck you— wanna fuck you forever. Never leave that perfect pussy. Shit— Please, baby, send me a photo, anything, need to see you—” He was cut off by the sloppy wet sound of his hand stroking himself, “Anything, please.”

Now that was something.

Y/N’s whole body was practically buzzing. She could feel herself getting more worked up as she replayed the video at least three times— each one appearing better than the last even though it was the exact same thing.

It was very rare for him to get like this; normally it was her who did all the begging and pleading. Watching and listening to him being so whiney for her always did her in. Deciding to be a tease, she purposefully left his video on seen. She wanted him to wait for her, get more desperate for her, because then she knew when he finally had her, it was going to be good. 

Y/N (regretfully, yet optimistically) put her phone on Do not Disturb and shut it off. After all, she had to be up earlier than usual tomorrow.

She had a bloody flight to catch.

-

London was unbearably hot during this time of the year.

Y/N’d seen people post about it on social media and on weather reports, blazing red on the telly warning people about the massive heatwave that was going to hit the city these couple of months; but it was so much worse than she expected. She was lucky she was dating an international popstar, though, because that meant she got access to the best of the best rooms and condos and suites whenever she stayed with him. The aircon at Harry’s house was fucked, sadly, so he had to stay at a nearby hotel which was close to the stadium. Y/N didn’t mind— as long as she was with him, that was all that mattered.

It was just after his last show when she arrived at Wembley to surprise her boyfriend. Y/N tried to keep the whole ordeal as hush hush as she could, and when he caught sight of her waiting by his dressing room after the show, he all but ran to tackle her in a sweaty hug. Seeing him after a long time was always very sweet— sometimes they got teary-eyed as they embraced, told each other how much they missed the other, kissed (heavily)— all over sometimes; Harry liked to start at her eyebrows, go down to her nose, her lips, her chin, peppering them everywhere until she pushed him away.

Now, actually, Y/N physically couldn’t push him away.

Well, it wasn’t like she really wanted to anyway— she may not show it with her tears and her incessant whining, but the truth was that this was exactly where she wanted to be. 

Exactly where she hoped to be when she sent Harry that mean, toxic text and then proceeded to ghost him.

Her wrists were bound to either side of the big bedframe. She was completely bare and at his mercy, nipples peaked and spit slicked from his constant sucking and licking at the sensitive buds. She could feel herself dripping down her thighs and staining the sheets below her. There were gnarly purple marks all over her tummy, thighs, and chest, all placed conveniently so she could hide them if needed.

After playing the perfect, doting boyfriend role in front of the world, he completely switched personas as soon as he had her alone for a moment. She could feel the tension in the air when he clicked the lock shut, told her to strip with a stern expression and set their leftover takeout down on a spare table, all about two hours ago.

 Y/N could taste tears on her tongue though she could do nothing to wipe them off. She’d already almost come three times on his tongue at this point and she was ready to sign her soul away to the devil just to feel the beginnings of a real, followed-through orgasm.

Harry was tucked between her legs, both of her knees adjacent to his ears as he blew a stream of air at her twitching pussy. His hands pulled her lips apart, making way for him to observe how her clit was engorged and throbbing for his attention. “If you weren’t such a brat when I needed you, this wouldn’t be happening,” He said, lowly. His eyes wandered up to her face where she jutted her bottom lip out and simultaneously bucked her hips towards his face. He delivered a sharp smack to her thigh to keep her in place.

“I–,” She began, but was cut-off as he traced featherlight circles on her clit with his tongue. All the sexy scruff that’d gathered on his jaw tickled her sensitive skin, “Fuck— Harry, I’m sorry, please. I was only teasing. I’ve been so good— haven’t even touched myself.” Her back arched off the bed as he wrapped his lips around the bud and suckled harshly once, twice, thrice before popping off, her body chasing him again, “I’m not sure that’s enough, pretty. I was really hurt.” He replaced his tongue with a lazy thumb, resuming the circular motions to keep her heading towards the false hope of an orgasm. 

Y/N tugged against the restraints as he spit on her pussy and mixed his saliva with her juices. She was going to beg him again as best as she could, before he suddenly pushed two fingers into her achy hole, at the same time still going strong with his thumb. Her body jerked when he curled his digits, jaw dropped open in a broken moan of his name. She had to force her hips to be still— fighting the instinct to grind them against his hand. Harry didn’t thrust his fingers; instead, massaged the tips of them against that sensitive, spongy spot inside her. If he didn’t stop now, she was worried she’d come really fast and he’d increase her punishment tenfold.

(Y/N says this having learnt from prior experience).

“I said I was sorry!” She cried, “Please, I’ll do anything. You can use me— use all of my holes, I don’t care, do whatever you want.” Harry continued his minstrations without hesitance. She could hear the nasty squelch every time he curled inside of her, each sound pushing her closer and closer. Her back came off the bed once more, “You make a tempting offer,” He stopped as he noticed her about to come. Y/N was basically sobbing now, wrists sore from his ties digging into her skin, and thighs shaking, “But I don’t think you’re coming at all tonight, baby.”

Harry gave her cunt a break and kissed the skin around her pussy tenderly. He gently set her legs down from where they wrapped around his shoulders and licked a path from her mound up to her marked sternum. Reaching her breasts, he wasted no time cupping one and dragging his tongue along the peaked nub. She struggled to keep her eyes open as he flicked it, drooling over her skin and then sucked on it, hard.

His other hand went up to her mouth, ring and middle fingers dipping inside for her to bite, “Now if I give you my cock, I’m afraid that’s just a nice little treat for you, hmm? Not really a punishment, is it?” Harry asked, parting from her tit. Strings of saliva connected him to her as he spread his spit over her chest, the sight of which was utterly filthy. 

Nodding as well as she could with his fingers in her mouth, Y/N shook her head ‘no’ and mumbled incoherently, “Mm-mm. I just want— just want to feel you,” her voice was muffled, barely audible, and Harry had to slightly pull his fingers back as he came up to face her.

“Sorry, what was that, darling?” He asked sweetly, still rubbing her nipple. Just as Y/N began talking, he stuffed his fingers in her mouth again, deep enough that she slightly gagged. Harry found all of this very amusing, apparently, because he popped a dimple and feigned confusion. He tsked, “Fucked dumb already?” In an act of tenderness, he wiped her tears from her flushed cheeks and neck.

Y/N tried to give him her best sad, desperate, hungry-for-dick look, and for a moment she thought maybe it was working when he placed two gentle kisses on each damp eyelid. He continued kissing down her cheeks, her jaw and then finally her forehead.

“My sweet girl’s all teary eyed,” He cooed, still fucking her mouth with his two fingers. Harry cocked his head condescendingly, “S’a shame they’re all going to waste,” A hand wrapped firmly around her throat, “Even more shameful that I’ll have to fuck my fist right in front if her instead of this perfect pussy to teach her a fucking lesson.”

TAGLIST: @escapismatbest @triski73 @fivesecondsofprettymuch @danny-faye @aileen1237 @peachymelonsugrr @harryyloverrr @emlovesniallhoran @almataylorsversion @toosarcastic03 @d4rlingstyles @sleekfatetower @honeyapaturairis @fkingstyles @midnightmemories-1-d @everyscarisahealingplace @witch-rry @angel-gelly @brainfullsteve @0pheliam @littlealonebutterfly @harryscherrysuckr @oifukinloser @kissallthetimeharrystyles @lillrry @withoutluv @yeah-youremymedicine @abihist91 @harrys-only-angell @jocelynlovesharrystyles @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @jackedbygravity @angelonthewallsofversailles @madilee7802 @fangirl509east @indierockgirrl @readingrockstar23 @whoopsieismelldaisies @biboliciousposts @harrystylesconcepts @ionlywritesadsongs @tpwkforever410

MASTERLIST

Ko-fi <3

The next morning, Harry left a slumbering Y/N tucked beneath his covers to go fetch her dog from her apartment. After barely three hours of sleep, he was up at the crack of dawn, quietly creeping around the house so he wouldn't wake her.

The night before had taken more out of her than she'd let on.

Once she'd cried herself out in his arms, Harry left a towel and a spare set of clothes outside the bathroom so she could change out of her rain-soaked ones. Due to the nature of his work, he never found time to cook for himself, the consequences of which Y/N also had to suffer when he warmed up the frozen meal he bought (which thankfully was a ten-minute pizza they could easily split) for them to share. Except Y/N didn’t eat much at all— only picked at the crust, took maybe three bites and then quietly told him she wanted to go to bed.

Now unfortunately for Harry, he’s never been in a situation quite like this one.

Firstly, he almost never has people over at his place, and it was a bit weird just seeing Y/N there, hanging out in his kitchen, using his shower, sleeping in his bed. It was definitely not helping the little crush that he had on her. Seeing her all cozied up in his space gave him false hope that someday things could be like this, when the circumstances weren’t so life-threatening.

Secondly, he was really bad at comforting people and dealing with emotions (he never adressed his own, so how was he meant to help others?), thus he didn’t think he was the right person for her to be around when she was obviously hurting and feeling so vulnerable.

But nonetheless, life dealt him these cards and Harry had no choice but to live with them. It helped that it was her he had to be around; he liked her company a great deal, even if he didn’t do a good job showing so with his actions (or even his words). She was pretty and she was funny, and when she wasn’t scared for her life, she was adorable— like a deer— a resemblance he established when he first met her at the bar.

He’d been to her flat once before, and she lived close to Niall, hence getting there with no navigation wasn’t an issue. Though he had to keep lookout for any wanderers nearby, or anything odd, just to ensure no one was trying to track her down. So far the coast was clear, but Harry could never be too careful, comforted by the cold barrel of a gun pressed into his abdomen under the waist of his jeans.

There was a backup key beneath a plant by her door which Harry nabbed, albeit infuriatingly because of how unsafe that location was. After all of this was over, he made a mental note to give her some sort of safety training or self defence classes so if need ever arises, she’s not completely clueless. Although Harry was ready to give his all to make sure no harm ever came to her, he knows he can’t always be with her; protecting her.

The sharp, shrill sounds of Coco barking came before he could enter, and once he did, the dog tackled his legs and twisted between his ankles, “Hello mister,” Harry cooed, bending so he could pet between his ears, “Let’s get you home to mum, hmm?”

He quickly filled Coco’s bowl with food and water, and then got to work, picking out which essentials she might need while at his place. Harry doesn’t know how long this issue might play over; all he knew was that she could not be out of his sight for even a second. Being with him was the safest bet for Y/N right now, and he wanted to make sure she was as comfortable as she could be while living in (technically) a stranger’s apartment for god knows how long.

It felt invasive and borderline unethical for him to poke around her room and bathroom, grabbing her toothbrush, cleanser, charger and whatnot. He didn’t have any list or anything to go by, so he was going with his intuition as he plucked her kindle off her bedside, assuming it might help take her mind off things. Going through her clothes and underwear drawer was too much though; Harry had to draw the line somewhere. He had ample clothes for her to borrow, and in terms of undergarments, he’d swing by the mall to grab her a pack of underwear or something— the idea of which made his heart pound slightly and his cock twitch a bit. 

Entering the kitchen, Coco began jumping at his feet again with his tongue sticking out. Harry knelt to pick the pup up. He tucked him in his elbow, his tiny size convenient for Harry’s muscled arm, “You’re just a needy thing,” He tsked. A quick glance around her kitchen and Harry found a colorful list of meals magnetted to her fridge. It looked like a meal plan of some sorts; dishes she probably rotates throughout the week for breakfast, lunch and dinner. With his free hand he got his phone and quickly took a photo of the sheet, hoping he could recreate some of these to make her feel more at home. How he would do that with nil cooking skills was a problem for the future.

He did one last sweep of the place before grabbing his big tote bag and nestling Coco inside of it. Her stuff and the dog were separated by a soft towel, and Harry hoped the poor thing could bear the ten-minute ride on his bike back to the mall and then his place. It took some trial and error and some adjusting, but he managed the bag between his legs for the journey.

When he finally got home, she was still asleep and snoring softly. He stealthily set down her things on his counter and Coco began wagging his tail manically as he bolted for Harry’s room where his owner was resting. Before the pup could make it, Harry rushed to gently shut the door so he couldn’t pounce on the girl. Coco whined a bit and sadly looked up at Harry, “Sorry honey,” He ushered him into the living room where he pulled out the dog toys he picked up from a pet store, “Took her so long to fall asleep.”

Coco busied himself and so did Harry. He stepped into his kitchen and unloaded the groceries he got for breakfast bagels— a food he spotted circled with red marker on Y/N’s fridge. He hoped that meant she fancied it, because he was about to conquer the feat of cooking the dish for her; a challenge which paled in comparison to all the fights and mountains he had to climb working in a gang.

He put on a Youtube video with the most views and the most likes and set his phone against the counter. The apron he barely ever used that Mitch got him for his birthday (black, with the words “The Grillfather” embroidered across the chest) was wrapped around his torso as Harry pinched his bottom lip, soaking in the instructions with unwavering concentration.

He doesn’t know how long he spends there, hunched over his stove with about seven eggshells around him and splatterings of smashed avocado all over his apron and hands. There was something in the recipe about scrambled eggs, but they couldn’t be overcooked or they’d be rubbery— the avocado had to have no lumps, yet getting the core out of them was literally making Harry insane, especially when the third one flicked him on the forehead as he tried a trick he saw on reddit (he had to find an r/avocado thread to figure out when they were ripe enough to smash and eat, but not enough to be rotten).

By the time he had one decent looking, hopefully edible bagel cut in half on a ceramic green plate, he heard movement from his bedroom, signalling someone had just woken up and gone into the bathroom. Quickly he got rid of all the evidence; stuffing the eggshells into the trash, wiping the mayo and avocado from his counters, hastily undoing the apron around his waist. 

Worried she’d be out any second, he set the plate on the table (casually) and put a pot of coffee on. A few minutes later, his door creaked open and Coco lost his marbles. “Oh my god, my sweet baby angel,” He heard Y/N coo, mixed with the sounds of shrill barking. Harry poked his head around the corner for a sight he was not ready to see.

Y/N was on the floor, her legs crossed over one another adorned in just Harry’s black shirt. It was way too big on her, already oversized when he wore it, so it pooled around her body and slung off of one shoulder. At some point in the night she must have forgone the sweats he left out for her, because to his dismay, her legs were bare and utterly distracting. Coco was nestled in her lap, jumping up to lick her jaw and chin as Y/N scrunched up her face, “Okay! Okay, thank you,” she giggled, picking the pup up and plopping him on the carpet. Coco began looping around her feet. 

From across the room, she met his eyes, and something in her expression shifted when she noticed her belongings on his counter, “Harry,” She started, “When did you do this?” Slowly, she got off the floor and petted Coco one last time before coming over to the counter. Harry had to hold himself back from kissing her silly, “Y’were asleep when I woke up, so I thought I’d get some of your things. Coco, too, of course,” He replied. He toyed with his hands behind his back, one coming up to rub behind his neck as she began going through the tote. 

“Aw, Harry, thank you so much,” Y/N murmured in a soft voice. Butterflies erupted in Harry’s stomach like he was a schoolgirl or summat, doubling in effect when she suddenly gasped, “You brought my kindle?”

Harry ran a finger beneath his nose nonchalantly, “Oh yeah, thought you might want that one, help take your mind o— oh.” A soft gasp was punched out of him as Y/N tackled him in a hug, both arms wrapped around his neck. She buried her face in his throat and Harry thanked whatever deity was up there for this moment’s reprieve. “Thank you,” Y/N said genuinely. When she pulled away, Harry forced himself not to pout his bottom lip like his instinct was telling him. Already, he missed her warm body against his. His hands were still on her waist, “S’okay, was no trouble, baby,” The pet name slipped out unintentionally— and it had a few times already, but Harry wasn’t going to stop if the reaction he got from her was this; cheeks going red and eyes widening like a deer.

“I—uh, made you some breakfast if you’re hungry. You must be, actually. Didn’t eat much last night,” He changed the topic. Y/N turned to look at the table, noticing the bagel which Harry was immensely proud of, presented on a pretty plate. She looked back at him with a little grin, “I didn’t know you could cook!” Excitedly she took a seat across from him.

“Me neither,” Harry said under his breath. He got to work preparing her coffee. The second time he came to her apartment, she was kind enough to offer him some, because of which he remembered how she took hers: two sugars and heaps of milk. He used his fancy mugs; pouring into pink and baby blue ceramics. “How are you feeling today?”

Y/N nodded slowly, chewing with her eyebrows raised, “Better— hey, you’re a real good cook! How did y’know I liked brekkie bagels?”

“Just a hunch,” Harry shrugged, “Sleep well?”

She sipped her coffee, “Um, yeah, not too bad. Your bed is really nice.”

“That’s good.”

“I… I was up for ages ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about everything, y’know, like, you being in a gang, plus Coco being home alone,” Y/N shuffled, picking at a loose crumb, “Then I realised it wasn’t doing me— or anyone, any good. Me worrying won’t make this go away. I’m just… just lost. I don’t want to be this dead weight you dread carrying around. I want to be proactive.”

She looked at him with real curiosity, eagerly awaiting his response. He was glad to hear she was more comfortable and not as stressed anymore, but when it comes to what the outcome would be, Harry himself was sort of in the dark until he met the others and discussed a proposition, “Mm, that’s nice you’re feeling better,” He started, eyebrows creasing, “We’ll go back down to the warehouse after this. Some more of us will be there too, n’we’ll try to come up with something— something safer for you, and just settle this shit once and for all. I’m sorry you got dragged into my mess.”

“No, no, everything I did was my own choice, Harry, it’s not your fault,” She waved her hand dismissively, “And for the time being I think I feel safest when… when I’m with you,” Y/N said, quietly. She didn’t meet his eyes, busying herself with pulling her bagel apart into bite size pieces. From where he stood, he could see her cheeks ablaze. 

The words lit something inside Harry.

Someone feeling safe in his company was something he never got to hear, ever. Usually people were intimidated by him, opting to have quick conversations so they could scurry away as soon as possible. Only his gang mates would sometimes stick around and chat with him about stuff other than the current coup or drug shipment they had to process. Hearing a sweet little thing like Y/N admit so sincerely that she felt secure when she was with him made Harry feel things he’d never felt before. Warmth spread in his chest, along with an instinct to protect her in any way he could, no matter the situation.

His heart was beating at the speed of light as he bit back a smile, “I’ll try to keep it this way.”

-

After Y/N was fed and content, they both got dressed and headed down to his bike to go to the warehouse. Coco would have to spend the afternoon by himself, and this time Harry took precaution, asking his older neighbour Barbara to keep an eye on the pup and his feeding if things went awry. He hoped they didn’t, but it was one thing less on Y/N’s mind to worry about, and that’s all that mattered.

A thousand questions weighed on his mind; what was their POA? How long did Y/N have to live in hiding, not going to work or even sleeping in her own bed? When did that prick begin following her and why didn’t Harry notice earlier? So many things he could blame himself for, and he did, but he also knew doing that was not going to get him anywhere.

“Are we going on the bike?” Y/N snapped him out of his reverie, trailing behind him as they came down the building stairs. Harry pushed the exit door with his shoulder, pressing himself against it so she could pass. “Yeah, for now. I still need to go back and get y’car.”  She raised her brows and put her hands on her hips, “No rush.” He could tell she was nervous getting on the bike with him, like she was last night too. The way she clung to his waist, muttering quiet prayers against his shirt was enough evidence for him to determine this wasn’t going to be that easy.

He was better prepared this time, though, “I got a spare helmet for you.” From his coveted collection he picked out the one he thought would be best for her: A big, black, globe like helmet with adjustable straps so it didn’t slide all over her head like last time. When she opened her mouth to protest, Harry silenced her by slotting it on her head, “Hey!” She cried when she emerged, an angry look on her face through the little gap, “Are these really that necessary?” 

Harry flicked her forehead playfully, “Yes. I’m not endangering your life any further.”

“I’m not sure they do anything but make me immobile and sweaty,” Y/N grumbled. Rolling his eyes, Harry ignored her plea and put his own helmet on. As he patted his hands over his pockets for his keys, he realised they were missing— probably forgotten upstairs on his counter. A pinch pulled his brows together, “Fuck’s sake,” He groaned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Left m’keys at home.” He debated going back upstairs to go get them, but that would mean leaving Y/N down here all alone. No one apart from his gang mates knew where he lived which reduced the chances of anyone creeping up on her and harming her (precisely why he thought she’d be safest at his place). But the risk was too big to take. Like she could hear his inner turmoil, Y/N spoke softly, “Hey, you can go grab them. I’ll be fine.”

Harry looked around the empty parking lot. There was no one here, and only two cars parked on this level, both abandoned. Realistically, she should be fine, and Harry would only be like two minutes, yet he felt he couldn’t be too cautious; specially with her, “Come with me,” He suggested.

“Harry, go. I’m a big girl. I’m sure I can look after myself for five minutes.” She gave him a small nudge. The internal battle he fought crumbled in front of her. He didn’t want her to think he saw her as a liability or weak. If she’s telling him she’d be okay, then she probably will be, right? It took a lot from him to resign, sigh and take his helmet off again. He held up two fingers, “Two minutes. Don’t move, okay?”

“Go.”

Reluctantly, he turned around, bursting through the exit and skipping up the stairs. Every second he spent with her not in his sight made him more anxious. He had no choice but to trust her instinct and hope she’d be okay when he came back down. It took him less than ninety seconds to unlock his apartment and get his keys, basically running down the stairs and out the exit. 

Except Y/N wasn’t there like he thought she’d be. 

His bike stood lone, her helmet on the floor strewn to the side. Panic rose in Harry’s body as he shouted into the carpark, “Y/N?” He ran to all four corners, praying she stepped aside to take a call or something— anything than the one possibility that he was too scared to even address. A shiver went down his spine when only his voice echoed back to him, no trace of the girl. He bent to pick her helmet up and noticed a spattering of blood on the back of it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, shit, fuck!” He cussed, pacing the room again like she’d magically appear.

His stomach twisted in nausea as he entered fight mode. He had to find her and bring her back. How he could do something so stupid like leave her alone in an empty sketchy parking lot was entirely lost on him. Of course she was going to say she can handle it, but he should have wondered to what extent. Fuck, he really, really hated himself and the way he thought sometimes.

Without another second wasted, he dialed Mitch’s number on his phone. 

“Get everyone in the van.” He started his bike.  “We're going to Dean's.” 

-

Y/N was scared.

It was the only emotion she was feeling as of recent; ever since she almost got kidnapped outside the supermarket a night ago. This situation was pretty similar to that one, the only difference being this time, much to her chagrin, the abductor was actually successful in his motive.

How and when that happened was hard for her to process.

One moment she was tapping on her phone as Harry left to grab his keys; another moment a hand roughly clamped over her mouth through the gap in her helmet. She yelled and she screamed against the sweaty palm, but it made no difference, her cries muffled against skin. It took them merely thirty seconds to drag her flailing body away from the bike and into the back of a car, even after Y/N whipped her head behind her so her helmet bashed into the attacker’s head. He only yelped, called her a bitch, and ripped the item off her head. As much as Y/N had pretended to hate wearing it, she found herself missing the small sense of protection it had offered. Immediately, another pair of hands covered her eyes with a blindfold, pressed a cloth against her nose hard enough to cause tears down her cheeks, and then it was all dark. 

She assumed it was a strong drug because she was passed out pretty bad if the pounding in her head was anything to go by. As she now regained consciousness, she realised her hands were tied to the back of a chair, her feet bound, and her eyes were still covered. How long she was out and where she was, Y/N had no clue. The room she was in was warm, though, the faint smell of leather and alcohol lingering in the air. She was sitting on some kind of wooden chair that dug painfully in her ass, her comfort obviously not a priority to these people.

“Good morning Pumpkin,” Someone said from her right. The voice was gravelly and she didn’t recognise it, “Sleep nice?”

Her head whipped in it’s direction, “Where am I?” Y/N asked shakily. Another voice spoke from the same direction, but this time she recognised the timbre, “Far away from that little boyfriend of yours, I’ll tell ya.” It was the same creep who felt her up at the bar that night— the same one who was waiting to kidnap her before Harry noticed. Nausea twisted in her stomach, “I know you.”

The man laughed. “You don’t know shit,” She yelped as a hand came down on her thigh, trailing upwards. Y/N tried to turn away from it, and this prompted the first voice to talk again. She was grateful as the hand was batted away from her leg, “Dean said we can’t touch her, Gary.”

“Dean isn’t fucking here, is he?” Gary spat. She gasped when she heard a thud followed by a wheeze, fear making goosebumps rise over her skin, “Say some dumb shit like that again and I’ll break your fucking arm,” The second man spoke. Knowing they were capable of such violence that they didn’t hesitate to inflict on each other straightened her right up. If she wanted to get out of here unharmed, she’d have to be on her best behaviour. 

“I trust your treating our guest well, Finn?” A third voice boomed. This one came from further away. Y/N bit her lip to keep from saying something that’d get her in trouble. The second voice— Finn, cleared his throat, “Yes sir.” The honorific made her think that maybe this voice belonged to Dean; a name she’d heard over and over again at both Harry’s warehouse and now. He seemed like the leader, probably, and Y/N trembled slightly in place as his voice came closer, “What’s wrong with him?” 

“He’s got the shits.” 

Gary coughed loudly, sounding strained still from the injury Finn must’ve given him for touching her, “Oh yes, I think I ate something ba—”

“Go fix yourself.”

“Yes sir.” He resigned. Y/N heard his footsteps recede and another pair of steps shuffle closer. She held her breath.

“Harry’s got himself a very pretty little plaything, hmm?” A finger came beneath her chin, lifting her face up. Tears were already streaming down her face out of fear and her lip quivered. She hated that they saw her weakening like this in front of them, but Y/N was feeling very clueless and very helpless as to what she should do right now. Nothing in her twenty three years of life prepared her for being fucking abducted. A whimper fell from her mouth as he cupped her jaw and moved her face left and right, “Would be a shame if we carved into her.”

“You sure this is it, Finn?” Dean asked, roughly letting go of her face. Relief flooded Y/N’s veins when she couldn’t sense him in her personal space anymore. “We’re sure. Picked the lass up straight from his place. They were practically fuck—”

A loud crash made her jump in her chair. Both men became alert, “What the fuck was that?” Finn said. She heard the faint sound of a gun cocking and all the blood from her body drained. Loud bangs resounded from what probably was another room as Y/N writhed in her seat, “What’s happening?”

Her question went unanswered. She could hear the sound of Gary yelling from afar, cries of “They’re here!” echoing, followed by an even louder crash which came from much closer. Close enough that she could safely assume it was the door to the room they were in. More gun sounds and footsteps. Suddenly her hands and feet were cut lose and she was pulled to stand. She yelped as her back was pushed against the front of a tall, beefy body.

“Let her go.”

Harry.

The second she heard his voice, her resolve crumbled and her lip pushed out in an ugly cry, “Harry,” She sobbed. Tears dripped down her cheeks and jaw, and the man behind her whose voice she recognised as Dean’s spoke, “Forty thousand. That was the agreement,” Something cold tucked against her neck— something that could only be the barrel of a gun. 

“Let. Her. Go.” Harry demanded. He sounded closer, the notion of which made her breathe a little easier. Another voice she recognised spoke up, “You’re outnumbered Dean.” Mitch. “I would be smart and give in if I was you.”

The gun pushed into her neck harder, nearly making her choke, “Forty thousand or you can say goodbye to your girlfriend.”

“We agreed on a payment plan! You signed the contract— it’s not due for another thirteen months!” Sarah yelled. 

“I don’t give a rats ass about any contract. Give me the money or watch her di—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Y/N took advantage of her mobility and stomped her foot atop his as hard as she could. At the same time, she heard Finn yell from her left followed by a gunshot, but she remained focused on the task at hand and whacked the back of her head into his nose. The impact folded Dean in half. Before he had a chance to recover, Y/N yanked her wrists free and tore the blindfold from her face. 

It took a few seconds for her to adjust her vision. Her eyes were blearly because of the tears though she could still make out the small room they were in. It looked expensive— littered with big, comfortable looking brown leather couches with a shattered glass table between them. Bottles of liquor were tipped over on the ground; some smashed and some rolling by their feet. Harry, Mitch, Sarah and two people she didn’t recognise stood at the opposite end of the room, all of them armed. She didn’t waste any time running over to their side.

Harry grabbed her arms, frantically searching her face, “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” He asked, the calm amongst the storm— commotion all around them as Mitch and the others engaged in combat with who she assumed were Finn and Dean. “Y—yes. I think I’m okay,” Y/N replied. Harry nodded and closed his eyes, unexpectedly kissing her forehead in an act of tenderness, “Fuck, I’m so sorry, angel, I shouldn’t’ve left you on your own. So sorry, baby,” Hands came up to cup her cheeks and wipe away the hot tears staining them.

They didn’t have much time to themselves, though, as Sarah yelled at him to cover her. More gunshots resounded, and Y/N had the misfortune of watching the fight. The two big men who orchestrated the abduction fell to the ground in a pile of blood, groaning in pain. Y/N’s breakfast came back up her throat and she willed herself to tear her gaze away. 

“In the van!” The man she didn’t recognise yelled. Dean and both of his men were down and the group wasted no time to get to leaving the building they were in. She was lost when she stepped out of the room; guided only by Harry’s hand in hers who rounded corners like he knew the place. When they were finally outdoors, it was raining again, drenching them for the ten seconds it took to sprint towards a long, white van. Mitch quickly slid the door open, ushering Y/N in first, followed by Sarah, Harry and the two men whose name she still didn’t know.

Hurriedly, they skidded out of the parking and were immediately on the highway. She recognised the area as one not even thirty minutes from her house, and the thought of that made a chill go down her spine. Harry’s jacket wrapping around her shaking shoulders was what made her jump out of her thoughts. He was tucked next to her, and Y/N didn’t realise she was basically in his lap as she shuffled closer to him absentmindedly. “What you did was very brave,” He muttered, just for her ears. When she met his eyes, her gaze was obstructed by wet hair sticking to her cheeks and forehead. 

Gently, he pushed the strands back and let his hand rest on the side of her neck where he traced circles. She wanted to say something— anything— thank him for getting her out of there, reassure him that it wasn’t his fault, tell him how scared she was— but she had nothing to show except the tears that kept leaking out of her eyes. 

Harry only kissed her forehead again, “S’okay,” He stroked her damp skin, “You’re okay now.”

-

“I think we made matters worse.”

Y/N slept the whole way back to the warehouse. Her head rested on Harry’s shoulder, who tried to calm his heartbeat and convince his panic-driven body that things were okay now. Y/N was safe, and she was right next to him, and no one could take her from him even if they tried. 

This wasn’t Harry’s first rodeo.

He’d been a part of hundreds of raids and shootouts in his years working in the mafia, but he still remembered what it was like when he attended his first one. The sound of a gun going off wasn’t something you ever got used to. Neither was the sight of blood squirting out of a wound of an unconscious person. He could only imagine how terrified the poor girl must be, and how worse she probably felt before they got there; all alone, blind and bound amongst a druglord and his two goons. He can never forgive himself for letting her be in such an awful situation.

As they arrived at the warehouse, she continued slumbering on his shoulder, even when he tried nudging her awake so she could walk inside. The drug they used to get her unconscious must’ve been really strong, because she didn’t budge. With Sarah’s help, he had to carry her inside bridal style, his friend getting the door for him and leading him to the single bedroom. It was barren— no one really spent the night here. Before Zayn left they never even came to the warehouse. Gatherings were normally at his mansion where sometimes they’d stay the night and hang out together. When he was gone, they had to put all the leftover money together to establish a new base, which was this ratty old warehouse until they could afford something new and nicer.

Thankfully the room had a soft bed with sheets on and a small electric heater that did a good job warming up the place in ten minutes. He set the girl down on the mattress, but as he let go to leave her alone, she fisted his shirt tightly, “Stay,” She mumbled sleepily. 

And Harry was many things, but he wasn’t a fool. If his sweetheart wanted him to stay, then he’d stay for as long as she needed. He owed her that much after what he put her through the past few weeks.

So he sat there next to her, stroking her hair while she curled her head on his lap. Maybe it was time for him to finally address the elephant in the room— his evergrowing feelings for Y/N. At first he thought it was just a crush; the kind you have when you spot a cute girl from across the bar and think about buying her a drink and then bedding her. Except Harry only did the former instead of the latter, because he was too scared to go any further with her. She was so keen and so eager when she first came up to him. He spotted her intentions from a mile away. The way she rambled nervously, fidgeted with her hair, her dress, and then when he went to leave she grabbed his hand, asking him to come home with her… She was driving him nuts already.

He couldn’t get her off his mind after that. Not as he rode his bike home, warmed up a frozen steak dinner and then went off to the warehouse to see Mitch. Not as they had to do a raid in return for a debt owed to bigger lord and Harry ended up getting badly slashed and beat. And certainly not when she patched him up in her bathroom, offering her sweet smiles and worried glances. 

Everything escalated when Gary plotted to kidnap her outside the convenience store. Harry liked to believe fate brought them together that night; that he was meant to be there to save her, bring her back to his place and give her solace. Seeing her in his space was probably the tipping point, though. It gave him a glimpse into a reality which he knew was impratical. Even if he did act on his feelings for her, he’d be selfish. How can he willingly let her into this violent, painful world of his knowing it would only bring her down too?

“I think we made matters worse,” Sarah brought Harry back to earth, standing quietly in the doorway. She was all changed now, rid of blood-soaked clothes, “We’re only delaying the inevitable. Dean will come back for his money. He’s a greedy bastard.”

“I think we’ll be okay for a while,” Harry said softly so as to not wake Y/N. Sarah gave him a look that read ‘are you fucking out of your mind’, “What makes you say that?” 

“We’re wiring him half.”

“What?”

He looked back down at Y/N— at the slight rise and fall of her chest and the puffs of air making her hair flutter beneath her nose, “Should be there in about two days.”

“What are you talking about? We can’t afford that, Harry,” Sarah walked in now, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. She still had an incredulous expression; staring at Harry like he’d grown a second head. “I can.” He replied simply.

Sarah frowned. “...How?”

When he didn’t say anything, realisation dawned on her face. Her shoulders sagged and she began nodding her head ‘no’, “Harry.” The room fell silent. Sarah searched his face, waiting for him to smile, to admit he was joking and this was all a big prank. That the truth was anything but the insane possibility she silently considered in her head.

He didn't.

“Your escape funds?” she asked quietly.

It was true. After getting off the phone with Mitch at the parking garage, Harry didn’t waste any time organising the transfer to Dean. To do so was literally insane, he knows, but money comes and goes, but there is only one Y/N on this earth who he’d really, really like for her to stay. At least for as long as she’d have him.

The funds in question accumulated in a special savings account he opened when he first joined the gang. The idea was to deposit as much of his earnings as he could in the bank so he could save up enough to study and pursue his dreams when he paid off his debt. Before falling into this world of trouble, Harry had plans to become a criminal psychologist. He’d been preparing to tackle the degree since he was in high school, properly committed to the point where he had a poster of John E. Douglas on his wall. Things went south when his dad suddenly died and his mum fell ill and bedridden, which forced young Harry to go down avenues he only ever saw people get coerced into on TV.

Somewhere between trying to make ends meet and having to let go of his passion to help people, Harry began relating more to the criminals he studied about rather than the person trying to understand them.

Now he hoped that maybe this repayment would contribute towards his debt being paid off to the gang and he might actually be able to leave sooner and do all the things he wants to do, like go back to uni and study. This could work in his favor— he just needed to look at it the right way.

Harry knows Dean would stop at no end. It didn’t matter that they’d shot and injured him and his two best men. He would come back, and now he knows Harry’s soft spot is Y/N, creating a risk beyond his imagination. There was no way Harry would let Dean or any of his men touch her; and if the price for that was to delay his freedom, he’d do it a hundred more times in a heartbeat.

Harry nodded once. “Most of what I had.”

“Harry that’s fucking crazy!”

He looked down at Y/N for a long moment before speaking. “Maybe,” His fingers scratched sweetly at her scalp, “But I could never live with myself if anything happens to her again.”

-

This time when Y/N awoke, she was very happy to find herself tucked beneath Harry’s familiar covers. The pillows smelled like him and Y/N shamelessly dug her nose into the cushion, breathing deeply as the past events eventually dawned on her. 

Within a span of seventy-two hours, two times there were attempts to kidnap her, one of which was successful. She learned that her new friend whom she had a massive crush on was part of the mafia. She was abducted and taken by a druglord and used as bait plus ransom to demand a forty thousand dollar payment. And in that process, she saw three men get shot and injured while in the middle of an active shootout. Whenever she closed her eyes, all she could see was Dean and Finn laying on top of each other, bloodied, one clutching his leg and the other his arm, groaning in pain. 

Just a couple of months ago she had no idea that these people even existed. Her life consisted of her and Coco, her five shifts a week at the ice cream shop and the occasional night out she’d frequent with her friends every now and then. She kept her head down and worked hard to pay off her student loans, not a whiff of anything this nasty coming her direction. All until one night she got the hots for a mysterious man at the bar, and everything changed.

She was well-rested now, assuming she’d slept for about five or six hours since the last thing she remembered was being in the van and then carried onto a bed somewhere. Faint were the memories of a hand stroking her hair and her cheek gently, and the next thing she knew, she was waking up in Harry’s apartment again. The massive window overlooking the park in his bedroom told her it was well into the night— the moon a dim light casting shadows on his carpet. 

There was no sign of him in the bathroom or anything, so she guessed he was probably sleeping in the living room again. Y/N pulled the covers off and slowly sat up. There was a slight headache nagging her brain which was most likely happening because she hadn’t drank water or eaten anything for a long time. Not since this morning when Harry made her that delicious breakfast bagel. Or was it yesterday morning? Fuck, her sense of time was all out of sorts and her phone was dead too so she couldn’t check to confirm.

Grabbing the device to plug it in in the kitchen, she crept her way outside the room and into the living area. Coco must’ve been asleep as the only sounds in the house was of her door creaking open. Like she expected, Harry was there, but he was awake, pacing in front of his couch with his phone glued to his hand. He looked concentrated with his lip between his fingers, not clocking that Y/N was standing inches away from him.

She would’ve spent longer just being there watching, if she was being honest. Harry was a beautiful man and she knew this, yet tonight was different. His chest and back were on display, miles and miles of smooth, tanned, tatted skin stretched over beefy muscles. He  wore only a pair of gray sweats that slung low on his hips and his hair was down, tucked behind his ears to keep swept back from his face which was pulled into a small frown. Whatever he was doing had his attention entirely as he only noted her presence when the floorboards cried under her weight.

“You’re awake.” He shut his phone off and took the two steps towards her. The only light in the room was from the moon and stars pouring in through his windows, illuminating the right side of his face. 

“Hi,” Y/N replied, fidgeting with her fingers. The realisation dawned upon her that she was still wearing his clothes— a big, gray hoodie (might be the other half of the bottoms he had on) and black sweats. They were soft and they smelt like him, and that might’ve been a contributing factor towards how much she was sleeping around him recently. Tentatively, he tossed his phone on the couch and came closer to her, nearly toe to toe, “Hi. Sleep okay?”

“Yeah. How long was I out for?”

“Like seven hours, I think.”

“Wow.” Seven hours was crazy for Y/N who never had much time to herself anyway. She was always either working or doing chores around the apartment, taking Coco out for walks, getting her ratty car fixed or loosing sleep over not being able to pay next month’s rent. Knowing she knocked out for that long was throwing her nervous system for a loop. Her anxiety keeps trying to convince her she has something to do or she’s forgetting something important even though she knows that’s not the case.

Harry reached a hand up to gently tuck her hair behind her ear, a gesture he was doing a lot of recently. Y/N liked it though— it made her tummy flutter and her heart race as he gazed down at her with an unrecognisable expression. She felt exposed but in a good way. “Yeah. Can’t blame you. Today was a lot.” His hand stayed there, tracing the side of her face with his thumb absentmindedly. 

Y/N looked away for a moment before speaking, “I don’t want to talk about it.” She was getting tired of it being the only thing on her mind; as she slept, as she woke, as she ate, as she talked to other people. In the back of her head, images of Gary waiting outside the store with a cloth in his hand never left, and now they were joined by the grotesque visual of Dean and Finn piled on top of each other with gunshot wounds. She would do anything just to think and talk about anything else for even a moment.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to.”

“How come you’re up?” She changed the topic. It was getting hard to focus on anything but the warmth emanating from his bare torso, which if he moved slightly, would be pressed right up against her. The prospect caused her thoughts to snowball. Now she was thinking about the hard lines of his abs she’d feel beneath her fingers and the muscled pillows of his pecs. A lone chain with a cross pendant rested between them and Y/N was itching to grab and pull on it. 

“Can’t sleep.”

“Oh,” She attempted to compose herself, willing her thoughts away so she could speak coherently, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Why didn’t you come home with me that night?” The question was one which weighed on her mind all the damn time. Ever since he let her down and she had to go back to her friends unsuccessful, she wondered what it was about her that did it for him. The constant rambling? The nervous tremble in her fingers which she attempted to mask by sipping her drink? Or was there something else he wasn’t telling her? Judging by the way he now clenched his jaw and looked away, she began to think it was the latter.

“Y/N….” He started, hand slipping down to the side of her neck but never leaving her skin. 

“No, I want to know,” She pressed, laying her own palm over the swallow on the right side of his body. The touch must’ve caught him off guard, because he looked at her hand and then her face before swallowing, making his Adam’s apple bob, “I always think about it. About you,” Y/N continued, “…Us.”

Harry shook his head. “It’s complicated.”

“What does that even mean?” Her voice was laced with confusion. What did he mean? From her point of view, the proposition was simple. Transactional. A give and a take. One night stands weren’t so outdated were they? Unless he just didn’t want to, which is fair, of course, but she’d like it if he told her straight up rather than beating around the bush with ‘it’s complicated.’  “Am I like, not your type or something? You can tell me, I just want you to be hone—”

“No! No, that’s not it. I think you’re beautiful,” He cut her off. Y/N tried to ignore the way her heart raced at his words, his fingers now fiddling with the hair on the nape of her neck, grazing her skin. 

“Then what?” She asked.

“I just… You shouldn’t be hanging out with someone like me. You saw today how dangerous it can get. I’m not someone you should be around.” 

“You don’t get to make that choice for me, Harry,” Y/N scoffed. “I can make my own decisions. I wanted to take you home that night. I wanted to be around you. Everything I do is out of my own volition.”

“I know,” He seemed almost pained, watching her with an intense heat that sizzled in her veins. One that made her think that like her, he too was picturing their first meeting, wondering where things could have gone if he’d given in. Her grip on his chest tightened just a fraction as her voice lowered to a sultry tone, “I still think about it. What could’ve happened if you’d just said yes.”

In an act of courage, she grabbed his other hand and brought it up to the side of her breast, letting it rest there. Worried that he would’ve yanked it away, she was very pleasantly surprised when he gripped her side hard, fingers digging into her ribs. The pressure of him there was delicious. Suddenly, she felt like she was swaying on her feet, unable to be still, and he was the only thing grounding her.

“Yeah?” He growled, pupils dilated. Taking the one last step that had their noses touching now, Y/N tilted her head up towards him. Their lips nearly brushed at this angle, “Yeah. I still… still want you to. Want you to touch me.”

“Y/N…” Harry groaned. A small gasp left her lips when he brought the hand at the back of her neck to the front, warm palm encasing her throat as he squeezed very lightly— enough to bring her to her tippy toes. Y/N gave in to her intrusive thoughts and looped her index finger around his necklace, roughly pulling him down until he was merely a breath away, “Kiss me.”

She could practically see the internal battle raging on in his head, as his gaze flitted between her lips and her eyes. There was a push and pull between them; something magnetic when she’d lean in and he’d tease her, and then he’d brush his bottom lip against her top one like a reward. When he did it a second time, she whined, yanking the chain one more time when he whispered, “Fuck.”

Harry’s lips crashed into hers, his grip around her throat so strong she felt like he was lifting her up singlehandedly. A whimper left her as he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, asking her to open up for him. When she did, he licked into her mouth, tilting her face to the right as he pleased to have better access.

The way he kissed made Y/N’s toes curl— it was like he wanted to crawl inside of her, tasting behind her teeth, sucking her bottom lip and then biting it, hard. She could feel the sheer desperation in the way he used his other hand to push her hips, walking her backwards towards his bedroom, “I think about it too,” He started, finally letting her breathe, but he didn’t go far as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisse down her jaw and neck, “I wanted to take you right there. Sweet little thing asking me so nicely— wearing that pretty dress,” He twisted so his back was to the bed and she faced him, still reeling from the grip he had on her throat, “Wanted to fuck you hard on my bike. Bend you over the seat and silence you with my fingers as I pounded this needy pussy.”

Y/N was on a whole other plane. She didn’t know her Harry was so filthy. The pure smut that spewed from his mouth so easily had her thinking this wasn’t his first time imagining the scene either. His hand trailed beneath her shirt and toyed with the waistband of her sweats, and she knew if he looked at her undies, she’d have soaked right through them. With every step she took, she could feel herself seeping down her thighs. “I wanted you to,” She whispered. Y/N jumped as his hand went beneath her sweats to grab a handful of her ass, her moan muffled against his lips, “I know, baby,” He replied, kissing the corner of her mouth, “Strip.”

Harry gave her hips a nudge. He sat on the edge of the bed and spread his legs wide, the girl standing between them utterly flustered and hot. He looked at her patiently with both his arms behind him, holding him up. Y/N felt like she was putting on a show for him as she stood there buzzing nervously, fingers finding the hem of her shirt. The last thing she saw before she slowly pulled it over her head was Harry’s hand sliding down to his crotch, giving his cock a squeeze. There was a faint outline of it pressed up against his abdomen and it looked big, slightly curved to the left.

Having forgone a bra, Harry was immediately met with the sight of her bare tits, nipples peaked. He groaned her name, rubbing his cock faster with his lip between his teeth. Each sound he made went straight to her throbbing pussy which cried for his attention. Y/N then worked on her sweats. She untied the string, tugging them down before stepping out of the pile of fabric. She was wearing the underwear that he bought her, and now that she was standing bare before him, she wondered if he had an ulterior motive when buying them considering the pink bow on her mound and the lace which hugged her hips.

He seemed like he was restraining himself from touching her, gaze darting from her tits, to her tummy, to her pussy, to her thighs where she dripped. To rile him up further, a mischievous glint sparkled in Y/N’s eyes as she slyly turned around so her ass was in his face. Slowly, she bent over while at the same time hooking her thumbs into her underwear to pull it off. “Fuck me, baby,” Harry sounded whiney and pretty behind her, “So beautiful.”

Her puffy, wet pussy was probably on full display, and the action did what she intended when he roughly grabbed her hips and pulled her back, seating her right on his clothed cock. Y/N writhed under his touch, shifting her hips for any sort of friction as his hand went to her throat again, turning her face so he could kiss her. This new angle drove her crazy, especially when he let his free fingers snake down to where she leaked. He passed his fingers over her folds twice, pushing them against her throbbing clit to feel it’s heartbeat, “Harry…” Y/N cried into his mouth. She had to pull away when he stuffed a finger inside, deep, curling against her g-spot instantly. He pumped it once, twice, before sadly leaving her empty and wrapping his lips around the finger. His gaze never wavered from hers, closing momentarily as he tasted her, “Taste so sweet, angel. Want you to sit on my face.”

Y/N froze, “What?” She’d never tried that though she’d seen it in porn and read about it in stories. Obviously it intrigued her, and it did look like it felt really good but her nerves were getting to her— how would he breathe with her blocking his airways? Would her weight not crush his neck? As if he noticed her hesitance, Harry kissed her jaw, then her cheek before meeting her eyes, “I want you to sit on my face so I can eat your pussy. S’so good baby, need to feel you everywhere. Want you everywhere.”

“I’ve never um— never done that before,” Y/N admitted. Harry helped her turn around on his lap so she wasn’t hurting her neck trying to talk to him. He scooted back on the bed, pulling her body with his, both his hands holding hers, “Y’don’t have to if y’don’t want to,” He set his head on the pillow, positioning her so she was on top, thighs astride his waist, “But I think it’d be fun. You’ll feel good,” She could tell he was trying to be patient with her, but his gaze kept flitting down to where she leaked as he licked his lips. Both his palms came up to grab and squeeze her breasts, “Yeah, okay, let’s do it. Will it hurt you?”

He laughed and moved her up, up, and up until she was hovering right above his face. The next words were spoken directly to her pussy, since he was too enthralled by her dripping core to meet her eyes, “Not in the slightest.” Not a second was wasted as he yanked her down, his mouth already open and tongue out. The first lick had her doubling over, a broken moan escaping her lips. Y/N gripped the headboard to steady herself, already struggling to hold it together. Harry was relentless beneath her; delivering long, deep licks all the way from her hole to her clit, which he wrapping his lips around and sucked like a starved man. He didn’t do that annoying thing where they popped on and off, instead, suckling in long bursts. When he needed a breath he paused but continued to press searing kisses over the needy button.

When her hips began moving on their own accord to ride his mouth, she has no idea, but Harry seemed like he liked it given the way he moaned against her. The vibrations travelled throughout her whole body. She was worried he wasn’t getting enough air down there, yet any time she lifted to give him space, his grip on her thighs tightened and he stuffed his face into her further. By the morning, she’s sure she will have finger-sized bruises where he held her.

At one time, she was moving a tad too much, to the point where Harry struggled to get his tongue on her, so he delivered a loud spank to her ass which stilled her immediately. She cried out loud, tears prickling in her eyes from both pleasure and pain as her first orgasm ripped through her. Harry continued to lick her through it, murmuring words of encouragement into her clit. He helped her grind against his tongue how she wanted with his nose pressed tightly against her mound. 

When she came down, there was a bit of fumbling as she shuffled on his body until she was again resting on his dick and not his mouth. One glance at Harry’s face and her heart was doing somersaults— he had a big, toothy smile on his lips, appearing almost pussy-drunk with his lips, nose, chin and cheeks covered in a shiny layer of her arousal. He eyed her lazily as she began rubbing against his cock, “Not too bad?” He asked, referencing to her hesitance just before.

“Mm-mm. I wanna ride you,” She demanded sweetly. Harry chuckled and rubbed her thighs, going up to her hips, her stomach, and then cupping her breasts. Pinching her nipples, he used the grasp to bring her down to his mouth, “Yeah? I’m not sure this tiny pussy can handle my cock, baby. S’big,” He kissed her bottom lip. Y/N pouted, “I can handle it. At least let me try.”

“F’course y’can try,” He replied. She continued grinding against him and began thinking that maybe he was right; he did feel really big tucked against her folds, and all the men she’d ever been with weren’t really that impressive. She was also sort of out of practice when it came to riding someone, but he looked so good laying there cockily, the urge took control of her. 

Both her and Harry worked on taking his sweats off, and she was delighted to see that he wore no boxers, so when the waistband went past his thighs, his massive cock sprung free. Y/N couldn’t help the audible gasp that left her lips. He really wasn’t lying when he said she might struggle riding him. Even Y/N was worried she wouldn’t be able to. He was long, maybe half the length of her forearm, his tip leaking precum already. His balls sat heavy at the base, full and swollen, and he was fucking thick too— if she tried to wrap her hands around it, the tips of her fingers might not touch. Just looking at it made her thighs shake, “Harry…” She whispered, tracing her index finger down the length of it. He twitched, hissing as she circled her thumb on the pink tip, “You’re so big.”

“Too big for you, love?” He asked her, lips open in pleasure. 

“Maybe,” Y/N was being honest with him. He did look too big; enough to burn when he first slid in to her. Yet the thought didn’t scare her as much as it should. She was looking forward to feeling him stretch her out, “But I can take it, I think. How will it fit?” Fitting her palm around it, she gave it one slow stroke. “I’ll make it fit,” Harry growled. He clutched her waist hard, guiding her so she could sink on his cock. 

The loud, high-pitched whine that came from her was unrecognisable to her own ears; never had she ever been so spent and bent over a man’s cock, but Harry was driving her nuts. He looked fucked-out beneath her, with his hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead, eyes following where they joined and jaw dropped open. It took a few seconds for her to sit on him properly and the burn of him inside was almost too much. She could feel him all the way in her tummy. Whimpering, he put an arm around her shoulders and brought her down to his lips. 

Y/N was already feeling immobile. Harry pressed distracting kisses to her lips, soft, wet ones that had her struggling to focus. After about a minute of this, he rolled his hips slightly. The first nudge of him inside punched an embarrassing noise from her, his own groan muffled against her tongue. Y/N began moving her own hips to join him, grinding down as he thrusted up into her. The pain gave way to pleasure after the first few strokes, and because of the angle he was tucked right against her swollen g-spot. His hips dug into her clit with each movement, a different sort of muted pleasure erupting that made her scream.

She was already so wet, and Harry was also leaking, so when they came together the sounds in the room were fucking pornographic. Her pussy was squelching and pulsing as she rode him. “S’that too much?” He asked her after a particularly deep thrust. Y/N arched her back, “No, no— want more. Please, don’t stop,” She said as he fondled with her tits again, “Want it harder.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmm.” What Harry did next, she wasn’t expecting. His knees bent and he planted his feet on the mattress before stilling his hips. Using his hands to stop her grinding, he scooted towards the edge of the bed, still inside of her before cupping her ass with both hands and standing up. This new position made her sob into his shoulder. Her hands went under his arms where her nails scratched down his back as he began pounding into her relentlessly. Harry moved her up and down his cock like she weighed nothing, walking towards his massive windows. Pressing her against the glass, he gathered her wrists and stretched them out above her.

The whole time his dick was merciless— stuffed deep inside of her and moving at a pace she didn’t think was humanly possible (at least not while standing). It took maybe three more strokes before she was creaming all over him. This orgasm was way more intense; she felt it brewing from the tips of her fingers, a hot pool of arousal gathering in her gut before it exploded, spreading through her veins like searing lava. She squeezed and pulsed around him, the action making him whine and cry her name. 

All this must’ve pushed him to his end too, because he pulled out, practically threw her on the bed and stood between her parted thighs. Y/N watched with heavy breathes as he began pumping himself, once, twice, thrice, and then he came all over her pussy and stomach. White, hot ropes of cum pooled in the dip of her ribs, some of it landing on her chin as he released, groaning deeply. The sight of him spent made Y/N want to go all over again, but then the exhaustion settled into her bones and she thought otherwise— she was also still hungry and that wasn’t helping the case.

He tugged one last time before rolling his neck to see her, popping a dimple at her state, “Y’okay?” He asked, patting her knee. Y/N nodded, “Yup.” A warm giggle sounded from him as he pressed a quick kiss to her lips, “I’ll get some wipes.”

-

After they both cleaned up, Harry left to make her a sandwich and get a juice box from the kitchen. She was so hungry after everything she felt like she was on the verge of passing out. The night was slowly turning into day as the first rays of sun filtered into his room. Y/N laid on top of his chest, her belly and heart full. Their legs were tangled beneath the covers and she traced her fingers over the butterfly on his tummy, his own hands grazing her cheek. Her head was tilted towards him.

The past hour had just been empty conversations and sweet nothings— things they never got to talk about despite having known each other so adequately. They spoke of everything but the past few days’ events, and for that Y/N was very grateful. Every now and then he’d nudge their noses together and kiss her. Y/N knew Harry was sweet from the start, but this side of him was a surprise to her; he treated her like she was delicate, like a petal. 

“Harry,” She spoke up after a particularly long pause, “I want this to be real.”

Instantly, he knew exactly what she meant; she could tell by the shift in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but she beat him to it, “And I know what you’re going to say— that it’s dangerous and not safe to be with you…” She continued, “But I also know you’re worth taking that risk. I don't want a safe life if it means it's one without you.” 

Wordlessly, he searched her face for any sign that she was kidding. Y/N looked at him apprehensively, half anticipating that he might reject her, and half anticipating that he might finally do something that’s selfishly just for him. She really hoped it was the latter. A moment passed before he cupped her jaw and brought his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. This one was different to all the others, in the sense that there was no lust behind it. She could feel the emotion poured into it as he rubbed his thumb against her cheekbone. 

“I think I’ve been yours for a while now,” He rested his forehead against hers again, “And I’m really, really tired of pretending otherwise.”

Y/N felt his heart race beneath her palm. “Me too.”

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MASTERLIST

Ko-fi <3

He doesn’t pull away. His hand stays on my waist, his thumb is still tracing that slow circle against the fabric of my top, and his eyes are on mine. He’s not even scanning the crowd to see who noticed. He’s just looking at me with an expression I can’t decode.

I should step back. I should apologize. I should explain that I didn’t mean to, that I was upset and that I wasn’t thinking clearly at all. The words form in my throat but none of them make it past my teeth, because every single one feels like a lie.

The bass shifts to a slower song and someone near us cheers, and the sound breaks through whatever bubble we’ve been standingin. Harry’s gaze flicks sideways for half a second, towards the crowd, and I see the moment he registers how many people are watching. His jaw tightens and his hand drops from my waist.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks, his voice is still low, still meant only for me. “Away from all the eyes?”

My chest is tight and my hands are shaking and I can feel the weight of a hundred stares pressing against my back. Someone is definitely filming this and already typing a caption. By tomorrow morning, everyone on campus will know that the girl who got dumped by Adrian last week, kissed Harry Styles at a party, and they’ll all have opinions about why.

"Yeah," I say, and the word comes out rough. "I do."

He nods and then he’s walking, his hand brushing against the small of my back as we move through the crowd. Just enough pressure to guide me, not enough to claim me. The touch is light, barely there, but I feel it anyway, and I hate that I feel it. I hate that my skin is still warm from where his fingers were a minute ago. I hate that I noticed the exact moment his hand dropped from my waist and I hated the absence of it.

People step aside when they see him coming. That's the thing about Harry Styles. He doesn't have to ask or push or excuse himself. The crowd just parts, like everyone already knows he's more important than they are. A girl in a pink sweater actually steps backward into a guy's chest to let him pass, and she smiles at him as we go, and he gives her a polite nod that probably made her entire night.

This is what I hate. This right here. The way the whole campus treats him like he's something special.

Adrian used to talk about him. Not often, but enough. Enough little comments about how Harry got the best seat in the library without trying, how Harry's group got first pick of presentation slots, how Harry could show up fifteen minutes late and no one said a word. At first it was just observations, casual and detached. But then, Adrian started checking his phone more, caring about follower counts, caring about which party he got invited to and who was going to be there.

The night we broke up, he told me he needed to focus on his social circle. His actual words. Social circle. Like I was something outside of it. Like I was weighing him down while he tried to climb it up. That he needed the fuck Mia Leighton for it, so bad.

And who's at the top of that circle? Who's the guy everyone wants to know, the one whose attention means you've made it?

Harry. Fucking. Styles.

So yeah, I hate him. I hate what he represents, this whole hierarchy that chewed up my relationship and spat it out, this system where people are valued by how many heads turn when they walk into a room. I hate that he's the golden standard Adrian was always measuring himself against. I hate that I just grabbed his shirt and kissed him in front of everyone like it meant something.

It didn't mean something. It couldn't.

We stop near a low stone wall at the edge of the courtyard. The string lights are fewer here and the music is quieter and the wet grass gives way to cracked pavement. From here, the party is just a mess of bodies and colored light and pulsing bass, far enough away that I can finally hear myself think.

Harry leans against the wall, hands sliding into his pockets, and studies me. He's not smiling. He's not doing that easy, practiced thing he does in class, the one that makes every girl forget what she was saying. He looks serious, and I don't know what to do with serious Harry.

"You want to tell me what that was?" he asks.

I wrap my arms around myself. The October air is finally making it past the adrenaline, and my jacket isn't doing much to keep it out. "Not particularly."

"Okay." He tilts his head, watching me. "Do you want me to tell you what it looked like?"

"I can guess."

"Can you?"

I look at him. I look at the way the distant light catches on his jaw, the way his curls fall across his forehead, the way he's standing there like he has all the patience in the world. He's not pushing. He's not pulling away either. He's just present, steady, waiting, and it makes me want to scream at him for not being awful. It would be easier if he were awful.

"It looked like I used you," I say flatly. "To make my ex jealous. To prove I'm not sitting at home crying over him. To feel something other than awful for five seconds."

Something shifts in his expression. Not hurt, not anger. Just a kind of quiet recognition, like I've confirmed something he already knew.

"Did it work?" he asks.

I think about Adrian's face when he was watching us. That flat, careful stare. The way his jaw tightened and his hand went still on the girl's back. I think about the satisfaction that flared in my chest when I saw it, bright and brief and already hollow.

"I don't know," I admit. "Maybe. For a second."

Harry nods slowly, like this makes sense to him. He pushes off the wall and takes a step toward me, and I hold my breath without meaning to.

"For what it's worth," he says, "I didn't mind."

My pulse skips and I hate that it does. "Good for you."

"That's not what I said." His voice is still low, still careful. "I said I didn't mind. That's not the same as good."

"Then what is it?"

He considers this for a moment, his gaze steady on mine. "It's me saying that if you're going to kiss someone to make your ex jealous, I'm glad it was me and not some guy who's going to read too much into it."

The words land strange and I don't know what to do with them. He's giving me an out. A way to pretend it didn't matter. I should take it. I should grab it with both hands and run.

But there's something in the way he's looking at me that doesn't match his words. Something careful and watchful, like he's trying to figure me out and not sure he wants to.

"I'm not going to apologize," I say.

"Didn't ask you to."

"I used you. I grabbed you and I kissed you because I knew it would bother Adrian, and I didn't care what it would do to you."

"I know." He pauses. "You said that already."

"Then why are you still standing here?"

The question comes out sharper than I mean it to, but he doesn't flinch. He just looks at me with those green eyes and his jaw set, and I can feel the space between us like it's charged with something I don't want to name.

"Because I'm not finished asking questions," he says.

"I already told you everything."

"You told me what you did. Not why you did it."

"I told you. To make him jealous."

"Right." He takes another step closer, and now we're standing close enough that I can see the faint green ring around his irises, close enough that I can smell clean laundry and expensive beer again. "But you could've made him jealous with anyone. You could've walked up to the nearest guy and grabbed his shirt. Why me?"

Because you were there, I want to say. Because you're the one everyone watches, and I knew it would hit Adrian hardest if he saw me with you. Because you represent everything he wanted and everything he left me for, and some petty part of me wanted to take it for myself for just five seconds.

But I don't say any of that, because if I do, I'll have to admit that I knew exactly what I was doing, and that it wasn't just impulse, and that

But I don't say any of that, because if I do, I'll have to admit that I knew exactly what I was doing, and that it wasn't just impulse, and that— I stop myself. My jaw tightens. "It doesn't matter."

"But I don't say any of that, because if I do, I'll have to admit that I knew exactly what I was doing, and that it wasn't just impulse, and that—" I stop myself. My jaw tightens. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"Why?" The word comes out desperate and I hate it. "Why does it matter to you? You don't know me. You sat behind me in class for three weeks and didn't learn my name until the professor called on me. You never even looked at me before yesterday."

Something flickers across his face, just for a second. "That's not true."

"Which part?"

He doesn't answer right away. His jaw works like he's deciding how much to say, and I watch the internal debate play out across his features. Then he lets out a slow breath and looks at me with an expression I can't name.

"I noticed you before yesterday," he says. "I just didn't think you'd want me to."

I stare at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you walk into class every Tuesday and Thursday with your head down and your notebook open and you sit in the front row like you're trying to be as far away from me as possible." He says this calmly, like he's listing facts. "You don't talk to anyone unless they talk to you first. You leave the second class ends. And every time I've tried to catch your eye, you look somewhere else."

My pulse is doing something complicated and I don't like it. "I wasn't avoiding you."

"No?" He raises an eyebrow. "Then what were you doing?"

I was avoiding you, obviously. I was avoiding the exact situation I'm in right now, where you're standing too close and looking at me like that and saying things that make my chest feel tight. But I can't say that, because it would mean admitting that I've been paying attention to him too, and I refuse to give him that.

"I was focusing on the class," I say. "Some of us actually care about our grades."

The corner of his mouth twitches. Not a full smile, just a small pull that says he doesn't believe me. "Right. Sure, sunshine."

There it is again. That word, tossed out easy and casual, like he's been calling me that for years instead of for one night. It hits me strange this time, not like a spark but like a question I don't want to answer.

Sunshine.

"Stop calling me that," I say.

His eyebrows lift. "Calling you what?"

"Sunshine." I cross my arms over my chest. "You don't get to call me that."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't know me well enough to give me nicknames." My voice is hard, harder than I mean it to be. "Because it's condescending. Because you probably call every girl that and I'm not interested in being one of fifty."

Something shifts in his expression. Not anger, not defensiveness. Just quiet attention, like he's filing the information away.

"I don't call every girl that," he says.

"I don't believe you."

"I didn't expect you to." He shrugs, easy and unhurried. "You don't believe anything I say. That's pretty clear."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've decided I'm the villain in your story and nothing I say is going to change that." He says it without bitterness, without complaint. Just a statement of fact. "So I'm not going to try."

My chest is tight and my hands are cold and I don't understand why his words are getting under my skin like this. He's right. I have decided that. I decided it weeks ago, long before tonight, long before the kiss. I decided it the first time Adrian came home from a party talking about how Harry Styles was there, how Harry Styles said this, how Harry Styles knew these people. I decided it every time Adrian checked his phone instead of looking at me, every time he canceled plans because something better came up, every time he made me feel like I wasn't enough.

Harry Styles is the problem. He's the symbol and the standard and the reason my relationship fell apart. So why is he standing here looking at me like I matter, and why does it make me want to cry?

"Then why are you still here?" I ask, and my voice comes out smaller than I want it to. "If you already know I've made up my mind about you, why are you still standing here asking questions?"

He's quiet for a long moment. The bass from the party pulses dully behind us and someone laughs too loud in the distance and the October air keeps pressing against my skin, and Harry just looks at me with those steady green eyes.

"Because you kissed me," he says finally. "And you can say it was about him, and maybe it was, but I was there, sunshine. I felt it. And that wasn't nothing."

My breath catches. "Don't—"

"You grabbed me," he continues, and his voice drops lower, not demanding, just certain. "You walked away and then you turned around and came back. You didn't have to do that. You could've kept walking. You could've found someone else. But you came back to me, and when you kissed me, you kissed me like you meant it."

"I didn't—"

"You did." He takes one more step closer, and now we're standing close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off his chest, and I hate how much I want to lean into it. "Maybe you didn't mean to. Maybe you wish you hadn't. But you did, and I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen just because it's easier for you."

"Easier for me?" My voice cracks. "You think this is easy for me? You think I wanted to come to this party and see him with someone else and then kiss a guy I can't stand because I was too angry to think straight?"

"You can't stand me," he repeats, slow and careful.

"No, I can't." I step back, putting distance between us, and the cold air rushes into the space where his warmth was. "I can't stand you or your stupid smile or the way everyone on this campus treats you like you're more important than the rest of us. I can't stand what you represent, this whole system where people are only worth how many followers they have or how many parties they get invited to. I can't stand that my boyfriend spent our entire relationship trying to be you and I wasn't enough to make him stop."

The words fall out of me before I can catch them, raw and honest in a way I didn't intend. Harry's expression doesn't change but something behind his eyes shifts, and I realize too late what I just admitted.

Not just that I used him. Not just that I kissed him to make Adrian jealous. But that I've been carrying all of this, this whole mess of hurt and resentment, and I just dumped it at his feet like it's his fault.

"Your boyfriend tried to be me," he says quietly.

I close my eyes. "Ex. Ex-boyfriend."

"Right." A pause. "And he thought being like me was more important than being with you."

My throat is burning and I will not cry in front of him. I refuse. "Don't pretend you care."

"I'm not pretending anything." His voice is still low, still careful, still giving me exactly nothing to push against. "I'm just standing here, sunshine. That's all."

I open my eyes. He's watching me with that same unreadable expression, hands still in his pockets, shoulders relaxed like he's got nowhere else to be. Like he'd stand out here in the cold all night if that's what it took.

It would be so much easier if he were a jerk. If he made a joke or checked his phone or looked bored. If he gave me a reason to keep hating him. But he's not giving me anything except his attention, and I don't know what to do with that.

"I should go," I say.

"Probably."

"I mean it."

"I know you do." He pulls one hand out of his pocket and reaches toward me, and I tense, but he just brushes a strand of hair away from my face, his fingertips barely grazing my cheek. "But you're shaking, and it's a twenty-minute walk back to the dorms, and I'm not going to let you freeze because you're too stubborn to accept a ride."

"I'm not stubborn."

He gives me a look.

"Fine. I'm stubborn. But I'm not getting in a car with you."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't trust you."

The words hang between us, sharp and final. Harry doesn't flinch. He doesn't look away or make a joke or try to convince me otherwise. He just nods, slow and accepting, and drops his hand back to his side.

"Okay," he says. "Then let me walk you back."

"You don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to." He shrugs like it's the simplest thing in the world. "But it's cold and it's late and you're upset, and I'm going this direction anyway."

"You're not going this direction."

"I am now."

I want to argue. I want to tell him that I don't need his help and I don't want his company and I'm perfectly capable of walking myself home. But I'm also shivering and my eyes are still stinging and the thought of making that walk alone with nothing but Adrian's face looping through my head sounds unbearable.

"Fine," I say. "But I'm not talking."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He pushes off the wall and starts walking, and after a second I follow. We cut across the edge of campus, away from the party and the noise and the golden lights where Adrian is probably still standing with his hand on that girl's back. The sidewalk is cracked in places and the streetlamps cast long, yellow pools across the pavement, and Harry keeps his hands in his pockets and his pace slow enough that I don't have to rush to keep up.

True to his word, he doesn't talk. He just walks beside me, close enough that I can hear his footsteps but not close enough to touch, and I focus on the rhythm of it instead of the mess in my head. Left, right, left, right. The cold air burns my lungs and my boots are still damp from the wet grass and my lips are still tingling and I refuse to think about why.

It takes twelve minutes to reach my building. I count every single one. The dorm is a brick rectangle with a bike rack out front and a security light that buzzes faintly over the entrance. I stop at the bottom of the steps and turn to face him.

"Thanks for walking me," I say, and the words come out stiff.

"You're welcome."

He's standing there with his hands still in his pockets and his hair falling across his forehead and he looks too good for someone who's been standing outside in the cold for half an hour. It's not fair. Nothing about tonight is fair.

I turn toward the door.

"Give me your phone."

I stop. "What?"

He holds his hand out, palm up, like he's asking for something that belongs to him. "Your phone. Give it to me."

"Why would I give you my phone?"

"Because I'm going to put my number in it." He wiggles his fingers. "Come on, sunshine. It's not that complicated."

"I told you to stop calling me that."

"You did." He doesn't move his hand. "Now give me your phone."

I should walk inside. I should close the door in his face and never think about him again. That's what a smart person would do. But I'm standing here with my heart still pounding and my lips still tingling and I can't seem to make my feet move.

I pull my phone out of my back pocket and drop it into his hand before I can overthink it. He types something in, quick and unhurried, and then hands it back to me.

I look at the screen. Under his name is a single line:

If you want meaningless hot sex to forget your ex, call me.

My face goes hot. "You're unbelievable."

"I'm practical." He shrugs, easy and unbothered. "You're angry, you're hurt, and you're clearly not over him. That's a bad combination for sitting alone in your room overthinking everything. So if you want a distraction that doesn't come with feelings or expectations or any of that mess, my number is right there."

"I'm not going to call you."

"Maybe not." He takes a step back, his mouth curving into something that isn't quite a smile. "But you kissed me tonight, sunshine, and I don't think you hated it as much as you want to."

"I did hate it."

"Okay." He's already turning away, already walking back toward campus with his shoulders loose and his hands in his pockets. "Then you won't call. Problem solved."

I watch him go. I watch the streetlight catch his curls and the way his long strides eat up the pavement and the way he doesn't look back even once, like he said what he had to say and the rest is up to me.

I hate him. I hate his stupid face and his stupid confidence and the way he talked about meaningless sex like it was just another option on a menu, like feelings were an inconvenience you could opt out of. I hate that he thinks he knows what I want better than I do. I hate that he's probably right.

I go inside. I climb the stairs. I unlock my door and close it behind me and lean against it, and the room is dark and quiet and empty and I finally let out the breath I've been holding since I saw Adrian under those lights.

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading!! Leave a comment and a reblog if you liked it!