#inwhichitrytowritesomething

While the young boy behind the counter was loading his sandwich into the toaster, Harry peered over the glass and thought about what veggies he wanted. Spinach and tomatoes, of course, maybe some jalapeños, and so on. He remembered that he'd be seeing his friend Y/N later that day and knew that if she saw his food, she'd want a bite. While he was an avid hater of the aforementioned banana peppers, they were Y/N's favorite, and he pondered over getting some so that she'd enjoy her bite out of his sandwich more.

You like her. The thought hit him like a train. Normally he wouldn't let anybody else so much as breathe towards his food, yet he was considering ruining his entire sandwich just so that Y/N could enjoy a single bite out of it. Because he liked her.

The realization knocked the wind out of him. When the employee asked what he wanted on his sub, he stumbled over his words and by the time he paid and left the store, he doesn't even remember if he got the damn peppers or not.

This was a problem. See, Harry and Y/N had a great thing going on—what one would call friends with benefits. They hung out together, saw movies, ate breakfast and other friendly activities by day, and by night he was guaranteed to be burying himself in her. No romance, no attachments, nothing. Perfect!

Except, well, not anymore. What was he going to do? The two of them had always prided themselves on being able to separate feelings from sex; sometimes you just needed to get your rocks off, and having that option always at arm's length was incredibly convenient. Now that he'd discovered he might have more feelings than he thought he did, there was no foreseeable way for this to be resolved without at least one of them getting hurt.

So he tried to ignore it.

***

Y/N knocked on his door later that day, despite having a key to his house and using it to let herself in. “Haz!” she called, and he emerged from the kitchen, wiping the avocado ranch from the corner of his mouth. He stiffened a bit when she gave him a chaste hug, but she didn’t seem to notice.

They went to the kitchen together, where she noted the remains of the sandwich on his table. “Thanks for getting me something, cuck,” she whined, gesturing towards his leftovers.

“You can have the rest, yeh big baby!” he said as if he hadn’t intended to give it to her the whole time.

She squealed in delight, taking a massive bite and then talking without swallowing first. “Hey, I love banana peppers! Thanks!”

“Don’t talk with your food in your mouth,” he chastised, ignoring her comment.

The remainder of the evening went like it normally would. They chatted about their days (Harry leaving out his big discovery, of course), started their journey catching up on Stranger Things, and ended up necking on his couch. When she ghosted her lips across his skin to go for a real kiss, though, he dove to avoid it and bit at her earlobe instead. He whispered that the two of them should go to his room and, as far as he knew, she didn’t even notice he’d avoided one of the simplest parts of sex.

When they didend up sleeping together, he tried to make it as distant and impersonal as possible. He didn’t attach his mouth to hers even once and skipped out on foreplay once he’d undressed her, merely checking if she was wet enough with his fingers (she was, always so damn pliant) before stuffing his cock into her from behind. He ended up having a below-average orgasm way too quickly and even felt guilty enough to work backwards and get her off with his hands.

Once they were done, she made a lighthearted joke about him being in a rush judging by the mediocre sex. Harry didn’t really react to this, and she was so uncomfortable she let herself out. She normally spent the night.

So there Harry was, lying in his cold bed by himself, arms tucked behind his head and staring at the ceiling. He felt awful. His new tactic clearly didn’t work and it’d unsettled the one girl he liked.

Time to switch game plans, he guessed.

***

That morning, the first thing he did was shoot Y/N an apologetic text saying he’d felt tired and wasn’t able to give a grade-A performance (even though, uh, hello, he was the one who initiated sex, but whatever). She forgave him instantly, which made his stomach knot. Why did she have to be so compassionate and forgiving? Why was she such a great person?

Throughout the next few weeks, he decided to change up his attitude in the bedroom. Being her friend wouldn’t change regardless of how he felt about her, so he acted the complete same from day to day, but things were different at night.

It was a complete 180 from what he'd tried before. He originally attempted to dodge kissing, now he pressed his lips to hers with a fervor that he hadn't felt in years. He used to like taking her from behind and pushing her head down into the pillows, now he was fucking her missionary, snaking an arm around the small of her back so that as much of her skin was against his as possible. Now he was letting her sit in his lap, his cock nestled in her and nails dragging down the soft skin of her back. Now he was going down on her for hours, licking and eating like she was an oasis in a desert. He used to pull out before he came and paint either her ass or her face, now he chose to finish inside of her, marking her as his from the inside. He fucked her, well, like he loved her.

Y/N didn't seem to catch onto this rollercoaster of changes that Harry was putting her through, or if she did, she didn't mention it. She was always good at matching his energy in the bedroom, no matter how rough or how tender (which didn’t bode well for his soft heart). It’d be one thing if she questioned this new behavior, but everything he gave her, she gave right back. Every burning kiss, every hair pull, every bite and thrust and moan was reciprocated—if not topped in intensity. Again, not so good for his already-growing feelings.

After one particularly long and hot-blooded round, Harry decided to ask how she really felt. He lay in bed, panting from his orgasm just moments before, when Y/N returned from a quick bathroom break. Now or never, he thought.

"Hey, Y/N?" he asked, voice cracking at the dehydration. He sat up in bed, sheets bunching up around his lap.

She waved a hand at him, picking up her pants and forcing her legs into them. "I know, I know, I'm leaving. I don't wanna run into your round two on my way out," she winked, continuing to pull her jeans up her thighs.

"No!" he blurted. Round two? What the hell was she talking about? Did she really think that he had someone elsecoming over after that mind-blowing, passionate sex? "What? No. I just—"

"I'm kidding, Harry," she deadpanned, stopping him. "But seriously, I do have to go. I'll catch you tomorrow?" The tail end of her sentence kicked up, even though both of them knew she'd be back. "Text you when I get home!" She slammed the door behind her, and Harry sat with his jaw in his lap.

He didn't even get a text.

***

Harry hated bars.

He didn’t even know why he went. Well, that was a lie. Any chance to spend time with Y/N he jumped on, even if it was with their mutual friends at a dingy club.

At this point in the evening, he was pretty sauced. He’d long since lost track of the whole friend group, and chose to relax at the bar where even the bartender lost track of how many pints he’d had in the evening.

He spotted her on the other side of the U-shaped bar, chatting up a strikingly attractive fella with loose blonde hair and beaming white teeth. You know, nothing like Harry.

He felt sick. There was no stated monogamy between them and she owed him no loyalty, but for the past few months they’d damn near spent every waking moment together. There wasn’t even any time for her to be with someone else. But now, everything was fair game and she was clearly taking the chance presented to her.

Fuck it. He downed what was left in his glass, threw enough money on the bar to cover his drinks and a tip, and marched over to the duo.

“Oh hi!” Y/N gushed when she made eye contact. “Caleb, this is my friend Harry. Harry, this is Caleb.”

So. His name was Caleb. Up close, he was even more immaculate. His skin was as clear as the sky, he had the bone structure of a sculpture, and despite his blonde hair, his eyelashes were thick and dark. His manners were clearly up to par as well, since he politely extended a hand and flashed a smile at Harry. When he merely stared down at his hand, Caleb awkwardly pulled back.

“Nice to meet you, Harry. Y/N was just telling me about her recent trip to the Grand Canyon. I can’t imagine hiking in that weather, you’re quite brave.” That last part was more directed at her, and the attention made her giggle.

“Actually, I went with her on that trip,” Harry noted, both of their gazes snapping to him. “The weather was quite pleasant given the time of year. We didn’t even mind the heat when we fucked in the tent two nights in.”

“What the fuck?” Y/N blurted. Her face turned bright red, showing through even under her makeup, and his comment even got the attention of nearby patrons. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered to a shocked Caleb before grabbing Harry’s hand and yanking him to the back hallway of the bar.

Once out of the range of the booming music, she stopped and attempted to push him against the brick wall behind him, failing due to his size. “Harry, you need tostop,” she reprimanded.

“Stop wha’?” he slurred, genuinely curious about what she meant. Stop drinking, stop feeling so sorry for himself, stop loving her?

“Stop making a scene. What’s the matterwith you?” Her arms folded over her chest, enhancing her rack in her dress but Harry was too far gone to appreciate it.

“I don’ like him,” he huffed.

“That’s ridiculous,” her eyes cut into slits. “You met him 45 seconds ago, and I don’t get uppity about your bitches!”

“Haven’t slept with someone else since you,” he confessed. “Haven’ even looked at anyone else the same since I first touched you,” he purred, taking a step towards her.

She stepped back, hitting the wall behind her. “What?”

Fuck it, he was drunk. He wouldn’t even remember this in the morning. “The second I put my hands on your body, and tasted you, and saw what you look like when I make you cum on my cock, I saw the whole world differently. Reckon I love yeh,” he finished his dirty secret with a nervous laugh, somewhat cutting the meaning of his words.

For a few moments of heavy silence, he thought she was going to reciprocate his admission. There was a tiny glint in her eyes that made him think she felt the same and he opened his mouth to dig himself deeper into his hole but she stopped him.

Something washed over her face and she suddenly looked very uncomfortable. Y/N pursed her lips and brought a hand up to awkwardly scratch at her elbow. “I shouldn’t have let you have that last beer.” It was a joke, obviously, since she hadn’t been around him since his first drink of the night, but he didn’t laugh. “Let’s get you a water and take you home so you can get some sleep.” Harry couldn’t even protest before she grabbed his arm and tugged him back through the bustling dance floor and out the front door. He never even got his water.

To say that Harry was devastated was the understatement of the millennia. He’d just poured his heart out to the girl who had occupied his every thought for the past few weeks and she breezed over it like it was nothing. He didn’t speak another word to her for the rest of the night, barring a dazed “thank you” when she helped him up the stairs in his home and got him into bed. Once he was relatively comfortable, she let herself out without saying anything.

Well, that was it. He shot his shot, swung for the fences, and missed. If a truth bomb like that wasn’t enough for Y/N, nothing would be. As he laid in bed, head swimming and the stationary fan seemingly spinning above him, he knew his relationship with her was over.

He had to drag himself out of bed and into the bathroom to throw up, and he knew full heartedly that it had nothing to do with the alcohol.

***

Harry had never been a “show up at a girl’s door” kind of guy, especially if he was about to break up with her. Or, whatever he was about to do. Can you break up with someone you never dated?

However, he knew this was something that had to be done in person. His stomach was in a painful knot from the moment he woke up and didn’t subside during the drive to her apartment nor while walking up to her door or rapping it with his knuckles. It especially didn’t get any better when she swung the door open and was clearly happy to see him, smiling bigger than the sun. Clearly, she was ready to forget about last night and move the fuck on.

She let him in and briefly apologized for still being in pajamas, blaming it on laundry day. “When I have a coherent outfit that’s clean, wanna go see the new Spider-man movie?” she asked, leading him to her living room.

Her question was so innocuous, his stomach got even worse. “Actually, there’s something I wanna talk to you about.”

This made her stop in her tracks, her bubbly persona fading away. He knew damn well she hated those kind of ominous sentences, that they gave her anxiety. “Is everything okay, H?”

He inhaled through his nose sharply, blinking to make sure he wasn't tearing up. "I think we need t'stop seeing each other. Like, even as friends." It came out in one breath, like if he didn't, he knows he would've stumbled over it.

To his shock, Y/N's face paled. "W-what? H... why?" she was starting to even tremble.

"I'm gettin' too fuckin' attached, okay?" he blurted. No going back now, he guessed. "Whatever's going on between us clearly means nothing to you and I can't keep pretending like I'm fine with it. I can’t keep acting like everything is okay when it’s not.

His explanation made her jaw pop open. "Wait, you were serious? When you confessed your feelings?"

Harry's head reared back. "What? Of course I was serious! Why wouldn't I have been?"

She shrugged, choosing to stare at the floor rather than make eye contact. "I don’t know. You were drunk, I-I thought it was some kind of ploy. You've been acting kind of weird lately and I didn't know what you were planning. I got scared so I tried to be more chill about... us."

He blinked. “Well, now yeh know. It wasn’t a ploy, or a drunken mistake. I’m serious when I say that I love yeh, and if yeh don’t feel the same way, tell me now so I can walk the fuck out.” His head dropped down to his folded hands, staring down at the cross tattoo.

Her face turned pink at his profanity. He very rarely swore around her except in the bedroom, so the severity of the situation weighed on her. “Of course I love you,” she admitted, just barely over a whisper.

His head snapped up. “What?”

“Harry, you’re one of the best guys I’ve ever met. You treat me so well, I don’t even understand it myself. I mean, you hatebanana peppers, for God’s sake!” She laughed, and Harry’s stomach unknotted for the first time in 48 hours.

“What?” he repeated, her confession not quite sinking in.

“Are you a broken record? I said I love you! Is that not what you want?”

“I—no, it is! I’m just in shock! I’ve been through a lot since last night, okay?”

She dropped down on the couch next to him and threw her arms around him, and he instinctively wrapped his hands around her biceps. “So, what now?” she asked, pulling away and looking at him with doe eyes.

“Well, you’re m’girlfriend now, I reckon,” he smirked. “Is that alright with you?”

“Yes! Of course, you dummy.” The seemingly unwaivering smile on her face was replaced with a mischievous look. “Now that we’re dating, you have to help me with stuff that you didn’t before.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do y’mean?”

She stood up from the couch and grabbed his arm, dragging him down the hallway. “I have laundry to fold, and the faster it’s done, the sooner we can see Jake Gyllenhaal kicking Spider-man’s ass!”

“Watch your language!” you chastised. “But I’ll be over in a New York minute.”

Getting ready was a rush—at this point you were just ready to get down the street. You shoved your feet into your Birks and grabbed your phone and keys, and once you’d padded down the stairs, your parents merely got a “be at Gem’s, later!” before you slammed the door.

When you got there, it was Harry who greeted you. You’d knocked and waited, since their house was always locked anyways. He threw the door open so fast that his cross necklace was still swinging when he rested his head on his forearm propped up on the doorframe. “Sorry, we don’t want any Girl Scout cookies,” he joked, smirking around his own jab.

“Ha ha ha,” you sarcastically bit. “Move it, Fisher-Price, I’m here for your sister.”

“I had a great semester, thank yeh for askin’,” he smiled, moving back and letting you in. “What about y’self?”

“It was productive, actually. Good to see you again, H,” you responded congenially. Ahh, the smell of your friend’s home was so nostalgic and inviting. It was fall all year round with the pumpkin in the living room, vanilla in the foyer, pine needles upstairs…

“Likewise,” he winked just before you went upstairs to your friend’s room.

Harry had always been a little charmer. Anne raised him to be very polite and he was naturally entertaining despite his introverted tendencies, but he’d always been Gemma’s annoying little brother to you. He always tried to butt into your hangouts with her, as far back as when he was four and you were eight and he wanted to play outside with you two, up to when he was 15 and you were 19 and he tried to buy beer from Gemma.

But soon, things changed. Harry got taller and his voice dropped and his skin got clear, and suddenly he wasn’t just the annoying little brother anymore. He was almost an adult, and he certainly developed a way with girls. The first time you went to see Gem and Harry had a girl over, something you couldn’t describe churned in your stomach. There’s no way Harry didn’t notice the way you cut your eyes when you initially saw her.

Ever since then, he just took a different light in your eyes. Going to Gemma’s house suddenly had double the benefits since you were seeing your best friend and her stupid hot little brother. If she left you alone for any period of time, you’d do anything to get Harry’s attention. He would chat with this amused smirk, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with his cross necklace, as if he knew you were subtly pining.

It was honestly kind of pathetic. He was still in high school, and you were in the home stretch of university. You had a potential hook-up pool that was at least five times the size of his and a much better selection, yet you were yearning for a guy who can’t even buy his own cigarettes.

But you didn’t care, and obviously Harry didn’t either. He humored your goofy flirting and gave it right back to you. For the most part, it was just harmless compliments and light schoolyard jabs and never escalated past that, until, well, it did.

You were going to go to brunch with Gemma that day. She’d gotten a part-time job as a photographer’s intern downtown that year, and invited you to try a new café with her. It was the perfect excuse to wear that flowy Free People dress you got, so you agreed.

While getting ready, Gemma called you in a panic. “Y/N! I forgot my wallet on my vanity at home,” she breathed. “Do you mind getting it before coming over?”

“Not a problem,” you hummed, checking your lipstick.

“Thanks, love. My mum left the front door unlocked when she got in this morning so just make yourself at home looking for it. See you soon!” Gemma blew a kiss into the phone before hanging up.

Her front door was open, just like she warned, and you hopped up the stairs to her room. Unfortunately, Gemma was more of the messy type, so finding her wallet was no easy task. Her vanity was covered in makeup and hair care bottles and papers from the previous semester. Where the hell could the wallet possibly be?

“Looking for somethin’?” Harry asked, leaning on the door frame with a Coke can in hand.

You looked up, pushing the hair that had fallen in your face to the side. “Need your sister’s wallet. It’s brunch time.”

“Ooh, bring me back a ricotta toast,” he ordered, reaching into Gemma’s Louis purse hanging by her door and pulling out her black wallet.

“You’d be lucky if I brought back a napkin,” you sneered, taking the wallet from him and going to shove past him.

He blocked your exit and held a hand up to your shoulder. “Wait, doll. Your earring is twisted backwards.” The hand that stopped you trailed up to softly ghost across your face and fix your earring, which must have gotten tangled in your wild goose chase.

Fuck, he was close. You could hear the soft breaths fanning out from his nostrils, his almost disinterested gaze slowly morphing into his classic smirk, and hand not leaving your skin in a timely fashion. His piercing green eyes rendered you stupidly frozen.

And the tension snapped. Within minutes he had you out of your dress and was fucking you into Gemma’s floral duvet. Everything was happening so fast; you didn’t even stop to think about how wrong it was. The feel of his teeth dragging across your neck and the stretch of his cock inside you were really the only things on your mind at that point.

It was rough and quick and dirty (and quite possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever done) but by the time you two were adjusting yourselves and catching your breath, you were twenty minutes late to lunch. You blamed it on traffic and Gemma didn’t care to push it.

So that’s how it started. It wasn’t anything exclusive, it wasn’t intimate, and it certainly wasn’t something you talked about outside of the bedroom. “The bedroom” being figurative, of course, since Harry and you liked to get it on whenever you had the chance. It wasn’t weird if you ended up bent over a washing machine or on your knees in front of him pressed up against the wall in a hallway.

When you thought about it, like reallypondered in a hot shower, you knew it was fucked up to be doing what you’re doing. It’s not like it was illegal—you just felt like you were betraying Gemma. You were closer to her than anyone else in the world and you were sneaking around with her brother.

He didn’t make it fair, though. He was so poised and smooth and fucked like he wasn’t still in AP Physics. The way he bantered with not only you but his sister and mother was definitely more witty than most boys his age. It only made sense to let him rearrange your guts.

So you had a bit of an internal dilemma. Frankly, if your little affair is well kept from Gemma, it shouldn’t be a problem at all. So you thought.

***

“So, do you have lice or something?” Gemma asked, raising an eyebrow from behind her magazine. The two of you had finally settled into winter break time and were taking turns spending at each other’s houses. Today, it was girls’ night at the Styles’ home.

You froze, one hand ruthlessly digging in your hair. “What? No. There’s just a wicked knot in my hair and I can’t get it out.” It was in the most unfortunate location on the back of your scalp, and your fingers could make no sense of the mat of hair.

“Do you need some help?” she offered, setting down her literature.

You reared back even though she was sitting at her desk across the room. “Gross, you just painted your nails! No thanks. Besides, I think I’m getting it.”

She shrugged and blew on her soft blue nails. “Whatever. I’m getting a yogurt.”

“I want one too,” you hummed, sliding off her comfortable duvet and gently pulling out a few strands of broken hair. A tiny plopaccompanied your feet on the rug and you spun in confusion. The noise was too soft to be a phone, but you still checked that yours was in your pocket. Barely visible in the fibers of the shag rug rested a solid black metallic ring. It was Harry’s.

You stared at it in horror. The ring had been in your goddamn hair. Earlier that day you’d given Harry a blowjob that left him slack-jawed and pink-cheeked and his hands had been so tangled up in your hair that your hair stole his ring. Which just fell out onto the floor in Gemma’s room.

“Is that Harry’s ring?” she hissed, gaze locking on the ring standing out from the white rug.

Oh no. Oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck—

“He’s such a twat. Why does he leave his jewelry everywhere? You could’ve stepped on that!” she continued, reaching down to pick it up. “I’m gonna throw it in the trash.”

When she moved to her trash bin, your eyes widened and you squealed a “don’t!” That ring was really nice and you knew Harry would be devastated if she threw it out.

Gemma turned slowly. “Why?”

Your mind raced to think of a good excuse. “Because, if you throw out a ring he wears all the time, he’ll throw out something of yours that youcherish.” You gestured towards her vanity where the Tiffany box sat. She’d just bought herself a necklace for doing so well on her exams and you knew that Harry would retaliate with it.

Your best friend eyed the necklace and then the ring in her fingers. “You’re right,” she finally agreed. You let out a huge breath—there was always the risk of being too weird about Harry and blowing your own cover, but once Gemma ducked into her brother’s room and pinged Harry’s back with the ring, you knew the cover was totally intact.

***

God, you didn’t want to party. The break ended next week and soon it’d be books and schedules and debt again. Who could be shotgunning 4Lokos at a time like this?! Plus, none of the bars were open this day of the week so the only option was a freakin’ house party. What uni students over the age of 21 go to house parties?

But Gemma wanted to, and what she wants, she gets. Though you loved her tenacious attitude at times, all you cared about right now was taking off your revealing top and climbing into bed.

You nursed on straight Coke in the kitchen and absentmindedly watched Gemma go hard. You trusted her and vice versa; she knew her limits but still could have a really, really good time. The men of the party were in awe as she threw back tequila and slapped the bag right after, and even the inside of yourmouth was feeling withered just watching her.

“Hey, there,” you heard from off to the side. You casually lulled your head over to see a shockingly attractive guy. He had thick, dark hair with a sprinkling of light brown freckles on the bridge of his nose.

“Hi. You lost?” you joked, moving to make room on the upholstered bench next to you, where the mystery man joined you.

“Not anymore.” Mm. The faint scent of alcoholic breath wafted to your face but this stranger was keeping his composure quite well. “I’m Russell.”

“Y/N, pleasure,” you hummed, shaking his hand.

He started chatting you up, but to be fair, it was in one ear and out the other. He was clearly throwing words to the wind, and not even his good looks or nice cologne could draw your attention. It wasn’t like Harry, who could entice you with conversations about chopped liver if he so wanted to.

Ahh, Harry. You wondered what he was up to right now. He was probably at a party himself, drinking watery beer and flirting with any bird with eyelash extensions that gave him attention. God, why were you getting so jealous of him? You certainly didn’t owe him any loyalty and neither did he. In fact, if you so desired, you could go out and get laid right now and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it!

Your attention drifted back to the cute boy next to you. Somehow, as Russell droned on about his recent physics prof, you started to see Harry in his features. Certainly not in anything coming out of his mouth, but the curls that flopped down into his face were just like H’s after he’s played footy all day. Russell’s hands had prominent veins on them, just like Harry’s hands when they were grabbing at your skin and smacking your ass. Even the way he toyed with his bottom lip while thinking aloud.

Though H was really the last person you wanted on your mind right now, all these physical thoughts were making Russell more and more attractive by the minute. He wasn’t Harry, but maybe he could be Great Value Harry. You reciprocated his flirty chatter and got touchy with him, and things quickly devolved into kissing in the corner of the kitchen you two occupied.

Things were happening surprisingly fast for how sober you were. You went upstairs with him, you made out with him on a random bed, you undressed each other, and before you knew it he was rolling on a condom and pushing himself into you.

It wasn’t necessarily that it was bad sex. Russell had soft lips that kissed your neck as he thrusted and he certainly wasn’t small, but it didn’t really blow you out of the water. Your toes didn’t curl and your eyes didn’t roll back into your skull. He even lasted a decent amount of time, but once you made your mind up about not getting an O, you kinda just wanted it to end.

Once it did, he got busy falling asleep and you tried to not take it personally (c’mon, it’s pretty taxing for a guy to cum). You tugged your clothes back on and went out to look for Gemma, and of course she was upstairs as well, throwing up into a bathroom trashcan.

“Hey, Gem, how you feel?” you asked, rubbing at her back and tucking your hair behind your ears.

“Better now that this is out of me. Wanna go home?” she mumbled, sighing and wistfully staring at the toilet that she was seconds from making it into.

“Yep. C’mon, I’ll call an Uber,” you said to no one, hoisting a lackadaisical Gemma onto your shoulder and out of the house.

Once home, getting Gemma situated was the most difficult part. Her mother worked late and Harry was probably out, but even without the chance of running into one of her family members, she was still heavy. Her choice to not use her legs at all certainly didn’t do you any favors, either.

When the front door opened and the familiar smell of her abode hit Gemma’s nose, she perked up. It became minimally easier to hoist her up the stairs and into her bed. You did your best to scrub at the makeup that had lasted through her dancing and puking without waking her, but she was so tired and lulled to sleep by her drinks that an earthquake wouldn’t make her stir for at least eight hours. You nodded at the unopened cheap water on her nightstand, reminding yourself to get her a reusable bottle.

Your work was done. Gemma was snoring smoothly within minutes with a clean face and a drink waiting for her in the morning. You got laid, even though you were completely sober, it wasn’t exactly a great dick review, and you’re a 21-year-old who got fucked at a house party. Maybe it was just time to go home and accept the night for… whatever it was. You padded downstairs softly despite the minor coma your best friend was in. Common courtesy, you supposed.

Thump.

Face first into a chest. It was totally dark in the house and you definitely didn’t expect there to be a solid torso in Gemma’s living room for you to bump into. A sharp gasp filled your lungs and the figure reached behind and clicked the lamp on. Harry, of course.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me,” you breathed, slapping a hand to your chest.

“It’s my house,” he grumbled. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you saw his puffy eyes and messy hair and wrinkled clothes. He’d been sleeping.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you? I thought you’d be out.” Just seeing him in such a soft state made your lower belly swirl.

He shook his head a bit. “What are y’doing here?”

“Went to a party with Gem. She got too wild so I put her to bed,” you bluntly explained.

Harry pursed his lips, crossing his arms and eyeing you focusedly. “Did you have a good time?”

“No,” you answered quickly, because you didn’t. “I didn’t drink and I had to take care of Gemma and I fucked someone.” That last part fell out of your mouth before you had a chance to think twice.

There were a few beats of a heavy silence and you wondered if you made a mistake. “Did they fuck you good, baby?” he finally asked, no emotion inflecting his words.

You couldn’t have been less prepared for that response. “No,” you whimpered, face getting hot at his critical stare.

“Oh, doll, they couldn’t fuck yeh like I can, huh?” His voice was pure sex—every response he had to you threw you off more than the last. Everything he said just floated off his tongue and danced into the room and onto whosever’s ears they were around.

“No, they couldn’t,” you choked out. You felt like your throat was closing. “No one fucks me like you do and I can’t understand it. I shouldn’t be seeing you because it’s so wrong but...” God, shut up shut up shut up. Your word vomit amused Harry beyond belief. The smug look on his face was making you feel even smaller than his height already did.

“Oh, I know what you’re sayin’, doll,” he laughed. “You wanna do the right thing by m’sister but yeh just can’t. Deep down y’know you’ll always come back to me, hmm?” Harry took a step towards you, and you completely froze. You thought that he was about to bend down and kiss you but he surprised you yet again by snapping a hand up and gripping it around your neck. “I own you, y’hear me?”

You nodded, or at least the best you could with his vice grip on you. Every breath you tried to take stopped short in the back of your throat, and it almost felt like your feet were about to lift off the ground. Your own hands flew up to claw at Harry’s hand before his grip finally softened. A thick gasp sucked in and your legs threatened to not support your body, but he grabbed at you and steadied you. His fingers grazed your quivering lips. “Who’s mouth is this?” he asked, intently staring.

“Yours,” it came out as a whisper. Normally he’d be much meaner and wouldn’t accept such a quiet response, but he was feeling generous, apparently. He leaned down and kissed you, sucking in on your bottom lip and biting the red flesh.

The two of you made your way down to the couch, such that you were straddling Harry and he was cupping at your ass. Your hair kept falling in your faces, but he didn’t care and continued to kiss you and grab at your throat.

He took a break and leaned back on the couch, taking his time to lazily cup at the soft skin behind your thighs. “Mmm, and who’s ass is this?” When you breathed out another “yours” he smacked it audibly. “Goddamn right, pet.”

He didn’t take your shirt off, nor any of his clothes. He lifted you just enough for you to tug your shorts and panties down, and for him to pull his leaking cock out of his dark sweats. You tried to tease for a moment, grinding your bare center against him, but he put a stop to that. “Do I even have t’ask if this is mine?” he growled, assertively cupping your cunt with his big hand. You shook your head and he smirked, guiding his tip up and down your slit.

“Nope, because I know it’s mine,” he whispered, letting you slip his whole length inside your wet pussy. He shoved his hands up the back of your shirt, dragging his nails down the soft skin. Once you’d bottomed out and you were desperately grinding your clit against his pubic bone, he put a hand flat on your chest. “Lean back and ride me, pet.”

You obeyed to the best of your ability. You put your hands behind you on his knees and shifted your weight back, allowing him to fully watch himself disappear into you. The coarse, dark curls at the base of his member lightly stimulated your clit on the downstrokes, making you helplessly whimper while you fucked yourself on him.

“Are yeh sure you fucked someone?” he grunted. “So fuckin’ tight, I just don’t believe it.” His fingers snaked down and played around with your clit, which undoubtedly threw off your bouncing. Your hips begged to stay down and enjoy the circles he was tracing over your button, but he wouldn’t let you. His free hand went to your hip, just above where it bent into your thigh, and guided you to start moving again. “Uh-uh. Keep ridin’ me, love. I know yeh can keep a rhythm, hmm?”

So you kept riding. The pressure of his tip ghosting around your G-spot combined with him stimulating your clit was making it difficult to stay quiet. Sure, Gem was asleep, but she wasn’t dead, and if you made a ridiculous amount of noise, she’d definitely investigate.

“Gonna cum, aren’t yeh?” he asked, and fuck, he was right. That knot was already starting to form in your lower belly.. “I can tell. Yeh gonna let go, all over m’cock? Gonna make a mess fo’ me?”

His words caused you to spill over, and you were no longer able to hold yourself up leaning back. He was very forgiving of this, and let you grab at his shoulders while riding out your high. Once you’d stopped shaking and panting into his neck, he thrusted his hips up into you once, twice, three times and came inside of you with a grunt and some more nail-digging, this time into your thighs.

And then it was silent. You meekly got off of him and shakily pulled your shorts back up. You two quietly redressed, Harry nearly dead from his draining orgasm and you weak in the legs from your sexual workout. The only noise was the scratch of fabric on fabric and your shared heavy breathing. Finally, when you were gathering your things to leave, Harry spoke in his sultry, hoarse voice.

“I like when you come around,” he smiled, and you immediately returned it. It didn’t seem like much, but this was Harry’s way of expressing affection. Regardless of how good he was in bed or how witty and charming he came off, he was still a goofy teenage boy who had trouble talking about his emotions.

A little giggle came out of your nostrils. “Thanks, Haz.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, hmm?” he asked, pinning that unconfident noise at the end despite knowing you’d be back. He was already relaxing, crossing his arms behind his head and lazily eyeing you scramble towards the front door.

He had you trapped between the counter and the island. You were his senior—how was he so tall? Harry had his hands on the island behind him and his elbows extended to give you as little room as possible. “Y’know, I’ve been playing a lot of piano recently.”

You swallowed as quietly as you could. “And?” you huffed.

“Well… yeh know what they say about pianists’ fingers,” he purred, punctuating himself with a seductive curl of his fingers in front of your face.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the darkness in his eyes. “Isn’t that adage about guitar players, Harold?”

“S’not my name,” he frowned. Those same fingers trailed down to the apex of your thighs and lightly dragged up the inseam of your shorts. “Yeh sure y’don’t wanna see my improvement? You’ll get fingered anyways.”

Boy, was he convincing. He gave up any space the two of you had and leaned in to breathe in your ear, sending chills down your spine. His fingers slowly worked harder and harder onto your clit, the barrier of your panties and shorts suddenly really fucking annoying. “Harry, we can’t—”

“Yes, we can,” he snapped, pushing up against your core and eliciting a gasp from your lips.

“Your sister,” you whimpered, struggling when he pulled your shorts down just enough to rub at your underwear. “She’s in the next room, oh fuck.”

You laughed, mirroring her actions by tying up your own hair. "No way. You're exaggerating."

"Y/N, I argued with this elderly man for three whole minutes. He insisted he came in last week and was served a virgin martini and it was the best thing he'd ever had in a bar." Courtney went back to fish through the pockets of her apron to get the money she'd collected from the tip jar.

"Oh, are you talking about the guy that just left?" Becca, another coworker, asked from the sink. "Yeah, I served him last week. I gave him a martini glass with water, lemon bitters, and a splash of cranberry juice. Told him I cut it with a 'virgin wine'. He tipped me a $20," she brushed a chunk of blonde hair that fell into her face and went back to washing the dishes.

"God, thanks for letting me know!" Courtney groaned, counting out her share of the tips, pocketing the money and giving the rest to you. "Have fun out there. I think some business meeting was in town so there's a bunch of gross older men out there wanting their fuckin' margaritas." She casually popped open the first two buttons of her uniform's black button down as she stuffed her money in her chinos pocket.

"Watch your mouth!" Becca yelled, making the other girl laugh as she clocked out. "You'll be fine, Y/N. Rich guys tip well!" she encouraged.

"If they tip you at all," C warned just once more before slipping out the back door.

You shrugged your pessimistic coworker off and went out into the bar. The new girl who'd been out there alone seemed relieved to see you, as it was starting to get a little hectic. "What can I make for you?" you asked her, at the same moment that she shoved a sticky note covered in drink orders in your hand. Okay, time to get to work.

***

You'd been working at an upscale bar for about four months now. It had always been a dream of yours to work as a bartender, and you put yourself through the first three years of college working in and out of dingy places near your campus. Just as you started your last year towards your degree, the owner of your current workplace visited your bar by sheer chance and was impressed by you and offered a job on the spot. Your new pay was nearly double your old wage and you made much better tips, but God the patrons were terrible.

Working at a bar is virtually never smooth sailing. No matter where the joint is located, you get most of the same problems. Making drinks can get messy, and all the handiwork involved in you job made nail polish impossible. Some guys got way too fucking drunk. They tried to drive home after just one too many beers. Even the snotty rich fellas would put their manners side and start shoving others around if they thought someone was ogling their wife in a weird way. These were no picnic to deal with, but working in the nicer areas came with its own set of challenges.

Y/N learned almost immediately that rich guys were ridiculously entitled. No matter which order you serve them, at least one of them will gripe by the time you reach them. Some of them made gross comments (fortunately, your boss has a no-tolerance policy for this and with a wave of the hand, a bouncer would carry out the offending customer). They complained about how well their drinks are made and demand them to be redone. Working at shitty bars had way more freedom, because regardless of how you treat the obnoxious customers, you'll still have people who come back. But in the nicer places, reputation matters. Sometimes you have to remake that drink, even if it just means transferring it to a different glass and adding new garnish when they're not looking and handing it right back to them.

That almost always works, by the way.

Anyways, the day was terrible, just as Courtney warned. It was a Murphy's Law kind of shift and nothing sounded better than going home, kicking your shoes off, and never having to live this day over again. Fortunately, she'd been wrong about the tips and you'd had to send your coworker back at least three times to dump the tip jar out back in the office as it had been overflowing. But did it make up for how lousy the rest of the shift was? Maybe. A little.

The most beautiful words a bartender can hear are, "We close at 11." You had worked at places that stayed open until as late as 2 AM, but your current bar was closed and locked up before the day even changed. Your shifts were great, typically only being about four or five hours and getting home at reasonable hours, but the time spent there just felt tedious.

You swore it was a human instinct to check your watch incessantly whenever it's the last 15 or so minutes of your shift. Even when there was so much left to do, something about twitching to look at your wrist too often was so much more appealing than working. Usually, the only thing to stop the tick is if an interesting patron walked in.

And one did.

He was tall, commanded the room, dressed up but in all black. His hair was timelessly loose and curly, and his hands peaking out from his blazer sleeves revealed that he might be hiding some tattoos. It was suddenly like you weren't wearing a watch at all.

"What can I get for you, sir?" you cooed, maybe just a little off the mark of being subtle.

"I'll take a tequila shot, and pour one for y'self, too," he said deeply, sitting at the bar and combing through his locks with his fingers. He intimidatingly peered over you as you awkwardly scrambled around.

"I think y'know I can't do that, sir," you said apologetically, fishing out a glass and breezily pouring a shot. While putting the bottle of tequila back, you grabbed some abandoned empty glasses from the bar and moved them behind the counter. Your coworker had gone to the back an hour ago to close the kitchen, and multitasking happened to be one of your strong suits.

"I don't, actually." His hand came up to rub at his bottom lip, and you noticed the nails were painted a dark blue, almost black. The other hand grabbed the drink you slid towards him followed by a lime wedge. He didn't take it yet.

You pulled the white towel off your shoulder and wiped down the area in front of you. "It's the X-ray problem at the doctor's."

The man's pointer finger spun around the rim of the glass. "I'm sorry, the what?"

"Okay, so, you're an adult man. I assume you've been to the doctor's before."

"That'd be a correct assumption, yes."

"Have you ever had an X-ray done?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I feel like everyone has."

"Probably most people. Anyways, the doctor tells you the X-ray is completely safe, but they go to Egypt to push the button."

The man laughed, and it was honestly music to your ears. You even felt your mouth involuntarily curl up a tiny bit. "You're right. But what's that got to do with this?" He lifted the shot glass and gestured towards you with it.

"The amount of radiation that one X-ray exposes you to is so negligible its rounds off to zero, but if the doctor stands in front of the machine for 8 hours every single day he goes to work, he'll definitely get every kind of cancer." You picked up a shot glass from the stack of them behind the counter. "If I have just one shot with every person who asked, I'd definitely get alcohol poisoning."

He let out another one of his gorgeous laughs, and you could no longer hold back a bashful smile. "But is the bar not about to close?" he asked.

"We are."

"And you don't seem drunk at all t'me," he hummed, scratching his stubble.

"You're quite observant." You nodded approvingly towards an old man on the other side of the bar who drained his lager glass before tossing a few dollars into the tip jar and shrugging on his coat. You rinsed the glass in the sink before putting it in the tray to carry to the back.

The man at the bar dragged his eyes at the leaving customer, aware that you and him were now alone. The shot he'd ordered still sat in front of him. "So I guess it couldn't hurt to actually have just one, hmm?"

You wiped your hands on a clean towel, thinking it over. To make the deal sweeter, the man pulled out a $50 bill and put it on the counter between the two of you. In all honesty, you weren't impressed. This was a nice bar, to be fair. It wasn't completely rare that big shots and new money heirs came in and shoved their fortunes down everyone's throats by getting everyone's tabs and tipping in the double and triple digits. His money didn't make you shrug and pull out another glass to fill-- no, it was something else.

He seemed so familiar. You couldn't put your finger on it, but something about him felt like you knew him already. And frankly, he did make a good point. The day had been super rough, your feet were aching, and you hadn't had a drop to drink all night. Even taking the tip out of the equation, it didn't sound like a terrible idea. What would one little shot hurt?

You dabbed some water on the back of your hand and salted it, though he went straight for licking his own hand. Once the two of you were ready to take your shots, he raised his glass towards you. The smirk on his face when you clinked your glasses together made something swirl in your lower belly, but you knew the tequila would extinguish that feeling immediately.

Lick. Shoot. Suck. You'd been a pro at this since that spring break you and your friends took to South Padre Island freshman year. The liquor barely even burned at this point, and you hummed while biting at the lime in your mouth as the man sputtered just a little bit.

"Here," he groaned, picking up and trying to hand you the $50.

You waved your hand a bit at him, reaching your hand up to let your hair out of the tie. "Don't even worry about it. You were fun talking to, it's not necessary."

"I insist." He seemed steadfast, and you didn't feel like arguing. You sighed and took the money gratefully, moving to slip it into the pooled tip jar. His hand suddenly shot out and grabbed your wrist gently. "I didn't put it in the tip jar for a reason."

You breathed through your nose carefully, a little turned on at his boldness. Your hand slowly retreated and stuffed the bill into your back pocket, and the man smiled once more.

He tossed a bit more money onto the counter to pay for the shots you two just took, and scribbled something out onto a napkin. He nodded towards you and left the bar just as the clock struck 11. Becca emerged from the back to go lock the front door and didn't seem to notice you were frozen. When you finally grabbed at the napkin he'd left, it was difficult trying to read his scrawled handwriting. "Harry," was the only thing written on it, followed by 10 simple digits.

That's when it finally clicked. This was Harry, the frontman of that band from ages ago. You remember your younger sister being a huge fan of them maybe ten years back, but it was a bit out of your generation. He seemed so much older now with that behind him, and he was quite charming. And you just got his phone number!

You stuffed the napkin into the same pocket as the money he'd given you, hurriedly cleaning the bar and getting ready to go home. You didn't tell a single coworker who you'd just talked to and clocked out as fast as you absolutely could. It almost felt like it didn't really happen, and if you talked about it out loud it would turn out to be a twisted elaborate dream.

Another pro of your bar's early close: busses were still running to take you home after work. On the way back to your apartment, you typed out a quick text to your new friend. I don't suppose I ever told you my name. I'm Y/N

Quick and simple. Not wasting time. You'd never been one to be patient or drawn out, and assumed most people didn't either. Playing those wait-three-days games had ended up fizzling out most of your friends' relationships and you hated to see it.

He responded. It was lovely meeting you, Y/N

Your lips curled into a soft smile as the dots popped back up on your screen.

When might I be able to see you again? You hummed at your phone screen, thinking over what to say as the automated voice on the bus informed you that your stop was close.

I work on Tuesday next week! you offered, stuffing your phone into your pocket and hopping off the bus. As you shoved your apartment key into the lock, your cell buzzed with another reply from Harry.

I was thinking about a time where neither of us are working, but you're adorably funny. He sure was a charmer.

He ended up inviting you out to a night in the city. The party scene wasn't terribly unfamiliar for you (your college friends had always been down to get lit), but it was always at frat houses or people's apartments and not clubs that served Dom Perignon under thousand-dollar chandeliers.

The night he took you out, you'd chosen to wear a loose silver mini dress that gleamed and reflected lights around you. It was simple but flashy, something you thought Harry would appreciate. A huge part of you wanted to stop the dressy part of your outfit right there given how often you work on your feet, but you had this pair of black strap heels that had never left your closet and deserved a night out just like you did.

Something inside you expected Harry to have a driver or whatnot, but he actually pulled up in a black Cadillac, and even went up to knock on your apartment door. A true gentleman. Opened the car for you and everything.

"I was a little nervous about riding together," you admitted once the two of you were on the road together.

Harry made a noise of confusion. "How come?"

"You know when you're on a first date, and in the car or the Uber or whatever, there's that small talk before the small talk you have at the destination? Ugh, that's my kryptonite in terms of second hand embarrassment."

"The first time we met, we immediately started talking about the dentist and alcohol poisoning and going to Egypt. I think we'll be fine."

"We did not talk about going to Egy—!" you started, but he cut you off.

"Anyways, I wanted to thank you for coming out tonight with me," he announced.

You exhaled sharply through your nose. "You? Thanking me? How come?" you asked.

"Well... you met me so recently. We've had maybe three conversations. For all you know, I could be a psycho murderer."

"So could I."

He didn't see that coming. He couldn't stop a half-snort, half-giggle from escaping him. "I s'pose, but isn't it more likely to be me?"

"I think that's sexist. We should hold both genders accountable for their shortcomings."

"You consider being a psycho murderer a shortcoming?"

"Exaggerations can go both ways."

He sighed. "I'm just tryin' to say thank you. Most girls wouldn't go off with a strange man." When he realized exactly what he'd just said, he immediately tried to backtrack. "Well, I— Not that I'm constantly asking strange women to go off with me. Just a figure of speech."

It was your turn to snort at his goofiness. "Now I don't believe that for a minute. A man as attractive and charming as you should never be looking far to get his rocks off."

His eyes narrowed but his focus was on the road. "Who are you?"

"I'm Y/N," you declared simply, leaning your elbow against the car door and resting your temple on your palm. "I'm from the suburbs around here. Went to the same college as my parents. Took the same major as my mom. Put myself through school by working at an upscale bar where I meet lovely characters like yourself." You looked over to see how he was reacting to your light teasing and he was staring straight ahead, smirking.

"So you're in school?" He pulled up to a red light and looked over at you.

"I'm a senior." His head cocked confusedly and you sighed. "I'm in my last year. I graduate next semester."

"Congratulations, love." Green light. "Always wish I'd gone to school, jus' a little bit of me does."

"Hmm? Why didn't you?" you asked absentmindedly, picking at one of the crystals on your dress.

Harry actually laughed. "I was, uh, a bit busy during that time of my life."

Your head snapped up and you opened your mouth awkwardly. "Oh!" You felt so stupid. He just seemed so normal to talk to, it was easy to forget who he was and just connect with him.

"S'not stupid, it's actually quite refreshing to feel like a normal nobody sometimes," he said.

Ah, you'd just said all that out loud. "Sorry," you mumbled sheepishly. "And thanks for calling me a nobody."

The two of you had arrived at the venue. "That's not what I meant, love," he tried to get out before a valet boy in a red vest opened your car door for you.

The second your heel made contact with the pavement you were suddenly stunned by a great flash of white-- someone had just taken your picture. You blinked a couple times for your eyes to refocus, but another flash went off, then another and another. You were really close to stumbling back if someone hadn't grabbed your wrist and tugged you towards the inside of the bar.

It was Harry. Once the two of you were inside he immediately showered you in apologies. "'M so sorry, love," he said in your ear. "Didn't think that one through. We'll go in through the back next time. Hope you're okay with being on DailyMail."

Whoa whoa whoa. Next time? Through the back? DailyMail?? It was amazing how nonchalant Harry was about having paps up his ass all the time. Being famous honestly didn't seem to be all it was cracked up to be.

The bar was designed like a speakeasy. It paid homage to the Mafia days of the establishment and the lighting was low and sensual. Harry got the two of you a table and ordered some cocktails.

"How're yeh doing?" he purred, asking you once you'd settled in and gotten your beverages.

You smiled, gently gnawing on the lime twist from your Cosmo. "This is lovely, especially when I'm not the one making the drinks."

He laughed, stretching an arm behind him and shrugging off his coat, leaving him in a simple white button down that was probably not as buttoned as it was meant to be. "I'm gonna scan the room and see if I know anyone here. I'd love for yeh to get to know some new people."

After looking around a bit, he found a friend of his named Nick, a charming and tall man who had a personal space issue (not giving people any of it, that is). He let you and Harry join him and his crew, and everyone was having a lovely time together, sipping cocktails and enjoying the live music performed by a talented woman in a red dress.

That is, of course, until your hand slipped while holding an orange drink and managed to spill it on Harry's white shirt. You rushed out a hundred apologies before he could even compute what was happening but he fortunately had a good spirit about it.

"It's alright love!" he laughed, inspecting the spot. It wasn't ruined. "It's just a shirt. 'Ve got a hundred more at home. I'll go clean this up."

"I'll help you," you offered, still feeling bad. He nodded and the two of you went to the bathroom of the club, a wheelchair-accessible room really only meant for one person.

It wasn't a tight fit, though, and the two of you could comfortably move around in the space. Harry locked the door behind you two and  tossed his coat onto the counter while you dabbed at the orange stain with a wet paper towel. It was already starting to lift a bit and looked like the fabric might even be salvaged.

"See? All worked up for nothing." He gave a soft, reassuring smile and your stomach turned giddily. "It especially won't be a problem if I just keep m'jacket on all night."

Harry readjusted his coat, shaking out the lapels. As he carried out this motion, something flew out of the inside pocket that caught your eye. It was small and lightweight, but plopped down onto the floor purposefully. It was a tiny plastic bag, not even as big as the palm of your hand, and filled with a fine white powder.

The awkward silence that filled the bathroom was oxygen-depriving. His mouth opened to say something but he blanked. Even though the music from the club was floating in the air, neither of you two were quite listening to it anymore. Harry's gaze switched from you to the bag at least twice while trying to think of something to say, but you beat him to it.

"Is... is that—?" you started, staring down at the baggie.

"I... understand if this is a deal breaker," Harry explained, picking up the drugs and placing them back in his coat. His hands flew up to nervously toy with his hair.

"I want to try it," you whispered.

"Smoking backstage joints with Kacey was one thing but it's--" he stopped. "I— You— what?"

"I always have," you confirmed, eyes fixated on the pocket where he'd just stuffed the blow. You glanced back up to make eye contact. "You don't have to give it for free. I can—"

"God, no," he said. "You're not gonna take your clothes off just for some coke."

"Uh, I was going to say I'd pay you for it, but real smooth, Casanova," you snickered, making him roll his eyes.

"I wouldn't make yeh pay for it. I mean, this is a date isn't it?" he reminded.

Your shoulders tensed up at the idea of mooching off the Harry Styles for coke, but relaxed when you realized he seemed genuine. "I suppose." You paused for a minute, thinking about what to say next. "My roommate in the second year of college took home the ugliest guys just to rail a line of theirs, so it's probably pretty damn good."

He laughed, lowering his eyes comfortably. "You're not gonna do a whole line first," he said lowly. "Maybe jus' a key bump to see how you feel. D'y'know what that is?"

You smirked. "Yes. You scoop a little bit on a key and just snort that."

"Look at you," he purred proudly. "Are you okay with doing that, doll?"

You leaned your head on the wall. "Yes, sir."

Harry beamed at you and dug into his pocket. "Fuck," he groaned, "the valet boy has m'keys. Have you got yours?"

You nodded and dug into your purse for your keys. He giggled at your keychain that looked like a waffle. "Don't laugh! It's easy to find when I'm in a rush."

"I'm not judging!" he defended, isolating the key with the widest tip. "S'actually quite cute." While holding that one key between his fingers, he opened the baggie and gently squished it around. He then carefully dug out a little scoop of the soft white powder using the key. "I'm gonna do one first so you can see how it's done, then you can try one y'self, okay?"

You nodded, and he handed you the baggie to hold as he carefully kept the key steady. You watched as he meticulously brought it up to one of his nostrils, holding the other one shut with his free hand. He sniffed deeply, and once he'd cleared the key, he pulled it away and let go of his nostril to full inhale. Finally he sighed and shook his head, blinking quickly.

"Harry?"

He fluttered his eyes once more before smiling. "Wow. Never gets old." You laughed with him and he delicately took the bag back from you. "Are yeh ready?"

"Yes," you whispered. He scooped another bump out, this time a bit more erratic and unsteady. He handed you the keys and resealed the bag, slipping it into his coat pocket.

"All yours, pretty girl."

You pursed your lips for a moment and plugged one of your nostrils. You thought your hands would be shaking at this point but you were steady as a surgeon when you brought it to your face. It'd be like taking a pill, right? Like, if you failed to swallow the entire mouthful of medication and water in one go, it won't go down, so if you just did one tiny sniff you would probably choke or cough your guts out. You inhaled deeply, ensuring you got every fleck of coke off the cool metal.

Even after you'd pulled the keys away and let go of your other nostril, you were frozen standing still. Harry observed you and laughed out loud. "Y/N, exhale!"

You finally let go of the huge breath you'd just taken. Your face immediately began feeling a bit tingly and then went numb. Your brain felt like it went into hyperdrive, your skin was on fire, your heart was racing, and something deep inside you told you to run.

"How do you feel, baby?" Harry asked, and you realized his large hand was cupping your cheek.

"So fucking good," you breathed. Your eyes scanned over his face. He had shaved for the evening, since there was no stubble and he'd been a bit scruffy that night at the bar. His lips were wet and red, and his jaw was sharp as steel. This was the first time you'd really gotten a good look at his eyes and they were gorgeous. Pupils blown out by the coke, green from what you could see, littered with flecks of gold. You wanted to get lost in those eyes.

"Y/N?" he asked softly, feeling uncomfortable with you scrutinizing his face. "Are yeh sure you feel al—hmm!"

He was cut off by you diving forward to kiss him. Neither of you had even a second thought about this. Your hands were furious; both of you were pulling at buttons and zippers to expose more skin without even breaking for air. One of your hands strategically slipped down to slide over the bulge in his trousers and he gasped into the kiss.

"Can I—" he breathed over your face.

"Yes, God, yes." At the confirmation, Harry pulled you off of him completely and turned you around to face the mirror, pushing you down by your back. He pinned you between himself and the bathroom counter, your hips digging into the edge. His cock aligned with your center, grinding and shamelessly moaning before tugging up the bottom of your dress and sliding your panties to the side.

His fingers skimmed over your folds, getting to know your core and swirling around your clit. "Hmm, seems like someone gets excited when they've got a li'l blow in them," he mused. "Fuck, pet, your clit is so swollen, someday I'm gonna have to get it on my tongue."

You whined, wanting that to happen right now but were delighted nonetheless to hear his pants unzipping.

"But right now, I have to get m'self in you." You felt him fumbling around behind you before he was pressing against your entrance. "S'this okay, doll?"

You nodded desperately, dropping your head and pushing back so that the head of his cock pushed its way inside you. He groaned and grabbed your hair, pulling you up to look at yourself in the mirror. Harry guided his hips forward until finally the two of you were fit snugly and started fucking in and out of you.

If your lipstick wasn't fucked up already from the drinking and making out, it was now that he was dipping his fingers into your mouth and using the leverage to thrust into you harder. His hands smeared across your face a bit as he relentlessly buried his cock in you over and over.

At one point, you lifted one leg such that you could bring it up onto the counter beside you. From a third eye, the position may seem acrobatic and intense but was oddly uncomplicated and gave Harry a far wider range of motion. At this angle, he was unforgivingly stimulating your G-spot, turning you into a weeping puddle of whines and expletives.

"Right there harder holy fuck Harry you're so deep keep going right fucking there," were only a sample of the pathetic things falling from your lips. You could be embarrassed at your words later, right now you were way too close to an orgasm to care.

Harry was spurred on by your vocalization, as one does. One hand dug into the flesh at your hip to make the two of you collide even more intensely, while the other hand snaked down to flick at your clit with the fingers coated in your spit. When you finally did cum, you were glad that he was pinning you down so tightly as your standing leg was virtually boneless.

As if watching you fall apart on his cock wasn't enough, you had to cap it off by begging the dirtiest things you could think of from him. "Cum inside me, daddy, please fill me up, show everyone who's cunt this is, please."

His hips stuttered once before he shoved the entire length back in you and came until his member stopped twitching. When he caught his breath, he pulled out and watched the soft white liquid seep out after him. He went to touch it and you recoiled.

"Sorry, m'sensitive," you weeped, and he ran his other hand through your hair while putting himself away.

"I should be sorry. Fucked the stand out of ya," he noted with a chuckle, assisting you getting redressed.

Once the two of you were presentable enough to step back out into the club and the thick sex atmosphere had wafted away, the tension grew. "So,  uh, it's getting kind of late, hmm?" you led. "Maybe I should be on my way." Part of you didn't want to leave, but all good things had to come to an end and it was better to err on the safe side rather than overstay your welcome.

He laughed, pulling you to him by your waist. His eyes scanned over you and the smirk on his face was downright devilish. "Oh darling, if you think for even a moment that this evening is over, you're quite mistaken."