#harry fic

You watch from the side stage tonight, standing near the monitor station, close enough to see him properly without being in the way. The soundboard glows in front of the technician beside you, small coloured lights blinking in quiet contrast to the chaos beyond. From where you stand, you can see Harry in profile when he crosses the main stage, see the way the spotlight catches the side of his face, the way his striped white shirt clings more with every song. At first, it's just a faint mark between his shoulder blades. By the halfway point then, there is a clear line of sweat running down the centre of his back, darkening the fabric where his spine moves underneath. The shirt sticks to him when he turns, when he lifts his arm, when he bends towards the crowd with a grin that makes the entire arena scream. You press your lips together and try very hard to remember that you are a professional, but fuck, it's not an easy task.

Harry is in one of those moods tonight. Loose, cheeky, open in that dangerous way where he seems to let the whole world in while still somehow making certain looks feel private. He dances more than he needs to, shoulders rolling, hips moving with the beat, laughter flashing across his face whenever the crowd reacts exactly as loudly as he knows they will. And every now and then, he looks over at you. Never long enough to be obvious to everyone else, but enough. A glance from under damp lashes while he moves across the stage, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he catches you watching him too closely. Once, during an instrumental break, he shakes his shoulders in an exaggerated little move aimed directly at you, clearly ridiculous, clearly aware of what he is doing, and you have to look down at the floor for a second because you're genuinely one more grin away from losing your mind in front of the entire backstage team.

And Harry? He knows, of course he knows. He knows you too well not to notice the way you stand a little too still, arms crossed loosely in front of you, thighs shifting together when he turns his back to the crowd and that sweat-darkened line down his shirt appears on the big screen. The arena laughs at the sight, not cruelly, just delightedly, because Harry himself notices it a second later and reaches behind him as if checking what everyone is reacting to. When he realises, he laughs into the microphone and calls himself disgusting. God, you almost have to walk away. There are things you can handle. There are stage outfits, cheeky dances, curls damp at the temples, the roll of his hips, the way his voice drops rougher near the end of a show. But apparently, there is a limit. And apparently, that limit is Harry Styles discovering his sweaty back on a stadium screen and smirking about it.

By the time the final song begins, you're standing near the stage exit with a towel in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, as you do every night. It has become part of the rhythm now. The last chorus of As It Was, Harry’s goodbye run across the stage and catwalks, the final wave, the last roar of the crowd chasing him into the wings, and then you waiting there, ready to hand him the first two things he always reaches for.

Tonight, your fingers are tighter around the towel than usual as he comes off stage flushed and shining, hair damp, shirt clinging to him, skin warm under the residual glow of the show. He pulls one in-ear free, then the other, the cable sliding down against his collar as he walks towards you with that post-show expression you know so well: adrenaline-drunk, exhausted in the best way, eyes bright enough to light the hallway by themselves. The moment he reaches you, he leans in and kisses your cheek, quick, casual, sweet. It still sends heat straight through you.

“Hi,” he says, a little breathless.

“Hi.”

He takes the water first. “Thank you, love.”

You fall into step beside him as he starts down the corridor towards his private dressing room. He drinks deeply, head tipped back slightly, and you keep your eyes forward because looking at his throat while he drinks feels like a poor choice for your remaining self-control. The roar of the arena fades behind you, replaced by backstage movement. Harry hands the bottle back to you, then immediately begins undoing the buttons of his shirt as he walks. “Jesus,” he mutters, tugging at the fabric near his chest. “It was hot in there tonight. Need to get this thing off me before it becomes part of my skin.”

You intend to say something normal, maybe even something supportive. Something along the lines of, ‘It did look warm’. Instead, because your brain has apparently abandoned you somewhere near song four, you murmur, “Wasn’t only the arena that was hot tonight.”

At that, Harry’s fingers pause on a button and your eyes widen a fraction as he turns his head slowly. There is a second of silence in which you strongly consider pretending you said something about lighting rigs, but Harry’s mouth already curves. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“No, no.” His smile grows, dimples appearing with truly unfair timing. “Don’t think that was nothing.”

“I said the arena was hot.”

“No, you said it wasn’t only the arena that was hot.”

“I was talking about the lights.”

“The lights?”

“Yes.”

He looks at you with open amusement, still walking, shirt half undone now. “You’re blaming the lights?”

“They’re very powerful.”

“So are you, apparently. Didn’t know we were doing reviews in the hallway.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Bit late.”

You glance away, fighting a smile and failing. Harry’s laugh follows you into the dressing room.

The door closes behind you with a soft click, and the second he’s inside, Harry works open the last button and pulls the shirt off his shoulders with obvious relief, peeling the damp fabric away from his skin. His torso gleams under the warm dressing room lights, the swallow tattoos on his chest shifting with his breathing, the butterfly on his abdomen rising and falling as he exhales. You hand him the towel, he hands you the shirt. The exchange is automatic, something the two of you have done countless times in different forms: water for towel, towel for shirt, phone for jacket, kiss for good luck.

But tonight, the shirt lands in your hands still warm from him, heavy with sweat, smelling unmistakably like stage heat and Harry himself. Harry turns towards the mirror, rubbing the towel over his face, then through his hair, then down over his neck and chest. You stand behind him with the shirt clutched in both hands and you should put it down, you know that. There is a chair right there, laundry can take it, wardrobe can deal with it. It’s not even technically his to keep, not in the way his usual clothes are. Stage pieces move through a system. They return to designers, storage, archives, wherever beautiful clothes go after they survive two hours of sweat and screaming. You should really put it down.

Instead, you look at the back of Harry’s bare shoulders in front of you, then down at the shirt. The fabric is soft between your fingers, the scent of him rises from it, warm and clean and human and completely devastating in your current state. Your body makes the decision before your dignity can intervene and you lift the shirt to your face. Just once, you tell yourself. A terrible, foolish, private little indulgence. You press it close and breathe in, your eyes close automatically, and for a moment, you're back at side stage, watching him move under lights, sweat darkening his shirt, hair damp at his temples, mouth curved around a lyric he knows the whole room will scream back at him. Only now the distance is gone and the heat is in your hands. His scent is everywhere as you inhale deeply, and the last two hours of restraint fold in on themselves at once, as you press your thighs together without thinking.

Unfortunately, you have forgotten the mirror. Harry has not. He’s standing in front of it with the towel held loosely in one hand, no longer drying anything. His reflection watches yours with a grin so wide and boyish that both dimples show, his eyes bright with amusement. You open your eyes and immediately are met with his gaze in the mirror. The shirt is still in your hands near your face, and for one awful, suspended second, neither of you moves. Then Harry’s grin turns lethal. “Did you just sniff my shirt?”

Heat rushes to your face so quickly you almost feel betrayed by your own blood. “No.”

Harry laughs once. “No?”

“I was checking something.”

“With your nose?”

You lower the shirt. “I was seeing if it needed to be washed.”

Harry turns around very slowly, his expression one of pure delight. “Love,” he says, voice full of laughter, “that shirt is soaked.”

“I wanted to be sure.”

“You wanted to be sure whether the shirt I just performed in for two hours, in an oven with fifty thousand people screaming at me, needed washing?”

“Yes.”

“Very thorough of you.”

“I take wardrobe hygiene seriously.”

“You don’t even work in wardrobe.”

“I support all departments.”

Harry lets the towel fall to the low table behind him and starts walking over to you. You hold your ground, mostly because moving backwards would make you look even more guilty than you already do, and also because every step he takes pulls your attention to a new part of him. Damp hair, bare skin, the shine of sweat still caught along his collarbone, the black trousers sitting low on his hips, the tattoos you have seen a hundred times and still look at like they are capable of surprising you. He's so unfairly attractive right now. He stops close enough that you have to tilt your chin slightly, then he takes the shirt from your hands and tosses it onto the nearest chair. “There,” he says. “Laundry crisis solved.”

You swallow as Harry’s hands settle on your hips, warm, steady, and completely unhurried. His thumbs press lightly, and his smile softens from teasing you just now. “So,” he says, “you like how I smell after a show?”

You open your mouth, but nothing useful comes out. “I like how you smell all the time,” you finally say, which is true, but also so clearly an attempt at escape that he laughs again.

“All the time?”

“Yes.”

“Even when I’m disgusting?”

“You’re not disgusting.”

“I just said the shirt was becoming part of my skin.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It’s you.”

His teasing expression changes, not disappearing completely, but deepening as warmth and charged air moves into the space between you. He looks down at you with that particular attention that makes you feel as if the whole world has narrowed to the points where his hands hold you. “Yeah?” he murmurs.

You don't trust your voice, so you only nod and Harry’s fingers curl under the hem of your shirt. Not abruptly, or in a rush, he gives you every chance to stop him, eyes staying on yours as his fingertips brush the bare skin at your sides and your breath instantly catches. A small smile touches his mouth. “Still alright?” he asks quietly.

You nod again, more sure this time. “Yeah.”

He lifts the shirt slowly, his knuckles trail up your sides, warm and deliberate, and the air feels cooler where fabric leaves skin. You raise your arms for him, he pulls the shirt over your head and drops it somewhere near his on the chair, leaving you in your bra and trousers, bare from the waist up in the glow of the dressing room lights. Then he looks at you, not exactly hungry in a way that takes, more like someone receiving something precious he still doesn't entirely believe he gets to keep. “There,” he says softly. “Equal now.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You’re still sweatier.”

“I can’t help that I work hard.”

“Is that what you call all that ass shaking?”

“Cardio.”

“Very professional.”

“Extremely.”

Your eyes betray you then, because they lower from his face before you can stop them. Over his shoulders, damp and broad from the heat of the show. Down to the tattoos on his torso, the light catching the fine sheen of sweat still left there. And then lower, to the parts you've been craving all night. His body is familiar to you, loved by you, held by you in so many quiet settings, hotel beds, lazy mornings in the Roman sun, sofa naps, rooftop blankets after a show, but after watching him command an arena for two hours, seeing him like this up close feels almost unfair. Harry notices again. Of course he does, he always notices. You hate that about him. At least that's what you keep telling yourself.

“Do you like what you see?” he asks, voice low but still edged with that cheeky amusement and it snaps your eyes back to his. The smugness on his face should be illegal, really.

You recover just enough to tilt your head. “Obviously.”

“Obviously?”

“I mean, that’s why I’m here.”

His brow lifts, curiosity edged on his face.

You gesture vaguely at him. “For the body.”

For half a second, he stares at you, then he laughs, bright and genuinely surprised, head tipping forward as his hands tighten at your hips. “Oh, that’s how it is?”

“Yes.”

“Two years. All this time, I thought it was my personality.”

“You have a lovely personality.”

“Thank you.”

“But the body helps.”

Harry shakes his head, still grinning. “Cheeky thing.”

“You started it.”

“I did not.”

“You walked off stage looking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t fish.”

“I’m not fishing.”

“You are absolutely fishing.”

His face moves closer to yours, smile still there, breath warm against your mouth. “Maybe I like hearing you say it.”

You should say something clever, but you don't, the distance between you has become too small for cleverness. Your hands lift of their own accord, resting against his sides, and the moment your palms meet his skin, you feel the warmth of him, the dampness from the stage, the way his muscles shift under your touch as he inhales. Harry’s eyes lower slightly, then he kisses you and it's nothing like the quick cheek kiss in the hallway, or like the lazy rooftop kisses after night five, or the soft goodnight ones half-asleep under blankets. This one carries the whole night inside it: the heat, the lights, the glances from side stage, the sweat-darkened shirt, the teasing, the way you have been holding yourself together with increasingly fragile thread.

Your hands slide over his torso, up along his ribs, and you feel him react to it in the small sound he makes against your mouth and in the way his fingers press more firmly at your waist. His skin is warm under your palms, not polished or distant or stage-perfect now, but real. Slightly damp, familiar, and only yours to touch because he wants you to. Harry walks you back a step, then another, until your back meets the edge of the dressing table, and the mirror behind him catches pieces of you both: his bare back, your arms around him, the abandoned towel, the ruined shirt on the chair like evidence.

He breaks the kiss only enough to breathe. “You were watching me tonight,” he says.

You laugh softly, a little helpless. “Everyone was watching you.”

“Not like you.”

His mouth moves to the corner of yours, then your cheek, then just below your ear, still moving slow, and oh so teasing. Still giving you space to pull him back or push him away. But you just pull him closer. “I couldn’t help it,” you admit.

Harry hums, pleased. “No?”

“You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Did I?”

“You looked at me during that dance.”

He lifts his head, eyes glinting. “Which dance?”

“You know which dance.”

“There were several dances.”

"You're impossible.”

“And yet you sniffed my shirt.”

You groan, hiding your face briefly against his shoulder. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He kisses the side of your head, laughing into your hair. “You like all my scents.”

“That sentence is never leaving this room.”

“Obviously. Private review.”

You lift your head to glare at him, but the effect is ruined by how close he is and how badly you want to kiss him again. Harry’s expression changes a little, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re very cute when you’re embarrassed,” he says.

“I am not cute right now.”

“No?”

“No.”

His gaze drops for half a second, then returns to yours, darker now, but still warm. “No. You’re not.”

Then he kisses you again before either of you can make another joke, and the laughter fades into tension as your hands move over his shoulders, feeling the heat of him, the strength of his biceps, the leftover tremble of adrenaline in his body. His hands travel slowly along your waist, up your back, learning the shape of you with no hurry and no uncertainty at all. He pulls back just an inch, his green eyes dark with a hunger that is both protective and predatory at the same time. His hands move to the clasp of your bra, his fingers gentle but confident, and with a soft click, the tension releases. He slides the straps off your shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor and he lets out a low, shaky breath as your breasts are revealed to the cool air of the dressing room. "Perfect," he murmurs, his voice dripping with affection.

He reaches out, his palms carefully cupping them, kneading the soft flesh with a slow, rhythmic pressure, before his thumbs find your nipples, circling them teasingly before pinching firmly, just once. You gasp in a mixture of pain and arousal, arching your back, your own hands finding the waistband of his trousers. "I couldn't stop watching you," you breathe against his neck, your voice trembling. "The way you were moving, the sweat, I want you so bad right now."

Harry chuckles, a low vibration in his chest, and kisses your neck, his lips trailing like fire down to your collarbone when he mumbles. "I'm all yours, love. Every bit of me."

The undressing that follows is a slow, deliberate dance. There is no rush, only the mutual trust and desire to feel every inch of skin against skin. He helps you out of your sneakers and jeans, his kisses never leaving your skin for long. When he finally slides your underwear down your legs, he pauses to look at you, his expression one of pure adoration. He strips out of his own clothes with a focused intensity, his hard, aching cock springing free, already fully erect and pulsing with need.

Then he guides you towards the plush velvet couch in the corner of the room and sinks into the cushions, spreading his legs wide, his gaze locked onto yours, the invitation clear. "Kneel for me, love," he requests softly.

You sink to your knees between his thighs, the contrast of the cool floor and his radiating heat making you shiver slightly. You look up at him, your eyes wide and lustful as you reach out to wrap your delicate fingers around his shaft. He is thick and hot, the skin stretched tight, and you stroke him slowly, your palm gliding over the crown, feeling the bead of pre-cum at the tip. Harry lets out a long, shuddering groan, his head hitting the back of the couch as arousal starts to cloud his mind. "Fuck, you feel so good," he gasps, his fingers curling into the pillow next to him on the sofa.

You lean in, your tongue darting out to lick the head of his cock, tasting the salt and the musk, causing Harry to twitch reflexively. Then, you finally open your mouth and slide your lips over him. You're moving slow at first, swirling your tongue around the ridge before taking him deep. Harry focuses on the sensation of your tongue slipping beneath his foreskin, before delving into the sensitive opening of his pee hole, causing his hips to buck instinctively. "Oh god— yes, right there... fuck, baby."

Across the room, a large mirror reflects the entire scene back to him. He shifts his gaze, watching the image of you — the curve of your back, the way your head moves rhythmically on his cock, the sheer devotion in your posture. The visual stimulation suddenly pushes him closer to the edge faster than he would like. He reaches down, his fingers tangling in your hair, not to force, but to guide. Harry gently presses your head down, encouraging you to take him deeper, and you accept the challenge, sliding him all the way to the back of your throat, your eyes watering slightly, but your resolve keeps firm. As you deep-throat him, you reach down with your free hand, cupping his heavy balls and rolling them gently between your fingers. The combination of the tight suction and the tactile stimulation of his balls sends Harry over a threshold. He sputters curses, his voice a series of broken moans, his body trembling slightly and just as he feels the first surge of climax building in his gut, he gently but firmly grips your hair tighter and pulls your mouth away. "Not yet," he pants, his chest heaving. "I want to feel you. I need to be inside you."

He leans forward and reaches for you, pulling you up and hoisting you onto his lap. You go willingly, straddling him now, your wetness already glistening against the tattoo on his left thigh. He adjusts your position and then guides his cock to your entrance, the tip probing the slick folds of your pussy. With a slow, steady movement, he finally pulls you down and sinks into you. You let out a loud, piercing moan, your internal muscles squeezing him tight as you welcome his fullness. It's a perfect fit, a seamless joining of two bodies that know each other by heart. "You're so tight," Harry whispers, his voice thick with emotion as he grips your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he begins to move you. He doesn't go fast, he keeps it low and grinding, ensuring every nerve ending is firing.

You kiss him deeply, tongues dancing in sync with the rhythm of your hips as you fist your hands in his hair, pulling his face closer, all the while Harry’s hand wanders down to find your clit. He rubs it with a practiced, gentle precision, his thumb circling the sensitive nub as you keep bouncing on him. "Looks so pretty, love," he murmurs against your ear, his eyes returning to your reflection in the mirror across the room. "You're taking me so good, baby. Look at how beautiful you look on top of me."

You glance over your shoulder at the reflection of the two of you, seeing the way your bodies merge, the sweat from his chest rubbing off onto your breasts, the raw intimacy of the moment between you two. The sight sends a fresh wave of arousal through you and you begin to ride him faster now, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps.

"I love you," he groans, his voice breaking. "I love you so fucking much."

The friction builds, the heat intensifying until it becomes unbearable. Harry’s movements become more urgent, his hips stuttering upward as he drives himself deep into you one last time. You cry out, your walls pulsing around him in a violent, rhythmic contraction as your orgasm crashes over you in waves of pure pleasure. The sensation triggers Harry’s own release immediately and he lets out a guttural shout, spilling his seed deep inside you in hot, thick bursts, before you collapse against him, chests heaving, skin slick with a mixture of sweat and spent passion.

Harry doesn't pull away, he just holds you tight, his arms wrapping around you as he feels his cock slowly softening inside you. He knows how much you love that feeling, the lingering intimacy of the afterglow, and he holds you there, breathing you in, the silence of the room filled only by the sound of two hearts returning to a steady beat.

For a while, neither of you moves, there is no rush to. The dressing room is warm and quiet around you now, the sharp edge of the last half hour changing into a slow and heavy atmosphere. Harry stays seated on the sofa with you straddling him, your weight resting fully against his body, your face tucked into the curve between his shoulder and neck. He keeps one arm wrapped around your waist while the other hand traces lazy, absent paths over your back, fingertips moving along your spine, over your shoulder blade, down again. He's still inside you, though both of you have gone soft and spent, and neither of you seems particularly interested in changing that yet. It's not about wanting more, not right now. It's about staying close in the most wordless and intimate way possible, skin against skin, breathing still uneven, both of you slowly returning to yourselves while refusing to separate completely.

Harry’s eyes are half closed, his head tipped back against the sofa. The adrenaline that carried him through the show and then through you is finally leaving him all at once, draining out of his limbs until he feels loose, warm, and almost boneless. Exhaustion settles over him, but not the empty kind. This is the good kind, the kind that comes after giving everything and still having somewhere safe to land. You are that place for him, you always are. He turns his face slightly and presses a kiss to your cheek, right where it rests near his shoulder, then another, then one more. “You alright?” he asks, voice low and rough from the show, from everything after, from being too tired to make it sound polished.

You nod without lifting your head.

Harry smiles faintly. “That’s all I get?”

“Mhm.”

He laughs. “That bad?”

You sigh against his neck. “Not bad.”

“No?”

“Very satisfied.”

His grin appears immediately, lazy and pleased. “Very satisfied,” he repeats, as if committing the phrase to memory. “Well, glad we finally got you sorted.”

You make a small offended sound against his skin, but he keeps rubbing your back, completely unbothered by the protest. “You were wound up all night.”

“I was not.”

“You were staring at me like you wanted me to take you right there on stage.”

“Maybe the lighting was good.”

“Was it the lighting you were sniffing earlier?”

You lift your head, cheeks already warm again, eyes wide. “Harry.”

He looks delighted with himself, hair messy, eyes bright despite the exhaustion. “What? Just asking.”

“You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“It was one time.”

“It still happened.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And apparently irresistible.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but there is no real bite in it. You're too soft now, too loose in his lap, too wrapped around him to be convincing. Harry knows this version of you better than anyone, how after sex, the sharper edges melt from you. You become quiet, pliant, cuddly in a way you sometimes pretend not to be when you're fully dressed and fully awake and he can't deny that he loves it. He loves being the person you let have this, the person who gets the sleepy pout and the needy arms and the little grumbles that are really only requests to be held tighter. And so that's what he does. He pulls you closer, both arms around you now, one hand cradling the back of your head. “Come here, then. Don’t sulk.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“No, course not.”

“I’m emotionally recovering from bullying.”

“Bullying?” He kisses your temple. “I just made you very satisfied, and now I’m bullying you?”

“Yes.”

“Terrible night for you.”

“The worst.”

He smiles into your hair. “Oh my poor baby.”

That makes you go still for a second, then melt further into him, because he says it exactly the way you like: amused, affectionate, warm enough to undo any pretence of annoyance. He feels your body relax against his again, and his fingers slow over your back. For another minute, neither of you says anything, but then a thought seems to enter Harry’s mind and he opens one eye. “D’you think anyone heard us?”

You lift your head so fast he almost laughs before you even speak. “What?”

Harry’s eyebrows rise. “I mean, this room isn’t exactly built like a recording booth.”

Your eyes widen as the entire evening seems to replay across your face at once: the dressing room, the sofa, the mirror, the complete lack of concern for volume or location. The crew still moving outside, people packing equipment, people walking past that door.

“Oh my God.”

Harry presses his lips together, trying not to smile.

“Oh my God,” you repeat, now sitting back slightly in his lap, one hand flying to your mouth. “Harry.”

“What?”

“People are outside.”

“People are often outside rooms.”

“We were loud.”

He tilts his head. “Were we?”

“Don’t.”

“I’m only asking.”

“You know we were.”

His smile breaks free. “I might know.”

You groan and hide your face in your hands. “I can never leave this room.”

He laughs properly then, tired and warm, his hands sliding to your waist. “Love, we’re a couple. People know.”

“They don't need audio confirmation.”

“I think they may have had suspicions.”

“This isn't funny, H. It’s humiliating.”

“It’s human.”

You peek at him through your fingers. “That’s such a you answer.”

“It’s true.” He leans forward and kisses the nearest part of your wrist. “We’re adults. We’re together. We’re backstage after a show. It was only a matter of time before we were deeply unprofessional in a dressing room.”

You stare at him. “Deeply unprofessional?”

“Would you prefer moderately?”

“I would prefer not having this conversation while still sitting naked in your lap.”

Harry grins and nods at that. “Fair.”

He reaches up, gently pulling your hands away from your face. Your embarrassment is still there, bright across your cheeks, but he looks at you with such open fondness that it begins to dissolve despite your best efforts. “No one’s going to make it weird,” he says quietly. “And if they do, I’ll handle it.”

“You’ll handle it?”

“Mhm.”

“How?”

“By being charming and pretending I don’t know what they mean.”

“You’re very good at that.”

“Years of practice.”

You shake your head, but your mouth twitches. Harry sees it and looks far too proud. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs.

You try to roll your eyes, but he catches your face in both hands and kisses you before you can fully commit to it. The kiss is lazier now, tender and slow, almost sleepy. There is no urgency left in it, only affection and the last traces of heat, softened in a way that makes you want to curl up against him and never move again. His thumbs brush lightly along your cheeks, and when you part, he keeps his forehead near yours for a moment.

“Eventually, you shift carefully, lifting your hips just enough for him to slip free. The separation makes both of you breathe out at the same time, and Harry’s hands stay on you until you're steady on your feet. You cross the room to the vanity on slightly unsteady legs, deliberately avoiding your reflection for the first few seconds because you already know what you will look like: flushed, messy, thoroughly ruined, and definitely not ready to face possible witnesses in the hallway. You grab a few tissues from the box beside the mirror and clean yourself up as best you can. Behind you, Harry rises from the sofa with the quiet groan of a man who has performed a full concert and then made several questionable post-show choices. You catch his reflection as he bends to gather clothes from the floor, and despite everything, your smile returns, because he's still Harry. Naked, tired, hair a disaster, picking up your jeans with one hand and his abandoned stage shirt with the other, looking around the dressing room like he is trying to reconstruct a small crime scene.

“Found your dignity,” he says, holding up his shirt.

“That is yours.”

“Found my dignity, then.”

“You lost yours during the ass shaking.”

He looks over his shoulder at you. “You enjoyed the ass shaking.”

“That’s an insinuation I won't confirm.”

“Nothing to confirm about it, I have eyes.”

He brings your clothes over and helps you into your t-shirt first, pulling it gently over your head and smoothing it down once it falls around you. You let him do it without comment, because being cared for in small, practical ways is one of your favourite kinds of intimacy. He also hands you your underwear and jeans, politely turning his attention to finding his own clothes while you dress as if he hadn't just watched in a mirror how you rode him in a backstage dressing room. From another chair, he pulls on a clean t-shirt himself and a pair of soft shorts, the ones you call the slutty shorts, then sits briefly to get his shoes on while you do the same, still moving a little slowly.

Harry notices. “You good?”

You glance up. “Yes.”

“Need a minute?”

“I need a new identity before we go outside.”

He laughs under his breath and grabs your backpack before you can reach for it. “I’ll carry this.”

“I can carry my own bag, H.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you carrying it?”

“Because I want to.”

You look at him for a second, then let it go. “Fine.”

He smiles and slings the backpack over one shoulder, then opens the door and you immediately duck your head. Harry sees it and laughs softly, but he doesn't tease you this time. Instead, he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side as you step into the corridor together. The backstage hallway is calmer now, though not exactly empty. Crew members still move around with cases and cables, voices lower now that the show is over. Someone passes with a roll of tape around their wrist, somebody else carries a small stack of towels. Two people near the wall pause mid-conversation when you and Harry emerge, then very politely look anywhere else and your face burns.

“Stop smiling,” you mutter.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m happy.”

“You’re proud.”

“Also that.”

“Harry.”

“What? I’m walking. Very normal.”

“You look smug.”

“I’m naturally radiant after shows.”

A crew member walking past gives Harry a knowing little nod and he nods back like nothing in the world could possibly trouble him. You want the floor to open. He leans down, speaking near your ear as you continue towards the back exit. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“I’m never touching you backstage again.”

“That is a very dramatic lie.”

“It might be true.”

“It isn’t.”

You glance up at him, trying to glare, but he looks so pleased and soft and tired that you fail immediately. “Fine,” you say. “It isn’t.”

“Thank you for your honesty.”

“Shut up.”

“Gladly.” He says and kisses the side of your head as you walk.

Outside, the car is already waiting near the back doors, black and quiet, engine running. Harry opens the door for you, one hand still resting lightly at your back as you slide into the backseat. He follows, setting your backpack near his feet before buckling himself in. You buckle your seatbelt too, then immediately lean into the space he offers when he lifts his arm. No hesitation now, no teasing, just the two of you tucked together in the dark car, his arm around your shoulders, your cheek resting against his chest. He smells of his cologne and sweat and faintly of sex, but mostly just like Harry.

As the car pulls away from the arena, Amsterdam passes outside the window in quiet streaks of light: bridges, narrow streets, bicycles locked along railings, canals reflecting the city back in broken gold. The noise of the show feels far away now, even though it still lingers in your ears. Harry’s hand moves slowly up and down your arm, thumb tracing the same soothing path over and over.

“You really were something tonight,” you say after a while.

Harry looks down at you. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Very annoying.”

He laughs quietly. “That’s not usually a compliment.”

“It is from me.”

“I’ll take it then.”

You tilt your head back to look at him properly. His face is softer in the passing streetlights, the post-show brightness fading into sleepiness. “And very hot,” you add.

His smile spreads slowly. “Careful. We’re in a car.”

You hide your face against his chest. “Never mind.”

“No, no, continue.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Shame.”

“You’ve had enough praise tonight.”

“Oi, no kink shaming in here.”

You both fall into soft laughter, the kind that barely makes a sound, before Harry presses a kiss to your hair and lets his cheek rest there. “Happy?,” he murmurs.

You close your eyes, warm and tired and completely held. “Very.”

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

As a man who is in the mafia I tend to be very patient and very careful. 

We had met at one of my dinner events, you were working there at the bar. 

Walking around serving wine and alcohol at the bar. 

You had me hooked at the first glance. It was brief yet enough to get me to stop engaging with a very important conversation about a particular deal I was looking into. 

So I walked away and ordered a drink, what I thought was very smooth turned out to be you completely ignoring me until you wanted to. 

Once you were satisfied in making me wait, you got my order.

Along with my number on a napkin that night. 

That was five months ago. 

Dating five months we were in the honeymoon phase for so long. 

You know what I do, you honestly don’t have an issue with it. 

We usually never argue, we work very well together, we communicate in a healthy way, and we both trust each other enough that we don’t hardly get jealous or at least I try not to. 

I guess today was my crack in the glass moment. 

We had gone to your place for the day so you could pick up some things to bring back to my estate which was pretty close by. Up a couple hills sure but close. 

I have been to your place frequently. And every time I tried to advise you to move somewhere more safe, and to a place that wasn’t falling apart around you. 

And you just give me the same excuses every time. 

It’s either “There’s no places in the area that are available,” or the "I don't have a problem with it,” excuses. 

It's pissing me off now because all I want is for you to be in a safe area, and in an apartment where your cabinet doors aren’t falling off the seams, or your bathroom tiles aren’t falling down while you're showering. 

We had just arrived, me standing by the door as you walked ahead to grab a to go bag. I looked around as I closed the door behind me and sighed. 

I looked around as I usually did, looking at everything else that had been losing its grip against the walls. 

Once you returned with a bag you looked at me giving me the look. The one that says I know what you’re about to say but you're gonna say it anyway. 

“You know your ceiling has a bubble in it right?” I pointed above us to the bubble in the ceiling that was obviously due to rain. "That's not really normal, angel.” I continued tilting my head. 

“Harry. don’t start please.” You sighed as you moved to wipe down dust from your kitchen appliances on an old shelf that was about to snap off the nails. 

“You're unbelievable. This is really getting ridiculous." I shook my head dropping my hands at my sides with a small smack noise displaying my frustration. 

“I've lived here before I knew you. Why can’t you just accept that I have no problem with this apartment?” You argued, placing the bag down on your couch and folding your arms towards me. 

I sat down on the green couch and placed my hands on my knees running them down my silk black dress pants. 

“I know that you dealt with this before that. But I'm not okay with you sleeping in an apartment that has ceilings leaking while you’re sleeping under it and furniture falling apart around you.” I ran a hand over my face and looked at you softer. “All I want is for you to live somewhere safe and secure. Fuck angel - you can just move in with me.” I blurted. 

Okay well maybe that wasn’t really what I was intending to ask you. 

Especially right now I was actually going to ask you over a candlelit dinner. You know some wine, good pasta...

But this works too. 

“Are you crazy?” you asked back. Your eyes wide and body frozen like I just bent down on a knee and pulled out a ring box. 

“Well-“

“Shut up.” You cut me off, rolling your eyes and walking over to sit on the couch with me. 

Fine, okay. 

“Move in with you?” Eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape. 

“Yes. Why not? You're already bringing shit every weekend. You stay there five times a week. When was the last time you slept here?” I asked genuinely to prove my point further. 

“Like two weeks ago, but-“ 

“No.” I said facing you more on the couch. I grabbed your hands in my lap and looked over at your face. “Y’haven’t been here in two weeks and you’re only here to pick up clothes. You're basically living with me already. You see that right?” I asked straight forward. 

I saw your resolve weakening as you looked at me now. 

“If it’s about still having your own space you can move into the guest house I don’t fucking care. I won't even let you pay rent. You'd still be somewhere I know you’ll be safe and happy.” My hands were gripping yours not as if my body was screaming for you to just say yes already. 

“I’m not going to move into the guest house if I move in with you, Harry, that would defeat the purpose. It’s not about space … I just-“ you took a breath and met my eyes. “I’m just scared that it may be too early to officially move in. There's people who move in together when they get married or people who move in with them when they get engaged. What if we move in too early and it’s a mess..” You finally admitted what you were holding inside. 

I could see your point. Yet in the end all I could say was -

“I don't care about timing. I didn't know five months ago that I'd meet someone who I now love with my whole life so fast and out of nowhere. I also did not know that I'd fall for someone this hard in only five months. I thought I was going to be the single mafia idiot who blocks love out of his heart or marries into some random family for business. If timing is what you’re worried about then I say it’s not a fucking problem.” I ranted. I was out of breath as I finally stopped talking. 

I moved closed, grabbing your face in my hands. My thumbs moving over your chin affectionately. 

“Move in with me.” I said quietly. “Move in with me and we’ll worry about it all afterwards. please? I'd rather you be upset with me about this shit apartment than you having to stress about getting someone here to fix it." I sounded like I was begging at this point but maybe I was. 

There was just something I hated knowing how much you’d stress about trying to fix plumbing issues or repairs in the tiles in your shower. small things like that. I know I can give you whatever I can and I want you to understand that so yes I will beg you right now. 

“You can have whatever you want, wanna repaint? We can repaint everything in the house. You can get a dog, a cat, whatever. Please baby?” I asked once more and saw your lips twitch and a roll of your eyes. 

“Okay… fine. Yes, I will move in with you.” you said back with a fake annoyed pout but i can see you hiding a smile. 

“Really?” I smiled too. I learned in kissing you, pouring all my feelings into it showing how much it meant to me. 

I pulled away after a few seconds and looked at you again. “Yeah?”

You nodded back, finally smiling. “Yeah.” 

“Okay. Then it’s settled. Officially.” my hands moved to your waist pulling you close to me. 

“I’m moving into your big fucking house.” 

“Yes you are.” I chuckled at your words and hugged you tightly. 

“Let's get you out of here. As soon as possible.” I hummed, kissing your cheek. 

————————————————————————————

People filtered in. Around her, other interns clustered in small nervous groups. Some of them were already laughing too loudly. Some were scrolling on their phones. She could also see some of them pretending they weren’t anxious. She recognized the energy immediately because she was full of it too. It was ambition, but hidden behind politeness.

“Good morning, everyone!”

The HR coordinator clapped her hands gently, her heels clicking against the marble floor. “Welcome to Atlas Strategy & Communications. If you will follow me, we will head to the conference room.”

The interns entered the conference room. Y/N chose a seat near the middle of the long table, setting her notebook neatly down in front of her. As people continued walking in, she caught snippets of introductions. There were Ivy League names, business schools, marketing programs, international universities.

That was when he walked in. There was a quality about him. It felt as though he commanded every eye when he walked in. Tall and relaxed in his posture, he wore a navy blazer over a crisp white shirt. He scanned the room once before opting for a seat directly across from her. Their eyes met briefly, and Y/N was the first to look away.

“Alright. Let’s start with introductions. Name, university, and specialisation,” the coordinator said, smiling brightly.

It went around the table and when it reached her, she straightened slightly. She confidently gave her name, and the university she graduated from. “I finished my master’s in Communications and Digital Media. I focused on brand strategy and audience behavior research. It is an honour and a privilege to be here today,” she finished her introduction.

A few people gave him a polite nod before it was his turn to speak. He leaned back, looking completely at ease, and introduced himself with total confidence. That’s how Y/N found out his name was Harry Styles and that he was a fresh MBA grad in Marketing Analytics and Growth Strategy. He kept his introduction short and sweet, not wasting a single word.

She looked up again without really meaning to but this time he caught her. He just lifted an eyebrow, looking a little bit amused that she was staring. Caught red-handed, she looked away as fast as she could.

The rest of the session was just standard onboarding stuff like team setups and break times, the usual. She kept taking notes just out of habit, even though she knew most of it was already in the intern handbook. Then, finally, they got to the part everyone had actually been waiting for.

“Project groups. You’ll be working in pairs for the first month,” the coordinator announced.

As the coordinator pressed a key on her laptop, names appeared on the big screen. Y/N scanned the names quickly, only to find her name paired with… Harry. Her stomach did something that resembled butterflies. He looked up at the screen too, then back at her. A slow smile tugged at his mouth.

“Well... Looks like we’re coworkers,” he murmured once the room started buzzing again.

She tilted her head slightly. “Looks like it.”

He laughed under his breath. They were guided to a smaller breakout room with their assigned mentor. As they walked side by side, he glanced at her.

“So...You said communications, right?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Does that mean you will make my slides sound smarter than they actually are?”

She shot him a look. “I don’t do charity work.”

“Damn. I was counting on free labour.”

She rolled her eyes playfully as he chuckled.

The mentor finally laid out the project given to them. It was a market entry strategy for a tech client. It was the full works like data analysis, and audience research, including campaign positioning. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and dove straight into a serious discussion with her. She realized then that he was actually incredibly sharp, picking up on strategies instantly and offering his own insights. With their mentor heading back to her office, the two of them started divvying up the workload.

“I’ll handle competitor analysis and projections,” he said.

“Okay, then I’ll take audience mapping and messaging frameworks.”

He looked at her with a teasing smile, “You talk like a consultant already.”

She shrugged. “So do you.”

He grinned. “Okay. Fair enough.”

By lunchtime, they had already built a rough outline of the task they were given. After drafting the first plan, he stood and stretched slightly and then turned towards her.

“Do you want to get coffee before we get buried in these spreadsheets?” he asked.

She hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

They walked together down to the cafe across the street. The line was long and the noise inside the cafe was loud, different from the silence of their office.

“So, why Atlas?” he glanced at her, trying to make small talk.

She considered the question. “Hmm, well, I didn’t want to waste two years of grad school working somewhere that doesn’t actually build things, you know?”

He nodded slowly. “Same here. Also, the brand name looks good on my resume.”

She laughed despite herself. “At least you’re honest.”

They got their drinks and sat near the window. She noticed that there was a comfortable rhythm between them already. It was not forced or awkward, but easy and enjoyable. Which made her suspicious. When they returned to the office, their shoulders brushed briefly in the elevator. Though neither of them commented on it, it was clear that both of them noticed it. As the workday ended, she packed her bag slowly, already mentally preparing for the late nights ahead. Across the room, he looked up from his laptop.

“Tomorrow, we start destroying this project.”

She laughed. “Aren’t you a bit dramatic?”

“Dramatic? Me? Nah, I’d call it efficient,” he corrected.

She shook her head, walking towards the exit. For some reason, she had this strange feeling that this internship wasn’t going to be simple. And neither was he.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

By the end of the first month, Y/N and Harry had each other’s patterns down. They got to know one another through their routine of normal days and shared deadlines. That initial formality just kind of melted away the more they saw each other every morning. In the beginning, it was strictly business. Talking about project updates or file sharing, or sometimes an occasional comment during a brainstorm.

But then, one evening, she asked him for a hand with a messy data set she couldn't wrap her head around. The office was mostly empty since half the team had already headed home. Harry pulled his chair right up next to hers, and they sat shoulder to shoulder, scrolling through spreadsheets and tossing suggestions back and forth. Their ideas just clicked. When they finally cracked it, she couldn't help but let out a relieved laugh.

“You just saved me from rewriting this entire thing.”

“That’s my good deed for the day, you are welcome” he said lightly.

She laughed, “you're impossible.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It stayed that way for weeks, their small conversations layered on top of work. Their conversations started wandering everywhere, from office gossip and random interests to the deeper things like their fears and insecurities. They learned about each other in fragments. Different universities. Similar ambition. Different cities. Same restlessness.

Y/N started to see that Harry had the kind of discipline people really look up to. He was the guy who was always early, always ready, and never seemed to lose his cool. She was just as driven, but in a different way. She was focused and thorough, though pretty stubborn about doing things the right way, even when there was an easier shortcut staring her in the face. After the successful presentation of their first project, their mentor started pairing them together more often.

“You two complement each other, you push different strengths.” she said once.

As the weeks rolled by, the workload started piling up, and staying late became the new normal for them. The projects demanded it, and honestly, it felt a lot less draining when they were not the only ones left in the office. By the third month, the late nights were just part of their routine. Harry picked up on the way she would tap her pen against her notebook whenever she was deep in thought, and Y/N noticed that he would reread every single email at least three times before hitting send. They even started walking out of the building together most evenings.

In the beginning, it was just a coincidence, but eventually, it became a habit. Whenever tasks were being handed out, they were automatically paired up. And in the late hours, you’d always find them in the same spot, working side by side. By the fourth month, people around the office were starting to pick up on their dynamic.

Someone joked during lunch, “You two are basically inseparable.”

He laughed it off and she smiled politely. Neither of them denied it.

That was the month they landed their biggest project yet. It was a campaign proposal that would be reviewed directly by senior management. The pressure on them to do it well was heavy and it made the headlines tighter and the expectations higher. And it meant that they practically lived in the office now.

“You’ve been reading that same slide for the past fifteen minutes,” he said.

“Ughhh it just…” she muttered. “It refuses to sound right.”

He leaned over to look at her screen.

Their shoulders brushed again but neither moved away.

“Try cutting the first line. Go straight to the insight.”

She edited and reread it.

“…Okay. That’s better.”

“Ha! Told you.”

She glanced at him. “Don’t get used to being right.”

He smiled faintly and returned to his laptop. A few minutes later, her phone buzzed. Her mother’s name flashed on the screen.

She sighed and declined the call, and then typed something on her phone.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Just my mum, texted her that I'd call her back after getting home. My family thinks I’m being kidnapped by corporate life,” she rolled her eyes.

“Well, it’s a valid concern,” he shrugged.

She snorted.

It was almost ten and she felt her stomach growling loudly enough to embarrass her.

He looked up immediately. “You haven’t eaten, have you?”

“I had a protein bar earlier,” she said sheepishly.

“That doesn’t count.”

“There was chocolate involved. It absolutely counts.”

He shook his head, already standing. “Oh hell nah! Come on. There’s a place downstairs still open.”

“I just... I can’t afford another distraction.”

“You’ll work worse if you’re hungry.”

She hesitated and then closed her laptop, standing up and following him.

They ate sitting on the office steps outside, plastic containers balanced awkwardly on their laps. The city was full of traffic and there was music drifting from somewhere in the distance. There were people constantly passing by.

“This is nice,” she admitted.

“What? Eating burgers on concrete stairs?”

“No. Not being alone while doing this.”

He glanced at her. For a second, something passed between them that they both seemed to be aware of. There was something she couldn't quite name, a sort of pull that tethered her close to him like a magnet. And it felt like both of them understood what was happening but didn't know what to make of it or where to go from there. And then he broke it by stealing one of her fries.

“Heyyy.”

“You weren’t eating it.” He smiled playfully at her.

After finishing their meal, they went back upstairs and worked until almost midnight. When they finally packed up, she stretched her arms over her head, groaning. Her muscles were aching.

“I think my brain has melted.”

“Same. We should go before the rest of the people start coming in for their morning shifts.”

They walked toward the elevator together. The air was cooler outside.

She checked her phone. “Ughhhh…My bus left ten minutes ago.”

He paused. “I drove.”

She looked up. “You’re offering?”

“I’m not letting you walk alone at midnight.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

His car smelled nice. The ride was quiet at first. There was this comfortable silence, it was not at all awkward.

“Are you always this intense about work?” she asked eventually.

He kept his eyes on the road. “I don’t like being average.”

She considered that.

“Well, I don’t think you are,” she said simply.

He glanced at her, surprised.

They reached her building too soon. She unbuckled the seatbelt slowly. “Thanks again. For today. And the food.”

“Anytime.”

She paused before opening the door and looked into his eyes. “We make a good team, don't we?”

He nodded. “Yeah. We do.”

She went inside her apartment with a strange warmth in her chest.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It quickly became their thing, ordering burgers after late nights. During these breaks they would talk about anything and everything. She would tell him about her family. He would tell her about the pressure he felt to always perform and be good at everything he does. They would share vulnerabilities inbunfinished thoughts. During those days, honesty would slip through their exhaustion, bonding them closer.

She didn’t hesitate anymore before pulling her chair closer to his desk. He didn’t ask permission before stealing her charger when his laptop died. The following weeks followed the same rhythm. The dynamic between them had changed. There were now shared playlists and inside jokes about work. Even the car rides home became routine.

When the presentation day came, they stood side by side in front of a room full of people who controlled their future. She spoke first and he followed seamlessly.Their timing was perfect, their transitions smooth. They barely needed to look at each other, they completed each other's sentences, making the presentation successful. When it ended, the room erupted into polite applause. Their mentor beamed at them.

“Excellent work, both of you”

Relief washed through her so strongly her hands shook.

He leaned toward her slightly. “We did it.”

She nodded, smiling. “Yeah. We did.”

He leaned toward her slightly. “Told you we’d destroy it.”

She smiled back. “You were dramatic, but correct.”

They celebrated with takeout and coffee again that night. It was a small victory, but it meant everything to them.

“You ever think about what happens after this?” she asked suddenly.

“You mean the internship?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He shrugged. “I want to stay here. Permanently.”

“Same.”

Their eyes met.

Later, as they packed up, he hesitated.

“Listen,” he said, quieter than usual. “The internship ends in two months.”

Her chest tightened slightly. “Yeah.”

“I just…” he stopped, then shook his head. “Never mind.”

She waited, but he didn’t continue. She didn’t push him for answers either. But as she walked home alone that night, for the first time since they’d started working together, she felt this weight of something left unsaid.

By the fifth month, the internship didn’t really feel temporary anymore. Rather, it felt like a life they were living together. They were completely in sync with each other’s schedules, moods, and energy. She knew he was stressed just by the way his jaw would tighten, and he could tell she was overwhelmed the second she got too quiet. He started dropping off coffee at her desk without even asking, and she would make sure to snag him snacks from meetings. They even had each other's backs in group discussions, keeping it subtle. Behind all that professional behavior was this deep connection they both knew was there, even if they weren't ready to admit it.

The final month of the internship hit a bit differently. Suddenly, all the breakroom talk turned into a countdown, with everyone obsessing over who would get a job offer and who would be packing up. One evening, she caught him just staring out the office window instead of at his screen.

“Hey. You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said automatically.

Then hesitated.

“I just… don’t want this to end.”

Her chest tightened.

“Me neither.”

They didn’t elaborate.

From that day on, the atmosphere between them shifted. Their conversations stretched out longer than before, their glances lingered just a second too much, and even their silences started to carry a new kind of weight. During that final week, they stayed late every single night. It was not because the work demanded it, but because neither of them actually wanted to leave.

On the last Friday of the internship, the office put together a little lunch for everyone. There were speeches and photos, and people exchanged those slightly awkward hugs while wishing each other luck. Y/N stood by the window, watching her coworkers swap contact info, suddenly hit by the realisation of how temporary it all really was.

He walked up beside her.

“Six months,” he said, “Feels longer.”

“Feels shorter,” she replied.

They smiled at each other.

That evening, as they walked out of the building together one last time as interns, neither of them said goodbye.

What they didn’t know yet was that this was the end of one version of them and the start of another.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The farewell party on their last day at the office was louder than she expected it to be. Someone had booked the rooftop bar across the street from the office. Fairy lights hung loosely from metal railings, music thumped softly in the background, and everyone seemed a little too emotional. Y/N arrived late, nerves buzzing in her chest.

Harry was already there. She spotted him immediately. He was laughing with two team members, drink in hand, jacket off, sleeves of his white shirt rolled up again.

He looked relaxed and when he saw her, his eyes softened, and a dimply smile grazed his lips.

“You made it,” he said when she reached him.

“Barely. I almost talked myself into staying home.”

“Glad you didn’t.”

They stood side by side as people kept coming up to congratulate them on the campaign. It had reached the point where their names were being mentioned together more often than they were separately. Eventually, as the music surged and the crowd shifted around them, he leaned in closer.

“I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” She asked

“Um…I…I got the offer,” he said quietly.

Her heart jumped. “You did?”

“Yeah. Full-time. Strategy associate.”

“That’s amazing,” she said immediately, genuinely happy for him.

He hesitated. “Have you heard anything yet?”

She shook her head. “No, not yet.”

He nodded slowly. “They would be stupid not to hire you.”

She smiled faintly. “Tell HR that.”

They stayed longer at the party than planned.

Drinks turned into desserts, as their conversations turned into softer laughter. Their shoulders brushed more often than necessary. When it was time to leave, the air between them felt heavy with unsaid things.

He held his keys up automatically. “I’ll drop you.”

She didn’t argue. The drive was quieter than usual. One final time before they part ways. When they reached her building, neither of them moved to open their doors.

“So,” she said softly. “This is it.”

“Yeah.”

“You start your real job on Monday.”

“And you’ll probably get your email soon.”

“Probably.”

They sat there, looking at each other.

Weeks of late nights, shared stress, inside jokes, and unnamed moments... All of it pressed between them now.

He spoke first. “I don’t want tonight to end like it meant nothing.”

Her chest tightened. “It didn’t mean nothing.”

He reached out slowly, hesitantly, giving her space to pull away. But she didn’t.

When their lips met, it was soft at first. He was careful.Then it became deeper, and heavier, like they had been holding back for too long; they were.

She laughed quietly against his mouth. “We probably shouldn’t.”

“I know.”

But neither of them stopped. And that was how they ended up at her place. Everything after felt blurred and warm and intense, hands, whispers, nervous laughter, and behind it all, the weight of knowing it was temporary.

They stumbled into her living room a mess of limbs. As soon as she closed the door, she was pinned onto it, his lips nailing her to it with soft kisses and nips. She pulled him away from her neck before pressing her lips to his again, one hand on his jaw and another one his throat. He moans at the sudden shift, before responding with the same passion and intensity. “Where's your bedroom?”, he asked in between kisses.

“Just down the hall”, she whispered.

Harry immediately scooped her up into his arms, and her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The light flickered shadows across the walls as he carried her to her bedroom, kicking the bedroom door open with his boot. He threw her onto the mattress with a grin, already crawling over her while loosening his tie with one hand.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this" he murmured huskily before crashing his lips back onto hers, teeth nipping at her bottom lip."Been imagining this every night since I met you." The confession slipped out between heated kisses as his hands roamed her body, tracing the curves and contours.

“The feeling is mutual,” she said, looking at him with a glint in her eyes.

His breath hitched sharply at her words, his green eyes darkening with something feral as he pulled back just enough to study her face. His thumb brushed over her lips.

His hands gently moved down her body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He let his fingers linger over her skin, trailing a path from her ribs to her stomach and back up. He kissed just below her ear, leaving a love bite on the sensitive skin, "I'll show you tonight just how much I've been wanting you, just how long I've been aching to touch you.”

She pulled him down and pecked him again in response as he tugged at her clothes, impatient to get her out of them. They undressed each other slowly, taking one another in with awe, the shyness and awkwardness of a first time lingering just long enough before desire took over them both.

His lips found her neck again and his hands roamed over her torso, tracing every dip and curve in her body like an addictive habit. He paused for a moment to admire the sight, drinking in her form.

"Perfect," he murmured against her jaw, her teeth grazing against her cheek."So perfect for me. You have no idea what you do to me, darling.”

Y/N was far too gone to say anything back. His voice carried an intense hunger that made her feel chosen, cherished, and wanted.

“Please,” she whimpered.

The desperation in her voice sent a shudder through him, his hands tightening on her hips as he pressed her deeper into the mattress, "Tell me what you want. Say it and it's yours. Always yours."

His fingers dug into her skin as he rocked against her, letting her feel exactly how much he wanted her. "Need to hear you say it, darling. Need to know I'm not the only one who's been fucking aching for this.”

“Want you inside me,” she said, her eyes hooded with desire.

A groan escaped his mouth, his hands flying to grip her hips. He pumped his hard cock a few times before lining it up with her entrance, pushing the head in slowly. He then leaned down to kiss her while slowly pushing the rest of his length in, swallowing the moans she let out.

“Fuck….Been dreaming about this, about how fucking tight you'd feel around me,” he groans as she mewls in pleasure.

"Christ…" his voice broke as he stills, hips trembling with restraint. "Even better than I imagined. Perfect for me." His hands cradled her face as he started to move, slow and deep, watching every flicker of pleasure cross her face. "All mine now, yeah? Say it.”

“All…yours” she whimpered, rolling her hips to meet his thrusts.

When they finally lay beside each other, trying to catch their breaths, the room was quiet. He held her close, staring at the ceiling.

“I’m leaving early tomorrow,” he said softly. “I have onboarding paperwork.”

“Okay.”

“I didn’t plan this,” he added. “But I don’t regret it.”

She turned toward him. “Me neither.”

But still, sadness settled between them.

Morning felt too bright. He dressed quietly as she sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on her sweater.

Before walking out the door, he stilled for a moment, and turned to look at her.

“This doesn’t have to be goodbye,” he said uncertainly.

She smiled sadly. “It kind of does. Different lives now.”

He nodded, jaw tight, and then he left. After he was gone, Y/N stared at the door for a long time.

Later that afternoon, her phone buzzed. She unlocked the screen only to find an email. Y/N froze. Her heart stopped.

Subject: Offer Letter – Strategy Associate Position

She opened the mail with trembling hands. They had hired her too! She was to start the next week.

Same department. Same floor.

She laughed out loud in disbelief. She wanted to call Harry and let him know, but she decided against it, wanting it to be a surprise.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Monday came too fast.

She wore her best blazer. Her nerves were buzzing again, but it felt a bit different this time. When she stepped out from the elevator onto the floor of the office, she saw him immediately. He was standing near the coffee machine, talking to a senior associate. Then he turned and his expression froze.

“…What are you doing here?” he asked quietly when she approached.

She smiled, “I got the offer too.”

He blinked. “You’re serious?”

“ Yes.”

He stared at her, processing.

“Well,” he said finally, smiling at her,

“Looks like we’re coworkers again.”

Something that felt a lot like butterflies swarmed in her belly.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

After seeing him again in the office, Y/N felt like Harry had become someone else. Not entirely different , no. He was not exactly cold. It felt like he was more polished and everything.

At nine-thirty, he stepped into the office wearing a tailored blazer instead of his usual rolled-up sleeves. His hair was perfectly styled, and he carried himself with a new, rigid kind of confidence. When he spoke during meetings, his sentences were slow and deliberate, effortlessly commanding the attention of the entire room.

She noticed every single detail. He was still sitting near her and still collaborating on the same projects. But everything had shifted. He didn’t lean in to whisper comments during presentations anymore, and he stopped those absentminded brushes against her arm when they swapped files. The way he looked at her had changed, too. That specific warmth in his eyes that used to make those long nights feel manageable, had been replaced by a polite, polished professionalism.

They did not talk about that night at her apartment either. It shouldn’t have mattered, they had never labeled anything. But still, the absence of his friendship felt weird.

The next evening, when they packed up together out of habit, he cleared his throat.

“I’ll drop you,” he said, already grabbing his keys.

Her heart lifted instinctively. “You don’t have to.”

“I know. I want to.”

She smiled to herself.

The drive felt familiar again, the hum of the engine, and the soft music. The city lights slipped past the windows as she looked out. For a while, neither of them spoke.

“You’ve been… different,” she said finally.

He kept his eyes on the road. “Different how?”

“I don't know. More… corporate?”

He smiled faintly. “Is that a crime now?”

“No um…I just… it's just an observation.”

They stopped outside her building, and it felt like the night after the farewell party all over again. It was heavy with unspoken things. He turned to face her fully.

“About that night... I don’t want it to make things weird between us.”

Her chest tightened. “It already kind of has.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It's just that... We work at the same place now. People notice things. I can’t afford rumors this early in my career.”

There it was.

“So… what are you saying?” she asked softly.

“I’m saying we should keep whatever this is… separate from work, you know? Casual. No complications.”

She searched his face.

“Friends with benefits,” she said. It was not a question, she was trying to understand what he wanted.

He hesitated for half a second before nodding. “If you want to put a label on it.”

It stung. Of course it did. How could it not, when the things he said that night were anything but cold? His words had wrapped around her, warm and intoxicating, making her feel seen, wanted, and unforgettable. She told herself it made sense. They were young and ambitious. Newly hired. Maybe this was maturity. Looking out for the future was important. Maybe they both would soon realise that they want to be together.

“Okay, fine. But no pretending we don’t exist at all.”

He relaxed slightly. “Of course not.”

That night, he kissed her in the car. The kiss was slow, and familiar. It was gentle enough to blur her doubts. So she left it at that.

They started seeing each other again. He still dropped her off most nights, though he had started parking further away from the building entrance than before. Sometimes they would just sit in the car way longer than they needed to, venting about work, talking through their career goals, or admitting their fears about failing. Other times, they didn't say a word. They just kissed until the windows fogged up and everything outside that car vanished.

The hookups became a routine. He was exactly what she needed, but only ever in the shadows. He was hers behind closed doors, in the one space where she was allowed to matter to him. In private, he knew exactly how to hold her together.

Back at the office, he stayed careful. That version of him was serious and completely in control. Whenever their coworkers teased them about how well they worked together, he’d just laugh it off and effortlessly change the subject.

“She’s just competitive, you know? She keeps me on my toes” he would say casually.

It sounded harmless. But it slowly rewrote the way others saw her. In their view, she became “intense.”

Someone useful, who gets the work done.

She didn’t realise how much it hurt until one afternoon when she overheard two coworkers joking about them near the coffee machine.

“He’s definitely management material.”

“Yeah, and she’s like the work wife without the actual benefits.”

They laughed. She stood there holding her cup, forcing a smile onto her face when they noticed her. That night, when he showed up at her apartment, she didn’t open the door immediately.

“You okay?” he asked when she finally did.

“Yeah,” she lied. He didn't push her, but he kissed her like he meant it and that was that.

Weeks passed like that. She began waiting for his texts more than she wanted to admit.

He began cancelling occasionally. Apparently , there were now important meetings and networking dinners. He had a big list of reasons why he could not make it.

Every time, he promised to make it up to her, and usually, he did. Until the Friday of the partner firm visit. The office buzzed with excitement all day. The visiting team was important . They were potential long-term collaborators. She and him had been chosen to present again. They worked perfectly together. On stage, they were seamless. Their work was efficient and excellent, like always. After the presentation, people congratulated them both.

Someone joked, “You two should be the company’s power duo.”

He laughed politely. “We just work well together.”

Again, there was not even a glance in her direction. The after-party started on the rooftop again. And there was music, and drinks.

Y/N wore a deep green dress, not for him, not for anyone. She just wanted to feel good in her own skin. Harry arrived later, surrounded almost immediately by senior associates and visiting managers. She watched him from across the space. He was in his element, she could see the easy confidence and his practiced charm. He was wearing the version of him that belonged to rooms like this. She could see his growth, from an intern to someone who commanded the attention of the audience. She felt suddenly small.

Later, she stepped away toward the quieter corner near the railing, trying to escape the noise. That was when she heard him.

She knew it was him because she recognised his voice before she saw him.

“…you’re always together at work, you and Y/N.” Josh from the other department teased.

“Yeah, people keep shipping you two,” Rita, their colleague, laughed.

He chuckled softly.

“Come on, guys. She’s just intense about projects. Good teammate. That’s it.” he shrugged.

“Not your type?”

He paused long enough to make her chest tighten.

“She’s not… what I’d go public with,” he said finally, half-joking. “Let’s put it that way.”

The words hit harder than shouting ever could. That single sentence shattered everything she had been pretending not to see. She didn’t wait to hear the rest. She walked past them without being noticed and left.

That night, he texted her.

Where did you go? Are you alright?

She stared at the screen. She didn't answer; she couldn't. Her eyes filled with unshed tears.

An hour later:

Did I do something?

She turned her phone off. She had never left him on delivered, always choosing him first.

The next morning, he knocked on her door. She stayed silent inside, pretending she wasn't home.

On Monday at work, he tried to act normal.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said when he saw her near the elevator.

“I’ve been busy,” she replied flatly.

“You’re lying.”

She finally looked right into his eyes.

“Oh, and you're the one that decides it now?”

His expression changed to confusion. Before he could respond, someone called his name. He turned away. And she realised something painful and important at the same time:

He cared more about being seen than about being honest.

That night, he texted her again.

Come over.

She typed back slowly.

No.

It was the first time she had ever refused him. And it unsettled him more than he expected.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The first time she went home without him, he barely registered it as a loss.

It was a Wednesday. It was so busy that it blurred into every other workday. They had wrapped up late again, both tired and quieter than usual. He packed his bag slowly, responding to one last email, already assuming that she would be waiting near his desk like she usually did.

But when he finally stood up and looked around, her chair was empty. He spotted her near the elevators, sliding her phone into her bag.

“Where are you…” he started.

“I’m heading out,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

“Already?” he asked, surprised.

She nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got something to take care of.”

“Alright. See you tomorrow.”

She didn’t wait for him. The elevator doors closed before he could even process it. He told himself it meant nothing. People had lives outside work. They have responsibilities, friends, family. She didn’t owe him her evenings. He had been the one who insisted on boundaries, on caution, on not being obvious. This was just her respecting that.

Still, when he drove home alone that night, the passenger seat felt strangely loud in its emptiness.

The next few days passed differently than usual.

Harry and Y/N were assigned separate projects that week. They were on different teams. Different deadlines and different meeting rooms this time. He didn’t see her as often. But their desks were close enough that he could catch glimpses of her profile when she focused on her screen, brows slightly furrowed, fingers moving fast over the keyboard. She didn’t look at him. There were no lingering glances or shared jokes anymore. There were no smiles when meetings dragged on too long.

By Friday evening, he realized something that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. He hadn’t touched her in almost a week. That night, sitting alone on his couch, he unlocked his phone and typed without thinking.

Come over.

He stared at the message.

Waited.

Ten minutes passed.Ten became fifteen. Twenty.

Finally:

I can’t.

He got no explanation or apology from her. All she allowed him were just two words that started back at him from his screen. He frowned. The irritation surprised him. She had never turned him down before. Not once. Not when he texted late. Not when he cancelled plans and rescheduled at inconvenient hours. Not when he treated their arrangement like something that fit around his life.

Y/N was probably busy, harry said to himself.

Still, he couldn’t sleep easily that night. Saturday passed quietly. No message from her. Sunday too. On Monday morning, he walked into the office already scanning the room for her without realizing he was doing it.

She arrived ten minutes later.

“Hey,” he said automatically.

“Hey,” she replied politely. Too politely. The familiarity and softness she had reserved for him was gone. Now, her voice only contained professional politeness.

“You free tonight?” he asked casually, leaning against the edge of her desk.

She didn’t even pause. “No.”

He blinked. “No as in…”

“No as in no.”

Her tone was sharp. It contained a finalty that held no room for questions.

He laughed lightly, forcing ease into his voice. “You’ve been busy lately.”

“Yeah,” she said, eyes already back on her screen.

He stood there for a moment longer than necessary, then walked away but the discomfort began to settle in his chest. It was neither jealousy nor heartbreak but something worse.

He could feel the loss of control, the way she started slipping farther and farther away from his hold. He started noticing things he had never paid attention to before. How she packed up exactly at six-thirty now, every evening, no matter what. How she avoided staying late unless absolutely necessary. How she never waited near his desk anymore. How she didn’t look at him when they passed in the hallway.

The next evening, he made a decision. He finished his work early on purpose and closed his laptop. Grabbing his keys, he waited for her, near the elevator. He pretended to scroll through his phone while looking for her from the corner of his eye. When she finally stood up, slung her bag over her shoulder, and walked straight toward the exit without even glancing his way, he felt hurt. With long strides, he caught up with her in no time.

“You’re not riding with me anymore?” he asked.

She stopped.

Turned slowly.

“No.”

She wasn't defensive or angry. She just said it like a casual matter. Somehow, Harry felt like that hurt more.

“You always used to,” he said quietly.

She gave a small shrug. “People change.”

Then she walked away. He stood there longer than necessary, watching her disappear into the parking lot. That night, he tried texting her again.

Can I come over? I miss you.

The message stayed on read. There was no reply. He stared at his screen, waiting for a reply from her. It was the first time that Harry was left on seen.

The next afternoon, he confronted her again near the elevator.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said.

She didn’t say anything.

“I’m protecting my peace.”

“Protecting your peace. Since when did I threaten that?” he scoffed.

She looked at him then and he saw a fire in her eyes. Was it disappointment, maybe? It bothered him more than he cared to admit.

She did not even dignify it with a response. Before he could ask her more questions, someone called his name from across the floor, making him turn away. When he looked back, she was already walking away.

Friday arrived heavy with rain-soaked air and overcast skies. Y/N and Harry were working late again.The office slowly emptied, the lights were dimmed.

He finished early and looked over at her. She was still typing away on her computer. He decided to wait for her. This time, he watched carefully as she packed up. After getting all her stuff together, she walked past him, without even sparing him a glance. She didn’t even hesitate. Something in him snapped. He wanted to know what this was about. He couldn’t let her slip away without so much as an answer. So he grabbed his keys and followed her outside. It had started to drizzle. She was already halfway down the sidewalk by the time he got out of the office. She walked alone in the drizzle, holding her bag close so it wouldn’t get wet. Her head was slightly lowered. Streetlights reflected off damp pavement, casting soft golden light around her. She looked small and vulnerable.

“Y/N, wait,” he called.

She didn’t stop.

He jogged forward, stepping into her path gently.

“Hey. I’ll give you a ride, don’t worry about it.” He lifted his keys from his pocket. “I’m not going to let you walk.”

A moment of silence passed as she closed her eyes, letting her head fall back. He had no idea what it was doing to her – what it took to keep herself in check.

“I have to worry about it. You know we shouldn’t be seen together.” Her words were weaker than she wanted them to be but she could see the flash of hurt on his face.

Didn’t he know this was for his benefit, too?

Silence stretched between them.

Cars passed. Rainwater dripped from nearby trees.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you’re the one who made that rule, aren't you? You were very clear about not wanting to be seen with me.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly.

“Then what did you mean?” she asked, finally meeting his eyes.

He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

She let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, frustration rising. “You disappeared without saying anything. You stopped talking to me. You keep pushing me away. What’s your issue?”

Her hands tightened around the strap of her bag.

“My issue?” she repeated slowly, turning to look at him, her expression incredulous.

She stepped closer. She stood close enough that he could see the exhaustion under her eyes.

“I heard you,” she said.

His stomach dropped.

“Heard me… what?”

“At the party,” she said.

“When you laughed about me. When you reduced me to a teammate. A convenience.”

His face drained of color.

“That’s not…”

“You said I was intense. That I wasn’t your type. That I wasn’t someone you’d publicly go with,” she continued, voice shaking slightly now.

“And then you came to my place that same night like I was still good enough in private.”

He swallowed hard.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But you meant it enough to say it,” she snapped softly. “You meant it enough to protect your image instead of my dignity.”

She stepped back, creating space.

“I stopped riding with you because I got tired of pretending I was okay being hidden. I stopped sleeping with you because I realised I was giving you everything while you gave me convenience.”

His voice dropped. “You could’ve talked to me.”

“And you could’ve respected me. But you didn’t,” she shot back.

Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she blinked rapidly, refusing to cry in front of him.

“I didn’t walk away because I stopped caring. I walked away because I finally started caring about myself.”

The streetlight flickered above them. He stood frozen. For once, he had no argument ready. For someone who thrived on commanding all the attention with his words, he had no defense prepared this time.

She stepped around him, walking into the darkness. And this time, when Y/N walked away, she didn’t slow down. She didn't hesitate, or look back.

Harry remained standing on the sidewalk long after she disappeared from view, chest tight, throat burning, finally understanding what he had done. The rain poured down, and he sat on the sidewalk, unmoving, letting it drench him completely.

⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐⋆⭒˚.⋆

Thank you for reading, lovelies! Feedback is appreciated. If you wanna be added to the taglist, please lmk. And if you have any requests, feel free to send them in!

Love, E ❤️

“So… do you do this a lot?”

“What do you mean?” You took a sip of your wine, trying to sate the erratic nerves jumping within the walls of your body. Not even a few drinks before you arrived to your date could save you. 

“Go on Tinder dates.” 

Harry, the man who effortlessly charmed you when your friends encouraged you to swipe right on him seemed as relaxed as ever. He had this calm and sensual aura about him that existed through every little thing he did. His smile, the way he thanked the waitress, the way he greeted you with a kiss on the cheek and guided you to the table with a hand on the small of your back. Everything. 

It was all a little too charming for your first date back in the game. Part of you even wished it would be a disaster. Then you reminded yourself that there had to be a first date. That you had to reclaim your desirability and get back into the dating scene to find yourself again. It had been three months after all, nearly four since your marriage blew up in your face and everything about your life changed. 

You felt like you were ready. Or at least willing to give it a crack.

“You seem a little nervous, that’s why I ask. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Harry spoke up again when you didn’t answer right away. 

“You didn’t offend me,” you assured, blushing at the way you got so caught up in the attraction of him, “but is it really that obvious?” You shook your head, laughing softly like the idea of actually being on a date was unfathomable. It was. To you anyway; especially given the fact that the man sitting in front of you wasn’t your husband. “This is my first date in… a while.”

“It’s not obvious.” Harry laughed softly, running his hand through his hair. “But it’s okay to be nervous. I’m nervous too.”

“You are?” Your eyes widened, “it’s not because I’m married, is it? Because I put it in my profile and-”

“It’s not because you’re married,” He assured, interrupting your clear panic. He found it quite adorable actually. “It’s because I like you and I think you’re beautiful. I wouldn’t be here if I thought otherwise.”

Oh. 

Harry didn’t want to overstep. He had only been chatting with you for a week before meeting in person, but he already liked you, at least from the few bits of information he learnt about you. And you were quite pretty, insanely pretty actually. Harry thought you were attractive from your profile, but seeing you in person only solidified that. It would take some serious differences between you two for him to not want to pursue things.

But this was a first date afterall and he wasn’t going to put pressure on something so fresh. You were clear before even meeting him that you weren’t looking for anything serious and Harry was happy with that. Whatever the outcome of this date, he at least wanted to make sure you had a good time. Even if it meant you two never saw each other again.

“Oh.” You felt your heart hammering in your chest at the compliment. Even his eye contact was making you a jittery mess. Harry made you nervous. Giddy even and you had barely known the man a week. “Thank you.”

Carson still complimented you, even still said he loved you, but nothing really felt the same after he wanted to open your marriage. It was like a wrecking ball to your life. Your heart broke instantly and your self esteem took the biggest hit you had ever experienced. Your own fucking husband asking to open your marriage after nearly three years of being married, six of being in a relationship. How were you supposed to take it?

He gave you those same reasons many guys give when they want to open a relationship; that you just didn’t fulfill his needs sexually anymore and that he needed more to be satisfied. You tried to explain that you’d be willing to explore his fantasies if he just communicated them, especially since he had been the one leading a very vanilla (but good) sex life since you two got married, but he didn’t like that idea. 

You came to the conclusion there was someone else. Carson denied it and told you he still loved you, but you couldn’t ignore the gut feeling that this was all some fucked up coverup to excuse cheating. So you said no. Safe to say that didn’t work out because a divorce ultimatum and three months later and you were here, trying to reap the benefits from an open relationship you were too reluctant to explore. 

Carson of course was happy to follow the rules you two set and be out nearly every damn night with someone, but you could never bring yourself to do it. You were still hung up on the hurt and pure embarassment you felt being forced to open a marriage you thought was happy. In the end you realised that you deserved the pleasure Carson was getting from someone else. You deserve to be desired and taken out on dates. It didn’t seem fair that only one person was benefitting.

“You’re welcome, love.” Harry smiled, “let’s just not put any pressure on it, okay? No expectations or anything. We’ll just get to know each other and see where the night takes us.”

You liked the sound of that. You liked the sound of him calling you ‘love’ even more. 

“Okay,” you nodded, “I like the idea of that.”

“Good.” Harry raised his wine glass in a toast and you couldn’t help but feel a little mesmerised by the sight of his ringed fingers wrapped around the glass. Shaking yourself out of it, you raised yours as well. “To us.” He offered.

“To us.”

The date with Harry went far better than you ever could’ve expected. He was sweet and charming and all the things that drew you to him via text were even better in person. You two had far more in common than you realised and even the things you didn’t only added so much interest to the conversation. He made you laugh harder than you had for months and was the perfect gentleman all night. 

You two didn’t sleep together, not that you went into this date wanting to sleep with him anyway because you weren’t really sure what to expect, but you came out of it hoping he’d offer to walk you up to your hotel door and maybe continue walking you right to your bed. Harry didn’t do that of course and instead offered you a kiss on your cheek and an invitation for dinner again next week, but that only made you want him more.

Leading up to the date was so overstimulating and so much all at once that you decided to book a room at the hotel in the same complex as your dinner (which he so kindly paid for), just so you’d have time in a clean environment to process your thoughts afterwards. 

Carson was out with his girlfriend April tonight, as that’s what she was to him now, so he wouldn’t be home anyway. But you didn’t want to be getting ready in your own room near the bed you and your husband shared, only to return to it after a date that could’ve been terrible. You wanted something just for you so no matter the outcome and no matter how you felt about it, you had somewhere free from any memories relating to your marriage.

When Harry offered the second date, you told him you’d think about it. He understood, took it like a great guy (the bare minimum, yes, but you were also expecting him to be too good to be true) then waited until you were in the closing doors of the elevator to say goodnight. It didn’t take long after you were clean and in the comfort of a fresh Carson-free bed that you texted Harry to let him know how much you enjoyed the date and that you would like to join him for dinner next week.

He was nice and handsome and you had a really good time with him. The thought of seeing him again made you giddy and you wanted to hang onto that feeling.

Harry: I’m glad it didn’t take you too long to think about it. I had a wonderful night. X

You were practically giggling as you read the text, feeling like a little girl dating a cute guy she liked for the very first time. It was exhilarating. Only one date in and you already understood the appeal Carson was talking about, as much as you wanted to disagree with him.

You: I’m glad. Goodnight Harry x

Harry: Goodnight, love. Sleep well x

//

“So what did you get up to last night?” Carson asked, “you have a nice night away?”

“I went on a date, actually.” Your back was facing towards him as you unpacked your overnight bag. Even though you couldn’t see him, you could practically feel the surprise radiating off him.

“Oh, really? With who?” Carson walked around until he was in your eyeline. He was trying not to act surprised, but you could see it even better with him in front of you that he was. His tone didn’t come off judgemental though and if it did you’d have a few things you could throw back at him. He couldn’t really say anything when you had remained silent on all his flings and relationships. 

“His name’s Harry. I met him on tinder.” You shrugged, being honest but trying not to appear too excited about the whole thing. Carson didn’t need to know you thought about Harry before you went to sleep, or that you spent a good half an hour on the phone with your friends squealing about your date with him.

“That’s great.” Carson’s reply seemed genuine and he held that kind smile that you fell in love with. “How was it? Did he treat you right?”

“It was really good, actually,” you paused your unpacking and looked at your husband, seeing the kindness in his eyes as he listened attentively to what you were saying. You wished he’d look like that all the time. “He was the perfect gentleman and we’re going on another date next week.”

“He must’ve really liked you then,” he teased. 

Carson was just joking and being quite civil about the entire thing, but you still felt that churning in your stomach. It would never feel normal talking about a date with someone else, even if it was your date instead of his now. 

“I guess so. It was only one date though.”

“Did you sleep together?” Then came the dreaded question. 

You both agreed that you had to disclose when you slept with another person and a condom always had to be used. No details had to be shared and it was preferred that there weren’t any, but for your own health and safety, you had to share it with each other. It only really mattered when you two were having sex with each other, which, with work and Carson’s busy schedule with other people, only happened once a month if that on your scheduled weekend together. 

Opening the marriage seemed to completely eradicate that part of your relationship and while you were unsatisfied, you couldn’t really find it in yourself to try and change that. Not with Carson at least. 

“No. You know I’d tell you if we did.” You didn’t really want to talk about it anymore, not when this conversation was ruining your once-happy mood.

“I know,” Carson replied softly, moving forward to place his hands on your hips. “I love you, you know that. I hope you find some joy in Harry, or whoever. Whatever makes you happy, y/n. That’s all I want for you.”

That felt like the biggest load of shit ever but you chose not to say that.

So you smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to remember when you used to do it and not feel a sense of dread. “I love you too.”

//

You went on a few dates with Harry. You tried to plan things around when Carson was busy so you wouldn’t be stuck at home thinking about what he was doing and that seemed to do the trick because you hadn’t thought about him once on any of the dates you had with Harry. 

Things had progressed to a goodbye kiss then a hello kiss when you decided to be a little brave and greet him with one when he picked you up one Saturday morning. And God Harry just knew how to kiss. Even a peck was delicious. His mouth was so soft and sweet and the way he held your face or your waist while kissing you made your entire body light on fire. The more time you spent with him, the more desperate you were becoming to sleep with him.

But Harry was such a gentleman. You didn’t want anything serious and he knew that and yet he hadn’t made the first move. Kissing you was as far as he got and when things started to get a little heated when you two said goodbye, it would always end far too prematurely for your liking. 

In your head, a lot of men just wanted to have sex and most of the time did anything and everything to get there before moving on once their post-nut clarity hit. That’s kind of what you expected from Harry. Someone so good-looking and out of your league could find sex easily so you assumed he’d be eager to sleep with you. That was part of the allure, wasn’t it? To sleep with a married woman? The nasty, scandalous thrill of being with someone that belonged to someone else.

Yet Harry never treated you like that, in fact, he didn’t even bring up your marriage unless you started the conversation. Harry just treated you like someone genuinely interested in getting to know you. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

It was only your third date. This conversation should’ve come up earlier, maybe even on one of the many text conversations or calls you had, but you were a little caught up in his charm and romance to think about it then and you wanted to see his reaction in person. In the very beginning you weren’t even sure if you’d be seeing him again but now that you were up to date three and he just never brought up the fact that you were married… well you wanted to know why. He knew your marriage was open but you didn’t quite understand why was he okay with it? There had to be a reason, right? 

“Of course you can.” He leaned back against the chair and tucked his elbow on the edge of the balcony you two were sitting at. It was a picturesque little cafe overlooking a river and it truly felt like you two were on some romantic holiday. The sun was gorgeous even despite the cold breeze and Harry looked effortlessly handsome. 

“Why do you… I don’t know how to put it.” You sat a bit straighter in your chair, fiddling with the rings on your fingers. Your wedding ring. You weren’t sure why you still wore it on your dates with Harry, but it was a habit and you were married. “You never bring up Carson or the fact that I’m married and I want to know why…”

“Why I don’t care?” He asked, finishing off your sentence. 

“Yeah…” You nodded, “I guess I just don’t get it. You’re a lot younger than me-”

“I’m 27 and it’s only five years.” He corrected, looking quite amused by your comment. Five years was a big gap when he was younger than you, at least you thought so. 

“Still.” You pressed, “You’re young and I’m married. I just don’t understand why you’re choosing to go out with me and not someone else. And the fact that you’re okay with my marriage it just… I don’t know.” You looked away for a moment, needing to break free from his eye contact so you weren’t completely swept up in it. “I’m not sure if I’d be the same. I’m not the same and I’m the one who’s married.”

“I’ve been married before…” 

Well, you certainly didn’t expect that.

“What?” Your eyes widened and Harry nearly laughed at how shocked you were.

“I was only 20 at the time and it was stupid to say the least but we were happy and in love and marriage seemed like the answer to all our problems.” He smiled at the memory, tracing his finger around the rim of his water glass as he thought back to that time in his life. 

“And it wasn’t?”

“No.” He chuckled, sighing while running a hand through his hair. “Marriage caused more problems than it was worth. Steph and I were broke and both in school. We could barely afford our degrees let alone rent and it just caused so many arguments. Too many arguments. We still loved each other and we made it work but over time… the love faded.” Harry shrugged. This felt like too intense of a conversation for breakfast, but you weren’t really expecting to find out about a marriage. 

“Wow…” You breathed. “I’m sorry. Um, how long were you two married?”

“Three years. We were just too young and going through too many changes. In the end, we were more like roommates than husband and wife. Didn’t have sex for the last six months because we were too busy working and emotionally disconnecting from each other.” He looked out to the water, turning back to finish off his point. “Anyway. What I’m trying to say is that shit happens. Relationships aren’t clear-cut. I can tell you’re not just trying to get some exciting thrill by cheating on your husband so as far as I’m concerned it’s just you and me.” Harry bumped his foot against yours under the table, smirking ever so slightly. “If that changes I’m sure you’ll let me know.”

Harry spoke about it in such a respectful way. You imagined it was far messier than he made it out to be, but he didn’t blame Steph or attack her character to make himself the good guy in all of it. It was refreshing and mature. Was it bad that him being married before only made him more attractive?

Maybe it was because you now knew that he understood you. 

“That’s a very… refreshing outlook, Harry.”

“Refreshing?” He chuckled, “No. Realistic.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table, nudging your foot again. “And to answer your other question, the reason I’m out with you and not ‘somebody else’ is because I like you. I told you that on our very first date and I’ll say it again. I like you. Simple.”

“You act like things are so easy.” You laughed, blushing at his honesty. 

“They can be.” He reached for your hand, threading your fingers together before squeezing. “It feels easy with you.”

Yeah… it did. 

To make things worse… or better? his admission only made you more insatiable for him. Nothing he said was remotely casual, but it had also been a long time since you were dating. Aside from Carson, only one other man had touched you, so you didn’t really have a good gauge on navigating new beginnings or sex with a new person. You knew how to please a man but all your skills were honed in on one man. 

So when Harry offered to host dinner at his house for your next date, your stomach was a mixture of nerves and pure excitement. You hadn’t been there before, but with his invitation to stay the night, you didn’t really care what his place looked like, just that he had a nice clean bed to fuck you on. 

You never thought you’d be in this position, but you also never thought you’d be in an open marriage with a man you imagined building a family with. You didn’t see that happening now, but what you did see was you enjoying yourself and getting to explore another man for the first time in years.

Harry wouldn’t have just invited you to spend the night if he wasn’t interested in sleeping with you. He didn’t fit into the dump-and-run stereotype you created in your head, but he sure as hell wasn’t uninterested in sex. He practically oozed it from his fucking pores. 

“Y/n!” Harry beamed, opening the door with a big charming grin. He looked gorgeous and you were taken aback at just how good-looking he was. He told you to dress casually and while he matched the criteria with a pair of jeans and a loose white button-up, he looked anything but casual. 

“Hi,” you smiled, stepping inside. You barely made it into the doorway before he grabbed your overnight back from your shoulder, slung it on his and then cupped your face to bring you in for a kiss. You gasped a little into his mouth, humming when you relaxed into it and grabbed onto the sides of his mouth to reciprocate. 

It felt so young kissing like this; languid and passionately right in the open doorway of his house where anyone who drove or walked past could see. But you didn’t really care who saw when he was nudging you against the doorway and crowding you with his body. It wasn’t an innocent kiss that’s for sure. 

His mouth moved expertly against yours, tongue sliding against the seam of your mouth until it was brushing against yours. He grabbed onto your waist, pulling you flush against him until he was consuming every part of you. It was delirious the way he sucked on your tongue and groaned at the taste of your mouth. 

If this was setting the tone for the evening, you could barely wait. 

“Did you miss me or something?” You joked, breathing heavily as the kiss broke. 

He smiled, nodding while running his thumb over your mouth. He dragged his eyes over your body, taking in your nice fitting jeans and top with the most perfect amount of cleavage he could die. You were radiant. “Very much so.” 

God.

“Come in, love. It’s cold out.” Harry stepped out of the way properly this time, closing the door behind you while you looked around his entranceway. 

“Shoes off?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” 

Harry walked you straight through to his living area. It was a warm, inviting home with soft lighting and lots of texture. He had a musical influence throughout but in the most tasteful way ever. Posters, vinyls and a gorgeous record player front and centre in his living room. His style was envying and you wished Carson would let you do even half the things Harry had done to his house. 

You could see yourself being very comfortable here. 

“Your house is gorgeous, Harry.” You complimented, looking around the space in awe. 

“Thank you.” He gushed, setting your bag down on one of his armchairs before walking into the kitchen. “I originally hired an interior designer then ended up picking all her opposite choices. I think I did an okay job.”

“I think so.” You agreed, following him to the island bench. The entire house was fragrant. It was a mixture of some citrusy candle, whatever delicious dish was in the oven and his cologne. It was intoxicating. “Ugh and it smells so good in here. What is that?” you practically moaned.

“Alfredo chicken pasta.” Harry mused, grabbing a bottle of red from his wine fridge. “I know you like it. Thought I should try and impress you for our first at home date.”

“So far it’s working. Just need to wait until it’s in my mouth for the final verdict.” You replied, pressing your hip to the bench while looking at him. “Can’t give you a raving review before I’ve tried it, can I?”

If Harry set the tone with the kiss, you set the tone with your words and those flirty eyes of yours. He pressed his tongue into his cheek, nearly audibly moaning at the double entendre. Harry had been holding back on how badly he wanted you since the first date. 

There was an instant fire between you. Chemistry he had been wanting to act upon for weeks. But he knew this was the first relationship for you since your husband suggested opening your marriage and he didn’t want to push things. You two spoke about it extensively after the third date when you wanted to clear the air to figure out what Harry got from this. 

Harry got pure pleasure. To him it was simple. He enjoyed your company and you seemed genuine in what you told him about your situation, so why wouldn’t he pursue things with you?

“You’re a smart woman.” Harry smirked, pouring the red wine into both wine glasses he had set on the bench before your arrival. “Actions speak louder than words, don’t they?” The way he looked at you nearly had you sweating. 

“It’s an age-old saying, after all.” You mused, thanking him once he passed you a glass. “To us?”

“To our first night together.” He clinked his glass against yours, eliciting a smile that had you trying to hide how nervous he truly made you feel. It had been a while since you got butterflies in the presence of a man. 

“Now, tell me all about your day. Must’ve been pretty relaxing if you had so much time to get all pretty for me.” He teased, reaching out to pluck at the hem of your shirt. 

“Yeah right.” You snorted, jumping straight into all the problems you encountered during your work day. 

Dinner went perfect as it usually did. You both laughed and drank and shared a delicious meal. By the time dessert came, Harry had moved from his chair opposite you to sit right beside you, deciding to play a game with the few mini dishes he made. He didn’t really explain why he chose to make multiple options, only that you had to guess what each one is. 

You weren’t really going to stop him from feeding you, were you? 

“Okay keep your eyes closed.” He prompted, walking over to the table with the long plate housing the mini desserts. 

“Okay! Okay they’re closed.” You shuffled in your chair, trying not to sneak a peek even if you wanted to. 

“Keep them closed.” He warned again, his arm brushing yours as he set the plate onto the table. 

“They are.” You defended. 

“How many fingers?” Harry sat right next to you, waving two fingers in front of your face. 

“Harry!”

“Okay.” He laughed. Harry grabbed one of the dessert spoons and took a small chunk from the first dessert before bringing it close to your face. “Any guesses?”

“Smells warm.” You guessed, breathing in the delicious cinnamon-or was it caramel? “Caramel?”

“Very good, Angel.” He praised, unintentionally making your breath hitch. That little bit of praise hit you right in the belly, making a swarm of butterflies flutter all over. “Open your mouth.”

Shit. If only he was asking you to open your mouth for something else. 

You did as instructed and widened your mouth, rubbing your palms up and down your thighs. He brought the spoon to your mouth, letting you suck it clean before removing it. “Do you have a guess?”

“Mmh.” You hummed softly, savoring the taste of the dessert you had on your first date. “Sticky date pudding?”

“Atta girl!” He cheered. “Well done.”

If he praised you one more time… god you almost felt pathetic at how turned on you were getting. And over food. 

“Can I open my eyes now?” You whispered, wanting to look at him. 

“Nope. Next one.” He took a spoon from the next dessert and repeated the same movements, holding it in front of your nose so you could smell it first. “What can you smell?”

“Custard maybe? Vanilla?” 

“Yeah… on the right track.” He mused, “open up.” Then once again he fed you the spoon. 

“Oh that’s so good.” You practically moaned, feeling his thumb brush against your mouth to wipe away a bit of custard. He sucked his thumb clean of it, watching you enjoy the dessert. Your moans of appreciation were hitting him harder than he thought they would but he just couldn’t help himself. You were moaning over something he made. He could only imagine what you’d sound like moaning over his cock or his mouth. “Is it… like a custard croissant cake or pudding? Whatever you call it.”

“You know your desserts. I’m impressed.”

“We had it on our second date, Harry.” And that’s when it clicked. “Are these desserts we’ve had on our dates?” 

“Maybe. Depends if you can guess the last one. Now open up pretty girl.” At his last instruction you opened your mouth and your eyes at the same time, looking right at him. “Heyy. That’s cheating.” He complained, feeding it to you. 

There was something erotic about the way you sucked that spoon clean, even going as far as plucking it from Harry’s fingers so you could get all the chocolate from it. “I knew it was chocolate pudding before you even fed it to me.” You whispered, looking down at the nicely plated dish. “Did you really make dishes we’ve had on our dates?”

“Maybe.” He repeated, scanning his eyes along your side profile. “Too much?”

No. Fuck, you were about ready to jump his bones. 

“No.” You shook your head and set the spoon down. “This is… this is really thoughtful. Thank you.”

It was romantic. Everything about this date was romantic. 

“You’re welcome.” Harry murmured, eyes flickering down to your mouth. A playful smile emerged on his mouth and you could just tell something was up. 

“What?” You chuckled. 

“You’ve got something here.” He reached out to cup your face, swiping your mouth clean like he did before. “See? Must’ve liked the chocolate pudding.” 

Before he had a chance to lick it clean himself, you grabbed his hand and brought his thumb to your mouth. His lips parted and his eyes darkened as he watched you wrap your lips around it, sucking on it gently. 

“It’s good…” you whispered, eyes fluttering when he cupped your jaw. The heat rising in the room was almost unbearable. Every second felt like an hour, every flick of his eyes between your own and your mouth like a century. The touch of his pinky grazing your neck had you shivering and all you wanted-no, craved was his mouth on yours. You bit your lip, releasing it with a pop before breathing out a soft laugh. “So are you going to kiss me or-”

You couldn’t say another word because Harry had already slid his hand back to thread through your hair and pulled you right in for a kiss. You whimpered as your lips met in a soft kiss. It started gently, but as the seconds went by and your hands ended up in his hair, it was getting hot and heavy. 

“Harry…” you sighed, breaking when you needed to breathe. 

“God I love kissing you.” He murmured, tipping your head back so he could kiss along your jaw towards your neck. 

“I…” you swallowed thickly while rubbing your hands down his neck towards his shirt buttons. You were desperate to see more of his skin. To feel more of it. “I want you.”

Harry paused, breathing heavily while pulling back to look at you. His lips were already swollen; all pink and yummy looking and his eyes had this dark look in them. It was a look you were sure you had given him countless times. When your heavy kisses got cut short or when you were forced to say goodnight when you really wanted to invite him in. You were sure you were giving it to him now. 

“I want you. Really fucking bad.” He admitted, reaching to push your hair back from your face. “I just don’t want to rush you, baby. I didn’t invite you over expecting anything and-shit.” Harry’s eyes widened as you bit the bullet and ripped your shirt off before putting it down on your lap. 

You were everything he imagined you’d be. No. You were better. Gorgeous in every way and in one of the prettiest bras he had ever seen. You could’ve worn anything though and he still would’ve thought that. But Jesus.  

“You’re not rushing me.” You whispered, “but I am wearing matching underwear so you can rush that if you want to…”

Harry swooped in again, holding your face in both hands to kiss you. “I want to.” He practically moaned, “but I’m not rushing anything with you. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”

“Good.” You smiled softly, sliding your palms over his chest before undoing the top button. “Good.” You barely whispered the word before kissing him again. 

Harry pulled you closer by your hips, nudging your shirt to the ground so your legs thread into each other. He ran his hands over your torso, your waist and your arms while you worked on unbuttoning his shirt. His skin was warm and soft and you were addicted to the feeling of his chest hairs against your hands. 

He undid your pants, draping the zipper down before making the executive decision to stand up and force you up as well with his hands on your hips. Your pants and top fell to the floor with ease and he was quick to push the dessert plate and cutlery out of the way so he could pick you up and set you on the edge of the table. 

He was obsessed with how your body felt in his hands and under his lips and he wanted to explore every inch of you. He let his mouth trail along your collarbones and neck, down to the clevage spilling from your bra. You were so soft and sweet, so plush in his hands. Harry never wanted this to end and it had barely started. He hadn’t even tasted you yet…

“You’re so goddamn beautiful, y/n.” Harry breathed, taking a moment to just look at you. He reached in to kiss you gently while massaging your thighs, sliding his fingers so close to the edge of your underwear without brushing them at all. “Can I touch you?” 

“Yes.” You nodded eagerly, fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck. That was when you caught sight of the twinking diamond on your ring finger. The reminder that despite all verbal permission given by your husband as per your arrangement, you were still going to sleep with another man while married. “Can I ask a favour, though. Before we… do anything?”

“Of course.” He urged, eyes softening. “Anything. What is it?”

His gaze was so soft… so endearing. Harry showed more care for what you were saying than your husband did in the months he was off dating other people. Probably for months before that too. 

You breathed out heavily, heart thumping in your ears as you pulled your ring finger off and played with it in your hands. “Will you put this in your pocket? I don’t want it on for this. I just want it to be you and me.”

“I’ll keep it safe.” Harry promised, holding his palm flat for you to put the ring on. “Even if you wore it, it would still be you and me, y/n.” He assured, sliding the ring into the tiny pocket at the front of his jeans. 

“It wouldn’t.” You whispered, smiling softly while reaching forward to kiss him again. “It is now, though.”

Harry moaned into the kiss, pulling you closer to him so he had better access to you. Then he went back to just touching you. Caressing you. He palmed at your breasts and your thighs and your belly… everywhere he could. 

Carson knew how to make you cum, but Harry didn’t and that was almost better. He didn’t skip through to the end, to what he knew would work. No, Harry took his sweet time running his hands and his mouth over your body, trying to figure out what you liked best. He wanted to memorise the little jerks or squeezes of your thighs the prettiest soft whimpers if he touched you just so. 

Harry loved the first time he slept with someone knew. It was a new experience and an entirely new set of likes and dislikes for him to explore. And after you dressed up so nice for him and wore what would’ve had to be the sexiest lingerie he had ever seen, Harry couldn’t have been more excited. He had been waiting for this since the moment he met you face to face. 

“What do you like?” Harry breathed, smoothing his hands over your stomach up towards your breasts. They slipped under the cups of your bra to push it above your nipples so he could pinch them in both hands. “Tell me. Please.” He was almost desperate, needing to know how he could please you.

“I like what you’re doing now. I like…” You swallowed, whimpering ever so slightly when he pinched your right nipple a little harder, “I like when you look at me…”

“What else?” Harry murmured, keeping his eyes laced with yours as he dipped down to tug at your nipple with his teeth instead. He soothed the ache with his tongue; all hot and slick. All you could think about was his tongue being somewhere else. Getting head was a rare commodity in your house. Carson was quite decent at it, actually, but it was one of those things where it took forever for you to cum. You both worked demanding jobs so when you got time or needed release, it was usually something quick to get the job done. 

But god, you’d kill to be eaten out. 

“Fuck…” you gasped, running a hand through his soft hair. While you were nervous about sleeping with a new man, there was one thing marriage life did prepare you for; saying what you wanted. You had no problems telling Harry exactly what you liked. “I like dirty talk too. I like to be praised…” you had to pause when he sucked on your nipple again, releasing it with a pop that had you shivering when the air hit the wetness left behind by his tongue. “Degraded too…”

“Yeah?” Harry cocked his head, smirking like you just unlocked something evil in him. “Anything you don’t like to be called?”

“Stupid. I don’t like being called a bitch, either.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, pretty girl,” Harry assured, tucking his fingers into the waistband of your pretty underwear and sliding them side to side against your skin. Harry would’ve loved to get you completely bare for him, but there was something so sexy about fucking you while you were wearing the lingerie. You wore it for a reason, it would be a shame to let it lay on the floor for the entire night, especially when you looked so fucking good at it.  “Tell me more. I want to know what I can do to you.”

“It’s too easy if I give you all the answers, Harry. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.” You teased, sitting up from the table so you could run your palms all over his chest and up to around his neck.

He was just glorious. All tanned and muscular with littered hairs that made him look so much more manly. You could only imagine what his pecs would look like all sweaty while he fucked you. You hoped he’d hover over your head so you could lick at his chest and tug at that sinful cross necklace between your teeth. 

“Can I tell you what I want to do?” He proposed, hooking one finger on the underside of your underwear this time, moving it towards your mound but not down enough to feel how wet you had grown for him. He was so close to dipping his fingers into your crease. So close to being able to please you. 

“Please…” You breathed, eager and so damn desperate for anything.

“I want to fuck you while you’re wearing this,” he snapped at the fabric, maintaining direct eye contact with you. Oh, Jesus. Between his eye contact and his sultry tone, you were going dizzy at how direct he was being. You loved it. “Then I want to strip you naked and watch you bounce on my cock. Forwards… backwards.” He groaned at the thought and grabbed onto your ass, firmly pulling you closer to the edge of the dining table until his lips brushed with yours. You could feel the hard length of his cock press against your pussy, promising you that it would be deep inside you by the end of the night.

“I want to make your ass red so when you go home to your husband, he’ll know I fucked you better than he ever could.” 

It was another promise, that Harry would indeed fuck you better than Carson ever could. 

“But first…” Harry bucked his hips against yours, keeping his grip on your hips tight so you couldn’t wiggle away at his directed grinds over your clit. He kissed you gingerly, watching your eyes haze over as you whimpered softly. Between his cock and his words, your head was spinning. “I need to taste you. I’ve thought about nothing else but having my face between your thighs for weeks now.”

Harry grabbed your hands from behind his neck and pressed them down to the table on either side of your hips, bumping his nose with yours. “Do you like the idea of any of that, darling?”

You nodded eagerly, loving the sound of all of it. “Uhuh. All of it…” you inhaled a sharp breath, loving the feeling of his hands moving to knead at your inner thighs, “There is one thing though. Something I want.”

“Tell me.” He murmured, eyes wide and eager. He just couldn’t keep his hands off you. He was grabbing your thighs and your hips, craving the warmth of your body. 

“I want your cock in my mouth. I’ve been thinking about that since our first date.”

Harry smirked and you could feel the way his cock jerked right against you. It was big. You wanted to choke on it. 

“That can be arranged.” 

He reached in to kiss you again, groaning like a starved man while wrapping his palm around the back of your neck to guide you back down against the table. When you were flat he stood back up and stripped his shirt off fully, leaving him completely shirtless. 

Then he did something unexpected. With a shit-eating grin on his face he pulled up the chair he kicked away earlier and sat on it, shuffling close to the table like he was getting ready to eat a three-course meal. You were going to make fun of him for it, but you didn’t really get a chance when he slung your legs over his shoulder and nuzzled his nose right into the crotch of your underwear. 

“Jesus.” He moaned, eyes fluttering closed. Your jaw went completely slack at what you were witnessing. Never had a man looked so fucking hungry to eat you out. He was practically delirious and all he had done was inhale how sweet you were. Harry was looking forward to having your scent all over him. “You smell so fucking good, y/n.” He looked up at you again, hooking the very tip of his finger into the crotch of your underwear and sliding it up and down along your crease. “But do you taste as good as you smell?”

You nearly whined like some pathetic puppy, but you had to keep that inside as you didn’t want to appear too eager. Too easy. Truthfully, you were easy though. Harry was able to turn you on easier and quicker than you ever thought. And all over a little dirty talk and a slight obsession with eating you out. 

“Why don’t you find out?” You hiked yourself up on your elbows, bringing your feet off his shoulders and onto the edge of the table so you were spread wider for him. 

“Oh I will,” he pulled your underwear to the side, breath hitching at the first sight of your bare pussy. “You’re so gorgeous, y/n. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long… long time.”

When his mouth finally grazed your clit, you fell back against the table. You couldn’t hold yourself up even if you wanted to, not when he started eating you out like a damn starved animal. Harry moaned like you were the best thing he ever tasted and touched everywhere. He wasn’t clit happy or labia happy and he certainly didn’t miss-interpret one part of your anatomy for another.

“Fuck Harry… oh God.” You whined, pulling at his hair with both hands before suddenly letting go because you hadn’t asked if you could. You didn’t even know if he liked it. “Do you-” You could barely breathe let alone talk. “Can I pull your hair? Is it okay?”

“God, yes. As hard as you want,” Harry moaned like the idea of his hair being pulled was orgasmic. “Don’t stop, y/n. I promise.” He grabbed your hand and guided it back to his hair, giving you a reassuring nod before going back to your clit. 

Harry knew exactly what he was doing. How to tease, how to take advantage of your entire body to make you feel good. He kissed and nipped over your thighs and used his hands to squeeze your breasts and play with your nipples. It was all so wet and sloppy and you felt like your entire body was on fire. 

“God you taste… shit-” Harry broke for air, spitting directly over your pussy then spreading it around with two fingers, “you taste so fucking good, y/n.” He used one of those wet fingers and slid it inside you, pumping it a few times while slurping against your clit again. “Never thought a pussy could be so sweet… ‘m addicted.” 

He slid his second finger in easily, fucking you with both digits so good your arousal was echoing around the room. His high ceilings did wonders of making sound travel. Even with all the rugs and soft furnishing, the softest moan sounded so much louder. And you were anything but soft. Your noises were loud and unforgiving and every single one of them was going straight to his cock.

It also meant you heard every groan Harry made. Every single sound of pleasure he was feeling just eating you out. It was possibly one of the sexiest things you had ever experienced. A man with his head buried between your thighs moaning and being so fucking enthusiastic because he gained genuine pleasure out of it. He liked it. Harry ate you out like it was his favourite thing on planet earth. 

“You okay? You good?” He checked in on you, looking up at your gaped mouth and thrown-back head. You only moaned in response so Harry reached for your hand and threaded your fingers, squeezing them to get your attention. “Hey. Look at me.” He nudged, not happy with your lack of response.

You forced yourself to look down at him, nearly shaking at how intense his eye contact was. His (now) three fingers were still steadily fucking into you, but he had taken a much-needed break from using his mouth to check on you. “Good?”

“Yes. So so good. So good.” You nodded eagerly, trying to guide his face back to you with the hand still in his hair. “Just-please. I need it.”

“You need it?” He grinned, cocking his head ever so slightly. “Is it that good, baby? Do I suck your pretty clit so good that you need it?”

“Yes... Oh yes...”

“I need it too.” He admitted, dipping back in to swirl his tongue around his fingers, right where your poor needy hole was dripping with arousal. “You just taste so fucking good, y/n. I’d have you on my face every night if I could.”

You seemed to like that idea because he could feel you clench around his fingers, knees bumping into each other so his face was wedged between your thighs. Your underwear were a complete mess too; all soaked and creamy. Harry wanted to wring them with his teeth and suck them dry, but with the real thing pressed right against his nose, he didn’t have to. 

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Letting me eat your cunt every night? Every morning, even? Would you let me wake you up with my head between your thighs? Let me eat you for a midnight snack. Because I would.” Harry moaned as he wedged his mouth over your clit again, kissing and licking at it, spitting at it so it was even wetter. You were practically a sobbing mess above him too and that only encouraged him to say whatever he wanted.

“Y/n, I’d worship you and this pretty pussy.” 

He slid his fingers out just long enough to smack them against your clit. It was gentle at first and he quickly soothed the sharp sting with his tongue. But he felt the way you jerked around his head, how your hips lifted off the table to get more. 

“Is it okay?” He breathed, looking up for an answer. This time, you were already looking right at him. You had been from the moment he left your aching cunt empty and needy because you wanted to see what he’d do. And what a sight. You were sure you’d never forget the image of him smacking your clit then making out with it like a starved man. It was ridiculous. 

Harry Styles’ mouth would kill you one day. You knew it would. 

“More than okay.” You nodded, bringing your intertwined fingers up to your breast so his large hand would squeeze against your nipple. “Do it again.”

He followed your request quickly and spanked over your pussy again, this time a little harder and with more surface area of his fingers. You gasped out a moan, back lurching off the table as they hit your swollen clit. He quickly soothed the burn with his tongue, this time blowing on your sensitive skin for a moment before languidly tracing swirls over your clit.

“Again. Harder.” You gurgled out, clenching your fist into his hair when he smacked your clit again. Harder. He slid those three fingers right back into you again, curling and fucking them roughly right against your g-spot. “Oh God… Harry!”

“Oh, you’re such a good little slut letting me spank you like this. Right over your little clit too, hm? Who knew such a pretty girl would like such dirty things.”

The dirty talk… you were going to pass out.

“You’re taking it so well, y/n” He cooed, pulling his fingers out to spank you again before they returned deep into your pussy. It was dizzying. The way he spanked you then fucked you then spanked you again like some quick endless loop. He was careful not to hit you too many times, but whatever he was doing was making you reach your orgasm faster than any other oral you had received. 

“‘M gonna cum, Harry. Please just…” You pulled his face back to your clit, urging him closer with your hand.

Harry didn’t argue and did what you seemed to like the most; those three fingers stroking right against your g-spot, one hand on your breast and his mouth sucking right over your clit. It seemed to do the trick too because not even ten seconds later, you were practically lurching off the table while crying out his name through a squirting orgasm. Your hand cemented him to your pussy so he could happily collect as much of your release right in his mouth. 

When you started to calm down, Harry softened his movements and pulled his fingers out of you. He licked them clean then pressed soft kisses all over your thighs and mound, even right on either side of your clit.

“You’re such a good girl, darling. Did so well for me.” Harry praised, squeezing your hand and keeping his eyes on your face as you panted and looked up at the ceiling. 

“God that was…” You swallowed thickly, pushing your sweaty hair from your forehead so you could look down at him. 

“What?” He nudged, smirking while kissing your inner thigh. “Good? Is that the word you’re looking for?”

“Your ego’s too big for your own good.” You laughed softly, sitting up so you could guide his mouth to yours. Harry was still smiling into the kiss until he relaxed into it. That’s when it turned heated again. The taste of your pussy and his mouth; your mouth too… it was all too much. “But yeah…” you sighed, “it was good.”

He stood up from his chair so you weren’t hunched down to kiss him and the moment you had access to his jeans, you started working on undoing them. Harry hissed into the kiss when you applied pressure to his hard bulge and he had to break free just to breathe at how sensitive he was. His cock felt harder than ever before. He didn’t think he had ever been this turned on and sore in his entire life.

This chemistry with you… it was otherworldly. Supernatural almost. A compelling pull like his cells were trying to fuse with yours. 

And you were married. He had to push that thought out of his head because only a few weeks into this and he was already considering asking you to leave your husband. 

“I need you, baby.” He panted, grabbing your hips tightly as you pushed his jeans and boxers down his thighs to free his cock. “Shit-”

You wrapped your hand around his cock while he helped you get them off the rest of the way. You couldn’t help but look down between you, needing to see how pretty he was. And pretty he was. Long and decently thick, so heavy in your hand. You knew he’d fill you up so good he’d have you seeing stars. Two fingers were usually enough to prep you for sex, sometimes even one depending on how turned on you were.

You were glad he chose three.

“Your cock is so pretty, Harry.” You complimented, squeezing your palm around him. Your eyes filtered between your working hand and his face, obsessed with how hooded his eyes became just from your hand. “So big too… I need you inside me. ‘M so empty.”

Harry didn’t quite realise when you said you liked dirty talk that you liked it both ways, but he rather enjoyed the filth spilling from your mouth. He found it cute that you could barely string words together when he was pleasuring you, but like this? It was the biggest fucking turn-on.

“Bend me over the table…” You begged softly, nipping at his jaw until you reached the shell of his ear. His cock was oozing precum down over your hand. He liked what you were saying. “Please. Make me squirt again…”

“Come here.”

Harry pulled you off the table and with a rough hand, spun you around to bend you over the table. You squealed as he spanked your ass without thought, spreading your cheeks wide to spit down over you. He planned to fulfil his promise of fucking you with this lingerie on and now that he was looking at your pretty holes bent over with the tiny string of lace tucked to the side… he couldn’t have been more excited.

“You’re just so hot, y/n.” Harry groaned, spanking your other cheek just to watch your ass jiggle. “So goddamn hot.”

“I’m hotter with a cock in me.” 

Your mouth earned you another spank, this time directly over your sensitive cunt. You squealed and jumped in place, but Harry easily soothed the ache with a friendly grind of his cock against your clit. Your knees buckled at the direct stimulation but Harry made sure you kept still by pressing his hand to your lower back.

“I need to get a condom,” he murmured to himself, suddenly remembering the dreaded protection right when his cock was so close to being inside you. 

“Hurry.” You gasped, forehead pressed to the table. 

“I will. I will.”

Harry fished the condom from his jeans pocket, placed there earlier in the evening in hopes of sleeping with you tonight. It was a just-in-case for something spur of the moment, though he didn’t start the night plotting a way to get you in his bed. He was glad now that he put that condom in there just in case, especially when you were waiting for him. 

Once the condom was on, he was right back in position. A hand on the small of your back and the other guiding the head of his cock to your entrance. Harry didn’t wait or tease, he just pressed right into you slowly and deliberately. 

“Shit-”

“Oh goddd…”

Your curses echoed at the same time, both as desperate as each other. Harry just stretched you so perfectly, on the cusp of too much and the best type of full possible. It helped that you were so damn wet, so turned on that he was easily able to push inside you. 

“God, baby. You're so tight.” Harry hissed, reaching forward to press a kiss to the middle of your back. You couldn’t even respond to his compliment when your body was still getting accustomed to a new man. A new cock. All you could do was moan and claw at the table, clenching around him. “Hey. You okay?” Harry checked, sweeping your hair back so he could see your face.

“Uhuh. Just… shit.” You whimpered, squeezing around him again. He cursed at how tight you were and collected your hair in a loose hold around his fist. 

“Y’sure?” He mused, pressing a kiss right in between your shoulder blades. “You’re trembling beneath me, darling.”

“Fuck me.” You begged. He was so deep in your belly and it was torturous having him so far inside you and not moving at all. “Please Harry just-”

He didn’t need to be convinced any further. Not with how sweet you sounded and how wet you were around him. You were a fucking dream and that only became more apparent as Harry started thrusting into you. He started with a slow but steady grind, fucking you with hard pressure like he was trying to memorise every inch of your pussy. 

“God baby. You feel so good.” Harry moaned, building up the speed with a good grip on your hips. He hooked his thumb into the small lace string of your underwear, pulling it to the side so he could watch his cock disappear into your wet cunt. And you were so wet. Your arousal coating his length and turning creamy the longer he fucked you. It was obscene. 

Mostly though, he was watching your face. Your cheek pressed to the table, mouth gaped open and eyes screwed shut as you moaned the-fuck the prettiest noises he had ever heard. He had barely shown you his best tricks and you were a mess beneath him. Had your husband really been lacking this entire time? Been leaving you so unsatisfied that a bit of doggy had you unravelling? 

He couldn’t bear the thought of you having to take care of yourself because your husband couldn’t do it for you. But maybe that was a good thing. Because then Harry would be there for you. He’d give you pleasure you had never experienced in your life. Over and over again. 

Starting with tonight. 

“Feel good baby?” Harry cooed, spanking your ass with a rough touch. 

“Yeah” 

“Yeah?” He repeated, spanking you again on the opposite side. Your whine echoed around the room, as did the sound of the dining table squeaking forward against Harry’s nice floorboards. “Say it, baby. Tell me how I’m doing, hm?”

“So good. God, you fuck me so good.” You moaned, “please- go… go harder. Harder.”

Harry picked up the pace, reaching to wrap your hair around his fist so he could pull your head back. “Moan for me, y/n. Moan my name.” He demanded right in your ear, spanking you twice on the same cheek. 

“Harry.” You cried out, feeling him smile in satisfaction at how pretty you took the pain. So he spanked you again and again as you moaned loudly into the air. 

“That’s it… Good girl. You’re taking it so well…” Harry gritted out, spanking your ass roughly while tightening his hand in your hair. You whined at the sting of your scalp, nearly sobbing at how fast and hard he was fucking into you. “S’like you were made for me, y/n. Just made for my fucking cock.”

He was fucking you so hard, so fucking good that the table kept etching forward and forward. Harry had to keep readjusting his footing and his grip on your hair. He combed his fingers through your hair and wrapped it around his fist, tugging hard when the table slipped forward again. 

But he was persistent and he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from giving you the fucking you deserved. 

“Y’sounds so damn pretty moaning my name, baby. Fucking love how sweet you sound.” 

His words elicited a moan; a filthy pretty moan only exaggerated when he tugged your hair harder. “You’re so big. So good.” You cried, “loveyourcock.”

You were addicted to the way he fucked you, even just the way he felt stretching you out but keeping completely still. It felt like you could almost reach an orgasm just like this with no clit stimulation at all which never happened. Nowadays it was your vibrator or nothing and now here you were one orgasm down and another so damn close. 

Still, you needed your clit touched and you couldn’t really reach it this way. 

The table etched forward once more and right as he pulled back to thrust into you again, the table slid forward making him slip out completely. He effortlessly slid himself back into you to continue, but when it happened a second then a third time you couldn’t help but giggle. Even through the deep pleasure and hazy mind, it was funny. 

“Fuck.” He cursed when his cock bumped against your ass cheek instead of where he actually wanted to be. He tapped it against your clit before grinding there, watching you squirm and let out a choked gasp through your light laugh. 

“I think we may need to switch rooms.” You giggled, looking over your shoulder at him while panting as you desperately tried to catch your breath. He had let go of your hair for a moment, planning on trying to continue until you suggested moving things elsewhere.

Truth be told, Harry jerked one out before you came. He didn’t plan the evening around having sex with you and would’ve been okay if nothing happened at all, but his cock couldn’t control itself around you. Just your presence and your scent could get him hard in no time so he tried to fuck the frustration out before you even got there.

He was glad he did so too because now that he was in the middle of feeling your sweet sweet cunt, he had a lot more stamina going onto his second orgasm. He could have you riding him through two more orgasms before needing to cum himself and fuck did he want to experience you squirting right on his dick. 

“I think so.” He breathed through a laugh and ran his hand through his hair, “c’mere.”

“Mh.” You agreed, standing up on shaky legs and sore hips. Harry grabbed you straight away and helped you turn around to face him. He cupped your face with one hand to guide your mouth to his, deepening it effortlessly while tucking his hands under your thighs so you could jump up and wrap your legs around him. 

You were slightly shaky in his arms, sensitive as he placed you gently on the floor in front of his bed. He broke the kiss to look at you for a moment, panting heavily while brushing his nose against yours. There was something about the look in his eyes that had you crumbling inside. They were soft and almost loving; so full of yearning and desire that you were almost scared to look back. It was overwhelming.

Harry danced his fingers down your neck and shoulder to your arm where the strap of your bra had fallen. Every touch was making you shiver and only causing that ache between your thighs to grow. You felt empty. Cold without his cock inside you. 

“Take this off. I want to see you.” Harry murmured, searching your eyes while waiting for you to nod before he kissed you once more and climbed onto his bed. He shuffled backwards until he was against his headboard, legs wide and cock hard and waiting for you to climb back onto him. 

He never stopped looking at you. Never stopped watching even as he wrapped his own hand around his cock and gave himself a few tugs to the sight of your body becoming bare for him. The prettiest of prettiest lingerie on planet Earth couldn’t compare to the sight of a womans naked body. Your bare, naked body. The soft peaks of your breasts and the way they fell naturally without a bra. The dip of your hips and tummy without the confides of lace. It was glorious. 

Harry could barely contain himself.

“You’re a vision.” Harry awed, jaw clenching like he was trying to control himself from dragging you onto the bed and pinning you down. 

“So are you.” You whispered while crawling towards him on the bed. You let your hands glide up his thighs once you were situated between them, taking the time to look over every inch of his naked body. You were in awe to put it simply and so goddamn attracted to him you were worried sex would never be the same afterwards. 

Because it wasn’t just the pleasure. It was the chemistry. The eye contact. The fact you two had a laugh about him thrusting against your ass cheek instead of inside of you because his table couldn’t handle the pressure. The way you could have that laugh just minutes ago and be back to this. The firey eye contact and his trembling thighs underneath your palms. 

“Can I have a taste…” You breathed, licking your lips at the sight of his cock up against his stomach. From this angle he looked even bigger than before and knowing he was just inside you… fuck. You could barely breathe. “Please?”

Harry groaned and wrapped his hand loosely around your neck, only applying light pressure right beneath your jaw. “Just a little, y/n. For now the only place I want to come is with you coming around me.” 

If only he was bare inside you…

“Okay… just a taste, H.” You nodded, pressing harder against his palm. You wrapped your palm around his cock, loving the sight of his jaw clenching at the touch. “Can I take this off?” You asked, rubbing over his head at the condom. 

“Yeah, baby. Take it off.”

Harry was going to lose his fucking mind. 

You were quick to pull off the condom then wasted no time in dipping down and licking a fat stripe from balls to tip on the underside of him. Harry groaned and collected your hair in his hand so he could see your face. Your eyes fluttered closed at the taste of him and the weight of him on your tongue. 

He was warm and heavy and you could taste yourself right at the base of his cock where your arousal dripped down. You made sure to clean it all up with your tongue, lapping at it while looking at Harry to watch his reaction. He could barely contain himself and with every lick his hand flexed in your hair like he was trying to control himself. 

“You can guide me. I like it when I choke.” You murmured, spitting directly onto his tip before sliding it into your mouth to spread it with your tongue. 

“God, you’re going to be the end of me.” He groaned, hand tightening in your hair with purpose. Harry reached for your spare hand, intertwining your fingers while pulling your mouth off him for a moment. You were like jelly in his hands, compliant as he instructed you to squeeze his hand once if you were okay and twice if he was too rough or you needed a break. More than happy with that arrangement, you agreed and squeezed his hand in preparation for him to guide your mouth down. 

He started to gently maneuver your mouth up and down his length, starting shallow at first before going deeper until he felt the tightness of your throat around him. You choked ever so slightly but squeezed his hand once and enjoyed the feeling of his cock twitch down your throat. 

“Look at me…” Harry breathed, forcing your eyes on his. “That’s it… fuck.” 

The sight had him gasping and moving your mouth over his cock faster. Your pretty little eyes all glistened with tears… God the sight was one of the hottest things he had ever seen. And the way you just took his cock without complaint and even moaned when you gagged around him… it was like you were made for him.

The feeling of his cock filling your throat was like nothing else. There was just something about choking on a man’s dick that got you all squirmy inside. You had always been a relationship girl and a bit of a ‘late bloomer’ according to those who thought losing your virginity in your early 20s was the biggest sin of the century, but that didn’t mean you were inexperienced. 

Your first serious relationship exposed you to things you had always wanted to try. A world of kinks and things you weren’t sure you’d like until you tried them, others you were certain you’d hate until you found out you didn’t. You always considered yourself lucky to have a guy introduce you to sex and provide an environment where you could not only lose your virginity, but experiment without any shame or constraints.

Funny how you ended up married to your next serious relationship after him to a guy who had no interest in anything remotely more exciting than a spank and a sporadic hair pull. You loved Carson enough to be happy with vanilla but fulfilling sex. It wasn’t like it didn’t have any passion, because it did, it just didn’t have this.

What Harry managed to provide you on your first night together (a night far from over as well) Carson couldn’t give you in six years of being together. You weren’t sure you could go back to your old sex life. Not now. 

“You look so hot like this.” You gasped, pulling off to breathe while jacking him off with your spare hand. Your other was still intertwined with one his and you had no plans of changing that. “I love having your cock in my mouth, Harry…” you moaned, reaching in to lick his length once more. “Feels so good.”

“Jesus.” Harry groaned, tensing his hand in your hair. “You’re doing so well, y/n. Such a good little cock sucker, aren’t you?” 

You moaned filthily at his degrade, letting him slide you back down over his cock. Your whole body was on fire. Even with only a little hand holding and hair tugging, you were beyond turned on and empty between your legs. The sight of him was just so beyond sexy, almost too sexy for you to handle. 

His chest was heaving and glistening with sweat. With every pant or moan his abs would contract and his thighs would tremble on either side of your shoulders. You wanted to see him cum so bad. You wanted to watch his jaw contract and his mouth part as he moaned your name. 

“You’re gonna make me cum, y/n.” He warned in this almost whine of a tone. “Need to cum inside you.” 

“I want it in my mouth. Wanna taste you.” You practically pleaded, tapping his tip against your tongue. 

“You’re incredible…” Harry groaned, using his hand on your hair to pull you up towards his mouth. He kissed you hungrily, angling your head in the direction he wanted so he could deepen it. “But…” he panted, breaking just to say that one word before kissing you once more, “I need to…” he nibbled on your lip and grabbed onto the back of your thighs, "… feel you around me when I come.” 

You whimpered as he dragged you in a straddle and pressed your wet cunt directly over his cock in a slow deliberate grind. Fucking hell. You just wanted to slip him in, to feel him bare inside you until you were full of his cum. 

But you couldn’t. And the fact you were half considering letting it happen on your very first sexual experience out of your marriage was insane. It scared you. 

“Condom.” You uttered against his mouth, tugging on his hair ever so slightly. 

“Yeah. Yeah.” He breathed, barely able to concentrate when you dragged your mouth along his jaw and neck. Harry reached for his bedside table and grabbed another condom from the top drawer, returning quickly to kiss you again while blindly unwrapping it. 

But it was like Harry was stuttering. Fumbling to do something as simple as putting a condom on his own cock. He couldn’t help it really. Not when your mouth was so sweet and erotic, nibbling at his bottom lip until all he could think about was how to hold his breath indefinitely so he could kiss you forever. 

And you were growing impatient. The few seconds delay in his movements had you so desperate you leaned back to breathe, took the condom from his hand and rolled it down on his cock in one swift motion. 

“Fuck me, baby.” This time it was Harry’s time to plead. He wound his hand in the hair at the nape of your neck and kissed you again, panting into your open mouth as you guided him to your entrance and dropped down on him once more. 

His cock felt so much bigger from this angle and he felt deeper too even though he was just fucking you so hard his dining room table couldn’t handle the force. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t control the loud whine flooding into his mouth when your clit hit his pubic bone. Or maybe it was because this position was far more intimate than being bent over. 

“You’re so big… feels bigger like this.” You gasped, lulling your head back while grabbing his shoulders for balance so you could start bouncing on him and getting a good rhythm going. 

“I know…” he cooed, squeezing your hips before spanking you quickly. “Show me how much you need it, huh?” Leaning in, Harry ran his mouth along your exposed neck, panting between little bites and licks on your skin, “show me how good m’cock makes you feel.” 

"Love your cock," You whined, already feeling the ache in your thighs as you picked up the speed.

Harry wrapped one arm around you and hugged you tighter while pressing the fingers of his spare hand directly to your clit. And with every bounce, every grind, his fingers stimulated right where you needed it the most. You were already so full with him and now he was giving you the cherry on top so you could finish.

"More... more, please. Need it harder."

"Need it harder?" Harry taunted, hiking his legs up on his feet in a wide position on the bed so he had enough stability to thrust up into you. "Like that?" He chuckled at your cry, squeezing your body in his arm so you stayed exactly where he wanted you.

"Yeah... yeah. Fuck!" you practically sobbed, unable to do anything but grab his hair or shoulders and just take how hard he was fucking into you. His legs were strong and while you were a sobbing, breathless mess above him, Harry wasn't losing momentum at all.

He was sweaty and panting but he never stopped thrusting up into you. At least that's what it felt like. While you gave up and begged for more, Harry was more than happy to take over and give you a fucking you'd never forget.

He thrived being in control. You could tell.

"That's it, y/n. You're taking it so fucking well, y'know that. Just sitting there and taking it like the good little slut you are. My fucking slut..." Harry cooed, dipping down to tug at your nipple. "Got me so fucking close, pretty girl. Just need you to come f'me."

Between his words and lips on your breast... his fingers pressed to your clit and the way his cock was bruising your insides, you couldn't hold on any longer.

“God, Harry. ‘M gonna cum” You cried, trying to warn him of the deep churning in your belly and the trembling in your toes.

"Look at me." He demanded, sliding his hand up into your hair to force your head in his direction. Your eyes fluttered open but despite your vision already hazy, you could clearly see the way his eyes were hooded, pupils wide and hungry. "That's it. Look at me while you cum, baby. Let me see how pretty you look."

Harry pressed his forehead to yours, opened mouths panting and brushed against one another. He watched closely when your mouth gaped wide and your eyes struggled to keep open as your orgasm hit. The way your brows furrowed and your entire body trembled on top of him and he could feel his lap and lower belly become soaked in your release.

It was glorious.

"Good girl." He praised, "Fuck. Fuck!" His words turned to mush when he reached his own orgasm and somehow even pulled you tighter against him so he could feel every inch of your soft skin.

Coming down was all open-mouthed kisses and laboured breaths and this distinct feeling that everything had changed. You two could never go back to casual and you most certainly couldn't look at yourself or your husband the same way ever again.

"I feel bad you only came once." You practically pouted, grabbing another spoonful of pudding to feed it to Harry. "It doesn't really seem fair."

What did seem fair, though, was finishing off the dessert neither of you ate after your intense workout. You were quite enjoying feeding a naked Harry delicious sugary puddings and it just felt morally wrong to leave the dessert sitting there when it was the perfect bridge between round one and two.

"Trust me. I'm more than satisfied." Harry chuckled once swallowing the delicious dessert. He dragged his fingers over your hip, loving how his t-shirt fit your frame. It was so casual and sexy. His clothes had never looked better.

"Well, I hope you're not tired because I'm not and I think I'd like to test your 27-year-old stamina." you shrugged casually, eating the last bite of the sticky date pudding.

"Oh really?" Harry raised his brow and gently took the spoon from your fingers to set them down on the plate. "Two orgasms wasn't enough for you?" He teased, moving the plate out of the way so he could cup your face and gently guide you down onto the bed.

"Mh mh." You shook your head with a smile and clasped your hands around the back of his neck while he adjusted your body to hover over you. "I think at least four..." you curled your leg around his hip and dug your heel right into the pudginess of his bum, "and I wouldn't mind a bit more effort put into making my ass red. You did promise that, didn't you?"

"More effort, huh?" He smirked and grabbed onto the underside of your jaw with a firm grip to pin you to the bed. "You've got no idea what you just started, little girl."

━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━

Tag List: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @gurugirl @hsonlyangelxo @kkr102 @falloutby

@caynonmoondreams @theskyyabove @sykostyles @harryslittlefreakk @avaaas-world

@littlenatilda @grabiolla @forgetdelaney @hislcstyles @yourdatcrazyweirdo

@elidoho @esnyhoney @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs @lillefroe @harrysrockstarsgf

@hrrypinks @justlemmeadoreyou @swagg13r @whatamievendoingonhere @delicatepointofharry

@onlyangellucifer @youcan-nolonger-run @gotdrxnkonu @cheappackofcigerattes @idrawshapesonpeople07

@straightontilmornin @mellamolayla @stilesissaved @ribbonknives @scndsofsummer

@floral-recs @styles.sturniolo @maryjahps @babyfratelli7 @voniikg

@complikyfreak @tswiftsgf @triski73 @michellekstyles @freedomfireflies @tiredinwinter @butdaddyilovehim-hs

*please make sure your settings allow you to be tagged ❤️*

Your mom’s birthday was coming up, and you wanted to buy something nice for her for the first time—maybe even outdo your sister and prove you could buy her something special too. You were eager about it but tried to brush it off and focus on other clients who actually responded to emails and texts.

Then, your phone buzzed.

"Hey, I wasn’t going to answer these texts, but I’m pretty sure someone gave you the wrong number. I’m not waiting for files—sorry!"

"That explains a lot," you said to yourself, staring at your phone. Embarrassment crept in as you double-checked the number the client had sent in an earlier email. And there it was—one single digit off from the number you’d been texting. Still, why wasn’t the client answering their email?

Regardless, you had texted the wrong number and even asked for the final payment.

"Oh my god, I’m really, really sorry! I just double-checked, and yes, I made a mistake with the number. Again, I’m so sorry to bother you."

"It’s fine! Hope you find the real client and get your payment."

You facepalmed in your office and chuckled at yourself. It was embarrassing to think about the stranger receiving your out-of-context texts. Maybe they were busy too, and you’d just interrupted their day. Or maybe you were overthinking it.

After searching for that email again, you dialed the correct number carefully, double-checking each digit. Then you sent another message:

"Hi! This is Y/N. I already sent the files last week, but I didn’t get any reply. Could you please confirm you received them? Have a nice day!"

Minutes later, the client responded. He apologized for falling behind on things, said he’d been busy, but confirmed he had received the files and planned to make the payment the next day.

Thank God.

You were always busy—navigating the challenges of freelancing and the whole "being your own boss" thing. Sometimes it meant being not just the social media marketer but also the accountant, admin team, planner, and much more.

"Everything alright?" Gwen asked, chuckling as she glanced at you. "You look a little stressed."

"It’s been a couple of stressful days," you replied. "But I’ll survive. You know I always do," you added with a smile.

Gwen was the fashion designer you shared the downtown office with. She was more experienced than you and ran her signature shop below the office, filled with beautiful, unique pieces. Thankfully, she was always a helping hand when you got stuck with an Excel sheet or needed advice on balancing work and life.

The next day was more of the same. Mid-month meant analyzing how the brands were doing—were they selling? Were they stagnant? Was there a new trend going viral? Or an upcoming holiday to leverage?

Your phone buzzed, interrupting your focus.

"I hope this isn’t weird, but did you get the right number? Or the payment? It felt like I was left on a cliffhanger."

You smiled at the text from the stranger who had received your initial messages.

"Not weird at all! I’d be curious too. And yes, I got the right number, and I think he’s paying me today!"

"Well, I’m glad! I wasn’t going to sleep without knowing how it ended."

"I’ll update you as soon as the payment comes through! lol."

Maybe it was odd to have a conversation with a stranger, but they didn’t even know who you were, so what did it matter?

"Please do. 🙏🏻"

You thought of that viral story about the grandma who accidentally texted a stranger and ended up inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner. But in your boring life, nothing like that could ever happen. You weren’t particularly chatty or extroverted in real life, but since they didn’t know who you were, what was the harm?

——-

"Update: The payment came in!!"

"Thank God! I’m happy for you, and it’s not even my money."

"Well, thank you for answering. Otherwise, I’d still be texting you about my lost payment."

"My pleasure. Is it okay if I ask what your job is? I’m curious—it’s my first time being a wrong number!"

"Is it weird to be texting a stranger who randomly asks about my job?" you asked Gwen, showing her the texts.

"What does that even mean?" she asked, confused.

"Have a look at this," you said, sliding your phone over. Gwen read the texts and smirked.

"He doesn’t even know who you are. He knows your name, but how many Y/Ns are there in London?" she said, trying to calm your overdramatic thoughts. "Or you could make up a funny, dramatic life and have fun for a few days—tell him you work in a strip club!"

You laughed softly but were tempted by the idea of harmless fun. What real danger could come from simple texts? He was the one who started asking questions, after all.

"I’m a digital marketing specialist."

"Sounds cool. I could never."

"What do you do, then?" you asked boldly.

"I own a small brand."

He technically wasn’t lying, but it wasn’t the full truth either. Maybe it was too soon to reveal his real identity. If he even had contemplated that.

"'I own a small brand?' That’s it?" you muttered to yourself. Your life wasn’t that boring after all—or maybe it was, compared to his.

Recently, you've been haunted by questions about your career. Did you even love marketing? No. Did you know what you wanted to do? No.

Your phone buzzed again, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"My name is Harry, by the way. Seems fair to tell you since I know yours."

"Nice to meet you, Harry."

You smiled at your phone, a soft, involuntary expression that you quickly brushed off. It wasn’t like you were getting attached or anything; it was just amusing. A stranger texting you was definitely the most interesting thing to happen that week. But after that, it went quiet. The conversation stopped, and you figured it was just one of those random, fleeting interactions life throws at you. Something to laugh about later with friends.

Two days later, though, your phone buzzed again. You assumed it was your mom or a group chat notification—certainly not Harry

“How did the week end for you? Any other wrong numbers?”

You blinked at the screen, taken by surprise but also oddly pleased.

“It ended pretty busy, but thank God it’s over. And no, no more wrong numbers, lol.”

“So, any weekend plans?”

How was it that this stranger, Harry, was better at keeping a conversation going than any guy you'd actually dated? It felt natural, like he genuinely wanted to talk to you, and for once, you didn’t feel like retreating into vague one-word answers.

“Nope, a bit of a boring life here. You?”

“Yeah, same.”

Okay, that was definitely a lie.

Your life was painfully average. You worked to pay rent, paid rent to keep a roof over your head, and that was it. Sure, there were good days and bad ones, clients who made you want to tear your hair out, and others who gave you glowing feedback that kept you going. But lately, when anyone asked, “What’s new?” or “What have you been up to?” your mind went blank. The truth felt too dull to say out loud.

Your love life? Also on pause. You’d had a long-term boyfriend once, but when his ambitions veered wildly away from your own, it fell apart. You didn’t hold any hard feelings, but dating apps weren’t exactly your thing, either. Deep down, you clung to the hope that someone would randomly appear in your life, the way they do in rom-coms—chocolates, flowers, and all. But you’d stopped expecting it a long time ago.

So why was a stranger, with nothing more than a name and a few texts, suddenly the most exciting part of your week? Maybe it was the mystery. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because it made you feel like you’d stepped out of your routine.

“Is it weird that I just kept on texting you? I feel like it is,” he texted again.

“A bit, but I’m enjoying it so far. It’s kind of fun, actually.”

“Ok, thank God we’re both weirdos, then. Are you based in London?”

And just like that, the fun felt like it came to a halt. He was asking for your location now. Sure, London was massive—1,572 km² of sprawling city—but your anxiety immediately perked up. Was this crossing a line? Did he want to track you down or something?

But then, the little mischievous devil on your shoulder chimed in. Relax, it’s harmless fun. It’s not like you two are actually going to meet, or like he’s going to know your exact address just because you said you lived in London.

The devil wins.

“Yes, I’m in London. You?”

Your turn, Harry man, you thought. And then, as if on cue, your brain jumped onto a rollercoaster of wild thoughts. Wait, what if he’s a 50-year-old? Or worse—a 15-year-old hormonal teen?! You shook your head. No, no, he’s a brand owner, you reminded yourself.

Was this fear of the unknown creeping in? Or... was it just pure curiosity?

“Yes, around Notting Hill.”

You stared at your phone, a bit shocked. Did he really just tell you his neighborhood? Was this man never taught about the dangers of sharing personal details with strangers?

Says the girl who keeps answering his texts.

“Cool,” you panic-texted back, immediately cringing at how abrupt it sounded.

A second later, another message from him popped up:

“You don’t have to tell me your neighborhood. I know it’s probably TMI. Sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

You blinked at the screen. 

Wait, was he apologizing? For oversharing?

“It’s fine, but be careful, I might be a stalker. You never know 😉”

An emoji? Oh my god, did I just use an emoji? 

You internally cringed, debating whether deleting the message was still an option. But his reply came quickly:

“I’m used to that.”

You stared at your phone, baffled. What? What does that even mean? Was he used to stalking people? Or being stalked? That didn’t even make sense. Had you missed some new meme or slang? Or was he just trying to sound cocky and mysterious? Either way, your brain was now racing, trying to decode mystery Harry man.

Harry, on the other hand, was staring at his phone, feeling a wave of nervousness wash over him. Shit, did that just give away who I am? He tried to reassure himself. Maybe not. It could pass as just a random response... right? But the doubt crept back in. Then again, if it’s just a random response, does that make me seem really weird? Ugh, why didn’t I think before typing? He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he waited for your reply, wondering if he’d managed to keep things casual—or accidentally made it more suspicious but as you never did he quickly types another thing

“Hey, can you help me with something?”

You stared at the message, your eyebrows furrowing. Whatever this is turning into, it’s really, REALLY weird, you thought. But at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a bit thankful that he’d brushed off the whole stalking comment. Now he wanted help?

“I’m about to launch a new collection next month, and I need to choose four nail polish colors for a kit. Which ones would you pick?”

He sent a picture of a color sample sheet, words scribbled around it like, “Too bright?” “Love this one,” and “OUT.” The paper rested on a dark wood table, and you couldn’t help but notice his right hand in the frame, his nails painted in a sleek shade.

A man wearing nail polish? you thought, biting back a grin. What’s sexier than a guy with zero fragile masculinity?

STOP. Sexier? Seriously?

STOP. He’s a stranger.

“I would go with, the coral one at the top, the navy, the nude and the green” 

“That’s literally what I was thinking. If they sell out it’s on you y/n” 

“So I’ll be expecting a good commission then” 

“Deal and thanks, by the way. For actually helping. I wasn’t sure you’d reply to that one.”

“No worries, it’s kind of nice having someone randomly text me about nail polish drama. Way better than client emails. Didn’t thought your business was about nail polishes though”

“Glad to be of service. Let me know if you ever need a second opinion on, I dunno, which shade of PowerPoint gray to use.”

“My saviour”

“That 's me. A true giver. Anyway, I’ll stop bothering you for now. But seriously, thanks again, Y/N.”

“No problem. Good luck with the collection!”

The conversation ends with more questions than answers about Harry—nail polishes? Why is this conversation flowing so effortlessly? It left you curious but not uneasy. Both of you felt like this wasn’t the last time you’d talk. It was a small, unexpected connection, one that neither of you was quite ready to let go of.

—-

Your mom’s birthday went on as planned. You were able to buy her a beautiful scarf from one of her favorite brands—pricey, yes, but it was your mom, so you didn’t mind splurging. And if you happened to overdo your sister this time? Well, that wasn’t the point, not entirely. But deep down, it felt good to prove to yourself that you could keep up, even if her success with her law firm always felt like a shadow hanging over you.

It had been five days since you and Harry last texted. It felt... normal. No stomach-wrecking nerves like the ones you got when talking to guys you were interested in. No overanalyzing if you’d been annoying, rude, or too eager. With Harry, it was different. Maybe it was because he was still mostly a stranger. Maybe because you weren’t trying to impress him. Or maybe because you knew deep down that, even if he didn’t reply again, it wouldn’t sting. At least for now.

After a few days of sporadic texting, Harry throws out an idea, the text that changed everything.

“Okay, hear me out: since we both don’t want to seem like stalkers, how about a deal? We get to ask one random question a day. Nothing creepy or too revealing. Just normal stuff. What do you think?”

You smirked at the screen. He’s trying to make it less weird? Bold of him to assume this isn’t already weird.

“Alright, but you go first”

“Fine. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

“Somewhere coastal. Like Brighton, maybe? I need the sea to remind me I’m alive.”

“Interesting choice. I’d go somewhere quiet, but still close to a city. Like, Italy?”

You paused for a second, feeling a little silly. He chose a whole other country, and you’d barely ventured two and a half hours away from London. Still, it was a start.

The daily questions continued, evolving from a simple game into something that felt more like a natural rhythm. Each question peeled back another layer of this stranger you were beginning to know better, even without ever seeing his face. You learned that Harry loved tea but hated coffee—how do you even function?—and that his favorite season was autumn. He found out you adored thunderstorms and had an irrational fear of elevators, thanks to a terrifying incident years ago when an elevator you were in nearly dropped two floors.

It wasn’t just the questions, though. There were moments in between: a blurry photo of an office corner from Harry, captioned, “My life in chaos”; a street view of Downtown that you sent, carefully avoiding any landmarks near your home. Then there was the fluffy golden retriever he’d spotted on his way to work—he couldn’t resist sharing it with you.

Before bed each night, you’d find yourself thinking for at least twenty minutes, trying to decide what to ask next. The game didn’t feel like a game anymore. It was something else, something steady and comforting. For now, there was no pressure to meet or cross any lines—just two strangers finding small joys in their shared curiosity. But now it felt refreshing and even exciting whenever his or your question popped up on the phone. 

It was a rare Sunday sunny afternoon in London, and you found yourself strolling down the street. The shops buzzed with life, tourists snapping photos, and locals hurrying along with their errands. You were looking forward to reach that particularly small ice cream shop you loved. That’s when you saw it—a storefront with sleek, funky decor and the words Pleasing printed elegantly across the window. You slowed your pace, curiosity pulling you closer. The display was stunning: a lineup of nail polishes in perfectly curated colors. Coral. Navy. Nude. Green.

Your heart skipped a beat.

No. It couldn’t be. This is just a coincidence.

You even felt silly for considering it. But for a moment, you just stood there, staring at the bottles neatly arranged under soft, flattering light. Your mind raced back to that conversation. Harry when he had asked for your opinion on nail polish colors. Coral, navy, nude, and green. The same exact shades in the window now.

It HAD to be a coincidence.

“Pleasing is huge…Harry is a huge pop star too” you thought to yourself, folding your arms as if to shield your thoughts from prying eyes. “There’s no way. It’s not like that Harry would just randomly text someone asking for nail polish advice. Or just to play a silly game of questions everyday”

But the seed of doubt was planted. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, breaking your trance. For a split second, you expected to see a message from him. But it was just a group chat notification—nothing exciting. You took a deep breath, willing your mind to behave. “Stop being ridiculous” you tought  “He was probably just some regular guy with the same first name, with the same kind of business. Nothing more.”

Still, as you walked away from the shop, the memory of his texts lingered, trailing behind you like the shadow of a question you couldn’t quite answer. Was it possible? Could he have been the Harry all along? The thought was outrageous, yet your heart raced with the tiniest flicker of hope—or was it just pure curiosity? You slipped your phone out of your pocket, scrolling back through weeks of messages. One by one, you opened the pictures he had sent, your eyes scanning every corner, every detail, hoping for something—a slip-up, a clue, anything to confirm or dismiss the wild idea.

There was the photo of the nail polish color samples, laid out on a dark wooden table. You zoomed in on the edge of the frame. The faintest reflection of something metallic—jewelry? A ring? You’d noticed his hand before, polished nails and all, but now you studied it with new intent.

Then, there was the picture of a cat, curled up on a plush couch. The background caught your attention this time: the kind of sleek, minimalist decor that wouldn’t look out of place in a magazine. It could belong to anyone, really…but why did it suddenly seem so…familiar? Your finger hovered over the screen as you stared at his name in your contacts: Harry. Just Harry.

And yet, the thought wouldn’t leave you alone. You zoomed in on one last photo—the corner of his shoe peeking into the frame of a sunset he’d sent you. White Sambas. Completely ordinary. But the tiniest voice in the back of your mind whispered, or maybe not.

You locked your phone and shoved it back into your pocket, your cheeks burning as if someone had caught you red-handed in your amateur sleuthing. “Get a grip,” you thought. “Even if it was him, he’d never admit it. And honestly, why would he have time to text a stranger?”

Still, the idea danced at the edge of your thoughts, impossible to ignore. As you walked away from the Pleasing shop, a small, secret smile tugged at your lips. Even if it was crazy, the idea was kind of…fun.

The easy back-and-forth continued for days, it was like a month by now, his messages feeling less like texts from a stranger and more like snippets of a conversation with someone familiar. You felt lighter, laughing more often, and somehow the world didn’t seem quite as dull as it did a few weeks ago.

Then, one night, came a new question:

“If you could pick one place to meet a stranger for the first time, where would it be?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. Is this what I think it is?

Your heart jumped as you stared at the screen, the words blurring for a second. You thought for a moment, carefully choosing your response before typing: “A café. Casual, safe, easy to leave if they’re weird. Full of people, maybe near a police station if they’re a serial killer. You?”

His response came quicker than you expected.

“But if you could pick an estimated time to meet a stranger, how long would you wait to feel comfortable with it?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Nice try, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Tulip 🌷.”

Oh no. That wasn’t your stomach growling in hunger; those were butterflies. Actual, undeniable butterflies. Was it even possible to feel something for someone you had no idea what they looked like? What if he was totally different in person, the opposite of this charming, thoughtful guy behind the texts?

Harry had started calling you Tulip after you’d mentioned they were your favorite flowers, and somehow, it stuck. Now, every time he used it, it made you smile like a fool.

Maybe his question was just a throwaway comment, harmless banter before he said goodnight. Or... maybe it wasn’t.

----

One Friday morning, you found yourself buried in work at a café you liked to visit when you needed a break from your desk. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of quiet chatter helped you focus on a new project.You were mid-email when your phone buzzed. 

“Today’s question: what’s your go-to coffee order?”

You smiled, grabbed your cup, and snapped a quick picture to attach to your reply. “An iced latte with oat milk. Drinking one right now.”

“Is that a café?”

“Yeah, it didn't feel like an office day today.”

Moments later, your phone buzzed again, and your stomach dropped.

“…I think I see you.”

Your heart stuttered. Wait. What? Your eyes flicked around the café with a mixture of curiosity and panic. Students were typing away on laptops, a few professionals were deep in email mode, and a couple laughed over their pastries at the next table. Everything seemed normal—except now you felt like you were being watched. You straightened in your seat, pretending to be calm while your mind raced. Another buzz.

“I don’t mean to freak you out, but… blue sweater, iced latte, corner seat by the window?”

Your stomach did a flip. That was definitely you. The serial killer theories came roaring back in your brain.

“Okay, very funny. That was just a lucky guess, wasn’t it?” You hit send, not sure if you wanted him to be joking or if you secretly hoped he was serious.

“No joke. I swear.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you set the phone down. You scanned the room more carefully now, eyes darting from one face to another. Was it the guy with the newspaper in the corner? The barista behind the counter? And then, you saw him.

A man near the door, half-hidden behind sunglasses and a black baseball cap, a scarf loosely wrapped around his neck, holding a cup. He was leaning casually against the wall, phone in hand.

Holy fucking shit. No. No way. Your brain scrambled for logic. This was just a dream, right? Some random coincidence. But your phone buzzed again, yanking you back into reality.

“Disappointed?”

Your breath hitched. He’d sent the text just as you watched him tap his phone. And when your screen lit up, he glanced up—right at you.

It wasn’t a coincidence.

It was him. Harry. Your Harry. and Everyone's Harry Styles.

PART 2!!