#firstPost

[gurugirl]

DILF | older!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Y/n meets an older man at a bar and she's not taking no for an answer. Harry likes her persistence.

A/N: This was requested + this! Also, please think before you judge Y/n. She is very bold and confident in this. Maybe even a little pushy but Harry likes it (even if at first he doesn't give that impression). Also he's single so this isn't cheatrry!

Word Count: 6,580

Warning: age gap, smut, alcohol consumption (light)

. .

"That one. Total dilf. He looks grumpy. Bet you can't crack him."

Y/n laughed at her friend and looked down at her red-painted nails before narrowing her gaze on the attractive older man who was seated at the corner of the bar alone. He was nursing a whisky and he did look rather sullen. Unapproachable even.

"Why him?"

"Because he's hot. And I'm curious to see if you can get him to smile at least," Warren raised her brows, "I dare you."

Y/n tilted her head and assessed him. He was nice and big, taking up a decent amount of space at the bar, broad shoulders and back hunched as he leaned his muscular forearms on the wood of the bar top. Meaty hands placed on either side of his lowball glass. Thick brown waves on top of his head with a bit of silver coming in at the temples. But the handsome features on his face really set him apart. His granite jawline gave way to stubble that stretched over his skin and shaded in the spaces around his pink lips.

If she could "crack" him she wasn't sure she'd want just a smile. He looked yummy enough to eat.

Drinking down the last of her martini she pointed at Warren and then Tara, "Fine. Give me twenty minutes and I'll have him eating from the palm of my hand."

Tara laughed, "If you say so…"

She placed her heeled feet down on the floor and brushed her hands over her dress, "Oh, I do say so. Just watch and learn, ladies."

Y/n wasn't quite that confident, but she wasn't about to say no to dare. And she could hold her own when it came to flirting. She liked getting a little attention and if she could garner this one's interest it might be fun.

She sauntered up to the bar behind the man and noticed the way his t-shirt stretched over his lats and tapered loosely down at his waist. The guy was fit. And lucky her, there was an open stool next to him.

Sliding onto the seat she waved at the bartender to order another drink. She'd need all the courage she could get, in whatever form she could get it.

Tapping her long nails on the lacquered wood she felt nerves thrumming through veins before turning toward the man finally. He hadn't seemed to take note of her yet, which honestly was unusual in most cases. Maybe she thought too highly of herself but men tended to notice her right away. She appreciated the challenge, though.

Reaching her hand into his space to greet him, she pushed down her nerves to sound steady as she spoke, "I'm Y/n."

She watched his brow furrow as he turned to look at her hand and then up at her eyes, his expression, which she expected would soften once he looked at her, was unamused. A single light overhead lit the tops of their heads as a shadow cast over the side of his face and he didn't make a move to shake her hand, "And I'm old enough to be your dad."

A surprised scoff fell from her lips as she moved her hand away from him. She wiggled in her seat and crossed her leg over her thigh toward him, gulping down the initial rejection with as much grace as she could muster, "I think you're jumping to conclusions about my intentions. But so what if you're older than me? I don't mind. We're both adults, right?"

An unimpressed grunt rumbled from his throat before he took another sip of his whisky and he looked away from her toward the TV that hung not far away from where they sat.

The bartender placed her olive martini down on the bar in front of her, "It'll be on Y/n Y/l/n. I already have an open tab."

A sip of the salty drink felt warm down her throat. So he was going to be a bit tough to crack. She turned to look at her friends who were grinning in her direction.

Straightening her back to feel more confident she tried again, "So you're not gonna tell me your name even?"

Without looking at her, he licked his lips and ticked his jaw, "Y/n, I think it's past your bedtime."

She smiled at that. He'd said her name, which meant he'd been listening, "My bedtime is whenever I say it is, not when some grouchy stranger says."

He puffed out an amused laugh through his nose, "I am a stranger. Which means you should be cautious, little girl. Your dad didn't teach you about things like that?" He turned to look down at her again, and that time she saw the soft green color of his eyes as the light hit his face just right.

But now she was really determined. She smiled brightly at him and let her eyes coast over his tattooed arm and then back up to his face, "Are you telling me you're dangerous?"

He still didn't smile as he shook his head like he was surprised by her gall, "Do your parents know what you're up to tonight?"

"I'm 24. Graduated from college, live on my own, pay my bills, have a full-time job. You seem to be awfully worried about my parents. I can take care of myself just fine."

Just then another person sat down next to the man Y/n was trying to whittle away at. He poked his elbow at him, "Who's this?"

"Don't know. Someone who's about to go back to her table with her little girlfriends."

Biting her lip she traced the rim of her martini glass with her fingertip, keeping her eyes set on the handsome tattooed one, "Not even a smile. Just one? Please?"

"Like I already said, I'm way too old for you."

The other man leaned over and reached to tap Y/n's shoulder, "Hey. Forget about Harry, here. You can bring me home with you if you're looking for a daddy tonight."

She frowned and looked him up and down to asses. He was late 40s perhaps, wearing a local band t-shirt, ripped jeans, and a backward cap to make himself appear a little more youthful. "No thanks. You'd know if I was interested in you."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at her retort. She was definitely too young but he liked her spunk.

"Now, Harry…" she said his name slowly as she leaned a little closer, "I've got your name thanks to your friend. Can I have a smile?"

"Why?" He stared down at her, the caress of his gaze felt infinite and she found her skin convecting in its wake. He might be hard to crack but this one would be worth it, she determined.

She sighed and slid her finger dangerously close to his wrist as he looked down at her nail and watched her trail it near his arm, "I just hoped to see you smile is all. Too handsome to have such a sour scowl on your face."

"And you're hardly old enough to be so confident to walk up to a strange man at a bar."

She laughed and tilted her head, "You planning on doing something bad to me, Harry?"

And that. That pulled a reaction out of him that spread over his features slowly as he shook his head in disbelief, "Darlin', you wouldn't be able to handle me."

Her eyes widened slightly. Now she was definitely not giving up. Y/n wasn't one to fail and Harry might be making her work hard for it but she couldn't imagine it wouldn't be worth it in the end.

"Is that a challenge or something?" She softly scraped her nail over his tattooed wrist and Harry watched her red nail work over his skin.

His resolve was fading fast. She could tell he wasn't going to keep denying her. And why should he? If he was single, which he appeared to be, what was the harm in having a little fun with someone younger? Y/n didn't mind. And he certainly shouldn't either.

"If it were a challenge you'd know it. Lots of other guys here, Y/n. Go enjoy your night with someone closer to your own age."

She sighed in annoyance. But he hadn't moved his arm away from her and she was going to take that as a sign.

Dragging the toe of her shoe into his shin she grinned, "I don't want to enjoy my night with someone my own age. Not tonight anyway. I think you've convinced me that I need to test out this theory of yours. That you think I can't handle you. Cause I bet I can."

With his eyes piercing into hers, he took another sip of his drink. She thought she might have just convinced him to give her a smile at the very least because it looked like he was weighing his options. And if she could get him to smile she might have luck with the rest.

He tilted his chin upward for a moment, eyes aimed at the ceiling like he was calling on a higher power for strength, "Go back to your friends, Y/n. Any other man here would love to have your company."

"But you wouldn't love to have my company?"

"I mean… I'm still here," the other man raised his hand and leaned into Harry, "Honey we could have so much fun. Any man who'd turn you down is either battin' for the other team or more likely," he chuckled and pushed his shoulder into Harry's teasingly, "He can't get it up anymore."

Y/n's mouth dropped open at that and Harry turned to look at the man. She wished she could see the look on his face, "Sit the fuck back down, John. She already told you she's not interested in you."

"Yeah, and you're not interested in her so what's it matter to you? Look at her, Harry. Practically begging you. Young and bubbly… Tight—"

Harry's hand covered John's throat as he pushed him away, nearly making his stool topple over, "Get the fuck outta here. You had too much whisky tonight."

"Aww… come on Harry… I was just jokin'!"

She watched as he stood from his stool and looked down at John, "And you thought that was funny? You like making jokes about women like that?"

The man put his hands up in surrender, "I'm out. Here…" he threw a wad of cash on the bar top before he moved past Harry and then looked at Y/n, "My apologies if I offended you."

They watched as John left the bar quickly and then Harry sat back down before he waved at the bartender and signaled for the check, "Just the one whisky neat."

"You're leaving already? Night's still young, Harry."

He sucked at his teeth as he scraped his gaze over her face and down to her cleavage. She smiled when she watched the path his eyes had taken.

The bartender handed him the bill and Harry leaned over to pull his wallet from his back pocket.

She scooted closer to him, "You headed home?"

He nodded, but not necessarily in answer to her question, it was more of an appraisal kind of nod. He was still silent as he pulled cash out of his wallet.

"Thanks for that, by the way. I'm sure John's a nice guy and all but he's not really my type. And I'm sure he was wrong about you."

That got his attention. Harry flicked his gaze back to hers, "Wrong about me?"

She smiled, "The part where he said you couldn't get it up. You're not that old. I'm sure you still can. Right?"

He clenched his jaw and breathed out of his nostrils like he couldn't believe she'd asked him such a thing. He handed the bartender his cash with a nod before he stood up from his stool.

"Huh. Since you're so quiet about it maybe he was right," she goaded, pressing her lips together to flatten her smile as she looked up at him through her lashes.

Harry placed a palm down on the bar top next to her hand and leaned over her, "You're out of your depth here, Y/n."

"Now, you don't really know that do you? Just because I'm younger than you doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing."

"You're awfully pushy. Not used to hearing no, are you?"

Y/n watched as the edge of his mouth lifted in amusement and she widened her eyes and pointed, "You're almost smiling."

He shook his head and looked around the bar before pinning his gaze back to hers, "I hope you enjoy the rest of your night. But your luck has run out with me, princess."

Harry stood to his full height and Y/n decided to try one last time, "So it's true then. What he said."

He stopped and turned to look back at her, a slow burning heat behind his gaze, "Couldn't be further from the truth."

She smiled and slid off her stool to stand in front of him. His height was impressive, "Prove it."

The line of his jaw hardened, turning his cheekbones into slashes of tension. His eyes simmered as he weighed his options. Finally, a hint of a smile stretched over his mouth. A small one, but still.

"I don't need to prove anything to silly little girls."

"Good thing I'm not a silly little girl. I'm a grown woman, Harry."

Y/n knew she was pushing it. She'd never needed to throw herself at any man before. But because of that, she wasn't used to rejection either. Maybe it was a good lesson for her ego. She knew her big fault was how entitled she could act sometimes. But that was partly thanks to how she was raised. It's better to act like a man to get what you want in life, her dad told her. And so far, that had been true. Some women balked at her confidence and her bold attitude. She wasn't demure or sweet enough. And men would often refer to her as a bitch or say that she was trying too hard.

She'd work on her ego another time. But right now? She was focused on winning this battle.

"What do you want with someone like me anyway? Hm? I'm old, Y/n. What's in it for you?"

Blinking her eyes she shook her head, "You're not old, first of all. Secondly, you're really attractive. It doesn't need to go much deeper than that, does it? I just think you're handsome. And I do kind of like a challenge."

"I can see that you like a challenge. It's the only reason I haven't walked out that door yet. Kind of relentless."

She smiled, "So it's working?"

Another half-smile worked its way up his mouth as he laughed in disbelief, "Are you surprised that it is?"

His pupils coasted over her figure and then back up to her face. The warmth of his gaze singed her skin like an open flame.

"I guess I just didn't know how difficult it'd be with you."

He licked his lips, "Difficult. You have no idea. But looks like you're about to find out. Go tell your friends what's going on. Meet me out front."

Y/n watched him turn and walk away. She was shocked. For a minute she thought he wasn't going to go for it at all.

Shaking off the sudden surprise of having gotten to him she settled up with the bartender and then stopped at the table with her friends. They were just about to give her condolences for having oversold her ability but she interrupted. "He's waiting for me outside. Location is on. Don't wait up!"

Harry was leaning against a black car in the parking lot when she stepped out of the doors. The moment he saw her he pushed himself off the car and opened the passenger door for her.

It was going to be tricky to maintain the kind of confidence she'd been feigning with him up until then but there was no part of her that didn't want to find out what he could show her.

She watched as Harry sat down in the driver's seat and started up his car. He took up too much space in the seat. His big hand wrapped around the leather steering wheel while his other encased the shift stick. Even the way he drove was turning her on.

She was pleased that she'd wormed her way under his skin and that he'd given in. She'd try her best to make it worth his while. Reaching across the console she put her hand on his thigh and he glanced down quickly before setting his gaze back on the road.

Now, Harry had slept with younger women a couple of times. He generally preferred someone closer to his age because he liked the confidence and experience that came with age. Women in their 20s were often in a different stage of life and that was fine –normal even, but it just usually wasn't a match for him. Not sexually and not mentally.

But Y/n was unusually confident for being so young. Persistent. He liked it, he couldn't lie. Whether or not she really had much else going for her beyond confidence, he guessed he'd find out. Well, she was very cute too. She did have that in her favor.

And Y/n at least seemed like she knew what she wanted. It was flattering as well. Being approached by such a pretty young thing. He figured the moment he told her to go back to her friends she'd give up but she was just fiery enough that she wasn't deterred.

When she ran her nail over his wrist he knew he was screwed. She was just close enough that he could smell her perfume and then she nudged her shoe into his shin and all he could think about was that she really wanted to be shown a good time and if anyone could it was him.

Harry knew his way around a woman's body. They were all different and he liked finding all the buttons and things that made them purr. In his experience, though, the younger the woman, the less she knew her own body. He didn't know if Y/n was just talking a big game but he was about to find out.

He stayed quiet as she ran her hand down his thigh and he shifted as the car accelerated past the green light. He'd see if she'd do anything with her hand but maybe she'd just pet at him like a novelty toy. He didn't expect—

"This is okay?" She asked him, her tone sultry as she palmed at his crotch.

He licked his lips, "Have at it."

His cock fattened up nicely with not much effort on her part. Proof that he definitely could get it up. Plucking at his button she looked from his face to her fingers as she leaned further over the console to reach her hand into his open pants to help him with the awkward angle of his dick. He seemed to appreciate that as he shifted under her palm.

Rubbing over his heather grey briefs she peeled down the elastic band the slightest to get a peek. The dark shade of pink on his tip matched the muted raspberry of his lips. She slid the pad of her middle finger over the slit and he softly inhaled through his teeth.

She wouldn't be able to give him roadhead like she wanted. It was impossible with the stick shift in the way. But she could wrap her fingers around his shaft and feel him under her palm until they got wherever they were going.

"Mmm… It's so big, Harry. Knew you would be. Might be the biggest I've seen in person. Can't tell yet, though. Have to wait to see when we've got these off."

Harry pushed a laughed breath through his nose. She was a bold thing. Her assertiveness was a turn-on. He didn't like meek and shy. Not when it came to sex.

When she spit into her palm and smeared it down his length, the best she could, he parted his lips and stepped on the gas. She was already exceeding any expectations he had for her. Maybe she'd prove him wrong.

Her nail scraped the underside of him and she moaned, "Really want it in my mouth."

He gulped harshly and ticked his jaw, "Just be patient. I'll let you put it in your mouth soon enough."

"And where are we going? Your place?"

He nodded, "Just a few minutes away."

She squeezed around him and pulled upward slowly. She knew already, he was well above average and she was going to have to work to give him a proper blowy.

His house was a one story, the driveway at the front with a garage attached. He lifted his hand and pushed on a device that was clinging to his sun visor and the garage door began to open. There was a covered motorcycle along the back wall and then the garage door closed after he shut off the engine.

She moved her hand away and unbuckled herself as he got out. When she reached down to pick up her little purse she realized her panties were already wet. She grinned as she stepped out, adjusting her dress before closing the door, and then followed behind him as he led her into a dark hallway.

When he turned on the lights she took it all in. Hardwood floors led into a dining area and then a kitchen. Hung on the walls were photos of himself with two children and then more framed photos with just the kids.

"Do you have kids?"

"I do. Boy and a girl. 7 and 10."

"You're not married are you?"

He laughed, "If I were you'd have known. Wouldn't have been out in the first place if I had a wife waiting for me at home."

She nodded as he turned on the kitchen light and pulled out two glasses before filling them with water.

"Divorced?"

Handing her a glass he squinted, "Yes."

She took a sip. He was a man of few words she'd gathered. She looked around the kitchen. Wood cabinets, an outdated laminate countertop, stainless steel appliances. The space could use some updating but it was large and he had a big pantry.

Sitting the glass down on the counter she watched him closely. His pants were still unbuttoned. She eyed the space at his crotch as he placed his own glass down next to hers.

"It's not gonna suck itself."

She laughed and looked up at him. He had a genuine smile on his face that time. The first real smile she'd seen from him all night. A healthy row of clean teeth, a dimple…

"Hmm… I think you're right. Let's see what we've got…"

She moved in front of him and placed her hands on his pants to push them away but before she could inch them down he wrapped his meaty hand around the back of her neck and drew her into his chest. His mouth was warm and soft. His tongue tasted like the whisky he'd been drinking.

Letting go of his pants she held onto his biceps as he used his free hand to push her hips against his. Still nice and hard. He ran his tongue over her lips and she moaned into his mouth. He worked his warm lips down to her jaw and then he licked upward on her neck, the wet patch was cool on her skin from the air in the kitchen. He did it again and her knees almost gave out. She hadn't been licked like that before.

He kissed over her clavicle and then drew his tongue over her flesh. Her heart was thrumming quickly and she squeezed his strong arms when he rutted against her.

"You good at sucking cock, Y/n?" He pushed his nose against her jawline and the hot breath from his words scattered over the skin on her neck.

"I want to be," she spoke breathlessly, eyes fluttering closed as he mawed at her throat.

He parted from her neck and looked down at her, half-lidded gaze and spit-slicked lips, "Go on."

Instantly she dropped to her knees as her fingers worked deftly at pulling his pants down and then his underwear. She'd sucked a handful of dicks so she knew a couple of moves.

Getting her hand around his thick shaft proved to be a small challenge. To say he was thick… understatement. Long too. His tip was smooth, mushroomed with ridges along the length that she hoped she'd get to feel later on. His was the kind of cock that women dreamed of.

Looking up at him she licked her palm and used her spit to pump him slowly. Another glob over his tip for good measure. Then she pressed a kiss to the base of him, just over his sac, and screwed her eyes upward to watch his expression as she licked his balls, one side at a time. She wound her tongue all around to wet him before sucking at one side, pulling it into her mouth and he let out a ragged breath, his dark pupils spreading inky until the soft green had almost vanished.

He liked it.

She worked around the other side, sucking him in again and swirling her tongue softly underneath the tender bits. He gripped the counter behind himself.

Pulling off she straightened her back and licked upward, feeling every delicious thick ridge along his shaft until her tongue met his smooth crown. Laving every crevice of his tip, she dipped her tongue into his slit and then ran it under the frenulum before she wetted every inch of his glans.

Her mouth was watering when she parted her lips around him and flitted her gaze upward. He was watching her with a slack jaw as she took him a little deeper. He cradled the back of her head and moaned.

"Just suck the tip…."

She blinked up at him and pulled her lips just over the lip, swirling and suckling around him like he wanted.

"Fuck. Just like that." His hand at the back of her head was easy. He didn't push or pull. It was more like a pleased gesture as his fingertips flexed around her skull gently.

Y/n would have liked to have gone deeper. Wanted to show him her best work. But he seemed rather happy with what she was doing.

She bobbed a couple of times, only to slide her lips back to his tip. Her pace was slow when she began to stroke his length with a little twisting motion.

He was big. She knew she could take more but in a way, she was grateful that that was all he was asking for.

A groan fell from his chest and he bucked forward, his cock slipping down her tongue and she sucked, drawing more of him in as she moved her hands away.

"Goddamnit, you're good."

She took that as permission to go deeper. Relaxing her jaw she closed her eyes and held her breath, pushing down to her limit. She filled her throat with his cock the best she could and gurgled around his tip.

He coughed out a moan and then thumbed at her cheek, "Alright, that's good."

She pulled off of him. His heavy cock aimed right at her face when she sat back on her knees and looked up at him, "I can do better than that."

He laughed and put his hand out for her to take, helping her stand up, "I bet you can. Come on."

Harry kept her hand in his as he led her to his bedroom. It was just past the dark living space and he turned on a floor lamp on the opposite side of the room from the bed. When he turned back toward her he cupped her face and kissed her again.

She pressed her hand into his warm, hard chest and he reached around the back of her dress to pull the zipper downward, his fingers dragging down her skin as he went. His touch sent a tremor down her spine as continued kissing her wetly.

He stepped back, helping her out of her dress until it fell to the floor. His eyes raked over her body and he smoothed his hands over her hips and up to her bra-covered breasts. He stepped in closer, walking her backward toward his bed. He put his hands back on her hips and nudged her to sit before he reached down to lift her leg up by her calf, removing her heels, one at a time.

Y/n's thong was drenched. She stared at him while he placed her shoes side by side at the foot of the bed and then he placed his big palms on her thighs, pushing her legs open, "Lie back."

She let her back hit the mattress as Harry got to his knees on the floor. An arm reached under her thigh as he spread her apart and then she felt her panties being pulled at until her her wet pusslips were right in his face. He groaned and felt a hand slide up the inside of her thigh. He pressed his mouth over her mons and looked up at her before he opened his mouth wide and drew his tongue through her crease making her gasp.

"Get your bra off."

She pushed herself up slightly and worked at the clasp of her bra between moans as Harry continued licking at her pussy. When she pulled her arm through the flimsy material he lifted his head and reached around her back, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed and he sucked a nipple into his mouth.

"Oh, fuck!"

Y/n's finger and her long nails pushed into Harry's hair and scraped at his scalp as he licked and pulled at each nipple. He buried his face between her tits and let out a low sound, like he was murmuring something to her but only her breasts were allowed to hear it.

When he sunk back down he pushed at her so she'd lie back and he started in on her clit, one hand holding her panties to the side as he devoured her glistening cunt.

She kept feeling like she was going to slide off the edge of the bed but Harry's grip on her kept her still. His tongue and his lips were magic as he drew her to her end. She yanked at his hair and babbled his name on repeat as her spine bowed off the bed when she came.

Her chest was still rising and falling heavy when she felt her body being pushed upward. She popped her eyes open and watched him roll a condom over his shaft before he kneed back up onto the bed next to her. He was stark naked. His body was insane. Thick muscle and masculine everything. Tattoos scatter over his arms and chest.

Fuck, she muttered under her breath.

"Flip over, for me," his deep voice was husky as he motioned toward her to move.

She rolled to her stomach and she felt his fingers slide between the band of her panties and her hips as he pulled them down her legs.

"Ass up a little. I want to see all of you, Y/n."

She grinned and turned to look at him over her shoulder as she lifted her hips and spread her thighs. His lips were parted as he grabbed her ass and squeezed, making her cheeks spread apart. He inhaled sharply through his teeth and then dipped in, kissing her pussy from behind before licking upward over her ass.

She squealed quietly and bit her lip, still watching him behind her as he lifted, a lopsided grin on his face. He gazed at her as he fisted the base of his cock and slid the head up and down her soaked folds before he tipped his hips to push in just the tip.

"Gorgeous. Gonna look even better wrapped around cock. You like anal?"

"Never tried it."

He licked his lips and pressed his lips together as he looked at the spot where his dick was pressed against her cunt, "Figured. S'alright. Pussy's my favorite anyway."

"We could try… if you want."

He looked back into her eyes, a cocky smile on his face, "Your little hole would need to be trained. And that takes time. So, there will be no anal tonight. Not gonna try and hurt you. But that's a cute thought."

He canted his hips inward, eyes on hers and her mouth dropped open when she felt her entrance splitting open for him. She was tight, but so slick, it only took a few slow thrusts until he was buried in with a low grunt. He pulled back and then pushed his entire length into the hilt.

"Fuck—fuck!" She cried and stuffed her face into the blankets.

"Too much?"

"No! It's so good. You're just so big…" She began to send her hips back against him and Harry slowly fucked in to match her pace. His eyes were everywhere. On her puss getting split open on his cock, the curve of her lower back, the swell of her ass.

He just knew she'd look so sweet with her ass stuffed too, but good things like that couldn't be rushed which was a shame.

Every thrust was gushy wet. Y/n bubbled out small moans every time his dick brushed deep into her guts. It was better than she imagined. The way he filled her to the brim was going to turn into an addiction. She'd never slept with any man that had her wanting seconds before they'd even finished.

"Oh my god…" she mewled into the comforter.

"Fuck, I know, baby…"

She fit him like a glove, it was perfect. He went in a little faster, balls thudding against her skin rhythmically making her bounce forward as she spread around his girth. When he ground in she arched her back deeply and let out a soft groan, her hands fisted at the blanket and Harry reached around and smeared his fingertips over her clit.

It had her panting and pushing into him feverishly. She'd needed the friction on her throbbing button and he'd found it easily, thick, rough fingerprints slicking back and forth as he rutted in and in. It sent electrical sparks over her limbs.

"Like that? Needs her clit touched? Shit baby, act like you've never been touched by a man right here before…" he plucked at her like he was playing the guitar and she began to fade, her moans getting caught in her chest.

He could feel her walls tightening around him as he drove in deep.

"Fuck, Harry— fuck!"

He grinned as he watched her shudder, "Give it up, Y/n. There you go…"

She began to pulse around him, a constant stream of nonsense falling from her lips as he stroked against her channel and pushed deep into her tummy, his fingers still working her clit with ease.

Just as her body had tipped and oxygen returned to her lungs he pulled out and she felt him taking her hips and turning her around to her back. Harry grabbed her ankles and lifted until each was settled over his shoulders and pushed back inside of her, cock drilling down to her core making her teeth chatter at the way he split her down the middle.

Harry leaned over her, cock buried deep as she watched her pretty face twist up with pleasure. Plapping into her, her tits wobbled as his balls tightened against his body. The harder he plunged in, the more her legs shook. Soon, her ankles had slipped down and her feet hit the mattress as he continued drilling into her. His face was flushed hot, lips parted, muscles tensed.

Reaching up to his neck she smoothed her fingers over his warm skin and he lowered his chest down to hers and kissed her. That filthy tongue ran over her lips and he sloppily sipped at her between sucking at her lips. Her brain had turned to jelly.

She felt his hand on her outer thigh squeezing and brushing as he fucked down into her. "Mmm… fuck, Y/n, m'gonna come…"

He trembled over her, thick thighs pressed down and flexed as he rutted in and in and in, and then… he stilled. A deep, guttural moan vibrated through his chest down into hers.

She sighed when she felt him throbbing, pumping into his condom. Her fingers caressed the muscles over his back and she gasped when he bucked in harshly, once more as he emptied the last of his come into the rubber wrapped around his cock.

He slowed his kisses until they were lazy little pecks and then he looked down at her, his chest heaving. She was already grinning up at him.

"What?"

She blinked her eyes, "That was fun."

He puffed out a breath, "I guess that's a good way to describe it."

Harry was a gentleman as he pulled out slowly and helped her off the bed and led her to his bathroom. He helped her clean up and listened to her tell him about her job —just reminding him that she was an adult after he commented on her being so young again.

When she picked her dress up off the floor and started to step into it, Harry frowned, "What are you doing?"

She stopped and raised her brows. "Getting dressed. Was gonna call an Uber. I'm sure you don't want a stranger in your house all night," she laughed.

Harry pulled at her hand, making her drop her dress, "What kind of men have you been hanging out with that let you leave in an Uber at 2 am? You'll stay here."

She opened her mouth and then closed it in surprise before tilting her head in confusion, "Really? I just assumed—"

"You'll stay the night here. There's no way in hell you're getting an Uber at this time of night. It's dangerous."

She grinned and shrugged, "Well then… can I have a shirt or something to sleep in?"

He placed his warm hands on her hips, "You can have a t-shirt if you like. I prefer to sleep naked myself."

"Oh yeah? I usually do too as a matter of fact."

He held her out in his arms and eyed her naked frame, "Looks like we're both good to go then. We'll get you sorted in the morning. I'll give you a ride home then."

"I think you just want to keep me here with you," she chuckled.

Harry shook his head and released her hips before he popped her on the bottom with his palm. She bleated out a laugh.

"Get your ass in bed before I change my mind."

"Yes, sir."

. .

→ PART 2 ←

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[mmmrat]

The bamboozlers everybody

[maudie-duan]

Summary: You're at a frat party, drunk, but how do you convince Harry to stay when he's demanding you leave...Nothing better than a Fratboy!Harry attitude.

A/N: This story was based on this ->bot<- by the lovely @misspossessiveharry who was so freaking kind and let me use the idea for a quick smut shot! If you're a bot lover, go check her out. She's amazing!!

Word count: 5.8k

Warning: Reader Insert, Pure Fucking Filth, Basically Blow Job Smut. Take it or leave it, you've been warned!

It wasn’t what Harry wanted—to be here. 

Surrounded by people.

He knew he was already over it the second he felt the music thumping so hard, he could feel it through his chest like a pestering annoyance he couldn’t shake. Everywhere he looked was chaos, people packed tight into the crowded room not giving a single fuck about personal space, and that was fine because he knew what he was getting himself into when he agreed to come. 

It wasn’t until he looked over and watched as beer splashed down someone’s arm beside him, lighting another spark of annoyance, and with the flick of his glance, he spotted someone off in the distance throwing up in a corner not even second-guessing their action, and the couch, god the fucking couch, don’t even get him started on the couch. It looked like it might collapse under the weight of the people on it, and as little as that was, it had him at his breaking point for the night.

He was not having fun, but you were.

Tour had just ended with the boys, so he decided to come visit you at Uni for the weekend. He knew he hated this kind of party, but you wanted to go. You had said something about needing a night to blow off steam, how school had been killing you lately, and you just missed being young and dumb for a night. 

And he got it. He really did. It was a feeling he knew all too well.

At first, he thought it was cute. The way you clung to him with your drink in hand, dancing like nothing else in the world mattered, your body pressed to his, getting closer as you laughed into his neck, everything funnier the more you drank. He could tell you were tipsy, teetering on the edge of drunk, but not too far gone, at least not yet.

But an hour in, things seemed to shift, because somehow he had lost you. He had only taken his eyes off you for two damn minutes to get you water, and when he turned back, you were on the fucking table, arms in the air, your hair a wild mess around your face, shirt slipping a little too far off your shoulder, and holy fuck, then you started shouting the lyrics to some old Katy Perry song like it was the national anthem, laughing like you were on top of the world, and for a second Harry froze. A jolt of panic as he watched you wobble, a cute, careless smile splayed across your face.

And there he stood, torn between playing Mr. Safety and giving you your freedom. Part of him thought you were adorable, but the rest of him was screaming that this wasn’t okay. Not because He didn’t trust you, but because the room was full of people he didn’t trust. Not a single bit, especially the guy near the edge of the table leaning in with a smirk, saying something to his friend, and when he pointed at you, Harry’s heart began to race. 

That’s when he started pushing through the crowd, ignoring the spilled drinks and elbows in his side. You didn’t even see him coming; you were so lost in your own world. It wasn’t until he was right there in front of you, hands on your waist, lifting you down to the ground, and you gasped, eyes wide, but before you could say anything, Harry hoisted you up and over his shoulder like some damn cliché, a fucking, ‘Captin save a ho’ kind of moment and all Harry heard was:

“Harry! What the hell!” But you were laughing, slapping his back, kicking your feet as Harry’s hand patted your ass to console you.

“Okay, that’s enough. We’re going home—” He demands, not even trying to hide the edge in his voice, because yes, at this point, he was getting frustrated as He started walking, one hand on your thigh to steady you, the other pushing open the front door like it might swing off the hinges, and as soon as the night air hit his face he sucked in a deep breath, still pissed at the world around him.

He needed to get the hell out of here, yet there you were fighting him as you wriggled the entire way down the steps, but fuck that, he wasn’t going to put you down until he reached the car, until he knew you wouldn’t run away, and when he did, of course you stumbled, catching yourself on the side mirror, mascara smudged, your eyes glossy.

You looked up at him then, all flushed cheeks and a breathless grin.“I was just having fun,” you whined, barely above a whisper. Harry couldn’t help but sigh, brushing a loose strand of hair off your face. 

“I know, love. I know you were.” And you sway forward, and Harry catches you again, hands on your waist like muscle memory.

And your hands grip the fabric of his shirt for stability. “Listen, I’m not letting you fall off a table and break your neck in front of a bunch of drunk strangers, alright?” To his surprise, this makes you laugh, and you lean into his chest, mumbling something he couldn’t quite catch, and when your arms wrap around his middle, that seems to be enough for him.

“C’mon,” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Let’s get you home.”

That’s when, of course, you chose to protest because your night wasn’t over just because his was. “Home?” you ask, pushing from his chest.

“You heard me,” He said, reaching behind to yank open the passenger door to nudge you inside, but you refused, crossing your arms, ready to put up a fight.

“Please don’t give me that look. What? Do you want to stay the night at a frat party?”

Harry watched the pull between your brow deepen, “You said you would be down to party tonight?” 

“Yes, love, and that’s exactly what we’ve done. Now all that’s left in there is a bunch of morons I wouldn’t trust to watch a hamster, and you’re all cute and drunk and too trusting—”

“Baby—” you plead.

Harry sighs, “Don’t ‘baby’ me. You’re not talking me out of this one…just get in the car.” He tells you, giving you another nudge.

“What if we just stay a little longer…we could find a quieter place…like one of those rooms upstairs? I’m not getting in that car.”

This makes him laugh, and he shakes his head. “Babe, you must be drunker than I thought…you think I’m going to go back in there?” 

“Only good things could happen…if we do…if you let it.” And you both stare back at each other, a silent indifference, and when the corner of your mouth turns up, Harry can’t help but return the smirk, his body humming with the thought of your hands all over him.

“Fine…” is all he says, staring back at the house, his eyes trained on a couple of people stumbling out, and when he looks back, your looking at him all wide-eyed, and fucking hopeful and how could he resist you, or stay mad at you when your so goddamn cute. 

He grabs hold of your hand then, “Okay, just because we’re going back in doesn’t mean I’m letting you out of my sight. Got it?” He pushes as your eyes lock onto his.

“Fine…god, you’re so bossy sometimes…” You breathe, stumbling forward as he begins to walk.

He looks back with an amused smirk, “Yeah, but you love it.” He says as you reach the porch stairs, and you both duck past a few people already making out by the front door, and Harry makes sure that you’re close behind him, not trusting anyone to touch you.

 As you weave through the crowd, Harry gives your hand a squeeze here and there, keeping you focused. When you stumble again, he pulls you around to his front, his chest to your back, and he wraps an arm around your waist. Your body now secure with his.

“Baby…wait, I’m so fucking dizzy. I need water…I think.” You tell him, stopping dead in your tracks.

Harry couldn’t tell if you were serious or playing games, but he could see the dizziness in your gaze, a drunk glaze in your eyes.

“For fucks sake.” He huffs.

That’s when Harry pulls you to the side, forcing you back against the wall, keeping a firm grip on your hips. “Stay here for a sec...”

“Make me—” You tell him. Plain and simple.

And here’s the thing. Harry was used to your stubbornness, but not like this, not when you were all pliable and flushed like this, your whole body silently begging him to touch you, and he steps closer, trapping you between his body and the wall, hands still on your hips.

“Is this not enough? I thought this was what you wanted?” He asks, his voice a teasing whisper as he leaned in even closer, and he pinches your hip, making you squirm under his touch.

“Is it ever enough?” You answer, shifting the conversation, gazing up at him, and you tuck your hands behind your back, nudging your hips forward just enough to meet his.

Harry reaches for your chin, hooking a finger to tilt your gaze toward him, “No,” He tells you, his minty breath fanning over your face, and there goes your hips again, pressed flushed to his, making his dick stir. 

He liked this side of you, how confident you are when you drink, not that you weren’t always confident, but this was different. You knew exactly what you wanted right now, even if you might regret it in the morning. “It’s never enough. I want more—” You push.

Harry smirks, feeling the warmth rising between you, and fuck you were the perfect flush, your lips parted, and fucking begging for attention, and this is what he wanted. He wanted you just like this, he thought, as his thumb traced over your bottom lip, and he could see your eyes darting to his mouth as your lips closed around the very tip of his thumb.

“You want more?” he rasps, his tone dipping lower, and he knew you wanted more by the way you pulled his hips toward you as your back slammed against the wall.

“You said you were going to take me to one of the rooms, sir…you know, upstairs.”

“Sir, huh?” He repeats, forcing his need into the grip on your hips as he pins you against the wall. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did…” and you lick your lips then, sending a spark to Harry’s growing bulge, and he knows he needs to get you alone soon, before his dick is rock hard, about to be on display for the whole fucking world to see. 

To your surprise, Harry leans down and wraps his arms around your waist, then lifts you up against his chest. Without thought, you wrap your legs around him and bury your face into his neck, but he can feel your grin growing against his skin, and when you say:

“You smell so good, my love.”

You draw a laugh from him, “You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.” and your teeth sink into his neck for being a smart ass.

“I can walk you know…” You tell him, on the verge of protesting again, and you both knew all you would have to do is drop your legs, but Harry tightened his hold on you anyway.

“I’m not fighting with you. I don’t want you to trip and fall and bust your ass, then I would just have to carry you anyway, enough with the bitching and moaning, miss.”

When you laugh into Harry’s skin it sends a shiver down his spine, “If you don’t want me to bitch, you better make me moan.” And fuck, you were naughty tonight, everything about you sending Harry to the edge and he hadn’t even gotten you fully alone.

Once Harry reaches the top of the landing, he slaps your ass hard, making you laugh out as the fire settles into your ass cheek, “Put me down, I’m a big girl, I can walk on my own.” you say, starting to kick your feet. 

But of course, he doesn’t listen as he pushes through one of the open doors, and kicks it shut behind you guys, locking it as the world spins around you, “Okay, big girl…Your wish is granted…” and he gently sits you down on the bed.

That’s when you reached up and tried to pull him down, but he stayed standing, looking down at you with a smirk. “Baby—don’t make me beg.” You pout up at him.

“Hmm…and what if I do?” he asks, a hand resting against your face as his thumb strokes your cheek, and he has to fight the urge to just kiss that stupid, drunk look off your face, because it’s so fucking tragic, and sexy—and fuck.

“I don’t beg,” you tell him, reaching for his belt, “I take what I want…”

The urgency in your movements catches him off guard, and he lets out a soft huff, “Do you now?” he pokes, as your hands fumble with his belt, and he wraps a hand around your wrist, holding you still.

“Careful,” he warns, his voice dipping. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, love?”

Your laugh fills the space then, “Baby, I could do this with my eyes closed. Trust me.” and with your free hand, you continue on with your task, and that was to obviously get him naked.

There was something about your driving force tonight that was driving him insane. He didn’t know if it was your confidence or the alcohol pumping through your system, but his grip tightened on your wrist as you carried on, his knuckles white from the restraint, because he needed it. Every ounce of it, and somehow that was the only thing keeping him calm.

“Trust…yes, trust—” he muttered, clenching his jaw, his eyes roaming over you as you tried to undress him, taking in the sloppy state you were in, your breathless expression, the way you bit your fucking lip as you looked up at him through thick lashes, and he knew he was fucked—that he had to fuck you in this bed, tonight, or he would explode.

“You’re mine.” You tell him, pulling the belt from his pants, every movement messy.

And he watches you struggle with the button on his jeans, “I’m yours…” He echoes almost in a daze, his voice huskier than before, and he drops your wrist, placing a hand on your shoulder, his grip tightening when he feels the button of his jeans give way, and he gasps out in relief, his dick already pressing hard in his jeans. 

“You in a hurry, love?” He asks when you tug at the him of his shirt

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at your uncoordinated movements, “I’m not in a hurry, babe, I just fucking need this.” you say, the words flying out in frustration as you gaze up at him.

The hunger in your eyes was undeniable. Harry let you tug on his shirt, feeling the fabric pull up over his stomach as you tried to signal for him to remove it. 

“I know you do, baby,” he whispers,  his hand moving to the nape of your neck. “You need me that bad, huh? You need this?” He asks, smoothing a hand over his lengthy bulge, now perfectly outlined through his skinny jeans. 

And your eyes never leave his stroking hand. “Off…take it all off!” 

“Little Miss Bossy,” He mutters, but his lips curl with an amused smirk, and he lets go of you just long enough to pull his shirt off over his head, feeling your breath fan over his skin as you sat there and watched his every move, your hands already on his bare chest as soon as possible, tracing over his skin like you were trying to reacquaint yourself.

That’s when you lean forward and lick across the tattoo inked at the center of his chest, “So good…” and then your eyes flick to his as you stand to take his nipple into your mouth. “Baby, this body is fucking gold.”

Harry’s hands grip the back of your head as you move, his eyes closing for a moment, and his fingers tangle in your hair. The fucking sensation of your hot wet mouth on his skin was driving him crazy, and he inhales sharply, his chest rising and falling with the effort under your touch.

“Baby…you’re killing me,” he breathes, his voice heavy with want.

“You like this?” you ask, moving to his other nipple, and then your

moving back down, slowly lowering to your knees before him, and Harry follows your gaze to his open jeans, his bulge hard as a fucking rock. 

Harry’s breath grows shorter, shallower as he looks down at you. “I love this so much, love…I love all of you.”

“Good, now can I have a taste?” You ask, licking those beautiful lips of yours, already getting them ready for him.

Harry hooks a finger under your chin, lifting it up so he can see your face. His thumb finds your bottom lip, tugging gently as the words leave his mouth.“Go ahead, baby. Have a taste...”

Your hands reach for his jeans, then, working them past his hips, bringing his boxers with them. “Oh fuck baby…” and Harry listens to the gasp leave your mouth as his huge dick springs before you.

When he peeks back down, he watches as your eyes widen and your mouth falls open, and the sounds you keep making has his cock twitching against his thigh.

“Something wrong, love?” He teases, feigning innocence, but he can’t help teasing you like this, and his hand finds your hair again, his fingers twisting, and he gives you a gentle tug.

“See something you like, or is it too much?”

You swallow hard, resting your hands on the tops of your thighs, as Harry observes you intently, your eyes taking in every inch of him, your lips parting, looking so, so tempting.

“You’re a sight on your knees like this, you know that?” he says, his voice growing ragged, and he uses his hand in your hair to tug your head back, making you look up at him, but all you do is smile, a fucking wicked smile playing at your lips and he knows, what’s coming next, and he’s already trying to hold his composure, because he couldn’t dare give himself away. 

Yet that smile gets him every time, even in your current state, “Yeah, You know you look good like this, don’t you love?” and this time when he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, he presses harder, watching the flesh indent around the pressure as he pulls it down. “So, fucking pretty.”

“I want it!” you force.

“You want this?” Harry asks, taking his hard dick into his hand, “Is this what you want, baby?” and his voice is soft, playful as he runs a hand down his shaft. Your eyes are locked on his cock as it drops, heavy against his leg, and he leans down and captures your mouth with his, his hand still holding your hair, and when he pulls back he let’s his lips graze over your ear. “I’m gonna need a little more than that, love.”

“Harry—I need that fucking dick in my mouth,” you tell him, straightening your spine, and Harry can hear the impatience in your tone, but it’s only feeding his want. 

“That’s my good girl,” He coos, his smile matching yours as it spreads across his face, and his hand tightens in your hair, keeping you in place.

“How do you want it, Love?” he asks in a low voice. “You want me to play nice?”

And his words make you laugh, “I want you to choke me with it. I want to gag on this thick cock until I can’t breathe.” You tell him, wrapping your hand around his girth. “Fuck, baby! It’s so big, I fucking love this dick. Don’t play nice…I’ll know if you’re holding back.”

The look on your face sends a rush of excitement down his spine, and his breath leaves his lips with a huff of anticipation. That’s when his hand in your hair tightens and he draws your face even closer to his cock, guiding you to exactly where you needed to be, your mouth so close to the head of his dick he could feel the warmth of your breath graze over the tip, “Let me see you try and put that pretty little mouth around this cock. You know it won’t even fit. Tell me how you’re going to make it happen?”

God, the smirk that rises on your face sends a fucking ping straight to his dick, and it pulses in your hand, “I’m gunna have to be a good girl, right? Get it all wet before, is that what you taught me, baby?”

 “Yeah, love…just like that...” He breathes, eyeing you lick a teasing stripe up the underside of his shaft, your hot, wet tongue working slowly and tediously, as your hand begins to stroke what your mouth can’t reach.

“Damn, you look so fucking hot like this, baby. Your eyes all blown…shit…looking at me like that.” and he leans down to brush a loose strand of hair out of your face so he can watch the tip of his dick disappear into your mouth. 

“Mmmm…” you hum, sending the vibration down his dick, and he halts his hips, trying not to buck them forward, and you rip his dick from your mouth, “What did I tell you…no holding back.”

And Harry feels the pressure on the base of his dick, tighten, and he bites down on his lower lip, trying to suppress his smile, “Baby—” he says, his voice, grovel under your touch.

“If you do it again, sir, we stop…got it?” you demand, and Harry nods, lacing his hands behind his head, an act of surrender, and the second his dick is on your mouth again, you both moan, a low noise filling his ears as he closed his eyes. 

Your tongue hits first, broad and flat, landing with a vulgar smack that sounded around the room, a sound that broke any illusion of grace you had left. Your mouth began to work then, trying to scrape him across every tastebud you had, before you took the head of his cock back into the cavern of your mouth. 

There was nothing coy about the way you sucked: no gentle preamble, no teasing flicks. Because you were over the games and Harry could tell by the way you forced your mouth down over the tip, your jaw already straining, lips peeled back, and fuck, Harry had to look, gazing down as your shiny lips wrapped around him, spit pooling at the corners, readying to drip down your chin in clear, ropy strands.

This time, when Harry bucked his hips, his hand flew down to your scalp as if by reflex, fingers diving in and clamping tight, using your head as a handle, aggressive in the way that you wanted to play, because he wasn’t holding back this time, and the hum across his dick said you liked the violence of it—the surprise in his touch, the reflexive need to claim you.

But Harry knew you were in control; he could feel it with every stroke as your gaze held his, even as you took on more of him, the girth forcing your jaw to hinge open further. 

He knew there was no comfort, but you kept working, taking the challenge like the fucking pro you were, needy for him, and then your tongue was dragging along the ridge beneath his crown, a rough stuttering line grating across your palate, your fucking eyes watering—And all Harry could do was stand there, anticipating every move, knowing that the back of your throat burned with the promise of everything he wanted in that moment.

Then you pulled back until just the tip was resting on your tongue, and dammit, Harry lost control then, and his hips strained up, desperate to fill the sudden emptiness, greedy for the warmth of your mouth, and you let him hover there as your lips tightened around his thick circumference, letting him go with a loud pop. 

You smacked his dick against your lips then, and as it bounced his eyes were trained on your mouth, spit rising to the surface, gathering into a puddle, pooling into a bubble at the center of your mouth, and you smacked your lips harder this time, the sound loud and wet. It was pure fucking filth, your hand stroking down his dick as you dragged the spit across your lips, a fresh sheen of gloss, ready to wet his dick even more—your mouth a sloppy paradise beckoning to bring Harry home.

And, holy fuck, the second you flicked the tip of your tongue up his slit, he let out a fucking groan so loud it filled the room, guttural and messy, like he’d been holding in every noise for months and they were just now escaping, and maybe he had, because it had been a while since you were on your knees for him.

The more noise Harry made, the more it fed your determination: the little choked gasps, the involuntary twitches, the way Harry’s thighs tensed and quivered, and when you plunged back down, nose smashing into his soft pubic hair, you drew in a hard breath, your throat relaxing as you took him completely in your mouth. 

Out of nowhere, Harry made a sound so unhinged it almost startled him. And as you laughed, your throat constricted around him, then you let out a loud gurgle, your mouth flooding with spit, and as you choked, Harry felt the overflow of saliva spill down his balls, coating them in a dense shine that caught the light—and he wasn’t sure how much more he could take of this.

God, you were a machine. No, not a machine—you were a fucking creature, a single-purpose transforming you into some kind of animal, evolved for just this, for him. Your jaw working in a slick, insistent rhythm, cheeks hollowing with each pull, your mouth becoming the dark bottom of a well, and when you hummed around his shaft, making him twitch in response, the sound vibrated up your tongue and through his cock straight into his spine.

Your hands were barely even moving, and it was still fucking bliss. One hand cradled his balls, rolling them with obscene tenderness, the other stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach, wrist twisting on every upstroke. When you squeezed at the base, Harry’s cock pulsed, his perfect dick a shade deeper, and you pressed your thumb to the spot where his shaft met his body, making him cry out again, sharper this time, voice cracking in midair. 

His grip on your head tightened, desperate and vicious, but you didn’t let up. If anything, you doubled down, slurping harder, faster, using every ounce of suction your cheeks could muster. “Jesus—fuck, fuck—” Harry hissed, his voice strangled and high. “You’re—Christ, you’re going to—”

And with no hesitation, you cut him off by taking him deep again, this time swallowing around his head, flattening your tongue, and relaxing your throat. Harry could feel the head of his cock punch past your gag reflex, and you let your eyes roll up, watering freely now, tears streaking down your beautiful face in perfect, ravaged lines. 

That’s when you gagged, coughing but forced him down again, harder, until your lips met his base and his cock was buried, deeper than you had ever taken him before, deeper than he thought possible, and christ, Harry’s whole body shuddered, contracting like he might come just from the feeling of you suffocating on his dick.

You drew back with a gasp, choking on air, and you spat a glob of spit down his shaft as pre-come cascaded down your chin, then you dove back in with a desperate hunger that Harry knew was about to send him over the edge. Every time you pulled off, a spit-slicked string connected your mouth to his cock, stretching and breaking with a little pop. But this wasn’t the time to worry about the mess, and you continued with the achingly good twist of your wrists, your hand moving up and down his shaft, jerking him as you licked and sucked the head, working him into a state of perfect, desperate need.

And he wanted to stay like this forever. 

Harry tried to hold back, and he knew you could see it, his jaw clenched, the cords in his neck straining like steel cables. But he was failing, minute by minute, losing the fight as you pushed him closer to the thoughtlessness taking over him. He knew you wanted him to lose—that this was your plan all along, that you wanted to scrape every last drop of dignity from him, and he wanted you to. Wanted you to fucking destroy him with every savage move you made.

When you tongued the slit of his dick again, he watched your mouth slip over his head, and this time your tongue flicked at the slit, fast and mean, sending a craze through Harry’s entire body, and Harry bucked his hips hard, forcing his dick to the back of your throat, unable to control the movement as his hips pistoned up and down as he face-fucked you with a pathetic, desperate rhythm that had you gasping for air, but he didn’t stop, he wanted to watch you choke until you signaled to stop—your eyes streaming tear after tear, mascara leaving streaks of glory, and your eyes never left his.

He could tell you loved it as you opened wider, jaw probably aching, and you let him fuck your mouth however he wanted, your arms looping around his thighs to hold him in place, trying to keep him from retreating. Harry was moaning now, not even trying to stay quiet, making soft, broken noises that had you matching his moans between every gag or cough. Harry felt you reach with your free hand and you grabbed his ass, fingers digging in, using his body as leverage to pull him deeper into your face.

His cock was huge and he knew it, the sight of the struggle almost too much, but you told him you wanted all of it, and he wanted to give it to you. He wanted you wrecked, wanted to bruise your throat with every pump, wanted you to taste him in your nose, your sinuses, behind your fucking eyes for hours after if it was even possible. 

He wanted to choke you with his length, let his tip ram into the soft tissue at the back of your throat with a brutality he knew that only you could take as you fought the urge to gag—fuck your throat until it overwhelmed you—and that’s what he did as he felt you splutter all over his drenched cock, snot running from your nose, a fucking beautiful disaster but you obviously didn’t care. He was going to ruin you, destroy you, leave you dripping and breathless and marked as his.

Because you were his, and he was yours.

Harry saw you reach down then, busting the button open on your jeans, and you slipped two fingers under the waistband, and he knew you were soaked, you had to be, his mind imagining the slippery arousal coating your fingers, knowing this had nothing to do with Harry and everything to do with the act of giving yourself over to this—this monster of a master piece—the two of you slipping into a beautiful oblivian as you fingered yourself, sucking his dick in and out of your mouth, rolling your own pleasure into the sound amplified around Harry’s cock.

He was close now, and you must have known it, a smirk tilting the corner of your mouth as his peak climbed, his balls tightened, his hand shaking in your hair as an animalistic panic rose in his voice. “Fuck, I’m—please—”

And you pulled off just long enough to drag your tongue along the length of his shaft, from base to tip, swirling it around the head before sinking him back inside. It was torture, the pleasure that filled him, a fucking master of your craft. You wanted him to watch, that teasing gaze, staring up at him with a devastating beauty that stole his breath. Because this was love, pure and simple, you destroying yourself, he thought, watching your mouth stretch obscenely wide, keeping that same eye contact as you tongued the underside of his cock, never breaking the connection.

That was all he needed, your eyes, your mouth, and he came with a shout like you were stealing his soul, his whole body rigid, hips bucking forward as his cock pulsed inside your mouth. The first spurt was volcanic, thick and hot, hitting the back of your throat so hard you nearly choked again. But like the good girl you were, you swallowed it down, greedily, milking him, all lips and tongue, not letting a single drop escape you. The next spurt was almost as strong, and the next, until he was spent, cock twitching weakly against your relaxing jaw. 

When he felt his dick slide from your mouth, the tip of his cock dragged against your teeth, and he watched you wipe your chin with the back of your hand, dutifully showcasing your mouth—wide, tongue out, glistening with come and spit—then you closed your lips with a smirk and swallowed it all in one noisy gulp.

Harry was stunned, his mind unearthed, somewhere above still floating on the cloud you left him on, and all he could do was stare at you, your eyes glassy, cheeks fucking flushed, your chest rising and falling, heavy as you caught your breath. 

He felt like a man who had just seen god, somehow crawling back on his knees less holy than before as he smiled down at you, and he reached down, stroking your hair, worshipful, yet to your surprise, almost shy now, and this made you smile as you wiped the last trail of spit from your cheek, and he pulled you to your feet, lips swollen and red, throat raw but satisfied.

“Holy fuck,” Harry whispered. “You’re amazing…”

You laughed, soft, but wolfish. “I said I wanted that dick.” You tell him, your voice ragged.

Harry could only nod, still panting, cock lying heavy and half-hard against his thigh.

You wrapped your arms around him, and he slid his fingers into your jeans, wanting to feel your wetness, kissing along your jaw that he knew had to be sore, and when he found what he wanted, he pushed his fingers inside you just enough to wet the tips. 

Harry pulled his fingers out then, slipping them into his mouth, groaning in your ear, “If you let me take you home, I’ll fuck this sweet pussy all night, make you come as hard as you made me” he said, pushing his rasp into the flesh of your neck.

You pulled away with a grin, “You better fuck me so hard I can’t fucking speak…”

“Baby, I’ll fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, and that’s a promise”

“Then you better take me home…now”

Taglist: @sassamanda77 @harryyloverrr @panini @unfuckwitablenarry @triski73 @haleyannaw @dipmeinhoneyh @lizsogolden @spinninc @iloveharrystyles04 @mema10 @avas-queen-black @starshollowgazette @practistyles

Other One-Shots<-

[cloudyluun]

Rewrite The Stars | Patreon Series

famous actor!harry x famous actor!reader

New series out now on Patreon!

Series Summary: Y/N and Harry had a one-night stand that went horribly wrong. Now, they’re starring in a romance film together—and the studio wants them to fake date for PR. Between past regrets, scripted passion, and way too much unresolved tension, pretending gets a little too real.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Rewrite The Stars Chapter 1 | Teaser

Summary: Y/N and Harry had a one-night stand that ended in disaster, and now they’re forced to play soulmates on screen—and fake date off-screen. Between scripted kisses, red carpets, and unresolved sexual tension, things spiral fast. Cue the angst, smut, and emotionally constipated idiots.

A/N: Look, I love a good “ex-lovers forced to fake date” trope almost as much as I love making Harry suffer with feelings. This is messy, steamy, and full of bad decisions. Enjoy watching these two idiots pretend they’re not in love. 😌

Word Count: 3,7k

Warnings:

Angst (like, so much angst)

Fake dating shenanigans

Smut (desperate, messy, emotionally charged)

Swearing & sexual tension at unhealthy levels

Poor communication (they are DUMB)

Flashbacks to bad decisions

Mentions of alcohol (drunken one-night stand)

Tabloid gossip & PR manipulation

Harry looking stupidly good in a suit (a warning in itself)

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The studio conference room is buzzing with quiet conversations, papers rustling, and the occasional scrape of a chair against polished hardwood. Y/N steps inside, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her pulse thrumming in her ears. It’s nothing. Just another table read. Just another job.

And then she sees him.

Harry Styles is leaning against the far end of the long mahogany table, deep in conversation with Sofia Laurent. His profile is sharp in the golden morning light streaming through the windows, his expression unreadable. He laughs at something the director says, and it sends an uncomfortable heat crawling up Y/N’s spine.

She hasn’t seen him in over a year.

Not since that night.

The memories slam into her without warning—a wrap party, too much champagne, his voice low and teasing in her ear, his hands finding her waist as they stumbled into the dimly lit corridor of their hotel. The way he kissed her like he had been waiting for it forever. The way she let him. Tangled sheets, desperate touches, whispered names in the dark. And then the morning after—him sitting on the edge of the bed, already pulling his jeans back on, raking a hand through his messy curls. The silence that stretched between them like a chasm.

His cold, distant text hours later: Last night was a mistake. Let’s not make this a thing.

Y/N had responded with nothing but a thumbs-up emoji. Then she’d blocked his number.

Now, he’s right in front of her, and there’s no blocking, no ignoring. Just a long, inevitable collision waiting to happen.

She forces a smile, smoothing a hand down her sweater as she moves toward an empty seat. Someone’s already put name placards at each spot. Of course, hers is directly across from Harry’s.

He looks up as she slides into her chair. Their eyes meet.

Something flickers in his gaze—recognition, hesitation, something she refuses to name. Then it’s gone, and he nods in greeting, cool and professional.

“Morning,” he says. Like he’s speaking to a colleague. Like he doesn’t remember every inch of her skin under his hands.

Y/N swallows down the bitterness rising in her throat. “Morning.”

Sofia claps her hands together, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, let’s get started! We’re diving in with the final scene today. I want to establish the emotional stakes right away.”

A production assistant starts handing out script copies. Y/N flips hers open, her fingers tightening around the pages when she sees what’s in front of her.

EMILIA: “It’s always been you.”

LUCA: “Then stay.”

(They kiss. It’s desperate, raw. Years of longing unravel in one final embrace.)

Y/N can feel Harry’s gaze on her before she even looks up. When she does, his expression is unreadable, but his grip on the script is just a little too tight.

Everyone is watching. Waiting.

Sofia leans forward, smiling. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Y/N exhales slowly. They have no choice but to dive in.

Except she already has—just not here, not in this room full of watchful eyes and murmured instructions. No, she’s already drowning, slipping under waves of memory that pull her back to that night.

It had been inevitable. The tension had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. It lingered in stolen glances on set, in the way their banter teetered on the edge of something sharper, something that made her pulse race.

But that night? That was when it finally snapped.

The wrap party had been a blur of flashing lights, clinking glasses, and too much champagne. She remembered the way Harry had watched her from across the room, half-smirking, half-serious. She’d pretended not to notice, even as her body betrayed her, drawn to him like some gravitational pull she couldn’t fight.

They’d danced. Not together, not at first. But close enough that when she turned, she could feel the heat of him at her back, the ghost of his breath against her skin.

And then the teasing started.

"Didn’t know you could move like that," he'd murmured against the shell of her ear, his voice thick with something that made her toes curl in her heels.

She’d turned to face him, lifting a brow. "There’s a lot you don’t know about me."

His eyes had darkened at that. "Yeah?"

One more drink. One more shared smirk. One more second of letting the tension coil tighter and tighter until neither of them could stand it anymore.

They’d barely made it out of the venue before it exploded.

A rushed exit. A slammed hotel door.

Clothes peeling away between frantic, breathless kisses.

Harry had been different that night—possessive, desperate. His hands mapped her body like he was trying to memorize her, his lips tracing a path down her throat, her collarbone, lower. She could still hear his voice, raspy and wrecked against her skin.

"You feel so good."

"Been wanting this for so long."

She’d been lost in him, in the way he made her feel like the center of the universe. But when morning came, the warmth was gone.

She’d woken up to sunlight filtering through the hotel curtains, stretching out across sheets that were already cooling beside her.

Harry had been sitting at the edge of the bed, half-dressed, running a hand through his curls.

Something in his posture had been different. Stiff. Guarded.

She’d wanted to reach for him, to trace her fingers along his spine, to whisper something to break the silence.

But before she could, he’d spoken.

"Let’s not make this a thing."

Just like that. No hesitation. No second thought.

Then he’d stood, buttoned his jeans, and walked out the door.

Y/N had stared at the empty space he left behind, the ghost of his touch still burning on her skin. She’d told herself it didn’t matter. That it had just been a mistake. That it hadn’t meant anything.

But then, three days later, she’d seen the pictures.

Harry Styles, arm draped around some model, grinning for the cameras like that night had never happened.

And now, sitting across from him, script clutched in her hands, she wonders how the hell she’s supposed to pretend it still doesn’t hurt.

She doesn’t have long to dwell on it.

The read-through begins, and like clockwork, she and Harry slip into their roles. The dialogue flows, their voices weaving together effortlessly, but it’s the way they look at each other—the tension thick, electric—that makes everyone in the room take notice.

It shouldn’t surprise her. Their chemistry has always been undeniable, even before that night. It was why they were cast together in the first place. But now, it feels different. More loaded.

He delivers his lines with the same careful precision he always does, but his eyes linger too long, his throat bobs when she leans too close. Her pulse quickens, betraying her.

When they reach the final scene—the kiss—Sofia watches them closely, tapping her fingers against the armrest of her chair.

Afterward, as the room empties out for a break, a couple of the studio execs murmur to each other before motioning for her and Harry to stay behind.

The door closes.

“We need to talk,” Sofia says, exchanging a look with the executives.

Y/N folds her arms, already bracing herself. “That’s never a good start.”

One of the execs, a tall man in an expensive suit, steps forward. “We need buzz around this movie. There’s already speculation about you two. We want to lean into that.”

Y/N frowns. “What kind of speculation?”

Another exec, a woman in a sleek black dress, smirks. “Oh, come on. The tension? The history? The way you two look at each other?” She tilts her head. “People think there’s something real there. We think it’s good for the film.”

Y/N scoffs, crossing her arms. “You want us to fake date?”

“Not just fake date,” the man clarifies. “We want the world to believe you’re soulmates. We want red carpets, Instagram posts, candid moments. Full package.”

Y/N shakes her head, the absurdity of it all making her chest tighten. “Are you serious? That’s—”

“Fine.”

Her head snaps toward Harry so fast she almost gives herself whiplash.

He’s standing next to her, hands in his pockets, looking entirely unaffected.

Y/N blinks. “What?”

“We’ll do it.” His voice is steady, final.

She stares at him, stunned. He won’t even look at her.

The deal is made before she can even process it. The studio execs beam, Sofia claps her hands together, and within minutes, their PR team is already setting the plan in motion. By the time Y/N steps outside the meeting room, her phone is buzzing with an email outlining their first official appearance as Hollywood’s hottest new couple.

The Venice Film Festival.

Three weeks later, she stands in front of her hotel mirror, smoothing down the silky fabric of her dress. The deep emerald slip hugs her in all the right places, skimming over curves in a way that should make her feel powerful. Instead, her stomach is twisted in knots.

A sharp knock at the door makes her jump.

She exhales, then opens it.

Harry stands in the hallway, devastatingly gorgeous in a perfectly tailored black suit. The crisp lines, the slightly unbuttoned shirt, the rings that catch in the soft light—unfair.

His gaze drags over her, slow and unreadable.

"You ready?" His voice is even, detached.

"Do I have a choice?" she mutters, grabbing her clutch.

He doesn’t answer.

The red carpet is a blur of flashing lights, shouted questions, and the ever-present hum of cameras capturing their every move.

Y/N can feel the heat of Harry’s hand on the small of her back as they step into the crowd, can hear the low murmurs of speculation from reporters lined along the velvet ropes. She lifts her chin, slipping into the role expected of her—one half of Hollywood’s most talked-about on-screen lovers, now supposedly together in real life.

Harry leans in slightly, voice just above a whisper.

“Smile, love.”

The way he says it—low, smooth, his accent curling around the words—sends a shiver down her spine.

She forces one. It looks real.

The cameras love them, and the world is eating it up. The flicker of their fingers brushing together, the easy way he laughs at something she pretends to say, the way his eyes drop to her lips like they’re the only thing in the world worth looking at.

And then, the questions start.

“Harry, Y/N—are you two dating?”

“You look very comfortable together.”

Y/N opens her mouth to respond, but Harry beats her to it.

“We’re lucky to have found each other.”

The words roll off his tongue smoothly, like he actually believes them.

Y/N swallows, gripping the fabric of her dress.

By the time they’re back in the car, her phone is already blowing up. Twitter is in flames. The headlines are everywhere.

HARRY STYLES AND Y/N CONFIRM THEIR ROMANCE AT VENICE FILM FESTIVAL.

LUCA AND EMILIA, BUT MAKE IT REAL.

The internet explodes.

Her notifications are a wildfire, consuming every corner of her phone. Harry Styles and Y/N CONFIRM their romance at Venice Film Festival. The chemistry is REAL. Fan edits, speculation, analysis of every touch, every glance.

But none of it is real.

And she’s seething.

That night, Y/N storms through the dimly lit hallway of Harry’s hotel floor, fists clenched at her sides. She barely takes a breath before pounding on his door.

It swings open almost immediately.

Harry stands there, now stripped of his red-carpet polish. His suit jacket is gone, shirt half-unbuttoned, tattoos peeking through the undone fabric. His curls are messier than they were hours ago, like he’s been running his hands through them.

“Y/N,” he sighs, already sounding exasperated.

She pushes past him, stepping into the spacious hotel suite. “What the hell was that?”

He exhales heavily, shutting the door behind them. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

She spins to face him. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the way you told the entire world we’re together without even discussing it with me first?”

He shrugs, undoing the cuffs of his sleeves. “You want this movie to succeed, don’t you?”

Her jaw clenches. “Don’t act like you’re doing this for the movie.” She takes a step closer, glaring up at him. “You’re doing it because it’s convenient.”

Harry’s expression shifts, something flickering behind his eyes—something dark. He mirrors her step forward, closing the distance between them.

“And you’re not?”

Her breath catches. The air between them thickens, electric. His voice is lower now, rougher, and his gaze flickers between her eyes and her mouth.

“You don’t get to act like you care now,” she forces out, but it sounds weaker than she intends.

Silence.

His jaw clenches, and something snaps in his expression.

“You think I don’t care?” His voice is quiet, but there’s something dangerous in it, something raw.

She doesn’t get the chance to answer.

Because suddenly, Harry is on her.

His hands find her face, his mouth crashes into hers, and whatever fight they were having burns away instantly.

It’s all heat, all frustration—pent-up anger bleeding into something dangerous, something intoxicating.

Harry backs her up until she collides with the dresser, the sharp edge pressing into her lower back. His hands find her waist, fingers digging into the silk of her dress, and he lifts her onto the cool wood like she weighs nothing.

Y/N gasps, gripping his shoulders, nails biting into his skin through his half-unbuttoned shirt.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she whispers, even though she knows it’s a lie.

Harry exhales a sharp laugh, lips ghosting along her jaw before he nips at the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

“Say that again.” His voice is low, thick, dripping with something smug—something dangerous.

She doesn’t. Because she can’t.

Not when his hands are already pushing her dress up, fabric bunching around her thighs. Not when his fingers are dragging up the bare skin of her legs, slow, purposeful, teasing.

Not when she’s already aching for more.

Her breath stutters as he palms the inside of her thigh, pushing her legs wider. He’s watching her now, eyes dark, hungry, waiting for her to stop him.

She doesn’t.

His fingers skim higher, over the lace of her underwear, pressing against the damp heat there.

“You hate me, don’t you?” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but there’s something else layered beneath it. Something vulnerable.

She should say yes.

But then he pushes the lace aside and slides a single finger through her slick folds, teasing at her entrance before dipping inside, and her only answer is a sharp gasp.

His lips curl against her skin.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth along the line of her throat. “That’s what I thought.”

She clenches her jaw, refusing to give him anything more, but it’s impossible when he moves his fingers so deliberately, so expertly. Curling, twisting, stroking that spot inside her that makes her thighs shake.

Her head falls back against the mirror behind her, exposing more of her throat to his lips, his teeth. He takes advantage of it, sucking a mark into her skin as he works her open, one finger turning into two, his thumb circling her clit just enough to make her hips jerk.

“Harry,” she chokes out.

He hums, pleased.

She doesn’t realize she’s gripping his arm until his muscles flex beneath her fingertips, his bicep taut as he keeps her steady. Her entire body is trembling, the coil inside her winding so tight, pleasure mounting too quickly for her to stop it.

And he knows.

He knows exactly how close she is, how desperate she’s becoming, how much she needs him.

But he doesn’t let her have it yet.

Instead, he withdraws his fingers, slow and deliberate, watching her reaction like it’s his favorite thing in the world.

Her lips part in protest, but before she can speak, he’s undoing his belt with one hand, shoving his trousers down just enough.

His cock is already hard, flushed and leaking, and when he grips himself, stroking slowly, she nearly whimpers at the sight.

“This what you want?” His voice is rough, teasing, but there’s something else behind it—something just as desperate.

She doesn’t answer.

She just grabs his face and kisses him again, hard, as she hooks her legs around his waist, dragging him in.

Harry groans into her mouth, lining himself up, and then—

He thrusts forward, filling her in one slow, deep stroke.

Y/N gasps, fingers digging into his back.

He stills for a moment, forehead pressing to hers, breathing heavy.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “So tight.”

She swallows hard, barely able to think, barely able to breathe as he pulls back and thrusts in again.

And then again.

And again.

His grip on her tightens, hands curling around her thighs as he sets a steady rhythm, each roll of his hips perfectly precise, perfectly deep, like he needs her to feel every inch of him.

Like he wants to ruin her.

The dresser rocks beneath them, the sound of skin against skin filling the hotel room.

It’s fast, desperate, filthy.

And yet—

It’s also slow. Lingering. Drawn out in a way that makes her chest ache.

He leans in, pressing his lips to her shoulder, her throat, breathing her in like he doesn’t want to let go.

And that’s what makes this different.

Not the way he fucks her, but the way he holds her.

The way his hand comes up to cup her jaw, tilting her head to look at him as he thrusts deep one final time, the coil inside her snapping, her body shattering apart around him.

The way he follows right after, groaning her name into her skin as he spills inside her.

Afterward, the room is quiet, save for the heavy rise and fall of their breaths.

Y/N lies tangled in the sheets, barely able to process what just happened.

She waits for him to leave.

Because that’s what he did last time.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he stays.

Y/N barely sleeps.

She should, after the way he wrecked her—after the way they wrecked each other. But her body won’t let her, still thrumming with adrenaline, oversensitive and restless even as exhaustion weighs her limbs down.

It’s not just the sex.

It’s the way he’s still here.

The way his arm is heavy around her waist, pinning her to the mattress. The way his slow, steady breaths tickle the back of her neck. The way his fingers, even in sleep, twitch against her skin, as if his body refuses to stop touching her.

The last time this happened, he left before she could even open her eyes.

Now, she’s the one who wants to leave first.

Déjà vu.

She stares at the ceiling for what feels like hours before she finally moves. Careful, slow, untangling herself from his grasp as gently as she can. His arm is heavy, muscles flexing even in sleep, and she has to hold her breath as she lifts it off of her.

When she’s finally free, she exhales. Swings her legs over the edge of the bed.

Her dress is still on the floor, a heap of silk puddled near the dresser. She moves toward it, keeping her steps light, mindful of every shift in the sheets behind her.

Almost there.

She bends down, fingers just brushing the fabric—

“Don’t.”

Her heart stops.

His voice is hoarse, thick with sleep, a quiet rasp in the dimly lit hotel room.

She freezes.

Her fingers curl into the fabric of her dress, but she doesn’t lift it. Doesn’t turn around.

“Y/N,” he says again, softer this time.

Her breath comes shallow, uneven. She forces herself to stand upright, forces herself to steady her voice.

“I should go.”

Silence.

Then, the rustling of sheets, the mattress shifting.

She doesn’t have to look to know he’s sitting up.

“I don’t want you to.”

It’s barely above a whisper. Like he doesn’t want to say it out loud, doesn’t want to give it power.

Her throat tightens.

Last time, he didn’t say anything at all.

Last time, she woke up to cold sheets and an unreadable text hours later.

Now, he’s asking her to stay.

And she doesn’t know what the fuck to do with that.

Slowly, she turns around.

Harry is watching her, propped up on one arm, hair a mess of curls, lips still swollen from kissing her. His eyes—greener in the dim light—stay locked onto hers, searching.

She grips the dress tighter.

“I don’t know what this is,” she admits, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry exhales, running a hand over his face. “Me neither.”

She nods once, lips pressing together. The moment stretches, tense and fragile, like one wrong move could shatter it completely.

He shifts again, swings his legs over the side of the bed. “But I know I don’t want it to be like last time.”

Her chest tightens.

And for the first time since that night over a year ago, she lets herself wonder—

If maybe… just maybe…

He doesn’t either.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

If you love angst, tension-filled romance, and two idiots pretending they’re not in love, Rewrite the Stars is for you! 

[bahngnxxx]

୧ ‧₊🎧 No turning back once we’re connected. 

Dentist bangchan x !f!paitent 

author's note: I was at the dentist and I was sleepy asf, but then this fineass doctor came in and absolutely PENATRATED my mouth with his hands and that got me thinking about bangchan, since earlier i was watching thirst traps before entering the appointment lol. Im ovulating so i jus wanna get straight to the smut... pls spare me, this is my first fic. Ill write better ones, not just pure smut. TmT Anygays, enjoy!! 

word count: 5.3k 

warnings: (NOT PROOF RED) p in v (unprotected, NAURRR) vaginal creampie, multiple orgasms, fem overstimulation, nipple pinching/biting, biting overall, vaginal fingering, eating out (both fxm), dirty talk, slight sadism, spanking, squirting, possible impregnation, dry humping, a bit of piss, clitplay.. Too lazy to list anymore. Lmk if sumn catches your eye, but overall this is just a really filthy one.🤷‍♀️ 

A cold, chilling woosh of air hits you, the automatic doors swinging open, the gentle cool breeze of the AC brushing against your skin, causing a slight grow of goosebumps against you. You clocked in at the entrance for your first dentist appointment after 3 months of being abroad, so the difference between the humid air of palm springs and the cool contrasting air of Canada really didn’t sit well with you. You were still jetlagged too, so maybe you could shut your eyes during your appointment, I don’t think the doctor would mind. You don’t think you could keep your eyes open for any longer, anyways. 

You gently sat down on a coach in the distance. You had booked an appointment down near the south, suburb corner of town. The places lounge was small, crowded, but managed to still have a nice cozy essence to it, a tv table at front, small beige couches stacked all around, plants and trees hanging off from the wooden plated walls and light spruce floors, the scent of minty Colgate mixed with a fresh smell of coffee filling the lounge. You nuzzled into the pale couch, scrolling away on your phone to some k-pop thirst traps on your free time, adjusting the bra strap that hung out of your off shouldered white sweater, clinging around your curves slightly, your body slumped down lazily, legs spread out shamelessly, until a doctor had called out for you, startling you. You stood up straight, brushing off yourself before bowing down apologetically, following the lady down a long hall, until you had arrived to the room.  

As usual, the room was white like an asylum, a long chair centered in the middle of the chaos, a large light gazing over it as well as a tv attached to the ceiling. There was a crack of golden sunlight peeking through the room, giving a nice crisp color to it. You laid down onto the seat as the doctor told you to, and did the average things like plucking and tapping at your teeth with a bunch of pointy gadgets, blah blah, the usual. She then nodded and went outside the room, assumingly calling your new doctor. 

Ever since you had switched to the southern side of town, and doing things, there seemed to be a lot of Koreans working in the area, not that you were complaining, and you had a suspicion for your new doctor. He went by Chris, or Christopher, but you did a little digging to catch a glimpse of the name ‘Bang Chan’ and that unleashed a fantasy in you, so you’d hope that you would get a nice Korean doctor. You were single and in your mid-twenties anyways, it’s time you’d find a partner.  

You heard some shuffling in the halls, and they approached closer before a black heeled shoe entered the room, then another, and then he popped into the room. A man who looked a year or two older then you, his hair a crisp black and middle parted, going down to his neck, slightly shaggy and curly, his eyes wide and kind, but also so seducing in a way, his nose larger than usual and a diamond piercing on one side, as well as small hoops in his ears and a chain around his thick slender neck, and oh my gosh, he had his coat off, and had this BODY CLENCHING black shirt on, revealing the massive tits and curved abs he had. His lips were large and plump, nothing like you’ve seen before, his tongue slightly out as his eyes slowly crept their way towards your gaze, his mouth crinkling into a jaw dropping smile, dimples forming on both sides of his cheeks, his aegyo Sal puffing up and his eyes wrinkling on the sides as he did. His eyes formed to small crescents as he smiled, a kind twinkle in them. HOLY FUCK.  

Your jaw was dropped. You sat there on the long chair, your body hunched over as you stared at him with wide eyes, you looked like an idiot, honestly. He let out a breathless chuckle as he walked over to you, spinning the scaler perfectly in between his gloved, veiny hands. “So how’ya doing today?”  

He spoke in a deep, but kind voice, with a rich Australian accent. You let out a stuttered, shy response as he pumped the seat downwards until you were lying flat, his face towering over yours, only his eyes visible now, the mask covering the rest. “U-uh yeah, I’m good.. How about you..?” 

 He smiled back down at you, his chest heaving over your head as he moved the strands of messy hair off of your face, sending heat through your abdomen through your stomach. It felt like there were butterflies—no, birds flying in your stomach. You bit on your lower lip, as he set a gentle thumb on your chin. “Hmm, pretty good, thanks. How ‘bout you open wide for me, yeah?” 

 and you almost immediately followed his command, widening your jaw, a line of spit against your tongue and tooth. Two of his fingers entered your jaw, coated in your spit as he pressed down on your tongue lightly. You were ovulating too, so this didn’t make it any better at all. You held back a whimper, fighting demons against yourself. You fidgeted with your hands below your lap, curling your feet upwards, and he could sense your nervousness, letting out small breathy laughs. “Good girl, relax. I’m not gonna eat’chya.”  

and again, immediately, your body loosened--almost a little too much—going limp and melting under his words. There was a calm jazz playing over the radio, the crisp golden sunlight hitting his blazing eyes, and ever so lightly brushing against his black, curled locks.  

All through his work, he didn’t seem to be paying attention to your mouth, not at all, honestly. He just kept staring into your eyes, his eyes crinkled up ever so slightly, meaning that he must still have a smile under his face. He just wouldn’t stop smiling, it staying, his intense gaze remaining on you as he tapped on each of your teeth, his fingers tracing around your mouth, exploring it. His eyes just got heavier and heavier on you, narrowing slightly down subtly before he stood up and grabbed those mini mirror things up from a shelf, unwrapping it from its shell and discarding of the flimsy plastic before he shone that damn light from above onto you, blinding you. You squinted at the light before looking back at him. He provided some sort of shadow from the light, so you relied on staring at him back, since you didn't really have any other choice.  

The wind outside started to densen up, the once sunny outside sending a dark shadow through the room, the dim lamp now being your only support of light. You hated the light at first, but now you were holding onto your dear life with it. You don’t think you could survive farther then 5 more minutes, or you would go wild. You clenched your thighs shut tight, which he immediately and shamelessly switched his attention to. His eyes narrowed further at your legs, his seducing gaze running up and down them. Theres no way that your dentist is doing this. No way hes checking you out, but no matter how much you denied it, he totally was. He looked back up at you, now only one of his eyes crinkled, his eyebrow cocked up. “Something bothering you?” 

 he spoke in a low, more breathy tone now, taking his hands out of your mouth and sliding his gloves off, his veiny hands now clear to you. You breathe caught in your throat as you let out a shakey response.  

“You.” you whispered; you don’t know why you said that. You slapped a hand over your mouth, your eyes slightly wide, cheeks turning red, and almost immediately, Chan smiled deviously, removing his mask and closing the door behind him, sitting back on the wheelie chair, spinning back to you, his hands now levitating over your chest. “Hm? What was that? Couldn’t quite hear you.”  

You let out a hitched breath, your eyes fluttering shut halfway as your back arched towards his hands until you were now sitting up, lodged up against the chair in a restrained position, both his veiny slender forearms propped up in the crevasses of your waist. “Gettin’ comfy, hm? If you want it, say it.”  

“P-please Bang Chan.”  

he let out that deep, incredibly sexy chuckle, smooth as butter, and almost instantly did your panties fill with a gush of arousal. With that, his final strings of restraint tore apart, his mouth drifting over to yours, his lips lush against your thirsted tongue. He fought a rough battle with your mouth, his tongue darting delving deeper into you, exploring every inch of your wet throat, his fingers now grazing over and under your thick sweater, pulling your shirt up with a swipe as he unclipped your bra with one veiny hand, still working at your mouth. His rough thumbs drifting over your plump bottom lip, extending your jaw for deeper access. His lips parted away from yours, his breath growly and panting before he looked up at you with that damned, deep dimpled grin, his mouth leaving a wet trail down your chin and neck, to your collarbone and straight to the cleavage of your breasts, the tips of his fingers slowly making its way to your tits, curling around the velvety, thick material.  

You let out a high-pitched whine—near a yelp as you bucked your breasts up toward his hands, another quick gush of arousal filling your already soaked panties. “F-fuck Chris--.. what if.. We get caught...?” 

 he looked up at you, his mouth still latched at you like a leech, with wide eyes, almost innocent looking despite the situation, but quickly they narrowed to those same teasing eyes as he hooked off you, a string of spit on his tongue that dribbled down the cleavage of your boobs. He silently brought a finger to his mouth, shushing you before he slowly led his soft puckered mouth to your tit, his breathe hot against your hardened, perked up brown patch. He agonizingly brought his tongue around it, his lips curling around the tip of it as he suckled on your soft breast. You couldn’t help but let out small squeals as he licked and slurped at you, his free hand sliding down the side of your waist and to your small pretty jeaned up pussy, clenching the fat top layer before a finger slid slick into your folds, the outline of your throbbing clit palpable through the thick fabric. Your hips buckled towards his fingers in a desperate attempt for some sort of friction, his slender calloused hands curling up into your aching core through the fabric, his plump lips latching off your nipples with a soft moan. He soothed the aching sensation on your nips with a few gentle kisses as he pulled off your shirt, you were bare and had those porn star like tits. Not too big, but perky and rounded for sure. He led his hungered gaze over them. “So pretty.”  

he breathed out. The soon admiring gaze snapped back to in between your legs, you were clamping them shut against his hands, needily grinding and humping against him. He popped his hand from between your heat and with one swift motion, picked you up from the chair and SAT in it HIMSELF. You were about to scoff before he pulled you onto his lap, in the type of position where your perfect little ass was laid above his muscular thighs, your legs straddling him from both sides, his dick standing straight up right before your camel toed pussy, your cheeks tinting a bright rosey red. “Move those hips pretty girl. Need your clit rubbing ‘gainst me, yeah?”  

you are NOT his strongest solider because holy shit, the way this man has spells over you.. You start to transfer your heavy hips atop his and grinding downwards to his cock, but he lets out a ‘tch’ and holds your love handles to stop you from moving. “This won’t do. Need you in those pretty pink panties.” 

 now how the hell did he know what color it was? Whatever, and with a huff you start to unzip those tight jeans from off your legs until your pants were on the floor. His own slacks met yours on the floor in a crumpled mess, and God was it huge, full of girth and length, it was dying to be released from the boxers, like a huge water bottle in his garments.  

You were so turned on, you knew exactly the feeling, you needed him now. You were a hot mess, you wanted and needed him so quickly and without much thought, you sat back on his lap, trying to put your embarrassment aside, you sat down facing him, with your legs in the air on either side of the chair, Chan was surprised and felt so delightful your weight on his erection, he didn’t think you were going to position yourself like that but you left him absolutely charmed. You were dealing with the bulge between his pants pressing against your pussy. He was so hard, you could feel it if only through the slightly thick, rough cotton of his black garments. Just the thought of seeing his cock made your skin bristle with excitement. And suddenly, a wave of confidence hit you, a little too strong like a slap in the face, and now you were gliding your flaps perfectly through his shaft, apparent through boxers. You could feel the way the hard girth pulsated and pushed into your wet entrance even through the fabric, the mix of his precum in his shorts and your slick making it intoxicating and barely bare able. As the grinding of yours against him got more intense, small pants left his parted lips, hips bucking up often with every push of your pussy down against him.  

Chan moaned, letting out soft, melodic “A-aah, mmnh..” and then he raised his gaze, staring into your eyes, causing you to shiver at his lustful stare. “Fuck, look at you moving for me like that, keep doing what ‘your doing, just like that.. So good, love.” he licked his lips, leveling his face with yours, talking to you in such a sultry tone that it made your cheeks hot. You were so pathetically horny and starved that you were enjoying to the fullest-- bouncing on Chan’s cock under the hard cotton, pressing all over your pussy, your labia, moving them nimbly that it made you blur your vision.  

“God yeah-- you’re doing so good, beautiful.” His voice aroused you more and more bringing you so close to your orgasm, you were so concentrated in the sensation of your movements on his cock, you couldn’t stop, you moved your hips and Chan helped you with his hands squeezing your waist, guiding your every hump; you felt so hot and trapped, so desperate to get your clothes off but you didn’t want to stop, you weren’t going to stop until you were tired, it was as if you had no choice but to climax right now, just like this, and under his gaze it was physically impossible, flushed and sweaty, eager, watching you with keen, firey eyes. Chan was sighing and straining to make you feel good at the same time you were making him feel that effect on him, squeezing his cock so hard, expelling precum and not so far from his ejaculation. 

 Chris bit his lower lip and caught your mouth again, touching your restless and desperate body, he was about to cum. You were starting to get tired but it was a tiredness so inexplicably pleasurable, your chest was burning from the constant strong heartbeat. You were at your limit and you were doing almost nothing, but both of you were a mess of heaving breaths, Chan didn’t want to change anything about you either at that moment, he just squeezed you tightly enjoying every movement until he cum inside his underwear, in a gasp, throwing his head back, feeling one pressure release pleasantly but another coming so abruptly and quickly not wanting to finish yet with you. You held onto his shoulders tightly, pressed your legs into his body, Chan knew you were close so he encouraged you, with a kiss on your mouth half open and words that warmed even your ears. “Go on, cum, princess, let yourself go… Cum for me.” 

You gasped in despair and a little high-pitched moan, you cum all over your panties, leaving you flushed, breathless and with your pussy sticky. Seconds later you wanted to catch your breath, you still felt immobile before his big hands squeezing your body, you were at levels of agitation you didn’t think you’d reach in the near future with another guy. He was so the one, no matter a side chick from a new dentist you just met, you’d be booking appointments weekly with the daily pathetic excuse of tooth aches. That's one way to go.  

One orgasm down, so many more to go, left a sloppy panting mess atop him, he gently carries you until you're sitting at the side of the chair, on the edge, legs spread wide, head in a daze, not a care in your eyes until the sensation of his cold hands hits your underwear – a loss of warmth but a new sensation. Only when you look down is when you catch the concentrated man on his knees for you, peeling off your pink panties and licking the slick off of it so none went to waste, letting out an approving hum.  

“You taste so fucking good.” 

Chan said it, in such a thick voice so lost in the image of your pussy. You were a hot trembling mess, letting out a shuddered moan as you felt his warm, full lips on the skin of your plump mons pubis, giving you kisses and leaving little hickeys down his way until his mouth took your clit, making you squeal; you were beginning to relax and let yourself be carried away by the tingling of the tip of his index finger caressing your soft, moist vulva, playing with your wetness, until two of his fingers teased your entrance until he inserted his fingers, while his mouth never let go of your sensitive spot, licking and sucking it gently, causing you pleasure and the beginning of trembling in your legs. 

Chan fucked you gently and deeply for a few moments, teasing you and reaching sweet places inside your tight pussy, but he withdrew his fingers from you, positioned both his hands on your thighs, squeezing them gently and began to move his mouth all the way down your vulva, licking the right places, sucking delightfully on your labia and filling himself with you, from his chin to his nose, so focused working on you. You felt so hot, and he looked so good eating you out while you were a panting mess, arching your back and being pleasured. Your slick dripped its way down his chin, covering his faces with your whipped up, once clear but now creamy and sweet juices. “Fuck," He groaned out, lapping up and sucking at your clit, then going back down to collect your juices.  

You were close, again, your hips stuttering against his plump lips as he alternated from eating your pussy to sucking at your clit. He could feel the way your hips bucked up, the way your needy pussy clenched around his tongue, before with one last suck of your vagina, he slid up and started going savage onto your clit, opening his mouth with a wide grin, flicking his tongue against you as he plunged two fingers, slick with spit inside of your already seeping pussy, thrusting in and out and curling his fingers up in a way that was sure to drive you over the edge, and so it did, a mix of juices and release spewing all over his fingers, up to the muscles of his forearms, squealing out his name in a desperate moan.

 “Chris- chrischris—c-christopher!! Cumming!!” 

He stared at you in awe and immense pleasure, cock twitching in his boxers as he witnessed your climax, shaking and trembling, heartbeat pounding, sweat dripping, hot and messy flushed face, hips bucking up so high he could have sworn he was seeing stars, and before you knew it the sound of fabric sliding down filled your sensitive, worn-out ears, and a deep sensation hit your overstimulated pussy. 

Within seconds, as you came down from your haze, you were immediately sent back to that trance but so much deeper as his girthed cock unmercifully pounded its way deep into your pussy, kissing your cervix with every deep thrust. His hips slam against yours as he slides back in, you're so warm and wet around him that he's losing his mind. He's like a rabbit in heat as he moves his hips, harder and harder, his balls hitting your ass and the sounds that leaves your lips encourages him more. One minute you have your legs wrapped around his waist pulling him deeper and the next your legs are against your chest as Chan's large hands are on the back of your thighs as he slams his hips against yours again. He's hypnotized. Your pussy sucking in dick so well, and you're taking it like a good girl too. Tears falling from your eyes and words leave your lips but he doesn't really understand what you're saying. The word daddy leaves your lips, and you chant it over and over.  

You felt so full, his dick filling you up so nicely and you honestly believe that you could cum just like this. And the way the tip of his head hits your sweet spot it makes you feel on cloud nine. Thrusting into you with a sharp hit of his hips, and you internally cringe at yourself for hiccupping at the force. “G-god-!!” is all you manage to say as he continues slamming his hips into you at a painfully slow pace, looking you dead in the eye as you crumble beneath his intense gaze. 

gripping at his biceps and biting your lip as an attempt to keep your moans in, but the little whimpers and whines end up spilling out anyway. You can feel Chan's cock twitch inside you every time you say yes for him, especially with the way your walls are throbbing around his length as he groans the words “good girl” in the midst of it all. 

“So so good for me,” he continues, grinding his hips in a way that makes his pelvis graze your clit rhythmically, and you’re sure you’re seeing stars once his hand finds your neck, just resting it there to get your attention. “W-want you to fill me up so bad,” you whimper, and he lets a groan out right after you… one that makes your stomach flutter with emotions given how beautiful it sounded. 

“Channie--” you blabber out pathetically, your own mouth filling with saliva at how amazing he’s making you feel right now. “P-please-!!” you cry out, and it’s a weak cry. He finally lets his lips find yours in a needy kiss, and a string of spit keeps y’all together as he breaks away to let out a moan of his own, but you’re pulling him back into you, wanting him to be as close as possible to you in this moment.  

“Feels so fucking good inside you, sooo fucking good,” he grunts, and you know he’s almost close just from the way his eyebrows are screwing into adorable little crinkles, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier by the second. 

“F-fuck-” you mewl against his lips, feeling the knot in your own stomach tighten as his cock hit mesmerizing places inside you. He keeps his hand snug around your neck while looking into your eyes, and his hips can’t bare to piston into your cunt any longer once your walls clench around him, making him feel dizzy in the head. At that point, hes too far in to care about anything, gripping your ass cheek with an intense need as his hands lands a hard slap against it, leaving a red stain of his handprint on your cheek, the stinging pain of his hands and soothing rubs making you go insane.

With each 3-4 hard thrusts, he adds in a hard WACK, marking both cheeks with a rosey red that looked like it was blushing, and soon enough he was lifting one leg straight up like a candle, toes curled as he fucked deep into you, with a new refreshment that was only yours to claim, luckily enough. He fucked into you with a matched fervor that can only be described as wild, and with that, chan finally lets himself go, barely getting any extra thrusts in before painting your walls with his hot release, groaning shamelessly like a porn star. “Oh my God,” he grunts with a strained voice, using his last bit of strength to prevent himself from collapsing on top of you given how spent he is now. He pops out of you soon enough, after having his soft cock warmed up by your wet walls, his cum seeping out of your used pussy, but his cock doesn’t look... normal. Its soft yet still kind of up, like maybe his balls were too big and propping it up? No, it was infact still semi-hard, his eyes meeting yours with a mutual agreement, a challenge, as if asking to help him out, and so you did, backing up into the marbled countertops containing of those small sinks and that random hole filled with garbage.  

His hand slides to the back of your neck, firm but gentle, and pulls you closer. “Good girl,” he praises, voice laced with an almost indistinguishable amount of contempt, and it has you reeling. You lick a bit along his tip, slowly and gently kissing along the sensitive skin, and you can already feel it start to rise along your lips. His fingers weave through your hair with a slow sigh. You press another kiss to the side of his cock, soft at first, as if tasting the moment before plunging in. His body shudders. The saltiness lingers on your tongue as you part your lips wider, slowly taking him into your mouth. “Fuck,” he breathes, the word barely audible, more an exhale than speech.  

His hand slightly tightens in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself. You hollow your cheeks, sliding further forward, and the groan that rumbles in his chest sends a thrill through you. The weight of him is heavy on your tongue, and you let yourself sink into a languid pace, drawing him in, inch by inch, savoring the way his body reacts. His hips jerk, just a little, involuntarily, and you can’t help the slight moan that leaves your throat. The sound and vibration seem to undo him.  

“You’re so fucking good at this,” Chan grunts, his voice rough around the edges, raw with need. His hand cups the back of your head, guiding you—not forcing, but encouraging—as you take him deeper, working with a mix of tongue, lips, and a shit ton of spit. 

You glance up, catching his gaze. A carnal glint is in his stare, and he smiles. Fuck. The sight of him nearly takes your breath away. His jaw falls slack, his lips part, and his eyes lock on you—heavy-lidded and burning with something primal. The tension in his thighs grow as you continue, a gradual acceleration in the way you take him in. The soft, wet sounds fill the air, mingling with his labored breaths and low groans. His thumb brushes your cheek, a ticklish touch that feels oddly tender amidst the heat. “Just like that,” Chan murmurs, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t stop. You’re—perfect.” You give an hum, letting it thrum in your mouth. Chan whimpers and it’s an absolutely beautiful thing to hear. You hum again, louder this time. Your chest heaves at the limited breathing but Chan is slowly losing his sense of control and it arouses you, motivates you to keep going. “God, your skilled. I work in oral care, yet you seem to be better at it.” Chan laughs to himself, head thrown back, words spiked with unmistakable lust. His hands move to your shoulders, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fights the urge to thrust into your mouth. “I won’t last if you keep going like that.” His voice cracks, betraying the thin line of self-control he’s holding onto. You pull back slightly, just enough to take a breath, then bob your head back into his girth, but this time you take him deep and you swear you can catch glimpse of his soul leaving his body, eyes rolling back and brows furrowed in a pornographic way. You choke and gag slightly on his cock, but being the sadistic girl you are, you take pleasure in the way he thrusts less carelessly into your mouth, fucking into you as he tugs on your hair as a guide, the only pillar of support besides the cold counter behind him, his other hand holding onto the edge so he wouldn’t slip, but the moment you hollow your cheeks again and gaze up at him with that stare is when he looses it. Before he could mutter any more words, he just lets out a series of swears. “F-fucking hell-! O-oh my god cumming--” 

And a hot liquid fills your throat, forcing its way inside until your throat is sore, raw and hot from his salty liquids. It’s murky and a bit penny-like in a way, but your addicted to the taste that would normally seem gross. As you pull back with a mix of spit and cum on your tongue, he ruffles up your hair and helps stand you up, kissing an awkward kiss onto your messy forehead as he sets you back down onto the chair, scooping out the remains of his liquid out of your spent pussy and dabbing it up with a tissue, the light fabric teasing your overstimulated clit, drawing a whine out of you. He gently hushes you and continues to clean you up and pack up his stuff.  

“Until next time, yeah? And wear those pink panties again, they look good on you.” He waves out with a charming wink, despite his current state. 

God, this man. Guess your next appointment won’t just be one type of oral... 

[miracle-negative]

"To you who gave up but couldn't."

"To you who are alive but not alive."

"To you who are in pain."

"To you who didn't see the light."

"To you who are still alive and brathing."

Determination

[fatalfragility]

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welcome ༻♡ !

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about me:

i’m eva and i’m 17 years old 🪽

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in love w the music of lana and lizzy (obv), the smiths, brigitte bardot, phoebe bridgers, grouper, fiona apple and shoegaze/dreampop bands like slowdive, ozean, my bloody valentine etc. ♡

24/7 dissociative dreamer

sylvia plath, rilke and mary oliver enthusiast

lives off poetry, music, and romanticism

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Hi Tumblr!

Це моя перша публікація, і я хочу поділитися чимось особливим — малюнком, який я створила з великою любов’ю.<///33

[ameliacatattack]

#FIRSTPOST

[gurugirl]

[1] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

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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. 1 Word Count: 8,282

Ch. 1 Warning: smut (not w/Y/n), funeral scene, parental death, manipulation and coercion, corruption kink, humiliation

. .

The sky was gray, which seemed fitting for the occasion, and a single bell from the watchtower at the kingdom's town center slowly clanged the funeral toll.

It was a sad day for the prosperous kingdom of Thornekeep. The king’s funeral was quite the spectacle. There was not one citizen with a dry eye, for King Augustus Styles was beloved by all. The townsfolk stood along the cobbled road as two steeds pulled the king’s covered coffin to the cathedral for a ceremony that would end the elder King Styles’ reign and make way for the prince to be crowned by birthright.

The young prince was at the front of the procession riding on a lone horse wearing battle armor, along with his father’s shield and sword. No one could read his expression as he kept his eyes on the road ahead toward the cathedral. The people of the monarchy were not so keen on the prince. He was not as warm as his father, and he often ruffled feathers. Some would say he was downright mean. But what could they do? He had been brought up for this very thing. To rule and protect the kingdom and its people. They would have to put their trust in him no matter what.

The ceremony was attended by the royal court, Privy Counsellors, Lord Mayor, Realm High Commissioners as well as the family of the King. Prince Harry Styles sat on the woven red wool chair at the front as the announcement was made by the Council and the accession declaration was called before the Prince stood to receive his crown.

When the ceremony had concluded the old Sovereign’s casket was taken again by steed for the final burial where the whole of the kingdom stood in wait as their new King made his proclamation over the land and the kingdom to the public.

And so it was. The new Sovereign of Thornekeep, King Harry Edward Styles, would rule over the people henceforth.

.           .           .

“Your Majesty, we apologize for the intrusion, but it is time to get to the order of official business.”

“You wouldn’t have to apologize if you weren’t intruding, now would you?” Harry’s groggy voice spoke as he remained sprawled on his back in his warm velvet bed with three naked women lying draped over his limbs still fast asleep and unaware of the two men standing at the King’s chambers door.

“May it please Your Majesty if we return in one half-hour’s time? Our Lord Mayor and the Orders of Council are awaiting you in the Great Hall. This is a very important meeting, Sir.”

Harry knew he had a meeting set up. He knew it was important to keep it and he understood the gravity of it all. But he couldn’t resist when he took three lovely young things with him to his chambers the evening prior and they each let him do as he pleased. He’d just been crowned King for Christ’s sake! He deserved to sew his wild oats before things got heavy and real and it was time to get down to the nitty-gritty of his new stifling responsibilities.

“I will find myself in the Great Hall in one half-hour’s time. No need to return.”

“Yes, Sir. And what should we tell the Lord Mayor of your tardiness?”

“Fuck’s sake! I don’t care! Tell them I’ve got my privy member sallying forth and I’m in the sack with three concubines if you like! The Lord Mayor can wait a half hour. Give him a thumb of brandy. Tha’ should keep him with a smile.”

It was this very attitude that had the folk of Thornekeep nervous. Harry’s proclivity for saying what he pleased with little regard for the people he was saying it to.

The two men bowed their heads and backed out the door, closing it behind them before Harry sat up, pushing the women from him and stretching his arms overhead.

His first full day as King. He’d not looked forward to wearing the crown. But he knew what he needed to do and he had no choice just as the kingdom had no choice but to accept him as he was; full of grit and scandal, haughtiness and ego.

His bare feet landed on the heavy wood floors and he scratched his member before draping a sheet over the naked women in his bed. They’d all had too much to drink and Harry figured they could stay put until he returned. Maybe another round or two would do him some good and sober him up before he kicked them out to get back to their duties. Whatever those were.

He robed himself that morning and even though he’d been offered a personal dresser to assist him, he declined. Harry didn’t like the idea of having a valet in wait unless he was feeling like making them watch him fuck whoever he took in his bed for the night. That could be fun… Harry liked being watched. Maybe he’d reconsider and take a personal assistant after all.

The council and mayor were sitting in their places in the Great Hall when Harry sauntered in, unkempt and smelling of muff. Everyone stood and waited until he took his seat at the head of the long wooden table. Light poured in through the stained-glass panel behind him and everyone awaited the King’s call to order.

“We may begin,” he spoke. And so it started.

It was laid out for Harry the major issues that always needed tackling, allocation for funds and the people of Thornekeep, the Kingdom’s allies, and enemies, projects left undone that were awaiting signatures or provisional work. Then there were the upcoming events and additional contracts that needed sorting.

But there was also the concern of the King’s marital status.

“You’ll need a Queen. Someone to continue the Styles’ lineage for Thornekeep. The people will want to know they are under the rule of a stable Sovereign.”

“What does it matter how the people feel? I can rule without a Queen. I’d rather not be hindered.” Harry waved a hand as he spoke unconcerned.

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, how do you expect to have a child out of wedlock?”

The cheeky grin that pulled up on Harry’s face had his advisor suddenly standing to stop the King from answering that question but Harry only laughed and looked at the man. “Sit. Do not interrupt me again. I think Our Lord Mayor would like a lesson in biology and I’m not one to turn down a teaching moment.”

The advisor relented with a sigh (what was he to do? tell the King not to speak?), sat back down and Harry began. “One does not need the burden of wedlock to create offspring. It’s quite simple you see…” All the men knew where this was going as Harry continued. “All I need to do is stick my fiddle within the sweet quim whiskers of a beautiful woman and keep it in until I’ve done my duty. Could take a few rounds to set but I imagine soon enough the woman receiving my bounty will be heavy with child and upon the moment of birth will provide me an heir. No need for a marital contract of any sort.”

The men of the council looked around at one another in near shock at Harry’s dismissal of tradition as the Lord Mayor spoke. “That will not do. It is imperative that you find a Queen, my Lord. You need a woman that will raise said heir in the castle with you, bring them up properly, and teach them our ways. This will be your legacy. You must see that.”

Harry knew of course that his words would fall on deaf ears. He knew he’d have to marry and make a show of it. But he did rather enjoy seeing the looks on the faces of the fancy and feathered men, all tensed with their sleek coverings of velvet and wool and white tights tucked into silk and leather shoes with shiny silver buckles and heels that made them appear taller than they were.

“Fine. I’ll have my selection in a fortnight.”

His selection. As if he were choosing a dish to be served for dinner. But that is how Harry saw it after all. He would have his choice of dishes just as he would have his choice of women. It would be the roasted venison with piping hot potatoes, smothered in butter, and artichokes for his dinner, and for his wife, he’d take the pretty redhead with the plump bottom and big bosom lying in his bed. She had the kind of tummy that would take a child well he figured.

Making his way to his chambers he whistled a tune to himself, his mood not diminished by the news of his new tasks, for he was about to wet his fiddle once again. The redhead did seem quite desirable in that moment. But instead, upon entering his room, the redhead was missing.

The two others were lying on their backs and turned to see the King enter. Sitting up quickly Harry pulled his robe off and shut his door. “Where is the redhead with big breasts?”

“She was gone when I woke, Your Majesty,” the one with dark hair spoke.

“Well, bullocks. Do you know her name?”

Both women shook their heads no. “No, King.”

Harry sighed and continued removing his clothes. Well, if he couldn’t find a wife that night, he’d enjoy what was leftover in his room. He had a fortnight after all. Plenty of time to find someone he could tolerate. He had no intention of selecting anyone from the pool of suitable women the advisors told him about. That was a bore.

“You.” He pointed at the fair-skinned girl. “Sit in that chair and face the bed.”

Harry’s undervest was pulled off and he was left naked as he walked up to the one with dark hair and grinned at her. “You’ll suck my cock while she watches.”

He enjoyed his position of power. Women never told him no. Not when he was a prince and certainly not now as King. He had the young woman take him down her throat and checked in with the fair-skinned girl. “Keep watching. Want to make sure you get a good look at how well she does it. Just like last night. This one knows how to suck.”

Her slick mouth encased his girth and he groaned as he stood at the bed, the girl on her hands and knees taking the King on her tongue and gagging violently around his length.

“Oh, a noise maker!” Harry moaned, “Keep up the good work my little whore…”

The girl sputtered and pushed away from him, gasping as she looked up at him. “I’m not a prostitute! I’m–“

Harry interrupted, balking, “I don’t care. Think of it as a term of endearment. Get back and finish the job. It’s much better when you don’t speak.”

“King… perhaps you could just fuck me? My throat is starting to hurt.” She rounded her eyes at him.

He sighed as if it were an annoyance. “Okay. Turn around, face down.” He looked over at the girl on the chair. “Still watching?”

She nodded. “Yes, King.”

Harry poked himself into the pretty woman and she was already slick for him. He enjoyed a cunt just as much as he enjoyed a mouth and the view he had was rather delightful. He rocked into her and watched as her pussy lips gripped him, her insides coating him with a glisten that smelled like a proper cock wrapper.

His heart began to thud harder as he thrust into the hilt, smacking his hips into her soft round bottom and moaning in gasps as he felt his testicles squeeze and tighten. 

The girl was making her own little grunted noises but Harry wasn’t concerned if she finished or not.

Harry’s breathy moans changed into something deeper and more guttural the closer he got and he began to pound into her harder.

“Ahh! Oh!” She hollered as she was spread open by the King’s large cock.

But before she could even find her end Harry was pulling himself from her and spraying her back with his royal come and moaning in delight at his release.

The girl fell into the bed with a whine and the King noted the one watching was sitting at the edge of her seat with her eyes upon his cock.

“S’nice in’nit?” He turned toward her with his member in his palm. “Clean it off. Let’s make my knob shiny and new again.”

The girl was quick to lean in and take him in her mouth, licking off the slick from the other one who was left unsatisfied on the bed.

And when he’d had quite enough and his prick was deflating he parted from the girl and patted her cheek. “There we are. Off you go. Both of you. I’ve got to find myself a Queen.”

 .           .           .

Y/n had seen the procession with the new King from his father’s funeral at the cathedral. He was a handsome man with a strange emotion set on his face. She couldn’t tell what it was, but sadness, it was not. She’d heard all the talk about him from when he was a Prince. An ass of a man with an ego the size of Rome. And now, worries of the new King’s reckless attitude being trouble for Thornekeep.

No one could know exactly what to make of it. He’d not yet really had a chance to do much of anything. As Prince, he served in the Royal Army. It was said that he led a very strict outfit during times of conflict and was good at negotiation. That he loved confrontation and could coordinate a group of soldiers to be the best and most feared on the lines. But what did that mean for the citizens of his kingdom? The monarchy relied on his strength and wits to lead. While it was a promising thing that he was good at combat and negotiation, what about the finer details of being a sovereign leader? How would the people fare?

 “Right prat our new king. Doesn’t give a shite about us lot. You wait and see. S’gonna fuck the poor til we’re caged up like hogs. I don’t trust ‘im.” Lane was three quarts of beer in and Y/n watched as he guzzled from his tin.

The pair were sitting outside in the cold near the corner of the factory where the middle-income earners worked. Hoping for any scraps they might be willing to part with.

Y/n was a beggar. She would hold out her fabric basket or her satchel and try to look as haggard and tired as she could. But most just sniffed at her and walked past. She was young and while not the picture of health with her greasy hair and bones protruding, she was not fully unhealthy either. Most who gave to the poor were poor themselves. So she tried to look worse off to get anything she could.

A loaf of bread, a small salt fish, and whatever fibrous mash of grains and beans could be spared was allotted to each household weekly. And for Y/n, that was not enough food for her parents, her grandmother, and her three little sisters. She often went without eating and was the only one who could handle the chilled air for hours at a time to beg anyone who would spare a morsel.

Thornekeep was a rich, thriving kingdom but as was the norm for every city, town, and kingdom across the land, poor people did exist. Y/n had heard tales of other kingdoms that never allotted any food to households. And how some didn’t even have a roof over their heads at all. She was told she should be thankful that she wasn’t sleeping on the streets with the rats and their excrement as was common elsewhere.

But she wasn’t thankful. Her lot in life was hell. No one deserved to be treated as she was even if she was given a monthly stipend.

The debutante was held a week after King Harry’s crowning. Of course, Y/n would not attend. She was not of that world nor even close to being in a league where one would want her hand in marriage. What a laugh! Y/n imagined herself being presented among all the young beauties in their fine dresses with jewels and pinned and curled hair. What man would look at her and think he’d offer a proposal?

The young ladies and their mothers were all dressed to the nines. Shoulders held back, hair pinned high, fake smiles plastered on their faces… They were there to show the kingdom they were eligible for marriage and to compete for the king’s eye.

King Harry would be in attendance to select a bride for himself. He seemed to reject the normal route of having a queen selected for him. There were many who were raised up for that very thing and so his choice should have been easy. But he was stubborn. No one was surprised. Every woman presented to him, of those that his court felt would be a good match, he hardly even looked at before rudely sending away. 

Gossip traveled through Thornekeep as the ball was held to show off the citizens’ most beautiful and affluent daughters around. If he didn’t want the perfectly crafted, and trained young women fit to be his wife and queen, then perhaps he’d find one at the ball.

As always, Y/n sat perched near the castle gates holding out a small fabric basket for anyone to give anything and, as always, the scraps she did get were barely fit for filthy stray street dogs. Most of the people on that day were tucked away and out of sight in their covered carriages, horses trotting past, kicking up mud. She was used to being disappointed. Used to being ignored. Used to going hungry at the end of the day.

 "Dungworms, all 'em. Don't care if they dress in linen and fur. They're nothing but beetle-headed rot. Hate all 'em," Lane moaned as a coach passed them by. He threw a vulgar gesture toward them, but only after they were out of sight. It wasn't worth it to get in trouble over.

"S'true. Can't wait for the Spring. At least then we'll have the sun warming us while all the ratbags pretend they're better than us."

They laughed as they looked into the gates that were opening for the carriage. The castle was a majestic landmark. Y/n imagined that inside it was warm with fireplaces in every room and a hot stove in the kitchen that was constantly cooking food for the king and all his staff.

Maybe one day she'd be lucky enough to sneak inside without being caught. She could hide in one of the many rooms and pilfer food little by little and warm her bum at night by one of the fires.

She sighed at the silly dream, as her stomach growled and the gates clanked shut.

 . .

The young women were all pretty enough. Harry was sure any one of them would be a fit. It wasn’t like he needed to do more than fuck the new queen until she was pregnant anyway but still… He found the freshly washed, smooth-skinned, rose and powder-scented young ladies of Thornekeep to all be a bore. And what good was making such a boring selection? Harry wanted people to watch. He wanted to see as all the advisor’s jaws fell to the floor. He wanted to make a scene. None of these fancy-frocked girls would do. He needed something more exciting that would really ruffle everyone’s feathers.

Stepping away from the pomp and circumstance of the ball he stood out on his balcony and watched out over the front of the castle yard with people milling about and stringed music floating up toward him. The gates were open with guards at the stand as new arrivals made their way in but he noticed a small group of peons sitting not far from the wall with their baskets and tins held out hoping for a scrap.

And he had a sudden idea. Using his small telescope he fitted it against his eye and lengthened the eyepiece to get a better look. Among the group of menials was a young woman. She was thin (too thin) and she had a scowl about her face but the thing that really stuck out to him was that she was… pretty. Not pretty in the way that many would notice but with a month or two of larded foods and sugared pastries, she’d be just as pretty as any of the girls in the ballroom. 

Even better, she was of peasant stock and the kingdom would lose their mind over such a pairing. It was perfect. He could simultaneously cause a stir among the lowly proletariats, the middle-class bourgeoisie, and the affluent magnates at the same time. No one would expect it. And no one could stop it.

Harry descended the stairs as everyone in the room had eyes on him. The King easily dodged anyone looking for attention or conversation and pushed through to the front as he exited the castle. His guards followed close behind with Fred, one of his men in waiting, scrambling to catch up with Harry’s long-legged strides. 

“King Styles! Where are you going?”

“Off to meet a young lady who sits opposite the wall. I think I’ve found my Queen.” 

The King’s approach felt like slow motion. Guards surrounded as he sauntered along the path toward the gates and Y/n couldn’t imagine why the King himself would be walking through them and not be driven in a carriage. Mud was kicked up on his fine dressings and shoes but he seemed unbothered by the mess.

“You.” He pointed, his finger (adorned with a heavy gold ring) appearing to be directed right at her. “What’s your name?”

Looking to her left and right she furrowed her brow as she looked back to the young king.

“Can you hear or not? You, the one with the fabric basket, what’s your name?”

Putting her hand over her chest she responded. “Me? Your Highness, forgive m–“

“Said– what’s your name, girl?” He spoke in a clipped, annoyed tone.

He stopped in front of her feet, standing tall over where she sat upon the dirt and brick. “My name is Y/n. Your majesty.” She bowed her head.

“None of that. Up. Stand up.”

She felt his hand groping underneath her armpit as she was pulled upward, clutching onto the empty basket.

"How old are you?"

Y/n looked behind herself toward Lane and then back at the king. "I'm 20, your majesty."

His odd inspection had her feeling a bit miffed. She would have told him to watch his hands and to be gentler but this was the king. She couldn’t have imagined what interest he had in her but when he turned her around and held her out in his arms to view her backside he spoke. “We can work with this. Bit skinny but soon enough she’ll be well fed.”

“Your Highness… sir, the young women in the ballroom are far more… Why you can’t possibly–“ his attendant spoke.

“I can do as I please and I say this is the one, Fred.” The King spoke before he twisted Y/n back around and examined her rag of a dress before speaking. “Bring the coach around. I need to have her come in quietly at the back where the servants enter and then brought up to the Rose Room forthwith. We’ll need a few ladies-in-waiting as well. Do that for me without running your mouth to anyone and I’ll give you the night off.”

She watched with wide eyes, confused as the man called Fred scurried off back to the castle and then turned to look up at the king. “Your Majesty, I don’t understand. What is your business with me? Have I done something wrong?”

“On the contrary. Your luck is about to change. With a little sprucing you’ll be quite darling I think. You’ll live with me in the castle henceforth.”

Her lips parted as she dropped her empty basket and looked down at Lane who was also in shock with his mouth agape at the whole encounter before looking back to the King. “I don’t understand. Why will I live with you? Am I being sequestered or summoned for a servant’s job?”

“Oh no. Nothing like that. In one month’s time you’ll be crowned Queen. You and I will produce an heir to the throne once our nuptials bind us for good. You’ll be given your own room with your own attendants and we’ll fatten you up in no time to prepare you for carrying my offspring.” 

She gasped and felt everything around her spin and spin and spin until all was dark and her mind stopped reaching for answers.

Harry caught her in his arms before she fell to the ground. He wasn’t surprised she fainted, given how malnourished she appeared. A guard and two of his aids helped bring her inside once the carriage arrived and up to the room that would be hers. A down mattress, silk and velvet bedsheets and blankets, a fireplace lit with a pot of warm water on the hearth, and a tray with a bounty of food were all waiting for her.

And if she was shocked by the King’s announcement about her being the Queen then waking up in such a lavish room that smelled of flowers and the smoke of a warm fireplace surely had her confused.

When she sat up, she felt the weight of a goose-down blanket draped over her body heavily. Blinking her eyes she saw a flickering fire and the ornate details of the room she was in.

“Madam…” A woman was suddenly stood at her side with a towel draped over her arm. “The King has requested that you bathe and eat before we bring you to him. Which would you like first?”

She shook her head, unsure of what was going on exactly. “I… is this for me?” She gestured toward the tray of food. Colorful fruits and a loaf of hearty bread caught her eye. She could go for a meal.

“It is. Would you like anything more?”

She quickly slid her legs from under the blanket and stepped toward the tray. The bright red apple beckoned her so she picked it up and took a large bite of the skin and flesh before tearing off some of the bread and stuffing that in her mouth as well.

There were blackberries, pears, bilberries, plums, a bowl of boiled potatoes, and cream. A pitcher of red wine beckoned with a pretty crystal goblet to drink out of. There was a whole smoked and salted fish, a gob of butter, and her favorite, a plum tart.

She’d nearly eaten the whole tray when she realized the woman had filled a tub with warm water and perfumed oil. She sat down the emptied glass feeling buzzed from the wine and stuffed so full that her ribs ached.

The room she was in was easily twice the size of the slum housing her family was given. The room was opulent and lit with fuel sconces and lanterns. A fireplace kept the space warm and the furnishings were a feast for the eyes. She imagined that the porcelain bowl near the tub would pay for a month of food for her family.

"Your bath is ready, madam. If you'd like I can leave you alone while you bathe or I can assist."

Y/n stepped in closer to the bathtub. It was one of those built-in tubs that you stepped down into, not the metal ones you had to climb up in. Her family didn't even have their own tub. It was shared with the men from the workhouse across the way and set at the back of the buildings outside.

But here, the tub was inside in a warm room and there was even a ledge to sit. Privacy. She'd love a little privacy.

"I'll be fine on my own. Thank you."

The woman nodded and left the room after folding a cloth and placing it near the tub. Y/n began to take her clothes off, the dirty rags left in a stinky pile on the wool rug before she dipped a toe into the bath. The water was hot. She could see the steam rising from it as she slowly slunk down inside and settled her bottom into the seat ledge. She sighed and closed her eyes, letting the water surround her body and soak away the dirt and grime between all her bits and crevices.

And the scent wafting from the water was glorious. Like a flower with honey and tea caressing her skin. She used the small cloth to wipe herself down and then dunked her head to clean her face. The last time she had a proper bath was over a month prior. Her usual cleanup method consisted of a wetted rag wiped over her privy area and underarms.

But to have a hot bath scented with herbs and flowers by a warm fire in a room decorated with the finest fittings was a dream. A real-life fantasy come true. She couldn't wait to tell Lane about the whole thing. It almost all had her so distracted she'd forgotten the reason why she was there in the first place.

She let her limbs float outward as she closed her eyes and basked in the delicious silence. Everything in her life was chaos and noise and panic. But in that moment, none of that existed. Not until the door of her room was being opened and the young woman who'd filled the tub had returned with heavy material and silky fabrics draped over her arms.

She laid the clothes out on the bed in a row as Y/n watched from her spot in the tub.

"I've an outfit here the King has selected for you. I'll help you put it on once you're ready."

Y/n stretched her neck and peered toward the bed. "The King. Will I be seeing him once I'm dressed?"

"Yes, madam. He would like to see you when you're ready."

The reality of it all was heavy when she was helped from the tub and felt the prick of chills run over her skin. As warm as the fireplace made the room, it was still winter outside and she shivered as she dried her skin.

The young woman helped dress her. Y/n'd never worn such frocks before. It was a complicated task, getting dressed in fine clothing. She lost track of all the layers as she was fitted and the material tied around her and her body tossled. But even she could admit, once all the fabric was put into place and the woman began to fuss with her hair she looked quite captivating.

For a beggar.

She was led through a carpeted hall that seemed to stretch the length of the whole of Thornekeep until they were stopped at a wide doorway that opened up to a pair of mammoth wooden double doors. The young woman glanced back at Y/n before she rapped her knuckles over the heavy door firmly.

The door didn't open right away. Moments went by as Y/n shifted on her feet and the young woman nervously smiled at Y/n.

"I'm Phoebe. Think I forgot to introduce myself," she spoke quietly as she trailed her sight over Y/n's dress. "Hopefully the King is kind to you. He's been… difficult—"

The door was pushed open and a beautiful woman with olive skin stepped past them. "He's all yours," she spoke in a sultry voice that Y/n could only hope to one day mimic.

Phoebe gestured for Y/n to pass through and Y/n stepped into the King's chambers. If she thought her room was spectacular, his was a sickening show of lush wealth and haughty, needless adornments.

She was startled when the king spoke from his lounge. "Come. Sit."

Y/n and Phoebe walked deeper into his room and stepped down into a sunken seating area. Harry sat up straight and motioned toward Phoebe. "Not you. Leave us."

When it was just Y/n and Harry and she'd delicately sat her bottom at the furthest spot from the king she could find, Harry got up and placed himself next to her. "Are you scared of me?" He asked with a bright tone, as if it amused him.

"Your majesty, I don't know how to act. I've never seen such indulgent things in all my life as today."

He nodded and looked her over. "What are you wearing?" He lifted at her skirt and she batted his hand away on instinct.

"Phoebe said you picked it for me."

"Who is Phoebe?"

Y/n blinked and looked toward his chamber doors and back at the king in confusion. "The lady who helped dress me and… She was just here with me. The one you sent away."

"How sweet that you learned her name already. And I didn't pick this for you." He plucked at the fabric. "I asked that you come here in nothing but a robe so I could inspect you."

She scooted away from him, her heart racing at the idea of showing herself to him without clothes. Harry laughed and leaned himself back into the large cushioned seat and draped a leg over his knee as he watched her curiously. "You are scared. Good. You should be. Take off your clothes."

Shaking her head she squished herself as far from him as she could but he simply reached his leg out and hooked his foot under her ankle to pull at her. "Don't do that. Said remove your clothes, girl."

"Yo– your majesty… I don't even know how these were put on. I don't know how. I… I've never…" Her heart was racing and she felt her fingers tremble as he sat and grinned at her like this was a game to him.

"What? You can't remove your coverings because you don't know how? I can deal with a timid vazey, but not a liar. Off with your things."

"No! You're rude! I will not!"

The king scoffed, surprised at her disrespect, as he pushed himself up to stand and stood over his bride-to-be. "I am rude, you'll learn well. But I have needs and you're here to keep them. Look at me when I speak to you."

Hesitantly, Y/n lifted her face upward to look into the eyes of the man who she could hardly believe would be her husband. That part—that didn't feel real. Not at all. It couldn't be.

"Have you ever been touched by a man before?"

She thought she might pass out as her skin heated under the scrutiny of his gaze. "No. Of course, not. I'm unwed."

He laughed. "Plenty of unwed ladies get their fannies fucked and fingered, my poor feather-brained girl. You're a virgin?"

She nodded, keeping silent, though not happy about the insult to her intelligence. Perhaps she wasn't as smart as someone with a royal education but she knew how to read and could do basic math, which was more than almost everyone in her social stratus.

"I see." Harry sighed and reached down to grip her jaw and look her over like she was an animal. "Surprised no one has warmed their member with your quim yet. Rather sickly but you are pretty. Have you ever seen one?"

She gulped loudly. "Seen… seen one? What?"

He clicked his tongue and smirked. "A cock, my dear. Have you seen a cock?"

Y/n, though a virgin, wouldn't call herself a prude. She was used to crash speak and rude men but the king was a shock to her. She never imagined someone with his pedigree could be so filthy. "Yes."

He let go of her jaw, keeping his eyes set on hers as he lifted his brows. "Oh, you have. And did you play with it?"

"No!" Y/n looked down at her lap and inhaled a breath. She couldn't believe the conversation she was having with the king.

She felt his long fingers at her jaw again, forcing her to lift her gaze back up at him. "Don't look away from me when we're talking."

She knocked her head up and down and he dropped his hand away from her.

"Would you like to see mine?"

Her eyes widened and she shot her gaze down toward his crotch and then back up to his face. "No."

He smiled and let out a hearty laugh as he began to unbutton his forest green silk tricot coat. He eyed her, waiting to hear her protest again but when she simply watched him he continued to undo his outer layers until he had access to his breeches and tucked his fingers into the buttons at his front flap. Raising a brow he paused to give her a chance to tell him to stop.

But she only watched, flicking her gaze from his hands up to his face. She wouldn't admit it but she was curious. Scared a little of his demeanor and that he was the sovereign and could do as he pleased with her if he wanted, she still wondered what it might look like.

His pink lips curved upward slowly as he unhooked one button and let the fabric drape dangerously low. "I'm not going to make you suck it or anything. But if you want, I won't deny you your pleasure."

Y/n bristled and blinked her eyes away from him to the edge of the room before looking back up at him. "You're rude."

He smiled sweetly, a handsome dimple dipping into his cheek like he wasn't just about to whip out his big fiddle and show her. "You said that, yes… Keep going? Or stop? Up to you. I've got plenty of others I can show it to. They're all waiting, just hoping you disappoint me. They'd love to be in your shoes right now. Vying to be the next Queen of Thornekeep. If you don't want to be here you may leave and go back to the street. What will it be?"

She inhaled slowly and fought the stinging embarrassment that needled at her insides. She wasn't keen on seeing the king's privy member but his handsome face was alluring and if she said no, would she not be kept as Queen? Did she even want to be Queen of Thornekeep? She could say no and he'd send her back out into the cold with her old brown rags and her fabric begging basket. She'd have quite the tale to tell but that would be it. Everything would go back to how it always was. She'd continue sitting in the street and asking for kindness from strangers who wouldn't even offer her a glance, as the excruciating pain of hunger slowly ate her alive.

"Continue," Y/n spoke as confidently as she was able to. She didn't want that life anymore. Though she had no idea what she was getting herself into with the king, she figured it was better than life as a beggar. Cold, dirty, starved, angry, riddled with pain in her bones like she was an elderly woman… Being fed, bathed in perfumed oils, and dressed in fine silk and wool skirts, inside a warm castle, with a bedroom all her own wasn't just tempting, she wanted it. Even her bed and its heavy down blanket were to die for. Worth the humiliation.

Plus, if she told herself the biggest truth of it all, he was dashing. More than just dashing. He was the most fine-looking man she might have ever laid eyes upon. But she wasn't ready to admit the way his green eyes had her pulse fluttering like a small bird.

Harry reached down to run a finger over her jaw gently while he unplucked the second button from the front flap. "Keep your eyes on mine for a moment."

She tried to wet the dry desert of her throat as she steadied her eyes on him, which turned out to be quite the task when she could see at the limn of her vision his hand working something fleshy just in front of her. His cock was out, she knew that much, but she wanted so badly to take a quick glimpse.

"Mmm… Your eyes are pretty," he spoke, still moving his hand about. "How many cocks have you seen?"

Blinking her eyes softly she puffed out a shaky lungful of air. "I don't know. The men at the workhouse who use our tub just walk around nude."

"And they never touched you?" His finger felt sweet on her face and for a moment she thought he was a man she could find herself trusting, loving even. Perhaps she was too naive.

She shook her head. "I wouldn't let them."

"They tried?"

"A few."

He clenched his jaw and stretched his neck as he lifted his sight away from hers. She resisted the urge to peek at his crotch even though she could have gotten away with it right then as he wasn't looking at her.

When he returned his gaze down at her he stepped in closer, pushing her legs apart to stand between her feet. He glanced down at himself and moved his hand from her jaw. "Look at your king's cock."

Y/n swallowed hard and blinked as she shifted her stare downward until she saw the big thing in her face, swollen and thick. And long. His big palm was wrapped around the space of him that grew out from a thatch of dark hair.

Now, she'd seen cocks before. Soft ones, hard ones, weird and infected ones… The workmen didn't care who saw when it came to bathtime and some of them even tried to get her to participate if she were anywhere near them. But Harry's was… well, it looked fit for a king she supposed. Maybe all royals had clean, pretty pricks.

"Touch it."

She glanced up at him, struggling to even breathe. Not only was the corset pulled too tight around her ribs, but the king's vulgar words and his cock in her face were making her feel quite fettered and discombobulated. Her chest heaved so hard she was worried she was about to burst the stay lace that held the corset together.

She reached her fingers upward and focused on the very tip of him where there was a small slit that carved outward like it was draped in a blanket made of smooth flesh. The rest of him was a little more crude with veins that ran along the rigid flesh. When she touched the top of it with her fingertip she gasped and pulled her hand away. It was like a warm small naked creature that'd been warmed by the fire for a bit too long.

"He's not going to bite. He might spit at you, though." He laughed. "Touch it. No need to be virtuous with me. You'll have to get used to handling it anyway."

"It's the first I've touched. I… Where should I place my hand?" She was genuinely worried she'd do it wrong, and he was the king so she was cautious.

King Styles reached down to grab at her hand and he spat a big glob of slick from his mouth that pooled into her palm. She winced as he placed her hand on the long shaft of himself, pressing her fingers around his girth and guiding her upward to his smooth tip.

"What do you think? Not bad, right?"

When he let go of her hand she slowly continued smoothing his spit over his flesh and peered closely at the organ. It was a curious thing to touch a penis. She was surprised by how warm it was and the mechanics of how all that worked were still somewhat of a mystery to her. She understood that men used their pricks to stick babies into women and that it hurt and it was disgusting.

"It feels funny. S'really warm."

"Is it?" He smirked down at her as she examined him, her hand still sliding in very stunted strokes up and down. He quite enjoyed the way she looked at it in awe. Of course, the way she was handling him did him no good. That wasn't going to do anything for him but she'd learn soon enough what he liked. Whether she liked it or not.

"How does it feel for you?" Y/n knew enough to know that for men, it felt good and that while what she was doing wasn't sex, it should be favorable for him.

"You'll need teaching but your little hand will never feel quite as nice as your mouth or the warm treasure you're hiding between your legs."

She stopped and frowned at him. "I haven't ever—"

"Yes, we know. You haven't touched a man before. But we'll change all of that, won't we? Keep going with your hand and spit on it."

Sliding her palm over his tacky skin she spat over the spot just above her fist and smeared her saliva upward. "What will I tell my mum and dad? I should tell them where I am and—"

"Oh, girl." He patted her cheek condescendingly. "Let's not talk about mum and dad while you're working my knob. Tomorrow we'll fetch them."

She swallowed and tried to focus but everything was so overwhelming.

"Are we going to have intercourse?" She looked up at him with big pretty eyes.

"Of course we are. How else do you expect to find yourself with child?"

"I don't know… I'm scared to do it. I don't like the idea of it."

Harry pushed her hand away and tucked himself back into his front flap as he sighed. "You're no good at this. And if you don't want to learn how to be good for me then there's no need for you."

He turned to walk away, leaving Y/n sitting on his plush sofa she sat up straight, confused. "Should I… What shall I do?"

Harry pulled his jacket into place and rebuttoned it as he looked at her with an indifferent expression. "Go to your room or stay here. I don't care particularly either way. I was disappointed by you so I'm going to have to call in someone who can please me properly. Someone who can do the things you can't. If you want to stay and watch and learn then so be it."

Y/n stood up quickly and clasped her hands together in front of her hips. "Your majesty, please—"

"My King. You'll address me either as My King or My Lord. Yes?"

She nodded quickly, stepping closer to him. "Yes, my King. I only need a little more time to learn. I promise tomorrow I'll be better for you. I'll do whatever you need. Please don't replace me."

Harry lifted a brow, his still unreadable expression was worrying to Y/n but the way he scraped his eyes down her frame made every inch of her body burn. He wouldn't tell her but he was pleased with her already despite what he'd told her. She was desperate and quite pretty and that was all he required. She played into his rude affront exactly as he hoped and it had her worried he wasn't going to keep her. He had no plans to touch anyone else now that he had his mind made up. She'd do just fine once she learned to be more obedient and malleable.

"We shall see." He flicked a hand in the air and then gestured toward his door. "Off you go. You'll try again to be better tomorrow. You'll have one more chance to prove yourself to me."

She felt defeated. Walking slowly past him she turned to look back once more and watched him step out onto his balcony, the lace curtains blowing in the wind as he moved out of view. Pushing at the heavy wooden door she bit down on her lip to keep herself from crying. She didn't know if she was more upset with herself for not being bolder, or if she was angry at how the king had just treated her so poorly and insulted her. The situation was discouraging but she was determined. She'd dealt with worse, hadn't she?

Phoebe met her outside the doors and walked her back toward her room. Y/n wasn't sure how she was going to work up the courage to be enough for the king. She didn't want him to find another to take her place so she needed to do something. But what?

"Would you like anything, madam?" Phoebe asked.

"Are there books here in the castle? A library?" Perhaps she could read about pleasing a man if such a thing existed.

"Yes. A grand library. I can't read myself. Are you able to?"

Y/n nodded. "I can read, yes. I'd like to see it. Would you show me there?"

. .

next part >>

. .

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[smol-trans-gerblin]

hai!

I'm just a smol trans goblin boi who's new to tumblr but thinks it seems great! I'm excited to meet people!

[maudie-duan]

Series Summary: Harry has been fighting to keep his relationship with Olivia afloat for nearly two years. At what point do you choose to either endure or let the strain of the world defeat his ambitious hopes of a lasting relationship? Or will a single night and a fleeting encounter be enough to change the projection of Harry’s path? Maybe our ‘Mystery Girl,’ Shiloh, will just happen to be in the right place at the right time. 

Word Count: 8.8K

Warning: SLOW-BURNER, Strong Language, Major Angst, Mild Smutty Situation, Emotional.

The knock on my door was soft, almost reluctant in the way it died off, but it might as well have been thunder as the sound reverberated through my entire body, and I froze, mid-step in my living room, my heart thick in my throat as soon as the reality hits me—he's here. He's actually here, on the other side of that door, after two weeks of silence that seemed to stretch through my mind like months.

I don't remember crossing the room. One moment, I'm standing there. The next, my hand is on the doorknob, trembling so violently that I have to grip the handle with both hands to steady myself, and suddenly it's like I can't breathe, like I'm holding my breath about to dive underwater, my lungs already burning with the anticipation of what awaits me on the other side, and when I pull the door open, time seems to collapse around me as he stands there across the threshold, staring back at me.

And there he is.

Harry.

His hair is messier than usual, dark circles smudged beneath those familiar green eyes, his shoulders hunched slightly as if he's carrying the weight of the world, and maybe he is, but somehow he looks beautiful and broken all at once, making something inside me splinter at the sight of him. When his gaze meets mine, haunted, heavy with guilt, I can see the war raging behind those eyes, an array of emotions I can't even begin to decipher.

Because there's so much, so fucking much.

There are no words; we don't even speak. We don't need to, and my body is moving before my mind can even catch up, and I lunge forward, throwing my arms around his neck like I'm drowning and he's the only thing that can save me, because in this moment I know he's truly the only thing that can save me.

The force of it nearly knocks him backward, but his arms are there, wrapping around my waist, grounding me, bringing me home, his whole body trembling against me, a slight shiver that seems to run through his entire stature, betraying the composure he's so desperately trying to maintain.

But I see it and feel it even if I can't comprehend it in this very second. But still, there's strength in how he holds me, his fingers digging into the small of my back like he's afraid I might disappear if he loosens his grip even slightly, and I'm sinking into the weight of him, my own eagerness giving me away.

But there's nothing to hide, not anymore.

"Shiloh—" he whispers against my hair, my name reborn into something sacred as it falls from his lips. Then he's hoisting me upward, strong hands securing the backs of my thighs as my legs instinctively wrap around his waist, our bodies already desperately seeking to eliminate any space between us.

My want is fierce, my grip so tight that I can barely breathe, my chest constricted with the force of my need to be closer, closer, so fucking close that my ribs are starting to ache. So close that every cell in my body sings with the relief of his presence, with recognition, yes, I think, this is it, this is what I've been missing, this is who I've been aching for—my missing piece.

As Harry carries me past the threshold, it’s everything. He kicks the door shut with the heel of his foot, his grip on me never faltering, our bodies now fused together in this needy embrace that feels like deliverance, like surrendering, like finally, this is it. And when I bury my face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, my lips brush against the warm flesh of his throat, not quite a kiss but a faint touch that makes him tighten his hold as a gasping shudder hums through the energy engulfing us both.

My fingers move with need, tangling in his hair, feeling the soft strands between my trembling hands as he walks us deeper into the space, neither of us willing to separate even an inch.

I can feel his heart hammering against mine, a painful rhythm in step with the adrenaline coursing through my veins, and each breath that he takes comes in shallow bursts against my ear, warm and uneven, telling me he's just as impacted as I am, taken by the force of whatever it is, because my head is spinning with it, my senses overwhelmed with the sheer realness of him.

"I thought—" I try, but my voice cracks, my throat so tight with every emotion taking over me that the words scrape on their way out. "I thought I would never see you again."

Then his arms are tightening around me with a force that steals the breath from my lungs, painful yet sweet, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair with a tenderness that nearly conflicts with the desperation of his wanting embrace, and then I'm wondering how it could be too much and not enough all at once—the feel of him, warm and solid under my touch after existing for so long as just memory, as a maybe I thought was completely out of reach.

I press my mouth against the warmth of his neck, a delicate kiss I hope will say everything my voice can't convey in this second. That's when I hear the sharp intake of his breath, feel his pulse jump beneath my lips, and I kiss him again, more deliberately this time, a silent reassurance that I'm here, I'm real, I'm his.

When he finally speaks, the rasp of his voice is splintered, unraveling all my edges. "I'm sorry. God, Shi, I'm so fucking sorry." And the words vibrate against my skin, seeping into my flesh, into my bloodstream like a drug, each word like a hit I've been restlessly craving.

There's something raw in the way his words land, something broken that makes my chest ache with a pain that could only be his, that could only be mine, ours, and when I pull back just enough to see his face, my eyes trace the familiar lines and it’s like I'm seeing him for the first time—in awe of the curve of his sharp jawline, the flushed tint of his lips, the green that glimmers in his eyes, like molten as his tears threaten to spill over, and it all feels new because something is different, we’re different.

And I never want to let him go again.

As soon as our eyes lock, for a moment, it's like looking straight into his soul, like there’s relief ebbing toward the surface, but something else too, something heavier—like a shadow that looms with every burden I'm yet to understand, and the way he's looking at me says it all, like maybe I, too, am his salvation, his great undoing, conflicted like he's memorizing every detail of my face in case it's the last time he sees it. The thought sends a chill down my spine despite the warmth of his body against mine, and maybe there's fear because I feel it too as the silence stretches between us.

In this moment, time doesn't exist; it seems to hang motionless, suspended as we gaze at one another as a sliver of space opens between us, charged with everything we haven't said. Two weeks of silence, of questions, of a longing I didn't think I could endure—all gathering into this unfathomable moment where absolutely nothing else exists but us.

"You're here now," I force, my voice barely a whisper in the quiet room, and I press my forehead to his, our breaths becoming one in the narrow space between us. "You're actually here."

The sensation of his body against mine feels like exhaling after holding my breath for far too long, a relief that floods through me, washing away the anger and doubt that have been constantly at odds, waging war within, slicing at every thought. In this moment, with his arms around me and his heartbeat steady against mine, nothing else matters because what else is there?

For now, this feels like enough. He's here. That's all that matters, that he's come back to me, and even though some distant part of me knows this is just the calm before the storm—that whatever drove him away still waits to be confronted—I let myself sink into this moment of pure bliss, give my soul a rest, and allow myself to find strength in his strong arms.

Allow myself just to be here now.

Before another word could leave my mouth, Shiloh's lips were crashing against mine with a devastating hunger that stole the air from my lungs. Her body pressed flush against mine, her hands moving with a hopeless purpose across my chest, my shoulders, the nape of my neck, like she was committing every inch of me to memory.

That’s when every rational thought in my head scattered like ashes in the wind.

Suddenly, she was breaking away, her breath coming in short gasps as she took my hand, fingers intertwining with mine, and I followed her silent direction without question, my entire body helpless against the magnetic pull between us as I watched the way her hair caught the afternoon light, turning the tiny stray strands of her hair into a glowing amber.

She pulls me from the entryway to the living room, my heart hammering harshly against my ribs, so loud in my ears that I swear she could hear it. My mind was already struggling, conflict raging inside me—the heavy weight of what I came to say versus the desperate need to feel her beneath my touch, just once more, before everything changes, before the way she’s looking at me right now changes forever.

When she turned to face me, her smoldering green eyes knocked whatever breath I was trying to take from my body. That same look from that day in the studio, the one that stole me completely. The one full of hunger, vulnerable, that one that spoke with a silent permission that made my blood run hot. That's when she guided me down onto the cushions, a gentle hand pressed against my chest, and I sank back, entranced by her beauty, by the sight of her as she stood between my parted knees, looking down at me.

Without a word, she was lowering herself onto my lap with a slowness that had me straightening my spine, her thighs bracketing mine as she settled her weight against me. The pressure of her body awakened me with the memory of our past, the photoshoot playing out in my head as my dick woke beneath her, drawing a sharp inhale from us both as our eyes locked in the silent recognition of what's happening between us.

It's like the photoshoot all over again as the world around us fades, and all I see is her, and all I feel is Shiloh and every want my body has been craving all this time—that electric charge, that fucking incomprehensible tension that seems to pull deep in my bones—but this time, there were no cameras, no dictations being called out, no reasons to hold back. Just Shiloh and me, alone in the quiet of her home, with nothing between us but the truths I wasn't ready to speak.

And in the silence, her hand came up to my face, a curious look in her eye as she delicately traces the contours of my face with such tender curiosity that I have to close my eyes against the rush of emotions threatening to take me. The tips of her fingers are warm as she maps my features as if her touch alone could hold a memory—the arch of my eyebrows, the slope of my nose, the fullness of my quivering bottom lip.

"Look at me," she whispers, and when I open my eyes, the stripped vulnerability of her gaze nearly shatters what little composure I have left because I know I'm about to lose it, and something in me knows it would be okay, that she's safe, but my ego wants to be strong, wants to show her I'm fine.

That's when my hands find the curve of her hips, my fingers digging into the soft flesh as I pull her closer, everything in me trying to eliminate any space between us, and when her warm center meets the bulge in my jeans, she gives me a soft smile, my heart picking up at her knowing gaze that has me so fucking weak for her because she had me wholeheartedly—mind, body, and soul.

Shiloh still fits against me perfectly, like her gorgeous body was meant to align with mine, and only mine, I think, as my thumbs find the sliver of exposed skin where her shirt has ridden up, and I feel the tremor that runs through her at the touch, sending me deeper into the spiral of want, of fucking need, and then I say:

"I thought about you every night," I confess, "Every fucking night, Shi."

As a single tear escapes, trailing down my cheek before I can stop it, she catches it with the pad of her thumb, the gesture so unbearably gentle that I'm aching with it, and when she leans forward, replacing her thumb with her soft lips, kissing away the grief, I grip her hips tighter, dragging her against my dick, and I gasp out a breath of longing as she grinds herself into me, so slow, so fucking deliberate it hurts, our need only building.

Then she stops, sucking in a sharp breath as she settles heavy against my hard bulge and presses her forehead to mine, a suffering pause as we share the same breath, suspended in a moment of perfect stillness. And it's like she's aching with it too because then she's rolling her hips against mine again—the move purposeful, a slow, torturous movement that draws a groan from deep in my chest—and I feel the hunger, yet her smile is innocent and knowing, an agonizing combination that has me so fucking weak as my head falls back against the cushions.

"Do that again," I push, my voice rough with a need I can't control.

And when she complies, this time there's more pressure, more intention, and I can feel our control slipping, a heat building at the base of my spine.

My hands move with need, sliding beneath her shirt, tracing the warm skin of her flesh, memorizing the slim curve of her waist, the ridges of her fucking spine that slowly straighten as my fingers move up, and when I brush the band of her bra, her breath hitches, a soft sound of anticipation moving past her parted lips, her movement more evident than any other sound in the room.

"Harry," she breathes with an edge of weakness as she falls forward, her arms caging us in, lips now only inches from my face.

And dammit, it's all I need, and then I'm capturing her mouth again, hoping that I could pour everything I couldn't say into this one single kiss. Every apology, all my heart's desires, the fucking desperate fear of losing her, and then her mouth is moving with the same pace, the same need as her velvet tongue slides against mine, and her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just enough to send sparks of pleasure shooting through my tight chest.

It's all want as the kiss deepens, growing more urgent with each passing second. Her body seems to move against mine with the same drive, instinctive and maddening. I could feel the heat building between our bodies through the layers of clothing we have yet to shed, could fucking sense how ready she was for me by the need in each grind against my painful bulge, and the thought nearly undoes me completely.

"Shiloh—" I gasp into her mouth, torn between all my desires and the weight of my conscience. "We should—"

"No—" she interrupted, pressing a finger to my lips. Her green eyes dark with that same desire, and shit, it's like a plea I couldn't refuse. "Not yet. Not now. I need this first."

Deep down, I knew I should push the impending conversation, knew I should tell her everything before we crossed a line we couldn't uncross. But the warmth of her weight in my lap was tantalizing, her familiar scent surrounding me, invading every sense in my body, and it's the taste of her lips on mine that has me surrendering—how could I deny the one thing she's asking of me? Deny her this moment of escape.

So I give in, indulging in her request, dangerously dragging her closer, letting the current of our desire sweep us both away from the shore of our reality, letting myself slip deeper into the tranquil waters that her presence brings. In this moment, all we have is time, and I keep telling myself there will be time enough later for truths and consequences, but for now, there is only Shiloh, only this, only us. When she breaks the kiss and her mouth moves to my neck, I buck my hips up, listening as her hot moan ghosts across my skin.

Then her tongue drags up my neck and takes the lobe of my ear into her mouth, grinding down against me, her breath picking up, and my hands slide up her back, unhooking her bra. When she pulls away, her eyes lock onto mine, and I pull her hips forward as her hands come down to the hem of her shirt, tugging it along with her bra over her head, and holy fuck, the sight of her bare breasts has me groaning.

And just as I'm about to lean up and take one of her nipples into my mouth, distant voices cut through our heavy breaths as Shiloh's eyes go wide, and she reaches for the shirt she tossed on the couch beside me, covering herself, just as Annie and Ryan round the corner from I don't even know where, but all I can do is stare at Shiloh, who is gazing back at them with a bewildered look that seems to match my own shock, and my whole body tenses. "Fuck..." Ryan says, and when I look, he's turning away, covering his eyes.

Then Annie starts laughing, "Didn't realize you guys would be hanging out in the living room... we were just on our way out..."

"Yeah, I didn't think we were going to..." And when Shiloh bursts into laughter, I feel my body relax enough to suck in a breath of relief.

Annie's eyes shift to me, my hands still on Shiloh's waist, and I try to force a smile to my face. "We're going to head out, but we weren't planning on being gone very long; we have some editing to do... so..."

"Yeah—got it... We'll move to my room... if you need anything," and the smile that Shiloh and Annie are sharing is making my heart race, the strange interruption bringing the moment to light in a way that has me scared of even moving another inch because that will mean we're that much closer to facing the reality of why I’m actually here.

When Annie waves goodbye, she grabs Ryan's arm, leading him out of the room, his hand still covering his eyes, but they are both smiling, and I watch Shiloh's eyes as she follows their exit, her grip tightening on the shirt covering her breast.

The click of the heavy wood door sounds around us, and when Shiloh's eyes move to mine, "Shit, that was close..." She laughs out, running a hand through my hair, and my head falls back with the movement, my whole body going slack because this was the part I was fearing the most, the moment when our want could no longer distract us.

"Don't look so scared... we're not done yet..."

"Shiloh—" I force past the burning lump in my throat, "I don't think sex is the answer..."

Her smile widens at the mention of sex, and she leans forward, her lips inches from mine, "No one said we had to have sex... I just want—" then she's reaching for my hands that have gone limp by my sides, "Harry... I need these hands on my body... and yes, I said need."

The words have my mouth going dry, and I swallow hard, nodding my head, "I’ll do anything you want me to do?" I rasp out, my voice hoarse, my mind already racing with everything I want to do to her.

"I want these hands..." she tells me, pulling herself upright, taking my hands with her, "to make me feel good," and the second she places my hands on her bare chest, I cup them in my hands as her hips move against me again, and now I'm fucked, completely and utterly fucked.

I honestly didn’t know why I was pushing for a physical touch; it just felt right. Maybe it was something about the forbidden aspect of everything we had been, but he was here, and I didn’t want to let him go.

My entire body felt drawn to him, every inch of me wanting to be as close to him as I could—close meant he was real, and every time he touched me, it was him exploring all the pieces of myself I was ready to give, because how do I explain something that just feels right, a soul-deep knowledge only we shared? But I knew it in my bones, already knew him with my eyes closed.

Every kiss seemed to quench a thirst I was grasping to satiate—call me desperate, or call it horny, but I needed him, I needed whatever he was going to give, and the second we moved to my room, there was no pause.

My hands were on his chest in a matter of seconds, my chest tight with the anticipation of what he would give; him moving meant he wanted it, wanted me, that he wanted to make me feel good, and maybe it wasn’t a simple ask, but he did it, he was doing it, even if each touch felt like agony we both continued.

And when I pushed him down onto my bed, I dropped to my knees. My first thought was to have him bare; I wanted to press my naked body to his, fulfill that aching longing inside me—if flesh to flesh meant this was the closest we could become one, then I wanted it, I wanted all of him.

I wanted to press my heart to his and feel his body's rhythm dancing against mine. I wanted to feel the rise and fall of his chest flush to mine, feel the weight of his body, heavy over mine, have his fingers touch me in places I swear could be his forever.

It started with his shoes, Harry patiently waiting as I untied each one, gently nudging them off one at a time as we sat in the silence of our own thoughts that wove between us, heavy like a weighted breath I was yet to release. Every word I wanted to say was lodged deep in the ache of my throat; each emotion haunted the desperate thoughts filling my head.

I didn’t know how to convey a single emotion. How could I explain my excitement when the whole time I’ve been on the verge of crying, the tears stinging at my eyes as a harsh burn flooded my nose? I felt myself slipping the moment I watched a tear fall from Harry’s eyes, making the sadness brutal against the strong facade I had been trying to keep.

As soon as I tossed his shoes aside, I came up to my full height on my knees, placing my hands at the top of Harry’s thighs. With gentle hands, he grabbed my face, placing a delicate kiss on my lips, his mouth beginning to move at a tender pace that only made me want him more, faster, and when I broke the kiss, I stood to my feet before him. My bare chest on full display, and he spread his legs, giving me space to step closer.

I could see the hunger in his eyes the closer I got, and when his hands came up to my waist, drawing me close, tears filled his eyes, making me weak, and I held his beautiful face between my hands. “I’ve missed you,” I said, forcing the words out.

“I just want to be with you, like this… tonight, and tomorrow we can talk… is that okay?” I almost pleaded.

And as soon as the words left my mouth, Harry burst into tears, forcing a jagged breath in as he buried his face into my chest, his tears moistening my bare skin, and I held him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, while his body trembled beneath me, and I let my mind float with the idea of him clutching to my body, me becoming his anchor in the lull before the turmoil of whatever is about to upheave us hits, because I feel it in his sadness, the pain that emanates from every gasp of breath that floods my chest.

In the stillness of our silence, I felt him let the weight fall away, and when his body relaxed under mine, I didn't dare move. I wanted him to move at his own pace, and if he told me he didn't want to keep going, I would be okay with that. And when he said:

"I'm sorry..." his warm breath brushed over my skin, and he looked up, his green eyes red, everything breaking inside him rising to the surface, and I felt my own tears then, a harsh sting as hot tears spilled over, his face blurring for a single breath, and that's when his hands started to move.

Gliding up my back as he pressed his mouth to the wet skin between my breasts. When his hand moved back down to my waist, he gently pushed me back, his eyes meeting mine. I watched him reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, laughing when he brought it to his nose to wipe it, "I'm a bit of a mess, yeah..." and before he tossed his shirt aside, he reached, ready to dry the leftover tears that were wet against my skin.

"Leave it..." I said, halting his motion, and when his eyes stayed trained on my chest, I reached a hand up to smear the tears into my skin, each one like a gift I wasn’t ready to part with, and the gesture seemed to awaken something inside him, a new spark filling his pained eyes, breathing new energy into the room, sending a flutter to the pit of my stomach.

He brings a hand up to my waist then, pulling me closer, and without a pause, his face is moving to my chest, reaching with the other hand to cup one of my breasts, and it's like everything is moving in slow motion as he buries his face again, but this time, there's hunger, and when he presses the flat of his tongue to the hollow space, my whole body shudders, peering down as his tongue licks a slow stripe up the center of my chest.

I can't help the gasp that leaves my mouth, and when I feel him pop the button on my denim shorts, it sends a pulse between my thighs, my pussy already throbbing for what I've been aching for this whole time, and I know I'm ready for whatever he wants to do, "So beautiful," he breathes, his breath fanning over my skin.

When he pulls back, his hands are on the waist of my shorts, starting to work them over my hips, and it's driving me crazy, his delicate pace, too slow, too fucking slow for the need I have bursting inside me, and I want it so bad, his fingers touching me, his fingers inside me, "Harry..." I push, as my shorts drop to my feet and I step out of them, my hands resting on Harry's bare shoulders, my nails already digging into his flesh.

He stands then, grabbing hold of my waist to pull me near, my mouth instinctively moving to meet his, and when they collide, he draws in a long, weighted breath, stealing the air as it leaves my body, and the wait is agonizing. That's when my hands move to the button of his jeans, pulling them open at a pace that has our teeth colliding, Harry sending a breathy laugh into my mouth as he pulls back enough to help me with his jeans.

I don't even realize how hard I'm breathing until I'm watching Harry kick his jeans aside, my eyes catching sight of my moving chest when I peek at the hard bulge in his boxers, and fuck, this is the photoshoot all over again. This silent desperation filling my chest, my whole body tensing at the sight, a strange excitement flooding me as I gawk down at him, gazing at his rock-hard dick as Harry smooths a hand over the perfect contour, and I have to swallow back the saliva filling my mouth like a fucking animal, and he knows it because the smile on his face says it all.

And now the only thing that stands between us is the thin material of our underwear.

I don't waste a second, and when I push past him to climb onto the bed, he follows suit, our eyes catch, igniting the thrill, and as I pull the blanket back, I feel Harry press a kiss to the skin of my back, slowly peppering kisses down my side while I adjust the pillows, and when I look back, I watch the playful grin stretch into a smile on his face.

Happiness doesn’t even begin to define this moment. I know I'm smiling too, the muscles in my cheeks tight, and I'm so fucking excited, yet scared. All I want is to have him near, feel his skin against mine, and as we both climb under the blankets, a nervous shudder begins to quake, moving like a chill through my entire body, and I can't control the shaking, the nerves that are giving me away, as we move and bend our bodies to fit together.

And all at once, we both still beneath the blankets, my head now resting against his chest as I find something other than Harry to focus on, because suddenly I can't look at him, my nerves getting the best of me.

I feel torn; what was confident before feels completely different, the realization dawning that the warmth of his body against mine is real, that we could be real, not just an idea or a memory—Harry is here—my cheek buried in the flesh of his chest—his smell, his touch, his presence so real that it's overwhelming, and the tears are back as the silence steals my words.

"Shiloh, you're shaking, love... are you cold... talk to me?" Harry asks, shifting to try and get a better view of my face, but I only bury my face further into his chest, not wanting him to see me cry.

"I don't know..." I finally answer, and my voice breaks, a dead giveaway, then Harry is scooting down on the bed, lining his face up with mine.

The change in his position has given me nowhere to hide, and when he says, “Talk to me, darling,” his voice is low, and he drags his body closer until his body is level with mine, and our faces are inches apart.

There are no words, just feelings that can’t be spoken out loud, not in this moment, not when all I want is to feel his body against mine.

Silent tears fall as my hand reaches for his waist under the blanket, drawing him even closer, and he follows my command. Our faces are so close now that all I would have to do is shift ever so slightly to feel his lips against mine again. “This…” I whisper, looking down at his lips as he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, slowly, almost as if he were teasing me.

Then his hand comes up to my face, and his fingers move to the nape of my neck. My heart stops when Harry gently pulls me forward, planting a soft kiss on my mouth as if he were testing the waters, and my hand grips the small of his waist, slowly moving around to his lower back.

We’re close, but I want him closer, so I pull him into me, shifting my lower body to line myself up with his, and press into the kiss. With every breath, our mouths ease into their own rhythm—slow and deep, like two lovers lying bare after years of separation.

With a delicate hand, I smooth up the surface of his back, grazing his warm skin, and I feel his lips part at the motion as a soft laugh slips into my mouth. “Are you trying to tickle me, Miss…” he whispers against my lips, and it makes me laugh, lightening the air around us and pressing us back into the kiss.

Each of his movements is slow, his hand traveling down my body as if he’s taking inventory over every curve, and when his hand finds my ass, he pulls me into his already growing bulge, and it’s exactly where I want to be.

His dick is already hard and stiff, alluring as I let my body relax against him as his hard mass rubs against my inner thigh, and that’s when that pressing need for him bubbles up inside me, and I can already feel the pace shifting.

Both of us wanting more.

I feel it in the way our bodies are heating, the way our heavy breaths slip out, labored, each one a shared intake of air. I know there’s a mix of emotions running through me, a list of unanswered questions, but I cast them away, only want rising as his bulge pushes into my leg, sending me reeling toward a driving need.

Yet, I find myself timid, too scared to reach down and touch him, even though there’s a coursing hunger begging me to just do it. To feel him, suddenly wondering what he would taste like, how he would feel on my tongue.

I need him; I have to have him.

And this is where the hunger lies, in this very moment, as his breath fills my mouth, and I hook a leg around his body, trying to draw him into me, to get a feel of him. Seamlessly, his hand moves back to my waist, sliding down to my hip bone, and he pushes me onto my back, breaking the kiss. My brows pull together, then, I feel them, and when he smiles back at me, licking his swollen lips, I know I’m in too deep already. Because there’s that fucking smile playing at his lips, and the longer he stares back at me, the more he’s working me up.

How can he be completely calm in this moment? How is he holding his composure when it feels like everything in me is ready to explode the second he starts tracing a lazy finger along the top of my underwear? And it’s brutal as my heart slams against my chest, the motion sending a quiver to the depth of my belly, and I’m so fucking nervous.

The slow gesture of his fingers tingles across my skin, pulling a nervous gasp from me as every muscle in my abdomen seems to tense at his touch, drawing away as his fingers continue, a tickling sensation crawling up my spine, and I let out a jumpy laugh, staring over at him.

All of the sudden, I feel completely unprepared, a knot forming in my throat, and as my eyes search his face, I wonder what he’s thinking, if he feels the same way. I’m nervous, but there’s something in the way that his fingertips move across my skin that feels safe, like he isn’t just after this one thing, this one moment.

On the other hand, the thought has my whole body heating up as my heart races towards all the possibilities that I have already been mapping out in my head because I’ve wanted him from the moment our eyes met—everything I’ve ever dreamed of doing with him. This was one of them—him and his touch—and that anxious fear is there, constricting the air in my lungs as I clench my thighs together, trying to find relief—I want this; I’m just not sure I’m feeling brave enough.

Harry’s eyes move back to mine, sweeping back and forth. His smile is gone, his brows forming a crease between his eyes, and maybe it’s concern, but I see it etched into his clenched jaw, and I watch as his Adam's apple bobs up and down, swallowing hard—I can’t read him. It’s something about the way his eyes keep searching my face that makes me want to retract, find a place to hide.

But there’s nowhere, just this, us face to face.

All I can do is swallow down whatever lump is trying to form at the back of my throat, any fear, and I slowly lift my hips to his touch, pressing into his fingertips as they finally make their way to the other side of my hip. When his fingers grasp at the fabric of my underwear and dip in, I suck in a breath, pressing my lips together to stifle the giddy rush filling my chest as I exhale.

In a hasty moment of fear, before I can even think it through, my hand is stopping him, a tight grip around his wrist, conflicted as I hold him in place. All the air has left my body as I stare back at him with panic as our eyes meet. It’s like this sudden pang of guilt is threatening to overtake me, and I’m mortified that maybe I just fucked this up—scared at what his reaction will be.

Harry lets out a slow breath as he leans down, kissing along my jawline until he reaches my ear, “We don’t have to… if you don’t want to.” He tells me, and for a second, his words seem to ease some of the tension, but then my thoughts are sucking me back in—never in my life have I wanted something this badly, or been too scared to take it. Never have I felt this desperate need, this unspoken want that he seems to pull from me. The urge to want to be with someone this badly, and also feel afraid to ruin anything by making the wrong move, and I can’t help wondering if we’re already making too many mistakes.

“I know, no sex, right?” I answer him, clearing my throat, practically forcing the words from my mouth, “I want this—I’m just a little scared, I think.” And the fucking words come out, and even I know they sound unconvincing, and I bite down on my lip, gazing back at him as another wave of emotions floods my system.

He lets out a soft laugh, “We have time… no rush,” he says softly, the look in his eyes reassuring me with every word, and when he starts to move his hand away, I tighten my grip before it can slip too far away.

“I WANT you to touch me,” I answer, gently pulling his hand between my legs, and my heart skips a beat as the bold statement settles between us. For a split second, I’m questioning everything, but when I let go of his hand, he whispers, “I want you to tell me if you want me to stop…okay?” tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, and all I can do is silently nod, trying to fight back more tears.

As he moves, his eyes don’t leave mine as he scoots his body closer, almost hovering over me, and he brings his face down to push his lips into mine, moving to find that same rhythm as earlier, except something has shifted, his hands slower as they travel back down my body, and I feel my thighs spread of their own accord when his hand nears my lower belly, creating space for him.

His hand drops between my legs, stilling my breath for a brief moment when his fingers drag up the length of my slit through the fabric of my underwear. That’s when I feel myself letting go a little bit, letting my body relax to his touch.

I release a breath, then, closing my eyes to turn away. “You’re already so wet,” he breathes into my ear, nipping at my earlobe, and the pace of my heart picks up as Harry starts working my underwear down my thighs, and I shift my body and help by kicking them away under the blankets as a smile finally takes way on my face.

The feel of his hand traveling back to my inner thigh has my head spinning, a flawless motion working toward my core, actively making my body react as an involuntary squirm moves through me, awakening that nervous giddiness still looming under the surface, and I let out a quiet laugh.

Heat builds at my center, my body warming up the longer he takes, so I bring his face to mine and kiss him. This time his fingers move effortlessly, gliding down the folds of my pussy and back up the slit, teasing at my inner lips, slightly parting them. And here’s that pressing need that has my fucking clit throbbing with a dull ache—pulsing, just waiting to be touched. It’s like torture, and I’m already lifting my hips.

And my god, I have to brace myself the second his fingers graze over my bud, and my hand wraps around his upper arm in need of a sudden anchor as he starts rubbing slow circles, his pace matching his even breaths—slow and steady.

Another squirm has my hips moving, slightly lifting, and I hold my breath, letting the sensation spread throughout my body as the heat continues to rise, reaching my face, and my cheeks burn with it as I close my eyes, pressing my head into the pillow.

When his mouth moves to my neck, he applies more pressure between my legs, making my grip tighten on his arm, and I breathe out a small moan. He’s heavy as he presses his upper body into mine, and he moves his mouth to my ear, “Does that feel good?” he whispers, his voice adding to the building sensation, and the warmth of his breath sends a spark between my legs, spurring me on, and I press into his fingers harder.

I wasn’t expecting the question. His words were simple, yet they lit my fire even further, sending me deeper into whatever pleasure hold he was pulling me under. As I slipped deeper, I found my grip loosening on his arm, mindlessly slinging my arm around his neck to draw him closer, “So… good…,” I barely breathed into his neck.

This must please him because his pace picks up then, and I press my mouth into his neck, gently sucking on his skin, then kiss it. That’s when a laugh vibrates down the flesh of my neck, and he lifts his face to mine.

“Hey, now…” he pokes, pausing his movement.

I smile, suddenly shy, and turn my face into the pillow, peeking at him from the corner of my eye, “I won’t leave too many marks,” I tell him, drawing him back in. When I feel a nibble on my neck, I gasp, the laugh filling the quiet space.

I like the way he’s able to make this silly. I’ve never had whatever this is happening between us, something that feels safe this quickly. I decided then to let go of any reserve I had been holding and completely meld into him. At least at this very moment, I want everything he’s willing to give me right now.

I want him; I want this.

It doesn’t take long for Harry to find that same pace, and his fingers are back to work. When I buck my hips forward, he takes the hint, applying more pressure. I’ve never been this turned on by someone before in my life, and then I’m suddenly taking action, “I want to touch you—” I ask, the words riding out on a wave of pleasure, louder than I intended, and my hips come back up as the waves keep coming.

I don’t even wait for his answer before my hand is coming down to the top of his boxers, tearing them down until his hard dick falls to the top of my thigh as the warmth penetrates the flesh of my skin.

Harry’s eyes flood with relief as he exhales hard with a small groan filling my neck, and it’s like his whole body relaxes, releasing any building tension, no longer being bound in his boxers.

The thought alone of him getting off too has me spiraling deeper into this ocean, this vast space that is slowly becoming us—spreading through me like a slow burn, each wave of pleasure like a spark of electricity pulsing throughout my whole body, tiny electric currents building in the depth of my belly, drawing me closer and closer to my threshold.

“Fuck,” he says, the word muffling into my neck. Harry lifts his head, locking eyes with me as my hand gently wraps around the head of his penis, and I watch the smile spread across his face.

My grip is firm, brushing over his tip, slowly sliding my hand down his shaft. When my hand hits the base of his dick, I gasp out as my thoughts circle back to earlier, me staring at him through his boxers. He’s bigger than anyone I’ve ever been with, and the very thought sends a tingling sensation to the tips of my toes, piquing my curiosity as my hand moves back up to the tip.

Before long, Harry is pressing his lips into mine as my hand continues to work up and down his shaft, and I listen as his breathing picks up, pushing air into my mouth until every breath is a shared breath. A soft moan fills my mouth as he starts breathing words into my mouth, drawing each one out, “So—fucking…good.”

He’s getting so lost in the pleasure that I have to buck my hips to remind him to keep touching me, and he lets out a breathy laugh, “Sorry…” he whispers, pressing his fingers back into my clit as his hand continues slow circles, and I’m already close, my grasp tightening when it brushes over the head of his penis.

Then he crashes into the crook of my neck as his breath speeds up, and the thought of him feeling the same pleasure is bringing me to the edge as heat builds between our bodies. This rhythm working between us is taking over like a haze of pleasure I don’t think I’ll ever want to come down from.

Harry’s fingers press into me harder, picking the pace back up as his thumb softly slides down to my entrance, and I let out a quiet moan, pushing down onto the tip of his thumb as it dips in, and I close my legs around his hand, my hips grinding against him, inviting him in.

When he gently moves his hand away, he parts my legs, delicate in the way his fingers slide into me, stopping partway, and slowly bringing them back out—I feel like I’m dripping, like I’ve never been this turned on in my life, and he must think the same thing because I feel his breath push into my ear, “God…you’re so fucking wet,” he tells me, and I moan out, pulling him closer to me, as if he could get any closer, but I want to feel him, all of him.

Each time he draws his fingers in and out of me, they go deeper and deeper until the entire length of his long fingers is inside me, and when his thumb begins to move over my clit, slowly working small circles, my grip on his dick tightens, and I close my eyes, riding another wave.

And as I close my eyes, I let my hand paint a picture of what he could feel like inside me. The swell of his cock, thick, his length hitting every spot. With each pump up and down his shaft, I’m closer to my peak. The closer I get, the harder my legs press together, forcing his fingers to stay inside me.

He’s getting close. I can tell by the way our breaths sound in unison, heavy with all the effort we’re both putting in, which only adds another layer of pleasure. “You’re going to make me come—don’t stop,” I beg, yelling out as I fill the space with my cry, but Harry is quick, and he lifts his head, pushing his lips against mine, stifling my words as they turn to moans in his mouth—I’m so close. I’ll fucking die if he stops. I want this. I want him. I want this over and over—

And fuck, it’s building, building, tightening in my lower belly, and I gasp in air and hold my breath as my walls clench around his thick fingers. My only reaction is to wrap my arm around his neck, pressing his mouth against mine harder and harder, trying to control any sound that slips past my lips.

My body is trembling as I push down onto his fingers one last time, sending the loudest moan that has ever left my body straight into his mouth, and I feel my walls contract, tighter and tighter, and I know I’m over the edge as a sweeping wave of pleasure washes over me, pulling me under, and my whole body seizes with it.

It’s all happening so fast, and when I hear a loud grunt leave Harry’s throat and he shoves his face into my neck, burying his own moans, his body tenses up and fills my hand with a burst of warm cum.

It’s all so fucking glorious, the comedown; my hips slowly circle his fingers as I ride out the rest of my orgasm, completely stopping when my body can’t handle another second, and our bodies go still, unmoving as we both try to collect our breath.

“Fuck,” is all I can breathe out, and I release my grip from his neck as Harry lifts his face to mine.

His face is completely flushed, and I can only imagine what I must look like, but I don’t even care because there’s a huge smile on his face. “Fuck is right,” he says, starting to pull his fingers from my body, and the motion is overstimulating, and my hand is on his wrist in a matter of seconds, slowing him down.

“Ahhh… slow, slow, slow…” I warn, pressing my forehead to his.

His breathy laugh fans over my face as he says, “So tight for me, so perfect” And when we both laugh, I press a kiss to the sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“With a dick like that, I’m sure anyone feels tight… I can’t even imagine that thing inside me…” I joke, pushing the words into his skin.

When our eyes meet again, he’s smiling, a cocky smirk playing at his lips. “Can we shower?” he asks, brushing his lips across mine. “Maybe one day we’ll both find out…”

“I’m counting on it… and God, yes, let’s shower… oh or maybe a bath?” I answer.

Harry presses his lips to mine, then. “That was amazing, by the way… thank you.”

“No, thank you… I haven’t come that hard… I think. Ever. I swear.” I tell him, and it’s true; that was insane, and now I’m even more obsessed.

“Well, hopefully there will be more to come… no pun intended.” He laughs, pushing his mouth against mine before I can answer.

And now I hope whatever he’s bringing to the table is something we can manage, something that won’t ruin this, ruin us, when I feel like maybe, just maybe, we might have a chance.

A/N: The next chapter will be posted Monday 6/2. I have a ton of stuff going on but don't want to leave you guys hanging. Hope you enjoy this chapter. I really liked their connection in this one!! 🙃

LET'S TALK ABOUT IT: A close connection indeed...do you think Harry will go through with telling her or do you think he'll chicken out? Should he have just told her right off the bat. They were wild for this one.

->chat with me<-

Tag List: @howling-wolf97 @sassamanda77 @babegoalsreads @palmettogal508 @indierockgirrl @lizsogolden @sexymfharriet @pologoonies @amateurduck

Chapter Fifteen

All Chapters Here <-

[cloudyluun]

No Cameras Allowed (p4) | famous!harry

Summary: Your private messages have been leaked, the world is dissecting every detail, and the paparazzi are relentless. Harry is furious, protective, and ready to go to war for you. But as the pressure mounts, the question lingers—are you worth the fight? And more importantly… will you let him fight for you?

A/N: If you ever wanted to know what a PR nightmare looks like, welcome to the disaster! This part is 80% stress, 10% emotional turmoil, and 10% Harry being a human shield. Enjoy the angst, darlings. Don’t forget to leave me love (or therapy bills) in the comments. ❤️

Word Count: 5,4k

Warnings: 

Invasion of privacy (leaked messages, paparazzi harassment)

Emotional distress & self-doubt

Angst, tension, and existential crisis moments

Mentions of legal action & media scandals

Protective!Harry in full-on war mode

A tiny, fragile glimpse of hope at the end

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The silence in the room is suffocating.

The bright, sudden flash still lingers behind your eyelids, a harsh imprint against the darkness. Your breath stutters in your chest, too shallow, too fast, as your mind struggles to catch up with what just happened.

A camera.

Someone is outside.

Someone is watching.

Harry moves before you do.

His reaction is pure instinct, muscles tensing as he pushes off the couch, his body a solid wall between you and the window. His head snaps toward the source of the light, green eyes flashing with something raw, something dangerous. His breathing is sharp, controlled, but you can see the way his fists tighten, knuckles blanching as rage coils through his body like a live wire.

You don’t even realize you’re gripping your phone like a lifeline until the notifications blur together on the screen. The vibrations are constant, the messages rolling in like an avalanche—unstoppable, overwhelming. Your name is everywhere, attached to headlines that twist and stretch the truth into something grotesque, something unrecognizable.

Your stomach clenches. This isn’t just gossip anymore.

This is war.

Harry’s entire body is coiled with tension as he storms toward the window, yanking the curtain back just in time to see movement—a shadow darting away, camera still in hand. He curses under his breath, every muscle in his back flexing as he fights the urge to chase after them, to do something, to stop this before it spirals even further out of control.

But it’s too late.

The damage is already done.

You can feel it in the way your fingers tremble as you swipe through the messages. See it in the way Harry’s breath comes too fast, too sharp, his entire body wound tight with barely restrained fury.

He turns back to you, his expression shifting from anger to something else—something quieter, something more desperate. His brows are drawn together, his jaw tight, but his eyes are searching yours, scanning your face like he’s trying to gauge how bad this is, how much more you can take before you break.

“We need to get out of here.”

His voice is firm. Unshakable. A decision already made.

But all you can do is stare at the screen, the words bleeding together, the weight of them pressing down on your chest like a vice.

EXCLUSIVE: PRIVATE MESSAGES LEAKED. THE TRUTH ABOUT Y/N AND HARRY STYLES.

Your world is falling apart. Again.

And this time, you’re not sure you’ll survive it.

The air in the room feels thick, pressing against your ribs, making it impossible to breathe. The weight of the flashing headlines, the invasion of your privacy, the sheer force of the betrayal—it crushes you from the inside out. Your fingers are still curled around your phone, but you can’t bring yourself to look at the screen anymore. You can’t read another twisted version of your own life, can’t stomach another invasive headline dissecting your relationship, your secrets, your body.

Harry is moving before you can.

His presence is sharp, controlled, but barely. You can see it in the rigid line of his shoulders, in the way his breath comes fast and uneven, like he’s fighting to keep himself from unraveling. His jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful, his hands curling and uncurling at his sides as if he’s physically restraining himself from putting his fist through the wall.

“We need to get out of here.” His voice is rough, edged with frustration, but beneath it is something softer. Urgent. Protective.

You finally lift your gaze, meeting his. He’s watching you closely, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes are burning. With determination. With something fierce and unrelenting. You nod, unable to form words, and that’s all it takes.

Harry grabs what he can—his phone, his jacket, the well-worn cap he always wears when he wants to disappear. You follow suit, hands moving on autopilot as you shove your essentials into a bag: your phone, your keys, your wallet. Your sunglasses, even though it’s late and useless against the darkness outside.

Harry is already dialing before you even reach the door. His voice is clipped when Jeff picks up, sharp with frustration and urgency.

“I need a secure place. Now.”

A pause. You can’t hear Jeff’s response, but Harry’s free hand is already tightening around his cap, knuckles white.

“Somewhere remote. No press, no paps, no one. Just make it happen.”

Another pause. Then Harry exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Yeah. Fine. Send the address. We’re leaving now.”

He hangs up without another word, shoving his phone into his pocket. His fingers find the small of your back, pressing lightly as he steers you toward the door.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Car’s downstairs.”

You barely process moving through the hallway, the elevator ride down, the cold night air hitting your skin like a slap. Your thoughts are a blur, looping endlessly—Who leaked it? What else is out there? Will it ever stop?

Then—

The flash.

The moment you step outside, cameras explode around you, white-hot bursts piercing the night.

You flinch, instinctively ducking your head, but Harry is already there. His arm loops around your shoulders, pulling you in tight against him as he guides you toward the waiting car. Voices shout from every direction.

“Harry! Y/N! Do you have a statement?” “Are the leaked messages real?” “Harry, how do you feel about Y/N betraying your trust?” “Is this the end of your relationship?” “Are you going to sue?”

The words hit like bullets, each one a fresh wound, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

Harry keeps his head down, his grip on you firm as he hauls the door open, practically shoving you inside before climbing in behind you. The moment the door slams shut, the noise outside dulls to a muffled roar.

Your breath stutters as the car peels away from the curb, the tires screeching slightly against the pavement. But even as you leave, the flashes continue, cameras desperate to capture every last second.

Jeff’s team was fast, but not fast enough. The paparazzi are already following.

Harry curses under his breath as he pulls his cap lower over his face, one hand gripping the back of his neck in frustration. The driver takes a sharp turn, speeding up in an attempt to lose them, but they’re relentless. Two, maybe three cars tail closely behind, cameras flashing through the tinted windows.

You swallow hard, curling into yourself, fingers twisting the fabric of your sweater in your lap.

The silence in the car is thick, charged with unspoken words, with fear, with the weight of everything crashing down all at once.

Your throat tightens. “Is this ever going to stop?”

Harry doesn’t hesitate.

He reaches over, sliding his fingers through yours, squeezing tight. His grip is warm, steady, anchoring you even as the world around you spirals out of control.

“We’re going to end it.” His voice is low, firm, a promise. “I swear.”

For the first time in days, you almost believe him.

The words settle over you, warm and steady, like a fragile shield against the chaos. But the feeling is fleeting. The moment the car speeds into the countryside, the city lights disappearing behind you, doubt creeps back in—slow and insidious.

The villa is remote, just as Jeff promised. Hidden behind towering trees, the long driveway winds through a dense forest before opening up to a sleek, modern house with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a vast stretch of land. It should feel like a sanctuary. It should feel safe.

But it doesn’t.

Not when your phone still vibrates with endless notifications. Not when you know that, even here, you’re just waiting for the next wave of headlines to crash over you.

Inside, the villa is silent except for the faint hum of the heating system. Harry drops his bag near the door, running a hand over his face before turning to you.

“You should sleep,” he says, voice softer now, exhaustion seeping into the edges.

You nod, not because you’re tired, but because you don’t know what else to do. Because the weight of everything is pressing so heavily against your chest that you feel like if you speak, you might crack open entirely.

You disappear into the master bedroom without another word, closing the door behind you.

And then, finally, you let yourself fall apart.

You sit on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands.

The villa is beautiful. Quiet. Untouched by the rest of the world. But your thoughts are loud, relentless. Your mind replays the headlines, the leaks, the accusations—each one sinking into your skin like poison.

It’s your fault.

You should have been more careful.

You should have never let yourself believe you could have this—him—without consequences.

Because the truth is, you’re dragging him down with you.

Harry Styles, the golden boy, the untouchable icon, the man whose career has been meticulously crafted over a decade—he’s being torn apart for something he didn’t do.

And it’s all because of you.

Your stomach twists violently, and suddenly, you can’t breathe. You stand abruptly, pacing the room, arms wrapping around yourself as if you can physically hold yourself together.

The thought has been lingering in the back of your mind since the second your private messages leaked, but now it takes full shape, solid and undeniable.

You’re ruining him.

The realization knocks the air from your lungs, sharp and brutal.

And there’s only one way to stop it.

When you finally step out of the bedroom, Harry is sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone. His jaw is tight, his brows drawn together, and you know he’s reading something about you. About him. About this nightmare you’ve pulled him into.

You hesitate for a moment, your fingers curling into fists at your sides.

Then, before you can lose your nerve—

“Maybe you should just let me go.”

The words are quiet. Fragile. A confession and a surrender all at once.

Harry’s head snaps up. His phone drops onto the couch beside him, forgotten. His expression sharpens instantly, disbelief flashing across his face. “What?”

Your chest feels like it’s caving in, but you force yourself to keep going.

“I mean it,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Maybe—maybe this isn’t worth it. Maybe I’m not worth it.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Then—

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

His voice is hoarse, raw, disbelief laced with something sharper—anger, hurt. He’s on his feet in an instant, closing the distance between you.

“After everything?” His hands curl into fists at his sides, his breathing shallow. “You really think I’d just walk away?”

You swallow hard, blinking against the sting in your eyes. “I don’t want to be the reason you lose everything.”

Harry exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Jesus, Y/N.”

Then, before you can retreat, before you can even think—

His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones, grounding you. His touch is firm, steady, a contrast to the way you feel like you’re unraveling.

His voice drops to something softer, something that aches.

“You are everything.”

The breath punches out of your lungs.

Your fingers curl around his wrists, holding onto him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, the space between you charged, crackling with everything unsaid. His eyes are wild with frustration, with something dangerously close to desperation.

This should be the turning point.

But it’s not enough.

Not yet.

Because even though his touch feels like home, even though his words dig deep into the part of you that wants so desperately to believe them—

The doubt is still there.

And you don’t know how to make it go away.

Harry’s words should be enough. The way he looks at you like you’re the most important thing in the world should be enough. But the fear is still there, tangled deep in your chest, coiled so tightly around your ribs that it feels impossible to breathe without it.

Maybe it’s because you’ve been here before—at the mercy of the media, of strangers who think they know you, who think they’re entitled to pick apart your life like it’s a story written for their entertainment. But this is different. This is worse.

Because now, it’s not just you.

It’s him.

And you don’t know how to live with that.

You don’t know how to fix it.

But Harry does.

By morning, he’s already in fight mode.

The villa is eerily quiet when you wake up, the morning light filtering through the massive windows. For a brief second, you allow yourself to pretend that things are normal—that you’re just waking up in some beautiful, secluded place with him, that the world isn’t currently tearing you apart outside these walls.

Then you hear his voice.

Sharp. Clipped. Angry.

You pull on a sweater and follow the sound, padding barefoot down the hall until you find him standing in the open-concept living room, pacing near the floor-to-ceiling windows, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. His jaw is set, his brows furrowed, and the tension radiating off him is almost palpable.

“I don’t care how they got the messages,” he snaps, voice cold and lethal. “They posted them. That’s illegal.” A pause. He shakes his head. “I want every single one of those outlets served by the end of the day. I don’t care if we bankrupt the whole fucking tabloid industry in the process.”

You swallow hard, hovering near the doorway. You’ve never seen him like this before. So furious. So unwavering. So willing to burn everything down.

But he isn’t just fighting for himself.

He’s fighting for you.

And it’s terrifying.

He scrubs a hand through his curls, exhaling sharply as the person on the other end responds. His shoulders are tight, his body wound like a coil ready to snap.

“I want their sources,” he says, voice low and venomous. “Who sold it. Who leaked it. Every single name.” Another pause. “No, I’m not issuing a fucking apology. I have nothing to be sorry for. Neither does she.”

The words send a jolt through your chest.

Because that’s what they want, isn’t it?

For you to apologize for something that never should have been anyone else’s business in the first place.

For you to shrink.

For you to disappear.

Harry won’t let that happen.

And for the first time, you start to wonder if you should stop letting it happen, too.

By the time he finally hangs up, he’s exhausted but determined, his shoulders slumping slightly as he drags a hand down his face. He turns to you immediately, his expression softening the moment he sees you.

“Morning, love,” he murmurs, reaching for you instinctively.

You let him pull you in, resting your cheek against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him—something steady in the middle of the chaos.

“You’re really doing this,” you whisper, voice muffled against his hoodie.

“Of course I am.” His lips brush the top of your head, lingering there. “We’re not letting them control the story.”

You swallow hard, your hands curling into the fabric of his hoodie. “And what if it just makes it worse?”

Harry exhales slowly, pulling back just enough to tilt your chin up, making you look at him. His eyes are softer now, but still burning with that same unshakable determination.

“It won’t.” His voice is low, steady. “Not if we control it first.”

His PR team has already started working—turning the conversation away from scandal, away from gossip. Instead, they highlight what this really is: an invasion of privacy. A crime. A disgusting violation that no one should have to endure.

The narrative shifts.

Headlines start to change: “Harry Styles & Y/N Take Legal Action Against Tabloid Invasion” “Private Messages Leak Sparks Celebrity Privacy Debate” “Leaked Conversations Were Stolen—Legal Consequences to Follow”

The message is clear.

They’re not going to bully you into silence.

Later that afternoon, a statement is drafted.

Not a denial. Not an apology. Just the truth.

A firm, unwavering declaration:

"Our privacy was violated. Our personal conversations were stolen, twisted, and used against us. We refuse to be shamed for something that should have never been made public in the first place. We will not be bullied into silence. Legal action is being taken."

Jeff sends it over for final approval, but before it goes live, Harry turns to you.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says softly, watching you carefully. “I’ll put it out myself if you don’t want to say anything.”

You hesitate, your throat tightening.

You know this statement changes everything.

If you put this out, you’re no longer just the girl caught in a scandal. You’re taking a stand.

You press your lips together, staring down at the message on your screen. Your fingers hover over the keyboard.

“I don’t know if I can,” you admit quietly.

Harry shifts closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His voice is gentle but firm.

“It’s your choice,” he says. “No one else’s.”

You swallow hard, heart hammering.

“But don’t let them scare you into silence, love.” His voice drops to something almost reverent. “That’s what they want.”

You look at him, at the unwavering belief in his eyes, and for the first time, the fear starts to loosen its grip on you.

Maybe…

Maybe it’s time to fight back

You don’t sleep that night.

You try. You lie in bed next to Harry, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing, feeling the warmth of him beside you. But your mind won’t stop. The headlines, the messages, the invasive betrayal—it all loops endlessly in your head, pressing down on your chest like a weight you can’t shake.

And then, sometime around three in the morning, it clicks.

You’re tired of running.

Tired of being reduced to a victim. Tired of letting other people decide the narrative. Tired of being silent.

You slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Harry. The villa is dark, save for the soft glow of the moon spilling through the massive windows. You grab your phone and pad into the living room, curling up on the couch as the screen illuminates your face.

Your fingers hesitate over the keyboard for a second.

And then, you start typing.

You don’t craft some polished PR statement.

You don’t ask for sympathy.

You don’t justify yourself.

Instead, you write from the rawest part of you—the part that’s been stripped bare, the part that has spent too long feeling ashamed of something that was never your fault.

"This past week has been one of the hardest of my life. My privacy was invaded, my personal conversations stolen and used against me. I’ve been dissected, humiliated, and turned into a headline—treated like I’m not a real person, like I don’t deserve the basic human right of keeping parts of my life private."

"I refuse to apologize for something that never should have been made public in the first place. I refuse to let strangers twist my words, my choices, my relationship into something grotesque and scandalous. I refuse to let people make me feel ashamed for existing."

"To the people who did this, to the ones who made a profit off my pain—I hope you understand that what you’ve done is not journalism. It’s not news. It’s cruelty. And I hope one day, you feel the weight of it."

"To those who have supported me, who have spoken out against the invasion of my privacy—thank you. You have no idea what it means to me."

"I’m not running anymore."

You stare at the words on the screen, your pulse hammering.

And then—

You hit post.

It explodes.

Within minutes, your phone starts buzzing—notifications flooding in so fast that your screen freezes. The world reacts instantly.

Your name trends worldwide, but for the first time, it’s not attached to scandal.

It’s attached to your story.

People rally behind you. Fans flood your mentions, sending messages of love and support, calling out the media for their invasion of your privacy.

"This is disgusting. NO ONE deserves to have their private life exploited like this." _"Proud of Y/N for standing up for herself. We love you." _"The way the press treats women in the industry is fucking horrifying. This needs to stop."

But it’s not just fans.

Celebrities start speaking out.

Big names. **A-list actors, musicians, influencers—**people who understand the fear of losing control of their own lives.

"What happened to Y/N is beyond unacceptable. The industry needs to do better." – [Famous Actress] "Paparazzi culture is predatory, and the fact that she even has to defend herself is sickening." – [Well-Known Musician] "Proud of Y/N for standing her ground. Privacy matters." – [High-Profile Model]

And then—

Harry reposts it.

No caption.

No additional statement.

Just your words.

Because they say everything that needs to be said.

By morning, everything has changed.

The headlines that once painted you as a scandal now tell a different story:

“Harry & Y/N Fight Back: Privacy Matters” “Celebrity Culture Under Fire After Leaked Messages Scandal” “Fans & Celebs Support Y/N Against Media Exploitation”

The tabloids try to keep up, but the tide is turning. The public is angry, not at you, but at the people who did this to you.

And for the first time since this nightmare began—

You feel like you can breathe again.

The shift in public perception is undeniable. The voices that once dissected you like a scandal now speak with outrage at the invasion of your privacy. Fans defend you fiercely. Celebrities take a stand. Even news outlets that once sensationalized your pain are forced to acknowledge the ethical violation at play.

But it’s not enough.

Because while the world moves on, while the headlines start to shift to the next big thing, you’re still left with the wreckage.

And Alex Carter?

He’s still out there.

He’s still breathing.

You don’t go looking for revenge recklessly.

No, you do it right.

You gather information. You use every resource available—Harry’s legal team, your own contacts, private investigators. You dig into Alex Carter’s every move in the past six months, compiling evidence, timelines, bank transactions, leaked communications.

And then—

You find it.

The proof. The direct link between him and the leaked messages. The money trail from a tabloid to a shadowed offshore account. The receipts.

And just like that—

He’s fucking done.

You don’t wait for him to come to you.

You go to him.

His office is a glass fortress in the middle of the city, all sleek surfaces and sharp edges. You know this place well—you spent years being mentored here, being told how to survive this industry, how to be grateful for every opportunity.

It’s almost poetic that this is where it ends.

The receptionist looks startled when you walk in, but you don’t stop. You push through the doors, unannounced, unapologetic, unstoppable.

Alex is sitting behind his desk, his laptop open, a half-empty cup of coffee beside him. He looks tired. Stressed. Like a man who knows his world is crumbling.

When he looks up and sees you, his face drains of color.

“Y/N.” His voice is tight, forced into something that almost sounds casual, as if you’re just an old client stopping by for a chat. “This is—unexpected.”

You shut the door behind you.

And you smile.

But it’s not friendly.

It’s the kind of smile that precedes destruction.

You take your time. You don’t speak right away, just let the silence stretch, let him feel it.

Then, finally, you sit down across from him, folding your hands neatly on the desk.

“You leaked the messages,” you say.

A statement. Not a question.

Alex exhales through his nose, feigning exasperation. “You don’t have proof of that.”

You tilt your head. “Actually, I do.”

And then—you lay it all out.

Every transaction. Every email. Every direct link between him and the tabloids.

You watch as his mask cracks. As his calm façade shatters into something desperate, something frantic.

He scrambles for excuses. For anything.

“It wasn’t personal,” he rushes out, leaning forward, his hands flat on the desk. “Y/N, you have to understand—this is the business. The industry would have come for you eventually. I just—” He swallows. “I just made sure it happened on my terms.”

You almost laugh.

His terms.

Like he ever had control over you.

“You always told me the industry would eat me alive,” you say, voice quiet. Steady. Unshaken.

Alex exhales, nodding quickly, latching onto your words like they might save him. “Exactly. I was protecting you, in a way—”

You cut him off with the final blow.

“Guess what?” You stand, smoothing your hands down your jacket. “I’m still here.”

You lean in slightly, dropping your voice to something dangerous.

“And you? You’re done.”

His mouth opens, but no words come out.

Because he knows.

He knows you didn’t just come here for revenge.

You came to end him.

And you have.

By the time you walk out of that office, head held high, shoulders back, something in you has shifted.

You’re not just surviving anymore.

You’ve won.

The realization settles deep in your bones as you step out of Alex Carter’s office and into the cool evening air.

For days—weeks—you’ve felt like you were drowning, gasping for air as the world pressed down on you. But now?

Now, you’re lighter.

It’s over. Really, truly over.

There’s only one thing left to do.

You take a deep breath, pull your phone from your pocket, and text Harry.

Come outside.

The villa is quiet when you return.

The sun is sinking low in the sky, setting the world on fire with streaks of orange and pink, reflecting off the calm surface of the lake beyond the house. You spot him immediately—standing at the water’s edge, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his shoulders hunched ever so slightly.

He hasn’t heard you yet.

You take a moment just to look at him.

The tension in his frame, the weight he’s been carrying for you, with you. The way his curls shift slightly in the breeze, the golden light catching on the angles of his jaw, his cheekbones.

God, you love him.

And you almost lost this.

You step forward, your shoes crunching lightly against the gravel.

His head snaps up at the sound.

For a second, neither of you move.

His green eyes are careful, searching, waiting. There’s something fragile in them, something hesitant—like he’s afraid of what you might say, like he’s bracing himself for another fight, another wound.

But you don’t give him one.

Instead, you smile. Soft. Small.

And you say the only two words that matter.

“It’s over.”

Harry exhales sharply, like the air has just been punched from his lungs. His whole body sags, the tension draining from his frame all at once.

And then—

He moves.

In three long strides, he’s there, hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, like he can’t believe you’re really here, saying these words.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “I have proof. He’s finished.”

Harry swallows hard, his eyes flickering between yours, searching. Not just for confirmation, but for you.

For the girl he’s loved through every storm, every headline, every broken moment.

And when he finds her—when he sees that you’re okay—

He kisses you.

Not desperate. Not rough.

Just deep. Slow. Sure.

Like a promise. Like relief.

His hands slide from your face to your waist, pulling you against him, and you melt into him, arms winding around his neck, fingers tangling in his curls.

The world fades. The noise, the past, the pain. None of it matters anymore.

There’s just this.

Just him.

Just you.

When he finally pulls back, he presses his forehead against yours, breathless, his fingers still tracing gentle patterns on your back.

His voice is soft, full of something raw and unshakable.

“We made it.”

Your heart swells.

You cup his face, brushing your thumb over the stubble on his jaw, smiling as you whisper,

“Yeah.”

Your lips brush his, featherlight, a quiet, steady truth.

“We did.”

The words hang in the air between you both, simple but profound, the quiet reassurance you’ve both been craving after everything that’s happened. The chaos. The heartbreak. The betrayals.

You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands still intertwined, your eyes locking in a moment that feels like the calm after the storm. Harry’s gaze softens, his features still raw, but there’s something else now. Something that wasn’t there before.

Relief.

For the first time in days, you feel the weight of the world lift just enough to let you breathe.

A few days later, you find yourself standing in front of a crowd again, this time not as a victim but as a force of your own.

Harry’s hand is warm in yours, his fingers gently threading through yours, and for once, the press is the farthest thing from your mind. This isn’t about the headlines or the lies anymore. It’s about the two of you, walking out into the world side by side.

The cameras are relentless as you step into the venue. The flashbulbs pop, lighting up the night like a thousand tiny suns, but you don’t flinch. You’ve faced worse, and you’re not backing down now.

You squeeze Harry’s hand, a silent declaration to yourself as much as to the world. You’re not hiding anymore. You’re standing tall.

And then, as if the moment is its own kind of defiance, you do something you never would’ve dared before.

You don’t hesitate. You interlace your fingers with Harry’s, showing the world exactly who you are—and who you’re with.

In full view of the press, you and Harry are undeniable. A team. Unbreakable.

It’s a quiet rebellion, but it’s a victory all the same.

The next morning, the news shifts.

“Harry & Y/N Fight Back: Privacy Matters.”

No more scandal-fueled drama. No more manipulation. This time, the story is yours to tell.

And in the flood of positive messages, supportive comments from fans, and even messages from celebrities condemning the invasion of privacy, you feel something shift deep inside. The narrative is no longer in their hands. It’s in yours.

As the evening draws to a close, the event winding down, you find yourself standing with Harry by the door. His hand still hasn’t left yours.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“No cameras allowed.”

The words are full of quiet pride, but also a promise—one that you can finally believe.

And for the first time, you believe it.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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[artificialpillow]

Meet Eloise!

The time has come - let’s introduce you to my OC!

I will not be writing a regular fic, so it might be a little bit harder to properly get to know her. But! There WILL be one shots, mostly about the most important events in her life and obviously some to describe her relationship with the love interest (😏).

Let’s start!

Eloise’s profile

Basic information:

Name: Eloise Veredi

Age: 17

Birthday: March 26th

Blood Type: A

Love Interest: Yuno Grinberryall

Birthplace: Outskirts of Clover, town of Guerdia

Magic: Glass Magic

Appearance:

Height: 165cm

Eyes: Dark green

Hair: Shoulder-length, wavy blonde hair with curtain bangs. She mostly ties it in a bun as it bothers her during training or work.

Clothing: Eloise values comfort, so her clothing generally allows a wide range of movement. As a commoner she does not own lots of fancy clothes (however she gets some when she starts working with the Magic Knights). Her favourite outfit contains a dark gray high-neck shirt, brown pants and leather knee boots. Her favourite piece of clothing is a green cape, which she received as a gift from her dad. Eloise rarely wears dresses, but with time she grows fond of them and puts them on for special occasions

Special features: With her magic being glass magic, she used to get hurt a lot while training. Currently, on her neck, arms and the right side of her abdomen are noticeable scars caused by her past lack of control over spells. Eloise’s face is partly covered with freckles, her ears are pierced - she wears small, silver earrings.

Personality:

Eloise is an introvert, however she enjoys spending time with people she knows. Due to her being a commoner she is cautious in making acquaintances as she fears being belittled by higher-ups. On the other hand, she appears confident while fulfilling her duties and doing things she’s skilled at. She prefers working on her own and is not a great team player. She may appear as reckless.

Eloise hates conflicts and is incredibly patient; however when the line is crossed, she bursts out with anger and lets all the emotion out. She has no problem with apologizing but would only do it when she actually believes she was wrong. She rarely confronts anyone, rather keeps comments to herself.

Despite not showing it so much, Eloise is emotional and quickly grows fond of people (the hardest part is actually meeting them). She finds it difficult to let go of things important to her and holds grudges when she gets hurt.

She tends to overthink and assume other peoples’ intentions. She is quick in judgement, but when proven otherwise she eventually changes her opinion.

Background:

Eloise is a daughter of Delano and Ann Veredi, known craftsmen. Her parents and her grandfather, Gerald, ran a business based on agricultural tools trading. As a child she would travel with them around Clover to find new clients and sell merchandise. One of the places they visited regularly was the Hage village, where Eloise met Asta and Yuno. She quickly befriended Asta, and played with him a lot. Her relationship with Yuno was not well developed, as the boy was too shy and guarded; therefore she did not know much about him. After her grandpa’s death, Delano came up with improving their products with magic. At this point regular citizens couldn’t afford to buy them, so the family started visiting the capital and wealthier towns. Eloise lost contact with Asta and Yuno completely. During one of her stays in the capital, she happened to see a Captain scolding an injured Magic Knight. Not so much later she heard an older mage bullying a squadmate for his status. At that moment, Eloise decided not to take part in the entrance exam.

When she was 13, she wanted to focus on her magic and stopped travelling with her parents. She would spend hours in the forest, trying to learn how to control the only spell she knew how to cast - The Glass Daggers. Due to her lack of control, Eloise would often get injured and come home with ripped clothes, and wounds that left visible marks on her body. Through the years she had encountered many strange creatures and step by step learned how to tackle them. At some point she became and expert and would take care of magically influenced animals and plants around the town.

Eloise never had close friends. She got on well with her classmates, but never considered them that important in her life. Her lack of closeness with people her age did not bother her, she knew how to entertain herself on her own and maintained good relationships with older and younger members of her community.

One shots background:

One day, when Eloise was figting magic boars in the forest, she suddenly got shot down. She found out that the Golden Dawns' knoghts arrived to take care of the problem on their own. When told to go home, she showed them her method for dealing with these animals. Mimosa, in awe of the girls knowledge, suggested taking her to the capital and introducing her to the Wizard King. He proposed that Eloise stays in the capital and teaches the Magic Knights her methods. (That's where the one shots start!)

Fun facts:

She has a habit of speaking too loud

She would often talk to herself

Her parents like to call her ”Apple pie”

She gets easily attached to objects

She loves teasing

At some point Eloise finds out, that with her glass magic she can cast a reverse spell and fight with sand

When asked about her scars, she jokes that she fell out of a window

Eloise does not know how to properly fly a broom, as she never really travelled outside of her town

She loves cooking but only knows how to prepare basic meals

She easily gets bored

[n5blogbeginner]

勉強の目標:

- 日記を書く

- 友達と話す

勉強 • べんきょう • study

目標 • もくひょう • the goal

日記 • にっき • diary

書く • かく • to write

友達 • 友だち • friend

話す • はなす • to talk

私の // 勉強の目標は //日記を書く//と友達と話す。

[mrspascalsworld]