mo ♡

Y/N met Marigold during her first year of university.

She was a nervous mess, anxious about moving to a whole new city, surrounded by completely new people. When she was in high school, everyone would always rave about how fun and freeing university would be. Stories about large friend groups and parties every weekend had Y/N hoping she would contort into some kind of friendly and approachable version of herself so she could also experience uni like most people did.

Thankfully, fate had been on her side that first day on campus, probably pitied by her trembling hands and permanent frown. Anyone within a 10 metre radius of Y/N could have sensed that her nerves were on fire.

Soon enough that fire was consoled, and the universe sent her a cheeky wink and a sly smile; because the day she walked into her dorm, she found a teary Marigold wrapped in the arms of her father.

Marigold was pretty like her name— her hair was buttery, eyes like drops of honey and she had a smile that was entirely too contagious. Everything about her was beautiful. She was gorgeous and outgoing, an extrovert who practically pounced on Y/N the second she stepped into the room.

In the beginning, Y/N was quite wary of her; she found that usually people who were too friendly too soon were often compensating for a more sour part of their persona that they planned to reveal later down the road.

But being around Marigold was just so easy.

Talking to her was easy and befriending her was easy. Girls like her were like magnets— guys and girls both practically drooling at her feet at every given moment. It wasn’t a surprise she had everyone wrapped around her perfect, manicured finger. One of those that fell victim to her charms was the one and only Harry Styles.

Harry Styles was notorious on campus for jumping from girl to girl and bed to bed— a sex-driven man who no matter how many people he slept with in a month, was the star in every man and woman’s wet dream.

At one point, Y/N might have thought he was cute. The first time she saw him was at a party where he was (surprise surprise) pressed up against a pretty redhead, twirling her hair around his finger and whispering things in her ear. He was gorgeous; with green eyes that marbleized into hues of brown and golden, chocolate locks that swirled over his forehead and a tall, lean build littered in tattoos.

One had to be either blind or a liar to say he wasn’t attractive. And Y/N enjoyed ogling him for a while as well.

Until he began seeing Marigold.

Although she would attempt to listen with newfound enthusiasm every time Marigold had a new lover, once Harry came into the mix, things began getting more interesting. The most sought after boy on campus was seeing her best friend— the situation begged for a hot goss sesh.

Marigold set the scene for Y/N about how he approached her for the first time at a party, passed a number of compliments her way and kissed her after a couple of dances. His pretty mouth casted a spell on her, and she didn’t stop blabbering about how amazing and hot he was for the next week and a half, which was when Harry showed up at their dorm with a bouquet of flowers and asked Marigold to be his girlfriend.

No matter how off Harry’s aura made her feel, Y/N had to force herself to be happy for Marigold.

And she was for a while! In the beginning, things were looking up for the new couple.

Word was getting around the campus that Marigold had tied Harry down— the boy was ready to settle into a serious relationship with Y/N’s best friend. His commitment issues and inability to keep his dick in one place suddenly vanished.

And maybe it did for a month.. or two… and then when the third month rolled around… well, everyone sat silly with their foot in their mouth.

A sobbing and shaking Marigold slept in Y/N’s lap within less than six months of her seeing Harry.

“He told me he loved me, Y/N.”

“Does he not think I’m pretty?”

“Was I not enough for him?”

All these questions to which Y/N had no answer to but to stroke her friends back and reassure her of how perfect she was; that Harry was an idiot for cheating on her— that any man would be stupid to let someone like Marigold go.

Some new torture that Harry put Marigold through was revealed with every fat, salty drop that dribbled down her cheeks.

Marigold was quick to spill that not only did the boy cheat on her after claiming he was in love with her, but he was a toxic asshole who tried to control every single aspect of her life. Marigold had to dress how he liked, spoked only to people who he “approved” of, clean out her social media followings, and keep him updated of her whereabouts at all times.

The worst part was Y/N had no fucking clue her best friend was being put through this.

Harry had convinced (gaslit) Marigold into believing that everything he did was for the best of her and really, what good was she if Harry wasn’t by her side?

It was safe to say that after hearing Marigold shyly tell her about Harry’s “rules”, Y/N vowed to despise Harry for the rest of her life.

The mere sight of him ticked her off and she aided her best friend in getting over him by consistently reminding her of all the crap he put her through. Like just the fact that he treated her that way wasn’t enough and Marigold had to be reminded every time about exactly how he hurt her.

A semester passed; and then two.

Time really was the best medicine, as a year later Marigold slowly got over the cancer that was Harry and Y/N learned to live with her infinite hatred for the man.

Y/N avoided him like the plague— blocked him on all her social media and would say no to hang out with any mutual friends the two might have at the risk that she might see him.

And she was doing really well embarking on this little mission of hers— until she bumped into him 14 months later at a house party in celebration of the end of the semester.

She didn’t plan to be at the party right after her exams were finished, but there was something about the weekend following the end of semester which made her feel obligated to do something fun and exciting with her time. Y/N was brave enough to go to this one alone, forced to retire to this fate as Marigold had gone overseas the afternoon her last assignment was due.

That left Y/N lonesome in her dorm and an alone Y/N is a pesky Y/N; itching to do something to entertain her idle hands. So she messed around on her phone until she found an open invite to a party posted to a friend's story, didn’t bother checking the address to see who’s house it was, put on a skimpy outfit and left to get hammered— and if she was lucky, maybe even laid.

The outfit she wore was tiny and revealing. A two piece black top and mini skirt which showed off the majority of her legs. Anyone could tell that she aimed to get laid that night and the amount of people that tried to approach her on the little sofa she was tucked in to made her feel great about herself.

Things started to go south when she began turning most of them down with a sympathetic smile on her face if they crossed one of her boxes. It was a tendency of hers that was what often got in the middle of her getting fucked; she found hersef unable to not pick out the smallest details about someone and not get turned off immediately.

They stared at her legs too long? Ick. They’re wearing skin-tight jeans? Ick. They try to kiss her within five minutes of talking to her? Ick.

By the time she softly excused herself from the last guy who drunkenly attempted to slip his hand up her skirt, Y/N was feeling a little hopeless and extremely frustrated.

How hard was it just to get fucked by a semi-decent guy?

One more drink, Y/N decided, and she would just go home. She didn’t even have the energy to entertain herself at this point, ready to go to bed high and dry.

And she would’ve, had she not turned around to see a smug looking Harry staring at her. He didn’t bother to begin with a greeting, eyes settled on her chest and roaming her legs freely. The kink in Y/N’s eyebrows was immediate; she was ready to ignore his presence and walk right past him if he had not stopped her with his sultry baritone.

”Y’look hot as fuck.” A drink was hanging loosely between his fingers and much to Y/N’s misfortune, he looked amazing. His hair was messy and flopped over due to his fingers' constant interference and he wore a pair of loose jeans and a plain black t-shirt.

Too bad his comment made Y/N want to puke.

She gave him one chance and chose to ignore him and leave, but Harry had other plans as he stepped backwards when she stepped forwards, “don’t leave just yet. Promise, I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that.”

The little smirk on his face made Y/N’s skin crawl. She couldn’t stop the snarl that crept upon her features, “funny, seeing you here, I assumed you’d have your dick stuck in anything that resembled a hole by this time of night,” her voice was sharp and witty.

She might have thought the comment was too harsh but it didn’t seem like it struck Harry the way she wanted it to when the seam of his lips stretched even wider. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Harry stuffed a hand in his pocket and moved to stand right in front her so her back was facing the wall. They were in a fairly quiet room with a handful of people around them— somewhere Y/N retreated to when the party got a bit overbearing. “Fuck off, Harry. I don’t want to talk to you.”

”Come on, Y/N. Don’t hate me so much. We could have so much fun together,” he said slyly. Y/N crossed her arms over her chest.

“Hey, my eyes are up here, you dick. And don’t pretend like you don’t know why I hate you.” Harry feigned a look of confusion, “I don’t. Care to remind me?”

When he didn’t let up on the staring contest he was having with her boobs, Y/N dropped her arms in exasperation, “you were an ass to Marigold. You cheated on her when you told her you loved her.” She couldn’t believe he didn’t remember what he did; or maybe he did remember, and was being dense on purpose just to piss her off.

“Did I? Can’t recall.”

He took a step closer to her and Y/N’s chest began to rise and fall with anger, “stop acting like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” She had half the mind to shove him so his drink sloshed in his hands but she didn’t, tightening her fingers to prevent herself from making a scene in the middle of the party.

“Those are all things of the past. I’ve changed now,” Harry said.

Y/N scoffed. “Guys like you don’t change, Harry. You can lie and you can manipulate, but you will never ever change.”

She shoved her index finger in his chest, making him stumble back a little. This time her words made his eyebrows furrow, “who the fuck do you think you are, telling me what I can and cannot do?” Harry was close enough that she backed up into the wall, but she never let her stare falter even once.

“I hate you,” her voice was scarily stable, “I hate you and you’re a toxic, manipulative prick who hurt my best friend and can’t commit to anything for shit.”

Harry’s eyes darkened, “you don’t know anything about me,” he seethed, “so I suggest you and your prissy ass shut up before I say something you don’t want to hear.”

He was looking right into her own eyes, unwavering and intimidating. Y/N didn’t have any plans to back down anytime soon.

“There’s nothing you can say to hurt me. I’m not insecure like you.” She was pushing all of his buttons, and Harry wanted nothing more than to shut her mouth so she wasn’t running it like she owned the damn place.

“Y’know, It was always really obvious you were jealous I chose to fuck Marigold over you. She was way fucking hott—“

He didn’t finish the end of his sentence because Y/N shoved him away from her with all her might. “Don’t fucking finish that sentence and don’t ever talk to me again,” she hissed. Her face was warm and hot with anger, and she didn’t bother checking his reaction before she stormed out of the room and wiggled her way around the crowd to escape upstairs.

Her chest was heaving and if she let her walls down, her eyes would brim with tears. Thankfully she was able to find an empty room to the left of the long hallway which was tidy enough for her to seclude herself in. She shut the door and paced around the room.

Something about him just made her want to rip her own skin off. He knew just how to get on her nerves and what buttons to push to make her boil with anger, but she wasn’t going to let a dick like him get to her. he made that comment because he knew it was the only thing he could say to set her off. The fact that it did made Y/N feel stupid.

A couple minutes passed while she calmed herself down, and right when she felt like she was good enough to face the crowd and leave the party, the door opened.

Her shoulders dropped when she saw Harry walk in and shut the door behind himself to lock it. “I just told you I don’t want to ta—“

“—You started it downstairs. I was being nice—“

“— Is that your idea of nice, Harry? Staring at my tits and asking me why I won’t have fun with you?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I was being civil until you started fucking accusing me of shit out of nowhere!”

She scoffed. “Wow, I cannot believe you. I don’t know if you act this way on purpose or you really can’t tell what the fuck is wrong with your brain.”

“Can you have a normal conversation with me without insulting me for a single second?”

His voice was getting louder and he was right in front of her, staring down angrily at her annoyed face. She could tell his jaw was tense and the sight was almost hot which was even more annoying. “I don’t want to have any conversation with you. I think I have made that pretty fucking cle—“

“—Jesus, just shut up for a fucking second and listen to me,” he shouted.

“Make me.”

Y/N didn’t know why she said what she said and why she did what she did right after, when Harry curled his fingers around her throat and dragged her towards his mouth.

Their lips met in a harsh clash, smacking and bruising— confusing Y/N, because why is she not pulling away and why does he feel so good?

His fingers slipped into her hair when he bit her bottom lip hard, “hate this mouth,” he mumbled against her, shoving her waist so she was forced to walk back and hit the bed. He pecked her jaw then came back to her lips, “so bitchy.”

Harry’s words should have made her angry, but his lips had a certain effect on her that made her feel things she shouldn’t, because his comment went straight to her throbbing clit. She whimpered against his mouth. “You’re…” she breathed as he kissed down her neck, “…an asshole.”

Harry sunk his teeth into the base of her throat, “yeah?”

“Mmm. I hate you,” she responded. She was barely able to keep her eyes open when he finally pushed her on the bed and climbed on top of her. “I don’t think you do, baby. I think…” wet kisses were pressed down her neck and over the top of her chest, “… I think you just need to fuck me. S’that right? Need me to make that ache go away?”

It was like her ability to speak comprehensively was taken away from her when he reached around her back and pulled the zipper down for her top. “Now— fuck me now, Harry.”

He licked a stripe up from the middle of her chest to her chin, dipping into her mouth to kiss her hastily. He was sinful with the way he looped his tongue around hers and nipped at her lip, “I distinctly remember asking you to shut up.”

She was given no time to respond, gasping loudly when he took both of her tits in his hands and squeezed. There was no barrier since she didn’t need a bra for the top so he made immediate contact with her bare skin. His fingers were skillful as they played with the sensitive peaks of her nipples, pinching and tugging till she was a moany mess.

Y/N was unable to offer any response to him, arching her back into his touch when Harry pressed his lips to her buds repeatedly, pecking them affectionately, “think these are the only things I like about you.”

He bit the flesh of her tit lightly as a parting gift before trailing further down her body. Her scent was intoxicating him, more than any drink or drug he’d ever consumed. She was crowding his senses— all he could see, smell, touch and think about. Once he reached the hem of her skirt, he pulled his shirt off and grabbed her hips to pull her closer.

Y/N moaned when he ran his hands down her collarbones, her tits, her stomach and her navel, goosebumps following his trail as he travelled straight down to take her skirt off in one go.

The groan he let out the moment he saw her black lace thong was enough to make Y/N come on the spot. “Fuck me,” he sighed and tucked two fingers into the waistband. Before he pulled them off, he met Y/N’s eyes and waited for her to tell him it was okay. Once she nodded eagerly, Harry didn’t waste a second in ripping the fabric off of her hips.

“What the fuck, Ha—“

He shut up her protesting by shoving the lace into her mouth, muffling whatever curse she was about to spew his way. She furrowed her eyebrows upon feeling the fabric against her tongue. “Shh. That's better,” he sighed with his ringed fingers wrapped around her jugular, “you’re more bearable with your mouth shut.”

Y/N wanted to say something back to him but all she could do was crinkle her eyebrows and try to look angry. She complied and held the tattered lace in her mouth. If she wanted to get rid of it, she easily could— she’d only have to purse her lips and blow, but she chose not to; instead, she remained malleable and cooperative, not wanting to stray Harry away from what she wanted him to do, which was to fuck her brains out.

He didn’t give her a chance to say anything anyway, because as soon as the fabric was tucked between her lips, he skipped down to her pussy and immediately latched on to the swollen bud pearled between her folds.

She was wet beyond belief— slippery between her lips and trickling down onto the bed when he carefully sucked on her clit in rhythmic pulses. The underwear in her mouth was her biggest enemy as her back arched and her throat begged to cry out loud because of the pleasure coursing through her veins. She could feel it all the way in her fingertips when he tucked her lips apart and cooed at her clenching hole.

“I take it back. Your tits and your pussy are the only things I like about you,” such words would normally make Y/N want to slap a man, but Harry had the opposite effect, “s’very pretty,” he mumbled, kissing her clit softly.

He licked her with the broad of his tongue once, twice, and the third time was longer, more thorough as he slowly made his way all the way from her hole to her clit, flicking his tongue against the bud until she was shaking.

Her hips lifted off the bed, chasing Harry’s mouth and her own high which she reached quickly thanks to his noisy suckles and sloppy kisses. He tried to drag her orgasm on as much as he could, pushing himself nose-deep into her pussy. What got her hot was the sounds he was making against her— grunting and moaning into her until she folded her legs and pressed her knees together, forcing him to stop.

A smack resounded around the room when he collided his palm with her outer thigh, making Y/N jump. The sensation tethered on the edge of pain and pleasure, just as Y/N liked it.

Harry sat back on his heels, “I want you on all fours with your ass up.”

Y/N blinked at Harry, unmoving. Her orgasm had made her brain go all fuzzy. “Cmon, get,” he commanded, slapping her leg again. Her thoughts had turned to mush, wanting to do what Harry said but she remained lying on her back, eyes fluttering shut.

“For fucks sake.”

A yelp was muffled by the lace tucked between her teeth when Harry grabbed her hips and physically turned her over, palms rough as they slapped her knees apart and forced her into an arch, “have to do everything for you now, do I? Are you fucked dumb already?”

Harry wasn’t expecting an answer and Y/N couldn’t find it in herself to give him one, instead revelling in the burn in her body when he stretched her out as he pleased. She could hear the sound of him undoing his zipper and pulling his jeans down, a little bummed she couldn’t see him in all his naked glory; but the thought left her brain as soon as she felt him press his tip against her clit and take a fistful of her hair from behind.

“If only you weren’t such a bitch, I’d fuck this little pussy every night of the week,” Harry muttered as he slicked his cock with her juices, teasing her hole and her clit. Y/N shifted her hips back for some friction but his grip was unyielding, holding onto her side with one hand and pushing her face into the sheets with the other. She couldn’t retort even if she wanted to.

“Fu—mm… pl—mph!”

Her desperation was rudely cut off as he delivered a sharp smack to her ass and slid into her at the same time. Harry didn’t bother going slow or giving her time to adjust, making it fit inside of her despite her walls pulsing around him.

His hips were snug against her ass. She could feel him everywhere.

Prodding into her tummy and trickling down to her toes— she was shaking with how good he felt pressed just against her g-spot. He delivered fast, deep thrusts over and over and over again, hard and unrelenting. Her scalp stung with how he held her against the mattress, though Y/N didn’t mind the pain; if she could even call it that.

The feeling was delicious, especially paired with the occasional slap to her ass. “So fucking wet,” Harry stated the fact, cramming himself into her so she could feel him even deeper.

He didn’t let up on his thrusts. His one hand that was on her hips gripped her skin harshly like he was using her as leverage to fuck her harder. Y/N’s fingers grabbed uselessly at the sheets below her with her eyes squeezed shut and teeth clamping around her panties.

Her throat scraped out another loud cry, after which his thrusts eventually slowed to a delicious pace. He was stimulating her g-spot directly as he leaned over her to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You alright?” He questioned, scratching his nails lightly against her lower back. Her heart fluttered. She couldn’t respond with the panties in her mouth so she offered him a nod to which he pressed a kiss to her cheek and returned to his previous position.

He was still very much inside of her during the sweet exchanged, and it was like a flip was switched when he returned to fucking her properly.

The sounds of her muffled whines and his deep groans did something to Y/N— it was all too much. Matters only got worse for her as his fingers met her clit, circling the bud while his other hand left her hair and slid down her back.

Y/N could finally twist her neck and look at him, and the sight was enough to have her screaming.

He was kneeling behind her, hands occupied with pleasuring her and his hair was falling all over his forehead and into his eyes. With furrowed eyebrows and a hung open mouth, he urged Y/N towards her second orgasm of the night.

“Come for me, baby. Give it to me, s’all I want.”

She was writhing in his grasp, grinding her hips back as she came around his cock. The fabric he gagged her with barely covered the sounds of her moans, the sight making Harry speed up his pace. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot.”

The pleasure that overtook her was blinding— like lightning bolts that struck her nerves. His constant attention against her clit and g-spot had Y/N speechless and dumb, pulling the panties out of her mouth and reaching a hand back to meet him on her hip.

“Please, please, please.” She moaned, unsure of what she was begging him for.

Harry slipped out of her shortly after that and tugged his cock between his ringed fist. Y/N was ready to go again when she saw him coming— hot, white spurts of come painting her back as he tipped his head back and groaned. “Jesus—fuck, you’re so good, baby,” he whimpered.

Once he was done, he slumped over her perched ass, feeling exhaustion creep upon his bones. A minute passed as both of them tried to catch their breaths, eyes meeting and exchanging words unsaid. Y/N dropped her hips to relax her back from its arched position.

They were dragged out of their sweet reverie when someone banged on the door. Both of them jumped at the sudden interruption, “occupied!” Harry yelled out.

“This is my fucking room!”

Harry rolled his eyes as he patted Y/N’s hip, “y’good? C’mon, we have to clean up before that dick out there has a heart attack.” Y/N was too stunned to laugh at his joke, the reality of the situation seeping into her skin. She watched Harry get dressed and then get a wipe from the bathroom to clean her back.

He passed her her clothes when he was done and turned around while she dressed up— still in shock. “Um…” she started, unknowing where she was trying to lead this conversation, “we shouldn’t have done that.”

He only shrugged, “don’t know what you mean. It was just sex.”

“I know it was just sex, but you’re my best friends ex, Harry, we sho—“

“Well, you should have thought of that before you begged me to put my dick inside of you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at his stupid, cocky face, “fuck you.”

“Y’already did,” Harry smirked. He walked over to where she was by the bed and pulled her in for another short kiss.

Y/N didn’t fight it when he tucked her bottom lip between his and suckled softly before pulling away.

“S’fine, baby. No one has to know, and I promise I won’t tell. Cross my heart,” a silly smile played on his lips, fingers tucking her hair behind her ear. He kissed her once more. “Now let's go.”

Whilst she was getting ready to leave the room, her phone pinged on the bedside table where she set it down when she first walked in. The notification made her freeze in her spot.

Marigold ⭐️

how was the party?? meet anyone to take home yet??

Her heart skipped a beat reading over the message.

Before she could respond, Harry disrupted her internal battle, “Y/N? Are you coming or not?” She hummed out a yes and shut her phone. She didn’t have the energy to respond to Marigold right now— she needed a well constructed lie which would take a while to develop in her current fucked-out state.

Until then she’d have to live with the fact that she fucked the one man she claimed to hate for the rest of her life. The thought was enough to make her skin crawl— eating her alive until she was a mess of pitiful skin and bones.

Y/N felt like she would never be able to forgive herself. Not only did she break a promise she so readily made to herself, but she betrayed her best friend who trusted her to no end.

As she stood there in the aftermath, she knew she'd just shattered something that could never be fixed, no matter how hard she tried.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Taglist: @adoredeanna @babegoalsreads

Four.

The smell of burning rubber is everywhere. Tires screech against the pavement as the smoke dissipates into the warm summer air and the drivers prepare for that familiar white flag.

Three.

There’s a murmur amongst the crowd. The bets have been placed and the anticipation has set in. They pick their favorite driver, and they hope that somehow, they’ll be able to beat the unbeatable. 

Him.

Two.

You can see your little speed demon just up ahead as he waits patiently in front of the makeshift starting line. He seems relaxed. Confident. One hand is settled on the steering while the other is flipping the bird to the driver beside him. 

One.

The flag waves and the drivers take off. A streak of color flashes across the street as each of the five cars attempt to take their place ahead of the rest. But nobody can seem to get an edge on the black Lamborghini Miura already skidding around the first curve, effortlessly leaving them all behind.

You grin. It’s harder to see the cars now that they’re on the other side of the buildings, but you can hear them. You can hear his engine, specifically. You’d know the sound anywhere. After all, he spent weeks introducing you to the ins and outs of his favorite toy. Showing you exactly how to care for it, with those rough, practiced hands that also happen to care for you, too. 

You catch a glimpse of his vehicle just before it disappears past the drugstore. He shifts gears and accelerates, just before the blue Stingray to his right can gain on him. You hold your breath as both cars drift around the corner onto the next road and the crowd begins to cheer. 

Harry hasn’t lost a race in weeks. You don’t imagine he could lose if he tried. In fact, he could be blindfolded with no brake pedal and a faulty transmission and somehow, he’d still be miles ahead of the competition. 

It’s one of the things you love most about him. The way his eyes light up when he gets behind the wheel. The way the engine purrs in his hands and the way he can bend the road to his will. 

The Stingray veers to the right in order to get ahead of him, but Harry seems to anticipate this attempt. He cuts the other driver off just before he can speed up and your heart jumps into your throat. The only thing you don’t like about his racing is how careless he can be at times.

If you’re in the car, he takes the utmost care to make sure you’re safe. That you’re never put in harm’s way.

But when he’s alone, he’s in a whole other world of his making. He doesn’t consider the consequences or the repercussions. He doesn’t consider you. The way you’d feel if you lost him. 

And you trust his instincts, you do. But you can’t always say you enjoy the show. 

The Stingray slams on his brakes as Harry takes off and slides around the second to last corner. Tire marks are painted across the cement in his wake and the crowd cheers. 

Your stomach twists. He seems to be doing all right, although one of his fatal flaws is that it’s nearly imposable to tell how he’s feeling. He’s eerily stoic when he’s under pressure and perhaps that’s a good thing. 

But that doesn’t exactly help you now as he zigs and zags across the road before finally reaching the last turn that leads into the final stretch.

This is it. You hold your breath as you watch from the edge of the sidewalk, hands twisting in front of your chest as he races across the last few hundred feet. It’ll be close—the Stingray is gaining on him with each passing second—but Harry’s undeterred. He switches into a lower gear and the engine comes alive. Giving the car torque for those last few inches as he flies across the finish line. And the race is over.

The rest of the cars follow shortly after and the growing crowd of onlookers all swarm the street. They cheer and they holler, and they flock to the handsome driver now stepping out of his vehicle, desperate to congratulate him. But those soft green eyes only search for you. 

When he finally finds you squished between the horde of admirers, he grins, and begins to push his way through to you.

The moment you meet, he picks you up, hugs you to his chest, and spins you around. And you squeal giddily, happy to be back in his embrace as you wrap your arms around his neck and hold on for dear life.

“My little lucky clover,” he whispers proudly. “What did I tell you, hm?”

The nickname makes your insides grow warm. He’s called you his lucky clover ever since that first race when the two of you met. He claimed he only won because he saw you standing there watching and was desperate to impress you. And that every race he’s won since has been because of you and your charming presence. 

You aren’t so sure you believe him, but you have to admit it sounds pretty on his tongue.

You laugh as he puts you back down. “I know, I know,” you finally concede. “You were right.”

“Mhm.” He smirks—cocky—before he’s surging forward to kiss you. Soft and slow and with a desire that almost feels scandalous for such a public place. “I always am.”

His tongue brushes against yours while his hand splays across your lower back to tug your body to his and the crowd cheers as you giggle. But you don’t fight the way he loves you. Instead, you cling to his shirt and allow him to take what he wants.

When he finally allows you a moment to breathe, you gaze at him curiously. “How fast were you going?”

“120 on the main stretch. 80 on the curves,” he says, then chuckles at the way you frown. “M’fine, Clover. I promise.”

“You agreed nothing over 100,” you remind him.

“Yeah, but I needed to win.”

“No, you don’t need to win. You need to stay alive.”

“Well, why can’t I do both?”

Unamused, you huff, and lightly slap at his stomach. “Not funny, H.”

However, he merely laughs aagain and pulls you back between his arms. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says softly. “You know I’d never die on you. I’d miss you too much.”

“Let’s hope so.” You push up onto your toes to bring your lips to his once more. “Cause if you die on me…I’ll kill you.”

His smile is smug as he kisses you hard before he leads you back to his car. The large mass follows, anxious to ask him questions or offer their praise. And he listens to dutifully, perching himself on his hood while pulling you between his legs. 

It’s the same after every race. The other drivers try to tease him while his growing group of fans are desperate to be noticed by him. He might not be inherently famous, but he is to this crowd. They love a lot of things about him. His skill, his confidence, his looks. 

And you can’t exactly blame them.

It’s impossible to tell if you want to be him or be with him. You imagine for most people, it’s both. He has a sort of relaxed assurance that seems to make everyone else around him comfortable. And there’s a mystery about him. An intrigue to know more about the man behind the wheel. About who he is outside of these races. What he’s really like. 

He slings an arm around your shoulder and pulls you back into his chest. He talks to the driver of the Stingray and they exchange comments about the almost collision that makes your stomach turn. But when he notices, he presses a quick kiss to your temple and changes the subject. 

However, the rowdy celebration is cut rather short by the sound of sirens as two police cars come slinging around the side of a building with their lights flashing and their microphones on.

Everybody scatters, a collection of wild cheers and hollering voices as the officers step out of their vehicles in order to round up the crowd and instruct everyone to return home.

But Harry is unfazed as he pats your hip and nods his chin up. He’s rather good at his getaway now. After all, you imagine he’d have to be with all the times the police have broken up these races. 

And he’s only been caught once.

You slip inside just as he starts the engine. The radio comes alive, the sound of Jimi Hendrix enough to rival the roar of the motor as places one hand on the back of your seat in order to look behind him before he speeds away from the scene, hangs a sharp left, and takes off down the adjoining road. 

The sound of sirens follow. There’s a cop car on the next street over, attempting to chase after him as Harry weaves in and out between the scarce traffic. He’s good—incredibly good—but they haven’t given up yet. 

They cross over and skid behind him. They’re getting closer and the red and blue lights are bright in the rearview mirror. Still, Harry is calm. Simply shifting gears with ease as the car accelerates and offers a bit more distance before he takes a last-minute right in order to shake them.

The force of the turn slings you against the side of the door and you huff as Harry shoots you a cheeky grin.

“Sorry, baby,” he calls over the music. “You all right?”

With a grimace, you nod and say, “Mhm. Just great.”

He winks before he’s blowing through one red light and then another. Somehow missing the few cars currently crossing the street while the police are forced to slam on their brakes as somebody passes. And once they lose sight of him, he veers into an old, abandoned alley to hide.

Seconds pass before they finally fly by. Oblivious to his plan as they head further into town while Harry takes another right and disappears from the city.

He cheers victoriously and rolls down the windows and you laugh as you gaze at him. Entranced by the way he nods his head to the music as a gentle, summer breeze blows through his curls. 

Freedom tastes better with him. Life is better with him. His hand on your thigh, squeezing, while he sings along to Jimi Hendrix and grins at the open stretch of road ahead of him.

You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else and he seems to bask in your admiration before he finally looks over.

“What do you say, Clover?” he says with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Wanna see what a hundred feels like?”

A bit hesitant, yet wildly curious, you nod. 

He reaches for your hand in order to help you across the car, and you crawl over the console until you can settle onto his lap. Once you’re snug over his thighs, his arms slip beside your middle to keep you safe while he holds onto the steering wheel, and you scoot back into his chest for support. 

And it feels good. Comfortable. Even though the car is going faster and faster with each passing second, you feel protected. You know he’d never let anything happen to you. And there’s hardly any danger out here, along the old, backroads away from the city and traffic.  

The needle on the dash rises higher and higher. 70…80…90. Harry’s grinning against your cheek as the wind dances across your skin. The moon is bright in the sky, illuminating the road even without headlights and it’s exhilarating. Limitless.

“How’s that, hm?” he whispers. He kisses your jaw before dropping his foot against the gas. “You sure you’re ready, sweetheart?”

You nod quickly and brace yourself in his hold. “Mhm.”

The car reaches 100 and it feels like flying. You laugh, giddy, and he grins. The straight stretch of empty street might as well be a runway and the faster you go, the lighter you feel. As though the tires will simply lift off the ground and carry you into the sky. 

He shifts gears and the car jolts forward as the needle jumps to 110. You gasp and squirm excitedly over his lap before he suddenly groans. The sound is low and strained and you recognize the lustful cadence almost immediately.

Amused, you bite the inside of your cheek. “You okay, H?”

He takes one hand from the wheel and places it on your thigh. Squeezing it once. Pointedly. “Don’t stop.”

You don’t. You squirm again, settling into the feel of the hardening bulge beneath your ass and he makes another noise that goes straight to your cunt.

Your lashes flutter. The world blurs and your heart races. Perhaps you shouldn’t be doing this while you’re going so fast but Harry is calm. He trusts himself and you trust him.

The needle rises.

“Harry,” you whisper and his knuckles go white against the steering wheel. “Harry, please—”

“What?” His mouth rests against your cheek and you whine. “What, Clover? What do you need?”

He wants to make you say it. Wants to hear the words on your tongue and you swallow thickly as you intertwine your fingers with his. “H…”

“What, baby girl?” He nips at your skin with his teeth. “M’I making you nervous?”

You nod and he chuckles. A dark, sadistic sound.

“Do you want me to stop?”

There’s a quiet moment of hesitation before you eventually shake your head. Of course you don’t. How could you?

“No?” He squeezes your leg, touch slowly slipping beneath the fabric of your skirt. “Good girl.”

The car begins to go faster. 115…118…120. The same speed he reached during the race and even if you knew it was fast, this feels infinitely faster.  

You gasp and clutch his hand. Terrified and enthralled all in the same moment. And even if you shouldn’t be, you feel insanely aroused. Legs squeezing together as he subtly bucks up into you.

The music is loud and the wind is loud and the sound of your heart pulsing in your ears is loud. 

And then…the needle drops. The car slows. The speedometer goes from 120 to 50 in only a few seconds, and you blink curiously before glancing back at him.

He says nothing. His expression is firm but stoic and it’s not until he pulls off the road and into the dirt that you understand.

He turns the car off, then pats your hip. “Get out.”

You swallow again and swing the door open. Crawling off his lap before obediently trailing your way to the front of the vehicle while he follows.

“Bend over.”

You do. The hood is warm but not hot and it’s almost inviting as you place your hands against the covering to brace yourself in wait.

“Let me see.”

Your breath catches as you move your fingers to the delicate panties beneath your skirt. You pull them down your quivering thighs and the summer air makes you shiver. You feel nervous under his gaze. Under the way he owns you. But it’s thrilling. Addictive. And it leaves no room for questioning as you drop your underwear to your ankles in the middle of the open desert. 

You hear him step closer. Feel his hand on your hip as he pulls the fabric of your outfit up in order to get a proper look. But he’s quiet. Almost too quiet, and you feel a touch warm as you wait for his remark.

“Have you been this wet all night, Clover?” he finally asks.

You nod once. “…yes.”

“Mm.” Another pause while his other hand begins to trail up the back of your leg, slowly pulling it open. “And when were you planning to tell me?”

“I…I figured you already knew.”

He hums and you can only imagine his smirk. “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Is that what you were waiting for, then? For me to do something about it?”

“…yes.”

The tip of his finger drags its way through your folds and the sudden sensation makes you whimper.

“Then why didn’t you ask, sweetheart?” His tone is soft but condescending and you make another noise as you attempt to glance back at him. “Uh-uh. Eyes down, Clove.”

With a huff, you drop your chin to your chest and anxiously wait for more.

“Why didn’t you ask?” he repeats. “Thought I taught you better than that.”

 When your only answer is a needy mewl, he lands his palm against your ass in a sharp smack.

“Speak,” he murmurs. “When I ask you a question, I expect you to use your words and answer me. Is that understood?”

“Yes…yes, I’m sorry.”

“So why didn’t you ask?”

“Was…nervous,” you admit, glancing off into the dark night to hide the shame in your expression. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

He steps closer and his touch becomes gentler. “You were nervous, baby girl?”

“Mm. Knew you were busy and…and didn’t wanna be greedy.”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” he exhales before he’s grabbing onto the cheeks of your ass to pull you open. Allowing him an even better view of the way you drip. “Can always be greedy with me, you know that? Don’t have to be nervous. All I wanna do is take care of you. My time is yours.”

You release a stuttered breath before your eyes fall shut. You love the way he touches you. The way he cares for you. The way he humiliates you, even out here where nobody can see. 

“Look at you,” he whispers and you feel yourself clench around nothing. “Look at how pretty your little hole is when it’s so empty.”

The pad of his thumb brushes through your folds and he ignores the way you gasp his name.

“Think I should fix that?” he asks. “Think I should fill you up? Make it better?”

“Yes,” you pant. “Yes, please—”

“D’you need me to stretch you open? Hm? Play with your little cunny till you’re coming all over my cock?”

The dirty words inside his gentle voice feel criminal. Your mind turns to mush and you can do nothing more than press your chest into the hood as you excitedly wiggle our ass further into his hand.

He laughs, amused by your desperation in a way that only pushes you further toward the endless edge. “Is that a yes, Clover?”

You nod quickly. Your cheek rubbing against the car until you finally—finally—hear the sound of his belt flicking undone. 

The metal clink is music to your ears and you release a deep moan at the thought of the leather against your skin. Of his cock as it brushes against your clit, mindlessly teasing you past the point of no return.

“Easy,” he says. “Give me your hands, sweetheart.”

Slowly, you pull your arms behind you until he captures them in his hand. He wraps the length of the belt around your wrists until he can securely bind them to the small of your back, and once your mobility is gone, you simper.

“There you go,” he coos. “You okay, honey?”

Another nod. “Yes.”

“Gonna tell me if it’s too much, yeah? If I hurt you?”

“Yes…”

“Know it’s a tight fit, baby, but m’gonna make it work. Promise.”

And this vow makes your heart thumb against the inside of your chest before you feel him disappear from behind you.

And then…his tongue.

He’s dropped into a crouch in order to taste you, fingers locked around your wrists to keep you still while his lips suck on your pussy. 

“H,” you inhale, already undone by his technique. “I…”

He says nothing but the noise of wet licking echoes between your ears. His other hand pushes your leg away, creating more room for his head as he mouths at you. He flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue and you steel yourself against the hood, almost as though to get away.

“Careful,” he warns again. He smacks your thigh. “M’having so much fun. Don’t ruin it.”

And you try to be good. Try to stay still so he can do with you as he pleases. But it becomes increasingly harder when he nips at your cunt like he means to feast on you. 

Your fingers wiggle about the air, desperate to grab him. To clutch onto his curls or yank on his arm. But he keeps you restrained, keeps you compliant. And you are nothing but a toy for him to play with now.

You hear the sounds of the world around you. The crickets, the owls, the flock of birds flying overhead. You’re reminded yet again that anybody could drive by, even out here in the middle of nowhere. They could find you, bent over the hood of a Lamborghini as you get tongue fucked by the handsome man on his knees.

And yet…you don’t care. In fact, you almost hope somebody does pass. Because you know Harry wouldn’t stop even if they did. He’d keep going until you were unraveling in his hands as you whimpered his name.

As if to prove this, he adds a finger in beside his devious lips. “Gotta make sure you can take me,” he says in a low grunt. “S’too tight in here, Clove. Don’t think I’ll fit.”

You whine louder and angle your ass closer. Desperate to get his finger in as far as it’ll go. “I’ll take it,” you promise. “I will. Always do.”

“Always do,” he repeats in a soft chuckle. “That’s right, you do. Treat my cock right, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Nearly purring, you allow the subtle thrust of his hand to drag you closer to that blinding pleasure. 

“Do anything I ask. Even have my babies, wouldn’t you?”

The thought nearly does you in. Your tummy all swollen and full of him. Tits leaking milk that he’d eagerly lap up. The way he’d still treat your body like a temple. A prize to behold. Because you were carrying what he gave you. He fucked you so hard and so deep that you became a vessel for him. 

And even past that, you’ve always wanted to be a mother. Always wanted to start a family with him because you know he’d be a wonderful father. He’d take them to races and hold them on his shoulders so they could watch. He’d kiss all over their little cheeks and tuck them into bed. And your kids would know nothing but love. Because they’d look up to the two of you.

It makes you smile.

“What do you say, hm?” he whispers between kitten licks to your pussy. “You wanna have my babies? Wanna make me a daddy?”

He adds a second finger and begins to scissor them almost immediately until you cry out. Loud enough to startle a bird from a nearby branch and this proves to be answer enough for him.

“Okay,” he decides. “Okay, I’ll fuck your little pussy and get it all nice and full. Give you all I’ve got. And you’ll take it, won’t you? Hold it in your little belly like a good mama.”

You cum. Suddenly and without warning as the intensity of the orgasm explodes behind your eyelids like stars in the sky. You cum and you don’t get a chance to warn him or prepare or even hold off as you feel yourself drip down his hand. 

“God, H,” you moan. You sound pitiful. Voice hoarse from the way you’ve been wailing and arms sore from the way he keeps them behind you. Still, you don’t mind. The pain is pleasure in and of itself. “I…m’so…”

“Yeah.” He stands up and tugs his pants down. “I know, baby. I am, too.”

The tip of his cock drags through your soaked and sensitive pussy before he pushes in. He’s right, it is a tight fit. Even with the way you attempt to relax your muscles and draw him in. But it’s always snug with him and truth be told, you almost prefer it this way.

“There you go,” he breathes, dipping down to kiss your shoulder before drawing back his hips. “Just like that. Fucking hell, Clove, I wish you could see. Wish you could fucking see the way you look taking me right now.”

You wish you could, too. As it is, the feeling is enough to make your eyes roll back and send sparks of electricity up the length of your spine.

He keeps your wrists in his hand as he fucks into you. Sharp thrusts that sound sloppy and uncoordinated but feel like heaven. And there’s an urgency here. A desolate need to feel you unravel. He cares for you and he uses you all with the same technique. 

He grabs your leg and forces it up onto the hood. Giving him more room and a deeper angle just to hear you moan. And you hate that you can’t see him. Because you know how pretty he looks when he’s in control. His adrenaline high and his eyes alive with the possibilities of what he could do to you.

Instead, you choose to imagine. The way a few rogue curls must be sweeping across his forehead, unable to stay constrained beneath the sticky gel he likes to put in his hair. His chest is probably heaving, offering peeks of his tattoos beneath the white shirt clinging to his sweaty torso. His thighs will be flexing with each thrust. The muscles rippling in such a way that would surely make you drool. 

You understand why every woman you pass on the street tends to fawn over him. You know they’d do anything to take him home. Cook for him, clean for him, be good for him. Anything to earn his affection.

But you also know, his affection belongs to you. You’ve seen it, time and time again. He doesn’t even glance their way. He doesn’t notice when they giggle over him or when they try to call to him with their eyes. 

Because his eyes are always on you.

“You’re beautiful,” you hear him whisper. It’s soft—restrained. Almost as though he doesn’t mean for you to hear it. But you do and you nearly sink into the car in bliss. “Fucking hell, sweetheart. You’re perfect.”

A fervent heat rushes through your body from his praise and subsequently has you clenching around him. The feeling makes him groan and you’re proud of the way you can still care for him. Even if you can’t see him. Even if he’s the one with all the power.

“This sweet little pussy takes such good care of me,” he says and reaches around your tummy in order to press his palm against the subtle bulge there. “Every…fucking…time.”

You careen forward, cheek squished into the hood, skin dewy from the way your body shakes with pleasure. It’s always this close and somehow, he keeps you there. As though reminding you not to cum until he says so.

The hand on your stomach moves down until his fingers find your sensitive clit. He rubs and he plucks and he plays with your body with the same precision and skill he uses when he drives. Because no matter how much he loves to race, he loves you more. And winning you will always be infinitely better than winning some goddamn race.

“What do you say, hm?” he mumbles from behind you, rubbing the swollen nerves while pistoning his hips to yours. Dragging you closer and closer and closer. “You gonna cum for me? Gonna let me feel it?”

You nod and when you start to waver over that edge, he chuckles.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Okay, baby, cum.”

You do. Again. Harder this time. Louder. It’s almost cruel how easily your body breaks beneath him but before you can indulge in the feel of the way he follows…he’s pulling out. 

He guides you away from the hood and turns you both around. He sits in the spot you once were and he lets you see him. Because this is what you needed. The intimacy, the eye-contact. The beautiful look on his face.

He guides you closer with his hold on your bound wrists before pulling you onto his lap as best he can. He helps you place one leg back on the hood while his other hand moves to guide his cock between your overstimulated folds. Then, he brushes his swollen tip through, just to tease himself, before he’s pushing in.

And you can see him now. Can see the fucked-out expression on his face. The way his vision becomes hazy and his teeth grit together in ecstasy. 

You whimper, whine, cry out. You want to hold him. Want to wrap your arms around his neck and curl yourself into his beautiful, broad chest. 

But you can’t this time. In fact, he uses his grip on the belt to help roll you over his cock. A soft smile on his face as he whispers, “Just one more, sweetheart. Give me one more.”

He’s insatiable and greedy and you love it. Because you’d fuck yourself on his cock for the rest of time if you could. Even out here in the open.

“Wanna watch,” he whispers, then slips his other hand around the back of your neck to bring you down for a kiss. “Wanna watch the way I fill you all full of my babies.”

You make a rather pitiful noise against his mouth and he smirks. 

“You want that, too, don’t you, Clove?”

You nod, although you imagine it should be obvious. You’d do anything for him. 

“This little pussy was made to have my babies, wasn’t it?” he says and kisses the corner of your lips before moving down your neck. “Just made to be fucked by me. Perfect tummy to carry my kids. You’ll be so good, mama. Know you will.”

Your lashes flutter shut. The nickname breeds something new in your chest, a blossoming sort of urgency that almost makes it hard to breathe.

“Harry,” you plead. You nudge your nose against his temple. “Harry, please—”

“Shh.” His voice is soft. Still mischievous but kind. “I’ve got you. Yeah? M’right here. Just let me take care of you.”

And he does. He moves his hand from your neck to your shirt, slipping underneath until he can find your tits and give them a squeeze. 

“There you go,” he coos. “Oh, baby girl. Do anything for you, you know that? Just to keep you.”

He moves from your chest to your clit, and you know the second his fingers make contact, you’ll be gone. You squirm in anticipation, and he grins against your cheek before kissing you hard. Tongues and teeth colliding as he sucks on your lip and murmurs, “Can I cum in your pretty pussy, mama? Will you let me? Please?”

You nod so quick and so hard, your head aches. But it doesn’t matter because nothing else will ever compare to the feel of his hand on your body and his cock in your cunt. Releasing the warm, sticky offering that means infinitely more now than it did before.

He thrusts up into you a time or two, milking himself with your pussy before he drops back down and pulls you with him.

You’re both panting. Heavy, hard. Depleted of all energy as he holds you as close to his heart as he can.

Eventually, he frees you, tugging on the belt with one, easy pull as it comes loose from around your wrists. And the moment your arms are returned to you, you use them to grab onto his shoulders and bury yourself in his embrace.

He laughs. A delicate sound that makes you feel just as warm as his cock does. And you stay there for as long as you can until he finally nips at your earlobe and says, “Need to get you home, Clove. Don’t want you to get cold out here.”

“M’not cold,” you pout. “And we can’t leave until it works.”

“Until what works?”

You look down and he looks, too.

Then, he grins. A big, giddy grin that’s all teeth and dimples. “Oh,” he murmurs. “Can’t leave until you’re pregnant, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“I see.” He squeezes your hips and kisses your neck. “Gonna have to hold me in there, aren’t you? Keep me all snug?”

“Mhm.”

“All right, mama,” he says and you giggle. “We’ll stay until you’re all nice and pregnant. And then I’m gonna take you home and fuck you again. Just to make sure.”

Your stomach flips.

“S’that sound good, Clover?” he asks, and you bring your eyes to his in order to see him fully.

You smile.

“That sounds perfect, Daddy.”

For a more immersive experience, feel free to play All Along the Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix during the chase hehe

Beautiful divider by @firefly-graphics 💞

“Sorry we don’t all just wear the same suit over and oh-“

He smirks as he squeezes your thighs. The skin gives way to the pads of his fingers. You plant your forehead on his shoulder and gasp at the pace he’s set.

You hear his palm thud against the mirror behind you. Using his erratic rhythm as a warning you scramble one hand over his mouth, gripping the edge of the counter for stability. Thank god for these fancy stately homes and their huge marble countertops in private bathrooms.

The noise Harry makes vibrates against your palm and shoots through your veins triggering your body to clench around him. When he’s fucked himself out in you, you release his mouth and grab his chin, pulling him into a kiss.

He quickly sorts the condom. You watch him wipe sweat off his forehead as he turns back to you, pulling his lips into his mouth in a barely disguised smirk. While getting down on his knees and spreading your thighs with his warm hands, the light glances off his expensive-looking watch, and his eyes flicker to it.

“Shit!”

The sudden outburst makes you jump. Harry leaps to his feet and starts fumbling for your underwear off the floor.

“Shit shit shit shit shit.” He’s dragging your underwear roughly up your legs. You hop off the counter to take over pulling them up and straighten your dress, looking at Harry quizzically. He stares in the mirror, ruffling his hair and tucking and untucking curls behind his ears.There still the smudge of a handprint there.

“Do I look okay?”

You survey him. He looks dishevelled and panicky. Devilishly handsome but unmistakably unkempt. His suit was steel grey with a white tank top underneath, now a little stretched and askew where you’d been twisting it in your grip. He buckles his trousers and looks at you.

“I’m supposed to be giving my speech in like thirty seconds,” he says with desperate eyes.

You giggle. He pouts. You reach up and wipe the smudge of lipstick off his mouth, and his chin, and his neck. You have a feeling you’ll need to touch up your make-up before you leave the bathroom.

“Can’t believe you didn’t come,” he says, dipping down pick up his sunglasses from the floor and use them to hold his curls back. They’re a little longer than when you last saw him. You like it.

“You can make it up to me.”

“Let’s raise a glass to the brides and excuse me while I get back on my knees in the bathroom,” he says in a mocking tone.

“Sounds good to me.”

He moves to stand between your legs again, where you still balance on the edge of the cold bathroom counter. He nudges your nose with his to punctuate his next sentence. “Don’t pull anyone else while I’m gone.”

“Better talk fast then.”

You make it back to the main room just a minute or two into his speech. You find a place to stand near the wall to watch and listen. The whole room is captivated by him and you’re right there with them. Perhaps too much so.

The truth is, you arrived this morning ready to ignore him, just like he had you the time before. But when you saw him in his suit, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the early Autumn sunshine, you knew it would not be so easy. He came alone, you noted and your body betrayed you in a wash of heady relief. If he was alone, normality could continue. He could kiss you on the cheek and ask how you’ve been while his eyes flicker up and down your face. You could dance around each other all day before finally tumbling into a lockable bathroom, skipping the small talk.

Sure, you’d been interrupted, but you know he means it when he agrees to make it up to you. You accept a spare glass of champagne from a waiter, ready for Harry’s toast. He oozes charisma up there. His jokes are drenched in self-depreciation and though he is so, so different now, it reminds you of when you first met him, at a family wedding, young and tipsy. Harry had tagged along to the evening do as a friend of your cousin’s then-boyfriend, and he spent much of the night hitting on you.

At the time, you brushed it off because he was this up and coming pop star and you were YOUNG. You wanted true love and a boyfriend, not bragging rights. And yes, maybe when the band blew up a few short months later you smiled secretly remembering that night and how he followed you around like a puppy.

“Just one kiss,” you said, as though you were doing him a big favour.

“Really?” He grinned dopily and immediately shifted closer to you, glancing around before cupping your face with both of his hands.

You were outside of the venue, in the extravagant gardens with all the other teenagers who’d decided to play as adults, sneaking drinks and smoking. Harry had talked you into a walk around the building until you were just out of sight. He didn’t hold your hand. He asked you lots about yourself, which surprised you.

When you’d stopped by a wall, the sound of the ongoing wedding disco filtering through a window, he’d asked if it was okay to kiss you. His curly brown hair fell into his eyes and you knew you’d have to give in at least a little.

It was the hottest experience of your young life. There had been a couple of kisses before Harry, but nothing like this. The only way to describe him was keen. His eager body manoeuvring you with sheer momentum to lean against the wall.

The kiss wasn’t exactly practised. At times you both forgot to breathe and pulled away gasping but Harry was quick to find your lips with his again. He nudged and licked gently with his tongue but you felt shy.

“Have you done this before?” He mumbled, practically still attached to you. You don’t think he said it to embarrass you, but it certainly spurred you on to shove your tongue into his mouth and barely let him resurface for the duration of time you stayed tucked away. You’d show Harry Styles, you thought. You’d give him a kiss he wouldn’t forget for a while. (Of course, at that particular time you had no idea he’d be off dating models before long and surely your kiss would fade into a hazy memory).

You left that night sure Harry Styles would be someone you never met again, and you were okay with that. Each time you’d bump into each other was a surprise. Until over the years it became a bit of an inside joke. Years that led to now.

He’s bigger now, slightly taller and broader. His clothes fit like they’re made for him (because they probably are), and he walks like the world was made for him too. You smile fondly at the man you’d gotten to know through small snippets of your lives, as he weaves through the crowd after his speech. Even as he stops briefly to chat with other guests as he goes, his attention keeps returning to you.

“How did I do?” He says, grinning, he has two more glasses of champagne he’d picked up on the way. You take the one he holds out to you. You notice a new ring on his little finger and plan to admire it later, during pillow talk.

“Fantastic. I’m glad I got to hear it.”

“Me too,” he sips his drink and leans close to your ear. “You know, I was pretty close to getting married myself just to see you again.”

“Oh, is that so?” He’s moved half a step away from you to maintain a respectable distance, but his eye contact is anything but chaste. He stares at you like it’s a dare. One you don’t back out of, even as people move around you make their way to the buffet. You can smell Harry from a few paces away. And fair play to his aftershave, you think, for still going strong despite your sweaty antics half an hour ago.

“Just couldn’t find a willing participant,” he says with a grin equal parts cocky and shy.

“Now, I know that part is a lie.”

“Turns out people don’t wanna have a whole wedding just so the groom can chat up one of the guests.”

“I bet that actually happens more than you think.”

He cocks his head. “Fake weddings with an ulterior motive?”

“No.” You pause. “Well, maybe. I meant the groom chatting up other women.”

“I think there’s a song about that.”

“Oh yeah. What’s it called?”

“I’ll tell you when I release the album.”

You cough a laugh into your champagne. He smiles down at you as you unsexily wipe your mouth. You see those crinkles at the corner of his eyes that you love so much.

“Are you still working in the city?” He asks, when you recover.

“I actually get to travel a little more now. I think I’ve finally paid my dues.” You love your job, though it’s been a hard slog to get to that point. Sloane (the bride who Harry was not best manning for), had actually worked with you for your first few months years ago. She’d been a wonderful mentor to you at the time and while you’d wanted to believe she’d stay in touch, didn’t hold out much hope. As it happened, Sloane never disappeared and is still there even now, with the same no-nonsense advice you needed in your early twenties, and sometimes need now.

Watching her marry the love of her life today was magical. And the love of her life happened to be one of Harry’s closest friends. It’s a marvel, really. How had yours and Harry’s lives become so interwoven without the two of you ever being more than ships passing in the night?

“Oh, that’s great!” He beams like he really means it. “Do you ever get over to the US?”

You shake your head. “Not yet. Mostly Europe. Canada in a few months. Maybe soon though.”

“You’ll have to let me know your schedule. In case we overlap.” He sips his drink. The delicate glass emphasises the hugeness of his hands. You remember them scooping under your thighs and effortlessly lifting you in the bathroom.

“Sure. I can do that,” you say, casually.

“I really mean it.” He’s holding your gaze.

“Oh,” you say weakly. What else can you say? You can’t really believe him. You and Harry have never done more than exchange a few polite DMs; you never meet up until chance brings you together.

You vaguely realise Harry is holding your elbow. Something feels different and you don’t know what to do with it. “I can see some friends on the dance floor,” you say. “I better join them.”

“Speak to you later?” He asks, still holding your elbow because he wants an answer.

“Of course.”

You glance over your shoulder when your heel touches the tiles of the dance floor. Harry is watching you and raises your glass. You smile and try to tamp down your excitement.

The first time you officially hooked up at a wedding (that didn’t include teenage fumbling and making out), you had brought a plus one and he hadn’t. You weren’t expecting to see him that day, or ever again honestly. And if even you HAD known he was coming, that wouldn’t have changed you bringing your date.

“‘Scuse me, darling.” He scooted past you and for a moment you didn’t recognise him. It was a gorgeous summer day and he wore sunglasses, a shirt unbuttoned down to his belly button and hair that curled on his shoulders.

Harry was, by that point, unmistakably famous. But the wedding was your cousin’s and everyone was trying hard to act like it wasn’t out of the ordinary to have paparazzi in the car park with zoom lenses trained on the sprawling lawn where everyone was gathered for drinks and photos and more drinks.

“Harry!” You couldn’t help the surprised exclaim.

He turned from the rustic serve-yourself bar and lifted his sunglasses up. “YN, I thought you’d be here.” He said it like you were old friends, not two people who met once a few years back.

“I didn’t even think of you,” you said. Harry raised his eyebrows. “Oh. I mean…I didn’t expect you to be here. I thought you’d be busy. Jack didn’t mention you coming.”

“I kind of asked him not to mention it actually.”

“Yeah. Yeah that makes sense.”

You stood and assessed each other, mutely tracing over each other's outfits and faces and bodies, cataloguing what was different. Harry’s features were sharper, more mature. The slight smile on his face was playful.

“You look stunning,” Harry said eventually. You smiled and self-consciously straightened your midi summer dress. While doing so, you suddenly remembered the man standing directly beside you watching the entire exchange.

“Ah! Harry, this is Sam. Sam, Harry.”

Harry leaned forward and shook Sam’s hand politely. “Nice to meet you man.”

Sam was unbothered. Or didn’t show if he was. Sam didn’t really show much of anything.

“Sam is…here with me,” you finished, hand waving at the man limply.

“Mhm. I see that.” Harry’s smirk was wider. “Have fun with each other, then. Maybe we’ll catch up later.”

You did catch up later - when Sam was drunk with some other lads at the bar, and you were chewing your nails a distance away wondering if it was wise to bring someone you were just ‘dating’ to a family wedding.

Harry walked past you at first. Paused. Back tracked.

He tilted his head at you and made a silent decision.

“Wanna come smoke somewhere?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Yeah. No doubt. Wanna come anyway?”

With a shrug, you followed him.

“By somewhere, I thought you meant outside.”

“It’s too risky.”

You assumed he meant the cameras and social media and fans and gossip, but he didn’t offer any more than that. His joints were pre-rolled and tucked in the inner pocket of his jacket. You sat down side by side in the tiny cupboard space Harry had found by opening random doors down the corridor.

“Do you want some?” Harry held the joint aloft between you. You glanced around the tiny space. It was dim, and stuffy, full of people’s coats and a few mops.

“What if there’s a smoke alarm in here?”

“There isn’t.”

“You’re gonna make these people’s coats stink of weed.”

“They won’t know it’s us.”

“I’ve never actually smoked before.”

“Oh!” He withdrew his hand and looked apologetic. “You don’t have to.”

You watched him click a cheap-looking lighter a few times until it caught and lit the end of his joint. He sucked in a deep inhale and dropped his head back on the pile of coats behind him. His eyes were closed which gave you ample time to admire him. Admire sounded extreme yet it was the only way to describe the way you raked your gaze over him. He licked his pink lips and huffed a little in contentment.

“Actually,” you started, causing him to open his eyes and look at you curiously. “I will try a bit. If that’s okay.”

A smile spread slowly across his wide mouth.

“More than.”

You had a tiny puff. It probably didn’t even do anything. But it felt risky and exciting and when Harry leaned to take it back from you his shoulder touched yours and didn’t leave. You sat pressed into each other’s sides, facing the shut door that Harry had feebly attempted to block with a bucket.

“Sam seems nice.”

Your brain worked hard to figure out what the hell he was talking about. “Oh, yeah.” Your date. “He’s fine.”

Harry snorted a laugh and coughed on air. “Fabulous review, then.”

“There’s just no spark,” you said, like you’d heard people say on TV.

“That’s no good.” Harry tutted and shook his head, not breaking eye contact. Were you imagining things or did they already look glassy? And how had you ever thought his features were sharp? Every bit of him looked soft, supple. Malleable to your touch. Not knowing when it happened, you found you were touching his squishy bottom lip with your thumb.

“No,” you agreed. “Not good.”

“Sounds like you shouldn’t see him again.” Harry had another drag and turned to blow the smoke away from you.

“I probably won’t. I’ll tell him tomorrow. I don’t think he’d understand a word I say the amount he’s drank tonight.”

He paused to put out the joint on the underneath of his boot. “So you’re basically already over then?”

You were going to answer something along the lines of, technically we’re not together, but he kissed you.

Then you were on your back snogging on the floor. Harry manoeuvred your legs apart by holding the back of your knees with his warm hands and the way the jeans he’d worn with his suit brushed your inner thighs made you shudder.

You knew as soon as your shoulders touched the rough carpet that kissing wouldn’t be enough for you this time.

He had a condom in his pocket and asked twice if you wanted to. He asked while his fingers stroked through your folds and the first time you whined like something desperate. The second time he asked he was the one who sounded desperate, so you breathed a hurried yes in his ear.

“Do you need some more…?”

“No. Please just fuck me.”

You’d never spoken like that in your life.

He fucked you in that cupboard and kissed you through an orgasm and pulled out when he needed to cum, even though he was wearing a condom. For one crazy moment you wanted to tell him you were on the pill; ask him to take the condom off first. But you bit your lip against the thought.

Afterwards, he kissed your neck and smoothed your dress all over with his hands. You did the same with his flimsy shirt. It started as just a way to make you both look presentable again but morphed into feeling each other up.

“I could feel you all night.”

“Is that the weed talking?”

“A little bit. This dress feels nice. You look good in it.”

“Thank you.”

Harry led you back to the dance floor a while later. He bought you a shot and made you laugh with jokes he murmured only to you. You think at one point he attempted to lift you dirty dancing style. He may have even succeeded. In the taxi home, you turned to Sam.

“Thank you for coming with me. I don’t think we should go on another date though.” Sam had his head out of the window and groaned a response. Good enough.

You found a strip of goofy photo booth pictures in your bag the next morning, and a follow from harrystyles on instagram. You had to disable comments thanks to that, though you never told Harry that detail.

You haven’t smoked again since that night. It’s not something that takes your fancy. Harry’s never offered to share a smoke again since, either. Though that doesn’t mean he’s kicked all his habits.

Harry is currently pressing you into a wall and planting short but deep kisses to your lips, like he’s trying to tear himself away but take his time simultaneously. One hand cups your shoulder while the other grazes the skin at the back of your thigh, not so innocently.

He had found you again when you were still dancing. Or more like, your back had literally bumped into his side and he turned from the man he’d been speaking with to survey you. His drink (something dark and definitely no longer champagne) had spilled a little on your dress.

“Sorry, love. Come with me, let’s get that dried off.”

He’d swept you around the side of the room with a hand on your back, fingertips brushing the bare skin between your shoulder blades as he led you to the first empty corridor he found. His body crowded yours into a dark corner.

You speak into the next kiss.

“Do you remember when I had a boyfriend and you snuck me into that cupboard?”

“A few things to correct there, lovie.” He draws his wet lips over your ear. “One: he wasn’t your boyfriend and he was never going to be, let’s be real. Two: it wasn’t a cupboard. I have more class than that. It was a…closet, at least.”

You cackle, not delicately or sexily. The way you laugh with your friends. “Was there another point or is that it?”

Harry pulls back and smirks at you. “Three: I was going through my horn dog phase and probably hadn’t had sex in like, six days by that point.”

“Are you saying you ever got past that stage?”

“It comes and goes. I’m learning to manage the condition.”

Having rested enough, you kiss him again. You scoop a handful of his curls and squeeze. Harry makes a short, deep noise into your mouth. You feel it more than hear it. He breaks from you just enough that he can speak. You can still feel the whisper of his facial hair.

“I’m starting to think you’re not actually invited to any of these weddings and you’re just making excuses to see me.”

“Funny. I was thinking the same about you.”

“Guess we’re both wedding crashers then.”

You smile wide and finger the collar of his suit. “Is this the same suit as last time?”

“No. It’s brand new.”

“Hm, that’s unlike you.”

“I think it’s good to reuse the things you like.”

“Mhm. Is that what you’re doing with me?”

Harry moves further away. He props his hands either side of your head and frowns at you.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”

You squirm. He pushes his hips square to yours. They’re level, thanks to your heels. “Maybe not exactly like that.”

“Do you remember two summers ago. The beach wedding?”

“When it rained half the day?”

“That’s the one.”

You bite your lip. “That was a fun night.”

“I know.” His eyes twinkle mischievously and you can’t help but bite your lip and turn your gaze down. That was the night Harry fucked you on the balcony of his hotel room overlooking the ocean, though all you saw were stars swimming through watery eyes as Harry tilted your head to his shoulder and clasped his hand around your throat.

“I think I said some wrong things that night. I should have taken them back then. Or at least before now. But I didn’t mean them. And I’m sorry.”

That night, after the second round, Harry had stood naked on his balcony looking at the sky. You lay on the bed, chin propped up by your hand, admiring the delicious curve of Harry’s bum.

“It’s always so easy with you,” he’d started. “I wish other girls were this simple.”

You screwed your face up, even though he couldn’t see. “Did you just ‘not like other girls’ me?”

Harry laughed and turned to walk over to you. He straddled you from behind, pushing his hands up your back. “I just like knowing how we work. It’s familiar, you know. I don’t feel like I have to work for it.”

Later, you’d reflect and wonder if you should have taken offence. At the time, you accepted it as a confirmation of what you were and would never be. You were the one who decided to be okay with it. That wasn’t on Harry.

“I didn’t take it personally,” you say now, truthfully. You’re fine with just sex. Sex with Harry is an event. Glorious for the very reason it doesn’t happen every day. You remember every time you’ve shared together with alarming clarity. Sometimes you found yourself directing partners to do things the certain way Harry did it, and they never quite pulled it off.

“I don’t…” Harry lifts a hand off the wall and rests it on your collarbone. His skin is impossibly warm. The music in the room over begins to fade out and you can’t tell what’s real or what’s blood rushing in your ears. “I don’t think I treated you as kindly as I should have.”

“I’m a big girl. I’ve always known what this is. I’m happy with it.”

He studies your face a few moments longer, eyes flicking between your eyes, your lips, your pulse point. “I think they’re cutting the cake,” he says.

Harry stands with you while you watch the cake being cut. As the brides feed each other and the crowd whoops, he dips his mouth to your ear.

“Hey, I actually wanted to ask you about something.”

“Sure.” You twist to look at him, face lit up with all colours of the disco lights. You’re curious now. Harry wouldn’t normally preamble a question like that. He’d just ask it. Something was shifting tonight.

“I wanted to talk to you about it a bit ago. But it seemed weird to speak about it, you know…”

“Not at a wedding?” You offer, smirking.

“I meant not in person, actually. I was wondering if-“

“Harry!” Someone calls, swoops in and interrupts the moment. You smile benignly and as you turn to leave politely you feel his fingers brush your wrist. You look at him but he’s already engrossed in conversation. That’s okay because he’ll seek you out again when he’s ready. He’ll find you and he’ll have you. Because you’re easy like that.

You take your leave to finally locate and congratulate the brides. On your way back from fetching a slice of cake, you pass Sloane, hunched over in a rare moment of solitude for her wedding day. She’s stacking a plate with as much leftover buffet as will physically fit. You touch her back gently and she looks up, beaming through a full mouth.

“You look amazing,” you say, earnestly. “Crumbs and all.”

“Thanks.” She stops talking to swallow. “Can you pretend we’re having a really serious conversation so no one interrupts us while I actually eat something?”

“Oh, of course.” You arrange your eyebrows into a serious furrow. “It was a beautiful ceremony.”

“I’m glad you could make it,” Sloane frowns back at you. “And oh my god, tell me about your new job.”

“It’s not new…”

“You get paid more though?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“About time. They knew what you could do the day you first walked in.”

You chat for a few minutes while Sloane stuffs as much of the buffet into her mouth as she can between sentences.

“And what about you and Harry?”

Cake halfway to your mouth, you freeze. “Harry?”

“Yes. And you.”

You laugh, then quickly stop when Sloane glares. “What about Harry?”

“You’ve been trying to find a way to stand next to each other all day.”

“Have not.”

“Loren was worried he’d miss his best man speech because he was wandering around looking for you.”

You flush hotly. “Well, he didn’t.” With a touch of luck.

“Nice to catch up?”

You shrug now. “I mean, I guess. We haven’t had chance to talk, really.”

Sloane grins widely. “Oh, I imagine.”

You bring one hand up to cover your eyes. “God. Shut up. I know it’s your special day blah blah blah. But please shut up.”

“Whatever, I know you’re just having fun. You deserve to get your kicks. But be careful.”

You uncover your face and squint at her. Surely she’s not about to give you a talk about protection. She’s almost ten years too late and also not your mother.

Sloane continues. “This girlfriend he has-“ You physically feel your heart plop into your gut. “-he’s just moved her in with him. I reckon it could be serious. Though who even knows with Harry, from what Loren tells me. I just don’t want you getting muddled up in all that.”

You can only stare and eventually, blink a couple of times. Sloane’s face morphs almost comically from sincere but relaxed into one of horror.

“Oh my god. Didn’t you know? You didn’t know. I thought you always seemed quite close. I thought you’d know.”

Know he has a girlfriend? Yeah, even you think that should have come up. Some out-of-body thought examines the situation clinically. It says ‘huh, interesting reaction YN’. It pokes and prods at the twisting in your chest. It slices through your middle wonders what happened to ‘I know what this is and I don’t mind’.

“We don’t know each other that well, to be honest.” You aren’t even sure how much of a lie that is. How do you say ‘I’ve known him since we were seventeen but also, I clearly don’t know him’? “I mean, I know he had a girlfriend a few months back. I assumed they were over.”

“Shit, YN. What an absolute arse he is! Do you want me to ask Loren if I can tear him a new one?” Sloane looks genuinely horrified and it makes you feel guilty.

“No. No, don’t be silly.” You aim for nonchalant and sound flat, hollow. “You two need to enjoy your night.”

“She’ll be so cross with him. We know he’s a bit of a rascal but we always thought he was honest about it.”

“There’s nothing between Harry and I. We’re barely friends. There was nothing he needed to be honest about.” You’re scrambling for things to say. If you were honest, yes, it’s because you don’t want any kind of drama on your friend’s wedding day, but also you feel like by convincing Sloane this really isn’t a big deal, you may believe it yourself.

“Anyway, he’s coming over right now and I don’t think it’s to tell me my dress reminds him of meringue…again.”

“He’s coming here?” Do you sound panicked? Is it obvious?

“Yes.”

“Right this second?”

“I give it three seconds.”

You look over your shoulder and Harry is a few steps away.

He grins. “Hi.”

You open your mouth. That’s as far as you get.

“Fuck,” Sloane says, making you look back at her. “The in-laws are waving and I’ve already fobbed them off twice. I’d say I’ll see you later but honestly, Loren and I have already planned to sneak away in an hour.” For a second, she looks at you intently. Do you need me to get you out of this? In that moment you know without a doubt she’d take you back to her honeymoon suite if you indicated a need to escape. You don’t need it at work anymore, but you’ll always be grateful for her fierce protectiveness of you. You smile confidently and she nods before disappearing in a wave of meringue-y white fabric and you’re left once more with Harry.

“Is she okay?” Harry frowns after her. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his trousers.

“She’s just tired, I think. It’s an overwhelming day.”

He looks at you and tilts his head. “Shit, are you okay?”

Just over six months ago was the last time you’d seen each other. It was a gorgeous ceremony in a secluded woodland strewn with fairy lights and marquees. You knew he’d be there and secretly thrilled at the thought of wandering off into the trees with him and his wandering hands.

There she was, though, and you knew it would happen sooner or later, holding his hand. You’d never realised before how intimate hand-holding really was. She was stunning and fitted from head to toe in the designer you knew Harry worked with. Harry carried her clutch around for her and fetched both their drinks.

Cute, you’d thought. A little disappointed you couldn’t enjoy some drunken flirting with him but excited to see him nonetheless. You knew, sooner or later, one or both of you would have to grow out of this thing. Perhaps you were a little surprised it was Harry first. You planned to tease him about it.

Except, you never got near him. He avoided your eye and dodged any conversations you were part of. The one time you deliberately made your way over to him, he quickly stood and dragged his girlfriend to the centre of the marquee to dance.

So that was that. He had a girlfriend and he didn’t want to know you. Fine. No bother.

Except some very small part of you, the paranoid part, wondered if he was avoiding facing you with a girlfriend because he was worried you’d say something. But what could you say? Hi I’m a girl Harry has been having casual sex with on a very occasional basis for the better part of our adult lives. Would it even matter? Surely she knew Harry had casual sex, and it wasn’t like you’d ever cheated on a partner with each other. Technically.

The thoughts had plagued you on and off for those six months. You weren’t hurt exactly. Miffed. Slightly offended. You felt a little used.

Of course you’d always known he’d dated. You had too. You’d been in relationships of varying levels of commitment. Somehow, you were always single when you met Harry. You always thought it was serendipitous that Harry was always single too. If that wasn’t true now, maybe it hadn’t been in the past either. It makes the whole thing feel sullied.

“YN? Are you okay?” He’s repeating. “Is that cake laced with something? You look all spacey.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you have a girlfriend?”

You’re not sure what you were expecting. Shock. Surprise. Embarrassment at being called out. Instead, Harry’s face turns to steel. His shoulders lift and lock in place.

“Who told you that?”

“Doesn’t matter. It should have come from you.”

“It matters because I’m used to the media gossiping about my personal life, I shouldn’t expect it at the wedding of one of my best friends.”

“Seriously? Don’t play the ‘I’m so famous’ card with this. How many times? How many times have you slept with me when you had a girlfriend or boyfriend?”

“Never,” he says through his teeth.

“Until tonight?”

“Why are you getting mad before letting me explain?”

You gape at him. “Why am I getting mad?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. You said you were happy with how things are. Now you’re changing your mind based on something one person told you?”

You ignore the first part, unsure what to do with it. “The wife of one of your best friends isn’t just another person Harry.”

He clenches his jaw and his nostrils flare. You look around the two of you as though remembering you were at the side of a very full room. A few glances are being shot your way. You expect this to bother Harry but he won’t budge his eyes from you.

You feel a bit sick. The cake is probably delicious. You hate yourself for leaving it, on a plate you dump on the nearest table. Childishly, you knock Harry’s shoulder as you walk past.

“For the record,” you say, unable to resist turning around. He’s already facing you, expression hard. You try to speak low enough that only he hears. You’re all but hissing at him like a feral cat. “I’m okay being easy and a safe bet to sink your dick into. I’m not okay being the person you shag behind your girlfriend's back. The girlfriend you didn’t have the decency to even tell me exists.”

The venue doesn’t have a hotel. It has individual sleeping pods, miniature cabins built for a maximum two people to sleep and shower in. It means walking in the dark without saying goodbye to anyone, but you’ll be okay.

“YN!”

You walk faster away from the shout. You have to concentrate because it’s dark and these paths are filled with uneven gravel.

“YN…” His voice is softer now. He’s closer. Jesus fuck did he run to catch up to you? You wish you weren’t in heels. Though when you reach your pod and turn to face Harry, they help you feel confident.

“What?” You glare at him. To his credit, he ducks his head.

“YN, I guarantee whatever you’ve heard is not the full story.”

“Harry.” You sigh and press the heels of your palms to your eyes. You regret that when they come away with black smudges on them. “I don’t doubt I haven’t heard the whole story. But I’ve heard enough.”

“I bet if I-“

“Do you have a girlfriend? Do you have a girlfriend who’s just moved into your house?”

“I- I don’t know how to answer that without making things worse.” Even though he says it miserably, you laugh coldly. “She’s just a friend.”

“Living in your house?”

He doesn’t deny it, just looks at you blankly. He doesn’t look angry anymore. More exhausted. Out here in the night, his face is lit only by the tiny solar lamps hanging outside your pod. His eyes are wide. He could be seventeen again begging you to kiss him.

“She’s just a friend, living in your house, who your other friends believe is your girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“And you still fucked me in a bathroom two hours ago? You still flirted with me all night like you’re single.”

“I am single,” he starts, defensive, again. Or frustrated. You can’t tell. “I can flirt and fuck who I want.” You suck in a breath. “Shit, YN.” He grips the hair at the top of his head. “I didn’t mean to sound like such a dick. There’s things I can’t explain right now. There’s things I wanted to explain tonight. It’s just… complicated.”

Suddenly, you feel as exhausted as Harry looks. “It’s fine. You don’t need to explain anything. You just need to know that I’m not doing this,” you point your finger between the two of you back and forth. “If it’s not transparent.”

“I don’t think I want to do this either,” he says quietly.

You blink at him. “Okay. Well. We’re in agreement then.”

“Yes, but,” Harry is actually wringing his hands. His fingers are twisting and pulling at each other. “You’re still my friend? Aren’t you?”

It isn’t what you expected him to ask, as though he changed his mind halfway through speaking.

“Harry, I don’t know what being your friend means.”

His face crumples a little. You almost want to take it back and tell him of course you’re friends. But is being Harry’s friend being someone he lies to? Someone he fucks while he plays house with another ‘friend’? Someone he only sees by chance and sleeps with out of convenience? Nothing about this feels ‘easy’ anymore. A clean break is probably best. And should be pretty easy to achieve.

Harry hasn’t answered you. He’s blinking in quick succession.

“I’m going to go to sleep now.” You scan your key and slide the door to the pod open. Harry’s still stood there when you close it behind you and when you draw the curtains across it. You stand still in the dark and hold your breath until you hear him crunching away through the gravel.

After a shower, you lay in bed and stare at the curved ceiling above you. You know now there’s no going back. Harry had said it himself. The allure of you was the simplicity, the familiarity. You’d blown that into smithereens. Though you’re trying to be proud of yourself for that. You had done the right thing.

You would love to say it’s just the sex that enamoured you to Harry, but that would not be strictly true. His dry humour always got you going and he’d been sweet too.

You keep going back to the one wedding you were both at that you didn’t end up in bed together. Well, technically you did. But nothing sexual transpired. You were on your period. You usually timed your birth control around big events but you’d recently come off it for health reasons. When Harry had appeared at your hotel room door, you rolled your eyes.

“I told you. I’m not having sex with you or anyone tonight.”

“I don’t care.”

Harry truly didn’t seem care and still spent the night with you. He messed with the shitty hotel television until he found a movie they’d missed the beginning of, and then he proceeded to talk all the way through the rest. He ordered room service and made you laugh by giving the concierge a ridiculous fake name.

He asked you about your childhood pets and your dream home (a rabbit and somewhere old). You asked him what he’d want to do if it wasn’t music (be a house husband or a formula one driver - maybe both). You fell asleep together before Harry got around to taking his clothes off. He’d been gone before you woke up, of course, but he’d doodled on the notepad by the phone. A picture of a house with a rabbit outside, a badly drawn racing car on a winding path leading to the front door.

When you doze off, you dream of that big house and it’s big door. Someone is knocking. Someone is knocking and it’s the early hours of the morning.

Your body moves heavily across the pod to the door, opening the curtains to Harry’s face inches from the glass. The sky is a few shades lighter than midnight black. You slide back the door and before it opens more than a crack Harry is speaking.

“She’s pregnant.”

You stare at him and seriously consider if you’re still asleep.

“Shit, YN. It’s not mine. We never even-” he sighs. “Can I come in?”

You step aside. Harry sits down on the bed because there is nothing else to sit on. You secure the door again and opt to stand in front of him. His jacket is gone but he’s still in a tank and suit trousers.

“This isn’t really my information to share, so will you promise it doesn’t leave this room…cabin…pod thing?”

You don’t point out he’s already blurted the biggest secret. You just nod.

“Her name’s Kim. We never were dating. We didn’t sleep together.” He pauses here, looking at you, wanting to make sure you heard it. “But we are friends. She’s not my girlfriend but we may have…lent into the pretence more than was necessary.”

You shake your head to indicate you still don’t get it.

“She had a shitty ex and a shitty time. At the time, it was mutually beneficial for us to play along. It was good for her image, for getting her ex to back off. It was good promo for the album.”

“Your friends really think you were dating, though. Loren thinks you're dating.”

“I know it’s fucked up. It’s not that I don’t trust Loren implicitly. You just can’t leave any margin of error for these things. I never outright lie to anyone. I’m good at just…avoiding questions.”

You have to laugh at that. Harry, who had been looking down at his shoes, peeks at you hopefully.

“Does anyone know it’s not real?”

“My manager. My mum, my sister. Now you. That’s probably it.”

“And now she’s pregnant? Aren’t people going to think…?” You don’t need to finish the question.

Harry shakes his head. “No. The baby is with someone new she’s been seeing. Seeing for real. We’ve been talking about easing off on the narrative.”

“And moving in with you is easing off on the narrative?”

“She’s crashing in one of my spare houses while her place is renovated and baby-proofed.”

“Seriously?” It’s not that you don’t believe him. You’re pretty sure you do. The whole thing just seems just bizarre enough to make everything make sense.

“The baby was a surprise, but hopefully, a good one. I just wanted to help her out. YN…” He reaches out and the pod is so damn small he can reach your hip. You don’t shake him off. He slides his thumb under your pyjama top and smooths it over the skin. “I’m not saying I haven’t fucked up here. But a lot of these misunderstandings happen because nobody ever asks me outright what’s going on with me.”

He speaks softly. You know he’s not trying to jibe at you, or insult his friends. There’s something sad layered underneath it.

“Is she who you brought to the wedding in Edinburgh last summer?”

“Yes.”

“You avoided me all night.”

“I wish I hadn’t. I think you’ll get on.” You clock the future tense.

“Why?”

“She’s very down to earth, like you.” He holds both your hips now and moves you slowly towards him. You don’t resist. “And funny.”

“No, I mean. Why did you avoid me all night? If she wasn’t your girlfriend, even if she was your girlfriend? Why couldn’t you at least have come and said hi.”

“Because I really like you. I was in this weird, not-real relationship and I either had to explain that to you and have you think I’m a crazy, terrible person. Or stand there and watch you think she was my girlfriend. I didn’t like either option.”

“I do think you’re crazy. Not terrible though.”

You’re standing right above him now. He tilts his neck to look up at you. The eye contact makes you dizzy enough to hold his shoulders for stability.

“You know, that night I said you were easy,” he winces slightly when he repeats the word. “I was thinking about how my life is so complicated. So absurd. Outside of my family, you felt like this one fixed point I kept coming back to. We didn’t have to plan it. I didn’t want to plan it. We were effortless and for once I wanted something in my life to be that simple. I kept thinking, I know I’ll see her again and we’ll be different but everything will be the same. I wish now I’d fucked that stupid idea off and just called you.”

“You’re a romantic, Harry Styles.” His arms wrap around you.

“Is that not how you saw it?”

“More like, the longest running fuck buddy in history.”

Harry laughs and then he pulls you down to kiss him.

“You know,” you murmur, when you pull away. “Saying you’re letting her stay in ‘one’ of your houses makes you sound like a rich prick.”

“I can accept that.” He leans back on the bed and you go with him, still wrapped up in his arms. While you kiss he shifts you both back on the bed, bumping his hips against yours. Settled in place, you continue to chase that friction, oscillating your body against his. His hands run over your back and cradle your head.

“Can you tell me something?” He says, keening his hips up and up and up to meet yours. You don’t think you’re in a fit state to tell him anything just yet but hum for him to continue. “Why were you bothered tonight when you thought I had a girlfriend? Was it just the cheating thing?”

There were so many reasons and you could be angry at him for asking. You were upset to be lied to, to be used, to be insignificant, and yes, because you didn’t want him to be a cheat. But also,

“Because I want you to be just mine.”

In that moment you want nothing more than to feel his weight on top of you. Blissfully, he understands, pushing you away from him and pressing his lower half down against you. You groan and grab his biceps.

“This fucking tank top,” you whine.

“Want me to leave it on?” Harry is licking patterns on your neck. You shake your head.

“Maybe next time. Take it off.”

Naked and basking in pleasure, Harry dances his fingers through your folds and leans over you. His face is serious.

“I still want to talk to you about something.” He ends his sentence with two fingers sinking inside you and you release a breath.

“Not now. After.”

He takes it as a promise and makes you cum on his fingers. “That’s what I owed you,” he says in a raw voice.

“That’s not enough,” you pant, desperately.

“I’m not finished.” He keeps his fingers right where they were and sucks kisses down your body. You have a brief moment between orgasms where you try to think clearly. You try to pinpoint what’s changed. You know now Harry doesn’t have a girlfriend. So things can continue as normal. But this feels so monumentally different.

“Look at me.” You’ve never heard a man actually growl before. “I’m going to eat you and you’re going to look at me when you cum. Understand?”

You lift up on your elbows and nod dumbly. He drags his bottom lip over your sensitive clit and smiles at the way you twitch. “Good girl, my love. Like you watching me. Reckon you’re the only one who sees me like this.”

You can’t pause to wonder what he means because he’s sucking his mouth over you in a way that ties you up in knots only to undo you all over again.

Your vision is blurry but you watch him just as he’d asked. Some silly part of you thinks he looks adorable like this, even as you pulse and soak his chin and hand.

For a while after, you just kiss. You feel like mush and hormones are still fizzing all around your body.

“Do you want to talk now?” You ask, voice thick. He shakes his head and you’re so close your noses brush.

“Couldn’t. Not until…” His erection bumps your hip and you understand. You hadn’t realised how turned on he was until he’s fucking you at an agonisingly slow pace. He’s on his knees, grinding into you like this is the last orgasm he’s ever going to have.

“Please,” you say, shakily. You draw a leg over his hip and pull him into you. He grabs your ankle with one hand and moves to press your foot against his shoulder, dragging out and pushing in again at a glacial pace.

“Let me have my fun. You had yours,” he mumbles against your ankle.

So you let him. And the second you relax into it you know what he was up to. Your hunger for him seems stronger than ever. Moving slow like this, your limbs fall in sync with his. His eyes lock on yours and his gaze is as soft as his movements.

You don’t know how long the two of you move like that for, but eventually your foot slips off his shoulder and your legs splay open. Harry follows suit and flattens himself over you. The pressure is delicious, both on your clit as he continues to grind and the heaviness of him on your chest.

The orgasm almost blacks you out and Harry’s colourful swear words swim in your consciousness. When he’s wrapping you in the covers and kissing your hair you mumble, “Can we talk in the morning?”

A soft laugh. “Yeah, lovie. We can.”

When you wake, for a second you think Harry hasn’t stayed the night. Until you realise it’s him slowly sliding the pod door shut that woke you up. He’s grimacing as it squeaks. Tiptoeing over to you in jogging bottoms and hoodie, even though your eyes are open.

“I’m sorry I woke you up.” You’ve never heard his morning voice before. You think it’s better than that first stretch of the day.

“You’re not in a suit”

“Should I be?”

“No, it’s just…” You’re thinking about how he woke up, put on the remaining pieces of his suit and left to get comfy clothes from his own pod. And after that, he came back. “You’re always in a suit.”

“Does me not being in a suit make you fancy me less?”

“If I had it my way you’d always wear the suit and just pull your dick out when it’s needed.”

You don’t know why you said that. You blush deeply.

Harry crawls onto the bed with you while he laughs, cackles even. His eyes crinkle at the corners and you want to press your fingers there, so you do.

“I want to see you again,” he says, catching one hand and wrapping it in his. “I don’t know if I made it clear enough last night but I don’t to wait to bump into you by chance anymore. I’m officiating a wedding next month, in LA.”

“Okay.”

“It’ll be warm. You’ll need to wear something airy.”

“I’m not invited.”

“I want you to be my plus one.”

“To a wedding?” You challenge, even as you smile. “How is that different from every other time we’ve met?”

“It’s different because I want to get ready with you in the morning. I want you to ask me which dress you should wear and I want you to help me choose a tie.”

“You never wear a tie.”

“I would if you suggested it.” Harry rolls your bodies until he’s half over you and the sheets tangled somewhere between. “I want to share a car to the venue with my hand on your leg and when you move it off I want to hear you promise me we’ll have time later on.”

You lay in together as the pod fills with early morning light, while Harry talks about LA and the people there he wants you to meet. You feel warm and happy at the same time something dark and cold slinks through you.

“Harry. This fake relationship thing you had. The acting. The lies. I’m not built for that.”

“I know. We won’t need any of that.” He kisses your cheek, your temple. He draws your body closer to his.

“If people ask you about me, what will you say?”

He moves far enough away to meet your gaze. “They won’t even need to ask.”