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ta1kingn0nsense · 2 days ago

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TEACHER’S PET

smut ! harry styles x reader

summary: Professor Styles has long been concerned about his student's romantic relationship with her boyfriend. He worries more than he should, more than would be considered appropriate. One day, he decides to offer her help, and things don't end as he expected.

word count: 6.9k

cw: smut, masturbation, oral sex, penetration, dirty talk, unprotective sex, dominant, toxic relationship.

author’s note: wakey wakey, i’m back! 🩷

[ teacher harry! ] +18

"I want you all to open your books to page 32. Today we're going to talk about Shakespeare and one of the most famous tragedies of all time: Romeo and Juliet." I take the chalk in my hands and begin to write on the board. The sound of my students snorting makes me laugh lightly. "Oh, come on. Who doesn't love a good forbidden love story?"

I open my book to the page where a small fragment of the story is shown, the part where Romeo believes Juliet is dead and decides to end his own life.

"Okay... how many of you have been in love?" I ask, looking up from my book. They laugh, and I smirk. "Come on, let's be honest. How many of you have been in a relationship?" Some raise their hands, some more timidly than others. "And at the time, you thought it was a good idea to die for them?"

My attention shifts when I hear an argument in the hallway and I turn my head toward the small window in the classroom door. Then I see you. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you spoke and gestured rapidly with your hands. I lean forward a little further to see the second person, your boyfriend. This is the third time I've seen you argue this week, and it's only Tuesday. People are saying you're both very toxic and that he's cheated on you several times, but you still don't want to leave him.

Romance between young people will always fascinate me. Wanting to hurt someone you're supposed to love. Why would you do that? And above all, why would you let them do that to you?

You're one of my best students, at least you're one of those who tries. You always write essays, you read your books at home, you're always attentive, you ask questions, and it seems your life outside of this is very different from what you show in class.

But I've noticed you've been very distracted for the past few weeks, and I guess it's all because of that guy you call your boyfriend. He doesn't even study at this university. He drops you off at the campus gate in the morning on his motorcycle and comes back to pick you up at lunchtime. You two always like to make out at the entrance, I don't know if it's to get attention or because you need to suck each other's faces off early in the morning. In any case, I always find myself watching your every move, and I wish I knew why. I guess I don't like that guy one bit, and as your teacher, I have to make sure you're safe.

Or so I want to make myself believe.

I stare at you for a while until I see him grab your arm tightly to pull you towards him, making you jump. My instincts start to go on alert, expecting the worst, and I decide to take action. I head to the door and open it, making both of you turn your heads to look at me.

I clear my throat before speaking. "Miss [your last name], you should go to class. You don't want to miss the lesson."

You look at your boyfriend once more and then back at me, slipping out of his grasp. "Yes, Mr. Styles, sorry..." You mumble before walking past me and into class.

My gaze follows your every move. The way you keep your head down, the way your eyes are red, the way you avoid your classmates' gaze, you're probably having a bad time, and it's all because of the guy standing in the aisle.

I turn my gaze toward him and realize he's also looking at you. "You should leave if you're not a student at this university," I say. "You don't want to get into-"

"Suck my dick," he interrupts as he turns around and starts walking toward the exit.

What an asshole.

I re-enter the classroom and close the door behind me. The murmurs quieted as I stood in front of the desks with my arms crossed. My gaze was on you.

"So, [Y/N]" you lift your head to look at me "we were just starting to talk about Romeo and Juliet. About being in love… about relationships. What do you think about love?" I tilt my head.

You look around nervously, everyone staring at you, all the attention on you. I know this makes you quite nervous; this isn't the first time you've had to speak in public and you feel overwhelmed, but I want to know your opinion on this topic.

"It's... it's okay... I guess." you mumble, lowering your head again.

"Just okay?" I insist. "I suppose you've been in love before, right? What does it feel like?"

"Well... your thoughts start to revolve around that person alone... their well-being comes before yours," you reply, your voice breaking.

"But that's kind of... nice. Don't you think?" I remain silent for a few seconds, "or at least the way I see it. Thinking of someone as if they were the most important thing in your life..."

"It's not all pretty... it's not all butterflies along the way. Love hurts." you interrupt me, looking up again.

"But it shouldn't," I say firmly. "Love shouldn't hurt. Love should be the perfect balance between both parties. It should be beautiful all the time. Romeo took his own life because he didn't want a world without his Juliet."

The students around us follow us with their eyes every time we speak, but none of them say anything, attentive to the exchange.

"Yes, but Tinder didn't exist back then." You sigh, and your classmates laugh. "Love isn't all pretty."

"Not if you're with the wrong person," I blurt out before I can think of a better answer.

Your face changes completely, and you look back down at your notebook. I immediately regret it. "Anyway... Camille, start reading the passage on page 32." I walk around the table and sit down in my chair, turning my attention back to the book.

Even though the conversation is over, I still think about it constantly in my mind. It's incredible that you have that thought about love just because someone doesn't know how to treat you the way you deserve. At no point was my intention to make you feel bad, but I think if someone doesn't tell you how things really are, you'll never realize what's happening right in front of your eyes.

The remaining 40 minutes of class continue as usual. I continue talking about the tragic story between these two young people, all the while keeping an eye on you. You haven't even raised your head; you only deign to look at your notebook, and it makes me angry to think that my words have truly hurt you. When the bell rings and everyone starts gathering their things to leave, I sit at my desk with only one goal in mind: to talk to you. I say goodbye to the students as they all leave one by one, and when you're about to leave, I speak to you directly.

"Miss [your last name], can we talk?" You turn your head when you hear my voice and remain silent for a few seconds, pondering the question in your head. "It'll be quick, I promise."

"Sure, but I have to be in art history in 10 minutes," you reply in a mumble, letting me know you're not too keen on staying to talk with me.

"Well, I think Miss Johnson will understand," I commented, referring to the art history teacher. "I didn't mean to hurt you with my words and I'm very sorry if that's what happened."

You nod slightly and that's when you look me in the eyes for the first time. "It's okay, Mr. Styles. You have a opinion on love and I have a different one. Not everyone can have the same opinions and that's okay."

"But what I meant was that..." I remain silent for a few seconds, trying to find the best words to say to you and then I continue "It's not right that you have that opinion about love, just because someone made you think that way."

"I think most of us have that opinion about love. Obviously, love is beautiful at first, but then it gets complicated. Or at least that's what happens to most of us young fools in love. I'm glad you were able to experience love in a beautiful enough way to have that opinion, but unfortunately, I haven't." you say, and I feel my heart sink in my chest little by little.

"Y/N..." I call your name this time. "What that boy is doing to you, if it's what I think he's doing, it's not right at all, and you should leave him."

"With all due respect, Mr. Styles, you shouldn't be telling me how to act in my relationship," you say harshly. "Any problems I may have in my relationship are my own business, so I'd like us to not discuss this again. Have a nice day." With that, you walk out the door, leaving me with a thousand words in my mouth.

I let out a long sigh and look back at the book on my desk, still open to the page containing the short story of Romeo and Juliet. I shake my head lightly and stand up, closing the book. I throw my jacket over my shoulder, grab my briefcase, and walk out of class, leaving our little argument behind.

The next few days unfold in a strange way. You come to class, but you don't bother to look at me. You don't even try to participate like you used to. You keep hiding behind your sad eyes. Every day it becomes more evident that something is affecting you deeply, and I'm not the only one who sees it. I watch as your friends talk to you seriously at the lunch table, as you avoid their questions. I'm worried about how many times you ask me to go to the bathroom during each class. You don't even do your homework anymore, and it's not just that you're ruining your career, but your life. And I wish I could know what that boy is doing to you. I wish you would ask for help.

I walk toward my car with the umbrella in my hand sheltering me from the rain, saying goodbye to the students I meet along the way, wishing them a good weekend. The faculty parking lot is practically empty. It's already late, but I had to stay behind to review some exams. As I'm about to get in the car, I hear shouts that make me jerk my head toward the university entrance.

Your boyfriend is riding his motorcycle, putting on his helmet, while you're yelling at him. Your books in your hand, which are getting wet from the rain. He starts the motorcycle's engine, and you stare at him in disbelief.

"Are you kidding me, Luke?" you say as he eases off the pedal of the bike. "Are you just going to leave me here stranded while it pours with rain?"

"You're the one behaving like an insolent brat. You don't even deserve a ride home. We can talk when you're calmer," he blurts out, then speeds off, leaving the university behind.

"Oh great, that's very mature of you, thank you so much!" you shout, but he's already far enough away to hear you.

You stand there, books in hand, watching as he rides away and disappears from your sight. You don't even bother to go under the awning, so as not to get wet. Then, I decide to get in my car and start the engine, it's obvious you have no way to get home and that jerk left you standing in the rain, I don't want you to get hypothermia. I press the pedal, getting the car moving, and drive up to where you are. You turn your head, noticing my car approaching, and I roll down the window, giving you a small smile.

"I think you need a ride home," I say, "and I have four free seats in this car, so... what do you say?"

"No need to bother yourself, Mr. Styles. I can call my mom," you say, but you still don't make any attempt to pick up the phone or at least take shelter from the rain.

"Come on, it's no bother. Besides, it's my duty as a teacher to make sure you're safe and sound." Your expression still doesn't change, which tells me you're going to keep refusing. "Please, it's raining heavily, and you'll get sick if you stay down there. Get in the car."

You look around doubtfully, but then I notice your expression turn calm. You look back at me and without another word, you walk around the car and climb into the passenger seat. As soon as you close the door behind you, I turn on the heater so you can warm up.

"I live in Sutton, if it's a long way for you I can take the train." you say as you turn your head to look at me.

"It's no problem, really. Besides, I like driving, so it'll be nice." I say, giving you a small smile. But still, I know I'm not going to let the minor detail of how your boyfriend left you stranded in the rain slide. "I also think you could use a mug of hot chocolate, so I'm taking you to my favorite cafe in all London. And I won't take no for an answer." You were already on the verge of refusing.

I rev the car again and drive through the London streets. At least I'm relieved that you're no longer trembling like an abandoned kitten. It's obvious this situation makes you uncomfortable, and that's normal. It's very strange that your teacher would invite you in for a cup of hot chocolate, but it's simply because I want to know what the hell is going on.

I have no idea if this is a case of abuse, and I hope it isn't and you're just having the typical relationship problems that most young people have. I hope I don't have to find out that this guy isn't just hurting you psychologically, but physically as well. And I really hope I'm just imagining things.

I park the car in one of the underground parking garages near the cafeteria and turn to look at you. You remain silent and don't even turn your head to look at me, but I speak to you anyway, "We're here." We remain silent again for a few seconds. "Hey, just accept this cup of hot chocolate, and then you can go back to pretending I don't exist. You can keep ignoring me in class, and I won't say a word."

"I'm not ignoring you, Mr. Styles," you murmur. "I'm just embarrassed to look at you after the other day. And not just you. Practically everyone. So please don't hold it against me. I really like your class and I really enjoy literature."

I sigh lightly. "Do you think we can talk about it in the cafeteria?"

You give a small nod and get out of the car, making me feel relieved because you're finally willing to talk to me about the topic that's been on my mind for a few weeks.

I get out too and lock the car, approaching and walking beside you to the parking lot exit. Only our footsteps can be heard as we walk toward the cafeteria, but it's not an awkward silence, since we both know the real conversation will begin once we sit down.

The café isn't very crowded; after all, it's midday, and people are probably at home. We walk to the first free table we see next to the window overlooking the street, where you can occasionally see people passing by, and the more curious ones stop to look inside.

I watch as you take the drinks menu in your hands and give it a quick once-over. You flip through the pages quickly, not even bothering to read the ingredients. This makes me tilt my head slightly. "If I may give you a recommendation, the cappuccino here is delicious. In fact, I always order it with a little cream on top and extra cinnamon. When I'm feeling a little sad, I also ask them to add some marshmallows."

You look up at me, arching an eyebrow slightly. "Do you come here often?" you ask with a hint of humor.

I laugh a little and look around. When my gaze rests on you again, I answer. "I used to work here before I passed the exams and became a university professor. I know every single drink on that menu, both how to make them and how they taste. So every combination I come up with, is probably something I've made myself in the past, and I know you'll love it."

I can see an attempt at a smile on your lips, and you look back at the menu, this time to close it. "I'll listen to you, then. Since you're the one who's worked here."

"Good choice. I'm sure you won't be disappointed. After all, marshmallows are never a bad accompaniment to a cappuccino."

One of the waitresses comes over to serve us, and when she sees me, she gives me a smile. "Harry! What a surprise to see you here again. Is this the fifth time this week?" she jokes as she takes her small notebook out of her pocket.

"Hello to you too, Emily." I reply, and she moves her gaze to you.

“Who is your companion?” she asks.

“Uh… she is…” i start.

“Just a friend.” You interrupt, offering Emily a small smile. Actually, I'm glad you took the initiative to say you're just a friend. Calling you my student might sound a little harsh.

"Yeah, a friend..." Emily says, turning her head slightly toward me to wink, which I feel awkward saying to myself. "What should I get you and your little friend?"

"Two cappuccinos with cream, extra cinnamon, and marshmallows, please," I order with a small smile.

"Coming up, two monstrosities for the palate." With that, Emily leaves, leaving us alone again.

"She's nice," you say, simply looking down at your hands resting on the table.

"Oh come on, she's the worst. We didn't get along when I worked here," I say, leaning back in my chair.

At least I get a little laugh out of you "yes, the truth is that she seems to be the worst."

I wait quietly for a few seconds to see if you'll somehow bring up the conversation I've been waiting for, but you don't. It's obvious you want to avoid this topic as much as possible, but something inside me is screaming for me to talk to you about it. So I can't stay silent much longer.

"Why did he leave you stranded at the entrance to the university while the downpour of the century was falling?" I ask softly, playing with my hands. You take a while to answer, even avoiding my gaze. You're probably thinking this is a topic I shouldn't get involved in, but you decide to answer anyway.

"He's not a bad guy. At least he wasn't when we first started dating, or when we first started talking..." You lift your head to look at me. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm constantly trying to defend him when it's obvious what he's doing is wrong."

"You can tell me. I promise I won't criticize you or the situation. It's just that if I see you're having a bad time, my job as a responsible adult is to give you my best advice and try to help you. If you're in a dangerous situation—"

You interrupt me immediately, "No, no... it's not that, he's never hurt me, he's never laid a hand on me."

"Well, I saw him grab your arm in the hallway at university. And it wasn't exactly a gentle grab," I remember.

You sigh lightly, "When he gets frustrated, he acts differently than he really is, but I swear when we're alone together, he's a sweetheart."

"That's exactly what someone in danger would say. Someone so blinded by love, they don't see the reality of what's happening." I say, and you stay quiet. "Listen, Y/N, love doesn't have to hurt." I repeat the words I said in class that day. "Love is wonderful. It's hope, it's a future, it's excitement, it's acceptance, protection, affection, and above all, respect."

You remain silent, so I take this as a cue to keep talking. "Your boyfriend isn't respecting you. He's exerting power over you that he shouldn't. He's implying that he can do whatever he wants with you, that he can leave you standing in the rain and you won't say a word about it. That he can grab your arm harshly in the hallway at school to make you obey. That's not love."

"Then teach me what love is," you say, looking into my eyes.

The request leaves me so stunned that only a simple "what?" comes out of my mouth.

"I'm not stupid, Mr. Styles. I see the way you glance at me in class every two minutes. The way your eyes wander every time we pass each other in the hallway. The way you always wait for me to raise my hand in class to hear my answer. You always use my essays as an example, even if they aren't that great. Don't get me wrong; I'm flattered that a man as attractive as you is attracted to me. But I've never taken things seriously enough to say anything until you invited me to a cappuccino at your favorite coffee shop. And don't tell me it's just to talk about my boyfriend."

I search my head for the exact words I can say now so as not to look like a real perverted teacher who is totally crazy about his student. It may be true what you just said, but obviously I can't confess it. And the worst part is, I'm not thinking about losing my job, but about the things that must be going through your head right now.

"I don't know what you're talking about..." and those are the only words my head has been able to utter.

You snort heavily and lean back in your chair. You cross your arms and squint at me. I can't tell if you're angry or just trying to tickle me.

"Seriously, are you going to deny it after being after me for months?" you say.

"Listen, Y/N, you're a beautiful girl, and maybe I was attracted to you once, but that's normal, I'm a man with eyes and you're young, but not so young that it would be considered wrong. We're only about eight, nine years apart in age, so even if it were actually true, it's not crazy." I try to reason.

"So you just confirmed that you're indeed attracted to me, and the idea doesn't seem so bad to you since we're only eight years apart. Plus, you called me beautiful," you say with a slight smile.

"And you said you find me attractive," I counter.

"And I do. I think you're a very attractive man, aside from the fact that you're my teacher. And I can't see the madness, since I'm of legal age and we're only eight years apart." you say.

"Okay, I think you're talking too much now." I say, trying to let the topic drop.

"Oh come on, we've only just started. Are you nervous? Do you think something could really happen between us?" You tilt your head.

"I don't think it's the right thing for something to happen between us." I look up at you.

"But you're not denying it either."

I let out a heavy sigh and looked away. If you were trying to tickle me, you are, indeed, and I don't know how to respond anymore. Damn, of course I'd like something to happen between us. You're probably one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, and on top of that, you like literature and you're a good girl. I'd die for something to happen between us.

"You're enjoying this way too much. We didn’t come here for this, if not to talk about your shitty boyfriend, and now this whole thing seems like a bad idea to me." I say in a mumble.

"Oh, well now I want to talk about how horny I make you every time you see me.” you say smiling.

I lean across the table so you can hear me clearly, "Don't say it too loud, someone will hear you."

"Oh, are you afraid someone will find out that you want to fuck your student?"

“For God’s sake, Y/N.” I close my eyes and let out a sigh. Who told me to bring you here?

"Listen, maybe I'm actually wrong and you're not actually attracted to me and don't want to fuck me, so I'm going to make this easy. I'm going to go to the bathroom and wait for you there for 15 minutes. If you don't show up, I’ll go home. But if you do, we'll probably have the best sex of our lives in a public bathroom. So, Mr. Styles, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to retire to the bathroom." Your words leave me so stunned that I don't even notice when you get up and walk into the bathroom, closing the door behind you, but not before giving me a quick glance.

What can a person like me do in a situation like this? The most reasonable thing would be to pay for the cappuccinos, which haven't even been served yet, leave the cafe, get in my car, and drive home without looking back. But that little part of my head, thinking about how fucking pleasurable it would be to stick my cock in your pussy right now, is screaming for me to get in that bathroom.

And since I'm a fucking idiot, I'm going to go for the second option.

I quickly get up from my chair and take a wide stride to the bathroom. I open the door and step inside as quickly as I can, closing it behind me. I scan the space and find you sitting on top of the sink, staring at me intently.

"So my literature teacher decided the best idea today was to fuck his student, who's eight years his senior." You say. "I'm not going to refuse either. I think I'm even looking forward to it more than you are. Besides, you're one of those guys who has a huge cock."

I let out a small laugh "let me tell you, you won't be disappointed."

I close the distance between us and position myself between your legs, cupping your face in my hands. I caress your cheeks with my thumbs as I inspect every detail of you. You truly are one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen.

"Do you want to kiss me?" you ask

"Sweetheart, I want to do so much more than kiss you." With nothing else to add, I capture your lips fiercely in mine.

The kiss is passionate, full of desire. My tongue touches your lips, asking permission to enter. The moment you let me, all is lost.

I raise my hands to your hair, gripping it tightly, making you throw your head back and giving me a better view of your neck. I lower my kisses to it. I lick, suck, bite, all between our ragged breaths. I even dare to leave a few marks; I just want to drive your boyfriend crazy.

"God, I want you so bad." I say between bites, my breath hot on your neck.

“Then have me…” you gasp.

My head snaps up to look at you, your words stirring something inside me, igniting something. "Fuck, I need you now, fuck the consequences."

I move back down to your neck, placing my kisses on that area, while with my hands I lightly lift your shirt. My fingers gently run down your torso, then up toward your breasts.

"I love it when you don't wear a bra. Do you know how hard it is for me not to stare at your nipples in class? The way they pop out—fuck." I grip them tightly, making you gasp.

I lift your shirt up over your head and help you take it off. It's the first time I've seen your tits in front of me, and I think I could get down on my knees and pray. How fucking wonderful. I'll probably regret this tomorrow, but right now all I can do is enjoy myself.

I don't wait much longer before grabbing them and slipping one into my mouth. I begin to trace circles with my tongue around your nipple, making it hard. I hear you moan slightly, but I'm so focused on sucking on your tits that I can't think of anything else right now. I move over to the other one and do the same thing until your nipples are as hard as an iceberg. I pull away a little and continue rubbing them with my two thumbs. I'm an atheist, but I could start to believe.

I raise my head to look at you again, and I see your head leaning back against the bathroom mirror, your eyes closed, and your bottom lip between your teeth. I smile at the sight. "Tell me, Y/N, does your boyfriend suck your tits this fucking good?"

"He doesn't even suck them..." you say between moans.

What a fucking asshole.

"I hope he at least eats your pussy properly. Otherwise I don't understand what you're doing with him," I say as my thumbs continue to rub your nipples.

You look down at me with a look of shame and embarrassment, letting me know that he doesn’t even eat your pussy.

"You're lucky I'm feeling generous today. I'm going to show you how a real man treats a woman, and I hope that when we get out of this bathroom, you send that asshole a text telling him you're done. Because after I do what I'm about to do to you, you won't want anyone else to touch you." I growl.

With nothing else to add, I lower my hand to the button of your jeans and unbutton it, never taking my eyes off you for a single moment. I grab the hem and drag them down, and without much effort, your thong falls with them, leaving a trail of moisture along your thighs.

"Fuck, look at that, you're dripping..." My hand moves up your thigh to your intimate, and I run my fingers through your folds, making you shiver. "All this just for me?" I smile.

I raise my fingers to my mouth and suck them, not leaving a drop of your juices on them. You let out a moan just by looking at me.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting to have you like this... to taste you... and fuck, it's perfect." I lower my hand back to your pussy. "I can't wait to feel my cock inside that wet little cunt."

Without warning, I shove two fingers inside you, making you jump in the sink. I move them slowly at first, giving your walls time to adjust to me, but you're so tight... God, I could cum right here just feeling you close around my fingers.

The pace increases, and with it your moans. Someone could walk in at any moment and find us here, but right now I don't give a damn. When you get used to two fingers, I insert a third, bending them to find that spot I know drives women crazy, but you don't seem to.

"Oh, don't tell me you're more of a clitoris person..." I say laughing.

"What woman isn't more into clitoris?" you gasp.

"Fair enough." My thumb joins in, and with pressure like pressing a button, begins rubbing your clit in circular motions.

My four fingers keep working on you and your moans start to get louder and louder, I have no choice but to use my other hand to cover your mouth. My pants are about to burst. I know I can't hold out much longer. I need my cock inside your pussy now. But I'm a gentleman, and I want to make you come first, so I have no choice but to use my mouth for something other than talking.

"I'm going down, so I hope you don't moan too loudly and that someone hears us, or do you want this adventure to end?" You quickly shake your head. "Good girl."

I remove my hand from your mouth and use it to help your legs rise, so that your feet are resting on the sink and you're fully exposed to me. My other hand continues working on you as I get on my knees and watch your pussy open just for me. Your juices are dripping everywhere, your clit is red and begging to be eaten.

"Fuck, how could you have this hidden just for him?" I say angrily. "You should be in a fucking museum."

I run my tongue along your folds to your clit and hear you moan like never before. I laugh into your pussy, making you vibrate, and I raise my gaze to your eyes as I repeat the motion again. You try to look away, but I'm faster.

"No, no. I want you to look into my eyes while I make you cum. Don't take your eyes off me," I command.

"Okay, Mr. Styles," you say, your breath hitching, and I moan softly. You bitch, you know exactly what you're doing.

My tongue dives between your folds again, but this time I let it focus on your clit. I lick it, suck it, even let my teeth graze it a little. My right hand resumes its work, and I insert my three fingers again, pumping them inside you at a rapid pace. I need you to come now, I need to be inside you, please.

As if a genie granted my wish, I feel your walls begin to tighten around my fingers. I can't take my eyes off yours, your mouth parting. God, you're coming, I can feel it.

I speed up my fingers, sucking on your clit as if my life depended on it. Your head throws back and your eyes close. You can't hold it in any longer, and I feel you explode in my hand. Fluids run down my arm and your breathing quickens. You let out one last moan, so loud I think it could have been heard on the street outside. I keep pumping for a few more seconds, wanting your orgasm to last as long as possible. I could frame your face in a picture right now. What a perfect image.

I stand back up and remove my hand from your pussy. Your legs droop. The sink is soaked. Fuck. "Open your mouth," I order.

You open your eyes to look at me, and without protest, you open your mouth. I insert my fingers, soaked with your juices, into it and force it closed. You suck on them intensely, and that makes me smile. "Good girl... tasting yourself... you like to eat your own juices, hm? I don't want you to leave even a drop."

I feel your tongue running between my fingers, making sure not a single spot is left unlicked. I remove my hand from your mouth and grab your face with it, kissing you harshly. My tongue enters your mouth aggressively. God, everything tastes like you.

I pull away from you "Get up, I can't wait to put my cock in that pussy, come on."

Without protest, you struggle to your feet, your legs shaking. You can't even stay upright, and you end up leaning against the sink. This makes me laugh. I grip your hips tightly and flip you over, leaving you facing away from me, your face toward the mirror. I have you lean slightly over the sink and I look down at your ass. I slap you once, and you moan.

"So you like being punished..." I murmured, slapping you again. "You're too dirty."

"I've been very bad, Professor..." you joke.

I burst out laughing, "Fuck, so you deserve to be punished... you deserve to be treated like the little whore you are, hm?"

I unbuckle my belt and unbutton my pants. With one movement, I manage to pull them down along with my boxers. My cock is fully erect, the tip red, ready for action. I watch as you glance back slightly, surprised by what you're seeing. "Fuck... I knew you had a big one, but-" you say.

"I told you you were going to be surprised, sweetheart..." I say, grabbing my cock and running it through the folds of your pussy, letting it soak, lubricate with your juices. You let out another small moan, and my cock reacts to it. "I'm going to fill that pussy with my cum and enjoy every moment of it..."

"What happens if someone breaks in?" you ask.

"Let them enjoy the show," I say before plunging my cock inside you, causing you to let out a gasp. "So tight... come on, you can do it. I'm sure you can handle every inch of me."

I keep thrusting into you, forcing your pussy to open for me. Before I know it, my cock is all the way in. "Good girl, you're doing great."

Tears spring to your eyes as I pull back in forcefully. I grab your hair and pull, making you look at yourself in the mirror. That's it, just like that…

The only sound heard alongside our moans is the sound of our bodies colliding. With my other hand, I grip your ass tightly, knowing it'll leave a mark.

"You have no idea how much I've imagined this, how much I've ached to have you like this," I murmur, "You have no idea how much I've wanted to feel your body beneath me, screaming my name. Scream my name, sweetheart…"

“Harry…” you moan.

"Not that name, sweetheart. The other one." I say.

“Mr. Styles…” you moan again.

“Good girl.” i smile. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

My thrusts get harder, your moans get louder. I feel your walls tighten around me again. But fuck, I don't want this to ever end.

My cock slides in and out of your pussy with ease; you're so wet it just slides off. Your ass is red from my grip. You're staring at yourself in the mirror. God, you're reaching orgasm again. I move my hand from your ass to your clit and rub it again. I can tell it's sensitive from the way you jump at the touch. I squeeze hard and move my fingers in circles. You're on the brink, you're going to explode again.

"I'm... I'm coming again." you say between moans.

"Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum on my cock," I say as I speed up the pace of my thrusts.

The last moan sounds loud and your walls clench completely. You come hard and collapse into the sink. Juices run down your legs, onto mine even. I give the last few thrusts and pull out, looking down. My cock is dripping. But it's not over yet. I brush your hair away from your face and grip it tightly. "You're not done yet, baby."

I have you kneel in front of me, still holding onto your hair. Without saying anything, your mouth opens. "Do I have permission to fuck your mouth, sweetheart?" You nod instantly, and that makes me smile. "Good girl."

With my hand gripping your hair, I pull you towards me, sinking my cock into your throat. Tears spring to your eyes, but you don't stop me; you handle it like a champion. I put aside the softness and thrust into your mouth hard, simply thinking about the image of your mouth dripping with my cum. I throw my head back in pleasure as I increase my thrusts. I hear how you choke sometimes, and it drives me crazy. God, screw the university! I'm never letting you go again.

I feel my orgasm building and look down. You're holding it so well. "I'm coming, sweetheart. Be good for me and swallow every last drop..."

My words make you moan, and the sound rumbles in my cock. I don't need anything else to reach orgasm and cum hard in your mouth. The threads of semen running down your chin to your neck. That's the best image in the world. When I notice the orgasm subsiding, I withdraw my cock from your mouth and watch you swallow every last drop. Your throat must feel hot right now.

I brush the hair away from your face again and grab your chin, pulling it up so you're looking at me. "Good girl."

If you liked it, leave me a like and repost so it reaches more people, thanks! 🩷

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ta1kingn0nsense · 5 days ago

Text

Roll Call Part Two

A/N: Hey everyone! Deepest apologies for taking 500 years to post this over here! If you've not read this over on the watty, hello! This is part two of Professorry being a w h o r e.

Content Warnings: coarse language

Sexual Content: Degradation, he's still mean, delayed gratification, oral oral oral, choking in more ways than one, cnc..? they act like him nutting in her is bad but it's not... idk don't look at me, squirting ofc tf, biting, spanking etc, age gap, daddy daddy daddy 18+ always duh. If I missed any, please let me know!

Sorry for any typos this came out a while ago and i cannae be bothered to read through lol

Word Count: 12.4k

***

Oxford University, 1992

"Are you listening?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl. What did I just ask you?"

"When was Plato born?"

"That's right," He cooed, his lips wrapping around her clit with a suck. "What's the answer, pretty girl?"

"427 BC?"

He sighed, pulling away with disappointment. She cried out in despair, reaching for him and pouting when he brushed her off.

"You know the rules, Violet."

She whimpered, her eyes wet with desperation.

"Tell me the rules." He pushed.

"If I answer wrong, you stop."

"Mm. And did you give me the correct answer just now?"

God, he was unreal. On his knees before her, his mouth saturated in her wetness. Dripping from his chin, his tongue reaching out to collect the shine.

"No." She whined.

"Pardon?" He cocked a brow, his hands leaving her shaking thighs.

"No, professor."

"You're being very naughty, today." He observed. "When you're serious about your studies, return to me."

"No, I—"

"You heard me." He dismissed, standing and righting his appearance. "Fix your panties."

His eyes were transfixed on the misplaced garment, soft blue and as delicate as her core behind them.

"Please, Harry—"

He shot her a look that stopped her pleas. "I thought I told you not to talk back. You got the answer wrong, so you don't get to come. If you really wanted to make a mess in my mouth, you'd revise better. Now go."

"I'll do better, sir." She spread her legs, actively doing the opposite of what he'd asked her to do. His eye twitched.

"I have a meeting, and you're dripping onto my chair."

She smirked, knowing that he didn't have shit planned for the rest of his day. He never did when he was helping her study. They did this often, this fun little game. And he usually was more lenient. She surmised he wasn't feeling generous today, as usually, he would let her come as many times as he wanted. She attempted to switch gears.

"Are you sure, professor? I know I've been bad but I can make you feel good, can't I?"

"No. If you're struggling to answer simple questions, it seems my teaching methods are lacking and I need to revisit my techniques. I can hardly rectify that with my cock in your mouth."

"Your methods are perfect." She breathed out.

He leaned close, his nose bumping hers. "If that were true, your cunt wouldn't be clenching around nothing right now."

She stood, shaking, righting her panties and fixing her dress. "You're right, sir. I'll spend all night revising your notes."

"Say thank you."

"Thank you." Her response was immediate.

His lip quirked at her submissive nature to him. He was so enthralled with how much she wanted to please him. He wasn't always this mean with her. But fuck if it wasn't fun watching her squirm. Watching her decipher if he meant what he was saying. But she knew he was struggling not to bend her over his desk and take her right then and there.

"Call me when you're done studying." His eyes were soft all of a sudden.

"Why?" She was intrigued, not even thinking twice about questioning him. He surprised her by not reprimanding her behaviour. Instead, he gave her an answer.

"I want to cook for you tonight."

She reared back, staring at his calm demeanour.

"Really? Like at your house?"

He laughed at her expression. "Yes, at my house. Why are you so surprised?"

"I'm just... I wasn't expecting that. Is there a reason?"

"What, I can't cook a meal for my favourite student?"

"I do like to eat."

He laughed. "Good. I'll call you."

She smiled shyly, turning to leave. His hand reached out to grab hers, leaving a kiss on the back of it.

"Vi?"

"Mm?"

"Who are you doing your paper on?"

"Plato. He said that love is a mental disease, and I want to prove him wrong."

His look of pride did not go unmissed. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"There will be a quiz tonight, so revise as best as you can."

"Yes, professor." Her legs were shaking, and the neglected space between them wept at the loss of him. She huffed out a breath of annoyance but deep down knew that he would more than make it up to her tonight.

About two hours into her intensive study session, empty cups of coffee and loose papers decorating the expanse of her bedroom floor, her landline rang. She sprang up, rushing to answer it before her flatmate did.

"Hello?" She was breathless post her efforts to keep this relationship a secret. If her flatmate found out that she was fucking one of her professors, it would be disastrous all round.

"It's me." His voice was low.

"I figured."

He chuckled softly. She wondered if she'd ever get used to the sound of it.

"You've been revising?"

"Of course."

"Good girl. Do you like red or white?"

"Red or white what?"

"Wine, Violet."

"Oh, uh... I don't mind. Whatever you like."

"I'd like to have you naked in my bed in an hour."

"An hour?" She squeaked, checking the clock on her wall. As much as the idea was very much ideal to her, the logistic side of her brain worked overtime. She was wearing her lazy clothes, her hair was a mess and her mascara was smudged beyond repair. And she needed to shower. And try to look presentable. While her thoughts were scattered, his, as always when it regarded her in an anywhere near naked state, were on one thing only.

"Mm. Or maybe I'll wait to fuck you tonight. Enjoy our meal, have a glass of wine, and make sure my girl has been studying hard."

"You did mention a quiz."

"Am I still your favourite professor?"

"Always. Especially when help me revise while your head is between my legs."

"Associating pleasure with your studies hones your ability to remember answers. I'm helping you."

"Is that what you did when you were in school?"

He made a small noise of amusement, "Vi, I was hardly focused on getting my cock wet when I was in school."

"I find that hard to believe."

"You're being cheeky. Come here and say it to my face. See how brave you feel."

This was a side of him that she scarcely got to see. The carefree, flirty side. He didn't come out to play often, and she often pondered how much of him was hidden behind that dominant façade.

"I don't have your address."

"Get a pen and paper. Shouldn't be too hard for you, seeing as you've been studying all night."

She allowed a sly remark to roll from her lips but did as she was told. He gave her his address, and she recited it perfectly, black ink swirling onto a shred of paper that she later slipped into the pocket of her oversized leather trench coat.

The cab ride to his home was nerve-racking. She'd dressed slightly differently than usual, shredding her school attire for a little black dress, her makeup nearly undetectable, and her hands shaking. This was new territory for them. Their sexual ventures never veered outside of school grounds. Always behind the closed door of his office after hours, sometimes in his classroom once the building had emptied.

Come to think of it, she'd never even considered what his home life was like. And she wasn't even sure what to expect. Did he like clutter? Did he like things sleek and tucked away? Did he have decorative pillows? Did he care for plants? The man cooked, which was already a good sign. That simple fact aside, she was at a loss.

The cab pulled up outside of his house, a quaint Victorian Townhouse, with lush vines climbing the exterior. The lighting from the windows was warm, much like her favourite sunsets in Naples, gooey and enthralling much like her professor.

He was standing outside, and she wondered if he caught her gawking at his impressive dwelling. He threw her a knowing smile, opening the door for her without a thought.

"Hi," He squeezed her hand. "He take care of you?" He nodded towards the cab driver.

She rolled her eyes, reaching for her wallet. "Yes, of course."

He gently knocked her wallet out of the way, handing the driver a few notes and she twisted her lips, knowing full well it was over the fare. "Thank you."

The cab drove off, and it was then that she realised the severity of the situation. She was too overwhelmed to have a single thought prior, now, a plethora of them swarming in her head. Why was she here? This was past a quick fuck in the janitor's closet between classes. This was more than helping him grade papers in his office while he played his deft fingers between her legs.

They faced each other, suddenly shy and unsure. He made the first move, wrapping his arm around her waist and leading her up the steps to his front door.

"You look pretty." He attempted to compliment her, kicking himself at how poor this attempt had been. Her smile told him that she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

As they stepped into the foyer, she was able to take him in fully. A pair of navy pinstriped pants and a freshly ironed eggshell blue shirt. It was only buttoned halfway, allowing the expense of his chest to grace her eyes. His tanned skin was stark against the hue, his chocolate curls off his face after he'd no doubt run his jewelled fingers through it.

She met his eyes and saw him watching her. Waiting. "Sorry?"

"Can I take your coat?" He was amused. Always.

"Oh, thank you." The dated leather felt silly in such a lush space. His house, as he gave her a brief tour, was very him. Warm, broody and eclectic. Collectables from his endless travels, art peppering the walls and nooks alike, busy and cluttered. It gave her a great sense of who he was. She knew being a historian, that he'd be sentimental, but not like this. Every piece had its own story, and he even indulged in a few as he led her to the kitchen.

"You like fish, right?" He rounded the island counter, stirring something on the stovetop.

"Love." She affirmed, still looking around.

He poured two glasses of an expensive-looking Pinot Grigio, sliding one to her on the countertop. The refreshment twinkled and it reminded her of his eyes when he bent down to tie her shoelace in Naples. Mischief and excitement, both.

"A toast?" He raised his glass.

She did the same, her heart racing in her chest.

"To teacher's pets."

She smiled, breaking eye contact. "To favourite professors."

The glasses clinked, and they both sipped, watching each other over the crystal rims. His eyes veered over her body, bound by that little black dress that tested his self-control. He wasn't used to seeing her in something this... tight. He steeled himself for the night ahead, wanting to skip to the part where he was buried inside of her.

He led her into the dining room, two glasses balanced in one hand while the other held hers tightly. The room was quaint. Warm and inviting, bookshelves lined the walls, abundant with old parchments she itched to pick up.

The dining table was set, a bunch of wildflowers encased in an expensive glass vase, a flickering candle balanced on a silver stand. A record crackled in the corner of the room on a vintage turntable. Soft jazz that made her ears prickle with delight. Her chest hummed at the romantic setting, her heart racing further when he pulled out a chair for her. She sat, finally meeting his eyes as he stood beside her, looking at her like he couldn't believe she was there. In his home.

"Are you comfortable?" His voice was low, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

"Very." She said, although her nerves were shot. Like the very fibre of her being was dangling on a piece of string.

"Good. I'll dish up."

"Oh," Her brows lifted. "Can I help?"

"I've got it." He smiled, leaving the room to enter the kitchen.

She heard him grab some plates, serve the meal, and bring it to rest on the placemat in front of her. Her sense of smell picked up the delicious aroma and her stomach almost growled. "Wow. Smells amazing."

"Thank you." He sat opposite her. "I hope you like it."

"Do you cook often?"

"Most nights. Do you?"

She wrinkled her nose, "do microwave meals count?"

He laughed softly, picking up his fork and spinning it between his fingers. "I guess it's hard to balance life with school."

"I am the poster child for the poor uni student diet."

He just smiled at her. "I'll cook for you."

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to." He mused. "See if you even like it first."

They dug in, but she was all too aware of his eyes on her. His nature soft, the room romantic and enveloping. A million and one questions formed in her mind but she chose to shelf it. Scared to ruin the moment by questioning what this was. A date? A simple meal at his home? She doubted that he allowed any of his students to see his private space. Fucking her was one thing, but cooking her a meal and promising more was entirely different.

He went to grab the bottle of wine, both of them in need of a top-up. So she was left to look around the room, eyes scanning the cluttered shelves in awe, wanting to ask him about every single trinket and book. Wanting to see inside that complex mind of his. But he was always withdrawn in a sense. He gave her his body with intent, but his mind was always locked away. He never gave her much to work with, and she suspected it was for a good reason.

But as the months had gone by, she found herself wanting more. She wanted to know the ins and outs of him. Did he prefer sunsets or sunrises? How did he spend his Sunday mornings? Lazy in bed with a book or up at dawn to run with the rays of it? Did he enjoy baths? Or favour the brisk simplicity of a shower? How did he wind down?

As if picking up the fact that she was deep in thought, his foot gently nudged hers under the table after he'd returned and topped their glasses up.

"You okay?"

"More than." She sighed, finding it hard to meet his eyes while they bore into hers like that.

"Yeah?" Her answer was more than satisfactory. Like he'd excavated the complex emotion behind them. She was happiest when in his company, no matter what their relationship was. "Me too. I just... I wanted to do something nice for you. I'd hate for you to think I only want one thing from you."

This man's mind was unreal. Like he'd sensed her queries and wanted to ease her mind. How he'd brought it up so effortlessly and without fear astounded her.

"What... what do you want from me?"

"Well, first of all, I am still your professor. I want you to do well. I'd like to think my private tutoring has helped."

"You tell me— you're the one grading my papers."

"I'd say you're exceptional, although I may be biased."

"Because you fuck me?"

"That leads me to my second point: because I care about you."

"School?" Her brows rose, as did her heart rate. As if picking up on this, his hand grasped her thigh under the table, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. For some reason, the intimacy of the gesture was overwhelming.

"It's..." It was his turn to feel nervous, his brevity suddenly stopping short. "It's more than school."

"Harry..."

"I want more with you. More than fucking you. I think about you with anyone else and it haunts me. I see boys looking at you in school and feel murderous."

"Wait... where is this coming from?"

"I have a lot to learn," He pushed on, "about relationships. I haven't been in one for a while. My career is very demanding, as you know. But I know that I want to be with you and I'll do everything in my power to make you happy. I know you're busy with school and I don't want to be a distraction—"

"Harry."

"I'm rambling, I'm sorry."

Her mind was in shambles. "What are you saying, exactly?"

"I want to be yours." His grip tightened on her thigh. "And I want you to be all mine."

"I've been yours for longer than you know."

He smiled, dragging her chair towards his, cupping her cheek, and kissing her deeply. "Don't think this will make me go easy on you."

"Didn't even occur to me." She laughed softly, ducking her head to hide her expression. She was beyond ecstatic. This man before her had been her every thought for longer than she could remember. Long before their connection even bloomed. And it wasn't just the lust she harboured for her professor, it was admiration. And it had grown tenfold with his honesty in this moment. "Will we tell people?"

"I think it best we keep it between us for now. I know it's not ideal but—

"It will give us time to explore this, Harry. I get it. And we would be smart to keep it secret. People are judgy."

He allowed his hand to climb up her thigh, loosening a breath when she spread her legs to let him go higher. To let him do whatever he wanted.

"That and I'd lose my job. You'd probably get kicked out, too."

"Just between us." She stated and he hummed in approval, his eyes darkening on hers. His lips were plump and kissable and she wanted to feel them over every inch of her body.

"Did you study, honey?" His voice was sweeter than the sentiment.

"Yes."

"You're such a good girl. Come sit here." He lightly tapped his lap, and she released a soft whimper at the request.

She did, like always, as she was told. She was rewarded with a soft kiss, his tongue flicking out to meet hers.

"What did Plato believe about the soul?"

"He believed that the soul is trapped in the body."

"And?"

"And that it's trying to break free into the ideal form. He believed in immortality and reincarnation of the soul."

"Mm. My smart girl." Her legs were splayed on either side of his, effectively spreading them so that his hand could explore the place between.

"Oh, fuck." She sighed as his fingers tucked into her panties, finding her soaking for him.

"So wet, Vi. All for me?"

"All for you, sir."

"What has you so worked up, hm?"

"You."

"Why? Tell me."

Always wanting her to indulge in her thoughts a little and share.

"You..." she stopped momentarily when a long finger circled her clit, wet from her. "You want more."

A slow smile grew from him that she felt against her cheek. "You like that? You like that you're mine now?"

"I always have been." She rutted her hips towards his touch.

"And I've always been yours, haven't I? The second I saw you, pretty girl. I was fucked."

"Will you fuck me now?"

"What do you think?" His voice was gruff.

"I know you won't but—"

"Then why ask?"

"Because I've been so good and I'm yours and I want you to make a mess of me."

He groaned into her ear, his resolve so near crumbling. "If I let you get your way now, how will you learn?"

She pouted, a small noise of discontent sounding from her that made his dick throb against her ass.

"Don't whine, pretty girl. You know daddy will be good to you." He allowed a single finger to enter her heat, feeling her warmth contract around him. So fucking needy.

"When?" She pushed back, her legs shaking on either side of his own.

He withdrew his touch and slapped her right where she needed him most, the shock enticing a cry from her. "When you've fucking earned it." He growled.

"Please—"

"Who studied the value of virtue?"

"Fuck, I don't—"

"Think, Violet. We went over this in class last week. Or were you too busy daydreaming about my cock in your needy little cunt?"

She was lightheaded. She couldn't think past his body and the way he made her feel. And he'd wanted more. More of her and them and this taboo affair they'd gotten themselves tangled into. But neither of them would change the indulgence of each other.

"Socrates" she let out breathlessly, not even bothering to mentally fact-check herself.

"Correct. Good girl." His touch continued, her clit stimulated with his thumb while his fingers worked gently against her g-spot. "And what else?"

She moaned, his fingers pulsing inside of her. Her head lulled back against her shoulder. "He favoured the state and viewed it as craftsmanship?"

"Wrong. That was Aristotle." His touch left her as quickly as her hope for an orgasm did. "Do you even want to be fucked?"

"These questions are too hard to answer." She whined pitifully.

"No, Violet." He rasped, his tone laced with disappointment. "They're not. I don't have the patience for your excuses. Or are you saying that I'm a bad professor?"

"No, I would never—"

"So why should I reward you, hm? You don't listen in class. What happened to you wanting to impress me?"

"I want to, daddy." She was near hysterics, her hips grinding against nothing, so so desperate.

"Shh," he soothed, finally taking pity on her shaking form. "Take a breath. It's okay."

"I'm sorry, I wanna be good, I can't think when you're touching me like this."

"You need something else to focus on, sweet girl?"

"Yes," she breathed out, hoping he'd provide the perfect distraction.

He stood, helping her do the same on her shaky legs. He picked up his glass of wine and polished it off, smiling softly when she did the same. "Follow me."

He took her to his front room, the fireplace alive and hungry, glowing embers being devoured by ravenous flames. The record in the last room still spinning, much like her head was.

Gesturing to a couple of arm chairs, she sat down and made herself comfortable. He laid down a chess board on the small table between them and she met his eyes.

"I'm horrible at chess." She informed, hoping he'd back out of whatever insanity he was conjuring up.

"I'll go easy on you."

Her expression melted into one of doubt, of apprehension. He saw it, always picking up on her emotions, sometimes well before she did.

He tapped his fucking thigh again. "I can help you better if you're here."

"That will distract me more."

He gave her a soft smirk, "I wasn't asking."

He had her there, and she knew better than to disobey him. She'd already felt like she'd let him down by answering a couple of questions wrong today. Perhaps he was right. Maybe a game of chess would help dilute the lust clouding her brain. On the other hand, she knew that was wishful thinking. But she decided to humour him a little.

Sitting comfortably on his lap, he kissed her neck, setting up the board with all the pieces. His fingers placed them expertly, his mouth preoccupied with soft kisses against her skin.

"You're going to beat me."

"You're a smart girl, Vi. Give yourself some credit. You wanna start?"

"I don't—"

"Here." He navigated one of the pawns across the board. "You know the rules?"

"I think so. It's been so long since I've played."

"We can practice."

"Can it be after you make me come?"

He smiled, his eyes bright as he gazed at her. "I can clear this board and have your pussy wrapped around me at the same time, pretty girl."

At that, a spark of hope ignited inside of her. Her body pulsed at the promise of having him touching her in any way. He saw the spark behind her eyes and leveled with her.

"After you've earned it, of course."

She groaned, watching as he leaned towards the chess board, clearing one of her pawns with little to no effort. She wriggled restlessly against him and he tutted.

"Patience."

"I'm running out of it." She bit out, rutting herself back against his hard cock. He groaned at the sensation, his hand coming down to her hip to encourage her.

"I know, baby. It'll be so worth it." He purred into her ear, his dick throbbing hard and steadily. "It's not easy for me, either."

"Then why put it off? You know you'll fuck me anyway."

"I'm taking you away from your studies tonight, aren't I?"

"Well—"

"Here's an easy one—Who united Greece? And focus on the game."

"Alexander the Great." She leaned forward, completing a play that rendered him with one fewer pawn. He hummed In approval.

"There's my good girl. Spread your legs for me."

"Thank god," she sighed, doing just as he asked. He rewarded her by pulling her panties down, leaving them tangled around her ankles in a lacey mess.

"What do you want, hm? You want me to play with your pretty clit?"

"Yes please, daddy."

"Such good manners." He praised, his fingers finding her warmth like he was drawn to it. She cried out at the touch, his fingers circling her clit, dipping lower to gather her wetness before returning to her most sensitive spot.

"Fuck." She cried out in relief, her entire body shaking at his expert touch. He hooked his fingers inside, pulling tight against her g-spot. Her entire body went lax against his and he growled deep in his chest before making his next move on the board.

"Your turn."

"Can I come? Please?"

"Your. Turn. And tell me about Socrates"

"He believed that no one does wrong on purpose."

"And why is that?"

"He said evil is the result of ignorance. That people would do the right thing if they knew it was the best thing to do."

He started moving his hand, picking up a pace that had her eyes rolling back. "My good fucking girl. And look, you can easily take my bishop, honey."

"You're letting me win." She whimpered, rolling her hips towards his hand.

"Hard to focus on a game of chess while my girl is dripping down my hand."

"So let's stop playing."

"Nice try." His hand moved back to her clit, circling it. He could hear how fucking wet she was and it made his ears ring. "Get my bishop."

She did exactly that, rewarded with his hand moving at a faster pace. He never let her get used to one thing, always switching it up to keep her on her toes. He knew that if he allowed too much focus into one area, she'd be too far gone to bring her back to earth.

He edged her for a few more moves, attempting to calm her quivering body and even shakier composure. He'd never drawn it out for this long and she sobbed uncontrollably at the onslaught.

"Please," she cried, beyond any thoughts aside those of bliss. "Please let me...let me."

"You can't handle it, pet?"

"I can't..." her words struggled to make it past her lips.

"Where's my good girl, hm? Where's my good girl who takes what she's given?"

"I've been so good, please let me come."

"You'll come when my cock is inside you."

"When?" She growled out in desperation. "I answered your questions, I played the fucking game, please just give it to me."

At her curse, he withdrew completely, leaving her empty and vulnerable. She writhed against his hold, her orgasm dangled before her and left her breathless.

"My pretty girl. You're all mine, aren't you?" His hand encased her throat and he kissed her messily. She nodded against him, whining into his mouth. "Show me your manners and I'll give you what you want. I'll stuff you so fucking full, pet. What do you say?"

"Please fuck me, daddy," she ground her ass back against him. "Please. I'm your good girl, give me your cock. I'll drench it, daddy, you like it when I make a mess. Please, please..."

He moaned loudly, his brain diluting into mush. She was so fucking perfect. So submissive to him yet she harboured more control than either of them could comprehend. It took all of his strength to take it this far with her.

Standing briefly to free his cock from his slacks, he replaced her on his lap, this time his cock pressed against her cunt. He tapped the pillowy head against her clit, grunting when her body convulsed, a sharp cry coming from her chest. She was so close to getting what she wanted. What they both wanted.

He lifted her a touch, lining himself up to her, both of them panting and shaking. He slid her down, cursing as her tight body took him in, so fucking tight and pulsing after his antics.

She moaned his name as she took him fully, so fucking full that she could barely stand it.

"So big." She gasped, her hips moving at their own accord. He hadn't said that she could move but they were both too far gone to care.

"You always take it, baby. You're my good girl."

Every time he called her that, she was that much closer to dropping to her knees and showing him just how good she was. The thought made her take him harder.

Her orgasm barrelled towards her with no warning, and before either of them could gather themselves, she was coming hard on his cock, completely obliterated. She shook hard, and he held her by her thighs and fucked up into her, her orgasm leaving them both drenched. Even the chessboard wasn't left unscathed. The game was forgotten.

He stood, placing her gently on the sofa, his hands scaling the length of her body. He peeled that little fucking dress that he was sure would haunt him.

"I'm buying you more dresses like this."

She smiled lazily, her eyes warm and relaxed on his fiery expression. "You like it?"

"I hate how fucking hard I got the second you took your coat off."

She giggled, reaching up to cup his bicep. "Come here."

"Let me admire you."

She felt restless and completely seen under his stare. Her bra was the only thing she had on. "I want to see you, too." Although she had the perfect eyeful of his cock, dripping from her orgasm moments before.

He reached down, his hand wrapping around his length while the other cupped her breasts until they were spilling from the lacy cups of her bra.

"So fucking beautiful. My perfect girl. Do you want to come again?"

"Fuck..."

"Answer me."

"Yes, please." She purred, allowing him to undo her bra and fling it across the room to join the rest of her discarded clothing.

"Where? On my hand or in my mouth?"

He'd never given her a choice until now, and it stumped her. "I don't mind."

He smirked, his hand gripping her throat, the other still working his cock. "So polite. You'll take anything I give you, isn't that right? Just happy I'm paying attention to you, aren't you, pet?"

His observation was so spot on, and if he didn't drop to his knees before her she would have elaborated further. Told him how even holding his hand or meeting his eyes across the classroom got her wet.

He spun her so that she was sitting on the sofa, leaning comfortably, bringing her hips forward until he was staring right at her dripping centre.

He blew a stream of cool air, grinning when she shivered. "So sensitive." His tone was almost accusatory and her hand came down to tangle into his hair.

"It's your fault."

"Is that so?"

"Nobody has ever made me feel like you do."

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "My girl. You make me so happy. Let me show you how much."

His lips met her clit immediately, not wasting any time to taste her fully. She saturated him, his chin fucking dripping. And he'd only just gotten started. He wanted her so far gone that she couldn't remember her name.

She slumped against the couch, her body drawn to him. Her hips worked up towards his face so fiercely that he stopped moving altogether, enabling her to fuck his mouth, taking just what she needed.

Her fingers ached with how hard she was holding onto his hair, needing something to anchor her to the ground for fear she'd leave her mind.

"You're so close already." He purred, sucking her clit into his mouth before drilling his tongue against it.

She gasped, her whole body tensing and quivering. Your fault, she would say if there was any air in her lungs to deliver the words. He just knew her body beyond comprehension. Like he had some unspoken bond, bending it to his every will and demand.

He slipped two fingers inside of her, scissoring them to get her accustomed to the stretch, wound so tight. Her wetness encased his rings, flowing over them. His eyes narrowed at such a dirty sight.

"Come on, baby. You want to, I feel it. Come all over me. Do it, pet."

His fingers curled against her g-spot, holding firmly before he moved his whole arm, using such a vigorous force that she came. Hard and fast, drenching his face and still-clothed chest.

The noises that she made pierced deep into his chest, like a rolling thunder that seduced him and left him choking. His name was clouded by breathless sighs and sensual moans he curled his toes at. And her face. The most seraphic angel raptured.

She came down softly, of her own accord, yet completely ravelled. A deep parallel to the highly intense ecstasy she'd just welcomed.

And, all too quickly, he was naked, having practically ripped his clothes off and left them discarded. The sheer need—animalistic, hungry, unrivalled need—to fucking devour her took hold of him.

He stood up, carrying her in his chain-like hold. He found the nearest wall, knocking countless priceless pieces of art to the ground in the process. But he didn't even care. He had to be inside her. Had to claim her. He'd already done so with his words, but now he needed to etch it into her skin.

With an expert manoeuvre, he was pushing his swollen length inside of her plush cunt. She moaned, biting into his bare shoulder, her nails dipping into the inked skin of his biceps.

Bracing his thighs with a widened stance, he started pistoning into her, not giving her any time to adjust to his size. He grunted, taking her so hard that he saw black. His hands pressed deep into the flesh of her thighs where his hold was taught.

The noises they were making and their bodies were making were feral. He had half a mind to be concerned about bothering his neighbours. But his sweet girl and her delicious body were all that mattered to him.

"So fucking tight," His eyes narrowed on hers, wanting to look at her face while he destroyed her from the inside out. "My girl. I love fucking you."

She moaned, her head lulling back to rest on the wall. "You fuck me so so good, daddy."

He growled deep in his chest, spreading his legs more to fuck up into her. She cried out, whimpering when his mouth latched onto her nipple, pulling it between his teeth with a low hum.

"Come for me," He practically begged. "Make a fucking mess, pet."

"I—I can't—"

"You will." He crooned. "I want it, honey. Give it to me."

He'd gotten her body so worked up, suspended in a sensitive state so that she felt like she was permanently on the bridge of pleasure. She shook her head loosely, internally begging him to go easy on her.

"Please..."

"You've been begging me to come all day, needy girl. You telling me you can't handle it, now?"

"No, but—"

"But daddy fucks you so good, doesn't he?" His tone was mocking and she groaned, feeling his thrusts slow a little, instead hitting her deep and calculating.

"So good." She whimpered, her hands tangling into his hair.

"Show me how good, pet. Show me how fucking good I take you."

Then his hips pummelled towards her, enticing unintelligible cries from her. But he didn't give up, racing to get her there even though his own body was close to release. They'd both been so worked up, he had been hard ever since she'd left his office.

"You wanted it so fucking take it." He spat through clenched teeth. "Take it, little girl. That's it."

She came hard, her entire body shaking in his grasp. But he held her firmly, continuing to fuck her while he did, wanting her completely wrapped in pleasure. She made such a forceful mess that he had to pull out, gasping at the wetness that soaked them both.

"You're so fucking sexy." He grinned lazily at her, watching as her eyes began to focus on him through the haze. "Was that nice?" She hummed in affirmation, his mouth parched. He beamed brighter. "Good girl. Daddy's good little girl."

"Yours." Was all she said, all he needed to hear.

He turned so that his back was pressed against the wall, slipping back inside of her with an insane amount of ease considering how wet she was. "Fuck, I'm close." He sighed, drawn so tight from a day full of teasing. "Gimme a second."

Her eyes turned mischievous, and he groaned at her sultry expression. She moved her hips against him, using his hold as leverage to fuck down onto him.

"Vi—no. W-What did I just say?"

"Take it, professor." She purred, slamming down onto him. He cried out, his legs almost giving out. He was shaking so intensely that he was almost concerned by the tremors.

"I'm too close, stop moving." He begged, his tone a complete switch to the hue he'd harboured all day. She didn't listen of course. She'd chosen this moment to be bold and disobey him. He feared that It would cut their time short.

"Violet." He pleaded, his brow furrowed in deep concentration, attempting to keep his body at bay.

"But it's too good to stop." She countered, rolling her hips. Their skin slapped together with the force of her coming down so hard on him. He let out a noise that resonated with a whimper and a whine. Now he was the needy one.

Panicked, his body on the brink of release, he gripped her throat, still able to hold her up with the other arm.

"Stay fucking still. You hear me?"

"Fuck—"

"Stop."

"Please, Harry."

"Shut up. Do as you're fucking told or I'll come on my fist and make you clean it up with your whore mouth."

"Please, I want you to come, daddy."

"You don't listen." He hissed, his mind so foggy with her essence that he couldn't focus on anything else. "I'm too... I'll come, I need a minute."

"But I don't want to stop." She pouted. He pulled her off of him, laying her down on the rug in front of the fireplace, staring down at her.

His chest eased marginally, allowing him to feel a moment of calm. "If I'm coming in your sweet little pussy, it'll be in my bed, nowhere else."

He didn't want to admit it, but it had been a huge feat for him to admit his feelings to her. To admit his jealousy and his longing. It marked a big night for them both and he wanted her in his sheets. To fuck her where he spent his most vulnerable hours. To fill her with his cum in a place he didn't share often.

"I don't think I can stand." She whispered, her entire body still shaking. He breathed out a laugh, not even responding before he picked her up in his toned arms, carrying her carefully up the stairs. Her eyes fanned over each painting on the wall as they went through the hallway, stopping at his bedroom door.

He nudged it open, taking her inside and so sweetly placing her on his bed. The blankets were soft and silky, and she was enveloped in his scent. Warm oud, wrapped in vanilla and honey.

He came over her, his demeanour soft and curious now. Like being in such a personal place made the dominant side of him disappear. He kissed her softly, his tongue meeting hers. His hand encased her cheek so delicately it made her chest burn.

Wrapping a leg around his hip, she reached down, finding his throbbing cock and sliding him back into her plush cunt. She whimpered, so fucking sensitive. His eyes fluttered closed at her rippling walls, his favourite place to be.

"I won't last." He informed, his tone shy. She brushed her fingers along the tops of his cheeks, brushed red and clammy with sweat.

"It's okay, baby."

He sucked in a breath. "I want to fuck you all night."

"You will."

"You'll stay?" His eyes were hopeful, and she wondered how he could feel such a way when there was no way that she'd reject him.

"Of course."

He moaned, kissing her intensely as he began fucking her again. She rolled her hips up to meet his thrusts, feeling him so deep it was almost painful. He was panting, so feral for her. For how she felt and how sweet she was and how she was all his.

His orgasm loomed, and the promise of fucking her over and over again tonight made it easier to bare.

"God, you feel so good."

"Are you close, daddy?" She replied with a squeeze around his dick, sucking him in every time he withdrew.

"Fuck," He spat. "Keep doing that."

She smiled, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. Her cunt pulse around him and he buried his face into her neck to leave a mark before finding her eyes again.

"Tell me not to come in you."

She shot him a perplexed look, halted by his hand on her throat as he started fucking her harder.

"Do as you're told. Now."

"Please..." She gripped his biceps to ground herself. "Pleased don't come in me, professor."

"Why? You don't want your professors cum in your innocent little pussy?"

"No, please—" She gasped for air around his hand.

"I'm too close." He gritted. "Fuck, I'm right there."

"Pull out, daddy." She cried, her eyes streaming when he reached down to play with her clit, pinching and rolling it.

He groaned loudly, his orgasm rocking through his overexerted body. He filled her up, listening to her cries as his fingers got her there again. Her cunt spasmed around him as he came inside of her.

They held each other for ages after. It could have been minutes, or hours, before his face withdrew from her neck with a lazy smile.

"Shower?"

"Please."

A night of firsts.

The next morning, Harry was in full professor mode. Only, he was exceptionally happy which was another first. He had a pep in his step, held the door open for others, and didn't despise the fact that he had to teach today when he'd much rather be with her.

He saw her in class in the afternoon, and for the first time, he felt nervous. Like it was his turn to impress her.

He handed out freshly graded papers, his eyes not meeting hers for fear he'd melt in them, and said under his breath, "Come see me after class."

And, of course, he saw her thighs clench together and he had to stop himself from cutting class short for the day.

He moved on quickly, leaning against his desk once he was finished handing the papers back to his students.

"Our trip to Athens is fast approaching. I hope you've all finalised your topics. Remember we want to see a prominent figure of ancient Athens. This does not include the pantheon, as some of you wanted to do. Check your topics with me so I can give you the okay to start. Questions? No? Good."

He wrapped up, excusing himself into the hall after his students. While Violet went to freshen up in the bathroom, she passed him on his way to his office. Their hands lightly brushed.

After tidying her hair and applying some gloss, she made her way to him, her heart thudding in her chest. She opened his door, far past knocking when he was expecting her, only to find that he had company.

Not just anybody, either. A beautiful woman, with perfect features and a bouncy blowout. Violet stopped short, her eyes finding Harry leaning against his desk, with the strange woman's hand on his bicep.

He cleared his throat and straightened. "Violet." His eyes flickered between her and the woman. "This is Miss Lincoln. She's just joined the faculty."

"Hopefully for longer than my placement has planned." She laughed, finally turning to her. "Hi. Nice to meet you, Violet." Miss Lincoln reached her hand out to shake Violet's. She turned back to Harry. "Is this one of your students?" She looked at Violet. "You really should knock, sweetie."

Violet ground her teeth together, her chest aching. "Sorry."

"Oh, don't be! Harry and I were in the same class way back when, we were just catching up. No biggie."

"You're a historian, too?"

"Indeed! I'm taking over Mr. Whitaker's class while he's on leave."

"Wonderful."

Harry eyed Violet, trying to gauge her mood. This woman was beyond stunning. And around Harry's age. They'd gone to school together and now here she was. In his fucking office with her hands on him and her blouse unbuttoned a little too low for it not to be calculated.

"I'll see you in class, Professor Styles." She turned and left, not even acknowledging Miss Lincoln, missing when Harry went to speak. She didn't want to hear it.

Her mood hadn't improved by the time she was sitting in a pub with her friends, listening to them complain about school and all the assignments they had due. She didn't even finish her drink before she was calling it a night.

Sprawled on her floor surrounded by her notes and books, the landline rang. Her headphones were plugged into her Walkman, blissfully unaware until her flatmate barged into the room holding the white landline in her head.

"Violet?"

She peeled her headphones off. "Yeah?"

"Uh... Professor Styles is on the phone for you?"

"Oh."

"Why is he calling you?" She questioned when Violet stood, reaching for the device.

"I asked him to fact-check something for me." She explained, pushing wisps of hair from her face.

"You gave him our number?"

"It was urgent." Violet defended, shooing her away after taking the phone. "Hello?" She breathed out into the receiver.

"Vi."

"Hi."

"You left." Fuck, his voice was deep.

"You seemed preoccupied."

Harry, sitting in his home in front of the fireplace, was missing her deeply, finding the warmth in his tumbler of whiskey, not a good substitute. "What do you mean? I wanted to see you."

"So did Miss Lincoln."

"She's an old friend, pet."

"Seemed very comfortable. I didn't want to interrupt."

He narrowed his eyes at the crackling flames, trying to understand. And then, his expression softened and he smiled. "Are you jealous?"

"No." She answered quickly.

"Violet, I meant what I said last night. Do you need a reminder?"

She sighed. "This paper isn't going to write itself."

"Well, no. But two brains are better than one."

She doodled aimlessly on a piece of scrap paper. "You've got me there."

"Mm. And I hope to get you on every surface in my house. You hungry?"

"I just ate—"

He released a sharp breath. "Violet."

"Sir."

"Get over here. And wear a short dress again."

Tonight, she obeyed him.

She spent every night there for two weeks. She'd given her roommate some dismissive reason as to why she'd packed a bag and gone to stay elsewhere. Something vague about family drama.

Every spare moment they had in school, was spent in his office, or he'd drive them off campus and grab some lunch, wander through parks, and shop for books.

Miss Lincoln was constantly garnering his attention when they were in school, and it irked Violet beyond reasoning. She watched her in seething hatred as she flirted with her favourite professor, who always assured Violet that he felt nothing for the supposed old friend.

"I just think it's unprofessional." She grumbled, crossing her arms as he stirred a pot on the stovetop.

He looked at her over his shoulder. "I told her to back off. I have a girlfriend and I am very very content."

She jumped at the endearment. "Girlfriend?"

"Oh, did you prefer pet?"

She rolled her eyes, going back to her work. She was helping him finalise the itinerary for the class trip, and it made her chest feel tight. He'd enlisted her help with it for the last one, too. It felt full circle for her. He had asked her weeks ago, and tonight she decided to wrap it up. She had been more than eager to do so, however, felt more inclined once Harry had told her that Miss Lincoln had tried to commandeer the task.

"I can't believe she tried to take over the itinerary." She grumbled, still irritated by this woman. "Doesn't she know this is my way to earn my sexy professor's praise?"

"Sexy, huh?"

"Mm. I'm crushing hard."

"I think he knows." He shot her a sly look.

She bit her lip, eyes avoiding his. "Doesn't it bother you?"

"What?"

"Having her draped all over you every day."

"She's not."

"You know what I mean."

He chuckled. "You're mad, hm? I'll tell her to fuck off or else. How's that?"

She nodded overly enthusiastically. "It sends the right message."

"Jealous girl. I'm all yours, remember?"

"Doesn't make it any easier to watch. Now I know how you were feeling when Charlie was all over me."

At the name, Harry's eyes darkened. "But you fucked him."

"Well... yeah, there's also that. You didn't fuck her?"

"Nope."

"I feel better." She relaxed.

"A little or a lot?"

"A little."

He smiled at her, turning off the stove and walking to her. His eyes scanned over the papers in front of her with an approving nod, and his lips pouted. Then he cupped her cheek and kissed her. "It does bother me, by the way. I don't like how it makes you feel. I'll talk to her, I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

"It's like I said, I want you to be happy."

And he'd done more than enough to ensure that. She kissed him, her paper forgotten and their dinner waiting, he ate her out on the countertop until she was dripping onto the floor.

Juggling a cup of shitty coffee, her passport and her suitcase towing behind her, she found the check-in line where the rest of the classes were waiting. She felt a mess, annoyingly dishevelled that morning. She'd spent all morning rushing, having gone back to her flat to pack the night before.

She was flustered and tired, almost missed her alarm, and had made it by a hair's breadth. Harry shot her a look of bewilderment at her sheer lack of organisation.

"You missed roll call, Violet. Had me worried." His expression was indifferent as he regarded her, always so cautious around the other students.

"I know, I'm sorry, sir. I missed my alarm."

Miss Lincoln stepped in, "This is not the time to be late, Violet. Boarding starts soon."

She opened her mouth to defend herself, but Harry raised a hand.

"It's fine. She's here—no harm done."

Violet glared at her back when she turned, and Harry pinched her side. "Behave." He murmured lowly to her.

"Bite me." She retorted, slipping ahead to greet her friends.

She was sure her bad luck had timed out post making it to the airport. But after checking in and receiving her boarding pass, she'd found that the universe was indeed playing a game on her. She made her way towards her seat, spotting Harry sitting next to none other than Miss Lincoln. She avoided his eyes, deftly making her way back a few isles and settling in, unfortunately, seated next to a very wounded Charlie.

For the most of the flight, she worked on her paper. But she was always distracted, watching the tops of their two heads as they turned towards each other, deep in conversation. Charlie kept pining for her attention which she'd brush off with little care for his feelings.

She didn't get to speak to Harry until they were piling into the lobby of their hotel in Athens. He was at the desk, handing everyone their assigned room keys, and she waited to approach him when he was alone.

"No room mix-ups this time?"

He peered down at the remaining keys. "About that..."

She groaned, nearing a tantrum. "What now?"

"Suffice it to say I will not be sharing a room with a student this trip."

"Don't even say it."

"It's fine. There are two separate beds. I'll barely even speak to her—it's just protocol, Violet. I told her I'm off limits and uninterested."

"Fine. Who am I with?"

"Marnie."

She rolled her eyes. "She can't sleep without a nightlight. Wanna swap?"

"Where's the team spirit?" He smiled down at her, his fingers brushing hers before they were interrupted.

"Harry?" Violet's eye twitched at the sound of Miss Lincoln's voice. "Let's freshen up, we're meeting everyone back down here in twenty."

Harry gently nudged Violet along, Miss Lincoln staring at her while they waited for the elevator. Harry responded to a few comments she made on the way up however overly ignored her, instilling a coldness between them that Violet could feel the chill of.

Violet headed to her shared room, looking back to see her favourite professor and less favoured woman walk toward theirs. This was going to be a long three days, but she'd consider them successful if she didn't bite Miss Lincoln's head off.

Harry kept cold and firm against her as they settled into their room. Miss Lincoln opened up her suitcase, taking her time to unpack for the day while he showered. He exited fully clothed, ready to go.

"I think someone has a crush on you." She mused, touching up her lipstick in the mirror.

"Hm?"

"That Violet girl. She'd smitten."

He simmered, his skin feeling hot. "One of my students? I don't think so."

"You should see the way—"

"Please stop. She's a student and I don't see her that way." The words hurt to push past his lips. But he had to keep everyone off their trail. If anyone caught wind, it would be the end of either their careers or their relationship. Perhaps both.

The class spent the day traipsing through ruins, the acropolis and agora, every speck beautiful. Timeless through the thousands of years they'd been gracing the earth. She secretly took pictures of her lover amongst the ruins, and his old soul looked at ease amongst the ancient marble.

He belonged here, she surmised as she watched him. He belonged in this profession because his very fibres were molded by strains of history's best tales. Of bravery and power to understand one's mind by reading the stars, of undiluted dedication and an ability to read that made even the wisest of oracles envious.

It put her at ease and made her heart soar. He'd picked her. Her. For a plethora of reasons she was sure were as outlandishly sounding as hers.

She'd treasure him forever, her heart could just tell. Perhaps her mind would frame the feeling the way he did his art in his home.

He was always looking at her, too. And she wondered if they were always on the same page for a reason. Like how Jupiter could steer comets away from the Earth. Something protecting us that was far beyond our reach. Yet to understand.

The new historian was glued to his side, asking questions that she probably already knew the answers to, just wanting to speak with him. Violet had never been so green with envy. It made her feel sick, like swaying on a rocky current with no sign of land. Harry kept assuring her with put-off looks that he wasn't phased by the professor. But it did little to negate her attempts.

They all peeled off into their groups for dinner, and Violet shared a table with a few classmates, her mind on her dreamy professor who was no doubt thinking of her, too.

It was hard, this time around. They barely saw each other alone, having to keep professional where they'd usually sneak in hidden touches and murmured secrets into ears.

She later found herself in the hotel bar, listening to Charlie and another classmate debate who was the better deity of the pantheon when her eyes drifted over the room.

Mossy green already attached to her, she smiled softly. He approached the group, a tumbler of glistening ice and copper drink in his hand.

"How are we getting on?"

"What if Poseidon won?" Charlie pushed on, ignoring him completely, too entranced in the conversation.

Harry came to stand beside her, his hand hidden as it pressed to her back, his fingers trailing shapes that made her shiver.

"He had nothing to offer the people that they didn't already have. Athena did." The other classmate rebuked.

Violet smiled, feeling calm at his touch.

"That's not true!" Charlie exclaimed.

"You're just mad the victor was a woman." Violet voiced, feeling smug at Charlie's bashful expression.

"And what did he do in retaliation? He took their water source."

"He was a sore loser. Shocking male behaviour." She rolled her eyes. She heard Harry chuckle, his hand falling from her back to raise towards her shoulder, squeezing before dropping it completely.

"If he won that battle, I dread to think of what state ancient Athens would be in."

They stopped, looking towards their professor who before this moment not given them the light of day.

"Poseidon was a badass."

"All male deities have proven to be problematic, particularly where human civilisations are concerned." He said lowly.

"What about Goddesses doing crazy shit?"

Harry shrugged. "Justifiable behaviour. Don't be up late, we have a busy day tomorrow."

She watched as he sauntered off, turning briefly and not caring if anyone saw him smile warmly at her. She wanted that warmth between her legs and it took everything in her not to follow him.

After a few too many, she made her way up to her room, drinking plenty of water to sober herself up before taking a long shower. She was drying her hair, walking towards her bed. Her room buddy was fast asleep in her bed, and she was wary not to wake her.

And then she spotted a piece of paper that had been slotted under her door. Curious, she adjusted her towel before picking it up.

I miss you. I'll dream of you tonight.

She huffed out a breath, her sour mood regarding the leech that had attached herself to her lover dissipating. While that snooty woman was asleep all too close to him, he'd be thinking of her.

She fell asleep with the note on her pillow, phantom wisps of his scent lulling her into sweet dreams where she was wrapped in his arms.

It felt like mere minutes when she woke up with a start, her eyes seeing nothing but pitch black. She felt something dip on her bed next to her and she scrambled away, starting to panic before a hand reached out to soothe her.

"Shh. It's me."

"Harry? How did you—"

He kissed her deeply, settling her back into the sheets. "I couldn't sleep." He whispered against her lips. "I have to have you."

"Harry," she was all too aware of her classmate sleeping in the next bed over. "She'll hear us."

"Then you'll have to be quiet."

His tone proved no room for negotiation. She had no choice but to succumb to him, which was easy considering she needed him just as much as he needed her. He kissed her softly as if an indication as to how gentle he was about to be.

He peeled off her silk shorts, shaking his head against hers when she attempted to remove his shirt.

"Too risky." His voice was barely audible.

She whined in discontent before his hand flew up to cover her mouth.

"When I say quiet I mean quiet, little girl."

She hushed, understanding what he needed. He needed to be close to her in the way they knew best.

"But I like you naked."

He smiled slowly, his lips finding her jaw. "You better like me all the time."

"I do..."

"Then shut up so I can take care of you."

She breathed out a soft hum, handing herself over to him. He reached between them, his fingers finding her soaked.

He moaned, pushing his fingers inside of her to gather more wetness to spread across her clit in calculated circles. "Always so wet for daddy, pet."

She whined out and he hushed her, his lips pressed against hers.

"Please don't tease me tonight, sir. I want you."

He trembled with those words and wasted no time in pulling down his pants enough to free his length. She licked her hand, reaching down to spread the wetness along his shaft before drawing him to her centre.

She was snug, given the fact there was little time for foreplay, and her walls rippled around him. He swore at the feel and she giggled, both of them holding their breath after to ensure they didn't wake the sleeping form next to them.

He withdrew slowly, then pumped in. He released a shaky breath.

Her jaw dropped when he fucked her so deep she felt it in her stomach. "Oh... my god..."

"Shh, shh..." He didn't stop, keeping his pace slow so he didn't make too much noise. She moaned and he winced, checking on the next bed over before giving her three fingers to suck on.

"Can you come like this?" He questioned, his eyes adjusting to hers in the dark.

She nodded her head, silent and obeying.

He shifted his hips slightly to the left, her body clenching tight around him and her teeth clamping down on his fingers.

"Yeah? Like that?"

He knew he was talking too much. But he wanted her so bad and wanted her to feel as good as he was feeling.

She pressed her hand against his tummy, feeling his abs flex against her touch. The indication of his strength and agility made her melt against him.

His fingers left her mouth, splaying against her jaw while he kissed her, licking into her mouth.

The bed creaked as he picked up his pace and he grunted, slowing down again. He had wanted to take her hard and fast. But now, he wanted to love her how he fell for her, mellow yet intense.

He kissed her again, this time drawing it out as he took her. He wanted to tell her so much. How special she was and how smart and unyielding in her passion.

But he settled for this. Instilling her body with a pleasure she'd never felt before. She came around him, quivering and writhing while he struggled to hold her down, his hand covering her mouth lest she made any sound.

"Messy girl." He teased, though his tone was heavy with praise. She breathed out a laugh at his remark, so in love with him in that moment. Such a risk to be doing what they were doing but it felt beyond amazing and the fact that he made her laugh was a feat in itself.

"I want to taste you." She pouted, rolling her hips up towards him.

"Not tonight, honey."

"Please, daddy."

"Shh. You'll wake her up."

"Just let me—"

He gave her a particularly hard thrust. "You put your mouth on me and I'll wake up the whole fucking hotel."

"Oh my god—"

"You feel so good, pet. Keep squeezing daddy's dick... just like that... fuck."

He rutted into her, so deep. She reached down, her fingers creating a v where they were connected, her touch firm around him each time he retreated.

Harry was always so vocal, especially when he came. But this time he was so quiet and she knew it was with great difficulty. Screwing into her as his orgasm took over, coming inside of her with a deep sigh of relief, his body shaking as he came down and she held him.

Her eyes lulled, her body lax as he laid on top of her. He pulled away, and she was ready to argue his departure but he went down under the blanket, his mouth meeting her used cunt. He ate her out slowly, collecting his own release before coming up to kiss her.

I want to taste you.

Her arms encased his shoulders, holding him tight as she felt him withdraw.

"You won't stay?"

"We've risked enough as is."

"Can I come with you?" Her beg was soft and it melted his heart.

"My sweet girl, I wish you could. Just a few more days, okay? Then we can go back to normal."

"Will you come and fuck me tomorrow?"

He grinned, standing and righting himself. "If you've earned it."

She smiled back, knowing full well their relationship was past this game of cat and mouse. Of earn it if you want it. No. They both were in so deep and owed it to themselves to take this risk.

His midnight visit had drawn them so much closer. Like they were able to communicate with simply a look, longing and pining.

They were all cramped into a bus doing a tour, and she sat behind him with a friend, her soul sparking at being so close to him. Miss Lincoln approached with a sultry expression, taking a seat next to him.

"Where did you go last night?" She queried. Violet felt a jolt of anxiety, trying not to make it obvious she was listening in while her friend was chatting to her.

Harry kept his cool, of course, visibly annoyed that this woman felt it her place to question him on his whereabouts.

"Needed some fresh air."

"It did get very warm." She laughed. "Do you remember that class trip to Brussels when we were students?"

Harry's jaw clenched at her attempt at a walk down memory lane. "You failed that assignment because you were too busy partying."

"And look at me now." She crooned. Violet clenched her fist in her lap.

"How long is your placement?"

"Just a few months. But plenty of time for us to—"

"—focus on our jobs. You're so right."

That made Violet smirk.

He came again that night, this time staying for a little too long. He took her slow and gently and then asked her all of the questions he'd always wanted to. What her favourite colour was, if she liked Halloween, her least favourite movie genre, the music she listened to when she wanted to cry, if she felt the chasm in her chest when they were apart just like he did.

On the last day, everyone split off to do their own thing. Violet and Harry had a little rendezvous at the national gardens, meeting at the terrapin pond with shy smiles. They wandered through the grounds, Violet pointing out birds and smiling when Harry would take pictures of her.

He picked a pink flower and tucked it behind her ear. She was so beautiful, the type of wonder that made the stars stop and witness it.

They explored the ancient city, and as stunning as it was, they were in utter awe of each other. They took turns, telling stories and sharing facts. He held her hand, stopping in the middle of a museum, surrounded by artifacts, knowing his love for her would withstand time far better than any of it.

"You'll be a great historian." He told her.

She looked up at him, her eyes full of wonder and inquisition. "Do you think?"

"I've taught many people and nobody sees history like you do. You see them as how we are now; trying to understand ourselves and survive the rest. It's admirable."

She loved him. In that moment and every one before.

And he was thinking of every moment that would come in which he would be so lucky to love her. "I want to take you somewhere tonight."

"Really? Where?"

"It's a surprise, Vi."

She grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck. "My professor, the hopeless romantic. Who would've thought?"

"Don't tell anyone." He smirked, kissing her.

Harry had rented a car, a '57 Ford Thunderbird, the same hue denim, the roof down and his cares reduced. She was wearing a little red wrap dress, one he knew he'd demand to see more often. She plucked her sunhat from her head as the wind picked up, sliding across the seat to snuggle up next to him.

"Where do your classmates think you are right now?" He massaged her thigh with his hand.

She kissed his neck, her hand splaying on his chest as he wound in and out of traffic. "Doing some solo sightseeing, researching for my paper, visiting old temple ruins, et cetera et cetera. What about Miss Lincoln?"

He made a distasteful expression. "What about her?"

"She's been glued to your side and always asks where you are. What did you tell her?"

"I told her I was going for a drive. Tried to invite herself."

She glared. "And?"

"And," he looked at her with a grin. "I said that she would ruin the view."

"I admire her perseverance."

"I admire you."

"Focus on the road, will you?"

The drive was long, and he smiled as she took the role of DJ, sifting through the stack of tapes and securing the best ones in the player. The views were incredible, and they stopped often so she could take pictures on her disposable camera. They took one together and he demanded to have it framed in his house, thinking of the space left from the ones that fell when he fucked her against the wall.

The car wound around a steep hill, coming to a halt. The sea surrounded them, blue and pristine. And these, nestled on the cliff, was a collection of columns lit golden from the sun. She looked all around, the Aegean sea glistening, but her eyes were focused on the cliff, and she knew the place from the tales told for thousands of years.

"The temple of Poseidon." She grinned.

"I had to bring you here. You can't miss a sunset like this."

"When does it set?"

His hand found hers. "Just under an hour. Enough time for us to get something to eat and go for a wander."

"Sounds good. Thank you, Harry."

They climbed along the top of the cliff face, Harry watching her every step while she watched the horizon. "Do you think Theseus did it on purpose? Didn't change the sails?"

"That's the thing with mythology, isn't it? If it was on purpose, did he know his father would jump from this cliff to his death? Was he even after the throne? We'll never truly know."

"He brought back a bride for a reason—he knew his father would see him king soon enough. It looked better if he had a queen."

Harry smiled softly, his eyes alight with interest as he regarded her. "You think it was calculated?"

"Well, I think so. He left Ariadne to Dionysus and went back to Crete for her sister. He was taking that throne when he returned home. His father was collateral, but it worked in his favour."

"I agree. Greek Mythology is just men being assholes."

She laughed, almost tripping before he caught her. "Their gods were constantly wreaking havoc, they hardly had good role models."

"Violet?"

"Mm?"

"I want this as a paper, please."

"Extra credit?"

"If you want. Or... you know, just for me."

She blushed, unable to meet his stare. "I'll have it on your desk stat."

They made their way towards the temple, glowing and formidable. Stark white marble amongst the dry, soft slope of the cliff. They found a place to sit, comfy on a blanket that Harry had stored in the trunk of the car.

The sunset was something she'd remember forever. The water was calm and clear, the view of the lowering sun uninterrupted as it moved from their side of the earth. It was warm, burnt honey with stains of sienna and raspberry. The delicate dusting of clouds framing it as if placed there by a deity rooting for their love.

He kissed her cheek, garnering her attention. "I could do this every day, you know?"

"Hm?"

"Look at the past while we build our future."

"I think I'm in love with you." She breathed out, their lips brushing.

"I think I've been in love with you all along."

She kissed him, the sun pouring its final beams over the horizon, lilac and blue bleeding into the sky in its absence.

She could do this too. Be with him. Explore and recite. Drink from his knowledge, and fill it back up as they balanced each other out.

There was more to him, she surmised, than what he let show. This stern demeanour was a façade, deflecting and savouring himself until he'd met her.

She looked around once more, taking it in, and wanted to live in this pristine moment for the rest of time and all that followed.

Golden rays in her eyes with ancient ruins to her back. But him. Beside her, a constellation she'd mark in the night sky behind her eyelids while she dreamt of him.

*** Thank you for reading and thank you for being here! see you next time xx

200 notes · View notes

ta1kingn0nsense · 5 days ago

Text

📜Roll Call

A/N: my favourite, moody professor. feral. he's actually such a twat.

Content Warnings: coarse language

Sexual Content: Degradation, spitting, light bondage, spanking, slapping, age gap (10 years)

Word Count: 21.5k

Now, sit straight for Professor Styles.

***

Oxford University, 1992.

“Are you actually going to put the effort into my class or do I have to get you a tutor?”

It wasn’t what she was hoping for after handing in an assignment. She fought back the hot tears that sprung into her eyes and hoped he didn’t see how wet they were. She was exhausted, overworked to the bone trying to balance her studies and a part-time job.

He’d handed back the papers at the end of his class, and not long after escaped to his office down the hall. She’d chased after him, fumbling to keep up with him while her mind was jumbled over the failed grade. She’d done plenty of assignments with him and he’d passed every single one.

“I… I don’t understand. I studied the material—“

“Well, clearly you didn’t study it enough. The years are all mixed up. If you want to be the historian that you say you do, that usually comes with not mixing up dates. I mean,” he held the paper in front of him, reciting the words she’d written. “Julius Caesar was assassinated in March, 43 BC. Incorrect. He was assassinated in March, 44 BC. You should know this, it’s basic stuff.”

“I’m sorry, I swear it was a simple mistake—“

“Simple mistakes will cost you your grade. In fact, it has.”

Her heart dropped. “Is there anything I can do? I can fact-check and write it all over again. Please. I want to pass this paper. I—I need to pass.”

He was always this mean. This… hurtful. He had no leniency towards so much as a falsely placed comma, and she could see her incorrect information pained him deeply. He was right. It was basic stuff, and internally she knew it. However, she’d been slammed with studying and had simply made a mistake.

But he had no patience, no care if anyone in his class was overwhelmed with what he pushed onto them. He’d been given the same load when he himself was studying. In his view, being pushed to the brink was what made him great at what he did. So, he showed his students the same respect as his professors once had.

“What makes you think I have the time to give you special treatment, Violet? I have enough papers to grade as is, adding yours to the pile all because you made a mistake will only set me back.”

“It’s one paper.” She begged, near on in tears again. She eyed the plaque that had his name engraved in the gold, avoiding his eyes.

Leaning back in his chair, he eyed her through his wide-framed glasses. He tapped his fingers against his thighs, clad in soft beige plaid pants. Her eyes fluttered towards his sweater, the striped shirt underneath. She lost herself in the pattern as he mulled in his thoughts.

“I want it on my desk tomorrow morning by nine o’clock.”

She could have jumped at the relief she felt. “Thank you, sir.”

“Just this once. I won’t be so easy on you if it happens again.”

“It won’t happen again.” She grinned, grabbing the paper from his outstretched hand.

"Since you're rewriting it—do you want my honest opinion?"

"Of course." She whispered, always one to accept constructive criticism. She knew he wouldn't hold back and she mentally braced herself.

"I was bored reading your paper."

She gulped, blinking in surprise but he continued, not concerned about hurting her feelings. That wasn’t what he was there for—to teach her.

"I expected more from you, Violet. To be frank, I’m disappointed. There was no depth to it. No excitement. You did the very bare minimum. You gave me a bunch of facts, with some of the dates mixed around. What’s more, is that nothing about this piece made me want to read it. Tell me, what makes history so exciting?"

"Uh, I guess learning about—"

"The stories. The stories make history so exciting. Stories of the people, their daily lives, and the fight for survival and victory. History would be nothing without the stories it tells."

"Yeah, I understand, now. You're right."

"Of course I’m right. Retelling history has to be gripping. Write it again and pull me in."

His eyes scanned over his pager, alerting him that a staff meeting was about to commence. He stretched out his neck, grabbing his folder and eyeing her as he stood.

He hated the way his eyes observed her frame. Soft corduroy pants, a graphic t-shirt of a band he had never heard of. Her hair was in a bouncy ponytail, half splayed over her shoulder as she twirled a lock between her fingers.

What he didn’t hate was how she feared him. Her eyes were wide with intimation as she stared at him. She was clearly so desperate to please him, not wanting to disappoint him or let him down.

She wanted to do this paper for him as much as she did for her grades. That’s why his tactic was to be cruel. To keep her at arm’s length, but also to keep his mind at bay from wandering into risky territory.

"Is there anything else?"

"Oh, that's all—"

"Great. I have somewhere to be."

The expectant look he gave her threw her off, but she very quickly gathered his meaning. She adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and gave him a soft smile, hoping to lessen his harsh expression, yet all to no avail. His expression remained the same. She turned to leave, barely getting through the threshold before his voice reached out.

“Nine o’clock, Violet.”

“Yes, professor.”

She left his office, winding her way through campus, smiling at her classmates as she passed them. Oxford University. Rich with history and success. Abundant with opportunities fit for her dreams. It knew no bounds of imagination, with its old and infamous buildings and all the tales held within them.

There was something about history that made her feel alive. Reliving the past through depictions, art, studies, and discoveries. It was what drove her.

So when she’d landed her dream Ancient History class, taught by a very highly adored historian, Harry Styles, she knew that she had a lot to prove.

She raced back to her flat after a stop at the supermarket for brainfood and energy drinks. She got stuck in, completely starting again, double and triple-checking her facts to be sure.

Her Walkman kept her company, and she cycled through her favourite CDs. She even went above and beyond, adding small details to her work that weren’t overly relevant but she knew Professor Styles would enjoy reading.

As grumpy as he was, she wouldn’t deny that she had a soft spot for him. For his focused gaze, his deep voice as he stood before the class and taught, and how his dimples flexed when he was talking or hiding his irritation.

Oftentimes, she’d allow herself to admire him. To see him as a simple man. Rich in thought and graceful in the way he so confidently carried himself. He was effortlessly smart and passionate. Young but full of experience, which she found impressive amongst the older faculty.

In his early thirties, it was remarkable how far his career had soared already.

He was gorgeous. Poised and proper, with inklings of something more unhinged that she could sometimes spy through his carefully placed mask.

But then she’d shake her head and chastise herself for thinking such thoughts about someone so above her.

He was known to be a sucker for details and personality. He hated textbook answers, even though his whole career and teachings relied purely on facts. So, she spent extra time being a little more pedantic than usual.

She wanted to impress him. He was one of the most successful historians of his impressively ripe age of thirty-two. She’d never wanted to let him down and she had to prove to him that she had what it took to be in his class and be worthy of his teachings. It was what motivated her to piston through her assignment and perfect it.

She was going over her paper, adding some final flares when her flatmate knocked on her door.

“Vi, you’ve been working on that for hours.”

“I know,” she wrote furiously, so hyper-focused on the spread of papers and books in front of her, “it’s due tomorrow.”

“You need a break, come get a drink with us.”

Violet was that person that worked herself to the bone to maintain her grades. She was a people pleaser, and that trait stretched to her professors. She clung to every word they said and took every assignment seriously.

“Due tomorrow, Alice.” She repeated, barely blinking as she wrote and mouthed the words out to herself.

“Please take a break before you lose your mind.” Alice could sense her friend falling into that mindset where she neglected everything aside from whatever assignment was due.

Violet sighed, pausing her work and turning to face her. “Who’s we?”

She soon found herself dressed in an attire that completely contrasted her university jumper and sweat pants. A tiny green dress, and a little makeup applied to her tired face to make it seem as if she were actually getting any appropriate amount of sleep.

They made their way to the local bar they often frequented, meeting their group of friends who had already started on the drinks. It was then that she realised was extremely overworked and tired.

Her study load was never-ending, piling on top of her until she was suffocating. She had to take some time for herself tonight or she’d go crazy. Her mind was constantly whirring with assignments and tests and studying.

Her paper was mostly done. She’d have a few drinks and then head home to finish it off. It was only nine o’clock, and she figured an hour or two wouldn’t hurt.

By ten o’clock, she was feeling lighter. She stayed true to her word, only having two drinks before cutting herself off. She knew she’d have to leave sooner rather than later, but her friends were renewing the energy she had been lacking. She couldn’t leave the source of such liveliness.

There was one guy in the group who had been pining after her all year. They shared a few classes together, including Ancient History with Professor Styles. He had a bright smile and a sense of humour that she enjoyed.

“Hey, Vi.”

“Hi, Charlie, how are you?”

“I’m good, yourself?”

“Not bad.”

“Glad to hear it.” He smiled. “Can I get you a drink?”

He made her laugh all night, stuck to her side to enjoy her smile up close. They flirted, sending each other sultry gazes and warm, suggestive touches.

She couldn’t even deny that she wished it was someone else she’d rather be with tonight. A certain professor who wore glasses, sweaters, and displeased frowns. Perhaps that was why she threw herself head first into Charlie, wanting to forget about her sinful desires.

She felt warm and gooey, needing something to focus on other than that damn paper and the professor who was expecting it.

So, when he led her down the hallway, kissing her lips and her neck, she didn’t hesitate to get lost in him.

Too lost to see her professor sitting at the bar watching as she pulled Charlie into a supply closet.

“I have to say, Miss Walters. I didn’t think you’d be able to do it.”

She huffed out a breath at his expression. It was like he was almost smug about it. About her having to rewrite a whole paper, work that would take weeks crammed into one night.

He was being truthful. The paper would have been difficult to complete in one night, he’d known as much when he told her that he wanted it the next morning. It was a test.

He didn’t want to be played around by his students. He was tough on them for a reason, and barely ever handed out second chances as he had done with her.

So, to know that she had been out last night when she should have been at home was an insult. She’d fluttered her eyelashes and taken advantage of the one sliver of good nature he had in him. And here she was, a pleased smile on her face with her paper before his very eyes.

She was wearing makeup as if to hide how tired she was. It wasn't because she had stayed up all night writing his paper, but he already knew that. He looked at the assignment dubiously, doubting its contents.

“Well, I did it. Correct dates and everything.”

“It’s longer.” He said, flipping through the pages and noticing that there were a few additional ones compared to the initial few she had handed in.

She absorbed her surroundings, his office was deep woods and dim lighting. His desk was large and cluttered with books and assignments to grade, and the room was framed with bookshelves, awards, diplomas, and expensive-looking knick

knacks.

“I took your advice and made it more exciting.”

He wanted to reprimand her. Tell her that adding extra fluff didn’t equal excitement or any weight to her assignment. But he swallowed his sour mood and nodded, placing the paper flat on the desk and leaning back in his chair.

His outfit was darker than his usual palette and style of light colours and unique sweaters. Instead, he donned a black shirt, a black suit jacket thrown over the top with charcoal pants. She could tell that he was in a bad mood, somehow even more irate than usual.

“I’ll review it over the weekend.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but then snapped it shut. She very clearly wanted to say something and he raised a brow in encouragement.

“Thank you,” she said. “For the second chance. I hope you enjoy it.”

Enjoy it? He’d never had a student wish that he enjoyed something they handed in. They simply wanted to meet the criteria and pass.

She turned to leave, feeling overwhelmed by his scrutinising gaze. She’d handed in the assignment, and had a bit of time to cram in some study before her first class of the day, which just so happened to be with the grumpy professor.

"Violet."

"Yes?"

He tapped his neck, eyeing hers. "I want that covered before you come to my class."

Her cheeks flushed with heat, her hand coming up to cover the hickey on her neck. She thought she'd done a good enough job with her concealer this morning, but apparently not.

She didn't even have the nerve to reply before she left the room, utterly mortified.

He stared after her, wondering if he'd embarrassed her. Probably. He disregarded her feelings, viewing the mark on her neck as inappropriate. He wasn't sure why the hickey bothered him so much.

Perhaps it was because she'd clearly had a late night last night, and it wasn't with the company of his teachings. He watched her take that man into that supply closet and the evidence of that was staring him in the face.

He didn’t want to look at that fucking hickey on her neck because then he knew he’d have to face the reality of the fact that he was jealous.

Jealous of one of his other students putting his hands and mouth on her. His student in that tiny green dress, cheeks flushed with arousal and drink. He imagined it. How she'd taste on his tongue. The sounds she'd make. The way she felt.

He had felt pathetic about the whole thing, sitting at the bar all alone and sulking. He’d polished off his drink at the bar after watching it happen. He’d just as quickly gone to his cold and empty home to wallow with a bottle of tequila and some Aerosmith.

Fuck. He couldn’t think about this. About her soft thighs in her tiny skirt and her bouncy ponytail. Or the way she called him professor. It wasn’t right and he felt sick about it.

He checked his pager, seeing it blank and sighing. He needed something to do so he couldn’t keep thinking about her. And then she’d be staring at him during his class, her eyes wide and wandering.

Almost panicked about the prospect of being near her again, he picked up her paper and began reading it to distract himself.

Following a strenuous battle with her concealer and the sizeable hickey on her neck, Violet entered Professor Styles’ classroom. It was mostly covered, there wasn’t a lot she could do in the way of hiding it completely. However, in the back of her mind, she was perplexed that he found it his place to even say anything.

Surely he just wanted to mortify her. He had been a student once, he knew the means of getting lost in dark hallways with another warm and desperate body.

She spotted Charlie sitting in the center of the seats and he waved her over. She smiled, shaking her head. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to him just yet, especially considering he was the cause of her marked neck.

She took her usual spot up front, always wanting to bathe in the professor’s teachings, and found herself lost if she was stuck in the middle of the seats.

Professor Styles wasn’t in class yet, and she took the time to prepare her notes in an organised spread on the desk in front of her. She didn’t even notice him silently enter, setting up at his desk with a look of disinterest.

Her body felt heated. Not the warm embarrassment of him pointing out her hickey, but because his gaze was on hers as he set down his satchel. She held his eyes, right until he looked away to retrieve the folders that held the material he needed for the class.

Decidedly ready, he stood at the center of his territory up front, his suit jacket parting as he slid his hands into his pockets. He eyed the class through his glasses, noting that no one had realised he’d entered the room yet. Except for her.

He sighed, wrinkling his nose before looking down at his oxfords. He cleared his throat, somehow garnering everyone’s attention in a split second. He leaned back against his desk.

“As you’re aware, I’m obligated to drag you on a class trip abroad in the coming weeks. I’ve heard your suggestions as you’ve not so subtly given them to me.” He eyed the mouthy students in question. “However, the board and I have discussed it and we’ve come to a decision.”

Students started chattering loudly, and Violet sent a friendly smile to her friend next to her but otherwise kept her attention on Professor Styles.

“Quiet, or you’ll be staying behind while I go on holiday by myself!”

His demand was heard loud and clear, and everyone became tight-lipped and watched him. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, already dreading the idea of this trip.

The university board had been grilling him about it, and he’d been pressured into making a decision that pleased them with ridiculously limited time to sort it out.

“Pompeii.” He said simply, letting it sink in for his students.

Violet felt a rush of excitement. Pompeii—preserved in Naples, Italy, was rich with history and had been on her bucket list for as long as she could remember.

It was a monumental part of history, and she could not wait to see it in its glory and stand where devastation rocked an ancient city so long ago.

The class talked loudly, bursting and bubbling with enthusiasm. Professor Styles remained unphased by it all, waiting until the chatter had died down before he spoke again.

“We’ll be staying in Naples, however, the focus of our trip will be Pompeii. This will be your final paper and will be half your grade. This isn’t a holiday or a time to slack off. You’re here in this room for a reason, that applies to this trip as well. Think about the history there. The people, the politics, the daily life. The power of nature and the terror that it entices.” He took a slow breath, as if bored or tired. Perhaps both. “It wasn’t my first choice, naturally. But seeing as it is one of the most famous natural disasters in ancient history, the board saw it fit to touch on, considering it differs from any other material we’ve studied so far.”

“Can’t we go to Paris instead, Professor Styles?” One of the girls at the back of the glass giggled. It was clear that the only reason she took this class was for someone nice to look at. “It’s the city of love.”

“Love?” He laughed but it was void of humour. “If you want love, you’re in the wrong place. Maybe if you spent less time daydreaming, and more time paying attention, you wouldn’t be failing my class.”

Violet laughed under her breath, doodling in her notebook. His eyes went to her at the sound, wondering if she found the girl's suggestion funny or his response.

She looked up at him, brushing her hair over her shoulder. He clenched his jaw and looked away, locating the documents that contained everything regarding the trip.

He handed piles to the desks in the front row, telling them to take one and pass it back. He stopped before her, placing the papers in her waiting hands and staring at her with an unreadable expression.

“See me after class.”

“Me?”

His voice was low and deep. “Yes, you.”

She was perplexed. See him after class for what? He said that he’d go over her paper during the weekend, so she doubted it would be about that.

Maybe he wanted to torment her about her neck some more. Really rub in the embarrassment and taunt her for it.

It was hard to focus during the whole class. She jotted down notes every now and again, but her mind was honed in on him. Even more so than usual. The authority in his tone as he told her to cover her neck, his confident stance, and the way his lips caressed words.

He rambled on about the trip, what to expect, and in turn what he was expecting from them. He adjusted his glasses, searching the student's expressions and finding her eyes. He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek before looking back at his notes.

By the time class had ended, she had written down things she wasn’t paying attention to. She’d been paying attention to him. Only him. And she couldn’t even fool herself into her fascination with him strictly existing just because of his teachings. It was far past that now.

She gathered her things, the room emptying of students. She stood, her gaze falling to him, stood behind his desk organising his folders.

She approached his desk, standing before it. She noticed that his jaw clenched, looking up at her from the frame of his glasses and raising his brows.

"You wanted to see me?"

“I did.”

She waited as he righted his desk, ensuring everything was in order before he finally regarded her.

“Your paper. I want to talk to you about it.”

Her stomach dropped. “The paper I just handed in?”

What would he have to say about it considering it had only been mere hours since he’d received it? She felt a flash of irritation, wondering if she’d ever be able to please this man.

“I don’t have time this week, so it’ll have to be next Monday. You’re my last class so I’ll be able to give you all of my attention.”

She felt warm at his words. At the promise of having his full attention, her body was alive with need and desire. His eyes were so intense, deep, and thick with thoughts she could see the complexity of.

But as the foggy haze of her absurd fantasies cleared, she frowned. Monday? It was Thursday now. Why didn’t he bring this up closer to the time? Did he just want her to stew in her worry until Monday?

Surely he couldn’t have read her paper already. Maybe he’d read the first paragraph only to crumble it up and lob it into his trashcan.

“Is it that bad?”

He shot her a look that she couldn’t decipher. “Monday, Violet.”

As she left the classroom, completely vexed and anxious, Charlie caught up with her.

“He’s a real piece of work, isn’t he?”

“Who?” She felt like she was barely there as she navigated the old building toward her next class.

“Styles. I mean, that paper we just did, for example. He ignores all of my hard work and focuses on the shit I’m doing wrong.”

Violet shrugged, “I mean, isn’t that what makes him a great professor? He points out what you need to improve on to do better.”

“Whatever. I feel like there’s no winning with him. At least we have this trip. You and I can ditch the group and do our own sightseeing.”

She didn’t miss the way his eyes sparkled at his suggestion. And maybe if she wasn’t so hung up on someone she had no business being hung up on, she’d reciprocate Charlie’s enthusiasm.

Monday. She’d be seeing her favourite, constantly disgruntled professor on Monday.

It wasn’t hard to keep herself distracted until then. She attended her classes, her study load growing as each one passed. Her flatmate held a party on Saturday night, in which she’d spent most of it pressed up against Charlie, however avoiding his advances of something more.

He was sweet and funny but he wasn’t what she wanted and she was just a fuck to him. She felt bad that she’d even let that night happen. She’d just needed to feel something, something that wasn’t the ever-pressing crush she had on her professor.

She was wrecked with intolerable thoughts about her assignment. Was he going to fail her again? Tell that she wasn’t cut out for his class that she’d battled so hard to get into?

By the time Monday came around, she was a nervous wreck. She settled herself into a private nook in the library, her Walkman on hand and her collection of her favourite CDs.

She read every single piece about Pompeii that she could find. She wanted to be even more prepared for the trip, and have a better understanding of what it might entail.

And maybe having more knowledge of it would impress her professor.

Her last class on Monday was with him. As she entered and took her usual seat, he was setting up his material, dressed in plaid pants and a cozy looking sweater.

He used the knuckle of his pointer finger to adjust his glasses and flipped a pen in his other hand, staring over his class agenda.

She just loved watching him. There was something in his mannerisms that was so fascinating. He was mesmerising in the way he carried himself. From his large hands, which she always stared at, to his ever-expressive eyes.

The first time she’d spotted the cross tattooed on his hand, she had to go into the bathroom after class and slip her hand between her legs to quell the dampness there.

With a deep sigh, he focused on the class and ran a hand through his curls, though they fell back into the middle parting as always.

He seemed even more put off today. He spent most of his time voicing more details about the trip to Naples and running through multiple checklists before handing them out.

Where he would usually throw her a glance, he didn’t even look at her today. Not once. His seemingly permanent frown was set deeper.

Instead of his usual drabble, he had some poor soul at the front of the class read out the daily lives of those who lived in Pompeii before its demise.

She jotted down notes, but her eyes kept flickering to where he sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed as if he were being read a lullaby.

As class came to a close, he stood, telling everyone to start preparing for the trip.

“Please refer to the list I handed out, and if you have any questions…” He twisted his lips, clasping his ringed fingers together. “Don’t.”

Her nerves were running haywire, sending electric currents through every part of her body as she stood with her bag and began to approach his desk. He was busying himself with the sprawl of clutter on the expanse of the aged wood.

She stood before it, and he looked up briefly before gathering a stack of papers and sliding them carefully into his satchel.

"Not here." His voice was so low that she felt it swirl in her ears like a thick, dreamy fog.

She took a deep breath and nodded, feeling intimidated to be alone with him again. Until a student approached the desk and asked for his aid on a project, and all she could do was stand there and wait.

"I just don't know how to make the connection." The student said.

He leaned over, staring at the paper. He nodded and then looked at Violet, "go and wait in my office. I'll only be a moment."

She felt her heart drop to her stomach at the authority in his tone. He looked at her for a second before focusing on the student who needed his help.

She tried to brush off her nerves as she arrived at his office and sat in the chair in front of his desk. She had no idea what was about to happen, but since it was regarding her assignment, she was beside herself with anxiety.

He stepped into his office with a sigh, running his hands along his thighs before taking a seat. He sifted through the drawer in his desk, taking out her assignment and reading over it.

“I’ve read your paper.” His voice was void of any emotion and it made her feel uneasy.

She wasn’t sure what to say, so she picked at the hem of her dress and avoided his eyes. He held up her assignment and stared at it.

“Violet… this is one of the best things a student has ever handed in to me.”

She took in a sharp breath, looking at him with wide eyes. She almost didn’t want to believe him. Or what was more believable was that he’d be jesting and then fail her. This wasn’t like the usual grumpy professor that she knew and she didn’t know what to make of it.

“I—Thank you, professor.”

“I could tell that it had potential when you handed it in. I’ve written some notes for you, but I wanted to go through them with you now.”

This was unheard of. He graded papers, jotted down brief notes behind his reasoning, and moved on. But this… this was beyond anything he’d ever done.

He was known for being insufferably unfair to his students. Yet he’d given her a second chance, and was now praising her work and wanted to express why.

“Okay.” She nodded, adjusting in her seat and trying to calm down her racing heart.

“Overall, it’s a well-thought-out paper. You have complete control of each point made and where your sources come from without sounding too recited. There are facts here, and you’ve shown how the influence that ancient Rome had in its prime is perceived nowadays… impressively. You’ve portrayed its people and politics really well.”

“Thank you.” She was struggling to believe this was actually happening.

“This is why I made you redo it. What you initially handed in was bland. But this is… you. Your authentic self and thoughts.” He gestured to the paper. “You’re passionate, and I can feel that when I read it. You’ve taken every aspect of what makes ancient history so fascinating and made it your own.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious right now.”

There was a flash of emotion across his face, his dimple appearing ever so slightly with a quirk of his lips. “Take my praise. I don’t give it often.”

“Wow, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His tone was suddenly warm, and his gaze brushed her neck for a second before finding her eyes once more.

“Professional opinion aside,” she toyed with the question on her tongue, feeling overwhelmed, “did you enjoy it?”

There it was again. Her question made his brow furrow in thought. He rarely enjoyed reading his student's work. Oftentimes, he was too preoccupied doing his job to feel any sense of enjoyment.

Why was it so important to her that he enjoyed it? He’d praised her work, and she wanted to know if he relished in reading it.

No one was as surprised as him when he found himself nodding slowly. “I did, actually. I like that it kept me intrigued and that I could sense how deeply you feel for the past.”

She wasn’t in his class for the wrong reasons, like he could see a lot of his students were. Some weren’t interested in anything past staring at him for an hour and then bullshitting their way through every paper they had to write. But she had a reason to be there, a drive to explore the past.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

Her expression was so burning and focused on him that he felt it in his gut. He remembered how she looked in that guy's arms and he swallowed, wondering if she would be just as soft in his.

He cleared his throat, shaking off the fog of her. She crossed one leg over the other and he blinked at the sight of more skin exposed under that sweet little dress she was in.

She released a breath as he stood, relieved that this whole interaction was one of positivity. She was elated that he had enjoyed her work, and moreover was elated that he had praised her as he did.

But as he stood, he rounded his desk and went behind her before he closed the door to his office.

She felt a wave of adrenaline wash over her, being alone with him. She questioned if he was even allowed to close the door, but she didn’t want to stop it from happening.

She watched as he walked in front of her, leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed.

“Why history?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, everyone has a reason for their majors. Whether you’re in it for archiving, research, or curating, you’ve got a reason for choosing history. My question is why.”

She straightened under his scrutinising gaze. He adjusted his glasses before his hands rested back on the desk, curling around the lip of it. She stared at his rings, mesmerised.

“I find it fascinating to observe how humanity has changed, to see how we’ve improved and what we still need to work on. I like studying the past, preserving the stories, the art, the structures they left for us to see their legacy.”

He was floored, although his expression remained a trained unreadable one. To meet someone with these values wasn’t uncommon. However, she had a way with words that he adored.

Like every aspect of his own passion was laid out on her tongue and given back to him in a gentle vocal caress.

“So, you’re just as intrigued by their way of life as well as learning from their mistakes?”

“In fewer words, yes.”

“You’re in it for the right reasons.”

“Are there any wrong reasons?” She frowned.

“Greed.” He said simply, not giving any clarification.

“Why do you teach?”

He tilted his head, his hands smoothing down his strong thighs. “I have a lot of experience in the field, as you may know. I wanted to extend that knowledge to people with the kind of drive I admire. The lust for research and preserving history. I’m good at it, and I have a lot to give you so that you can be just as good.”

His choice of words turned her mouth dry. I have a lot to give you. She knew he meant a lot of his wisdom and knowledge, but his eyes were sparkling with something she couldn’t decipher.

“I love your class.”

“Is that so? Is that why you asked if I enjoyed your paper?”

“Yes.”

He pursed his lips. “Are you trying to impress me?”

She smiled. “I don’t see anything wrong with that. I like the assignments you give us and the way you teach. It’s informative and exciting at the same time.”

“I like that,” he said, mulling deep in his thoughts, “it’s a nice change. To have someone care about their studies as opposed to struggle through them.”

“Oh, the struggle is still there.” She laughed and she spied a hint of a smile teasing his lips before he could disguise it.

He took a step forward and her eyes followed as he gauged how close he wanted to get. She gripped the arms of the chair as he stood in front of her, a jeweled hand reaching out to brush a few strands of her hair away from her face.

She hoped he couldn’t tell how hard she was shaking. Their eyes didn’t leave one another as his fingers brushed softly down, moving her hair away from her shoulder so he could look at her neck before he retracted all touch completely.

“You covered it.” He mumbled, his voice so low that she thought she imagined it.

“I did.”

“Good gi—“ He cleared his throat loudly. “Good. It’s not professional.”

Her brows raised at his almost slip up. She wondered if he was going to say exactly what she thought he was. And she almost begged him to call her that. Just once. Just so that she could go home and think about it in the shower, alone with nothing but the memory of him.

He leaned against his desk again, his gaze searing. She couldn’t breathe and pressed her thighs together to dull the ache his touch had left.

“Do you want to impress me, Violet?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I’m going to give you some extra work to do for me.”

For me. Her eyes fluttered. “You are?”

“I am.” His voice was slow, dreamy. “For my enjoyment, and your benefit.”

This, he thought, is where he should stop. He could feel the vapour of arousal lick at him in warm swirls. The way she was looking at him had him near crumbling. So innocent and intrigued by the prospect of impressing him. He wanted to reach out and touch her again, but he wasn’t sure if he could stop himself again. From going too far.

“My benefit?”

“Yes. I’ll reward you, of course.”

“What kind of reward?”

“Whatever the teacher’s pet wants.”

Her entire body became warm and gooey, though her nerves did not settle. Instead, they amplified the longer he simply stared at her, unwavering.

“What does this extra work entail, Professor?”

He didn’t smile—although he wanted to, and straightened. He rounded his desk, producing a small stack of papers, the top one decorated with his sprawl. He walked back over, handing it to her.

He looked her in the eye, his face serious. “Only do what you want to do. Extra work and rewards. Do you understand?”

“Okay.” She said simply, feeling overwhelmed and heated. As if he had read her mind, viewed her deepest, darkest fantasy of being his pet and making it a reality. Her mind was buzzing with what extra work he’d have her doing.

“There are only a few things there.” He nodded to the papers. “Some extra assignments if you can do them as well as this one. Also, some preparation for the class trip if you’re up for it.”

She scanned through the list, seeing the assignment topics from subjects he’d vaguely taught them about. She felt a twinge of excitement at the idea of doing more for him.

“And my reward…?”

His lips twitched like he was amused. “Extra credit, of course.”

She felt a pang of disappointment. But then what else was he meant to offer her? She wasn’t about to turn town extra credit or the chance to impress him. She was already on his radar as someone he could count on. The thought made her all giddy and warm inside.

“I’m very grateful, professor.”

“You have potential. As you finish each one, come and see me.”

“Thank you, I will.” She nodded. She’d try her absolute hardest to complete them, and as he said, only the ones she wanted to. She eyed the list again.

He stepped forward once more, and she braced herself for the contact again. She was still spiraling from when he touched her. Her cheek still tingled from his fingers and she felt desperate to have that feeling renewed.

But then someone knocked on the door once before entering. “Hey, Harry, I—oh. Hello.”

Another faculty member she recognised from the economics department. Her cheeks flushed as he eyed her before looking at the grumpy professor in front of her.

Harry. She’d always known his name, but hearing someone actually call him by his first name made him seem more… real. Less like a history robot and more like the man she fantasised about.

“Forgive me.” He cringed, “I didn’t know you had company.”

“That’s generally why you knock.” Professor Styles grumbled, however checking his watch with a sigh.

“I did—"

“Get started on those, Miss Walters. I’ll check in with you in a few days.”

Blushing, she stood and ducked her head, leaving the room hastily. The list was crumpled in her fist as she made her way home. Alice was ready to ask her about her day, and they quickly got distracted watching reruns of some old sitcom. But the list he’d given her stayed on the forefront of her mind.

And as the week dragged on, she made her way through the few assignments he’d given her. They weren’t full-length assignments and differed heavily from the kind he handed out to the whole class, as he’d stated. She found them quite easy, the basis of them fitted her strengths.

Had he tailored these to her? Had he enjoyed her work so much that he wanted more? It was like he’d hand-picked his favourite topics they’d briefly covered in class and was now asking her to do what she pleased with them.

She spent all of her time between classes in the huge library. It was undoubtedly her favourite section of Oxford, and she spent many hours getting lost in the ornate building, the old books, and the history they shared.

She sat at one of the aged desks, a sprawl of books in front of her as she finished up her second extra assignment. She took on his advice. She double-checked her facts, and added drabble that made the paper more exciting and gripping to the reader. Him.

She’d even gotten a head start on the third assignment he’d given her. Although she knew she’d have to spend more time locating sources for the topic, she figured it would look good if he saw that she’d started it. All she wanted was to impress him. To prove herself. She knew she had the talent, and he was fully appreciating it.

As her day wrapped up, she found herself swirling through the halls towards his office, a completed assignment in hand. Considering their class trip was only in a matter of days, she figured he’d be too busy to see her.

She approached the oak door and knocked, hearing his voice on the other side telling her to come in.

She opened the door, and his eyes fell on her immediately. On her pretty yellow dress and the hem that fell to the middle of her thighs. Her hair was in its usual ponytail held together with a pale blue scrunchie. He liked watching it swish through the air as she walked.

“Hi,” she said softly, while his expression was hard. “I finished another assignment. Do you have time?”

Technically? No. He had a pressing amount of things to grade. But the hope on her face and the way she looked so fucking pretty made it impossible for him to turn her away.

He moved his work aside, clearing his mind so that she was the only thing on it. “Take a seat.”

She took a deep breath and entered the room fully, leaving the door open which was a detail he didn’t miss. She placed the assignment in his hand and he felt the urge to read it immediately. To be wrapped up in her thoughts.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” His voice rolled through her ears like a steady stream tumbling over smooth rocks.

“I felt inspired.”

“By what?” He tilted his head.

“Not what,” she whispered, holding his gaze. “Who.”

A sliver of a smile touched his lips before it was gone without a trace. “Okay, then. Who?”

“You.”

“Me.” He parroted as if he didn’t believe her.

“You always have inspired me, but hearing what drives you and how you came to teach made me want to work harder. To give history as much as you’ve given it.”

He felt something warm him. He was almost bashful at her praise, where usually it would inflame his ego. But coming from her, from her earnest and sweet heart. It was different.

“I’m glad you find my teachings useful.”

“They really helped with this paper.”

“How did you find it?”

She mulled over her thoughts. Endearing. Intriguing. Enriching. “The perfect amount of challenging. It made me think but my thoughts came naturally.”

“Good.” He pursed his lips. “I knew you’d apply all that I’ve taught you and pull through.”

“And I hope you enjoy it as much as my last one.”

“I’m sure I will. Come and see me tomorrow after your last class and I’ll give you my notes.”

She liked the idea of hearing his musings on her own work. He saw her potential and her drive. Enjoyed what she handed in and told her how much and why.

“Tomorrow.” She smiled a little, standing and slinging her bag up to her shoulder. “I can’t wait.”

There was something in her tone at the sentiment. The hue of it. A soft, wispy colour as pretty as her dress. He wondered if it was flirtation but quickly threw the idea aside.

He couldn’t wish for such things with his student, no matter what signals she sent him. But she was his little teacher’s pet now, and something about having that claim on her was driving him mad.

After a grueling study session in her well-loved nook of the library, she went home to pack for the trip to Naples. There was a checklist criteria for what to bring and what to leave behind.

She threw some of her favourite summer dresses into her suitcase, a few pairs of shoes, and a few extra outfits of baggy jeans and band t-shirts.

She had class with Professor Styles the next day, in which he’d handed out light material in preparation for the trip. Essential knowledge and ground rules.

It seemed he viewed the whole ordeal as a burden. An annoyance. He was taking twenty students away, with only one other member of the faculty joining to help him out. A teacher, who happened to be from Naples, would be staying with their family between class adventures.

He’d rather be sunbathing in Naples than traipsing around ancient ruins with students he despised. Mostly.

He didn’t acknowledge her for the whole lecture, save an initial glance as she’d taken her usual seat. But he’d almost switch off any form of warmth he had towards her when they were in the class environment.

He was his usual grumpy self, impatient with everyone and snapping at anyone who was talking when he was.

She had a free period to end her day, and she used it to finish up some assignments for her other classes as well as work on one of the extra ones he had given her. It was about half done, but she knew to prioritise her other class papers over this one.

She made her way to his office again, and this time it somehow meant more. She felt the weight of entering his space, and it was because of how he seemed to change around her.

That icy demeanour of him melted just enough for her to see the genuine man that lay beneath it.

She knocked, waiting for him to tell her to enter before opening the door. His outfit palette today was soft browns and beige, his glasses perched on his nose while his eyes gleamed behind them.

He looked at her briefly before nodding to the seat and turning back to his work, his expensive ballpoint pen twirling between his fingers. She stared at the bright yellow pen with a smile, noting how it was the exact opposite of his mood; bright, sunny, and cheerful.

She sat in the chair and realised that she felt less and less nervous with every moment she spent alone with him. She’d never felt uncomfortable around him per se, but his intimidating nature was a constant reminder that she couldn’t want him. Shouldn’t want him. But she did.

His jaw worked on a piece of gum, and he frowned as he adjusted his glasses and continued writing on whatever he was working on.

She decided to get comfortable, settling deeper into the chair, figuring he was deeply enthralled with his work. She eyed the bookshelf to her left and scanned his personal library.

She didn’t even realise that he was trying to get her attention, too focused on his book collection, searching for clues as to who he was. Who he was outside of this office, outside of his profession.

“Violet?”

“Hm?” She turned to face him.

He retrieved her assignment from under a stack of other ones he was grading. “I’m wondering why every assignment you’ve given me hasn’t been as good as these last few.”

Oh. Her brows raised. It was a compliment to her most recent work while putting down everything else she’d given him prior to these. She’d always had the drive and passion, but it was evident that something had changed.

“I guess I just felt more inspired. I’ve enjoyed these topics a lot and felt compelled to do them well.” She frowned. “I thought I’d done well with every other assignment, though.”

“You did—obviously, as I passed you. You clearly didn’t do them as well, however, hence my praise.”

“That’s very nice to hear, especially from you.”

His lips quirked at her sheer and utter adoration for him. She valued what he had to say, looked up to him, and the influence he’d had in the younger demographic of Ancient History.

“Well, you deserve it. You work hard, and you’re driven by your passion. That’s rare to come by.”

She could only imagine what he himself was like as a student however many years ago. Like her, he’d studied at Oxford, and after not too long in the field, had felt the need to come back but as part of the faculty.

“Thank you.” She replied, unsure of what else to say. She felt like she was being pinned to her seat by his searing gaze and she wriggled in it, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Help me with this itinerary for the trip.”

“The itinerary?”

“It’s mostly done. There’s a bunch of books and brochures here, if you see anything you’d particularly like to do, add it to the timesheet and make it work.”

She gawked at him like he’d grown three heads. Her? Help him with the itinerary for the class trip?

“Isn’t this your job?” She felt brave enough to ask. “Like, am I allowed to be doing this?”

“Yes it is, and yes you are.” His tone was so final that she didn’t feel a ribbon of unease lace through her mind.

She scooted forward so that she could use the desk, while he sat at the other side and graded papers. She scanned through the travel brochures and circled things she thought could be educationally beneficial, and eventually started going through the itinerary.

She loved planning and organising, and she wondered if he knew that. Maybe he’d picked up on how pedantic she was about her own class planners and thought this little job would be fun for her. He wasn’t even marginally wrong.

Over her work, she risked quick glances at him. Ones that dared to adventure over his posture, his stern, and concentrated expression. The way he chewed on the tip of his pen, how he would take off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He was so endearing and she found herself watching him more and more, getting lost in how effortlessly beautiful he was.

He was still grouchy and short with her when she asked questions, and she had smiled whenever he’d huff and grumble under his breath at whatever he was grading.

“You seem particularly melancholy today.” She observed softly, and his eyes flashed to hers before he placed his pen down and laced his fingers together, leaning forward on the desk.

“Am I always melancholy?”

“I think so.”

“And you’re always vibrant.”

As bad as his mood appeared, he seemed to enjoy her company.

She mulled over the itinerary that he’d drafted, editing bits here and there. She had a sprawl of books on his desk, scanning through top tourist spots and mapping out the best walking routes.

There was a moment where he took a break, stretching his arms high over his head with a soft groan she almost missed. She hadn’t even realised that she was looking at him, enamoured and intrigued by his display of exhaustion when he always seemed so energised.

“Stop staring.” He stared at her over the frame of his glasses, his head tilted down.

She blushed, looking down at the itinerary. “I’m not.”

“I saw you.”

“Sorry.”

He watched as she focused a little too hard on a not-so-interesting book and he smiled. He’d called her out, as if he hadn’t been staring at her, too.

She hadn’t realised the time, unknowingly lost in her work for almost two hours. His pager beeped and he checked it, flipping his pen between his fingers as he read.

He reached over, grabbing the itinerary, pretty much complete, and nodding as he scanned it. He could see the depth and excitement that she had added to it and he suppressed a smile.

“I’ll go over this tonight.”

“I added a few different things there. Restaurants, as well as some historical sights and important cultural landmarks.”

He nodded, impressed. “Very good, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“As for the next assignment, I want that tomorrow.”

“We fly to Naples tomorrow.” She frowned,

“I know.”

His icy and cold guise returned. He was her professor demanding something, and she could hardly turn him down. The paper was half done and lucky for her, it wouldn’t be difficult to complete.

“Okay.” She nodded, standing and gathering her things. “It’ll be all yours tomorrow.”

He didn’t respond, turning back to his work. She’d learned to decipher his cues, and took his silence as her own time to leave. She had a lot to do before their trip and she took one last glance at his solemn expression before leaving.

As she closed the door, his eyes went up to the door. Then to the chair where she’d been sitting. His office now felt like a void of who he wanted to be. Influential, important, inspiring. All things that he rarely felt while he was stuck in an old classroom all day.

But then students like her came along. The ones alight with wonder and fascination that wanted to have his success touch them. They weren’t in his class simply because it was a requirement. They were in his class because they were eager to harbour influence of their own.

She spent all night going over her pack list, finalising her outfits and essentials for a couple of nights away. She dotted back to her paper often, wanting to have it complete. She struggled to wrap up her conclusion, and no later fell asleep on her bed, surrounded by her books and topic materials.

Her alarm went off, shrilling deep in her skull. She groaned, killing the sound and stretching. Checking the time, she noted that she only had a matter of hours until she needed to be at Heathrow airport.

She was in some type of trance as she got herself ready. She showered, ate a light breakfast, and readied her luggage. At the last minute, she grabbed the assignment that needed to be done and shoved it into her purse.

After securing a seat on the train, she got to work on it. Tossing back and forth between an abundance of different conclusions. Why did preservation matter? Why were artifacts archived how they were? How were stories of history pieced together?

All such basic questions to her whirring mind, and yet she struggled to encapsulate her thoughts in the unique way that she knew he loved. With a sigh, she put it away. She’d finish it on the flight.

After she arrived at the airport, she headed towards check-in, her small turquoise suitcase in tow. That's when she saw him, and she stopped dead in the hustle of travelers.

She had never seen him so paired back. He was dressed far more casual than his dress pants and sweaters and suits. But he was no less fashionable. She eyed his black, loose fitted pants, the worn vans on his feet, and yellow-stained sunglasses. As loose as his pants were, his t-shirt was anything but. A graphic white one that hugged him and left little to one's imagination.

And tattoos. Lots of them.

She'd only ever seen the cross on his hand and the inklings of something on his wrist. But she could see that his full arm was covered with them. Smatterings of ink, personal depictions, and dedications.

The ship on his upper arm rippled as his muscles flexed, his designer suitcase in his hand.

He looked grumpy, like always. However, the yellow sunnies over his eyes concealed some of his irritation.

His eyes found hers and he peered at her as she approached. She smiled, shy and suddenly nervous about this trip, and moreover, him.

She noticed that the rest of her class was already present, and Charlie wrapped his arm around her shoulder as he greeted her. Professor Styles' mouth twisted at the physical touch between the two before clearing his throat.

No one was paying attention until he stuck his fingers into his mouth and released an ear-piercing whistle, quieting down and facing him.

“Roll call. Be quiet.”

It took some time for every student to settle down, far too excited and chatty to keep quiet enough for him to call out everyone's name to confirm their presence.

As he called out Violet’s name, she raised her hand and watched his expression sour at Charlie's arm still wrapped around her.

Not wanting to be inappropriate, she slowly stepped away from Charlie, who was far too concerned with scoping out the other girls who were around.

They gathered, waiting in line to check in per Professor Styles’ instructions. He handed out the finalised itinerary that they had both worked on, and now everyone had their own copies. She wanted to approach him, but he was busy keeping everyone organised while the other teacher talked at the front desk.

It wasn’t until they were on air side, that he found her in line for coffee and pursed his lips.

“Did you finish the assignment?”

“Almost.”

He raised a brow, his arms crossed and accentuating his muscles and how inked they were. “Almost?”

“Yes, almost.” She affirmed, not missing his look of surprise at her tone, but she continued. “I’ll finish it on the flight.”

“We’ll be in the sky for five hours, Violet. I expect it to be done, so don’t get distracted.”

She almost snorted. What could possibly distract her on a flight? And right on cue, Charlie popped up next to her with a cheeky grin.

“How’s it hangin’, sir?” His grin widened as he stared at their disgruntled professor.

“Fine.” He grumbled, staring Charlie down before looking at Violet. “I want it before we land.”

As he sauntered off, Charlie released a sharp breath. “You’d think he’d crack a smile considering the fact that we’re going on holiday.”

“Of course, you’d see this as a holiday.”

“I heard our hotel has a pool.” He bumped his hip against hers.

She gave him a fake smile, worming out of his hold. “Can’t wait.”

Half way through the flight, she’d found herself polishing off her paper, just how he ordered. The conclusion was strong and unwavering, her skill and passion shining through each word.

She’d managed to avoid sitting next to Charlie, instead, she was next to two girls she enjoyed talking to, although they were a bit quiet during class and outside of it, it was so different. Everyone seemed to busy themselves with studying the itinerary for the trip, bubbling with excitement.

She read over her paper twice, thoroughly proud of it, and she couldn’t wait to have her favourite professor read it. She knew he was a few rows back, and stood, remembering that he wanted it before they landed.

Standing with a stretch, she made her way towards the back, scanning the faces for his, and finding those expressive eyes almost immediately. He was sitting alone in a row of three seats, and she wondered if he’d just gotten lucky or paid for three tickets.

His attention had been on a book before he’d found her eyes. She didn’t get the chance to study the cover of it before he was tucking it away and staring up at her expectably as she came to a halt by his row.

“Yes?”

She held up the completed paper with a look of triumph. “It’s done.”

He felt at odd sensation of pride wash over him. To be fair, he had given her quite a lot to do. And for her to finish it within such a small frame of time, while maintaining the immaculate value of her work, was an incredible feat.

So, he actually smiled. It was small but big enough that his dimples indented his cheeks a little.

“Attagirl. I knew you could do it.”

Her cheeks flushed at his praise and his smile. Two glimmeringly beautiful facets of him that she’d never seen, especially the latter. Fuck, his smile. So soft and serene and dreamy. It was verging on heartbreaking that he didn’t wear it more.

“I hope it’s good.”

“Knowing you… it will be.”

“You’re too kind.” She said bashfully.

He flipped through the assignment, nodding his head with pursed lips. He opened his mouth to say something, gesturing to the empty seat next to him before the sound that accompanied the lighting of the seatbelt signal interrupted him.

He sighed, adjusting his glasses before buckling up. “You better get back to your seat.”

She nodded, unaware that it took everything within him to not invite her to sit on his lap.

They landed in Naples in the early hours of the afternoon, and were shuffled onto a waiting bus towards their first destination of the trip. Professor Styles had done a roll call and had already lost all patience with the loud group he was stuck with.

Their luggage was sent to their hotel, where they’d be turning in after their activities. They were given a tour of the huge city. The driver pointed out landmarks as they passed them.

The expanse of the ocean was pristine cerulean, invitingly crisp, the shore framed with exquisite buildings that crawled up the steep cliffsides. It was bright. Awash with blues and yellows and pinks and reds. Hues that depicted such a lively city so well.

Violet practically had her face pressed up against her window in the bus, admiring how glorious it was. It was densely packed with culture and entertainment and history. She was itching to get out and explore, smell the fresh air and taste the experiences on her tongue.

Their first tourist spot was the National Archaeological Museum. Professor Styles separated his students into two groups, one with him, and one with the other teacher.

To her delight, she was with him, and by the look in his eyes, he was just as happy about it. Maybe he even planned it that way. What he didn’t plan on, however, was Charlie sneaking into his group so that he could be with Violet. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the flash of irritation that almost blinded him.

The museum was phenomenal. Showcasing historical artefacts that had been unearthed by many. There was an abundance of exhibitions, which they were led through by their professor.

She took photos on her disposable camera, one of which had him in the frame, and she wouldn’t realise until she got her film developed.

Following the tour of the largest part of the museum, he turned to face the group. He had noticed Charlie being a nuisance, especially towards Violet and he made a point to ask her about it if he got her alone. He cleared his mind, trying to remain professional but struggling when she was staring at him like she was.

“Archaeologists and historians work together to teach the world about history. About daily lives, historical events, and structures. They excavate the history, and we tell its story. I hope you all feel inspired by what we’ve seen today because I want you to choose a piece and include it in your assignment.”

The group murmured, gathering their notebooks and fluttering around the exhibitions, attempting to find one that could merge in with the topic seamlessly.

Violet found herself on the second floor of the impressive building, completely enamoured with how beautiful it all was. Rich with history and chronicles of the past.

She found a detailed model of what Pompeii had been in its prime. Detailed, intricate and precise. Her eyes wandered the tiny streets where people walked thousands of years ago.

It changed her perspective, seeing it all laid out in front of her gave it so much more weight in her heart. She felt the passion and interest wrap warmly around her like how the Italian sun had kissed her skin; new, inviting, and blissful.

She took a few pictures of it, wanting something to refer back to just in case. As she stared through the lens, she felt a presence behind her. Her professor, stood tall and intimidating, though his expression was composed yet warm.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” He nodded towards the model.

“It’s amazing.” She breathed, sharply aware of him standing next to her.

His shoulder brushed hers and she froze. She wanted his touch. Wanted him to out his hands on her and praise her. She hadn’t stopped thinking about when he reached out and brushed her hair away in his office.

“Is he bothering you?”

It appeared that their minds were in two separate places. Her, desperate for his attention, and him, desperate to keep Charlie’s attention off of her.

“Who—Charlie?”

“Because if he is,” he continued, frowning. “He can do his assignment back home.”

And perhaps knowing that she and Charlie shared a night together, sending him away wouldn’t be strictly for her benefit. He felt protective over her, and yeah, he was jealous. He wanted her and he hated to admit it. But seeing her here, in this city, in this room, felt like the final nail in the coffin.

“It’s fine, I can handle him.”

If only she knew how much he saw the depth in that statement.

“Okay, just let me know.”

“Why?” She was perplexed. His tone was almost… territorial. It was more than a teacher protecting his student.

“Because I want to take care of you.”

Her eyes fluttered as they found his, and she felt a rush of arousal spark between her legs at the sheer hunger on his face and in his tone. Fuck. This couldn’t happen. He was her professor.

This was far from appropriate but the way he was looking at her like he wanted to devour and savour her at the same time was driving her wild.

She didn’t know how to respond, but let him take her hand and lead her towards some shelves in the back of the room. They housed artifacts from Pompeii, preserved from excavation sites.

She barely had a chance to look before he was leading her on towards the Gabinetto Segreto. She frowned, halting.

“What is this?”

“My favourite exhibition.” His eyes told her nothing but mischief, and he made sure the coast was clear before ushering her in.

She was taken aback. His favourite exhibition threw all inhibition out of their minds. Sexually graphic paintings, carvings, molds, and statues. Incredibly erotic and lewd.

He watched her in the room, thankfully empty of any other museum visitors. She approached a particularly sensual painting, framed in deep marble, a woman on top of a man, both in seated positions.

“What do you think?” He asked her, his veins thrumming with life and excitement.

Her cheeks were warm, and she was very aware of his gaze on her in the room full of sexual depictions. “I think… people have always had fascinations about bodies. About sex. It’s humanising to see it depicted so early in human civilisation.”

Was it normal for that to turn him on so much? She was clearly feeling the intensity of the room and yet was in her mind enough to give him an answer that reflected her passion for his class.

“Mm.. and how does it make you feel?” His voice was so low as he came to stand behind her.

“Feel?”

“To be surrounded by ancient erotic art. How does it make you feel?”

She let out a shaky sigh, unsure of how to answer. She felt lightheaded and heated and knew the only way to quell it was to have some attention between her legs.

He picked up on her silence, thinking maybe she couldn’t gauge what kind of response he was wanting. “I’ll start. It makes me feel like recreating every piece of art in here.”

Her eyes widened at his confession, feeling so shocked that he would go in that direction but so pleased that he did. Was he just as deep in lust for her as she was for him?

“Me too.” She breathed out, and he swore lowly.

“These were all excavated from Pompeii and Herculaneum. They were kept in brothels, homes—anywhere, really. They had an appreciation for erotica and displaying it. So they allotted this space in the museum. For a time, they only allowed men to come in here and view it.”

She could listen to him talk for hours, and then she realised that she did. And loved every millisecond of it. How his lips caressed words, how he spoke a few octaves lower than most, but it was still a milky and warm voice that rang through her ears.

“Lucky me.” She smiled. He wondered how she truly felt. Aside from the obvious, she found it almost funny to think that people thousands of years ago were fortifying lands and yet found a common ground in sexual art.

He huffed out a laugh and her heart just about stopped at the noise. “Not as lucky as whoever had this hanging on their wall.”

He pointed to a large painting of a couple embracing, his skin golden against the woman’s fair skin. The preservation was amazing, aside from slight erosion of the colour and some cracks near the bottom.

“It’s very intimate.” She observed. It was—like everything else in the room—sexual. But the strokes of paint were soft, their hold on each other even more so. Love. Care.

He wanted to know if someone had held her like that. So gentle, savouring every inch of skin. Worshiping her like the piece of art that she was.

After a filling dinner at a nearby restaurant, they all found themselves at their hotel. They gathered their room keys, and each partnered up to share a room for the trip. As Violet and her professor were the last two standing in the lobby, they eyed each other awkwardly.

“This has to be a mistake.” He frowned, staring at the concierge. The other teacher was staying close by with family. Harry was sure that he’d requested his own room in the hotel. This couldn’t be happening. “Is there another room available?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

He sighed, clenching his jaw. He wanted to hole up in his room and order expensive wine and listen to music. Now he had to face the reality that he’d be sharing a room. With her. Maybe he’d sleep out in the hallway.

Instead of making a scene and taking out his frustration onto the person at reception, he stared at Violet, whose eyes were wide with what appeared to be apprehension.

“I can find another hotel to stay at.” He said lowly to her.

“With the number of people you’re caring for, I would advise against that, Sir. The nearest hotels are also fully booked.”

Harry glared at the concierge. The concept of staying in the same room as one of his students was a harsh pill to swallow. A jarring sensation. He was being faced with one of his deepest fantasies but now all he felt was that he was a creep.

He sighed, and met her eyes. “Come on.”

She blinked away her surprise and followed him. She could see how tense he was as his knuckle jabbed the button to call the elevator. She bit her lip and stared at him.

“Professor—”

“I swear to you I demanded a separate room.”

She frowned, seeing the worry in his eyes. He thought she saw this as something he had planned out. He felt sick about it.

“It’s out of your control. They clearly messed up the bookings, it’s fine.” She assured him, although her nerves were shooting through the roof. She had no idea how the night was going to go, or the rest of this trip, for that matter.

They arrived at their room and he took a deep breath before opening it. It was lavish, thought she expected him to book nothing less. A small seating and kitchen area, and a set of double doors that must have led off to the bedroom.

He located his duffel bag dropped off by the staff and rummaged through it. “I’ll take the couch.”

She stood awkwardly in the room. “Oh, okay.”

He took his toiletry bag, sauntering into the en suite in the bedroom. “Just gonna shower.”

Her eyes followed him, his tense body language putting her on edge. She’d never seen him so uncomfortable. Once she heard the shower turn on, she quickly changed into her sleepwear, soft silk pants, and an old t-shirt.

To keep herself busy and keep her anxiety at bay, she began working on her assignment for the class trip. Taking notes and jotting down observations she’d made. She was cozied up on the window seat, overlooking the city with a soaring heart.

He came out, his hair dripping, wetting his white t-shirt. The grey sweats on his bottom half left her speechless. Now, this was the most dressed down she’d ever seen him.

“We should get some sleep.” He said, eyeing the notebook in her hand.

“Yeah, o—of course.”

“And don’t worry I… I’ll see about getting another room tomorrow. Surely they’ll have a free one by then.”

“I don’t mind.” She blurted out, worried that he thought she was seeing him as utterly inappropriate. “It’s not… I mean, it is kinda weird but this whole mix-up is out of our control. We’re adults. We’ll make it work.”

“You’re right.” He huffed out a breath, seemingly relaxed at that. They could make it work. It was going to be a mission to shelf his attraction to her, but he kept putting on his professional hat, even though her wandering gaze was warming him up inside.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” She breezed past him, and he could smell her sweet scent.

“Good night, Violet.”

She paused at the door, about to close them when she turned back to look at him with a sultry expression that made his dick hard.

“Sweet dreams, professor.”

Suffice it to say, his dreams were anything but.

“Listen up! I’m not in the mood to repeat myself.”

It had been an eventful morning and they hadn’t even left the hotel yet. They were piled into a bus, and Charlie was sitting next to Violet, chatting her ear off.

She couldn’t keep her eyes off her professor's disgruntled expression. How she’d seen more of him than any student had before.

How he’d hidden his smile when she offered to make him coffee that morning, how his voice was far deeper after sleep.

How he’d effortlessly slipped back into his cold and disheartening demeanour after he’d gotten dressed. A pair of grey slacks and a light blue dress shirt. She tried to brush it off and pretend it didn’t bother her, but she wanted his warmth and all he gave her was soft glimpses of it before he shut her out again.

“Remember what we are here for. Keep your minds open and explore this unique opportunity. I won’t be supplying material when we return to class, so gather everything you need today. Is that understood?”

The students nodded, hearing him loud and clear. Violet checked that she had her notebook and disposable camera on hand, feeling inspired to make this assignment her best one yet.

Pompeii was everything she had dreamt of and everything she never knew she could experience. It was a phenomenal sight to see. To really walk the streets which had been wandered down before. Where lives had fled as Mount Vesuvius unleashed its wrath, coughing up poisonous ash and spewing deadly lava.

She trudged through the fallen streets, imagining what it must have been like. Danger looming. Harrowing screams. Grasping for valuables as they fled.

Her disposable camera seldom left her hands, and the click of her taking shots set off Charlie’s impatient streak in him.

“Let me give you a personal tour.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

“I really want to focus on this.”

“Come on, Violet. You’ll have way more fun with me.”

She sighed as he attempted to take the camera from her hands. “Charlie, please. It was one night and it won’t happen again. Let it go.”

“Why the sudden switch up?” He frowned.

“I just… I want to focus on passing this assignment, okay?” And she was bored of him. Another, far more intriguing man has eclipsed her every thought.

“Fine by me. I’ll show someone else around.” He sauntered off and she glared at his back.

She rolled her eyes and tried to focus on the task at hand. At being in such a beautiful place, struck by such a disaster.

The class had all spread out by that point, and she fought to stay by herself. She worked best that way, alone with her thoughts. No pressure to fake her interest in anything aside from the historical site before her.

She sat at the edge of a small field, framed by stone arches and fallen buildings, crumbling walls. She began to sketch out the scene before her, listening to music on her Walkman, lost in her work as Duran Duran blessed her ears.

She felt the presence of someone sitting next to her, and she looked up, surprised to see her grumpy professor. His mouth moved as it formed words and she frowned, pulling her headphones off.

“I’m sorry?”

He looked amused, albeit annoyed that he had to repeat himself. “I said, I didn’t know that you could draw.”

She smiled sheepishly, staring down at her drawing. “It’s just a rough sketch. I’m a visual learner, so it helps, gives me something to refer back to if I need it.”

“It’s pretty good. You could incorporate it into the assignment.” He seemed impressed.

“That’s allowed?”

“Only because I said so.”

She bit her lip to hide her smile, although he saw her cheeks become a stunning shade of pink that he associated only with her. Like saturated carnations or his favourite ice cream, boysenberry with strawberry swirls.

She was worming her way into his brain like a rotten apple and he could only sit and watch the decay.

“I just called the hotel. They’re still fully booked—”

“Last night wasn’t horrible.” She said. “We both kept to ourselves and slept well. Unless you want a turn in the bed tonight.”

It was his turn to blush now, and she didn’t miss it.

“The couch is fine.” He grumbled, embarrassed.

She wanted to tease him. To tug that soft side of him out. But a large part of her knew he’d reprimand her for it. Use his authority on her. Not that she’d mind, but it wasn’t a way to get through to him in the slightest.

“What’s on the itinerary, then?”

He shot her a look. “You should know, considering you did it.”

She laughed. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like what I chose. If I remember correctly, I put us down for an afternoon of relaxing at the beach and self-appointed activities.”

“I never did ask what self-appointed entails.”

“Well, it could entail a number of things. Exploring the city, working on papers, grading papers,” she leaned in towards him. “Anything, it’s just downtime.”

“Downtime.” He parroted.

“That’s a completely foreign concept for you, isn’t it?”

He stifled a laugh and nodded. “Any and all free time I have is spent on you,” he cleared his throat, “my classes, I mean.”

“Maybe take some time to relax today, then. Even if just for a few hours before dinner.”

“I’ll try.” He sighed, staring down at her Walkman. “You always carry that thing around.”

He was a lot more observant of her than he was ever going to admit. And they both picked up on it. He stared at her red and white sundress for a time, wondering if she’d worn it just for him to agonise over. He had been all fucking morning. He pushed his glasses further up his nose.

As she opened her mouth to respond, he stood with a gruff, “I need to check in with everyone else. Keep working.”

She did, the sun browning her skin, her tiny sundress the only thing he could think about as he talked with other students and showed them around.

She ventured Pompeii some more, taking pictures, penciling quick sketches, and let her eyes wander over to him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. But he always was, and they both looked away quickly.

Charlie seemed to forget all about the rejection she’d given him by the time they were at the beach and lounging on sunbeds. Violet had taken a dip, but was mostly into reclining in her little yellow bikini.

She slipped her shades up onto her head as she took in the scene before her. Most of the students had joined them, a few had ventured into the city.

But it was a rarity any of them got to see the sun and sand like this, so they practically melted in the experience, vowing to never leave.

She let her eyes scan the beach, her book tucked into her side on a dog-eared page. She enjoyed people-watching. Seeing her fellow students thrive under the golden sun, and seeing families make memories.

And Professor Styles. Stretched out on a sunbed far from everyone else. Yellow swimming shorts, bronzed skin, decorated in tattoos, both arms flexed as he stretched them above his head.

Her mouth dried at the sight. How toned and prominent he was. She could easily imagine herself sitting on top of him, mapping out each tattoo, licking, kissing, biting. Admiring.

As if he could sense her eyes on him, he looked up, a lone finger sliding his shades down to look at her. And lip quirked up on one side in a subtle smirk that made her toes curl. So, he got especially cocky when he was half-naked.

She tried to turn her attention back onto her book, but it was an effort to think of anything else other than him. She craved his touch, even though all he had given her was a whisp of it in his office.

They were dangling themselves in front of each other, temptation and lust awry, waiting for who would take the plunge first.

Following a game of cat and mouse, trying to catch each other’s eyes, it was time to head back to the hotel and get ready for dinner at a local restaurant.

She beat him to the room, grabbing a quick shower, almost ready by the time he entered the room.

He could smell her sweet perfume as he entered the room, the air humid from a long shower. She was sitting at the vanity in the bedroom, swiping mascara on her wispy lashes.

Her eyes met his in the mirror, disappointed to find him dressed in a t-shirt, those same yellow shorts allowing her to see his tattooed thigh.

“How was your downtime?” She asked him.

He came up behind her, still watching each other in the mirror. “It was good. Although, a girl was gawking at me the whole time. Didn’t think my body was that atrocious.”

He was teasing her. She wasn’t sure what to make of it, and so she played along.

“I’m sure atrocious was the last thing on her mind.”

“You think so?”

“Maybe you should have asked her.”

“I thought about it.”

She held her breath. “Did you?”

“Mm. Thought about inviting her over to my sunbed… asking her what had captured her attention. I knew what she was thinking but I just wanted to hear her say it.”

“Say what?” She breathed out. His eyes were so intense. Molten and demanding, holding hers with such a ferocity that she felt it between her legs.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Now Violet, when have I ever given you the answers to a test?”

She released a shaky sigh, tilting her head away from him, allowing him access to her neck.

He smirked at her eagerness. “You’re a bad girl. Finish getting ready.”

“Then stop distracting me.”

He growled deep in his chest, taking a step away from her. “Don’t talk back, Violet. Ever.”

He sauntered into the bathroom, locking the door with a click. She fanned herself with her hand, quickly slipping on a white summer dress and heading downstairs to hang with her classmates.

Everyone was unaware of the fact that she and their professor were sharing a room, and she cringed to think about how they’d react if they found out.

The attraction they had for each other was undeniable, but she saw it as harmless flirting. Until… he touched her. Until he took her into that erotic room. Until he told her not to talk back. She was fucked.

He led them to the restaurant, pointing out architectural phenomena, and different historical sites for them to make note of. He looked so pretty that it hurt. Light pink dress pants and a matching blazer, a white singlet underneath. His glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, his curls falling down on his forehead messily.

She lagged behind, and he noticed, subtly falling back, She was stopping to take pictures of different buildings, in awe of the structures and local ways of life.

He slowed his pace, keeping close to her just in case. She wasn’t overly warm towards anyone else in the class, and it made him feel glad in the sense that she focused on his class, but he couldn’t help but wonder if she had many friends outside of class.

Perhaps that’s why he was so protective over her. How territorial and irrational he became towards her. How enamoured by her he was. Buy her words and her confidence, whether in corduroy pants or little sun dresses.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to appear relaxed, but he was crawling out of his fucking skin. He needed her. Wanted her. Had to have her. He just didn’t know how to do so. He sucked at talking to women, but he knew how to fuck.

Just getting them on their backs was the hardest part for him. He had never struggled with men, but women terrified him for some reason. Especially women like her.

He kept watching her like she’d drop a clue behind a step on the cobbled street.

And when he noticed that one of her sneakers had become untied, he felt his heart begin to race.

The group was further ahead, and he fell into step beside her, grabbing her hand to garner her attention.

She turned to look at him with wide eyes, her camera clicked, and as she spun around, his face fell perfectly into the frame. But the two of them were too focused on his touch to notice.

“Your lace is untied.” He explained simply, his touch gone.

She looked down, “oh.”

“Let me,” he knelt down on the ground, lifting her foot up onto his raised knee. She gasped at the feel of his fingers wrapped around her ankle. How they softly caressed her skin before they got to work tying her lace.

His ringed fingers were a wonder to watch. So precise and nimble. She felt her cheeks tinge pink as she stared down at him on his knee for her. And when he looked up, it was almost as if he was in awe. Worshipping.

His hand slid up her ankle, cupping her calf and sliding higher. And then he dropped his touch, realising how inappropriate he was being.

“Thank you, professor.”

His jaw clenched slightly before he stood, adjusting his suit jacket. “We should catch up with the others.”

They were the last to enter the restaurant, and the universe pushed them together once again with two remaining seats. Next to each other.

Her leg was still burning from his touch and she wanted to experience it over every inch of skin on her body.

It was a wonder she could even focus on eating. He was so powerful in his presence. Even when she wasn’t looking at him she could feel him. This tar-thick sensation next to her, begging to be pulled in, begging to have her attention.

He ate his meal in silence, drinking a cider, offering bits to the conversation here and there.

She was a nervous wreck. She could smell his cologne. How it was sweet and spicy and sultry all at once.

At some point, restless and on edge, she crossed her leg, her foot accidentally nudging his ankle. He shot her a look through the corner of his eye, his mouth on his drink.

She blushed, apologising to him under her breath. But he moved his leg towards hers a little before retracting. Intrigued, she extended her foot out again, letting it trace up his leg.

“Careful.” He warned lowly.

She stared up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Or what?”

“You don’t want to start trouble with your professor, do you?”

She pursed her lips. “Maybe I do.”

“I pegged you for a good student, Violet. Perhaps I was wrong.”

“I’m a good girl where it counts, professor.”

“Then be a good girl and go settle the bill. We need to get an early night.”

He handed her his card, watching as she stood and went to pay. He eyed her thighs at the hem of her dress, remembering how soft she’d felt as he tied her shoelace. How lulled her expression became when she was teasing him under the table.

He thought about how it felt to be kneeling before her. How if he leaned forward just a little, he’d be able to see up her dress. See the colour of her panties. Flick his tongue out and get a long-awaited taste.

He skipped the dessert menu because he knew nothing would satisfy the sweet tooth he had. Only she could quell the craving.

Fuck. He couldn’t share a room with her tonight. Not unless he wanted to fuck her against every surface of it.

The walk back to the hotel was tense for the two of them. They tried to avoid each other, she tried to spark conversation with other students, while he conversed with the other professor who was probably triple his age and insufferable to talk to.

He felt especially creepy when he realised the most interesting conversations he’d ever held had been with a student of his. One who was ten years his junior.

The other professor split off, heading to his family home while Harry was in charge of leading everyone back to the hotel.

He was back to his short and curt self, subdued by his own thoughts. She eyed him, wondering if he regretted getting so comfortable with her. Because she sure as hell didn’t regret anything.

Everyone parted ways, heading to their designated rooms, while she lagged behind, completely on edge.

Their eyes met as they leaned on opposite walls in the hallway. Waiting. Gauging.

“I should find somewhere else to stay tonight.” His voice broke through the tension.

Her heart dropped and she started to panic at the prospect of him leaving her. “You don’t need to do that.”

He sighed, torn. “Violet…”

“I promise I’ll behave. You won’t even know I’m here.”

He watched her, internally debating. Could he behave? And would she stay true to her word? It was later in the evening now, and he hardly felt like trudging around the city until he found an available room.

He sighed again and nodded, entering the room wordlessly. She followed after him, watching as he stripped off his jacket and ran his hands through his hair.

She slipped into the bedroom, and as she went to close the door, decided to leave it slightly ajar. An invitation.

He sat on the couch, spreading his arms along the back. His mind was a jumbled mess, the only clarity were liquified swirls of violet skies that gave him a sense of constant.

His eyes found movement in the gap of the bedroom door and his mouth went dry. Violet pulled her tiny white dress over her head, her matching white bra and panties revealed to his hungry stare.

She pulled her hair free from its ponytail, the yellow ribbon falling to the ground in a tiny silk puddle.

She bent over, unlacing her sneakers before pulling them off. He knew he had to look away. But he couldn’t. He was staring directly between her legs. The softness of her hips and her thighs. His stomach clenched.

Reaching back, still facing away, she unclasped her bra and let that fall to the floor carelessly. He internally begged her to turn around. But he knew that if he saw her bare tits it would be game over. He already felt like he was going to finish in his pants.

And then she stepped out of view, appearing moments later in a white silk camisole and matching shorts. He looked away quickly as she exited the bedroom, trying to hide the fact that she’d put on that show just for him.

“Can you please help me?” her sweet voice caressed his ears.

He still didn’t look at her. “With?”

“My necklace.” She came to stand in front of him. “It’s tangled.”

He eyed the dainty jewelry around her neck and wondered how his hand would look in its place.

“Do you ever take yours off?” She nodded to the cross pendant dangling from his neck.

“No. It stays on. Always.”

“Even when you—”

“Turn around, Violet.”

She giggled and turned while he stood, his body shaking with desire. She scooped up her hair out of the way, a few strands tangled in the clasp of her necklace.

“You like doing that, don’t you?”

“Doing what?”

“Teasing me and acting oblivious to it.” His fingers began to unwork the tangles of her necklace.

“How do I tease you?”

“Well, the little show you just put on is a great place to start.”

She smirked. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He growled and brought his hand around, cupping her throat and encouraging her to lean fully against him.

“Don’t make me out to be a fucking pervert, Violet. Prance around in your tiny little shorts all you want, just as long as you know that you’re doing so for me.”

“We’re not in the classroom anymore, professor. No need to boss me around.”

“Brat.” He said through his teeth. “I’m always the boss.”

She gasped out in the authority in his tone, at the sureness in his actions. His hand around her throat just like she’d imagined a million times while he taught a class.

“I know you daydream about me.” He whispered in her ear. “I can see your mind wander when you’re sitting at the front of my class. You think about all the things you want me to do to you.”

“That’s a bold assumption.” She continued to tease him.

“Mmm.” He rumbled in her ear. “And I bet you’re wet right now.”

“You’re wrong.” She whimpered.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

She stepped away, staring up at him. “H—How?”

He feigned a bored expression, shoving his hands into his pockets with a sigh. “You’re a smart girl, Violet. Figure it out.”

All confidence she had was shredded away by his condescending tone and she released a shaky breath. Prove it? She sat down on the couch, finding his eyes willingly.

Fuck. This was everything the both of them had been daydreaming about. Releasing the tension that had been building between them ever since she started his class.

He would have stopped her if she didn’t want this. And she wouldn’t have given him a show if she didn’t’ want it. She slipped a hand down her shorts, her eyes lulling while his widened at the scene.

Her fingers found her core, throbbing and wet already. She whimpered, trying to look unfazed but he could see how much her legs were shaking.

“That’s a good girl. Let me see.”

She retracted her hand from the silk of her shorts and displayed her fingers, glistening with her excitement.

He grabbed her wrist, investigating the wetness. He tutted. “Now, what are we going to do about this, hm?” His eyes met hers and she melted.

“I don’t know.”

His gaze hardened on hers. “Part of your studies have been based on problem-solving, Violet. I know I’ve been doing my job right. The question is: have you been a good student?”

“Yes,” she whispered, shaking.

“Is that so? Then tell me how we solve this problem that you have.”

“Problem…?”

“You’re sitting in front of your professor, dripping for him. Tell me how we can fix it before you make a mess.”

She swallowed, her mouth dry. “Touch me.”

“Raise your voice when you’re speaking to me.”

She cleared her throat, mildly embarrassed. “Touch me.”

“Touch you? I could fail you for this behaviour that you’re displaying. I can’t think of one reason not to.”

“Please,” she whispered, “please, touch me.”

He sat on the coffee table opposite her. “I can’t risk it… we can’t—”

“Please. Just once, it’s all I will ever ask of you.”

He stared at her, his expression disgruntled. Like she was causing him actual annoyance by asking him such a thing.

“Fuck it.”

He took her fingers past his lips, saturated with her wetness, and sucked on them. Cleaning them and tasting her. Heavenly and sinful.

She gasped as he did so, unable to even wrap her head around what was happening before his lips met hers, his hand on the nape of her neck.

“Kiss me.” He ordered against her and she obliged, whimpering as his tongue found hers.

He stood and leaned over her, pushing her back into the couch. He pulled away momentarily, as much as it pained him.

“You want this?”

She nodded, leaning forward to kiss him but he shook his head.

“Words, Violet. I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you.” She assured him, glad to finally have the words leave her mouth.

“Show me,” he breathed out. “Show me how much you want me.”

He sat back on the table again, leaving her panting and shaking while he slipped his glasses from his face. She bit her lip, finding every ounce of courage that she had before slowly slipping her shorts down her legs.

His eyes never left hers as she got herself comfortable, and he untangled her shorts from her ankle, his cock hardening further when she giggled playfully.

She spread her legs a little, her hand finding its way back between them. He hissed as she played with herself, and he could hear how wet she was as well as see it.

He leaned forward, his hands on her thighs. “Are you this wet for me during class?”

She shook her head slowly.

“Are you lying to me?” His hands smoothed up her legs and he could feel how hard she was shaking having his touch on her.

“No…”

“Mm...” His hands found her sensitive inner thighs and her legs spread further, enticing him in. “I think you’re lying, Violet.” His thumb brushed her sensitive clit and she gasped. “I think…” A little more pressure. “You sit in my class, fantasising about me.” Small circles. “And then you go home, get yourself off and imagine that it’s me doing it.”

“Please—”

“Am I wrong?”

“Fuck,” she cried out as his fingers built up speed and pressure. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“I never am.” He smirked, pulling her so that she was laying down flat on the couch.

His mouth found her cunt in a deep kiss and she rolled her hips up towards him, his hands cupping under her thighs to keep her where he wanted her.

Her back arched at the sensation of his mouth. So wet and hot and skilled. She’d known how good he was with his mouth, as she’d listened to him talk for hours. But this was something else, and she knew she’d never look at his lips the same again.

His brow was furrowed in concentration, and he moaned against her, loving how sweet she tasted. How she was shaking and he’d only just gotten started.

His tongue found her clit in delicate flicks, sucking and nibbling it until she was gasping.

The straps of her camisole fell down her shoulders, and her tits came into his view. Her nipples were pebbled from the cool air and he reached up, pinching and squeezing them with deft fingers.

All he could think of was the fact that she was lightyears better than anything he’d viewed in Gabinetto Segreto. But he knew that before he’d seen her naked.

His ears were ringing with how good she felt and he couldn’t wait to feel her wrapped around his cock. God, he’d grasp onto the feeling forever. He could already see himself begging shamelessly at her knees for a pity fuck.

Her hands came down and entwined with his curls, determined to make a mess of them. She had spent far too many hours admiring the perfect shape of them and the precise middle parting.

He groaned as she pulled them, his eyes finding her blissful expression. He ate her like he’d never had a satisfying meal in all his years. After tasting her, it felt like he hadn’t. And nothing would ever suffice again.

She brought Gabinetto Segreto fucking shame.

He gave her a finger, testing the waters with what she could take. Her body went lax before tightening up in pleasure. His jaw dropped at how warm and snug she was.

“Oh, pet. You’re going to get me addicted to this pretty little pussy, aren’t you?”

She whimpered, rolling her hips up in desperation. The way he was talking to her. Encouraging her and talking her through it. It was all so surreal.

“Professor…”

“What?” He pulled away, annoyed to have her interrupt.

“It’s okay.”

He frowned. “What?

“I—It’s okay. You don’t have to…”

“Don’t have to what?” He was getting pissed off now.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“What, make you come?” He frowned further, bewildered.

“It’s hard for me to do that.”

His eyes softened and he crawled up her body, his hand cradling her jaw tenderly. “Has anyone ever made you come, pet?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Just my vibrator.”

He pouted a little. “That’s a shame, isn’t it? I bet you get so creamy… so relaxed and soft.”

She could feel his hands massaging her body, but she felt lightheaded with how he was talking to her.

“I can make you come, pet. As many times as you want.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You don’t have to do a thing. You just lay back and let your professor look after you, okay? You deserve it after all of your hard work. I’m very impressed.”

“Really?” Her eyes were wide.

“Really. Daddy’s going to reward you, now. Would you like that?”

Her eyes lulled the second that word fell from his mouth.

“Yes.”

“My good little pet.”

His mouth found her core again, reveling in her taste and the feel of her. He helped her relax enough that she could simply feel the pleasure and nothing else. She had been so stuck in her mind but now all she could fathom was pure bliss.

He gave her two fingers, massaging a spot inside of her that she had not discovered before. It was overwhelmingly intense. Pressure and sensitivity and euphoria.

“Relax, Violet. Can you do that for me?”

She focused on keeping relaxed, but almost laughed at his request. How could she relax with his head between her thighs?

She must have done a good enough job because he moaned, closing his eyes and kissing her cunt almost romantically.

He wanted to watch her. To guide her and talk her through it. He came up, licking inside of her mouth, sucking on her tongue.

You’re doing so well.

So sweet for me.

You’re milking my fingers, pet.

Breathe, that’s it.

He could tell she was close and he was watching her in awe. Watching her write in pleasure that only he had ever been able to entice from her. He was far too in his head to feel smug about it, but he knew he’d come back to that later.

“Oh…”

“That’s right,” he coerced. “You’re gonna come all over my fingers, I can feel it. Fuck, do it on my tongue instead.”

He swiftly placed his mouth on her again, paying all of his attention to her clit while his fingers worked inside of her. She was pulsing and it drove him to take her harder, moaning against her.

His arm tensed, the veins in it prominent, snaking around his muscles. He couldn’t fathom why the men before him hadn’t got her here like this. He was addicted to everything about her. Her body and her mind. Her jaw dropped in pleasure.

His mouth latched onto her clit ferociously, and the intensity of it knocked her over the edge of bliss. She writhed around, crying out as it overwhelmed her. He pinned her down, helping her ride the wave.

“Thaaat’s it, pet. What a good girl.” He soothed her as she came down.

She gasped out, grabbing his wrist as he slowly fucked her with his fingers.

“Fuck.” She smiled, meeting his eyes.

“How did that feel, hm?” He checked in, his mouth and chin drenched in her. He kissed her inner thighs, pulling away.

“So good.”

“Yeah?” He came over her. “Let’s get rid of this, shall we?”

She barely had time to register what was going on before he ripped her silk camisole from her body, discarding it behind the couch.

“Hey!” She yelled out. “That was expensive.”

“Daddy will buy you another one.” He promised, his eyes falling over her bare breasts. “Fuck, look at you. Gorgeous little thing.”

She moaned as he gripped her breasts, toying with her nipples. He spat down on her chest, wiping his spit around her tits with a devilish grin.

“You’ll let me do what I want, won’t you, pet?”

“Yes.” She whispered, meaning it.

“The next time you’re in my class,” he pinched her nipple. “I’m gonna make you sit on my lap. Make you read out your paper while I play with your clit and fill your cunt with my cock. Make you cream all over me while everyone watches.”

“Professor—”

He stood abruptly, ridding of his shirt and pants, allowing her to see him as bare as she’d ever seen him. His inked torso and arms. His strong thighs and toned tummy. She felt her insides melt and warp.

He grabbed her hand and placed it over his clothed cock, hard and throbbing.

“Feel what you do to me?” He asked, wrapping his hand around her throat to hold her still while her hand felt him. “I get so hard every time I see you. I can’t fucking stand it.”

Her mouth was watering and she shifted forward, kissing along his length. He growled lowly, feeling his cock twitch and his balls tighten.

“You’re a naughty pet. Come to my class in those tiny dresses because you know I think about pinning you against the wall and slipping inside of you.”

“I wish you would.” Her eyes were wide, staring at his.

He tilted his head, gripping her hair in his fist, his rings catching. “You do, don’t you? Little whore.”

She nodded eagerly, whimpering when he pushed her face forcefully against his crotch. He leaned down, his fingers finding her pussy, slick from her orgasm. He hummed, gathering her wetness and spreading it along his covered cock.

“Messy girl. Clean me up.”

“Make me.”

He glared darkly, his nostrils flaring at her disobedience. He gripped her hair hard enough that tears formed, and he moved his hand to pinch her jaw until she opened it.

“Tongue out.” He barked and she slowly did as she was asked. “Wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, clean me up or I’ll fuck my fist and make you watch.”

He spat on her tongue and she hummed, swallowing before leaning forward and licking off her wetness from his crotch. His brow furrowed at the sight. His feisty little pet.

She sucked on the tip of him over his boxers, and he whimpered before pushing her away. He quickly rid of his boxers, impatient. He had to be inside her. He prided himself in his ability to last but that seemed to be irrelevant when it came to her. Just looking at her naked and pouting was enough to set him off.

She reached for his cock, hard, a bead of pre-come on the tip. He throbbed in her palm, so hot and ready for him. He ran his hands through his hair, his body tingling.

She took him past her lips, her eyes fluttering. His head fell back on his neck as she took his tip, sucking and flicking her tongue against the slit. He encouraged her, his hand tangling into her hair.

“Take more.” He rasped, moaning loudly when she fit half of him in.

She used her hand to work on what she couldn’t fit yet. He was losing it, spitting down on his cock to get it nice and wet before forcing her to take all of him.

She choked on him, her eyes watering as she gagged.

“Fuck,” he gritted his teeth, his abs flexing as he pushed his hips forward.

Tears streamed down her face, smudging her mascara. His thumb wiped under her eyes, smearing it further. He wanted to destroy her.

He took her throat in slow, rolling thrusts, allowing her to breathe and watching when she tapped his thigh when she needed a break.

She picked up her pace, and his knees buckled. He attempted to pull away but her hands wound around his thighs, holding him in place.

“Pet,” he whined, “you gotta stop.”

She eyed him mischievously, moving her mouth harder. Faster.

He swore, grabbing her hair and practically ripping her from him. He threw her back and slapped her cheek before gripping her jaw and pressing his face against hers.

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?”

She giggled, her cheek stinging, but it fuelled her arousal.

He clenched his jaw, holding hers harder. “You promised you’d behave.”

The feral rage in his eyes made her gulp. She did not fear him, per se, but feared what he’d do to her as punishment. Feared that she’d like it too much.

She wanted him warmed up to her. But she wasn’t sure that he was capable of that.

“I am behaving, professor.”

“I don’t think you are.”

She frowned, pouting. His expression softened, loving how she looked all vulnerable when she did that little face.

He cupped her reddened cheek, looking at her wet eyes and swollen lips from his cock.

She opened her mouth to protest, to apoligise, or to plead. She wasn’t sure.

“I—”

“Shh.. sit back and take my cock, pet.”

The willingness in her eyes melted him and she fell onto her back, pressing her legs together with her knees bent and swaying them side to side.

He took a step forward, fisting his cock with a shaky breath. He had fantasised about this for so long and now that it was finally happening, he couldn’t believe it.

“You look so good.” He complimented, his voice low. His hands ran down her body, feeling every inch and every curve. He settled over her, hitching her leg high over his hip.

“So do you.” She breathed out, her hands running down his sides, feeling the muscles flex.

“You were made for fucking.” He spoke his thoughts, running the tip of his cock between her slick folds. “Made to take me. Made to be used by me.”

She whimpered, rolling her hips up. “Take me. Use me.”

He kissed her, pushing his hips forward a little. She made a soft sound as he pushed inside of her, able to take the tip of him before her body tensed.

“You’re so big.” She whimpered, wide eyes staring up at him.

“You can take it.”

He held her in place, pushing forward and breaking through her tightness. She gasped as she took half of him, and he reached down, rubbing her clit to lessen the sting.

She mewled softly, her body relaxing as he slowly took her. He pushed all the way in, and he swore quietly as she rippled around him.

“Attagirl.” He praised. “I knew you could do it.”

“Oh… my god.” She moaned, her eyes watering at how fucking good he felt. He was so big that she felt him everywhere. He was pressed snugly against that spot he’d found not long before and the pressure of it was blinding.

It was the fact that they definitely should not be doing this that made it feel so much fucking better.

“I’m going to move now.” He informed her, retracting his hips until only his head remained inside of her. He slammed back in forcefully and she cried out, her back arching.

He didn’t stop. He screwed into her relentlessly, pounding her down into the couch. She couldn’t get a single breath in with how hard he was fucking her. His touch never left her clit, until he wrapped his arms around her and stood, holding her up as he fucked up into her.

She bit into his neck, his skin warm and damp beneath her. Her nails embedded themselves into his shoulders, trying to hold on as he took her.

He pressed her against the wall, his head dropping back with a growl. She watched him in awe. The sheer power he exerted on her body was blinding. He was so in control, so feral and animalistic but in control nonetheless.

She had never had someone fuck her like this. He was confident in the classroom, but having him even more so while he was naked and inside of her was something she never knew that she’d experience.

She gripped onto his hair, near on sobbing as he took her. “Professor…”

“Harry.” He gritted out, his curls a mess.

“H—Harry, please.”

“Please, what?” He breathed out, grunting. “Tell me—fuck—tell me what you need.”

“Touch me.”

His hand wound around her throat, his gaze searing on hers. “Tell me where you want me to touch you, pet.”

“My clit.” She whispered out. “I need it, please.”

“Fuck, say my name again.” He huffed, staring at her desperately.

“Please, Harry. I need it.”

He groaned, pushing two fingers in her mouth until she gagged, getting them wet. Then he connected his fingers to her clit and rubbed in delicious circles. Her toes curled, her hands raking down his shoulders and sides as he took her.

“You like that?” He checked, knowing full well she loved it with how tight her pussy was around him.

She nodded, whimpering as he slapped his hips against her.

“Yeah, you do, don’t you? Your pretty little cunt is squeezing me like a fist. Dirty girl letting me use you like this.”

He placed her on her shaky legs, slipping down to his knees. He aided her in placing a leg over his shoulder, opening her up to him. He latched onto her core with a loud moan.

“Taste so good.” He said between licks, her core trembling around his tongue. “Love feeling how my big cock is destroying your pussy.”

He ate her, addicted. He held her up as her body became weak with pleasure. His fingers found her core, fucking her with two fingers while his mouth sucked and nibbled and licked her clit.

She looked down at his face, seeing his eyes closed as he ate her. He was enjoying it just as much as she was. Her professor was on his knees for her.

From tying her shoelace to eating her out in a matter of hours.

He loved being able to taste his cock while he ate her. Able to taste where he’d claimed her and destroyed her. His dick twitched, missing the warmth of her. Wanting to spread his cum inside of her and watch it leak out.

He grabbed her, bending her over the window seat. She stared at the view of the ocean as he stared at the view of her.

“Spread your legs.” He ordered.

She bit her lip, looking back at him. She pressed her legs together and wiggled her ass.

He glared, slapping her ass. “Whore.” Another slap, to which she cried out, clawing at the window. “I said open your fucking legs.”

He kicked her legs open forcefully, spreading her cheeks and staring at her dripping cunt. She moaned as he massaged her skin, his thumb dipping to press against the tight opening of her ass.

He spat down on it, massaging gently before he bent his knees, guiding his cock back to her drenched heat.

She held back her pleasured cries as he fucked her, his skin slapping mercilessly against hers. His thumb played with her ass, watching as she moaned and flowered open to him. His to use.

“Good girl.” He praised. “Take me so fucking well. You love having my big dick fill you up, don’t you?”

She whimpered, rolling her hips back against her thrusts.

He slapped her side. “Don’t you?”

“Y‑Yes, Harry!”

He grabbed her by her throat, pulling her back while he kept fucking her. His lips found her ear, biting on the lobe.

“Call me daddy.” He growled. “Call me daddy and I’ll let you come again.”

She could feel the swirls of it blooming and she swore, her walls clenching around him.

“Please, daddy.” She whimpered, loving calling him something so naughty. “Please let me come.”

“You need daddy to rub your pretty little clit? Huh?”

“Fuck, please, yes I need it.” She gasped, her tits bouncing, drawing his attention to them. He played with her nipples. Twisting and tugging before his touch veered south, finding her clit with an expert touch.

She exploded around him, her body growing lax against him. He allowed her to melt onto the floor, not stopping his thrusts as he helped her through her orgasm. He screwed her on the ground, grunting animalistically in her ear.

They were sweaty messes, writing and naked on the floor as he took her, feral and obsessed. He lifted her ass up, taking her harder and harder, his hands gripped tightly onto her hips.

She clawed at the carpet beneath her, trying to hold onto anything that would keep her steady against his intense thrusts. The sheer power he had was astonishing.

He picked her up, sweeping knick-knacks and a lamp off a side table with a smash, throwing her against the newly cleared surface. Her chest was pressed against the cool wood, and he quickly began fucking her again.

Her knees betrayed her, and he spun her around, sitting her up on the side table. She wrapped her legs around his waist, their bodies pressed tightly together, sweaty and needy.

He pinned her back to the wall, his hand around her throat. They watched where they were connected before locking eyes, moaning before kissing with an intensity that made her toes curl.

He couldn’t get enough of her. His body was wound so tight with arousal, the feeling of finally having her driving him wild.

“Fuck,” he panted, “so fucking good.”

She purposely pulsed her cunt around him, his head going dizzy.

“St—god, you have to stop.”

The expression he wore was hardly an incentive to stop, and she did it more.

“Stop, stop.”

Pulling back, much to her dismay, voiced with a displeased moan, he stepped back from her. He grabbed his cock in his fist, playing with himself while she sat there watching. Desperately writhing, her chest heaving.

She whimpered as he fucked himself harder, the pleasure displayed clearly on his face. She shuffled forward a little, wanting to be the only form of bliss he felt.

He glared. “Did I say that you could move?”

“No, but—”

“Do as you’re told or I will come all over my hand while you watch.”

She bit her tongue, settling back into place with a pout. He chuckled lightly, his stomach tightening at the sight. He wanted to come so fucking bad but he wasn’t done with her.

“Get on all fours, pet.” He instructed, his fist still wrapped tight around himself.

She slowly lowered herself to the floor, on her knees in Infront of him before getting on her hands as well, on all fours just like he asked. He smiled proudly at her, watching her wait for the next instruction.

“I want you to crawl to the bedroom for me.” He purred. “Slowly.”

She bit her lip, hiding her smile, trying to remain unfazed. She did as he asked, just as she always had. Always wanting to impress him. He stalked behind her, watching the way her hips were shaped, watching how her ass swayed as she crawled, watching how her hair fell over her shoulders. She looked back to meet his eyes before picking up her pace a little.

He felt something spike in his bloodstream, and he ran after her, grunting as he picked her up and threw her onto the bed.

“You’re a fucking tease.” He chastised her as he followed. She crawled away, curled up at the top of the bed. “You want to run, pet?”

She shook her head, a mischievous smile lighting up her face as he narrowed his eyes.

“I better make sure you stay put.”

She watched as he went out to the lounge, fishing through his duffel bag before heading back to the bedroom. He began wringing a sage green tie between his hands, eyeing her.

He made his way towards her, gauging her expression. “Give me your hands.”

She did as she was told, mesmerised.

“Good girl.”

He tied her wrists up, not too tight, but tight enough that she wouldn’t slip out. Then he tied them to the white iron headboard, her arms stretched up. He couldn’t resist reaching down to bite and lick her nipples until she was whining and begging him to take her.

“You want this cock?” He shuffled forward until he was kneeling over her chest.

She nodded eagerly and he gripped the hair on top of her head. “Open your mouth. Taste your pussy on my cock before I give it to you again.”

She opened, her eyes fluttering when he pushed his dick into her mouth, all the way, not letting her adapt to his size. Just letting her taste him. Feel him.

“So pretty with your mouth full, aren’t you?”

She choked, her eyes prickling with tears that threatened to roll over before he pulled away. And then he was flipping her over, pulling her up onto her knees and elbows and fucking her so brutally that she feared the whole hotel would hear.

He made noises that were animalistic. Feral and unhinged. He fucked her so hard that neither of them could see straight. Hitting her so deep she could feel it in her throat.

He wasn’t sure he could last much longer, and he wanted to hold her. He moved her to her side, spooning behind her. He lifted her outer leg up, slipping his throbbing cock into her drenched heat with a deep, rolling moan.

His fingers found her clit again, and she reached back to kiss him messily. Their tongues met, wet and unashamed. He wanted her to come again, and his cock screwed into her relentlessly while he drew tight circles on her clit.

“Come for me.” He panted. “Please. I need it. Give me another one, all over my cock. You can do it, pet.”

She whimpered, her brow furrowed as he growled, taking her harder than he had all night. Her orgasm shattered her before she knew it was upon her.

She keeled forward, and he wound his arms around her to keep her steady while she came, crying out his name so loud that he had to give her two of his fingers to bite down on.

He swore at how tight she became when she climaxed, her walls pulsing and clenching around him. He fought to hold on, but his body was overworked and she felt so fucking good.

With a whine, he untied her hands and gently moved her onto her back, slipping inside of her with a long sigh. He took her, deep and slow and with a fluidity that had her legs shaking.

He wanted to come staring into her eyes. With her legs wrapped around his waist. His name was on her lips as he pounded into her relentlessly.

“Will you tease me again?” He asked her, his eyes searing.

“Yes.” She gasped out.

“You’re my little fuck toy.” He was a mess. “Mine to fuck and fill with my cum. Reward you for your hard work in my class. Make you come every time you pass.”

“All yours.” She breathed out, desperate to get him there. “I’m your dirty secret, professor.”

“Can’t fucking stand how you make me feel. Filthy fucking girl. Tell me you want my cum.”

“I want your cum, professor.”

“How bad do you want it?”

“I need it so bad. Please, fill me up with it.”

He growled out her name, burying his head in her neck and biting on the skin. His orgasm rocked through him, and he fucked her through it, not caring when she cried out in discomfort.

He wanted this. To fill her. Claim her. Stake his mark seeing as she’d sought after him. Teased him and poked until he gave in. He’d rip every one of those sundresses off her for a taste of how magical she was.

Like visiting all seven wonders of the world and discovering millions of new ones all at once.

***

I hope you enjoyed x

1K notes · View notes

ta1kingn0nsense · 13 days ago

Text

Teacher’s Pet

Anakin and Y/N’s relationship has always remained professional. Despite her obvious feelings for him, he never let himself entertain thoughts of reciprocating them…until now.

10k (18+)

Warnings: smut, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative sex, cockwarming, exhibitionism, choking, strong language, inappropriate relationships, she’s his padawan but they’re both of age and he didn’t know her for that long, and hints of possible yandere anakin.

She knows it's wrong.

Every time he offers a mere glance in her direction in front of the others or rests a hand on her shoulder in a silent gesture to calm her in moments of particular anger, typically directed at the council, she feels as though she will burn alive from the sin she cannot stop committing. Not only is it against the Jedi code to form attachments, but for there to be an intimate attachment between Padawan and Master is an affront to everything they know. That being said, Anakin has never been the type to allow the rules to keep him from indulging the impulsive yearnings of his heart.

It wasn't intentional.

After all, he tried to keep himself under control since Y/N was given to him as his first apprentice. It seemed fitting at the time. Most of those in training were discovered and brought to the Jedi temple as younglings, yet Y/N was not. Hers was a path that was far more unconventional than most. He himself was an unconventional Jedi Master, so it only made sense to him that the council chose to place her with him. She was brought to them when she was a young teen, when Anakin himself was still learning under Obi-Wan, and she didn't see much of him for years.

There were always moments in which they would pass one another in corridors or end up in the same room, but they scarcely found reason to interact much with one another due to their respective responsibilities. Being older than most, Anakin included, when they were brought to the Jedi Order, she had to learn such basic knowledge at a rate others her age were given years to accomplish.

This impressed Anakin from a distance, however, he was too wrapped up in his own dealings at the time to concern himself with what someone four years his junior was doing at the time. It wasn't until after he passed his trials and became a Jedi Knight that their lives became intertwined.

It started with her.

When she first began training under him, she was much like an annoying young puppy, always nipping at his heels and following as his shadow with every step he took. It was clear for everyone to see that Anakin resented the fact that he had to deal with someone as hard-headed, relentless, and precocious as she, but all Obi-Wan could do was laugh at how blind Anakin was to miss the glaring similarities between him and his apprentice.

And where Anakin became annoyed with her, she became enamored with him. It was the classic case of the schoolgirl becoming infatuated with her teacher, which was part of what fueled his annoyance with her. He could feel it. When she was distracted or too comfortable, forgetting to shield her thoughts or emotions from him, he felt it. She might as well have been shouting her feelings out loud to him, and he prayed, on the rare occasions when it would happen in close proximity to others, that neither Obi-Wan nor any of the others picked up on them.

Mercifully, the images he saw coming from her mind were mostly innocent in nature during that first year they spent together. It never escalated past what was appropriate for a young woman of her age to fantasize about, and she never took it too far out of fear that he could, in fact, sense the direction of her thoughts. Later on, she became better at keeping those feelings and thoughts to herself, but, still, some managed to slip through the cracks.

It was months ago.

Now that three years had passed since he first took her on as his apprentice, she'd become a woman right before his very eyes. Of course, she was only a few years off from officially entering adulthood when they were first assigned together, but he always saw her as a child until the past year or so. Until he saw an image from her mind that changed things.

She was late to their agreed-upon meeting time in the morning, so he took it upon himself to seek her out for an explanation. Within him, he felt the anger bubbling up, poised to explode the second he found her doing whatever it was she felt was more important than their duties for the day, but the moment he got to the door of her private quarters, he halted in place. A strange sound came from within. He couldn't tell through the walls if it was a cry of pain or sorrow, but the sound of her crying worried him nonetheless. It sprung him into action, reaching out with his mind to see if he could feel her there, but what he found when he reached her wasn't what he expected.

Anakin is nothing if not protective and possessive over those he cares for, and his Padawan, whether he found her annoying at times or not, is someone of great importance to him. And, in all fairness to her, she hadn't been annoying to him for months. Slowly, the frequency of the images and feelings she practically shoved into his mind began to dwindle, and after years by his side, she no longer followed him around incessantly. In fact, he found himself searching for her wherever she wandered off to be by herself quite frequently and realized, underneath the cold exterior he put on to keep her at a distance, that he missed having her nipping at his heels all the time.

So, being as protective as he is toward those he cares for, he thought someone or something must have hurt her, whether it be emotionally or physically, to make her cry and didn't waste a second before trying to intervene. But there was no emotional or physical hurt to be found on the other side of that door. There was only pleasure.

There were positively lewd images coming to life in his apprentice's mind, but what stunned him most of all was that they were of him. No, them.

Anakin is no hypocrite. He would not admonish her for feeling sexual desire seeing that it wasn't directly against the Jedi code. Although he was sure Master Yoda and Obi-Wan would not approve, he had indulged in such desires before. As long as he did not form any attachments, there was nothing saying he couldn't, so he did. What she was doing, though...that was different.

He thought that it wouldn't have messed with his head so much if it weren't him she pictured pinning her to the mattress, thrusting into her with his ungloved prosthetic hand squeezing the sides of her throat, but that foolish idea quickly vanished. Once his mind actually wandered to the thought of someone else being the object of her desires, he became crazed with jealousy. No, he decided, he would never be okay with that. Even though he already had sex with others in the past, he couldn't stand the idea of her in the arms of another. It was always there, lingering beneath the surface, but even if it wasn't, he realized at that moment that he wanted her to himself.

That was when things changed between them.

Y/N had never known him to linger so much. He began to spend more time with her outside of their necessary training and missions they went on together, which meant the only time they spent apart was the hours that they slept at night. Then came the touching—his hand brushing the back of hers "accidentally" beneath the table as they ate, his arm thrown over her shoulder, and his hand on the small of her back to guide her in the right direction whenever she gets turned around. It appeared to her that he seized every opportunity he could to get his hands on her, but she didn't know what to do about it.

Wanting him had been one thing, but the possibility of Anakin wanting her back was another thing entirely. She felt safe in her assumption that nothing would ever happen between them, but everything changed last week.

He took her out soon after everyone was due to retire for the night and walked with her, shielded by their hoods, through the streets of Coruscant. Not wanting to be recognized in their Jedi robes, he came already wearing a rather unassuming, common cloak over a plain pair of pants and tunic. She changed out of her robes in the adjoining bathroom while he stood watch and waited, then came out with a nervous smile plastered on her face.

He said, "Come along," and turned toward the door to her rooms.

As they traversed the streets without as many people turning their heads to look at them as usual, she couldn't help but feel a weight come off her shoulders. Her hand twitched with the urge to reach for him, then, a second later, Anakin draped his arm over her shoulders and didn't protest when she reached up to entwine their fingers. It was strange, but she didn't dare to question it out of fear of losing the dreamlike moment too soon. She feared that if she spoke of it aloud, he'd realize his mistake and rectify it immediately. But she was wrong. Earlier that day when he saw her laughing with Obi-Wan, something within him snapped, and once he decided his fantasies of her weren't enough, there was nothing that could stop him from taking what was rightfully his short of her refusal to partake.

She held on tight to his hand as they entered a seedy-looking bar in the bowels of the city, eyes turning wide at how those surrounding them indulged in drinking, dancing, and even kissing out in the open without shame. Sending her feeling of surprise, he found his assumptions about his Padawan to be true—she had never gone out and entertained her fantasies as he had during his training.

He didn't let her drink, even though he noticed how she eyed up the people sitting at the bar with great interest.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, standing alongside him with her back to the wall.

"I've sheltered you. When I was in training, I figured these things out for myself. I know Obi-Wan wouldn't have encouraged it."

"Master?" she asked with a quizzical expression.

Anakin said nothing. His face was unreadable, a mask of calm that gave her no clues as to what emotions lurked beneath, and when she tried to sense his mood through the force, he was able to resist her. Being as advanced of a Jedi as him, it's harder for her to reach for his mind than it is with her fellow Padawans. Rather than explain his meaning, he turned and made his way to the back hallway, but not without taking her by the hand to guide her. The leather of his glove was cold on the bare palm of her hand. She could feel the hard material of his metal hand through the fabric as it gripped hers.

In a room at the end of the hall, a series of couches and chairs were laid out across the open space and occupied by scantily clad workers engaged in intimate relations with customers.

He spoke, slowing down to allow her to step in front of him, "I used to come here. When I found myself wanting to act on the types of urges that lead to attachments."

Her brows furrowed, though, deep down, she suspected where the night may lead them. No, where he was leading them.

"Is that why we're here?" she asked, breathless, then looked over at a woman who was on her knees before a man in front of them.

There was a wide-eyed, almost excited, curiosity to her gaze that set Anakin's body aflame. Yet, at the same time, it was nothing she had ever seen or engaged in before, so it caused her to take a step back into where he stood at her back. Her breath hitched in her throat at the feeling of his arm slipping around her waist, pulling her back until there was no space left between their bodies. Then, he crouched down to bring his face to her neck and delighted in how easily her head turned to make space for him. The hand flattened against her belly could sense that she was holding her breath in anticipation.

"Go on," Anakin said, his hot exhales clouding against the sensitive skin of her neck, "Choose one. I know you've been curious."

And while she had already stopped breathing, the last thing he said made her entire body go still. He knew. Somehow, he knew. When his metal hand came up to grab the base of her neck and squeeze it gently, she knew he was answering the question she unknowingly asked him.

In answer, she ground the curve of her ass against the presence of his growing erection and said, "I don't want any of them."

What happened afterward left her in a frazzled state of disarray for days. All of her friends noticed the change in behavior, yet she waved it off as not having gotten enough sleep lately and pretended not to be thinking of how Anakin had fucked her in front of all those people at that bar. Granted, everyone in that room was accustomed to it, but, to her, it was the most scandalous thing imaginable.

Anakin, on the other hand, made a fair attempt at hiding how he felt about it. Even when Obi-Wan asked him if Y/N was okay, saying that she'd been acting off, he kept his cool and said he had everything taken care of with his apprentice. It wasn't the first time he spoke to Obi-Wan about her behavior. When he first took her on and began training her, he sought his master out for advice on how to handle the—at the time—one-sided crush she had on him. And, for a while, Anakin followed the guidance provided to him by his mentor. He tried. He really tried, but, in the end, he couldn't help himself.

The past few days, however, have been an exercise in discretion on both of their parts.

They've been trapped inside of a ship with Obi-Wan all day, battered and exhausted from a battle which they hardly escaped from unscathed, on the journey back to Coruscant.

She sits on her own, trying to busy herself with inspecting the superficial wound she sustained on her outer thigh amidst the scuffle, while Anakin pilots the ship with Obi-Wan sitting beside him in the cockpit. It isn't deep enough to require attention beyond basic cleaning and bandaging, so she decides to leave it be until they return to the Jedi Temple where she can properly wash it. It won't be long now if what she overheard moments ago was true. Apparently, they're due to land in Coruscant in a matter of moments, and she couldn't be any happier to hear it.

It's been difficult these past few days. Not only due to their efforts to stop Dooku's attempt to kidnap Chancellor Palpatine, but because of what happened between them last week. Because of everything that has been left unsaid. It's not as if she can blame him for it. There are far too many eyes on them at all times of day for there to be an opportunity to talk about it, and once they caught wind of Dooku's plans, it was no longer a priority.

Anakin can feel her staring.

In fact, he's felt her eyes on him for the whole duration of the trip. His knuckles tightened on the controls of the ship as he resisted the urge to turn to catch a glimpse of his pretty apprentice. Thankfully, she had the foresight to keep her thoughts as innocent as possible to prevent Obi-Wan from picking up on any of it. He may be able to tense the tension surrounding them, but that could be easily written off as a consequence of their mission. He knows how much Anakin cares for her, and seeing her injured at the hands of the enemy sent him into a frenzy, keeping Dooku constantly on the defensive until he managed to escape. Obi-Wan watched as Anakin rushed over and demanded to see where she'd been hurt, on guard for any potential threat while the two of them assessed her minor injury.

It isn't until he feels Obi-Wan's hand on his shoulder and yet he realizes he landed the ship, having operated on instinct as he became lost in his thoughts of her.

"You did well," he says, then his face softens, "She's strong. She'll be fine. Don't blame yourself for it."

Anakin nods.

"I know. It wasn't anyone's fault. She was to learn how to handle losing and getting hurt somehow, doesn't she?"

This response seems to please him.

"Yes. Now, you can escort her to a medic. I'll brief the council on what happened with Dooku."

With that, Obi-Wan turns to walk away and disappears past his line of sight. Before he leaves the ship, he offers a few words of praise to Y/N on his way past. And after days of being forced to ignore what happened between them, they're finally alone. The energy in the room shifts the second Obi-Wan is gone. They can feel the tension in the air sizzling like a current of electricity between them. It's palpable. Through the force, they can feel each other's emotions flaring up into something uncontrollable after days of keeping themselves on tight leashes.

She hangs her head low as he comes to a stop in front of her.

"I'm sorry, master. I'll be better next time," she says softly.

In lieu of a verbal response, he outstretches his flesh hand to her in a silent command.

Her voice is hushed when she asks, "Anakin?" and he thinks his heart may beat out of his chest at the sound of her saying his name. The last time he heard his name fall from her lips, he was buried inside of her with one hand wrapped in her hair and the other gripping her hip for leverage to thrust into her.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he says before she drives herself mad with guilt over how the fight unfolded. "Come on, let's get you fixed up."

His hand is warm. It's larger, closing tightly around hers and using that unrelenting strength of his to tug her to her feet. Seeing that he held an arm around her waist on the way back to the ship before they departed—just in case she walked with a limp, he doesn't let go of her. He simply moves his hand to grab hold of her arm instead to keep the contact from looking too intimate when they enter the Jedi Temple together. Holding hands would look odd to any passerby, but no one would think twice about him holding her arm for support with a visible blood stain on her pant leg.

Actually, most people try to stop and ask if she's alright, but all it takes is a polite, "I'm fine," from her to get them to back off. In truth, she is fine. The skin is sliced open from the end of Dooku's lightsaber barely grazing her thigh in the midst of the fighting. She anticipated his next move and made sure to dodge, but it was a second too late. All Anakin saw was her groaning from the pain and stumbling back a few steps with her hand on her thigh before he rushed forward to defend her.

It's not a severe cut, but, of course, Anakin must make a fuss about helping her walk. She soon notices that he isn't guiding her to the medic's room, they're walking in the direction of his private rooms. They're on the opposite side across from hers, males separated from females, and he can feel her squeezing him tighter in reaction to it. He also senses her excitement. It lights up her face as she looks at him, analyzing every minute movement and twitch in his expression in hopes that she may yield something from it. He doesn't appear to be as paranoid as she is about someone seeing them go into his room together. When she turns her head from one side to the other to keep a lookout, he stares ahead and keeps pulling her down the hallway.

It isn't until the door is shut and locked behind them that she can finally let out the breath she's been holding since she realized where he was taking them. Before she can say a single word to him, he grabs her by the face and rushes forward to kiss her.

Y/N melts into the warmth of the hard, muscular body pressing into hers and reaches out to brace her hands on his biceps as she stumbles back a step from the impact of him crashing into her. Amidst the sudden arousal sparked by kissing him, their parted lips press hard into one another's in a dance for dominance that leaves them both breathless.

As soon as they pull apart, she's reaching for the band of his pants hidden beneath his robes, but he doesn't let her. Her hand is stopped short in its tracks and held in an invisible hand that keeps her from palming his cock through his pants as she planned on doing. Their lips part with the wet smacking sound, and he shakes his head against hers.

"You're bleeding," Anakin says as an explanation for the abrupt rejection that leaves her chasing after his lips as he withdraws from her.

She shakes her head and looks up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"It doesn't hurt."

A lie, of course, and not one she pretends to think fooled him in any capacity.

Playing along, he furrows his brows and allows the side of his mouth to upturn in a smirk. "Oh, it doesn't hurt?" he asks, reaching down to gently squeeze her injured thigh.

The sudden pain that pulses through her leg makes her body jerk against him, drawing a stifled grunt from her lips. As soon as he lets go, she's already smacking him on the arm and calling him every bad name in the book for pulling that little stunt.

"That was mean!" she whines and tries to twist her way out of his grasp, but he holds on tightly to her.

He says through a soft chuckle, "Well if you just behave and let me help you, I won't have to be mean."

At first, she huffs in annoyance, prepared to roll her eyes at him as she's grown accustomed to doing whenever he teases her now that she's grown out of wanting to please him all the time. Then, she takes note of how the cut, already cauterized from the weapon that made it, stings since he put pressure on it. There's a fresh spot of blood blooming on her pant leg, and she can't find it in herself to refuse his help.

Ever the obedient apprentice, Y/N says, "Yes, master," and walks past him in pursuit of the bedroom that is visible from where they stand.

It's difficult for Anakin to repress the noise that longs to escape him at the sound of her calling him that. She may not know the extent of what it does to him yet, but on some level, she must know that it turns him on. As wrong as it may be, he hasn't been able to withstand her calling him that for months. The shame he felt every time his cock twitched in his pants at the sound of it was too great to measure, but it wasn't enough to keep him from arousal.

He takes his time in gathering what he needs before meeting her in his bedroom.

Everything is stowed away in a designated cupboard for instances where he returns to his rooms with a scrape or cut, but he can sense that she's seconds from bursting with anticipation, so he draws it out for the sake of allowing her to suffer for a moment.

When he walks in, he takes one glance at her and simply says, "In here," then disappears into the adjoining bathroom she had yet to notice.

She smiles to herself and follows along right away. Through the opening in the door, she can see him at the counter, laying down the supplies he gathered and pretending like he's not paying attention to her even though they both know he is. The light in the small room is warm. The orange-yellow tone of it brings out the lighter undertones of his hair, and she can't help but reach up to brush it back from his face.

Anakin goes still for a split-second, then leans into where her hand makes contact with the side of his head in a movement so slight, she questions whether or not she actually saw it.

His gloved cybernetic hand pats the open counter space once.

"Up," he commands.

Obviously, he doesn't expect her to do it herself with the cut running up the side of her thigh, so once she puts her hands on the countertop for support, he takes it upon himself to grab her on the underside of her thighs, careful to stay away from her wound, and hoist her up onto the counter.

The silence is overwhelming on its own, but with the natural tension that always spikes whenever they're alone together added to it, she can hardly breathe. He makes quick work of her pants and shimmies them down her hips with little effort. The contact of the fabric brushing against the open, bloody skin causes her to wince, but he's quick to murmur an apology. Other than what he did in his bedroom to test the honesty of her claim, he'd never do anything to hurt her. At least, not on purpose.

She watches him dampen a washcloth with warm, soapy water and kneel down in front of her, then braces herself for when it'll make contact with the laceration. To give credit where it's due, she only flinches a tiny bit as he wipes down the length of her thigh.

After another moment of this, she finally summons the courage to ask the burning question she's had since the night they spent in the city together.

"Are we ever going to talk about what we did?"

This halts his movements for a second. The hand using holding the soapy rag moves from her leg to toss it into the sink, then picks up another soaked in water to rinse the soap from her skin. At first, he doesn't answer her question. He just squeezes the water out of the cloth and allows it to wash the mixture of blood and soap from her thigh. It takes a few seconds of hesitation for him to acknowledge what she said.

He looks up at her, and, suddenly, every fear she had that it was a one-time thing, that he used his power over her for sexual gratification, is blown away like dust in the wind. His eyes are soft when looking at her. So unlike the cruel, steely-eyed glare she watched him give Dooku when she was hit by his lightsaber.

Anakin tosses the soiled cloth into the sink alongside the first one and reaches for the gauze pads he unwrapped before she came in.

"You're ready to talk about it?" he asks with an undercurrent of skepticism.

What he doesn't say—what she can feel through the force as well as the powerful connection they've developed—is that if she is ready to have that conversation, there's no going back. He kept himself at bay for far too long, and if she wants him the way he wants her, he's prepared to risk everything for it. That's the thing about Anakin. He lives in extremes, and now that she has become the target of his fixations, there's nothing he wouldn't do for her.

She nods.

In the silence that follows, she's left to assume that he's offering her the chance to speak first lest his assumption as to where this is headed ends up being wrong. He busies himself for the time being by pressing the gauze pads down onto her wound with harsh pressure to keep her from bleeding anymore, and reaches for the medical tape to secure them in place.

"I liked it..." Y/N says softly. "But"—his chest stops moving up and down at the use of the word—"what if they find out? We've been taught that attachments are bad, but, every time I'm with you, I can't help but wonder how it could be so inherently bad if it feels so right."

Her thigh is lifted from the countertop under guidance from his gloved hand as the other wraps her wound, packed with gauze, with a bandage to keep everything in place. Still, he has yet to look at her again. His eyes are fixed on her injured thigh with an intensity that would frighten many, but not her. Never her. Without a second to spare, he finishes wrapping her thigh and looks up at her from between her legs.

He shakes his head, the sharp motion of it toeing the line of being neurotic, and he slides his flesh hand up the length of her unharmed thigh. It comes to a stop at her hip, teasing the edge of her undergarments.

"You know, they're not always right about everything," Anakin says. His pointer finger slides until it reaches the band of the thin fabric separating his touch from where she wants it most. During this, his gaze never leaves her face. "They'll never need to know about us. We're alone together all the time and nobody questions it because it's for the sake of your training. The council doesn't think anything of it." His mouth curves up at the end again in one of those terribly charming half-smiles that weakens her knees. The tone of his voice turns soft, yet deadly serious when he says, "I'll protect you if it comes to that."

Not missing a beat, she counters, "I don't need your protection."

He huffs a laugh at this.

"I know that. You're powerful. That's why they put us together." He reaches up with his gloved hand to take hold of the opposite side of her underwear, a signal for her to lift her hips off the counter. A signal she complies with without thought. "I just meant that, together, they can't stop us from doing what we want." His eyes soften as he slips the garment off around her ankles. "From being with who we want." A beat of silence. His soft lips press into the inside of her thigh, inching up and up and up all while he keeps eye contact..."They can try but they won't take you from me."

At last, when his head is nudging her thighs further apart and his lips brush the pulsing heat that lies between them, he senses her surrender.

Y/N's head tips back, mouth falling open with a quiet moan, when he licks into her. The arousal is sticky where it coats his lips and chin, and he can't help but hum in approval of the distinct scent and taste of her that overwhelms his senses. This was something he didn't get the chance to do in that questionable back room at the bar. It wasn't as if he didn't prepare her for it, he warmed her up with his fingers, but it wasn't exactly the kind of place he wanted to do this at. He didn't want anyone else to see her undressed. Seeing that her robes covered her the whole time, he didn't have to worry about it that night.

It starts out as gentle, tentative licks that circle her clit without giving it as much attention as she wants. He works her up to it slowly, as if to taunt her, and it isn't until her fingers begin to tug at the strands of his overgrown hair that he gives in. Her hips jerk forward against his face instinctively when he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks hard for the sake of drawing a noise out of her. Of course, he gets what he wants. The heavenly sound she makes has his cock straining against the confines of his pants, and there's nothing he can do to satisfy it unless he resorts to rutting up against the cabinets beneath the sink.

Every breath she exhales becomes shakier as the seconds pass with his head buried between her thighs.

"M-Master," she whines, unsure of whether or not it's appropriate to use his name yet. She's only ever called him by his first name when the situation at hand causes her to forget her place. Considering that he's currently going down on her, he'd say that they're well past the point of such formalities, but he also likes that there's still a touch of obedience left in her. "That feels so good..."

His lips leave her clit for a second to allow him to dip his tongue into her entrance to get a better taste of her. Both of his hands are now gripping her hips to keep them in place as he ruins his apprentice with little regret or guilt left to flow through him. Past the point of no return, he no longer clings to his last scraps of morality in regard to his strange relationship with her. In the days following their secret tryst, he was trapped in a strange internal debate. He was torn between duty and love, caught between unstable moods that caused him to become hot and cold with her depending on whose company they were in. Whenever Obi-Wan was near, he couldn't allow himself to interact with her as he typically does. He didn't know if he could control himself.

The hand wrapped up in his honey-hued hair tugs on it once, and he just assumes it's because of what he's doing to her. A second later, she's pulling again, but it's harder, as though she's trying to get his attention. When he pulls his mouth away from her and looks up, her other hand reaches down to cradle his face. It guides him up and up and up until they're face to face again, and she kisses him once before speaking into the small space left between them.

"I want you," she whispers with her forehead pressed to his.

Anakin smiles and nudges her nose with his.

"You have me."

When they kiss again, she moans at the taste of herself covering the lips pressed to hers as well as the tongue that gently licks into her mouth. The fingers twirling the loose curls of hair at the back of his neck use their position to keep him trapped in the hot, open-mouthed kiss with her. There are no objections on his end, of course. If it weren't for their duties as Jedi, he would want to take her far away where no one could ever find them and spend the rest of his days this way.

She says the second she gets the chance, "You know what I mean," in regards to what was said before he distracted her.

To this, he sighs, and it isn't a frustrated sound, nor is it a tired one. It's the way a person sighs when they're placed before something in life that they know is bigger than themselves, resigning themselves to their fate not with reluctance but with acceptance.

"Mmm," he hums, then says, "I know. I just have one condition."

She nods.

"Use my name when we're alone," he whispers.

The request sends her mind reeling as he picks her up from the bathroom counter with her legs clinging around his hips and carries her off into his bedroom. Her arms are flung around his neck in a frantic bid to keep herself from falling, yet all he can do is laugh at her sudden panic. As if he would ever let her fall. His lips press a tender kiss to the warm curve of her neck on the short walk into the room, and that small action makes a world of a difference to her. Every insecurity or fear she had after their first time is assuaged by his honesty and the care he shows for her in everything he does tonight.

Although the door is locked and she knows that Obi-Wan and the others are meeting to discuss what occurred on their mission, he still feels the need to close the door to his room before setting her down on her feet before the end of his bed. All that's left to cover her is her utility belt and tunic, which is already torn at the shoulder leading down to her elbow from the fight that later caused the injury to her thigh.

She stands still and allows him to unfasten the belt from around her waist, although, the contact of his hands brushing her body makes it difficult for her to breathe as calmly and deeply as usual. Despite how familiar they already are with one another in terms of physical intimacy, her face flushes with heat at the idea of him seeing her fully undressed.

With her tunic then lifted from her body and tossed aside, she stands in front of him without anything left to shield herself from his intense gaze. His eyes look her up and down, then come back to settle on her face with an appreciation that causes her stomach to flutter with nerves. The air is cold against her nipples, which harden from both the exposure and the undivided attention being given to her.

He reaches across the space between them to brush his fingertips against her skin, but just when he's about to make contact, she stops him. She grabs his wrist and looks up at him through her lashes defiantly, then smirks at him.

"It's my turn."

He does her the courtesy of undoing the greaves guarding his shins and kicking off his shoes, but, after that, she begins with his utility belt.

It comes loose from his lean waist and is tossed aside onto the floor where he discarded hers in a matter of seconds, but, after that, every move she makes is deliberately slower than the last. She can sense how eager he is. The energy coming off of him practically rattles the room with its commanding presence, and it worsens with every second she draws this torment out. With the belt out of the way, it's easy for her to slip the tabard off of his shoulders. All of the layers would typically frustrate her when taking her clothes off to bathe herself, but it's different now. When undressing Anakin, the tedious nature of it makes everything feel more sensual to her.

Finally, once his overtunic and undertunic are pulled from his torso, she is met with the sight of him bare before her. Well, partly. The dying daylight illuminates him for her, allowing her to admire what she was not able to the first time.

The tips of her fingers graze his skin with a feathery-light touch as she drags them down from the base of his neck down to his abdomen. Beneath them, hard, taut muscle pushes back against the gentle pressure they exert. And she finds, as she allows herself to inspect him further as though he's a miraculous species wholly unknown to her, that she quite enjoys the way his stomach flinches inward in anticipation when she reaches the waistband of his loose-fitting pants.

As her right hand works at undoing his pants, the left reaches for the glove covering his cybernetic arm. Finger by finger, she tugs it away until she's able to slip it off of him and let it fall to the floor with the rest of his clothes. When she looks up from where the fake hand rests at his side, she finds him staring at her as though he's trying to analyze every thought that crosses her mind now that he's the one put in a position of vulnerability.

Y/N's hands brace against his shoulders now, and she stares right back at him without fear. The hand that just slipped his glove off of his arm creeps up his neck until it's cupping the side of his head. All the while, he's still watching her. Even as she runs her thumb along the length of the scar that cuts through his eyebrow down to the top of his right cheekbone.

Their lips are a hair's breadth apart now, so close that they can feel the heat of one another's exhales hitting their faces, and when Anakin dips his head down to kiss her again for the first time in what feels like (two minutes) an eternity, she's quick to jerk her head back enough to keep it from happening.

"I'm not done yet," she whispers, their lips brushing with every word. "You had your fun, now let me have mine."

His head shakes. Just once.

Anakin murmurs, "I need you," and there's a small part of him that knows how pathetic he must appear to her right now, clinging onto her by the curve of her waist and desperately trying to connect their mouths in a kiss, but he doesn't care. There's a rosy blush spread across his face extending to his ears, yes, but there's something about her that sets him at ease. He may feel shy about it, but it doesn't stop him from using his grip on her waist to press her body closer to his and say softly, "Please."

Oh, the things that hearing him beg does to her...

At this point, she can't help herself. There's nothing she can do to stop her from pouncing on him as she does the second she hears him utter that word, tossing her arms around his broad shoulders and jumping to wrap her legs around his hip. He intercepts her unexpected actions with a grace very few others could have, but, with their connection, he has a way of anticipating what she says and does before it happens.

He grabs hold of her thighs without thinking of the injury she sustained battling Dooku, then immediately murmurs an apology once he senses her pain and hears her wince into his mouth as he walks her back toward the bed.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he whispers, kissing her once, twice, three times. "Are you okay?"

Where her face is pressed up against his, he feels her nod and takes that as his cue to set her down atop the sheets that he left unmade and twisted upon waking in the early hours of the morning the day they left. The sun, the light that had illuminated his half-naked body to her a moment ago, is beginning to slip partway below the horizon and washes the sky gold in its absence. That fading light shines in through the windows and creates a hazy glow around her, and, for a second, he thinks she might be an angel.

Both of their hands frantically scramble to push his undone pants down, along with his undergarments, as he climbs onto the bed after her. They're kicked from where they fall around his ankles before he settles himself between her eagerly spread thighs. Neither of them can bear to wait any longer, so the second he gets within arm's reach of her, she grabs him by his biceps and tries to pull him up to meet her faster.

The soft palm of her hand grazes down the length of his chest once again, but, this time, there's nothing left to prevent her from touching him. Her forehead is pressed to his, her chin tilted down, and she watches her hand wrap around his thick cock to guide him to her entrance. She pumps her closed fist around him a few times with her thumb brushing over his leaking tip just for the sake of hearing his breath hitch in his throat from it.

There's no need to get it over with quickly seeing that Obi-Wan reporting to the council about their mission will likely take up to an hour, but, the thing is, they both know they don't have the patience to make it last. They're both too rash and antsy when it comes to one another after days of avoidance, and she thinks she may die if she doesn't have him right now. Everything with Anakin feels natural. It feels like this is where she's meant to be and exactly what they're meant to be doing together. She may not have known it until recently but there has always been that thread connecting them. From the beginning, it was there. It was only a matter of time before one of them tugged on it.

She can hardly string together a sentence once she feels the broad tip of him pushing into her, "Oh"—her nails dig into his arms hard enough to break the skin and continue to apply more pressure as he sinks into her—"Anakin..."

Her bottom lip is bitten between her teeth at the feeling of him buried inside of her, so deep that she can feel the bony prominence of his hip bones pressing into the soft flesh of her thighs. And she knows it's affecting him just as much from how his metal hand squeezed her hip hard enough to leave finger-shaped indents behind on her skin. Although she's ready for him to move, she can tell that he's waiting for himself to be ready. His eyes are fluttered shut, forehead pressed to hers, and she can tell he's trying not to let himself be overcome by how good it feels.

What he said to her days ago at the bar wasn't a lie, he has done this multiple times before, but it's never too often. It was only a means to an end, a way to satisfy the urge he felt guilt and shame for having in the first place. This is different than those other times for him. Seeing that it's her he's doing this with, he can hardly control himself and refrain from spending in her in the span of a moment much like he did the first time he had sex.

After a moment has passed and his breathing has turned deep and even, she whispers, nudging his nose with hers, "Look at me."

The second she says it, he obeys, and she didn't expect to find him being to her will to be so...alluring. As her master, he's the one who typically commands. She is the one who listens, who serves, who obeys, but, right now, everything is backward. Anakin looks down at her for guidance with the same hunger and desire as before but softened around the edges.

His hair is soft to the touch when her fingers play with it, and she uses her grip on his scalp to pull his lips down to hers.

"Fuck me," she murmurs into his mouth as they engage in a lazy kiss. Her hips press up into his in a silent urging for him to move that he listens to immediately with a tentative thrust.

His arms cage her in on either side of her head as he licks into her mouth with his tongue and starts to fuck into her at a relaxed pace. Still, even with how slow and tender it may be, she feels him so deep inside of her, she wonders if she could feel him there if she pressed her palm flat against the bottom of her stomach. The languid undulations of his hips guiding his cock in and out of her builds on the pleasure he had given her earlier.

Last time, it had been painful when he first entered her, but, this time, there was only a slight sense of pressure, if being overwhelmed, that gave way to the pleasant feeling she found toward the end of their first intimate encounter. Even when she found it somewhat uncomfortable at the beginning, she still wanted it for the sake of being close to him. Of being the one to make him feel good. And now that it feels good almost straight away, she is overwhelmed with how badly she wants him. Nothing is ever going to be enough for her, is it? Even as they're kissing and fucking and grabbing at one another in a frenzy of need, she still wants more of him.

One of her hands slides down the length of his body and grabs his hip to guide him into a faster pace with every thrust.

"Just like that," she says between panting breaths.

The words of praise cause his face to flush for what feels like the tenth time since they retreated to the privacy of his rooms, and it doesn't go unnoticed by her. Despite the fact that he holds power over her as her master, she senses his desire for her to take control and take care of him. To treat him with the reverence and praise he is so scarcely granted anywhere else in his life. So, she takes control. He may have the physical advantage with his considerable strength and position on top of her, but only a fool would think he's the one in power here. The second she told him to look at her, he willingly gave it up.

Her other hand, the one that isn't holding onto his hip, comes up to card through the long tufts of hair on the back of his head. She pulls it taut from his scalp to maneuver his face away, creating a short distance that allows them to stare into each other's eyes as they're both overcome with the sensation of it all. His brows pinch together a little at the feeling of her tight walls squeezing down around him on the upstroke of his thrusts as though she's trying to push him closer to the precipice he refuses to fall from without bringing her along with him. It doesn't feel like he's the experienced one here even though he's been doing this much longer than her. It almost makes him scoff. He should've known that she'd take to this quickly just as she does with everything else. His smart girl.

"Fuck," Anakin curses under his breath and truly starts to throw himself into it now. "You feel"—his sentence starts and stops before he can string it together, so he abandons it altogether in favor of spewing the first, most vulnerable thought that springs to mind—"Promise you'll never leave me."

If she's being honest, the unrestrained honesty in his request addles her brain far more than the sex itself. However, it doesn't scare her away as he fears it will. Maybe it's a little sick, but she likes how desperate he is for her. How could she not enjoy the simple truth that she is the only one who can bring the great Anakin Skywalker to his knees? It's a beautiful thing to see him in such a state of mindless bliss.

Her arms twine around his waist in a tight embrace to bring their bodies closer than they already are somehow, and when she opens her mouth to speak, she's interrupted by a moan that leaves her suddenly at the feeling of him hitting a sweet spot inside of her. When she pulled him down onto her until their bodies were flush, it adjusts the angle of his thrust and puts delightful pressure on her clit with his pubic bone. After taking a second to relish in the sensation, she looks up at him through heavy-lidded eyes and lifts her head up from the mattress to kiss him.

She murmurs into his open mouth, "I won't." The next thrust he makes into her is significantly harder than the rest have been in reaction. "I'll never leave you, Ani. I promise."

The sound he makes in response almost pushes her over the edge. It's somewhere caught between a moan and a whine, a thrilling noise that makes her tense around him once more and writhe beneath the weight of his body pinning her to the bed. A familiar tension stirs in the pit of her abdomen now. It crescendos into territory where the stimulation almost becomes unbearable, begging to explode as it did the last time in an earth-shattering climax that left her limp and incoherent in his arms.

Since he can sense how close she's getting, he doesn't change anything. He pulls back as much as he can without shifting the position and watches her in utter fascination. It's the little things that get him—how her nose scrunches a little when it starts to get to be too much, the way she looks up at him like she's in a daze, and how his name sounds coming from her pretty, kiss-swollen lips. They shine in the dim light from a mixture of their saliva, and he can't resist the urge to lean down to connect them with his again.

And this makes her smile. Everything about it makes her radiate joy, an emotion he can feel her projecting onto him without trying to shield it. Like him, she adores the little things—how his hair tickles her forehead the whole time, the sound of his moans, and how he never eases his grip on her as though he's afraid she'll disappear in the event that he lets go. On top of that, she likes how warm he is. She's come to realize over the past week that Anakin is the human embodiment of a furnace. Every time he pulls her near, she takes comfort in the heat that comes from his body, and, as of the current moment, she loves it.

His skin is hot to the touch where it meets hers, covered in a thin sheen of perspiration that greets her tongue with a salty taste when she dips her face into his neck to kiss him there. Her teeth nip at his skin and leave a faint mark behind that they both know will be hidden by his clothes later. With her nearing climax, she can't do much other than claw at his upper back and try to stifle the sounds she's making in case anyone is nearby.

Her lips stop moving against his neck, not because she'd ever want to stop kissing him, but because she can't function beyond the mindless bucking of their hips and the slack-jawed sounds she lets out. Her head thumps back onto the bed without a sound, back arching up against him, and her legs constrict around his hips to prevent him from going anywhere but closer.

As for Anakin, nothing could rile him up the way she does. Every stroke inside of her collapses any shred of sense and logic left in him, leaving behind just the primal urges that currently guide him.

Knowing how close she is, Y/N asks with her face pressed to his, leaning into the role he inadvertently pushed her into, "Are gonna be good for me?"

Even through the hazy state of mind he's in, he finds a way to nod when she asks him this. He's so far gone that he isn't sure he can form the words to verbally respond to her. All he knows is that she's here. She's here, and she's caring for him, and she promised she'd never leave. That's the sole thing occupying his mind as she offers him a sweet smile and plays with his hair the way she knows he likes.

"That's right," she says softly, then pauses for a second to stifle a moan. His frantic pursuit of their respective orgasms leaves them both trembling in each other's arms while she tries to maintain enough composure to speak to him through it. Every time he slams his hips down into hers, sheathing his cock in her sodden cunt and hitting that sweet spot without fail, she can almost feel the relief that's soon to find her. "I don't know what you would've done if you weren't my master"—his cybernetic hand grips her throat with enough pressure to use it as leverage but not to prevent her from speaking—"How long have you been waiting for me, Ani?"

Despite his previous assumption that he no longer had the ability to speak, he responds instantly between his panting breaths, "My whole life—"

His words are cut off by the downright pornographic display that is her orgasm. It comes on suddenly, without a warning for him to prepare himself, and he groans at how tight she becomes through the intense peaks that reduce her to a tensing, shaking mess beneath him. It is somehow twice as intense as the one given to her in that seedy bar he escorted her to last week. It wouldn't surprise her if she makes him bleed with how harshly her nails dig into his flesh, but that's far beneath her at this point. The pleasure wipes her mind clean of everything but him. In her head, she hears it like a prayer over and over and over again—Anakin, Anakin, Anakin.

Her master—who is now pounding into her and keeping her pinned to his mattress with his body weight throughout her climax. He fucks her through every second of it, prolonging the all-consuming pleasure far longer than it ever lasts when she touches herself.

Then, something new happens.

Just at the end of her climax as she begins to feel it recede as it always does, she thinks she feels another coming on. This has never happened to her before in her limited experience. Most of the time, touching herself is a quick affair before she fell asleep that felt good, but it wasn't anything like this. She can sense that it surprises him too when he feels her tight walls spasming around his cock for the second time in a row, and this is all it takes to push him over the edge.

Anakin clings to her as though she is the only thing tethering him to this planet, stilling inside of her with a low moan as she watches him come apart for her. She already thought he was beautiful before, but, fuck, he's utterly divine like this. He has always been above the others in her eyes, not only as a Jedi but as a person—a deity for her to worship and learn from as his Padawan. But, now that worship is intensified by what she sees, hears, and feels when he comes. The hand around her neck squeezes hard enough to keep her from taking in air.

Her head is tilted back against the mattress, her jaw slack, and her back arches up, pressing her bare breasts against the toned musculature of his chest that clenches throughout his orgasm. She can feel him throbbing inside her with every spurt of his release that floods and spills out of her at the base of his cock.

Even after half a moment passes, they both remain like this without moving despite how the sensitivity causes them to tremble. Her chest falls when his rises in a push and pull much like that of the tides as they pant for air. He keeps his face buried in her neck the entire time and doesn't retreat from the hiding spot until he feels her hand tracing up and down the length of his spine absentmindedly. It wakes him from the post-orgasmic haze and forces him to remember that, although they have some time to themselves, they have to meet with Obi-Wan shortly after he's finished reporting to the council.

Still, he doesn't pull out of her yet.

He asks instead, not wanting it to end, "Can we stay like this for a minute?" and sighs in relief when she mutters back a quick word of approval.

She keeps her arms wrapped around his chest to trap him in her embrace and continues to rub up and down his sweat-slick back in a soothing pattern. It almost causes his eyes to close and submit to the alluring gravitational pull of sleep that longs to drag him under. With the clarity of her thoughts returning, she can't ignore the worries that come to mind in regard to how they'll manage to hide this from the others.

Without her even having to voice these worries aloud, Anakin pulls his face from her neck and brushes her hair from her face with his flesh hand, looking down upon her with a tender gaze.

"It'll be okay," he says softly, and, for a second, she thinks she believes him. She thinks she'd believe anything he says for the next few moments. "They'll never know. Even if they end up suspecting it, there won't be a way to prove it."

She asks, face twisted with concern, "Are you sure?" and, suddenly, they're pushed back into their natural roles with her looking to him, someone she considers far wiser, for guidance and reassurance.

Though there's a slight smile, though the adoration for her remains present in his expression, there's a flicker of darkness in his gaze, and his arms tighten around her waist seemingly in response to it. As he had when they were writhing together in pleasure not long ago, he holds onto her as though someone or something will come along to take her from his possession the second he eases his hold on her. Those pretty blue eyes never once stray from hers.

Anakin keeps the side of her head cupped in one of his hands and says, "Nothing will ever take you from me."

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ta1kingn0nsense · 15 days ago

Text

Once they get to the lounge, Harry can admit two things: he barely knows who they’re meeting, and both he and Y/N are far too overdressed for the situation. At least, club vibes are a little more relaxed, aren’t they? But Y/N and Harry are coming straight after their 9-to-5 (that had been more like an 8-to-7 as of late), Y/N was in a sleeveless silk blouse, a petal pink with bottoms in the same color. She’d been wearing a cardigan all day, too, but the first moment they stepped into the hot car park, Y/N gasped and ripped it off to tie around her waist, “You’re trying to kill me, you really are.”

“Huh?” Harry frowned, “I don’t make the weather; how is this my fault?”

“I saw your bank statements to Helios. Do you think I’m dumb?”

Harry’s face twisted, “Who is Helios? Wait, and can you see my bank statements?”

Harry can't be normal about his PA & Y/N is softer than she lets on

part 1

(18.5k+ words)

ii.

“You’ve been jumpy today.”

When Harry had seen what his schedule was going to look like for the next couple of weeks, he knew it was going to be daunting. There are two peak seasons, both in winter and in summer; this past winter had been his first peak, and it had gone semi-horribly, even with all the effort and elbow grease Y/N put into keeping things straight. Harry was crashing and burning badly, frantic and frazzled, feeling the impostor syndrome wiggling deep in his bones and reminding him this job had been handed to him, not earned.

He remembered Y/N, even as stressed as she was, and even with as much as he seemed to annoy her, was kinder to him about it than she probably should have been. Her kindness had been shown in ordering him to take an hour-long lunch and threatening a shock collar on him if he tried to do any work during it because, “You’re useless when you haven’t eaten.” It’d also been shown in her delegating less important meetings to other floor and department heads, she thought could handle it. Then Harry mysteriously got a 2-hour-long massage gift certificate as a “promotion” opportunity that their company would somehow post about. Y/N went into a whole discussion on social media outreach and analytics, only for nothing to ever come of it.

Harry didn’t want to be a burden on her this time. To be fair, he felt much more comfortable in his position as the company head now, even with only six additional months under his belt. His work/life balance was still shot to hell, but he knew when it was necessary to carry stress and when it wasn't. He could work out if someone was trying to hustle them or if negotiations were actually good. Harry had an easier time answering emails, interacting socially, and at least putting on a face that didn’t expose that he felt like he had no idea what he was doing. “Fake it ‘till you make it” is a saying Harry had lived by all of his life, starting from when he lied his way into the neighborhood footie team by saying he’d been playing since he was 4 (he’d never kicked a ball in his life at that point). That’s when Harry learned that as long as you say things with enough conviction, people will eventually just believe you.

So he does a lot of that, and the more he does it, the more comfortable he is doing it. Which means hopefully he doesn’t have to rely on Y/N as much this time.

. . .at least, not in a way that she’s necessarily aware of.

Watching her live was something close to a religious experience; the way it eased the tension from his muscles and turned his brain all ooey-gooey was something he’d not experienced in a very long time. The constant humming, buzzing energy of every atom that makes him up had slowed to something slow-moving, gentle – the plodding waves of an ocean drawing the grains of sand back and forth. Harry had missed feeling this way – honestly, Harry doesn’t even know if he’d felt that way before. He’d felt something like it, but he was truly boneless, brain melting through his ears onto the pillow, crawling beneath it to hide until the sun came back out. He was peaceful, cozy, even covered in cum with his robe half undone.

And that was just from one live stream. A block of 15, maybe 20 minutes of her getting off, and it was better than any lay Harry had experienced up to that point. It was hard to wrap his head around it. . .so obviously, he had to make sure the next night. . .and the night after that. . .and the night after that. Harry would have loved to watch a plethora of videos, but he only permits himself one a night because – well, he doesn’t have a reason. He just feels like he needs to pace himself, or he’ll goon himself right into a coma or something.

Each night, though, after he cums watching her, an orgasm that rattles his brain into nothing and morphs him into a useless puddle on the mattress. He thinks his imprint is probably deeply embedded there. If he touches his prick anymore, he’s going to fucking chafe, and his palm is rubbed raw. He’s worried about showing people his hand, thinking that the skin would be noticeably pinker than the rest. Even on Monday, when he first had to look her in the eyes after cumming to the thought of her, she asked him to hold his hand out for something and tilted her head when he held out his left hand.

“Weird,” she remarked, sliding the stack of papers into her left hand, “You’re right-handed.”

Harry blinked at her, “Uh. . .yeah.”

Y/N blinked at him in return. “Yeah,” her brows furrowed, “Okay, anyway –”

The first few days he had to see her were a little easier because he was so busy that he barely saw her. From meeting to meeting, lunches, and daytime drinks. The fashion industry has so many moving parts, so there are always so many people to speak to. But on Wednesday, he sees Y/N the first thing in the morning – actually, he sees Y/N at his doorway, bright and early, 5 AM.

He startled, only half-dressed in his briefs and the 4-inch inseam shorts that Harry had in 10 different colors in because his friend Adam told him it was necessary. He had one sock on, pulled up over his ankle, and the other sock in his hand. Harry was confused, digging through his head, trying to remember if his sister had planned a trip that he forgot about and was showing up to stay, or if he was about to get robbed. But then he looked through the peephole and saw Y/N with a very unimpressed glare.

“What’s going on?” Harry said instantly as he opened the door, “Is everything okay? Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? No.” She answered immediately, pushing passed him to get into his flat, “I had to wake up at 4 AM to get fucking work out clothes on, so I can do a 2 mile run with you and this fucking Versace ambassador,” she slammed her purse down on his counter, frowning, “I hate running, I don’t like being up this early, and I want to go back to bed immediately. Worst of all, you definitely forgot that this was a thing, even though I put it in your calendar. I should’ve set reminders, but I figured you would be up this early to run anyway, you exercise-loving freak.”

Harry checked his phone, and sure enough, in the calendar, Y/N had input it.

Running With Versace /ᐠ •̀ ˕ •́ マ

The angry cat seemed to speak about how she felt, without the small monologue when she walked through the door.

“Oh, I definitely – I definitely remembered that,” Harry scratched the back of his neck, “Um, yeah! Just remind me where we were going for the run? And why?”

It was kind of like getting whiplash, seeing Y/N on the screen and in person. Last night, he’d watched 40 minutes of Y/N rutting her swollen clit against a Fleshlight, whining and pouting, begging to cum while Harry tried and failed to edge himself twice. That morning, she seemed like she was struggling (and failing) not to glare at him every time he opened his mouth. Fair enough – Harry could admit that his brain still hadn’t turned on yet all the way, and seeing the person who had been responsible (unknowingly) for his peaceful, sleep-filled nights wasn’t helping him reboot any quicker.

“You stupidly agreed to it when he was flirting with you,” Y/N replied, shaking her head, “Which I totally get; he’s a smokeshow, but so is his husband, and I don’t know how well you’d do in a throuple.”

Harry does vaguely remember smiling and nodding, staring into the stranger’s pretty eyes, and agreeing to go on a morning jog since they’d both bonded over a love for running. Still, he’s confused, “So, wait – why are you going?”

Y/N’s glare couldn’t have gotten more severe. “Why am I going? Oh, I don’t know,” she shrugged, “Maybe because my super sweet, stellar boss told Aki that I loved running too, that we go every morning, because what a coincidence his assistant runs with him too! And that’s so nice, because we all get to turn our work brains on and discuss the distribution of a summer collection in our stores without having to meet in a stuffy old conference room.” The more she said, the more Harry remembered, the more he cringed at himself. He was a sucker for a pretty face; he could admit that. He’d probably have agreed to skydive and discuss the distribution if Aki had asked. And, more than likely, he probably would’ve had Y/N come too.

The thing was – Harry doesn’t even mean to include Y/N all of the time. It just comes out whenever he’s agreeing to something, to also rope her into it. If she notices that he does this, then she never says anything about it outright, but she definitely complains about it in the moment.

“Ah, yeah, that’s starting to sound a bit familiar,” he pointed toward his room, “I’m g’na finish getting dressed.”

So, Harry had started out relatively normal this morning, even with the sudden change in plans. He was feeling satiated and calm, clear-headed, like he could talk the ambassador into speaking to Donatella and selling him half of the company or something crazy. And then he walks into his room, and sees his laptop on his bed, plugged into the charger with the lid open, and suddenly remembers that he fell asleep with Y/N’s video on it. Y/N, who, if she suddenly needed to use his computer for something, would have no problem about grabbing it, typing in his password, opening it up, and –

Harry slammed the lid closed and shoved it up under the pillow, his heart hammering against his chest. He immediately starts to scan the room, like maybe he forgot that he wrote “I WATCH YOUR STREAMS LIKE A FILTHY PERVERT” on the walls or something. Really, the only thing that could have indicated anything was his laptop but he put that away. And really, what were the chances that Y/N would want to use his computer that early in the morning?

“Harry,” he could hear the floorboards shifting, her voice getting closer, “Where’s your computer? I forgot to forward our numbers to the finance department.”

If it was possible to break out into a cold sweat in two seconds, Harry did so.

“Wh-what?”

Y/N is standing at his doorway, and it’s – it’s weird to see her close to his room like this. In his panic, he finally registered what she was wearing. The leggings that hug her thighs so tightly, he can almost vividly imagine them bare, so he can only imagine what it looks like when she turns around. She has a purple jacket on, but he’d already twisted it tight around her waist to reveal the t-shirt she wore beneath it. It was nothing spectacular, but he knew what lay beneath it, and that was enough to twist something deep in his belly. Her hair was pressed from her face, her eyes were bright despite how tired she was, and her lips looked as glossy as they did when she was whimpering about how good it felt to grind on something last night.

“Your computer,” she repeated, then her eyes moved around the room, and Harry saw where they were trained – at the head of his bed, where he’d just placed it. He thought for a moment she was using her freaky, psychic demon powers on him, but when he turned, he saw that his charging cord was still clearly on the bed, stretched and leading to where his laptop hid. “I just need it for a second.”

“No!” He answered maybe too quickly, then swallowed hard, because god, that was a little obvious that he was hiding something, “Not–um, not that one, it doesn’t work, I – my office,” he nodded, pointed to the left, “Down the hall! You can – go in there. My desktop is already logged in.”

Y/N peered at him curiously, because as always – she knew something was up, but she must be too tired to fight him on it. Like a small act of mercy, she nodded her head and pivoted on her heel, going deeper into his flat. Harry let out a tiny breath before he pushed his knuckles into his eyes and told himself to get it the fuck together.

So, yeah, after that, he was kind of on edge. Jumpier than normal, which is why Y/N comments on it as they drive to the trail Harry had agreed to run at.

“You’ve been jumpy today.” She told him, after they’d reached for the air conditioner dial in his car at the same time and Harry snatched his hands away Edward Cullen style, “What’s going on with you?”

“Huh? Nothing,” Harry tried to play it cool, “I’m always jumpy.”

He could feel her boring holes into the side of his head with her gaze. He hoped, once more, that the sun just wasn’t high enough in the sky for her to bother with bothering him. Like, hopefully, maybe, he was praying that she just let it go, how she let the laptop thing go this morning. That would be the ideal scenario, at least.

“If you were watching porn on it, I don’t care,” she replied suddenly, “Just say that’s your porn computer and tell me to use the other one next time, instead of being all weird.”

Harry’s blood runs ice cold, “What?” He all but squawks, his face flaming with heat instantly, “That’s not–no! That’s not it at all!”

“Hey, there’s no reason to be so shy,” she raised her hands, “Everyone watches porn. As long as it’s ethically sourced, I don’t see why it would be an issue. Self care includes masturbation and –”

“Stop!” Harry squeaks, definitely not sounding as assertive as he would like to. The comfort that she has to speak about Harry’s sex life is mind-boggling to him, because he’s certain that most people don’t discuss that with their bosses, but Y/N seemed to have no issue. And honestly? She was a huge part of his supposed sex life right now, so she really did kind of have the right to bring it up, but Harry was not about to do that with her right now.

“Jeez, you’re shy.” She lowers her seat, leaning it back a bit more. “Niall has gone in-depth with me about every possible position he’s been in, with demonstrations, and all the nasty little kinks he’s into. Nothing I could see on your laptop would surprise me.” She sighed, shaking her head, and Harry can almost guarantee that what is on his screen would surprise her, “I thought you went out this past weekend, though? With your friends?”

Harry’s mouth is permanently hung open. “So you did set that up?”

“Of course I did,” she replied without a hint of shame, “I got my ass handed to me because you were all flighty, so I was looking out for me.” The navigation system tells him to turn left into the parking lot, and Harry had never been so excited to arrive somewhere to work out before. “We can table this conversation for now. You need to de-blush yourself before we see Aki, or I’m g’na have to tell him you were watching porn this morning.”

“I was not watching porn this morning!”

“Oh, sorry,” she corrects, “Last night.”

Harry feels like he’s going to explode. Y/N gives him approximately 1 minute and 15 seconds to “de-blush” before they get out of the car (she set a timer), so he really has no time to settle himself before they’re walking up to Aki, who is alone. And Aki, ever the flirt, almost immediately makes Harry blush all over again when he sees his gaze lace over Harry’s body like a snake, slithering from his legs upward.

“So this is what you’ve been hiding under those suits,” he smiles, and Harry’s heart was already hammering because of Y/N, so this does little to help it slow, “Have you thought about modeling?”

All giddy, Harry scrunches his nose, “Ah, that – is very flattering, but I’d much prefer to stay away from the lens if I could help it.”

“That’s a shame then,” Aki winks at him before turning to greet Y/N, “Always a pleasure, Miss. Y/N. How are your cats?”

Before Harry can be confused about how Aki knows Y/N has a cat (and he wonders if he even knew that Y/N had a cat), Y/N – who has all but cussed him out this morning through her vicious gaze – sounds like she couldn’t be happier to be awake this early. Like going for a run was the best thing Harry could have signed her up for, “The pleasure is mine! They’re doing well. Greedy little things, though. They try to wake me up an hour before my alarm every morning to feed them.”

“Mine does the same,” Aki groans, shaking his head, and reaching up to pull his hair back to place a small bun. It looked like he’d just stepped off a shampoo commercial, and he could almost hear Y/N grumbling about how the world is so easy for pretty men. “You’ll have to forgive my running buddy. She was not in the mood to come out this early – practically told me to fuck off when I called to wake her up,” he chuckles warmly, and Harry thinks he feels Y/N go rigid beside him. Admitting that was probably the worst thing Aki could have done to Harry, he’s pretty sure, save for him slapping Y/N in the face and saying Harry told him to do it.

“Ahh,” Y/N clears her throat, and maybe to the untrained ear, she still sounds chipper, but Harry can sense the edge to her voice – the way it sours into something that sounds like I’m going to beat my boss' ass as soon as you turn around, “I hope I’m not intruding then. I can leave you both two it if –”

“Nonsense, nonsense,” Aki waved his hand, “Don’t worry about that! I’m looking forward to spending my morning with both of you.”

It had been her one out, but even Harry could have told her Aki wouldn’t send her away. Y/N just had that way about people, even ones who had only met or spoken to her a couple of times. It still drives Harry crazy how effortlessly this all comes to her, despite her clear distaste for most of the social settings they’re put in. Even now, she stretches and grins at Aki like she were an avid runner, and chats idly with him about the “runner’s high at the halfway point” that he could guarantee she had never experienced. Maybe she was the one who could convince Aki to sell them half of the company somehow.

The weather isn’t miserable for a run, actually. There was a threatening heat wave this week, but this early in the morning, the sun hadn’t begun to bake the earth just yet. Morning dew still moistened the grass in little droplets clinging to the blades, the air smelling the way it only could during the summer, at this exact time. It was not yet humid, what was left over of the nighttime breeze still whistled carefully between the trees, lingering long enough to cool the back of his neck when sweat started to build at the nape.

All things considered, Y/N keeps a pretty even pace with both Harry and Aki, though she’s quieter than typical. Y/N has never been much of a “speak when spoken to” individual, but right now she only replies when they say her name directly. When Harry looks over to check in on her, he can tell she’s focusing on her breathing, probably more than the conversation, and there’s a pissed off glare reserved just for him to see. Especially when she senses that he’s looking over at her, so she jabs her finger ahead like she’s scolding him to look forward.

They actually don’t speak about work at all, which is good, depending on how you look at it. For Harry, on one hand, it is nice because then he just gets to focus on his run and being bracketed by two people he heavily fantasizes about without them knowing. On the other hand, he knows the point of Y/N being on this run has diminished to completely moot, which means he’s going to definitely get his ass handed to him.

“Will you be attending Craig’s gala? It’s only two weeks away.” Aki inquires, and Harry feels Y/N tense beside him. He’s unsure what her deal is, but Y/N’s reaction instantly puts him on edge, so he treads carefully.

“Yes, we’ll be there,” Harry sounded more winded than he would like, but they were about to finish off, and this is always the point in time where he feels like his lungs are starting to work against him. For some reason, with Aki’s tone, Harry feels like he has to make an excuse for why he’s going, especially when Aki turns away from the trail to look at him, “He’s a long-time friend of my father’s. I imagine he’ll be attending too.”

Aki hums, low, gentle, “I see,” he nods, “I’ll be there as well then. I just wanted to make sure I was among. . .friends, y’know?” He gave another small nod, mostly to himself, “It’d look bad if I didn’t show, but I didn’t want to be made a mockery of either.”

Honestly, Harry has absolutely no idea what the hell he’s talking about. He’s sure Y/N would update him later, but for now, he thinks something along the lines of “What would Y/N do?” and he’s definitely sure she wouldn’t have asked Aki what he was talking about. He also doesn’t think she would speak too favorably to Craig either, considering the weird tension that stirred at his name being mentioned. So he’s good, he keeps his answer as vague as he can without sounding robotic.

“Yeah, of course. We’ll spend time together there, yeah? Y/N will be there too! Hopefully, we can sit at the same table.”

He thinks that’s good enough, and the sudden, soft breath Y/N lets out either suggests he did bad or he did good. It didn’t sound irritated, though, and when he spared a glance at Y/N, she wasn’t glaring at him more than usual. Actually, he receives a curt nod, which is as close to praise as he thinks he’ll get from Y/N today, so he’ll take it.

Aki sighs happily, “That’s a relief,” and then he loops his arm around Harry, squeezes him as they run, and then extends his hand further to pinch at Y/N’s shoulder, “Don’t tell anyone else, but you two or my favorite to work with by far. This industry gets so muddled and fucked with such shitty people. You two are the best little duo.”

In Harry’s head, he’d always interpreted people seeing them as boss and unwilling, annoyed assistant – but he supposes that wouldn’t make sense. Y/N comes off in a much different light than she shows him, so it makes sense that people see them differently. A little duo – a pair; if you saw Harry, chances are Y/N was close by, more by his own design than hers. They weren’t “dumb boss who marathon masturbates to his begrudging assistant’s secret streaming account”, but “the CEO of a fashion company and an astute, clever personal assistant that keeps him on track”. The ladder definitely sounded more professional and had a much better ring to it.

The rest of the run goes by well. Aki wanted to go for breakfast, but one look at his watch and he realized that both of them needed to head home and get ready for the day. Once they crawled back into Harry’s car, the doors closed, and out of earshot, Y/N twisted in the seat to face him, “For once, you didn’t make a socially inept offense. I’d like to tell you I’m proud.”

Harry’s insides fizzle from the praise, despite it being kind of a backward compliment. Still, any amount of approval from Y/N is few and far between, so he has to take it while he can.

“Thank you,” he murmurs gratefully, “But what exactly was that about?”

“Craig’s wife, may or may not have cheated on someone who shares a striking resemblance to Aki, and Craig got pissy drunk, kind of blew up at him at a dinner, accused him of ruining his marriage, all that,” Y/N waved her hand like it was old news, but Harry’s mouth fell open, “Craig either forgot Aki was happily married or what, I don’t know all the details. What I do know is that they’ve since “made up,” but it was more for appearances in the rich people's social circle than actually putting it in the past. It’s best not to get in the middle, so just keep sitting there and being pretty, minding your business.”

His insides go from fizzling to full-on boiling bubbles, proliferating and popping through his veins.

“You think I’m pretty?”

Y/N looks at him, rolls her eyes, then clicks her tongue.

“Don’t fish for compliments, it’s unbecoming.”

. . .

Y/N was in a bad mood.

Harry thinks that it’s probably a well-deserved bad mood. Tuesday morning, they had woken up early for the run with Aki. Then, Tuesday night, she had stayed over late with Harry, attending a meeting that lasted far too long over drinks. On Wednesday, they were slammed with quarterly reports, which technically should have been Harry’s job, but with the negotiations for autumn collections being released in his stores, Y/N had to take the brunt of it. Her fingers must ache from all the typing she’s had to do, because he passes by her desk midday, and Niall is massaging her knuckles while she pouts. Thursday, there were quarterly evaluations, again, something that should be Harry’s job, mostly, but he’s been so busy he hasn’t been able to check in with most of his employees besides a passing ‘good morning’ and ‘have a good night’. So once again, Y/N had to take over. Then Friday is another late meeting, but Harry barely knows how much it can be classified as a meeting when it’s at a club lounge. This one Harry offered to go alone, so Y/N could at least have her Friday, but she rolled her eyes and said she’d be there.

She didn’t have to tell him she was in a bad mood for him to notice. With how busy both of them had been this week, despite seeing each other, Harry could sense it from miles away. Each update in his calendar, the cat emoticons get progressively angrier as the days go by, ranging from /ᐠ - ˕ -マ to /ᐠ •̀ ˕ •́ マ. Her insults toward him lack the typical bite they have, but Harry can only deduce that’s because she’s actually pissed. An Y/N that’s insulting him is a Y/N that’s having fun; Harry had long since come to terms with that. But the version of Y/N he’d been privy to all week was having the opposite of fun – she was miserable and sleepy, and forgetting to hydrate, much less reminding him.

And what better way to end a hard, dehydrated work week than piling on cocktails around important businessmen? Y/N could come up with several different ways; she’d actually made a list on a post-it and placed it on Harry’s desk.

Things I’d rather be doing:

Sleeping

Lying down in oncoming traffic

Changing a cat cafe’s litterboxes with my bare hands

Having a nice meal at home

Drinking wine and painting

Make friends with an eldritch monster hiding under my bed

Watch the shows I’ve had to ignore this past week

It’s like she couldn’t decide on real or fake answers, but the list was entertaining, to say the least. When Harry sees her a little bit after lunch (his consisted of a banana, and Y/N, at her desk, was eating a bag of Chex Mix and mini muffins, so both of them weren’t having the most fulfilling meals), he checks in with her, “Did you get any sleep last night?” Harry asks and is almost instantly answered when she turns to look at him, her face pulled into a frown.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” She ordered, “I’m forwarding all of the evaluations. I need you to sign every single one because I’m not going to jail for unlawfully forging a signature.”

“Huh?” Harry frowned, “I don’t make the weather; how is this my fault?”

“I saw your bank statements to Helios. Do you think I’m dumb?”

Harry’s face twisted, “Who is Helios? Wait, and can you see my bank statements?”

Harry was still in his suit for the most part, though he’d taken off the jacket and left it in the car. He’s pretty sure that if he lifted his arms up, there would be pit stains, because it was humid and hot outside, even from the walk from the valet to the inside. Plus, Harry was just left with the horrid thought that Y/N could see his bank statements, and that made him want to lock himself in a sauna and melt. If she could see his bank statements, then she definitely saw her camming site all over the fucking place. From breaking behind paywalls to the one livestream he’d attended and spent way too much money on.

They were sitting, waiting patiently, somehow fashionably early despite the meeting time being at 7 PM. Y/N goes through the email three separate times to make sure they weren’t reading the date or time wrong, and on the third check, she locks her phone with a grunt. “Fucking rich, dumb CEOs not giving a fuck about people’s time,” she leans back into the couch they were sitting on, the rented out area, “I’m gonna put you all on a deserted island without a boat.”

“Can’t I be left out?” He pouted, “I’m also suffering with you.”

“I’m suffering because of you.” She muttered spitefully.

Harry leans forward, grabbing one of the four cocktails that had been sitting on the table, but hands it to Y/N instead, “Here,” he suggested, “I’ll make sure we don’t stay here too long, yeah? An hour tops, then I’ll say I have to pick up my dog at the groomer.”

“Yeah, for a timely 8 PM pick up,” Y/N grumbled.

“Then I’ll get a migraine or something,” he promised, “Leave it to me. Just get tipsy or something so the time goes by quicker.”

Y/N eyes him for a moment, seeming distrusting, “What’s with you?” She asks, “You’re being suspiciously agreeable today.”

She isn’t wrong. In the past, when Y/N’s in a particularly harsher, grumpier mood than usual, Harry tries to steer clear of her in any way he can. And if he can’t, then he relegates himself to abject silence to avoid saying something to put her in a foul mood. Even if it were just the two of them in a room, he’d avoid eye contact with her, tense at her side, worried that his next breath might make her implode.

Guilt is what keeps him from doing that today. While Harry is the reason for Y/N’s stress, Y/N is the reason Harry is handling this busy week relatively well, in ways that she isn’t even aware of. Every night he goes home, he picks one of her videos to watch, he cums so hard that his vision whites out, then he has a nice hot shower, crawls into bed, and falls asleep in less than 5 minutes. He feels well rested when he wakes up, even though he’s been sleeping in late enough to miss some of his exercise time, it doesn’t even send him spiraling like it might in the past. He ambles about his kitchen, makes himself breakfast, and hums quietly until it’s time to leave. Hell, he’s even singing to the radio on the way in and the way home! He overheard Y/N tell Niall that if she isn’t listening to something that’s mostly guitars squealing and drums being hit, then she’s driving home in silence. Silence –and that’s never been something okay with her.

So, yeah, he’s trying to be accommodating to her shitty mood since he plays a huge part in it. If he were better at his job – more suited and proficient at the role – then Y/N wouldn’t have to pick up so much slack. She helps him here, she helps him at home; Y/N helps, but there is nobody to help her, with all of it, besides Niall and his finger massages. And Harry’s offer for her to get at least a buzz on company time and to speed this along.

“Can’t I just take care of my employee?” Harry decided to answer a question with a question, one of Y/N’s least favorite tactics, but before she can grill him further, their evening guests arrive. From Y/N’s irritated debrief in the car, it’s the two owners of boutiques Harry’s father helped build five years ago, hoping to merge facilities into a larger shop. Harry didn’t know much about the boutiques, but how Y/N described them, it was ritzy for people who didn’t want to spend a thousand quid on a white shirt, but wouldn’t be caught in anything less than 80. They’d been trying to meet up with Harry for months now, but all of their schedules finally aligned.

Y/N had a feeling that they wanted to discuss Harry helping them rebrand and rebuild, because somehow she knew they were in contact with a well-known contractor, whose prices are never pretty. Like many things, Y/N was absolutely right – after some light small talk, getting comfortable with each other, Vada and Juniper wanted to discuss if Harry wanted a part in the finances of the build, plus a spot to soft launch one of his company’s newer, working brands. Expensive jewelry, high-dollar watches – things that Harry didn’t think necessarily needed a store rented out to sell when they weren’t sure how well they would do anyway. For now, it’d just been an online storefront, but their bartering chip to place it in their boutique was pretty good. Even Y/N seemed impressed by their pitch, and she’s notoriously harder to sell things to, despite the final call not being her own (she aligns with what Harry thinks relatively often).

“Ah, I don’t see why not?” Harry shrugs, then looks at Y/N, who has finished the rest of her second cocktail, now playing with the toothpick and a slice of strawberry between her teeth. She nods along, but he doesn’t know much she’s actually listening once her part in the conversation is finished, “Let me work out the semantics of it, and I’ll get back to you by the middle of next week. Does that sound okay? It seems like a symbiotic relationship.”

For as confident as they came off in their suggestion, they both looked ten times more relieved by his reply. Harry thinks his father was infamous for being a hard sell. He’d never be trying to make you feel stupid for it, Harry knew that much, but there was a level of condescension that comes with being the head of a company for so many years. He’s sure that when they first asked for help five years ago, his father probably really had them chasing their tails to explain how it would profit them. It would explain their near thesis-statement-like proposal.

True to his word, Harry gets them out of there pretty quickly. He forgoes both excuses from before and instead says he’s relieving his dog sitter so she can get home to her children. Harry doesn’t have a dog, nor a dog sitter with children, but they didn’t seem suspicious at all. They bid their goodbyes, Harry and Y/N excuse themselves first, and they make their way out of the lounge at 8:02. But Harry doesn’t realize just how pleasant of a buzz Y/N put on until she lets a gust of air from her lungs, nudging his body with hers playfully.

“I’m glad you agreed,” she told him, and it’s then too that he realizes she’s got a slight stumble in her step, “Being a woman having to ask a man for help already feels degrading when it shouldn’t, and some people are such dickheads about being in a position of power over people who need them. Apparently, your dad was a huge dickhead to them last time, is what I heard – no offense.”

Harry snorted, “None taken,” he replied, reaching out to steady her when they got close to a curb, “Aish, maybe the second drink was pretty strong?”

“Oh, definitely too strong,” she agreed, reaching up to pop the top button of her top while they waited for the valet. It does very little to uncover much skin, but it’s still more than she’d been showing before, and Harry is just a man at the end of the day. Her throat looks pretty, he feels kind of like a vampire staring at it, and there’s a necklace around her throat that lies delicately between her collarbones. It twinkles in the light – he wonders if someone bought it for her.“You’re g’na have to drive me home, I’m not taking a subway like this.”

“Of course.”

“And you’re stopping me to pick up food too, since you tried to starve me today.” Harry laughed again, nodding, “And it’s your treat.”

“Is that so?” He’s amused, “You’re quite the bossy drunk, aren’t you?”

This is a version of Y/N he hasn’t gotten to see. Harry has witnessed Y/N in work mode, both at the company building and outside of it. Then he’s seen her in work mode with several layers of fabric missing, doing filthy things with an even filthier tongue. He’s seen her grumpy, he’s seen her mildly displeased, he’s seen her smile genuinely, he thinks like a handful of times. . .but he has never seen her this relaxed and unfiltered. And he would say that she’s pretty unfiltered as a person already.

The valet pulls Harry’s car around, then walks to the passenger side to open up the door for Y/N. It’s a young guy, in his early 20s, Harry would guess, and he’s giving her heart eyes while he waits for her to get in the car. Y/N switches the arm that her cardigan is stretched across. “Thank you,” she nods in his direction. “Very chivalrous, Harry, give him a good tip.”

Harry huffed a breath through his nose and thumbed a couple of notes from his wallet, rolling them up and sliding them into the boy’s hand. He holds back a laugh when Y/N reaches out to grab the handle and yanks the door shut, almost (unintentionally) dragging the valet’s hand with it and slamming it in the door. He pulls his fingers back just in time to avoid it, but the gasp he lets out almost echoes in the garage. “Sorry about her,” Harry patted his shoulder, “She’s a bit tipsy.”

“No problem, thank you, Sir,” he nods his head, “Have a good time with your wife.”

Wife? Oh my god. . .were they giving that impression? Neither of them is even wearing rings on their left hand!

When he gets in the car, he chews around the thought of telling Y/N, but he decides to hold his tongue. Knowing her, she’d probably make a disgusted noise and say something that would hurt his feelings, so he’d rather just pocket it as a silly comment that he’ll inevitably think about until 1 in the morning when finding sleep is difficult.

Y/N is already messing with the radio, connecting her Bluetooth without asking. Not that she would ask if she wasn’t drunk, she usually just lets him play whatever is on the radio or whatever playlist is on his phone. Not that she’d ever let him get away with a song that she thought was shitty; a grunt here or a long drawn sigh there that suggested he should switch to the next while she was still considering being kind about it. One time, she said something along the lines of, “You like a lot of music that seems like generic Love Island songs,” and Harry spent an entire 48-hour period reconsidering his music taste.

She puts on something whose album cover is neon green and a beat that startles Harry before she adjusts it to a lower murmur, “Wow, we should probably go clubbing like a real club one day. Ni and I go to this one down in the city, and like – yeah, the floors are pretty sticky but the vibes are immaculate.”

Harry’s brows furrow as he spins the wheel left, pulling them out of the parking garage, “Was that not considered a real club?” He chances a look at her, to see her staring at him with a horror-stricken face, “No?”

“Of course not. You can tell you grew up rich,” she jammed her thumb back toward the building that was slowly getting smaller in the rearview, the bracelets on her wrists making a twinkling sound when they knock together, “That’s like a smarmy, pompous, look at my red bottom heels kind of thing. You can’t even really relax and get fucked up ‘cos someone’s sticking their nose up at you, and there’s a CEO being creepy in the corner – no offense.” Y/N presses the button for the air conditioner, kicking it on harder, “I mean like, neon lights, so dark that everyone looks like a ‘New York 10’, the drinks are sugary sweet, and someone’s humping in the bathroom stall next to you while you pee. Oh! And like – any song from BRAT playing top volume.”

This is the most entertaining he thinks Y/N has ever been (save for what he’s been seeing on her videos), at least with Harry in her presence. Usually,1` she’s so annoyed with every breath he takes that there’s no time for any conversations outside of work. Except that one time she spoke to him about how he shouldn’t be embarrassed about watching porn, but that was less entertaining to him and more like seeing a hungry colossal squid slowly making its way toward him while he’s in a rinky-dink wooden boat.

“What is a brat?” Harry inquired, and Y/N groaned, “What?”

“You act like an old man, y’know,” Y/N clicks her tongue, “Where have you been this whole summer? It’s the second BRAT summer, mind you, and we’re already a month in; you should’ve been paying attention.”

“I really have no idea what you’re saying to me right now.”

She moves her seat so she’s leaning back, “I want Mexican food,” she tells him, “No, actually – I want ramen.”

“Oh, okay,” he murmurs, “Where do you want to go for it? Is there a place around here?”

“On Brickmount, yeah,” Y/N starts to type an address into her phone, and the navigator talks loudly over the speakers, “Let me read the menu to you so you don’t waste time looking.”

They’re an 8-minute drive from the restaurant, and Y/N combs through every aspect of the menu and all the different combinations that he could choose from. From how she’s describing it, he doesn’t think it’s a sit-down restaurant, so he’s unsure why he would have to make a decision right now, but he lets her read it off to him anyway. This is typical of their dynamic, Y/N instructing Harry on things, so he’s used to following her train of thought, even if it was a slightly drunk version of it.

Street parking is a hassle (“Not everywhere has valet, you princess.”), but Harry does find a spot just a couple of meters away from the store. It looks nice from the outside, a bowl with a face blushing is what indicates that this is the store, but Harry sees no actual name sign. The windows are frosted glass, so he can’t see much beyond the warm glow of lighting that warms the inside. This part of the city isn’t as bustling right now as he thinks it usually is, but there’s still a good number of people ambling about.

Y/N barely waits for him to put the car in park before she unbuckles and opens the car door, which musters a squawk from his throat that she pointedly ignores. The way Harry scrambles out of the car would be funny if he weren’t the one scrambling, but he fumbles while he grabs for his wallet and his keys, tripping over his feet when he rushes up the sidewalk to get to catch up with her. She’s already at the door, holding it open for him, but loudly greeting someone from behind the counter.

“Yeah, can I have my usual bowl?” She grins at the guy behind the counter, a tall, slim man who looks like he didn’t sleep much the night before. His hair is dark and buzzed short, and he has a silver ball at the tail of his eyebrow and a second piercing around his bottom lip in the right corner. He’s like. . lowkey ethereal, and the smile he’s giving Y/N is boyish and sweet, “And he’ll have. . .hey, what are you getting?”

Harry’s gaze darts over the menu, choosing the first thing he sees, “Uh, the spicy pork ramen seems good,” he decides.

“And he wants an extra egg.” The guy asks, and there are literally stars in his eyes when he looks at her. Have this many people been interested in Y/N, and he just hasn’t noticed it? The last time he made note of someone flirting openly with her was with Xia in HR during the end-of-year party last December. Twice in a night was kind of crazy, but he guesses she does look good tonight. He doesn’t know if she’s done something different with her makeup, or if her hair is just particularly shiny, or if it’s just nice to see her shoulders, bare arms, collarbone, and neck – she looks good. She deserves to be flirted with, probably, if anyone wanted to outright tell her she was beautiful. And Harry would just ignore the heavy weight sitting in the center of his chest.

“Does he want the extra egg, or are you just going to take it?” He looked down toward the screen, using the tip of his index finger to input Harry’s order, “The last guy you brought here told me you took his extra egg.”

Harry’s chest twists – what other guy?

“Niall is a liar, you can’t believe a word he says.” Y/N replied.

Oh. Okay, it was just Niall. Why did that matter? Certainly, Harry didn’t really care, is all. . .he was just curious. Y/N complains often that she barely has time to wipe her ass with how busy Harry keeps her, so he had always assumed she wasn’t dating or seeing anyone. But he guesses that could be wrong. It’s not like Y/N would tell him anyway – she could have been with someone for 4 years at this point and Harry wouldn’t know. Hell, she and Niall could be dating and he’d be none the wiser. Did her potential, maybe partner know about her streaming? She never mentioned one on there, but she guesses that would ruin the illusion.

“Theoretically, if that extra egg was for me, though, would you forfeit the upcharge?”

“Theoretically, that’d triple the upcharge.”

“Ah, then yes, it’s for me, not him, go ahead and run his card through.” With a laugh, he sets his eyes back on Harry and swallows a little nervously while he waits for Harry to dig out his wallet. He slides one of his platinum cards over the counter.

As he takes it, he clears his throat, then swallows again. His adam’s apple bobs with it, “So I take it you’re the boss she’s always talking about?”

“Oh! Oh, um, – yeah,” Harry is caught off guard by the sudden mention. Y/N talks about him? God, what the hell is she saying? Oh, my creepy boss watches my videos, and I see him breaking through the paywalls all of the time, but he thinks I don’t know, fucking loser. And how did he know what Harry looked like? Was she showing pictures? “She’s complaining about me, isn’t she?”

The guy smiles gently, “Ahh, when isn’t she complaining?”

“Fair enough.”

“Hey, stop talking about me like I’m not here,” she grumbles, fixing her purse around her shoulder and pivoting on her heel. The click of her Aquazzarra dupes (he knew that of her own admittance, that because he took a guess) echoes in the small restaurant. The ankle strap looks like a delicate bow tied around the back of it – Harry thinks he could wrap his whole hand around her ankle, probably. The thought twists something heavy and hot in his lower belly, but he chooses – for his self-preservation – to ignore it.

Y/N chooses a booth halfway down the left wall. She plops on the plum colored upholstery, scooting her bum across until she’s sat in the middle. They were the only ones in here right now, and the table was almost sparkling, like all they’ve had to do for the last couple of hours is clean. She must notice him looking around because she mentions, “It gets really busy around 10-11 PM, when people start heading home after drinking.”

Harry hums, resting his elbow on the table, and then his chin on his knuckles, “So you come here with Niall?”

“Niall begs to come with me, but usually I send him home. This is my come-down after drinking time.”

With curled brows, he readjusts his hips on the seat, “So you go home alone from here? That doesn’t seem safe.”

“I’ll make sure to start calling you to come get me.” Y/N slips her phone from her purse – a little lilac thing she got from the COACH outlet, and Harry only knows because he overheard her gushing about the prices versus their comparable pricing.

Harry wouldn’t mind if she did. Call him, that is, to come and get her. He’d rather have her wake him up in the middle of the night than trek home in the city in any sort of state of inebriation. Even though the crime rate isn’t high compared to other cities around the world, it’s still dangerous.

“You are welcome to call a car on the company card,” he suggests, while her fingers slide around the keyboard of her phone, typing something, “The service we use runs until 2 AM on weekend nights.”

Y/N looks up from her phone, narrowing her eyes at him for a second, then looks back down to her phone, “I’ll just call you instead.” She’s trying to brush him off.

“That’s fine too,” Harry replies coolly.

When she clicks her phone shut, a second later, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Did she just text him? Or was he CC’d in an email? “I have to piss,” she announces, slipping her phone back into her purse and letting it slide off her shoulder, “Don’t steal my things.”

While she made her way to the bathroom, Harry took his phone from his pocket. His heart drops down to his stomach.

Like, maybe a week ago, Harry had missed two of Y/N’s livestreams. He was sifting his way through all of her old, posted videos, but there was a headrush he got when he watched her live that one time, that he hasn’t been able to replicate. So he’d downloaded the streaming app, and put on her notifications just to make sure he didn’t miss it the next time. He guesses it sends messages when she just sends a regular post.

I’ll be streaming soooon! ≽^•⩊•^≼ ₊˚⊹♡ Wait up for me!

Another hot pull of arousal tugs at his gut. She’s going to stream when she gets home? After spending all this evening with Harry, she’s going to go upstairs to her flat, turn on her camera, split her thighs – Harry has some questions. Like, does she have a set streaming schedule, and it just so happened that they had this planned on the night of one of her usual streams? Or was she horny right now and knew that she could get money for getting off? Was she going to keep wearing this outfit, split the buttons down the middle, and reveal whatever pretty bra she had on underneath? Or would she get out of her clothes, get washed up, come on cam with skin all supple, soft, and warm from the bath? Harry doesn’t know which would be better. Both stir an itch that he wants to dig his nails into, scratch until it’s satiated, scratch until it hurts a little, scratch until it starts to feel good again.

“Here you go,” Harry jumps, his phone nearly slipping from his hands and clattering on the table when the guy from behind the counter delivers their food. He places Harry’s steaming bowl in front of him first, then sets Y/N’s where she’ll sit across from him. In Harry’s ramen, he sees two eggs: “I gave you an extra egg just in case you really did want it. I already put a 3rd one in hers, the egg-loving weirdo.” Then, he goes back to the cooler behind the counter and pops open the drawer, grabbing two cans and returning to place them in front of him. “If you aren’t careful, she’ll try and snatch this too.”

“Thank you,” Harry smiles gratefully up at him, taking one of the cans, “You know a lot about her, huh? She comes here often?”

The guy smiles – he doesn’t have a name tag on, but Harry would feel kind of weird to ask for it. Like he was being a possessive creep or something, wondering what his name was. Does that make sense? He isn’t sure. “Yeah. She came in here drunk last summer, and it’s been hard to get rid of her since,” he jokes. “Is she like this at work? I’ve always wondered.”

Harry shrugs, “A little bit. Usually, she is scolding me for forgetting something a bit more.”

“Ahh, that’s our Y/N, isn’t it?”

Our? As in like. . .Harry and the employee? Or as in the employee and the rest of the people running the establishment? Or like, they’re friends. Is she friends with this guy? Outside of just eating here? Harry needs to know desperately.

Before he could do any further prying, Y/N comes back out. There’s a pleased sound that leaves her throat when she realizes the food is here. Even more overjoyed when she sees the drink he’d placed in front of her, “Oh! God, you love me so bad,” she scooted back into the booth.

Eating with Y/N like this is different than how they’ve eaten together before. One, Y/N was still a little tipsy and far more relaxed than she usually is when they were eating together. Typically, the meal is forced, whether it’s a mandatory group event of some kind that requires his attendance and he makes her join, if they’re trying to foster employee bonding, or if they were eating snacks at their desks that are within eyesight of each other. This is much more relaxed; Y/N isn’t shoveling food down her throat to finish it to get to the next task, nor is she trying to eat prim and proper while they discuss marketing. She eats, she rambles, she catches Harry up on celebrity drama and controversies (like JoJo Siwa, whoever that is – he needs to get Y/N in contact with Kai, they’d probably have a great time together).

This version of Y/N is scarily similar to the version that is on her streams. Someone unwound, speaking with her friends – he even makes her laugh once, because he doesn’t know who Sabrina Carpenter was (he finds out quickly, with photo proof that she exists, a snippet of her song, both from Y/N singing and a YouTube video). Her eyes are soft, big, and her voice is so much different when she isn’t stony with him. This is a version of Y/N he’d like to see more often. One that he could only hope he’d earn the privilege to.

But there isn’t really a way to do that, is there? Harry is her boss, Y/N treats him as such. They weren’t friends. Not how Y/N is with Niall, or how she is with the guy who works here. Not even how she is with the people who are watching her streams, whether that’s put on for money or not. All Harry is to Y/N is her incompetent boss, who she has to be a rotten brat to because he pisses her off (which is different than a brat girl summer, mind you – Harry’s learning).

“Hey,” he feels a foot tap against his shin from across the table, “Why do you look so depressed all of a sudden?”

“Hm?” Harry flickers his gaze up to her, “I’m not,” he assures her, “Just tired.”

Y/N stares at him, then clicks her foot against his calf again, “I told you, you need to be sleeping more.” She reaches for her phone again, “I’ll have some of this lavender, chamomile tea ordered to your flat. It tastes like plants, but it puts me right to bed.” She jabs a thumb in the direction of the counter, “Puts him to bed too, and he has insomnia pretty bad.”

Harry leans over, “Oh? How much is it?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

His brows furrow, “But –”

“Listen, I’m on your payroll, technically you’re already paying for this,” she waves him away, then swats his calf with the side of her foot again, “Express shipping will have it here by tomorrow night. You can give me a raise as thanks.”

They don’t stay for much longer after that. Harry drives Y/N to her flat, feeling a weird mix between warm and sad, and she’s blissfully unaware. Or at least she acts like she is, cranking the same neon green album (what he learns now is BRAT – he’d gotten a full lesson on what a ‘Brat’ summer entails and how he hasn’t been living one), and fiddling with the settings of his air conditioner. Her hair is in a low bun, but the front pieces are messy around her face. This is the most relaxed he thinks he’s ever seen her with him.

The drive to her building isn’t too horrible, and Harry almost finds himself wishing that it were a little longer. Now that he really thinks about it, it’s probably for the best that Y/N isn’t always like this around him. She’s done it for a total of maybe 2 and a half hours, and he’s already wanting to know who every person in her life is and what they know about her. Was this a side effect of the whole fucking himself to her or what? Maybe she has pheromones oozing from her pores.

Y/N gathered her things and twisted to look at him, “Thank you for driving me home and also for the meal,” she reached behind her to pop the door open, “I think you should’ve gotten out and opened my door for me too, but I guess chivalry isn’t a thing anymore.”

Harry’s eyes widened, “Oh, let me –” he started to unbuckle, but Y/N cackles and pushes the door open with her foot.

“You better rest up this weekend,” she ordered him, “We have a busy week ahead.”

“You too,” he waved when she turned back to look at him, now outside of the door, “Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

Harry watches her up until the point she walks into glass doors, and he sees her disappear into the lobby. With a soft sigh, he puts the car in drive and starts to make his way home. It would do him some good to go home and get some rest. He could have a nice, long, hot shower and finally put on those silk pajamas his sister sent him from her trip to Greece. He dabbles with the idea of shaving his legs so he could feel how smooth it’d be against it per his sister’s recommendation, but he also doesn’t know if he wants to waste any time doing that. At this point, he’ll already be struggling to convince his future self to wash his face before bed.

When Harry’s pulling up to a stoplight, his phone buzzes with another notification. It’s from Y/N.

Or better yet, it’s from Y/N on her site again.

Like he’d been Pavlov’d into the response, his cock threatens a small twitch in his briefs. From where he has his phone propped onto a vent holder, he leans forward and swipes the notification, and is greeted with a photo that she must have just taken. It’s her neck down, the buttons of the top she’d been wearing are undone to about midchest. He can see the periwinkle scallops of her bra, the white bow that sits between the two cups, the soft swell of her breast. The twinkle of her necklace draws his eyes to her throat, and it makes him feel like a vampire, how badly he wants to sink his teeth into her.

For the most part, Y/N had such a stark difference in her behavior toward him and from what he’s seen on the site, that it hadn’t been as hard to differentiate the two. To keep his brain in locked segments so that he could act right around her, without giving off any indication that he’d edged himself for two hours with her on an uploaded stream in his time off.

But for this – to see her in the outfit that he had just been with her in – oh, it’s a lot to process.

Isn’t my necklace pretty? I’ll be on in 10 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

The honk from a car behind him is what lets him know the light had switched from red to green. Harry flinched hard, sheepishly waved in his rearview, and pressed on the gas. There was some urgency to get home now that he’d been reminded that there would be a little more to his night than just showering and heading to bed. He’d been so caught up with the idea of her streaming before, only for it to get smushed by him being bummed they weren’t friends. God, wasn’t he pathetic? Who even wants to be friends with their personal assistant that badly? Except maybe Aki, who has a very good relationship with his PA, but – but that’s besides the point.

Harry gets home in record time. He forgoes the elevator when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket, another notification, and he realizes that this one must be her already on live. He takes the stairs two at a time, acknowledging that this was a little pitiful, but his cock urged him not to care. To not think about anything or with anything, other than getting off, and how nice that’ll feel before he hops into the shower and goes to bed.

He barely closes the door before he pulls his phone from his pocket and clicks on the red ₊˚⊹♡ ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ streaming now!

The screen takes a moment to buffer, but once it does, he can see Y/N. She’s not in her usual spot where she likes to stream and take videos. It looks like she’s in the same room, at least by the purple and pink coloring, but the background is different. She was in a pillow-filled area, though, like a little nook in the wall where she placed a ton of cushions to make it cozy. Maybe Harry has seen it in a video before? But he doesn’t know – he’s usually staring at her, not assessing the background.

Surrounded by the pillows, she’s in the center, her bum on the floor. The quality is a little fuzzier than usual, so she must be filming with her laptop – at least that’s what he guesses, “What do you think the difference between a kink and a fetish is?” She’s continuing whatever she was talking about before he got on, leaning comfortably against the pillows, still in her outfit from tonight. Only now she has glasses on, nipping at her thumbnail and squinting at the screen. If Harry didn’t know Y/N, then he would think she was just trying to use the topic as a spin-off into something sexy, but the look in her eyes suggests that she’s actually curious. The slight furrow in her brow is one she only does during meetings, when someone says something she doesn’t understand.

People are answering, and Harry can see the responses in the tiny corner. Maybe he should just mind his business on his couch where he’d plopped down and keep one hand in his pants, but. . .well, last time he was involved in a live, it was kind of fun, wasn’t it? And Y/N was so nice to him last time. He doesn’t expect the same response, because last time he was new and she was trying to retain a viewer. But maybe she’ll greet him.

tapiocaenthuiast93 tipped 3000 coins!

How I’ve always understood it is that a kink is more of an “add-on,” but a fetish is more of a requirement, right? But maybe I have that wrong.

Y/N’s eyes light up when she sees the username – or maybe they just light up because of the 3000 coins. Regardless, her eyes light up and she leans forward, “Oh! Hi Tappy,” she smiled, but then pouted, “Actually, wait no, I’m mad at you. You gave me a crazy orgasm and then disappeared! I thought maybe you didn’t like it enough to come back.”

She had noticed his absence. That makes his heart race more than he thinks he’d like to admit. He’s quick to type back into the chat.

tapiocaenthuiast93 tipped 2000 coins!

No, of course not! I loved every second of it. I’ve been busy. . .watched your other uploads in the meantime.

Her lip is still pouted as she reads, but she heaves a big, very Y/N sigh. One that he hears often, typically followed by, “Do you think you’d be able to function without me, or would you just end up a bug under a rock?”

“I guess that’s okay,” she is barefoot now, he notices, playing with the fabric of her pants around her ankle, “You came just in time though! I like your explanation, that makes sense. I was just wondering because while I was eating today, I was trying to decide if my thing for men in watches was a kink or something.” Harry blinks at his screen, then at his left wrist, where his Cartier watch was strapped tightly. Had she. . .had she been looking at his watch? Wait –

wolfienightt21 tipped 100 coins!

ooooh, who was wearing a watch that caught your eye?

“Oh, it was my boss,” she answers easily, and Harry thinks his heart is going to speed out of his chest, “He has this one – he doesn’t wear it all the time, but when he does, I can’t stop looking at it.” She admits, “But I’m really good at being inconspicuous, so he doesn’t know.”

Y/N is great at being inconspicuous, because Harry had no fucking idea. He thinks he saw her, maybe looking at his hand once, and it was while he was picking up the noodles with his chopsticks, so that’s what he thought had caught her eye. But it was his watch?

“Yeah, he has nice hands, they’re pretty. You can tell he’s never had to lift a shovel a day in his life,” he huffed a breath through his nose – of course, she’d slide a dig in there, but he can’t even be mad about it. Not when she’s saying his hands are nice – that they’re pretty, “And his fingers are long, and kind of thick. He’s always got these nice rings on. . .so the watch just kind of adds to it. Anytime my ex wanted me to suck on his fingers unprompted, he’d just wear a watch, and I’d be begging for them in my mouth.”

This is a lot to take in. Even more so when Y/N starts casually unbuttoning her top the rest of the way. Was this Y/N’s roundabout way of saying she was thinking about putting Harry’s fingers in her mouth all dinner, or was she just sharing an anecdote about her little kink? Either way, the image of her pretty lips stretched around his knuckles is enough to make him unbutton his pants. He uses one hand to wriggle them down his thighs, keeping his briefs on because when he cums, he’d prefer not to do it on something that would need to be dry cleaned. And he didn’t trust his sofa’s upholstery to hold up in his home washer.

“Oh, shut up,” she’s answering some more of the comments, “I don’t have a crush on my boss. He’s a thorn in my side,” before Harry’s feelings could get too hurt, she continues, “He is hot though. Like, really. Sometimes he can be cute too, but I’d rather walk on melting glass than ever let him know that.” Her eyes scan the screen as she reads more, “Why can’t he know I think he’s cute? Well, besides the obvi reason that he’s my boss,” she slips the shirt off her shoulders, revealing more of her skin, soft, smooth, his fingers twitch like they wish they could reach out and touch her but instead he slips his hand down and squeezes his hardening prick, “--I like when guys are a little scared of me. If he knows I think he’s cute, then he won’t be nearly as jumpy around me. That just won’t do.”

Harry shouldn’t be hearing this. He definitely shouldn’t be hearing this, or getting hard over it, or having to remind himself to swallow the spit collecting in his mouth while she wiggles out of her bottoms without any fanfare. Yet here he is, doing all those things, as she parts her legs and shows off a pretty wet spot on the fabric of her panties, “I wasn’t even planning on streaming tonight, but I’m a little tipsy and very horny, so here we are.”

tapiocaenthuiast93 tipped 2000 coins!

Was it the watch? lolll

He shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help it. Harry just had to know.

“Hmm, yeah, I was kind of – yeah,” she nods, slipping her fingers under the waistband of her panties, and the fabric stretches around her knuckles, “Plus he was being very respectful to women, that’s always hot. Then I saw his watch, and I’m always a little more. . .more susceptible to horny thoughts when I’m drinking. You know how it is.” She sighed, slowly starting to rub, and Harry slid his hand under his underwear too, wrapping his fist around his cock. The pull is a little dry, but he thinks he deserves for it to hurt a little (and he likes it, more than he’d care to admit), “And he lets me boss him around sometimes. I like that too.”

bugboibottom3 tipped 200 coins!

omgomg switch y/n!! when r u going to do a dom stream? U look gorgeous btw!!! <3

“Thanks, Buggy,” Y/N’s voice was a little tight, her head relaxing back against the pillows, “Dom stream, huh? You’d like that?”

There are so many messages, Harry doesn’t have to add his input. He’d very much enjoy watching that, seeing what she’d come up with, hearing how she’d boss them all around. His head is spinning, and the coil of arousal in his gut is burning hot from everything he is learning right now. Y/N thought he was cute, liked the watch on his wrist, thought about his fingers in her mouth (maybe, but he’s choosing to believe that it happened), and liked bossing him around. And she’s always bossing him around. Like, all of the time. Was she thinking about domming him while she did it?

He could imagine it – he could imagine their dynamic going both ways. Just as Harry could picture clearly, Y/N bent over his desk, drooling over the reports that she’d just dropped by while he stretched and speared her open on his cock again, and again (deep, just how she likes) – he could picture her running the show. Could picture himself edged for hours, tied up, begging her to let him cum. Could imagine his arms twisted behind his back, bound by the wrist while she rode him, nice and slow, squeezing her walls around him every time she sank down, pussy drooling down to his balls.

“Maybe we will,” she hums, “Maybe I’ll convince my boss to come on stream, yeah? We’ll really live the fantasy, like. . .like ‘mean secretary fucks boss into submission’ or some cheesy porno storyboard name. I bet he’d let me,” her hips roll into her hands, “He lets me do everything else.”

Harry would, he realizes. He’d let her do anything. If she wanted him to boss her around and tell her what to do like he did the first stream, then he would. If she wanted to boss him around and make him beg to cum, then he’d do so not only willingly, but gladly. The best of both worlds – like being with Rafayel and Kai at the same time, but she’s one person. His personal assistant, who has no idea how much she’s been making him cun the passed couple of weeks.

Because he’s just been overloaded with intel that he’s going to spend a minimum of three years thinking about, including that Y/N is fantasizing about fucking him on a stream with her hand in her panties – he cums without even registering he was about to. It hits him hard, fast, dirty as he fills up his briefs, emptying his load into them. His mind is literally swirling – he’s bummed out because he usually likes to hold out with her, at least in her videos, and cum with her. But he couldn’t help it. Not when she’d said all of that. Not when he started to imagine it too.

Just because he’d cum, though, doesn’t mean that he can’t be helpful. Harry has always prided himself on being almost overly generous in bed. And from the looks of it, from what he knows about how Y/N likes to get off (or at least from what he’s picked up on from watching her videos), is that her fingers weren’t going to be enough for her.

tapiocaenthuiast93 tipped 4000 coins!

Why don’t you get that silicone pink vibrator you like so much? The double-sided one. Make yourself cum, Sweetheart ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

He uses the emoticon because it was offered for how much he’d tipped.

Y/N’s eyes go wide, then her gaze softens, and she grins, pulling her hand from her panties.

“Okayyyyy,” she answers, “But you have to stay and watch the whole thing, okay?”

Harry wouldn’t miss it for anything.

. . .

The next week is a whirlwind.

On Monday, they really do hit the ground running. After a busy morning, they go to get fitted for their formal evening attire that they’ll be wearing for the Gala on Thursday. Y/N had a navy blue suit tailored to his body in a way that even Harry can admit he looks good in. The way the bottoms hug around his bum makes it look like all the squats he does in his workout routine have been paying off, and he likes how the jacket hugs around his shoulders. Everything is very crisp, down to the socks they suggest he wear with the polished leather shoes. His watch gleams on his wrist under the light.

He should keep his mouth shut, probably, but there’s an itch in his bones that makes him have to ask it. “Do you think I should wear the watch with the suit?” He looked at Y/N, who had been sitting on a velour chair to the right of the mirror, waiting patiently for him to finish up.

He asked when the tailor had disappeared out of the room in search of a needle. Harry doesn’t know what he expected from her. Maybe for her lashes to flutter, or for her face to change, or for there to be any indication that she might be affected by the watch, how she’d said she was on Friday. Just to see if it was real or if he’d hallucinated the entire stream.

Y/N looks at him blankly, picking at her fingernail.

“Why would I care? Do what you want.”

That shot that down pretty quickly, but Harry deserved it. What did he expect? For her to say yes, he should wear the watch because it turns her on, and she just told all the people watching her stream that? He was stupid to even bring it up. Y/N doesn’t look suspicious of him, though; she just goes back to plucking at her nail and grumbles something about being too bloated to try on a dress right now.

Once they get Harry out of his suit and have it carefully tucked away in an outfit bag, Y/N is next to go. She disappears in their dressing room for around 10 minutes before she comes out in a floor-length, navy blue dress. There were sparkles all along the fabric, so every time she moved and it caught the light, it looked like her body was made up of hundreds of twinkling stars. The draped sleeves were off the shoulder, and there was a slit that went up just above the mid-thigh.

She looked amazing in it. Whenever the accessories were added and her hair was done, he knew she’d look even better. It would be difficult to try and act normal around her, for sure. Especially after he’d just spent the entire weekend watching her livestreams (the one from Friday, her actual scheduled one on Saturday that he left dinner with Adam early to catch, and a little Sunday quickie that she did about midday when Harry was making himself lunch). After being called out for not being there, Harry made sure he was there for every single one, from the moment it started to the moment it ended. On the third day, when she said, “You’ve been making every single one, Tappy, I’m happy, good boy,” Harry could have combusted and cum right there, so it’s not like he really had a choice from then on, right? He needed to be at each one.

“Does this color match well enough with your suit?” Y/N inquired, pinching the fabric and rubbing it between her fingers. Harry nods quickly, so fast that it feels like his brain is bouncing around in his head.

“Yes, it does, it’s beautiful,” he swallows hard, “I think this is a nice cut on you.”

“Yeah?” She seemed surprised to hear it – there wasn’t even any snark in her response when she turned away from the mirror to look at him. She points to the neckline and traces over it, “The off-the-shoulder doesn’t look stupid? Sometimes I feel like it looks too bare on me.”

Harry is also surprised that she seems to care about his opinion at all. “Once you accessorize, you won’t feel that way. The necklace should be a bit big, though, yeah? Like a white diamond with a rain effect, I think it would look great. There was – I feel like I saw one here, hold on.”

They brought the necklace out at Harry’s request, and he watched with keen interest as they carefully wrapped it around her neck, clipping it. It does its job to make her neck and chest area less bare, and to draw attention to her neck once again, making Harry feel like he was a vampire obsessed with her throat once again. He imagined her hair in one of those messy, wedding-style updos, and he thought she’d blow away most of the people attending, Harry included.

“Yeah, this is perfect.”

Her fingers trace delicately over the diamonds, all various cuts – pear-shaped, round, marquise. “How would I word this in a Google search? I need to find one that isn’t more than a month’s rent – I’m already spending a pretty penny on this dress.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Harry waves his hand, “I’ll take care of the dress and the necklace. I’m sure there are some earrings too.”

Her brows furrow, “Hey –”

“I won’t hear it,” his phone starts to buzz in his pocket from a call, so he stands to reach for it, pulling it out, “I’ve got it covered. Think of it as a bonus check or summat, whatever makes you feel better about it.”

(The call was from Adam, so it hadn’t been that important to answer, but it was easier to cut the potential for her arguing with him on it quickly. “There’s a new gym that we need to go to,” Adam had gleefully shared, “It’s jungle-themed, for some reason, and there’s like an obstacle course, it’s fucking crazy!”)

Tuesday and Wednesday are a blur of the usual meetings, calls, reports, and whisperings of Paris Fashion Week. They were trying to decide if they should have a few company representatives fly out to it this year, and if one of those representatives should be Harry or not. His father had only attended one or two in his time running the company, but that was for the mere fact that he hated the phony socialization part of it. Harry also isn’t a fan, but is better at faking it than his father is. It’s more so moving schedules around than it is getting a spot at the show, though, considering they’d already received several invitations to attend.

That was the big topic of discussion, plus Wednesday, they got a call from Callum, ensuring that they were still going to attend the next day, and then another call from Aki, who was also ensuring they were going to attend the next day. Y/N placates Aki while Harry is on the phone with Callum, in the same room, because as if to test them, they both called at the same time.

(Harry sneezed once during his call with Aki, so an orange came flying at his chest around 3 PM, but Y/N had no time to sit and talk to him about his water intake, because she disappeared from the door quickly after.)

Thursday comes, and of course, the entire first half of the morning slows almost to a standstill. They have this big Gala to get ready for, and again, though it wasn’t Harry’s, he still feels a sense of nerves slither beneath his skin. It’s one of the first big events that he’ll be running the company for, so he has to put on a good face; be amicable and nice. Not only is it a fundraising event, but it also functions as a mixer, a popularity contest, and a networking affair all at once. There are always so many people that he’s met, so much drama to follow, so many things that he can’t mention to this person about that person, and vice versa. Y/N helps, sure, but she’s pulled every which way, too.

Around 4 PM, Y/N and Harry have to leave to get ready. When he was walking up to Y/N’s desk earlier, he overheard Niall, who still makes his presence very brief around Harry, ask a fair question. “I mean, I always kind of consider you two as peas in a pod, but do you really have to go to this, too? Like. . .I feel like most PAs aren’t this heavily involved.”

Y/N shrugged, “I think it makes him feel better if there’s someone with him,” she answered, “And I don’t mind pretending to be important for a couple of hours.”

Harry definitely expected a snarkier reply. Maybe something like, “Well, when he figures out how to run a company by himself, then he can, but he’s an idiot, so he needs me.” But she doesn’t. She was doing it to legitimately be helpful to him – to be kind. It reminds him that she thinks he’s cute too, and he’d never realized that. It makes him wonder what else Y/N thinks but doesn’t let him know.

They would part ways for the getting ready aspect, both in their own flats. Y/N hired someone to do her hair, Harry knows that much, but he thinks otherwise, she’s getting ready by herself. He almost suggested that they just share his bathroom – it’s big enough, they could just both take separate showers, because getting ready by yourself is kind of a bummer. . .but he holds off. It would be weird to invite her, he knows, because just because he is under the illusion that they are closer to each other because he’s been watching her streams, doesn’t mean they are. She doesn’t even know that he’s been watching them.

So he gets ready alone. Talks to Adam on FaceTime for the duration of him after the shower, while he washes his face, rebrushes his teeth, and just as he started panicking about what he’s going to do with his hair (because he didn’t think that far, and gelling it down hasn’t been an option lately with how long it’s gotten), there’s a knock on his door. Harry takes Adam to go answer it, only to find that Y/N has scheduled someone to come do his hair for him.

“Wow, she’s really always about 10 steps ahead, isn’t she?” Adam said over the speaker, “Like seriously, she might be clairvoyant. Or – wait, didn’t you say you think she might be a demon because it’s starting to add up.”

“Okay, I’m getting off the phone now, Adam, bye.”

The hairdresser is one he’s had before – Michael always does really well with his curls. This time, he even stayed over to help Harry get in his suit, so Harry tips him extra (even when he’s notified that Y/N has already paid and tipped). He fixes his watch on his wrist, his driver shows up at 6 PM to pick him up, and Harry’s pleased to find that Y/N’s already in the car. She’s buckled, a small clutch in her lap – she looks beautiful. The necklace and the earrings, her hair pulled from her face except for a few intricately displaced strands, and a hairpin placed in the braided bun. Her makeup is light, her lips so glossy they look like jelly. Beside her thigh are the two boxes with the pins in them.

“That was kind of sad,” Y/N said as soon as he got inside and buckled, “Like, I do not like getting ready by myself. I talked to Niall on the phone the whole time,” Harry chuckles, because they really are more alike than he thought. “Next time, let’s just figure out how to get ready together. Now take your pin.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, to leave no room for any questions about how he’d feel about it, “That’d be nice.”

The drive is actually 20 minutes out to the convention center, so it does take some time, but Y/N fills the space with mindless chatter about who is going to be there, and who might be cheating on whom, how he needs to interact with Aki and Callum. They’re there before Harry even realizes, and his nerves have been alleviated for the most part, with Y/N at his side. This is how he always feels, though, and he doesn’t even know if he’s surprised that she’d been able to notice this.

It’s immediately having to turn on, from the moment that they step outside of the car, he hears his name being called. So much happens at once, all from people whom he only sort of vaguely remembers, but he turns on as quickly as he can, smiling, shaking hands, sharing cheek kisses – all of it. It takes them about 20 minutes to even get inside the convention center, after taking pictures and having fun little small talk. At the very least, while it’s overwhelming, it’s a good introduction to what the rest of the night was going to be like.

Y/N does good as always, at getting them away from the conversation and continuing on to the next person or group of people. Once they get inside, there is much more to see, like the whale ice sculpture that Callum did end up choosing, and hundreds of more people. For the most part, they needed to get to their seats at the dinner table so that they could eat. Dinner would be served at 7 PM. They were cutting it close. By the grace of the universe, they are sitting at the same table with Aki and his personal assistant, with a couple of others. Callum is sitting with Harry’s father at a table toward the front – he makes a note to go greet him later on.

The dinner was good. There are at least 50 tables with 7-10 people sitting at each, so it was a good turnout. It’s what every one of these events looks like, with decor, flowers as decorations, velvety light grey curtains that are ceiling to floor length. Callum does a speech, thanks everyone for coming, discusses his company and how he pursued his dreams from a young age, all of that feel-good, cheesy storyboard stuff. Harry thinks it’s cute, especially when he starts to tear up a little bit. He gives a shout out to Harry’s father, who stands up and gets an arm around his shoulder and a squeeze, and then a shout out to Harry, who raises his hand and waves. Aki doesn’t seem too perturbed by this, and Harry notices Y/N reaching over and patting his bicep inconspicuously.

Now that Harry’s looking for it, he notices Y/N staring at his hands, especially the left one with the watch. Not only that, he catches her staring at a lot of hands with watches that accompany the wrist, like Aki’s, and one guy named Caleb across the table. Then there was a waiter who Y/N was eyeballing kind of hard, and he noticed that he had a thick banded watch on his wrist too. She really likes a wristwatch – more than he’d even thought, and then he wonders if maybe it is a fetish.

After dinner, there is more networking. Y/N goes with Harry to meet up with his father, but not before taking Harry’s phone and slipping it into her clutch so that he could have them free. It’d been a hassle to juggle it, and his suit had no pockets, so he’d just been tucking it into his waistband, but that takes away from the look of the suit, according to Y/N. Harry had no problem handing his phone over, though – he doesn’t even think anything of it.

They go to greet his father, who hugs him tightly and fixes his tie, also wearing a matching Dove pin, “Look at you, handsome,” he says, squeezing his shoulder, then turns to Y/N and squeezes hers as well. “And of course, Miss. Y/N, it’s always a pleasure to see you. You look beautiful.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Sir.” She reaches up to touch his hand, “Thank you! You’re so sweet.”

Harry is having a good enough time. He’d indulged in quite a few drinks at this point, so he was feeling pleasantly tipsy, as was Y/N, and he recognized the swimmy look in her gaze. He’ll be happy when this is over and he can take his shoes off, put on his pajamas, and go to bed. There’d already been like 3 “let’s go out for drinks after this” invites that he had declined because he really isn’t interested. Despite outer appearances and how he presents himself, Harry has a relatively low social battery. The only person who has ever realized just how low that social battery is is Y/N, who will take the reins of the conversation when he starts to falter.

That’s what he thinks she’s doing when she appears after going to the bathroom. Y/N taps his shoulder in the middle of his conversation with a designer named Penelope, who actually used to date Harry’s second-year UNI roommate. “Hey, Aki wants to see you,” she smiles, unassuming, and the look in her eyes says that she’s lying. Besides that, Harry knew that if Aki wanted him, then he’d just come up to him, himself; he wouldn’t send Y/N to do it. But Harry figures that Y/N is helping him out, giving him a break from the constant conversation – maybe they could just stand outside for a little while.

So Harry follows her until they’re out of view from Penelope, before they slip through the doors into a hallway. They make a lot of twists and turns in the halls, but Y/N seems to navigate them easily, like she’d already mapped this out before coming to get him. They are in a far more secluded part when she finally stops, twisting around to look at him, her eyes set in a serious gleam. Harry starts to realize that this is not about giving him a break. What had he done?

“Harry,” she begins, “I saw something interesting.”

He blinks at her.

“Um, okay?”

Y/N reaches into her purse, pulls out his phone, and flips it over so the screen is facing him. When she taps it to wake his phone, Harry is staring at his lock screen, a mountain wallpaper background from his trip to Norway, and. . .

. . .and a notification from Y/N.

Not from her phone number, but from her camming site.

Harry blinks at the phone. His heart sinks to his stomach at the same time that his blood rushes to his face, warming his ears, pinking his cheeks. The spit in his mouth all dries out, that’s left agape as he searches for the words to say. What was he even supposed to say? This was literally like – worst-case fucking scenario.

Hi, sorry, as your boss, I definitely shouldn’t be touching myself to your secret online camming account, but I also definitely am! You’re just really hot, and it’s the only thing that makes me cum so hard that I can smell colors, and I finally go to sleep.

“Oh.”

Y/N scoffs a laugh, “Yeah, oh,” she closes his phone and slides it back into her purse, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Wait, what? “I – what?”

“Like, are you trying to work up an HR case against me or what?”

“Oh my god, no, I –”

“Because why do you have the notifications on, huh? Does anyone else know? Are you doing this so that you can get evidence or something against me? Because I’m so mean, you’ve been collecting all these screenshots and video clips to –”

“No!” Harry all but shouts to stop her, shaking his head, “No, of course not, I have them on because I want to watch, for fuck sake,” he admits, his face feels like it’s flaming red, but it’s better than her thinking he was watching her with a vindictive state of mind.

Y/N pauses her tirade, realization dawning on her face, the furrow in her brow soothing out just enough to uncrinkle her forehead, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Harry heaves a big breath, shaking his head, the alcohol in his system makes it a little easier for words to spill from his mouth, “I – a – it’s the only thing that gets me off like that, y’know? Like – like my brain stops working so hard, and I cum like so much, it’s embarrassing, and then I go to bed. S’why I’ve been so well rested lately, s’just – you’re good, at. . .at what you do. You’re good at that. And this job too – you kind of excel at everything.”

Y/N’s eyes are darting across his face, like she’s searching for any hint that he might be lying. It looks like a thousand things are running through her head at once.

“Are you attracted to me?” She finally settles for.

Harry nods, swallowing thickly, “Well, obviously.”

“How long have you been watching me?”

“For a couple of weeks now.”

“And what’s your username?”

Harry pauses, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, “I don’t wanna say.”

“Say it.”

“I’m – uh – tapiocaenthusiest93.”

Y/N’s eyes go wide, “What the fuck, Harry –”

“I know, I’m sorry, I –”

“I thought you hated tapioca.” She shook her head, “Were you lying to me this whole time?”

Harry pauses again – this is so fucking crazy, his head is spinning. That’s what she had taken from that? “I mean –”

Her fingers loop around his wrist as she pulls him to follow after her. They wind through a couple more hallways until they find themselves in the bathroom – this one clearly not readily available for the event happening, meaning it would be empty. The motion lights had even been off when they stepped inside it, a family restroom, so she pushes him in and shuts the door before locking it with a click that echoes off the walls. Harry is confused until she looks at him, arms crossed, staring him down.

“You’re a pervert,” she tells him, and Harry frowns but doesn’t deny it, “You’ve been watching your employee fuck herself in front of a camera, and have been cumming lots from it, according to you, yeah?”

Harry clears his throat, “Ah, I-yeah.”

“You’ve probably been thinking about fucking me, haven’t you?” He flinches from the blunt lilt to her voice, before nodding again, “Filthy. I bet you – I bet you’d get on your knees right now and beg if it meant you could even smell me.”

At first, he thought he was being scolded. He thought that Y/N took him to the bathroom to scold him more thoroughly, and Harry would have to beg her for forgiveness. But this. . .how she’s looking at him, the last sentence she’d just said – Harry thinks that this is going in a different direction than he thought her finding out would go. This is going in what he would say is arguably the best direction it could have gone.

Harry can take a hint. He sinks to his knees right there in front of her, on what he considers a considerably clean bathroom floor. His hands hover, trembling, over her thighs, his heart moving from his stomach to his throat, beating wildly before he lies his palms against her legs. He feels the warmth of her skin on the left hand, where the slit opened up. Y/N is looking down at him, arms crossed, but she looks a little nervous. It makes him feel better, that he isn’t the only one whose heart might be racing.

“Go on,” she nods her head, “What do you say?”

“Please?” He swallows again, “Please, I – I’m filthy. I’m disgusting – I’ve been dreaming about burying my face between your legs for weeks now, and I – it’d. . .it’d make me – fuck,” he wonders if his pupils are blown, or if he looks as fucked as he feels. His cock is hard in his trousers – he thinks that all of the blood in his body rushed so fast to his dick, that's why he’s a little lightheaded. That, and the way that Y/N uncrosses her arms, carefully wiggling the fabric of her dress up her thighs while she leaned back against the door.

Harry leans in without thinking – this is all going so fast, he wonders if he’s going to pass out. She splits her thighs just enough for him to fit his face in between them, pressing his nose against her powder blue panties. Harry knows his nose is big – he knows it feels good when it’s pressed up the right way. He’d watched so many videos at this point that he knows exactly where her clit is hidden beneath the fabric, so he dances the bridge of his nose along the swell of it, and sucks in a deep breath.

It’s a lot – she smells so good, heady, somewhere that Harry thinks he needs to be forever. He breaths in again when she twitches, her thighs twitching when he runs his nose up and down her slit. It feels extra filthy, just sniffing her like this – distantly, Harry remembers leaving a comment with a 2000 coin tip that said he wanted to smell her (to be fair, Harry had been edging for a couple hours with her at that point, so he was liable to say every bit of his pervy thoughts and ideas). He doesn’t know if she remembers that, and this is why she’s doing it, or if she has just assessed that Harry may or may not be into sniffing panties.

Either way, Harry is happy where he’s at. Enough that when he looks up at her from where he’s pressed himself, and sees how jelly lips agape, and her lidded eyes, he doesn’t think twice before pushing his lips against hers. At first, just to kiss over her, but when her hips buck into his face, and her crossed arms loosen from around her chest, Harry does it again, only this time it’s open-mouthed.

“You wanna taste me, huh?” She asks, and Harry nods, not taking his face away from her, curling his arms around her thighs and urging her to lift one over his shoulder, and she does so easily, “One get your filthy tongue inside of me?”

“Fuck, please,” he whines, muffled against her, “Please, please.”

Y/N laughs, breathlessly, “Fine,” she murmurs, “But you only have 5 minutes to try and make me cum. If you can’t, then you’re never doing this again.”

Harry doesn’t know how much weight the threat actually carries, but he wasn’t going to risk it. In a perfect world, he’d take his time with her – spend hours pulling her apart and carefully putting her back together again with his tongue alone. Once, he’d eaten Kai out for so long that his jaw and tongue hurt the next morning, but he still called her up and wanted to go again before she’d even showered. Harry likes eating pussy – he’s good at it too, or at least he’d been told.

But right now, their situation wasn’t ideal. They couldn’t disappear for too long without there being questions of where they ran off to. So Harry is quick to run the flat of his tongue over her panties first, one long strip from back to front, only to curl his fingers in the crotch of them and pull them to the side. Harry doesn’t swallow any of his drool, instead letting his spit wet his tongue and make it messier. Y/N likes it messy, from the amount of lube she’s always using, he’d determined that. He slides his tongue between her folds with purpose, slurping around her clit and echoing the moan that she lets leave her throat.

She tastes good and feels soft against his tongue. Harry’s whole nose is shoved against her while he does these long strokes, trying to taste every bit of her that she has to offer. His arms tighten around her when he slips himself back to her clit, lulling his tongue in circles before smacking his lips against it. She likes a lot of stimulation on her clit – it’s actually pretty difficult for her to cum untouched, and Harry was not about to try and figure out how to do that right now. Not when he’d had a clear task delivered before him.

So Harry puckers his lips, he suckles at her clit, and moans so that it vibrates around her. He’s messy with it, feeling how his spit and her juices are coating his chin, his lips, and his cock is throbbing so hard in his trousers he has to make a concentrated effort not to cum in them. He wishes he had time to look at her pussy, to be gentle with it, and tender before getting messy and rough, but maybe he could have that a different time. Maybe, if he were good now, she’d let him spend as long as he wanted down here.

“Oh my god,” Y/N breathes out, head knocking back against the door, “No wonder Kai and Rafayel always want you around, huh?” She cards her fingers through his hair, gripping him at the root, “Your mouth is insane – f-fuck, I’m – I’m close.”

Harry gets excited and doubles his efforts. He sucks and licks, swirls his tongue, even pulls back and spits, then licks it all right back up again. It’s only when he focuses back on her clit, looking up at her while she stared down at him, before his eyes fluttered closed as her thigh on his shoulder started pressing closer to the side of his head – that she cums. She doesn’t warn him, but he can feel it, the way she starts to throb deliciously against his tongue, before she starts getting wetter, pulsing, covering her mouth, and moaning while she bites into her palm to quiet it.

Harry keeps licking until she pushes his head away, her leg sliding off of his shoulder, heels clicking back against the floor. “Jesus,” she laughs, trying to restyle the messy but clean appearance his hair had before she’d gotten her hands in it. It feels good – Harry thinks he could purr, with his face all wet, his eyes closed while she touched him, “That was – wow. You’re more slutty than I thought.”

He pouted, “Heyyyyy,” his whine makes her laugh again, “I – did I do good? Can I do it again?”

“We should probably talk before we do this again,” Y/N tells him, “About. . .um, this whole thing. Can you make it look like you didn’t just eat pussy in the bathroom for like 30 more minutes? Until we can leave and go somewhere?”

He blinked his eyes open at her. From this angle, with her taste on his tongue, and the glow of someone who just had an orgasm, Y/N looks like a goddess. He nods, using her hand to help him stand up from the floor, no matter how badly he wants to just push his face into her thigh until she recovers enough for him to eat her again.

Harry had been so worried before, about what her finding out would mean. Even when he was in his fantasies about fucking her, the post-nut clarity would always sour the mood, wondering how awkward it might be between them afterward. If she might avoid his eyes, or he wouldn’t be able to speak to her without stuttering. Would they forever change their dynamic? Would Y/N stop scolding him and teasing him in favor of just being silent? Then she’d have to leave and be someone else’s PA because things got too weird.

That worry had lasted all of 3 seconds because when Harry tries to walk out of the bathroom, she grabs his wrist, “Ah! What are you doing?”

“Going back?”

“Jesus, Harry, your face is a mess – hold on,” she reaches out, waves her hand in front of the paper towel dispenser, and rips one off, “What, were you going to tell them you were just eating me out in the bathroom?” She wipes his face, roughly around his mouth, “You really are hopeless sometimes. I’m going to start charging you for making me use my brain too often.”

It seems like it may be just fine, after all.

As he walks behind her back to the event, Harry smiles.

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ta1kingn0nsense · 18 days ago

Note

GIRL DONT APOLOGIZE FOR NOT FEELING LIKE WRITING OR BEING IN A SLUMP! YOU DONT OWE US ANYTHING, TAKE YOUR TIME

WE JUST WANT YOU TO BE OKAY, IT DOESN’T MATTER IF YOUR FICS TAKE MORE DAYS THAN PLANNED! WE LOVE YOU

THANK YOU!! STILL IM SORRY I KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO WAIT SO IM GONNA TRY MY BEST TO GET IT OUT!

HERE SNEAKIE AS AN APOLOGY

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ta1kingn0nsense · 20 days ago

Text

・゜゜・．.・゜゜・･ﾟﾟ･｡｡･ﾟﾟ･・゜゜・．.・゜・

My Angel

Harry Styles x reader

| Enemies x lovers? Kinda not really they’re complicated! Yearning harry, a bit of angst.

࿐ In which Harry styles is your best friends Heart styles twin brother.You and harry finally decide to stop faking your hatred for each-other.

・゜゜・．.・゜゜・･ﾟﾟ･｡｡･ﾟﾟ･・゜゜・．.・゜゜

It's been 45 minutes since you were left standing in the pouring rain outside the diner, waiting for your ride to arrive. The diner had closed 20 minutes ago, and you felt bad for keeping Barry, your manager, waiting.

So you told him he could leave, feeling bad that he had to stay longer to lock everything up. Now, you're left waiting in the rain, for your ride to arrive.

Harry Styles was many things, but being on time apparently didn't appear to be one of them. You wouldn't really mind if it were any other day, but today was your mother's birthday, and if you were late, you knew you'd never hear the end of it.

You quickly pull out your phone to text your best friend Heart, to let her know you'll find another way home. Just when you're about to send the message, you hear the roaring sound of Harry's obnoxious car as it pulls up, parking in front of you. The headlights almost blind you momentarily before he turns them off.

Harry smirked as he opened the car door for you. “Sorry I'm late, Angel” he said, using the stupid nickname he knew you hated. You could tell he wasn't genuinely sorry, his smirk and the way he leaned against the car door told you exactly how he felt about making you wait. You reluctantly stepped into the car, mentally bracing yourself for an unpleasant ride home.

Harry looks over at you, chuckling as you glared at him. “What's gotten up your ass?” he asked playfully. “You should be thanking me right now.” You roll your eyes. “You were almost an hour late, and you expect me to thank you?'” “I still picked you up.” Harry replied

“Yeah, thanks, my knight in shining armor.”You sarcastically muttered, He let out a dry chuckle, “Jesus, I've had to deal with your bullshit for 18 years. How does anyone put up with your ass?”He asked annoyed, you smirked at him. 'Easy! I’m not a total dick like you.'"

Harry glared at you, his eyebrows drawn together and one hand running through his hair. “If you saw my dick, you'd finally shut the hell up.” He said, his jaw clenching. You didn't respond, and Harry continued, “Cat caught your tongue, angel?” You rolled your eyes and groaned in frustration. “God, Harry, not everyone wants to sleep with you.”

Harry chuckled, clearly enjoying how easily he could get under your skin. “You know what I think, angel?” he said softly. His hand moved to your thigh, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. “I think that if I weren't Heart's brother,I would’ve had you a long time ago.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress your reaction. “Not everyone wants to fuck you, Styles,” you say, frustrated. You remove his hand. “Get that through your head. Heart’s twin brother or not.”

Harry chuckled, unfazed by your words. “Oh, come on, angel,” he said, his hand making its way back into your thigh. You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

“There's nothing,” you insisted, even though you knew deep down that his touch sent a shiver down your spine, but he’s your best friend’s brother and you guys hated each-other. Harry smirked as he pulled into the drive way. “I hate you, You hate me. Nothing, would change that.” You say unbuckling your seatbelt.

Harry entered your home following you inside, and because Heart was also staying with you, it wasn't possible to simply kick him out. “I don't hate you,” he said, his frustration clear. You rolled your eyes, taking off your work jacket and letting your hair loose.

Ignoring him, you walked towards your bedroom. “Damn it, angel, I don't hate you,”he repeated, his patience wearing thin. “Enough, Harry,”you said softly, standing in the hallway to your room. "You've humiliated me enough. Please stop."

Harry's face fell and he shook his head intensely, “I didn't do anything. I swear, angel. That day, I meant everything I said, fuck i still mean it . She kissed me, not the other way around. Why don't you believe me?” He pleaded, rambling.

“Because it's easier this way, Harry,” you yelled, struggling to hold back your tears. “It's easier to pretend we hate each other... to protect myself, to protect everything I've ever known.”

He stepped closer, closing the distance between us until our faces were mere inches apart. "Heart, she wouldn’t give a fuck Angel. I just…I just want you," he whispered, his hand gently resting on your jaw, tenderly caressing it. "Harry.." you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He inched closer, his gaze fixated on your lips. His hand slid gently over your jaw, tilting your chin upwards as he leaned in. Your breath caught in your throat as his lips hovered just millimeters away from yours, the anticipation almost unbearable.

Your eyes fluttered closed, and then, finally, he closed the distance between you. “Shit, I'm so sorry I'm late," Heart exclaimed. Immediately, you and Harry pulled apart as you quickly walked over to the living room. “No, no, it's okay. Don't worry about it,” you replied softly, trying to hide the tension that had just filled the room.

Heart smiled. “Thank goodness you're back in one piece. I always worry that you and Harry might actually end up ripping each other's throats out.” You let out an awkward laugh. “Well uh I should go,” Harry suddenly says leaving.

︑︒⚬∙︓·⠄︑︒⚬∙︓·⠄︑︒⚬∙︓·⠄︑︒⚬∙︓·⠄ ︑︒⚬

Two weeks, two whole weeks and you haven’t seen or heard from harry. Typical. Within those two weeks he had been missing, he never truly left your thoughts. you felt so frustrated and angry in the fact that you almost kissed him, but something else lingers. It’s a difficult, indescribable feeling that you don’t want to think about.

The diner was dead, almost empty besides you, Your manager, and the cook taking up individual space. The last customer of the night paid their tab and exits, leaving you to clean up the mess they left behind in their booth.

Distracted cleaning, you didn’t realize that another customer came in, didn’t even hear a ring, but instead the sound of someone clearing their throat. Hastily, You stopped cleaning, doing a shitty job on the table but feeling way too tired to finish, so you finally stood up

and turned your attention to the customer, feeling your stomach twist and churn when facial recognition sets in. “Hey angel” He says. Your lips shutting tightly as you see the huge gash on his cheek. “Harry, What? What happened?”

He shakes his head softly. “I wanted to see you.” Your facial expression was tender, forgetting you’re even upset at him. “I missed you so fucken much, angel. You don't even understand,” he says softly as he takes a step closer to you.

You gently place your hand on his cut, frowning as you notice his slight bruise and the cut above his eyebrow. “H, I thought you didn't fight anymore,” you say softly. He chuckles, his gaze fixed on your face.

“I'm alright, angel. It doesn't hurt.” Your frown deepens, the worry in your eyes communicating the words you're not saying. He steps closer to you, closing the distance between you until your faces are just inches apart. His voice drops to a whisper, “Kiss me to make me feel better.”

You hesitate for a moment, your frown deepening as you silently question him. But deep down, you know you want it too. Unable to resist, you lean in and place a soft kiss on his lips, feeling a rush of emotions coursing through you.

As your lips met, a surge of emotions washed over you, a combination of desire and a deep-seated connection that you'd been denying for so long.

Harry's hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. His mouth moved against yours with a familiar yet intense hunger.

As your manager yelled from the counter to remind you that you were still on the clock, you pulled back from the kiss, smiling at Harry.

“I'll wait for you in the car, angel,” he said, and you nodded in agreement before heading off to clock out. Barry asked you how Heart would react, and you sighed, unsure of how she would take the news. But for the moment, you didn't care. You felt a sense of freedom, no longer having to hide your feelings.

54 notes · View notes

ta1kingn0nsense · 24 days ago

Text

Pleased to Meet You

✨ summary: where y/n is a product designer for Pleasing and they’re launching a new product.

📝 word count: 9k

⚠️ content warning: smut.

💌 support my work

“You’re coming tonight, right?”

Y/N looked up from her laptop, blinking away the spreadsheet haze as her boss appeared in the doorway, espresso in hand and eyebrows raised.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I was thinking about it.”

Her boss gave her a look. “Thinking about it?”

“I have to go home and feed my cat.”

“Your cat will survive.”

“She’s sensitive.”

“You designed the damn thing, Y/N. You can’t not show up to the launch party.”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, tugging her hair off her neck and twisting it into a loose knot. “I’ve seen enough vibrators for a lifetime. I don’t need to toast to one.”

Her boss smirked. “But this one’s different.”

Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Okay, fine,” her boss said, leaning against the doorframe with the smug energy of someone holding back a better reason. “Well… I did hear a little rumor that Harry might show up.”

That got her attention.

Y/N sat up straighter, trying not to look interested. “Harry who?”

Her boss blinked slowly. “You’re hilarious.”

“I thought he was in Milan.”

“That’s what everyone thought. But someone from PR said he flew in this morning.”

Y/N hesitated. Not because she was starstruck, but because she didn’t exactly want to meet the man whose name sat on her paycheck. The mystery of Harry Styles had worked in her favor so far. She’d done her job, made something sleek and stunning, and no one micromanaged her from the top floor. Especially not him.

Still, the thought of him being in the same room… watching people hold her design like it was something sacred…

Her boss grinned. “So. You’ll come?”

Y/N shrugged, but the smallest smile tugged at her lips. “Maybe.”

Y/N didn’t plan on going.

She told herself that more than once as she rinsed the remnants of her dinner plate and set it carefully on the rack to dry. She wasn’t avoiding the party. She just hadn’t decided. That was different.

Her apartment was dim, peaceful. A candle burned on the windowsill. Her cat purred against her ankle as if begging her to sit down, stay home, and be reasonable.

But her eyes kept drifting to the time.

8:03.

The party had already started. This meant that people were probably milling around the showroom by now, sipping cocktails and admiring the design she’d spent seven months perfecting. A few might be whispering about it. Laughing. Some would be filming it for Instagram, testing the different vibration patterns with their fingertips like it was a novelty instead of a labor of obsession.

It was strange, watching your work become something public. Intimate and impersonal all at once.

She crossed the apartment barefoot and opened her closet without thinking.

She didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard. But she also didn’t want to fade into the background. She was proud of what she’d made—of how quietly powerful the product was, how good it felt in the hand, how beautiful it looked on a nightstand. It didn’t beg for attention. It didn’t need to.

She wanted to match that energy.

She bypassed the usual workwear. No slacks. No sensible blouse. Instead, she reached for a dress she hadn’t worn in months—a deep red satin, cut on the bias with delicate straps and a low back. Simple but striking. It hugged her hips like it remembered how they moved.

She stepped into it and smoothed the fabric over her thighs. Then she pulled her hair up into a loose, lazy twist, letting a few strands fall on purpose.

She kept her makeup clean, but she hesitated when she reached for lipstick.

Then she picked the bold one.

Not for anyone else. Just because she liked how it made her feel.

When she finished dressing, her phone buzzed with a message from her boss.

8:12 PM [Boss]: Your baby is the star of the night. People are losing their minds. Champagne’s flowing. See for yourself.

Y/N stared at it for a beat, then set her phone down.

She fed the cat, grabbed her coat, and headed for the door.

This wasn’t about networking. Or making an appearance. Or rumors.

It was about showing up for what she built with her hands.

And maybe, if the night was kind, having one more glass of champagne than she should.

The first thing she noticed was the lighting.

Warm, low, intentional—gold against velvet, shadows curling into corners. It didn’t feel like a corporate event. It felt like a gallery. A lounge. Maybe even a secret.

Music drifted low under the clink of glasses and murmured conversation. Not loud enough to fill the space, just loud enough to loosen it. People leaned close to hear each other. Laughed softly. Stared at the central display like it might do something if they looked long enough.

And there it was.

The product.

Perched in a curved glass case like a sculpture—lit from beneath, casting delicate reflections onto the velvet-covered table. Her prototype. Her baby.

Y/N hovered near the edge of the room, shrugging off her coat and folding it neatly over her arm before slipping it into a corner. No one noticed her yet, which she didn’t mind. She liked seeing it like this—her design surrounded by chatter and champagne, the whole night wrapped around something she made.

She moved toward the bar slowly, letting herself observe.

Someone pointed at the vibrator and whispered, “That’s the one I told you about. The curved tip? It’s unreal.”

“Is it heavy?” the other woman asked.

“Nah, it’s perfect. It feels like—I don’t know. It knows what it’s doing.”

Y/N smiled to herself.

She ordered a glass of sparkling wine at the bar and leaned against the marble edge, surveying the room as she sipped. Faces she half-recognized floated past—editors, influencers, colleagues dressed just slightly edgier than they did in the office. Everyone glowed under the amber light.

A few people passed her with nods or polite hellos. One of the junior engineers gave her a wide grin and mouthed, We did it.

She raised her glass.

She was halfway through her drink when a voice beside her said, “Can I ask you something?”

She turned.

It was a woman she didn’t know—tall, striking, clutching a coupe glass with perfectly manicured fingers. She looked like she belonged in a campaign shoot.

“Sure,” Y/N said, curious.

“Did you work on it?”

Y/N blinked. “On…?”

The woman nodded toward the center display. “The toy.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “Yeah. I did.”

The woman’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”

Y/N nodded.

“Well,” she said, tipping her glass in salute, “my girlfriend came three times in one night and won’t shut up about it, so—thank you for your service.”

Y/N laughed. “Happy to help.”

“You deserve a raise.”

“I’ll pass that along.”

The woman grinned and disappeared into the crowd.

Y/N turned back toward the bar, still smiling. She felt good, not in a look-at-me way, but in that rare, steady way that came from seeing something through. Quiet pride blooming in her chest like heat. Like a buzz under her skin.

She was halfway through a second sip when something shifted slightly in the room's energy. A hush, not quite a silence. The kind that travels like static.

And when she glanced up, she saw it.

Not him. Not right away.

Just the way heads turned near the entrance. Like gravity had tilted.

She felt him before she saw him.

Not in any magical way—just a shift. A ripple in the room’s rhythm. Like someone had cracked a window and let in something warmer.

Y/N turned her head and caught a glimpse of him near the entrance.

Harry Styles.

He didn’t make an entrance. He just… arrived. A black silk shirt clung softly to his frame, the top few buttons undone like he’d decided collars were optional. His hair curled at the edges, slightly unruly in a way that looked too perfect to be accidental. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing tanned forearms and several rings that caught the soft light.

He smiled at someone as he passed—small, easy, familiar. He didn’t glide through the room so much as settle into it, like it adjusted around him.

She turned back to her drink, heart ticking a little faster, but she didn’t let herself watch him.

Until he appeared beside her.

“Hi,” he said, and his voice was deeper than she expected—gentle, like it wasn’t meant for anyone else.

She looked up, caught off guard. “Oh. Hi.”

He smiled, just slightly. “Sorry to bother. I was told I should meet the genius behind the main attraction.”

Her brows lifted, surprised. “Genius is… generous.”

He glanced at the display. “Not from what I’ve heard.”

She felt her cheeks warm. “I just helped design it. There were a lot of people involved.”

He nodded. “Still. You made something people are talking about—in a room full of people who talk too much.”

That made her laugh under her breath.

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“I know,” she said softly, then immediately followed with, “I mean—I work here. Not, like… not in a weird way.”

His smile deepened. “I didn’t think it was.”

She let her eyes drop to her glass. “I’m Y/N.”

He repeated it like a secret. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

The space between them hummed quietly. Not rushed. Just aware.

“Do you… Come to these launches often?” she asked, half-joking, just to say something.

He gave her a look. “That was bad.”

“Really bad,” she agreed, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“First one I’ve shown up to,” he said, eyes still on hers. “Figured this was the one to see.”

Her voice softened. “Glad you made it.”

He looked like he might say something more, but didn’t right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch between them, warm and full of something neither had named yet.

Then he nodded toward her nearly empty glass. “Can I get you another?”

She hesitated, then gave the slightest nod. “Sure.”

And when he stepped away toward the bar, she found herself smiling.

Not because it was him.

But something about how he looked at her made her feel seen.

He returned with two glasses, holding one out to her with a small, almost boyish smile. “Wasn’t sure what you were drinking. Took a guess.”

She accepted it, fingers brushing his for the second time that night. “Good guess.”

Harry glanced around the room, then leaned in slightly. “Would you mind if we stepped away for a minute? It’s a bit loud in here.”

Her heart ticked up, just slightly. “Sure.”

He didn’t guide her with a hand on her back or anything like that—just walked beside her, quiet and unhurried, as they slipped through the velvet-curtained archway near the bar. On the other side was a smaller lounge area—less lighting, fewer people. Just low couches, scattered candles, and a window cracked open to the sound of the city outside.

No one else was in the room.

She hovered near the edge, unsure whether to sit. He did first, dropping into a curved chair with a low exhale, stretching out like he belonged there. Then he looked up at her.

“Come on,” he said, nodding to the seat across from him. “Won’t bite.”

She sat, tucking her legs neatly and crossing her ankles. The hem of her dress slipped a little higher on her thigh, but she didn’t fidget. He wasn’t staring. He was watching her.

“So,” he said, resting his glass against his knee. “I meant it, by the way. I really did want to get your perspective.”

She smiled a little, setting her glass on the low table between them. “About the product?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head. “I mean… You probably don’t get to talk about it much in a way that isn’t all—spec sheets and branding.”

She relaxed a little. “You’d be surprised.”

“I don’t know,” he said, sipping his drink. “Seems like most people just want to make jokes about it.”

“They do,” she admitted. “But it’s okay. I kind of like how open everyone’s been.”

“It’s impressive,” he said. “You made something beautiful out of something people usually whisper about.”

Her cheeks flushed again, but she didn’t look away this time. “Thank you.”

He leaned back in his chair, legs stretching out a little. His gaze softened. “So… did you?”

Her brows lifted slightly. “Did I what?”

“Try it,” he said, tone still light—but quieter now. Not teasing. Just… curious.

She blinked, then gave a small laugh, shaking her head. “I knew you were working up to that.”

He grinned. “Was I that obvious?”

“A little.”

“So?” he asked again, voice low and warm. “Did you?”

She hesitated—just for a second—then nodded once. “I did.”

And when she said it, she didn’t flinch. He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t making it weird.

He was watching her.

And he looked… fascinated.

Her answer hung in the air—soft but sure.

“I did.”

Harry didn’t react right away. He just nodded slowly, as if cataloguing that. Like he wasn’t just interested in the fact—he wanted the feeling.

“For research,” he said, a small smile on his lips.

She let out a quiet breath of laughter. “Of course.”

“You test all the products yourself?”

“Not all,” she said, tucking her hand around her glass. “Just the ones I work directly on. This one was… a bit more involved.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, glass loose in his hand. His voice dropped a little. “And how did it… perform?”

The words weren’t laced with suggestion—not outright. But there was a curiosity to them. Focused. Like he wanted to know.

She shifted in her seat. Her fingers drummed once against the side of her glass.

“It did what it was designed to do,” she said carefully.

He tilted his head, amused. “That’s a very professional answer.”

“Well, I am a professional.”

He grinned. “I’m sure you are.”

How he said it—warm and low, without looking away—made her throat dry.

She cleared it softly. “It… exceeded expectations,” she added, more quietly. “We went through a few prototypes before it felt right. But the final version… yeah. It worked.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “What made it better?”

She hesitated. Her voice dipped without meaning to. “The rhythm. And the pressure curve. Most toys blast you with power and assume that’s what gets the job done, but we—” She caught herself rambling and stopped. “Sorry. You probably don’t want all the technical details.”

“I do,” he said quickly. “I want all of it.”

Her breath caught for half a second.

“You don’t seem embarrassed,” he added, gently now. “Talking about it.”

“I’m not,” she said, though her voice was a little softer. “I mean… I am a little. But mostly I think people should be allowed to talk about pleasure like it’s normal.”

“It is normal,” he said. “Or it should be.”

There was a pause. Her cheeks were warm, and she couldn’t quite meet his eyes now, not for too long.

“I like how you talk about it,” he said, quieter now. “You don’t sound like someone selling something. You sound like someone who cares if people feel good.”

Her eyes finally lifted to his, and something heavier was now less playful.

“I do,” she said. “Care.”

His gaze dropped briefly—to her mouth, then her hands, then back to her eyes.

And this time, when the silence stretched, it wasn’t awkward. It was thick. Charged.

She felt warm all over.

The air between them had gone thick, slow like honey. His words were kind, earnest, even—but how he looked at her made it feel like he saw more than what she said. Like he was pulling pieces of her out into the light before she was ready.

Her fingers tightened slightly around her glass. She didn’t know what to say next.

So she shifted.

Gently.

“Did you ever try it?” she asked, her voice softer now. Almost hesitant. She kept her eyes on the rim of her drink as she spoke.

There was a pause.

Then a quiet, surprised laugh from across the table.

“That’s not what I expected you to ask,” Harry said, amusement laced.

Her lips pressed together in the tiniest smile. “You asked me.”

“True.”

She braved a glance up at him. His expression was open. Curious. Not mocking.

“No,” he said after a beat. “I haven’t.”

She blinked. “Really?”

He nodded, resting his forearm along the back of the chair. “I wanted to. Meant to. But I figured I should wait until I knew what I was doing.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, brows lifting. “You think there’s a wrong way to use it?”

“Maybe not wrong,” he said, eyes dancing now, “but I didn’t want to half-understand something someone else put real care into.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down again. “That’s… thoughtful.”

He let her sit with that. No teasing. No pressure. Just the sound of his ringed fingers tapping quietly once against his glass.

Then—softer now—he added, “Based on your reaction… sounds like I missed out.”

She let out the tiniest laugh, surprised at herself. “You might’ve.”

Harry smiled again. Not wide. Just enough.

And when he looked at her this time, it wasn’t like he was waiting for her to flirt back. It was like he wanted to hear what she’d say next. She wasn’t just someone who worked for his company—but someone he wanted to know more about.

Someone who made things he hadn’t touched yet, but maybe wanted to.

She didn’t know what she expected him to say next.

Maybe something flirtier. Maybe something bold.

Instead, he looked at her like he wasn’t rushing to go anywhere.

This small conversation in a quiet corner of the room was better than anything else that might’ve been planned.

She opened her mouth, unsure what to say, when a voice broke in from the doorway.

“Harry—sorry.” A woman appeared, poised and efficient, dressed in all black with an earpiece tucked behind one ear. His assistant, probably. “A couple of people from Vogue want a quick moment. They’re asking for you.”

Harry leaned back in his chair with a small exhale, running a hand through his hair as he turned toward the voice. “Right. Yeah. Okay.”

He stood slowly, finishing the last drink before setting the glass between them.

Then he looked at her again.

And this time his smile was a little softer. Regretful, almost.

“It was nice meeting you,” he said, voice low.

She nodded, unsure if she should stand too. “You too.”

He paused like he might say more. Like he wanted to.

But instead, he just gave her one last look, held it for a second too long, and then turned to follow the assistant out.

She watched him go, her hands curled lightly around her glass.

The silence in the room felt louder once he was gone.

She stayed seated for another minute after he left, nursing what was left of her drink and staring at the condensation sliding down the side of the glass. The buzz of conversation from the main room filtered back in slowly, like a tide rolling in after a quiet storm.

It was just a conversation.

She told herself that as she stood, smoothed down the hem of her dress, and returned through the velvet curtain. The party hadn’t changed—still golden, still loud. Still filled with people drinking and laughing and pretending they weren’t watching for a glimpse of him.

She found her boss near the bar, chatting with someone from PR, a half-full coupe glass in her hand. When she saw Y/N approaching, her brows lifted.

“There she is,” her boss said, turning slightly. “You disappeared.”

“I stepped out for a bit,” Y/N said, waving the bartender over for water this time. Her pulse was still doing strange things in her neck.

Her boss narrowed her eyes. “With him?”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“Harry.” Her boss sipped her drink, watching her over the rim. “I saw him walk you into the lounge.”

She shrugged, trying to sound casual. “He wanted to ask me about the design. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Mmhmm.” Her boss gave her a knowing look. “That’s how it always starts.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite bite back the smile tugging at her lips. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. I believe you.” She tilted her glass toward Y/N. “You just look a little flushed, that’s all.”

Y/N tried to hide her smile behind her water.

She stood there for a while, tucked into the corner of the bar with her boss, listening to bits of conversations float past. A few people complimented her, some even recognizing her work. Someone joked about stealing one of the display units. She laughed in the right places, nodded, and made polite conversation.

But now and then, her eyes drifted toward the hallway.

Just once.

After another half hour, the crowd shifted—voices a little louder and laughter sloppier. The ice in drinks melted faster. Someone spilled a cocktail near the edge of the carpet, and the bartender sighed. It was that part of the night when everything started to blur.

Y/N checked the time—almost eleven.

She wasn’t needed anymore.

Her boss had drifted off into a conversation with someone from marketing, one hand on their arm, gesturing animatedly. Y/N waited for a lull before stepping in.

“I’m gonna head out,” she said, gently.

Her boss turned, blinking once before smiling. “You’re not staying for the after-party?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve hit my social limit.”

“Well, if anyone earned an early exit, it’s you,” her boss said, pulling her into a quick hug. “Seriously. Tonight was a hit. Everyone’s obsessed.”

“Thank you,” Y/N murmured, soft and sincere.

“Let me know if you want me to send over the press roundups tomorrow.”

“Will do. Night.”

She slipped from the bar and made her way through the thinning crowd, pausing to give polite goodbyes to a few coworkers and people she barely remembered being introduced to earlier. They all said some version of the same thing: Congratulations. It's an incredible design, and you should be proud.

And she was.

She really, truly was.

But still… her heart beat a little faster as she reached the edge of the hallway.

She hadn’t seen him again. No surprise. He was probably upstairs somewhere doing press photos, shaking hands with whoever paid the most significant ad buy, charming the rooms he was expected to charm.

She was okay with that.

She was.

She tucked a hand into her coat pocket, her heels quiet against the polished floor as she stepped into the hallway leading to the exit. Her footsteps echoed softly, muted by the velvet walls and the hush of being somewhere just slightly removed from the party.

It felt a little lonely. But also… peaceful.

Finished.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Then rounded the corner toward the door.

Then—

Click.

The soft sound of a door opening.

Her heart jumped.

“Y/N?”

She turned.

Harry stood a few feet down the hallway, one hand braced lightly on the doorframe behind him. His curls were a little messier now, and the silk of his shirt relaxed further from his collarbone.

He looked… unhurried. Like he’d followed her without really thinking about it.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Her grip tightened slightly on her coat. “Home,” she said. “I’m tired.”

He nodded once. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

There was a pause before he added, “I’m heading out soon, too.”

She offered him a small smile. “You should stay. You’re the reason they’re all here.”

“I think you might be the reason they’re all whispering.”

She blushed and looked down, fiddling with her phone. “I was just going to call an Uber.”

Harry stepped forward slightly. “Can I walk you out?”

She blinked.

There wasn’t anything loaded in his voice. Just something soft. Something that made her stomach flutter in a quiet, unexpected way.

“Sure,” she said.

And just like that, they turned toward the door together.

The city hummed in the background. Muted headlights passed, tires whispering along the pavement. Behind them, the glow of the launch party dimmed to something distant.

They walked slowly toward the curb, her heels quiet on the sidewalk. Harry kept pace beside her, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, his shirt untucked just enough to look like the night had lived on him a bit.

She pulled out her phone when they reached the edge of the street.

“I’ll just call an Uber,” she said, flicking it open.

But before she could tap the screen, he spoke.

“You don’t have to do that.”

She looked up.

“I’ll drive you,” he said, like it wasn’t a question. “If that’s alright with you.”

She blinked. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he said, and his smile was easy. Sure. “But I’d like to.”

She hesitated.

He took one step closer—not close enough to crowd her, just enough that his voice dropped into something warmer.

“I wasn’t finished picking your brain,” he said. “And I’m selfish when I’m curious.”

That made her chuckle, even as something tightened beneath her ribs.

“You don’t have to impress me,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

He shook his head, eyes catching hers. “I’m not trying to impress you. I want to hear what else you have to say.”

How he looked at her then—steady and open, not pushy, just present—made her stomach flip.

Her thumb hovered over the screen for a second longer.

Then she locked her phone and slipped it back into her coat pocket.

“Okay,” she said.

His grin deepened. “Good.”

And together, they turned down the sidewalk.

His car was parked just down the street—sleek and understated, dark paint catching little glints of city light. He unlocked it with a click and opened the passenger door for her without a word.

She slid in, her dress brushing against the seat, the door shutting softly behind her. The interior smelled like leather and something subtle, maybe cedar. Clean. Warm.

Harry settled into the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other raking through his curls as he glanced over.

“You alright?” he asked.

She nodded, smoothing her hands over her coat where it pooled in her lap. “Yeah. … feels quiet now.”

“Nice kind of quiet,” he said, starting the engine. “Different.”

They pulled into the street, the soft hum of the car filling the silence between them for a minute. She watched the city lights blur past the window. She felt completely unobserved for the first time all night, like they were tucked inside something still and separate.

A few blocks in, Harry spoke again—voice low, calm.

“I don’t mean to make it weird,” he said. “But I’ve got a guest room if you want it.”

She turned to look at him.

“No pressure,” he added quickly. “It’s just late, and I figured… I dunno. It’s nicer than sleeping in the back of an Uber with a stranger who keeps playing Pitbull.”

That made her laugh. Quiet, tired. “You have a lot of experience with Pitbull-loving Uber drivers?”

“More than I care to admit.”

She studied him for a second. The way his fingers tapped once against the steering wheel. He glanced over at her, checking—not pushing, just checking.

“Are you sure it’s not weird?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t offer if it were.”

She paused. Then smiled faintly.

“What the hell,” she said.

He looked over at her again, slower this time.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He smiled then—slow and warm and a little smug but not in a way that made her regret it.

“I’ve got a nice whiskey,” he said. “We could break it open.”

She leaned back against the seat, letting herself settle into the idea.

“Alright,” she said. “One drink.”

His smile deepened. “One.”

But neither of them believed that.

His house was tucked behind a low gate. It was modern but warm, with stone, glass, and low lighting that glowed softly along the pathway. When he opened the front door, she caught the faint scent of something clean and woodsy, like cedar, linen, and home.

Inside, the space was spacious but lived-in. Nothing was staged: a stack of books on the coffee table, a hoodie tossed over the back of a chair, and a half-melted candle on the kitchen island.

It felt real. Lived in. His.

She slipped out of her heels just inside the door, quietly grateful to be on solid ground. Her feet ached, but the rest of her felt… light. A little dazed. Like the night was still opening.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Harry said, setting his keys in a small dish by the door. “Couch is yours.”

She stepped into the sunken living room and curled into the corner of the couch, tucking one leg underneath her. It was ridiculously soft. She couldn’t help but exhale.

Harry momentarily disappeared into the other room, then returned holding a folded knit blanket.

“You looked cold,” he said, draping it over her lap before she could protest.

Her cheeks warmed. “Thank you.”

He nodded and moved to the bar cart by the window. There was a slight clink of glass and a cork popping. He poured two fingers into each glass, but there was no ice.

When he returned, he handed her one and settled into the armchair across from her. Their knees angled toward each other, as if the conversation had already started.

She took a sip—smooth, smoky. Sharp enough to burn in the back of her throat, but not unpleasant.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Then he cleared his throat, voice lower now. More careful.

“Can I ask you something?”

She glanced up at him over the rim of her glass. “Sure.”

“Personal questions,” he clarified. “Nothing weird. I… want to know more than your title.”

Her lips parted slightly. Something fluttered low in her stomach.

She nodded. “Okay.”

Harry watched her over the rim of his glass. Not staring. Just… present.

The kind of attention that made her feel warm in a way that had nothing to do with the whiskey.

He let a few seconds pass. No rush. No sharp pivot. Just—

“What makes you happy?” he asked.

She blinked. Not because it was invasive—because it wasn’t. It was just so… simple. And real. Not a party question. Not small talk.

She hesitated. Swirled the liquid in her glass.

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “That’s hard.”

He nodded, like he understood. “Yeah. It is.”

She tucked the blanket a little higher over her lap, eyes flicking to the window for a second. “I guess… little things. Slow mornings. Getting something right after trying for hours. When my cat sleeps on my chest like I’m her entire world.”

That made him smile.

“And this,” she added quietly, before she could stop herself.

He looked up, curious. “This?”

She nodded, a little shy. “Just… being here. Talking. Not being expected to perform.”

He let that settle. Didn’t push.

“I like quiet,” she added, eyes dropping to her drink again. “But not the kind that feels empty. The kind that feels like someone’s listening.”

Harry’s gaze didn’t move.

“I am,” he said.

She looked at him then, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t performing either because he was sitting in his lived-in house, offering her warmth, whiskey, and stillness.

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then, softly: “Why’d you ask me that?”

His lips curved a little. “Because I like how you answer things.”

Her chest tightened—not uncomfortably, but in that aching, fluttery way when someone looks at you and sees something you hadn’t even named yet.

He leaned forward slightly, his glass dangling loosely between his fingers. “Can I ask another?”

She nodded.

“Why this?” he asked. “Why design something like that?”

She smiled, eyes lowering. “You want to know?”

“I wouldn’t have followed you down a hallway if I didn’t.”

Y/N let her thumb glide slowly over the rim of her glass, her gaze fixed between the blanket on her lap and the amber liquid catching the light.

She didn’t rush her answer.

“I think…” she began, then paused, swallowing gently. “I think a lot of the time, we’re told to want things without ever being asked what feels good.”

Harry stayed still. No interrupting. Just waiting.

“I got tired of the clinical way people talk about pleasure,” she continued softly. “Like it’s something separate from the rest of who we are. Like it’s this weird, taboo corner we only peek into when no one’s watching.”

She glanced up briefly to see him still watching her. Focused. Steady.

“So I wanted to design something that felt… beautiful,” she said. “Not just functional. Something that could sit on your nightstand and not make you feel ashamed. Something that made you feel like it belonged to you.”

She looked down again.

“I guess it wasn’t really about the product,” she said. “It was about giving people—especially women—a little control back. Not just over their bodies, but over what brings them joy.”

The room was quiet.

But it didn’t feel empty.

When she looked up again, his expression had changed.

Softer. Quieter. Like something had settled in him.

“That’s the best answer I’ve ever heard to any question I’ve ever asked,” he said quietly.

She let out a soft laugh, but it caught in her throat.

“You made something compelling,” he said. “And you talk about it like it’s no big deal.”

“It’s not,” she said. “Not really.”

“It is,” he said. “Because it matters.”

The way he looked at her now—it wasn’t just interest. It was respect. Admiration. And something more tender, tucked behind his lashes like a secret.

Like she’d just surprised him.

And he loved being surprised.

He didn’t speak right away.

I just watched her; how someone watches a fire burn low—like it was warming him in a way he hadn’t expected.

She took another sip of her whiskey, not meeting his eyes this time. It was easier to pretend the room wasn’t thick with something new.

But he was still watching her.

And then, quietly:

“Can I ask you something else?”

She nodded once, slowly. “You don’t have to keep asking.”

“I do,” he said. “Because I don’t want to push.”

His voice was low now. Weighted, but careful. It made her heart catch, that kind of restraint.

He set his glass on the table and leaned forward, elbows resting loosely on his knees.

“Do you ever feel like… It’s easier to give pleasure than to ask for it?”

Her breath stalled.

The question wasn’t sexual. Not exactly. It was emotional. Raw. Softened by the way he said it. Like it came from a place he knew too well himself.

She didn’t answer right away. The room felt suddenly warmer, the whiskey blooming in her chest like heat. Her fingers curled a little tighter around the blanket.

“I do,” she said finally, voice quiet. “All the time.”

Harry nodded slowly, eyes still on her.

“I think that’s why I put it to work,” she said. “It’s easier. Safer.”

“Because no one expects you to ask for anything back,” he said.

She met his eyes then—and no teasing was left in him. Just that slow, deliberate interest that felt like gravity.

Like he was inching closer without moving an inch.

“That’s not how it should be, you know,” he said.

Her throat felt tight.

“I know,” she whispered.

Neither of them moved.

But the tension—the weight between them—was suddenly impossible to ignore. Something unspoken vibrated beneath the silence. One had to break it, or it would break for them.

And still, he didn’t reach for her.

But his voice was softer than ever when he asked, “Can I pour you another?”

She nodded, the motion small but sure. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

Harry stood and walked back to the bar cart; this time, there was a new stillness. The kind that came with intention. No longer dancing around anything. He poured slowly, carefully, then returned to the couch—and when he sat, he didn’t give her space this time.

His thigh pressed gently against hers. His body turned toward her. Close enough that his warmth brushed her skin like a secret.

She took the glass from his hand, fingers brushing. Holding. Not letting go right away.

He didn’t pull back.

His hand was still on her thigh, his thumb moving in slow, aimless circles, making it hard to think clearly.

She hadn’t meant to say anything. Not really.

But the moment felt thick with possibility, as if she didn’t speak, it might close around them and vanish.

So she did.

“Do you want to try it?”

Her voice was quiet. Measured. But underneath it, something pulsed. A flicker of nerves. Or anticipation. Maybe both.

Harry didn’t move at first.

He looked at her—really looked at her—like he was trying to decide if she meant it the way it sounded.

His fingers stilled against her thigh.

Then his lips parted, the smallest exhale slipping out. Not a laugh. Not quite surprised. Just heat.

“I don’t know what I’d do with it,” he said, his voice low, like it wasn’t meant to be heard outside the space between them.

Her chest rose with a shallow breath, and she gave the slightest shrug—helpless, honest.

“You can do anything,” she said.

His eyes didn’t leave hers.

For a second, the entire room—the lights, the air, the city outside—seemed to hold still around them.

Then, slowly, he leaned back.

Brought his glass to his lips.

Tipped it.

Swallowed the rest of the whiskey in one long drink.

And when he set the glass down, his hand slid higher on her thigh—slow, deliberate, and no longer careful.

“Why don’t you show me?” he said.

His hand stayed on her thigh, firm now. No more questioning. No more almost.

And his voice was low, heat, and certainty when he leaned in—closer than he had all night.

“Come with me.”

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t even a request.

It was gravity.

She didn’t speak. She let him take the glass from her hand, setting it down beside his with a soft clink. Then his fingers slipped from her thigh to her hand, curling around hers, warm and deliberate.

He stood, tugging her gently with him.

She followed.

Barefoot, quiet, pulse racing.

The hallway was dim, hushed like the rest of the house had already gone to sleep. She let him guide her past tall shelves, through a doorway, into a room that smelled like linen and skin and something faintly woodsy—him.

The bedroom was spacious but not showy. It had dark walls, soft sheets, and a low lamp glowing gold in the corner.

He turned to face her just inside the doorway.

And for a moment, he didn’t touch her.

Just looked.

His eyes scanned her face, pausing at her lips and neck. Her breath was uneven now, and her hands were at her sides, like she didn’t know what to do with them.

“You sure?” he asked softly.

She nodded.

“That’s not good enough,” he said, stepping closer now, his voice quiet but sure. “I want to hear it.”

Her breath trembled on the way out.

“I’m sure,” she said.

And that was all it took.

His hands slid to her waist. Slow, grounding. He leaned in and kissed her—finally—mouth warm and steady, no rush, just pressure. He’d been thinking about it since she said I helped design it.

She kissed him back, arms slipping around his shoulders, her body moving toward his like it had been waiting.

The door clicked shut behind them.

The kiss deepened as he walked her backward toward the bed, one slow step at a time, his hands splayed warm against her waist. Her breath caught when her legs hit the edge of the mattress, and he pulled back just enough to look at her.

Then his hands slid up—along her sides, over the dip of her waist, until they found the straps of her dress.

He slipped them down with maddening care.

The fabric pooled at her feet.

His eyes dragged over her slowly, taking in the curve of her hips, the heat still lingering in her flushed cheeks, the tension in her thighs. And then, just when she thought he’d touch her again—he stepped back.

Wordless.

Calm.

And crossed the room.

She watched, dazed and aching, as he opened a drawer in the dresser and pulled out the sleek black box—the box she knew by weight and shape alone.

Her chest rose sharply.

He turned it in his hands as he walked back to her. “So this is the one, yeah?” he asked, voice low and wicked.

She nodded, lips parted, not trusting herself to speak.

He smiled, slow and dangerous.

He pressed a soft kiss to her mouth, then her throat, then her collarbone—before murmuring, “And you’re gonna let me use it on you?”

Her knees nearly buckled.

“Lie back,” he said.

She obeyed, heart pounding as she stretched across the cool sheets, her legs trembling slightly with anticipation.

Harry opened the box slowly, as if he were unwrapping something sacred.

He turned the toy on—low at first. A soft, steady hum filled the room, and her breath hitched at the sound alone.

He knelt on the bed beside her, running his free hand up her thigh—slowly parting her legs, his eyes never leaving her face.

He dragged the vibrator gently along the inside of her thigh—up, then down again, nowhere near where she needed it. Teasing.

“You feel that?” he murmured. “You made that happen.”

The vibration buzzed just against her skin. Her body was already arching subtly, craving more.

“You know what the best part is?” he said, bringing it close enough that her breath stuttered.

She whimpered.

He smiled.

“I haven’t even turned it up yet.”

The vibrator's hum was low and steady, like a curling sound around her spine.

Harry sat on one knee on the bed beside her, watching her with infuriating calm. The toy hovered just along the crease of her inner thigh, barely brushing her, never staying still. His touch was maddeningly light, deliberate, withholding.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmured.

She tried to bite back a sound, her breath stuttering instead.

He brought the toy a little higher, grazing the edge of her underwear and pressing a bit firmer against the soaked fabric.

Her hips jolted, the pressure too close and not enough all at once.

“You like knowing I have this?” he asked softly. “Knowing I could use it on anyone I want?”

Her eyes fluttered open, already glassy.

“But I’m not,” he said. “I’m using it on you.”

He turned the setting up—not much. Just enough.

The vibration pulsed stronger, buzzing directly against her now. Still through the fabric, still too light to push her over, but enough to make her body arch, to make a soft moan spill from her lips before she could catch it.

“There we go,” he said, voice low and praising. “There’s that sound I’ve been waiting for.”

He dragged it down again, slow and teasing, making her chase the sensation, her thighs shifting restlessly under his hand.

“You made something perfect,” he said, pressing a kiss just above her navel. “But you didn’t make it to be kind, did you?”

She whimpered.

“You made it to ruin people.”

She nodded, helpless.

“Say it.”

“I—I didn’t…” Her voice broke, hips rocking upward. “I didn’t make it to be kind.”

He smiled against her skin.

“Exactly.”

Then he slipped the toy beneath the edge of her underwear, finally letting it touch her properly—warm and wet and ready. Her whole body jolted at the contact, the air catching in her lungs like she’d forgotten how to breathe.

And he still didn’t give her what she wanted.

Not all of it.

He held it just slightly off-center, teasing that sweet spot with maddening precision, not quite letting her tip over the edge.

Her hips bucked. Her hands twisted in the sheets.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice calm and almost gentle. “You don’t come until I say.”

She moaned—frustrated, desperate, right there.

His eyes never left her.

“You’re gonna fall apart for me,” he murmured. “But not until I see what that beautiful little toy of yours can do.”

Then he turned it up again.

And everything inside her broke.

Her body was tense beneath him, trembling at the edge of something sharp and overwhelming. Her fingers twisted in the sheets, her thighs clenching around his hand as he kept the vibrator in just the right place—but not quite enough to push her over.

Not yet.

Harry watched her with dark, steady eyes, his voice low and calm in contrast to how completely he had her coming undone.

“You’re close,” he murmured, his thumb grazing the edge of her hip. “Aren’t you?”

She nodded, breathless. “Please.”

“Please what?”

She let out a desperate whimper, hips grinding into the pressure now, chasing release. “Please let me—please.”

He smiled, just slightly. “Not yet.”

She cried out, a soft, frustrated sound that made something tighten in his jaw. He leaned down and kissed the inside of her thigh. Then her stomach. Then lower.

“You can take a little more,” he said against her skin. “You built this to take more.”

She gasped as he turned the setting up again—deeper now. Buzzing right against her, not holding back anymore. Her body jerked under the intensity, her breath caught somewhere in her throat.

“I can’t—I can’t—”

“Yes,” he whispered, right at her ear now, his lips brushing the shell of it. “You can. Just a little longer.”

Her entire body arched off the bed. Her legs were shaking. She was unraveling under his voice, under his hand, under the thing she had designed to ruin strangers—and now it was ruining her.

“I need—Harry—please, I need—”

That was the moment.

He kissed her jaw, soft and firm.

“Okay,” he said. “Now.”

And the second he said it, she shattered.

Her back arched, her legs locked around his arm, and a deep, broken moan tore from her throat. She came hard, her body shaking with the release—extended, drawn out, helpless beneath him.

He didn’t let up. Not right away. Just kept the toy there for a few seconds longer, until she was writhing, too sensitive, too much.

Then he turned it off.

Silence fell.

Except for her breath. Ragged. Unsteady. Alive.

He brushed her hair back from her damp forehead, his touch feather-light now.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his lips at her temple. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”

And in that moment, all she could do was breathe.

And feel.

His mouth found hers again—warm and slow and full of the heat that builds behind the eyes—not rushed. Not rough.

Just wanting.

She pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, her fingers fisting in the soft fabric. She kissed him harder now, her lips parting for his, her body already arching into his like she hadn’t just fallen apart minutes ago. Like she needed more.

He pulled back just slightly, his breath ragged, his eyes searching hers.

Then his lips curled, low and wicked.

“You’re needy, aren’t you?”

She flushed, her cheeks hot, her thighs instinctively tightening around him as she sat straddled in his lap.

She didn’t deny it.

Didn’t look away.

Instead, she leaned in again—nose brushing his, lips just barely apart.

“I need to ride you,” she whispered.

The change in him was instant.

His hands tightened on her hips, jaw flexing as he inhaled through his nose like he was trying to hold something back. He looked up at her—like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted to feel.

His voice came rough now, all gravel and tension.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

And then he lay back, pulling her with him.

“Go ahead,” he said, voice low, like a promise. “Take it.”

His words were still hanging in the air when she leaned down and kissed him again—slow and sure, lips dragging over his like she was claiming something. His hands were still on her hips, but now they stayed still, like he was letting her take over.

And she did.

Her fingers slipped to the top of his shirt, tugging at the buttons—one by one. No rush. No trembling hands this time. She focused, peeling the fabric apart until the smooth plane of his chest was exposed beneath her.

He watched her.

Silent.

His breathing was heavier now. His lips parted as she spread his shirt open and ran her hands over the warm skin beneath. She traced his collarbone, the light dusting of hair across his sternum, and the soft line that dipped down toward his waistband.

Her lips followed her hands.

She kissed down his neck, open-mouthed and unhurried. Along his chest. Over the curve of his stomach. She felt the way his muscles jumped under her mouth.

And she loved it.

He swore softly under his breath, one hand sliding up her spine, fingers curling into her hair.

But still—he didn’t rush her.

She sat back up, straddling his thighs, and her hands went to the button of his trousers.

She looked up, lips flushed, hair a little messy now.

“Okay?” she whispered.

He groaned, head dropping back against the pillow.

“Fucking please.”

She smiled—just slightly.

And undid his pants.

His cock was already hard in her hand, thick and flushed, and when she wrapped her fingers around him properly, he let out a low, broken noise from deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his head falling back against the pillow as she stroked him—long and slow, her thumb catching the bead of slick at the tip and spreading it down his length. His stomach tensed under her, his thighs shifting, breath catching on every exhale.

“You’re gonna fucking ruin me,” he murmured, eyes fluttering open to meet hers.

She didn’t say anything.

She just smiled—soft, knowing—and pushed his shirt fully off his shoulders as she straddled his hips again. Her knees braced against the mattress, her body bare above him, glowing in the low golden light.

She lifted her hips, guided him to her entrance, and hovered there for a moment—just long enough to feel him pulse against her, just long enough to let the tension coil tight between them.

Then she sank.

Inch by inch.

Slow.

The stretch pulled a gasp from her throat and a growl from his. His hands gripped her hips hard, his knuckles pale against her skin.

“Christ,” he muttered, voice thick. “You feel so good.”

She was tight around him, slick and warm and perfect. Her head dropped forward, forehead pressed against his as she bottomed out, taking every last inch until their bodies were flush.

They stayed there for a moment.

Just breathing.

His hands moved—one sliding up her back, the other wrapping around her waist as he whispered against her jaw.

“You okay?”

She nodded, eyes shut, lips parted around a shaky breath. “Yeah. Just… full.”

That made him smile.

“Good.”

She started to move—rolling her hips slowly, testing the rhythm, finding what felt good. She was in control now. She set the pace, and he let her. Let her ride him with purpose, need, and heat in every motion.

Her hands braced on his chest. He slid down to her ass, guiding her, grounding her.

Every drag of him inside her sent a ripple up her spine.

Every grind of her hips pulled another low moan from his throat.

And when she leaned back slightly, hands on his thighs for balance, he looked up at her like he’d never seen anything so fucking beautiful.

“You’re unreal,” he breathed. “Watching you like this…”

She bounced a little more complicated now, a gasp catching in her throat as he hit deeper.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “Just like that. Keep going.”

She rode him harder.

Faster.

Until the wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, and her moans turned into cries, and he was gripping the sheets beneath him like he was barely holding on.

His mouth found her breast, sucking and biting softly, and she cried out as her orgasm started to build again—sharp and unstoppable.

“Come on,” he whispered against her skin. “Come for me again. Let me feel it.”

And she did.

It hit her all at once—sharp and deep, her entire body tightening around him, her voice breaking as she clung to him and came with a shudder.

He followed seconds later—hips jerking up into hers, jaw clenched, a harsh moan ripping from his throat as he emptied into her, lost in the heat and the rhythm and her.

They stayed tangled and shaking, his hands on her back, hers in his hair, and both gasping into the quiet.

Neither of them said anything at first.

Her body trembled as she leaned forward, chest to chest, resting her forehead against his. Their breaths tangled—shaky and uneven, but slowly syncing again.

Harry’s hands rubbed gently along her spine, his thumbs drawing circles beneath her shoulder blades. No more tension. No more teasing.

Just presence.

“C’mere,” he murmured after a few moments, sliding his hands to her thighs and lifting her carefully off him. She let him, boneless and quiet, as he cradled her against his chest and stood.

He carried her to the bathroom.

He gently set her on the tub's edge, his hand brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek. “Gonna run a bath, yeah?”

She nodded.

He didn’t say anything else. I just turned the faucet, tested the temperature, and added a pump for something that smelled like cedar and vanilla. The room was filled with steam as he helped her into the warm water; his touch was always gentle and patient.

She let out a soft sigh as she sank in.

He sat beside the tub, legs drawn up, his shirt still open, watching her with a quiet affection she hadn’t expected.

“You okay?” he asked.

She looked up. Met his eyes.

Smiled.

“Yeah. More than.”

After a while, he reached for a towel, helping her out and wrapping her up like she was something to be kept warm and safe. They moved back to the bed in silence. He handed her one of his soft, worn-in-all-the-right-ways T-shirts. She pulled it over her head.

He didn’t ask her to stay.

She didn’t ask him to make it more than it was.

But it didn't feel like a goodbye when he pulled the blanket over them and wrapped an arm around her.

It felt like something real, even if only for the night.

She curled into his side.

His fingers threaded into her hair.

And for a long time, neither of them said a word.

His arm tightened around her, anchoring her there.

“I hope you know,” he said into the dark, “I’m not done with you yet.”

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ta1kingn0nsense · 25 days ago

Text

The Cover {h.s} — I

Best friends. A fake relationship. One weekend in Edinburgh—and maybe a shot at something real.

Author's note: This is a repost of the original story I first shared on Patreon. I’ve done a bit of light editing throughout—tightening up the prose, tweaking a few lines, and adding in some original text that was previously only on Patreon (including a few extended moments I really loved). Thank you so much for reading (or re-reading!)—your support means the world. I hope you enjoy this version just as much, if not more. 🤍

wc-> 4.5K

📌 pls, let me know if you would like to be tagged!

📌 Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon

The soft hum of the evening surrounded them as they sat on Harry’s plush couch, nestled in the heart of his spacious home. The minimalist decor of his living room reflected the careful balance between his hectic life in the spotlight and his need for peace. His house, though large, was warm, with low lighting that gave it a cozy, intimate feel. The air was thick with the scent of the coffee table candles he’d lit earlier—notes of sandalwood and something sweet.

Harry sat next to Y/N, his body half-turned toward her as he read a book, legs tucked beneath him like a cat seeking comfort. There was a distinct softness about him when he was in his own space, away from the flashing cameras and curious eyes of the public. His hair, dark and messy, tumbled over his forehead, catching in the dim light, giving him a boyish charm that contrasted sharply with his usual confident and polished public persona.

He wore a simple white t-shirt, the fabric clinging loosely to his lean frame. His broad shoulders spoke of strength, but his posture, slightly hunched as he leaned into his book, gave off an air of vulnerability. His long fingers traced the edges of the pages absentmindedly, and now and then, his green eyes flicked up from the book, studying Y/N with a kind of quiet amusement, like he was aware of the unspoken understanding that lay between them.

Harry had always been attentive, almost in a way that felt second nature, as though he knew more about her moods than she did. There was something undeniably magnetic about him—his laugh was a little softer here, his voice a touch lower. His fame could never overshadow the gentle heart he showed her when they were alone.

Y/N’s eyes hovered over the same paragraph for what felt like the hundredth time. The words blurred together, the meaning lost as her mind wandered to the man sitting beside her. She was supposed to be reading a novel on leadership—something meant to inspire her as she navigated her demanding corporate job—but her thoughts kept drifting back to him. It was ironic, really. The book talked about control and decisiveness, yet here she was, lost in the one thing she couldn’t control: her feelings for Harry.

She had always found him attractive. No—more than attractive. Beautiful in the kind of way that felt effortless. His messy hair, the way his lips quirked into a half-smile, those green eyes that seemed to see straight through her… It all added up to someone she could never quite believe was real. He’d always been larger than life to her, even before the fame. Back when they were younger, when they were just two young adults with dreams and no idea where life would take them.

But then, his life had soared into stardom, and hers had stayed grounded in the corporate world. He became Harry Styles—the Harry Styles—and she remained his best friend, hidden away from the glamour of his world. She had watched as women swooned over him, throwing themselves at his feet, and she had silently swallowed her feelings. She knew she could never compete. He was out of her league, in every possible way.

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.”

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”.

‼️ let me know if you would want to get tagged!!

TAGS: @mads3502

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ta1kingn0nsense · 26 days ago

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Congratufreakinglations

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ta1kingn0nsense · 29 days ago

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DILF [3] | older!harry

→ MAIN MASTERLIST ← -- | DILF [1] | DILF [2] |

Summary: Y/n's been dating Harry for a couple of months but a few interactions make her wonder where they really stand. Harry makes sure she knows just how much she means to him.

A/n: They're back! Here, we pick up with them a couple of months after part 2.

Word Count: 6.6k

Warning: age gap, smut, self-doubt, slight angst, a couple of awkward interactions with women in Harry's past

. .

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she said, feeling the clay slip between her fingers again as he guided her hands from behind.

Harry’s quiet laugh brushed warm against her neck. “Maybe. But watching you struggle is adorable.”

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. He was close enough that she could see the faint gray threading through his hair at the temples, close enough that she could feel his body against her back. God, he smelled good, he always did. The extra effort he consistently put in for her did not go unnoticed.

“You know, when you said you were taking me somewhere different, I had no idea it would be so…” she glanced down at the sloppy spinning mound between their palms, “…messy.”

He grinned, his big hands steadying hers. “Thought you’d appreciate something that wasn’t just dinner and drinks this time.”

“I do,” she admitted, voice a little softer. “It’s just… hard to look cute with mud under my nails.”

Harry turned his face, his mouth near her ear. “You always look cute. Even when you're messy.”

Heat shot straight up her neck. She tried to focus on the lump of clay, but his palm was spread over hers, warm and steady, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d touched her the last time they were together, the Thursday before (though that night was spent just in her apartment and mostly in her bed).

“Careful,” she said quietly. “You’re going to make me mess it up again.”

“It’s already ruined,” he teased, nodding at the uneven lip of the bowl. “But you’re trying. That’s what counts.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed put. She was having a lot of fun, even if she was awful at pottery work. He'd promised her that they'd actually go out and do something fun this time. She liked it. Liked that he’d planned this as an actual date, not just another excuse to get her into bed. Which part of her worried about, with any guy, not just him.

His hands left hers, and she turned, watching him move away to pick up a rag.

“Let’s call it a masterpiece,” he said, wiping his palms on a towel. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Good.” He met her gaze, soft and lingering. “I want to feed you. Then I want to take you home.”

Her stomach flipped at his words. She wiped her hands clean and tried to pretend her cheeks weren’t burning. But when he took her coat off the back of the chair and held it out for her, she didn’t bother hiding her smile.

The sidewalk was slick from an earlier drizzle, the streetlights turning every puddle into a scattering of gold and red reflections. Y/n felt almost weightless when Harry laced his fingers through hers as they walked. She was still getting used to him.

It was stupid how much it meant, that simple gesture. That he’d hold her hand like that in public, like he wasn’t even thinking twice about it. It felt good, being with him. Easy. Like they’d done it a hundred times already.

Harry glanced down at her as they reached the corner. “You cold?”

“No.” She smiled, leaning closer just because she could. “I’m fine.”

He squeezed her hand lightly, and they turned the corner toward the little restaurant entrance, golden light spilling out onto the sidewalk. That was when the woman stepped into their path. Pretty. Sleek dark coat. High-heeled boots that clicked confidently against the pavement.

Harry slowed, his hand loosening from around Y/n’s.

“Harry?” the woman said, her eyebrows lifting in polite surprise.

Y/n blinked up at her, thrown by the way he'd let go of her hand and in the way she was looking at him.

“Sloane,” Harry said evenly.

Sloane’s gaze slid to Y/n, and for a split second, something sharp flickered behind her eyes before her expression smoothed over. “Crazy running into you here.”

Y/n felt the question rising in her throat—Who is this?—but before she could ask, Sloane smiled, all polite curiosity.

“And… you are?” she prompted, looking at Y/n directly.

“I'm Y/n,” she said, glancing from Sloane to Harry.

“Y/n.” Sloane nodded slowly, lips pressing together. "Let me guess… You're his niece? The one from out of town?"

Her brows pinched together as she glanced up at Harry. She didn't even realize he had a niece. That wasn't something they'd discussed yet.

Harry’s jaw ticked. “She’s not my niece.”

“Oh.” Sloane let out a small, surprised sound, her gaze swinging back to Y/n. “I see.” She paused, studying her for an extra beat, eyes scraping over her frame, before her lips curved again. “Sorry. Just… you look so young. It threw me off. Surely this isn't some kind of date…”

Y/n swallowed, trying to ignore the flush climbing her throat. “I’m not that young.”

"This is a date, actually," Harry said.

Sloane hummed, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Well. That’s nice, Harry.” She flicked her eyes toward him, the corner of her mouth lifting. “I didn’t know you were into…”

Harry’s brows lifted. “Into?”

Sloane waved a hand, dismissive, a laugh trickling from her throat. “Oh, you know. Younger women. It’s sweet. Keeps you young, too, I suppose.”

Y/n opened her mouth, then shut it, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or annoyed. Her voice was calm when she finally spoke. “We’ve been seeing each other, a while.”

“Have you?” Sloane’s gaze sharpened, yet somehow her expression was still pleasant. “Aww, cute. How long?”

Y/n didn't appreciate the condescending tone.

Harry’s voice was even. “About two months now.”

Sloane blinked once, the only crack in her practiced composure. “Two months,” she repeated softly. “Well. That explains it, I guess.”

“Explains what?” Y/n asked, before she could think better of it.

Sloane’s smile thinned. “Nothing. Just… a bit of confusion about why our plans fell through about two months back.” She turned her eyes to Harry again. “I imagine this is why you cancelled on me?”

Harry’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t deny it. “Yeah.”

For a moment, no one spoke. A car crawled past, headlights sweeping over the three of them in a long, uncomfortable arc.

Sloane’s polite tone returned like a switch had been flipped. “Anyway. I won’t keep you. Enjoy your evening.”

She gave Y/n a final, assessing look that somehow made her feel like she was standing there in a too-short skirt and borrowed shoes, even though she knew she looked fine.

Then Sloane turned and walked off, her heels tapping briskly down the sidewalk. Harry let out a quiet exhale. Y/n didn’t look at him. Her pulse was beating hot in her ears.

“Y/n,” he said gently.

She shook her head, voice tight, eyes focused on the restaurant. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. I can tell you're upset.”

“I said it’s fine.”

When she finally forced herself to look at him, his expression was serious, eyes searching hers. His hand closed around hers again, thumb brushing over her knuckles.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s go inside.”

She let him guide her to the door, but the heat in her chest didn’t fade. And she couldn’t stop hearing Sloane’s voice in her head, all honeyed sweetness over something sharp.

You look so young. It’s sweet. How cute.

The hostess led them to a small table near the window, the soft glow of string lights overhead doing nothing to ease the tight knot in Y/n’s chest. She wasn't jealous… Not of Sloane. Though the fact that she knew something about a niece who lived out of town while Y/n didn't, felt strange. It was the first time she'd felt so out of place next to Harry since they'd started dating.

Harry pulled out her chair for her, but she sat without meeting his eyes. When he took the seat across from her, she could feel him watching, even as she pretended to study the menu.

A beat passed. Then another. “Y/n,” he said quietly.

She kept her eyes on the drink list. “Hmm?”

“You sure you're okay?”

“I am.” She flipped a page, ignoring how her voice trembled just annoyingly. “I'm fine.”

His brow creased. “Something's got to you.”

She forced a small smile as she finally looked back up at him, though it felt thin on her face. “Can we not do this here?”

He watched her for another long moment before nodding once, settling back in his chair. “All right.”

She hated how relieved she felt when he didn’t push. She needed to get her thoughts in order anyway before they talked it out. But the reprieve only lasted until the server came to take their order.

Harry asked for a steak and a glass of red. She ordered pasta she knew she wouldn’t eat much of, her stomach already in knots. She was being silly. Or… maybe she wasn't.

When the server left, Harry folded his arms on the table, studying her. “You know she doesn’t matter. Right?”

Y/n traced the rim of her water glass with her fingertip.“I’m aware.”

His voice softened. “Then why are you acting like something bad just happened between us?”

She huffed a quiet, humorless laugh, eyes still fixed on her glass. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I just…” She stopped, shaking her head. “It’s stupid.”

“Try me.”

“It’s nothing, Harry. Can we please just not?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He shifted back when the food arrived, thanked the server, and set into his meal without comment. He was frustrated, made obvious by the tension pouring from the set of his shoulders.

She pushed pasta around her plate, appetite long gone. Her mind kept replaying Sloane’s voice, the way she’d looked at her like she was some novelty that Harry had picked up along the way. A temporary distraction.

You look so young. I didn't know you were into…

Why did Harry like her even? What did they really have in common? Was he one of those men who liked the younger ones? Easier to manipulate, someone with less experience who wouldn't give him too much lip? Y/n didn't feel like she was a pushover, but what if she'd gotten it wrong? Maybe he was just enjoying fucking a pretty young thing because he wasn't serious about their future.

When she finally glanced up, Harry was watching her steadily, his expression unreadable.

“You’re not eating,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, I am,” she said, stuffing a forkful into her mouth and chewing as she raised her brows.

His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Y/n.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, softer this time, though she knew he didn’t believe it. She didn't believe it herself. But she didn't want to get into it at the restaurant in front of everyone. She'd come out looking like the dumb young girl who was overreacting.

They finished in tense silence, her fork barely touching the food again, other than a few mouthfuls to prove that she was eating something. The only sounds were the muted clink of silverware and the low hum of conversation from other tables.

When the check came, Y/n offered her card, but Harry waved her off and paid without comment. He stood and held her coat out for her, but she couldn’t quite meet his gaze as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

Outside, the night felt colder than before. She kept her hands stuffed in her pockets instead of reaching for him. Harry didn’t say a word as they walked the short block to where he’d parked. He unlocked the car, stepped around to open her door, and waited while she slid in.

The moment he closed his own door and settled behind the wheel, she felt the hush of the car wrap around them. No music, no chatter from nearby tables, no reason left to keep pretending.

He didn’t start the engine. He just sat there, hands resting on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.

“Are you going to drive?” she asked, though her voice came out small.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” he said calmly, turning to look at her.

She shifted against the seat, pressing her palms over her thighs. “I told you. It’s silly.”

“Are you jealous of her? Cause you shouldn't be.”

“Harry…”

He turned his body toward her. The low light from the dashboard cut across his face, tracing the lines of tension around his mouth.

“I’m not taking you home like this,” he said quietly. “If you don’t want to talk to me, fine. But I’m not going to pretend everything’s okay when it’s clearly not. You're upset about something.”

A knot tightened in her throat and she swallowed around it. “I'm not jealous, so you know. The issue is… It's… dumb.”

“Then humor me.”

She rubbed her thumb over the seam of her coat, trying to gather the mess of her thoughts into something she could say out loud. “It’s just… that woman.”

“Sloane.”

“Yeah.” She hesitated, eyes fixed on the dash. “I know it’s not about her, not really. But she—” Her voice caught, and she pressed her lips together.

“She what?”

“She looked at me like I was… like I was this stupid little girl you picked up for fun. At least that's how it made me feel.”

His brow furrowed. “That’s not what this is.”

“I know.” She forced herself to look at him. “I do know that. But it made me think… about the age thing.”

His expression didn’t change, but she felt the heat rush up her neck as she continued. “I mean… we’re at different places in our lives. You’ve got kids, an ex-wife… a whole history I’m never going to be part of. And me…” She let out a breath. “I’m just some… twenty-something who doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

The confession hung there, raw and unpolished. She could feel her pulse hammering behind her ribs. The more she spoke, the dumber she felt.

Harry drew in a slow breath, his gaze steady on hers. “Is that what you think I see when I look at you?”

She didn’t answer because she wasn’t sure.

He reached across the console and covered her hand with his. “Y/n. If I wanted something easy… someone who didn’t have opinions or who was just here to make me feel young, I wouldn’t have come looking for you." He pushed out a laugh. "You're smart, outspoken, feisty… and to me, you and I get along really well. I don't really think much about the age difference.”

Her eyes burned. She tried to blink the heat away, but it didn’t help. “Then what is this? Because I…” She swallowed. “I really like you. And maybe that’s stupid, but I do. And I don’t know what this is to you.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Long enough that her heart sank, sure she’d just made everything worse. Then he gave her hand the smallest squeeze.

“It’s not stupid. And it’s not nothing. You’re not nothing to me.”

She felt something crack in her chest, relief and fear tangling so tightly she couldn’t pull them apart. He seemed so sincere. It was in his eyes, in the way he seemed so sure of what he said. She let her eyes wander over the numbers on the clock on his dashboard briefly.

Harry’s voice softened. “Look at me.”

She shifted her gaze back up to his again

“I like you,” he said simply. “I like you more than I've liked anyone in a really long time. And it’s not about your age. It’s about you. Like, genuinely, Y/n. I like you.”

Her throat tightened, her voice a whisper. “I don't know what to think sometimes. Because I really like you. One of my friends even warned me not to get attached because chances were you'd regret this or decide you'd had your fun and be done. I want to prove that that's not true, but I don't know… After what Sloane said…”

His jaw flexed, and for the first time that night, something like anger flashed in his eyes. Not at her, but at the idea itself. “People like that don’t know shit about us. They'll see soon enough that we're solid.”

She blinked, a shaky laugh escaping before she could stop it. Her grin widened as his did.

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand again. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Not to Sloane, not to your friends, not to me.”

“But I feel like I do.”

He nodded, as if he understood more than he was saying. “Then let's figure this out together. Yeah? Probably time to really sit down and talk about what this is.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time. It was tentative. Careful. But it felt gentle and hopeful.

Finally, he released her hand and started the engine. “All right,” he said, his voice low as he started up his car. “Let’s go back to mine and we'll talk about all this.”

The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable. She felt like her skin was still buzzing from the way he’d looked at her when he was talking, like she was something precious, not temporary. That was all she wanted, really. To be taken seriously.

When he pulled into his driveway and turned off the engine, neither of them moved for a second. He just looked at her, his big hand resting on the gearshift like he was still debating whether to say more but he didn't. He climbed out and came around to open her door (always the gentleman), and when she stepped out, he caught her chin in his hand, tilting her face up to his.

“You believe me?” he asked, voice low.

She swallowed. “I do.”

His mouth twitched. “Okay. Good. We've still got more to talk about.”

Inside, the house was dim and quiet. He flicked on the light over the kitchen and set his keys down. She hovered awkwardly by the counter, suddenly unsure what came next after her silly tantrum. Well, it wasn't really a tantrum, more like a moment of uncertainty and wavering confidence in what they were doing. What they were.

Harry turned to her, and for the first time all night, he looked uncertain too. Like he wasn’t sure if touching her would be the right thing. She hated that she'd made it weird.

“You want a drink?” he asked.

“No,” she said softly. “I just… I think I need you to tell me what this is.”

He stepped closer. “What do you want it to be?”

She hesitated, searching his face as she shook her head. “I'm starting to have real feelings for you, Harry. I need to know we're on the same page. I want it to be something real.”

“It already is.”

Her breath came out in a wisp, and she opened her mouth to argue… she didn’t know why, maybe just out of stubborn habit, but he shook his head and cupped her jaw gently in his hand to keep her focus on him.

“I’m serious,” he said. “This isn’t casual for me. It hasn’t been for a while. I've got real feelings for you too, Y/n.”

She blinked, her heart fluttering so fast it almost made her lightheaded. “So what are you saying?”

He exhaled a slow, steadying breath, like he was working up to something.

“I’m saying…” he said, pausing as he took her hand and jutted his head toward the living room. "Let's go sit down."

She followed him to the couch, and just when she thought they'd both sit, he pulled her with him, dragging her into his lap and shifting them both until they were sitting together, looking at one another. He put an arm around her, his other hand on the top of her thigh.

“I've been thinking about it a lot, and I want you to be my girlfriend. If you want that too. Feels right to me.”

For a second, she couldn’t find her voice. All she could do was stare at him, her pulse thumping wildly in her ears. She gripped the side of his sweater in her fist and when she finally managed a breath, it came out thin. “Yes. I want that.”

His hand slid to the back of her neck, and he kissed her before she could say anything else. It was different from the other times. Like he was sealing something between them. Like a handshake but far sweeter.

She slid her hands up to the front of his chest, and when he pulled back, she was smiling so wide it almost hurt.

“You look happy,” he said quietly, thumb brushing over her cheek.

“I am,” she whispered.

“Good. That's what I want to see.”

He kissed her again, slow and sultry, his tongue sliding against hers, and she felt her body soften against his as all the tension she’d been carrying seemed to melt away.

When he finally pulled back, he moved his lips up to kiss her forehead. “Come on,” he said. “Need to make sure you understand how serious I am."

He didn’t rush her. Just led her down the hall with one big reassuring hand at the small of her back. When they reached the bedroom, he turned on the lamp on the dresser to fill the space with warm, honey-colored light. Then he faced her, quiet, searching her eyes as if he was giving her one last chance to change her mind.

She didn’t. She wouldn't. Harry was the man of her dreams, and if he was serious about all this… if he really wanted them to take their relationship to the next step, she was all in.

She stepped close and pressed her palms to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart under her hands. God, he was gorgeous and so nice. She didn't know why she ever had second thoughts about his intentions.

“You’re sure you want me as your girlfriend?” she whispered, a cheeky soft smile working its way up on her mouth. Despite her grin, her question was serious.

His lips curved, soft and reassuring. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

His hands came up to cup her face, and he kissed her again. Long, unhurried, like he had all night to convince her she was all he wanted. She felt her body melt into his, her breath catching as he slid his hands down her sides, thumbs brushing over her hips.

When he pulled back, he started working the buttons on her coat that she'd yet to remove. It was slow and methodical, like every layer he plucked at was something he’d been waiting to see. A pleasure to shed each layer with the utmost care.

“You’re beautiful,” he said in a whisper, sliding the coat from her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. “So fucking beautiful. And so smart. So good for me.”

Her hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, but he didn’t laugh or tease her, just helped her, undoing each one until she could push it over his broad shoulders. She smoothed her palms over the warm skin of his chest, feeling the way his breath caught when she touched him.

“You make me feel like…” She trailed off, a flush of embarrassment washing over her at the vulnerability of the moment.

“Like what?” he asked softly.

“Like maybe this is real.”

He bent to kiss her jaw, his voice low and rough. “It is real, baby.”

His fingers slipped under the hem of her top, before he pulled it over her head. She shivered nervously, and at the cool air as it touched her skin, but he was already smoothing his palms up her arms, steadying her.

He kissed her again, deeply, ravaging, and her knees went weak at the slow slide of his mouth against hers. When she whimpered, he groaned and pressed her back toward the bed.

“Lie down,” he murmured against her lips.

She sat and then lowered down, her breath coming in soft little gasps as he followed her onto the mattress, bracing himself over her on his forearms. His eyes roved over her face as his chest rose and fell heavy.

“So pretty,” he said.

She puffed out a bashful laugh.

He kissed her throat, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts, taking his time, not hurrying to get her naked all at once. His big hand slid up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.

“I want you to know how serious I am about you. Want you to feel it,” he said against her skin.

“You already showed me,” she breathed.

“Not enough.”

He kissed his way down her belly, pausing at the waistband of her skirt, and looked up at her. She watched him move his hands up her thighs, pushing the material up over her hips, revealing her thin underwear. He pressed kisses to every inch of skin he uncovered.

When he settled between her thighs, she gasped, one hand flying to his hair.

“Harry—”

“Shh.” His voice was husky. “Just let me take care of you.”

His mouth found her through her panties, warm and unhurried, his tongue stroking over the damp fabric until she was trembling. He moaned into the soaked cloth and lifted to look up at her.

She clocked that cocky grin on his face as she hooked his thumbs under the elastic of her waistband. "Love getting you messy."

Biting her lip, she watched as he pulled her skirt off and then finally removed her thong, dragging it down her legs slowly. He took his time, kissing the soft skin of her inner thighs, breathing her in like he couldn’t get enough.

He started easy and slow, flicking his tongue over her clit in steady, teasing strokes. When she whimpered, he slipped two fingers inside her, curling them just right until her hips were lifting up off the mattress.

If there were things about Harry that she could brag on (there were many), one of them was that his cunnilingus game was on point. She'd never slept with anyone as good as him in general, but the way he could make her come with his mouth?

“Look at me,” he rasped.

She forced her eyes open, and the moment their gazes locked, the heat that had been building finally broke as he sucked her clit into his mouth and dragged his fingertips into that gooey, mushy spot inside of her that made her brain melt. She came with a soft, broken cry, her body shaking under his mouth.

He didn’t stop until she was squirming, fingers pumping, tongue swirling, and she was too sensitive to take any more. Only then did he kiss his way back up her body, his lips soft and warm against her skin.

She caught his face in her hands when he reached her, kissing him hard, tasting herself on his tongue. Her heart was pounding wildly from everything. Not just the orgasm, but also because of the talk they'd had. They were official. They were real. This was real.

“Need you,” she whispered. “Please.”

His breath shuddered out. “Yeah?

She nodded quickly and watched him as he shifted, removing his pants and then his underwear. He reached over to grab a condom from his nightstand. She sat up and helped him roll it on, her hands shaking with urgency to feel him inside of her.

He grinned at how excited she seemed to be. Yanking her thighs and pulling her against him, he leaned over her and kissed her slowly, only to feel her writhing under him impatiently.

He laughed. "What's the rush? I just made you come and you're already acting like you haven't even been touched?"

She rolled her eyes and lifted her hips. "You're my boyfriend now. Want to feel what it's like to have my boyfriend fucking me."

He moaned, hands dragging down her arms and then over her breasts before he pushed her thighs further apart. He tilted his gaze down between her legs, where his cock was hanging just over her. She felt him slide his thumbs down to her slick labia and then he pulled, opening up her hole to get a good view of where he was about to be buried.

"You drive a hard bargain, honey. You sure you're ready to feel it?" He grinned, eyes moving up over her body, scraping over the tops of her tits and up to her face.

She nodded. "Yes. Right there where your fingers are. Push your big cock in there, Harry."

Y/n was vibrating with need as he massaged just around her entrance, his fingers sliding around her pussylips slowly and pulling them apart again before he finally lined himself up with her.

With his thumb gliding over the pulsing hood of her clit he pressed his tip just past her tight muscle, and she inhaled sharply at the stretch (she always had to brace herself for that initial plunge). Harry cooed softly, halting his thrusts as he rubbed circles into her, watching her pretty bud shift under his thumb and the way her wet pussy was wrapped just around his tip.

When he was satisfied that she was ready for more, he shifted into her again, pressing more of his impressive girth deeper, spreading her open slowly.

"My girlfriend…" he said in a voice that couldn't even be considered a whisper. She almost didn't hear it. Y/n reached out to take his free hand, moving his grip from her thigh to thread their fingers together.

"Yes, your girlfriend."

With their eyes fixed, he buried in until his pelvis was pressed into her clit. Both of them reeling from the intimacy of it. And somehow, it felt different. It wasn't just sex. It was something bigger than just sex.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, her free hand bracing his shoulder. He stayed still for a moment, just watching her face.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “So good.”

He groaned and began to move, slow and deep, every thrust measured. It felt so good every time they fucked, but this time was even better. Her insides ached around his cock as he dragged in and out languidly. She felt like he was trying to prove something with every careful slide of his body against hers.

And maybe he was. Maybe he wanted her to understand just how much she meant to him. How committed he was to her and only her. He'd do anything it took to get her to see she wasn't just some phase, some easy girl he could control… It was never that with him.

He rocked into her, lowering his chest enough that she could feel the sweep of his chest hair over her nipples. His lips brushed over hers as he panted. "Y'my girl, Y/n… Gonna make sure you know I mean it."

She moaned, sliding her fingers up against the back of his neck to pull his mouth down against hers. He flexed his fingers against hers, their hands still grasped together as he fucked in deep.

The sound of his length gliding through her was wet and filthy, lined by their moans and the soft plapping of skin together. Her body wrapped around him, little muscles flexing over his cock as he stuffed into her, lips and tongues moving together… it was all bringing them both to their end rapidly.

He felt her tensing under him. Pushing in as deep as he could go, until her body was shuddering and she was gasping, he ground into her when she came. The pulsing of her walls on him had him sucking in a sharp breath and pressing his forehead to hers when her lips were no longer moving with his. Her soft gasps mingled with his low groans, and then it was his turn.

His movements were harsher, faster, as he fucked in. Sweat formed over his chest as he braced himself for his orgasm. He drove into her, hips pumping until finally he was coming, buried in tight and throbbing as he filled his condom.

"Fuck…"

After, he didn’t pull away. Just stayed close, kissing her cheeks and her mouth, his hand stroking her temple until her breathing slowed and she finally opened her eyes. He was smiling down at her. A soft expression, gentle, full of feeling and warmth

“Told you I was serious,” he said.

She smiled, her heart thudding. “I believe you.”

The morning sun spilled across the kitchen floor, catching on the steam curling up from her mug. Y/n tugged the hem of Harry’s soft old t-shirt lower over her bare thighs and shifted on her stool, trying not to grin like an idiot but failing miserably.

It was hard not to with him standing across the counter in just a pair of sweats, hair still messy from her fingers not long before.

He poured more coffee into her mug, even though she hadn’t finished the first. “What're you smiling about?” His grin gave away that he already knew.

She shrugged, wrapping her palms around the warm ceramic. “You.”

“Oh yeah? Like that I make you smile so big.” He reached over and tugged gently at the sleeve of her borrowed shirt. “This looks better on you.”

“Better than on you?” she teased.

He leaned over the counter, close enough that she could smell the faint clean musk of his skin. “Much better,” he said, voice low.

He sank over her skin. She was about to say something stupid, something mushy she’d definitely regret admitting out loud, when the doorbell rang.

Harry straightened, brows pulling together in confusion.

“Expecting someone?”

“No.” He glanced toward the hall, then back at her. “I'll find out who it is. Be right back.”

Her pulse ticked up as he walked to the front door. She couldn’t hear what was being said at first, just the low rumble of his voice. Then another voice, higher in pitch, a little sharp, feminine: “—and I just thought I’d drop by since you didn’t answer your phone.”

Y/n’s heart thumped harder. She knew without even seeing who it was. And god, she wasn't ready for this yet. She took another sip of her coffee, ears straining to listen as she moved from the stool and stepped toward the living room mindlessly.

Harry’s reply was quiet, but it didn’t hide the tension. “All right. Everything okay?”

“No. I wanted to talk about Riley. And about next weekend. But—”

The woman’s voice cut off, and Y/n realized too late that she’d stepped halfway into view, mug clutched to her chest like a shield.

Harry’s ex was tall, polished, her hair perfectly done, even this early. She turned her eyes on Y/n and took her in with one slow, measured glance.

“Oh.” Her mouth curved, though it wasn’t exactly a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you had company.”

Y/n swallowed, acutely aware she wasn’t wearing pants. “Hi,” she managed, her voice embarrassingly small.

Harry’s hand lifted, almost like he was going to reach toward her, but he stopped himself. “This is Y/n. Y/n, this is Colette… the kids' mom.”

“Y/n,” his ex repeated, lips pressing together. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Y/n echoed, trying to ignore the heat climbing her cheeks.

The silence stretched between the three of them, brittle and awkward. She was kicking herself for having stepped toward the living room. She should have just stayed put, but what was done was done, and now she was staring at the woman Harry had once been married to. The mother of his kids.

His ex shifted her gaze back to Harry. “Anyway,” she said briskly, “I wanted to go over Riley’s behavior. Her teacher has said she’s been acting out again, and I don’t want it escalating before next weekend when you get them.”

“Of course,” Harry said, his jaw flexing. “Let’s—”

His ex lifted a brow, flicking her eyes pointedly to Y/n. “Maybe we can talk privately?”

Y/n’s face went hot. “I’ll, um… just—” She gestured vaguely toward the hallway and retreated before she could finish the rest of her sentence.

In the bedroom, she set her mug down on the dresser. God, she felt stupid. She was an intruder in someone else’s life… someone with kids, an ex, responsibilities she couldn’t even begin to understand.

She perched on the edge of the bed, fingers knotting in the hem of the t-shirt, and tried to breathe, to calm herself a little. This was part of the deal; she'd have to get used to the occasional run-in with his ex. She just hadn't been prepared for it.

It felt like forever before the front door finally shut again and Harry's footsteps padded down the hallway. When he stepped into the bedroom, he didn’t look annoyed. He looked tired, but the second his eyes landed on her, something in his expression softened.

“Hey,” he murmured, crossing the room.

“Sorry,” she blurted, before she could stop herself. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Or interrupt. Or—”

“Stop.” He crouched in front of her, big hands bracketing her knees. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her eyes darted to the door, then back to him. “She hates me.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “She doesn’t even know you.”

“She hates that I’m here,” she insisted, voice cracking as she looked down at the lack of clothing she had on. “That I’m… like this. Prancing around in your t-shirt while she's—”

His thumbs brushed slowly over her thighs. “She can think whatever she wants.”

“She’s the mother of your kids, Harry. I want to make a good impression. I think I just blew it.”

“You're overthinking it. And you’re my girlfriend.” His voice was steady. “You have every right to be here. She'll get used to seeing you around.”

She swallowed. “I just don’t want to make everything harder.”

His hands slid up to her hips, pulling her closer so he could press his forehead to her sternum. “You’re not. You’re not making anything harder. You make everything better, in fact. Don't stress about this, baby.”

She let her fingers drift into his hair, holding him there. “Okay. Promise?”

He tipped his head back, looking up at her. “I promise. I wouldn’t have asked you to be mine if I weren't ready for all of this.”

Her chest squeezed so tight she thought it might break her ribs. “Okay,” she whispered.

He kissed the underside of her jaw. “You’re staying,” he said simply. “I want you here. Next time, I promise I'll introduce you properly. Was just caught off guard by her showing up like that."

She nodded. "Yeah. Hopefully next time we get a heads up so I can get dressed and make myself look presentable."

He laughed. "You're perfectly presentable just like this."

"I'm not. But thank you." She grinned.

"You good? I don't want you getting in your head about this. There's nothing to worry about."

"I know. You're right. I'm good, Harry."

He smiled, that slow, easy grin she was already addicted to. “Good.”

. .

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ta1kingn0nsense · 1 month ago

Text

No One Else...

Dark!Ghost x F!Reader❤︎ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Training sessions. That was what he always told you happened. And you always believed him. So sweet. So trusting. So his.

tw: 18+ mdni, fluff, implied smut/implied sexual content, soft dom(?)Ghost, established relationship, slightly dubcon, dark romance, violence, mentions of blood/injury, implied murder, reader is naive/trusting, toxic behavior, obsessive/posessive Ghost, graphic violence, manipulation by omission dark-themed fic wc: 1.2k

The man beneath him gags on blood and dirt, coughing against the heavy, suffocating pressure of Ghost’s boot pinning him to the asphalt of the parking lot.

Ghost looks down at his knuckles. Split open again, red blood smearing into the creases of his fingers. Cold brown eyes flick back to the man, “Fucked up look in your eyes earlier,” Ghost mutters, “Like you thought somethin’ was yours.”

The warm orange glow of a flickering streetlight nearby casts long, distorted shadows. The parking lot is empty, eerily quiet. Not even the evening summer birds chirpings were present—making the whole world feel as if it was holding its breath in wake of the scene playing before it.

The man wheezes, choking slightly on the blood dripping from his nose to his mouth, voice hoarse, a weak sputtering attempt to get his words out. “I-I didn’t even—fuck–I didn’t even touch her, man—”

Ghost tilts his head, slow and deliberate, unsettling. Like he’s studying a puzzle he already solved hours ago. Like he’s bored with the answer.

“Tell me—” Ghost’s voice dips low, gravel and steel, “—what was it you liked? Her legs? Her laugh? The way she smiled up at me when I handed her the coffee?” ignoring the previous statement. He’s heard it all before, the usual cries and pleas for forgiveness, the promises to stay away forever, to never speak of what’s about to happen—all vain attempts for some form of salvation from Ghost’s unhinged insanity.

It was too late though, this man was dead the moment he catcalled you on the street. His sweet girl.

Ghost’s phone vibrates and he pulls his phone from his pocket, staring down at the screen. Your name glows back at him. “miss you :) excited for tonight!! what movie should we watch?♡♡”

You’re so fucking cute.

He stares at your text with something akin to thrill and obsession all twisted into one unbearable thing. Imagines for a split second how he’ll make it up to you for making you miss him.

He texts back. “On my way.” He slides his phone back into his pocket.

“Time t’wrap it up,” Ghost says, crouching down to look the man in the eyes. “Please…God…please,” The man rasps, blood and spit mixing against the asphalt, forcing desperate gasps for air. Ghost tilts his head curiously this time, a dark, sadistic laugh escaping from deep in his chest. “Lil’ late for God, ain’t it?”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

He shows up at your apartment forty-five minutes later, hands hastily cleaned but still bruised and raw.

“Simon!” You beam, you don’t even notice at first—just throw your arms around his waist, dragging him into your soft little world with a smile. Your cheek presses to his chest, your body warm and soft against his. He doesn’t hug you back at first. Just stands there, looking down at you. Like he doesn’t deserve this. Like he can’t believe he gets to have this.

It’s a brief moment of thought though as he wraps his arms around you—tight. You don’t complain though, loving his bear hugs. Ghost rolls his mask up just to his nose so he can kiss you. He lifts you up from under your thighs, making you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you to the living room—earning squeals of delight and fake protests as he kisses and nips at your neck.

He gently places you on your back onto the couch, hovering over you and caging you beneath him. “Missed you s’much, pretty girl.” he murmurs in between trailing kisses on your neck. You laugh breathlessly, cradling his face with your hands, thumbs softly rubbing the sliver of exposed skin on his cheeks—bringing him to look you in the eyes. Those gorgeous, brown eyes you adore so much.

“Missed y’more.” You whisper back, planting a soft kiss to his lips, your eyes soft and bright, moving your hand to gently rub your thumb across his bottom lip as you smile sweetly at him.

He loves it. Your softness, your warmth, the way you look at him like he’s good.

You move your hands from his face, fingers drifting down his arm, tracing his tattoos—you freeze when you catch sight of his hand. Your smile falters. “Simon…” you murmur, voice filled with concern and alarm as you take his hand gently in yours. “Your knuckles…” you give him a frown, biting your bottom lip worriedly as you inspect his knuckles further.

He hesitates—just a moment—before the lie slips out smoothly. Like it has all the other times. “Trainin’ went long today,” he schools his voice into something soft, something he knows calms you, “S’nothin’, love, wasn’t watchin’ myself.”

You nod, fully accepting the lie. “Let me clean them, I don’t want you getting an infection.” So caring. Always so perfect to him.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

His knuckles are a mess. Bruised and raw, a bit swollen and still mostly red. You hold him so carefully, like you’re afraid you’ll hurt him just by looking too long. He watches you quietly, letting you cradle the damage like it’s something delicate. Like he’s something that can be mended by a kiss and a bandaid.

“Hold still,” you whisper softly, gently dabbing his knuckles with antiseptic ointment. “You’re lucky you’ve got me to patch you up.” You tease him, another precious grin gracing your features to him, he leans slightly back onto the couch, taking you in as you tend to him.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Lucky, yeah.” His voice is low. Loaded. You look up at him, puzzled. “What?”

“Nothin’, sweetheart. Just thinkin’.”

About how sweet you are. How stupid the world is for thinking it could touch you. How no else has the right to make you smile like the way you smile for him. About how if anyone ever even tries—

“Promise me you’ll be more careful.” Your voice breaks through his thoughts. You have an adorable pout on your lips, your thumbs gently ghosting the edges of his battered knuckles, “Please, Simon?” Yes. Anything for you.

He watches you—silent, still–as you bring his hand to your lips. You kiss it. Once. Twice. Three soft, lingering kisses to each torn-up knuckle, like that could erase the violence they’ve committed.

“Pretty girl…” his voice low, like a dark purr low in his chest, “You can’t go around doin’ that. You’ll ruin me.” You blink up at him, confused and sweet—doe-eyed, innocent. “Doing what?”

His eyes drop to your lips. “That,” he says, voice rough, sensual almost. “Kissin’ the parts of me that don’t deserve it.” You smile again, sweet and full of certainty, and press one final kiss to the inside of his hand before guiding it to your chest, over your heart.

“You deserve all of it.” you whisper, rising from where you were sitting when cleaning up his knuckles. His eyes track your every move, dark and hazy, heat simmering just beneath the surface. He watches as you straddle his lap–meant to be sweet, comforting…but you’re completely unaware of the way you’re unraveling him. He doesn’t answer. Just smiles—slow and lazy—like he knows something you don’t. One hand slips beneath your shirt, fingers drawing soft, slow circles just above your hip. The other finds your throat—a semi-gentle squeeze—dragging up gently to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair.

Then he leans in, lips grazing your throat. “Pretty girl,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough with desire, “You’ve got no idea.”

He tugs your hair just enough to make you gasp, arching your back—then swallows the sound with his mouth on yours, fierce and hungry, like he’s starving for something only you can give.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

a/n: bby's first time also writing a dark fic so if im missing a tag, tw, or something just send me ask/message...!

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ta1kingn0nsense · 1 month ago

Text

How Far Are You Willing To Go? - 3

PAIRINGS: Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

SUMMARY: Amid a quiet life post-divorce initiated by Ghost himself, his past resurfaces when his ex-wife and their young children are abducted. He's thrust into a desperate race against time to save them, facing his own demons and fighting to protect his family at any cost. Question is, how far is he willing to go?

WARNINGS: Angst, kidnapping, psychological tension.

WORD COUNT: 1,107

*not proof-read*

ENJOY!

It was well past midnight when the message came through.

The kids had finally crashed hours ago, curled up in their makeshift blanket fort in the living room, cartoons still playing softly on the TV. He’d let them fall asleep there. It felt safer to keep them close, especially after the day’s emotional toll.

He had just gotten out of the shower, steam still fogging up the bathroom mirror, when his phone buzzed. The vibration sounded louder than it should have. He grabbed it off the sink.

Good. I'm sure you've given Rylan his meds...

Her message was odd, it hit him like a brick to the chest. Something about the phrasing. The ellipsis. She was always good at pretending things were fine, except when she wasn't. And when she wasn't, she didn’t reach out like that unless her gut was screaming.

Simon didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t even dry off properly.

He tossed on sweats, hoodie, and tucked his handgun into the back of his sweats, just in case. His hands were already moving, muscle memory driving every action. He crouched next to the blanket fort, gently brushing Kyla’s hair from her face.

“Daddy?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“We're going for a drive, sweetheart.”

“Now?”

“Yeah bubba. Something’s up.”

He scooped Rylan up, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake, and gently helped Kyla into her sneakers. She was too sleepy to ask questions, but her fingers clutched his hoodie the whole way out.

Once they were buckled into their respective car seats in the backseat of the truck, Simon tucks a blanket around each of them and handed Kyla a stuffed animal. “Stay warm. You two can sleep, alright?”

She nodded, yawning, and leaned against her car seat.

The drive was quiet. Too quiet. Like the city was holding its breath.

By the time he turned onto her street, his hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel. He scanned everything: window lights, car parked in its usual place, shadows that looked too still. Everything felt wrong.

Her porch light was off.

The front door was ajar.

Simon’s jaw clenched.

He pulled into the driveway, engine still running. A pit opened in his stomach.

“Stay here,” he said softly, turning in his seat to look at them. “Doors locked. Don’t open it for anyone but me, alright?”

Kyla blinked, suddenly more awake. “Okay, Daddy.”

He gave her a firm nod, then stepped out. The cold air hit him like a slap, but his mind was already sharpening into Ghost’s.

Up the steps. Slow. Silent. The kind of silence that only a man like him could master.

The door creaked as he pushed it open.

Living room dim. TV still on. One of the kids’ shows playing to no one.

Something metallic in the air.

His throat tightened.

Blood.

Simon stepped through the house like a shadow. Every step calculated. Every sense on high alert.

The couch was half-covered in laundry. One drawer open. A mug shattered on the floor. Little signs. Subtle. But not to him.

And there, under the couch, her phone. Cracked. Light still on.

Unsent message:

Something feels wrong. Can you call me?

He stared at it. Swallowed hard.

Back door swinging slightly, letting in the night air. No footprints, no sign of forced entry. Whoever did this was careful.

Then the switch flipped.

Ghost.

Simon spun around and sprinted back to the truck, heart pounding against his ribs. He clicked the fob before he even got close, headlights flashing in response-

But the doors were open.

Both rear doors. Wide open.

Blankets on the ground. Kyla’s stuffed animal face down in the dirt.

His stomach dropped. He rushed to the truck.

Empty.

They were gone.

“KYLA?!” he yelled into the night, panic rising in his throat like bile. “RYLAN?!”

Silence.

No answer. No scream. No crying.

Just the wind.

He turned, eyes wild, scanning every direction. Alleyways. Bushes. Shadows. There was nothing.

He tore into the house, just in case, still clinging to a sliver of hope. That maybe, just maybe, they’d come inside.

Toys still in the basket. Lights off. Kitchen untouched.

Then he saw it on the counter.

A burner phone.

His heart sank.

He picked it up. Screen lit immediately.

1 NEW MESSAGE

Your sins have consequences. You thought your war ended on the battlefield. We’re bringing it to your doorstep.

He read it once.

Twice.

His hand tightened around the phone until the casing cracked under the pressure.

He was still for a moment, the world around him eerily silent.

Then he moved.

Swiftly. Efficiently.

He pulled open a hidden cabinet beneath the kitchen sink and grabbed the emergency duffel. Inside were spare ammo, a burner, cash, IDs, a signature black ghost balaclava. Ghost's life in a bag.

He paused by the kids’ playpen on his way out. Just stood there for a second, his shadow falling over the pillows, the soft toys, the warmth they’d left behind.

He could still hear Kyla’s sleepy voice asking for one more story. Still see the way Rylan clutched his inhaler like it was armor.

They weren’t gone.

They were stolen.

And Simon Riley would burn the world down to get them back.

He dialed Price.

Straight to voicemail.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

Of course. Blackout period.

His hands moved faster. He pulled on a tactical vest, concealed weaponry. His breath slowed even as his heart pounded.

They had crossed a line.

And they had no idea what kind of hell they’d just invited.

But beneath the rage, under the layers of tactical instinct and violence primed to be unleashed, Simon felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years: helplessness.

She was gone.

Not just the mother of his kids. Not just the woman he once shared a bed and a life with. She was his anchor. His heart. The only person who ever saw both the man and the mask, and loved them both anyway. He had left her, thinking it would protect her. Thinking distance would save her from his world. But all it did was delay the inevitable.

And now, she was in it. In the thick of it. With bruises he couldn’t stop and chains he couldn’t break.

He gritted his teeth, vision burning. Not from fury this time, but from grief.

He should have stayed.

Should have done more.

And now the woman he still loved and the children he lived for had vanished into the shadows of a war he thought he buried.

Simon closed his eyes briefly, letting the ache consume him just long enough to fuel what came next.

Because Ghost didn’t cry.

Ghost got them back.

🎀🎀🎀

TAGLIST <3: @cntloup @identity2212 @somnorvos @yyiikes @bobateasilverpearl @animarix @outoftheseine @starriestarlight @blackhawkfanatic @diasnohibng @xxravenxstarxx-blog @callmeluno @eugenekori @cownini @fallinallinmendes @s-a-v-a-n-a-34

Hey Lovelies!

whaatttt? Another chp in a day?!

When I tell yall I was locked in....

I know this was more of Simon's POV, thought id try smthn different hehehe

Lemme know if you wanna be tagged!

Also....

Lemme know what y'all think!

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

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ta1kingn0nsense · 1 month ago

Text

Still Into You | CHAPTER 8

Warnings: NSFW/18+

⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —

College kicks in like a punch to the gut.

You meet new people. A few friends from class. Some from your sorority. There’s this one guy, Milo, who walks you to your Art Theory lecture with oat milk lattes and tells you you’re too pretty to keep looking down at your shoes.

You laugh. You don’t flirt.

But you wonder if Harry would care if you did.

Harry’s busy. Really busy.

He’s trying to wrap up his Master’s coursework faster than anyone in his department. Football practices pile up. Frat house events double because of fall rush. You hear his name whispered from all corners— Styles. President. Captain. The one who could sleep with anyone.

But he still texts you. Sometimes.

u up? come over. missed u today. wanna ride me til i stop thinking?

And it’s always hot. Always intense. But always empty when he kisses you and falls asleep without asking how your day was.

You try to play it cool.

You throw yourself into your fashion classes. Join a sewing circle with upperclassmen. You go out more. You wear tighter skirts. Lip gloss instead of chapstick.

But when Harry forgets to reply to your texts for two full days, only to show up unannounced at your dorm and ask if he can “make it up to you” by going down on you until your legs shake—

You start to feel like you’re just the reward after a long day. Not the thing he thinks about during.

You throw a tantrum. Not loud. Not cruel. Just quiet. Icy. Petty.

You ignore three of his messages. You take selfies with Milo— nothing flirty, just enough to post. You tell Liv you might start dating for real soon. “Just for fun,” you say. “To feel something.”

When Harry does get a hold of you again, he invites you to a frat dinner. Doesn’t even say please.

So you show up in red. Red lips, red dress, red heels.

And you barely look at him.

Later that night, back in his room, when he grabs your hips and tries to pull you on top of him, you say it— a little louder than you mean to:

“You don’t actually care, Harry. You just want someone to fuck when your brain won’t shut off.”

He stills.

Your voice keeps going, trembling and furious:

“You don’t try. You say you don’t want labels but you act like I’m yours. You get jealous, you text me when it’s convenient, you call me baby when I’m naked— but never when I need it. I’m not your therapy. I’m not your fucking cure.”

Silence. He stares at you. And for the first time in weeks— he snaps.

“Jesus Christ, you think I’m not trying? You think I don’t have enough going on without adding a full-blown relationship with an eighteen-year-old who throws tantrums when I don’t say the exact right thing?”

You blink. He’s never raised his voice at you before. He scrubs a hand over his face. Frustrated. Ashamed. Angry.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, but it’s clipped. Tired. Not tender.

“I’ve had a shitty day. My professor grilled me in front of the whole class. My knee’s fucked from practice. And I still came here hoping to see you and forget the rest of it. But you—you’re not happy unless I say all the perfect shit, and I can’t do that right now.”

You bite the inside of your cheek.

Your voice is small. “So you just want me to shut up and open my legs?”

He freezes. The air turns sharp.

“Don’t do that.”

You shrug. “Feels like that’s all I’m good for lately.”

“That’s not fair.”

You swallow hard. Then stand. Grab your bag before you turn your head to him.

“Neither is falling for someone who only wants me when it’s dark out.”

And then you leave.

Weeks pass.

No texts. No late-night knocks. No booty calls. No apologies.

Just silence.

The longest he’s ever stayed away.

You tell yourself it’s for the best. You tell your friends you’re fine. You focus on uni, your sorority, your sketches, anything that doesn’t have green eyes and dimples and fingers that once traced your body like a prayer.

But some nights— when your phone buzzes— your stomach still flips before you realize it’s not him.

It’s the week of the Northcrest football championship. The biggest one of the year. Frats are throwing bets. Sororities are choreographing cheers. People care more about this than finals.

Your roommates beg you to come.

“Just for the atmosphere,” they say. “Everyone’s going. You need it.”

You almost say no.

But you’re tired of sulking. Tired of wondering.

So you go.

The stadium is packed.

You’re wearing your school colors. Hair down. Lip gloss on. High heels. Just enough edge to feel like armor.

Your friends grab snacks, take photos, make TikToks you barely appear in. You try to stay present. Laugh when they laugh. Sip your soda and pretend your eyes aren’t searching the field.

But you are.

And then— There he is.

Harry. In full uniform. Helmet tucked under one arm. That damn jawline, sharp as ever. His biceps flex as he high-fives teammates, laughing like nothing ever touched him, like nothing broke.

Your throat goes dry.

He doesn’t see you right away.

But you see her.

A cheerleader. Blonde, ponytail too high, hands too familiar.

She clings to him before kickoff, whispering something in his ear, nails raking down his chest through the jersey. He grins. Doesn’t pull away. Lets her fix his shoulder pads like she belongs there.

You hear some girls nearby where you're sitting make casual comments.

“Is that Harry Styles?” “He’s so hot.” “Wonder if he’s single.”

You say nothing. Your heart is silent, too.

He finally spots you.

Right as the anthem ends, his eyes flick across the bleachers —just a quick scan— and land on you.

His smile falters for a second.

You look away before it can mean anything.

The game kicks off.

And he plays like hell. Fast. Aggressive. Focused.

You don’t know if it’s rage or pride or adrenaline— but every time he scores, the stadium goes feral. The cheerleaders scream. The crowd swells. And you… you feel nothing but cold.

Because you know what it felt like to hold him afterward. You know how quiet his voice gets when he’s tired. How soft his hands are after gripping the world too hard.

But now… you’re just another girl in the crowd.

The game ends in victory.

Everyone rushes the field. Your friends want to follow— but you don’t.

You stay behind. Stand still. Watch from the bleachers as he’s lifted onto shoulders, drenched in sweat and praise.

The cheerleader from earlier runs up to him, throws her arms around his neck. He lets her.

You’re still standing when he finally walks toward the bleachers.

Helmet off. Jersey soaked in sweat. Eyes scanning the small clusters of people who stayed behind.

When he sees you, he slows.

His lips tug into a cautious smile.

“Hey.”

Your heart gives a pathetic stutter. But your lips curve into something polite— something detached.

“Hi.”

He looks exhausted. Buzzed from the win, flushed from the cold, hands still red from gripping victory too tight.

“You came,” he says.

You nod once. “My roommates dragged me.”

His jaw ticks. A faint flicker of something in his eyes— amusement? Disappointment?

You keep going. “Congratulations. You played… amazing.”

“Thanks.” He sways slightly on his feet. “Means a lot. Coming from you.”

Before you can say anything else— She appears.

The cheerleader. Blonde. Perfect. Smug.

She wraps her arms around his waist, presses a kiss to his damp jawline, and grins at you.

She knows.

You can see it. You say nothing. Just glance down at her neck— and your stomach drops.

Bruises.

Bite marks. His marks. Fresh. Dark. All over her throat and collarbone.

She doesn’t cover them. She wears them like trophies.

You swallow hard.

His arm doesn’t move. He doesn’t push her off.

You nod again, lips tight. Turn toward his teammates— a few of whom you recognize from parties.

“Congrats to all of you,” you say. “Hell of a game.”

They thank you, one by one— a few giving sympathetic looks, like they’re not sure if they should say more.

Harry says nothing.

Neither do you. You just leave.

Liv’s text comes as you’re walking toward the parking lot:

Where r u? Let’s grab coffee. Just us.

You don’t say much when you get there.

Just sit across from her in a corner booth at a 24-hour diner, fingers curled around a plastic cup of iced coffee that tastes like water.

She watches you carefully.

“I heard,” she says softly. “About him. Her. You.”

You nod. Stare out the window.

“I’m done,” you say. Your voice doesn’t crack. “It’s over.”

Liv doesn’t argue. She just reaches for your hand.

And holds it.

“Let's go. Let's grab a drink.” Liv breaks the silence after she consoles you. She stands up and pull your hand. You follow her to walk to her car and a few moments later, you end up at a party near campus.

Well you weren’t going to go. Liv said you needed to let go, even just for a night.

So you drink. Hard.

Vodka shots. Champagne. Someone hands you a lime with sugar and it makes you laugh. You sway to music that’s too loud and bass that rumbles through your chest like a second heartbeat.

You dance with strangers. Let a guy twirl you like you’re light as air. Scream the lyrics to a song you don’t know.

For a second— it works. You forget. You’re just you.

Until someone at the keg says—

“Styles just showed up.”

You turn your head. And there he is.

Harry.

Still damp from the post-game shower. Wearing all black. Arm draped around her shoulder like he doesn’t even care she’s got fresh bite marks leading down her cleavage.

Your blood goes cold.

He sees you.

Stops.

But doesn’t move. Doesn’t come closer.

He just watches you. Eyes dark. Expression unreadable.

And beside him, the cheerleader smirks.

Leans up to kiss his cheek.

And makes damn sure you’re watching.

You take another drink. Too fast. Too much.

Your throat burns.

The room is spinning. Not fast— not yet. Just slow enough to make the lights too bright and the floor too soft.

You wave it off. But your eyes are on him.

You’ve been quiet for too long. Bitten your tongue too many nights.

And the alcohol is doing all the talking now.

You step forward. Your cup spills a little.

Liv’s voice echoes behind you— warning, worried, trying to stop you. But you’re already in front of him.

Your voice cuts through the bass:

“Did you fuck her before or after you begged me to keep things simple?”

The cheerleader freezes. Harry stiffens. People turn. A hush falls— the kind that only happens right before a car crash.

You don’t stop. You can’t.

“Is this why you didn’t want a label? So you could do whatever the fuck you want and call it freedom? So you could fuck around and not feel guilty?”

His eyes darken. “You’re drunk.”

You laugh— loud and bitter.

“No shit. I'm not even trying to hide it. You think saying that justify your whole charade? I’m not stupid.”

“You made me feel crazy for wanting anything real from you. For wanting to be someone you chose. And now you’re out here parading her around like I never fucking mattered?”

The cheerleader tries to scoff, step away like she’s not involved.

You step in closer.

“You knew I was younger than you. You knew you had all the power. And you used me like a warm body and a distraction and I still liked you.”

“But I’m done.”

Your voice cracks.

“I don’t care if you’re Harry Styles, golden boy of Northcrest, future fucking therapist— you're just another coward with pretty eyes and commitment issues. Fix your shit.”

The room is silent.

Harry’s mouth opens. But you don’t wait for him to speak.

You throw your drink to the ground— it splashes at his shoes, and stumble away.

The last thing you hear is Liv yelling your name— Then nothingness.

The next morning.

You wake up on the couch of Liv’s dorm, wearing someone else’s sweatshirt, your mouth dry and your stomach twisted in knots.

Your head pounds.

The sun is cruel through the windows.

Liv’s sitting across from you, a coffee in one hand, her eyes unreadable.

“…I fucked up,” you whisper.

She doesn’t say anything at first.

Just hands you a glass of water.

You drink, hands shaking.

“You don’t remember?” She asks.

Flashes come back.

His face. Your words. The way the crowd had gone dead quiet.

You groan, collapsing back into the cushions.

“You went off,” she says gently. “Fully. In front of everyone. Facts though.”

“What did he do?” You croak.

Liv shrugs, careful. “Nothing. He just… took it. Didn’t say a word. Watched you walk out like you ripped his chest open.”

You exhale.

She hesitates.

“…He was still there when I left. Alone.”

You press your hand to your forehead, heart pounding like it wants to crawl out of your throat.

Your phone buzzes.

One message. From Harry Styles.

I deserved that.

But I still wanted you to know I never touched her until after we stopped speaking.

And even then… it didn’t mean anything.

You stare at the screen like the words are supposed to make it hurt less. They definitely don’t.

Without thinking twice, you block his number.

Liv leans over and gives your back a firm, reassuring pat— like she’s proud of you for choosing yourself this time.

“If he really wants you,” she says gently, “he’ll grow up and show it. But for now… you’ve got your whole freshman year to enjoy. Don’t waste it on someone still figuring himself out.”

⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —

THIS CHAPTER MAKES ME ANGRYYYY AHHSHAHSHSHHWHW

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ta1kingn0nsense · 1 month ago

Text

Trouble

✨ summary: where harry’s a soft TikTok streamer and y/n happens to find his stream.

📝 word count: 11K

⚠️ content warning: smut

💌 support my work

Y/N stumbled through the door a little after ten, dropping her keys in the catchall with a tired clatter. Her feet were killing her. Her back hurt. Her brain felt like it was still stuck at work, replaying petty customer complaints and the awkward half-laugh she’d given her manager when he made that borderline gross joke.

She didn’t even bother with dinner. Just kicked off her shoes, peeled off her jeans, and crawled under the throw blanket on the couch with her phone. This was her routine on nights like this: half an hour of mindless TikTok before she convinced herself to brush her teeth and go to bed.

Half an hour usually turned into an hour. Or two.

She scrolled past dancing girls, recipes she’d never make, a video essay about why romcoms were secretly feminist, a guy cutting soap. It was all noise.

Then, almost by accident, she landed on a live.

The caption just said: “insomnia brain rot. talk to me.”

Only twelve people were watching. She hovered there for a second. Was it weird to pop into something so small?

But then the guy on screen — who looked about her age, maybe a little older, with messy brown hair pulled back by a ridiculous pink clip — laughed at something in the chat. It was a quiet, raspy sort of laugh that made something in her chest warm up.

He was lounging sideways on a couch, one socked foot tucked under the other knee, wearing an old band tee that had definitely seen better days. His accent was British, soft and a bit lazy, words sliding together like he couldn’t be bothered to crisp them up.

“Alright, next question,” he was saying, scrolling through comments. “Worst cereal of all time. And if any of you say Frosted Flakes, we’re gonna have a problem. Those are elite, don’t start.”

Y/N snorted, surprising herself. God, she must be tired.

On impulse, she typed:

bran flakes. taste like depression.

She almost clicked away before he’d see it, suddenly embarrassed. But then his eyes darted down, and he read it out loud, smiling.

“‘Bran flakes taste like depression,’” he repeated, trying not to laugh. “Oh that’s brilliant. You’re right, actually. Like chewing on your last shred of hope.”

He squinted at the username. “Who’s that, then? That’s a new one, innit? Welcome, love.”

A weird flutter went through her stomach.

Love.

He probably called everyone that. Still.

“Alright then,” he went on, still smiling to himself as he scrolled, “let’s hear more hot takes. Is honey nut overrated? I think it might be.”

Y/N settled deeper under her blanket, phone a little closer to her face, feeling the tight coil in her chest start to loosen for the first time all day.

She hadn’t planned to watch for more than a minute. But then he started talking about his day — how he’d tried to bake banana bread and burned the bottom, how he thought his upstairs neighbor had a pet goat (it was just a big dog apparently), how he couldn’t sleep lately because his brain wouldn’t shut up.

He kept scratching at the corner of his jaw when he was nervous. Made these little faces when he was reading comments. And when he laughed, really laughed, it was like he forgot the camera was there.

There were only fourteen people in the chat now. It felt… cozy. Like stumbling into someone’s living room at 2 a.m.

She didn’t even realize how long she’d been there until her phone buzzed with a low battery warning.

Y/N smiled, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Maybe she’d stay a little longer.

Y/N didn’t really mean to become a regular. It just sort of happened.

Every couple nights she’d check if he was live, and more often than not, he was. Always in that same sagging couch, always with that dumb pink clip holding his hair back, sometimes in glasses that made him look unfairly soft.

She’d plop down on her own couch in pajamas with a mug of tea, and it was like hanging out in someone’s living room. Well, his living room. Which had absolutely tragic curtains and a plant he frequently apologized to for nearly killing.

The chat was tiny. Never more than twenty people. A few usernames she recognized now, all of them forming this loose, late-night club of insomniacs and weirdos.

He’d started calling her “BranFlakes” sometimes, because of that first comment. Or just “trouble,” with this grin that made her toes curl under the blanket.

One night, he was leaning back against a pillow, phone balanced on his chest, scrolling through comments.

“So what’s everyone been up to today? Anyone do something interesting? Anyone commit light arson? Emotional or otherwise?”

Y/N smirked, typed, Define interesting. I didn’t get fired for flipping off a customer, so that’s my personal win.

He laughed — that soft, lazy sound that never failed to warm her up. “BranFlakes is in rare form tonight. Didn’t get fired, that’s the bar, huh? Love that for you.”

What about you? she sent. Burn anything down? Confess your sins.

He squinted at the screen, did that little half-smile. “Uh, I absolutely did. Tried to fix a leaky tap in the kitchen. Made it worse. Nearly flooded the place. Landlord’s gonna love that email tomorrow.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling. You’re useless.

“Oh, properly useless,” he agreed solemnly. Then his eyes flicked to the comments again. “Alright, your turn. What actually happened today? You sound more bitey than usual.”

Her stomach twisted a little. She didn’t usually get personal in the chat. It was mostly dumb jokes, snark, flirting that didn’t mean anything.

But he was looking right into the camera, waiting. Like he actually cared.

She sighed, typed, Just had a shit day. Work was hell. People suck. That’s it. I’ll live.

His face softened. He bit his bottom lip, drummed his fingers on his chest like he was trying to think of what to say.

“M’sorry, trouble,” he said finally, voice low and sincere in a way that surprised her. “People dosuck. Proper tossers, most of ‘em. But you don’t, alright? Just thought I should point that out.”

Y/N blinked at the screen. Her throat felt tight in that annoying way that meant if she opened her mouth, she’d probably make an embarrassing noise.

Thanks, she sent. You’re less useless than usual.

That got a grin out of him. “Oi, I’ll take it. Practically a love letter from you.”

A few minutes later, he’d moved on to reading someone else’s comment, but then paused, squinting at the screen again. “Hey — BranFlakes, do us a favor, yeah? Go get some water. Or a biscuit. Or something. You look knackered.”

She made a face at her phone. You can’t SEE me.

“I can sense you, alright? Psychic link. Don’t question it.”

Y/N laughed out loud, shaking her head, but set her phone down and padded into the kitchen for a glass of water anyway. When she came back, he was grinning like he knew he’d won.

“Good girl,” he teased, voice dropping just enough to make her stomach do a little flip.

Shut up, she typed, cheeks hot.

“Don’t think I will.”

When he finally ended the live, she got a DM almost immediately.

h: get some sleep, trouble. tomorrow will be less shit. promise.

She stared at it for a second, smiling like an idiot, then sent back,

y/n: no promises but i’ll try. don’t flood the kitchen again.

He sent a photo back. Just him with his face half-buried in his pillow, hair a mess, eyes soft and sleepy.

h: s’night then.

Y/N bit her lip so hard it almost hurt.

God, she was so gone. Over a boy she’d never even seen outside this little square on her phone. Over someone who didn’t even know what she looked like.

But she couldn’t stop. Didn’t even want to try.

Y/N hadn’t planned on it going this far.

It was supposed to be harmless. A little escape from the drudge of work and the ache of coming home to an empty apartment. But somehow it became the best part of her day.

They texted constantly now. Not just memes or stupid TikToks — though there were plenty of those — but long rambly messages about everything and nothing. About how she hated olives, how his favorite weather was the five minutes right before it rained, how sometimes he wondered if he was wasting his life talking to a phone screen at 2 a.m.

One night he sent her a voice note. Just a sleepy, “Hope your day was better, trouble,” all warm and raspy and impossibly close.

She played it about fifteen times.

Eventually she started sending voice notes back, her voice small and shy at first. He’d tease her — “didn’t know you were so posh” or “god, your laugh’s unreal, you know that?” — and it made her feel stupidly giddy.

It also made her softer. Less snark, more honesty slipping through in little cracks.

One night she was curled up on the couch in an old hoodie, hair damp from a shower, phone pressed to her ear listening to him. He was rambling about the neighbor’s dog again.

“So it’s official — it’s not a goat. Just a dog with… goatish tendencies. Barks like it’s got a personal vendetta against me, though.”

She laughed, tucked her knees tighter to her chest. “Maybe it does. Maybe you give off suspicious energy.”

“Oh, I’m definitely suspicious. But c’mon, who doesn’t want to bark at me a little?”

She rolled her eyes, grinning. “Can’t argue with that.”

Then it got quiet. Not awkward — just easy, comfortable. She could hear him breathing, a little sigh as he shifted around wherever he was.

He spoke again, softer this time. “You sound tired. Long day?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Just work. Same old. I did have a customer yell at me because his sandwich was apparently ‘threatening.’ So that was new.”

Harry snorted. “Did it have a knife? Or just a bad attitude?”

“Bad attitude. Definitely. Lettuce was giving him a dirty look.”

“Cheeky lettuce.”

She let out a soft little huff, hugging her knees. “But it’s better now. Talking to you always makes it… less shit.”

There was a pause, then a quiet little, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Her voice cracked around it, and she didn’t care.

“Same here, trouble. Don’t think you realize how much.”

They sat in that for a second, hearts thudding on either end of the line.

Then she blurted, “Do you wanna see me? Like actually see me? I mean, I could video call, or send a pic or something. You’ve never asked, but…”

His voice came back gentle, almost shy. “I’ve thought about it, loads of times. What you look like. If you’d be smiling when you text me, or rolling your eyes. But… I kinda like not knowing.”

“You like the mystery?” she teased, but it was so soft it was almost tender.

“Yeah, actually. Like… it makes me pay more attention to everything else. The way you say stuff. The weird shit you notice. Your laugh.”

Her heart felt too full, pressing up tight against her ribs. “You’re such a sap.”

“Oh, fully. Can’t even deny it.” He laughed under his breath, then went quiet again. “Don’t worry, though. When I finally see you, it’ll be worth the wait. Bet you’ll ruin me completely.”

Her breath caught.

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just whispered, “Okay.”

He let out a little sigh, like it settled something in him. “G’night, love. Dream of suspicious sandwiches.”

“G’night, Harry.”

When she hung up, her face hurt from smiling. Her phone buzzed one last time.

h: and send me more voice notes tomorrow. m’addicted to your voice.

She squealed into her pillow like a teenager, then typed back with shaky hands.

y/n: only if you promise to keep telling me about your goat dog.

h: deal.

She fell asleep with her phone clutched to her chest, feeling like maybe — just maybe — she wasn’t so alone after all.

She was sprawled on her bed one evening, phone in hand, absently scrolling through photos of cats in funny hats, when Harry’s name popped up on her screen.

Incoming call.

Her stomach flipped. It always did, stupidly, like she was sixteen again. She answered with a half-smile already pulling at her mouth.

“Hey, trouble,” he drawled.

“Hey yourself. What’s up?”

He was rustling around on the other end. She could hear a cupboard door creak, then the distant sound of pouring water. Probably making one of his endless cups of tea.

“So… I’ve got a question. Might be a bit mad.”

“Coming from you, that’s not exactly shocking.”

He let out a soft laugh. “Fair. But listen — there’s this tiny con, kinda a meetup for streamers and random internet people. Not like a big Comic-Con thing. More awkward dudes in graphic tees and cheap coffee. It’s next month, just over in Georgia. I’ve got a little panel spot somehow, talking about building ‘authentic communities’ which is a joke ‘cause it’s me and, like, twenty people on TikTok.”

She grinned into her pillow. “I think your little community’s pretty damn authentic. Bunch of cereal snobs and insomniacs.”

“Exactly. My people.” He paused. She could practically hear him chewing his lip. “Anyway… was thinkin’ you could come? Meet me there? Only if you want. I know it’s a drive and all, but…”

Y/N’s heart was thudding so hard it felt like her chest might crack open.

“You want me to come to a convention?” she teased lightly, trying to keep her voice from squeaking.

“I want you to come see me,” he corrected, softer. “I wanna finally see you. And — alright, selfish — I wanna be the first to see your face. Not through a camera. Just… you, standing there, lookin’ all smug. Maybe roll your eyes at me in real life.”

Her throat was so tight it hurt. She rolled over onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “That’s… really sweet.”

“Don’t make it weird,” he groaned, but he was laughing, nervous.

“You’re the one making it weird! Asking me to drive to another state to meet a boy I met on TikTok. What if you’re secretly a swamp goblin?”

“Babe, I’ve told you I’m a swamp goblin. At least three times. Full disclosure, I get cranky if I don’t have snacks.”

She laughed, pressing her fist to her mouth. “It’s just— it’s kind of a big deal. I mean, what if you’re disappointed?”

Harry went quiet for a second, then his voice came through low and certain. “Won’t be. S’not possible.”

She felt tears prick at the backs of her eyes, completely out of nowhere. God, she was pathetic.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll come.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She could hear the grin in his voice when he let out a breathless little, “Fuck. Can’t wait.”

“So what exactly does one wear to a nerd convention?” she asked, forcing a playful lilt back into her voice.

“Dunno. Something cute. Or come in a full Chewbacca suit, I’ll still fancy you.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Hey.” His voice dropped. “Just bring yourself. Promise?”

She swallowed hard. “Promise.”

“Good girl,” he muttered, and it was so low and fond it made her toes curl.

Later that night, she lay awake staring at her ceiling fan, heart pounding, phone clutched to her chest. She was really going to do this. Really going to cross state lines to meet a boy with floppy hair and a voice that made her stomach flutter.

Harry sent one last text before she drifted off.

h: m’counting the days already. try not to crash your car. i’d like to kiss you eventually.

He wanted to kiss her. She buried her burning face in her pillow, grinning like an idiot.

y/n: not planning on dying before you buy me a shit con coffee.

h: romantic. sleep tight, trouble.

She did. Better than she had in weeks.

Y/N started packing three days before she even had to leave. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

Her bed was a disaster — jeans, crop tops, cardigans, shoes she’d never realistically wear to a sweaty convention hall. Her cat sat in the middle of it all, judging her with bored yellow eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, holding up two shirts. “Which one says ‘I might like you enough to kiss you but also I’m not desperate’?”

The cat blinked slowly, unimpressed.

She flopped down next to it, groaning. Her phone buzzed, and immediately her pulse jumped. It was embarrassing how fast she grabbed it.

h: tell me ur packing. otherwise i’ll come kidnap you myself.

She snorted, thumbs flying.

y/n: packing. but it’s not going well. i have no idea what to wear.

h: wear clothes. preferably.

y/n: you’re SO helpful.

h: m’just sayin, you’d look good in literally anything.

y/n: how do you know that?? you’ve never even SEEN me.

h: gut feeling. also ur voice is fit, so the rest of you must be too.

She made a strangled little noise and buried her face in a sweater.

y/n: stop. i’m already freaking out.

h: why?

y/n: idk. what if it’s weird? or awkward? what if you don’t like me once i’m standing right in front of you?

There was a pause. Three dots blinking. Then his reply came through.

h: listen to me carefully. i already like you. annoyingly so. it’s not gonna change because i see ur cute face in person.

She just stared at it for a long time, her heart doing stupid acrobatics in her chest.

y/n: you’re sappy.

h: i am. you’re stuck with it.

She typed back, her throat tight.

y/n: fine. but if i show up and you bolt i’m keeping your plant.

h: rude. that plant is family.

y/n: he told me he hates you actually.

h: he’s a liar and he needs water.

She laughed out loud. God, how did he make her feel so light?

h: pack something comfy for after. like when i inevitably drag you out for greasy food and keep you up all night talking.

Her cheeks burned.

y/n: okay. i will.

h: good girl.

She nearly dropped her phone.

The rest of the night she kept pulling clothes off hangers, putting them back, debating if she needed to shave literally everything. Her stomach was in knots, but in the best, most electric way.

The next morning, she texted him a picture of her suitcase.

y/n: packed. mostly. leaving tomorrow morning.

h: look at you bein all responsible.

y/n: i’m terrified.

h: i’m not. m’just excited.

She bit her lip, smiling like a fool.

y/n: what if i’m not what you pictured?

h: then i’ll change the picture. easy.

She didn’t know how to reply to that, so she didn’t.

Later that night, curled up in bed with her phone on her chest, he sent her a voice note. His voice was low, tired, a little scratchy.

“Hey. You’re probably asleep already. Just wanted to say… drive safe, yeah? Don’t rush. I’ll be there whenever you get in. And… I can’t wait to see you, trouble. S’gonna be worth it. Promise.”

She listened to it three times before she could finally close her eyes.

Tomorrow, she’d get in her car and drive across state lines for a boy she’d never met, whose voice already felt like home.

Y/N pulled into the hotel parking lot with her heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack a rib.

The drive had been three hours of jittery adrenaline and overthinking every possible scenario. What if he didn’t like her? What if she said something weird? What if he didn’t even show up?

The hotel was surprisingly nice — not some grimy chain, but modern, with big glass windows and a little fountain out front. She checked in, mumbling her name to the woman at the desk, clutching her phone like a lifeline.

The room was clean, a little cold, with an aggressively cheerful painting of sunflowers on the wall. She tossed her suitcase on the bed and sat on the edge, hands clasped together so tight her knuckles hurt.

Her phone buzzed.

h: just got here. room’s tiny. i look like a giant tryin to get dressed in this mirror.

She snorted, a breathy laugh escaping her. Her hands were still shaking when she typed back.

y/n: i’m here too. hiding in my room. trying not to hyperventilate.

h: don’t hyperventilate. m’too selfish, i really wanna see you alive and breathing.

y/n: same.

h: my panel’s in like 30. after, meet me at the hotel cafe? it’s right off the lobby.

y/n: okay. i’ll be there.

h: sweet girl.

Her stomach flipped. She threw her phone on the bed and covered her face with both hands.

“Jesus Christ, get it together,” she muttered.

She paced the tiny space, chugged half a bottle of water, fixed her hair for the tenth time, wiped her clammy palms on her jeans. Finally she decided to go watch his panel — maybe seeing him from a distance first would make it less terrifying.

The convention space was downstairs, tucked behind a couple big double doors. She slipped inside quietly, heart racing. It was a small room, maybe fifty chairs, half-full. Harry was already on stage, perched on a tall stool with a mic in one hand, a bottle of water in the other.

She stopped dead in the aisle.

God.

He was in a thin dark tee that clung to his shoulders, hair pulled back in that same dumb clip, a silver ring flashing on his thumb when he gestured. He was laughing at something the moderator said, head tipping back, eyes crinkling.

She just stood there like an idiot, hugging her arms to her chest, watching him talk about “building safe corners of the internet” and how people deserved spaces where they could be weird without judgment.

He had no idea she was there.

No idea that the girl who’d been teasing him about cereal and goat-dogs and sending him nervous little voice notes was right in front of him, trying not to melt into the carpet.

When it ended, there was polite applause. Harry thanked everyone, flashed that grin that made her knees weak, then stepped down and disappeared through a side door.

Y/N slipped out with the rest of the crowd, heart in her throat, and made her way to the hotel cafe. It was early afternoon, empty except for a barista behind the counter and a young guy in a hoodie reading something on his phone.

She picked a corner table by the window, set her bag on the seat beside her, and stared out at the fountain.

Her phone buzzed.

h: done. headed that way.

She sucked in a sharp breath. Her hands were clammy again. She wiped them on her jeans.

y/n: already here. trying not to pass out.

h: don’t. m’serious. i need you alive for at least ten more minutes.

She barked out a laugh that startled the barista.

Then another text came through.

h: also. you better still let me be the one to find you.

y/n: bossy.

h: i know. sit tight.

She curled up in her chair, arms wrapped around her middle, foot bouncing under the table. Every time the door opened, her heart lurched into her throat.

The guy across the cafe glanced up, gave her a polite nod. She tried to smile back, probably looked manic.

Her phone buzzed again.

h: where exactly are you?

y/n: corner table. window.

h: m’bout to ruin your life.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

When the door opened again, she knew. Couldn’t see him yet, but every nerve in her body lit up like it was hardwired to him.

Her heart was thundering. Actually thundering. She could feel it in her throat, her fingertips, her ears. Every nerve felt raw, hyperaware.

She kept fidgeting, smoothing her hands down her thighs, twisting the little ring on her middle finger. The young guy across the cafe gave her another awkward glance, probably wondering why she looked like she was about to jump out of her skin.

This is so stupid, she thought. It’s just Harry. You’ve talked to him every single day for months. He knows your favorite snack, your weird intrusive thoughts, the exact sound you make when you snort-laugh. This is Harry.

But it wasn’t just Harry. It was him. In real life. Not a voice on the phone or a little face on her screen, but flesh and blood and warm hands and — god — probably so much taller than she expected.

Her stomach did a wild flip.

The door to the cafe swung open again. She didn’t even have to look. It was like her entire body just knew.

She forced herself to lift her head anyway.

And there he was.

Standing in the doorway, scanning the room with wide, eager eyes. Hair perfectly imperfect with a curl placed perfectly across his forehead, wearing the dark tee from the panel, jeans ripped at the knee, arms full of tattoos, and phone clutched in one hand like he’d been texting her the entire walk over.

When his gaze landed on her, it was like the floor dropped out from under her.

His whole face transformed — eyes going wide, mouth parting, then breaking into the most ridiculous, glorious grin she’d ever seen.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed, mostly to himself. Then louder, “There you are.”

She couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. Just sat there staring at him like a deer in headlights, heart doing cartwheels in her chest.

“Not gonna stand up and greet me, then?” he teased, voice warm and bright and so painfully Harryit made her eyes sting.

She let out a helpless little laugh, pushed her chair back, and stood. Her legs felt like jelly.

Harry crossed the tiny room in three long strides. He stopped right in front of her, close enough that she could see the little bump on his nose, the tiny freckle on his jaw. His eyes were so green.

“Hi,” she managed, voice embarrassingly breathless.

He stared at her like he was trying to memorize every single inch of her face. Then his mouth curved into this soft, disbelieving smile.

“Hi, trouble.”

She laughed again, a shaky sound that was more nerves than humor. “You’re real.”

“Yeah. S’lookin that way.” His voice dropped a little, rough at the edges. “Can I — ?”

She didn’t even wait for him to finish. Just nodded, too overwhelmed to trust her own mouth.

He let out this tiny relieved laugh, then cupped her face in both hands, warm palms bracketing her cheeks, thumbs brushing under her eyes.

“Oh, fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured. Then he was leaning down, pressing his forehead to hers, breath shallow.

She couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop trembling. Her hands found his wrists, holding on tight.

“You’re taller than I thought,” she whispered, which made him huff out a laugh against her skin.

“You’re shorter than I thought. Tiny little menace.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

She did. Pushed up on her toes and kissed him, soft and a little clumsy at first.

Harry made this wrecked sound, one hand sliding into her hair, the other dropping to her waist to haul her closer. His mouth moved over hers like he’d been waiting forever, savoring it, chasing every tiny shift of her lips.

When they finally pulled back, breathless and grinning like idiots, he rested his forehead against hers again.

“Worth the wait,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” she said, voice catching. “Worth every damn second.”

They didn’t move for a second, still tangled up in each other’s breath, Harry’s hands cradling her jaw like he was afraid she might vanish if he let go.

Then he seemed to realize they were standing dead center in a mostly empty cafe, making out like horny teenagers. He let out a slightly embarrassed little laugh, dropped his hands from her face, but kept one warm palm resting on her hip like he couldn’t stand not to touch her.

“Alright,” he breathed, eyes still dancing all over her face. “Sit with me before I drag you back upstairs and absolutely traumatize the room next door.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m that easy,” she teased, trying to sound breezy even though her voice came out a bit wobbly.

“Oh, I’m counting on you being that easy,” he shot back, grin going crooked. Then he tugged gently at her waist. “C’mon, trouble.”

They settled back at her little corner table. Harry immediately scooted his chair so close their knees bumped, like he couldn’t help it. His leg pressed into hers under the table, warm and solid, grounding her in the best way.

“You’re staring,” she said after a minute, cheeks hot.

He didn’t even pretend to deny it. Just leaned back, smirked, eyes raking over her face. “Yeah. Been picturing this forever. Sort of unfair how much better it is in person.”

“Stop. You’re going to make me combust.”

“Mm, fine. For now.” He nudged her ankle with his foot. “Order something. We’ll do this proper, yeah? Coffee and awkward small talk before I tell you again how pretty you are.”

She let out a shaky laugh, flagging down the barista. Harry ordered something complicated and way too sweet. She ordered a simple latte because her hands were still trembling and she was terrified she’d spill anything else.

When the barista left, Harry leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands. “So. Be honest. Am I taller than you thought?”

“Only a little. I mean, I knew you had to be tall with that tragic camera angle you always use. Could never see half your face.”

“Oi, it’s artsy! Mysterious!”

“It’s lazy. You’re lazy.”

He grinned, eyes sparkling. “Maybe. But you still fell for me, so joke’s on you.”

She rolled her eyes, but under the table, she slid her foot along his calf. His eyes went molten.

“Y’know, when I first saw you across the room…” he started, then trailed off, swallowing hard. “Christ. My heart actually stopped. I thought, that’s her. That’s my girl.”

Her own heart lurched painfully, and she reached across the table without thinking, catching his hand. He squeezed back immediately, thumb stroking over her knuckles.

“And you,” she said softly, trying to steady her voice. “You’re somehow exactly what I pictured and also nothing like it. It’s weird.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I dunno. You’re just… more. Louder. Warmer. More real.”

His smile went soft, almost shy. “M’glad. Was worried maybe you’d take one look and run for the hills.”

“You’re an idiot if you think that.”

He squeezed her hand again, brought it up to press a warm kiss against her knuckles. “Well. Lucky for me, you seem to like idiots.”

She laughed, but it cracked into something breathless.

Their drinks came, and they pretended to care about them, but neither let go of the other’s hand for more than a second.

“You’re still staring,” she whispered at one point, cheeks aching from smiling.

“Yeah. Not plannin’ to stop anytime soon, either.”

“Good.”

Harry’s knee bounced against hers, eyes flicking down to her mouth before dragging back up. “After this, wanna go somewhere quieter? Walk around outside maybe? Or— I dunno. I’m not ready to let you go back to your room yet. Might actually die.”

She squeezed his fingers, heart tripping all over itself. “Yeah. I’d like that. Really.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said again, laughing through it. “God, you’re such a sap.”

“Hopeless. Absolutely ruined by you.”

They stayed like that a while longer, hands twined on the table, feet tangled under it, Harry stealing these small, soft looks at her that made her want to crawl into his lap and never move.

It was like all the months of voice notes and texts and teasing had collapsed into this tiny sunlit moment, just the two of them, finally real.

They finished their coffee in slow, distracted sips, talking about absolutely nothing and everything, fingers tangled so tight it was like neither of them trusted the moment enough to let go.

When Harry finally stood, he didn’t even wait for her to gather her bag properly. Just laced their hands together and tugged her up with this boyish, impatient grin.

“C’mon. If we stay here any longer, I’m gonna climb over the table and get us both banned from the hotel.”

She snorted, cheeks going hot. “That’s one way to start off our weekend.”

“Mm, not quite the meet-cute I had in mind, but tempting,” he teased, pushing open the glass door and guiding her into the lobby.

They stepped outside into the afternoon sun. It was warm and bright, the fountain burbling nearby. Harry didn’t let go of her hand once, thumb brushing lazy little circles over her knuckles like he couldn’t help it.

“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” she said after a minute, heart still tap dancing against her ribs.

“What does?”

“This. Being… together. In real life.”

Harry smiled, soft and a little crooked. “Yeah. But good weird. Like I’ve been walking around waiting for something to happen, and it’s just… this. You. Finally here.”

She ducked her head, biting back a grin. “Stop. You’re gonna make me cry and I just put mascara on.”

He laughed, then pulled her gently toward the little path that circled the hotel grounds. It was quiet, dotted with benches and tiny blooming shrubs, just enough to feel like they had a bit of privacy.

“So,” she said, bumping her shoulder into his. “What was your first thought when you actually saw me sitting there?”

“That’s trouble,” he answered instantly, then shot her a playful look. “But also… fuck me, she’s pretty. Too pretty. Like I was gonna have a heart attack before I even got over there.”

She covered her face with her free hand, groaning. “God, why are you so good at this? You’re supposed to be awkward and weird and make me feel better about my life choices.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m plenty awkward,” Harry said with a grin. “I just hide it well. I’m currently terrified you’re gonna realize you’ve made a tragic mistake and run off with the barista instead.”

“Not likely,” she shot back, but her voice cracked, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “You’re stuck with me, sorry.”

“Good. I like being stuck with you.”

They walked a little further, hands still twined, arms bumping. Harry kept sneaking these little glances at her like he couldn’t help it — eyes darting to her mouth, her hair, her shoulders.

At one point, he stopped dead, tugged her gently so she stumbled into him.

“What?” she laughed, palms flattening against his chest. God, he was warm. Solid.

Harry just stared down at her for a long second, jaw working. Then he let out a low, helpless sort of noise, dropped their joined hands so he could cup her face again.

“Sorry,” he breathed. “Can’t — I just—”

Then he was kissing her.

It was different than in the cafe — slower, deeper, almost reverent. Like he was trying to memorize exactly how she tasted, the way she sighed into his mouth, how her hands fisted in his shirt to drag him impossibly closer.

When they finally broke apart, both gasping a little, he rested his forehead on hers and let out a soft laugh.

“You’re gonna wreck me, trouble. Completely ruin me for anyone else.”

Her heart squeezed so tight it hurt. She slid her hands up to his jaw, thumb tracing the edge of his smile.

“Good,” she whispered. “That’s the plan.”

Harry laughed again, kissed her once more — quick and sweet — then grabbed her hand and started walking backwards, pulling her along.

“C’mon. Wanna show you the pathetic little vendor hall. Gotta prove I’m a real internet loser.”

“You already proved that months ago,” she teased, bumping into him.

“Oi. Rude.”

“True, though.”

He laughed, pulled her closer by the hand. “Yeah, yeah. Keep talking. I’ll find more creative ways to shut you up later.”

Her stomach flipped deliciously.

They wandered off together like that, hands tangled, hearts a tangled mess of nerves and giddy relief, already half in love with this new reality where he was real and right there, close enough to touch.

They spent the next hour wandering through the vendor hall, which was exactly as tragic and adorable as Harry had promised.

Tiny tables crammed with stickers, enamel pins, homemade candles, nerdy T-shirts and art prints. A tired looking DJ was spinning some synthy pop in the corner, while groups of awkward twenty-somethings milled around with plastic badge holders swinging from their necks.

Harry didn’t let go of her hand once. Every time she reached for something on a table, he was right there, shoulder brushing hers, thumb stroking lazily over her knuckles.

At one booth, he picked up a truly awful little plushie — a lopsided frog wearing a tiny felt wizard hat.

“Oh my god,” she laughed. “That’s hideous.”

“That’s exactly why I want it.” He flipped the tag over, winced at the price, then smirked at her. “Actually… I think you need it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Too late.” He handed it to the vendor, pulled out his wallet, then shoved the hideous thing at her with a proud grin.

“Harry.” She tried to scowl but couldn’t stop smiling.

“S’for when I inevitably piss you off. You can punch his little face instead of mine.”

“You’re such a goof.”

He leaned in, brushed a quick kiss over her temple. “Yeah. Your goof, though.”

They drifted through a few more tables, Harry buying them both a cheap iced tea that tasted vaguely like metal, stopping every few feet to look at something he’d insist was “cool” even though it very much was not.

Eventually the crowd started thinning out, people heading back to their rooms or out to the parking lot. The music faded. Someone was rolling up a giant poster banner in the corner.

Harry glanced around, then at her, his thumb still brushing that same soothing line across the back of her hand.

“S’getting late, huh?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. Her heart was starting that stupid frantic beat again, the one that made it hard to get a full breath.

He gave her hand a little squeeze. “I’ll walk you up. Make sure no stray goat-dogs get you.”

She laughed, nudged his shoulder. “So thoughtful.”

They rode the elevator up in a comfortable, slightly charged silence, shoulders brushing, Harry’s free hand in his pocket. At her door, he rocked back on his heels, still holding her hand.

“Well…”

“Well,” she echoed. God, she was suddenly so nervous. Her heart felt like it was rattling against her ribs.

He lifted their joined hands, pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, then her wrist, then lower, to the inside of her palm.

“Night, trouble.”

She stood there frozen for half a second, then blurted out, “Wait.”

Harry stopped immediately, brows lifting. “Yeah?”

She bit her lip, heat crawling up her neck, then tried to laugh it off. “Do you… um. Do you maybe wanna come in? To my room? Just — I dunno. I’m not really ready for tonight to be over yet.”

His eyes went so soft she thought she might melt right there. Then he let out a quiet, slightly relieved laugh, thumb brushing her cheek.

“Fuck. I was gonna ask if you’d come back to mine, but didn’t wanna be that bloke, y’know? Didn’t want you to think I was just—”

She cut him off with a smile. “Harry. It’s me. You’re allowed to want to keep hanging out.”

His grin turned a little crooked. “Good. ‘Cause I really fuckin’ do.”

She fumbled her key card, nearly dropped it twice because her hands were shaking, and Harry just laughed quietly, resting a hand on the small of her back.

When the door finally swung open, he followed her inside, shutting it behind them with a soft click.

His hands found her waist almost immediately, pulling her close until their noses brushed.

“Hi again,” he murmured, voice low and a little breathless.

She laughed, slid her hands up his chest. “Hi.”

“Still can’t believe you’re real,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

“You keep saying that,” she teased, voice wobbly.

He just kissed her, slow and deep, like he was determined to prove it over and over.

They stood there for a minute by the door, still half tangled up in each other, her hands pressed flat to his chest, his breath warm on her lips.

Harry’s thumbs stroked soft little circles at her waist, his forehead resting against hers. When he pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, mouth curved in a lazy, wrecked sort of smile.

“Y’know,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “I was trying really hard to be a gentleman.”

She bit her lip, heart stuttering. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He ducked his head, mouth brushing her jaw, then lower, nuzzling just under her ear. “Was gonna come up here, tuck you into bed all polite-like, go back to my room and die quietly.”

She let out a breathless little laugh, tilting her head to give him more room. “That sounds tragic.”

“It would’ve been,” he agreed, his mouth hot against her throat. “But now I’m here, and you’re letting me do this, and I’m absolutely fucked.”

That pulled a small, shaky sound from her chest.

She pulled back, just enough to see his face, and slid her hands up around his neck. Her thumbs brushed over the little curls at his nape, soft and sweaty from the day.

“Good,” she whispered. “I want you a little fucked up over me.”

His laugh was low, breathless, hands tightening at her hips. “That’s evil.”

She leaned up on her toes, kissed him.

It was meant to be quick. Just a soft press of her mouth to his. But the second she did it, Harry let out this quiet, desperate noise, his hands slipping lower, fingers digging into her hips to drag her closer.

The kiss went messy fast — all teeth and soft gasps, her hands sliding up into his hair, tugging at the little pink clip until it fell to the floor with a soft clatter. His hair spilled out around her fingers, wild and sweaty, and she fisted it tight, tugging just to feel him shudder.

“Christ,” he breathed against her mouth, voice cracking. “Keep doin’ that and I’m gonna lose it.”

“Yeah?” she whispered, lips ghosting over his jaw. “What if that’s what I want?”

Harry groaned, backed her up until her knees hit the bed. They tumbled onto it together, her on her back with Harry half on top of her, weight pressing her into the mattress in the best possible way.

His mouth was everywhere — her jaw, her neck, the little sensitive spot just under her ear that made her gasp.

“You’re dangerous,” he muttered, breath hot against her skin. “Look at you, all sweet and soft, lettin’ me in your room, and now you’re gonna ruin me.”

She laughed, breathless, hips arching up into his. “Maybe that’s the plan.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes dark and a little wild, hair a mess around his face.

“Yeah?” he rasped. “Want me to lose my fuckin’ mind over you?”

She nodded, swallowed hard, then slid her hands under the hem of his shirt, pushing it up. His skin was hot under her palms, muscles jumping under her touch.

“Take it off,” she whispered.

Harry let out a rough little laugh, sat up just enough to yank the shirt over his head. He tossed it somewhere behind him, then dropped back down, hands bracing on either side of her head.

“Happy?” he teased, but his voice was wrecked.

“Yeah,” she breathed, hands splaying over his warm, bare shoulders. “Now kiss me again.”

He did. Hard.

And when she shifted under him, legs parting to let him settle between, Harry let out the filthiest little groan against her mouth, hips pressing down into hers like he couldn’t help it.

“Fuck,” he gasped, pulling back just enough to look at her, eyes dark and blown. “Tell me if you want me to stop, yeah? Please. I need you to tell me.”

She smiled up at him, heart a wild, happy mess, and slid her hands back into his hair.

“I’ll tell you,” she promised, voice low. “But right now I want everything.”

Harry just stared at her for a second, like she’d just said the most perfect thing in the world. Then he dipped his head, kissed her again, and everything else fell away.

Harry kissed her like he’d been waiting a lifetime — deep and hot and almost clumsy with how badly he wanted it. His hands roamed everywhere, up under her shirt, over her sides, gripping her hips so tight it was like he thought she might slip away.

But then she did something that had his breath stalling out completely. She pushed at his shoulder, gentle at first, then more insistent.

“Lay back,” she whispered.

His eyes flew open, dark and wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, biting her lip, sliding her hands down his chest. “Want you under me.”

Harry let out this absolutely wrecked little laugh, voice cracking as he flopped back onto the pillows. “Jesus Christ. Gonna be the death of me, trouble.”

She swung a leg over him, settling her knees on either side of his hips. The second her weight sank down, Harry’s head tipped back, a groan ripping out of him. His hands immediately found her thighs, squeezing, thumbs stroking up to the crease of her hips.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breath shallow. “Look at you. You’re gonna make me embarrass myself.”

She leaned over him, bracing her hands on either side of his head, her hair slipping down to brush his cheeks. “That’s the point.”

“Oh, you’re evil,” he breathed, voice breaking on a laugh.

Then she started to move. Just a slow, testing roll of her hips, grinding down into him. The sound that tore out of Harry’s throat was obscene, his fingers digging into her thighs like he might bruise them.

“Trouble—” he gasped. “Fuck, don’t stop, please—”

She kept moving, finding a rhythm that had her own breath coming short and hot. The friction was maddening, sending little sparks dancing up her spine.

Then she dipped lower, mouth brushing his ear.

“You’re so easy for me,” she whispered, biting down gently on his earlobe.

Harry actually whimpered. His hips jerked up into hers, hands sliding to her ass to press her down harder.

“Oh my god,” he choked, breath hot and ragged. “Say that again.”

She just smiled, breathless, and pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses down his neck. Her teeth scraped lightly at the tender skin there, then bit down just enough to make him gasp.

“Mine,” she whispered against his throat. “You’re mine, Harry.”

“Fuck, fuck—” His hands were everywhere now, greedy and frantic, sliding under her shirt, over her back, trying to pull her even closer. His neck arched under her mouth, giving her more room, a helpless offering.

“Say it,” she breathed, nipping lower.

“Yours,” he groaned. “All yours, fuck, been yours since the first voice note you sent me, I’m done—”

She rocked her hips again, harder, and he nearly bucked off the bed. His hands clenched on her hips so tight she’d probably have marks.

“You’re so pretty like this,” she whispered against his throat, sucking another mark into his skin. “So desperate for me.”

Harry’s eyes squeezed shut, a wrecked little smile breaking across his face. “You have no fuckin’ clue, trouble. Absolutely no clue.”

She laughed, soft and breathless, then captured his mouth in another hungry kiss, her hips still moving, chasing that perfect, maddening friction.

And Harry just let her — let her take everything she wanted, moaning into her mouth, hands trembling where they gripped her.

Harry’s hands were shaking where they gripped her hips, thumbs digging into her skin like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. She kept rolling her hips over him, slow and teasing, her mouth pressed to his neck, feeling every helpless groan vibrate under her lips.

Then suddenly his hands tightened, and he growled out a breathless, “Alright, that’s enough.”

Before she could even process it, he was flipping them over, pressing her into the mattress with a low, wrecked laugh.

“Hey!” she squealed, giggling breathlessly, hands flying up to his shoulders.

Harry just smirked down at her, hair falling around his face, eyes dark and hungry but lit with that same playful glint that had made her fall for him from the start.

“What happened to being my good boy?” she teased, trying to sound cocky even though her voice was wobbly.

Harry leaned down, his mouth brushing hers, voice dropping to this low, sinful rumble that made her toes curl.

“Still your good boy,” he breathed, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then right below her ear so she shivered. “But turns out your good boy’s fucking starving.”

Her breath hitched. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoed mockingly, biting her earlobe just enough to make her gasp. “What, didn’t think I was gonna let you have all the fun, did you?”

Then his mouth was at her throat, kissing and nipping down the column of her neck, hands sliding under her shirt. He pushed it up, impatient, until she lifted her arms so he could yank it over her head.

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped, leaning back just long enough to drink her in. His eyes were so dark it made her stomach swoop. “Been dreaming about this for months, trouble. Ruined me before I even had the chance to touch you.”

“Yeah?” she whispered, arching a little under him, needing more of him everywhere.

“Oh, yeah.” His hands slid down her sides, hooking into the waistband of her shorts. “Now be a good girl and lift your hips for me.”

She did, breath catching as he peeled them down slow, his eyes locked on hers the whole time. When he got them past her thighs, he dropped a soft kiss to the inside of her knee that made her whimper.

Harry just smirked. “What, already needy for me? Haven’t even started yet.”

“Harry—”

But he cut her off with a slow, filthy kiss just below her belly button, then another lower, each press of his mouth sending heat pooling low in her stomach.

When he finally settled between her thighs, hands spreading them wider, she thought she might actually die.

Harry looked up at her, eyes heavy, mouth curved in that wicked, lazy grin.

“Gonna make you forget your own name,” he murmured, voice so rough it was almost a growl. “Then remind you it’s mine you’ll be screaming.”

Then he lowered his head, and everything went molten.

Harry’s breath was hot against her inner thigh, and the second his mouth finally landed on her, she made a sound she didn’t even recognize — high and broken, her back arching clean off the bed.

“Fuck, there she is,” Harry groaned, voice dark and awed, like he’d just discovered treasure. He licked a slow stripe up her slit that had her thighs trying to snap closed around his head, but his hands were there, big and strong, spreading her right back open. “Nah. Don’t you dare hide from me now.”

“Harry—”

“Mm?” He pressed a filthy open-mouthed kiss right over her clit, then sucked, gentle at first, then harder when she whimpered. “What’s that, trouble? Can’t hear you.”

“Fucking— you’re such an— oh my god—”

He laughed against her, the vibration shooting through her entire body. “That’s it. Talk to me. Want to hear every desperate little noise you’ve been keeping from me.”

Then he went right back to it — slow at first, dragging his tongue in lazy circles that had her hips chasing after him, then faster, teasing patterns that made her whine. He sucked her clit into his mouth and let it pop free, then did it again, until she was clutching at the sheets like a lifeline.

“Please,” she gasped, voice wrecked. “Harry, please—”

“Please what?” he growled, pulling back just enough to look at her. His mouth was wet, his jaw shining with her slick, and he looked absolutely feral. “Gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart. I’m a bit slow on the uptake.”

She made a desperate little noise, hands flying down to his hair, gripping tight. “Please, just — don’t stop. Need your mouth, please.”

“Oh, fuck me, that’s pretty.” He dove right back in, groaning low when she tugged hard at his hair. His tongue worked her in deep, filthy strokes, then moved up to suck at her clit again, flicking just the tip of it until her thighs started to tremble.

Her hips stuttered against his mouth, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. “Harry— I’m gonna— oh my god—”

“Yeah?” He didn’t stop for even a second, words muffled against her. “Give it to me then, trouble. Come on my fuckin’ mouth.”

She broke with a soft sob, everything going tight and bright and shattering. Her hips rolled helplessly, grinding against his tongue, and Harry just moaned, holding her down, lapping her through it like he was starved.

When she finally slumped back against the mattress, shaking and spent, he pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, a lazy, wicked smile tugging at his lips.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he rasped, crawling up over her until they were nose to nose. “You’re a mess. Pretty little thing, all ruined for me.”

She let out a breathless, delirious laugh. “You’re the worst. The actual worst.”

He grinned, leaned in to press a slow, dirty kiss to her mouth — letting her taste exactly what he’d just done.

“Yeah,” he whispered against her lips. “But you love it.”

Her answering moan was all the proof he needed.

Harry pulled back just far enough to look at her, eyes heavy and dark, breath coming in short, ragged bursts. His hands were everywhere — smoothing down her sides, gripping her thighs, then sliding up to cradle her face like he needed to hold her steady for what he was about to say.

“Need you,” he rasped, voice all gravel and desperation. “Need to be inside you right fuckin’ now or I’m gonna lose it.”

Her stomach swooped, heat pooling deep and low. She couldn’t help the soft, eager sound that broke from her chest. “Then do it. Please.”

Harry groaned, crashing his mouth back to hers in a rough, breathless kiss that had her head spinning. His hands moved between them, fumbling with his jeans. When he finally shoved them down along with his briefs, he sighed like it physically hurt to be kept from her even that long.

“Look at you,” he breathed, sliding a hand down to guide himself, dragging the head of his cock through her slick folds until they were both trembling. “All wet for me already. Fuckin’ hell, trouble.”

“Harry—” Her voice cracked on his name, needy and wrecked, and that seemed to break the last of his control.

He pressed in slow, pushing inside inch by inch. Her mouth dropped open on a strangled little gasp, hands flying up to clutch at his shoulders. Harry let out a deep, shuddering groan, forehead dropping to hers.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, hips stuttering forward. “You’re so fuckin’ tight — like you were made for me, swear to god.”

She could barely breathe, legs wrapping around his hips instinctively, trying to pull him even deeper. “Harry, please— move—”

“Yeah, baby, I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice low and rough, brushing his nose against hers. Then he pulled out nearly all the way and slammed back in, hard enough to knock the air from her lungs.

Her moan was sharp, desperate, nails digging into his back. Harry grinned, breathless and cocky. “There she is. C’mon, let me hear you.”

Then he set a rhythm — slow at first, rolling his hips into hers like he wanted to savor every second, then faster, rougher, every thrust sending a shockwave of pleasure through her that had her clinging to him helplessly.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he panted against her mouth. “Can’t believe I’ve been waiting months for this. Months— thinkin’ about you, your voice, your laugh— didn’t even know what you looked like and I was already gone.”

“Harry,” she gasped, her body twisting under his, chasing each thrust. “Fuck— don’t stop—”

“Not stoppin’. Never fuckin’ stopping,” he growled. His hands slid under her ass, lifting her just enough so he could angle deeper. When he thrust again, she cried out, head tipping back, eyes squeezing shut.

“That’s it,” he rasped, fucking into her harder now, their bodies slamming together with slick, obscene sounds. “Good girl. Take it for me.”

“Feels so— god, you feel so good—”

“Yeah? This what you wanted?” His mouth found her neck, biting down just enough to make her keen. “Wanted me to ruin you, yeah?”

“Yes— yes, please, Harry, I’m so close—”

“Fuck, I can feel you,” he groaned, hips snapping faster. “Come for me, trouble. Wanna feel you squeeze me.”

It only took a few more thrusts before she broke, coming with a sharp cry, nails digging into his shoulders. Her whole body tensed, then went loose and trembling under him. Harry let out a wrecked moan, burying his face in her neck as he followed her over the edge, hips jerking erratically until he spilled inside her.

They stayed tangled up like that, gasping into each other’s skin, his weight heavy and perfect on top of her. His hand stroked her hair, thumb brushing her cheek, grounding them both.

When he finally pulled back to look at her, his grin was lazy and stupidly soft.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice rough. “Knew you’d wreck me.”

She laughed, weak and breathless, pulling him down into a messy kiss.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because you absolutely ruined me too.”

Harry stayed right there, heavy and warm on top of her, breathing hard against her neck. It should have felt smothering, but it didn’t. It felt perfect — grounding and real, his heartbeat still thundering under her palm where she pressed it flat to his chest.

After a minute, he lifted his head, eyes soft and dazed. His hair was a total disaster, curls sticking up in every direction, still damp at the roots. She reached up and brushed a stray lock off his forehead, and he gave her this small, sappy smile that made her stomach flip all over again.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough, thumb stroking under her jaw.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Better than okay.”

He leaned in and kissed her — slow, gentle, nothing like how frantic he’d been a few minutes ago. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers and let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” she breathed.

“Just…” His grin went a little crooked. “Dunno how I’m supposed to go back to my sad little flat after this. S’not fair.”

“You’ll survive,” she teased, even though her chest squeezed painfully at the thought of him leaving.

“Doubt it. Gonna be pathetic without you there to torment me.”

She laughed, pushing at his shoulder. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Oh, absolutely.” He pulled out slowly, careful and sweet, then dropped another soft kiss on her mouth before rolling off to the side. He flopped down next to her, arm immediately hooking around her waist to tug her into his side.

They lay like that for a minute, catching their breath. Then Harry huffed out another soft laugh.

“What now?” she groaned, nuzzling her face into his shoulder.

“Just thinking how smug you’re gonna be about this. Won’t be able to get your head through a door after tonight.”

“Oh, please. I’m the smug one?” She lifted her head to look at him, arching a brow. “Pretty sure you were the one talking about how you were gonna make me forget my name.”

Harry grinned, completely unrepentant. “Didn’t I, though?”

She smacked his chest lightly. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you like it.” He pulled her tighter, kissing her hair.

They lay there in a comfortable tangle of limbs, skin still sticky, hearts finally slowing down. Harry’s hand traced lazy patterns up and down her back, then settled low on her waist, thumb brushing soothing circles.

“Can I stay the night?” he murmured after a while, voice small in a way that made her heart squeeze.

“Of course you can,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone. “I was hoping you would.”

“Good,” he breathed, then shifted to press her closer. “Need you here. S’like my body’s already addicted.”

She laughed, warm all over. “You’re a sap.”

“You’re gonna keep saying that, but I’m not embarrassed.” He nuzzled her nose with his, eyes crinkling. “Best fuckin’ decision I ever made, driving down here. Even if you did ruin me.”

“You like being ruined.”

“Oh, fully. Hopeless for it.”

She kissed him again, sweet and lingering, then tucked her head under his chin.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, trouble?”

“Don’t let this be a one weekend thing.”

His arms tightened around her. “Not a chance in hell.”

Two years later, and Y/N still couldn’t quite believe how her life had turned out.

It was ridiculous, really — all because she’d been bored and lonely one night, scrolling TikTok with her brain half-melted from work, and stumbled across a scruffy British boy in a pink hair clip rambling about cereal.

Now that same boy was asleep on her couch most nights, leaving half-empty tea mugs everywhere, hogging the blankets, stealing kisses in the kitchen while she was trying to cook.

Harry had moved to her city after six months of painfully sweet long weekends and gut-wrenching goodbyes at airports. “Not doin’ this anymore,” he’d grumbled against her mouth one night, hands cupping her face like she was something breakable. “Want to wake up next to you every bloody day.”

So he did.

They settled into something warm and chaotic — nights in with cheap wine and takeout, quiet mornings tangled up in bed, little trips to bookstores where he’d follow her around with a lazy arm hooked around her waist.

And somehow two years flew by.

They were on a weekend trip up north, renting a tiny cabin that looked out over a stretch of mossy woods. It was chilly, the sky low and gray, everything damp with the smell of pine and earth. Y/N was bundled in one of Harry’s sweaters, hands shoved in her pockets, while he fussed around trying to start a little bonfire.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” she teased, arching a brow.

Harry shot her a look over his shoulder, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. “Absolutely not. But you love me anyway, so it’s fine.”

“That’s debatable.”

He laughed, then finally got the flame going, settling back on his heels with a smug grin. “Ha. Ye of little faith.”

She rolled her eyes, sinking down onto the threadbare blanket he’d spread on the ground. The fire crackled softly, little bursts of orange against the dreary afternoon.

Harry dropped down next to her, pulling her immediately between his legs so her back pressed to his chest. His chin hooked over her shoulder, arms warm and heavy around her middle.

They sat like that for a while, quiet, just listening to the fire and the distant birds.

Then she felt him shift, heart thundering against her back in this weird, frantic rhythm.

“Alright, trouble,” he murmured, voice suddenly rough. “Got a question for you.”

She twisted a little to look at him. “Yeah? Why do you look like you’re about to pass out?”

“Because I might,” he breathed, and when he pulled back she realized his hands were shaking.

Then he was fumbling in his pocket, pulling out this small, velvet box.

Y/N’s breath completely stopped.

“Harry—”

“Hang on, let me do it before I black out, yeah?” he rasped, popping the box open. Inside was a delicate ring, simple and perfect. Her eyes stung instantly.

Harry laughed, watery, eyes so bright. “Look, I know you’re a menace. You drive me absolutely mad. You steal the covers and use my toothbrush sometimes and leave your hair all over the flat. But I can’t — I don’t want — to do any of this without you. Ever again.”

She covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. “Harry—”

“Love.” His grin was crooked, voice breaking. “Will you marry me?”

She nodded so hard it hurt, a laugh bubbling out through her tears. “Yes. Yes, obviously, you goof.”

Harry let out this wrecked little noise, then was pulling her into his lap, hugging her so tight the ring box squished between them.

When he finally pulled back to slip the ring onto her shaking finger, his own hands were trembling so badly it took two tries.

“Told you you’d ruin me,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

She laughed through a sob. “You love it.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I fuckin’ love you.”

Then he kissed her — slow and sweet and a little salty from both their tears — while the fire crackled on beside them, the sky hanging low and gray overhead, and everything else fell perfectly, irrevocably into place.

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