monicaalexandraaa

[monicaalexandraaa]

Beautiful!! There’s always so much power and emotion in your writing. He was so supportive and kind and I enjoyed him opening up to her about his own struggles.

This hit hard!

It was everything, all at once, it was you, it was him, it was the broken girl inside you, crying to be healed, to be wanted, to be needed, to be loved, because you wanted to be loved, you wanted to be seen, you wanted someone to love you the way you deserved. You had always had so much love to give, but no one who could reciprocate, the world always taking, but never giving back.

And the last few paragraphs were lovely😌

But for now, you had someone who wanted to be there for those days, too, someone you knew would remind you of your worth when you forgot it yourself.

Someone who would love every inch of you, especially the parts you’ve allowed yourself to hate. Someone who made you believe that maybe, just maybe, you deserved to take up space in this world—and in his heart.

And that was worth more than any number on a scale could ever be.

I really loved this🩷🩷

Summary: "It was everything, all at once, it was you, it was him, it was the broken girl inside you, crying to be healed, to be wanted, to be needed, to be loved, because you wanted to be loved, you wanted to be seen, you wanted someone to love you the way you deserved. You had always had so much love to give, but no one who could reciprocate, the world always taking, but never giving back."

Word Count: 11.6k

A/N: Plus-sized!reader x Trainerry based on this request <- To the Anon that requested this. I hope it's everything you wanted and more. I really had to pull at some feels for this one. Thanks you so much for this!!

Warning: Angsty self-hate with a happy ending, and a mild sweet smut scene at the end that you can skip if that's not your cup of tea. (Heavy themes centered around hatred of body-image/body shaming. All self-induced)

It wasn’t that you wanted to change yourself entirely. You just wanted to be able to look into the mirror and, for once, like what you saw. It wasn’t a size or a number you were after, you wanted the peace of mind, the relief, the weight of the stigma lifted for more than just the occasional, oh yeah, I look good kind of moments.

 Because let’s face it, we all know those moments were fleeting, but what if you could feel it for longer? What if your eyes could roam over your body, and maybe, just maybe, you could spend less time picking yourself apart. What if you could try on those jeans and this time they fit just perfectly—none of the excruciating cut of the waist digging into your belly while you sat, or the fear of not even being able to button them in the first place. 

You wanted freedom, you wanted joy, you wanted less days of the mental prison that your brain held you in every time you looked into the mirror, or binged on that food you knew you should avoid. That was what this would be, the journey you were ready to embark on—a journey to confidence, a journey to loving yourself, a journey back to you. These were the words you were filling your head with, the prep talk you had given yourself that morning as you got ready, and now that shit was laughable, you thought as you walked through the gym doors, eyes already darting around as a gust of cool air spread over your bare arms. 

This was the part you hated, the part you were dreading. It hadn’t even been two seconds and you were already tugging at the hem of your oversized tee, your gaze scanning over bodies in motion, most fit as fuck, some laughing and moving about, some focused forward in the zone, their eye on a prize that felt out of your reach, bending and flexing with an effortless ease you couldn’t even wrap your mind around, let alone even conceive the amount of energy you knew went into making each rep look like a walk in the park.

And now you felt crazy, because you were signing yourself up willingly, putting yourself out there for what? To fail? To be judged?

Was this really what you wanted? Did you really hate yourself this much? Was this even considered hate, or was this self-love? Because suddenly, the line was becoming blurred, and here you stood, waiting by the front desk on full display, following the instructions given via email, because you were too weirded out to set up everything in person. Hell, you didn’t even know where the bathroom was. It wasn’t like you could disappear until you were ready.

So maybe you couldn’t run and hide, but you could hide behind your phone, and wait for your trainer, god, what was his name again? Henry? Harris? Fuck, how could you be blanking, and as you took to searching for your welcome email, a deep voice sounded through your frantic thoughts:

“Hey there! ” a cheerful voice called out.

That’s when you turned to see a tall figure approaching you, his bright smile lighting up the room as he ran a hand through his tousled dark hair, green eyes reflecting the light, and holy shit, that physique, that body screamed fitness. And as you peered over your shoulder to see if he was signaling for someone else, your heart skipped a beat, cheeks flushing, because there was no way in hell this dude was going to be your trainer.

“Oh… were you talking to me?” you stammered, trying to maintain eye contact but failing miserably, hands already fidgeting with the him of your shirt.

“Yes, you have a training session at 9, correct?” he asked, extending his hand. His grip was firm yet gentle, and you felt a jolt of electricity the second your hands collided. “I’m Harry, it’s really nice to meet you. I can’t wait to help you on this journey.”

“Thanks,” you replied, trying not to drool over his British accent as your voice came out small. Your palms were sweaty, and you quickly wiped them on your pants, hoping he didn’t notice.

“So, what are your fitness goals?” Harry asked, his tone encouraging and friendly, and just by the way he was making eye contact, you could tell that he was genuinely curious, like it wasn’t just his job to know.

For a second, you hesitated, your mind racing. You had so many thoughts swirling around this very question. What was it that you wanted again? To lose weight? Feel healthier? Gain some kind of confidence? But the words felt stuck in your throat, your mind going blank as you said, “Um, I just want to… you know, get in shape and feel better about myself,” you finally managed to say, your voice trembling slightly.

Harry nodded, his expression holding a warmth you weren’t expecting, maybe an understanding, like he knew exactly what you meant to say, a sort of grace given that sent a flutter to the pit of your stomach.“That’s a great start! Remember, it’s all about progress, not perfection. I’d love to work together to set some goals that suit you and your lifestyle. I’m all about sustainability for the long-term, not the instantaneous results that rarely last long.”

And even though his words sent a flicker of hope through you. You could feel the self-doubt trying to creep back in. “I’m not really sure about all this,” you admitted, eyes moving around the room. “I’ve never been good at working out, and honestly, this place isn’t really my vibe. Like a place I feel like I belong... I guess.”

Yet as you said the words, Harry’s smile never wavered. “I get it. Change is always a little uncomfy at first, but you know everyone starts somewhere. The important thing is that you’re here, ready to take that first step, and as cheesy as it sounds, I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

For a moment, you looked at him, holding his gaze, and that’s when the nervousness seemed to fade. There was something about his confidence and the kindness he exuded that was infectious, and you felt a small spark of determination ignite within you. “Okay…” You breathed.

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t promise you anything,” you told him with a small smile, feeling a bit more resolute, like yeah, maybe you could actually do this, like there was hope for the self-loathing bitch within you, because fuck her, she couldn’t have it all, you deserved a little light, some time away from the shadows of your self that kept stealing tiny moments of joy you could never get back. 

At some point, you had to live, right?

“That’s the spirit!” Harry answered, his enthusiasm making your smile grow despite the lingering insecurities. “Shall we get started?”

And as he led you deeper into the gym, you couldn’t shake that feeling of awe, that mix of anxiety threatening the surface. You were about to do it, finally take that leap, about to be trained by this gorgeous guy, and while the thought made your heart race for maybe all the wrong reasons, you also felt a sense of possibility, like maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning of something great, something to make you feel alive again. 

But it’s crazy how quickly excitement can fade.

The first week was pure torture, and the second week was no better. You wanted to quit, but you didn’t know what you wanted.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? You had walked through those gym doors with all these grand ideas about transformation, about becoming someone new, but now, three weeks in, you were just as sweaty, still a breathless mess who couldn’t even do a proper squat without Harry having to adjust your form for the millionth time. 

And god, those hands, always professional without a doubt, but there was something about the way they would ghost over your shoulders, the way they corrected your posture, or lightly pressed against your lower back to guide you, that had your skin burning from everything but the workout.

“Let’s try something different,” Harry said, and you could hear that patient tone, the one that never made you feel like the failure you knew you were. 

He grabbed a bench, positioning it behind you. “…Seated squats. They’re gentler on the knees, and the bonus is they’ll help you build the strength for the full movement.”

Your first instinct was to prove yourself, to convince him you were able to do a full fucking squat like every other person in this gym, but somehow the words died in your throat when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror—red-faced, sweat pooling in places you didn’t want to think about, your oversized shirt clinging to rolls you had been spending years trying to hide, and lets not even get started on your arms, fucking hell, your arms felt like they were made of jello, wobbling with each movement. Not to mention your thighs had already been chafing with every step, that familiar burn a reminder of exactly why you had been avoiding this place for years.

It was torture, pure fucking torture, but you sat anyway.

“Hey,” Harry called out, pulling you from your thoughts, and suddenly he was in front of you, those green eyes level with yours as he crouched down. “Where’d you go just then?”

“Nowhere… I’m fine,” you lied, because what were you supposed to say? That you were having a mental breakdown over a squat? That you could feel every pair of eyes in the gym judging the “chubby girl” who couldn’t even do basic exercises?

But Harry just nodded, like he knew exactly what you weren’t saying. “Right then, seated squats it is. And after that, we’ll work on some upper body stuff. Sound good?”—The thing about Harry was that he never seemed to push when you shut down. His superpower was to redirect, adapt, and move on to something else, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

Never an ounce of judgment.

You had noticed other things too, in these first three weeks—like how sometimes he shifted his weight to his left side during demonstrations, or how he would choose specific exercises over others without explanation. Once, when he was showing you how to do lunges, he distinctly favored his right leg, the change so evident that you almost asked about it, but something in his expression had stopped you.

One day, near the end of week three, the gym’s usual crowd of fitness models decided to make their appearance. You had recognized them by now, you know the type, the group of women who looked like they just stepped out of a Lululemon catalog, all tight abs and perfect ponytails, not a jiggle in sight. They were hard to miss, and even more apparent the way they gravitated toward Harry like moths to a flame, and why wouldn’t they? He was gorgeous, British, and had the kind of body that made you wonder what he looked like without a single scrap of clothing.

And these were the kind of thoughts that you had to shake from your head, because you didn’t want to go there.

Not when he was that close.

“Harry!” one of them shouted, her outfit like a latex glove, leaving little to the imagination as she bounded over. “Could you check my form on these hip thrusts?”

And fuck, you would have laughed if you weren’t trying to make yourself invisible, focusing on your water bottle like it held the secrets of the universe, but you couldn’t help watch them from the corner of your eye. Harry glanced at his watch and then back at the woman.

“Sorry, Melissa, I’m with a client right now,” he said, and was it your imagination or did he step slightly closer to you? “Maybe check with Tom at the front desk about booking a session.”

That was when the woman’s eyes flicked to you, and you could practically feel the onset of her assessment, knew the exact look she was giving, that up-and-down glance that was cataloguing every flaw, every roll, every reason you didn’t belong here. But Harry had already turned back to you, already demonstrating the next exercise like the interaction hadn’t even happened.

“Right, so for this one, you’ll want to keep your core engaged to protect your low back,” he was saying, but all you could think about was how he had just dismissed her, how he had chosen to stay focused on you when he could have just as easily given her five minutes of attention, and you chalked it up to professionalism without a second thought. He was getting paid to train you, after all.

This was his job.

But then why did your stupid heart skip when he smiled at you after you completed your set?

Week four started like any other, except it felt harder as you dragged yourself through the gym doors, already anticipating the torture ahead. You felt like shit... not good at all, more like death had warmed over you. Even though your body was starting to recognize the routine, your brain was still screaming at you to run every time you saw the weight rack.

“Morning!” Harry called out, and damn him for always being so cheerful at 9 in the morning. “How’re you feeling? Any soreness from last session?”

“Just my entire body,” you groaned, but there was less bite to it than before. “Who knew your ass muscles could be this sore.”

He laughed, that genuine sound that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Well, that means you’re doing it right, and that’s a win, ay? Today we’re going to work on some balance exercises, really activate those stabilizer muscles.”

You were halfway through a set of single-leg stands, wobbling like a baby giraffe and cursing Harry’s name in your mind when it happened. It was quick, you losing your balance—again—and you stumbled backward, your elbow connecting with Harry’s leg as he moved to steady you, and out of nowhere, he made a sharp, pained, involuntary sound that made your blood run cold.

“Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry!” and when you whirled around, he was gripping his knee, face tight with a pain that looked too familiar to be from your clumsy elbow. “Harry, I—”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, but his voice was strained, and he was still holding his knee like it might shatter if he let go. “Just an old injury acting up. Nothing to do with you. I promise…”

But you had seen that kind of pain before, in your own mirror when your body would decide to remind you of all the ways it had been pushed too far. “Sit down,” you tell him, taking charge of the situation, surprising even yourself in the process. “Seriously, sit.”

For a second, he looked like he might protest, but something in your expression must have convinced him because he lowered himself onto the nearest bench, still favoring that right knee. The gym suddenly felt too quiet, too exposed, and without thinking, you positioned yourself between him and the rest of the room, like you could shield him from all the curious glances.

“It’s an old football injury,” he said finally, the words coming out reluctant, like he was still trying to hold them back. “Soccer… I mean—sorry, I know you Americans call it soccer. Tore my ACL completely about six years ago. Had surgery, did all the physio, but...” He shrugged, a gesture that looked too casual for the weight of what he was sharing. “Sometimes bodies don’t heal the way they’re supposed to.”

Startled by his words, you stared at him, this perfect-looking trainer with his perfect-looking body, and it was like something shifted inside your chest. “But you’re... you’re a trainer. I always pictured you all so—”

“Perfect?” He finished, looking up at you with a wry smile. “Yeah… that’s what everyone thinks. But the truth is, I can’t even run anymore. Can barely kick a ball without my knee giving out. Gosh, some days I wake up and have to spend like twenty minutes just trying to convince my knee to work properly.”

The words seemed to linger, weighted with an openness you hadn’t expected. Here was Harry, this beautiful, confident man, admitting to being broken, and somehow it finally made him real in a way that his encouraging words, or the professional distance he kept, never had, and that seemed to scare you.

“Is that why you became a trainer?” you asked, settling onto the bench beside him, your workout forgotten. “Because of the injury?”

He nodded, absently rubbing his knee. “Yeah… I guess in a way…I couldn’t play anymore, but I couldn’t stay away from fitness entirely… it was kind of my life, so I started learning about adaptive training, about working with bodies that don’t fit the typical mold. Turns out I’m better at helping people find their own path than I ever was at following mine.”

In that moment you wanted to say something, wanted to match the encouragement of his words, but all that came out was, “Well, that feels really fucking unfair.”

He laughed, surprised, but sincere. “Yeah, it really fucking is.”

And just like that, something changed. That professional distance he had been maintaining cracked just a little, and you saw him, not Harry the trainer, but Harry the person, a man who had his dreams ripped from under his feet, but still learned how to build new ones from the scraps.

“I should probably tell you,” he said, his voice lighter now, “this is why I modify so many exercises. It’s not just for you—half of them I can’t do the ‘proper’ way anymore. Those seated squats? I do them on my bad days, oh, and those knee-friendly lunges? Learned those during my physio.”

And fuck, there it was beating at your insides, that crush, that you had been desperately trying to ignore, suddenly felt less like a schoolgirl fantasy and more like... god dare you say it… Something else. Something deeper. Because now, when you looked at him, you didn’t just see the attractive trainer who was nice to the “fat girl”. You saw someone who maybe understood you more than you knew, who probably knew your body better, knew all the ways it betrayed you, the frustration of every limitation, and the slow, painful process of finding acceptance.

“Thank you,” you breathed, really wanting him to know you meant it. “For telling me.”

He stood to his feet then, eyes sweeping over your face, before offering you a hand up. “Come on, let’s finish your session. But maybe we’ll skip the jumping jacks today, yeah? My knee’s not the only one that needs babying.”

After that day, everything shifted, not just in your mind. Harry, of course, still maintained his professionalism, but there was a warmth now, an understanding that hadn’t existed before. Your workouts became less about pushing through pain and more about finding what worked for your body—and his.

“See, the thing about traditional training,” he explained during week five, while demonstrating a modified plank that didn’t make your wrists scream, “is that it assumes everyone’s working with the same equipment. But we’re not, are we? You’ve got your challenges, I’ve got mine… but the trick is finding what works for us.”

Us… 

And, damn it was such a small word, but boy did it seem to carry weight.

That’s when you started noticing more things, like how he would ice his knee between clients, or how he would shift positions during longer demonstrations, or how his jaw would tighten on particularly bad days. But you also noticed how he never let it stop him, how he moved through it, and adapted his entire life around this limitation without a trace of self-pity.

So why couldn’t you?

“After my surgery,” he told you one day while you struggled through a stupid resistance band exercise, “I spent months being angry. Angry at my body, at the universe… I guess at everyone… everyone who could still do what I couldn’t. It took me a long time to realize that anger was just fear wearing a different face.”

“Fear of what?” you asked, breathless from exertion but curious nonetheless.

“Fear that I’d never be enough again. That, without soccer, without that, I guess that identity, I was just... nothing.” He told you, adjusting your form gently, his hands warm through your shirt. “Sound familiar?”

He had you there; it was all too familiar. Because wasn’t that exactly what you felt every time you looked in the mirror? That without the body you thought you should have, you were somehow less than? And the parallel hit you like a ton of bricks, because was this not him basically telling you that he understood, that he had been where you were, just in a different way—that maybe not all trauma was the same, but it still hurt, even when the two weren’t comparable.

“So what changed?” you asked during a water break, after you finally digested the realization, watching him absently massage his knee.

“Perspective,” he said simply. “Started focusing on what my body could do instead of what it couldn’t. Yeah, I can’t play soccer anymore, but I can help people like you find their strength. That’s not nothing, is it?”

People like you… And maybe the phrase should have stung, but the way he said it, with such an honest warmth, made it feel more like a compliment.

“You know what I love about training you?” he asked suddenly, and your heart did a stupid flutter in your chest. “You’re honest. You don’t pretend like it’s easy or fun. You show up even when you hate it. Do you know how rare that is?”

This makes you laugh, wiping sweat from your face with a towel. “Yeah, I’m a real inspiration... The girl who nearly cried doing wall sits yesterday.”

“Maybe… but you still finished them, though,” he pointed out. “That’s what matters. Not how pretty it looks or how easy it is. Just that you don’t give up.”

With perfect timing, the gym hotties made another appearance, a new group this time, but technically the same, all giggling and hair-tossing as they tried to catch Harry’s attention. One of them even “accidentally” dropped her water bottle right by where he was spotting your chest press, and for a second you held your breath, waiting for him to look, to give them the attention they were so desperate for, but he just kicked the bottle gently out of the way and kept his focus on you.

“That’s it, three more,” he encouraged, and maybe it was your imagination, but his voice seemed a little louder than necessary, like he was making a point. “You’ve got this.”

Later, as you were packing up your things, you overheard one of them complaining to her friend: 

“He’s always with that girl. Like, what’s the deal? Is she paying him extra or something?”

It was one of those times you wished you could roll it off, but the words pricked at your skin, and before you could spiral into self-loathing, Harry appeared at your elbow. “Ready for the cool-down stretches?” he asked, and his hand touched your lower back, guiding you away from the women who were still whispering their gossip. 

“I’ve got a new routine I want to try—it’s specifically designed for people with knee issues, but I think it’ll help with your hip flexibility too.”

People with knee issues. 

Like him, like you, like your fucking body that creaked and fought you at every turn, but now what was once a negative connotation had shifted, had become a positive acknowledgment, a thing you both shared. All the modified movements, the limitations, yes, they were real, but gone was the judgment, and the monster you could make of them.

By week six, you had developed a routine. You still hated mornings, still wanted to die during cardio, but there was something else now, a sense of anticipation. Not for the workout itself, god no, but for the hour you got to spend with Harry. 

A growing anticipation for the way he would light up when you managed something you couldn’t do the week before. All the terrible jokes he would tell to distract you during the dreadful planks. The way he would casually touch your arm or back—always appropriate, always professional, but still, there was something that made your skin tingle, a curious wonder that had your mind reeling.

“You’re getting stronger,” he told you one morning, watching as you completed a set of squats—real ones this time, not the shitty seated ones. “Can you feel it?”

And honestly, you could. Not just in your muscles, but in the way you carried yourself. You still had times when you tugged at your shirt, still felt your thighs rub together, but it was different now. Maybe less shameful, more just... fact. Your body was what it was, but it was capable of more than you thought.

“My knee’s been acting up this week,” Harry had admitted during a demonstration of a new exercise. Mentally, you had already noticed that it was less fluid than usual, but you didn’t say anything. 

He cleared his throat, trying to hide the wince of pain, “Probably the weather change. But look—” Then, he showed you how to modify the movement, turning what should have been a jumping exercise into a step-touch pattern. “Same muscle activation, less impact. All of this to say we work with what we’ve got, yeah?”

We…

And there was something in the way he said it, like he was trying to bind you both together through all the tiny imperfections. That’s when you found yourself, starting to stay a few minutes after your sessions, helping him reset equipment or just chatting while he iced his knee. It was during one of these moments that he opened up a little more about his injury.

“The thing is… the pain wasn’t even the worst part…” he said, pressing a bag of ice into his finicky knee. “It was watching my mates continue on without me. I mean, of course, they would visit the hospital, tell me about matches, and I was grateful… really I was… and I would smile and nod, hit all my marks… but the truth was I was dying inside… Took me years to be able to watch soccer again without feeling bitter.”

“Do you still feel bitter?” you asked, organizing dumbbells to avoid looking at him directly.

“Sometimes,” he confessed. “On bad days, when my knee won’t cooperate and I see people running without thinking twice about it... Yeah, it stings. But then I remember that without this—” he gestured to his knee, “—I’d never have become a trainer. Never have met the people I’ve helped. Never have...” He paused, and when you looked up, he was staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. “…Never have met you...”

You couldn’t help the heat creeping up your neck, your face burning with it, and like an idiot, you fumbled the dumbbell you were holding, completely giving yourself away. “I’m sure you say that to all your clients,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice from wobbling, but he shook his head.

“No,” he said simply. “I don’t.”

And as his words settled, the world around you seemed to pivot, the air now filling your lungs, charged with something that felt dangerously close to desire, but then someone dropped a weight plate across the gym with a thunderous clang, and the spell was broken, but you held onto that moment for as long as you could, because you felt it, felt the need beginning to ache in your bones.

But the one question that would always remain was:

Could he ever want a girl like me?

Week seven was when you nearly quit. It had been a bad week all around—work stress, family drama, and your fucking period decided to show up with a vengeance. You had barely slept, your body hurt in ways that had nothing to do with exercise, and the last thing you wanted was to squeeze into workout clothes and pretend like everything was fine, when it wasn’t.

“I’m sorry… But I don’t think I can do this today,” you told Harry the moment you walked in, not even bothering with a greeting. “I just... I can’t.” And there was shame in the way the words came out, like maybe this was your true self after all, and the rest was just an act.

He took one look at you, like, really looked at you. Not the quick bullshit assessment most people did, and nodded. “Okay. Tell me what you need?”

And his words nearly blindsided you. It wasn’t the “you have to push through” or “you’ll feel better after.” It was just a simple acceptance of where you were at, and you stood there trying to gather your words, feeling the burn at the back of your throat. 

“I don’t know,” you forced, feeling tears prick at your eyes. “I’m honestly so exhausted and everything hurts, and I looked in the mirror this morning… I don’t know… it’s just been a shitty week, and I’m just not sure what the point is anymore, and—”

“Hey,” he gently interrupts, steering you toward a quieter corner of the gym. “Breathe for me, yeah? Just breathe.”

And you did, gulping in air like you were drowning, and maybe it was his hand on your low back, but gradually the panic receded just enough for embarrassment to creep in. “Sorry. I’m being dramatic.”

“You’re just being human,” he corrected. “We all have these days. Hell, I had one last week—woke up and my knee was so stiff I could barely make it down the stairs. Wanted to throw things, and cry, and give up. You know what I did instead?”

“What?”

“Called in sick and spent the day on the couch watching terrible reality TV and eating biscuits.” Your brows shot up, and he grinned. “What? You thought I was going to say I powered through with positive thinking? Fuck that. Sometimes you need to just feel what you’re feeling.”

You felt overwhelmed. His answer was so unexpected, so honest, that you found yourself laughing despite the tears. “So what should I do?” You asked, wiping at your eyes.

“Today? If you want to stay, we can modify everything. Gentle movement only, nothing that makes you want to die. We can do some stretching, maybe some light resistance work if you’re up for it. And if at any point you need to stop, we stop. No judgment, no pushing. Just listening to what your body needs.”

And thank the heavens up above, because it was by far the easiest session you had ever had, physically speaking. But emotionally? God, emotionally, it was everything. Harry had adapted every single movement to match your energy level, never once making you feel weak or pathetic for needing the modifications. Everything was intuitive, even when the gym hotties walked by and gave you pitying looks, he shifted positions to block their view, talking louder about muscle groups to draw your attention away.

“You showed up,” he said at the end, as you were doing your final stretches. “On a day when everything in you said to stay home, you showed up. That’s a huge win.”

“It feels like nothing,” you muttered, but he shook his head.

“Six weeks ago, would you have come in feeling like this?”

And as you gazed into his green eyes, you thought about it. Six weeks ago, you would have used any excuse to avoid the gym. “No… I would have stayed home.”

“Then that’s progress. Not all progress looks like smaller jeans or bigger muscles. Sometimes it looks like showing up when you don’t want to.” His hand rested on your shoulder, warm and steady. “I’m proud of you.”

His words seemed to hit you harder than any physical exercise could ever touch the surface. When was the last time someone had said that to you? When was the last time you had given someone a reason to?

By week eight, something fundamental inside you had changed. Not just in your body, though you had to admit, you were feeling stronger, more capable, but in how you existed in your skin. You still had all the same insecurities, all the same soft places and jiggly bits, but they felt less like failures now and more like... just parts of you.

Which is why, when you got dressed that morning, you reached for the new workout outfit you had bought on impulse—fitted leggings and a tank top—there would be no hiding behind excess fabric, not today. Of course, your reflection still showed everything you usually hated—the belly that refused to lie flat, the arms that continued their gentle wobble, the thighs that would always touch. But for once, you didn’t want to reach for the oversized shirt.

“Fuck it,” you told your reflection. “Let’s see what happens.”

And what happened was Harry nearly dropped his water bottle when you walked in.

“You look—” He caught himself, his professionalism snapping back into place like a rubber band. “That’s a great color on you… It really brightens up your complexion.”

And try all he wanted, but you had seen that first reaction, the way his eyes had widened, tracked over your curves before he could even remember himself. It sent a thrill through you, gave you a sense of power that had you on cloud nine.

“Thanks,” you said, trying to sound casual even as your heart hammered. “Figured I would switch things up a bit…”

“Yeah… It’s a nice change for sure,” he said quietly, and there was something in his voice that made you look at him. I mean, really take in his expression, because it said it all. “Just... for what it’s worth, you should wear whatever makes you comfortable. But this—” He gestured vaguely, carefully not looking directly at your body. “This confidence suits you.”

He had you soaring, and the workout that followed ignited a new kind of tension growing between you. Harry had always been hands-on with corrections, but now each touch felt loaded with a new possibility. When he adjusted your hip position during bridges, his fingers seemed to linger a beat too long, and fuck, when he spotted your chest press, he stood closer than strictly necessary. And when he demonstrated proper form for a new exercise, you caught him glancing at you in the mirror, checking if you were watching.

You were. You always were.

“You know,” he said during a water break, his own face flushed from a particularly intense movement, “I’ve been training people for five years, and I’ve never seen someone transform the way you have.”

“I haven’t really transformed, though,” you told him, gesturing at yourself. “I mean, I’m maybe a size smaller? If that?”

“That’s not what I mean.” Then he sat on the bench beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “When you first walked in, you looked like you wanted to disappear. Moved like you were apologizing for taking up space. Now look at you—wearing what you want, taking up all the space you need, moving like you have a right to be here. Because you do.”

The sincerity in his voice made your throat tight. “It’s because of you,” you said quietly. “The way you teach, the way you... see me. Not as a project to fix, but as a person. Like I don’t have to fit into the mold I thought I did.”

“Fuck the mold. It’s boring,” he said, and his hand covered yours on the bench, just for a second. “Lifes too short to try and keep up with all the bullshit.”

That was when the gym hotties chose that moment to make their appearance, a trio of them this time, chest high, all sports bras a size too small, stretched across their fucking boobs with an obvious intention. You watched as the tallest one made a beeline for Harry, her trajectory as clear as a heat-seeking missile.

“Harry! I was hoping you could show me that lunge from the other day during our session… it seems to have totally slipped my mind.”

“I’m with a client, Bridgette,” Harry said, not even looking at her. His hand had left yours, but he shifted closer, his knee touching yours. “Like I tell the others, you can book a session at the front desk if you need personal instruction.”

Bridgette’s eyes flicked between you and Harry, taking in the minimal space between you, the way Harry’s body was angled toward yours like a plant seeking sun. “Right. Sure. I’ll do that.”

And just as she was about to turn to leave, she says, “Oh… and it’s Courtney, by the way…” then she stalks off, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. 

“You know, I think they’re all convinced I’m either paying you extra or sleeping with you.”

Harry’s amused expression fell. “Have they been saying things to you?”

“No… no more than I expected,” you confessed. “You know how it is.. heaven forbid the chubby girl get any personal attention from the hot trainer? It’s probably not realistic in their world… and I guess in mine either… but of course, they’re going to talk.”

“You’re not—” He stopped, jaw clenched, and when he continued, his voice held a careful control. “First of all, I don’t think your chubby… if that’s what you want to call it… so fuck them. Second, you’re not just nothing. You’re a client who works harder than anyone else in this gym, who shows up even when it’s hard, who—” He cut himself off again, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “And I’m not just giving you attention because... Christ, I’m making this worse.”

“Because what?” you urged, heart racing.

He looked at you then, and for a moment, you saw past the professional mask he was trying to hold, to something real and wanting underneath. “Because it’s my job,” he said finally, but the words sounded hollow. “Come on, let’s finish your session.”

The rest of the workout passed in tense silence, both of you overly aware of every accidental touch, every shared glance in the mirror. When he helped you stretch at the end, his hands on your calf as you lay on the mat, the tension was almost unbearable, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself grounded.

“Same time Thursday?” he asked when you were gathering your things, and there was something helpless in his expression, like maybe he was afraid you might say no.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Same time Thursday.”

As you left, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror by the exit, flushed and sweaty, curves on full display in your fitted outfit, looking like someone who belonged here. Not because your body had dramatically changed, but because maybe you were actually starting to believe you had a right to exist in places like this, exist in your own skin, like maybe it could be okay.

And just as your eyes were about to move forward, you caught sight of Harry watching you go, and the look on his face...

Yeah. You were definitely in trouble.

But for once, you didn’t want to run from it. You wanted to see where this path could take you, just as you were.

When week nine rolled around, you were back on track, your mind totally on board, and everything was going great. Even you were amazed by yourself, the way you were hitting every mark. Harry still kept a professional distance, but it wasn’t taking from the attraction you felt, now a low hum over your skin, signalling an obvious draw to him, that sent a pulse between your thighs every time his hands touched your body.

It was becoming a problem, actually. The way your body responded to him now—not just the flutter in the pit of your stomach, but it had turned into a full-body awareness every time he was near. When he corrected your form, his fingers grazing your hip or pressing against your back, you had to bite back sounds that had nothing to do with exertion. And you were pretty sure he knew it, too, from the way his jaw would tighten, the way he would step back a little quicker than necessary, like he needed the distance just as much as you.

One day, you were in the middle of box step-ups, feeling strong, feeling capable, feeling like maybe you were actually becoming the person you had wanted to be when you first walked through those doors. The fitted workout clothes were your new normal, and while your body hadn’t dramatically changed, the way you moved in it had. Confident. Taking up space. Belonging.

Because like Harry said “Fuck them all.” 

“That’s it, drive through your heel,” Harry encouraged, and god, his voice when he got all instructor-mode did things to you. “Really activate those glutes.”

You were focused, you were in the zone, you were—

And then your fucking ankle rolled.

One second you were stepping down, controlled and strong, and the next you were falling, your right ankle giving way beneath you with a sickening pop that you felt more than heard. The sound that tore from your throat was raw, primal, and suddenly, you were on the ground, hands clutching at your ankle as pain shot through it like lightning.

“Fuck!” The word came out high and sharp as a sob ripped from your throat, and then Harry was there, dropping to his knees beside you, his professional calm never wavering even as his hands hovered over you, not quite touching.

“Don’t move,” he demanded, his accent thicker with urgency. “Let me see—can you wiggle your toes?”

You tried, gasping at the pain that radiated up your leg. Around you, the gym had gone quiet, and you could feel every pair of eyes turning your way. The fat girl has fallen, was all you could think, because, of course, she had. Everyone was probably thinking you couldn’t handle the exercise, probably pushed too hard, probably—

“Hey, look at me,” Harry whispered, cutting through your thoughts. His hand cupped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Just me, yeah? No one else matters right now.”

But they did matter. You could hear the whispers, feel the stares, and like another betrayal, the tears of frustration burned at your eyes, already threatening to spill over. Not just from the pain—though fuck, it hurt—but from the humiliation of it all. Nine weeks of progress, nine weeks of building yourself up, and here you were, crumpled on the gym floor like every stereotype you had been fighting against.

The stares felt like the harsh truth of ‘I told you so,’ feeding that inner monologue you had been trying to suppress.

“I need to check if it’s broken,” Harry said, his hands gentle as they ghosted over your ankle. You hissed at even the lightest touch, and he pulled back immediately. “Right, we’re going to the hospital. Can you stand at all?”

“I don’t—I can’t—” The tears came then, hot and angry. “Everyone’s watching.”

“Fuck them,” Harry said fiercely, and the sharpness startled you enough to look at him. His green eyes were blazing with something protective, something furious, something lighting a fire within him. “Marcus!” he called to another trainer. “I need you to clear this area. Now.”

Then, to you, his voice softer now: “I’m going to help you up, okay? We’ll go out the back exit. Can you put your arm around my neck?”

The next few minutes were a blur of pain and movement. At that point, Harry was essentially carrying you, your weight supported against his solid frame, and for a moment, you forgot about everyone else because all you could focus on was how strong he was, how easily he held you up despite his own bad knee. When he got you to his car, he helped you into the passenger seat with a gentleness that made your chest tighten.

“I need to cancel my appointments,” he muttered, pulling out his phone as he started the car. “Sarah? Yeah, it’s Harry. Let’s go ahead and cancel the rest of my appointments for the day...”

And you listened, dazed, as he gave her instructions. “You know you don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off with a look.

“Yes, I do. You’re hurt, and you need to get to the hospital. End of story.”

The hospital was a whirlwind of X-rays and ice packs, and doctors with cold hands. Your ankle wasn’t broken, thank goodness, but a bad sprain that would have you off your feet for at least a week, and even though the news was disheartening. There was joy in the way Harry stayed the whole time. He even held your hand during the x-ray, kept you distracted with silly stories while you waited for results, and graciously helped you fill out paperwork when your hands were shaking too much from residual adrenaline.

“You know,” you said at one point, watching him charm the nurse into bringing you an extra ice pack, “most trainers would have just called an ambulance and been done with it.”

He looked offended at the proposal. “What kind of person would I be if I did that? Besides,” his expression softened, “I needed to make sure you were okay.”

The drive to your apartment was quiet, your ankle propped up in the backseat, wrapped in an ace bandage, throbbing with every heartbeat, or sudden bump in the road. Harry had insisted on driving you home, waving off your suggestion for an Uber, and now here you were, trying not to think about how normal this all felt, him driving you home, eyes flicking to yours in the rearview mirror, every time you stared too long.

“Third floor,” you said when he pulled up to your building, and then realized what that meant. “Shit. I’m on the third floor. With no elevator.”

“We’ll manage,” Harry said, already getting out to help you.

‘Managing’ turned out to be a slow, painstaking process. Harry’s arm was around your waist, taking most of your weight, and you had never been more aware of your body—not in the usual self-conscious way, but in how it pressed against his, how his fingers splayed across your hip to hold you steady. He smelled good, inviting even. You liked this proximity, enjoyed the feel of the muscles in his shoulders working as he nearly carried you up each step.

Halfway up the second flight, his knee buckled slightly, and you both had to stop, pressed against the wall, breathing hard.

“Your knee,” you gasped, guilt flooding through you. “Harry, I’m too heavy—”

“Don’t,” he said sharply, his arm tightening around you. “Don’t do that. You’re not too anything. My knee’s just being a bastard today. We’re both a bit broken, remember? We’ll make it work.”

And you did, step by careful step, stopping when his knee was cranky, adjusting when your ankle screamed, a quiet give and take, you both seemed to be savoring, and by the time you reached your door, you were both sweating and trembling, but something about doing it together, about both of you pushing through your limitations, made it feel like a victory rather than the anguish of a struggle.

Harry helped you inside, getting you settled on the couch with your ankle elevated, and for a moment, you just looked at each other, both breathless from more than just exertion. The silence felt weighted, thick in the air, heavy with the words unspoken, and you found yourself saying, “Do you want to stay? Like hang out, I mean? I could order food or—”

“I should get back,” he said too quickly, but he looked reluctant. “I probably need to get back. Sort out the schedule for tomorrow, since I canceled on everyone today. Figure out how to rearrange things…”

That’s when reality crashed back in. Right. Of course. This was his job; you were just a client, and he had definitely already gone above and beyond. The disappointment must have shown on your face because then he quickly added, “But we’ll need to talk soon, yeah? Go over modifying your workouts for your current situation. Once you’re healed enough to come back, I mean.”

Situation…

The word like a fucking knife to your gut… “Your situation,” he said, like you were some kind of problem to be solved, a complication to work around. Just like always, too much, too difficult, too... everything, and all at once, you felt the warmth of the last few hours evaporate, leaving you exposed, foolish in the way you thought there could be more, but silly you.

“Right,” you said, your voice coming out flat. “My situation.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, clearly sensing the shift but not understanding it. “I just mean with your ankle—”

“No, I get it.” And you forced a smile that felt like plastic. “Thanks for everything today. Really. It was... above and beyond.”

He stood there for a moment, looking like he wanted to say something else. Then he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Here, let me... I don’t normally do this, but...” He seemed to be fighting with himself. “Can I give you my number? Just in case you need anything or have questions about the ankle?”

Your heart sank. He was giving you his number out of pity. Poor chubby girl who hurt herself, better make sure she doesn’t feel completely abandoned, god, it was so obvious—it was charity, wrapped up in the typical nice guy package.

“Sure,” you said, typing it into your phone with numb fingers. “Got it.”

“Text me so I have yours,” he said, and you did, sending a simple “Hi, it’s me” that felt like swallowing coals.

The awkwardness stretched between you like taffy, both of you unsure how to move the moment forward. Harry shifted his weight, favoring his good knee, clearly wanting to leave but not knowing how. “So... rest, ice, elevation. Doctor said a week minimum before trying any weight-bearing exercises. We can work with that when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, definitely.” You told him, trying to keep that plastic smile in place. “I’ll let you know.”

After he left, you sat in the growing darkness of your apartment, ankle throbbing, and did what you always did when things got too real—you retreated. But you did send him a text that night: 

Y/N: I appreciate you shifting your day around. It was really kind. I’ll reach back out when I’m ready to come back. Thanks for everything.

Professional. Distant. Safe.

And his response came quickly: 

H: Of course. Rest up and let me know if you need anything. We’ll get you back on track in no time. 

But you didn’t reach back out. Days turned into a week, then two. Your ankle had healed, but your mind had spiraled back to old patterns. Every time you thought about the gym, you remembered falling, remembered everyone staring, remembered Harry having to literally carry you because you were too much for your own body to handle. 

To your surprise, his texts came sporadically:

H: Hey, how’s the ankle?

H: Just checking in. Doctor cleared you yet?

H: We got some new equipment that I really think you’ll like. Excited to try it when you’re back.

H: Hope you’re okay. Miss having you in sessions.

That last one even made you cry, but you still didn’t respond. It was easier to ghost him than to face the humiliation of going back. Easier to order takeout and binge Netflix than to deal with the messy feelings he seemed to stir up. You had been down that road with guys like him; it never works. Always the friend but never the lover. You were stupid to think there was something there, stupid to believe you were anything more than a client he felt sorry for.

Two and a half weeks after the ankle incident, you were deep in the trenches of doubt, sucked in by yet another self-loathing pity party, when the doorbell rang, but you ignored it at first. Then it rang again, followed by a knock.

“If that’s Mrs. Gladys about the rent, it’s in the mail!” you called, not moving from your cocoon of isolation.

“It’s not Mrs. Gladys.” You froze. That accent, that voice, fuck, it was Harry at your door. 

“I know you’re in there,” he continued. “I can see the TV light under the door. And... I brought Chinese.” He spoke up again.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You hauled yourself up, catching sight of yourself in the hall mirror, and immediately regretted it. But it was too late, he already heard you moving, and it would be worse to leave him standing there, so you opened the door just a crack, trying to hide your body behind it.

“Harry, what are you doing here?”

He looked good. Of course, he looked good, in jeans and a worn tee that clung to his chest in ways that should be illegal, especially on a Tuesday night. He was holding a massive bag of takeout in one hand, and wait… were those flowers?

“I’m sorry,” he said, and the genuine worry in his eyes made your chest tight. “I know this is weird, but I wasn’t sure what I should do. You hadn’t answered any of my texts, and I was worried about you…”

“I thought it was just protocol,” you answered, your voice tight.

He shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Well, I mean I was asking from a trainer’s point of view, yes, but I was hoping that it would come across as... I don’t know... more?”

“More? What do you mean?” You asked, cracking the door open a bit more.

“I thought when I gave you my number, you were catching the vibe that I was trying to put out...” He laughed, looking down at his feet, and the bashfulness was so startling on him that you almost forgot to breathe as a strand of hair fell loose. “What I’m saying is I thought there was a vibe between us?”

“Mmm,” was all you could manage, stunned. “A vibe?”

“Honestly, I thought you gave everyone your number?”

This made him laugh, looking back up at you with those heartwrenching green eyes, and fucking hell, those dimples. “No, trust me, I’ve learned my lesson with that one... Have you seen some of those ladies at the gym? A little persistent, yeah? Trust me, they’re not my type. I’m not interested.”

“I see...” You were mesmerized. This guy, this gorgeous, sweet, amazing guy, was standing at your door with flowers and food, talking about vibes.

“I can go, though... if this is too weird... but I’d hate to eat all this Chinese takeaway by myself,” he said, holding up the bag, and it did indeed look like enough to feed a small country, and it took everything in you not to make a fat joke, but something in his expression stopped you. 

He was nervous. Harry was nervous.

“No. Please... come in... I never pass up... what did you call it? Chinese takeaway...”

When he came in, you shut the door and immediately examined the bag. The smell was incredible, and your stomach reminded you that depression meals of cereal and toast weren’t actually sustaining.

“I do think you bought enough to feed a small army, though...”

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered a little of everything...”

This got a laugh out of you, the first real laugh in weeks. “Well, lucky you, I like everything... You don’t get curves like these being a picky eater...”

“I see...” He said with a sexy smirk, that had you giddy as his eyes roamed your body with the same heated look you had seen that day in the gym mirror. He wasn’t hiding it now, wasn’t trying to be professional. He was just a man, looking at you like you were something to devour, pajamas and all.

“Yeah... there was definitely a vibe...” You teased, narrowing your eyes at him while taking the flowers from his hands and bringing them to your nose. They were simple, but the gesture made your heart flip.

“I’ll put these in water...” And as you moved toward the kitchen, you felt his eyes following you, suddenly aware of how small your apartment felt with him in it. 

The energy you guys had been dulling in the past was present, making itself known as it filled the space. Now you had a new hunger growing in your belly that had nothing to do with Chinese food and everything to do with the way Harry was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room worth seeing.

Fuck it you thought, and you set the flowers down in the sink for later, “I’m not usually this forward… but I’ve been dying to kiss you?” you asked pressing your back against the sink, and you said the words with an air of confidence that seemed to flee the second your eyes found his. Sending you right back to that place of self-doubt.

Harry didn’t answer, and you watched as he silently pushed himself away from the counter and closed the small space between you.

 It felt like every movement slowed, every breath hollow, as if the sight of him before you was a figment of your imagination, and you couldn’t quite bring your eyes to meet his, not yet. You just stared at his broad chest, his strong stature like stone before your gaze, unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of his breath, like maybe he was waiting for you to make the move.

But it was something about the way he stood there, that same gentle patience he had exuded all along. It was devastating, the kindness now an ache that deepened inside you, the second you pressed your palm flat to the center of his chest. 

Yet his stillness remained as you felt the warmth of his body, the beating of his heart, but you still couldn’t look, because here was the fear telling you that you couldn’t have it, that you weren’t worthy, that this wasn’t real, but god he was real, and the breath that left his body was real.

And it hurt, and you were scared, and when his hand moved to yours, pressing your palm into his chest, you felt yourself breaking. Then you braved a look, your eyes finding his, and it was like something cracked within you, a well of every insecurity you had ever had, came spilling from your chest with a gasp, as a sob rose, and it wasn’t even him that you were crying about.

It was everything, all at once, it was you, it was him, it was the broken girl inside you, crying to be healed, to be wanted, to be needed, to be loved, because you wanted to be loved, you wanted to be seen, you wanted someone to love you the way you deserved. You had always had so much love to give, but no one who could reciprocate, the world always taking, but never giving back.

Then his hand was cupping your face, his eyes on your mouth, and the second his lips pressed to yours, delicate and soft, he drew in a deep breath, like you were the air he needed to fill his lungs with, like suddenly here you were, and as your mouths begin to move, the chatter in your head began to fade away.

As the kiss deepened, hands roaming, you felt yourself letting go, slipping to a place of peace, to a place you had only ever felt with him, to those times when he had you in a room full of people, yet the world always seemed to narrow to just the two of you. This was that moment, a universe that belonged to you and Harry.

And for the first time, maybe ever in your life, you allowed yourself to just exist.

When you pulled away, your eyes met, making a silent exchange, and you grabbed his hand with a slow nod, ready to make sacred what you felt in your heart, give him the pieces that he had made whole with the kindness of his spirit. You wanted to give yourself in the only way you knew how to convey what words couldn’t say.

And when he laid you down on the bed, he was gentle, hands moving over your curves like they were the most sacred gift you could give, and maybe they were in that moment, and when he kissed your lips, you felt the passion and the need in the delicate balance of his control. It felt safe. Harry was taking his time to explore the plains of your body, no rush, just a tender embrace that had tears streaming down your face.

“Is this okay?” he whispered against your skin, and the care in his voice made your chest tight. Always checking, always making sure, like you were the most beloved artifact, instead of too much.

You nodded, but your hands were already moving to guide his away from your stomach, that soft place you had spent years hating, years hiding. He noticed, you knew he would, and he paused, his green eyes searching yours in the dim light of your bedroom.

“Talk to me,” he said softly, his hand stilling on your hips. “What’s going through that beautiful mind?”

“I just...” You said, turning away, and the look in his eyes was too much for the shame pricking at your skin. It wasn’t like you hadn’t had sex before, but there had never been this level of positive vulnerability on both parts. The feeling reminded you of your first time, and maybe almost every time, actually.

The good times, few and far between.

Yes, the fear was there, and so was the desperation, but that was the part you didn’t want to be there. You didn’t want that desperate feeling of doing, just to feel wanted. You knew this wasn’t the case now, but it was hard to shake that pattern of thinking when this was the only relationship you had to sex. “You’ve probably been with so many girls who are... who look...” And the words stuck in your throat. 

Skinny. Fit. Perfect. Everything you weren’t.

“Hey.” His finger gently turned your chin back to him. “I’m here with you. Only you. And I’ve wanted to be here, exactly here, for weeks.”

But when his hand moved again, you caught it, redirecting it away from your middle, and this time he didn’t let you. Instead, he slowly lowered down your body, holding your eyes as he did, and before you could stop him, his lips were pressing against the soft flesh of your stomach, right where you were trying to hide.

“Harry—”

But he was already kissing every inch, every delicate place, every roll and curve you had spent years despising, and as he continued, your body trembled with sobs beneath his lips, overwhelmed by the adoration in his touch.

“God,” he breathed against your skin, “Every inch of you is beautiful. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

And just when you thought you couldn’t break anymore, here was another wall crumbling, and when he moved back up to kiss you, you could taste the mingling of your tears on his lips now, salt and beauty, a messy mix of his devotion and time.

“Can we just...” you start, then stop, embarrassed by what you wanted to ask. This was the part you wanted to skip, the lead up, you didn’t think you were strong enough for it, not right now, not in this moment, not when you were barely hanging by a thread, your emotions everywhere.

“What do you need?” He pulled back slightly, studying your face. “Tell me.”

“Can we just... be together? I want to feel you, to kiss you. Is that okay? I don’t need...” You gestured vaguely over your body, unable to say the words.

Then you watched as understanding dawned in his eyes. “If that’s what you want,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But… hopefully you’ll let me take care of you another time—”

“Another time?” You repeated, a little too excited, because god, the hope in your voice was already embarrassing.

He smiled, that dimpled smile that had you out of your mind from the beginning. “Yeah, love, there’s no way this is a one-time act. I’m already hooked. You have me completely. Trust me.”

That was all you needed, because then you were reaching with a shaky hand to your nightstand, pulling out the condom you had optimistically kept there. He took it from your trembling fingers, and the care he took with everything—with you—made fresh tears spring to your eyes.

And it was like a light switch flipping on in your brain when he pushed inside you, like something waking. At first, you weren’t sure what to do, whether you should just lie there, and let him lead like you had usually done in the past with others, or if you should use your words. But everything in you wanted to take some kind of control, to show him that you weren’t just passive, that you could give as good as you got.

The feeling built slowly, his hands mapping your body like he was trying to memorize every curve, every response. And just as you felt yourself getting close, that familiar tightening, a surge of confidence unlike anything you had ever felt before, flooded through you like a line of fire.

That’s when you pushed your hands into his shoulders, trying to be smooth about the move, hoping he would get the hint, but then he stopped without hesitation, concern flashing across his face. “Do you want me to—”

But you were already moving, pushing him onto his back and climbing on top, not giving a fuck that your stomach was visible, or that your boobs would bounce, that hell, maybe everything would jiggle, but for once, you didn’t care, because the way he was looking at you, like the fucking goddess you were and felt, was everything. It made you feel powerful, turning what was already pleasure into a feast that fed the famished hunger within.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his hands gripping at the flesh of your hips, as he bucked up to meet you, and the awe in his voice was already pushing you to the edge. It didn’t take long until you came hard, crumbling forward, and his arms wrapped around you immediately, holding you tight against his chest as he followed you over.

Even though you were aware of everything, all the flaws, all the thoughts, the way your body felt pressed against his, you stayed like that for a long moment, giving your body time to meld with his, no matter how uncomfortable it was or if you felt like your body would crush him. You wanted to be with this man in every way, maybe even savor the way his hands still moved up and down your body, caressing over every curve as both of you caught your breath. When you finally lifted your head, he was looking at you with such tenderness, such wonderment that it made your chest ache.

“You’re incredible,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Absolutely incredible.”

Later, after he had cleaned you both up with a warm washcloth, yes, you let him, because he insisted on taking care of you despite any objections, and damn he was a sweet talker, you knew you couldn’t resist the power of his words. Because you knew he meant them. Afterward, when you lay curled against his chest, his bad knee elevated on a pillow, and you with all your insecurities knocking at your mind’s door. You knew in that moment that you were two broken people, but even two broken halves can make something whole together, and that was the devastating truth you held onto.

And as you drifted off to sleep, his arms around you, his heartbeat steady under your ear, you thought maybe the universe was finally giving you something good, giving you someone who saw you, saw the real you, not just as a project to fix or some kind of problem to solve, but as someone worth loving, exactly as you were.

You knew the journey to confidence wasn’t over. You knew that you would still have your bad days, still struggle with mirrors and fitted clothes, and that fucking voice in your head that said you were never enough. But for now, you had someone who wanted to be there for those days, too, someone you knew would remind you of your worth when you forgot it yourself.

Someone who would love every inch of you, especially the parts you’ve allowed yourself to hate. Someone who made you believe that maybe, just maybe, you deserved to take up space in this world—and in his heart.

And that was worth more than any number on a scale could ever be.

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Other One-Shots<-

[monicaalexandraaa]

Pls pls plsss mrs jaws a blurb for the squirting community. We are so underrepresented🥲💦

I’ve got you, lovebug! Here you go. I hope you like it

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Warnings- squirting, soft dom!H, dirty talk, messy sex, etc

Harry gripped her hips firmly as he slammed into her from behind, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through their bedroom. She was on her knees, cheek pressed against the pillow as she let out little huffs of breath as he gave it to her, just how she liked.

His thumb pressed firmly against her clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure while he fucked her, each thrust was powerful and deliberate, pressing where she needed inside her that made her whimper and push back against him eagerly.

"That's it, love." Harry praised gruffly, his other hand snaking up to tangle in her hair. He tugged her head back slightly, arching her back and changing the angle of his thrusts to hit where he wanted. "You take my cock so well, don't you? Like you were made for it." He punctuated each word with a hard snap of his hips, his fingers on her clit never stopping their relentless motion. “Made for me. Perfect fuckin’ pussy, snug around my cock.”

A sharp gasp escaped Y/N's lips as Harry's filthy words washed over her. The intense pleasure of him giving her the thrusts she needed and eager fingers circling her swollen clit had her approaching a feeling that made her want to squirm. She pushed back against him shamelessly, meeting his thrusts as her pussy clenched around him, already tightening at the building pressure. "Harry, oh God..." Her hair spilled over her shoulders and into her face, and she couldn't help but whimper. “It’s… I’m gonna make a fucking mess.” Y/N mewled out. “I’m sorry.”

Harry felt the change instantly - her inner walls tightened almost painfully around his length, and she let out a high-pitched moan that made him realize she was close. Real close. Like she was actually going squirt all over his dick close. His sheets were the least of his concerns.

His thumb pressed harder against her clit, spreading her wetness around the sensitive nub. He knew that spot - knew how easily she went from "almost there" to gushing if he hit it right. He kept the same pace, letting out a deep groan as he felt her clit throb against his fingers.

“Yeah? Gonna gush ‘round my cock, sweet girl?” He wanted it. She’d been able to do it a few times with him, but each and every time was the hottest thing he ever saw. “That’s what I want. Want you to make a mess for me, baby. God, I can fucking feel it coming.” He hissed through his teeth. “Give it t’me. Give me what I want.”

Harry's encouragement sent her over the edge. Y/N let out a loud, guttural moan as entire body tensed as a massive wave of pleasure hit her, the feeling almost as if she was going to lose control. Her pussy spasmed violently around his cock, and then it hit, hot liquid gushing from her in pulses. Harry’s face contorted in pleasure as he pulled out, immediately rubbing his cock over her clit, spreading her own slick around the sensitive nub to keep it going.

"Fuck, yes, just like that, love. There it is. Jesus Christ, look at you - absolutely flooding the sheets for me." Harry was breathing heavily, his voice thick as he rubbed her clit with the head of his sensitive dick, drawing out every last drop. "You're such a good girl when you fuckin' squirt like this..." One hand stayed on her hip while the other let go of her hair to spread her open to watch. "Keep cumming... keep cumming all over my cock. There you go, Thatta-fuckin-girl."

He could feel her pulsing against him, the sensation driving him wild. It was a reward for him, getting her here. The day they figured out how to make it happen for her, he had been trying to ensure she got as much as she wanted. "Drenching that cock, my balls, the bed... fuck, I love it. I love watching you make a mess for me." Crooning as he felt her body tremble under him, he felt his cock throb as he pressed it back into her shallowly as he let her calm down.

Y/N's mouth was open in a silent 'O', her face hot and eyes squeezed shut as her pussy contracted and released in waves around nothing. She was completely overwhelmed by the intensity, her whole body shaking as she pushed back against him, trying to get more and also pull away at the same time. Her body didn’t know what it wanted. "Oh my god... I can't... s’too much. Too empty.." She whined, burying her face in the pillow. “Please?”

"Shhh, baby, I know. I know it’s overwhelming. Just breathe for me, hmm?" Harry slowed his movements to a complete stop, burying his cock deep inside her, filling her completely. "There we go... just breathe. I’m here. Feel how full you are? Like you can’t even tell where your pussy ends and I begin? M’right here. " He whispered, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her back onto anchor her. "Just squeeze around me. I’ve got you. So gorgeous."

Her body relaxed slowly as she adjusted to having him inside her again, her trembling subsiding. Harry stayed still, not moving even an inch, letting her feel just how full he was making her, grounding her to the moment. "That's my girl." He cooed softly, pressing gentle kisses along her shoulder. "God, your pussy is still pulsing around me." He let out a low hiss at the feeling. "You okay, lovie? Still with me?" His hand stroked her soothingly.

"Mhm.” She mumbled into the pillow, her voice soft and hazy from pleasure. Her inner muscles continued to flutter around him, still sensitive. "I'm... I'm still here." Her breath hitched slightly as she adjusted to having him so deep. "Don't move... just-stay right there." She needed a moment to recover - and also never wanted him to leave. Having him there felt perfect, complete. “Can go again in a few minutes.” The woman whispered as her body grew more lax.

A low chuckle escaped him as he felt her body relax completely around him. "Take your time, love." His voice was gentle, almost tender. He knew her well enough to understand that it left her sensitive and needing a moment before she could handle more. “I’ll always take care of you.”

[monicaalexandraaa]

would loveee to see harry crying during sex because of how good he feels, like not even in a sub x dom way but more so in a “i love you so much i want to live in your skin” way. like maybe they haven’t seen each other in a week and when they reunite and have sex he’s crying with how amazing it feels

Oh I love this concept. Emotional during sex is one of my faves! Hope I did your vision justice

Check out our Patreon for early access and 300+ exclusive writings and series!

Warnings- emotional, crying during sex, fluffy as hell, unprotected sex

After two long, agonizing weeks of being apart for work, Harry had finally returned home to Y/N. The moment he stepped through the door, he had swept her into his arms, crushing her against him in a desperate kiss. Words couldn’t have described just how much he had missed her, just how much he hated being away from her. He had felt insane being away that long and he’d no intention of doing it again.

Carrying her upstairs to their bedroom, he set her down gently before stripping off his clothes with urgent hands. He needed to feel connected to her again, desperately needed the feel of her wrapped around him.

Harry's breath hitched as he pushed in slowly, deliberately, groaning at how perfectly she fit around him. Fuck, he'd missed this - missed being inside her so much it hurt. Their bodies moved together as he began to move, each thrust deeper than the last as he made love to her like a man starving for years instead of just two weeks apart.

He poured all his love, his longing, his relief into the kisses he demanded of her and she eagerly responded. The taste of her was so familiar, so perfect, he needed it on his tongue every day. Going without wasn’t an option. His hand gripped hers above her head while the other held him up above her as he picked up the pace, each stroke full and deliberate as he sought out her gasps into his mouth. Swallowing her moans, his own groans vibrating against her lips.

This was home. This was where he belonged.

Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist, her other arm locking tightly around his neck as she clung to him like a lifeline. Her nails dug into his skin to keep her grip as she met his thrusts with her own desperate movements, whimpers and soft cries falling from her lips between kisses. She was shaking, soaking wet - absolute perfection.

"I love you, baby." Harry whispered against her lips between deep, messy kisses that were interrupted by their panting breaths. His voice was hoarse with emotion and unshed tears as he tried to keep himself together- but it was hard when she was the only one he loved so much that he could allow himself to fall apart. He buried his face in the crook of her neck as he thrusted into her slowly, deliberately - as if trying to imprint himself back onto every inch of her being after being away too long. "I love you so fucking much. You can’t- you don’t even know."

Harry found himself trying to get as close to her as possible. It didn’t feel like enough, even with one of her legs hitched high up on his hip, the other wrapped around his lower back and his cock buried as deep as it could go with each thrust in. It was like he wanted to merge their bodies together in the least weird way possible- or maybe it was weird, but he didn’t care.

Harry could never get close enough. He wanted inside her again, then on top of her, then behind her - he needed her surrounding him like she was his air. He felt obsessive, starved.

Tears pricked at the corners of Harry's eyes as he continued to move inside her, his body shaking with emotion more than exertion. He couldn't hold back the tears any longer. It was an impossible ask.

They spilled over onto her skin as he pressed kisses to her cheeks, her jawline, her neck... anywhere he could possibly reach. He was overwhelmed, simply put, that she was back in his arms again after what felt like an eternity apart. It had been two damn weeks, two weeks too long. The time that made him realize he never wanted to choose to be away from her again. "My love... my love... my love..."

Harry couldn't get enough of her, couldn't get close enough. He needed to feel every inch of her skin against his, needed to be inside her until he couldn't breathe without her. The man was losing himself in her, drowning in their love and the overwhelming need to never let go again. "I love you, Angel- I love you... I fuckin’ love you so much. Can’t even...think.”

"I love you too." Y/N whimpered softly, her fingers carding through his hair, scratching his scalp gently. Tightening her legs around him, the girl pulled him closer. "Baby... God, Harry..." Pulling him from her neck, she kissed his cheeks where the tears were falling, her thumb catching one that fell onto his jawbone. "I love you. I missed you. So much."

Harry's breath hitched at her own declaration, his body shuddering against hers. Those words were exactly what he needed to hear.

The only thing he wanted to hear.

Kissing her hard, the man poured every bit of love he had into it, trying to show her how much she meant to him without words because they were failing him right then. She was everything; she was home and he'd been lost without her these past two weeks.. He couldn’t get enough of her lips on his, so he kept kissing them until they were both breathless.. Until neither could tell where one ended and the other began.

[monicaalexandraaa]

Ahhhhhhhh just so so good😩It’s so beautiful how he’s helping her navigate this and being so patient, kind and loving. Each part is such a comfort read🩷🩷

please me slowly

(part three of the teach me slowly series)

Summary: Before he teaches you how to take him, he teaches you how to taste him.

Warnings: early stages of a relationship, age gap, lots of talk about virginity and sex, handjob, oral (m!receiving), brief accidental facefucking, gagging, praise kink, size kink

Based on: this ask!

A/N: part three is here who else cheered!!! lmk if you like this one, i get so happy when i hear from you guys :) also is this a safe space to say i used the my policeman bj scene for my descriptions..? omg who said that! enjoy lovelies x

Word Count: 4,633

...

Your breathing is finally beginning to level out, though your chest still rises and falls a little faster than usual. The air in the bedroom is warm and hushed, the only sound the soft whirr of the fan in the corner and the faint rustling of sheets as Harry shifts beside you.

One of his hands is resting on your back, rubbing lazy circles above the waistband of your shorts, his other arm curled beneath his head. He's quiet. So are you. It's not an uncomfortable silence, but it's loaded. Heavy with something unspoken.

You glance over at him, but he's already looking at you.

His eyes seem darker in the dim light, half-lidded and a little glazed over. His lips are pink and parted, and he looks utterly undone, his curls sticking out at odd angles, jaw shadowed with stubble, a flush blooming across his cheekbones. And yet, he's watching you like you're the most breathtaking thing he's ever seen.

That's when he says it.

''I think I'm in love with you.''

It's quiet. Barely more than a whisper, but the words hit you like a collision anyway, like falling into deep water. You don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. You feel the air between you tighten, like the universe itself is waiting for your reply.

He doesn't take it back. Doesn't panic or fill the space with anything else. He just stays silent, his thumb grazing your hip, waiting.

Your entire body goes still at the weight of those words, heart thudding wildly. The tenderness of them. How they sound in his voice, low and scratchy and still heavy with pleasure. You don't know what to say. You hadn't expected it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But as you lay there, staring at him, at his furrowed brows and the nervous twitch of his lips, you realize you've felt it for a while, too, your love for him blossoming with every day spent together.

You felt it the night he walked you home after your first date and respectfully kissed the corner of your mouth before stepping away, cheeks pink like he'd been psyching himself up for this moment since you left the botanical garden, hands shyly intertwined.

You felt it the time he picked you up for dinner, the sleeves of his blouse pushed up to his elbows and his hair a mess, like he'd brushed his hands through it too many times before knocking on your door. He handed you a bouquet of tulips and smiled nervously, dimples exposed; ''You said you liked the tulips in the garden on our first date.'' You blushed the entire drive to the restaurant.

You felt it the day you got sick out of nowhere, body aching, head spinning, tears on your cheeks from how miserable you felt. You'd called Harry to cancel your date, voice hoarse, nose stuffy, words interrupted by a constant stream of sniffles and sneezes.

He didn't hesitate.

He drove across the city with two bags of medication and your favourite snacks and let himself into your place with the spare key hidden under the doormat. When he stepped into your bedroom and saw your form tucked under the blankets, empty boxes of tissues surrounding you, he took a seat on your bed and brushed the sweaty hair from your forehead, startling you from your light slumber.

''Is this a fever dream?'' you'd asked timidly when you recognized his figure, making him snort softly. You scooted over on the mattress, and he pulled you into his chest. He picked up the book you had left on your nightstand and read to you until you fell asleep mid-sentence. You woke up hours later with his hand still stroking your hair.

You feel it in the little things. The way he presses a kiss to your temple when he slings his arm around your shoulders, making a soft 'mwah' sound every time. The way he puts his hand on the small of your back in crowded places because he knows they make you anxious.

The way he notices when you're quiet and asks questions, but never presses when you don't want to talk about it. The way he remembers how you take your coffee, the lyrics to all your favourite songs, the stories you tell when nobody seems to be listening.

But he always is.

You love him.

You're not even sure when it happened. It's like the tide, it snuck in slowly, pulling at your ankles, your knees, your ribs. And now it's pulling you under, and you can't do anything but drown in it.

Your voice wobbles when you speak, barely a whisper against his skin. ''I think I'm in love with you, too.''

His chest lifts under you. You feel it before you see it, the relief, the joy, the way his breath finally rushes out of him like he's been holding it since the moment he spoke. You lift your head, meet his eyes in the dim light. They're wide and hopeful. Happy.

''Yeah?'' he asks softly, grinning.

''Yeah. I really do.''

His lips brush yours, once, twice, before settling in, and you hum into it, curling your fingers against his collarbone. He kisses you, not with urgency, not with hunger, but with adoration. It's not just a kiss, it's a promise. A seal on something you both just admitted out loud.

You curl into him again, feeling the shift like sunlight through a window. This love is still new, still blooming, but it's real. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, smiling to yourself.

But now that your love has been laid bare between you, something else simmers beneath the warmth. You can feel the tension still in his body: how his breathing hasn't quite returned to normal, how his arm flexes just a little when you curl further into him. You're still basking in the lingering euphoria of your first orgasm, your limbs heavy and your skin tingling where he touched you.

It's only when you shift slightly against his body that you feel it, feel him. Hard against the soft cotton of his sweatpants, thick and hot, the outline unmistakable even under the fabric.

He spent tonight making sure you felt good, and he hadn't asked for anything in return. Hadn't even hinted.

You move your hand just enough to curiously brush across the outline of him. He tenses, not sharply, but noticeably, and when you glance up at him, his eyes have fluttered closed. He huffs a small breath out through his nose, like he's trying to collect himself, but there's still that same softness lingering in his expression.

"You're still…" you trail off, suddenly shy, like acknowledging it out loud makes it taboo somehow. Your palm stays right where it is, hovering close. His eyes open slowly.

"Still hard?" he supplies, voice low and amused, but not mocking. His thumb brushes lightly over the back of your hand. "I know, baby."

The words go straight to your stomach. You swallow, gathering the nerve, the question sitting heavy on your tongue.

''Does that make you uncomfortable? Sorry,'' he murmurs, brushing his lips over your temple. ''I've been trying to will it away, but...''

Your heart skips. The fact that he's still turned on after everything, still aching like that, makes something twist low in your belly, and as the haze of pleasure settles and the emotional weight of the night begins to anchor you back into your body, the thought forms, clear and certain. You want to make him feel good, too.

''Harry?''

He hums, the sound low in his chest. ''Mm?''

Your fingers trace a faint line along the waistband of his sweats, not quite bold enough to dip beneath it. ''Can I… I mean, would you teach me how to…?'' you trail off, unsure how to phrase it without sounding ridiculous. You huff out a soft laugh, flustered. ''I want to make you feel good. I just don't really know how.''

His eyes sharpen at that. He pushes himself up on one elbow, his hand moving to cup your cheek quickly.

"Hey, no, no, no. You don't have to do that, love," he rushes, and the tenderness in his voice is so immediate, so sincere, it almost makes you want to cry. "Not tonight. It's been an intense couple of hours."

You shake your head, leaning into his touch. "I know I don't have to, Harry. I want to. I want to learn. I want you to teach me."

He watches you for a long moment, searching your face for any sign of doubt, any trace of unease. But you hold his gaze. You know you want this. Want him. You've never felt more sure.

Harry exhales hard, eyes closing for a moment like he's trying to keep himself in check. When they open again, they're darker than before, lust pooling in his irises, but his tone stays gentle.

''You have no idea how badly I want to say yes right now,'' he assures you, voice strained. ''But only if you're certain.''

You nod shyly. His thumb traces the edge of your lip, and for a second, he just stares at you.

''Promise me something,'' he says.

You blink. ''Okay.''

''If you ever feel uncomfortable, or like you're doing it just because you think you have to… I want you to stop. Just tell me. I'll listen.''

Your heart squeezes. ''I promise.''

He smiles softly. ''God, you're perfect,'' he murmurs, more to himself than to you. Then his voice drops. ''Fuck, I can't lie to you, baby. I've been dreaming about this. About your hands on me. Your mouth. Do you know how many cold showers I've had to take since meeting you? My water's bill gone through the roof,'' he groans.

You snort. ''You're ridiculous.''

''I'm serious!'' he insists, chuckling. ''You really don't know what you do to me, do you?''

You laugh again, your face heating, but something in about his honesty disarms you, makes you feel a little bolder. You shift closer, resting your hand gently on his bare chest, over the tattooed swallows and the nervous thud of his heart.

''Then maybe you should teach me,'' you say softly, looking up at him through your lashes. ''So I can help you the next time you've got... a problem, hm? Save some water.''

Harry groans again, dramatically, and rolls halfway onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow. ''You'll be the death of me.''

But when he looks at you again, there's something tender in his eyes. Adoration. Pride. And just a flicker of hunger that makes your stomach flutter in anticipation.

''Alright,'' he says, voice a little rough. ''I'll teach you.''

You nod, anticipation humming low in your belly as he leans in and kisses you, soft and slow, soothing your nerves. Your breath is already shallow when Harry gets comfortable against the pillows, the soft cotton of his sweatpants stretched, tented, and you can see now just how hard he is, thick, long, and straining beneath the fabric.

You glance at his face, and he's watching you. Patiently, eyes half-lidded but full of warmth. ''C'mere,'' he encourages quietly, and reaches for your hand, guiding it to rest over him again.

You tilt your head questioningly, and he nods briefly. ''Just here,'' he instructs, his voice scratchy with restraint. ''You feel me?''

You nod, lips parted in awe. You do feel him, all of him, heavy and hard under the soft cotton. Your fingers twitch slightly, instinctively curling, and the quiet, shaky breath that leaves him is nothing short of ruined. His eyes flutter closed for a second.

''Start slow,'' he whispers, tilting his head to look down until his forehead brushes your temple. ''Just… cup me. Like that, yeah.''

You do as he says, more confident now that his hand stays with yours. Your fingers adjust and you cradle him through the fabric, the shape of him unmistakable now. You don't know what you expected, but this is… a lot. He's so warm even through the clothes, and so hard that it makes your stomach flutter in ways you've never felt before.

''Good girl,'' he says absentmindedly, and a shiver runs down your spine at the praise, but if Harry notices, he doesn't comment on it. ''Slow, baby. Light pressure. Move your hand like this.''

His hand moves yours, showing you a rhythm, the kind of touch that makes his jaw clench and his hips twitch upward. Your body is laid sideways next to his, and when you glance up at him, his lips are parted and his chest is rising and falling faster, tattoos stretching with every breath. You feel your cheeks heat. You've never made anyone feel like this before. You've never had this kind of power.

''Does that feel okay?'' you ask softly.

His breath hitches. ''More than okay,'' he rasps. ''Fucking incredible.''

The way he says it makes you press your thighs together instinctively. You keep stroking him the way he taught you, watching the way his eyes darken, how the crease between his brows deepens, the way his mouth tugs downward in that desperate kind of pleasure.

You feel pride bloom in your chest. Maybe you don't know exactly what you're doing, but he seems to be falling apart anyway.

It's your hand, but it barely feels like yours with how new this is, how electrifying. You cup him gently, and he exhales hard through his nose. The heat of him seeps through the layers, pulsing, and your fingers twitch, trying to figure out what he reacts to best.

''Shit,'' he breathes, hips tipping up just a little. ''That feel okay for you, baby?''

You nod, too breathless to speak.

It's intoxicating, the way his cock twitches under your palm, responding to the smallest movement, the way his muscles go taut beneath the surface of his skin. You drag your hand along the ridge of him, slow and curious, and it pulls another sound from his chest, a low, breathy groan that settles deep in your spine.

And then his hand slips back over yours, guiding you over the fabric. ''Try this,'' he murmurs. ''Not too hard, yeah? Just enough to tease.''

You do as he says, moving a little slower now, more deliberately. He twitches in your hand again and curses under his breath. ''That's it. You're doin' so good, baby.''

His praise makes you feel warmer than anything else. You hadn't realized how badly you wanted to be good at this until now. You want to be good for him. The idea that you can make him feel this way, that you're the one unraveling him, it's heady, addictive.

He watches you for another beat. Then, gently, he brings your hand to the waistband of his sweatpants.

''Can I…?'' he asks.

You swallow hard. ''Yeah. Okay.''

He nods once, giving you a reassuring smile, and then carefully slides your hand underneath. The moment your fingers brush hot skin, your breath catches. There's no fabric separating you now, just burning heat and firm skin beneath your palm. He groans, biting down on his bottom lip like he's trying to keep it together, but his hips stutter and rise to meet your touch anyway, like he can't help it.

''Oh my god,'' you whisper.

When you finally wrap your fingers around him, skin to skin, it feels like the air leaves both your lungs at once. He lets out a moan, low and guttural, his head tipping back against the pillow. ''Fuck, baby…'' His chest heaves, muscles flexing. His lips part around a soft moan and then he throws his arm over his face, overwhelmed.

It's the sexiest thing you've ever seen.

''You're doing so good,'' he mumbles into the crook of his elbow. ''So fucking good for me.''

The praise hits you hard. You keep your strokes slow and steady, adjusting your hand the way he guides you, your movements growing more natural, more confident with every second. He's warm and heavy in your palm, and you can feel every subtle pulse, every twitch under your touch. He's so responsive to you. It's intoxicating. You can't help but wonder what he looks like underneath the fabric.

His arm slips away from his face, and he looks at you again, searching to make sure you're still okay. But when he just sees curiosity burning in your eyes, he chuckles softly. ''Want me to take them off, love?''

You nod bashfully.

Slowly, he shifts his hips, hooking his thumbs into his waistband, and pulls his sweatpants down just far enough to free himself. You freeze.

Your mouth goes dry. ''Jesus,'' you whisper, stunned. ''How is that supposed to fit inside of me?''

That gets a huff of laughter from him, but when you glance up, he's biting down on the inside of his cheek, like he's trying not to smirk.

''Thanks, baby. Y'alright? We can stop if this makes you uneasy, love,'' he says with an amused smile.

''No! No,'' you say quickly, though your face is still burning. ''I'm just… surprised, is all. And maybe a little intimidated. You're...'' you trail off pointedly, biting your lip in embarrassment.

Harry's face splits into a grin so smug it borders on cocky, and his chest puffs out slightly. You see it, the pride, but he reins it in immediately, choosing instead to cup your cheek.

''We'll figure it out together when we get there,'' he promises, his voice velvet and reassuring. ''We've got time. No rush.''

You nod, eyes wide as you look down again. His hand returns to yours, helping you find the right rhythm again, the right amount of pressure. He's a mess for you in seconds, breath stuttering, eyes squeezed shut. His fingers flex in the sheets beside him.

''Fuck, baby,'' he groans. ''Don't stop. You're doing so fucking good. Look at you.''

You can't look away from his face, his flushed cheeks, the shine on his collarbone, the way his Adam's apple bobs with every desperate breath. He's beautiful like this. Raw. Real.

And the fact that you're the one making him fall apart makes something fierce bloom in your chest.

You look down. He's so much bigger than you expected. Thick and long and hot in your hand, silky-soft skin over rock-hard muscle, and the size of him alone has your brain reeling. You blink a few times, watching your hand slowly move over him. It's almost hypnotic.

He notices your gaze and strains to lift his head, a choked moan escaping his parted lips at the sight below him. His brows pinch together as he watches the way you please him. When you speed up slightly, he presses a quick, appreciative kiss to your temple before dropping back into the pillows with a loud groan.

''That's good, baby,'' he breathes. ''So good. Keep goin' like that, just—yeah, there.''

He's a mess already, sweating lightly, those gorgeous tattoos of his rising and falling with every breath. His abs contract every time you stroke a little tighter, a little faster.

''God, you've got no idea what you do to me,'' he curses.

You glance up, heart stuttering at the sight of him. His head is tipped back, exposing his sharp jawline, one hand resting on his chest, the other gripping the bedsheets, knuckles white. His breath is ragged, little hitches in his throat every time you stroke down to the base. You can't stop looking at him. He's everything at once: powerful and undone, masculine and gentle, controlled and unraveling.

All because of you. And that knowledge makes you bolder.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the center of his chest, right over the butterfly tattoo. His breath catches, then spills out in a broken ''Jesus.''

You smile against his skin.

He drops one hand to your wrist, not to stop you, just to slow you down, to anchor himself. His eyes open again, and when they find yours, there's something unspoken there. Gratitude. Awe. Maybe a little disbelief, too, like he still can't believe you're real and not a fantasy he's made up in his mind on a lonely night.

''Just... just need to catch my breath. You okay?'' he asks carefully, barely above a whisper.

You nod, biting your lip, fingers still moving steadily. ''You?''

''On the edge,'' he says with a chuckle that bleeds into a moan when you squeeze him gently. ''Shit. I'm close. I don't want to... I don't want this to be over yet. Wanna stay in this moment forever,'' he rambles.

You press your forehead lightly to his shoulder, overwhelmed in the best way. You never thought giving could feel like this.

You've slowed down your movements at his instruction, your hand loose and wet around him, dragging in slow strokes that let him breathe again, let him hold on just a little longer.

One of his arms is slung across his face, mouth open with a shaky breath, and every now and then, when you hit a rhythm or twist your wrist the way he likes, a curse slips from his lips.

You watch him like he's art, tattoos shifting over his skin with every inhale, that crease between his brows digging in deeper. He's beautiful like this, and you don't want it to end either.

But curiosity burns through your chest like a forest fire, and he had told you that you could ask him anything you wanted to know. You shift closer, eyes flicking up to his face. ''Harry?''

His arm slides off his face immediately, revealing flushed cheeks and soft, concerned eyes. ''Yeah, baby?''

You hesitate. ''Does it… feel good when someone uses their mouth?''

The question makes his eyebrows jump, and for a second he just blinks at you, dazed. ''You mean a blowjob?''

You nod shyly, heart pounding.

''Yeah,'' he says slowly, cautiously. ''Yeah, they can feel really good. Why do you ask?''

''I've seen it in movies. Guys always seem to really like it.'' You glance at him, cheeks warm in the dim light. ''Do you?''

He exhales slowly, gaze drifting upward to the ceiling, as though considering how to answer honestly without overwhelming you. ''Yeah. It's… it's really nice.''

''I wanna try,'' you admit, barely above a whisper. ''Will you teach me?''

Harry sits up straighter, instantly more alert. ''Love. You don't have to. Seriously.'' His hand finds your wrist, and gently stills it. ''You've already done so much tonight. We don't have to rush anything.''

''I know,'' you tell him, and you do. ''But I want to. I just… I keep thinking about it. I want to know what it's like.''

He watches you for a long beat, breathing hard, like he's trying to gauge if this is really what you want or if you're just trying to be generous. ''You sure?''

You nod. ''I trust you.''

That makes something flicker in his expression.

Still, he hesitates. ''Alright, but we're going to take it slow. You tell me if anything feels wrong or uncomfortable, yeah? Just squeeze my thigh, or say you want to stop, and I'll back off.''

''Okay,'' you whisper, shifting onto your knees, your palms braced beside his thighs.

''Can I hold your hair back?' he asks for your permission. ''Just to keep it out of your face, baby.''

You nod again, and he reaches forward to delicately gather it into a loose ponytail in his hand. It's surprisingly tender, the way he gathers your strands, thumb brushing the back of your neck. It makes your stomach flip, nerves flaring.

''Start with your hand again,'' he instructs softly. ''Nice and easy, like before.''

You wrap your hand around him again, fingers trembling a little, but he's already twitching against your palm. You glance up at him for reassurance, and he gives you the softest smile, nodding once.

''Just lick the tip first,'' he tells you, voice gone hoarse.

You close the gap and drag your lips along the underside in a soft, feather-light kiss at first. Your cheeks are warm with nerves, but Harry's encouraging grunt makes your confidence grow.

''That's it… good girl.''

The words hit something in your chest. You lean back in, tongue flicking experimentally over the head of him, tasting salt and skin and something deeper. It's strange, but not bad. He groans, hips shifting subtly beneath you, and you feel the tremor run through his thighs. You keep going, tentative licks and kisses, building your confidence as he murmurs encouragements, his voice wrecked and reverent.

''You're doing so good,'' he breathes. ''Feels fucking incredible, angel.''

You wrap your lips around him slowly, taking him shallow at first, cheeks hollowed. It's more than you expected, thick and heavy on your tongue, but you take your time, getting used to the new sensation. Harry's breathing gets rougher, his hand tightening ever so slightly in your hair. He's not pushing, not guiding, just grounding himself. You like knowing you have that kind of effect on him.

But then, as you grow bolder and take him a little deeper, his hips buck at the sudden pleasure. You gag, eyes watering instantly as you pull back with a surprised sound, coughing lightly.

''Fuck! Fuck, I'm sorry,” Harry blurts, immediately sitting up and reaching for you, his face filled with panic. ''I didn't mean to. I swear, baby. Are you okay?''

You nod, eyes still watering, hand on your chest as you catch your breath. He's already brushing your hair out of your face, kissing your forehead, his whole body practically vibrating with guilt.

''That was too much,'' he says, clearly shaken. ''Let's stop. You've done enough for today.''

But you grab his wrist. ''No,'' you say, voice soft but steady. ''I want to keep going. Let me try again.''

He stares at you suspicious, brows lifting. ''You sure?''

''Mhm. Just maybe don't shove it down my throat this time?'' you joke, trying to lift the mood.

A beat of silence, then a laugh slips out of him. ''Duly noted.''

You grin, leaning back in, and this time it's smoother. You find a rhythm, guided by the whimpered moans and muttered praises leaving his lips. His hand stays in your hair, occasionally brushing the back of your neck or guiding you just a little. You feel powerful, beautiful, despite how new it all is.

At one point, his free hand covers his eyes again, and his stomach flexes so hard you have a feeling he'll be sore tomorrow morning. He mutters your name like a prayer, hips subtly rocking into your mouth. ''So good,'' he pants. ''Fuck, darlin', you're so good at this. Can't believe this is your first time. You're a natural, love.''

You hum around him, and the vibration from the sound makes him curse under his breath.

He's breathing hard, thighs tense under your hands, and then he gasps. ''Gonna come, baby, get off if you don't wanna—''

But you don't move. You look up at him with wide, determined eyes, and keep going.

''Shit,'' he curses under his breath when you look up at him through your lashes. ''You're so fucking stubborn—''

He breaks with a sound that wrecks you, long and guttural. His hand tightens in your hair, his whole body shuddering as he spills into your mouth, and you do your best, swallowing carefully, surprised by the heat and taste. You pull off when he hisses from the overstimulation, and he falls back against the pillows like he's been hit by lightning, chest rising and falling in deep, ragged breaths.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and crawl up next to him, shy again, suddenly unsure. ''Was that… okay?''

''Baby, I think I saw heaven.''

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

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@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump @hobireasns @madilee7802 @spinninc @practistyles @qrapejuices @fangirl509east @sstylezzz @hontpwk @lichi-dunkera @prettygurl-2009 @violinheartxx @gotthecinema @ghstyles @triski73

teach me slowly series tag list

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...

[monicaalexandraaa]

7.8k full of the best thing ever! Harry being A MAN and her lovely village🥺🥹🩷🩷

Under Construction III

Read Under Construction here | ~7.8k

From Me: this is a mess but I think it's cute

Warning: like two seconds of blood and then fluff and angsty shit

Summary: “Hi, Miss Bee,” he greeted so brightly she thought she might melt. He was so happy to see her it made her stomach twist. “I was hoping you’d be gone, but s’nice t’see you anyway,” he said stepping inside.

She bit the inside of her lip. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, s’Friday,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

It wasn’t lunch time, so Harry wasn’t standing by the fence like a certified creep. “Mr. Harry!” Someone shouted. He instinctively turned toward the field and found the gaggle of cuties lined up at the edge of the field. How he didn’t hear them approach was beyond him.

They were led by none other than the cutest woman of all. Today she wore a long green jacket. Black pants peeked out from it. Her coat had a tie fabric cinching her waist. Harry never paid much attention to what his date wore, but everything on her made her look three times as adorable if it were even possible.

He gave a wave, heading over to the group. “Hey everyone,” he greeted. “Early recess?” He asked.

They all glanced at her making sure it was okay to answer. “Go ahead, you know what to say,” she encouraged.

Harry remembered Amara (the little girl who bent her neck back at an incredible angle to chat with him last week) as she stepped forward to look up at him once more. “Miss Bee said our sandwich party is going to be on Halloween. So you can dress up as your dream job.”

He smirked and glanced at her. “What if this is m’dream job?” Because there wasn’t a world in which it wasn’t. Not if fate and destiny put him precisely at her side just because he got this job. It was the best job in the world.

They looked at her again. “That’s okay,” she affirmed with a laugh.

“Sometimes Miss Bee has silly rules, so we have to check.”

“I beg your pardon, they’re not silly!” She frowned with mock annoyance.

“Mr. Niall can come too!” Another one said excitedly.

“We’ve been really good in math too, so we get to ask you question too!” Kai bounced with energy that seemed quite misplaced in asking two construction workers about their jobs.

“Janie, do you want to give Mr. Harry what you brought?”

Harry watched as another little girl stepped forward. She held two folded pieces of construction paper, and she handed them up and toward Harry at the fence. “It’s made out of construction paper. Like your job,” she said explained as if Harry hadn’t a clue what it was. “One’s for Mr. Niall too.”

“Miss Bee wrote the cover part and then we all got to make a page each.”

Harry was enthralled with the cover. It had her extremely beautiful handwriting. Though he was pretty sure every little thing she did was beautiful. There were 3-D stickers of Halloween items placed sporadically across the page but still maintained a fun holiday aesthetic.

Please join us for our Halloween Sand-Witch party. Wednesday, October 31st at 11:45 AM. Please RSVP to Miss Bee and let her know if you have any allergies.

He flipped quickly seeing a variety of hand-drawn pictures. The drawings could only be himself and Niall munching on sandwiches the following week at their party. Along with a variety of varying six-year-old signatures, and so forth.

Harry smiled, his eye catching hers. This was almost as good as asking her on a date and hearing her say yes. A handwritten invitation was a dream come true. It didn’t matter to him in the slightest that the little party was going to be spent with twenty kindergarteners and his best friend either. Because she was going to be there dressed as something adorable, he was sure, and he couldn’t wait.

“We’d love t’attend,” he told them. She smiled shyly as the little ones cheered.

“Alright, Kindergarten... it’s time we head back now that the guys are invited,” she waved to Harry. “Say see you later to Mr. Harry.”

“See you later alligator!” Someone shouted, causing the rest to giggle uncontrollably.

She shook her head and smiled fondly at her group of funny children and headed back toward the school building peering back to catch Harry’s eye again.

*

On Friday, she was preparing for the following week as always. It had been raining hard all day long, so Under Construction wasn’t next door. Moreover, there was no outdoor recess so there was no way she would have seen him anyway. It made her miss Harry.

It seemed a little ridiculous that she would fall so quickly for an almost total stranger. Especially when she was so cautious about falling for anyone after Evan.

She met Evan while out with friends for a birthday dinner. He said he was drawn to her, a moth to a flame, the whole bit. He told her she was pretty, lovely, sweet, etc. Evan was handsome, talented, and funny. At first, he was excessively kind. Flowers every week, asked her to move in only three months in, told her he couldn’t live without her.

He worked for a financial company. One that made him a lot of money so he could afford a big house—bigger than two people without kids conceivably needed. But it was for their future. Evan’s job required many business meetings and parties that left her feeling completely drained socially and financially. Every party required a new fancy outfit that she didn’t want to pay for. He made her go to golfing fundraisers (even though she hated golf) and helped him with parties at his place for clients and partners alike.

All while she tried to get her bearings in her first two years of teaching.

Evan never attended a school event. He didn’t help her move her furniture in her classroom. He didn’t understand why she would go to work on days she wasn’t getting paid to set things up. He didn’t get that the magic inside a classroom happened outside of school hours, and it was well worth the time she put into it. There was no help from him putting bulletin boards together and he certainly wouldn’t be caught dead on her colorful carpet laminating on a Tuesday afternoon.

She finished her planning and clicked into another tab on her computer to look at the to-do lists that never seemed to get any shorter. She had a section for classroom improvements, stain her bookshelves, inquire about fixing the outlets, find more shelving, paint her rocking chair, and more. There was so much.

After their breakup—the one instigated by Evan because she was spending too much time at school—she moved into a tiny little house on her own. It was no more than a one-bedroom apartment. Just enough space for herself and she loved it, but it also needed so much work. There was the roof that leaked in the rain in the same spot, one of the stove burners didn’t work, one of the windows in the living room was so stiff shut she couldn’t move it. Her bedroom seemed poorly insulated and was freezing in the winter, the tile flooring in her bathroom was cracked in several places. But it was home. The cutest little place she had ever seen. The living room was filled with books, and the dining table was a spot for her tutoring sessions.

The kitchen always smelled like cookies or brownies. Things that she brought to her parent’s house on Wednesday evenings when she, her siblings, and anyone available in her family gathered for a meal together. Her sister’s fiancée begged for muffins at least once a month and she smirked at the thought.

There wasn’t enough time and there wasn’t enough energy she could muster to fix her place up. There were more pressing matters. Trying to eat well, exercise, get her master’s degree. Visiting her parents and helping her sister with her wedding. It was exhausting.

She was jolted from her thoughts by a knock on her outside door. She put a hand on her heart, not anticipating a knock as it was downpouring. It was four-thirty in the afternoon on a Friday. All her co-workers hightailed it out of there shortly after the buses had left. Slowly, cautiously, she walked over to the door seeing Harry smiling in the small window. He had a black raincoat on, the hood keeping his pretty face from getting wet.

Immediately she opened the door. “Hi, Miss Bee,” he greeted so brightly she thought she might melt. He was so happy to see her it made her stomach twist. “I was hoping you’d be gone, but s’nice t’see you anyway,” he said stepping inside.

She bit the inside of her lip. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, s’Friday,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Sorry ‘bout m’coat,” he frowned as it dripped on the floor. “S’raining cats and dogs out there,” he shrugged out of the coat and snapped it outside, a tiny little overhang keeping it the smallest bit dry. He slung it on the back of an upturned chair on one of her tables, so it dripped below to the floor. He frowned and headed toward the bathroom for paper towels. “I’ll take care of this before we leave,” he promised placing a bunch of towels below the dripping coat.

She stared at him. “What are you doing here, Harry?”

He turned slightly, smiling up at her while he knelt next to his watery mess. “S’Friday, wanted t’see what y’needed help with for next week.”

She blinked. “But... you didn’t work today.”

“As a matter of fact, I did work. I had a meeting about our progress and talked to suppliers about materials and such,” he said proudly, the dimples indenting his cheeks.

“Oh... I meant... outside,” she shook her head. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

He chuckled quietly as she tried to back track. “S’fine, Bird. I knew what y’meant. Don’t worry ‘bout it. No, ‘course with the rain it puts us back a day or two, so I had t’be productive in other ways.”

There was something wrong with her, because that was one of the hottest sentences she had ever heard anyone say and he was merely talking about productivity.

“Um...” she swallowed. “I don’t need... you didn’t... you came all the way here?”

“S’not too far from m’place actually,” he said with a shrug. He headed toward her desk to see her little piles of what needed to be accomplished. He hoped to find something labeled Monday, or maybe something that needed to be cut or stapled together. Instead, he found her to-do list opened on her computer. “What’s this?” He asked, glancing at her screen.

“Oh... don’t look at that, they’re... they’re nothing. Just... they’re my to-do—”

“Your roof leaks?” He asked looking up at her in shock. He also looked completely hurt. Like it was unimaginable that she kept that from him. “Bird, why didn’t you say something? I would have—”

“Stop,” she put her hand on her chest feeling it ache with want for him. Adoration for him. Something that felt dangerously close to the feelings she had when she first started dating Evan and he brought her flowers every week. “Harry,” she said softly. “I am so appreciative of you coming down here and helping me, but you don’t have to. It’s likely I can’t reciprocate or—”

His eyes dropped to her computer again scanning the list, ignoring her and wondering what else she needed done. “Bird, you’re cold?” He asked. She felt like she was in trouble. Her throat tightening over the emotion she felt. It was a long day—but all of them were long. Her weeks felt endless. And she was cold. So lonely in that cold, damp, tiny place she lived no matter how much she loved it. “Kitten,” he whispered quietly.

“Stop,” she begged. “Please stop.”

“Bird,” he frowned. “Y’should have said something. I can bring Niall t’look at it, we can fix it up in a minute—”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Harry, I’m begging; please stop.”

“No,” he shook his head. “Y’would never let one of your students have a problem like this,” he turned from her computer, strode across the room to her, and put a hand on her hip while pulling her toward him. She looked away from him, ignored the sparks that burst from the touch on her waist. She shook her head.

“It’s not important.”

He gently touched her cheek turning her gaze back to him. His finger resting beneath her chin. “You’re not important?” He questioned. “Y’know how ridiculous y’sound, right? I’ve known you less than a month and I think y’might be the most important person I know.”

She swallowed and shrugged. “There’s more pressing matters,” she whispered. “I have this classroom to worry about and little minds to mold. My sister’s getting married, and my mom needs—”

“All that is more pressing than y’not catching a cold?”

“I-I... I’m not going to... I don’t—”

He rubbed his thumb across her lip making all of the words in her head disappear. “Bird, you’re going t’make yourself sick.”

Was this what it was supposed to feel like? In all the time she dated Evan, there wasn’t much worry about her. It was usually a worry about what she wasn’t doing or couldn’t do because she was busy. There was never a worry about stretching herself too thin or making her do more because he wanted her to be part of his stuff.

One lone tear rolled down her cheek and she shook her head immediately, moving his hand from her face in hopes he wouldn’t notice. But of course, he did. “Hey,” he whispered gently. “Bird, my love,” his voice was so soft it made her feel warm again. “Hey,” he cooed, “C’mere,” he tucked her to his chest, kissed the top of her head like it was an everyday occurrence. Like it wasn’t the first time his lips touched her. “It’s okay,” he hummed. God, he was so warm. Is this what it was supposed to feel like? Was this how she was supposed to feel when someone cared about her and all the little things she neglected to speak into existence?

She sniffled, wiping at her face while Harry calmly soothed her. His hand rubbed up and down her back. The last time she remembered someone soothing her like this had to be when she was a child and her dad was trying to comfort her over a broken toy or missing her mum on a work trip.

“Sorry,” she sniveled. “I think I’m just really overwhelmed.”

“I’ll say,” he agreed.

She rolled her lips into her mouth and pulled away from him even though it was a hundred times colder than her bedroom ever could be outside the circle of his arms. “Sometimes I just need to cry and be dramatic,” she admitted and wiped her eyes.

Harry was looking at her like she was going to have a breakdown at any moment. He wanted to wrap her back up in his arms but part of him was a afraid he might not ever let her go. “I don’t think y’being dramatic, kitten,” his voice was still very soft. Like he was worried he’d set her off somehow. “Think y’might jus’ be a little too not dramatic, actually.”

She took a deep breath. “My house is fine, really. It’s not a big leak. It’s only when it rains,” as if to make matters worse it thundered loudly outside. She winced while Harry just stared at her.

“This ex of yours, was he handy at all?” He asked and moved to the table where piles were made, and he finally found something labeled Monday. He grabbed a pair of scissors and started cutting the paper; sitting on the floor like he did on Tuesday. Like it was no big deal that he came out in the middle of a thunderstorm to help her on a day he didn’t work next door.

“No,” she shook her head. “He just hired people.”

But she left out telling him about only hiring when it was convenient for him. “Hmm.”

“I actually know a lot about fixing things up,” she admitted. “Not nearly to the degree that you do. I need a lot of YouTube videos and time I sincerely do not have to execute it, but I installed our dishwasher on my own. And I pulled up some carpet and put some flooring down in our dining room.

She swore Harry was smiling proudly at her. Like he had taught her or something. “S’very lovely, kitten. S’good t’know how t’do those kinds of things... but I wouldn’t have let y’lift a finger t’do it.” It was like he sucked all the air out of her body and for a moment she really felt frozen. Harry continued cutting paper and pretending like he hadn’t just rendered her lungs useless. “We still on for Sunday afternoon?” He asked.

She nodded. “You’re still going to come to the party on Wednesday even if it’s the worst date of your life?” She asked. “I will have a really hard time explaining it to the kids if you don’t.”

He chuckled. “M’certain it’ll be the best date of m’life, but yes. I’ll be there Wednesday,” he assured her.

“Thank you, Harry,” she whispered and sat beside him.

Harry wasn’t dressed in his typical construction gear. Instead, he wore jeans, a pair of sneakers, and a cozy sweatshirt. He smiled at her. “Course, Bird.”

*

The thunder was loud. Practically, shaking the small frame of her house. Sighing, she looked up at the ceiling unable to see anything in the dark until the lightning illuminated her room. Her phone said it was only after one in the morning. Much too early or late to do anything but try and fall back asleep.

Sighing again, she got out of bed and headed to her bathroom before making a stop in the kitchen for a glass of water. As soon as she stepped in the kitchen, her foot was met with a puddle.

Her heart pounded. “No, no, no, fuck,” she hissed and smacked the light switch on the wall. She put a hand to her mouth as the leak was now a definitive hole in the middle of her ceiling. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She hurried back to the bedroom grabbing her phone and dialing Louis as quickly as she could. As she listened to it ring longer than she wanted to (but couldn’t blame Louis for not answering so early in the morning), she grabbed pots and pans out of her cabinets catching as much rain as she could.

“’Lo?” he yawned. Exhausted, clearly. It was one in the morning. The poor thing probably didn’t want to get out of bed in the pouring rain, but she didn’t know what else to do... she didn’t have a choice.

“Louis, I,” she gasped. “I need help, please!”

“What’s wrong?” He asked quickly. “El, baby,” he hummed off to the side of his phone. “Get your coat,” he mumbled.

“What’s happening?” She moaned.

“Shh,” he hushed. “What’s wrong, love?” He asked. “Are you alright?”

“My ceiling!”

“Ah fuck,” he grumbled. Louis immediately knew what the issue was. “I should have—”

“Louis, I don’t have time for I-Told-You-Sos. Hurry up!” She begged and watched as another chunk of her ceiling fell to the floor. It wasn’t a huge hole, but if she hadn’t gotten up it was going to cave in her ceiling for sure by morning.

“Alright, alright, we’re on the way.”

*

Harry was dreaming. The pretty kindergarten teacher was in his house, drinking tea, and relaxing. It was adorable. Her smile was so sweet. No evidence of sadness or exhaustion on her face. He wanted to die seeing her upset that afternoon. But there was only so much he could do.

But she wasn’t upset right then. His dream made her giggly, like when her students made her laugh. She was wearing a pretty pink dress, it brought out the warmth in her. It wasn’t short, of course, but she wore leggings beneath it and she looked so cozy. “Hi Miss Bee,” he chuckled approaching her. “Did you have a good day?”

“Mhmm... come here,” she patted the sofa beside her. “I missed you.”

It was music to his ears.

“Missed you t—”

His phone nearly sent him into an early grave waking him from the dead of sleep. He slapped his hand out and smacked it off the nightstand. “Shit,” he whispered grabbing it. It was an unknown number and normally he’d ignore it, but he had never gotten a call in the middle of the night. “Hello?”

“Oh thank God,” Eleanor sighed. “Harry, I’m so sorry to bother you. Her ceiling. It’s got a hole in it and she’s freaking out and it’s raining so bad, and we have no idea what to do, can you help us?”

He knew he should have checked it out.

“Yeah, yeah, course, jus’ send me the address.”

“I already did,” Harry put the phone on speaker and checked the message while he rifled through his drawer for clothes to wear in the rain. He felt his heart skip a beat to know she was only a five-minute drive away.

“M’five minutes away once I get m’shoes on.”

“You’ll beat us there, thank you, so, so much.”

Harry called Niall immediately. “I was sleeping,” he groaned.

“M’sending you an address. Miss Bee’s got a roof situation.”

“Shit, in this weather?”

“I’ll be there in five. Bring anything y’can think of.”

*

The rain was not letting up. The thunder and lightning only added to the shitty night she was having. She ran from her house to the small shed in the back corner of her yard to find something useful. Louis would be a few minutes, and she really didn’t want to wait a second longer than she needed to.

With a small flashlight between her teeth, she found the ladder that would be large enough to get her on her roof. She awkwardly held it as she walked back toward the house, propping it against the side.

Her raincoat wasn’t doing anything. It was going to feel downright tropical in her room when she got back inside. Everything was so terrible right then, she just wanted to cry, and she couldn’t because there wasn’t even time to have a meltdown. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispered to herself entering the shed once more. She found a tarp. She hadn’t a clue how she would get it to stay down but it was something. It’s not like she had time to find a YouTube video on it either.

In addition to the tarp, she grabbed a hammer, tucked it into the waistband of her pants. Then she snagged a box of nails and put them in her coat pocket before she made her way back to her leaky house. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispered.

She climbed the ladder, it was slippery and terrified her, but what choice did she have. She had a flashlight between her teeth and the tarp under her arm. This was a horrible idea, but it was one in the morning and nothing made more sense than this.

The thunder was so loud, and the only light came from a streetlamp just a little too far away from her house to be useful. She slowly climbed onto the roof and felt her heart hammering hard against her chest. She took a deep breath through her nose and climbed further onto the roof. It was slippery, wet, and cold. Her fingers felt frozen as she moved her way up toward where the leak was. She unfolded the tarp and placed it so it would flip over toward the front of her house and the rain would slide over the hole and nothing would get under it. It was a little relieving to have a plan, but it was very short-lived.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

The sound of someone else shouting at her brought her practically to a stop; she dropped the flashlight and lost her footing. She grabbed at the tarp, the shingles, anything to stop her from sliding off her house and into the yard. “Shit!” She barely had time to scream while she clawed for something to get a purchase. Her roof wasn’t particularly tall (she wasn’t living in a mansion by any stretch), but she imagined a ten-foot fall in the rain would probably result in a broken bone or two. In her slide, the hammer dug into her hip, certainly it was going to leave a bruise. She was lucky the nails were in the box, or she suspected she’d have an ER trip this early morning as well as a roof to repair.

Fortunately, her hands snagged onto the gutter before she made her final descent to the ground. The metal clanging and moaning as it pulled from the house with her dead weight hanging onto it. It hurt her fingers, her left middle finger definitely felt like it was cut on some part of the metal lip she clung to. “Let go,” the voice ordered from behind her.

She gasped. Tried to turn and look at who was bossing her around in the middle of the night. “I—”

“Bird, let go of your fucking house, now.”

Her heart managed to flutter once it recognized Harry’s voice. Just his voice made her feel safe and she felt infinitely better about her situation. It was a painful realization because Harry didn’t need this. From here it was only a five to six foot drop and less likely to hurt her, but she was still exhausted, tired, and certain with her luck she’d land on a rock and break an ankle.

So, despite all instinct, she released the gutter with nothing else but hope she wouldn’t hurt herself upon her landing in her yard.

Instead, she fell into his arms. Harry caught her, cradling her briefly and absorbing the impact of her fall by bending slightly while catching her. Before she had a mere second to be in his arms and think it through, he placed her on her feet with ease.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” He snapped. “Are you insane?” His anger didn’t match his gentle touch as he cupped her face. His hands then dropped to her arms and moved further south to her waist and hips as he scanned her for injury. It was still near pitch dark if it weren’t for the headlight he had on his forehead. The light scanned her like a laser as she gaped at his presence.  “Are you okay, bird?” His voice was softer this time.

“How... how did you...?” She stared at him in disbelief that he was really truly there.

“Eleanor called me,” he stated. “What were y’doing on a roof in the rain by yourself?” He asked, his voice turning harsh again. She had never heard him sound anything but kind and sweet. The anger was almost terrifying.

“I-I, my roof—”

“You scared me t’death,” he yanked her to him, her face pressing to his chest. She swore she could feel his heartbeat through his clothes, over the sound of the pouring rain and the thunder in the distance. “Jesus, bird,” he grumbled, squeezing her tight. “I should have looked at it this afternoon, m’so sorry,” he murmured. “So, so sorry,” he repeated quietly. “Niall’s almost here, we’re gonna fix it up. Jus’... go inside and stay warm, please,” he pleaded pulling away from her, keeping a hand on her face for a moment as he scanned her once more.

“But—”

“Jus’ go inside, bird. S’fine. I’ll take care of it.”

She blinked, rain water was streaming over her face as she tried to figure out what to do next. Wincing, she pulled the hammer from her waistband as it skimmed the sensitive bruise that was definitely forming as she stood there. Then she took the box of nails from her pocket. “Not sure if these are useful,” she offered quietly.

His eyes looked so sad, so displeased. She wanted to cry. “Resourceful,” he murmured.

She nodded silently. “I’m... I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Go inside, bird, please.”

As she turned away toward her door, Niall was suddenly there. A matching headlight to Harry’s also on his forehead. “Hey Miss Bee,” Niall smirked as if this was normal to meet up with her in her backyard at one in the morning. “Having fun?”

“Loads,” Harry deadpanned. She felt flushed as she didn’t answer Niall. He winked at her and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Go inside, love. Please.”

She bit the inside of her lip and headed in. She dumped the filled pots and pans into her sink, and she grabbed towels from the linen closet. Everyone and everything was going to be soaked.

“Good morning, sunshine! Fancied a bath in the kitchen, did you?” Eleanor chirped cheerfully as she entered. Like it wasn’t one in the morning, and her house wasn’t falling apart. But her smile quickly morphed into a frown at the sight of her wet friend dripping, cold, and so completely defeated in the eyes. “Aw, sweetie,” she whispered.

A lone sob escaped her lips, and she covered her mouth, except she forgot about the cut on her finger. She winced at the slight pain and sting. “Goddammit!” She snapped and dropped her head to her other hand and cried.

Eleanor made her way to her, gently tugging her coat off her body. “It’s alright,” she promised. “You’re okay, babe,” she reminded her. “It’s just a little hole... Harry and Niall will take care of it,” she brushed her hand over her hair soothingly.

She sniffled. “Today was not a good day,” she whispered.

“Well, technically it’s tomorrow, and I imagine at one in the morning, it can only go up from here,” she said positively. She snorted and shook her head.

“Don’t make me laugh.”

Eleanor smiled. Above them she could hear the muffled sounds of Niall and Harry working together to repair her roof in the rain. The thunder and lightning didn’t change pace. “You clean up your hand, I’ll take care of the kitchen,” she said softly. “Go change, clean up, and brush your hair. He may be in love with you, but you would kill me if he saw you with your wet, rainy bed head,” she teased.

She snorted again and even though she didn’t want to trouble Eleanor, she listened and headed to the bathroom.

*

Louis wasn’t as helpful as Niall and Harry, but he was able to hold an additional flashlight and hand items to them as needed. Once the tarp was in place (with an added piece of rubber over top of it that Niall had brought from home) Louis helped clean up their tools and materials. He brought the ladder back to her shed while their belongings went back to their cars. Once everything was cleaned up and they were confident her roof wouldn’t leak for the remainder of the night, Louis guided them inside the small house of his best friend.

“Thanks boys,” Eleanor smiled happily in the kitchen. She was by the sink drying off pots and pans that she clearly washed.

But Harry was scanning for the pretty kindergarten teacher, clearly. Eleanor glanced down the hall suspiciously and Harry followed her gaze. “You okay in there, babe? The guys are inside, now!”

“Just trying to get my band aid to stay,” she called back.

“Niall, can we get you some tea?” Louis asked while Harry moved toward the sound of her voice. He knocked quietly on the only closed door in the little hall assuming it must be her bathroom.

“Bird?”

There was a quiet sigh from inside. “Crap,” he heard her whisper. But then the door opened.

God, she was pretty. Even sad. Even a little banged up, wet, and tired, she was gorgeous, really. Harry was in awe of her.

“Can you—” she sighed heavily. The cut wasn’t just to her middle finger as she thought but across her index and ring fingers too. Harry gently pushed inside the bathroom, holding her shoulders and guiding her to on the closed toilet lid as he looked at the array of band aid wrappers that had fluttered to the floor. He pulled the head lamp off and shrugged out of his wet coat just like he had less than twelve hours ago in her classroom, he hung it on the back of the bathroom door hook where her towel usually hung.

Silently he bandaged her up, pausing only slightly when she winced in pain from the antibacterial spray he put on her cut. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Y’have nothing t’apologize for,” he murmured. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“It’s alright, you were scared. I would have done the same thing. I was scared too.”

He completed the bandages on her hand. Carefully, he cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing on her cheek as he gently tilted her gaze up to meet him. “Don’t ever do something dangerous like that again,” his voice was very quiet, but none less serious.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Thank you, so much. Really.”

“Course, bird. Told you. M’at your service,” he reminded her. She smiled shyly, and Harry was almost certain he didn’t imagine the way she leant into his palm that cupped her very pretty face. For a moment it wasn’t one in the morning, her roof wasn’t a mess, and Harry was only there because he wanted to be, not because he had to be.

*

“You can stay here,” she said to Louis and Eleanor as she walked into the kitchen. “It’s late.”

“Already pulled the sofa out and got sheets,” Eleanor said with a yawn. She walked away from the sink and made herself comfy on the sofa. Louis chuckled and headed after her.

“Good night, everyone. Thanks for helping Miss Kindergarten.”

“You guys are welcome to stay as well, I have a couple air mattresses,” she offered to Niall and Harry.

“In the morning, she’ll make muffins,” Louis called out quietly.

Niall yawned but shook his head. “M’good to head home, Miss Bee. Thank you though. If there’s a problem again, call Harry and we’ll come over again. We’re going to fix it tomorrow when the rain lets up, yeah?”

She nodded. There was no use arguing. At least not right now. “Thank you,” she sighed. “Text Harry when you get home,” she said sweetly as he exited, the door closing quietly.

Harry grinned while he sipped on a cup of warm tea. That was very sweet of her wanting to know about Niall’s safety. She turned back to Harry. “I can set up an air mattress. I’d rather stay in case something happens to the tarp,” he offered.

“Jesus, just sleep in her bed, you’re both grown adults,” Eleanor groaned.

Her face turned the color of the pants he liked most on her—the ones she wore the day they met. He smiled softly, shook his head as he sipped his tea again so he wouldn’t let on how much he liked that idea.

“El, shh,” Louis whispered. “That was an inside thought. Go to sleep,” he mumbled.

Harry couldn’t help but show his smile and he looked at her almost apologetically on Eleanor’s behalf. “Air mattress?”

“Babe, it’s so loud,” Eleanor whined.

“Shut. Up,” she hissed.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he offered with a chuckle.

“Absolutely not,” she whispered and grabbed his hand. She tugged him down the hall to her bedroom. She flicked the light on and Harry inspected the little room with awe. A closet opposite the wall of three windows with gray colored curtains with an intricate lace design. Her bed resided in the middle of the wall with a fluffy green comforter that looked warm and cozy. Beside it was a nightstand, filled with books, a water cup, and her phone. There was a plush gray carpet that extended beyond her bed frame and into most of the room taking up 80% of the floor.

Her dresser looked old, reminded him of her desk and shelving in her classroom. There was a mirror propped up behind it or on it, he couldn’t be sure. Pictures surrounded the frame of it and on the surface was a beautiful, almost antique jewelry box.

None of her furniture matched. He figured it was subject to her yard sale ways as well. “I like your room,” he said.

She sighed. “A work in progress.”

He smiled. “Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

He frowned instantly. “Bird,” he sighed and brought his hand to the side of her neck. He brushed his thumb on her cheek again. “Everything’s okay.”

“I’m just... not having a good day,” she whispered looking away from him. “I’m sorry. I feel so bad for bothering you this late and my room is freezing cold, and you should just go so you don’t get sick from the rain and this icebox,” but Harry couldn’t help but notice she didn’t move from his touch.

A sad smile graced his lips and eyes. He was so handsome it made her stomach do back flips. “Jus’ lay down, bird,” he said softly.

“Harry, it’s freezing—”

“Get in the bed, love,” he was a little firmer, but no less soft in his approach. He gently nudged her forward. Poor thing must have been exhausted because she willingly let him tuck her in, rubbing her arms gently for friction and warmth.

Turning back to the doorway, he clicked the light off bathing them in darkness. Silently he stripped out of his wet clothes. “M’jus’ gonna get between the sheet and the comforter,” he assured her. “No funny business, bird. Need a proper date,” he teased.

She snorted and turned on her side away from him. Maybe her room was cold. But it was very warm beside her in bed. “Thank you, Harry.”

“Of course,” he murmured toward her frame still faced away from him. He smiled at the shadow of her that he could only vaguely make out when the lightning peeped through the space in her curtains between windows. “Anything for you Miss Bird.”

*

When she woke up, she was sweating.

Harry was snuggled behind her, his arm draped across her body, the sheet the only barrier between her and him. He was still asleep, at least she was pretty sure. His breathing made it seem that way. He felt warm and good, even if she was sweating. “Mm,” he hummed and tightened his grip on her. She smiled softly to herself and let him hold her for a minute. It was perhaps too hot, too cozy, and definitely not what she should have done. But it was nice and safe. Harry made her feel incredibly safe.

After a few minutes of blissful resting, she carefully lifted his arm off her and snuck out of bed. He didn’t stir too much other than gripping her pillow and holding it close. She looked away before she climbed in beside him again. She tiptoed across the room to her dresser, pulling the bottom drawer open slowly so it didn’t make noise from getting stuck on the uneven swells of old wood. She found a pair of sweatpants that she bought at least two sizes too large that would fit Harry’s frame along with a sweatshirt she got back in college from a friend’s ex-boyfriend. She left the clothes on the bed beside her sleeping partner peacefully dreaming and drooling onto her pillow.

She grinned to herself and made her way to the door, stopping at his pile of wet clothes trying her best to avoid the parts of her old floor that creaked with her weight. She quickly opened and closed her door without letting it squeak or whine—so Harry could sleep in peace.

She turned to the washer and dryer in the small closet beside her bathroom, tossing his clothes inside the dryer. Next, she headed to the kitchen. Louis was sitting up on the sofa, Eleanor snuggled into his lap. He was scrolling on his phone and combing his fingers through her hair. She smiled fondly at her best friend and gave a silent wave.

“She’s awake, you can talk,” he said quietly.

“Mm, debatable,” El grumbled.

She smirked and headed outside barefoot. It wasn’t as cold as it was last night, and the sun was starting to appear. She stepped further back in the yard to get a whole picture view of her roof. Crossing her arms at her stomach she sighed. Louis joined her (wearing shoes, however) he faced the house with her and he draped an arm around her shoulders.

“Harry said you almost fell off the roof. You got up there yourself?”

“I knew you were on the way,” she mumbled. But her gutter looked a little misshapen from her fall. Something else that would need to be fixed in addition to her tarped roof. “I figured I’d get a head start.”

“If I found you knocked unconscious in your garden, I would have lost my mind,” Louis stated.

“It needed to be done—”

“Irrelevant,” he shook his head and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t do that again.”

“Harry already gave me this lecture.”

“Good.”

She sighed. “I should just sell it and rent an apartment,” she mumbled. “I don’t have the time or energy to fix it up. It’ll be a loss, but—”

“You love this place,” Louis reminded her.

“I do, but at what cost? You were right, I should have fixed the leak when I first noticed it.”

“How did that taste in your mouth? Saying I’m right?” He smirked and gave her a squeeze.

“Like vinegar.... meanie,” she grumbled.

“This is your house. You can do whatever you want with it. If you want to sell it, you know I’ll help you. But you don’t have to. I’m sure there’s someone that would love to help you fix it up,” he grinned. As if on cue, Harry appeared in her backyard, rubbing his eye. “Good morning, Harry, how did you sleep?”

“Like a rock,” he murmured. He was wearing the outfit she selected for him, and she felt her heart skip. He followed her and Louis into the yard, the laces of his work boots untied. “No shoes?” He asked, glancing at her feet.

“I’m only going to be out here a second,” she assured him.

“She’s not really a shoe person,” Louis told him. “She’s a summer girl because of work,” he explained.

“I could see that,” he smirked and looked at her house. “Looks like the tarp held,” he put his hands into the pockets as he assessed the damage the same as her.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

“M’pleasure.”

“I’m going to get El a little more mobile so she can help you with the muffins,” Louis offered. “We can go for a coffee run too,” he pulled away from her with another kiss to the top of her head. “Harry, tea? Coffee?”

“Tea, please,” he nodded.

Harry stood beside her, their arms brushing as she looked her house over. “That was stupid of me,” she said quietly. “Going up there alone in the dark.”

“Not stupid. Y’were jus’ trying t’fix it.”

She sighed. “When will Niall be here?”

“Soon as he stops t’get me more clothes,” he smirked.

“I’m sorry. This is an awful way to spend a Saturday. I can find someone—”

“Bird, jus’ let me do it,” he chuckled. “M’begging you.”

“You’re sure, it’s not a bother?”

“Course not,” he promised.

“I don’t know how, but I’ll make it up to you.”

He grinned. “C’mon, let’s get you inside before y’lose a toe.”

*

The roof was repaired in a few hours. She could hear Niall and Harry laughing while she let her muffins bake. Eleanor and Louis helped her clean up a little more and eventually the pair came down from the roof. “All set, Miss Bee,” Niall grinned.

“Thank you,” she sighed. “Thank you so much, here let me—” She attempted to hand Niall money, but he put his hands up in front of him like she was trying to stab him with a knife.

“Absolutely not. It’s on the house.”

“Literally,” Louis chuckled.

“Boo...” El rolled her eyes.

She looked at Harry nervously. “Don’t even think ‘bout it, bird,” he warned.

Pouting, she put the money back in her purse and then held out the plate of muffins that had finished onto the counter. “Here,” she offered. “The blueberry white chocolate chip ones are the best.”

“Don’t be mean to my cranberry walnut,” Eleanor said protectively.

She smiled. “Chocolate chip is by far superior, my love,” Louis said knowingly, and they took their muffins to the sofa bed.

Niall snagged one of each, with an impish smile and followed her friends. Harry stood opposite her at the counter. “We still on for tomorrow?”

“You still want to see me? After this whole catastrophe of a week?”

He nodded, picking the baking cup off his muffin with a smile. “God, yeah.”

“You might be a little crazy.”

“M’definitely a little crazy ‘bout you, bird.”

“That will be seven days in a row of seeing me.”

“A perfect week, in m’opinion,” he ripped a piece of the top of the muffin off and popped it into his mouth. “Mm,” he sighed. “Blueberry is definitely m’favorite,” he smiled.

“What are we doing tomorrow?” She asked.

He grinned. “I thought y’might want t’stick to something simple. Jus’ lunch. We can walk around the park if it’s nice out,” he offered. “But s’also Sunday so m’sure y’want some time t’rest, so I won’t keep you out forever.” That sounded highly unfair. Part of her didn’t want Harry to leave and she felt so ridiculous about saying it. Or maybe it was because he was so warm in her freezing cold room. “Lunch for sure.”

“Is it a fancy place? I just want to know what I should wear.”

“Not particularly,” he shook his head. “You can wear whatever you want,” he promised. “M’sure you’ll look stunning.”

Her face warmed with the compliment wondering for the millionth time why Harry would want to put her kindergarten chaos in his life. “M’with Eleanor, cranberry walnut is the winner,” Niall said around a mouthful of his breakfast treat.

“Told you!”

“Fine by me, I don’t have to share,” Louis said with a shrug.

Harry chuckled, gave her a wink, and headed to join the little group in her living room. Like he wasn’t stealing her heart and soul at all.

--

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[monicaalexandraaa]

I love the idea of like imagine them having a random conversation completely unrelated to anything theyre doing, maybe its like after sex or something so theyre naked and shes straddling him or honestly hes straddling her doesnt matter lol, and he is just palming at her and pinching her nipples with a ~hiss~ , but still being engaged in the conversation

Omg love this idea let me write a bit of that!

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Warnings- nipple play, cockwarming, unprotected sex, play fighting, slight chihuahua slander (I had one I promise it isn’t personal), name calling, gossip

“S’not really my business, but in my opinion they aren’t compatible.” It wasn’t Harry’s business, no, but he always had an opinion. The man had a soft spot for gossip.

“I don’t think so either.” Y/N’s hands dragged down his chest, stroking over the soft, thin layer of hair that had begun growing there. “It’s like… she told me they get dressed right after sex. They don’t like seeing each other naked besides for sex.” Her face showed how odd she thought it was, but she knew she was a bit biased. Considering they’d been finished for a little bit now and she was as naked as the day she was born- and he was still snugly warm inside of her- she knew that their relationship acted on different perimeters than most of her friends.

There was no hint of shy between the two of them. Being naked together was an activity they both enjoyed since the earlier days of their intimacy. Skin to skin did wonders for them.

“Mm.” Harry sighed, looking from her tits back up to her eyes. “Yeah. Wouldn’t really fly with us, now would it?” Taking her pebbled nipple between his fingers, he tweaked it a little bit to get a squeak out of her. The tiny glare melted when he tugged at it a little bit, rolling it between his fingertips. “Think I’d probably die if I didn’t get my all access pass t’these babies.”

Letting out a little snort, Y/N closed her eyes as she let him play with her. “Yeah, yeah. We’ve got an abnormally nice relationship though. I’m always sitting in silence when some of my friends talk about their partners like they hate them. It’s weird.” It wasn’t like Y/N hadn’t had bad relationships but she didn’t like that it felt like the norm for a lot of people around her.

“Well, S’a bit complicated. A lot of them probably feel like they invested a lot of time into the relationship and don’t want t’call it because it’ll feel like a waste.” He was speaking from prior experience. Before he met Y/N he had been in a dull, resentful relationship that he was simply too stubborn to leave.

Thank fuck that was over.

“Yeah. I don’t want to be super judgmental.” Her breathing caught as he switched to her other nipple. Tossing her slightly sweat damp hair over her shoulder, she leaned further into his touch as he sat up with her in his lap to give her a kiss.

“You? Judgmental?” Harry was being facetious against her lips. His girlfriend had subjected him to her inner monologue while watching Project Runway. She was at least a little bit judgey.

“Watch it.” Her fingers pinched his nose lightly which made his features scrunch up. “Or I’ll pinch your nipples this time.”

“Do it. A little tit play doesn’t scare me.” He sniffed, taking her other breast in his hand. Double fisting, so to speak. “I’m happy to explore things with you. Just say the word-“ A hiss interrupted his sentence, a handful of his hair now tugged roughly and jerking his head back a little bit. “Rude.”

Y/N rose a brow at him considering they both felt him twitch inside of her from the manhandling.

“I’m correcting you. You keep misbehaving. Have to train you somehow.”

“What am I? A golden retriever?” He sputtered, though there was no real displeasure on his face. They both knew he liked to be roughed up a little bit.

“No. You’re a chihuahua.”

“A chihuahua?” The word was exasperated, the ego taking a hit. “I’d much rather be a golden retriever. The fuck?”

“Yep. You’re yappy, you tend to have one or two favorite people, aka me, more bark than bite- ouch, watch your fuckin’ fingers- like to play dress up, you could be considered an ankle biter-“ The last of her sentence was cut off with an ‘Oof’ as he took the relaxed state of her to manhandle right back, tossing her on her back.

“Watch your mouth.” He grunted, wrestling her slightly as he trapped both her wrists and pinned them above her. “Rude ass little thing you are. Thought two orgasms would have fucked the attitude out of you, but apparently- stop fucking squirming- you like to be a brat.”

Y/N blinked up at him with a scowl. “You like my attitude. Quite literally told me that when I talk back, you get hard.” Despite the play of trying to free her arms, she lifted her legs to wrap around his hips. “Now we’re both stuck. See? You had to go n’toss me like a doll or something.”

“A man with the essence of a chihuahua wouldn’t be able to do that.” Harry snarked back, pushing himself to the hilt inside of her. “Made me have to take over and you’ve gone and leaked spunk all over the place. What a mess.” Shaking his head, he leaned down to bite her bottom lip, not exactly gently. “Now M’gonna have to push it all back into you. Always causing problems, aren’t you?”

[monicaalexandraaa]

♩ lana del rey — playing dangerous ♩

Pairing: Cop!Harry × Reader

CW: Explicit sexual content, D/S dynamics, consensual rough sex, spanking, power imbalance, light humiliation, crying, aftercare, and depiction of restraint (handcuffs).

Synopsis: When Officer Styles responds to a call about a drunk fight at a party, he’s shocked to find his usually sweet girlfriend caught in the chaos, so he decides to treat her like any other troublemaker.

It was almost 1:30 a.m. when the call came through Harry’s radio.

“Disorderly behavior reported at a residential party on Crescent Avenue. Possible fight. Officer requested.”

Harry sighed as he reached for the gear shift in his cruiser, rubbing a tired hand over his jaw and mustache. He’d been patrolling for hours, ready to clock out soon, but Friday nights in this town always had one last surprise.

He flicked on his siren for a moment, just enough to make his presence known as he pulled onto Crescent Avenue. The house was easy to spot, lights blaring, bass booming, people spilling onto the lawn in messy clumps. Harry parked across the street, his brow furrowed.

“Probably just a drunk mess,” he muttered, stepping out.

But the last thing he expected was you.

He recognized you immediately, even from the side, your little floral dress a size too short, your pretty lips in a pout, your cheeks flushed and tear-streaked. You were in a heated back-and-forth with another girl, waving your hands dramatically, while a group of tipsy onlookers watched.

You were supposed to be home tonight. His good girl. His quiet baby. Not… here.

Harry’s jaw clenched as he crossed the lawn. The crowd parted quickly, recognizing the badge and the low, commanding tone of his voice.

“Alright, break it up,” he barked. “Everybody calm down.”

You turned, wide-eyed. “Harry?”

He didn’t answer. Not with words. His expression was unreadable. Cold. All cop now.

You stepped forward, stumbling a little on your heels. “It’s not my fault—she started it, she pushed me and—”

“Turn around,” he cut you off sharply.

Your mouth parted in shock. ��W-What?”

“I said turn around. Hands behind your back.”

You blinked up at him, frozen. “Harry—wait—are you serious?”

He didn’t flinch. “You wanna cause trouble like everyone else? You get treated like everyone else.”

Your stomach dropped.

You weren’t used to this side of him. Usually when he wore his uniform around you, it was a joke, a tease, something sexy and playful. But tonight, he wasn’t your boyfriend.

Tonight, he was a cop.

And you’d just gotten yourself in real trouble.

Your heart thundered as you slowly turned around, facing the lawn while your hands shook behind your back. You weren’t used to him like this, stern, distant, all authority. It made your lip wobble.

“Feet apart,” Harry said coolly behind you. “Wider.”

You did as you were told, wobbling slightly in your heels, and swallowed a sob. Worst thing was the quiet sound of latex gloves snapping on behind you. He always carried a pair.

“Harry, please,” you whispered, cheeks burning. “You don’t have to—”

“Quiet,” he interrupted flatly. “You lost the right to talk when you embarrassed yourself and me.”

Your shoulders flinched. That stung.

His large hands began the body search at your arms, fingers brushing down with professional, practiced motions. But even with the gloves, you could feel the care underneath, barely there, but still there. He was mad, but not reckless.

He moved down your back slowly, checking your sides, your waist.

Then lower.

Your breath hitched when his hands skimmed down your thighs, deliberate and firm.

“Any weapons on you?” he asked, voice low.

“N-No,” you whimpered.

He hummed, not believing you. His hands dipped under your dress, high enough to check your upper thighs. And when his palm brushed over the thin strap of your underwear, he paused just a second too long.

You heard him exhale through his nose, like he was trying to rein himself in.

“You think this is cute?” he muttered, almost to himself. “Little dress. No coat. Drunk in the street. Fighting some stranger?”

“I didn’t fight her,” you whispered tearfully. “She pushed me and I was just trying to—”

“You smell like tequila,” he cut in, standing again, his tone cold. “And you’re slurring your words. Don’t lie to me, baby.”

The word baby was soft, almost unnoticeable, but you heard it. It made you cry harder.

He grabbed your wrists and clicked the cuffs on, tight enough to sting. Your breath hitched.

“Ow,” you whimpered.

“You’ll survive.”

The metal was cold against your skin, biting as he turned you back around to face him.

Your tearstained face looked up at him, lower lip trembling, mascara smudged under your lashes.

“Please don’t take me to the station,” you begged in a tiny voice. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be bad. I swear.”

Harry didn’t answer. He just grabbed your arm and started walking you toward the cruiser.

You sat in the backseat like a criminal, wrists locked behind you, cheeks soaked, your little dress riding up as you tried to sit properly. The doors shut with a heavy thunk and Harry rounded the car without a word.

Your stomach twisted. He hadn’t said anything. He was really going to do it.

The car started and you panicked.

“Harry,” you choked. “Don’t—don’t take me there. I swear I won’t ever do this again. I didn’t mean to—I was just—”

Still, no response.

He kept his eyes on the road, one hand firm on the wheel, jaw tense. The mustache above his upper lip twitched as he clenched it, like it hurt him to ignore you.

You were full-on sobbing now. Small, pitiful hiccups that made your body shake.

“I don’t wanna be booked,” you sniffled. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this—please.”

Nothing. He didn’t even look at you.

He drove deeper into a quiet, empty side road, far from the station. You didn’t even notice, you were too busy crying, thinking he’d never forgive you.

Then, finally, the car rolled to a stop.

Your breath caught.

“W-Where are we?”

Harry didn’t answer. He turned off the engine. Silence filled the cabin.

Then, he got out.

The back door creaked open, letting in a burst of cool air. You looked up at him with wet lashes, confused and panicked.

“Out,” Harry ordered, voice sharp.

You hiccupped. “W-What?”

“Out of the car. Come on.”

He reached in and grabbed you by the upper arm, not harsh, but firm enough to make your legs wobble as he helped you stand. The gravel under your heels crunched as you stumbled slightly, arms still locked behind your back.

The area was empty. No streetlights, no cars, just the quiet hum of wind through trees. He’d driven you somewhere private. Somewhere no one could see.

You barely had time to react before he spun you around and pressed you up against the back door of the cruiser. The cool metal met your cheek as he pushed your cuffed hands higher on your back, making you gasp.

“You think that was funny?” he snapped. “That I’d find you at some trashy party? Throwing drinks? Acting like a brat?”

You squirmed. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Shut it,” he barked. “You're gonna learn tonight.”

He stepped behind you, crowding your smaller body with his, the sharp edge of his badge grazing your shoulder as he leaned in. One gloved hand slid up under your dress again, rougher now, no longer pretending to search, fingers slipping up the back of your thighs until he found the lace edge of your underwear and ripped it off.

“Harry—!”

“I should drag you in, book you in front of my entire department,” he growled against your ear. “Let every officer see what a little mess you’ve been.”

“No!” you sobbed. “No, please—don’t…”

“Then shut up and take your punishment.”

He opened the back door and nudged you in. You climbed in awkwardly with your hands still cuffed, sniffling and shaking. He climbed in after you, pulling the door shut behind him so you were enclosed in darkness and heat and tension.

His voice was low, gravelly. “Stay on your knees.”

You scrambled to obey, heart pounding. Your dress rode up, exposing your thighs, your ripped panties twisted and damp from the rough handling. He grabbed your hips and yanked them back, your hands still pinned behind you, making it harder to steady yourself.

Then, without a word, he slid two fingers between your folds.

You gasped.

Even though your eyes were swollen from crying, your body was still soft and warm for him. Still his. Still needy.

“Fuckin’ dripping,” he muttered, jaw clenched. “Course you are.”

“Harry, please—”

“Not a word.”

He pulled down his zipper, and you heard the low sound of his belt unfastening. Then you felt the hot, heavy press of him against you. You sobbed again, overwhelmed, shivering, but part of you throbbed with need.

When he pushed in, you let out a broken moan.

He didn’t go gentle. Not like usual. His thrusts were rough and sharp, knocking your knees forward against the backseat. You were helpless, whimpering, tears still running down your cheeks as the cuffs bit into your wrists.

“Too much?” he snapped.

You shook your head quickly. “N-No—just hurts…”

“Good.”

He fucked you deeper, gritting his teeth as your body tightened around him. Your soft cries filled the cruiser, echoing off the glass.

“You ever embarrass me like that again,” he panted, slamming into you, “and I will book you. Let them throw you in the drunk tank for a night.”

You cried harder, your cheek pressed into the seat, hips arching helplessly. You couldn’t move your arms. Could barely catch your breath.

But you wanted it.

You needed it.

And he knew.

So Harry kept going. Punishing you with every rough, desperate thrust. But his hand still slid down eventually, brushing your clit, circling it gently.

Because you were still his baby.

Still his girl.

Even now.

When your legs began to shake, he leaned down, pressing his chest against your back as he hissed in your ear, “Come. Right fucking now.”

You came with a broken, breathless sob, legs giving out, body trembling around him. And a moment later, he groaned deep in his chest and followed, filling you hard, staying pressed close, almost like he wanted to shield you.

You were still whimpering softly, folded over the backseat, cheeks wet and dress rucked up around your waist. Your hands twitched in the cuffs behind you, wrists sore, thighs sticky and trembling.

Harry didn’t move right away.

His breathing was heavy, jaw flexing as he stared down at your fragile, bent form. He was still flushed from release.

“Don’t move,” he murmured lowly.

Then his hand came down hard on your ass.

You yelped, the sting biting into your already sensitive skin.

Smack.

Again.

Smack.

Again.

Three sharp slaps, firm and controlled, just enough to make you sob and jerk forward in his lap, thighs clenched and red.

“Let that sink in,” he growled, voice low and mean. “Next time you act like a little brat, this is what you get. Every single time.”

You hiccupped, tears spilling over again. “I’m sorry…”

“I know you are,” he said, a bit softer now.

One last spank. Gentle this time. More like a pat.

Then silence, except your breathing and his.

You felt him shift behind you, adjusting his uniform pants and zipping up. He stayed kneeling in the backseat with you for a few long seconds, eyes trained on your small, trembling frame, until the anger fully faded from his chest, replaced by something tender.

“Come here,” he said quietly.

You barely had time to move before his hands—now glove-free—were pulling you back into his lap, letting your sore body sink against his chest. Your cuffed hands still rested behind you, awkward and stiff.

He pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Gonna take these off, alright? Easy…”

He pulled the keys from his belt and clicked the cuffs open.

They fell away with a gentle jingle, and your arms dropped like dead weight. You sobbed, folding forward, resting your head against the warm backseat.

“Shh,” Harry murmured, catching your wrists delicately in his big hands. “Let me see ‘em.”

You didn’t resist.

He lifted your red wrists to his mouth and kissed them one by one. Slow. Tender. Reverent.

“Shh, baby. I’ve got you.”

Your wrists were red and sore, the angry grooves from the cuffs clear under the moonlight. Harry cradled them carefully in his big hands, rubbing his thumbs softly over the marks.

“Too tight, wasn’t it?” he whispered, kissing the inside of one wrist, then the other. “Didn’t mean to hurt you like that.”

You shook your head. “No—you didn’t. I deserved it.”

He hummed, brushing your hair back gently, inspecting your face, your flushed cheeks, the pout of your lips. You looked like a startled deer.

“You scared the fuck out of me, y’know,” he murmured. “When I saw you there, drunk out of your mind—baby, I could’ve arrested someone else for touching you. That’s how bad it looked.”

“I wasn’t gonna let her touch me,” you mumbled, eyes down. “But I shouldn’t have yelled. I know.”

“You shouldn’t have been there at all.” His tone firm. But then he sighed. “You’re my girl. You don’t need to go get attention like that.”

“I wasn’t—I swear, I was just mad you were on shift again, and I—” you hiccupped. “I missed you.”

That cracked something in him.

“Oh, baby…”

He pulled you tight into his chest, one hand cradling your head, the other still rubbing your wrists gently.

“I’m here now, yeah? I’ve got you.”

You nodded, lips wobbling again.

Harry leaned back against the door, letting you curl into him, your arms limp and sleepy now. His palm rested over your bare thigh as he whispered, “You’re alright. S’all over now.”

You let out a small hum, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers traced soft, soothing circles on your skin.

“And if you ever wanna act out again,” he whispered against your hair, “do it when I’m home. Not in public. Not like this.”

“Mhm,” you murmured. “Promise…”

He kissed your cheek, your nose, your temple.

“You’re still my good girl,” he breathed. “Even when you’re a little menace.”

You smiled faintly, snuggling deeper into his chest.

“Still your baby?”

He laughed under his breath. “Always.”

And in the quiet of that empty road, with your dress still askew and your body aching but safe, Harry held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. Like the rest of the night hadn’t even happened.

Just his baby.

His soft, silly, bratty baby.

And he’d forgive you a thousand times over.

[monicaalexandraaa]

🥺🩷🩷

TiO (Take It Off)

Summary: The second you slipped the hoodie over your head, you drew in a deep breath, inhaling the smell that clung to the fabric, inhaling him, his scent like a warm hug. It was intoxicating, made you dizzy with a want you could no longer hide.

A/N: I know it's Tuesday, but our little Monday Blurb got pushed due to life happening. This was a request from @lizsogolden. Based on the song TiO by Zane, and the LIDO Festival Pics.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warning: Freaky Smut, playing off the lyrics. (a quick moment of consensual head pushing.)

The first thing you wanted was your mouth on his skin, his shirt coming off, your tongue dragging over his flesh like a fucking animal, as you breathed him in—the sure scent of salt and earth—you wanted the taste of him to spread across your taste buds like a goddamn feast, like the last meal you would ever need.

And that’s exactly how it happened.

A shove through the door, you reaching for the hem of his shirt as he shimmied out of his jacket, your eyes narrowing at the task at hand, because there was only this. As soon as he yanked his shirt over his head, your mouth dove in. Moving straight for the peak of his nipple, and you pressed your tongue flat against the firm tip, warm and soft, as you pushed against him, pulling a low groan from Harry, who was watching you with wild eyes, pupils blown, a mirror to what you felt—to what you wanted.

You quickly dropped to your knees, hands falling to his waist, pulling him closer. Greedy, that’s what you felt, a greed rising, a need you had felt since the moment you saw him earlier that night—a frenzied need spurred on the moment he handed you his hoodie, your eyes catching on the exposed flesh of his tatted torso when he pulled the warm hoodie over his head, his shirt coming with it.

It was a glance, a fucking peek, but he caught you, and you couldn’t play it off.

But isn’t this how it all began? A peek, a glance, an action?

He was a friend of a friend. Someone you had met a handful of times, barely an exchange of words. At the time, it wasn’t really the setting, but neither was tonight, because there was no space to talk really, not over the noise and the crowd, you had only your awareness of his presence, only the passing seconds of a glance.

It was a last minute decision, you coming to the festival. You had made other plans, and when they fell through, you accepted the invite. These were your creative friends; there was never a dull night with them. You knew it would be interesting, a fun night out, a good distraction. You hadn’t expected to see him there.

Harry.

There he was, standing on the opposite side, your two friends a barrier between you. You had forgotten how tall he was, how captivating his features were in any light. He looked good, too good, fuck, in a pair of red shorts that hugged his muscular thighs, of course showcasing the bulge of his package, because you had to look, why not, his short, shorts were practically offering-up a perfect view.

You couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t help the way your eyes kept drifting to him throughout the night, stealing glances when you thought no one was looking.

But he noticed. Of course, he noticed.

Every time your gaze met his, he would smirk, a knowing smile that sent a tingle to the tips of your toes, as you bit back your smile. You saw it in the sparkle of his green eyes, the mischievous glint taunting you to play. It was like a game between the two of you, this secretive back and forth, filled with heated looks, this teasing presence that stole your focus entirely, because you couldn’t even remember any of the music that had come and went throughout the night.

He had your imagination running wild. Dirty thoughts stacking up like tokens you would save for later—needy thoughts of ripping off those tight shorts, you running your hands over his hard body, of tasting every inch of his skin.

You wanted it, and so you would have it.

He was a pro, but you made him work for it, putting him to the test as the night wore on. But the evening was in your favor as the temperature began to drop. You knew you could use this to your advantage, and you couldn’t help but shiver in your thin t-shirt. You hugging yourself every time you all leaned in to talk, or you blankly taking in the band on stage, in those moments, you were playing hard to get.

Dammit, the pull was there, the pull was evident, and you glimpsed it from the corner of your eye, Harry taking the bait because suddenly he was making his way towards you, trading places with your friend so he could stand by your side.

“Cold?” he asked, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and he smiled, eyes trained on you as he wriggled out of his jacket, and when he casually tossed it onto the barrier, your heart started to race.

You didn’t stand a chance, you standing there with hungry eyes trying to pretend like he had no effect on you, and as he pulled his hoodie over his head, it was almost too much, the motion causing his shirt to ride up and expose his toned abs—that fucking butterfly tattoo at the center of his chest on full display—and your breath seized in your throat as you caught a glimpse of his nipple, hard and pebbled as the night breeze picked up.

Fuck. That was it. Your breaking point. You knew right then that you would do anything, absolutely anything, to get him alone. To feel his hands on your body, his lips against your skin. You needed him, craved him with a fucking ferocity that was already chipping away at you—you knowing there would be no holding back once you got your hands on him.

Your eyes met as Harry’s arm reached out with the hoodie, that knowing grin ripping through you, and your gaze floated down his body, his fingers brushing against yours in the exchange, lingering just a second too long, long enough for you to watch him pull his t-shirt back down.

The second you slipped the hoodie over your head, you drew in a deep breath, inhaling the smell that clung to the fabric, inhaling him, his scent like a warm hug. It was intoxicating, made you dizzy with a want you could no longer hide. The rest of the night was a blur of stolen touches—a touch on the elbow to get your attention, innocent, but laced with a beckoning desire that never left his eyes.

Because every gesture was an invitation, every whisper a frenzied haze when his warm breath fanned past the shell of your ear, him getting as close as the public would allow, but that was okay, because it only made you want it more; only made the flame burn in the pit of your stomach as the anticipation pulsed between your thighs. By the time your friends were ready to leave, you were practically vibrating out of your skin, desperate to get him alone.

“My place?” you whispered as you hugged him goodbye, your lips grazing the lobe of his ear.

“Lead the way,” he rasped back, his large hand splayed possessively on your lower back.

And you knew this was it.

The drive to your apartment was an agonizing burn, both the longest and shortest ride of your life. Every red light felt like torture as adrenaline hummed over your skin at every stop, adding to the seconds, the minutes it would take to get him through your front door, and it all happened in a flash—a shove threw the door, your hands on his body as his clothes began to come off, and then you were on your knees, eyes level, the inked butterfly staring back at you.

There was no hesitation in the way you moved, licking and nipping at his heated flesh, relishing the salty tang on your tongue. “Fuck, you’re eager,” he huffed, already breathless, head thrown back as you scraped your teeth over his nipple again. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathed against his skin. “Want you so bad. Couldn’t stop thinking about this—about having you…”

Then he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth when you bit down on the wing of the butterfly, making you laugh. Suddenly, his hands were in your hair, wrenching your head back to look into your eyes. “Show me how bad you want it—what you want to do to me.”

Without warning Harry shoves your face into the hard bulge of his shorts, both hands on your head now as he buried you in his groin, and for affect you struggle, letting out a muffled gasp, part real, part dramatic, but you wanted to lean into the bit, wanted this control over you.

You liked the surprise, so why not play?

You started mouthing at the fabric of his shorts, hands sliding to his hips, gripping as you dragged your tongue over the bulge straining against the red material. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he groaned as you worked to free his cock, pulling down the waistband of his shorts and boxers in one swift motion.

His thick, hard length sprung free, slapping against his stomach before your eager hands wrapped around the base, and like the greedy beast you were becoming, you licked your lips, ready to devour him whole, but Harry had other plans, and when he stepped out of his shorts, he grabbed your arm, pulling you to your feet.

“Take it off,” he commanded, eyes dark with the lust you felt aching between your legs. “I want to watch you take it all off.”

And fuck, you didn’t need to be told twice, and in a frantic rush, you stripped off the borrowed hoodie and your own clothes until you were completely bare before him, your chest rising and falling with the effort as Harry drank in the sight of your naked body with the same hunger you felt.

“On the floor. Now,” he demanded, pushing you down onto the hardwood.

You landed with a thud, the pain only egging you on, and your legs splayed open, your pussy already ready for him, and God, as he dropped to his knees it was like the earth stood still, Harry becoming the center of your world for that moment in time—a complete universe pulsing between his legs as he nudged your thighs wider, hands grasping hold of your hips as he positioned his throbbing cock at your slick entrance.

“You’re a freak like me, aren’t you?” he told you with a wicked grin, barely a question. “I could taste it—the way you shoved your tongue into my mouth. You’re a dirty girl who needs to be fucked hard, huh?”

“God, yes,” you whimper, arching your back, desperate to be filled by him. “I need it, please Harry…”

And then he was giving it to you, the whole fucking universe with one brutal thrust as he slammed inside you completely, stretching and filling you so fucking full that stars bloomed behind your eyes, and it was everything all at once, you thought as a broken moan tore from your throat at the sudden intrusion— pleasure and pain—rocketing through your entire body as he began to set a relentless pace, pounding with no lack of resistance right there on the floor of your entryway.

It was glorious, savage even, but this was what you needed as you clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh as he railed you into the ground, the floorboards creaking underneath you, echoing off the walls. It was unrestrained bliss, primitive fucking that had you holding on for dear life—no tenderness or foreplay, just pure carnal desire unleashed. You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his firm ass, urging him deeper, harder, faster.

And just as you were about to come, you pushed a hand into his shoulder, urging him onto his back, and he silently followed your wordless command, ripping out of your body with a force that had a gush smearing between your thighs as you climbed on top.

Without wasting time, you straddled his hips, sinking down onto his cock with a guttural moan, your hands braced on his chest as you began to ride him. It didn’t take long before your hips were rolling and bucking, you were desperate to take him deep, find that same rhythm as your pussy clenched around his thick length with each bounce, and Harry’s hands found your waist, guiding your movements, urging you on as you chased your pleasure.

“Fuck, just like that,” he growled, his eyes focused on where your bodies met, watching as his cock disappeared inside you over and over. “Take what you need, my greedy little freak.”

And fuck if you didn’t almost come right then and there, and when you ground down onto him with that craze that was overtaking you, your breasts bounced with the exertion of each hopeless movement, because you were definitely greedy with it, lost in the sensation like you had no other sense of perception—lost in the way he stretched and filled you so perfectly, hitting that spot deep inside that had you spinning out of your mind, and your head fell back, eyes squeezed shut as you rode him harder, chasing that peak that was just at the tips of your fingers.

Harry’s hands moved to your ass, gripping the flesh hard enough to leave marks as he thrust up into you, meeting your downward movements with his own powerful snap of his hips. “Touch yourself,” he forced, his voice strained, and you could tell he was holding back his own release. “I want to watch you come all over my cock.”

You were ready, could feel the tension building, a knot tightening in your lower belly, and you slid your hand down your body. When your fingers found your clit, you started rubbing tight circles into the sensitive bud as you continued to ride him like a woman possessed—riding him like the fucking freak you were—not possessed, like a woman with need, and shit, the added stimulation was all it took, and with a few more thrusts, you were coming hard, your orgasm crashing over your vision as waves of ecstasy rippled through you.

“Fuck, Harry!” you cried out, your walls fluttering and clenching around him as you rode out your high, grinding down onto his cock to prolong the pleasure.

Harry pulled out then, bucking you up his body as a hand flew to his cock, and you forced your mouth to his, catching his moan of release. You felt his body twitch under yours, and you knew he was coming, knew you both got what you needed. When your eyes locked, something in his eyes had softened, gone new, and you realized you liked this part, too: the aftermath, the leftover heat that was settling over you both, that electric charge simmering to a low hum between you.

As you both lay there—exhausted in the entryway—Harry watched your shoulders tremble in the come-down, green eyes tracing the sweat on your sternum, the tremor in your thighs.

You had expected some awkwardness, a stagger up to the bathroom, maybe a quick goodbye, but Harry only reached for the balled-up hoodie and tucked it under your head as you adjusted your body next to his, completely spent, and he curled his arm beneath your neck, pulling you into him, your bodies melding together as his head fell back to the floor like this was exactly where he was meant to be.

And you nuzzled your cheek into his chest, breathing in the scent of him, already forming a list of all the places you wanted to fuck him in your apartment, because this was your platter and he was your feast, and somehow you were still hungry.

Taglist: @sassamanda77 @harryyloverrr @panini @unfuckwitablenarry @triski73 @haleyannaw @dipmeinhoneyh @lizsogolden @spinninc @iloveharrystyles04 @mema10 @avas-queen-black @starshollowgazette @practistyles

Other One-Shots<-

[monicaalexandraaa]

An absolutely stunning chapter🥹🩷

Okay let’s see📜🧐

A great start! This chapter is heavy on Harry defending her and being her biggest fan and I loved it so so sooooo much.

Lord Mayor just can’t shut up about Pearl and we find out why!! Makes total sense

And then the dress fitting😭😭When we find out Pearl is in the room I could smell the drama. Of course she’s there to try and get in Y/n’s head and stir the pot. And then Harry comes in and Y/n is distraught over Harry seeing her in her dress😭😭which is so valid, especially because this is something that is so special for her. Something that might not ever happen if she wasn’t with Harry and certainly would not be done to the degree that it will be now. It’s like she couldn’t even have that😩jealous people had to ruin it. My heart broke for her but Harry quickly mended it🥺

You haven't a single original thought in that tiny brain of yours and that's the most unattractive thing about you.

Loved this^

"She is ready, Your Highness. She's been trained for this and she will do anything you ask of her. Give her a chance. You may take her into your chambers if you'd like to make a more informed choice."

THE WAY MY JAW DROPPED😦trained! The way Mrs. Mable is so ready to just throw her daughter into Harry’s bed just to give her family status and power is sickening. But very much the kind of actions/personalities within that castle and within the time period of this story.

"We'll have a new dress made for you. A better one. You will never have to see Mrs. Mable and her insufferable, hideous daughter ever again." He thumbed at her cheek as she nodded, a small smile working up on her lips.

&

"I will find you a better dressmaker even if I have to bring them in from another province.

Harry acknowledging how upset Y/n was over it and even though it didn’t make much difference to him he makes sure to fix it because it matters to her. And she matters to him🥹this was so so sweet!

It was becoming quite common for her heart to patter harder every time she thought about Harry.

&

She had never belonged anywhere before, begging in alleyways, sleeping on the floor in her family's cramped tenement, ignored by carriages that splashed muddy water on her skirts. And now, she stood in there in castle with a little more meat on her bones and a relaxed smile on her face. The king had not only chosen her but defended her with the kind of fury only true feelings could ignite. Her feelings of being an impostor still bubbled to the surface at times, but she couldn't deny that Harry soothed the rising simmer with each passing day.

The progression of their relationship has been so lovely😌Harry has just made it more and more clear of his feelings and care for her. He sees her for who she is and praises her for it. He also sees how twisted the people who he’s been surrounded by all his life are. It’s made him more protective of her and their relationship. Seeing this growth and self reflection has allowed us to see the real Harry behind the rigid mean king that he is (rightfully so!) and I have really enjoyed that.

It embarrassed her, in a way, that she had no clue about what looked pretty and what did not.

Continuing to show how she is still struggling at times with where’s she currently at and how her life has changed so quickly. It emphasizes her upbringing and I think it’s so important to continue to preach that. This has all been a huge change but she’s truly handled it with such grace. She brings so much value to the castle/court and has opened Harry up in beautiful ways🥰

"The most important part of any outfit is the person wearing it and her disposition. Your beautiful smile will be the star of the ceremony, and you need your sleep. I will take care of the rest for you, madam. Leave the stress to me."

&

I hope it's just scandalous enough to make everyone turn heads and talk. If anyone can pull this off, it's you."

Loved Eugène !!!!

The examination for her virginal status UGHHHH! I’m glad Harry shut that down quick. But this was real stuff that happened!! I really appreciate your dedication to including real scenarios from that time period. It makes it realistic and envelopes us more into the story.

That's what she did to him when he thought of her. She made him smile. The kind of drowsy, sappy smile that told the world he was done for.

&

He wished he could see her right then. Ask her how she was doing, make sure she was being treated well… and perhaps to soothe his own nerves as well. What if she ran off? What if the foul treatment she'd been subjected to had finally gotten to her and she was on the run?

How sweet is thisssss🥺🥹just had to pull those out. And her getting emotional once she’s all ready🥹the most beautiful bride !!!!

I think my favorite part of this chapter is the wedding scene. The attention to detail is off the charts! The whole set up of the wedding from the carriage, to the crowd watching and judging, to Harry standing at the altar and seeing his emotions, to getting back in the carriage with the cathedral bells in the background! The set up of The Great Hall of Thornekeep Palace and even the jugglers and acrobats!!! The detail of Phoebe whispering to y/n on etiquette too! And lastly the set up in his chambers. All of it is so beautiful. The time and effort you put in to craft scenes like this is remarkable🩷

Her breath caught when she met Harry’s eyes, mischievous, proud, and tender. There was something grounding in his gaze, like a rope cast to a woman who was still learning to stand on marble floors.

&

But Harry, never one for subtlety, leaned in and kissed her full on the lips, dipping her ever so slightly, and Y/n grabbed onto his coat to steady herself. Gasps rose, half in horror, half in delight. He pulled back with a wink only she could see.

&

“I don’t know how to be a queen,” she admitted, voice barely audible over the rhythmic clatter of wheels on cobblestone.

Harry leaned closer, his voice lower, softer now. “Good.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, and he smiled at the sound, genuine and unguarded. Then he brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against her fingers. “You don’t have to be perfect, Y/n. You just have to be real.”

These moments^ are perfection !!!!!!!!!!!!

Then the reception. I had a feeling something/someone would try to ruin their night. Of course it’s the whispers and rumors from the guests. But I LOVE that he immediately saw her anger and wanted to resolve the issue. Just really loved the communication. He wasn’t going to let anyone ruin this for her🥺🩷

"You need to trust me. No one else here can be trusted. No one cares about you like I do, so you can't listen to them. They are lying to put a wall between us but it won't work because you're smarter than that. Look who I married?" He ran his knuckles along her jaw. "You're all I want. Why would I ever go with Opal when I have you, here, looking like this…" he said as he looked down over her gown.

&

Harry ran his hand down her arm and pulled her closer. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Loved this^!

A soft and sweet ending to this chapter😌and I am very much looking forward to the next chapter😏

Gosh where am I? What time is it?😆

If it’s not clear (lol), I am in love with this chapter! You continue to amaze me! You are brilliant !!!!🩷🩷

[5] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST | It's Good to Be King Masterlist

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 5 Word Count: 8,476

Ch. 5 Warning: Discrimination, bullying, slight angst and miscommunication, jealousy, hurt feelings, wedding scene -> smut will be in ch. 6, for those anticipating it

. .

The Duke remained quiet and sat in the comfortable feather-down cushioned chair near the fire as he watched Harry and Virgil go back and forth. He'd been meant to mediate the discussion, but Harry overrode that decision and told him to sit before he was removed from the castle. The king didn't need someone there to arbitrate anything. Harry would be the one with the final say, no matter what the Duke's opinion.

It started, on the surface, amicably. But quickly spiraled when Virgil told him he'd regret his choices as king (stripping the Lord Mayor of his title for one, and marrying Y/n for another). Harry'd expected to hear the Lord Mayor bemoan his decisions again. It was no surprise to him, but it was quite galling to listen once again to the same justifications.

Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "And I thought you came here to accuse me of theft. You are a sad, tiresome man, Virgil. I'm bored listening to this drivel."

Niall watched from the door, letting his eyes rove the three gentlemen slowly. He was only there to protect Harry, should he have needed to. But more than that, he found their little tiff to be quite amusing, though he'd never let on to it.

The Lord Mayor continued, dismissing Harry's comments. "And furthermore, it's clear to everyone that you do not have Thornekeep's best interest in mind. Marrying a gutter-waif? Setting her up in the castle like she's been bred for the crown? Why… It's preposterous!"

Harry bristled at gutter-waif, but decided to hold his tongue (and his anger) in front of the Duke. "Bred for the crown? What are you? A husbandry worker now? You breed animals and ready them for royalty?"

A quiet breath fell from the Duke as he turned his head away from the pair arguing. Even he was amused.

A sputtered noise of disbelief fell from the Lord Mayor as he shook his head. "Quite vulgar! Once again!"

The king laughed sardonically and stepped around the edge of the table, glancing at Niall as he ticked his fingers, tapping his nails together slowly. "Are we done here?"

"Before we make our leave, I want to discuss the young woman again. Pearl."

"And what would you like to tell me about the young woman with whom you are infatuated?"

"Your Highness! I am not infatuated!" Virgil pushed himself up from the chair and stepped near to Harry, but not close enough that the king could get his hands on him. "I'm trying to offer you a better choice of wife. Pearl will not disappoint you. She is happy to serve you as a good wife and queen should, and she learns quickly. She will see to it that you are well taken care of."

"I do not want Pearl. I've already made my choice. If you want her so badly, you can have her. Your wife seems quite meek. She wouldn't mind you taking a lover, I'm sure. Most men of your ilk do."

Virgil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring how Harry had once again suggested that he wanted Pearl for himself. "My Lord, we can attest to and confirm that Pearl is a virgin, which is required of the queen consort. I have my doubts that Y/n is pure and virginal."

Harry laughed darkly, without a single drop of humor. "I suggest you make your leave before I become violent with you. My future wife is not up for discussion. I will not have you speak her name again."

"Then a mistress! Pearl would make a lovely mistress for you. She's fine to take on the role as long as you keep her and take care of her and her family in return."

Clenching his jaw, he shook his head and looked at the Duke. "Is he deaf? Dumb? Were you able to understand my orders just now, or am I the mad one here?"

"My Lord, I understood well your desires," the Duke said, not daring to look the Lord Mayor in the eye as he sided with the king.

"You cannot expect to be satisfied with just one woman. Surely you have plans in place to accommodate a mistress, if you haven't already," the Lord Mayor added.

Harry sighed and looked toward Niall again before stepping closer to the old man. "I think I can infer what's going on here. You and Mrs. Mable were quite close at one time, weren't you? The rumors were true then. She was your house-fed lamb, and you're a bedswerver. Your poor wife. Is Mrs. Mable threatening to let the cat out of the bag if you don't secure her virgin daughter a place in the castle?"

Virgil's mouth dropped open as his eyes nearly bulged from his head. "I… Why that's not even—"

The king moved closer, and the old man backed up to keep his distance. "That is what this is all about, isn't it? Most would wonder if Pearl was your daughter and not Mr. Mable's, but I'm convinced you're all dried up, impotent. And you, being like every other fleece-monger in Thornekeep, took Mrs. Mable as your secret, fancy piece."

"This is outrageous! I take umbrage at your accusations!"

Calmly, Harry looked at the Duke with a pleased grin. "Our old billygoat here takes umbrage. What do you say to that, Duke?"

Duke Hughes looked from the King to the Lord Mayor and stood up from his seat. "I say that it's time for us to make our leave."

"Now that is a smart answer. You could learn a lot from the Duke, Virgil."

"Just one meeting with Pearl, my Lord. She is ready to serve and would make a beautiful Queen, if not a kept mistress…"

"I said, get out! I'm quite finished with you, worm. Niall, remove him from the lounge…"

The old man raised his hands in surrender as Niall stepped forward. "We're leaving. No need for intervention. But please, consider meeting with the girl once. You will not be disappointed."

The dress was exquisite. Y/n glanced at Phoebe, who had covered her mouth with her hands after seeing all the pieces put together. She grinned at her friend and looked back at her reflection and couldn't help but focus on the young woman who Mrs. Mable had brought along for the final fitting. She had not been introduced to her, but Y/n could see that the girl was dissatisfied and annoyed.

"It's a shame this wedding and everything to do with the king's selection was rushed," the dressmaker said as she pulled at the fabric and tightened the bust, making Y/n gasp.

"Mama… When can I meet King Styles? I'm bored, and the stench in here is unbearable."

The young woman looked directly at Y/n as she mentioned the stench but Y/n was more worried about the girl's request to see the king. She'd become accustomed to insinuitive remarks and had learned to brush them off. But she did not like the idea of this pretty, young, blonde asking about her husband-to-be.

"Soon. He's been summoned. I imagine he'll be coming in any minute."

Y/n quickly grabbed her skirts and lifted them as she stepped down from the platform and looked at Phoebe. "He can't come in here! I'm in my bridal gown. It's bad luck—"

"It won't matter anyway. There's nothing customary about any of this. No one is so deceived as to think you're a virgin anyway…"

"It's so vulgar to think of it!" The pretty blonde said as she stood up and stepped in front of the mirror, smoothing out the silk panel in her dress. "The king deserves purity and beauty above all."

"Who is this? Why is she here? What business has she with the king?" Y/n pointed at the blonde as she stepped in behind her.

"There's the stench," Pearl said as she turned to look at Y/n, a smug expression drawn on her face.

Just then, the door opened and Harry barreled in with Niall and his assistant Fred trailing behind him. "Y/n… Is—what is this?"

He looked at Pearl, her mother, and the other women in the room, his brows pinched together dubiously. Y/n tried to hide the fabric of her skirts and duck behind a wooden table, but it had all been too late. He'd seen her gown.

"This is my dress fitting. You're not supposed to see me like this!" Y/n was almost in tears, and she knew it was a trivial thing to be so worked up over, but she had envisioned the surprised look on his face when she walked down the aisle toward the altar. She'd been so excited for that moment, and now that would be taken from her. He'd already seen her beautiful dress and it would no longer be a surprise.

Harry let his eyes sweep over her gown and back up to her face. "I was told that I was needed urgently. Who sent for me?"

The room fell quiet as Y/n narrowed her eyes at Mrs. Mable and then Pearl. "They did." She pointed. "I heard her tell this one that you'd been summoned but I did not call for you."

Harry could see the dismay on her face. To him, it was all the same. It didn't matter if he saw the dress now or on the day of their ceremony. But it was clear that it meant a lot more to Y/n and so for that he was livid.

"You're the dressmaker. Mrs. Mable…" Harry said and then he set his eyes on the pretty young blonde who was blushing softly and lowering her gaze in respect. "And you must be Pearl. Virgil has spoken highly of you, but unfortunately, you're wasting your time here."

Mrs. Mable rushed toward Harry and pointed at her daughter. "She is ready, Your Highness. She's been trained for this and she will do anything you ask of her. Give her a chance. You may take her into your chambers if you'd like to make a more informed choice."

Harry sniffed and looked at Y/n before he shot a look of disdain at Mrs. Mable. "Are you dull in the head? Your conniving with the Lord Mayor is pathetic. I know what you two have done and I care not if you expose him and yourself for the bedswervers you are. But do not pull my bride-to-be into this ratbag scheme."

"Is she not more lovely, not more fit to your tastes and to the kingdom's? You will require a virgin—"

"Pish! You and Virgil seem to think I hold virgins in high regard when that is the least of my concerns. Take her away. I don't wish to look at your daughter or to have her near Y/n. I can tell by just a glance that she's jealous."

Pearl let out a frustrated laugh. "I would never be jealous of her! She's akin to the filthy swine at the entry of the rookeries from where she came!"

Harry calmly stepped in front of the blonde, a rage boiling beneath the surface that he had to tame. She had to crane her neck back to look up at him. "I pity people like you," he said in a dark, spiteful tone. "Wrapped up in silk with pink lace bows and a turned-up nose. You haven't a single original thought in that tiny brain of yours and that's the most unattractive thing about you. Moreover, I can't find a solitary redeeming quality that you possess. I do not find you to be pretty. On the contrary… Your face is too wide and pasty, your wrists like a hollowed sprig, and your eyes are set too close, reminiscent of those fat bugs that like to feed off dung in the farmyards. I would never take you as my wife, much less a mistress. You are no better than anyone in this room, and you never will be."

Pearl stepped back and turned her face downward as tears threatened to burst from her eyes. Y/n felt a spike of satisfaction course up the knobs of her spine. She had been blind sided by their little trick to get the king to walk into her room for her fitting, so to hear Harry speak his mind to the young girl in that way had her holding her head a little higher, despite the devastation she felt at him seeing her dress before he was meant to.

"You bootjack! Do not speak to my daughter that way!" Mrs. Mable wrapped her arms around Pearl protectively.

Harry laughed. "Brave soul you are to mock the king and your queen-to-be. What did you expect of this disgraceful, desperate exhibit? That I'd look at her…" He gestured toward Pearl, who still had her face downcast. "And find myself smitten by her pastel garments and curled locks? She is nothing more than the dressmaker's daughter. She does not interest me in the least."

Mrs. Mable scoffed and looked at Y/n, Phoebe next to her, holding her arm. "She's a regular street beggar turned flag-hopper. Who knows how many men she's done the business with and if you want to marry into that kind of rubbish, then you dishonor your father's legacy. You are an embarrassment to the kingdom."

Letting his eyes flicker over his bride-to-be, he clenched his jaw. "If you were a man I'd have you tossed from the window down to your painful demise for speaking that way about her. Does she look rubbish to you? And who do you see standing before you as King? Not my father. He's dead, buried in the ground where he belongs."

One of the seamstresses gasped and turned away quickly in surprise at Harry's rough words for the beloved, deceased King Augustus. He shook his head and pointed toward the door. "Niall, take Mrs. Mable and her daughter down to the study and wait with them until I arrive. The rest of you are dismissed. Phoebe, you may stay with Y/n and help her out of this dress."

Niall motioned to the pair and Mrs. Mable scowled at the king on her way out of the room. Pearl kept her head down in shame with cheeks wetted by tears. Y/n watched with cautious delight, her eyes shifting from Mrs. Mable and Pearl, and then the workers as they all filed out of the Rose Room.

Then, before she even realized he'd made his way to her side, she felt his hand wrap around hers, and she turned to look up at him. "We'll have a new dress made for you. A better one. You will never have to see Mrs. Mable and her insufferable, hideous daughter ever again." He thumbed at her cheek as she nodded, a small smile working up on her lips.

"But the wedding is in two days. I don't know that that's possible. There is no better dressmaker in the kingdom than Mrs. Mable."

"I will find you a better dressmaker even if I have to bring them in from another province. Fred," Harry said, his sight still on his bride-to-be, "go find Luther and have him send for that Parisian man in Bethel. Find out who he uses and have them brought here at any cost."

The door closed behind Fred, and Phoebe stood to the side, watching as Harry and Y/n stared at one another. "You are not upset by them, are you?"

She blinked and looked toward the door. "I'm unsure how I feel. I found Pearl to be very pretty, and I imagined you would like the looks of her." She turned her gaze back to him. "Is it true you find her to be hideous?"

Harry continued running his thumb along her cheek as he lifted his other hand to the opposite side of her face. "Compared to you? She's repulsive and boring."

"But you wouldn't even take her as your mistress?"

"I won't be taking a mistress."

Y/n shook her head. "Isn't it customary for the king to have mistresses to keep him satisfied? What if I cannot make you happy?"

"Do not worry about that, little mouse. Now, I need to go and sort out the hatchet-faced sows who await me."

She giggled quietly as he stepped away from her, a cheeky grin on his face.

The moment he closed the door, Phoebe stepped in behind her and began helping her untie the corset. "She's not pretty. Not at all."

"Who? Pearl? I believe she was very pretty."

"Her attitude was ugly. I can't believe he compared her to a dung bug!"

The girls laughed together. "I wonder what he's going to say to them in his study."

"He's already love-stricken. It's so romantic," Phoebe said as she laid the corset down on the dressing table.

"Love-stricken? I don't believe so."

"Oh, but he is. I have a secret. Something I've wanted to say but didn't know if I should… But now I can't hold it in any longer…"

Y/n looked at Phoebe. "Well, what is it?"

"He's telling you the truth that he doesn't want a lover. I overheard him with his assistant and the castle steward telling them to clear the room that was meant to be kept for a mistress, but he didn't want it. He had changed his mind. Mr. Fred told him to leave it just in case, but the King insisted they give the room another use. He said it was no longer necessary, and I think it's because he can't imagine having anyone but you."

Y/n smiled and looked toward the window as her heart thumped in her chest. It was becoming quite common for her heart to patter harder every time she thought about Harry. He made her skin heat and her fingertips tingle. And she even indulged in touching herself as she imagined his eyes and his lips and his fingers… She knew her feelings about him were different than anything she'd felt before.

She had never belonged anywhere before, begging in alleyways, sleeping on the floor in her family's cramped tenement, ignored by carriages that splashed muddy water on her skirts. And now, she stood in there in castle with a little more meat on her bones and a relaxed smile on her face. The king had not only chosen her but defended her with the kind of fury only true feelings could ignite. Her feelings of being an impostor still bubbled to the surface at times, but she couldn't deny that Harry soothed the rising simmer with each passing day.

When the new dressmaker, Eugène Louise Lafitte, arrived the following evening, he had brought with him a whole caravan of helpers. Three covered carts filled with dresses, designs, supplies, and materials; two hairdressers, three seamstresses, a milliner, and two of his own assistants; as well as all of his personal belongings, as he was going to replace Mrs. Mable as the official royal dressmaker.

Y/n found the whole ordeal to be chaotic, but if she insisted on a new gown (she didn't really), then this was the only way. Eugène had set up everything in the Rose Room, and he began to measure and fit her right away. And despite the fact that there were a dozen people milling about in the room, jumping at every command Eugène spat, she found this fitting to be much better than with Mrs. Mable. For one, he never "accidentally" poked her with the pins the way Mrs. Mable had. For another, he treated her with appropriate respect. As if she were the queen already.

"Bring me the white silk Lanvin bodice…" Eugène said as he waved an arm toward his assistant, his other hand clutched at the middle of Y/n's back as he held fabric in place, and then snapped his fingers. "And check the third trunk for the custom silk skirt with cream lace. And those silk flourettes I've got in my leather satchel. I need them here."

And it went like that until Y/n could barely hold her eyes open. The buzz in the room continued for hours until Eugène was pleased with the look. Of course, he checked in with Y/n, often asking her opinion, of which she had none.

It embarrassed her, in a way, that she had no clue about what looked pretty and what did not. She didn't know fashion, but she did love the little silk flowers that were pinned along her outer skirt between bunched lace and smooth satin. The dress was lovely, Y/n could tell that much. And the finished product (which needed to be ready by midday) would be stunning. It would be paired with the original Turkish diamond necklace she'd been gifted and the finished veil that Mrs. Mable had made.

"Now, you rest," Eugène said to Y/n after Phoebe had helped her out of the delicate material and tucked a robe around her chemise. "The most important part of any outfit is the person wearing it and her disposition. Your beautiful smile will be the star of the ceremony, and you need your sleep. I will take care of the rest for you, madam. Leave the stress to me."

She paused and squinted at the odd man (he was quite odd, but she rather liked him). She wasn't sure if he'd said leave this dress to me, or leave the stress to me… Either way, she was too exhausted to think of much else than her comfortable bed as all of the workers left the room and Phoebe tucked her in and kissed her cheek.

"Goodnight, Queen." Phoebe smiled.

Y/n fluttered her eyes closed with a small, quiet laugh and whispered tiredly, "I'm not Queen yet."

"You are to me."

Despite the pre-wedding spiky nerves Harry was feeling, he was pleased and maybe even a little excited. The ceremony was only a couple of hours away and the castle was abuzz with activity all over. His suit was ready. He'd hidden in his study in hopes of a bit of peace and quiet before the doctor had forced his way in and begun talking nonsense.

"She has not yet had her physical examination, My Lord. It would require, at minimum, a quick and simple two-finger test, which is very run-of-the-mill."

Harry pinched his brows together and nodded with a sneer, his leg draped over his knee as he listened to the castle doctor. Sucking at his teeth he narrowed his gaze. "That will not be happening."

"Excuse me?" The doctor looked surprised.

"I said… That .. will not .. be happening."

"I don't understand. It's customary to check that the bride of the king is a virgin. How will we determine her virginal status if she doesn't have an examination?"

"I am sorry you're confused, but I believe I made myself clear. She will not be needing an examination. She's already told me she's a virgin." Not that it mattered to him in the first place.

"Please accept my sincerest apologies, My Lord, but how do you know she's telling you the truth? That is why we have protocol for this kind of thing. We cannot trust her to be honest about that. Of course, she'd tell you she's a virgin in order to procure her spot as Queen."

Harry sighed and placed his foot down on the floor, as if her were about to stand, his posture only slightly threatening as he leaned forward and kept his eyes hard on the doctor. "When I first picked her, I sought a woman who was not a virgin on purpose. I had hoped to enjoy some wick-dipping with her right off, but she was quite unsettled by the idea, worried about God and purity and all that. She's a virgin."

"My Lord, this is a—"

"This is a discussion that has come to an end. I won't hear of it anymore. You may take your leave. I'm busy. If you hadn't already realized it, I'm getting married today. I don't have time for your nonsense."

The doctor seemed rather vexed but he left the king's study without another word. Harry understood the usual traditions. He knew that it was expected that Y/n be a virgin. He was also not under any illusion that the people would demand proof and want to see their bedsheets the following morning to check for her blood.

He shook his head and gulped down the last of his gin. He hadn't even wanted a virgin. Mostly for selfish reasons but also because he'd never been with a virgin before. The very first time he saw her up close outside the castle gates, he found her features to be very pleasing and he made the mistake of assuming she was not a virgin. Though even after learning she was, he didn't regret his choice after getting acquainted with her.

He smiled as he stood from the chair. That's what she did to him when he thought of her. She made him smile. The kind of drowsy, sappy smile that told the world he was done for.

He wished he could see her right then. Ask her how she was doing, make sure she was being treated well… and perhaps to soothe his own nerves as well. What if she ran off? What if the foul treatment she'd been subjected to had finally gotten to her and she was on the run? Not many would stop her from running because they didn't like her anyway.

With a heavy sigh, he looked out the window to find the day overcast in soft pewters, clouds hanging low as if reluctant to bear witness to the scandal of the century. He was looking forward to making Y/n the Queen, but even more than that, he was looking forward to having her as his wife.

Y/n tried to stop the tears from escaping her eyes as she looked at herself in the mirror, the final product of her hair, the dress, her jewelry... The gown was even more luxurious than the previous. It had a fuller silk skirt with ribbons of cream lace and soft pink, green, and yellow satin flowers delicately sewn in. The bodice gave everything structure and form at the top, and the thin lace sleeves fitted over her arms like a second skin.

She grazed her fingers over the diamond necklace and inhaled a wobbly breath. "I can't believe it. I've never seen anything so beautiful."

Eugène stood behind her with a smile on his face. "I've never seen a more beautiful bride. You wear this dress well, my dear. I know it's not in keeping with tradition but I've been told that you and Harry are not a traditional royal couple. I hope it's just scandalous enough to make everyone turn heads and talk. If anyone can pull this off, it's you."

"And all in less than 12 hours! It's magnificent!" Pheobe exclaimed.

"Thank you, sir. I didn't believe it would be possible, but you've proven me wrong. I'm overwhelmed with happiness."

"Then I've done my job. Now, I believe your carriage awaits to bring you to the cathedral. I will be riding with you and your family, should anything come loose and need fastening."

.

The bells of Thornekeep Cathedral tolled with a heavy, ceremonial rhythm, each echo rolling over the gray-tipped rooftops of the town center like a reluctant proclamation. Inside, sunlight filtered through tall stained-glass windows, coloring the polished stone floor with fragments of ruby, emerald, and sapphire light. It was beautiful, solemn, and grand.

The nave was lined with nobles, foreign dignitaries, and members of the peerage, each clad in their finest silks, lace, and tailored uniforms. Rows of powdered wigs and jeweled collars bobbed stiffly above tight lips and narrowed eyes. They did not applaud. They did not smile. But they did watch carefully. Judging as if they were qualified.

A hush settled as the great organ began to play, a stately, thunderous processional. In the vestibule, Y/n stood just beyond the threshold, her hands trembling against the folds of her gown. The dress was nothing like the ones she used to imagine when watching brides pass in the street. It was better. Phoebe stood at her side, fussing with the long veil that trailed like mist behind her, whispering encouragement.

“You look divine,” Phoebe said, adjusting the fabric atop Y/n’s head. “Now, chin up. If they’re going to hate you, let them hate a queen, not a beggar.”

At the front of the cathedral, King Harry stood waiting beneath the high stone arch of the altar, dressed in a black frock coat with gold embroidery along the cuffs and collar. His ceremonial sword hung from his hip—a nod to tradition he’d allowed begrudgingly—but his cravat was loosened ever so slightly in subtle rebellion. Fred stood just behind him, rigid as he watched on.

Harry’s expression, however, was anything but restrained. He grinned brightly when he saw her appear at the end of the aisle, arm looped with her father's. Gasps rippled through the crowd, not at the gown, not at the diamond necklace, but at the girl wearing them. A commoner. A beggar, soon to be their queen.

Y/n walked slowly down the aisle, trying not to falter under the weight of stares that clung to her like sticky brambles. Her breath caught when she met Harry’s eyes, mischievous, proud, and tender. There was something grounding in his gaze, like a rope cast to a woman who was still learning to stand on marble floors.

At the altar, the Archbishop cleared his throat and began the ceremony, reading from the Book of Common Prayer, as was custom. The vows were traditional, spoken clearly before God and court:

“Will you, Harry, take this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I will.”

“Will you, Y/n, take this man to be your wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance—”

“I will,” she said, quietly but firmly, not letting her voice sound weak in front of the staring spectators.

There were no whispers of love, no passionate declarations. But when Harry slid the ornate ring, a band of twisted gold and sapphire, onto her finger, his thumb brushed hers with lingering affection. A touch that said more than their vows ever could.

When they were pronounced husband and wife, the organ swelled. Tradition usually dictated a polite kiss on the cheek before turning to face the congregation. But Harry, never one for subtlety, leaned in and kissed her full on the lips, dipping her ever so slightly, and Y/n grabbed onto his coat to steady herself. Gasps rose, half in horror, half in delight. He pulled back with a wink only she could see.

Then, side by side, they faced the court. Stone faces stared back. Y/n straightened her spine.

"Let them glare," he said under his breath as they smiled.

The cathedral bells rang again as the newly crowned Queen Y/n emerged from the grand oak doors on Harry’s arm. A scattering of cheers broke out in the crowd gathered beyond the palace gates, though they were thin and uncertain, peppered with scowls, taciturn nobles, and commoners caught between fascination and suspicion.

The royal carriage stood gleaming in the late afternoon light, a glossy black and gold coach pulled by six white horses adorned in crested harnesses. Its polished sides mirrored the anxious faces that lined the route, and the royal seal glinted on the carriage doors.

Y/n climbed in first, the veil like a cloud behind her. Harry followed, waving once to the crowd with an exaggerated flourish, as if daring them to boo. Fred closed the door after them with a look of quiet resignation, before hopping into the carriage behind with the footmen.

Inside, the carriage was warm and velvet-lined, the heavy scent of roses clinging to the seats. Y/n stared out the window as they began to move, flanked by guards on horseback.

“They hate me,” she whispered.

Harry leaned against the cushion and smiled as he pulled her hand into his. “You shouldn't worry about what a bunch of thick-headed sardines think of you. They'er blind.”

She looked up at him and smiled. "I woke up thinking that you'd come to your senses and call it off. That I'd be waiting, all dressed and ready, and you'd be locked in your chambers and have me removed."

He shook his head, soft green irises sliding over her frame and up to her face. “I’ve come to my senses, all right. That’s why you’re sitting here now.”

Y/n looked down at their joined hands—his thumb gently stroking over her knuckles—and for a moment, the heavy world outside the carriage fell away.

“I don’t know how to be a queen,” she admitted, voice barely audible over the rhythmic clatter of wheels on cobblestone.

Harry leaned closer, his voice lower, softer now. “Good.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, and he smiled at the sound, genuine and unguarded. Then he brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against her fingers. “You don’t have to be perfect, Y/n. You just have to be real.”

Outside, the crowd grew louder as the palace gates loomed ahead, but inside the carriage, it was warm and still. She shifted closer to him, their shoulders touching now, the lace of her sleeve brushing the brocade of his coat.

And though the kingdom buzzed with scandal, and the court plotted behind polished smiles, in that quiet stretch of space before the next curtain rose, King Harry and Queen Y/n simply breathed, side by side.

.

The Great Hall of Thornekeep Palace was transformed for the occasion—hundreds of beeswax candles glittered from chandeliers high above, and polished mirrors doubled the light across the walls. Tapestries were drawn back to reveal the grand stonework of the castle’s bones, lending an air of both splendor and severity. Long banquet tables were laid out in rows, gleaming with silverware, crystal goblets, and floral arrangements that spilled over with wildflowers and white roses.

Music floated through the room, an ensemble of violinists and harpists near the hearth played a series of traditional waltzes, though the tempo felt more funereal than festive. No one danced yet. The air was too tight.

At the head table, Y/n sat beside Harry beneath a carved wooden canopy bearing the royal crest. Her plate was filled, but her appetite lagged behind her nerves. The food was elaborate: roast venison with plum glaze, lemon-rosemary quail, bowls of minted peas and white asparagus, and trenchers of honeyed bread and soft cheeses. There was wine from the southern vineyards and towering sugar confections shaped like swans and crowns.

Phoebe stood nearby, ever watchful, whispering quiet instructions on what to do with each fork, when to dab her mouth, when to rise. Y/n nodded gratefully.

The murmurs never stopped.

“She curtsied too shallow.”

“She speaks like she’s from the gutter.”

“Can’t even hold a wineglass properly…”

Harry heard them. Y/n could see it in the tick of his jaw. At one point, a nobleman seated halfway down the table made a thinly veiled comment about the "peculiar scent of fishmongers at court." Harry stood, clinked his glass, and with all the weight of his crown and grin declared:

“I rather like the smell of a woman who knows how to survive.”

The room went silent. Then, reluctantly—awkwardly—a few polite claps began. Phoebe stifled a laugh. Fred looked like he’d aged ten years.

As the night wore on, the air grew looser. Jugglers and acrobats entered, performing near the rear hearth to entertain the children and lower nobility. A small group of traveling actors performed a dramatic retelling of King Augustus the Wise, a none-too-subtle dig at Harry’s late father, much to Harry’s delight.

Y/n watched it all in a dreamlike haze, the velvet of her seat warm beneath her and her crown tugging gently at her temples. She caught Harry looking at her between sips of wine. He reached across the table, not for her hand, but to slide a sugared fig onto her plate.

Y/n picked it up and bit into the fig. Sweet. Sharp. Decadent.

She looked at him with gratitude, holding his gaze a beat longer than proper, feeling something settle in her chest, something warm, steady, and terrifyingly real. Before she could say anything, Fred appeared beside the table with the stiff posture of a man who’d tried to interrupt twice already and failed.

“Your Majesty,” he said quietly, bowing slightly toward Harry. “Lord Chancellor Whitely requests a word regarding the foreign trade representatives. He says it won’t wait.”

Harry groaned under his breath, tilting his head back like a man being dragged to the gallows. “Of course it won’t.” He gave Y/n’s hand a final squeeze under the table. “This is important. I will return as quickly as possible.”

As Fred guided him away, a soft voice called Y/n’s name from just behind her. She turned to find Phoebe leaning in with that same practiced smile she wore whenever navigating nobility like thorns.

“Your mother’s asking for you. I told her you’d come as soon as you’d had a moment and now that the king has been called off…”

Y/n blinked, surprised, rising carefully, nodding her thanks as Phoebe adjusted the fall of her gown behind her. The palace loomed vast and glittering, but with Harry’s warmth still clinging to her skin. Y/n lifted her chin and walked toward where her mother and sisters were standing.

Her mother let out a dramatic sob and pulled Y/n's hands into her warm ones. "You are the Queen. I hear the whispers of everyone around me, but I know you and you are worthy. Even if he already has his mistress up in his room waiting, we all know who his wife is. Whom he has chosen as his queen."

"His mistress?" Y/n looked over her shoulder at Phoebe, who shook her head in confusion, eyes flitting between the mother and daughter.

"Yes. I heard some people talking about a woman named Pearl. She's waiting for him in his chambers right now. Did you not know?"

Y/n swallowed, the back of her throat hollow as she shook her head in disbelief. Her head swirled, making her dizzy, and her sight suddenly shaded in red. Had that been the real reason why he was called off so suddenly? Had he lied to her about what he thought of Pearl? But why?

"I did not know. Thank you, mother. I need to sit."

Y/n tried not to let the dismay that clenched at her heart show on her face. Phoebe was speaking, but Y/n couldn't put together the sentences or make sense of anything. If he'd just been honest the first time around, she wouldn't have so suddenly been caught off guard. She had expected him to take a mistress but when he told her he wouldn't be…

Sitting back in her place, she looked around at the lingering gazes and then at her plate in silence. The food she hadn't finished staring back up at her in a taunt. She couldn't believe that she'd been deceived by him. But she refused to let tears stain her cheeks. She was already the butt of the joke and now she knew it to be true. She'd been so stupid.

Even though the room was full of wealth and opulence, no one danced to the music, and very few applauded the children's entertainment on the other side of the Great Hall. The longer she sat in her fancy chair, in her beautiful dress, without Harry by her side, the more she became certain that he was with Pearl. Why would he be rushed away on the evening of his wedding if not to secretly see his new lover? Would he really allow a business meeting to take precedence? None of it made sense anymore.

Y/n drank down her glass of wine and motioned to have another filled. If she was going to be ignored by her new husband while he played with his mistress behind her back, she was going to try and get on with things, and a bit of drink couldn't hurt. Phoebe had tried to offer her comforting words but it didn't help.

"He's off with her. How long has he already been gone? It's been an hour? I know better than to trust him again."

"Please, madam… I think your mother was mistaken. The king only has eyes for you—"

"My mother knew her name. Someone was speaking about it right in front of her, and she learned a secret that was not meant to be exposed. I'm happy to be armed with the truth. At least I know now."

The chatter in the room softened as heads turned toward the hall's arched entry when Harry and Fred stepped back inside. Y/n looked away. It wasn't fair that he was so handsome after having come back from wherever he'd been. His bed with Pearl likely.

When he sat back down, he reached his hand under the table to place over her skirt but she scooted herself away as much as possible and turned sharply to look anywhere but at him.

"What's wrong, mouse?"

She lifted her glass to her lips and took a long pull of her drink before setting it back down with a loud clunk onto the table. She refused to look at his face. "Do not call me mouse ever again."

Harry glanced up at Phoebe, who was standing near Y/n's chair and then back at his bride's side profile, speaking louder that time. "What is wrong? Tell me what has happened?"

Those who sat closest to the king and queen watched on curiously.

"Did you have fun while you were away? Was it necessary to take an hour to do it?"

"The Lord Chancellor had very important news, and I needed to settle an issue. I did not intend for it to take as long as it did. I apologize. Is that why you're angry?"

She felt her heart thudding in her chest as anger rose up her spine. "Liar."

"Liar? Do you think I am lying right now? Why would I lie to you about something like this? I did not… Will you turn and look at me?"

Y/n turned away further stubbornly, into an uncomfortable position in her seat as she kept her gaze set away from him. Harry groaned and a few seconds later, Y/n felt her chair being pulled back and a hand grasping at the top of her arm, pulling her up to stand. She huffed as Harry brought her with him away from the table and toward the servant's door out of earshot of the guests.

"Look at me right now, Y/n. I will not tolerate your cryptic anger. Tell me what's wrong at once."

She clenched her jaw and slowly, ever so slowly, let her eyes land on his. "I know what you did. You don't need to lie to me and make a fool of me. At least have the respect to be honest with me!"

Harry wanted to laugh, but he was beginning to get angry himself. He hadn't the slightest idea of what she was on about. "Okay. Then tell me what you think I did."

Y/n tried to maintain a stern, defiant expression and not let her emotions rise to the surface but the longer she looked at his pretty face the harder it was. "Pearl."

He raised his brows and blinked. "What about Pearl? The Mables were all disinvited from the wedding. They are not here. What of Pearl?"

"She was waiting for you in your chambers, and you just went to her. Everyone already knows that's what you did. Your secret got out, and now I know."

He couldn't help it when he a laugh fell from his mouth, and Y/n scowled. "You think that I was with Pearl? Are you serious? Have you not learned yet that believing the whispers of the overly pampered people in this room are as good as fiction?"

She blinked at him, her lips turning downward as her conviction faltered. "My mother told me."

He shook his head. "I don't care who told you. You were lied to. I was with Fred, the Lord Chancellor, and two of his men…" Harry pointed behind Y/n. "Look. There they are now. Taking their seats."

She turned to see three men sitting down, smiles on their faces. And as she let her eyes wander the room, she noticed that many people were not paying much attention to her at that moment. A few were staring, but most were drinking their wine and talking to the people around them.

She looked back up at him. "Do you have a mistress? You might as well tell me now, Harry. At least be honest with me. It's not like I'm going to end the courtship or anything. Too late for that."

"I told you I wasn't taking a mistress, and I meant it."

Y/n searched his face, eyes flitting between his irises and the anger, and the sharp ache of betrayal slowly dissolved when she found nothing but honesty in his eyes. She realized that someone had purposely said those things about Pearl in front of her mother for this very outcome. She'd fallen for the lies.

"You need to trust me. No one else here can be trusted. No one cares about you like I do, so you can't listen to them. They are lying to put a wall between us but it won't work because you're smarter than that. Look who I married?" He ran his knuckles along her jaw. "You're all I want. Why would I ever go with Opal when I have you, here, looking like this…" he said as he looked down over her gown.

"Pearl."

"Who?" He grinned playfully.

She smiled, finally, and Harry let out a breath. "There's that smile. Beautiful."

Y/n looked down, feeling embarrassed by her behavior.

Harry ran his hand down her arm and pulled her closer. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

She breathed out a soft laugh. "And you're the devil."

"A handsome one?"

Nodding, she grinned wider, unable to stifle it any longer.

"Let's go back and take our seats before we politely make leave."

The great hall had grown quieter. The candlelight, though still plentiful, seemed to flicker more lazily now, wax dripping down to silver trays as though the evening itself were beginning to loosen its corset. The musicians had shifted to slower, gentler melodies, less formal, less performative. A lull had settled in.

Guests were beginning to drift away in pairs and small clusters, offering final bows and well-wishes to chamberlains and assistants rather than seeking out the king or queen directly. No one had announced the end, but the message was clear: the night was folding itself closed, and that was more than fine with Harry and Y/n.

Y/n's back ached faintly beneath the weight of her new crown as they took their seats again. Across the room, Phoebe stood watchfully near the far wall with Niall next to her, whispering, while the kitchen staff had begun clearing away the final courses with quiet precision.

Harry slid his hand against hers under the table, and quiet chatter surrounded them. She was ready to leave the Great Hall and be done with the theatrics of the day. Her emotions had been quite volatile all day, and the quiet of Harry's bedchambers was beginning to sound like a dream right then.

Fred appeared at Harry’s side and said something in his ear. Harry gave a faint nod, then turned to Y/n with that same roguish smile he’d worn at the altar, but softer, laced with something she couldn’t quite name.

He leaned toward her, close enough that only she could hear. “It's time for us to depart.”

She rose with him, and though no formal announcement followed, the shift was immediate. Some of the guests turned their eyes away in practiced discretion. A few nobles bowed as they passed. Some merely watched with disapproving eyes.

They exited through a smaller side corridor, footsteps muffled on hand-woven rugs. The hall behind them continued to hum, but it was like walking away from a fever dream, something ornate and strange, but already fading.

Once they were alone, past the eyes and expectations, Harry reached for her hand again as he led her up to his room. The corridors of the royal wing were hushed, dimly lit by flickering sconces.

Neither of them spoke. There had been enough of the show. Enough talking and forced smiles. As their footsteps echoed down the long hallway, Harry’s thumb traced idle circles against her knuckles, and Y/n held onto his hand like it was the first real thing she’d touched all day.

At the doors to his chambers, he paused only briefly before pushing them open. The room had been set up for the wedding night, warm with candlelight and perfumed faintly with cedar as the fireplaced crackled. The moment the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, something inside the silence softened. The weight of the crown, the stifling eyes of the court, the perfect stillness she’d worn like armor… it all began to peel away.

Harry turned to her and reached for her waist to pull her close, his touch gentle and secure. Her hands slid over the lapels of his coat, anchoring herself in the solid warmth of him.

"My Queen," he spoke just above a whisper as he palmed at her cheek softly.

Y/n smiled shyly. "My King."

He leaned down, slowly, unhurried, and pressed his forehead to hers as they both closed their eyes. There was no rush to move away from the quiet moment; in fact, it had been necessary, vital. The sound of their breaths, the feel of closeness between them… Y/n trailed her fingers up his arm and tilted her face toward his lips, before pressing them to his in a kiss that was sweet and filled with quiet relief.

. .

Chapter 6 is where we'll finally be getting the smut. I'll be dedicating the entire next part to their wedding night 🤭 xoxo

. .

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[monicaalexandraaa]

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[monicaalexandraaa]

“Don’t call me Mr.Styles unless you’re ready for me to make love to you.”

Picture blurb time! This photo I saw on Pinterest inspired this so quickly

Check out our Patreon for 300+ exclusive writings

Warnings- slight angst but mostly fluffy, workplace romance w power imbalance, talk of anxiety

“Let me kiss it better, my sweet.” He mumbled against her fingers. She was rolling her eyes, of course, but that wasn’t a problem for him. Nothing she did was a problem. Harry liked her far too much.

“It’s just a paper cut- Harry, please!” She giggled under her breath, looking around to the mostly vacant office floor. “Mr.Styles! Someone could see…”

“And I would welcome it.” He puckered his lips against the tiny raised edge of her finger. “You’re the one to wishes to hide that my heart belongs to you, my Darling Dove. I’d let them all know, if the choice was mine.” A longer kiss to her ring finger made her shiver. “Don’t call me Mr.Styles unless you’re ready for me to make love to you.”

“It’s a cliche. Being with my boss.” She whispered back with a heat between her thighs and on her cheeks, letting him kiss the slightly injured digit and all the other ones. The woman knew better by now than to tell him no when he wanted to tend to her. “You being with your secretary… it’s in the movies and everything.”

“Mm, this is true.” He managed to pull his lips from her hands for a moment before rubbing them over his bottom lip. “But doesn’t that mean it has appeal? If it’s all over the movies and books… it’s because people understand the desires.”

Y/N didn’t have a retort for that, mostly because he made a good point and it was slightly infuriating that the man had a response at the ready for everything. It was partially why she loved him.

“I just don’t want people to be too nosy. They already are suspicious because of the flowers.” The fresh flowers he had delivered twice a week, or whenever he noticed any single bud wilting. Her press had flower petals for each batch drying in between layers.

She didn’t push him away when he rounded the desk and pulled her back up to him. It was late in the office and there probably wasn’t too many people left on the executive level but she still felt the rolling of nerves in her stomach. “Let them be suspicious, let them be jealous.” His lips descended onto hers, giving her a chaste peck. “I don’t like having to hide my love for you.”

That made her feel exceptionally guilty, but her anxiety of being seen as gold digger, climbing the corporate ladder by doing nefarious things, or simply using him was outweighing it. “I’m sorry, Harry.” She whispered sadly against his lips. “Soon. Okay?” Her hands cupped both sides of his strong jaw, giving into the urge to lean her body into his own. “I love you. I’m… I’m protective of this. Of us.” More than that, she was protective of him.

She knew he would take a hit in reputation and she didn’t want that.

“And I, of you.” He replied, chasing her lips. “I’ll wait for you to be ready, my love. Sweet, darling little love.” Cooing against her mouth, pressing a lingering kiss to it. “I’ll wait as long as it takes for you t’be happy singing away about our love.”

[monicaalexandraaa]

This was so😍😵‍💫🫠🙂‍↕️

My favorite part:

I love you. (I know; say it again) I love you.🩷🩷

Traditional - Extra IX

Read Traditional here | ~3.1k words

From Me: Just been a while since we've seen them. I have to tell you there's only two planned extras left for this one 🥲 Also, the taglist for this post is insane 💕 Bear with me!

Warnings: SEXTRA SMUT 18+ only - breeding kink, oral (for her), unprotected shower sex

Summary: It's that time of year again and Harry is grumpy and tired. But he's also been neglecting the poor woman that means everything to him. He has no choice but to make it up to her.

The same fiscal quarter was brutal each year. It had been since Harry started the company, but even more so since he thought he was going to have to lay people off. It was like a reminder or anniversary of the shitty year and time he yelled at her, fired Niall, broke her arm, all that awful stuff.

This year wasn’t as bad; but still made for long nights at the office. Long work calls. All that. Everyone was still on edge because Harry was still grumpy the way he seemed to be at this time of year.

There was a knock on his door, and it was very possible that he had been in the office for twenty-four hours. He didn’t remember going home and falling into bed beside her. “Hey kitten,” he mumbled without looking up from his screen. His gaze briefly flicked to the time in the corner of his current window which read quarter after one. So, it had to be her.

“Baby,” there was a frown in her voice and Harry wished he could tear his gaze from the computer for a second to confirm it, but he was too invested in his task. There wasn’t time to look up at her. “Harry, please,” she whispered much closer to him. “Did you sleep?” Her hand felt cool and nice on his face. He still hadn’t looked up at her. She sounded so pretty, so nice. It was hard not to look at her. But he was also exhausted. “Harry, baby,” her voice was so soft. His hands left his keyboard. He felt exhausted. His eyes fluttered a bit. “Harry,” that frown in her voice was back and finally he could make her out. She was a little fuzzy. But Harry didn’t need glasses, so he wasn’t too sure why. “Drink this,” she ordered, and a straw was at his lips. He sipped. It was perhaps the best water he ever drank. It tasted fresh from a spring, and he knew it simply came from the water cooler in the break room.

“Is he alright?” Niall asked.

“I don’t know,” she ran her hand across his face. “Harry?” She asked.

“Hi,” he murmured. “Y’look pretty. And fuzzy.”

“Alright, Harry,” Niall grunted helping Harry to his feet. “Time to get some sleep.”

“I have to—” He started to protest as he wobbled unsteadily toward the couch. Niall dropped him to the cushions.

“You are going to work yourself to death and you’re not married so she can’t even be a rich widow, so no. You don’t have to do anything but sleep. Darling, tuck him in or whatever it is you do to make him sleep. Unless it’s naughty, then wait till I leave.”

“Niall Horan,” her tone was sharper.

“I don’t fall asleep when she does naughty things t’me,” he mumbled, exhaustion dripping on every word.

“Go to sleep, Harry,” her tone was less sharp than she just spoke to Niall, but it was clear she wasn’t discussing it anymore.

“Quite tame,” Niall mumbled.

“Get out!”

“Ow!” He grumbled. “Your girlfriend is mean.”

“Good,” he yawned and before he could hear more of their banter any longer, he was asleep. No kiss or tucking in of any kind necessary.

*

Harry woke up in almost pure darkness if it weren’t for the subtle desk lamp across the room. It was from her office, situated on the small side table. His head felt huge. Like a hangover. “Ah,” he groaned rubbing his temples. Slowly he got up. Now he felt drunk as he walked across the room. Medicine, a glass of water, and a note was beside the lamp.

Do NOT drive yourself home. Take the meds. Sleep more if you need to. Do NOT open your computer. I’ve set it to self-destruct before a certain time.

I love you. (I know; say it again) I love you.

He grinned to himself and followed her directions. He felt significantly better. His vision wasn’t fuzzy any longer and he felt confident he could verbally spar with Niall about the naughty comment a little more forcefully. He texted the driving company for a car and headed toward the bottom floor to get his ride home.

He opened the door quietly in case she was sleeping. The lights were off in the main room, and he headed down the hall toward the bedroom where a strip of light came from the bathroom. It was a bit late for a shower, but sounded like a good idea nonetheless.

“Oh fuck,” she whimpered.

Harry did not like the sound of that coming out of her without him inside her. Before he could even fully let the anger simmer, before he could work out every worst-case scenario in his head, he slapped the door open.

“Jesus!” She shouted and dropped the handheld shower head from her grip.

He glanced around confirming she was alone. “Oh my God, did you think someone was in here with me?!”

“No, ‘course not,” he shook his head. Because he didn’t. Truly. He was just a mess and exhausted. “M’jus not... no, m’not thinking clearly... what were y’doing?” Harry thought that maybe she was blushing harder than she would have had she been caught with someone else.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, uselessly. She bent to get the shower head and placed it back in the cradle.

But Harry knew every sound she made. He knew when she was close to coming and when she wasn’t. He knew every kind of whimpering and moaning noise that left her lips and which one was a precursor for each kind of orgasm he could give her. “Did I interrupt?” He asked quietly.

“No,” she answered again very quickly.

Harry was scanning her from head to toe. Her pretty body was wet and steamy from the shower. He stepped closer to the shower. “What were y’doing, kitten?” He asked quietly. His voice low as she turned away from him grabbing her body wash. His eyes landed on her pretty bum. He wanted to join her very badly, but he wanted his answer too. “M’pretty sure I already know, so y’may as well tell me,” he reminded her. “You’re only jus lathering up so m’thinking y’didn’t need t’use the shower head. Unless it was for something that wasn’t for washing,” he was standing in front of the glass, but she didn’t turn to look at him. He watched her hands slide the loofa across her making her sudsy and something he’d think about on the business trips she couldn’t go with him while he couldn’t sleep.

“Then I don’t think I need to give you an answer...if you already know,” she mumbled still facing the wall.

Harry felt his dick hardening at the idea of her getting herself off in the shower. “Why’s that, kitten?”

“I thought you were sleeping at your office.”

“Mm, I did, thank you for making me, beautiful. I needed t’sleep,” he mumbled. “So why does that make a difference for what you’re doing to your pretty body?” Harry kicked his shoes off, undid his belt, letting his pants drop to the floor in a heap. He watched as she remained unmoved from facing the wall. “How come y’won’t look at me, kitten?”

“It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“That y’were getting yourself off? S’pretty hot if y’ask me,” he tugged his shirt over his head. “Do y’do that often?” He asked.

“No...” she mumbled but it sounded like she was lying.

“No,” he repeated. “Y’sure?”

“When you’re not around...like on a business trip, sometimes I do,” she admitted quietly.

“Good,” he stepped into the shower placing his hands on the outside of her hips. “Why are y’doing it now, then?” He asked. He pushed her wet hair to one side and dipped his head to kiss the curve of her neck and shoulder. “Mm,” he sighed.

“It’s... um... been busy,” she whispered.

“What’s been busy? Work? D’you have too much on your plate?”

“No... you do. We...” she swallowed nervously. “We haven’t really had time to ourselves... in a while.”

Harry blinked thinking about the last time he saw her coming on his dick, his mouth, his fingers. It had been a while, and he didn’t even notice.

“Oh,” he murmured against her skin. “Have I been neglecting you, kitten?” He tutted, his hand sliding down the front of her hip and toward the apex of her thighs. “Y’miss me?”

“Mmm,” she hummed relaxing into his chest.

“M’so sorry, kitten. S’been crazy, yeah? Should always have time for you. Poor thing, y’had t’take care of you all by yourself, hmm?” his fingers dipped lower finding where the showerhead had been massaging her just moments before.

“Oh,” she whimpered. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I know you—”

“No, but you’re m’priority. I should have noticed. Bet you’ve been aching huh, kitten?” His lips grazed her earlobe as he circled her clit. “Your pretty pussy been aching for me, hmm?” He asked rhetorically. “Your clit been swollen jus’ begging for some relief?”

She melted a little further into him as the noises she made amplified with Harry moving his fingers lower, sliding easily with the soap, the water, and her arousal until he glided them inside her. She gasped softly. “S’good, beautiful,” he whispered. “M’sorry. I shouldn’t have neglected you so badly,” he pumped his fingers in and out while nipping at the skin of her neck gently—never hard enough to leave a mark. “S’been so crazy. I’ve been so tired. But s’not an excuse. Your pretty body needs it, hmm, kitten? Y’need t’come don’t you?” He hummed.

“Yes,” she whispered. He pulled his hand away from her warm, wet walls and she moaned. “No please don’t st—”

“M’not stopping,” he promised and knelt to the base of the shower. Carefully, he nudged one of her legs until she lifted it a bit. Harry made sure he had a good grip on her because he’d rather die than let her get hurt regardless of how good he intended to make her feel. The spray of the shower hit his back as he leaned forward and licked into her.

The moan that came from her was the stuff of dreams. Harry sighed nearly with relief. It had been a while and it was criminal to let it go this long. She tasted so good. He gripped her hips hard, holding her steady but pressing her closer to his mouth as well. He groaned quietly as he tasted her, licking her like she was the last bit of food on earth, and he was starving.

Her hand dropped to his hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging his face closer to her somehow while she grinded against his lips. “S’good,” he mumbled, but the sound was lost in the stream of water and her breathy moans.

He pulled back a little. “Better than the shower head?” He asked peering up at her with a mischievous smile.

“Shhh!” She hushed. “Please,” she begged her hips angling to get close to his mouth again.

“Mm,” he hummed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Whatever! Please, Harry,” she whimpered.

Harry loved itwhen she begged. Not because she needed to for him to pleasure her. He just loved the sound of her completely blissed out. Completely uninhibited and unembarrassed. He loved the way she sounded. She didn’t need to beg. Making her come was one of his favorite things to do. “Y’got it, beautiful,” he promised and pressed his lips back to her aching, swollen clit. He traced it with random patterns and slowly moved his hand from her hip to just below where his mouth had taken residence. He pressed his digits back inside her making her leg shake beside his cheek.

“Y’gotta promise t’stay standing, kitten, or m’not going t’do both. Don’t want y’falling.”

“I can’t promise that,” she managed. “Please,” she begged again.

“No begging, beautiful. Y’can have whatever y’want,” he promised pumping his fingers inside her in time with the licking and sucking he was doing to her clit.

“Oh fuck,” she whimpered. Just like she had when Harry interrupted her earlier.

“Good,” he mumbled and continued his pace until she was shaking around him. He continued the licking and pumping while she clenched around him. Her body arching to grind further into his mouth. He sighed with relief, feeling good about making her come.

Carefully, he settled her leg back to standing. He could feel her thigh shaking as he placed it back down. He kissed her hip as he stood again and cupped her face, warm and flushed despite the chill in the water. “When did y’turn that cold?” He asked.

“When you made me hot.”

He smirked and rubbed his thumb on her lower lip before following up with his mouth. He groaned softly tasting his other favorite pair of her lips. He pressed her against the wall of the shower, his feet straddling beside hers. “Y’feel good, kitten?” He asked.

She nodded, grinding her hips toward him still. “Your turn,” she sighed.

“Y’sure? S’late.” She turned in his arms, her pretty backside arching as she all but presented herself to him. Her hands pressed to the wall of the shower. He moaned dropping his hands to her hips. “Kitten,” he mumbled. “Y’sure?”

“You sure you don’t want me to beg?”

Harry huffed out a breath of laughter as he lined his dick up with her pretty pussy. He slid the head of his cock along her arousal. His eyes practically fluttered with admiration for the feeling of it. “No need,” he assured her. “Jus’ want t’make sure you’re good.”

“I think I could fly if you asked,” she laughed quietly. He smirked, sinking into her in one push. “Ah,” she gasped. “Oh God, I missed you.”

“Fuck,” he hissed. It had been too long. He did miss her. Every part of her that he hadn’t attended to in at least a month. The poor thing. His cock was stretching her. She felt so warm and wet around him. He was still quite exhausted, otherwise he would have already finished inside her. “God, I missed you,” he groaned and tucked his face into her neck. “Such a pretty pussy,” he grunted pumping into her. He held her hips thrusting hard. “Not gonna go that long again. Gotta fill y’up full of m’cum, kitten. Practice for when we have babies. Full of me. Doesn’t that sound good. Getting y’full of me? Having our babies. Doesn’t it sound so good,” he croaked pumping hard into her.

“Harry,” she whispered.

“So good, kitten,” he moaned again. “Feel so good around me. Can’t believe I went this long. Never again. Your pretty pussy needs it, hmm,” he was rambling to himself practically. Unable to fully understand how good she felt around him. It seemed unfair. She was so good and he let a whole month pass without fucking her. Without making her come on him. “M’sorry for neglecting y’baby,” he whispered and pressed his mouth along her skin again.

“You didn’t—”

“Shh, jus’ come again, kitten. Please. Gotta make it up t’you. Gotta make y’come again all over me, please,” his mouth at her ear. “Gonna make me come when y’do,” he promised.

“Fuck,” she whispered and pressed herself hard against him, her walls clenching and fluttering while he continued thrusting into her slowly while she worked through her second orgasm of the night.

“You’re gonna look so pretty when you’re pregnant kitten.”

“Harry,” she whispered softly, her voice mostly air as she came down from her high.

“God, you feel good,” he moaned. “Jus’ want t’fill you so good,” he grunted again. “Can I baby, please?” He begged. “God, kitten,” he was almost whimpering himself. His heart was thudding hard against his ribs, and he was almost certain the water got inexplicably hotter, despite the fact she hadn’t touched it.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

“Yeah?” He moaned.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Please.”

“God,” he mumbled into her skin and pumped harder and harder till it felt like he might break her. She would have welcomed being broken this way, but Harry coming inside her was more than sufficient to get him to stop. He was panting against her, his mouth brushing against her skin wherever he could reach. He sighed and pulled slowly from her, turning her gently. “Did y’finish showering?” He asked a bit breathlessly. He scanned her for signs of distress or that he was too rough with her.

“I only came in here to finish,” she mumbled while she dropped her head to his chest, her arms wrapping limply around his waist. “I couldn’t sleep,” she explained.

He kissed the top of her head and rubbed up and down her back while he blindly took her sudsy loofa and brought his fingers to her center once more. She moaned softly as he gently cleaned her up. “So y’need t’come t’sleep? Noted,” he murmured.

“Just you,” she responded.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t need to come. I just need you.”

He kissed her temple. “Let’s go t’bed then,” he whispered, shutting the cold water off. He grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her. Her eyes fluttered.

“I missed you,” she said softly.

“I missed you,” he agreed and rubbed the towel over her arms for warmth. “Y’should have said something. I haven’t been thinking clearly—” He explained while grabbing his own towel and quickly drying himself off. Not that it would make his neglect better, but it would help explain that he never meant to ignore her.

“It wasn’t as import—”

“S’the most important, kitten. Anything ‘bout you is important,” he said reassuringly. She smiled and dropped her head to his chest again and she sighed. He scooped her up behind the legs and carried her to the bed, towel and all. “Good night, angel,” he mumbled and kissed her softly on the lips. “I love you.”

“Say it again,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he chuckled.

A beautiful gentle smile toyed on her mouth and Harry pulled her towel away from her. “I love you too,” she said after a minute, her voice quiet, and almost far away. Like she was already dreaming.

“Say it again in the morning, kitten,” he chuckled. Climbing into bed, he tucked her to his body and fell asleep and slept well for the first time in the whole quarter. He should have known that he was neglecting her because his life was simply better when she was around. Even in his sleep.

--

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If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[monicaalexandraaa]

LOVE ON TOUR - San Antonio, Sep. 9

[monicaalexandraaa]

I just can’t stop smiling when it comes to these two !!!!! This part was so fun! I loveeeeee seeing Harry come out of his shell more in this.

“I don’t-don’t want anyone else.” You have to hold off your smile as Harry stands up and with a shaky hand reaches for your arm. “I want you to-to be my wi-wife and I’m sorry I said they don’t care-they do they want me with someone who-who can handle the kind of uh pressure that comes with being with uhm a ceo and uh you’re per-perfect.” His words come out in an awkwardly slow pace and he stutters a bit but you feel a sense of pride start to blossom in your chest at how he was able to still get his point across, something you can tell he isn’t quite comfortable doing, at least not yet.

Like I’m so proud of him😭😭😭

The teasing on her part is so good and with the added moments like this from him make it so lovely. I think he’ll always have a bit of a soft side (which I love) but with the growing confidence those shy moments will be even cuter I think.

And oh my gosh the ring was such a sweet moment🥺AND THE KISS AHHHHHHH I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT BUT IT WAS THE BEST SURPRISE EVER! Then the way his nerves try to push back in almost overthinking it is so🥺but of course she reassures him😌

Loving everything about this story🩷🩷

Fine Print: Meddlesome

Masterlist: Here

CW: Minor jealousy, some anxiousness, shyness and a touch of panic.

Word Count: 6.4K

A/N: I am clearly tossing Zayn as a bestie in all my fics now sorry not sorry, I’m so excited to get deeper into this story! I hope y’all enjoy!✨

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Summary: You pay Harry a visit to his office and attend his father’s retirement party✨

“Good morning Harry.” Harry smiles as Sydney, his secretary hands him a newspaper and his coffee before he enters his office.

“Morning Syd.” He replies with a polite nod as he folds the paper under his arm and pushes open the door with one hand, he notices a stack of things needing his signature already waiting for him on his desk and he can’t help but let out a sigh as he sits down in his plush chair placing the newspaper next to the stack.

He brings his coffee up to his lips and takes a sip as he unfolds the paper so he can begin his morning routine, something about Harry is that he has always enjoyed taking the first five minutes out of his morning to drink his coffee and read the paper. It’s something he got from his father, who refuses to start his day without at least getting a small glimpse of the business section of the paper. But when Harry opens the paper he feels his eyes go wide and his mug nearly slips out of his hand as he reads in big block letters at the top of the page “Future Mr & Mrs. Styles due to wed before the month ends”.

Right below the announcement is a photo of you and then a photo of him with details about the two of you including some facts about how the two of you have been distant acquaintances for years, and how you ran into each other recently and started a whirlwind romance and it all has Harry’s head spinning and his chest feeling tight. He hears the faint sound of voices outside his office but his eyes can’t tear themselves away from the paper in his hand, he reads it again and again thinking that maybe he’s getting the names wrong but then he looks at the photos, your photo and he can’t help but just stare at it.

You’re smiling and look perfectly put together but then his eyes go to the photo of him that looks like they just took the one from Styles & CO’s website so he has his glasses on and he looks professional enough but not nearly as well polished looking compared to you. The differences in the photos have him wondering if that’s what the two of you look like when standing next to each other in real life. Does he look disheveled even in his well fitting trousers and dress shirts just because he’s standing next to you, a woman who oozes confidence and is effortlessly charismatic?

“I promise you he is expecting me.” Harry is snapped out of his thoughts as he hears what he swears is your voice outside his door. “Let’s just go in ask him shall we?” Before he can even place his coffee down his office door is opening and you’re walking in with an annoying looking Sydney close behind.

“Harry I told her you were busy but she demanded that she see you-said you were expecting her.” Sydney explains as she rushes to stand next to his desk, a move that you immediately take as her trying to show you how close she is with him.

“Did you just call him Harry?” You ask with a hint of confusion in your gentle tone as you quirk an eyebrow at his secretary who just opens her mouth to say something but you shake your head and hold a hand up. “You know what it’s not important.” You say with a soft smile as you watch her cheeks turn pink before you turn your attention to Harry who is still holding his coffee in one hand and the newspaper in the other and a dazed look in his eye.

“I can call security if you’d like.” Sydney tells Harry as she turns so she’s facing him, you watch her lean over and place a hand on his shoulder. “They can be here in two minutes.” You let out a laugh as you walk to the front of Harry’s desk, his eyes are glued on you as you place your purse down in one of the seats across from where he’s currently sitting. You place a hand on top of his desk so you can lean over and gently take the newspaper out of his hand and hold it out so his secretary can get a good look at the page he was reading.

“I don’t think you need to call security on his fiancé but I do appreciate the dedication to keeping your boss safe.” Harry adjusts his glasses as he places his coffee down on the desk, he clears his throat as his mind is finally able to register what’s going on.

“Uhm thank you Sydney but there’s no need for security.” Harry says calmly, you watch the girls face drop as she scans the page of the paper before looking at Harry who is still looking at you almost as if he’s not fully convinced he’s not dreaming.

“Sorry ma’am I didn’t know-he’s never mentioned you before.” You give her a polite smile and a nod as you place the paper down on Harry’s desk, not missing the slight edge to her voice.

“Likewise.” Your voice is as smooth and sweet as ever, giving the appearance that her never having heard of you doesn’t bother you a bit because in reality it doesn’t. The thing that does bother you in this moment is how overly friendly she is with Harry who is all but oblivious to what’s going on right in front of him. You watch her smile falter for a brief moment as her hand slips off Harry’s shoulder while you cross your arms over your chest and sit on the edge of his desk.

“I’ll uhm leave you two alone then.” She mumbles as she turns and rushes out of the office, you roll your eyes when you hear the door click shut.

“I think she has a crush on you.” You tease lightly as you slide off his desk, fixing the skirt of your dress before walking around to stand right next to him.

“I’m sorry wha-what did you say?” Harry stutters as he turns his head to look at you making you smile as you place a hand on the arm of his chair giving it a little push so you can squeeze your way to standing right in front of him.

“Good morning.” Your soft voice has Harry’s heartbeat slowly going back to normal as you make yourself comfortable sitting on his desk, making sure not to bother his stack of paperwork or his mug of coffee. “You look handsome today.” Your hands reach out and mess with his tie, his eyes drop down to your hands and he feels his cheeks get hot as your eyes roam over his outfit.

“Thank you uhm you-you look very nice today I uh like your dress.” He tries his hardest not to sound so flustered but he can’t help it, you look as if you belong there, sitting on his desk with his knees on either side of your thighs and a soft smile on your face while you adjust his tie and smooth down the collar of his shirt.

“Well you know me. I’m always trying to look good for my man.” The wink you send him has him swallowing thickly as he looks down at his lap. “Oh come on let me have those eyes for a few minutes.” Your voice has that tone to it that has Harry instantly doing as you say, fixing his glasses before his eyes meet yours.

“I wasn’t uh expecting you this morning.”

“I know I’m sorry to just drop in like this but I figured you’d see the paper and have a bit of a freak out but it was your mom’s idea to announce the engagement before the party tomorrow I just didn’t realize she was going to do it in the newspaper.” Harry swears he is trying to pay attention to what you’re saying but when you bring a hand up and run it through his hair all while staring into his eyes it’s almost enough to have him backing away and turning his chair towards his computer to get some relief from your suddenly overwhelming presence.

“It’s uhm okay you-you’re welcome here any-anytime.” You smile as Harry’s hands grip the arms of his chair. “My mom did this? The uh newspaper announcement?” You just give him a little nod and rest your hands on the tops of his shoulders, he feels the tension begin melting away with the warmth of your hands.

“She did-I told her to just let us announce it tomorrow but she mentioned something about the board being there and they might think it’s a little suspicious to announce an engagement the same night as a retirement.” Your hands begin to gently rub the tops of his shoulders as you explain his mother’s reasoning to the giant announcement in the paper, Harry doesn’t even notice he’s pushing his chair closer to you so you can move your relaxing touches down the sides of his arms.

“Suspicious? Why would they think it’s suspicious? They-they don’t care about when or who I marry they just need me to be married before they’ll accept my new role in the company.” You give him a look as the words come tumbling out of his mouth and he knows he probably said something he shouldn’t have when you remove your hands from his arms.

“If they don’t care who you marry then maybe you should go ask your lovely secretary Sydney out there to be your wife.” You tell him with a slight edge to your soft voice that has Harry’s heart dropping to his stomach as you cross your arms over your chest and break the eye contact the two of you have been maintaining this whole time, opting to look over at the wall his bookshelf is on instead. “I’m sure she’d love the opportunity to-”

“I don’t-don’t want anyone else.” You have to hold off your smile as Harry stands up and with a shaky hand reaches for your arm. “I want you to-to be my wi-wife and I’m sorry I said they don’t care-they do they want me with someone who-who can handle the kind of uh pressure that comes with being with uhm a ceo and uh you’re per-perfect.” His words come out in an awkwardly slow pace and he stutters a bit but you feel a sense of pride start to blossom in your chest at how he was able to still get his point across, something you can tell he isn’t quite comfortable doing, at least not yet.

“You don’t want anyone else? You want me?” You ask as you turn your head to face him as his hand loosely wraps around your arm.

“Yes I just want you n-no one else.” Harry feels a wave of relief wash over him when he watches a smile work its way onto your face as your eyes stare into his.

“You know for someone who wants me so badly you haven’t even gotten me a ring yet.” You tell him with a teasing tone that has him feeling a warmth spreading from his neck up to his face. “Or proposed.” It’s the playful smile you give as you look up at him that has Harry nearly dropping to his knees right in front of you and offering to get you whatever ring you want as long as you’ll agree to be his.

“I’ll get you a ring.” You let out a soft chuckle at how serious his voice is as you place your hands on his chest, you open your legs just a bit and Harry without even realizing it steps between them causing your dress to rise up to the middle of your thighs.

“I know you will.” You give his chest a gentle pat as his hand drops from your arm and lands on his desk only an inch away from your thigh. “You really don’t see it do you?” Harry quirks an eyebrow at you as his pinky rubs against the soft material of your dress, you don’t bring attention to it because in this moment you know Harry isn’t aware of what he’s doing, too focused on making sure you’re not upset with him.

“See what?”

“How handsome you are.”

“Oh uh I mean I’m not that handsome.”

“So you’re saying I’m lying?”

“Uh no-no that’s not-”

“I’m just messing with you Harry.” He lets out a sigh as you give him a reassuring smile, he moves his hand from the desk and runs it through his hair. “You are extremely handsome though.” You catch the way his cheeks flush a light shade of pink, you feel his hand fall down and rest on the top of your thigh and again you don’t bring any attention to it because you want Harry to feel comfortable around you and a part of you likes the way his warm hand feels and aren’t ready to have him move it just yet.

“You’re very pretty.” You want to reach out and pinch his cheeks at how adorably flushed he looks after managing to get the words to come rushing out of his mouth all while having his eyes locked on yours.

“God I could just eat you up.” You say with a soft laugh as you place a hand over his that’s on your thigh, it’s in that moment that Harry realizes just how close he is to you and where exactly his hand is but you anticipated this, his face going red and the fumbling to try to move backwards to give you a little space while mumbling an apology so you are quick to reach out and place both hands on his face to keep him close.

“You’re okay.” Harry swallows thickly as you bring a hand down and grab his so you can put it back on your thigh. “This is okay Harry I swear I’d tell you if it wasn’t.” He just nods as he tries to get his nerves under control, the smile you give him tells him you’re being genuine.

“I uhm I don’t want to make y-you uncomfortable.” He admits shyly while looking down and he has to fight the urge to close his eyes when he accidentally looks directly at your chest but he quickly corrects himself and glances down at your hand on his that’s still resting on your thigh.

“You don’t make me uncomfortable Harry.” You reassure him by giving his hand a little squeeze and in a rare moment of bravery Harry lets his thumb gently rub at the soft fabric of your dress, not able to look you in the eye just yet, his stay locked on your small hand overtop his larger one and he finds himself oddly enjoying the size difference. “I should let you get back to work.” He swears he hears a tiny bit of a pout in your voice but he’s still not ready to look anywhere else but your hand on his to check.

“I don’t have much to do to-today.” You smile as he adjusts his glasses before his eyes slowly make their way up to your face, his cheeks still dusted a light pink.

“I have a few errands to run before tomorrow.” He just nods as he moves back just a bit to give you room to slide off his desk, his hand briefly resting on your hip before he shoves it in his pocket, no longer trusting himself not to reach out and grab you so he can beg you to spend the day with him. He’d let you sit on his desk or lounge on his leather sofa he doesn’t think he’d care where you sit or stand as long as you’re nearby.

“Oh okay.” You look up at him and give him that soft round eyed stare that he swears puts him in some sort of trance as you reach up and place your hands on his chest so you can use him for supper to get onto your tip toes and place a kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow but if you need anything call me okay?” All he can do is nod as he stands there frozen in place like a statue as he watches you move around to the front of his desk so you can grab your purse. “Have a good day hubby.” The wink sends him practically falling back into his chair, you let out an adorable little laugh as you open his office door.

“See-see you tomorrow.” He manages to get out before you walk out of his office, as soon as he hears the door click shut he lets out a puff of air and leans his head back against his chair. “She really might kill me.” He thinks to himself as he takes his glasses off and places them on his desk so he can run a hand over his face. “Right. Back to work Styles you have-things to do.” He mumbles as he puts his glasses back on and grabs the first few pieces of paper off the stack that need his approval and signature before being sent off to his father.

“He’s all yours.” You tell his secretary that is sitting at her desk with a hard glare aimed directly at you. “But I’d give him a few minutes to-regroup before you go in there.” She makes a face of absolute disgust as a scoff falls from her mouth, but you know it’s really coming from a place of pure jealousy having dealt with people like her before you know exactly how to handle her.

As you walk towards the elevators you think maybe it was a little rude rubbing it in her face that Harry is off limits but then as you turn to look at her over your shoulder and watch her adjust her top making her cleavage be more on display before walking towards Harry’s door you being to think maybe you weren’t clear enough and Sydney needs a harsher dose of reality.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You mumble as the elevator doors open just as she slaps on a fake smile and enters his office, you roll your eyes as you walk inside and press the button for the lobby deciding now isn’t the time to deal with her, you have more important things to do. “What a bitch.” You think to yourself as you pull out your phone to text your driver that you’ll be down soon.

“Wait-they stayed on the whole time?” You let out a laugh as your assistant and long time friend Zayn holds out your earrings in his palm, his face holding a look of pure shock as you grab one of the small silver hoops.

“Yes the whole time.”

“They didn’t fall off in the middle of it?”

“Nope.”

“How’s that possible? I mean you’re saying he bent you over the desk and his glasses never slipped off his face?” You just shrug as you grab the other hoop from his outstretched hand before walking around your kitchen gathering your phone and some chapstick to toss into your purse.

“Honestly I wasn’t really focused on his glasses.” You shoot Zayn a wink making him roll his eyes as he leans against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

“So it was good then?” He questions with a raised brow and you just nod as you mess with your phone. “Like good enough for you to want to maybe try it out in real life and not just in your dreams?” He adds and when he notices your cheeks get pink and you start to chew on your bottom lip he lets out a laugh because he knows you’re thinking about it, the dream you had last night of your future husband having his way with you in his office during a busy work day.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to trying it out if he-” your words are cut off by someone clearing their throat causing you and Zayn to turn your head in the direction of the entryway to the kitchen.

“Sorry I uhm didn’t mean to interrupt.” Harry’s voice is low and a tad bit uneasy sounding as he looks down at his feet after holding your stare for less than a few seconds, just long enough for you to see his flushed cheeks and it has you looking over at Zayn who is too busy eyeing the tall green eyed man up and down to notice you shooting him a concerned look.

“Oh you’re fine mate not interrupting anything.” Harry looks over at Zayn who offers him a smile as he pushes off the counter and walks over with his hand stretched out for Harry to shake. “I’m Zayn the assistant and bestfriend of your future Mrs over there.” He explains as Harry grabs his hand and gives it a firm shake that has Zayn looking over at you with a look of approval making you roll your eyes.

“Nice to meet you.” Harry says politely and when he lets go of Zayn’s hand and turns to face you that’s when you notice something is different about Harry and it has you letting out a small gasp as you place your phone on your counter.

“Oh my god you’re not wearing your glasses.” This has Zayn biting back a snicker as he gives you a thumbs up on his way out of the kitchen giving you and Harry some much needed privacy.

Harry lets out a nervous chuckle as he rubs at the back of his neck while you give him a once over, his black suit is perfectly tailored and the silky red shirt he has underneath his jacket is a perfect match to the red of your dress. Your eyes roam over his face taking in his strong jaw and cheekbones, the usual light jade color of his eyes is now a deeper emerald green as they look into yours for less than a second. A grin takes over your face as you reach out and smooth the collar of his shirt down ignoring the butterflies that are going off in your tummy at how handsome he looks, a fact you know he probably isn’t even aware of.

Harry swallows down his nerves as he watches your hands mess with his shirt, but then you make a slight humming sound as you take a half step backward to make sure everything is in place and he has to look down at his feet so you don’t notice the redness creeping up his neck to his face. It’s a noise that shouldn’t bother him but it has his face heating up and his hands clenching into fists at his sides because it sounds too close to a noise he’s imagined you making several times now, often time while he’s alone with a hand wrapped around himself. The mixture of the humming sound and the fact he walked in on you and your assistant discussing a dream you had, a dream that he was in that involved you bent over a desk, is just a little too much for him and he isn’t sure what to do with himself.

“You look great.” Your words have Harry smiling at the ground. “This is when you’re supposed to tell me how good I look too.” You softly tease making his head snap up as his eyes are wide when they finally find yours and before he can open his mouth to fumble his way through an apology you grab one of his hands in both of yours and gently run your thumbs over his knuckles. Harry swears you have some sort of magical powers because the moment he feels the soft touch of your hands and your eyes stare directly into his he feels every worry he had rushing through his mind fade away letting him focus on what’s happening in this current moment.

“There you are.” Your voice is soothing and a tad bit sweeter than normal and Harry knows it’s because you’re trying to get him to relax and he will be the first to admit it’s working. “Thought I lost you there for a moment.” You joke as your thumbs continue their calming touches over his knuckles.

“Sorry I uhm you just-” you stand there and watch as Harry takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly through his nose before he tries to speak again. “You look beautiful.” His words come out more clearly and you smile as he even gives your hands a small squeeze.

“Thank you. I’m glad my man likes my outfit.”

“Oh I uh have-have something for you.” You let go of his hand and quirk a brow as he pats at his jacket before sliding a hand into the inside pocket and when he pulls out a little box you feel your heart beat faster and your eyes go the tiniest bit wide. “I saw it and thought y-you’d like it.” He explains as he opens it before holding it out for you to see what’s inside.

“Harry this,” your words get trapped in your throat as you reach out and grab the ring from the box, it’s a beautiful solitaire cushion cut diamond on a simple silver band and it has your eyes going glassy and a lump forming in your throat not just because it’s the prettiest ring you’ve ever seen but because it made him think of you when he saw it. “It’s so pretty.” You whisper as you try to hold back your emotions, Harry feels a sense of pride wash over him and it makes him feel confident enough to place the empty box down on your counter so he can gently take the ring from your hand.

“I uh asked my mom to get your ring size so-so uhm hopefully it fits.” He says as you place your left hand in his so he can place the ring on your ring finger. “Perfect.” He mumbles as he slides the ring down so it’s snug against your knuckle, you have a grin on your face as the two of you look at the engagement ring on your finger.

“I love it.” You wiggle your fingers making a small chuckle escape him as his eyes once again find yours. “Thank you Harry now I really feel like your fiancé.” He smiles as you lean over and place a kiss to cheek.

“I’m glad you like it.” He says with a cheesy smile on his face, you securely wrap your hand around his and reach over and grab your purse.

“Let’s go show it off.” You shoot him a wink before leading him out of the kitchen towards your front entryway. Harry just lets you tug him along and before he knows it he’s sitting in the back of a car on the way to his father’s retirement party with your hand on his knee and the same silly smile on his face.

You can feel Harry’s anxiousness all the way from across the room as you stand with his mother and a few wives of people who work for the company. It doesn’t take long for you to spot him, he has his back facing you as his dad reaches over and gives Harry’s arm a firm squeeze and if you weren’t aware of how rude it would be to just exit your little gossip group you’d walk over and check on him. Anne catches your stare and has a smile on her face as she brings her glass of wine up to her lips.

“The two of you look wonderful together.” She says before taking a sip. “This is working out lovely. He’s already looking more-sure of himself.” She adds making you smile as you look away from Harry and over at her.

“Well I don’t know if I can take all the credit for that.” You joke as you grab a glass of champagne off a tray one of the waitresses is carrying around. “He’s a very handsome and smart man so it’s not as if he has a lot of reasons not to be sure of himself.” Anne just nods as she turns to look at Harry, who is now standing there with a hand in his pocket while the other one holds a glass of whiskey that’s still only half full even though the party has been going on for over an hour.

“He may be smart and handsome but he’s also shy and second guesses himself constantly but-I don’t know something is already different about him.” You take a sip of the bubbly liquid as she watches Harry’s eyes scan the room, his face expressionless until he finds you and then a smile creeps its way across his features and his eyes practically light up. “And it’s because of you.” She explains as she looks back over at you just as you turn your head and see Harry staring at you, his cheeks turn pink but he doesn’t look away instead choosing to keep his eyes locked with yours.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment I think my fiancé needs me.” Anne chuckles at your words, you give her a polite smile before stepping away and heading across the room towards Harry.

“Hi.” His voice is soft and warm as you stand in front of him, without any hesitation he reaches a hand out and brushes some hair behind your ear before resting it on your waist making you smile at how effortless that action seemed.

“Oh better watch those hands Mr.- I’m an engaged woman after all.” Harry laughs at your teasing words but doesn’t rush to move his hand. “How are you feeling? I thought your speech was great.” You tell him with a reassuring smile as your free hand reaches up and runs through his curls. Harry speech about taking his father’s place in the company was heartfelt and very nice, you felt proud of him for getting through the whole thing with only a few stutters and fumbled words.

“I uh feel fine I guess? Just a little anxious about the next steps that’s all.” He feels himself relaxing as your hand rests on his chest, your fingertips lightly brushing the skin under his shirt where he has the first few buttons undone.

“Next steps with the company or-”

“My dad gave us a house” Harry’s words cut you off making your eyes go wide as you try to take in what exactly he just said.

“A house?” Harry just nods as he brings his glass up to his mouth for a quick sip. “Why did he give us a house?” You question making Harry shrug as his hold on your waist tightens just a small bit as he sees his father approaching the two of you.

“If it isn’t the happy couple.” You drop your hand from Harry’s chest so you can turn around and face Edward, Harry’s father who is staring at the two of you with a smile on his face. “Has he told you about the early wedding present?”

“The house? Yes actually he just told me about it and I’m not sure what to say.” Harry’s hand moves to your lower back as he takes a step so he’s now standing next to you.

“No need to say anything it’s our old summer estate we used to go there a lot but now it’s not really getting the use it deserves so I thought it would be a great little love nest for the two of you.” You have to hold back on letting out a laugh because the way Harry’s father is talking about the two of you is as if he has no clue this marriage isn’t one built out of love but more so just to help Harry secure his newly announced role in the family business.

“Oh well thank you Mr. Styles that’s so considerate of you.” Harry swears the way the words roll off your tongue so smooth and effortless sends a jolt of desire straight to his crotch. Finding it extremely attractive how calm and confident you are talking to a man most people find intimidating, not to mention how easily you’ve managed to fit yourself into conversations with people you barely even know. It’s something Harry wasn’t even aware he found sexy but he’s sure it’s not just your confidence he finds so appealing but more so just you in general.

“You’re welcome oh how’s your dad doing these days?” You rub your lips together before giving him an answer.

“He’s good. You two will have plenty of time to catch up and hit a few rounds on the course now that you’re about to have so much free time.” Harry’s dad laughs and nods as he reaches an hand out and gently wraps it around your arm while his eyes land on Harry.

“Take good care of this one son she’s a gem.” He shoots Harry a wink and gives your arm a soft squeeze before letting go and turning to head towards Anne.

“Can’t wait to see this summer estate of yours.” You say with a chuckle as you turn so you’re facing Harry. When you look up at him there’s something different about the way he’s looking at you, his eyes are darker and there’s an intensity to his stare that has your pulse quickening.

“Are you-” you don’t get to finish your sentence before Harry is leaning down and pressing his lips against yours. You close your eyes as his hand comes up and cups the side of your face, gently tilting your head up so he can ever so slightly deepen the kiss. The champagne glass nearly slips from your hand as you feel his lips move against yours in a kiss that while to others might look innocent and sweet, has your heart pounding in your chest and a newly awakened desire for more brewing low in your tummy.

“Wow.” Is all Harry can say when he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours while you try to catch your breath.

“Yeah.” You agree with a giggle as Harry’s thumb gently rubs back and forth over your cheekbone.

“Sorry I didn’t ask I just uh-really wanted to do that.” You can feel his nerves wanting to creep back up as he clears his throat and stands up straight, his hand moving from the side of your face back down to your waist.

“You don’t have to ask Harry it’s okay if you kiss me.” You reassure him with a smile that he tries his best to rerun but his nervousness won’t let it quite reach his eyes making it only half genuine. “I’m your fiancé you’re allowed to touch me I’m not made of glass remember?” You tell him for the second time since meeting him and all he can do is nod trying not to let himself get swept away in the nerves that are bubbling up deep inside his chest.

“Okay I’ll uhm do my best to re-remember that.”

“I don’t think you could’ve made a better match.” Anne smiles as her husband wraps an arm around her waist as the two of them watch the scene unfolding across the room. “He seems smitten.” Edward adds making Anne just nod as she watches you smile at her son while reaching up and wiping the edges of his mouth with your thumb.

“I think the two of them are quite fond of each other already.”

“And you don’t think this whole thing is a bit meddlesome?” Edward’s voice has a hint of worry in it as he watches Harry’s face turn pink when you place a kiss to his cheek.

“No I’m his mother it’s my job to make sure he’s happy and taken care of.”

“Yes I understand that but there’s a difference in setting him up with someone so he can be the new head honcho at the company and setting him up because you think you know what’s best for him and who he should end up with.”

“You saw him Ed-he was miserable and lonely and now even after just a week he’s smiling and-”

“Happy.”

“Exactly. And it’s not as if I lied-he needs to marry someone so what does it matter why I picked her if in the end they get married and stay married because they actually love each other?” Anne asks as she turns to face her husband who just lets out a sigh and gives her a shrug, having learned years ago it’s better not to ask too many questions or try to argue with her because most of the time in the end she ends up being right.

“I guess you’re right.” She smiles as he leans over and places a kiss to her cheek. “As always.” He adds with a playful grin when he pulls away.

“They really are so cute aren’t they?” She asks as she looks over just in time to see Harry nearly tumbling over his own feet as you practically drag him to the dance floor.

“She seems to know how to loosen him up that’s for sure.” Anne playfully swats at her husband’s chest as you wrap your arms around Harry’s neck and his hands land on your waist, the two of you seemingly lost in your own little world as you begin to dance to the song the pianist is playing. “But yes love-they’re cute together.” He answers as he feels Anne rest her head on his shoulder.

As he looks out at his son who he can tell is mentally preoccupied with trying not to step on your feet as he sways you back and forth, Edward can’t help but feel a sense of relief knowing you’re the one who’s going to be helping Harry get comfortable in his new role. He has a feeling that if anyone can get his son to feel more confident it’s you, the one who has him currently making a little bit fool of himself on the dance floor with nothing but a smile on his face and a look of what Edward can only describe as something along the lines of love and affection in his eyes as he stares at you. A look he knows all too well because it’s the same one he has anytime he looks at his own wife.

[monicaalexandraaa]

🥺🥹

The way I look forward to reading your tags nearly as much as the stories themselves 🙃

Ahhhhhhhh🤭🤭aw that’s awesome haha! I do have a lot of fun with tags and I’ve wondered if people read them. This made me smile, thank you!!🥰

🩷🩷

[monicaalexandraaa]

It’s done😭😭end of an era🥹Guru, I cannot thank you enough for bringing this story to life and taking me along the way. The effort you put into your writing is inspiring. Your attention to detail and dedication to research, editing and more is admirable. You just exude talent and creativity. As always with your work, from the prologue to the last chapter I was in awe of what you created. This was such a fun and incredible experience. From the playlists to the Pinterest boards to the brainstorming sessions to the chapter outlines, I loved every second of it. Most importantly, to have been able to do this with someone I consider a best friend has been nothing short of wonderful. I feel so lucky to know you and have you in my life. You are an amazing friend, a profoundly talented writer and have a heart of gold. I’ve had the absolute best time. TRINKET JOY !!!!!🩷🩷

How Do You Plead? || Completed Patreon Series

Series Summary: Y/n's a fresh face in London, attending law school to get her barrister's license. Harry's the man who runs a successful criminal enterprise, part of the city's dark and secretive underworld. The Life is everything to him until he meets Y/n. This is the story of how they met and how their worlds are both turned upside down when they can't seem to stay away from one another.

→ HDYP Teaser ←

Another series completed on Patreon. >> link goes to Patreon

✅ 141,500 words ✅ 16 parts (17 if you count the prologue) ✅ and 4 months of work (more if you count the brainstorming @monicaalexandraaa and I did before I began writing).

I hope everyone who had the chance to read the series enjoyed it. If you haven't already, and you're a subscriber, go check it out if you like! If you're not subscribed and you've been waiting for the series to be completed before signing up, go, sign up, and indulge.

This Friday, I'll be sharing a First Day of Summer Sale that will include a 50% discount for new and returning subscribers + I'll be giving away 10 free, full access subscriptions for one month (first come first served). Keep your eyes peeled for the post!

xoxo

[monicaalexandraaa]

The way I look forward to reading your tags nearly as much as the stories themselves 🙃

Ahhhhhhhh🤭🤭aw that’s awesome haha! I do have a lot of fun with tags and I’ve wondered if people read them. This made me smile, thank you!!🥰

🩷🩷