#1D Smut

[strawberriesandhotmen]

Late Night Shenanigans

a/n: I absolutely adore getting requests from y’all, this one is from the lovely @purplekimijks. I’m so sorry this one took me FOREVER. I am pulling shit out of my ass I fear but I’m still pleased with this one. By the way, as usual, y’all are cooking with these asks. Making me feel some type of way 😘I think I only mentioned Louis and Harry specifically, but the others are obviously there in spirit, as we know. (also I know the gif isn't blonde Niall, but he's just so cute I had to use it)

pairing: fratboy!boyfriend!Niall Horan x fem!reader

CW +18 smut: swearing, basically pwp sorry not sorry y’all, reader is NEEDY but who isn’t for this man, things escalate quickly from the get go lmao, softdom!Niall (mainly in the beginning), public sex ish (everyone is asleep), exhibitionism if you squint (like really hard), let me know if I missed anything y’all

word count: 1.7k

This fucking bunk. You felt like a damn cave diver, imagining yourself trapped between two sheets of stone as you ran out of oxygen to breathe. The Devil’s Ass Crack seemed like a fitting enough name, given the close-as-fuck quarters. The only thing missing was a camera.

You really shouldn’t be complaining. Despite the aggravating sleeping conditions, these buses were actually fairly luxurious. They held whole living rooms, for fuck’s sake. More than that, what girlfriend gets to accompany her boyfriend on tour without anyone batting an eye? Probably a few, but you felt lucky nonetheless. 

You found your thoughts shifting from irate to giddy as you imagined Niall, his adorable little Irish self fast asleep in his shitty bunk. He was incredibly precious, in any and all situations. 

You began to recall the night before last, his hands all over you, his lips following close behind. You remembered his whispered praises in your ear and the way he touched your hair, those pretty blue eyes boring into yours as if begging you to never leave.

Soon, it became too much. You couldn’t take it anymore, being six feet apart from him. The distance was an annoyance, the location a minor inconvenience. 

You climbed out of your bunk, attempting to be as quiet as you could and thoroughly failing as you tripped over an amp someone had left in the middle of the bus.

Dammit Louis.

You cursed under your breath as you clutched your stubbed toe. Fucking men.

You blinked hard as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, fumbling around until you reached Niall’s bunk, suddenly offended as his was slightly more spacious. That annoyance faded quickly, though, as you realized the use you could make of that extra room.

After pulling back the curtain, you not-so-elegantly climbed on top of him, holding back a giggle when his eyes fluttered open into a confused expression.

“Is that you, love?” He whispered, squinting adorably as he tried to discern my facial features.

“No, it’s Harry.” You replied sarcastically, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see. He let out a dramatic sigh.

“I told you we can’t keep doing this, man. The lads are starting to get suspicious.” Your jaw dropped in a momentary lapse of common sense, and you smacked his chest as aggressively as you could in the cramped space. He laughed louder than he should have at this late hour, quickly clamping his mouth shut and switching to a quiet snicker.

“Don’t worry, love. I’m only joking.” He assured you, his hands now sliding up your thighs to grip your hips. “What brings you to my chambers?” You giggled at the tease despite yourself, laying your head on his bare chest.

“Wanted to be with you.” You mumbled, absently tracing your finger along his toned stomach.

“Oh? Is my princess lonely?” He smiled, moving his grip to your waist now and giving you a light squeeze. You only nodded against him, relishing in the feeling of your bodies pressed together, of your legs straddled over his thighs. You could feel the thin material of his boxers along your inner thighs as his hands slipped under your sleep shirt, humming at the realization that you were only wearing panties.

“Dirty girl.”  He husked against your ear, smirking. His fingers toyed with the lace adorning your hips, sliding under the material and back out. “These the ones I got you?” He asked, and you nodded again without looking up. “That’s my girl.” He praised, and you could practically hear the smile on his pretty pink lips.

“You have good taste, Ni. In both women as well as underthings.” He let out another snicker, bringing his hand up to card his fingers through your hair. After a moment of comfortable silence filled with only the sounds of your breathing, Niall slowly and carefully shifted your position so that he was now on top. “What does my princess need, hm?” He hummed, his lowering fingers silently suggesting filthy things. “Need you to ask me for it, love.” You whined a little in flushed embarrassment, squirming beneath him.

“You already know, though.” You protested stubbornly, throwing your arms around his neck. He chuckled at your resistance, teasingly sliding his hand under the hem of your shirt (well, technically his shirt; you stole it). You wiggled again impatiently, drawing a ‘tsk, tsk, tsk’ out of him.

“You know the rules, pretty girl. Use your words.” You clenched your thighs together as his tone grew deeper, huskier. That sexy-as-fuck accent only made it better. His calloused fingers brushed against the underside of your breast, drawing a pretty little gasp from you that only excited him more.

“Need you, Ni.” Your words escaped you in a whine, the pathetic sound sending a jolt straight to his half-hard dick. Dragging his thumb across your pebbled nipple, he gave the rosy bud a pinch in a way to scold you.

“Specifics, love.” You huffed out in sexual frustration, tightly gripping the sheet beneath you.

“Inside.” You forced out, ignoring the way your ears grew hot in embarrassment at your neediness. It was truly pathetic, the manner in which you were behaving, but how could you not? This was Niall, for fuck’s sake. The man of your dreams, practically your fucking life force. 

You also chose to ignore the shit-eating grin you could just make out on his face, clearly displaying how pleased he was with your obedience to the ‘rules.’ They had never been distinctly laid out, per say, but given the dynamic between you, these guidelines were understood. Following an amused chuckle on his behalf, Niall leaned down to pepper kisses along the shell of your ear, his breath tickling your sensitive skin.

“What princess wants, princess gets.” And fuck you if those words didn’t nearly make you come undone on the spot, the sheer decision in his tone drawing another pool of arousal out of you to your already ruined panties.

In one swift motion, your (his) shirt was gone, your torso bare for him with only those useless panties to shield the rest (not that they were doing a great job of that, either).

“So pretty, baby.” He muttered between kisses on your neck, soon migrating to your collarbone and then your chest. And shit, he loved to play with your perky tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers and sucking like they gave him life. 

While he occupied his mouth up top, his hands groped your hips and thighs, clearly growing impatient at the scrap of soaked fabric that still served as a barrier. He yanked them down to your ankles in one decisive motion, allowing you to kick them away before he descended upon you once more. He allowed you no time to process what was going on, impatiently ridding himself of his boxers and letting his stiff length smack against his stomach.

Fuck, you needed him.

Evidently, he needed you too, because without giving you a moment to think, his tip was already bullying its way into your dripping hole.

“Ni, fuck…” You trailed off, gritting your teeth at the delicious stretch you felt as he slid deeper, inch by inch. The moment he was up to the hilt, you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding, immediately beginning to pant as he pulled back slowly.

The pace he set was ruthless, unrelenting. Both of you were quite aware of the time constraint, and you couldn’t afford to drag this out for very long. He slammed into your g-spot with every snap of his hips, his pelvis smacking against your pulsing clit. He’s too fucking good at this, you thought. 

His breath was coming in harsh pants, that rasp just audible above the sounds his actions were creating.

“Fuck, princess, feel so good around me.” He groaned against your neck, and you felt his cock twitch against your walls when you let out a pretty moan in response. You were being quiet, but probably not quiet enough.

“Faster, please…” You pleaded, desperately chasing that release as you held onto Niall. He obliged with immediate intensity, and you were surprised the both of you hadn’t yet toppled out of the bunk. You felt that knot in your stomach begin to grow to an unbearable amount, and with the way your plush walls clenched around his cock, Niall knew you were close.

“That’s it, love, let me feel you come around me. Fuck, want to see how pretty you look when you come.” His words were your undoing, your breath catching as you held back a moan when your back arched, your nails digging into his back. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, lasting a beat longer than you had remembered the last one lingering. You let out a squeak as he continued pounding into you, now chasing his own release.

“I know, princess, I know. I’m almost - shit - almost there.” And not three thrusts later, he was coming on your stomach, hot ropes of come shooting out to paint your sweat-soaked skin with white. He collapsed on top of you, holding you close as both of your breath’s slowed to normal.

“I love you so much, baby.” He murmured, pressing soft, tender kisses to your neck. You smiled, your eyes half-lidded, and you thought you may finally get some sleep.

“I love you too, Ni.” You chuckled to yourself, thinking back on what had just happened. “We really need to stop with these late-night shenanigans.” He let out a little giggle at your choice of words, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before pulling back to smile at you.

“Not a chance, princess.”

[ukcrazedcanadiangirl]

something with zayn !!

like dom!zayn sub!reader and it gets a little rough but he gives her lots of aftercare afterwards.

maybe he gets jealous because you’re close with one of the other boys and he doesn’t fully trust them around her cause he thinks you’re so perfect everyone would like you ??

hope that makes sense x

sure no problem I’m actually super excited to write this everyone requests Harry or Niall and never any of the other boys anymore

[littleohs]

girly snippet !

hello! last snip before my @girldirectionfest fic gets posted in a few days!

"Do you know why you're getting this, baby?" Harry asked with a cutting calmness as she leaned between her legs. Louis swallowed hard and shook her head, though deep down she knew it all too well. The blatant way she had disobeyed Harry by touching herself without permission; all that had disobeyed the one clear rule Harry always enforced: behave like a good alpha. "Because daddy doesn't reward disobedient girls," Harry continued, her fingers stroking Louis' member with a gentleness that contrasted with the hardness of her tone, “If you can't control yourself like I've taught you, then I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of knotting me the right way either." The choked groan that escaped Louis was a mixture of frustration and regret, but it was to no avail. Harry wasn't looking for apologies, just absolute obedience. With calculated movements, she took Louis' member between her hands, holding it firmly as she took off the dilator in a quick movement and adjusted the soft latex until it reached around her base. The pressure of the material elicited an involuntary gasp from the alpha, her body tensing at the discomfort.

if u have any doubts about female alphas, i let u here my complete omegaverse guide! and if any other questions come up, u can ask me or send me a message! a/b/o guide here!

i really hope u like it, and if you do, let me know so i can bring new girl direction fics!

[pariswithzouis]

NEW BOT!!!

You and Harry are both rivals at a law firm… And you both don’t believe in love.

[omegaversekinktober23]

Week 1 Prompts:

Blindfold, Bondage, Body modification/Wax play, Breath play, Fisting, Orgasm denial/Control, Overstimulation, Praise kink, Edge play, Electrostimulation, Sex toys

Please Remember to incorporate at least one of these themes into your fic! Remember for the fic there must be at least one member of One Direction and must be Alpha/Beta/Omega!

Fics are due Monday 9th of October! Must be posted/in the collection on Ao3 by 1PM EDT!

Parent Collection/Overview

Subcollections:

Week 1 Collection (Put week 1 fics here!)

[uhuhmaries]

Ovulating | H.S.

You’re engaged to THE Harry Styles. ‘Nuff said.

Warnings: Very NSFW

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

You’ve been teasing him without meaning to.

Wearing those little shorts around the house. Stretching in front of the open fridge. Pressing your thighs together every time he so much as breathes near your neck. Harry’s noticed it all. He always does.

And when he found your period tracker open on your phone screen earlier—he didn’t say a word. Just smirked to himself.

“Fertile window, hm?” he murmured as he walked off to make tea, like it wasn’t the most dangerous piece of information he could’ve gotten his hands on.

Now, he’s behind you in the kitchen. You’re doing something ordinary—pouring a glass of water, checking your phone—and then he’s crowding you, warm chest against your back, hands firm on your hips.

“I know what this is about,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your neck. “You’ve been walking around this house like a little heat-struck kitten.”

“Harry—”

“You want it, don’t you?” His voice is so low, it’s practically a growl. “Want me to fill you up while you’re ovulating like a good little thing.”

You should say no. You should remind him you’re not ready, that just because your body’s desperate doesn’t mean your mind is. But your legs go weak the moment his palm slips between them, cupping your pussy through the thin fabric.

“So wet already,” he purrs. “Fucking dripping.”

He turns you around and lifts you onto the kitchen counter in one swift move. Your shorts are yanked down. Your underwear follows. He doesn’t waste a second. Two fingers dip into your soaked folds and your entire body reacts like it’s been waiting for him to do that all day.

“You ovulating, baby?” he asks again, teasing you with the tip of his finger. “Need Daddy to take care of you?”

His words burn into your skin, molten and reckless. You nod, lips parted, the heat in your belly unbearable now.

That’s all the confirmation he needs.

His pants are barely pushed down before his cock is out—thick, flushed, leaking.

“You don’t wanna be pregnant?” he asks while lining himself up, like he’s trying to give you one last chance to change your mind. “You sure?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know—fuck—I don’t know.”

“But your pussy does,” he hisses, dragging the head through your folds. “She’s fuckin’ begging for me.”

The second he pushes in, your back arches and a choked moan escapes you. He’s too big. Too deep. Too much.

And it feels so good.

He doesn’t start slow. There’s no gentle rhythm. He’s been holding back for days, maybe weeks, and now he’s unhinged.

“You’re taking it,” he snarls. “So fuckin’ greedy for my cock.”

Your legs are spread wide, your back pressed to the cold countertop, his fingers bruising into your hips as he pounds into you. You can feel every drag, every twitch. His eyes are locked on your belly.

“Gonna fuck a baby into you,” he pants. “Gonna fill you till you’re leaking down your thighs.”

Your body pulses at his words, and that’s when it happens.

You squirt around him without warning, a high-pitched cry ripping from your throat as your vision blurs. He groans deep and slams in harder, wetter sounds filling the kitchen.

“Fuck yes,” he growls. “Milk my cock, baby. Take it all. You’re gonna make me come so deep.”

And then he’s there—hips jerking, cock buried to the hilt, coming inside you with a raw, broken sound. His hands tremble as he holds you in place, making sure none of it spills.

You’re both shaking. Covered in sweat. And he still doesn’t pull out.

Instead, he slides out just enough to watch his cum drip from you… then pushes it back in with his thumb.

“Look at that,” he whispers. “Didn’t even pull out. What if that was it? What if I just made you a mama?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Because your body is already clenching again, needing more.

And Harry—still hard—just grins.

“Round two,” he says, eyes dark. “On the floor. I’m not done with you yet.”

Your legs are still trembling when he lowers you to the cold tile floor. You barely have time to adjust before he drops to his knees between your thighs like a man possessed.

You try to protest—softly, uselessly—something about being too sensitive, too full. But Harry looks up at you, lips shiny, eyes blazing.

“You thought I was done?” he says, voice dark and low. “Not when you’re still dripping with me. Not when this cunt’s still clenching like she’s begging.”

He grabs the backs of your thighs and spreads you wide open, forcing you to hold eye contact.

“Gotta taste what I gave you.”

And then he dives in.

There’s no warm-up, no teasing. His mouth seals around your pussy like it belongs there—tongue lapping greedily at his own cum leaking from your hole. It’s filthy. It’s feral. It makes your head fall back and your mouth open in a silent scream.

“Harry—oh my god—”

“You taste so fuckin’ good with me inside you,” he growls against your cunt, tongue thrusting in, then dragging up to your clit. “Gonna make you squirt again. All over my face this time.”

His fingers join his mouth—two, then three—stretching you open, fucking his cum back inside you while his tongue works your clit in fast, relentless circles.

You try to close your legs. He yanks them apart wider.

“No, baby. You don’t get to hide from this. Let me have it.”

And then it hits you—violent, uncontrollable. You come with a strangled cry, body jerking as you gush all over his mouth. He groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, lapping up every drop, completely drenched, and still hungry.

He’s hard again. You feel it before you even open your eyes—his cock rubbing against your soaked folds, slick from your squirt and his spit, twitching with need.

“You’re gonna take it again,” he says, dragging the head of his cock against your sensitive entrance. “One more time, baby. Let me fill you again. Wanna see it dripping twice.”

You don’t even answer. You just whimper and nod, already lifting your hips toward him, aching for more.

He sinks in fast and deep, both of you gasping. It’s too much—too full—but you take it anyway. Your walls flutter around him, overstimulated and stretched wide, and Harry groans at the feeling.

“That’s it, fuckin’ hell—milk my cock again, just like that.”

The thrusts are slower this time but deeper, heavier. He’s watching your belly again. Watching your tits bounce. Watching your face twist in overstimmed pleasure.

“You feel that? My cum still in there? Gonna fuck it in deeper, make sure it sticks.”

Your nails dig into his back. You’re shaking again, on the edge, your pussy pulling him in tighter with every snap of his hips.

“I’m gonna come inside you again, baby,” he pants, hand gripping your throat now—not hard, just enough. “And you’re gonna take it. Let me fuckin’ breed you.”

You shatter again.

Squirting around him as your orgasm explodes through you, crying out his name, soaking his thighs and stomach while your pussy clamps down and pulls him over the edge with you.

He lets out a wrecked, feral moan as he comes inside you again—thick, hot spurts spilling deep until you feel like you can’t hold anymore.

But he doesn’t pull out.

He just presses in deeper. Lets it sit there.

Lets you feel how full you are.

Both of you breathless, tangled, shaking on the floor.

Then his mouth is at your ear.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he whispers, hand sliding down to your belly. “You were made for this. Look at you—overflowing for me.”

And somehow… you love it.

Every messy, filthy, fucked-out second of it.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

📝 Author’s Note:

Who else is in their ovulation please with me because omg HELPPPPPP

[jjkbambi]

boy next door luigi mangione x reader (18+)

summary!!! (((smut)))) your roommate luigi wants to help you get over your breakup.

warnings: long fic so we’re starting off with fluff, smutty and rough, blowjob, head pushing and hair-pulling and choking on it bc y/n is #real, p in this v fr, Tie, jealous-ish?, (is in the kitchen public?), he’s very talkative, daddy and his good girl <333

^^ unedited and im a procrastinator

you still haven’t gotten luigi the secret santa gift. with the end of december closing in, all the other $25-and-under gifts sit neatly wrapped beside the tabletop tree. by friendsmas standards, you’re embarrassingly late.

but it was hard!!! he spent most of his time tucked away in his room, the door always cracked just enough to remind you he wasn’t entirely gone. you’d catch glimpses of him hunched over his desk, surrounded by books and papers scrawled with notes you couldn’t begin to understand. he never started conversations, only speaking up to correct you or drop some fact that left you feeling both impressed and annoyed.

it was so desperate you tried the campus bookstore, staring helplessly at the rows of penn merch to no avail. he already seemed to own everything—hoodies, mugs, even a pennant on his door. a gift card felt impersonal, but anything else felt like a gamble.

“good morning,” you hum, stepping into his room. luigi’s snaps his head up, standing shirtless by his closet, scrambling to pull on a sweater. for someone who barely left the house, the sight of his six-pack catches you completely off guard.

“what do you want?” he asks, voice gruff.

you lean against his wall. “do you prefer american or chinese food?”

he huffs out a laugh before leaning onto his blackwood desk. “what, are you taking me out on a date?”

“no, no, no, your secret santa asked me to ask you.” you lie. “they also asked if you wear a size medium or large.”

“don’t worry, i can’t make it to movie night,” he says casually. your lips immediately drop into a frown. it was the annual tradition in the house—a night where all five roommates came together to watch a terrible holiday movie and exchange department store gifts. he couldn’t miss it. “i’ve got a mandatory frat event,” he adds with a shrug. “apparently, it’s not optional this time. i’m surprised your boyfriend didn’t tell you about it.”

you feel yourself dull at the mention of him. “we’re on a break.”

luigi raises an eyebrow. “a break, huh? didn’t see that one coming.” his tone is neutral, but there’s a flicker of something underneath. “what made it happen?”

you shrug, avoiding the conversation.

luigi’s expression softens, his gaze shifting to something a little more concerned. he takes a small step closer, his voice quieter now. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you weren’t, and it was overtly obvious. luigi stands over you, his tall frame leaning closer, his warmth wrapping around you like a quiet embrace. “i thought i heard you say you were done with all that fraternity nonsense,” you say, remembering the times he complained to your roommates about the tumultuous nights and endless responsibilities waiting for him at the phi kappa psi house. it’s strange to picture your boyfriend in that world now.

“you’re nosy,” he says.

“you specifically told my boyfriend it was a huge waste of money.”

“ex-boyfriend.”

“we’re on a break!” you emphasize, eyes narrowing. “plus, it sounds like you’re just trying to get out of secret santa.”

luigi leans in slightly, his voice lowering, teasing. “and it sounds like you’re getting me a gift card.”

you can’t help but laugh, the tension between you both shifting into something lighter, something that felt just a little too comfortable. “alright fine,” you say, accepting defeat. “secret’s out. what is it you want?”

he pauses, studying you for a moment, the faintest smirk curling at his lips. “what do i want?” he murmurs, his voice low, as if weighing the question. hesteps a bit closer, just enough to make the space between you feel charged. “i don’t know, what are you willing to give me?”

you flush under his gaze, unsure of what to make of this moment. you have a boyfriend—yet you’re ninety percent sure luigi is flirting with you, and about a hundred percent sure you’re liking it.

the warmth in your chest is both unsettling and familiar, a confusing mix of guilt and something else you can’t quite place. you try to shake it off, but the way he looks at you lingers in your thoughts, pulling at you in ways you didn’t expect.

he seems entertained by your befuddlement, his eyes lingering on yours in a way that makes you second-guess yourself. he looks away, breaking the moment with a soft chuckle, then turns to leave.

“i’ll see you,” he says, but it’s not casual. it’s something else, something that makes you wonder if he’s looking forward to seeing you again as much as you are him.

you bring yourself back to reality, forcing your mind to settle. you can’t flirt with him. it would upset the house dynamic, intrude on your peaceful living space—you cannot let that happen. you shouldn’t. you were on a break from your boyfriend, a small pause in something that still felt important. and soon enough, you’d be back together, just like you always were.

as much as his presence lingers in your thoughts, you remind yourself of the needed boundaries, the reasons why things can’t get blurred.

still, as you continue baking cookies, dodging glitter explosions, and downing soju bottles, his absence nags at you, a quiet reminder that you’re trying not to want something that might never be.

“you’re still awake.” luigi’s voice cuts through the quiet kitchen, startling you so much that you nearly drop the piece of ribbon you’re holding. you whirl around, clutching your chest, only to find him much closer than you’d expected—close enough that you have to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

“sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” he says as you try to shake off the way your pulse seems to have kicked off into overdrive. “you’re not tired?”

“not yet.” you shake your head. “the party didn’t exhaust you?”

“it did.” he says, exhaling. “figured i’d check if i’m eating american or chinese tomorrow before i hit the hay.”

you pretend like you’re offended. “i’d never get you something so thoughtless.”

you grab a gray glittery gift bag and toss it his way. his teasing falters for a second, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “a tie?”

“yeah, you’re always dressed fancy, going fancy places…” you say, brushing the glitter off your hands, suddenly feeling self-conscious. was it the wrong choice? did fancypants mcgee only wear silk imported from asia? “you don’t like it?”

“no,” he says quickly, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. “it’s sweet.”

you glance at him, unsure what to say, and his smirk softens into something else, something warmer. he steps closer, the space between you narrowing just enough to make your breath catch.

“guess i’ll have to step up my game,” he says, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “didn’t realize you were paying attention.”

you blink, caught off guard, scrambling to come up with something, but before you can, he leans back, breaking the tension with a chuckle. “looks like you could use some help.”

“you don’t have to.”

“i want to,” he replies, tossing the ribbon into the trash before grabbing the broom from the corner. “besides, i can’t have you using this tie to guilt-trip me later.”

“it’s weird having you be so nice to me,” you blurt out the words before you can realize the reprussions. his dark brown eyes glance up at you, eyebrows pinched together.

the regret is immediate. “i just mean we’ve never really talked before.”

luigi looks at you, his expression shifting slightly. “was that my choice or yours?”

you blink, caught off guard. you’d always assumed it was mutual. “well, that’s not really the point,” you say, trying to brush it off. “we’re friends now, right?”

his dark eyes shift away from yours for a moment, but only to return with even more intensity, holding you in place, freezing you in the moment. your heart stutters in your chest. “i was never interested in being your friend.”

“oh.” the word feels hollow as it leaves your mouth, and you instantly feel your face go pale. you scramble for something to say, anything to make the moment feel less heavy, but the silence hangs between you, thick and unrelenting.

“that’s not what i meant—“

“it’s fine of course, you don’t have to—”

“no.”

he shakes his head and runs up to you, closing the moment of confusion with an abrupt force—his mouth is on yours, tongue slipping past your lips and sliding into you.

whether it was the warmth of the kiss, his big hands groping your body, or the fact that this was just all so irredeemably wrong—you didn’t know—but the rush you got from being with him left you dizzy and dazed and desperate.

luigi laughs into your kiss. “you’re so fuckin’ eager.”

you should be reasonable. you shouldn’t be doing this, this is a mistake. “sorry, i—”

“no, don’t be sorry,” he says, smiling into another sloppy kiss. it felt so tender, so loving, when he takes you into your arms. reason flies out the window. “i want you, too.”

“luigi,” you whimper into his lips, not recognizing the desperation in your voice.

“i’ll give it to you baby, don’t worry,” he hums.

your fingers rush to unbutton your top, half-way done before luigi realizes what you’re doing and he grabs you. “keep your clothes on. i don’t need you naked to make you cum.”

he’s so strong and forward and unlike anything you’ve ever had before. in one swift motion, he turns you over, pressed against the kitchen counter as he slides his warm hand down your silk shorts and cradles your tit with the other.

“you put these on for me, didn’t you?” he tugs your lace panties, pressing them against your hot cunt. your back arches at the sensation and you feel his cock hard underneath his jeans.

“luigi.” you whimper, barely breathing.

“admit it,” he says, in between licking and kissing and biting the nape of your neck, sure to leave marks. “you wore these for me, didn’t you? wanted me to take your mind off that fuckin’ asshole, hm? wanted me to take care of you?”

you swell underneath him, shaking. he grinds his straining cock against your plump ass as he works your pussy, groaning into your neck.

“oh, baby, is that too much for you already?” luigi’s breath is hot against your neck, hands busy rubbing your clit and pinching your delicate nipple.

you felt like you couldn’t breathe. the expression on luigi’s face is smug. “you haven’t even had my cock yet, look at you.”

he brings his wet fingers up to your lips, then shoves them into your mouth without permission. you can’t help but shudder underneath his wicked touch. “yeah.” he laughs. “squirm like that, slut.”

“lu,” you pant. “i want it.”

“no, not yet,” he says, rubbing his hard big cock against your clothed ass. “see how hard i am for you? see how worked up you got me?”

“yes,” you whimper, fingers still in your mouth.

“get on your knees,” luigi grunts. “show me how much you need it.”

you needed it more than anything. dropping down to your knees, you notice a spot on his jeans wet with precum. he’s straining for you. you try to get as much of your mouth on him as you can as soon as his bottoms are off, desperate to show him how good you are.

“you’re so pretty like this,” luigi murmurs as you try to fill your mouth with his entirety. seeing that you���re struggling, he puts his hand on the back of your head and guides you down onto it. “such a good girl.”

he rocks hip forward deep into your warmth, using your face. “choke on it.” he orders. and you do. your eyes tear up at the feeling of his length touching the back of your throat. “god, you’re so fuckin’ filthy.”

before you can breathe, luigi pulls himself out of your mouth and barks out another order, “put your hands up against the wall.”

you do as you’re told. your core aches like it misses his touch. pulling your shorts down, he groans at the sight of your wetness, driving his big cock inside of you.

“slipped in so easy with your spit all over me,” he whispers in your ear. god, he’s driving you fucking crazy. the pleasure is almost overwhelming as he leans down, forces your chin back to bring your lips together, a sloppy, loving kiss.

“i knew you were gonna be like this,” he purrs into you, sucking and biting.

“like what?”

“like a fuckin’ slut.” luigi grumbles. he grabs something off the counter, and you don’t know what’s happening until you feel the silk material fasten around your wrists. the tie.

“luigi.” you gasp.

“i’ve been waiting to get my fuckin’ hands on you.”

you shiver at the confession. “really?”

he groans as he watches your ass ripple against his hips—at how easy and soft and weak you were at his mercy. he melts at the sight of you, using your binded wrists to buck deeper into you. you moan and whimper and scream on the force—he’s so harsh, so mean, so good—you’ve never even dreamt of a pleasure like this.

“listen to you.” he buries himself so deep inside you that you could feel his balls pressed against your ass. “you’re fuckin’ loud when you’re getting treated right, aren’t you?”

“please, daddy,” you whine, completely out of your mind.

luigi groans, pushing your head into the kitchen counter. “god, i didn’t think you were gonna call me that,” he rumbles, rocking his cock hard into your frothing core, rubbing against your clit and sending sparks of pleasure swirling through your body.

he pulls your hair back again, causing you to shriek. “didn’t call him that, did you?” he says it like a statement, leaving no room for correction. “god, i used to jerk myself off listening to you moan. wondering if you were riding him or bent over your fuckin’ mattress.“

“luigi.” you cry.

“always knew i could treat you better,” he growls. “always wanted to bend you over in front of everyone and make you beg for it.”

“i would’ve let you,” you mewl out, helpless.

“yeah?”

“you’re s’good.”

his thrusts come faster, more frantic. “better than him?”

“yes!”

you’re so close and so needy. your mind glows white as he fucks into you. squirming underneath him, the friction of your frantic movements growing hotter as the both of you chase your high. “good girl,” he praises, kissing all over your neck and back. “cream all over daddy’s cock, baby.”

“luigi,” you moan as your orgasm gushes beneath him, shivering as you feel his cock quiver, his load shooting deep into your cunt. he grunts with his final thrust, whimpering your name.

he kisses your shoulder as he pulls out of you. “so good,” he pants, just as helpless and shaken as you were. he unties the present you’d given him and pulls you in for another kiss.

“luigi,” you sigh against his lips.

“pretty girl,” he whispers back, running his hot wet kisses across your lips, your cheeks, your neck. “let me take you out tomorrow, yeah? a proper date. i’ll wear my tie ‘nd everything.”

you laugh—a mix of disbelief and something else—something lighter. before you can say anything, he’s leaning in again, kissing you softly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“it was a good gift, right?” you hum.

“yeah,” he agrees, the corner of his lips curling into a smirk. “versatile.”

MASTERLIST send requests and leave feedback :3

[finelinemia]

BEST FRIEND’S DAD ❤️‍🔥

smut ! harry styles x reader

summary: For years now, you've found Mr. Styles, your best friend Sophie's father, quite attractive, to the point of getting wet just by looking at him. Everything changes one night, when he picks you and Sophie up from a party and you stay the night at his house.

word count: 5.2k

cw: smut, daddy issues, daddy kink, masturbation, oral sex, penetration, dirty talk, unprotective sex

author’s note: Hiii, this is my first smut so don't be too hard on me and I hope you like it a lot. I've never done something so "long" so I hope it lives up to expectations. Kisses and happy reading💋

[ dadrry! , dilfrry! ] +18

"Okay, and at tomorrow's meeting we could talk about the new clients we're bringing on," I say to Jeff through the computer screen as I watch him jot down the different things I'm saying in his notebook.

I took the afternoon off because Sophie, my 24-year-old daughter, is coming to my house for the weekend after spending the last week with her mother, and I want to take advantage of my time with her. She recently graduated from college and is about to leave for the United States for an internship, so the more time I can spend with her, the better.

I divorced her mother when Soph was 15. I remember that at first it was hard for her to adjust to her new life with separated parents and having to spend a different week with each one. But I guess everything works out in the end, and she's at her best, enjoying her last summer before leaving for another country far from us.

"You should also look over the paperwork I sent you for-" My words stopped when I heard the front door open, followed by laughter. "Just a minute, Jeff. I think Sophie's home." I took off my glasses and placed them on my desk, then turned to look at my study door. "Soph! Is that you?"

"Yes, Dad!" The door opens and Sophie pokes her head in. "Working hard?" she asks with a smile.

I smile "You could say, how was your day?"

She shrugs, "Hmm... well, we went to the beach." We? "Y/N is here."

Another head peeks through the door and my mouth goes dry. I've never thought about my daughter's friends that way before; after all, the age difference was a big enough deal to be thinking that way, but fuck, you were something completely different.

This all started when you and Sophie met in college. You were roommates, and eventually you became inseparable. You started coming over constantly, to sleep, eat, or just hang out. Seeing you here was already something totally normal for me. And at first, believe me, everything was fine, but then the glances started. The ones you think I don't notice. The way you swallow softly when you see me coming, or the way you bite your lip slightly when you see me in a slightly tighter shirt. A man can't see those things and not go crazy. And that's why every time I see you I go crazy, so crazy that sometimes I need to go to the bathroom to get my hard-on down and even masturbate to relax. You've become something I should stay away from.

I don't want to be misunderstood either. I've never done anything with you, never made the move, never even looked at you for more than three seconds because I don't know what would happen if we held eye contact longer than that. You think I haven't thought about what it would be like to lean you against the kitchen counter and eat your pussy while you moan my name and being heard throughout the house? But I'm a gentleman, and a gentleman has his limits.

"Dad, are you listening to me?" Sophie's voice interrupts my thoughts, and I shake my head. I look back at her. "Y/N's staying over because we're going to a party, okay?" A party?

"Sorry? A party? I thought we were going to spend the day together. I took the afternoon off so I could be with you." At this point in the film, I'm not surprised in the least. I know Sophie loves me, obviously, but she's a very sociable girl and is always surrounded by friends. She's almost never at home. I can at least be thankful she's responsible.

"I know, Dad, and we have all weekend to be together! But this party is going to be one of the best of the summer." She turns to look at you, asking you with her eyes to help her with this.

"Uh... yeah, it's going to be great. Almost everyone from college is going," you say, avoiding my eyes. Are you nervous already? I haven't even had to lift a finger.

"It's going to be legendary, Dad! We can't miss it, please, please." It still tickles me that Sophie keeps asking me for permission to do certain things. It's obvious she doesn't need it; she's 24 and about to leave for another country. But I guess she'll always be daddy's little girl.

I let out a sigh. "I guess I can wait one more day to be with my daughter..." Sophie starts jumping up and down before I can even finish the sentence. "I don't want you to be too late, and be responsible with your drinking. And with the men."

"Ah yes, the biggest problem today," you joke as Sophie continues jumping up and down. That makes me laugh more than it should.

"Oh! I'll see if I remembered to bring the dress from Mom's house." Sophie runs up the stairs to her room, leaving me alone with you.

"Hmm, talk to you on Monday, Jeff. Have a nice weekend." After Jeff says goodbye, I close the computer screen and look up at you. "So, how's your mom?" I ask, though I don't really care that much, your mother and I don't get along that well.; I just want to make conversation.

"Why? Are you interested in her?" you ask, leaning against the doorframe, tilting your head. I can't tell if you're serious or just joking.

I let out a small laugh as well, shaking my head slightly. Your story is quite different from Sophie's. You don't have divorced parents; your father left when you were five, but that story never leaves your mouth. Sophie told me a few months after she met you. I try not to bring it up when you're around because I know it's probably something that affects you quite a bit.

"Although your mother is quite an attractive woman, I'm not interested." I pick up the papers on the desk.

"She's fine. I think she's signed up for a cooking class. She's having the best years of her life, according to her." You glance down slightly, and that makes me tilt my head a little. "She deserves it, I suppose... after 20 years of raising a daughter alone, she needs to rest and have some fun."

The comment makes me purse my lips in disapproval. It's the first time you've spoken about the subject with me, and you seem somewhat upset, even though it's been years since then. I still don't understand how someone could abandon their daughter like that. You'll always be worried that she grew up without a father, and that will stay with her for the rest of her life.

"You look like her." My voice makes you lift your head from the floor. "Like your mother, I mean. You're both very attractive women." Did you really just say that, Harry?

You blush a little and swallow lightly. There it is…

"Thank you, Mr. Styles." you murmur.

“You know you can call me Harry, right?” I smirk.

"Yeah, I know, but it's weird calling you by your first name..." Well, I bet you'll moan it out loud.

"A lot of people are going to that party... you say?" I ask, leaning back in my chair.

"Yeah, we're planning on meeting up with our friends. Have a drink... hang out, you know, and then head home."

It's obvious that both you and my daughter want to hide what you're really going to do at those parties, but I guess you're both adults and it's none of my business, right?

"Hmm... I'm sure you both have a lot of guys after you." i murmur, and you tilt your head slightly. "Oh, I'm just asking. You know I care about Sophie."

"To Sophie, huh?" This time you're the one who lets out a smirk. “Yes, I suppose there will be some boys.”

"Hm... do you have a boyfriend?" Harry, shut your mouth before you regret it.

You shake your head. "Why? Are you interested?" I know you're joking, but I really want to say yes.

"Y/N! Come get ready! Time's running out!" Sophie yells from upstairs.

"Saved by the bell, I guess," you say, moving away from the door frame and turning toward the exit. "See you later, Harry."

I watch you sway your hips as you head for the stairs, and I let out a long sigh. Why the hell does my name have to sound so good on your lips? Fuck, on top of that, you were clearly hitting on me.

I open the computer again and start reviewing documents, trying to think of something other than my name on your lips, trying not to think about what it would sound like if you moaned it.

"Fuck-" I get up from the desk and walk to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

I pull down my pants and boxers and lean with one hand against the wall, the other going straight to my cock without a second thought. Am I seriously jerking off thinking about my daughter's best friend?

I move my hand quickly as I throw my head back. My name on your lips keeps echoing in my head over and over again. I breathe raggedly as I increase the pace. If you've achieved this with just a word, I don't want to imagine what it would be like if you were touching me. If it were your hand right now giving me pleasure.

"Shit- shit, shit, shit..." I grab a piece of toilet paper, continuing to pump myself, and place it right on the tip, cumming on it almost instantly. "You're fucked..." I mutter to myself as I throw the paper into the toilet and flush. I wash my hands and face and head back out to my study, hoping I can work better this time.

•••

"If you need anything, just call me. If anything happens, please don't hesitate-" I say to Sophie as she finishes touching up her lipstick in the entryway mirror. "Sweetheart, are you listening? I can even go pick you up, okay? Wake me up if you have to."

"Dad, don't worry. We'll take a taxi back. Don't wait up, I know you." she gives me a look through the mirror. "We are going to have fun for a few hours and then we'll come back, okay?"

"Don't get into anyone's car, Sophie, please, especially if they've been drinking." I run my hand through my hair. I've always been pretty protective of her, but I still get rapid heartbeats every time she goes out partying.

"Believe me, Dad, there's no way I'm crazy about getting into anyone's car." She finishes applying lipstick and turns to me, but her gaze wanders to something behind me. "Oh my God, you're so hot!"

I turn subtly and our eyes meet. Remember the three-second rule, Harry. But then I glance down slightly at your dress. It's so fucking short, and tight, and red, and I need to get it off you asap.

I clear my throat and look away, returning my eyes to Sophie. "Well, have a good time, don't be back too late, and call me if-"

"If there's any problem. Yes, Dad, I know. Let's go. The taxi is waiting outside." She grabs her bag and opens the door, you following behind her.

"Goodbye, Harry," you say, maintaining eye contact with me, closing the door behind you.

"Fucking hell" I mutter to myself.

How do you expect me to behave after that? I couldn't even get to sleep. You went to a party full of college boys dressed like that and I'm not even thinking about my daughter getting drunk anymore. It's obvious you're going to attract a lot of attention tonight, and I can't help it. I'm not going to be there to stop it. I just can lie in bed and wait for this night to be over. Tomorrow you'll go home, and everything will be back to normal.

My phone starts ringing on the nightstand, and I frown. The clock marks three in the morning, and you don't usually get calls at this hour, unless it's your daughter calling you from a drunken state. Sure enough, when I grabbed my phone, the screen lit up with a picture of Sophie and her name. I picked it up after the third ring.

"Soph? Are you okay?" I ask while rubbing my eyes.

"Hi... it's Y/N." Your voice makes me sit up in bed. "Hey, I think you're going to have to come pick us up..."

"Did something happened to you?" I ask as I get out of bed and put on my slippers.

I can hear how you let out a sigh. "Sophie's had too much to drink... I can't even hold her. We're sitting on the sidewalk and she's practically unconscious."

"Fuck, Soph..." I run my hand over my face, trying to think clearly. "Okay, don't move. I'll be there as soon as I can. Send me the location, okay?" I hang up, throwing the phone on the bed and starting to get dressed. My phone rings again, this time with the location of the party. I finish putting on my sweatshirt and head down to the garage.

I get in the car and start it as quickly as I can. I don't even let the garage door open all the way before accelerate at full speed, leaving the house behind and heading toward your destination. The night my daughter had to prove to me she's responsible so she could leave for another country, she goes and screws up. And you haven't done anything to stop it.

I arrive at the house where the party is being held in less than 15 minutes and see you both sitting on the sidewalk, you with your arm around Sophie as she rests her head on your shoulder. If I weren't so pissed off, I'd actually think it was a cute scene.

I get out of the car and approach you. You raise your head to look at me. "How much has she had to drink?" I bend down to grab Sophie's head and try to get her to react. Her head is dead weight and her eyes are swollen.

"I think two drinks..." I look at you, not believing a word, "and maybe ten shots..."

"For God’s sake, and you let her do that?" I ask, frowning. "I thought you were more responsible."

"I wasn't paying attention, we separated for a moment, I was-" you cut off the sentence before you can say anything else.

"You were what?" I raise my eyebrow as a signal for you to continue talking.

"I was with someone else," you say simply.

"Oh, great. You were showing some college student how great that dress looks on you, weren't you?" I scoop Sophie up and head out to the car.

You follow me behind "I haven't even told you and you're already jumping to conclusions? I don't understand why you're so angry"

“Maybe because my daughter can’t stand up and instead of being with her and making sure she doesn’t do anything crazy, you’ve been making out with a boy.”

"Hey, Sophie isn't my responsibility. Yes, we came to the party together, and yes, she's my friend. But she said she'd be fine on her own and that I could leave without a problem, and she was surrounded by all our friends!" you reply, throwing your hands up in the air.

"Well, it seems your friends didn't give a shit that she could have ended up in the hospital!," he sighed, putting Sophie in the car. "Look, I want to take her home. You can stay with your friend if you want."

I see you roll your eyes. “Oh my god, that’s all you’ve got left with, right? What’s going on? are you jealous?”

I look at you in disbelief, "Jealous? me? For God's sake, you should listen to yourself for a moment. You could be my daughter."

"Exactly, I could be your daughter but you always look at me with those eyes and you don't stay looking at me for more than three seconds because you're afraid something will happen!" you say and I open my eyes wide. "Do you think I haven't noticed? You were drooling today when you saw me in this fucking dress. And now you're incriminating me more for being with someone than for not having paid attention to Sophie."

My jaw tightens and I can't look at you for a second longer. "Get in the car, Y/N."

“What?”

"Get in the fucking car. Now." Without another word, you get in the car, and I walk around it, climbing into the driver's seat.

The ride home was completely silent, aside from Sophie's babbling in the back seat. I check to see if she's okay through the rearview mirror; she's so out of it, it makes me even angrier. I shift my gaze to you and watch for a few seconds. You're staring out the window, completely ignoring me. Bad choice.

We arrive at my house and I put the car in the garage. Without saying a word, I get out and grab Sophie from the backseat. You get out slowly and watch me silently as I walk inside. You follow with small steps behind me and we go up the stairs to the bedrooms. I go into Sophie's and gently place her on the bed, turning her so she's on her side, in case she throws up and chokes and we don't have a bad time. When I'm sure she's okay, I turn around and see you waiting in the doorway. You obviously want to say something, but my face doesn't give you the opportunity to do so. I walk to the door, and you take a few steps back while I close it behind me, watching you silently for a few seconds. By my count, it's been more than three. Shit.

"Say it again," I say, approaching you. You take a few steps back and hit the wall.

"Say what again?" you murmur, looking up into my eyes. You look so vulnerable from here.

"You know what" I lean closer to your ear, brushing my lips against the thin skin. "That I'm jealous..."

I can feel you swallow and part your lips. "Are you?"

"Am I? Fuck..." I look down at your dress. "How could you wear that and let others look at you?" I look up into your eyes, which are burning with desire. "You know you've been only mine for a long time..."

My hands move to your legs and I begin to slowly raise them, pulling your dress up until it rests at your waist. You're wearing a red lingerie thong, and that drives me even further crazy.

"Who did you wear that for, huh?" My fingers play with the straps of your underwear. "Did you wear that for him... or for me?" I murmur, looking into your eyes.

You let out a light sigh, I've barely touched you and you're already going crazy "For you... always for you..."

That makes me smile and my fingers slowly slide the thong down your legs, and like a good girl you lift each foot for me so I can pull it all the way off.

"You learn quickly, very well." I take the piece of fabric in my hands and look at it. "Hm, just a few words and you're already wet?" I say, feeling the damp fabric between my fingers. "Fuck, I can't wait for my cock to be inside that pussy..."

I bring the fabric up to my nose and sniff it a little. "But... not so fast. I want to taste you first." That makes you let out a small moan, and I bring my index finger to my lips. "No, no, Sophie's on the other side of that door, she can't find out." I look back down at the thong. "Actually... I had a thought." My gaze returns to yours. "Open your mouth." It's more of a command than a request, and without hesitating for a second, you open your mouth. "Good girl..." I gently fold the piece of fabric and place it in your mouth. This makes you roll your eyes. “You like it? You like tasting yourself, hm?" You nod slightly, and I smile. "Good, be quiet, and Daddy will make you feel like you're on cloud nine, okay? Now it's my turn to taste you."

I bend down until my knees touch the floor and open your legs with my hands, giving me better accessibility and visual of your juices soaking your intimate area. I run a finger through your folds, and it makes you twitch, making me laugh. "So responsive, huh?" Your sounds are muffled by the piece of cloth in your mouth, but it's perfectly clear you're losing your mind. "You want my tongue in your pussy, right? In that tight, wet pussy... I'm sure it's so tight you won't even be able to take me all the way in." You move your hips toward me, letting me know you can't take it anymore. "Okay, okay, you're desperate, I get it... don't worry, sweetheart, I'm going to make you feel so good."

With nothing else to say, I sink my tongue into your folds and you let out a strangled cry. I manage to open your legs further and sink my mouth into you, savoring every inch. I pass over your clit and your legs tremble with pleasure. "Have I found your spot, sweetheart?" My mouth begins to work on it. I circle it with my tongue, sucking and applying pressure while holding you with one of my hands so you don't fall. With the other, I decide to move up the inside of your thighs to your pussy and without warning, I insert a finger, this makes you jump and grab onto my hair, sinking me deeper into you.

My finger moves at a fast pace as you throw your head back, if it weren't for the thong in your mouth I swear you'd be screaming right now. You're holding up well so I decide to slide another finger in, curling them inside you and making you cry out in pleasure. "Can you handle another one, sweetheart?" I murmur, looking slightly up. You look down at me and nod eagerly, so I don't wait another second to slide in a third finger. Fuck you're so tight my only thought now is how are you going to handle my cock.

I feel your walls start to clench around my fingers and decide to pick up the pace. "You're doing so good, hold on a little longer for me." I murmur before sinking my mouth back onto your clit, sucking on it vigorously. I run my tongue gently over it and then pull away, standing up while I still working on you with my hand. I continue to hold your hip with the other as I stand and look down at your eyes. "I wanna see your face when I make you cum, hm? Don't take your eyes off me." Your eyes are watery and full of lust, your moans echoing against the fabric of your thong. "Cum for Daddy, sweetheart."

My thumb joins the work, massaging your clit with good pressure and at a fast pace. You try to tilt your head back again, but I grab your hair with my other hand, making you look at me. "Eyes on me," I command as I slide my last finger in with difficulty, your walls tightening more.

Your legs start to shake, and the fabric can't suppress your sounds in any longer. Your eyes roll back into their sockets, and you can't hold it in anymore. You come hard, cumming into my hand, and I can't stop watching as you sob in pleasure. "Good girl..." I murmur as I continue pumping inside you, prolonging your orgasm as much as I can.

I catch you just as you're about to fall, putting an arm around your waist and holding you against me. I withdraw my fingers from inside you, and you let out a complain, making me laugh. I watch them for a moment, then look back at you, removing your thong from your mouth and replace it with my fingers. You close your mouth around and suck on them, tasting your juices. That makes me let out a little moan and i keep looking down at you, letting you take all the leftovers from my fingers.

"Come on, I'm not done with you yet." I take the fingers out of your mouth and grab your legs, throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you downstairs to the kitchen. I place you on the floor and push you towards the counter, making you lean over so your torso is on it. "You have no idea how many times I've pictured you here, bent over for me." I slide my hands over your ass and give it a squeeze, making you let out a little squeal. "Do you want my cock in your little pussy?" my hips come closer to your core, rubbing myself against you, making me moan. You nod quickly and I let out a small sigh. "The cat got your tongue, sweetheart? Words, I want words."

"Yes, please fuck me..." you murmur with your cheek on the counter, looking up at me with little eyes.

"Oh baby, I'm going to fuck you so good you won't even remember your name. I'm going to make you forget every fucking man who's ever been inside you, and your only memories will be of me..." my hands part your legs further, giving me a clear view of your pussy. My hard cock is straining against my pants, aching to be inside of you. I unbutton my pants and pull them and my boxers down to my feet. My cock is already at full strength and ready for action. I grab it with my hand while I continue to grab your ass with the other. Your juices run down your legs and it's the most beautiful scene I've ever seen in my life. "I don't want you to think about anyone else, just me... Who do you belong to, sweetheart?"

I run the tip through your folds and you let out a moan "To you... I belong to you... please..." you beg.

"Only I can fuck you, right?" I say, positioning the tip right at your entrance.

"Yes, only you, you're the only one for me, please Mr. Styles." you beg again and I smile.

"No, no, baby. What did I tell you to call me?" My hand squeezes your ass again and you jump a little.

"Harry... Harry—please," you moan, and I bite my lip at the sound of you. I knew I'd love the moment your lips moaned my name. I might even come just hearing you.

"Good girl… you sound so hot when you moan my name." Without warning, I thrust into you in one swift thrust, and you cry out, tears streaming down your cheeks. I raise my free hand to your mouth, covering it. "Remember Sophie's home... moan into my hand."

I begin to slowly move in and out of you, giving your pussy time to adjust to my length. You're so tight I'm afraid you might break at any moment, but you feel so good... fuck, I didn't even remember what this was like.

I increase the pace as our moans intertwine. The hand I had on your ass moves up inside your dress and I grab your breast, pinching your nipple with my fingers. My hand muffles your moans, and for a moment I don't care if anyone can hear us, so I withdraw it, letting you moan freely.

On top of that, you're the kind who likes to scream…

"You feel so good... so tight, so hot, and so wet, fuck, sweetheart, I could get used to this." I say between moans while I fuck you against the counter.

I move further in, trying to get you to take my full length. You let out another moan and grab onto the counter. "That's it, baby, take all of me, you're doing so well."

I throw my head back as I manage to fit my entire length inside you. I let out a sigh, giving myself a few seconds to compose myself, and then I continue with a measured rhythm.

I start to increase the pace again, my thrusts getting harder and faster, driving you to your edge. Your moans are the most beautiful thing I've ever heard, and I need more. One of my hands is still on your breast, the other gripping you right where I want it. The sound of our bodies colliding can be heard throughout the kitchen, echoing off the walls. If Sophie wakes up now, we're dead.

"We shouldn't do this..." you moan and I laugh a little.

I lean down close to your ear and whisper, "Then ask me to stop." With this I give another harder thrust and you moan louder, gripping the counter tighter "That’s what I thought...”

I start to feel your walls tighten around me again and your moans start to get louder and louder. "You're so loud... too loud. But I like it, I want to hear you scream for me. Tell me how much you like it, sweetheart. Tell me no one has ever made you feel like this."

"No one... you're the only one." Your breathing is ragged, you gasp for air with every thrust I give you.

“That’s it, sweetheart, take my cock in that little pussy of yours.” The hand holding you in place grabs your hair and pulls it back as I increase my pace. I lean in slightly to kiss your neck, while my other hand continues to pinch your nipple.

You cry out in pleasure as I continue to move inside you, your walls squeezing my entire cock. "Are you close?" I whisper in your ear, and you nod slightly. "Then come for me, sweetheart. Soak my cock with your juice."

Your body tenses at my words, and your back arches with pleasure. Your legs tremble, but I manage to grip your hips with both hands to keep you from falling. You remain clutching the counter as you come for the second time, your juices running quickly down your legs, soaking my cock. You let out a loud moan and collapse onto the counter. I continue moving inside you, prolonging your ecstasy a little longer.

"Fuck—" A few seconds later, I notice I'm coming too, and I withdraw my cock from inside your pussy. I grab it with my right hand and pump it for a few more seconds, finally reaching orgasm and cumming on your back. "Damn."

I lean against you, breathing fast, trying to return to normal. I move my hand up to your face and brush back some strands of hair that are covering your eyes. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

You just laugh, making me smile. Now is when I should feel bad, but quite the opposite. I've felt so fucking good that I want to do it again and again, I want to feel you again.

"Come on, let's see what you can do with your mouth besides scream..." I say, slapping you on the ass and making you stand up. This isn't even close to over yet.

.

.

.

If you liked it, you can leave me a like and reblog it so it reaches more people. Thanks!🩷

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[tobegoodisgood]

Cotton Candy

Harry Styles. Whatever. It is filthy. I am horny. Enjoy x

Harry Styles on his wild yacht… and you, Y/N, as the girl he ends up obsessed with.

The sea glittered like black silk under moonlight, waves lapping lazily against the side of Cotton Candy, Harry Styles’ floating palace. A hundred feet long, sleek, wrapped in tinted glass and chrome, she glowed violet and gold under party lights. Music thumped from within, a low, sexy heartbeat echoing over the water.

Harry leaned against the rail on the upper deck, shirt unbuttoned, tattoos exposed, cigarette between his lips. He’d barely touched the drink in his hand. Champagne, or something bubbly — who cared. Below him, celebrities danced. Models, actors, athletes. Blurred faces, all beautiful and drunk.

He wasn’t bored. But he wasn’t thrilled either.

The usual.

Then he saw you.

Far off on the dock, standing alone with your arms crossed over your chest, was a girl in a sundress. Your hair was slightly messy. No makeup. No designer heels. Just sandals and a canvas tote slung over one shoulder like you thought this was a beach picnic.

“Who the fuck is that?” Harry murmured, narrowing his eyes.

Jeff — one of his longtime friends and occasional chaos coordinator — appeared at his side with a lazy grin. “That, my friend, is your surprise.”

“My what?”

“Her name’s Y/N. She’s not like the others. Not in the industry. Just… pretty, sweet. Bit shy. Friend of a friend of someone I may or may not have bribed.”

Harry exhaled smoke. “You got me a girl.”

“I arranged a vibe,” Jeff said smugly. “She doesn’t know much. But she said yes.”

Harry looked at you again. Still waiting. You shifted your weight, glanced nervously at the yacht. You looked like you didn’t belong.

And he fucking loved that.

“Send a boat,” he said. “Bring her to me.”

You stepped carefully onto the yacht’s lower deck, arms pulled in close, trying not to stare at the half-naked, stiletto-clad girls brushing past with champagne flutes and white powder smudged under their nostrils. The music was louder here. The floor vibrated.

You didn’t drink much. Didn’t party. But you’d said yes when Jeff’s friend asked if you were free for “an exclusive gig” that paid well and involved “just hanging out with a celebrity.” You thought it was a modeling job. Babysitting some rich DJ’s dog. Something harmless.

Instead, it was this.

You were about to ask to be taken back when you saw him.

Harry Styles.

Standing at the top of the stairs, shirt open, chains gleaming, curls wild, and eyes — those famous green eyes — locked straight onto you.

Your breath caught.

He didn’t smile. He just nodded once, and you followed like a string was tied to your chest.

Harry didn’t speak until you were alone — his private lounge, top deck, doors shut behind you, music muted by thick glass. There was only the soft rush of the sea and the clink of ice against crystal.

He poured you a drink. You didn’t touch it.

“You nervous?” he asked, sinking into the velvet couch, legs sprawled wide.

You nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Means you’re real.”

“I think I’m in the wrong place.”

“You’re in exactly the right place.”

He gestured for you to come closer. You hesitated, then sat at the edge of the couch.

Harry reached for a silver tray on the table. Two lines of white. Neat. Waiting.

“You ever done it?” he asked.

You shook your head.

He leaned in, close enough to smell your skin. “Wanna watch me first?”

You nodded.

Harry dipped his head. Snorted one line in a clean motion. Exhaled slowly. Then looked at you again.

“You’ve got nice tits,” he said softly.

Your brows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“Just saying,” he said. “I like ‘em.”

You laughed. “That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard.”

He grinned. “I wasn’t trying to be charming.”

Then he stood.

“Take off your dress.”

Your stomach flipped. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not—like—I didn’t come here to—”

“I won’t touch you unless you say yes,” Harry said, voice low. “But if you do say yes — I’m going to ruin you tonight.”

Silence.

Then, slowly, you lifted your dress over your head.

No bra. Just cotton panties. Your skin flushed in the air.

Harry whistled low. “Fuck, you’re sweet.”

He dipped a finger in honey sauce left on the tray. Traced it across your chest. Then bent down and licked it clean.

You gasped.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded shakily.

Harry smirked.

Then he picked up the tray — and carefully poured the second line across your breast.

Your eyes widened. “Harry—”

He leaned down.

And snorted the line right off your skin.

You let out a shocked moan, half pain, half pleasure, from the sting of his nose against your nipple — and the way he licked you clean, slow and greedy.

The room blurred into heat and honey.

Harry was insatiable.

He carried you to the king-sized bed. Laid you down on your stomach. Tied your wrists with silk scarves — not too tight, just enough to hold you still.

“You trust me?” he asked.

You nodded.

He looked wild — curls a mess, shirt gone, chest rising and falling like he was holding something back. He didn’t. Not for long.

He dipped into the sauces again — chocolate now — and poured a dark line down the curve of your spine, between your cheeks. Then bent down and licked every inch.

Your hips bucked.

“Still think you don’t belong here?” he murmured against your skin.

You didn’t answer.

He kissed the back of your thigh.

Then spread your legs wider.

“You ever been taken like this?” he asked.

“No,” you whispered.

“Good.”

He snorted another line from the small of your back. Then one from the dip of your lower spine.

And finally — one between your thighs.

When his tongue replaced the burn of the powder — slow, deliberate, hot — you cried out.

He sucked your clit like he was starving. Bit down gently, just enough to make your knees shake.

Then he slid two fingers inside you.

“You’re dripping,” he muttered. “You fucking love this.”

You did.

And when he flipped you over, eyes gleaming, cock hard and heavy in his hand — you didn’t resist.

Harry gripped the base of his cock and rubbed it through your folds.

“Beg,” he said, voice like smoke.

You whimpered. “Please, Harry. Please—”

He pushed in.

Deep. Thick. Stretching you full until your eyes rolled back.

“Jesus fuck,” he groaned. “You’re so tight.”

He started to move. Brutal, deliberate strokes. The headboard slammed into the wall. Your wrists strained against the silk. Your thighs trembled as he drove into you, over and over.

You came first — hard. Clenching around him until he snarled and slammed into you even deeper.

But he didn’t stop.

He pulled out. Flipped you onto your knees. Slapped your ass hard enough to leave a mark.

“Want more?” he growled.

“Yes,” you sobbed.

He spread your cheeks. Spat. Rubbed it in with his fingers.

Then — slowly — pushed into your ass.

You screamed. Not from pain, not really — from how it felt. The pressure. The stretch. The way he held your hips and kissed your spine.

“Taking me like a good fucking girl,” he whispered.

He didn’t stop until you were shaking.

He came with a low groan, pulsing inside you, buried to the hilt.

And stayed there. For good.

It was sunrise.

Your legs barely worked. You were lying flat on your back, Harry between your thighs again. Soft kisses now. Fingers stroking up and down your belly.

Then he said it.

“Gonna fuck a baby into you.”

Your heart stopped.

“What?” you breathed.

He didn’t smile.

“Don’t act like you didn’t feel it,” he said. “I came inside you three times. You let me.”

“I’m not on anything,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I didn’t pull out.”

Your breath caught.

“I want you full,” he said. “Want you pregnant. Want to see your belly round from me.”

You shivered — not in fear. In something darker. Deeper.

He slid his cock into you again. No protection. Slow, steady, all the way in.

“Let me knock you up, Y/N,” he whispered against your ear. “Let me make you mine.”

And you didn’t stop him.

You pulled him deeper.

[strawberriesandhotmen]

Sound-Proof

a/n: HEY BABIES. I know Niall is not one of the main baby girls but this idea popped into my head and I just couldn’t resist. I’m imagining my blondie-boo for this particular fic, but you can envision whatever era you want, his hair color is only mentioned once. I was also really lazy with this one, sorry y’all 😭😭. Anyways, Louis is the only one of the boys I mentioned directly, but they’re all there in spirit.

pairing: fratboy!1D!Niall Horan x fem!reader

CW +18 smut: swearing, hickeys, possessive behavior, reader is a baddie I fear, kinda rough Niall but not really (rough for him in my mind), piv unprotected (wrap it up!)

word count: 2.2k

You weren’t typically the jealous type.

Well, not really.

Sure, you had moments here and there, but who doesn’t? Normally you were quite skilled at controlling your emotions and intrusive thoughts in similar situations. It wasn’t like you weren’t experienced in doing so; your boyfriend was Niall Horan, after all. Every one of the One Direction boys experienced the hordes of girls descending upon them to ‘shoot their shot.’ In your mind, though, Niall endured it the most.

So naturally, when you overheard a girl call your man ‘cutie,’ you immediately went on high alert. You were all out at a club after a show, so it was to be expected that any fan who might have heard of the boys going there wouldn’t be far behind. What you wouldn’t tolerate, however, was the touching. That was crossing a line for anyone, in your opinion, not just your overprotective self. The light brush of her hand across his shoulder was enough to ignite a fire deep in your stomach, sparking the thought in your mind of handling this before it went any farther. Niall wasn’t okay with it, as he tried to make clear, but the poor man was too nice to make a firm stand for himself. Luckily, he had you.

He had you, dressed in a matching leather set that consisted of a corset top and mini skirt that displayed the curve of your ass perfectly, lace-up ankle boots with a heel that should be illegal, and your hair done in Niall’s favorite way. You looked damn fine, and you damn well knew it. If looks could kill, everyone in the room would have been fucking annihilated the moment you walked through the door. But alas, everyone, including this bitch ass h - excuse you - girl was still standing. And that is why you decided you must handle the situation without further delay.

“Hey, cutie.” The girl drawled, her voice dripping with the most sickeningly sweet tone. She walked her fingers up Niall’s arm teasingly, biting her lip as she violated his bubble of personal space fifteen different ways.

“Wouldn’t flirt with that one if I were you, love.” Louis butted in rather coldly. He was a protective one, that was for sure, and you loved him for it. The girl poorly chose to ignore his advice, moving in closer to your increasingly uncomfortable boyfriend (if that was even possible at this point). It was at this moment that you stopped directly behind her, a patronizing smile gracing your features as you waited for the perfect time to announce your presence. You noticed Harry bite his cheek to hold in a laugh; this was the funniest thing in the world to him. You tapped the girl’s shoulder and made sure your expression was offensive enough before speaking.

“You lost, sweetheart?” You sounded almost mocking, tilting your head as if you actually cared for her answer. Your expression, however, made it clear that you did not. You could nearly hear her heart skip a beat as her breath hitched at the interruption, her body hesitantly turning to face you. The sense of reservation dropped immediately when her eyes fell on you; clearly she thought you were just a poor excuse for ‘competition.’

“Can I help you?” She scoffed, sending you the dirtiest look you had received in a while (and not the good kind). You took a slow step closer, looking her over judgmentally before responding.

“Now that you mention it, I suggest leaving my boyfriend alone.” Your tone was polite enough, but the undertones held complete bitch-energy. Before she could respond, you leaned in so your lips were right next to her ear, the tingle of your breath sending a shiver down her spine.

“Before I wipe the fucking floor with your plastic face.” She seemed shocked at your words, probably not expecting such a vivid threat, if she had been expecting one at all. She wasn’t scared, but she was certainly annoyed. She scoffed again, stuttering a bit before stumbling off around me. Mission accomplished.

“Hello, my love.” You greeted cheerfully, turning towards Niall with a grin. He laughed that beautiful laugh of his at your sudden change in demeanor, holding his arms out for a hug. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed yourself close to him, humming in satisfaction.

“Hey, princess. You look gorgeous, as usual.” Niall complimented softly, his grip on you tightening in the slightest. You pulled back to peer up at him through your lashes, a light giggle escaping your lips.

“Thank you, baby. You and the boys were amazing tonight.” The set they had played at this most recent show had been your favorite thus far, and naturally Niall’s voice sounded angelic (as per usual). His smile lit up his features as he pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, releasing you from the hug. You turned to lean on the bar and signaled to the bartender you were ready to order your drink.

“Vodka, on the rocks, please.” You requested politely. Niall let out an amused huff through his nostrils, shaking his head knowingly.

“My girl likes her hard liquor.” You just rolled your eyes, smirking at him from your place at the bar.

“That’s not the only thing I like hard.” Hello? You had no idea where that comment had come from, but Niall didn’t seem to be complaining. His precious face immediately flushed crimson as he attempted to hide his flustered state with a well-executed smirk. You thanked the bartender for your drink and took a healthy swig, not flinching in the slightest as the alcohol slid down your throat like water. Niall stepped over to you, placing his hands beside your hips and effectively trapping you against the bar.

Hot.

“I don’t think I’m the only one feeling some type of way, princess.” He whispered lowly in your ear, his accent like music lilting through the air. You took another sip, setting your drink off to the side without breaking eye contact.

“Well, what are you gonna do about it?” You challenged, giving him a teasing once-over for his benefit. He returned the look, taking a step back in order to get a better view of you.

“Come with me, love.” He held his arm out for you to take as if he wasn’t implying the most ungentlemanly things. Irony is a beautiful thing. 

He quickly ushered you out of the club and led you towards his limo, practically shoving you in the backseat. The driver was there, of course, so after Niall told him to head back the apartment you blindly hit the button that put up the divider. Once the screen had closed, the two of you practically pounced on each other like animals. Niall immediately pulled you to straddle his lap, and your hands flew to undo the buttons on his shirt. He just sat there, admiring your frenzied state as you rushed to undress him. The moment his shirt is off, your lips latched onto his exposed collarbone and began leaving marks.

“Fuck, princess, you’re perfect.” He panted, his hands moving to grab onto your hips with intensity. His hips jutted upward into yours reflexively as his fingers trailed up the laces of your corset, fumbling anxiously to undo it. When he’d finally torn the garment off of you, his crystal blue eyes dropped to your exposed chest and his hands followed his gaze. You hum and let your head fall to the side as he cups your breasts, his thumbs brushing over each peaked nipple with a tenderness so starkly contrasting to his previous ferocity. Your fingers lace into his spiky blonde hair as his lips move to your breast, teasingly sucking a nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. Earning a soft moan of satisfaction from your swollen lips, Niall moves to the other side, the subtle smirk on his face showing he is pleased with his abilities. You knew damn well how good he was at this, and so did he. 

When you simply couldn’t wait any longer, you brought his face up to yours and crashed your lips into his. Niall received your intended message loud and clear, roughly tugging your tight skirt above your hips, immediately pressing his calloused thumb against your clothed (and throbbing) clit. He smiled proudly at the moan that earned him from you, teasing your puffy folds as he waited for you to further the process. Your trembling hands dropped to his pants, fumbling momentarily to unbutton them and tug the annoying fabric below his knees, taking his boxers with it. 

You actually whined at the sight of his angry cock smacking against his toned stomach, not even realizing how he was already lifting your hips to rip your panties off of you. They were useless to you now, anyways. You had soaked them through ten minutes ago.

“Shit, you’re already dripping.” He whispered, his voice filled with wonder and surprise. You would have laughed at how comical that was if your mind wasn’t consumed with the feeling of his leaking tip dragging through your cunt.

“Ni…” You whimpered pathetically, holding tightly onto his shoulders as he shifted your hips to the perfect position.

“You gonna be good f’me, princess? Gonna let me make you feel good?” He was panting himself, his pretty pale skin flushed darkly at the arousal flooding his body. You had barely choked the ‘yes’ out before he bottomed out inside of you, his tip nearly kissing your cervix at the first thrust. You couldn’t even moan then, the wind absolutely knocked out of you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” The curses flew out of your swollen lips, muttered under your breath as if you gave a shit who could hear. Niall’s movements began slow and languid, drawing long moans from you as the pulsating veins on his cock massaged your slick walls. You were almost squeezing the life out of him, and he’d barely even started.

“Already squeezin’ me so tight, princess, fu-” He breathed lowly, guiding you along his length by his grip of your hips. You were sure there would be bruises later, but you couldn’t care less. In fact, you welcomed the little reminders of when he had touched you.

“Faster, Ni, please.” You rarely ever begged for him, but when you did, he knew you fucking meant it. With only a deep, husky groan in response, he began to rut his hips up into you roughly, quickly stealing back the inhale of air you had just regained. 

Sex with Niall was like nothing else in the world; it was fucking perfect, every damn part. The way he knew exactly what spots to tease to get you soaked, the way his cock stretched your tight little pussy deliciously every time, the way his thumb drew rough circles around your clit when he knew you were close…

It was Heaven.

“Won’t last much longer if your cute little pussy keeps squeezing me like that, love. Shit, shit, shit…” He cursed, his thrusts becoming erratic as that knot in his stomach began to grow noticeable. His mumbled praises only pushed you closer to the edge, not even noticing the burning in your thighs from bouncing on his lap so forcefully.

“So close, Ni, m’gonna come.” He loved that fucking nickname you used for him, even with how simple it was. His grip on your hips tightened in response, his thrusts coming faster still (if that was even possible). Right before you teetered over the edge, he brought his hand between the two of you to roughly toy with your poor, sensitive clit the way he knew you loved. The way you moaned his name as your orgasm tore through you sent him tumbling over the edge, both of you arching into each other as the world seemed to stand still. 

Time had stopped, you were sure, your vision turning to white and your ears effectively ringing from the intensity of it all. Niall tugged you close to his as you collapsed against him, panting, a thin sheen of sweat coating you both.

“So good f’me, princess.” He hummed affectionately, pressing gentle kisses to your temple and forehead. When you had regained your senses (the gentle rub of his hands across your bare back playing no small part), you sat up slightly to smile up at him.

“Please tip your poor driver very well.” You had completely forgotten about that man in the heat of the moment, now feeling very sorry he had to experience that. Niall let out a melodic laugh, letting his head rest against the now-ruined leather seat behind him.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. The divider is sound-proof.”

[strawberriesncigars]

fucked my way up to the top (1) | h.s

pairing: ceo!harry styles x bratty!reader summary: harry is a businessman stuck in a marriage of convenience, and the girlfriend he’s fucking behind closed doors isn’t exactly making things easier for him. word count: 4k+

warnings: nsfw, smut, oral (m rec), unprotected sex, marriage of convenience, cheating-adjacent, morally grey dynamics, power play, creampie, semi-public tension, possessiveness.

author's note: hi, this is the first thing i’ve written in years and also my first fic in english. it was inspired by a bot i created on c.ai a few months ago. as someone whose first language isn’t english, i was really careful with my writing, but i’m sorry in advance for any mistakes. i don’t have a big following here so i’m not expecting much but if it reaches anyone and gets some love, i might continue the story instead of leaving it as a one shot, since the plot in my mind isn’t finished yet. if you enjoyed it reblogs and comments would make me so happy. thank you for giving it a chance. xx

part 2 is here.

“Red.”

Harry leaned in with his half-finished champagne glass in hand, confused. “What?”

Y/N’s lips, which looked especially pink tonight, curled slightly with a knowing smile. In a voice as smooth as honey, she whispered into his ear, “The color of the underwear peeking from under my dress," Her warm breath brushed against his neck, "Red."

Harry recoiled like he’d been electrocuted, leaning back in his chair. They were at a goddamn dinner party — surrounded by work colleagues and, of course, his lovely wife.

He’d known from the start he shouldn’t have sat next to her, but clearly, she’d somehow managed to push Jules to the opposite side of the table and sit him right beside herself. And as if that wasn’t enough, now she was whispering lingerie details into his ear... in full view of his wife.

Harry took another sip of his drink. He had no intention of getting drunk tonight as the host, but the small amount of alcohol in his system might help him push away the disturbing thoughts about how that red lace would look against Y/N’s flawless skin.

As he glanced toward his wife, who sat across from him chatting with Emma about the brand’s new collection, she leaned in once again. And Harry, not wanting to draw attention by shifting in his chair, had no choice but to give in.

“When are we going to get away from your lovely wife’s revolting glares?” she asked, her lips grazing his ear. “I’m dying to sit on your lap and discuss the details of that European getaway I mentioned.”

Harry swallowed audibly. “I haven’t even said yes yet.”

“You won’t,” she teased, her voice laced with wicked amusement. “You’ll moan.”

This was it.

When you were a millionaire CEO stuck in a marriage of convenience with one of high society’s most sought-after heiresses, and the girl you were fucking behind closed doors decided to sit this close during a dinner party like it meant nothing, you ended the night nursing a painfully persistent hard-on and pretending your entire world wasn’t crumbling from the inside out.

*

Harry seized the first opportunity to escape the crowd and slipped into his study. Leaning against his desk, he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Y/N had always been more reckless than him in situations like this. But she was also sensitive. Harry remembered times he had made her come without even laying a finger on her — just with his words. But lately, something had shifted. He wasn’t sure if it was the damn Italian getaway she kept bringing up or the fact that he hadn’t spent the last four nights with her. He’d never seen her quite like this before, especially the way she made those nasty comments about his wife.

He walked behind his desk, sank into his chair, and reluctantly reached for the bottle, pouring himself a bit of cognac. He leaned back and undid the top two buttons of his shirt with one hand, rubbing at his neck like he needed more air. He had barely taken a few sips when the door creaked open without a knock, and Y/N slipped inside.

Harry straightened slightly in his chair as she quietly shut the door behind her. The black satin dress she wore hugged her curves in all the right places. A delicate necklace hung down her chest, adorning her exposed skin like artwork. Of course he recognized the necklace, it was a Valentine’s Day gift from Paris that had cost him a fortune.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” Her heels echoed softly against the hardwood as she made her way toward him with confident but gentle steps. “The happy Styles couple’s charming little dinner party. So adorable.”

“I didn’t realize we looked that happy.” Harry twirled the cognac in his glass before downing the last of it and setting the glass back on the desk.

Y/N approached him with a mocking smile on her lips, slid between the chair and the desk, and leaned her hips against the wooden surface right in front of Harry. Crossing her arms, she tilted her head slightly. “Everyone was talking about you two,” she said. He had to fight hard not to let his eyes drift to the thin strap of her dress sliding down one shoulder. “Didn’t you hear?”

Harry smiled faintly. “No, I didn’t.” He inhaled her body like it was unfamiliar, even though he knew every curve by heart. The urge to touch her bare thighs, flaunted just inches from him with inviting warmth, made his fingertips tingle. He leaned back against the headrest and locked eyes with hers. “Some entitled little brat was too busy whispering dirty thoughts into my ear. At a table with my wife and colleagues.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes with childish defiance. “Since when do you care about what your wife thinks?”

Harry shook his head, his expression growing serious. “We talked about this when we got into it, Y/N. I thought we had an agreement.” His brow furrowed. “Just because this is a marriage of convenience doesn’t mean we get to shove it in her face.”

She uncrossed her legs and pushed off from the desk, leaning over him and placing her hands on either side of his chair. Her sharp gaze pierced into Harry’s now darkened green eyes as she closed the distance between them. “I do whatever I want,” she whispered with a heavy tone. Harry swallowed. “You know why?”

When Harry looked at her in question, Y/N slowly lowered herself to her knees and brought her elegant fingers to his belt.

Something was definitely going on with her tonight. Harry had seen her wild before, but never this bold, this reckless. Never this nasty about his wife. He watched with narrowed eyes as she unbuckled his belt and slid his trousers down to his ankles with unbothered ease.

Her grin turned into a smug smirk as Harry cupped her face with both hands. “Baby,” he tried to summon whatever self-control he had left, “the door’s not locked. Get up. At least wait until everyone leaves—”

But her hand pressed against his clothed erection in a slow, teasing rub, and his words broke off, breath growing uneven. As if spending the whole evening painfully hard hadn’t been enough, now they were practically playing exhibitionist in a room anyone could walk into. He wondered how much more colorful his night could get.

And like none of it meant a thing, Y/N reached for his hips and pulled down his boxers. She gave his cock a long stroke, savoring the groan she drew from him, before placing her lips on the tip.

Harry was losing his mind. He shouldn’t be letting her. He should be yanking up his pants and heading back downstairs before anyone noticed. But when she pressed her tongue flat against the head and let out a wet sound, Harry instinctively tossed his head back and lost the last shred of rational thought.

Unlike Harry, Y/N seemed intent on enjoying every bit of it. She slid his now throbbing cock deeper into her mouth with practiced ease. Fuck, she was good at this. Harry watched the way she took him inch by inch, fingers clenching the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white. A strangled groan slipped from his throat.

His head was spinning from lust and liquor. He slid one hand down to her hair, twining his cold fingers through her soft strands. she moaned sweetly at the touch, and Harry could feel the vibrations echo through her mouth around his hardness.

“Harry?”

The moment he heard the voice outside the door, he cursed under his breath and straightened up. Somehow, without even thinking, he managed to nudge Y/N under the desk just in time — and her lips slipped off him milliseconds before the door creaked open. As he scooted his chair closer to the desk to close the gap, Jules stepped into the room.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Harry thought, my life is a soap opera.

He leaned casually over the desk, trying his best to look like he hadn’t just been getting a blowjob from his girlfriend under the table. “Jules? Something wrong?”

She took a few hesitant steps into the room, finally turning to face him fully. “Uh, no, it’s just… you never came back down. I was starting to get worried. The others are heading out to the garden —”

Jules continued talking, probably updating him on what was happening downstairs, but Harry couldn’t hear a single word. Y/N, apparently incapable of staying still for even two minutes, had slowly pressed her lips back to his cock and was starting to suck again. Her tongue moved in a heavy rhythm, coating him in wet heat while her hands reached down to fondle his balls. Stars exploded behind Harry’s eyes. He was trying so hard not to push her away or groan out loud and call her a fucking menace.

When Jules’ gaze drifted to his hand, Harry suddenly realized he was crumpling one of the scattered papers on the desk in a tight fist.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, concerned.

Harry swallowed hard. “Yeah. Just… fucking nausea,” he muttered. “Must’ve mixed the cocktails wrong.” He was running out of breath from keeping so tense. Even managing a full sentence felt like a goddamn miracle.

“Where’s Y/N? She disappeared right after you did.”

Harry barely managed to inhale. “Definitely not in here,” he said with a dry laugh, trying to mask the panic in his voice.

As her name was spoken aloud, she chose that exact moment to take his cock deep into her throat and press her tongue exactly where Harry needed it most.

He bit the inside of his cheek to stop a primal growl from escaping.

“Harry, are you sure you’re alright?” Jules let go of the door handle, which only made the panic surge higher in Harry’s chest. “You don’t think you’ve been poisoned or something?”

“I’m fine, Jules. Just need a little alone time,” he said quickly. “You know — like you can see — paperwork.” He gestured vaguely at the desk to justify the mess in front of him. “Won’t be long.”

As Jules backed up a step, Harry discreetly took a deeper breath of relief.

“Alright. Want me to tell them you’ll be out soon?”

Harry nodded. “That’d be great. I won’t be more than thirty minutes.”

She gave a small nod and turned to leave.

And right then —because of course— Y/N let out a low moan around his cock, deep in her throat.

Harry’s eyes widened as Jules turned back toward him, suspicious. “What was that?”

He coughed, thumping his chest with one hand. “This fucking drink,” he said between coughs. “Wrecked my throat too, apparently.”

Jules narrowed her eyes at him like he’d lost his damn mind, then slowly nodded and left the room.

Harry finally exhaled deeply. “Jesus fuck, Y/N,” he groaned. He could feel her smug smile without even seeing it.

As she took him all the way to the back of her throat again, Harry slumped back and pulled her a little closer under the desk. The moan she earned from him was hoarse and full of grit. She pulled away with a wet sound and licked her lips. “Don’t come yet,” she murmured, climbing to her feet and grabbing Harry’s arm to pull him up with her. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He let himself be guided, still dazed from the whirlwind of it all. Y/N’s breathing was heavy and uneven as she dragged him toward the leather couch in the corner of the room. “Sit.”

Harry sat down. He felt like every ounce of willpower had drained from his body, like he was now wrapped around her little finger. Even Y/N herself seemed slightly surprised at how quickly he’d given her control. For a fleeting second, he caught something in her expression— a look that almost said I expected you to push me over the desk, whisper something filthy in my ear, and fuck me like you meant it. Instead, he had surrendered the reins. But she didn’t seem disappointed. Quite the opposite.

After sitting him down, she walked toward the door. Harry drank in the sway of her hips and the rhythm of her legs like it was a work of art. At the door, she turned the lock with an easy flick and then pushed the handle down to show him it wouldn’t open. “Look, we’re taking all the fun out of it just so you don’t have to whine.”

Her smile was taunting.

Walking back to him, she grabbed the hem of her dress with both hands and hiked it up, tossing it onto the couch beside him within seconds.

When the red lace lingerie was revealed, Harry swallowed so hard it made his throat bob.

The soft click of her heels echoed as she approached, stepping between his legs and settling herself on his lap. The thin lace separating them from each other — and Harry’s boxers, already damp with pre-cum — did nothing to ease the friction.

She laced her fingers behind his neck and leaned in to press a wet kiss on his lips. Harry, limp-armed for a second, finally brought his hands up and rested them on her waist right over the waistband of her lace panties while letting her insistent tongue explore his mouth.

Y/N clung to the back of his hair and pulled away with a breathy sound. “I’ve been waiting for this all night.”

Harry really wanted to focus. What she’d just done was reckless, even for her. She had kept sucking him under the damn table, with his wife only a few feet away. That wasn’t something you just brushed off.

But his cock was so painfully hard he could barely think.

Every little grind of her hips had him touching her through that lace, his cock grazing her slick heat with maddening pressure. If she didn’t give him more soon, he was going to lose it.

He tightened his grip on her waist and pulled her closer. Her smile widened. She leaned in and kissed his temple, then let her lips brush down to his ear. “Would she do this for you, H?” she whispered. “Would she even look up from those dumb tabloid magazines to touch you?”

Harry let out a low sound as she pressed herself against his erection deliberately.

She moved her lips to his neck and sucked hard enough to pull blood to the surface. She didn’t stop until she was sure there would be a mark.

“Now...” she sighed dramatically, like she had a long list of things to do, “Why don’t you put those fingers to good use while I figure out which city we should pick for our little getaway?”

Harry grabbed her by the hips and yanked her down hard against him. “That getaway will only happen in your dreams, you spoiled brat,” he muttered, not-so-gently tugging the lace aside.

Y/N laughed, cocky and breathless, as she bit her bottom lip, her soaked heat exposed. “What happened to the sweet princess?”

Harry slid a finger between her folds, letting it glide up and down, soaking it in her wetness. When he pressed the tip just slightly at her entrance, she tensed and rocked her hips forward with a needy whimper. “The princess died under that table,” he growled.

When Y/N felt Harry’s finger fully slide inside her, she bit down on her lower lip again.

“Don’t bite,” Harry growled, his voice rough, and added a second finger beside the first. She let out a shaky moan. The small figure-eights she traced with her hips told Harry she was close to surrendering that earlier bratty attitude.

“You know,” she said with a gulp, “I do like being a princess.”

Harry looked up at her with furrowed brows. “Yeah?”

As his fingers moved faster, Y/N’s cautious whimpers turned into soft, kittenish mewls. She nodded, burying her face into his neck. “Yeah,” she whispered, nipping him gently, “because you like it when I act like a princess, don’t you?”

“I’ve always liked the princess,” Harry muttered, “but I’m not sure I feel the same about this new brat.”

He felt her grin against his neck, her elegant hands planting firmly on his chest through his shirt. “You’ll grow to love her too,” she said, continuing to pepper his skin with wet kisses.

Harry tried to pull away from her mouth. “Can you not?” he muttered, exasperated.

She lifted her head and licked her lips. “Why? Afraid your wife might see?” She slowly sat back on her knees and reached down to align herself. Harry’s hands gripped her hips as she guided him into position, holding his erection at the base and lowering herself onto him.

The moment his cock entered her, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back. He felt her breath on his neck, her lips, her heat and the delicious, maddening tightness of her pussy as they closed around him inch by inch.

They’d done this countless times before. This was probably Y/N’s favorite position. It gave her control, let her use him exactly how she wanted and feel him in all the right places.

She started to ride him with a rhythm that sent them both over the edge. Harry’s grip on her lower back tightened as he buried his face in the soft skin above her bra. He pressed scattered, wet kisses across her chest, her collarbones, the swell of her breasts.

Y/N rolled her hips harder, using her thighs to bounce with just enough force to pull a deep, guttural moan from Harry’s mouth.

He caught her chin with two fingers and kissed her hard, lips crashing together. She cupped his face in return and opened her mouth for him, tasting like strawberries and champagne. As his hand slid around to her back, he unhooked her bra with practiced ease, letting her breasts fall free.

One hand stayed at her waist to keep her steady; the other cupped her bare chest, kneading it gently. When he pinched her nipple between two fingers, she gasped uncontrollably into the kiss. Her movements stuttered. Her legs began to tremble.

When their lips parted with a wet sound, Harry dragged his hands down to her thighs. He smoothed his palms over her skin, starting from the backs of her knees and working his way up, easing her motion as she rode him with slowing rhythm. “Let me take over, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder.

Y/N slowed to a stop like she’d been waiting for him to ask. Her arms looped around his neck and she gave him full control. Harry gently pushed her back onto the couch, laying her flat on her back. He slid his cock out of her wet heat, earning a soft whine of protest, and reached down to yank the lace panties off her ankles.

Tossing the soaked fabric aside, he looked at her spread out beneath him — eyes dazed, mouth parted, chest rising with each breath.

Gripping her thighs, he pushed them farther apart and thrust back inside her in one smooth, deep motion. She gasped, arching slightly, as Harry hooked her legs over his shoulders and leaned forward to press a kiss to her inner thigh.

He didn’t have the patience to go slow anymore. His cock ached, and her dripping cunt was far too inviting.

He drove into her, fast and hard, balls slapping against her ass with each thrust. She moaned loudly, her heels — still clad in sharp stilettos — scraping across the back of his shirt. “Mm, fuck… Harry, that feels so good- harder… Oh!”

Harry silenced her with his mouth, swallowing her moans as he kept pounding into her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, tighter.

When Harry felt his cock start to twitch inside her, he slid a hand between them and found her clit without hesitation. The second his fingers grazed the sensitive bundle of nerves, she tensed, her moans turning high and desperate.

He kept rubbing, circling the spot with steady pressure, and Y/N shattered beneath him — trembling, legs shaking, voice breathy as she whimpered his name like it was the only thing she knew.

As her body convulsed through the orgasm, Harry leaned down and kissed her breasts, trying to ground her as she rode out the wave. When her cunt tightened around him with every pulse of pleasure, Harry knew he was right there with her.

He grunted, hips jerking erratically. “Do you want me to pull out?” He asked, barely coherent, pushing back the inevitable.

She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and pulled him down to her. “No,” she whispered, her fingertips toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I want you to come inside.”

He was used to this by now. Y/N hated condoms. She’d even managed to convince Harry — who used to be vehemently against unprotected sex — to change his mind over time. There was no real sex life with his wife, and he trusted her. Since she came into his life, she’d made it her mission to shatter every single one of his boundaries. And Harry had let her. Every time.

With a final deep thrust, Harry buried himself fully inside her and came, spilling everything into her with a low moan as his forehead dropped to her shoulder. His entire body collapsed against hers, chest heaving.

While trying to catch his breath, he inhaled the familiar scent of her skin and murmured against her shoulder, “So... what city are we thinking for this so-called vacation?”

Y/N’s soft giggle filled the air and warmed something inside him. “Are we back to princess mode already?”

“You’re always the princess, baby,” Harry said, lifting himself slightly to look at her flushed face. He brushed her cheekbone with two fingers while the other hand rested at her waist, drawing lazy circles against her skin. “Even when you act like the villain.”

Y/N leaned in and pressed her forehead to his, placing a soft, wet kiss on his lips. “Didn’t seem like you were scared of the villain.”

“Do you want that trip or not?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N kissed the crease between his brows and, despite her exhausted body, gently pushed him off so she could stand. Reaching for her discarded clothes in the corner, she mumbled, “You should probably head back downstairs.”

Harry watched her dress with dazed eyes before finally standing up to pull his pants back on. “You’re not coming?”

She adjusted her hair and tugged her dress back down. “No. Think I’ll head home.” Then added hesitantly, “Are you coming over later?”

Harry nodded in response. She gave a faint smile and walked toward the door.

“Y/N, wait,” Harry said, catching up to her and grabbing her arm gently. She had already reached the door by the time he touched her elbow. When she looked at him questioningly, he asked, “You know Jules isn’t what I want, right?”

Her smile grew, but he felt something bittersweet behind it. It wasn’t in her lips — it was in her eyes. Like there was something she wanted to say but wouldn’t. Harry knew her well enough not to push. There was something about her mood tonight, about the week-long tension, the way she kept dodging the topic of the trip, it all gnawed at him.

But if there was one thing he’d learned in their two-year relationship, it was that when Y/N put up walls, the only way in was to let her be the one to lower them. Maybe she just needed a little time. And he was willing to give her that space.

Y/N leaned in and kissed him one last time, soft and slow. “Don’t be too late,” she whispered, giving no answer to his question.

Before he could say anything else, she unlocked the door and slipped out.

Harry stood there for a moment, smiling faintly. For the first time that night, he felt a strange sense of calm.

Of course, that would vanish the moment he joined his wife downstairs and slipped his hand into his pocket — only to feel the scrap of red lace, unknowingly placed there.

[littleohs]

HUVY: SHOULDN'T BE LIKE THIS

"I DIDN’T KNOW IT COULD FEEL LIKE THAT"

9.8k || E

They were just two alphas in love, sharing intimacy in a bedroom, there were no chances of it going wrong.

Right?

Louis smiled, releasing a rose at Harry's comment. Neither of them were experts in bed, but they sure knew what they liked to do in it. He bent down to kiss the alpha's lips, quietly and wetly trying not to pull at the knot. It had taken so long for both of them to learn to knot that they made good use of the few moments their anatomy gave them to deposit love in their hearts. But the nebula of the orgasms were too hard, their aromas were all over the room that their minds were blind ande their noses didn't work enough to realize that there was someone closing the door, entering with a cellphone in hand and laughing so hard. They actually didn't know.

hey! my new os has been revealed! this is my first alpha/alpha fic, and it was difficult, but amazing to write. i liked it, and maybe i can bring some more! hope you like it, leave some comments and kudos are always appreciated!

this is part of the @1d-oneliner-fest this year! thanks to the mod for the extension needed and all the organization ♡

Read here

[pariswithzouis]

NEW BOT!

He dumped you for fame…

[c0wboylikeharry]

BATHING SUIT SHOPPING (h.s)

(masterlist) || (taglist) || (requests)

harry styles x fem!reader

summary: after your luggage gets lost on vacation, harry agrees to take you out shopping to replace what was lost. but after you put on a little show, bathing suit shopping takes a different direction.

word count: 6.3k

cw: smut, dirty talk, penetration, oral, unprotected sex, spanking, exhibitionism

a/n: this is literally pure smut with a small backstory for context. enjoy!!

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

I’m going to strangle the person responsible for losing your luggage. The loss has threatened to ruin our vacation in Rome nearly five times—we’ve been here a total of 24 hours. They told us it’d take a few hours to locate the bag, and when they did, we found out it was heading to the US. Literally the furthest place it could’ve gone. But, hey, at least they tracked it down. Managing to get it back on a plane to us, you won’t have it until late this evening or tomorrow morning. But that just won’t do with you. Oh, no.

After your 5th breakdown, I had to come up with any kind of solution. Something to get you to take a breath and realize that this isn’t the end of the world. I’d already offered up the clothes off my back, but you grumpily refused. There was only one option left.

A shopping spree.

Only when those words left my lips did your whole attitude change. It’s not like you need to go out and buy a whole new wardrobe and makeup routine, your bag will be here soon, but you’ll take this opportunity to do just that. And my wallet is already cursing me out for it.

Walking down the small beach town, hand in hand, you’re practically skipping across the cobblestone. Shops litter the streets ranging from ice cream to jewelry and everything in between. I’m just glad you skipped right past that last designer store.

Wearing one of my old t-shirts and the sweatpants you wore on the flight yesterday, you look completely out of place. Adorable, yes, but also getting weird looks from locals dressed in their swimsuits and summer wear. You could care less, though, not even noticing their sideways glances as you drag me through the streets. And your careless nature is infectious, bringing a reluctant smile to my face when I’m supposed to be angry for agreeing to this.

Today was supposed to be a beach day, spent lounging on the sand and soaking up the warm sun. It wasn’t supposed to be spent wracking up credit card debt. I don’t even accept my fate until your skipping halts and you yank me into a store. It’s a small business with the smell of sand and sunscreen wafting in the air. With a mix of products in here, from tacky souvenirs to home decor pieces, I can’t seem to place why this is the store you chose. I mean, sure, there’s some clothes littered on sparse racks, but it’s not like the usual clothing stores we passed on the way. Doubting we’ll find anything of substance in here, you continue dragging me through the store until I’m proven wrong.

A wall full of bathing suits staring back at me. Men and womens, though bikinis are clearly favored here. So many different colors, patterns and sizes all thrown together in a dizzying mess. And you’ve already thrown yourself into the belly of the beast, scouring through the masses to find ones you like. In the matter of a minute, your hands are already full.

“Can you hold this for me, babe?” you ask at the same time as you drop the pile into my hands. And now my hands are full.

Searching through the bunch, I pull out what I assume to be is a string of floss. It’s thin enough to be just that. But, no, this is a bathing suit… Oh, Jesus.

“Sweetheart, you can’t be serious with some of these?” I speak up, dangling the dental floss bathing suit between my fingertips.

“What? It’s cute!”

You dutifully ignore my pained protests as you continue to toss more and more sets into my hands. Soon enough, I’ll be buried beneath them. Following you around like a puppy dog, finally—fucking finally—we leave the bathing suit section. But you only allow me to believe that we’re leaving for a fraction of a second. That hope is crushed when you steer us to the right—to the dressing rooms.

Great.

Now I’ll have to sit here for hours as you try on the mountain of stuff you picked out. This is definitely not how I wanted to spend our first 24 hours on vacation.

Plopping down on the uncomfortable wooden bench they have outside the curtained off rooms, I try to come to peace with my current situation. It’s hard. You seem quite pleased with yourself, though. Joyfully scooping up the hoard of things in my arms and walking your happy ass into the small room. I only allow the annoyed groan to leave my lips once the curtain closes behind you.

I pull out my phone to mindlessly scroll as I wait, hoping it’ll make the time go faster and help my brain forget about the back pain that’s sure to come. But I don’t get two scrolls in before the curtain is swinging open again.

Eyes glancing up, I immediately have to clear my throat at the sight. You’re standing there in nothing but one of the two piece bathing suits you picked out. It’s pink and white gingham with a tiny as hell top and scandalous matching micro shorts that leave absolutely nothing to imagination. You don’t even notice me staring with the way you’re too focused on adjusting the material in the far off mirror. If anything, it just gives me more time to lazily drag my eyes up your dangerously long legs, over the curve of your ass, and the swell of your beasts in that revealing top. Damn.

“What do you think?” You turn toward me, hands on your hips, clueless to my burning gaze from a few seconds ago.

“It’s nice,” I choke out, my eyes dropping down to thinly covered tits.

“You don’t think it’s too ‘cute’?” you ask that like it’s a bad thing.

“I don’t know what that even means, sweetheart. You look good, that’s all.”

You sigh like I’ve said the wrong thing and disappear back into the dressing room. Rolling my eyes at your attitude, I try to settle in on my uncomfortable seat as I listen to the sounds of rustling material from behind the curtain. Bouncing my leg seems to be the only thing that can keep me from going crazy out here. That is, until you drag open the makeshift door again.

This time, my groan stems from anything but annoyance. Now wearing a skimpy little bikini, littered with black and white polka dots, I’m surprised my jaw hasn’t dislocated and hit the floor. And when you turn—Jesus, when you turn—your whole, glorious ass is on display. It has me, literally, jumping out of my seat. Latching myself behind you, my hands grip your hips and use myself as a shield from anyone else seeing you like this.

“Jesus, baby, are you trying to kill me?” I practically growl the words, feeling your soft skin beneath my rough fingertips.

“Do you like this one?” you ask, acting innocent.

“Do I like it?” I pull away just just enough to land a good slap to one of your ass cheeks, watching the skin recoil. I physically have to swallow down a moan from the sight. Pulling you back against me, I squeeze the skin I just spanked. “I like it so much that I’m thinking about taking it off of you right now,” I drop my voice to a whisper so only you can hear.

“Harry!” you whine, digging your elbow into my ribs. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I!” I argue back. Grabbing your hips again, I align mine up against your ass, letting you feel just how much I truly do like this. “See?”

You scoff and pull away from my embrace. “You’re impossible.”

And then you just leave me hanging, sitting at half-mast in my pants, all alone in this shop while you change again. I sit back down and try to think of some not-so-sexy things to calm myself down. It’s uncomfortable enough sitting on this bench with no back support, but doing it half-hard is making it worse. Suddenly, I’m very eager to sit here and wait to see what you come out dressed in next. My knee still bounces, but for a whole different reason.

But you’re taking longer than usual. The sound of you changing has stopped, so I know you’re wearing a new suit, but you haven’t come out to show me. That almost angers me. I kind of liked this little fashion show we had going on. Well, more than liked it, clearly. Maybe that’s what’s keeping you closed up inside?

That just won’t do.

I stand up quickly, too on edge to care about how the bench skids against the floor from my abrupt movement. Making my way to the curtain you’re hiding behind, my heart speeds up as if it knows what lies behind it. As my hands slowly drag it open, I hold my breath, but it doesn’t last long. Expelling the hot air in one quick huff when I see you standing there.

Now this one has to be the best—or the worst, whatever way you’re looking at it. A tiny little thing, barely even there, showing off that body you know I fold for. Covered in scraps of leopard print like you know exactly what you’re doing. It’s torture even being just a few feet away.

“Are you trying to make me lose my mind?” I make my presence known, even though you probably already felt my eyes devouring you.

I’m quick to shut the curtain behind myself, blocking out anyone who dares to peek at you like this. Giving us some much needed privacy.

“Harry, what are you doing? I’m trying to change in here,” your voice sounds exasperated, like you’re tired of my antics. Like you’re not purposefully putting on this little show to rile me up.

I ignore your words and let my hands jet out to grip your waist, pulling you back against me. Just feeling your ass brush the front of my swim trunks has me hissing. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

My hands are frenzied against your skin, smoothing up and down your sides like they can’t get enough. And it’s true, I can’t. I never have been able to, and I still can’t today. You’re addicting.

I lean down toward your ear, watching you watch me through the dirty mirror.

“Now take it off,” I whisper, “slowly.”

“What? Harry, no—“

“Fine… You don’t want to listen?” I slide my hands up your ribcage, eyes locked on yours through the reflection. “I’ll do it for you then.”

In the blink of an eye, I’m cupping your breasts in my hands, feeling their weight in my palms like a reward. Squeezing, I feel you shiver against me, already giving into temptation. My eyes drift to watch my work, tweaking your pebbled nipples through the fabric of your bikini top. “God, your tits are fucking perfect,” I whisper my groan, not needing anyone else to hear what’s happening.

I grope and tease you some more before slowly pulling the top down, the fact that it’s strapless makes it easier. Your breasts come spilling out of the material like they’ve been eager to be free. I can feel your breathing turn shallow when my hands reach for your bare skin, and a shaky sigh leaves your lips when I squeeze your breasts possessively. I have you just where I want you.

My mouth finds your neck, pressing slow and sensual kisses to the skin. Licking and nipping as I continue to tease your nipples, marking you in every way as mine. One hand leaves your breasts, trailing down your body tantalizingly slowly. You’re practically panting now, right beside my ear. It only spurs me on. Reaching down between your legs, I cup your pussy, feeling the heat and wetness through the material.

“Looks like you have to get this one, sweetheart. You’ve made a mess in it already,” I tease, growling into your ear before taking your lobe into my mouth.

Your hips buck against my hand as a desperate whimper leaves your lips—the sound goes straight to my cock. I mimic your movements, thrusting my hips up against your ass, unable to stop the groan from leaving my lips. Leaving the warmth of your clothed center, and the weight of your breasts, I grip your hips in my hands again. Slamming you back against my front a few times, I watch in a daze, but I can’t get lost in it just yet. Instead, I push on your lower back, forcing you to bend at the hip and reach out to stabilize yourself with the glass. Just the sight of you bent like this, ready for me to do whatever I want with your body, could have me finishing in seconds. But for now, I sink to my knees behind you, holding your gaze through the mirror.

With a perfect view of your ass and covered cunt, right in my face, I’m a happy man. Leaning forward, I place two gentle kisses to each of your ass cheeks and then a few to the insides of your spread legs. All open and ready for me. Working my way up, my nose nudges your cunt, making you gasp and me smile. Your back arches, pushing yourself further toward my face, and my smirk deepens.

In one swift motion, my tongue darts out and licks a strip over your covered folds, front to back. Your unrestrained whine has me pulling back.

“You’ve gotta stay quiet for me, baby,” I warn, hands sliding up and down your calves.

I watch you through the reflection, nodding eagerly to my request as your hips move in a way that begs for more. Who am I to deny you?

I settle back in between your legs, reaching for the scrap of material you call a bathing suit, and pulling it to the side to expose you to the cool air. Forcefully biting back a groan, I focus in on your dripping folds, like they’re the bright light calling me home. With my free hand, I pull your lips apart, and I blow a cold breath against your throbbing cunt. Watching your entrance clench around nothing nearly sends me to an early grave.

I bring my mouth forward, my flat tongue swiping over your slit with no warning. You gasp against the mirror, and I have no doubt those dangerous lips of yours are now pressed up against the glass. Moaning again when I take another taste into my greedy mouth. A high pitched, needy little mewl that has all the blood in my body rushing south. Shivers wrack through your body when I circle my tongue around your clit, feeling it throb. My lips wrap around the bud and suck, just how you like it. Working you with a death grip on your hips to keep you stable.

The taste of you on my tongue has me feeling a lot less patient than I intended to be. I’m not sure how much more teasing I can give before I lose total control. My grip tightens as I pull you down closer onto my face, nose burying into your cunt as I lap and suck on your clit. I’m trying to get as close as possible, but nothing ever is with you. I’m not satisfied with just a little taste, I need more. More of you. I want everything. Having been craving you since we walked into this godforsaken store.

I pull back for a quick breath, muttering, “Fuck, you taste like a dream,” before diving back in for more.

My mouth is demanding against you, working your sensitive skin skillfully to make you feel nothing but pleasure. And with the way the mirror fogs up with your heated breath, I’d say I’m doing my job. I can feel the precum leaking from the tip of my cock in my shorts, making my own mess. But with your wet, little pussy pressed against my face, I have no plans to leave this spot anytime soon. Lips and tongue relentless as I eat you out the way you deserve.

Your legs are shaking in my firm hold, threatening to give out, but I keep you standing. Pushing my tongue deep into your folds, I circle your entrance with the tip of it, eliciting a harsh moan from you. I take no mercy, and your body is telling me you don’t want me to. But I also can’t have everyone knowing what’s going on in here.

Reluctantly, I pull back. “Baby, you know how much I love your sounds, but I’m not gonna let you come if you can’t stay quiet.”

You whine and whimper and everything in between to protest against the thought of me stopping. I reassure you by gently licking at your core just once. It has you shakily replying, “I-I’ll be quiet… I promise.”

“Good girl.”

And then I’m back to it. Sinking my tongue into your entrance with no warning, I lap up anything and everything you can give me. You keep your promise of staying quiet, biting down on your bottom lip with enough force to cause damage. Fucking you with my tongue has your hips writhing in pleasure, grinding against my face as you seek your release. “You’re a mess, baby,” the vibrations of my voice against your pussy have you jolting in pleasure. “Soaking wet and all spread out for me…”

I feel your thighs twitch and tense under my grasp, every muscle tightening up. Slowing my pace, I focus on the most sensitive parts of you. Swirling your clit and sinking into your entrance.

“That’s it,” I murmur, knowing you're holding yourself back. “You can let go, baby… Come all over my face like a good girl.”

My lips are back around your bud, sucking and teasing as my hands push your legs further apart. I flatten my tongue against you again and allow you to fuck my face how you want. Grinding your whole pussy along my nose, mouth and chin. Covered in your juices, the corners of my lips twitch upwards as you coat me. This is my happy place. Your hips move faster and sloppier, desperately gripping onto the flat glass with your hands to give you some leverage. Something to hold onto when your release crashes into you. I stay unmoving, letting you use me, other than the occasional flicks of my tongue. I can’t help myself.

Quiet cries leave your lips, too quiet to hear from outside, but loud enough for me to revel in. Soaking them up, my hands grip your thighs tighter, pressing my face as close as I can to your cunt. You’re so close, I can feel it. Teetering on the edge of madness, I do the one thing I know will send you toppling over.

Blindly reaching up, my hand smacks your ass with as much force as I can. Your hips jolt forward as a pained whine escapes you. So I do it again. Spanking the sensitive skin and then soothing the redness away. Over and over again until I feel your muscles contract, and your hips still. A muffled moan breaks free from your throat as you come undone. Moving again, I lap up all that you give me, tasting your cum on my tongue like a delicacy. My cock is straining to be buried deep inside of you.

I actually can’t take it.

I stand up abruptly, leaving you shaking and spasming, still obediently bent over. Not for long. Grabbing your hips, I force you up straight again and slam you against the too-thin wall next to the mirror. Facing each other now, I finally get a good view of your flushed face, still painted with your pleasure. Dazed eyes, blotchy cheeks, and swollen lips from biting them so damn hard.

I’d like to bite them too, I think.

So, I do.

Leaning in without any warning, I capture your lips in mine, letting you taste the remnants of your release on my tongue as I thrust it into your mouth. Swallowing up your moans, I bite down on the lip I promised myself I would. Soothing the sting with a graze of my tongue, my hands glide up and down your body without restraint. I can feel your pebbled nipples pressed against me, begging for some attention. Before I give in to them, I reach behind my head to whip off my ratty t-shirt, tossing it in the heap of clothes in the corner of the room. Chests pressed together, silky skin pressed against my own, and an exchange of heated breaths between our open mouths.

“You’re fucking perfect.” The words tumble from my lips before I can stop them, not that I would, it’s the truth. Cemented as I peer down at your breasts squished against my chest from our closeness. “One day, I’m gonna come all over your tits,” I voice my thoughts, making a shaky breath leave your lips. “But today I’m gonna do it in that sweet, little pussy of yours.”

You shiver and I smirk, reaching down to grab one of your thighs and hitch it over my hips, pressing my bulge against you. Your tiny little bikini has since taken back its residence covering your core, and the two layers of material are killing me. Not enough, though, to stop myself from rocking against you. I can’t get enough of how good you feel.

Feeling your arms wrapping around my neck, I push myself impossibly closer, grinding my clothed cock against your clothed slit. Your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of my neck, tugging on the strands to summon a groan from my lips. I need more and more.

Burying my face in your neck, my teeth graze the curve, scraping over your skin, as my hips grow desperate. I’m panting into your neck at this point, pathetically. Trying to get any and all friction against my aching length, my hips move faster, pressing you harder into the wall behind you. One hand on your thigh to keep you spread open for me, and one creeping up your torso to grip onto your breast like my life depends on it.

“You drive me crazy,” I mutter against your skin, gently licking a patch I know makes you feel the same. “Gonna make me come in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

Resting my forehead against your shoulder, I stare down at where our hips are making contact. Watching my bulge rub up and down your center, spotting the wet spot you're leaving on the front of my trunks; the hot sight has a shiver running down my spine. It’s so much, I have to grip your thigh a little tighter to keep my head on straight.

I need you. Need you on me. Need you around me. I need you in all the ways you could possibly give me. I’m not lying when I say you make me crazy.

“Harry,” you whine, bringing me back to the present. Only then do I notice how fast my hips have been grinding against yours and all the small moans that have been leaving my lips.

I lift my head from your neck to press my forehead against yours. “God, I love it when you say my name like that.” All you can do is whine in response. “Yeah? You need me that bad? Need me to fill you up, baby?”

“P-please,” you cry, tugging on my hair harder, until my resolve begins to show its cracks.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna fill you up so good. Gonna stretch you around my cock.” I’m working myself up more and more with my own words, slamming my clothed length against your heat. I’m surprised the wall behind your head hasn’t given away.

But the minute one of your hands leaves my hair to travel down my neck and over my chest, I lose all patience.

Pulling back just enough to grab at the waistband of my trunks, I unsteadily push the material down. Finally, my cock springs free, fully hard and throbbing with its own heartbeat. I grip the base of myself, feeling the heavy weight begging to have something warm wrapped around it. And I know just the thing.

As I pump myself, I use my free hand to slowly drag your bikini bottoms down your hips and thighs. Picking up speed as your cunt comes into view, I groan as I stroke myself, getting sucked into the sensation. My cock twitches in my hands, like it knows your pussy is near, begging me to speed up the process. Luckily, you help me by shimmying the bottoms down the rest of your legs and kicking them off to the side.

I grab your thigh again and hold it up against my hip, feeling the heat of your center aching for me. My hand never stills on my length, especially not at the sight of your glistening folds pleading to envelop me.

Gently, I drag my tip through those folds, spreading my precum and letting it mix with your mess. You moan unabashedly, letting your head fall back against the wall behind you.

“You feel that?” I say, keeping my body pressed up against yours. “Feel what you do to me?”

You nod, a whiney sound deep in your throat as you clench around nothing. I drop my forehead back against yours as I drag my tip up to your clit, feeling your sensitive jolt. I can’t help myself but to tease you, circling the bud with feather-like pressure.

You pull me closer, looping an arm around my neck and bringing me down for a heated kiss. “Please,” you beg against my mouth.

The pleading, desperate tone of voice has my hips thrusting up through your drenched folds, making us both gasp a moan. It shudders me, making me lose grip of myself and force me to hold onto the wall to keep myself up. You claw at my back, needy for more. So I don’t waste any time.

Reaching down between us, I grab my length again, wrapping my hand around it tighter. I moan low and loud against your open mouth, guiding my head toward your entrance. I’m shaking from how much I’m aching and holding back. My other hand slides up your chest, leaving its vice grip on your breast, and grabs your jaw instead, pinning your attention on me.

“You’re all mine, aren’t you?” I watch as every emotion passes through your eyes. Pleasure, lust, and adoration all swirled into one.

“Y-yes, baby,” you shakily reply, nodding against my restraint.

“Are you dripping for me? Aching?” I murmur, eyes dark and half-lidded as I stare back at you. Your chest rises and falls, brushing against mine, with every unsteady breath you take. You’re wrecked before I’m even inside of you.

“Always,” your voice is more confident this time. It has a wicked smirk growing on my lips.

I squeeze your jaw just a fraction tighter. “Such a good, good girl for me.”

The hand that’s on your thigh threatens to leave marks from its grip as I finally press my tip against your entrance, just barely pushing in. I watch as your eyes flutter shut as I feed my cock into you slowly, inch by inch. Gasping when you feel the first stretch, your pussy squeezes me the second I get just the head in. I curse under my breath, trying to keep myself from coming too fast.

“Sweetheart… You’re so tight,” I grit out between clenched teeth, holding myself back from just snapping my hips and burying myself deep inside of you.

Before you can get used to it, I’m pushing in again. My mind goes blank as I feel your walls milking and clenching around me. I trust you’ll keep your leg in place as I let go and move to press my thumb against your clit, hoping it’ll open you up enough for me to reach the hilt. You cry out and on the next flutter of your cunt, I’m sinking fully in. “Jesus,” I hiss.

I slowly pull my hips back, dragging out of you at a pace that has you squirming. It doesn’t last long. Not when my hips rapidly snap back against yours, making you jump and gasp. I do it again. And again and again and again until your gasps and whines are all that I hear. I drop my forehead to your shoulder again to get a better listen, feeling my deep moans rattle against your skin. It all grows when I feel your hips start to grind to meet my thrusts.

“Need…more,” you gasp, trying to get my hips to speed up. Your hands pull at me needily, doing anything you can to get me to comply.

I ignore your request, keeping the slow, languid pace instead. “No,” I say, fingers digging into your skin. “You take what I give you.”

But, despite my words, I do find myself moving faster. I can feel my pleasure building, feeling myself slipping into the daze, but I’m far from finished with you.

So, I pull out, just for a second. Doesn’t mean you aren’t crying out in protest, though. But I make quick work in scooping you up, forcing your legs to wrap around my hips and holding my hands under your ass to support you. I even give it a nice squeeze, so you should drop the pout.

I let go with one hand, easily holding you up with just the other, and reach between us. Grabbing my length again, I waste no time in lining it up with your entrance and sinking in deep. It’s a whole new angle, letting me hit deeper than before. Which means your cries of pleasure intensify.

Oh, we’re definitely getting caught in here. Might as well make the most of it while we can.

With you wrapped around my cock, I grab onto your hips again and hold you against me in the air, no more wall to support you. I take control of your movements, guiding you to pull off my dick and then take me back in. I do it slowly first, letting you get used to the movements led by my hands. Your whimpers tell me I’m doing good.

Losing control, I guide your hips faster and meet you with my own thrusts, slapping our hips together and definitely making our presence known. Your tits fly around right in front of my face, bouncing from the force of our movements. I can’t help myself from leaning forward to take one of your nipples into my mouth. Swirling the bud with my tongue, my eyes stare up at you to gauge your reaction. Your eyes pressed shut, brows knit together, jaw dropped with soft moaning breaths leaving your lips; I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

And I’m not sure how, but my feet find the purchase to move as I continue fucking you against me. Moving us around the small room until I’m facing away from the mirror and standing in front of a small seat.

A devilish and delicious plan forms in my head.

Pulling out, you whine and try to find friction against my abdomen. No words need to be shared to show my refusal, only actions talk as I unwrap your legs from my body and set you down on shaky limbs. With my hands on your hips, I flip you around, your back to my front again. And like deja-vu, I’m pressing your back down until you arch and take the hint to hold onto the stool in front of you.

Your ass is pressed up against my groin, wriggling around seeking attention and pleasure. I scold you with a fast smack against the needy skin, but it only spurs you on. Gripping both cheeks in my hands, I spread them apart, giving me the perfect view of the most intimate part of your body. I can’t help but to grind myself against you again, giving us what we both need.

“Are you gonna be good for me, baby?” I speak up, my eyes glued to your perfect skin as I smooth my hands up your back. Pressing you further down until you’re arched into perfect form. “Gonna stay nice and quiet?”

“Y-yes… Yes, baby,” you shakily reply, whole body shivering when I line myself up with you again.

I know how this position has you, so I doubt your promise. “We’ll see about that.”

With a bruising grip on your hips, I slam my whole cock into you in one fell swoop. And just as I predicted, you scream out. But I can’t find it in me to care. Not if anyone hears, or walks in, or—hell—if they call the cops. Being buried deep inside your wet, hot cunt makes every worry disappear.

“Fuck!” I groan. “You’re clenching me so hard, baby. So fucking tight.” I keep up a brutal pace, leaving my hips slapping against your ass.

Your ass that wiggles and grinds to meet my thrusts, desperate for anything I give you. My grip somehow tightens, guaranteeing fingerprints on your skin for weeks. It’s an effort to hold back and not just explode into you, release every bit of cum I know you’re desperate for, but I do. Though watching my cock disappear into your pink pussy probably won’t help my case.

Looking away, I catch sight of our position in the mirror, seeing your shaky legs and blissed out face. Not a good idea to look here either, but I can’t hear my gaze away.

“Look at yourself,” I demand, slowly my hips until I see your eyes in the glass, seeing what I’m seeing. “Look at the way I sink into your tight fucking cunt.”

My hips emphasize my words, picking back up where I left off so you can watch too. I’m entranced by the sight, like watching my own personal porno. It’s the best damn one I’ve ever seen. Eyes flicking to your face, I watch your jaw drop as you lock onto the contact of my disappearing length, watching me rock and slam into you.

“Oh my god,” you breathe the words, eyes glazing over and threatening to roll back.

So I smack you ass to keep you alert. Back arching from the painful pleasure, I sink deeper into your heat. Pants leave my lips as I force myself to tear my gaze away, staring at the wall ahead of me and trying to get my head on straight again. It’s impossible, though. With the way your pussy clenches around my cock, I know I won’t survive much longer.

“Shit, baby, you’re killing me,” I hiss out, succumbing to watching our hips connect again. “Feel me stretching you out?” You moan. “You’re taking me so well. Taking my big cock deep inside.”

“I-I’m gonna come!” You yell, far too loudly for my liking. It has me leaning over your body and clamping my hand over your mouth to keep you silent. But it also changes the angle once again, leaving me to repeatedly hit up against that spongy spot inside of you. You scream into my hand, hips meeting mine with a greedy desperation.

I’m losing myself here, leaning my forehead against your back as I try to keep myself from coming. At least until you do. Reaching between us and grabbing at your bouncing tits might not have been the best idea for that. A strangled groan leaves my lips as I struggle to keep my hips at an even rhythm. Groping and squeezing at your supple flesh, your hot breath hits my hand almost erotically.

And with one pinch of your nipple, you’re a goner.

I feel your back arch up against mine, straining your muscles as you come—hard. My hand isn’t enough to silence your screams, a mix of curses and my name tumbling from your lips as you’re overcome with pleasure. I feel it around me, pulsing and sucking and getting impossibly wetter as I continue to drive into you. It forces me to let out my own stream of curses against the skin of your back, my eyes pinched shut with immense pressure.

“Fuck, baby… So good. So fucking good coming on my cock like that—shit! I’m gonna fucking come. You’re so tight, trying to milk me, baby. Fuck!” the words tumble out of me without a second thought, slipping under the wave of pleasure.

You're still spasming around me as I pull out just before I come, and my whole body screams in protest. You whine from the abrupt loss, but with a clearer head, you’d be thanking me.

Taking my cock in my hand, I stroke myself to the same rhythm I was just fucking you with. Keeping my eyes trained on your cum dripping cunt, I pretend I’m still buried to the hilt. Streams of moans and grunts escape me as I watch your legs threaten to buckle and your juices drip down the apex of your thighs.

I did that, I think, I wrecked you.

That thought and this sight is what sends me over the edge, gasping out as I feel my muscles tighten. Transfixed by the sight of my hot, white, beaded cum shooting out of my tip and landing on your lower back and ass. I swear I could come again and again over that alone. Watching my mess drip down your body and paint your back like a masterpiece.

Fuck.

I take back what I said before.

I’d like to thank whoever is responsible for losing your suitcase, because without them, this wouldn't have just happened.

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taglist: @tpwkmr @alex-voiddome @butdaddyiloveh1m

[omegaversekinktober23]

Week 2 Prompts:

Week 2: Ageplay, Daddy/Mommy kink, Breeding, Pregnancy, Lactation, Wet and messy, Urophilia/Water sports, Panties and lingerie, Pet play, Roleplay

Please Remember to incorporate at least one of these themes into your fic! Remember for the fic must have at least one member of One Direction and must be Alpha/Beta/Omega!

Fics are due Monday the 16th of October! Must be posted/in the collection on Ao3 by 1PM EDT!

Collection:

[silkpagess]

Out of Office, into you

Summary: Y/N lands her dream job and definitely does not plan on falling for Harry Styles — her charming, too-handsome coworker with rolled-up sleeves and a knack for ruining her concentration. What starts as harmless flirtation over office coffee runs, late-night texts, and passive-aggressive Google Docs turns into romance and a very unexpected ending. She was just trying to survive her probation period. Now she’s wearing his sweater.

Content Warning: Light smut scene.

Word Count: 11,308

If Y/N had a pound for every time someone told her how “lucky” she was to land a job at Maven & Moore, she could’ve retired before even walking through the front doors.

Instead, she stood in the middle of their marble-tiled lobby—portfolio tucked under one arm, nerves simmering beneath a very carefully chosen cream blazer—reminding herself she belonged here.

The agency was sleek and modern, buzzing with creative chaos: voices bouncing off glass walls, interns speed-walking with coffee trays, and the faint smell of eucalyptus diffuser oil that was trying (and failing) to mask the scent of collective burnout.

She was five minutes early, but she liked to be early. People noticed that kind of thing. Especially in a place like this.

A receptionist with blunt bangs and effortless cool smiled at her. “Y/N Y/L/N?”

“That’s me,” she replied, bright and breezy.

“HR will grab you in a sec. In the meantime, here’s your welcome kit—badge, laptop, schedule… and a company pen no one ever uses.”

Y/N laughed softly, slipping the folder under her arm. She didn’t care about the pen. She wanted her desk. Her first meeting. Her first opportunity to prove that she wasn’t just another hire—she was the hire.

And that’s when she noticed him.

Harry Styles. 

She’d heard about him in whispers during her interview rounds—strategist turned creative lead, impossible to hate, stupidly charming. But no one had mentioned he was hot.

Of course, she’d never admit that aloud.

Short brown curls, neatly trimmed. White T-shirt under a dark overshirt, sleeves rolled just enough to show forearms that looked too good for someone who probably spent most of his day typing. He was deep in conversation with someone, hands moving as he spoke, but he glanced over just long enough to meet her eyes—and smile.

It was subtle. Polite.

But curious.

“Hey,” said a soft voice behind her. HR had arrived. “Ready to see where the magic happens?”

Y/N gave one last glance at Harry and followed the woman toward the elevator.

⸻

The seventh floor was less sleek than the lobby and more chaotic—in a good way. Desks arranged in near-symmetrical clusters, walls pinned with half-finished campaigns and color palettes, the occasional potted plant trying to stay alive under industrial lighting.

They weaved past clusters of people already in meetings or arguing over font sizes.

“Your team lead is Harry,” HR said, motioning toward a desk near the windows. “You’ll be working closely with him. And—”

“I know who he is,” Y/N said, a little too quickly.

The woman smiled like she knew something Y/N didn’t. “He’s… sharp. But collaborative. And you’ve got quite the resume—everyone’s excited to see what you’ll do here.”

No pressure.

⸻

Y/N tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as the HR rep left her with a cheery “Good luck!” and disappeared into the chaos. For a moment, she just stood there, blinking at her new desk.

It was… perfect. Sunlight pooled across the light wood surface, a sleek monitor already set up beside a few branded notebooks and—why not—a tiny succulent in a too-small pot. She sat down gingerly, unsure if she was allowed to, and traced the rim of her coffee cup just to keep her hands busy.

“Morning.”

Her stomach did a dumb little flip. She looked up—and there he was.

“Hi,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t come out weirdly high. “I’m Y/N.”

“I know,” he smiled. “I read your portfolio last week. You’re good.”

Oh. She tried not to beam. Tried even harder not to let that weird, fluttery warmth crawl up her neck.

“Thanks,” she replied. “I mean… thank you. I’m excited to be here.”

“You’ll fit in just fine.” Then he nodded toward his desk—adjacent to hers, naturally. “We’re seatmates, by the way. If I’m typing too loud or swearing at my inbox, just throw something.”

“Got it. Stapler or pen?”

He grinned. “Surprise me.”

⸻

The first week passed in a blur of logins, introductions, and cautiously making sense of company Slack channels with names like #meme-dump and #fontfights. But through all the buzz and buzzwords, Harry was there. Not hovering—never that—but orbiting close enough to feel like a safety net. An annoyingly good-looking, absurdly competent safety net.

He helped her navigate the folder system during her second morning, leaning over her shoulder with a half-eaten banana in one hand and pointing at her screen. She was hyper-aware of his cologne—clean, sharp, and vaguely citrusy—and the way his laugh rumbled low when he said, “Okay, no, ignore everything that says ‘Final_v3_Revised_REAL_FINAL’—those are all lies.”

By the end of the first week, they had a rhythm.

Harry was focused and fast—too fast sometimes, tossing out ideas that made her brain spin just to keep up. But he never made her feel behind. If anything, he seemed to enjoy her questions, even when she doubted herself. He’d tilt his head, lips tugging at the corner in that half-smile she was starting to recognize as his version of you’ve got this, and say, “Okay, walk me through what you’re thinking.”

He actually listened.

She learned his habits quickly. Mornings meant iced coffee—black, no sugar. He always stretched before meetings, standing up and doing a lazy twist at the waist that made his shirt ride up just enough to be distracting. His desk was somehow always clean, save for a few random objects that rotated weekly: a stress ball shaped like a brain, a tiny pink disco ball, once even a framed photo of a goose in sunglasses.

“Is that… your goose?” she asked.

“It’s aspirational,” he deadpanned. “His name’s Todd.”

The second week was when the teasing began.

Soft at first—little quips, exaggerated sighs when she disagreed with a design choice, mock horror when she said she’d never seen The Godfather. He’d roll his eyes dramatically and say, “You’re lucky you’re clever,” or “That’s borderline offensive, Y/N.”

One Thursday, she brought in homemade banana bread. He took a bite, closed his eyes, and moaned just loudly enough to make the nearby intern snort with laughter.

“Jesus,” she muttered, cheeks flaming.

“I’m expressing gratitude,” he said, mouth still full. “This is an emotional experience.”

The rest of the team adored him, of course. But there was something different about the way he was with her. It was subtle—no lines crossed—but it was there.

He saved her a seat during team huddles, even when others were scrambling. He remembered how she took her tea. He walked her out on late nights, hands in his pockets and easy smiles that lingered when they said goodbye at the corner.

There were moments.

Moments when their eyes held for just a second too long. When his fingers brushed hers while passing a printout. When she’d catch him watching her across the room with something unreadable in his gaze—like he was trying to solve her, piece by piece.

By the third week, her coworkers had started noticing.

“You and Harry,” Sarah from the art department said casually over lunch, stabbing a fork into her kale. “There’s a bit of a… vibe, huh?”

Y/N choked on her water. “What? No. No vibe. We just work well together.”

“Mmhmm.” Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Right. That’s what they always say.”

Y/N tried to brush it off, but her mind replayed the way Harry had leaned over her earlier that morning, hand braced on the back of her chair, murmuring about a slide change while her pulse decided to drum in her ears.

It didn’t help that they texted now. Mostly work stuff. Memes. Occasionally a “You see this shit?” followed by a screenshot of some client’s over-the-top email.

Okay, sometimes a good morning or don’t forget your umbrella—looks like rain.

She told herself it didn’t mean anything. That she was imagining things. That this wasn’t that kind of story.

But then came week four.

A Friday afternoon. Almost five. The office thinning out. She was finishing up a brief when Harry appeared beside her, chewing on a pen cap like he didn’t know how distracting that was.

“Wanna help me choose a playlist for the client dinner next week?” he asked. “They’re young, rich, and impossible to please.”

“Dangerous combination,” she said, standing to stretch.

He tilted his head. “You’re not doing anything, are you?”

“I’m working.”

“You’re scrolling through fonts.”

“Which is important.”

“Which is pointless. Come on.”

So they spent the next twenty minutes arguing over songs—her trying to convince him Phoebe Bridgers was dinner-friendly, him making a case for Sade. He queued up a slow R&B track, and as the music filled their corner of the office, something thickened in the air.

It was quiet. Just the two of them, dusk falling outside the windows.

And then he looked at her. Really looked at her. Not with a smirk. Not in that teasing way.

Something softer. Warmer.

“I like working with you,” he said.

Her breath hitched.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smiled. That real one—the one that crinkled at the corners.

If she hadn’t said what she said the following week… maybe things would’ve gone differently.

But she did. And everything changed.

⸻

It happened on a Tuesday.

Tuesdays were typically uneventful—somewhere between “still recovering from Monday” and “not yet caffeinated enough to look forward to Friday.” The kind of day you just endured. But this one, unfortunately, stood out.

Y/N had arrived ten minutes late, thanks to a torrential downpour and a very dramatic umbrella collapse in the middle of Lexington Avenue. Her shoes were soaked. Her hair was in that annoying state between damp and frizzy. She trudged into the office with the grace of a drowned squirrel.

Harry, of course, was already there. Dry. Perfect. Typing away like a storm hadn’t just swallowed half the city.

She dropped her bag, muttering under her breath. “You’d think someone who’s always five minutes early would at least pretend to be human on rainy days.”

He glanced over, smiled, and said, “You made it. That’s all that matters.”

She groaned. “How do you always look this pulled together? It’s very ‘main character in a bookshop who also solves crimes on the side.’”

Harry tilted his head, the grin tugging at his lips. “You think I solve crimes?”

“You’d have a trench coat. And a mysterious past.”

He smirked. “Don’t forget a tragic ex.”

“Oh, definitely,” she replied, already laughing.

The morning carried on as usual—meetings, edits, half-eaten breakfast bars. Their team had a major pitch scheduled for the afternoon, so nerves were high, but so was the energy. Harry, as the lead, carried the meeting effortlessly. He always did. Smooth, confident, completely in control of the room without being arrogant about it. Even the clients seemed charmed—leaning in, laughing, nodding too enthusiastically.

Y/N watched from beside him, impressed, as always. Maybe even a little too impressed.

⸻

Later that afternoon, the creative team gathered in the lounge for a quick regroup. Someone had brought muffins, there were soft drinks sweating on the table, and Harry—fresh from a meeting—was leaned back in a chair, sleeves rolled, the top buttons of his shirt undone.

Everyone was a little punch-drunk from the long hours. Conversation bounced around, people cracking jokes, poking fun at themselves.

Someone said, “You two are basically the dream team now. Give it a few more weeks and we’ll all be obsolete.”

Harry smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the robots treat you kindly.”

Y/N, flushed from the compliment and still riding a weird high from the day, laughed and said, a little too loudly, a little too easily:

“Please. People listen to you because you’ve got that voice that makes everything sound like it matters. I could say the same exact thing and no one would even blink—you say it and suddenly it’s strategy.”

She meant it playfully.

But as soon as it was out there—hanging in the middle of the room—she felt it.

The shift.

A few people laughed. A few looked down at their phones. But Harry’s face didn’t change right away. He smiled—sort of. But not the way he normally did.

There was something about the way he blinked once, slow and deliberate, before saying, “Wow. Thanks for that.”

He didn’t sound angry. But he didn’t sound amused, either.

She opened her mouth to respond, to explain, to soften it—but he was already standing, brushing muffin crumbs off his trousers.

“I’ve got a call,” he muttered, to no one in particular, and left the room.

⸻

The fallout was subtle.

Not immediate. Not dramatic.

But she felt it the next day.

He still greeted her. Still responded to questions. Still made notes in the shared doc they were editing. But it was all… different.

He didn’t nudge her coffee mug toward her like he used to. Didn’t ask what she was listening to when she wore headphones. Didn’t drop sarcastic commentary during team meetings just to make her laugh.

Everything was suddenly crisp. Clean. Professional.

It was like the light had dimmed between them.

She spent the rest of the week overanalyzing. Replaying the moment. Rewriting her words in her head until they no longer sounded like a jab.

It had been a compliment, in a way—she’d meant that he was compelling, that people gravitated toward him, that she noticed. But it had come out like an accusation. Like she was reducing his skill to tone and charisma instead of craft.

And Harry, for all his confidence, didn’t take kindly to being dismissed—even unintentionally.

⸻

By Friday, she’d all but given up on trying to fix it at work. Harry wasn’t cold, exactly—but the warmth was gone. The inside jokes, the easy rhythm, the small moments where he used to look at her like she was actually seen? Gone.

So naturally, she did what anyone does when they’re spiraling: She called her two best  friends and asked them to meet her at a bar.

They picked their usual place. Ava was already there when Y/N arrived, sipping something neon out of a glass shaped like a lightbulb.

“I got you the second-least sugary drink on the menu,” Ava said, holding up a glass. “The least sugary one looked like cough syrup.” 

Y/N took the drink and slumped into the seat. “I said something stupid.”

“That’s kind of your thing, though,” Ava said brightly. “Be more specific.”

Before Y/N could respond, Clara slid into the booth like a woman on a mission. She was already peeling off her scarf and dumping her massive tote onto the floor.

“Sorry, sorry—I got cornered by that guy from my gym who thinks we have a connection because we both own water bottles. What’s happening? Who’s dumb? Is it you?”

“It’s me,” Y/N said, taking a long sip. “And it’s bad.”

“Ohhh, good,” Clara said, cracking her knuckles. “Tell me everything.”

Y/N hesitated, then groaned. “I kind of… made a joke about Harry. In front of the team. Like, during a casual moment after a meeting.”

Clara raised a brow. “Define joke.”

“I said people only listen to him because of his voice.”

Ava blinked. “Like… his actual voice?”

“Yeah. Like, his vocal cords. The way he talks.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Oh, babe,” Clara said gently. “That’s a tiny bit brutal.”

“I know! I meant it in a compliment-y way! Like, ‘your voice is compelling, you're charismatic’—but it came out like I was saying he doesn't have to actually know anything because he sounds hot while talking.”

Ava winced. “That’s rough. Accurate… but rough.”

“It was a joke!” Y/N protested. “You know the kind of joke you make when you're tired and riding an adrenaline crash and your mouth decides to go rogue before your brain catches up?”

“Oh, like the time Clara told her cousin she had a ‘very confident nose’ at her wedding?” Ava offered.

Clara lifted her glass. “It was objectively bold.”

Y/N let her head fall onto the sticky table. “He looked at me like I kicked his childhood dog. And now he’s just… normal. Like painfully polite. It’s like I got demoted to coworker.”

“Well, you are coworkers,” Ava pointed out.

“Yeah, but I was, like, coworker-plus,” she mumbled into the wood. “There was banter. There was eye contact. He brought me coffee once and remembered I don’t like the syrupy stuff.”

“Damn,” Clara said, biting a fry. “That’s practically intimacy.”

“So now what?” Ava asked. “Are you gonna apologize or just emotionally decompose in front of him until retirement?”

Y/N groaned. “I don’t know. I keep thinking about how close we were to something. I could feel it. And now it’s like I slammed a door I didn’t mean to.”

Clara studied her for a moment. “Do you like him?”

Y/N paused. “I like working with him.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She sighed. “I don’t not like him.”

Ava leaned forward, eyes lighting up. “Okay, so here’s what you do: you ask him out.”

“I cannot ask him out.”

“Why not?” Clara demanded.

“Because we work together! And I’ve already embarrassed myself!”

“Perfect,” Clara said. “Start from the bottom. Nowhere to go but up.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” she said, dipping a fry in ketchup. 

Y/N stared at them both. “And if he says no?”

Ava shrugged. “Then he says no. It’s not a Greek tragedy. It’s just a guy.”

Clara leaned back in the booth and looked at her like she was tired of being gentle. “Y/N, come on. You’ve been tap-dancing around your feelings for a month. You clearly like him. And he liked you too—until you made him feel like he was some shiny toy with a good voice and nothing else.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Y/N muttered.

“No one ever does,” Clara said. “That’s why it sucks.”

They were quiet for a second, the music from the bar pulsing low around them. Someone at the next table was aggressively describing a break-up in full detail.

Then Ava leaned in, her tone softer this time. “Okay, listen. You made a dumb comment. It happens. You’re not a monster. You’re not doomed. But if you keep sitting in this guilt spiral like it’s a beanbag chair you refuse to get out of, you’re gonna waste something that could’ve actually been good.”

“I don’t even know what it was,” Y/N whispered. “I just knew it felt… different.”

“Then tell him that,” Clara said, matter-of-fact. “Tell him you said something dumb. Tell him it came out wrong. Tell him he matters to you—even if it’s just as a friend, or whatever the hell this is. But don’t just let it fade away because you’re scared of looking messy.”

“I hate looking messy,” Y/N said, frowning.

“I know,” Ava said. “You love the illusion of control. It’s very chic.”

“But—”

“Y/N,” Clara cut in. “No more ‘but.’ Just text him. Don’t plan a speech. Don’t write a script in your Notes app. Just be a human woman who said something weird and wants to make it right.”

Y/N slumped deeper into the booth and sighed dramatically. “God, I hate when you’re both right.”

“Drink up” Ava said, pushing the glass toward her. “And text him before you overthink it so hard your thumbs fall off.”

—

Back in her apartment, the night felt too quiet in that way city nights sometimes do — muffled cars passing outside, the low hum of a neighbor’s TV bleeding through the wall. Y/N stood in the doorway for a second, coat half on, bag sliding off her shoulder, feeling like her body had arrived home before her mind did.

She dropped everything on the floor. Didn’t bother turning on more than one lamp.

Her makeup was smudged, but she didn’t check. Her hair smelled like fried food from the bar, and her socks were damp at the heel. It had started to drizzle halfway through her walk home — of course it had.

She changed into her oldest sweatshirt — the oversized gray one that said “Property of No One” across the front — and sank onto the couch like her bones weighed more than usual.

Her phone was already in her hand. She didn’t remember picking it up.

She stared at Harry’s name.

For a while, she didn’t type anything. She just let the screen glow against her face while her thumb hovered, frozen, like maybe he’d magically know she was thinking about him. Or regretting every sentence she’d said to him all week.

Then, finally, she typed:

hey. i think i owe you a proper apology.

She paused. Watched the cursor blink. That didn’t feel like enough.

i didn’t mean what i said the other day to come out like that.it sounded flippant but it wasn’t. you’re actually…

She stopped. Groaned.

Deleted the whole thing.

Rewrote it:

hey. i’ve been thinking about what i said the other day. and i hate that it might’ve come off the wrong way. i know i made it sound like you get by on charm, but i hope you know i’ve never thought that.

That felt better. Maybe.

Then she deleted half of it again. Too long. Too heavy. Too much.

She let her phone fall to her chest and stared at the ceiling. There was a crack up there she kept meaning to patch. Or maybe it was just a shadow. Either way, she didn’t move.

Eventually, she sat back up and typed:

hey. i feel like i owe you a drink or an actual apology that isn’t in front of ten coworkers. if you’re around next week… maybe we could fix that.

She read it over three times.

Then hit send.

There was no dramatic sigh. No tossing the phone like it burned her. Just a long, slow exhale as she set it down on the coffee table and pulled her knees up to her chest.. She just sat there, heart heavy and fingers twitching, hoping he still saw her the way he used to.

Hoping it wasn’t too late.

—

Y/N woke up before her alarm.

She blinked at the ceiling for a few seconds, not quite ready to face the day but too alert to keep pretending to be asleep. Her mouth tasted like the drink from the night before and her back ached slightly from falling asleep on the couch again, curled into the same throw blanket she always used.

She reached for her phone out of habit, thumbing through the usual—news notifications, a calendar reminder she’d ignore, an unread email from a store she didn’t remember subscribing to.

And then, at the top of her messages:

Harry Styles 1:43 AM

Her thumb paused. She tapped it.

you don’t owe me anything but yeah I’d like that

A second message followed:

next week’s wide open. name a day.

She read it twice. Then again.

No dramatics. No “let’s talk” or “what you said hurt.” Just… neutral. Still, it didn’t feel cold. It felt like he was giving her the option to move things forward without making it a thing.

It was more than she expected. It was… actually kind of perfect.

She sat up, rubbing her eye with the heel of her palm, and muttered, “Okay.”

The apartment was too quiet, so she turned on the kettle and stood barefoot on the cold kitchen tiles, scrolling through potential bars nearby. Not anywhere too fancy—that would look like she was trying too hard. Not the dive near work either. She’d run into someone from the office, and the whole point was not to make this a watercooler topic.

She made toast, added too much butter, and leaned her hip against the counter while typing her reply.

how do you feel about tuesday? somewhere low-key. i promise to behave this time.

She stared at the last line for a second. It felt light enough. Honest, but not clingy.

She hit send.

Then she took a bite of her toast, still slightly warm, and set her phone down on the counter without waiting for the little “read” checkmark.

She’d figure out the details later.

But Tuesday? That was something.

—

The weekend came and went, but Harry never really left her mind.

She kept it together. Ran errands. Cleaned her apartment like she was trying to wipe her brain clean, too. Pretended to be annoyed when Clara asked for updates every six hours, and avoided Ava’s “so have you planned your outfit yet” texts entirely.

She didn’t spiral. But she did think about him. Often. And especially when she didn’t want to.

By Monday morning, she’d half convinced herself it was fine. Normal. Just drinks. Just Harry. Nothing to freak out about.

Then she saw him.

—

She was walking toward the kitchen with her mug in hand—already mentally preparing herself for the weak office coffee—when she saw him rounding the corner.

He was wearing one of those outfits that somehow looked unintentional and perfect at the same time: navy trousers, a white t-shirt under a dark cardigan, and a lanyard he never actually needed but wore anyway. Hair slightly messier than usual, eyes sharp but calm.

They locked eyes for a second.

And then he smiled. A real one. Not the tight, clipped one from last week. Not forced, not tense.

Just… easy.

“Morning,” he said, stepping aside so she could pass.

“Morning,” she replied, matching his tone—cool, casual. No big deal.

He held the kitchen door open for her and followed her in. She was painfully aware of the two feet of space between them. Of how normal this was. And how not-normal it felt, knowing tomorrow night they’d be sitting in a bar alone and trying to be honest again.

“How was your weekend?” he asked, pouring himself a coffee.

She shrugged lightly. “Quiet. Tried to do laundry. Failed.”

Harry chuckled. “Strong effort, though.”

“What about you?”

“Visited my mum,” he said, stirring his coffee. “She made me take home leftovers like I hadn’t eaten in three weeks.”

Y/N smiled, distracted for a second by the image of him sitting in a kitchen somewhere warm, fending off Tupperware with a half-hearted protest.

“Big week?” she asked.

He looked at her then—really looked—and said, “Not until tomorrow.”

Her breath caught for just a split second. But she held steady.

“Right,” she said, soft. “Tomorrow.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just gave her the smallest nod, like he was confirming they were still good. Still on the same page.

And then he left the room. It made her stomach flip a little. Not in a bad way. Just in the okay-so-this-is-really-happening kind of way.

—

The next day, she found herself in front of her closet at 5:40 p.m., half-dressed and whispering curses under her breath. Nothing looked right. Everything felt too try-hard or not enough. She wasn’t trying to impress him, but she didn’t want to look like she’d come straight from work either.

Eventually, she landed on a black knit top, a leather jacket, and the jeans that actually fit her the way she liked. Comfortable. Sharp enough to feel put together, soft enough to feel like herself.

She didn’t overthink it.

Well—she did. But she still left the apartment on time.

—

Tuesday, 7:06 p.m.

Y/N got there first.

She always did, mostly because it gave her control. Over the setting, the nerves, the awkward hello. She chose a small table in the back near the window—far enough from the bar to hear each other, close enough to the door that she didn’t have to pretend she was doing something else while she waited.

Her phone stayed face-down on the table. Her drink—gin and tonic, no frills—sat half-finished when he walked in.

She looked up and felt that little jolt. The one that had started happening more often lately.

Harry had on a dark sweater, black coat draped over one arm, and that same kind of quiet confidence he wore so naturally, like he wasn’t trying at all. His hair looked freshly pushed back, a little messy at the ends, and the gold chain at his neck caught the warm bar lighting just enough to be annoying.

He spotted her immediately.

“Hey,” he said, smiling as he slid into the seat across from her.

“Hey.” She mirrored the smile, unsure what to do with her hands, so she adjusted her sleeves unnecessarily. “You found it okay?”

“Did a loop around the block like an idiot first, but yeah.”

There was a beat of quiet while he looked over the menu. She studied his face briefly while he wasn’t looking—he looked a little tired, but relaxed. Comfortable.

A server came by and he ordered a whisky neat. Simple.

“So,” he said once they were alone again, resting his forearms on the table. “No work talk, right?”

“Right. Fully banned.”

“Can I at least ask how your day was?”

She grinned. “Only if you want a very detailed play-by-play about me arguing with a printer.”

“Tempting.”

Conversation started slow—small things. What she was reading lately. A movie he watched twice in one weekend out of boredom. It wasn’t tense, but there was still a strange politeness between them. Like neither of them knew how far they could lean in just yet.

Eventually, she took a sip of her drink and leaned back, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Okay,” she said. “Let me just get this part out of the way.”

Harry tilted his head. “The part where you apologize?”

She made a face. “Yeah.”

He nodded slowly. “Go on then.”

She smiled despite herself. “I really am sorry for what I said last week. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean it the way it came out.”

“I know you didn’t,” he said, not looking away.

“It was a dumb thing to say.”

“You’ve said worse.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Have I?”

He shrugged, his mouth twitching. “You once called me ‘a walking Pinterest board for rich introverts.’”

She burst out laughing. “That was objectively accurate.”

“Still hurtful,” he said, mock serious.

“I thought you liked being called mysterious.”

“I like being called brilliant,” he replied, grinning now. “Or at the very least, devastatingly handsome.”

“Oh my god,” she laughed, shaking her head. “There it is.”

“There what is?”

“That thing you do. Where you say something cocky but somehow get away with it because your delivery is so smooth.”

“Is it working now?”

She tried not to smile. Failed. “A little.”

Harry leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “That’s good. Because I was actually kind of nervous about tonight.”

“You were?” she asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Didn’t know if this would be weird. Or if you’d show up just to cross it off your list of regrets.”

She paused. “I thought you might not show.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I don’t know. You were… different last week.”

“You made a weird comment. I sulked about it. Then you texted me, and I realized I’d rather have one awkward drink with you than spend another week pretending like I don’t miss our conversations.”

Her heart skipped. Just once, but enough to notice.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Well. I missed them too.”

He smiled again—softer this time. “Good. Let’s not mess it up again.”

“No promises.”

He lifted his glass. “To a fresh start?”

She clinked hers against his. “To pretending we’re not both weird about feelings.”

He laughed into his drink.

And just like that, the tension finally cracked—melted under the ease they used to have, the banter slipping back into place like it had just been waiting for one of them to say the right thing.

—

The change didn’t happen all at once.

There was no grand declaration, no dramatic pause in the hallway while someone said I think I like you. It was slower than that—quieter. But it was real. And Y/N felt it.

Especially at work.

The morning after their not-date date, Harry walked into the office with two coffees in hand—hers already made exactly how she liked it—and dropped it on her desk without a word. Just a smirk. She looked up at him, slightly suspicious.

“Is this a peace offering or a bribe?”

He leaned against her desk, took a sip of his own coffee. “Neither. Just wanted to give you something that wouldn’t get me in trouble with HR.”

She laughed, cheeks warming. “Well. Thank you. I’ll only report you if it’s decaf.”

That became the pattern.

Little things. A muffin on her chair. A sticky note doodle left on his monitor. Her pulling his headphones off without warning, only to find him already smiling like he knew she was going to.

At meetings, he sat next to her every time. Sometimes too close. Once, she caught his foot nudging hers under the conference table. She glared at him. He winked.

They weren’t trying to hide it exactly. But they weren’t announcing anything either. Mostly because they didn’t know what this was. Not yet. But it felt like something.

And outside the office? That was changing too.

They texted now. All the time.

It started with casual stuff—TikToks, screenshots of unhinged client emails, memes with captions like you this morning in the kitchen. But then it shifted.

Late night: HARRY: still awake? Y/N: debating if eating cereal at 1am makes me a genius or a gremlin HARRY: i vote genius Y/N: you would. you love chaos disguised as charm. HARRY: that feels like a compliment Y/N: ...it wasn’t HARRY: still taking it

And then there were the lunches.

The first one was spontaneous—she’d had a horrible morning, and Harry had caught her glaring at her screen like it had personally betrayed her. Without a word, he grabbed her coat and said, “Come on. We’re getting real food.”

Now it was routine.

Sometimes they went to the café two blocks down where the barista knew their names. Other days, they grabbed takeout and ate it on a bench outside, their knees bumping lightly as they unwrapped sandwiches and talked about everything except work.

He asked questions—real ones. Not just polite filler. Stuff like what kind of kid were you?, what scares you the most but also secretly thrills you?, have you ever been in love?She dodged that last one.

But she asked things back. She wanted to know the small stuff. What his sister was like. Why he always smelled like cedar and oranges. How he got into this industry at all.

And now, they had another date planned.

Set for Friday.

Not just drinks. Dinner this time. Somewhere cozy, tucked away in the West Village, with low lights and too many candles.

He’d picked it. Told her it was “low-pressure.” Then followed it up with: but i might wear a proper shirt, just in case you bring up my tragic introvert wardrobe again.

She was nervous. But not in a bad way. In a something’s unfolding and I don’t want to mess it up kind of way.

At the office on Thursday afternoon, she caught him looking at her from across the room during a meeting. Not intense. Not dramatic. Just... there. Quietly steady.

And when the meeting ended and people began to file out, he stayed behind.

Walked up to her. Close enough to make her heart tick a little faster.

“Tomorrow,” he said, low and easy.

She raised a brow. “Still on?”

He tilted his head, smiling. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

—

The place he picked was small, tucked into a quiet West Village block, glowing with warm light through the windows and smelling faintly of rosemary and wine. It felt relaxed, cozy. The kind of restaurant that didn’t need to be loud to be cool.

Y/N spotted him at a corner table near the back, nursing a drink and scrolling his phone. He looked comfortable there, legs stretched a little too far under the table, one hand resting on the rim of his glass.

He looked up before she could say anything. His smile appeared instantly—soft, a little crooked, and warm enough to make her stomach flip.

“Hey,” he said, standing as she reached the table. “You made it.”

“You sound surprised.”

He shrugged. “I was half-convinced you’d flake just to maintain the mystery.”

“I’m not that unpredictable,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Mm. Jury’s out.”

There was a moment where his eyes lingered—not in a heavy way, but in a way that made it very obvious he noticed what she was wearing. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

The waiter came and went. He let her choose the wine, teasing her about pretending to read the menu like she wasn’t going to pick based on the vibe of the label.

Conversation flowed easily—Harry had a way of keeping things light without letting them turn shallow. He asked about her week. She asked if he’d ever gotten around to fixing the broken drawer in his kitchen he’d been complaining about. He hadn’t.

But somewhere between the second glass of wine and the plate of shared pasta, something shifted.

He leaned in a little closer when she spoke. Not dramatically—just enough to make it feel like her words were meant only for him. When she reached across the table to grab the salt, he didn’t pull his hand away right away when their fingers brushed.

And once—just once—he let his hand rest on the side of the table, close enough that her knee grazed it.

If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

If she moved her leg slightly closer… well, he didn’t move his hand either.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said after a beat.

She looked up at him, surprised. “Am I?”

“A little. Thought maybe you were nervous.”

She smiled into her glass. “Why would I be nervous?”

He shrugged, mouth curving. “Because I’m very charming and slightly annoying. That combination tends to throw people off.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re more subtle than that.”

“I can be,” he said, tone a little lower now. “Sometimes.”

The air went still for a second, like the moment hovered somewhere between teasing and something else. But then the waiter returned with the check, and Harry leaned back again, letting the tension settle without pushing it.

When they left the restaurant, it was still early enough that the city wasn’t completely quiet. The streets were lit up, but calm. She walked beside him, hands in her pockets.

He didn’t grab her hand. He didn’t pull her close.

But his shoulder bumped hers once, gently. Then again, intentionally.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he said after a while, voice quiet now.

“You’re welcome.”

They stopped at the corner, waiting for the light to change. He turned slightly toward her, looking at her fully now. His eyes were soft, but direct.

“I like this,” he said. “You and me, like this.”

Y/N felt something warm creep up her neck, but she didn’t look away. “I like it too.”

They stood there for a second too long.

Then he smiled again—smaller this time—and nodded toward the direction of the subway. “Can I walk you to the station?”

“You’re not trying to get me to come home with you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What kind of man do you take me for?”

“The kind who flirts with his coworker for a month and finally asks her out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he said, gently bumping her arm with his, “I was professionally respectful for a solid three weeks.”

“Impressive,” she teased.

“I thought so.”

And as they kept walking, their arms brushed again. Neither of them moved.

—

Group Chat: “Chaos Committee 💅🔥🍷”

Clara: Sooo How’d it go last night?

Ava: Yeah don’t make us guess We were very respectfully trying not to text you during the entire dinner window 🙃

Y/N: Appreciate the restraint Also: it was nice Really nice, actually

Clara: Ugh You’re being vague You like him

Y/N: I do. I’m trying not to be annoying about it But yeah

Ava: Okay but give us something What was the vibe? Better than the first one?

Y/N: Yeah Way less awkward He was calm, funny, kind of... quiet but not in a bad way And he looked really good Wore that green shirt again

Clara: Oh. The shirt. The rolled sleeves shirt

Y/N: Yup Forearms out Rings on And the waiter definitely thought we were already together

Ava: As they should

Y/N: He was kind of extra warm last night Little touches here and there Like when I reached for my glass and his hand brushed mine Or how our knees kept bumping under the table and he didn’t move

Clara: So the tension was doing push-ups under the table Got it

Y/N: Basically He said “I like this. You and me, like this” Then immediately acted like he hadn’t just said something that made my brain stop functioning

Ava: That man is running a very calculated long game Respect

Clara: So… what happened after dinner?

Y/N: He walked me to the train Talked the whole way Lightly roasted my Spotify taste Then gave me this soft smile and told me to text when I got home

Clara: ...that’s it?

Y/N: Yup No kiss No lingering hand on the small of my back Just a really warm goodbye and the sense that he’s waiting for something

Ava: Waiting for you to make the next move maybe?

Y/N: I don’t know He’s so good at walking right up to the line and stopping Like he wants me to notice it but doesn’t want to cross it without me saying yes

Clara: Honestly I hate how respectful that is

Y/N: I know It’s actually making me lose my mind

Ava: Okay but you’re into it

Y/N: ...I’m very into it

Clara: So what now?

Y/N: I see him Monday And I’m pretending like it’s just another normal day And not like I’ve been thinking about his hand brushing my knee for 12 straight hours

Ava: Good plan That always works out great for people

Y/N: Shut up

—

Monday – Office, 10:42 a.m.

Work was work.

Emails. Edits. Slack notifications that piled up faster than she could read them. But Y/N couldn’t focus for more than fifteen minutes at a time without remembering the way Harry had looked at her Friday night. Or how he hadn’t kissed her. Or how she kind of loved that he hadn’t.

She was scrolling through a doc when she sensed him before she saw him—there was always something in the air when he walked by her desk, like her body clock recalibrated itself.

“Morning,” he said casually, appearing next to her chair with a cup of coffee and that effortlessly smug smile.

“Is this for me?” she asked, accepting it anyway.

“I figured you needed it,” he said, then leaned down slightly to whisper, “You were frowning at your screen like it owed you money.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling already. “Thanks.”

He didn’t leave right away. Just hovered at the edge of her desk for a few seconds, eyes scanning her face like he was trying to read something there.

“You want to eat together later?” he asked.

“Sure” she said “Meet you at the elevator later?”

“Sounds like a plan”.

—

Monday – Lunch Break

“Are you gonna judge me if I order two things off the specials menu?” Y/N asked, squinting at the little chalkboard propped up at the edge of their table.

Harry leaned back in his chair, half-smiling. “I’d only judge if you didn’t. What kind of monster comes to a place that smells like heaven and doesn’t over-order?”

She grinned, setting the menu down. “Alright, good. Just wanted to make sure we’re both mentally prepared for me to have a post-lunch food coma at my desk.”

“Can’t wait to watch you pretend to be productive while slowly falling asleep mid-email,” he said, stretching his legs out under the table until they accidentally brushed hers.

Neither of them moved.

They were tucked into a small two-person table by the window of the Italian place Harry had suggested—a quiet spot with sun spilling through the glass and just enough hum from other tables to feel private. The food smelled ridiculous. Garlic, butter, rosemary… 

When the waiter left with their orders, Harry glanced at her across the table. “You always get that serious when you read menus?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s a high-stakes decision. This is lunch. I have to live with it for the rest of the afternoon.”

“That’s true. It does define your mood for at least three hours.”

“Exactly.”

“I respect that.”

She sipped her water and watched him tilt his head slightly, like he was studying her. “What?” she asked.

He smiled. “Nothing. I just like seeing you outside the office.”

She blinked. “We text constantly.”

“Yeah, but that’s different. In person you make these little faces when you’re thinking—like right now, you’re trying not to smile.”

She covered her mouth with her hand, failing miserably to hide it. “I hate that you notice stuff like that.”

“I’m very observant.”

“You’re very smug.”

He raised his glass to her. “Also true.”

The food arrived a few minutes later—her pasta, his risotto—and they both took their first bites at the same time. Harry made a soft sound, not dramatic, just satisfied.

“Okay, that’s a throwback,” he said, sitting back a little.

“What is?”

He gestured toward his plate. “Risotto. My mum used to make it almost exactly like this. Creamy, garlicky, winey. I haven’t had it like this in years.”

Y/N raised her brows. “What happened, did she stop loving you?”

Harry smiled. “No. I just haven’t had anyone make it since I moved out. It's not exactly the kind of dish people whip up on a whim.”

“I do.”

“You make risotto?”

“Mushroom risotto. With wine. Sometimes thyme, if I’m feeling fancy.”

He stared at her, amused. “That’s dangerously specific.”

She shrugged. “It’s one of my go-to ‘I swear I’m a real adult’ meals. Feels impressive but it’s mostly just stirring and committing to the bit.”

Harry looked at her, eyes narrowed slightly like he was considering something. Then he said, slowly, “So when are you making it for me?”

Y/N blinked once. Twice. Then gave a small smirk. “Wow. Not even a subtle lead-in. You just jumped right to the invite.”

“Gotta keep up with you somehow,” he said, smiling easily now. “I’m not above being fed.”

She paused, then: “Friday?”

His expression softened, surprised but not caught off guard. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

Y/N raised her brows as she twirled a bite of pasta. “No allergies? No weird food trauma I should know about before I commit to this dinner plan?”

Harry laughed, sitting back in his chair. “None. I eat everything. Except olives.”

She gasped. “What? Olives are elite.”

“They taste like brine and betrayal.”

“I’m still putting them in the salad,” she said. “You’ll deal.”

He pointed his fork at her. “You say that now, but you’re gonna be weirdly invested in whether I like it or not. I can already tell.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “I just don’t want to waste my good cooking on someone with broken taste buds.”

“Then you’ll have to find out if it’s worth the risk,” he said, voice low but playful, like there was a dare tucked into the words.

Her eyes held his for a beat too long. She looked away first—barely.

They both went back to eating, but the quiet between them wasn’t awkward. It was charged in that new way. Comfortable, but close to something else. Their legs brushed again under the table. Neither of them moved.

He went quiet for a beat, watching her as she gathered the last of her pasta onto her fork.

“I’m excited for Friday,” he said, almost offhand, but his eyes were too steady for it to be casual.

She looked up. “Who said it was a date?”

Harry smirked, didn’t miss a beat. “Me. I did. Mentally. While you were talking about thyme like it’s a love language.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard—and laughed. “Wow.”

“I stand by it,” he added, casually wiping his hand on a napkin. “You invite me over, cook for me, maybe pour me a glass of wine… that’s textbook date behavior. Page one.”

She tried to keep a straight face but failed miserably. “What if I burn it?”

“Then we order takeout,” he said, standing, grabbing both their receipts. “And it’s still a date. Just one with a fun plot twist.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as she followed him toward the door. “You’re annoyingly sure of yourself.”

Harry glanced back at her, holding the door open. “No,” he said, voice low but smiling. “I’m just sure about you.”

She froze for half a second. Then stepped past him, heat blooming in her chest and creeping up her neck.

He walked beside her all the way back to the office, hands in his pockets, like he hadn’t just said something that would replay in her head for the next four days straight.

They stepped into the elevator together. Just the two of them.

It was quiet inside—soft hum of motion, the faintest trace of cologne in the air. Y/N stood beside him, arms folded, eyes on the glowing numbers overhead like she hadn’t just invited him over for a dinner she now absolutely could not mess up.

Harry, on the other hand, was perfectly relaxed. Leaned casually against the wall, side-glancing at her with a look she pretended not to notice.

“Friday,” he said softly, not looking away.

“Seven,” she replied.

“I’ll bring the wine.”

“Good,” she said. “That’s your only job.”

He tilted his head. “And yours?”

She raised a brow. “Cooking. Obviously.”

He smirked, slow. “No. I mean your real job.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes slightly. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s my ‘real’ job?”

Harry let the pause stretch just enough to feel it. Then said, low and playful, “Try not to make me fall for you over risotto.”

Her stomach dipped. Hard.

She opened her mouth—maybe to reply, maybe to deflect—but the elevator dinged before she could say a word.

He stepped out first, like he hadn’t just dropped that and walked away.

And she followed, entirely aware she was already failing at that job.

—

7:03 p.m.

Y/N wasn’t nervous.

That’s what she told herself as she adjusted the straps of her top for the third time, checked the risotto on the stove for the fifth, and glanced at her phone for no real reason at all.

She wasn’t nervous. She was… anticipatory. Which was worse.

The apartment smelled like sautéed garlic, wine, and rosemary. Her playlist was low, something warm and rhythmic playing in the background. She’d cleaned. Lit two candles—not too many. She was wearing jeans and a simple black tank top that looked casual from far away but a little dangerous up close.

At exactly 7:06, there was a knock.

She wiped her palms on her thighs, walked to the door, and opened it—

—and forgot how to speak for a second.

Harry stood in the hallway, wine bottle in hand, coat open over a navy button-down that was just fitted enough to hint at the lines underneath. Sleeves rolled once, casually. Hair pushed back. Rings on. Slight scruff on his jaw like he hadn’t bothered shaving for the occasion, and it somehow made him look better.

“Hey,” he said, smile already tugging at his mouth. His voice low and smooth and a little too warm.

Y/N opened the door wider, trying to look unaffected. “You’re late.”

“By three minutes,” he said, stepping in. “You gonna punish me for it?”

She turned to walk back to the kitchen before he could see her smile. “Don’t tempt me.”

Harry’s eyes followed her. “Already am.”

She ignored that. Barely. “Wine goes on the counter. Glasses are in the cabinet to your left.”

He slipped off his coat and hung it on the back of a chair, the motion unhurried. His sleeves shifted higher, showing the veins along his forearms, and it was ridiculous how aware she was of every single movement he made. Like her whole body had decided to tune into just him.

He found the glasses without asking, poured two, and brought hers over like he’d done it a hundred times.

“Smells incredible,” he said, glancing at the pot on the stove. “Didn’t realize this would be a full sensory experience.”

She took the glass from him, their fingers brushing. “Didn’t realize you’d show up looking like you belong in a perfume ad.”

He tilted his head. “Is that a compliment or a threat?”

“A little of both.”

He leaned against the counter, swirling his wine lazily. “You’re already nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. I can tell.”

She sipped her wine. “You’re very confident for someone about to eat food I made unsupervised.”

“Oh, I’m terrified,” he said, smile curling slowly. “But I’m also a risk-taker.”

“Really?” she asked, stepping just a little closer. “What kind of risks are we talking?”

Harry’s gaze dropped, briefly, to her mouth. “Ones that involve very pretty women in tank tops inviting me over and pretending it’s all casual.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered.

But she covered it with a dry, “You’re awfully chatty for someone who’s supposed to be quietly impressed.”

“I haven’t even tasted it yet,” he murmured, leaning in like he might say something else.

But he didn’t. He just reached around her—close enough to brush his chest against her shoulder—and stirred the risotto with one of the wooden spoons she’d left on the counter.

She didn’t move.

“You’re doing it right,” he said, still low, still close. “Good technique.”

“I’ve had practice.”

“I can tell.”

There was a pause. Just long enough to feel the space between them shrink.

Then he looked at her, and his voice dipped just slightly, deliberate now:

“You know this is a date, right?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. It is. And you’re doing dangerously well.”

Her throat went dry.

The spoon was still in his hand. The risotto still simmering. But everything between them had gone still—warm, weighted, suspended between polite flirtation and whatever the hell this was becoming.

“I haven’t even served it yet,” she said quietly.

Harry’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “Doesn’t matter. You’ve already got me.”

Y/N held his gaze for a second too long, heat blooming low in her stomach. But she didn’t let it tip yet. She reached out and gently took the spoon from his hand, turning her focus back to the risotto.

“You’re lucky I like feeding people,” she said, stirring.

“Lucky’s one word for it.”

“You’re also distracting.”

“Also one word for it.”

He sat at the kitchen table while she plated the food, watching her with that unshakable calm, fingers tapping against the stem of his wine glass. When she finally set a bowl in front of him, he looked up and said, very simply:

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me until you’ve tried it.”

He took one bite, then another—no dramatic noises this time, just that slow nod of approval, the kind that made her chest tighten.

“I hate how good this is,” he said through a smile. “Now I can’t even fake critique you.”

“You weren’t going to anyway.”

“I was, just to keep you humble.”

She grinned, settling across from him, and they ate in a rhythm that felt natural. Familiar. They didn’t fill every silence. They didn’t rush the conversation. He asked how she got into cooking. She asked what kind of kid he was at school. He told her he was quiet. Kind of nerdy. Read more than he talked.

“But you’re so…” she paused, waving her fork at him, “you now.”

Harry smiled. “Still kind of nerdy. Just taller.”

They finished eating slowly, in no real rush. Conversation drifted, low and lazy. Harry told a story about getting lost on the Tube as a teenager and ending up an hour outside of London. She admitted she once cried in a grocery store because she couldn't find the right brand of olive oil.

When the food was gone and only half the wine left, Y/N stood with a stretch and started clearing plates.

“You cooked,” Harry said, getting up beside her. “Let me clean.”

“You can help,” she said, stacking dishes. “But don’t think you’re getting full dish duty just because I made risotto.”

“Worth a try,” he murmured, brushing against her as he took the plates to the sink.

The touch lingered—his hand grazing her hip on the way past. Not overt. Not rushed. But purposeful.

She handed him a glass, and their fingers met again. This time neither of them looked away.

“You’re quiet,” she said, filling the silence with something safe.

Harry tilted his head slightly. “I’m trying not to say something reckless.”

Her heart fluttered. “Like what?”

“Like how long I’ve been thinking about this. About you.” He turned slightly, drying a plate without breaking eye contact. “Since the first time I saw you that day in the office. You walked in like you belonged there. That little nervous smile. I was done for.”

She didn’t move, just held his gaze. “That’s not reckless.”

“It is if I tell you I wanted to kiss you before I knew your last name.”

Y/N blinked slowly.

Then she set the towel down, stepped closer, and looked up at him.

“You’re really going for it tonight.”

Harry’s smile was slow and sure. “Trying to make up for lost time.”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she kissed him.

Soft at first, but immediate. Like they’d both been holding it back all night and finally decided to stop pretending. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek, while his other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her flush against him.

She sighed against his mouth as his tongue brushed hers—slow and unhurried but thorough, like he meant every second of it. Her hands slid up his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.

When they finally pulled apart, just slightly, she caught her breath and whispered, “We should take this to the bedroom.”

He blinked, lips parted, eyes dark.

“Yeah?” he said, low and rough now.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t ask twice. He just followed.

And the second they stepped into her room, everything changed.

—

The door clicked shut behind him, and the quiet deepened. The only light came from the hallway and the faint glow of the city through her windows. Harry stood there for a second, eyes on her like she’d just undone something in him.

Then he crossed the room and kissed her again—deeper now, slower, like they finally had permission to feel everything.

She let her hands roam, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips skimming over warm skin and firm muscle. He hissed softly through his teeth when she tugged the shirt over his head, dropping it somewhere behind them.

“God, you’re…” she breathed, letting her gaze fall over him, eyes hungry and soft all at once.

“Say it,” he murmured, thumb brushing her lower lip.

“You know exactly what I was going to say.”

He smirked. “I like hearing it anyway.”

She kissed down his neck, tongue brushing the curve where his shoulder met his collarbone, and smiled when she felt him shiver under her mouth.

He didn’t just touch her—he held her, his hands sliding over her back, her sides, her hips, like he couldn’t decide where he wanted her most. His fingers dipped under her waistband, pausing, waiting for her nod before easing her jeans down slowly.

Once she stepped out of them, she stood there in nothing but her tank top and underwear, heart pounding.

Harry looked at her like she was already undoing him.

“You’re dangerous,” he said.

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“Because I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, stepping closer, brushing his mouth over her jaw, “and now that I have it, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Then don’t,” she whispered.

He lifted her gently—just enough to lay her back on the bed—and followed, crawling over her with slow purpose. Her tank top came off next, tossed somewhere beside them, and when he looked down at her, he stilled.

His hands traced her bare skin like it was something delicate. Not hesitating—just taking his time.

“Still with me?” he asked, voice rough and low.

She nodded, eyes locked on his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That was all he needed.

He kissed her again, mouth moving over hers with quiet intensity, hips pressing against hers as his hand slid between her thighs, not rushed, just there, warm and solid and deliberate.

Every touch was a question, and every breath she gave him was an answer.

By the time he eased her back into the pillows, lips brushing her throat, her shoulder, her chest, she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began. His name slipped out of her in a whisper, soft and urgent, as his mouth trailed lower—lips against her skin, tongue slow and teasing, every movement sending sparks through her like aftershocks.

He moved with patience. With purpose. With a kind of reverence she hadn’t expected, but felt all the way down to her ribs.

And when he finally pulled her into his arms afterward—bodies warm, tangled, skin still humming—he didn’t say anything right away.

Just ran his fingers up and down her spine, slow and steady, anchoring them both in the quiet.

Then, almost too softly to hear:

“I’m really not going to be able to stop thinking about you now.”

Y/N smiled into his chest.

“Good,” she whispered. “That makes two of us.”

—

​​The first thing Y/N noticed was warmth.

Not sunlight, not sound—just heat, steady and solid behind her, an arm draped heavy across her waist and breath moving slowly against the back of her neck.

She blinked her eyes open. Her bedroom was quiet, soft light filtering through the curtains. Everything smelled like skin and her lavender laundry soap and something distinctly him.

She shifted slightly and felt him move behind her—just the barest reaction, like his body didn’t want to lose the contact.

Then came the voice, low and sleep-rough.

“Morning.”

She smiled before turning. “Morning.”

Harry was already watching her, eyes soft, hair a total mess, the faintest smirk on his lips like he couldn’t believe this was real. He brushed a hand over her shoulder gently, fingers trailing up to her jaw like he needed to confirm she was still there.

“Didn’t dream that, did I?” he asked, voice still scratchy.

She shook her head. “You were definitely here. There was risotto. There was wine. There was…”

“A lot of things,” he offered, still grinning.

Her cheeks warmed, but she didn’t look away. “You stayed.”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Wasn’t planning on leaving.”

They lay there for a moment, quiet again. His thumb moved lazily over her hip under the covers. She could feel the way his legs tangled with hers, warm skin brushing everywhere.

She wanted to ask what this meant. If they were different now. If they were going to try to pretend it hadn’t happened at work on Monday morning—but then he leaned in and kissed her forehead, soft and slow, and said:

“You know I’m not going to pretend this didn’t happen, right?”

Her eyes met his.

“I don’t want to pretend either,” she said.

That was it.

Not a relationship talk. Not labels. Just honesty.

Just this.

“Good,” he whispered, voice still sleep-warm. “Because I was already planning breakfast.”

She laughed. “You’re confident.”

He rolled onto his back dramatically. “I just gave the performance of my life and made sure you didn’t burn the risotto. Let me have my moment.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And charming.”

She leaned over him and kissed him again. It was slow, languid. The kind of kiss that didn’t go anywhere, but still promised everything.

Her hand slipped into his hair, and his arm curled back around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest again.

—

They stayed in bed longer than planned.

The risotto dishes were still in the sink. Her hair was a mess. His shirt was missing. They didn’t care.

Harry made coffee while Y/N stood barefoot in the kitchen, wearing one of his sweaters—something he must’ve tossed into his overnight bag, though she couldn’t remember when. It hung loose on her frame, sleeves too long, fabric soft from wear.

“You can’t just look like that and expect me to focus on pouring,” he muttered as he handed her a mug.

She took it without breaking eye contact. “I like how quickly you folded.”

He sipped his coffee with a lazy smirk. “Folded the moment I walked in your door last night.”

They ate toast over the sink. Talked about absolutely nothing. She told him her neighbor leaves passive-aggressive sticky notes in the laundry room. He told her he once accidentally wore mismatched shoes to a client meeting and no one noticed—still one of his proudest office wins.

And then, too soon, it was time for him to go.

He stood by the door, keys in one hand, the other still lingering at her hip like he hadn’t decided whether to pull her back in or let her breathe.

“I’ll see you Monday,” he said, voice low, unreadable.

She nodded. “We’ll pretend to be normal.”

He leaned down and kissed her once—soft, careful, like he didn’t want to wake whatever spell they’d slipped into.

But before he pulled away, he whispered, “Just so you know, I’m already thinking about the next time.”

Y/N smiled, her chest tight in that restless, breathless way that meant she already was too.

He left.

The apartment was quieter now. Still warm, still full of him, but quieter.

— 

After he left, the apartment was quiet.

Y/N wandered back to the kitchen, barefoot, still wearing his sweater. She poured herself a second cup of coffee even though it had already gone cold. Leaned against the counter, staring at nothing in particular.

There was a dish towel still hanging crooked off the oven handle. A candle burned too low on the windowsill. A wine glass tipped slightly in the sink.

All signs that last night had really happened.

Her neck was still warm where he’d kissed it. Her body ached in that good, quiet way. And every now and then, her mind would flash to the way he’d looked at her—right before, during, after. Like he knew something she didn’t.

She took a sip of coffee and smiled to herself.

It was funny.

She didn’t think this was how it would go. When she started the job, when she’d met him this wasn’t in the plan.

She didn’t think it would turn into late-night texts. Or pasta. Or him, standing barefoot in her kitchen like he belonged there.

She especially didn’t think it would turn into this quiet kind of happiness. This soft, steady warmth that hadn’t faded even after the door clicked shut behind him.

She shook her head to herself, grinning.

“I really didn’t see that coming,” she murmured into her mug.

But somehow, that made it better.