#harrystylesblurb

Long story short, you'd never felt more sweaty and gross in your entire life.

You only made it another quarter mile before your legs felt like they'd give out, like you were supported by jell-o alone. You hunched over, sweaty palms tacked to unstable knees, gasping for air like you'd been holding your breath underwater. The air cooled around you, licking at your sweat-damp skin with ice-cold fervor, chilling you down to the bone.

From your hunched-over position, you could only make out the bottom half of his body as he circled back— the lean musculature of his thighs, the unfair solidness of his build.

"Hey," Harry panted, "thought I lost ya there for a second." He placed a hand on the small of your sweaty back, thumb brushing against your surely sweat-damp bike shorts.

You glanced up at him past your eyebrows, eyes squinting in the brightness that loomed from behind his towering frame. And that— that was a sight to behold. Illuminated by the rising California sun, a landscape of yucca, cacti, and desert lavender the perfect backdrop for his statuesque body— the sight was near heavenly, and stole the last remnant of your breath.

The remainder of your discomfort dispersed through your shaking limbs, vanishing in the shadow of a new drive— a new desire, one that sparked in the flinty core of your body.

"Can we go back to the house now?" you asked.

With a hand solidly placed against his cocked hip, Harry quirked an eyebrow at you. "Yeah?"

Harry wouldn't be Harry if he didn't continue to jog around you in circles, as you slowly began the journey back to the house. He'd run ahead a hundred feet, before turning and practicing a new 'u-turn' technique he'd mentioned marathoners in Japan had begun to make popular— just to pace right back to you. Each time he made it back, he'd place a kiss on your lips before spinning around and doing it all over again.

Now this, you thought, this was a form of 'running' you could get on board with.

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By the time you made it back to the house, most of the sweat that had accumulated on your skin had dissipated along with the morning dew, leaving you, albeit still somewhat grimy feeling, slightly more rejuvenated than you had felt two miles into the barren Mojave desert.

Harry, on the other hand, was damp with the effects of his run. He'd discarded his shirt a mile into your trek back, tossing the damp cotton in your arms for 'safekeeping ', which you'd rolled your eyes at but still happily obliged in carrying.

The t-shirt you'd so carefully held onto was discarded the second you both stepped into the entryway. You turned, eyeing the slick skin of his chest, how his happy trail and chest hair pasted, wet, over bronze, sun-kissed skin. You skimmed over the illegal length of his shorts, eyeing the exposure of the tiger and words that were not often revealed, yet were now on full display for you.

Without a second thought, you stepped toward him, your hands finding his waist to hold him steady for what you had in mind. Your lips sank to the vale of his collarbone, hot tongue filling the hollow to lick at the salt on his skin. It was filthy and unexpected, evident by the gasp Harry let out between deep, regulating breaths.

As you nosed at his neck, you couldn't help but notice that his body radiated a heat, a taste, a smell you couldn't resist. Pure pheromones. The pure essence of him beneath your nose and tongue. You breathed deep, savoring the natural musk on his skin—similar to the coastal forests you grew up near. There was no refrain as you kissed, open-mouthed—tongue dancing, at the swallows on his chest, carving all the way down until the fine hair of his chest jelled under your tongue.

It was all intoxicating. Just a few moments with him under your nose and tongue and your mind was overtaken by the cloudy haze of 'taste him'.

"That's it," Harry murmured, a smile carving at his lips as you sank lower, your tongue laving at the thorax that adorned his diaphragm.

His hand smoothed over the loose flyaways of your ponytail, fingertips sinking into the contained hair against the base of your scalp as you nosed at fluttering butterfly wings. Licking and nuzzling, you breathed in everything his skin had to offer as you sank to your knees. The smooth, cold concrete beneath you instantly lost in the fiery blaze of your mind.

Harry's skin was still damp, his sweat having started to cool against your cheek as you kissed around his belly button, thumbs tracing laurel boughs. You pawed at the bunched elastic waistband of his running shorts, your nails carelessly biting into soft muscle of his belly as you tore the flimsy excuse for clothing down his thighs.

You were a spectacle to be mused at as you kissed down his abdomen. Your hands anchored at his hips, tongue out and spit slick, until your nose was nestled into the neatly trimmed patch of his pubic hair. You didn't care that he was still sweaty; you didn't care at all. If anything, the rich smell of him only fueled what was becoming irrepressible appetency.

"Oh, fuck," Harry moaned, fingers scrambling for purchase at the root of your ponytail as your tongue began to explore his hardening cock.

Mirth danced in his pupils as he watched you— watched as your taste buds scored against the natural curvature of him. Watched as your eyes went glassy and your spit began to drip in tacky rills from how you were lapping at his cock. You were just his sweet little thing, overtaken by some carnal desire that was rare to see. And how could he deny a sweet thing like you from lavishing at his body?— sweat and all.

"Taste good?" Harry goaded as your lips wrapped around the ruddy tip of him, tongue cradling his frenulum. And all you could do was groan, your eyes slipping shut— because yes, it did taste good. Salt from skin, salt from precum, salt from him. That's all that mattered, him- him- him.

You swallowed him down with ardor. Your passion present in the way you moaned, bobbing your head up and down his length. Every twitch of his fingers in your hair, each new bead of pre on your tongue, it all kindled the desire to consume, to devour; reaching a threshold of near intoxication as you surmounted the weight of him on your tongue, the nudge of him at the back of your throat.

It was messy the way you imbibed on his cock— all spit, eyes closed. One could say you were filthy; Harry certainly said so— "My filthy, filthy girl— sucking my cock so good, baby."

There was nothing Harry felt but veneration at the sight of you— a vision on your knees, your spit frothing at the base of him. Your dedication to the cause (sucking his cock) was admirable; one could even say quixotic. So why would he interfere? To push would be to sabotage, not just to your crusade but to his own satiety, too. So his hand stayed a constant at the back of your head, a grounding force to your undertaking, fingertips biting at your scalp just enough to let you know he was there— that he cared.

Reality slipped through between gags and rivulets of your own saliva. A brief moment where interoception could cudgel through your lecherous frenzy. You sputtered off his cock, spit clinging in sticky tendrils between your lower lip and the tip of him as you gasped for breath.

Now this, you thought, this is a way you wouldn't mind being breathless with him.

You looked up at Harry through salt clumped lashes, blinking away the tears you hadn't even realized you'd begun shed. And there Harry was, staring down at you with that cheeky look of adoration you weren't sure you'd ever get past— like it was you who hung the moon in his twilight sky. It was that look, those murky, mirth-dilated pupils that made you swoon, that told you that you were safe; safe to till at the soil of his body, to harvest what he had to sow.

"Hi," he cooed, fingers smoothing over the wayward hairs that fell loose around your face.

The simple greeting, just that one two-letter word, had you blushing and nuzzling at the crook of his thigh, into the safe ravine of his muscles. It was so ordinary, so casual— too much so for the circumstances. There you sat, cold concrete beneath your knees, spit clinging to plumped lips, his cock just inches from your face, and the word he chose was 'hi'?

Harry's fingers carded over your scalp, smoothing down your hair in a soothing motion. His affection was simple but, despite this, still brought forth an entrancing kind of comfort— the type that pacified you. "Why'd you stop, baby?" You shook your head against his thigh, still too shy to confront your own ravenous behavior.

His thumb brushed over the crease that nestled between your brows, smoothing away the line with a glide of his fingertip. "C'mon, why don't we get you off the floor?" He suggested, stroking along the back of your head, skimming down until he could rub against your shoulder.

Harry coaxed you upright on your shaky legs. His touch stable as he knew that any remaining sense of stability was long lost from the soreness of your muscles and the dissipating dump of adrenaline from your endeavors. He wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you to his chest, cheek smooshed between sparrows as his palms smoothed over the expanse of your back.

"C'mon," He pulled away, bracing his hands on your slumped shoulders. "Did such a good job taking care of me," he hummed. "Why don't you let me take care of you now?"

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Harry pulled you along, slowly, your small hand pressed in the warmth of his grasp, until he was able to guide you in front of the couch and between his already denuded thighs.

He looked up at you through thick lashes, and you swore the gelation of your legs was going to be finalized just by the lithe sea foam of his irises, the leaden weight of his pupils. His palms were so warm, even through the spandex of your bike shorts, moored to the width of your hips, thumbs circling against your hip bones.

"Why don't we get these off?" he asked, timber deep.

You gave a nod, trying your best not to rock against the balls of your feet as he hooked his thumbs beneath the thick elastic band. You had half a mind to stop him when you realized how sweaty you'd been, how salt had dripped into what felt like every crevice and vale of your body. But he must have known; he'd seen how flushed and out of breath you were during your 'run', and if you hadn't cared, why would he?

Harry pulled you closer, until your knees knocked against the twill cushion of the couch, closer- closer- until he was able to paste a kiss in the well of your sternum. Your hand tangled into his short hair, the strands just long enough to stick up spiky between your fingers as you cradled his head to your body. He kissed, first gentle pecks, savoring the smoothness of your skin and the fine vellus hairs that greeted his lips— until avidity took over, until his lips and tongue weren't enough and the brusque edge of his teeth had to make do.

Your grasp tightened in the strands you held so desperately between clenched fingers. Your other hand tangled down at his nape, nails biting at the brawny topography of his shoulders and back as he sucked a mark over the projection of your ribs. The sound rewarded by his infliction rumbled gently beneath his taste buds, filling his mouth with a newfound taste of veneration. Urgency thrummed in both of your veins as his thumbs pried off the two-piece set that clung to your skin.

He mouthed at your belly, your chest, nipping and sucking and laving— savoring every inch of skin he could sink his teeth, his tongue, into. Dignity got lost in a tangle of your limbs, of skin on skin, as Harry pulled you —spread wide— into the cradle of his lap.

Caught in his snare, his hands were nearing opulency, and yet somehow still felt too finite. Fingers slid around the globes of your ass, hoisting, lifting, until he could position you where he liked. And you, you kissed at the rogue, sun-born freckles that had dared to pop up across his cheekbones under the despotic sun of the desert, as he manhandled you into the perfect, pliant position that he desired.

You honed in on the sensation of skin on tepid, sticky skin—on the heat that brewed in the bisect of your legs as his cock nudged against the cleft of your cunt and thigh. You wanted it— my god, you swore you'd never felt a hunger that deep.

You didn't even notice his hand traveling past your hip—not until you released a noise against his cheek, something caught between a mewl and gasp, as his cockhead caught at your entrance. Harry was breathing just as heavy, hot and humid, against the crook of your neck, the width of his hand broad against your lower back, his touch all encompassing.

He helped to guide you with ease, letting gravity take its course as you sank down the length of him. In that moment he occupied your every thought, filling you with such precision, such totality, that there was nothing else beyond the stretch of him against your walls. All your sensations pinpointed down to how he carved out a home for himself within your body, the give of his flesh beneath your nails, the taste of his skin between your teeth as you nipped at his cheekbone.

He pecked at your jawbone in return as you both shuddered out a breath. "Want to act like a feral kitten?" he hummed, lilt caught in his throat. "Then you can ride me like one."

And the low drawl of his words, the condescension laced into his tone, acted like he'd thrown gasoline onto the burning frame of your body. The pain of your tired muscles diffused, replaced instead by an inferno of brute appetency.

Harry's nails bit at your backside, digging into supple flesh as you dared to cock your hips forward. Your clit dragged through the coronet of his pubic hair as the compound of your ragged breaths hung heavy in the interstice of your bodies.

"C'mon," he goaded with a smile. "Show me how bad you want it."

And your overburdened muscles couldn't stop you if they tried.

The sound of skin slapping against skin overtook the room, accompanied only by frayed gasps that filtered past unbarred lips. You were thankful for the anchor of his palms against your back, broad and wide, like he was holding together the threads of your being— fearful that you'd unspool just from the pleasure of it all.

There was no need to be graceful, no gnawing voice in your head that said your movements had to look pretty— that all fell away. Everything fixated down to a single point— the mutual gratification that Harry's cock fucking into you brought. Your drive hadn't simmered down to that needy intuition to take, but it was close.

"Y'were so filthy sucking my sweaty cock," Harry bit out against the shell of your ear, nails cresting the dimples of your back as he thrust up. "My filthy, fucking, girl—"

"Fuck—" You gasped, teeth grazing against his jawbone as your clit rolled against his pelvis in that perfect way.

Maybe you were filthy— driven to madness just by your own hunger. But how could you not be when you had that pinned beneath the plush of your ass. That looking up at with hazy, lust-filled eyes. That cudgeling against the deepest, innermost parts of your being— reducing you to nothing but a vessel of desire.

There was something to be cherished about the noises that crawled up your throat, the unabashed groans and moans that dared to break free, fueled by an ardent hunger. How pleasure played your bodies like an instrument, the resonance echoing in between smooshed, sweaty ribcages. How there, reduced to subdued pleasure, your beings could surrender to one another, unbound.

Your orgasm steamrolled you without warning— hot and shuddering. And you clawed at the very vessel that guided you without second thought, nails gouging out marks in the tanned plane of his back, his shoulders; teeth grazing at the hinge of his jaw as your breaths unified in tepidity.

Slowly he nudged against the furthest reaches of your core, rocking you gently in his lap as you caught your breath against the damp skin of his neck, "How's my good girl?" He asked with a shift of his hips.

Words were so far astray in your mind that all Harry got was a garbled mumble, followed by the faint press of your lips to his collarbone. And that was enough for him as he held you, safe and spread as his palm slid up the sweaty curve of your spine, holding you steady as the aftershocks of your orgasm had you clenching around him.

Harry was content to just let you be, to relish in the softness of your skin, the warmth of your breath on his neck — and while the respite was nice, something still kindled in the flickering core of your body.

You could feel the muscles in his belly tremble as you shifted in his lap— feel the very effect of your body in the vibrations of his breath as he sucked in a sharp inhale. Harry's fingers were loose on your hips, your waist, as you clambered off of him. He stroked along the outside of your waist as you rose tall between his knees. There was a sense of wonderment as he looked up at you, of intrigue of what was to come.

Harry's gaze stayed firm on you as you sank to your knees, his touch light and constant on your arms, your shoulders, the cusp of your jaw— just enough to keep himself grounded to you, to remind himself that this was real.

You nuzzled into the warm cup of his palm, eyes closing as sanctity flowed in. You could envision yourself held in the haven of his branched thighs, kept safely in the web of his scent, his skin, his touch, forever— but you had bigger plans.

You let yourself look him as your nails found the insides of his thighs, running lightly across the sensitive skin. Let yourself admire how his lips parted in a gasp when you kissed the inside of his thigh, just above the knee. How, as you mouthed at untouched skin, his lips stayed parted, suspended like there was something to say— but there was nothing, just the galvanized energy that hung between you two, muggy and crackling.

By the time you reached his cock you swore his ruddy tip had deepened a few shades— still tacky with your arousal and glossy with a fresh layer of precum. Harry's hand tangled in your hair as you licked from the crook of his thigh to the swell of his sack. Dulcet and honeyed, his sweet sounds burrowed just as deeply into your being as his fingers did into your hair. You swore you could feel the tenor of his moan in your own sternum as you pulled the sensitive skin into your mouth.

"Fuck," Harry panted from above—

And that's when the impulse hit.

You'd done it before: nestled yourself so far into the bifurcate of his thighs that you'd carved out a home with just the tip of your tongue. The few times Harry had let you, you'd greatly enjoyed it— enjoyed the way your tongue on his hole made him whimper in that one specific way. How his had body wound so tight with pleasure that his muscles shook down to the source. How the daring venture and curl of a finger or two had elicited the sweetest sounds.

And now, here you were, craving to do it all again— wishing to devote yourself to the consummation of his pleasure until there was nothing left but the salt of his tears cresting on his cheeks and the salt from his cum spayed across his chest.

With mischievous eyes, you looked up at him, smiling. "Flip over," you said without pause, hand smoothing over the inside of his thigh as if to provide comfort for any apprehension of what was to come.

It took Harry a second to process what you meant, his brain still foggy with the memory of your walls tight around his cock. But he saw the ambition laced in your gaze, felt the anticipation of your touch, how your fingertips conveyed an unspoken vow as you stroked along the soft hair lining the insides of his thighs. So with the help of your guiding hand, Harry tottered into the position of your prophecy.

The position was inherently vulnerable: knees anchored apart, back arched; his rubicund cheek pressed against gabardine fabric. Still he settled with his face in the crook of his arms, blind to what you were about to do, but entirely trusting.

And it was that sight, the low curve of his back —how sweetly he arched for you— how his cock hung heavy and tumescent in the split of his muscled thighs, your juices still glistening along the length of him— it was that sight that kindled your desire.

Any whispers of hesitation from Harry dissipated as your touch stayed consistent along his thighs, the outside of his hip, the swell of his ass. You kept your touch slow and deliberate, mindful to embody veneration as you explored the vulnerable expanse of his parted thighs.

You couldn't help but press your fingers into the meat of his ass, not hard enough to leave half moons, but enough that his flesh dimpled around your fingertips as you playfully spread him open. He clenched beneath your touch as the first rill of spit fell in a viscous dribble. You couldn't help but dip your finger into your own beading saliva, drawing the slickness of your spit down and over the strata running from breach to sack.

Your lips fell to the silver striations that crested over his bum, tongue joining in the grooves of growth too fast. As your pointer and middle finger became acquainted with what would soon become your tongue’s new home, you kissed and licked and bit at the plush of his cheeks— earning a gruff little hum when your teeth sank too far.

With one hand splayed over the cleft of his cheek, your other found the root of him, fingers sinking down until your knuckles coupled with the tamed growth of his pubic hair. Your tongue rolled out, unceremoniously, spit already gathered across the soft body of your taste buds, before making sloppy landfall with his perineal stria. And you think to yourself, that at this point, your taste buds probably know Harry better than your mind ever will.

You could feel his muscles unfurl beneath your tongue, your fingers— how his hips canted back in a search for more. And more you were happy to give— happy to lap at the tautness of his rim, tongue slick, as it explored the hollow of its own creation.

You realized then that you'd do anything if it meant being in the audience of the noises he yielded. To soak in every breathy noise, each one more delectable than the last, felt like the highest accolade.

The gentle brush of his fingertips at your chin reminded you that there was more than just his hole to take care of. Your thumb replaced the tip of your tongue, fingertip prodding just beyond the tension of his rim, and you drew his cock backward, taking the ruddy tip of him into your mouth. With your own hand above his, joined at the root where your lips could not meet, you swallowed him down. And that sound —that hiss that rattled from behind clenched teeth— that told you all you needed to know.

His palm fell to your forearm, grasp tight and urgent as his hips began to rock —tipping the crown of himself into the tight vice of your awaiting throat until you were sputtering around his girth. With a gasp and a cough, your fervor did not cease. No— not when his shins were pressed to your biceps, one arm reaching back so that his hand braced at the back of your skull, caging you in the sanctity his body created.

You lapped, tongue dripping in the excess of your own saliva, until Harry's frame surrendered to the bliss you brought forth. Until his muscles unwound into tepid little pools of pleasure. Until his weight fell and your hands were forced to become anchors, snagged in the fortification of laurels. Until he was vitrified and heavy, his only movement the absent shift of his hips —of the impossible slickness that you had created— back against your awaiting, eager tongue.

You would have loved to see his face, to have watched as his brow rumpled, seen how his eyes squeezed shut, like ecstasy was blinding—bright. How his lips parted as a resounding string of nonsensical praise tumbled out — "fuck—ah—so good—always take care o'me so good—". But the triumph of his pleasure, the press of his ankles to your shoulders— how his body rended to the deftness of your tongue would have to be enough.

Harry came with a cry of your name, lachrymose and perfervid—his load warm and drippy as it fell over the cinch of your hand—

And you ate him through it— licked leisurely at the mess you'd created until he whined out in a bleat of overstimulation. Until his legs were shaking, taut with the effects of his pleasure, caging, pulling you in like if you were closer you'd feel it too. It was hard to want to pull away. Why would you when the muscles of his rim twitched beneath your tongue, spasming in waves that called you in.

Though, when you did surrender, strings of saliva strained in the chasm between your bodies, fusing you to him in lucent tendrils.

Harry was usually the one behind your undoing— the one to unravel you stitch by stich, to wind you around a spool to keep all for himself. So to see him reduced to such depths of enervation, to see your ambitions come to fruition, it all activated a new sense of pride. The kind that sat light and warm in your chest, wrapping itself around your ribs until you were buoyant and fuzzy.

There was no rush to move, no mad dash for self preservation, for clean-up. So you sat there, hand on the small of his back, winding tender circles as he caught his breath. You kissed the swell of his bum, the back of his thighs. You whispered sweetness into the softness of his skin as quiet nestled into both of your nooks and crannies.

Silence might unnerve some, carry the fear of uncertainty for others, but not for you two. The hush brought solace, a special kind of comfort. Bared entirely, there was no room for shame, no cubbyholes or shaded corners to shove the ugly things beneath.

You tumbled into a mass of sweaty limbs, of "I love you's", of gangly legs and canted feet. You held Harry's head to the swell of your chest, carded your fingers through his sweat damp hair, as he drew mindless little circles along the side of your hip. Swaddled one another in the care you'd always wished to have received before finding one another, until slowly you both regained some semblance of composure.

"I'm gonna have to take you on more runs if this is how you behave," Harry whispered against your throat.

"You better fucking not," you squawked, tightening your grasp in his hair and pulling hard in warning.

Harry moved faster than you could think, caging you beneath his weight in an instant. His fingertips activated like darts, finding the dip of your waist before you could throw a hand up to stop him. Your laughter struck, clapping like lightning as he tickled you. The sound illuminating and bright— everything that Harry wanted to hear in that moment.

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AN pt2: I wish I could say I am fully back in business after this, but alas, I am not. I'm undergoing a pretty major (and very much life changing) surgery next week (I'm getting top surgery!!) and wanted to get something posted before I am truly down for the count. I am ~hopeful~ though, that over the next 6 weeks, which is how long I am taking off work, that I will be able to get some writing done, but my #1 priority will 100% be rest! (I can just see myself bored out of my mind cooped up at home and getting writing done once I'm off the painkillers). Any whoosle, if you've made it this far I appreciate you so so much and am sending you all the love (๑ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵) ♡

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And yet, sitting here next to him, as close as they were, it was impossible not to be reminded of just how deep her feelings for him ran. His presence had always had this effect on her, an electric undercurrent that made her skin tingle and her heart pound just a little harder. She stole a glance at him over the top of her book. He was engrossed in whatever he was reading, completely unaware of the thoughts swirling in her mind.

That’s what made it all so painful—he would never see her that way. She was just Y/N, his best mate, his confidant. The one person who was always there, but never the one he looked at with desire. She felt a knot tighten in her chest as she allowed herself, for just a moment, to imagine what it would be like if things were different. If she were someone else. If he saw her the way she saw him.

As if sensing her gaze, Harry suddenly looked up, catching her in the act. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smile, and he set his book down on the coffee table.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked, his voice low, breaking the silence between them. His eyes locked onto hers, and the way he studied her made her feel exposed, as though he could read her thoughts without her saying a word. “You’ve been staring at that same page for ages.”

Y/N quickly dropped her gaze, closing the book to avoid his probing eyes. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, though the heat rising to her cheeks gave her away.

He tilted his head, not buying it for a second. “Come on,” he coaxed, a teasing edge to his voice. “Spill it. I know you. You’ve got that look.”

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to laugh it off. “What look?”

“The one where you’re overthinking everything,” he said, leaning back against the couch, still watching her closely. His gaze softened. “Talk to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as Harry’s green eyes bore into hers, his expression filled with gentle concern. She had always struggled to lie to him. Whenever he looked at her like that, like he truly cared, she felt like he could see right through her. The panic rose quickly, threatening to bubble over, and she knew she had to say something—anything—to steer the conversation away from the thoughts that were tangled up in her mind.

She blurted out the first thing that came to her. “My cousin’s getting married.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. “Which cousin?”

Y/N let out a long sigh, glad for the distraction, though the topic she’d chosen wasn’t much better. “The worst one. Out of the three, I mean. You know, the one who’s always got something to say about everything. Perfect life, perfect fiancé, perfect job… perfect everything.”

Harry’s expression softened into one of amused sympathy. He knew exactly the kind of family pressure Y/N was talking about. He stretched out his legs, making himself more comfortable, as if settling in for a story. “Ah, her. That sounds like fun,” he teased, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Y/N rolled her eyes, tucking her legs beneath her as she faced him. “It’s not just her. It’s the whole family. They’re all so excited, and for some reason, they’re all hell-bent on me bringing a date.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t even have a boyfriend, but everyone keeps asking if I’m bringing someone. They’re already assuming I’m going to show up with a ‘plus one,’ and I just… I don’t want to deal with the humiliation of telling them I’m still single. Again.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as he listened, a small frown tugging at his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at her thoughtfully. “Y/N, you don’t owe anyone an explanation. If you don’t want to bring someone, then don’t. Your family’s expectations shouldn’t dictate your happiness.”

Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”

Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”

The room fell silent for a moment as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze softening even further. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then paused, seemingly deep in thought.

Y/N bit her lip, realizing she was rambling, but it was easier to talk about this than the real issue she was trying to avoid. And with Harry sitting so close, his concern for her so palpable, it made her feel even more off-balance. Every time he cared, every time he listened so intently, it reminded her of how much she longed for something more than just friendship.

But that wasn’t an option. Not with him. So, she buried it all under the wedding invitation and the pressures from her family, hoping it would be enough to keep him from asking more.

Harry studied her for a long moment, eyes searching her face like he could sense there was something more she wasn’t saying. He tilted his head slightly, lips pressing together in that way he always did when he was thinking hard.

“Is that really why you’re freaking out?” he asked gently, his voice laced with quiet skepticism.

Y/N felt her stomach twist, the question catching her off guard. She hated how easily he could see through her, but she wasn’t about to crack. Not when it came to her deeper feelings. So, she nodded quickly, clutching onto the family wedding excuse like a lifeline. “Yes, it is. It’s a big issue, Harry. Every time I visit my family, it just… it tears me down a little more. They make me feel like I’m somehow falling behind because I don’t have someone. It’s exhausting.”

He sighed softly, his eyes softening with sympathy, though there was still a trace of doubt in his gaze. Without saying anything more, he leaned back against the couch and picked up his book again, his fingers absently running along the spine.

For a few minutes, silence fell between them, the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of turning pages the only sounds filling the room. Y/N watched him out of the corner of her eye, heart still racing from the close call. She didn’t know what she’d do if he pushed further—if he managed to pry open the lid she’d been keeping on her feelings. She shifted in her seat, trying to focus on her book, but the words refused to make sense.

Then, just as she was beginning to lose herself in her own anxious thoughts, Harry broke the silence.

“I’ve got an easy solution,” he said suddenly, his voice calm and casual, like he hadn’t just spent several minutes in contemplative silence. He didn’t even look up from his book. “I’ll go with you.”

Y/N blinked, his words not quite registering at first. “What?”

He glanced over at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll be your date. To the wedding,” he clarified, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Problem solved.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her mind racing to catch up. “You… you’re serious?” She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Harry Styles, her best friend—and secret crush—offering to be her date to her cousin’s wedding?

“Of course,” he said, shrugging as if it were no big deal. “If it’ll make things easier for you, I’m in. I’ll go, smile for the family, and be the perfect distraction. You won’t have to deal with any awkward questions about being single.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned. He made it sound so simple, like it was no trouble at all. But for her, it was anything but simple. Having him at her side, pretending to be her date, while she tried to keep her feelings under control… It sounded like both a dream and a nightmare all at once.

She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “Harry, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, closing his book and turning his full attention to her now. His gaze was steady, sincere. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. If this is stressing you out, let me help. I’d be happy to go with you.”

Her heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through her chest at the thought of him being there, by her side, at a time when she felt most vulnerable. But at the same time, the reality of pretending—of standing next to him, feeling things she shouldn’t, knowing it was all just for show—made her feel dizzy.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost unsure.

Harry’s smile widened into that familiar, mischievous grin. “Positive. And besides, who wouldn’t want to show off a date like me?” he teased, his tone light, but his eyes still holding that warm, comforting sincerity.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, her anxiety easing just a little. Maybe, just maybe, having Harry with her wouldn’t be so bad. It might even be the perfect distraction—from her family, and from her feelings. If she could keep them in check, that is.

“He’s going with you?!” Maddie’s voice echoed through the apartment, loud and full of disbelief.

Y/N, sitting cross-legged on the floor in her bedroom, groaned and yelled back, “I know!”

Maddie appeared in the doorway a second later, her eyes wide with shock and excitement. “Harry Styles—your best friend and international superstar—is going to a wedding with you. As your date. This is… this is insane!”

Y/N let out a half-laugh, half-sigh as she flopped back onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Trust me, I’m still trying to process it.”

Maddie crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Okay, let’s go over the logistics because this is a lot to unpack. First of all, the wedding is a whole weekend, right?”

“Yeah,” Y/N muttered, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. “It’s in Edinburgh, so we’re going up on Friday, staying until Sunday. Two full days of family, dinners, receptions, and a ton of small talk.”

“And Harry knows this?” Maddie asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

Y/N bit her lip, her voice dropping to a quiet murmur. “No, not exactly.”

Maddie’s eyes widened even further. “Wait, so you haven’t told him it’s a whole weekend thing? What if he backs out when he realizes it’s not just a one-night event?”

Y/N sat up straighter, her anxiety returning in full force. “I mean, I hope he won’t. He offered so casually, but I didn’t get into all the details.” She winced, feeling a bit guilty for not being completely upfront. “It’s just... he said yes so easily, and I didn’t want to overwhelm him with everything all at once.”

Maddie shook her head, pacing the room in thought. “Okay, well, you’ve got to tell him. He’s going to need to know what he’s signing up for. The last thing you want is him backing out last minute.”

“I know,” Y/N agreed, sighing. “I’ll tell him tomorrow. I just… I really hope he doesn’t change his mind. It’s already going to be awkward enough dealing with my family, and having Harry there is the only thing keeping me sane.”

Maddie stopped pacing and turned to her with a mischievous smile. “Well, there’s something else we need to focus on.”

“What’s that?” Y/N asked, dreading the answer.

“Your outfits!” Maddie exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “This is a wedding weekend in Edinburgh with Harry as your date. You need to look absolutely perfect every single day.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Maddie, please don’t make this into a fashion show. I’m already freaking out as it is.”

Her roommate crossed the room and sat down on the bed beside her, nudging her playfully. “Listen, if you want your family to shut up about you being single, you’ve got to show up looking like the best version of yourself. And besides…” She shot her a knowing look. “It wouldn’t hurt for Harry to see you in a new light.”

Y/N peeked up at her through her fingers. “What do you mean?”

Maddie grinned. “Come on, Y/N. You’ve had a crush on him for as long as I’ve known you. Maybe this is the chance to finally turn his head, you know? If he’s going to be by your side all weekend, you might as well look stunning while you’re at it.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the thought, but she quickly shook her head. “Harry doesn’t see me that way, Mads. He’s going because he’s a good friend. That’s it.”

“Maybe. But maybe not,” Maddie said with a wink. “Either way, we’re going to make sure you look incredible. Now, where’s that suitcase of yours? We’ve got some planning to do.”

The next day, Y/N stood outside Harry’s house, a small bouquet of flowers in her hand. She smiled as she reached for the familiar key in her pocket, the one Harry had given her ages ago. She slipped it into the lock, the click of the door unlocking bringing a sense of comfort. Harry’s house had always felt like a second home to her—sometimes more of a home than her own apartment, if she was honest.

Walking inside, the familiar scent fresh linen greeted her, making her feel instantly at ease. She made her way into the kitchen, glancing around at the cozy space before setting the flowers down on the counter. After a quick search for a vase, she arranged them carefully, letting out a satisfied sigh once they were settled. The bright colors of the flowers added a little warmth to the room, something she liked doing whenever she visited.

“Harry?” she called out, already heading towards the back of the house and into the familiar hallway that led to his bedroom.

“Closet!” his voice echoed, slightly muffled, from somewhere in the bedroom.

She stepped inside, smiling to herself. His bedroom looked like it always did—neatly chaotic, with a mix of designer clothes and random bits of his life scattered about. But one thing caught her eye immediately: his Gucci suitcase, already lying open on the floor, ready to be packed.

He’s really going through with it, she thought, a mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling up inside her.

As she approached the closet, Harry emerged, fresh out of the shower, a towel slung low around his hips. His damp curls clung to his forehead, and water still glistened on his skin. He caught her eye and grinned.

“Didn’t hear you come in,” he said, toweling off his hair as he glanced down at the suitcase. “I figured I’d start getting things ready for this weekend. here we come.”

Y/N chuckled, leaning against the doorway of his closet. “You’re already ahead of me. I haven’t even started packing yet.”

Harry shot her a playful look. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you choose your outfits. You know I have opinions.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her heart lightened by his teasing. But as she looked at him—standing there so casually, like this whole wedding weekend was no big deal—a knot formed in her chest. It was all starting to feel very real, and the idea of spending an entire weekend with him, pretending he was her date, was starting to feel overwhelming. Still, she couldn’t deny how good it felt to be in his presence, the one place where everything seemed a little less complicated.

Y/N lingered by the doorway of Harry’s closet, watching as he continued to dry his hair, the smell of his cologne mixing with the steam from his shower. She glanced again at the Gucci suitcase on the floor, neatly positioned and ready to be packed. A wave of guilt hit her. She hadn’t told him everything yet—about the wedding being an entire weekend event.

Clearing her throat, she shifted her weight. “So, uh, Harry… there’s something I need to mention about the wedding.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, still toweling his hair, his grin never faltering. “What’s that? Do I need to brush up on my dance moves?”

She let out a small laugh, then bit her lip. “It’s not just the wedding ceremony, you know. It’s kind of… a whole weekend thing.”

He stopped drying his hair, the towel resting on his shoulders as he turned to face her fully. “A whole weekend?”

Y/N nodded, her heart picking up its pace. “Yeah. It’s in Edinburgh, and there’s a dinner on Friday, the ceremony and reception on Saturday, and a brunch on Sunday. It’s like… a three-day event.”

For a moment, Harry just stared at her, blinking. His eyes searched her face, processing what she’d just said.

“Wait, so it’s a full-on wedding extravaganza?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

Y/N nodded again, suddenly feeling sheepish. “Yeah, I should’ve mentioned that before. But I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Harry let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Scare me off? Y/N, I’m already committed to this. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He tossed the towel aside and crossed the room, leaning casually against the wall beside her. “A weekend in Edinburgh with you? Honestly, that sounds like a good time.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered with relief, though a part of her was still nervous. “You sure? I mean, it’s a lot—my family, the pressure… all of it.”

Harry shrugged, giving her a reassuring smile. “I’ve done crazier things. Plus, I’m kind of looking forward to charming your family.” His grin widened, eyes sparkling. “So, when do we leave?”

Y/N smiled, her chest filling with warmth. He really wasn’t backing out. He was in this with her, and somehow, the weekend ahead didn’t seem so daunting anymore.

Y/N and Harry sat cross-legged on the floor of his living room, plates of Indian takeout spread across the coffee table. The comforting aroma of curry and naan filled the room as they half-watched How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days playing on the TV. They had seen it a million times, but it never got old—Harry always laughed at the same parts, and Y/N always teased him for knowing the lines better than she did.

As Y/N scooped up a bite of butter chicken with a piece of naan, she noticed Harry glancing at her with a mischievous look in his eyes. She raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. “What’s that look for?”

Harry grinned, leaning back against the couch, plate balanced on his lap. “I was just thinking about the wedding.”

“Please don’t remind me,” Y/N groaned, shaking her head. “I’m still processing the fact that you’re actually going.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still all in,” Harry assured her, nudging her playfully. “But I had a thought… Why don’t we drive to Edinburgh?”

Y/N blinked, lowering her fork. “Drive? Like, from here to Edinburgh? That’s over eight hours, H.”

“Exactly!” he said, his eyes lighting up like it was the best idea he’d ever had. “Think about it—if we drive, we have complete control. If things get weird at the wedding, we’ll have a getaway car. No waiting around for flights or relying on anyone. We can just leave whenever we want.”

Y/N gave him a skeptical look. “You’re planning our escape before we’ve even arrived?”

He shrugged, popping a piece of naan into his mouth. “I like to be prepared. And besides, it’s not just about the escape plan. We’d get a proper road trip! Snacks, music, random stops at those little roadside places—remember the last time we did a long drive?”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “Yeah, and you made us stop at every service station just to try the food.”

Harry’s grin widened. “Exactly! Imagine all the snacks we could pack—crisps, chocolate, samosas. And the music—oh, the music! I’ll make the ultimate road trip playlist. We’ll sing along the whole way, windows down, no stress.”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “You just want an excuse to sing loudly and off-key, don’t you?”

“Hey, I have excellent taste in road trip tunes,” he said, pointing a fork at her in mock offense. “Besides, don’t you think it’d be fun? Eight hours in the car, just us, no rush.”

She tilted her head, contemplating the idea for a moment. As much as she loved the thought of a carefree road trip with Harry, she was more focused on practicality. “Look, I get it. But it’s just… flying is so much quicker. We’ll be there in less than two hours, and we won’t be exhausted by the time we get there. We need our energy for my family and the whole wedding thing.”

Harry leaned back against the couch, pouting playfully. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

She looked over at Harry, who was now munching on a piece of naan with an expectant grin on his face. He seemed to sense her change of heart and glanced up, eyebrows raised in question.

“You know,” Y/N said, breaking the comfortable silence, “Let’s do it!”.

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise and delight. “Really? Are you serious?”

Y/N nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, why not? It could be fun. And I guess having the car would be good for flexibility. If we need a quick escape or just want to explore a bit…”

Harry’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “Right”.

-> part II

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Harry lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with a mixture of concern and quiet frustration. The faint aroma of the dinner he’d prepared still clung to the air, a cruel reminder that she had once again skipped a meal in favor of work. Outside, the streetlights cast a soft, silver glow through the thin curtains, tracing ghostly patterns on the floor. Y/N remained wrapped in the world of her screen, completely oblivious to his presence.

He cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the hush like a blade. “Y/N, it’s late. You need to come to bed.”

She didn’t look up. “Just a few more minutes, Harry. I need to finish this.”

Harry sighed, raking a hand through his unruly curls. “You’ve been saying that for the last three hours. You need a break.”

This time, she did glance up—just long enough for him to catch the flicker of exhaustion in her gaze before she turned back to her work. “I can’t. This project is a big one. I have to get it done.”

Harry pushed off the door frame and strode toward her, his presence heavy, unyielding. A warm hand landed on her shoulder, grounding her. “You’ve been at this nonstop for weeks. You need to take care of yourself.”

She shrugged off his touch. “I will. Just not tonight.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not how this works, Y/N. You know the rules. You agreed to them.” His voice remained level, but there was an edge to it now, a quiet authority that she could no longer ignore. “Your body needs food, rest… You’ll burn out if you keep this up.”

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, but for the first time in hours, she hesitated. She exhaled slowly, her voice softer, but still laced with defiance.

“I just… need to finish this. Can’t you see that?”

Harry’s expression didn’t waver. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You can finish it tomorrow. During normal hours. Right now, you need sleep. I already let you skip dinner, and we both know that wasn’t the first meal you’ve ignored lately.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I’ve run out of patience, love.”

Y/N stilled. She understood the implication behind his words. Her breath hitched, cheeks heating.

“Harry, I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can.” His tone was gentle, yet immovable. “And you will.” With deliberate ease, he reached out and closed her laptop, the sudden silence deafening.

She finally looked at him, her eyes flashing with something between defiance and reluctant surrender. “You’re being over the top,” she muttered.

Harry smirked, tilting her chin up with his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Maybe I am. But someone has to be.” His thumb brushed against her cheek, slow and deliberate. “You’re not taking care of yourself. And that’s not acceptable to me.” His voice was softer now, but it carried an unmistakable weight.

The air thickened, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable.

He took a step back, nodding toward the staircase. “C’mon. Up you get.”

Y/N hesitated for half a second before pushing up from her chair, her body drawn to his like a tide to the shore. As much as she wanted to argue, she knew he was right. This project had pushed her past her limits—late nights, skipped meals, unanswered texts and calls—Harry had let a lot slide. But tonight, that grace had run out. And now that she had been pulled from the blue-light-induced trance she had been under, she found herself grateful for his insistence.

As they ascended the stairs, a different kind of tension coiled low in her stomach. She knew exactly where this was going, and she could already feel the electricity crackling in the space between them.

Harry sat on the edge of their bed, his eyes steady as she hovered in the doorway. He extended a hand, beckoning her forward.

“C’mere,” he commanded.

She found her place in between his legs. His hands fell to her hips and slinked around to the soft flesh under her ass, holding her in place. She looked down at him, anticipating his next move.

“I think you have a pretty good idea of where this is headed, yeah?” His eyes held a quiet patience that stood in sharp contrast to the inevitable sentence looming over her head.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, avoiding his gaze.

Harry hummed in approval. “I’ve let a lot slide these past couple of weeks,” he said, tilting his head forward in search of her eyes. “I know big projects come up and that they sometimes get the better of our judgment. That’s just life. But you’re not doing yourself any favors by skipping meals and running on two hours of sleep each day… I know you know that.”

She rested her hands on his shoulders, fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt. A nervous habit.

He blows out a soft sigh, brushing his fingers against her skin, “I gave you plenty of chances to course-correct, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting perfection, but you’ve been running yourself into the ground, and that’s not something I can just overlook.”

She chewed her lip, her gaze flickering anywhere but his face. “I know. I’m sorry.” A frustrated breath escaped her lips, “It’s just… this project is important to me, and you know how cutthroat my coworkers can be. I can’t afford to fall behind.”

“I understand,” he says, lightly squeezing her flesh beneath his hands. “And I love how hard you work, but regardless, you know you can’t be on your A-game if you’re not taking care of yourself… That’s why we put these rules in place, remember? He moves his right hand up to her jaw in a silent command to meet his stare, “Because I love you and I care about you.” His voice was steady, eyes unwavering. “And sometimes you need a reminder to care about yourself, too. Yeah?”

She maintained eye contact this time, the guilt she had been trying to push aside settled heavily in her chest. “I love you too.” she mumbles, her voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t just an apology—it was an admission. She had ignored the rules, brushed aside her own well-being for weeks, and now the weight of it all felt like it was seeping out of her pores, pooling at his feet.

Harry lets his hand drop from her chin, his expression firm but not unkind. “And I appreciate that,” he says, his tone shifting, sharpening. “But you know the deal.”

It wasn’t necessarily a question, but she answered him, nonetheless.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Alright, over my knee,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He patted his thigh—a silent summons, firm and absolute.

Y/N hesitated for a moment. Not out of reluctance, but out of the sheer pleasure of the moment—this dance between them—the thrill of defiance followed by sweet surrender. She always wanted this, always needed this, and until right now; she hadn’t realized how much she’d been craving it.

He didn’t rush her. He never did. He simply waited, watching her with steady, knowing eyes. The weight of his gaze alone sent a shiver through her, anticipation thrumming beneath her skin. Taking a slow, measured breath, she finally relented, placing her hands on the mattress for balance as she draped herself over his lap.

He took a moment to admire the sight before him—the gentle arch of her back, the delicate vibration in her limbs, betraying her excitement. His hands smoothed over her spine, warm and comforting, a soothing contrast to the tension coiling inside her.

He could feel her trembling almost imperceptibly as she laid there—a quiet, unspoken longing bubbling up from her core. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her leggings, peeling them down her legs with deliberate ease before tossing them aside.

His palms roamed over the swell of her ass, his touch featherlight, teasing. Y/N bit her lip, resisting the instinct to press her thighs together as he traced the lace trim of her panties, feeling her heat radiating through the delicate fabric. That alone nearly unraveled him. His cock strained painfully against his sweatpants, but he forced himself to linger in this moment—the exquisite torture of making her wait, of drawing it out until she was teetering on the edge.

His hands traveled upward, finding the hem of her shirt, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin beneath. He heard the small hitch in her breath, watched as goosebumps bloomed across her flesh. Slowly, agonizingly, he lifted the fabric, removing it from her body, letting the cool air kiss her bare back as she shivered in his grasp.

He towered over her, his presence commanding every ounce of her attention. His voice, low and unwavering, wrapped around her like a steel chain. “Is your work more important than your own health?”

Y/N inhaled sharply, steadying herself before she answered. “No, Sir.”

“And who decides when you’ve had enough?” His head tilted slightly, waiting—expecting.

His voice rumbled through her, a dark, velvety vibration that settled deep in her bones. Her breath hitched. “You do, Sir.”

A flicker of approval danced in his eyes. “Good girl.”

His palm ghosted over the curves of her ass, tracing gentle circles that did little to soothe the anticipation humming in her nerves. “I want you to count for me.”

She barely had a moment to brace herself before his hand left her skin—only to return with a sharp, resounding crack.

“One!” she gasped. But before she could stop herself, her right hand shot back instinctively, trying to shield herself from the sting.

Harry was faster. He caught her wrist effortlessly, pinning it against the small of her back. His fingers wove through hers, the delicate touch at odds with the firmness of his next words.

“You know better than that.” His voice carried a quiet, heavy disapproval that made her stomach flip. “We’re starting over. Every time you squirm, we’ll go back to one again. Understood?”

Y/N swallowed hard, resisting the urge to whimper. He meant business tonight. “Yes, Sir.”

The next blow landed just as hard.

“One, Sir.” This time, she tagged on the honorific—not required, but a subtle touch she knew he'd appreciate. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

Then came the next. And the next.

“Two, Sir… Three, Sir!” The quick succession stole the breath from her lungs, leaving her voice edged with both pain and something deeper, something needier.

He could feel it—the way her body responded, her skin flushing beneath his touch, heat rolling off her in waves. His palm burned against her flesh, but he reveled in it. He lived for this part: the slow, deliberate breaking down of everything but sensation.

By number twelve, the sharp slap landed against the tender flesh of her lower thighs, and she wailed, the sound raw and unfiltered. Tears pricked at the edges of her vision, but still, she forced the number past her lips.

Harry knew her body better than she did. He knew exactly how to unravel her, how to make her cry out first from frustration—then from sheer, unadulterated pleasure. He wanted her mind empty, consumed only by this, by him.

The next set of strikes sent waves of something heady through her, an intoxicating blend of pain and euphoria. Her breath stuttered. She barely managed to grunt out the numbers between each punishing impact, her body trembling, craving.

By the time he reached twenty-eight, her head had fallen slack against the bed, silent tears soaking into the duvet. This was the most Y/N had ever taken. Normally, he didn’t have to go past twenty before she surrendered completely, but tonight—tonight she had been stubborn. Each slap chipped away at the stress, the tension, the weight she had been carrying for weeks.

He felt the moment her body gave in. The way her fingers went limp in his grasp, her voice raw, spent. She wasn’t resisting anymore—just accepting.

“Thirty, Sir,” she sobbed, the words almost lost in the haze of exhaustion and relief. Then, softer still, “I’m sorry.”

Harry let his hand relax, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over the heated expanse of her skin. Her body was still shaking, but not from pain. Not anymore. He knew she had slipped, drifting into that quiet, blissful space where nothing existed beyond the warmth of his touch and the safety of his presence.

And he wasn’t about to pull her out. Not yet.

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady rhythm of his palm smoothing over her, and the lingering, uneven sniffles escaping her lips. He let her breathe, let her be.

After a couple minutes, he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “You did so good baby. I’m proud of you.”

He pressed a few final, featherlight kisses along the curve of her lower back, his breath warm against her skin as he murmured, “Are you ready for me to check on you?”

He already knew the answer. Knew what he would find when his fingers slipped between her thighs. The anticipation sent a thrill down his spine as he let his hand drift lower, tracing the seam of her slick folds, drinking in the heat that seeped into his skin.

She was dripping.

Harry was hard beneath her, the evidence pressing insistently against her stomach, and he knew she could feel it too. But tonight wasn’t about him. Yes, she had broken the rules—deserved the punishment she had just endured—but more importantly, he wanted to strip away the weight she had been carrying. He wanted to unmake the stress that had hardened her and replace it with something softer.

His thumb found her clit, circling with just enough pressure to make her squirm, a broken whimper muffled against the duvet.

“Good girl, Y/N,” he praised, his voice a low hum of satisfaction.

“Just gonna make you feel good now, yeah?”

He slid a finger inside her, slow and deliberate, while his free hand threaded into her hair, stroking, grounding her.

Her nod was small, but he felt the way her body melted, giving in to his touch. Wetness seeped onto his thigh, further proof of how much she needed this—needed him.

He pushed a second finger inside, reveling in the way her walls clenched around him, her body trembling from the overwhelming sensations. With every stroke, he could feel her tension unraveling, her muscles slackening, the last remnants of restraint slipping away.

The world around him dissolved as his fingers curled inside her, seeking out the spot he knew would make her crumble. “You’ve been so good for me,” he whispered, his lips grazing the damp skin of her shoulder. “Took your punishment like a champ. Now, I want you to come for me. Just like this.”

Her skin tasted of sweat and salt, the scent of her arousal thick in the air.

Y/N was a paradox—a perfect blend of submission and defiance. As obedient as she was, that stubborn streak of hers ran just as deep, a constant challenge that kept him on his toes. But nights like this? When she surrendered completely, yielding every inch of herself to him without hesitation?

He savored it. Relished it. Worshipped it.

Because having all of her—mind, body, and soul—was a privilege he would never take for granted.

He studied her like an artist captivated by the final stroke of their masterpiece, burning the view into his memory—the flutter of her lashes as her eyes turned glassy, the flush that crept down her neck, the way her cunt clenched so tightly around his fingers as if trying to keep him there forever. He wanted to teach her to let go. To release all the anxiety, frustration, and exhaustion that had been suffocating her for far too long.

But he needed it to come from her—wanted her to own her pleasure as much as he did—to know that she was worthy, desired, loved.

Harry’s fingers slid deeper, moving with deliberate slowness as they arched just right, pressing against the spot that had her moaning, her body instinctively grinding against his palm. Her face was buried in the duvet, eyes squeezed shut as she gasped, overwhelmed by the rush of sensations flooding through her.

“Come on, Y/N. Let go for me,” he coaxed, his voice dripping with filthy promise.

Her body tensed, and he knew he had her. She trembled on the precipice before the dam broke. A shattered moan tore from her lips as pleasure ripped through her, muscles spasming in tight, rhythmic waves. The heat of her release coated his figures, and he didn’t stop—not yet.

He worked her through it, his thumb never relenting from the steady, precise strokes against her clit. He wanted everything. Wanted to hear her cry out for him, to watch the pleasure drag her under until she had nothing left to give.

And under she went.

Her cries turned breathless as the last tremors wracked her body, her limbs going boneless beneath his touch. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers, smirking at the needy little whimper she made at the loss. He soothed the ache with soft strokes along her trembling thighs, grounding her as she came back down.

“Atta girl, sweetheart,” he cooed, voice laced with satisfaction. “That feel good?”

A slow, exhausted nod was all she could manage. As the haze of pleasure lifted, she became aware of everything at once—the damp strands of hair sticking to her nape, the tingling in her limbs, the lingering warmth radiating from her backside.

But nothing could pull her back to reality quite like his voice.

“Can you sit up for me, sweet girl?”

***

Water cascaded from the shower head in silken ribbons, a warm, soothing contrast against the cool tile. Steam curled in the air, thick and languid, blurring the edges of the room until it felt like they existed in their own private universe. The scent of eucalyptus clung to the mist, wrapping around them like an embrace.

Harry held Y/N close, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, the quiet strength of him anchoring her. Her head rested against his collarbone, the sound of his heartbeat a calming metronome against the storm that had been raging inside her for weeks.

His hands moved slowly over her damp skin, drawing soothing circles along her spine, his thumbs tracing the delicate ridges of her back. She shivered—not from the cold, but from the contrast of sensations: the warmth of the water, the cool air beyond it, the roughness of his calloused fingers against the softness of her flesh.

She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze through the water’s shimmering veil. Her lips were parted, her lashes heavy, surrender written in every line of her expression. Harry felt something deep and primal stir in his chest.

With a lingering kiss, he turned her around, his fingers threading through her hair as he worked the shampoo into a gentle lather. His touch was reverent, a contradiction of tenderness and strength, his large hands cradling her head with the kind of care that made her stomach flutter. She sighed softly, melting into the sensation as she rested against his muscled body, her small noises of contentment filling the air like music.

When the last suds had been rinsed away, Harry reached past her to shut off the water, the sudden absence of sound leaving them in an intimate hush. Without hesitation, he grabbed the towels he had set out earlier, wrapping her in one before she could feel the bite of the air. He took his time drying her off, the plush fabric gliding over her sensitive skin like a gentle breeze, coaxing a soft sigh from her lips. Then, with the same quiet devotion, he slipped one of his t-shirts over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her smaller frame.

As Y/N moved through the final steps of her skincare routine, Harry retrieved a bottle of lotion from the cupboard across the room. He approached her with the grace of a shadow, gently tapping her on the bum.

“When you’re done, I want you to lay on the bed on your tummy. Ok?” His voice a smooth, honeyed command.

She finished up and did as she was told, sinking into the mattress, her head resting on her folded arms. Her damp hair spread across the silk pillow like a river of dark water, cool and smooth against the fabric.

The bed dipped beneath his weight, and she heard the soft sound of lotion being smoothed between his hands. A moment later, the hem of her shirt lifted, and his warm palms met the tender skin of her backside. Y/N sighed deeply, the coolness of the lotion a welcome relief to the heat lingering from earlier. His hands moved with slow, deliberate strokes, massaging away the sting, his fingers tracing the curves of her body with intimate familiarity.

The room was quiet, save for the rustle of sheets and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Y/N felt herself unraveling beneath his touch, sinking into the present moment, leaving behind the weight of the stress that had knotted itself into her muscles. He always knew how to bring her back—how to pull her from the depths of her mind and remind her that she didn't have to handle everything on her own.

When he was finished, he leaned down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her neck before pressing a gentle kiss to the delicate skin there.

“How do you feel?” His voice was a low murmur against her ear, thick with warmth and something deeper—something unspoken but understood.

Y/N swallowed, taking a moment to gather her words. “I—I feel good, Sir,” she admitted, her voice still laced with the remnants of pleasure and submission. “Still a little out of it… but good.” She paused for a moment, then continued, “I’m glad for the punishment. I really needed that.”

She shifted to sit up, and he caught her chin between his fingers, maneuvering her head to face him.

Harry’s lips curved into a soft smile, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring patterns along her cheek. “You did well tonight. You know that, right? M’proud of you.”

The weight of his words settled over her like a blanket—warm, protective, unwavering. She smiled softly into his touch.

A beat of silence stretched between them before he spoke again. “When you feel like things are spiraling, I need you to know you can come to me.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he leaned in and kissed her. It was slow and deliberate, filled with everything he didn’t need to say—everything he had already proven.

When she finally pulled away, her voice was softer, more certain. “I do know that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner. It’s… a habit, shutting people out when I’m stressed. But regardless, you didn’t deserve that.”

Harry exhaled a quiet laugh, “Yes, I’m well aware of that habit of yours, which we’ll crack one day. But in the meantime, you can push all you want, sweetheart. Unfortunately for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

She giggled, letting him pull her into his chest. “On the contrary. Very fortunate for me,” she corrected, her voice tinged with affection.

He grinned, maneuvering the covers so she could slide beneath them. Reaching over, he switched off the lamp on his bedside table, casting the room into a velvety darkness.

As Y/N melted into him, the last of her tension slipping away, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“Get some sleep. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered against his skin, finally surrendering to the quiet lull of sleep’s embrace.

...

"It's a kids coloring book"

"So"

"Oh my god" I laughed, Harry flipping through the book, landing on a page of a cat with a mermaid tail

Harry colored the page, ignoring my teasing comments, passing me a crayon to join him before my name was called, the nurse grinning as Harry set the coloring book and crayons back on the table.

"If you can just step on the scale real quick. Would you like to know your weight or not?" She asked, respecting that I opted out, marking down the numbers before leading us to one of the rooms.

I thought getting STD tested was scary, but answering nurses questions for your file when you're pregnant is way scarier.

What if my numbers are too high? or low? What I have some weird blood type that is going to corrupt this child? What if I already had a bad weight gain? What if I'm already on the road to some sort of high risk pregnancy like diabetes or preeclampsia?

"Y/N? You have to uncross your legs and relax babe" Harry noted, the blood pressure cuff getting strapped around my bicep.

I sighed, nodding as I tried to relax, hating feeling the cuff tighten around my arm.

Did it have to hurt so much?

When the nurse confirmed that I was pregnant, my heart dropped to my stomach, the feeling of needing to throw up causing my throat to tighten.

There was a huge smile on Harry's face as the nurse continued to explain the next steps, but all I could think about was;

I'm pregnant.

I have a baby inside of me.

I'm in charge of another human. This humans life is in my hands. In my womb.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Harry rushed, pushing himself out of the chair and to my aid, "breathe. in, out" Harry coax, catching the nurses attention.

I did some deep breathing, getting myself to calm down, Harry's hand squeezing my own when he mouthed "Are you okay?" to which I nodded, only for the nurse to ask me if this was an unwanted baby.

"It's in your chart that you've been trying?" She asked, sounding confused.

"We have" Harry confirmed, the nurse looking over at me, confused.

"I just.. I'm pregnant" I spoke softly, Harry's brow furrowing. "I'm excited... but I'm.. I'm terrified. It's all on my shoulders to keep this baby safe. I'm just.."

"Y/N, breathe" Harry inhaled, then exhaled, having me follow him.

"I'm sorry" my voice cracked, my eyes stinging as tears threatened to rush down my cheeks.

I'm already a horrible mother.

I can't even act excited in front of the nurse.

"It's natural to be nervous" the nurse eased, my slight nod and Harry's soothing knuckle motion hopefully being enough to calm my nervous system. "You can be over the moon and terrified all at the same time. It's perfectly normal" He continued.

"I know.. I just.." I chewed my lower lip, "What if something happens? I mean, it's a miracle I'm pregnant to begin with and now.. and now that it's actually happened how do I make sure I don't mess it up?"

"Mrs. Styles, we're going to do our best and make sure you and your baby are healthy. Sometimes things happen, and it's never the mother's fault-"

"But it's my bodies fault" I interrupted, not daring to look at Harry.

"Sometimes things happen-"

"Because of my body. I can't have a baby" I interrupted again.

"And you're pregnant" the nurse's head nodded, my lips pursing.

"But I shouldn't be"

"It's not that you shouldn't be. No doctor told you it's suggested that you shouldn't be. You were told it was be hard to be; but not impossible, and look, now you're pregnant! We're going to keep watch, do our best to protect you and your baby and hopefully things go to plan. You can't worry too much though Mrs. Styles. The elevated blood pressure can risk you getting quite a handful of pregnancy complications" He warned and that alone was sending me into a mental hurricane.

When it came time for the ultrasound, Harry was giddy beyond belief.

I was as well, but I knew I'd be more excited once I was told that everything looked okay.

That me, and baby were okay.

Worse case scenario, I'm somehow miscarrying. Somewhat worst case is the pregnancy tests were false and my biggest fear that was forming a pit in my stomach was that I was pregnant, but I had some sort of detached egg and placenta thing, creating a high risk and or termination of pregnancy.

What if this was my one chance, and it didn't happen properly and I have to terminate it?

I don't think I'll survive that.

Harry called "Come in" when a knock sounded on the door, a youngish looking woman greeting us with a chart in her hand.

I laid back, the gel getting spread on my stomach, Harry taking a photo which made me laugh.

"Your fans would lose their minds if they knew you took selfies" I teased, the ultrasound technician smiling as turned on the machine.

"What they don't know won't kill them" he grinned, shoving his phone back in his pocket when I grabbed mine, returning the favor to record his reaction to seeing the baby.

"Are you guys ready?" She asked, the two of us nodding, our attention now on the tiny black and white static screen.

"Here's baby" She pointed, the little flick of a bean catching our immediate attention, "and... here's heartbeat" She pushed in on a button, the woosh sounding making our ears perk and our grins widen.

"What do you think, baby?" I asked, turning to look at Harry, seeing an overwhelming look of adoration towards the little screen, my heart melting right then and there.

I can't wait to watch him with the baby. He's going to be the best father ever.

With lack of reply, I turned back to look at the screen, wishing the baby was bigger so I could truly appreciate what was actually inside of me.

The wooshing noise stopped, my eyes snapping to look at the technician as she turned the screen towards herself.

I could feel my heart thump against my chest as I glanced over towards Harry who seemed worried, but was appearing to try very hard not to let it show.

"Everything okay?" I carefully asked, the technician humming.

"Baby's fine" she replied, "Um" she turned the screen back to us, "Do you guys see this?" She asked, pointing at the little bean, both of us nodding, "And do you see this?" She flipped screens, showing another bean. Harry's head tilting as I nodded slowly, also confused.

"That's the same, right?" I asked, the tech staying quiet.

"Do you see this one?" She asked, now my heart was really beating out of my chest.

What was happening?

Was this some kind of sick joke?

"You see here, each one has their own sack.." she pointed at three didn't placenta sacks.

"Yeah.."

"I uh, you're having triplets" She announced, my body stilling as Harry's eyes widened slightly, lips parted out of shock. "Here's baby A... baby B... baby C" She noted, the little letters showing up on the screen before she took a picture.

"There's three? Three babies?" Harry asked, the tech nodding as she went back to the video screen, moving around to show each one.

"Three's three"

"How- what?" I stumbled, leaning up on my elbows to try and get a closer look.

There is no way in hell there are three babies inside my fucking womb right now.

"There's just three, right?" Harry asked, my eyes widening at the possibly of more.

I'm going to be fucking huge.

"I'm not a golden retriever, Harry! I can't have a litter" I panicked.

I wasn't even supposed to have one baby, and now I'm having three?!

THREE?!!!!!!!

"I can only see three" She confirmed. "There could be one or two hidden behind one of the other ones-"

"MORE?!" I freaked.

"But that's rare" She finished, my eyes practically popping out of my head as I started to laugh.

"You're joking right? That's just like.. some prank you do on new parents? Ha ha.. jokes funny. It's just one, right?" I freaked, Harry's hand finding mine, the tech shaking her head.

"I'm not pulling your leg. It's triplets at least" She said, my body falling back on the exam bed.

Triplets.

Fucking triplets.

How the fuck am I gonna carry triplets?!

BIRTH TRIPLETS?!

No.

No I can't.

I can't birth triplets.

"Do I have to birth them all? Induvially?!" I worried aloud.

"It's extremely rare due to complications. You have a extremely if not guaranteed confirmation of a c-section"

"I can't have a VBAC next time right? if there is a next time? if I want a next time.." I rushed out, the idea of not having the dream vaginal birth was making my heart feel crushed.

I knew I shouldn't have hopes and dreams, especially since this wasn't supposed to happen period.. but I can't help it.

If it was one baby, or maybe even two... I could've possibly had a vaginal delivery, right? Like that could've been a possibility?

"Let's cross that road when we get there" She chuckled and I sighed, my eyes falling shut.

I could hear the tone of Harry's voice, the vibration it caused in my ears, but I couldn't make out the actual words as tears begun to roll down my cheeks.

I'm having triplets.

Three babies.

Three babies are growing inside of me.

T h r e e b a b a i e s a r e g r o w i n g i n s i d e o f m e

I have to raise three children at once. Of the same age. Forever.

Oh my god.

"Babe, I can see the smoke coming out of your ears from here" he snickered, "Quit thinking so hard"

I rolled my eyes, my hands coming up to cover my eyes.

"You're positive it's three?" I asked again, the tech confirming for what was probably the fourth or fifth time since I blacked out whatever Harry said.

I left the appointment with my brain spiraling and a few pregnancy pamphlets in hand, Harry already googling the recommended websites.

"Wait, it says that multiples rarely go to full term, meaning... we have like........ way less time than normal" he finished, making me laugh at his lack of words.

"Aren't you scared?" I asked, turning to face him as he scrolled through his phone.

"Scared? Sure. The excitement overshadows it though"

"How does the excitement overshadow the fear?" I genuinelly asked, baffled by how his emotions were a complete 180 to my own.

"Because we went from day and night worrying about not having any kids, to having three, Y/N. I mean, that's insane! A whirlwind if you will, but it's exciting! We're having three babies!"

I stayed quiet, Harry rambling the entire drive home about how we have so many more names to pick out now, and asking me if we were having one nursery, or a gendered nursery or even giving them each their own nursery.

Saying I was overwhelmed was an understatment.

♡ liked by: annetwist, yourbff, harrystyles and 15,859 others ynstyles: Throwback to our first ultrasound! @harrystyles and I love our little family so much already 🙈❤️

annetwist: Christmas is gonna be even more special this year ❤️🎄 ↪ harryfan1: @/annetwist OMG DOES THAT MEAN IT'LL BE HERE BY CHRISTMAS?!

yourbff: My new bff, sorry YN lol ↪ ynstyles: @/yourbff Gunna have to fight @/harrystyles lol

yourbff: @/harrystyles Can you fight though?! 👊🏽 ↪ harrystyles: @/yourbff for my family? Definitely ↪ yourbff: @/harrystyles BET ↪ harrystyles: @/yourbff BET ↪ yourbff: BET X2 ↪ harryfan2: @/yourbff @/harrystyles screaming crying throwing up

harrystyles: This was the best day ever ❤️ ↪ harryfan3: @/harrystyles WHERES THE H YOU IMPOSTER ↪ ynstyles: @/harrystyles yeah, where's the H ↪ harrystyles: @/ynstyles H

“Do you know what time it is?”, Harry asked, without looking up from his phone as Lilith entered the house. It wasn’t like Harry was waiting up for her. He didn’t even know that she was out. He just happened to be there when Lilith entered the house. He hadn’t even lifted his head to see which one of the pack was standing there, but as soon as he raised his head up, his neutral face fell to a scowl.

“Ten past one. I know well.”, she said tiredly, not having any energy to fight back with her father. “Then where the hell were you at? That too at this late in the night?”, he raised his voice slightly. Lilith looked at him through droopy eyes, throwing the phone on the couch. “There is the phone. Save the lecture. You can think I was at a party or anything that soothes you. I will just ground myself for the next week, month, or year… whatever suits you”, Lilith shrugged, taking tired steps towards the stairs.

Only if it had been someone like Eric or Erica, everything would have ended with ‘alright but beware next time.’

“No young woman, you aren’t going anywhere till you tell me where you were”, Harry didn’t really want to know where she was or what she was doing. He just wanted to see his offspring think that he could get quite scary when rules aren’t followed.

“In a library”, she curtly answered.

“And which library opens till 1 in the morning?”, Harry raised a slight brow.

“I don’t know, search on google”, Lilith shrugged.

“Young lady, you don’t give me that attitude”, he looked at her, giving angry eyes that she was used to by this point.

“If you don’t want this attitude, better let me go and talk in the morning. It’s just going to give you and me a headache and the house a sleepless night.”, she closed her eyes momentarily, pressing against the bridge of her nose.

Harry sighed. “Alright, but we aren’t done”, he spoke.

Lilith nodded and went upstairs, to her room. She knew Eric’s and Erica’s rooms, a little steps away from her must be empty. She saw both of them walk into Derek’s house after all.

Derek was a happy part of her life once he wasn’t. Now he just called her to show off his girlfriend and kiss her passionately. The thin strand of silk that bound their friendship was now completely snapped once his girlfriend asked him to choose either Lilith or her. Needless to say, blinded by lust, he let Lilith go. Lilith was just empty now. Her chest was void.

She just briefly closed her eyes, falling over her bed in the same sage green cardigan and black jeans, taking no time to change. But the next time she opened her eyes it was 7.34 AM.

She groaned internally, having to chug down the want to hole up under her blanket and disappear into thin air. Sometimes, she felt like she wasn’t supposed to be born.

As she walked down, no one except Harry and Y/N was present in the kitchen. She stood from afar and observed her parents. Her father had his head rested on her shoulders, holding her from back and humming some melody in her ear. Her mother just smiled.

When was the last time she smiled?

Feeling weak in her limbs, Lilith tried to walk forward, only to stumble on her way, startling both of her parents when they saw her trying to stand back up; none of them came forward to lend a hand.

“Morning”, Lilith rasped, grabbing a glass of water, bringing it up to her lips, gulping it down in one go.

“Lili”, her mother called out and she looked up, “your father said that you were home late last night and you were awfully rude to your father?”, Y/N started, Lilith just wanted to hurry back into her room. A grounding would just help her cause. “I was tired”, Lilith weakly mumbled. “That’s no reason to talk to your father the way you did”, Y/N frowned. “Just jump straight to the torture”, Lilith mumbled, feeling irritation bubble up from her lungs. “Do you understand the depth of your actions, Lili?”, her mother scowled a little, so she decided to give the only correct answer, “Yeah”, although her lips said so, her eyes were distant, emotionless, reflecting Harry’s eyes to her all through her life. Y/N didn’t know what to do anymore. “Your phone is confiscated. You are grounded for a week”, Y/N muttered. “It’s not like I had anything important or any plans anyways”, Lilith shrugged. She didn’t really have friends so she didn’t think anyone would text or call to check up on her. “Also your video games…”, Harry added and Y/N looked at him, a little surprised. “I’m not the other children. I don’t play video games”, Lilith muttered, standing across, leaning on the kitchen door. Harry’s illuminating face dropped a little dissatisfied with the reply.

“I will be upstairs if you need anything, though I am sure you won’t need me”, Lilith muttered the last part out of earshot.

Under her blanket, Lilith stared at the blank wall. There used to be trophies and medals hung up on the wall, Lilith just took them all down. They were of no use. The mathlete certificates and awards were also put in a cardboard box under her bed. They were of no use too. The science projects, music projects, dance recitals, none of them were of any use.

They didn’t attract Harry’s apprehensive nod that he gives always to Eric or those sweet kisses on the forehead that were reserved for Erica. They didn’t attract the weekend off that was meant for Jake and Stella. Where did it all go wrong? What was her fault?

Maybe it was the only person that made her feel important who threw her out of his life, or her dad’s impeccable want to feel her terrorized by his angry stance, but it was reeling her back into her childhood. On sports day, the children’s parents would compete for their children, with their children; her dad was nowhere to be seen and her mom was heavily pregnant. So, she just sat down by the line and watched others have fun. Before her football matches, her parents were busy with one kid or the other, so she practiced by herself; throwing the ball to one end and running to the end to kick it some more. Her first singing competition and she saw Harry looking down on his phone annoyed, distracted, missing her whole performance. On her eighth birthday, none of her friends remembered; and her parents were busy nursing Jake and Stella. She felt stupid and dumb. She thought it must be the wrong date, but when she looked at the calendar, she broke down into sobs. It was the right date. That was the night she came to a realization, she was always alone, no matter what.

The twins were early to catch up to her age and while they did make her feel at ease, the twins were so close to each other, Lilith felt like she was always at the wrong timing. Jake and Stella were close too.

Where did she stand all this time?

The sun rose to head at noon and set in the evening, no one called her for lunch or dinner. The twins were sure to have had a hangover; the kids, well, who knows? Whatever it was, she knew she didn’t belong.

Monday. Everyone looked happy, like a picture-perfect family. Jake and Stella were on their high chairs, talking to each other, god-knows-what, and Eric and Erica were talking with their father about something important. Their mom was happily humming flipping the pancakes and swaying her hips with the song. If there was one dust on this picture-perfect timing, it would be Lilith. So she stealthily walked back to her room and got her polaroid. Maybe, at least Harry would smile looking at the picture? Staying behind the railing, she captured the happy moment of the family. It had a smiling Harry, laughing at something Y/N said as she served the plates. Eric and Erica were sharing laughs as well. Y/N was trying to conceal her smile and Jake and Stella, not understanding anything, continued babbling to each other.

The only thing that could spoil this picture was her presence. Everyone would shut down immediately on seeing her, and begin smiling again when she was absent. She felt like she was in school, living with people.

She didn’t want to be the one to spoil it, so she walked back into her room and grabbed some protein bars from her desk. She packed her school bag and walked away for school, nibbling on to the chocolate bar. She haven’t had actual food in so long, but there was only so much in her want or reach.

_____________________________________________

There was a supposed family dinner that night, and everyone was excited. Everyone except Lilith. She assumed everyone had already forgotten her forlorn, gloomy presence in the house. But just then Y/N barged into Lilith’s room, seeing the eldest at her study desk, studying her afternoon away. “We’re going for a family dinner, so put on some nice clothes”, Y/N said in a hurried voice. “Your and my definitions of nice clothes are different, just pick out one”, Lilith spoke removing her glasses and looking at her mother. Y/N all but sighed as she went to the 17-year-old’s closet. There was no dress, frock, or anything wearable according to Y/N. “We don’t even have time to go shopping”, Y/N groaned throwing her head back. Lilith sighed. “I’ll just put on what I wear every year so no one will notice me no matter what”, Lilith muttered, as Y/N sighed.

A black T-shirt and black jeans, always made her invisible, adding to the darkness of her smile or her mind. Her green eyes, a gift from Harry, would roam around, seeing everyone else, but never giving herself away.

“The kids are growing so fast, aren’t they? It was like yesterday when Lili, Eric, and Erica were just toddlers”, Gemma gushed, and that was supposed to be the only time her name was mentioned. “Eric and Erica are growing glamorously. They are so humble and talented.”, Harry smiled proudly at his babies. “What about Lilith?”, Gemma asked. “Well her, well-- I don’t know. She just doesn’t fit right into the picture”, Harry replied, as if he didn’t know that the eldest sibling was six feet away from him, head hung low, fingers fiddling with each other. She took the darkest corner; she took the darkest light.

“Harry? Y/N?”, Anne asked concerned, looking at Lilith’s already shrunken face. Lilith didn’t open her mouth, wanting to know actually what was her fault that everyone seemed to put her away from their life. “I mean, she has gotten a bit bitter; never talking to us the correct way and stuff”, Harry replied while Y/N pursed her lips.

If she was of no use, what was the reason to pretend?

The dinner was silent. Lilith’s presence was like a ghost; unnoticed.

That night when they reached back, she knew, she would change.

__________________________________________________________

Tuesday dinner. Everyone had something important to share.

“I’m so proud of you, Erica”, Harry says when she completes saying how she became the cheerleader captain. Eric said something about helping a guy out with his project. Jake and Stella babbled about drawing something. When everyone’s story ended, there was little to no chance anyone would ask Lilith about her day. But Y/N did notice the obnoxiously quiet girl. “So Lilith, how was your day?”, Y/N asked. It would be pretty dumb to reply if no one would listen, especially since Harry and Eric were in a serious conversation. So She shrugged. “Nothing new. Smoked pot and had a threesome”, Lilith’s words caused a whiplash of heads. Harry’s head was the fastest. Erica tried to confine her amused smile and Eric was downright shocked. Y/N looked like she saw a ghost, the kids not understanding anything. “Just kidding. It was the same boring day, with boring lectures and angsty teachers”, Lilith slyly smiled as everyone let out a silent breath of relief. “I was seriously kidding”, she repeated aloud. “Or am I?”, that caused the second whiplash of heads. Lilith left them all perplexed.

_______________________________________________________________

Wednesday. A birthday. Her birthday. As usual, she anticipated no text, call, or presents. The breakfast table was impregnated with silence, because of Lilith’s obvious words. Lilith avoided everyone that day. No one questioned her.

_______________________________________________________________

Thursday. Lilith had to babysit her youngest siblings. Eric and Erica had willingly joined, sitting on to watch a movie. Alice in Wonderland played in the background. Harry was ecstatic to see his children bonding well.

He doubted Lilith ever loved the family as the other kids did. When he passed by her room, although he knew he shouldn’t, he welcomed himself in the spotless room. There lay a bunch of papers on the top of her desk, which he assumed was an assignment. The topic was “Parents and Teenagers”.

Eagerly, Harry flipped through the pages, enamored by the writing, by the way the words were put together. When he was nearing the end of the essay, he felt his lips droop down.

“... There is not much difference between how teenagers view the world and how parents view the world; each has their own opinion, own paints to brush the world with. When the parents heal and brush the world a bright color of yellow, the teenager could be in a dark place and paint the world black, to shut out light, to shut out noises. Even though the parents seemed to have passed this phase in a different light, the teenagers might worry about things that might not make sense to the older parents. A teenager can be depressed about their parents not loving them as much as their siblings, and a teenager can be worried about their parents loving them as if they’re an only child. However, the thought processes are different in each case. In the first case, it is obvious that the reason is wanted attention. In the second case, however, it could be the fear of resentment from the other siblings or in really dark vessels, the fear could be of causing grief to their parents when they are in the darkest corners of their lives. However, what they feel is real. People can only love as much as the amount of blood pumped by the heart, but to love beyond that, is what a parent is capable of. However, it’s a choice. Sometimes, the choice is difficult; and sometimes the choice just comes.

Movies and books should stop criticizing teenagers for the way they feel, when parents, the adults, don’t feel shame in abandoning children even if they are completely capable, refusing to heal, and passing on their demons to their kids. A gift is a gift, whether good or bad. If the good ones can be accepted with a smile, let the bad ones sink in too. The codes in DNA are already wired from the ancestors. It won’t be one's religion, color, race, or gender that decided one's action, but the way one received the code of genetics; the way one decided to get rid of the bad weeds and kept the good ones to be passed on. Therefore, if it's a defective piece you see, try to find their use rather than throwing them away. The world is getting filled with unnecessary junk anyways”

It was the first Harry had taken an insight into her thoughts. He saw a scribbly red A+ at the corner of the page. It fucking deserved that.

Harry placed the bunch where it was and took a look around. It looked awfully empty. Harry felt an icy foot of dragonfly settle in his chest, a ghost of realization hovering over him, of what he was losing certainly.

He walked back to the kitchen, where his woman was laying plates for dinner.

“Dad is really the best, isn’t he? Like he is always there to help me with projects and games. He has been so supportive of my decisions, you know?”, it was unmistakably Eric’s voice, and Harry smiled, eavesdropping a little more on his children’s conversation.

“I know right. Like he is the coolest father”, Erica gushed. “He reads us bedtime stories!”, Jake squeaked. “Plays dolls too”, Stella squeaked standing beside Jake. “Lilith… what about you?”, Erica asked the girl whose eyes were trained on the television.

“What?”, Lilith asked. “Whom do you like more? Mom or dad?”, Eric repeated Jake’s question. “The correct answer is both of them”, Lilith muttered. Harry’s brows furrowed. “We’re asking you your honest answer not the correct answer”, Erica rolled her eyes. There was a fleeting moment of silence before Lilith replied, “Neither of them”

There was some more silence. “W-Why’d you think that?”, Eric asked. The conversation had started with Stella’s homework about writing an essay about their father. “He’s in games and performances, for you guys, not mine. He helped you out for your basketball practice, not me for my football ones. He helped you out for your chemistry exam, not my music exam. He held your hand till you were completely seated in your kindergarten for two whole months, for me, he left as soon as he could as if I suffocate him. Forehead kisses, gentle touches when you got hurt were reserved for you, for me it was the cold eyes and distant look. And mom, well, she made up excuses for him. He was busy. He was busy playing with you. He was tired. He was tired after playing with you. Every time I thought it was supposed to be just that way. You guys came along and he was a different father. Mom, even if she knew that dad didn’t quite like me, she left him to care for me. As if she looked for an escape too. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he got up one day and said, I don’t want to be around you and disown me”, Lilith spoke her heart for the first time.

“And”, she continued, “Yesterday was my last birthday in this house. Can’t remember the last time anyone from my family wished me”

Harry’s heart completely shattered at the last statement. How could he forget? More likely how did he not notice?

“You know that they love you, right?”, Eric said, hesitantly.

“There is a difference between ‘supposed to love’ and ‘loving as much as the other children’. I know they are forcing themselves to love me because they aren’t supposed to have any other feeling other than love for their child. But their love for me won’t ever reach the height of the love they have for you guys.”, Lilith replied.

Y/N stepped up the stairs cheerily to call out for her happy family to have the last meal of the day, however seeing Harry on edge, Y/N’s smile disappeared.

She startled him to an extent where he slightly flinched at her touch. Not knowing what's going on, Y/N presses her ears against the wall, to pick up the conversations. “Yo--You know that they don’t hate you, right? They are the best parents in the world”, Erica asked, her voice quivering, not wanting to see this side of her parents. “I never said they were bad parents. They were just never supposed to be mine”, Lilith spoke, unapologetically, shocking everyone hearing on the conversation. “Yesterday was her birthday”, Harry murmured, looking at Y/N’s shattered face. She had tried hard to put past every negative feeling and be a good mother to Lilith. But, she failed terribly. “I would rather have them hate me. It’d be easier to accept their actions, rather than thinking that they loved me to such an extent that it got excessive and they couldn’t handle it. I don’t want my only definition of love to be ignorance and neglect. It won’t be fair, after all these years”, Lilith sighed. Y/N’s heart crumbled apart as she knocked softly at the door, the eyes on her. “Dinner’s ready”, it was as if she provided them with water while they were parching. Everyone was quick to leave.

That’s why Lilith hated to open up. No one could ever handle the bitter truth.

Lilith walked past her parents, no emotions in her eyes.

Given that Lilith was actually Harry's ex's child, who couldn't support the upbringing, Y/N was slightly jealous and Lilith stayed as the reminder of that jealousy. For Harry, she remained a constant reminder of the rough phases between him and Y/N. They never saw how bitter they went against her.

The dinner table was heavy. Jake and Stella didn’t know what was going on, but they thought it would be better just to be quiet. Harry cleared his throat. “So, Lilith, I remember you doing football, how’s it going?”, Harry tried to act nonchalant. But Lilith knew he knew. Lilith knew he overheard. Because if he didn't, he wouldn't remember. So she didn’t bother covering up her greens. “I stopped playing years ago”, she replied. “Why?”, Harry choked out. “Because people who were supposed to love me decided not to show up at a single game. And at last, it proved to be of no use.”, Lilith said, her snake green eyes choking everyone in the room. Harry didn’t lie when he said he remembered. He vaguely remembered the coach calling him to just say how good Lilith played and could represent the school in Nationals or Internationals even, only if she continued. He was disinterested and forced a clipped smile. Little Lilith’s heart fell and she left the team days after.

“So, what do you like nowadays?”, Y/N asked, trying to take matters forward, since she was the one who major fucked up!

“Nothing and No one.”, she shrugged.

Harry and Y/N sat defeated. “Dude, they are trying to talk to you, don’t be hard to get to!”, Erica rolled her eyes.

“Sorry that I’m not high so I can’t take a freaking conversation well.”, Lilith scoffed. Gasps fell from lips. It was an obvious lie, but the lack of humor at the dining table didn’t help factors. “It’s just less than a month. I will be out of your hair, so leave me out of your business”, Lilith said, feeding as little as she could, and got up to her room.

Harry touched the smooth picture he had found on Lilith’s table, with a small ‘picture perfect’ written under the polaroid; one where his family was happy; where he had a happy family, only that picture lacked one person, one person that never thought was deserving to be in that picture. He wasn’t aware when the picture was taken. He didn’t know why she took it. But it stung like a thousand wasps were feeding on his cut.

He felt fucking pathetic.

He remembers a few lines from her essay that he had read earlier. “Sometimes, people act like they love the other person in the row more than the person next to them. To teenagers, it's a replaceable lover. To parents, it's an irreplaceable child. But the effects sting just the same. This process just reveals the insecurity of people; they think that by making one jealous, they can make the bond stronger. Only this bond strengthens the bond as much as it weakens it.”

Perfect smiles don’t make a picture-perfect family. Shared secrets and tears do so too. But he failed a little too much in seeing both the tears and smiles.

_____

The cacophony of noise from the city below was no match for what had echoed from the walls of Y/N’s flat for the past twenty minutes. She was sure she would be quite embarrassed to see her neighbors the next morning with the noises that were undoubtedly loud enough to be heard through the walls. She was even more embarrassed by the thought of them not even being phased anymore. But her discomfort was worthwhile as they all kept their mouths closed. 

The sight of Harry Styles frequenting her front door was something they saw quite often, and the shock of a massive celebrity leaving out the same door the next morning had worn off over the past few years. Meeting the year of his second to last tour with One Direction, the two had grown close behind closed green room doors and over long phone calls. But it wasn’t until he left the band that Y/N had noticed a change between them. It was quite crazy to think of how that change let them to their position now.

Y/N laid on her bed, basking in the shadow that Harry’s body created, watching his chest rise and fall as he slowly fell back onto the sheets. Taking one last moment to right himself, he ran his hands through his hair, despite it being far too obviously unkempt to pass as simply bedhead. After seeing his hair look so many different ways over the years, his hair after her hands ran through it was easily the best looking, but she’d never admit it.

He looked down at her, finding her stare within seconds as he always did. His eyes had become such a comfort, that it was hard to picture a night without them roaming over her body like they had done for years now.

His smile, ever-present, was different. His eyebrows slightly furrowed, Y/N could tell he was thinking hard. Struggling to find the words he was searching for, Y/N simply ran her hands along his bicep, hoping it would bring him some solace.

“I’ve, uh, got to go to Bath next week to work on something I wrote a little bit ago.”

Y/N perked up. “A song! You’ve written a song!”.

He giggled a bit, “Well it is my job.” The nerves washed over him again, the song he had written wasn't something he really wanted to have to explain to her. The inspiration coming after a difficult night they had spent together while on a break from his first tour. “But, me and some guys found a great studio there and I think it’d be nice to hash it out with them.”

Y/N propped he head up now, closer to Harry’s lips than he thought he could handle. “For a second album?” She whispered, trying to hide her excitement at the possibility.

Trying his best to conceal the truth - behind both the prospect of a second album or the fact that it was entirely thanks to her - but ultimately failing, Harry nodded. Y/N didn’t even bother to cover herself up, leaping from her position under the sheets to straddle Harry, whispering about her excitement.

He lifted her off his torso and more onto his chest, with the anterior motive of not being able to handle another round of her body atop his waist, and basked in her excitement.

“That’s wonderful Harry, I'm so happy for you. How fun! A new album, more pretty suits, more touring.”

“Maybe you’ll come along for more of it this time”. He asked apprehensive, not being able to muster the courage to look into her eyes.

Y/N moved further from his body, letting out a small laugh. “Me?”

“Me?”

It was obviously not the response he was expecting to hear, such was evident in his rapidly falling smile.

“Who else?” He asked slowly.

“A real date?”, she asked.

“Yeah,” He said, his confidence from only a few moments earlier almost completely gone, “At the place Ben was telling us about.”

“That restaurant is always jam-packed with people, I don’t think-”.

“We don’t have to go to that restaurant, there’s a nice trail-”.

“A trail? Harry, I’m not quite sure I could...”

Fumbling over every word made the thoughts race through her head even faster. Not a single cohesive idea was around long enough before the fear of being seen shot it down. The cameras, the fans, the press. She could see the headlines now, ones calling her a slag and a gold digger, the posts making assumptions about her and her relationship with Harry. Comparing her to his past girlfriends, the girls with ultra-slim waists and perfect pouts.

“It’s alright we don’t have to do anything big, I just wanted to-.” He muttered whilst reaching out to caress her thigh. A nervous habit she noticed he had over the past two months since she met him.

“No, we can’t do anything.” She said louder, cutting him off again. Her breathing became heavier, and the feeling of his eyes on her was unbearable.

The ‘anything’ that he was referring to was a broad range, one in which they both were scared to breach the subject of. Admit that they had both thought of some sort of future together, in which all their worries melted away with a simple touch. A future full of late nights and hectic mornings, picking children up from school, eating a big dinner, and asking how their days went. A future that started with a date, and led to many many more.

After a long pause, filled only with the sound of their heavy breaths, he whispered; “You don’t want to go out on a date with me?

“I can’t”, Y/N choked out.

“You don’t want to be with me?” She could see the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“I do, I just can’t”.  Just the same as she couldn’t tell him how deeply in love with him, that every beat of her heart was for him. She loved him, but what came with his heart wasn’t something she could carry.

“Nobody has to know, no one but our friends. I know you don’t like the paparazzi but-“

“What kind of relationship would that be! We just fuck in private and pretend we don’t know each other in public?”

Funnily enough, it was exactly what they ended up doing. When you researched ‘Y/N L/N’ online all that came up was her name and photo from the ‘about us’ page of the production company she worked for, just as she liked it.

If you really looked hard enough in the foreground of a few photos of Harry taken at restaurants or beaches you could spot her, but her face among their sea of friends wasn’t one worth recognizing. Despite Harry saying otherwise. He didn’t often pay attention to the people who called themselves fans of his when they picked apart the photos transpiring from invasive cameras with too bright flashes. But when some would pick up on a glance between the two of them, a grappling of hands, or a stolen smile he couldn’t help but dwell on it. He understood what simply being seen with him brought upon her, but is he too optimistic for thinking she’d ever be willing to endure it for him?

It was easy for Y/N to ignore the fact that their relationship, or whatever it was called, had become exactly what she didn’t want it to be. The moments in which she would look at him and wonder what it is they were doing would end as his lips would be on hers in an instant.

It wasn’t that they didn’t have anything else to do, they spent a very long time as nothing more than friends and they undoubtedly had fun. Being able to wander the halls of arenas, gorging on expensive foods in restaurant back rooms, and jumping off yachts. Until things became - complicated - they never doubted their friendship. There were no secrets that they hadn’t whispered to each other under the cover of a starry night. Or so they thought.

Y/N couldn’t believe what they had done, not that she could bring herself to fully regret it, but having sex with her best friend for the past three months - even after she turned him down - was something she could never have imagined. She had sat at his kitchen island many times beforehand, but never after having just been underneath him. She watched as he meticulously placed the cheese for his quesadilla at the stove in front of her. He had insisted he make them a small meal after she had mentioned hardly eating much of a dinner.  

Harry had always taken very good care of her, but this was different. He always paid for meals no matter Y/Ns resistance, invited her to parties with his hot shot friends, and gave her gifts she never felt she fully deserved. But this wasn’t something she had ever really had before, this realization being so profound that she told him. He grinned, now focusing on chopping the onions. The sizzling in the pan filled the kitchen, filling the void of silence that Y/N was debating breaking.

“Ryan was never so … gentle with me”.

The sizzling continued, but Harry paused. After Ryan had broken up with Y/N she had spent the proceeding two weeks at his flat watching shitty TV and crying into his shirts.

“Ryan wouldn't have made you a meal…. after?” Harry asked, not daring to breach the subject of what they had just done.

“I mean, sometimes he would but I’m talking about … when we…” Y/N felt like a child, she couldn’t say it. Couldn’t say a stupid word. Harry’s head whipped to her, an unrecognizable expression on his face. “He didn’t like … do anything” referring to one of her worst fears “but … sometimes I wasn’t able to tell him to loosen his grip or slow down when I needed him to.”

Harry had done everything she had told him to. When she asked him to change positions, he obliged without a second thought. Telling him where to put his hands, what she liked, and how fast to go. But not only could she feel his consideration with every stroke, but something else as well. Something that they shied away from at every second except for in bed.

He didn’t expect her to laugh at his question, after having spent so many nights hyping himself up to ask it. Trying to remind himself that Y/N was his friend and that he would take a question like that seriously (because she’s always taken his other serious questions with the reaction he’s hoped for in the past). He looked into her eyes, a pair that he thought of in the moments before he fell asleep. She quickly realized the seriousness in his face and moved a bit further across the bed.  Despite not being able to make it far considering the mass of pillows along the edge.

Harry wanted nothing more than to reach out to her, but it was obvious at this point, six years into their friendship and three years into whatever it was they were doing now, that there was no point. Not unless she was underneath him could he evoke the reactions he wanted from her. The careless smiles of absolute bliss were like a secret he could only be privy to at night.

“I… I’m sorry Harry, you know that I ca-“

“You can't do what!? Y/N? You can’t…”

Y/N’s suddenly felt every inch of her body that was touching Harry’s, his torso underneath her, her feet at his thighs. Every inch burned. The affection that had just been pouring out of her, both emotionally and physically to both their delights, had suddenly run dry. There was nothing but unsaid words and rumpled sheets now, the passion long gone.

Y/N could never tell if what they had been doing for months was ruining their friendship, or that their friendship ended the second that he leaned in and kissed her that night in New York all those years ago.

Y/N could never understand how someone could ever say that the magic to being in New York City could ever be lost. She had lived in her apartment for a few months now, and it was easy to say that she loved it. A space to herself, if you ignored her three roommates of course. It was only temporary of course, being needed back in London in six months, but there was no way she was going to sit idly by and let those six months slip away.

Making her extra grateful to have Harry come visit. Y/N had fixed the creases on her comforter at least nine times before she received his text telling her he was on her way up. Sprinting past her roommate's doors and into their well-decorated foyer she stood excitedly waiting for him.

The second Harry stepped in before he even got a chance to look around - there was Y/N running toward him -  she had a hard blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that the roommates he had heard plenty about were watching, Harry bent down and kissed her. After several long moments, or it might have been half an hour (or possibly several sunlit days) they broke apart.

The grin that had been on both of their faces only moments before was still plastered on their faces but now covered with cherry red lipstick. Lipstick that Y/N rushed to wipe off Harry’s soft lips as she slowed her breathing to avoid the person attached to the footsteps that were steadily growing louder.

But with each kiss, they communicated just what they couldn’t say out of bed. The words that they could hardly even dare to think, let alone say out loud. So when it came to conversations in the space they usually used for sex, it became difficult. Leading them to one of their two usual answers. Have sex, and if they already did, have sex again, but ultimately to leave and pretend like it hardly ever happened.

So, when Harry watched Y/N slowly crawl off the side of the bed, he could hardly force words to come out. Only being able to push a final “Why can’t you? Y/N? please.”

The tension grew stronger with each article of clothing Y/N put back on. She took her time meticulously fixing the hem of her shorts to ponder his question. Why? Why couldn’t she? But, she was already two steps from the door. Leaving the room that fostered the only space Harry and Y/N would truly allow themselves to be open.