#harry styles reader insert

[maudie-duan]

"When did these statues posing as men arrive? Another stereotype pretending to be understanding, pretending to want the things that you wanted, but like a statue, there was nothing beneath the surface, a cold indifference to everything you were or ever wanted to be. His superficial point of view forever unmoving, incapable of the warmth that love requires, the forgiveness it takes."

Word Count: 7.5k

Pairing: Harry x Ex-Girlfriend Fem!reader

Warnings: HEAVY ANGST, (a scene of)Verbal Abuse, Dark Themes, Emotional.

When had the romance died?

At what point did you become the impending doom at the end of his day? Because when it was all said and done, this would be the part that would never make sense.

When had his love become the razor-sharp edge of a papercut, igniting with a sudden sting across your tender skin? The burn a superficial pain cutting across the flesh of your life with a sharp intensity that only seemed to wake in his presence the second he took one look at you.

Always angry, always misdirected.

Where did the anger come from, when had it become the tiny microscopic cuts sliced across your skin, stinging with every acidic word that left his mouth, wakening the wound each time you managed to forget it was there. You thought this was a passing phase, but lately, his anger was becoming a harsh reminder that seemed to linger, and your only way of coping was to forget until nights like these, when his words were out like knives.

These were the times you found yourself retreating inward, to a place you had never really mastered, but found yourself floating somewhere between the reality of your awareness, a mental tug-of-war between your presence and your absence. You were there now, you had been there all night, and now, as your vision staggered down to the wine glass trembling in your hand, the crimson liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim, you couldn't remember how many you’d had.

Was it three, maybe four?

You didn’t think to keep track, but you remember feeling the pleasant numbness at some point in the night, the kind of numbness that nestled into your limbs, making evenings like these with Bryan’s friends bearable until now—until Bryan's voice is cutting through all the mundane chatter, his tone unnecessarily sharp, with a cold edge that left a silencing chill as it slowly settled over the room.

"You always do this," he spits, his first slice catching you off guard. It wasn't like the room went quiet right away, but you felt the attention shift, their eyes moving like predators sensing weakness. "You drink too much and then you say stupid shit."

And you blink, trying to process what the trigger could have been this time. Had you said something wrong? And you stood there, your mind rewinding through the foggy haze of the evening, searching for the offense. Maybe it was your comment on his story about work, something about how his boss didn't appreciate him. What did you even say? Something about maybe considering a different approach?

"I don't think I—" you start, but it's too late because Bryan is already building momentum.

"No—that’s it, right? You never think, do you?" As he said the words, you stared into his cold eyes, remembering a time when his blue eyes reminded you of clear summer skies. Now all you saw was ice—beautiful but dangerous, and you felt the chill running down your spine as he continued.

"That's the problem with you. You just fucking talk and talk without considering how it makes me look."

That’s when your eyes darted around, the eerie silence almost as loud as Bryan’s words. The room held a stillness that ached in your bones as six pairs of eyes watched the scene unfold, some with discomfort, others with a twisted morbid fascination. Here was the retreat, and as you began to slip away, you buried yourself inside until there was nothing but a focal point.

These were Bryan's friends, not yours. Never yours. You were always the accessory, the girlfriend who tagged along, who tried too hard to fit into spaces that didn't reflect who you were; it was never a space that you didn't have to force yourself into.

But now, as Bryan's words cut through the sterile silence, you felt that familiar ache of isolation—the kind of isolation that made you question your existence, something you were growing accustomed to, one that was always lurking beneath the surface, waiting to be awakened.

You knew you were alone in this room. Completely and utterly alone.

"I was just saying that maybe—"

"Maybe what? Maybe I should let my boss walk all over me like you let everyone walk all over you?" His voice rose then, not quite shouting but loud enough to make you flinch. "Christ, you have no fucking backbone. It's embarrassing."

Each of his words landed like a physical blow as your body began to slouch, as you started to feel your body cave in on itself, and you stood there, taking it, rooted in place, the wine in your glass now perfectly still as your hand gripped the stem with white knuckles.

Whatever shame you felt before for drinking too much was pushed to the back of your mind. You could feel the alcohol at work now, dulling the edges of the pain, almost happy for its relief, but it couldn't eliminate it entirely because something about the tantrum Bryan was so obviously throwing was different this time. Bryan had never exposed you like this—had never skinned you alive, never peeled back the layers of your flesh to showcase to a room full of people. He kept all his gutting within the walls of your home, but now he was opening you up, tearing out all of your insecurities as if you were some kind of cadaver on an examination table.

Someone—was it Mark or David? It didn’t matter at that point—clears their throat awkwardly. "Hey, man, maybe we should—"

"No—she needs to hear this," Bryan interrupts, his fierce focus shifting to solely dismantling you piece by piece. "I’m sick of her walking around like she's so smart, so put together, but look at her. She can’t even handle her alcohol. Can't even have a normal conversation without making everything about her."

Who the fuck was this man standing across from you?

Because this couldn’t be the man you had fallen in love with. When had the love died? Somewhere along the way, it had transformed into this ugly, twisted thing that now stood before you wearing the mask of a man who once used that vicious mouth to whisper sweet nothings against your naked skin in the dark. You found yourself searching his features for any trace of the man who had promised to cherish you, to protect you, to love you until the end of time.

Where had he gone?

All you saw was this stranger, and the agonizing truth was that he was just another man—another man parading through your life, selling dreams of security, of partnership, of forever. This man that you had built up was nothing more than an ordinary man, maybe even considered a nice man to someone else, his strong hands selling strength and stability, promising that they could hold you, keep you safe from the harshness of the world.

When did these statues posing as men arrive? Another stereotype pretending to be understanding, pretending to want the things that you wanted, but like a statue, there was nothing beneath the surface, a cold indifference to everything you were or ever wanted to be. His superficial point of view forever unmoving, incapable of the warmth that love required, the forgiveness it takes.

Even as Bryan continued his tirade about your supposed inadequacies, what struck you most was the innocence his blue eyes still held. It was disorienting—this disconnect between the cruelty of his words and the boyishness that still lingered behind his harsh gaze. It struck a sense of fear that lived somewhere deep within, the kind of fear you never forgot, the fear that haunted you in moments like this—a reminder that you would never lose your youthful fear of grown-up men. To never forget their ability to inflict harm while sheltering behind the naive certainty that they could remain blameless, that every action could be justified in their conviction, the misuse of power as they wielded their moral superiority like weapons, leaving you to shoulder the aftermath.

It scared you, this realization, and the fear swept in like a rising tide, drowning out the voices around you.

"Are you even listening to me—?" He snapped, cutting through your thoughts. "This is exactly what I'm fucking talking about. You just check out when things get difficult."

And you nod, not trusting your voice, your throat burning with all the words you wanted to toss back, but what could you even say? Was it a fight he wanted, or was he just using you as a punching bag for his own insecurities? You knew there was nothing you could say in this moment that wouldn't fuel the fire.

"I think we should go," you finally managed, your voice as small as you felt.

Bryan stared at you for a long moment, and you held your breath, waiting as you watched him decide whether to continue his public execution or grant you a temporary reprieve, and when he finally gave you a curt nod, and said, "Fine. Let's go." your heart hammered in your chest reminding you that you were alive, that you could leave—just leave and escape this nightmare.

But the nightmare wasn't over; it was just beginning.

Because now you would have to say your goodbyes.

So you plastered on your best attempt at a smile as you made your way through the room, feeling the weight of those six pairs of eyes burning at your neck. No one spoke, no one moved to say goodbye. They just sat there like the fucking cowards they all were, frozen in place, spellbound by the show of ruthlessness they had just witnessed. Did they all agree? Or did they too feel disgusted, who was the asshole in this situation?

Did they believe the lies coming from his mouth?

You could feel yourself sinking, your feet treading the ground like mud as the awkward tension ripped through the room, and for some reason you risked a curious glance over your shoulder, but all you were met with was sympathetic glances that raked over your skin like burning coals, while the others averted their eyes as if you were a dog slinking away from a scolding, tethered to Bryan's leash as you trailed behind him. No one had stood up for you. No one had intervened. They had watched as Bryan tore you apart, and they had done nothing—a reminder that you had no allies in this life you had chosen.

The car ride home was worse—a suffocating silence that stole every ounce of oxygen you could muster. You hated yourself, and the statue beside you even more. Bryan drove with both hands gripping the wheel, his skin stretched tight around his knuckles, his jaw clenched, his stone wall continuing to block you out. You couldn't look at him, let him see you sulk in the misery you were slowly becoming, so you stared out the window, watching the streetlights blur together through the tears you were fighting back.

It was in these silent moments lately that you felt your mind drifting across the ocean, to another man, one whose voice carried the inflection of London streets and eyes the green of spring rather than the cold blue of winter. He would have never looked at you the way Bryan had tonight. He wasn't the kind of man who used your vulnerabilities as ammunition. He had seen you—the real you—not as an extension of himself or a trophy to be displayed, but as a person. A man who had loved all your vast complexities, a man who knew you were worthy of gentle handling.

In Bryan’s eyes, however, you were the slaughterhouse—somewhere to process and discard his building frustrations for the world and what he thought was owed to him, all the shortcomings that went beyond your mind's eye, leaving you marked by the deliberate brutality of his words. These wounds would linger far beyond tonight, invisible scars altering your very movement through life—scarred by the cruel intentions of a man who claimed to love you but only knew how to destroy you in the end.

The car came to an abrupt stop in the driveway, and you ripped your eyes forward, taking in the home you had created together, taking in its beauty, already yearning for the warmth it once brought. Once it was a sanctuary, a prideful manifestation of the love and commitment you had shared with Bryan. Now, as you peered out the front windshield, it loomed before you dark like an empty mausoleum, waiting to house the decaying remains of what you once believed was forever.

The tension was still palpable as Bryan killed the engine, but out of instinct, you made no move to exit the car. You didn't know what was coming, and so you waited, hand on the door handle, unsure if another storm was brewing.

"I'm sorry," he finally spoke up, but the words were hollow, performative like you knew they would be. "I shouldn't have said those things in front of everyone. I've just been stressed with work, and you know how I get when I drink..."

That burning lump is back, searing the back of your throat, and you silently nod, accepting the apology that wasn't really an apology at all: another justification, an excuse, a way for him to absolve himself without taking any sense of responsibility—now, add this to the growing list of why this isn't going to work out, and the shittiest part about it all is that you're too tired to fight, too drained to demand more, because when you've been worn down this much, even the slightest kindness granted can feel like a token of salvation.

And that's the part that makes you sick.

When did the promise of silence become such a welcoming factor in your life? A different kind of silence, the kind of silence that doesn't extend the gracious hand of peace to relieve you of your misery. The sort of silence that isn't really silence at all: It's the type that tortures, that amplifies all the noise in your mind, becoming an echo chamber of all the memories, all the doubts, that seem to slowly morph into a self-inflicted punishment the longer you sit in the isolation, in the rejection, in the cowardly absence of the validation you know you deserve. That's when the distance continues to stretch, and each time it happens, you wonder if you'll ever be able to speak again—spill all the words that are aching inside, desperate to be let loose, to be finally heard.

To remind yourself that you are not powerless—that you have a voice.

Yet the silence would remain, and you nod again, succumbing to your fate as you slip out of the car and trudge up the path to the house, feeling Bryan's eyes bore into the back of your skull as you go. The silence that followed you into the house, up the stairs, and into your shared bedroom was deafening as Bryan thumped behind you, each footfall a reminder that the real torture would be sleeping next to this man, this stranger, that maybe for the first time in your whole relationship might have showed his true character, and it shook you down to your very core.

You undressed in the quiet, every inch of your skin screaming with awareness as the chasm stretched between you—a void that seemed to widen with each passing second despite sharing the same suffocating air. The rustle of fabric was like sandpaper against your raw nerves, and you wondered if you could peel away your flesh with it, rid yourself of the evening entirely. When Brian's shoe hits the floor with a soft thud, your eyes sweep to his feet as the other follows, echoing in the room like stones dropping into the grave of what you once called love.

Because in that moment, you knew you didn't love this man anymore.

Somehow, you had managed to avoid his eyes the entire time you had been home, but as you climbed into bed, you felt drawn to his face, meeting his eye, finding that same innocence still lingering behind his gaze as if tonight's events had barely registered, and as you stared into his blue eyes, you had to resist the urge to recoil, to shy away from the impending doom, from the weight of your own mortality casting its long shadow over you.

In the silence, you longed for the taste of London in the air, the scent of green grass and fresh rain, the press of a gentle hand against your cheek, and the soothing lilt of a voice you had once longed to hear—until the bed creaked in protest snapping you back to reality as you and Bryan crawled under covers that might as well have been continents, and you ached with it, the wordless motions between you so dense it crushed your lungs with each shallow breath, and you wondered if you would ever be happy again.

This ordinary routine was like marking a grave—slowly twisting into a eulogy for your relationship that sounded in the hollow space where words should have lived, where apologies should have flowered, where truth could have breathed new life into the air between you. But there was nothing. Just the fucking unbearable weight of all that remained unsaid festering between you like an open wound neither of you dared to acknowledge.

Just as you settled, eyes peering up at the ceiling, Bryan turned to you before switching off the lamp, his face a mask of repentance that didn't reach his eyes. "I really am sorry, babe…You know I love you, right?"

Before you could respond, he leaned in, sealing his half-assed apology with a quick kiss to your cheek, his lips dry and cool against your skin, and you held your breath, your stomach churning with revulsion at the very thought of his mouth touching you; it made your skin crawl. Never again, you thought. Never again would you allow yourself to be diminished, to be treated as less than.

"It's fine..." you lied, the words tasted like ash on your tongue. "Night.”

That was enough for Bryan, and he turned over, his back to you, now a wall of indifference. Within minutes, his breathing had deepened and slowed, and you lay there seething. Why did his journey to sleep get to be unbothered? It didn't feel fair, Bryan lying there in the untroubled sleep of someone who believed they had been forgiven, a spineless man who had successfully transferred their burden onto someone else's shoulders.

And as you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing. You felt the hatred build within you, a slow-burning fire consuming the remnants of whatever love you once felt. You kept circling back to the thought of his hands on your body earlier that week, how you had closed your eyes and endured, how you had played out the motions, praying for it to end.

You felt sick to your stomach, physically ill at the idea that this was your life now—an endless cycle of performances, of a love that had rotted to its core. Where had the woman you had once been gone? Because there was once a time she loved fiercely, laughed freely, lived wholeheartedly—now she was fading, slowly slipping through your fingers like sand.

When had the flesh between your thighs become a punching bag for men who only saw you as a body promising fantasies of forever? At what point had you genuinely believed that this was all you deserved? The grass on your side of the ocean was dead, trampled underfoot by men who claimed to love you but treated you as if you were some kind of afterthought, a convenience, a vessel for all their desires and frustrations.

You needed to get out of this fucking hell hole.

This cage that was closing in.

The thought hammered in your mind, growing louder each minute as you lay there perfectly still, staring at the ceiling. You needed to leave, you needed to put as much distance between you and this toxic life as humanly possible. This wasn't your home anymore; it was a prison masquerading as a sanctuary.

The longer you lay there, the more your mind drifted to the only place that's ever truly felt like home. To the man who had once held your entire world in the palm of his hands—his compassionate touch that had honored every contour, every quirk, every perceived flaw with the devotion of someone who saw not imperfections that come with being a human but a masterpiece worth exploring, worthy of listening to.

Maybe Bryan felt this way before, but it was never the same.

That's when you let the thoughts creep in, trickling in one by one: What would the grass on his side of the ocean feel like under your feet? You kept thinking back to the solid ground you had when he was in your life, the garden you had weaved together with sacred intentions. How his green eyes had seen the human in you, not this shell resembling the flesh of the woman you once were. His hands had always been delicate in their touch, strong in the way they held you, not to possess but to support.

The memories were both balm and torture. They seemed to painfully soothe the raw wounds Bryan had inflicted tonight. While all at once reminding you of what you had lost, what you had walked away from in pursuit of what you thought would fit the trajectory of your life, because is this life if you have to bend and shape yourself to fit into someone else's?

That was when you knew you couldn't lie there any longer. You couldn't bear the sound of Bryan's peaceful breathing while your insides mangled in the grief of regret and self-loathing. So, carefully, you slipped from under the blankets, your movements slow and deliberate to avoid waking the beast, and you padded silently across the bedroom and out into the hallway, rushing down the stairs as quietly as you could.

You could feel the downstairs bathroom calling to you, and when the door came into view, it promised a temporary escape. The second your hand turned the knob and you closed it behind you, turning the lock with a soft click it felt like freedom. The clawfoot tub dominated the space, its white porcelain gleaming in the dim light that filtered through the small round window. This bathroom had always reminded you of a lighthouse—now it would be your temporary haven as your life churned before you like the mystery of the sea.

And as you approached the tub, you felt relief wash over you.

This tub was your favorite thing, yet the irony of it now made you sick. Bryan had surprised you with this tub when you first bought the house together. "For those long bubble baths you love so much, babe," he told you with a proud smile, and his arms wrapped around you from behind as you both admired the vintage beauty. The gesture had truly touched you, and you thought, wow, here's the proof, this attentiveness, his desire to make you happy.

What else could you need?

Now the sight made your heart sink in your chest. Another prop in the play you had been performing, another set piece in the life you had constructed around a love that had never been real, and as you climbed into the empty tub fully clothed, your back pressed against one end, your knees drawn to your chest, you felt the chill taking way. The porcelain was cold against your skin, a haunting testament of the chill that seemed to be settling in your heart, and you peer down at the phone clutched in your hand, the screen illuminating your face in the still darkness.

It was already 9 A.M. in London. Would he be awake? Would he even answer a call from the number he had once known by heart? Would he have deleted it, blocked it, erased all traces of you from his life as thoroughly as you had tried—and failed—to erase him from yours?

Because he was never truly gone; never far from your thoughts. No matter how many miles you tried to put between you, his echoes clung to every inch of your soul. He had become the touchstone for everything you had experienced since walking away, the benchmark by which you measured the hollow promise of happiness in this life you chose, and as your thumb hovered over his contact, still saved after all this time, because lets be real, you had never been able to delete it, you had never been able to sever that final connection. It was the only lifeline you kept tucked away, a glass-break-in-case-of-emergency type of moment you never allowed yourself to use.

Until now.

Because this was that moment, and you were just drunk enough, the alcohol still coursing through your system, giving you the much-needed courage you had always lacked when you needed it most lately, and before you could second-guess yourself you pressed the call button, the phone fumbling in your hand as you brought it to your ear with a trembling hand.

Each ring seemed to stretch into eternity of misery, each tone a heartbeat, a moment in which you could still hang up, could still take it back. But anxiety was cruel, and for a moment, you even considered retreating back to the safety of your desperation because then you wouldn't have to face it all, face him with the failure your life had become.

One ring. Two. Three.

That was when the panic set in

You could feel yourself ready to give up.

Your nerves beginning to falter, your finger ready to move toward the end call button.

Then, a click. Silence. And finally, a voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Hello?"

His voice was exactly how you remembered it—warm, like velvet, running through you like a smooth caress, his British rasp halting your racing heart as you tried to compute what was happening, and when you opened your mouth to respond, nothing emerged. Your throat seized with the simple greeting, suddenly choked with every emotion you had been suppressing all night.

But there was nothing you could do. The silence seemed to be all you could give. So when the silence stretched, he didn't hang up. He waited, patient as ever, giving you the time you needed—a quiet understanding, a silent willingness to sit in the discomfort you knew he had to be feeling because you could feel it to, but this was the type of person he was, always allowing someone else the space they required, and this part seem to tear at your heart the most, because it was exactly what you longed for, something you had walked away from.

"Take your time,” he nudged, his tone gentle, curious rather than annoyed.

You forced a shaky breath through your nose, willing yourself to speak. "Harry..." you managed, the single word barely audible, your voice ragged on the verge of crying.

"It's me..." you breathe.

When Harry doesn't answer right away, there's a heavy pause, one of recognition, and you hang tight, granting him the space he just so freely gave you. "I knew it was you...it's why I answered the call," and then he says your name, each syllable leaving his mouth was like a revelation, a prayer, a question.

And all you could say was "Yes," the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks.

"Yeah, It's me."

The sound of movement comes through the line—sheets rustling maybe, a door closing softly. Harry was creating privacy for this unexpected call, this ghost from his past reaching across time and distance, and you held your breath waiting for his words.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, his concern immediate and genuine. Even after everything, his first thought was about your well-being.

"No," you sob out, the honesty a relief after months—years—of pretending. "I'm not alright, Harry. I haven't been alright for a long time."

"What's happened? Are you safe?" And the urgency in his voice made your heart constrict. He still cared. Despite everything, he still cared, and the ache of that knowledge pounded in your chest, a heaviness that seemed to expand with each passing breath.

"I'm safe," you gasped out, but the word felt hollow because you knew physical safety wasn't the issue. "I just... I just needed to hear your voice." and you suck in a breath waiting for the words to land.

"Tell me why you're crying," he asks so tenderly that it physically hurts, and your head falls back against the rim of the tub as you stifle a sob, forcing its way up your chest, and you pull the phone away, not wanting him to hear.

"Talk to me, love. What's going on?" he adds as you bring the phone back to your ear.

This endearment, so casually offered, seemed to break every resolve you were fighting to hold back, breaking open that desperate hollow inside you. The longing like a dam bursting open, and suddenly you were telling him everything—about Bryan, about tonight, about the slow death of your spirit in a relationship that had never been what you pretended it was all this time.

"He just fucking—he tore me apart in front of all his stupid friends," you confessed, your voice catching on a sob. "And I just stood there like a fucking idiot and took it. I didn't even defend myself. I didn't even walk away. I felt paralyzed."

Harry was quick to speak up. "That's not your fault," Harry said firmly. "I've met People like that. The kind that wears you down over time. They want you to believe that you deserve it."

"But--I should have been stronger, you know I should have—"

"No," he interrupts, but it's gentle, insistent. "Darling, don't do that to yourself. You're calling me now, aren't you? That takes strength, right?"

And you let out a bitter laugh, "Or desperation. Or too much wine."

When the rasp of his laugh fills the line, it sends a flutter to the pit of your stomach. "Maybe all of the above," he follows up, and you can hear the small smile in his voice. "But you're reaching out. That's the first step."

And here was the pain again, the pressure building in your chest, your lungs heavy. His kindness was almost unbearable, pulling at your flesh with a visceral ache you couldn't seem to shake. You didn't deserve it, not after how things had ended between you, not after the choices you had made. You knew you shouldn't have called, that this conversation was a mistake, that you were only torturing yourself, making this whole nightmare infinitely worse, but the words kept tumbling out.

"I miss you, Harry," you confess, the words escaping before you could stop them. "God, Harry, I miss you so fucking much it literally hurts sometimes."

Then the silence swept in, the line empty except for the faint sound of Harry's breathing, and our whole body went still in anticipation, waiting for his response, terrified of what he might say—or not say.

"I miss you too," he finally said, his voice lower, more guarded. "But—we can't—"

"I know," you interrupted quickly. "I know we can't go back. I'm not asking for that. I just... You were the only man who ever really loved me. The only one who saw me, all of me. I don't even know how to explain it—you never ran away. You didn't try to change me, use me, or break me down."

"I just feel empty--" and the words die in your throat as you finish.

"That's not love," Harry says softly. "What this Bryan is doing—that's not love. You deserve better than that."

"I had better," you whispered. "I had you."

And for a second, you both let the words hang between you, heavy, loaded with the history of your ending, with the regret that lingered, with the weight of what might have been.

"Do you ever think of me?" you finally asked, unable to stop yourself. "Do you ever wonder what would have happened if I had stayed?"

When Harry sighs, a rush of static comes through the phone. "My love—please.."

"Harry...," you plead. "I need to know. Even if it hurts... It's okay, I promise."

When silence takes the line, you exhale a weighted breath, quietly drawing in another breath, letting a glimmer of hope fill your chest. When he spoke again, his voice was measured, careful. "Yes, I think of you. God—I don't know...probably more than I should.. There are always like these tiny moments, you know, like a song on the radio, a certain smell, someone laughing in a particular way—and suddenly you're there, in my mind, as vivid as if no time had passed at all."

His words ignited the devastation you knew they would bring, but here was that hope, a violent crash of heartbreaking possibilities that seemed to wake your decaying soul. The confirmation you knew somewhere deep down that you needed, that he hadn't forgotten you, that you still occupied space in his mind, was both validation and torture, conflicting as joy soared through you.

"But—" he continued, his tone shifting, becoming more hesitant, "thinking about what might have been... It's not healthy. For either of us."

"I know—I swear I know..." you answered, swiping tears from your cheeks. "I just—I can't help but wonder if I made the biggest mistake of my life when I left London...When I left you...?"

But your words floated out like a question rather than a declaration, the statement stripped of pretense and laid bare in its painful authenticity. As you waited for his response, time seemed to suspend in your lungs, but you forced yourself to breathe, waiting for any sign that he shared your regret, that he shared the same longing, knowing Harry had always been a constant undercurrent pulling at the back of your mind.

"I don't think I can answer that for you, love," Harry finally divulges. "Only you know what was right for you at the time. We were young, you know, we were in different places in our lives. Long-distance is hard under the best circumstances. I would have never asked you to stay...because I probably would have lost you forever."

"Do you not think we could have made it work?" you asked, as desperation crept into your voice. "If we had tried harder, if I had been braver—"

"Love, it takes two people to make a relationship work," he reminded you gently. "And two to let it fall apart. I wasn't perfect either. I had my own issues, my own fears. It wasn't just you..."

As you let the word settle, you forced your eyes closed, remembering the arguments, the tears, the painful phone calls across time zones when you were exhausted and frustrated. The memory was a cruel contradiction playing on the hurt of wanting the one thing you know you couldn't have right now because, yes, you knew it hadn't been all sunshine and roses, you knew that. But the good had so outweighed the bad, your connection so deep that even now, years later, you felt its absence like a phantom limb.

"You were the best thing that ever happened to me," you said quietly. "And I threw it away for... for this. For a life that looks good on paper but feels like dying a little more every day."

"Then change it," Harry urged. "Not for me, not for anyone else. For yourself. You deserve to be happy."

"Harry, I don't think I remember how to be happy anymore," you answer, really believing the words falling from your mouth. "I don't know who I am anymore without all this... this fucking performance I've been putting on...God—It's so pathetic..."

"You're not pathetic, love...You're still in there. I can hear her clearly," he assured you. "The woman I knew—she was strong, passionate, full of life. That doesn't just disappear. It gets buried sometimes, but it's still there, waiting. Trust me...I know the feeling."

And maybe he was right.

Maybe you couldn't feel it now, but there was a sense of peace tingling up your spine. Here he was putting faith back in your world. This was new for you both, evidence that time could heal old wounds, that people could become better with distance. This Harry was wiser, more mature, and you wondered what else was new. What else about him had changed? Who was this man on the other end of the line now? The thought was overwhelming, and all you could do was let the tears flow, silent rivers of grief, of gratitude for the man who was giving you permission to grieve, who was holding space for the loss of the life you thought you wanted.

For the life you had forged without him.

And then you're letting it all go, hot, messy tears streaming down your face as every ounce of your being gets lost in the chaos of emotions shuddering through you, but you didn't stop. How long did you sit there, letting the sobs wrack your body, while Harry listened in silence? Occasionally, he would murmur a tender reassurance which seemed to help lessen the hurt, but eventually, the storm passed, and you found yourself feeling strangely lighter, as if you had shed some of the layers, some of the heaviness that had been weighing you down.

"Thank you," you whispered. "For answering. For listening. For being here...for being you."

"Always," he replied, his answer simple, but you knew he meant it.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Are you happy? I don’t know…like, truly happy?"

Maybe you knew the question was selfish, but you needed to know. You needed to hear that at least one of you had found peace, built a life worth living.

Harry hesitated, but only for a moment, then cleared his throat. "I'm... getting there," he said carefully. "Some days are better than others. But overall, yes, I think I am."

Something in his tone made you pause, and you wondered what he wasn't saying, but before you could question the feeling any further, he sighed, the sound unnaturally loud through the phone.

"To be honest...I just broke up with my girlfriend," he began, his voice taking on a new quality—cautious, almost sorrowful.

And your heart stuttered at the news, instinctively bracing for the impact of where this conversation might go. "Are you okay?"

Harry let the line go silent this time, his breath shallow on the other end. You could almost see him running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he had always had when his nerves got the best of him. Where was he? What was he doing when you called?

"I actually ended it last night..I don't know...it's all kind of fresh," he confessed, "For some reason I just had this feeling like it wasn't right...like I wasn't meant to be with her."

"Then you called this morning...and maybe it's crazy. But I think it might be a sign..."

And it was like the world stopped spinning for a moment. Of course, the universe would do this. Of course, it would happen this way--a cosmic joke exposing the perfect punchline with cruel timing—Harry finally free just as you were realizing your own captivity. It felt like a taunt, the stars aligning only to illuminate the path you could have taken, should have taken, the road now visible but still impossibly distant.

You hated this about the universe sometimes, its depraved sense of humor, dangling possibility before you only after you had convinced yourself to stop reaching, stop wanting, stop dreaming of those green eyes and the London rain. This reality wasn't a door opening, no, because that's too good to be true; this was only a view from the universe's window of possibilities, allowing only a glimpse of what lay just beyond these prison walls without offering escape. 

"Oh..." you somehow managed, the single syllable becoming the lack of words building in your chest. You knew this was too complex to answer in a single line. "I don't know what to say..."

"I know—I'm sorry—that was a lot..." he said softly, and you knew he wasn't apologizing for his blunt statement, but was sorry for adding to the pain on this already tricky night.

"Don't be...I'm just processing, that’s all," you insisted, forcing brightness into your voice. "It's just that I've thought about this before...if we ever got the chance—"

"To try again—" he interjected, his sincerity unmistakable as he finished your sentence. "It's a bit overwhelming, yeah? A bit scary?"

"Scary...yeah..." you whispered.

There was a comfortable stillness that nestled as you both began to process the weight of what had just been said, how it threatened the very foundation of the lives and choices you had settled for in each other's absence. It was shaking up your foundation now, the life you were no longer willing to settle for, and in the silence, you let your broken spirit reach for him in the ways you had been longing for this whole time.

In your heart, you knew this wasn't supposed to happen like this. You weren't supposed to get a chance to repair this ache. There had always been this unspoken agreement—a pact between you that you both honored when you said your final goodbyes, that no matter how much it hurt, how impossible it felt to walk away, you both needed to do it in order to move on, to heal the damage.

But then, here you were, back in this moment, back in this conversation, and the very thought of the possibility of a second chance was enough to send your head spinning.

Because what if...?

What if this was the sign you had been waiting for all along? What if this was the universe's way of telling you that you were meant for something more, something bigger than the cage you had built around yourself?

The cage you could break free from at any point.

What if...

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he was terrified to voice the question out loud.

And you knew your answer before the words even left your lips.

"I'm thinking about you...about us," you breathed.

"About coming home."

He lets out a breathy laugh, "Was England home?" He asks.

"You were home..."

It would never be as easy as deciding that, of course. Rebuilding any relationship takes time, patience, and a hell of a lot more maturity than the two of you possessed when you were last together. It would require unraveling years of hurt, of regret, of lessons learned. But for the first time in longer than you could remember, the prospect didn't fill you with dread. There was hope, a spark of something you had nearly forgotten—a flame that could reignite, burning bright if you let it.

"Harry?" you spoke up, your voice steadier, more sure.

"Yes, love?"

"I think...I think I'm ready to come home."

You swore you could hear the smile in his voice as he replied, "Good, I'll be here waiting."

"It's going to take a while..." You force tears now welling in your eyes.

"I know," he says. "And I'll wait however long you need me to, my Love."

And with that, you knew in your heart, this was the beginning. The start of reclaiming your life, your voice, your freedom.

"Harry...where are you?" You whisper.

"I'm watching the rain fall outside my office window..."

And you squeeze your eyes shut, picturing the view from his window, "I loved the rain in London," you laughed, sniffling away the last of your tears.

Harry cleared his throat, "I know you did, love. I haven't forgotten."

Then you nod, even though he couldn't see it. "Harry...I have to go...it's late."

"I figured that was coming..." he murmurs, "Don't forget what I said. Be brave and take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy. I'm here whenever you need me, anytime, I promise."

"Okay…" you breathe, holding the phone a bit closer, holding it as tight as you wished you were holding him, "I'll call you soon."

"I'll be here."

And you nod again, knowing that if you said another word, you would lose it all over again, and as you swallow past the lump in your throat, you pull the phone away from your ear, your finger hovering over the "end call" button for a moment. Then, with a deep breath, you press it, and your lifeline to Harry disappears.

A/N: This story was inspired by the song Romance by Ex:Re . If you haven't listened to it, it's brutally haunting and beautiful, and sad, but the message is powerful and if you haven't listened to it, please give the song a listen. Let me know what you think!

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[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Pillow Wall

Where Harry wants to blame the cold or the mattress or her gravity, but the truth is, he just sleeps better wrapped up in her.

Word count: 1,357

Every night, they start the same way.

Harry climbs into bed first, flops onto his side with a groan like it’s been the longest day in the world—even if it hasn’t. Y/N follows a minute later, switching off the lamp, the room going soft and quiet.

He shifts to the far edge of his side. She mirrors him on hers. A whole country between them.

“G’night, love,” he says, muffled into his pillow.

“’Night,” she replies, already halfway to sleep.

Sometimes he’ll add something dumb, like “Don’t steal the covers,” even though she never does. Or, “Don’t kick me,” even though it’s his foot that always ends up on her side.

They face away from each other. No touching. No cuddling. No crossing the invisible line.

It’s not a cold thing—it’s just how it is. She likes her space. He says he sleeps better without limbs on him. It works.

At least until morning.

Because every single day, without fail, Y/N wakes up with Harry practically glued to her.

This morning, it’s worse than usual. He’s managed to wedge himself between her arm and chest, face smushed against her collarbone, one leg thrown across her hips like he’s trying to claim territory. His breath is warm and slow against her skin. Peaceful. Way too comfortable for someone who swears he needs “distance to function.”

She blinks at the ceiling for a second, lips twitching.

“Again?” she mumbles, mostly to herself.

Harry stirs, groaning like someone’s just disturbed his royal slumber.

“You dragged me in,” he mumbles without opening his eyes. “Every time. Like a bloody magnet.”

She snorts. “Sure I did.”

His arms tighten just slightly around her, and then he goes still again, already drifting back off.

Liar, she thinks.

It keeps happening.

The next morning, she wakes up with his nose buried in her neck and his hand resting casually under her shirt, palm flat against her stomach like he belongs there. He’s snoring lightly, and his leg is hooked around hers in a way that makes it physically impossible to move without waking him.

She lies there for a minute, not quite annoyed, not quite amused—just… baffled. Again.

“Harry,” she whispers, shifting just enough to make a point.

“Mm?” His voice is rough, still half in a dream. “Cold. You pulled me in.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Did too.”

She sighs. He’s not even trying anymore.

Morning three, she wakes up practically spooning him. His back is to her, but her arm is slung around his waist, his fingers lazily twined with hers, like they fell asleep mid-conversation. Like this is just what they do.

She pulls her hand back slowly, like she’s dealing with a wild animal, and rolls onto her side. He follows her instinctively, still asleep, reaching for her even as she escapes.

By the time she gets up to brush her teeth, he’s taken over her pillow and curled into the spot where she was like a cat chasing warmth.

“Menace,” she mutters under her breath.

The next day, she wakes up nose-to-nose with him. Full frontal cuddle. His knee between her thighs, his arms around her like they’ve been in the middle of some intense, slow-motion hug all night. His lips are slightly parted, curls a mess, breath hitting her chin in soft little waves.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even try.

“You okay down there?” she whispers.

His eyes barely crack open. “Would be better if you’d stop yanking me in like a sleep-deprived octopus.”

She just stares at him. “You seriously think I’m the one doing this?”

“Babe,” he says, voice low and hoarse, “I’m a victim.”

Then he presses his face back into her neck and falls asleep again.

A smug, snoring victim.

It happens again on a Thursday.

She wakes up with his entire body sprawled on top of hers. His head is tucked beneath her chin, his arms wrapped under her back, and somehow, he’s managed to get one of his feet under her calf like he’s trying to anchor her in place.

She’s had enough.

“Harry,” she says, sharp this time.

“Mmmph.”

“Get off me.”

He groans, buries his face deeper into her chest like that’ll help. “Why’re you so loud?”

“Because you are a liar,” she says, untangling her arm and smacking his shoulder with it. “You keep blaming me for this. Every morning. Like I’m the one dragging your six-foot ass across the bed in my sleep.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just exhales, long and dramatic.

“Look at this,” she gestures, even though his eyes are still shut. “You’re fully on top of me. There is no way I pulled you into this.”

He cracks one eye open. “You’re warm.”

“Oh my god.”

“You’re warm,” he repeats, like that explains everything. “And you smell nice. And sometimes I wake up a little and think, ‘Cuddles would be good,’ and then I just… do it.”

She gapes at him. “So you admit it.”

“I’m only human, Y/N.”

She smacks him with a pillow.

He grins into her shirt. Doesn’t even pretend to move.

Later that night, she makes a big production out of it.

“I’m putting a pillow wall between us,” she announces, tossing one of the big decorative ones from the couch onto the bed and propping it upright between them. “You stay on your side. No trespassing. I mean it.”

Harry watches her from his side, already under the covers, biting back a smile.

“Alright,” he says, hands up in surrender. “Message received. No cuddles. Ever again.”

“Exactly,” she says, climbing in. “Cuddle embargo. Effective immediately.”

“Harsh but fair.”

“Thank you.”

She clicks off the lamp. Silence falls.

For two minutes.

Then—

“I just think,” he says quietly, “you’re being a bit dramatic about how much you love me.”

She groans into her pillow. “Harry.”

“Can’t help that you’re clingy in your sleep. I’m the victim here, remember?”

She tosses a hand over the pillow wall and hits him in the face without looking.

He laughs. “That’s assault.”

She stays silent. Firm. Unmoving. She’s serious this time.

Until morning.

Because, of course, when she wakes up, the pillow wall is gone—mysteriously vanished—and Harry is back where he always ends up: wrapped around her like he belongs there, like it’s instinct. Like neither of them ever meant the distance in the first place.

She doesn’t bother waking him. Just lies there, hand idly brushing through his hair.

She’ll rebuild the wall tonight. Maybe.

Probably not.

[pinkboaclub]

Sweet Thing [prequal blurb]

Summery: You and Harry are best friends, despite your 15 year age gap. He asks you to be his date at a work party, but doesn’t realize how possessive he just may be.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: older!harry, angst then fluff, age gap (15 years), possessiveness, fem!reader

"Pretty dress for a pretty girl," Harry's voice came from the doorway.

You stood in front of the mirror, carefully adjusting the fabric of your dress. The material clung to you in all the right ways. A swirl of nerves knotted in your stomach, making you second-guess your choice.

You glanced at him in the reflection, feeling a little unsure. "It’s not too much, is it?"

He moved closer, his footsteps light, his eyes never leaving you. "Not at all. You look perfect." His lips kissed your head as his hand gently rested on your shoulder.

Harry had invited you as his date to a work party he was hosting. You’d met a few of his colleagues in passing, but never like this, never as Harry’s date. The thought alone made your palms a little sweaty.

You adjusted your hair and gave yourself one last look in the mirror, making sure your makeup was just right. With a final spritz of perfume, you took a steadying breath and linked your arm with Harry’s. He gave a warm and reassuring smile and led you downstairs.

"Such a gentleman," you teased as he opened the front door for you and guided you into the passenger seat of his car.

He chuckled. "Someone has to be."

The drive was quiet but comforting. Harry was always at ease, making small talk about work, the city, anything to fill the space. When you arrived at the venue, he did the same, opening the car door with an easy grace before helping you step out onto the red carpeted walkway.

"Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm with a charming grin.

You giggled and nodded, slipping your hand through his and walked into the party.

Once inside, the atmosphere was very shiny, polished, full of people wearing smiles that were just a little too perfect. The men shook hands, the women glided in their gowns, and everyone seemed to be in conversation for the sole purpose of making connections.

It wasn’t long before you were swept away by some of the wives, pulling you into their circle.

They didn’t waste any time with small talk, quickly asking you about Harry. "So, how long have you and Harry been dating?" one of them asked.

"Oh, we’re just friends."

The woman blinked at you in surprise. "Really? But you’ve…well, you’ve slept together, right?" She bluntly asked.

The question hit you like a splash of ice cold water. You shifted uncomfortably but kept your composure. "No, we haven’t."

Her eyebrows arched, and she let out a knowing laugh, that was almost condescending. "Well, you could have fooled me."

You had no idea how to respond. Before you could get any words out, another one of the wives chimed in, dragging the conversation in another direction.

Meanwhile, Harry was engaged in a conversation with Eric, a colleague of his.

"She's beautiful, Harry," Eric commented as he raised his glass, a smirk on his face. "How long have you two been together?"

Harry stiffened just the slightest bit before answering, without thinking, he lied, embellishing the truth. "A couple of months. But we’ve been friends for a while."

Eric raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the distinction. Harry wasn’t an idiot. He knew Eric had eyes on you, despite him being 50 and you being 23. He knew he had no right to interfere, he should have let you reject Eric yourself, but he couldn’t help it.

Later in the night, you found yourself conversing alone with Eric. He was charming and handsome, a silver fox, but something about him made you uneasy.

"You and Harry seem like a great couple," Eric remarked, a glint of something almost predatory in his eyes.

You laughed, trying to keep the conversation light. "Oh, we’re not a couple."

He blinked in surprise. "Really? Harry told me you two were dating.”

“Uh, no, we’re close friends, he asked me to be his date tonight.”

Well, if you’re single, can I get your number? I’d love to take you out." He pulled out his phone, the screen glowing in the dim lighting.

It wasn’t that you were actively avoiding relationships, but you certainly weren’t looking for one at the moment. Still, you didn’t want to make things uncomfortable, especially since you didn’t have the ‘I have a boyfriend’ excuse anymore.

"Sure," you said with a smile, though your body tensed up. You grabbed his phone, typing in your number.

From across the room, Harry’s eyes locked onto the scene. His face darkened, though he kept his distance, the line of his jaw tight.

The rest of the night felt like an endless loop of small talk, but something in Harry’s demeanor had shifted. He was quieter, more reserved around you, though he wasn’t outright rude. You noticed it, the way he was almost avoiding you, his answers shorter, less engaging. But you didn’t have time to dwell on it as the night was already winding down.

"Not really in the mood to stay, bunny." he muttered in your ear, his voice tired.

You nodded. The drive back was silent, but the tension between you both was thick enough to feel like it was pressing against your chest.

"Harry," you began, hesitating, "Why did you tell Eric we’re dating?"

He didn’t immediately respond, his fingers tight on the steering wheel. "Are you really thinking about going with him?" he asked, his voice quiet, but his words sharp.

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. "I don’t know. He’s kind of cute. Do you have a problem with that?"

Harry’s gaze flickered to you for a moment, his lips curling into a tight, frustrated smile. "He’s too old for you," he muttered under his breath.

You didn’t bite back immediately, instead choosing to remind him, "We have a pretty big age gap, you know."

Harry’s eyes flashed, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the wheel. "He’s 50, I’m 38. And he’s just trying to bone a 23-year-old before never talking to you again."

The words stung a bit, you felt a sharp pang in your chest. It wasn’t just the age comment, but the way he spoke about it…like you were some sort of object for Eric to claim and discard.

You were already pulling at the door handle by the time the car came to a stop in front of the house, your silence louder than any words. Without saying anything, you stepped out and headed inside, your heart thumping as you retreated to the bathroom to shower.

Harry immediately regretted his words, he had let his emotions get to him. He decided to wait outside the bathroom door, which was connected to his room, and wait for you so he could apologize. He sat on his bed quietly, replaying the words in his mind, guilt flowing through him.

After a few minutes, you emerged in your pajamas, your wet hair dripping slightly. Without a word, Harry pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you as he buried his face in your neck.

"I’m sorry," he murmured, his voice filled with regret. "I didn’t mean what I said earlier. I just…I just feel protective of you. And I never meant to imply that Eric only sees you for your age and not how perfect you are, sweet thing."

You relaxed into his embrace, a soft smile tugging at your lips as his lips started to travel around your body. His kisses were gentle as they went down your face, across your cheeks, your forehead, then back to your neck, making you giggle and squirm.

"I forgive you," you whispered, your voice light, the tension finally slipping away. “And for the record, I wasn’t actually considering going on a date with him, you’re the only old man I want in my life.”

He laughed out, more guilt rushing through his body, thinking about how much he overreacted when you weren’t even being serious.

“I love you, sweet thing, I promise not to cock block you the next time you’re about to get some…even if the dick is old enough to be your father.”

[read more of Sweet Thing here!] [and here!]

Tag List:

@mema10

@lizsogolden

[0nlythrowharrybeaux]

Trying**

Based off of the following request where Y/N is desperate for Harry to breed her already!

Warnings: breeding kink, objectification (female to male), sex (p in v), oral sex (fem receiving), cum play, breast play, dirty talk, cnc kink, free use kink, daddy kink

WC: 6.8K

When you met Harry it was the summer of the start of your masters program. You were brand new to town and had taken the recommendation of a few of the students from the previous cohort about some good, local spots you needed to visit. One of these places happened to be a brewery in the heart of the Arts District in Downtown LA, Styles’ Brewing Co.. You’d moved down to LA one month before the semester at USC started and you hadn’t really made friends yet so you decided to just go and check the place out. Worse case scenario you didn’t meet anyone cool and just enjoy the pleasure of your own company. It was a Tuesday evening when you’d strolled in. The sun was setting soon and despite the slight breeze, it was still quite hot so you were glad you’d decided on wearing a dress. And when you got up to the business, you smiled at the funky, little bar. The decor inside was like 70’s post modern theme, it instantly put a smile on your face. It was nice and cool inside and Al Green was playing over the speakers. There were a handful of people in there already, so you glanced around as you walked up to the register and looked up to the menu.

“Welcome in! If you have any questions about our selection, let me know.” The smooth British voice offered and your eyes glanced down and met the prettiest set of green eyes you’d ever seen.

“Ummm, actually s’my first time here.” You explained and his smile widened, revealing his teeth, the way his two front teeth extended a bit lower than their neighbors gave him a boyish charm though he was clearly older than you. He looked really good though, he had to be like five or six years older.

“Well that’s great! I’m Harry.” He greeted you cheerfully.

“Hello, I’m Y/N.” You said with a friendly smile.

“Well Y/N, are you a beer drinker?”

“Kinda…not really. Sorry.” You confessed a bit bashfully.

“That’s alright.” He chuckled, “Just seeing where you’re at with beer.” He assured you, “I know we have quite a large selection up there. So if you’re not sure where to start or what you might like, we can talk little bit more about your taste and I can give you a little flight of samples so that you can narrow down your options.” He offered and you were pleasantly surprised.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you!” You smiled, “That’d be great because I am a little out of my depth here. And honestly, I can pay.” You assured him. Just then someone else walked up behind you in the line and he looked past you.

“Hey, H!” One of the person’s behind you greeted him cheerfully and he smiled.

“Hey, guys.”

“Ummm, you can help them first since I’m still figuring it out.”

“That’s kind of you.” He smiled, “Have a seat at the bar and I’ll be with you in just a minute.” He instructed and you nodded and did just that. 

After a couple of minutes he was chatting with you again, asking about what you liked and disliked about beer. What kinds of flavor profiles you gravitated towards, and things of that nature before he pulled the samples for you. He talked you through each one, he even swapped two of them out upon receiving your feedback on the previous ones until finally you found the one. It was the “Sippin’ Pretty”, a guava and elderberry sour. It smelled amazing and tasted even better. When he realized that you were there alone he spent most of his time hanging around, checking in on you. It got a little busier around 8 o’clock, but you were on your second beer by then and just people watching as Harry and another person tended to the customers. Before you knew it you were having your third beer and feeling pretty tipsy. You were giggling at a story Harry was telling you about his friend’s two year old son and nearly knocked over your glass.

“Okay, I’m pretty fucked up.” You giggled again.

“Did you drive?” He asked.

“Yeah…I didn’t plan on being here for more than two hours.” You said and he smiled.

“Let’s get some food in you then. How do sweet potato fries sound?”

“Like the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You said and he chuckled. 

“Alright, I’m gonna put an order in.” He said before hurrying over to the POS system.

You did sober up quite a bit after eating and having a glass of water and you needed to go, you’d been taking a lot of time away from Harry. You flagged him down and he came over to you quickly.

“Thank you for the VIP treatment tonight, Harry. I didn’t know I needed that.” You smiled and he smiled back.

“I’m glad you had a nice visit. Hopefully one of many more?” He inquired.

“Definitely.” You assured with a blissful grin, “I should get out of your hair though, so can I get the bill?” You asked.

“You’re good, love.” He smiled and you pouted.

“Don’t do that. You’ve done so much already, the least I could do is pay.” You insisted, “Besides, wouldn’t want you to get in trouble by comping that much.” You added and he smiled.

“Well, I’m actually the owner so…” He responded smugly and you tutted.

“Well, I believe you’ve just lost your case.” You grinned.

“How’s that?” He asked, perplexed.

“You’re a small business owner, the backbone of the local economy! If the roles were reversed I know there is no way you wouldn’t insist on paying.” You said and he smiled. “Please, Harry.” You insisted.

“Fine. But I’m applying the 15% employee discount.” He said and you grinned as he headed off to the register without allowing you another word in edgewise. You hopped off your seat and went over to the register and paid, giving the 15% back in tip which made him tut as you giggled.

“Thank you, again!” You called as you walked to the door and he smiled and waved as you headed out.

********************

By the end of your first semester, you’d become a regular at the brewery. You had become pretty good friends with Harry. You’d learned that he was 34, so 12 years older than you were. You learned that he’d been engaged but that it ended nearly five years ago. He’d earned a degree in computer science and he’d made a pretty penny when he helped develop some AI program and had sold it and had made a large sum of money from that. So he moved down from the Silicone valley fours years ago to open up this place and it was almost an instant success. He was fucking cool. You had a huge crush on him. Not only was he handsome but he was sweet as can be. 

When he learned that you couldn’t afford to fly home for the holidays, he invited you to his and his friends’ holiday party. And well, on Christmas everything between the two of you changed. Thanks to a very eye-opening kiss under the mistletoe, if you could believe it. He dropped you off at home after the little get-together and as you were saying goodbye you kissed him again and that led to you two making out for half an hour before you finally pulled apart.

“Let me take you out.” He panted before kissing your cheek and you smiled and nodded.

“Yeah.” You agreed with excitement lighting up your eyes. You really liked him, you sincerely thought he didn’t think of you in that way. Particularly because of his age, because in terms of interests and tastes, you had plenty of things in common. Regardless, you were so relieved that he was also into you.

And after that first date, things quickly heated up between the two of you. Despite how great of a catch Harry was, he hadn’t really had tons of dating experience, he’d only had two long-term partners. One during his entire time in high school and the other after he moved to the U.S., the one who he had been engaged with. And they ended things when he resigned from the job in the Silicone Valley. You on the other hand had lots of flings and little things here and there. You were a little reckless with your heart, probably the hedonist in you. But when you and Harry started talking more in depth about where your relationship would go, you learned that he only dated someone when he felt that he could develop big feelings for the person. He was cautious about who he gave his time, affection, and heart to. The fact that he was the way he was - attentive, caring, mature, stable, and wise - well, you started to fall in love with him quickly. 

Your relationship with Harry became serious quite fast, but he insisted that you two wait until you graduated to make moves towards merging your lives even more. He proposed to you over dinner the night before your graduation with your parents and siblings there for it. A few weeks after graduation you moved into his house. The time you didn’t spend together or working, was spent planning the wedding. A year later, you two were married and just relishing in your new life together. 

….THREE YEARS LATER….

You and Harry had now been married for three extraordinary years. It wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows, but most of the time it was. By now, most of your friends were married too but the biggest difference was that they were already on the baby train. One of your good friends got married because she’d gotten pregnant and the other two had their first kids just a year apart from each other. At first, Harry had baby fever far more than you did but lately there was just something in the air that had you feeling absolutely feral for him. To put it more poetically, you had a need to breed. You were feeling horny every time you were around him. 

Maybe it was the weather that was finally heating up? Or the fact that along with that, Harry would wear more t-shirts at the brewery. You’d get to see him lugging big, heavy boxes of produce or crates of glassware to and from the kitchen and bar, meaning he was constantly showing off his strength. He was so smart and strong and capable, and he was the best husband and partner to you. He gave you everything you wanted and more! So you knew that he could give you the most beautiful babies in the world. And lately, the thought was just ever present. Everything about him had you swooning.

Even now, just the way he would try to reach his big hands into the glasses to dry them properly made your pussy flutter and swell with need. Why were his arms so fucking big? And why did the masskrug look so tiny in his hands? You swear you would soon start to drool if you had to watch him any longer.

“What?” He chuckled as you just watched him from the other side of the bar top.

“N-nothing. Just…watching you. And your…big hands. And big arms.” You smiled and his eyes flickered up to yours and he smirked as he recognized the lustful look in them.

“What about ‘em?”

“Nothing really…just, I don’t know, I’m suddenly very aware of how…strong you are. S’a little distracting.” You shrugged and he hummed.

“Distracting enough that you shouldn’t be the one doing the payroll?” He asked and you giggled.

“Babe, I was an art major…I never should’ve been doing your payroll to begin with.” You joked and he chuckled.

“That’s probably true.” He joked back with a playful little grin as he glanced back down at the glass he was drying.

“You know what I’ve been thinking?” You asked.

“What, my love?” He asked without pulling his eyes from his task.

“I think I’m ready to start trying for a baby.” You said far too nonchalantly. So much so that in response all you heard was the shattering of glass as the masskrug fell to the ground. “Oh shit!” You gasped, “Are you alright?” You asked him and he glanced up at you with a smile and nodded.

“Yeah, love. M’fine. Just…surprised me with that one.” He confessed and you bit your lip to suppress your smile as his eyes bore into yours.

“I’ll get the broom.” You said softly as you prepared to hop off of the stool.

“Hey! No, no, no…don’t scamper off just yet.” He called out, “You can’t just drop a bomb on me like that.” He said with a smirk. You felt your cheeks heating up as the blood rushed up to your face.

“I was going to come back…”

“You want to have a baby?” He asked, bringing the topic back to that.

“I mean…yeah. Of course!” You shrugged.

“What brought this on?” He asked.

“Well…lately I’ve just been really…horny. But it’s more than that… it’s like…I can’t get enough of you. I just want more of you. More of us.” You said and he smiled, “I think that you’d be an amazing father and the idea of you, all handsome and rugged like you are, just caring after such a perfect and tiny little thing…I don’t know, it’s just been doing things to me lately.” You explained and he was smirking smugly at you. “Don’t make fun.” You mumbled and he shook his head.

“Of course not, my love.” He assured you, “I’m just glad you’ve finally come around.” He said and you rolled your eyes. Considering you were the young one here, you wanted to wait so that you could enjoy your marriage for a bit and have time to get your lives together before starting on a family. “But how do I know you’re not gonna change your mind? I know that you wanted to enjoy us for a while before we considered starting a family.”

“Well, it’s been three years…we’ve traveled, your business has grown, I’ve had my own exhibit like I wanted to…” you pointed out, “I mean, trying means just that, trying. It could take a few attempts and I’m ready to start if you’re…you know, also ready for that.” You said with a placid smile.

“Yeah, okay.” He said with a boyish grin adorning his face. “Should we make an appointment with your doctor?”

“Mmm…I say we do it the old fashioned way.” You said with a suggestive tone and he chuckled, “Just…go at it every chance we get until we get lucky.” You shrugged and he chuckled.

“Baby, as lovely and tempting as that sounds, I have work.” He reminded you and you grinned.

“Well based on the numbers I’m seeing here, you can afford to hire someone else.” You added and he chuckled.

“That’s how bad you want it?”

“Yes.” You responded quickly and he smiled.

“Alright, my love. Your wish is my command.” He assured and you smirked, “Damn it…” he mumbled.

“What?” You asked with a small frown.

“Now I’m hard.” He admitted and you grinned. “Though…the thought of getting you pregnant always makes me hard so…” he chuckled.

“Then do something about it.” You taunted and he chuckled. “I’m serious.”

“Right now?” He asked and you shrugged.

“Seize the moment.” You smiled.

“Baby…” he said, looking quite tortured and you just smiled at him.

“Come here.” You said and he came around the bar. You twirled around in the stool when he was before you, “I stopped taking my birth control two weeks ago…” you informed enticingly.

“You did?” he asked as he leaned down and you grabbed his face and pulled him in for a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Mmhm.” You confirmed. “Please, fuck me.” You requested.

“Here?!” He chuckled nervously and you nodded.

“I’m your wife, yeah?” You asked and he nodded before pecking your lips again, “You vowed to have me for all the days of our life, did you not?” You asked with a soft and seductive tone.

“That not how it goes… but I did…” he hummed in amusement.

“Then have me. Anytime you want. Whenever, wherever we are until you do what we set out to do. I don’t even need to come. Just need you to come. Need you to come a lot inside of me.” You said in a low and sultry voice. He was nearly panting, his fingers digging into your thighs through the light fabric of your dress. “I love you. I need you. I need you so fucking bad.” You pleaded and next thing you knew your lips were meeting in a desperate and heated kiss as your hands shakily worked at the button and fly of his jeans. When you had them and his briefs low enough to let his erection spring free, he pushed your dress up and tore your underwear off before stuffing them into his pocket. “Get inside of me. Please!” You begged hungrily and he pulled you closer until his cock was sliding through your already hot and slippery folds.

“So fucking wet. Ready to get knocked up, aren’t you?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yes.” You whispered and he kissed you again. “Do it, baby. Fuck me.” You panted. 

Without another warning he pushed against your entrance until your little hole stretched around his veiny, girthy cock. You gasped as he plunged deep inside of you on the first thrust, but you needed that. You needed him like this. Over and over, his cock rammed inside of you until you’d wince with how deep he was getting inside. It felt delicious. Your nails were digging into his big, bulging biceps as you moaned aloud without any care in the word. His deep, consistent grunts were perfectly timed with his thrusts, they made your head and tummy flutter with how deep they were. You were completely blissed out. Your skin was covered in goosebumps and your walls were fluttering and squeezing his cock deliciously. He was fighting to hold his need to come back, but then again, that’s what you wanted from him; his cum flooding your insides. Painting your insides with everything he had to give until he gave you a baby. Not just a baby, his baby. A product of all of the love you shared for each other.

Everything about him was everything you’d ever wanted. He was everything to you and having more of him in this way was something that you couldn’t even comprehend, you just needed it. It was instinctual to have more with someone who was so embedded into your mind, heart, and soul. What more was there to this often sad and destructive life than to make love and create more beauty to add to it?

“Fuck…I’m gonna come.” He groaned as he started to rub his thumb over your clit in swift little circles. Maybe you didn’t need to come, but he wanted you to. He needed to feel you spasming around his cock as he filled you up. When he heard your breath catch he smiled, “Come for me, baby. Come on my cock and I’ll give you what you want.” He panted and seconds later your legs were shaking around his hips as you thrust up to meet his deep and unforgiving plunges as you whimpered and whined as you came undone. Your sounds turned into weak little grunts that escaped your throat in perfect time with his thrusts until he was stopping deep inside of you. You could feel his cock twitching as he shot spurt after spurt of his sperm deep into you until he had nothing left to give. After he finished he kissed you deeply. “Did you mean that? Whenever I want?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, free use. I always want you, H.” You smiled, “Always need you.” You assured him as you caressed his face with the back of your hand.

“Okay, baby. But if you ever want me to stop or aren’t in the mood just say…hmmm…”

“Sour.” You suggested with a dopey smile, “After the first beer you served me.” You said and he chuckled. You weren’t always all sentimental like that, but he loved when you were.

“Alright, my love. Sours is our safe word.” He agreed before kissing your lips quickly. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up before Jeremy gets in. S’almost his shift.” He reminded and you giggled and pulled him down down for another kiss.

“Maybe delete the footage from this time frame.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course, but only after I save it…for memories, you know?” He said mischievously and you giggled. 

“I love you so much.” You hummed happily.

“I love you more, my love.” He whispered.

****************

After that first time at his brewery, there was hardly any stopping Harry. Like you’d asked before, he’d have you whenever he well pleased. It was far easier for him to picture you growing with his baby now. It didn’t matter to him that you were occupied, he’d just get your pants off or dress out of the way and plunge in and you were more than fine with that. It even happened a few times while you slept, you’d wake up with him hovering over you, sliding his cock between your spread legs. Much to his surprise, you were soaking wet about 80% of the time and when you weren’t it didn’t take much to have you dripping and begging for him to put it in. He hadn’t given much thought to the baby’s sex or even names, he just wanted a baby with you and he’d be more than pleased regardless.��Like now...

You were being stirred awake by Harry turning you on your back and gently prodding into your entrance. You groaned a bit as he tried to push in a bit but you weren't wet enough for his sizable cock yet.

"Just give me minute." you mumbled.

"I want you now." he said and then you felt a warm wad of spit land over your pussy before he smeared his erection all over it and then sunk in with more ease, "There we are..." he hummed in approval as he got about halfway. He sighed in relief as your warm and tight walls started to slick up around him quickly. "Had a very pleasant dream of you showing me a positive test. Woke up so fucking hard." he panted through his thrusts and then smirked when you got even more wet for him.

"Fuck, it feels so good inside you, baby." he sighed and you moaned when he ground into you.

"A little harder, daddy." you whispered, voice still rough from sleep. He hummed and gave it to you a bit harder, the soft smacks of your bodies meeting grew a little louder. And he gradually started increasing his force until your headboard was thumping against the wall and you whined out, "T-too hard!" you whimpered and he brought a thumb to your clit.

"You know what to do if it's too much, baby." he said comfortingly. He knew you liked to get whiny every now and again. "You say "sour", right?" he asked and you nodded. "Use your words, my love." he encoruaged.

"I know." you added, "Just...a little slower, please?" you requested and those puppy-dog eyes absolutely melted him to the core. His stern demeanor softened and a little smile appeared on his mouth as he stopped and then leaned down to kiss your lips quickly.

"Okay, baby. Sorry, got a little excited over that dream." He hummed against your lips. He then started thrusting again, undulating his hips in a way that got him right up against your g-spot. "Like that?" he asked and you whimpered as he started to grind a bit harder.

"Yes, daddy! Like that..." you keened and he groaned lowly as your walls started to flutter around him seconds later. He started to rub on your clit again until you started to tremble. You choked on a moan as your orgasm started to build far too much for you to keep inside. "Oh baby, I'm...I'm gonna come!" you gasped.

"Go on, baby. Let me feel your drenching my cock. Get you ready for my cum." he panted, "Ready for me to put a baby in that pretty body of yours." your eyes rolled back and your back arched until your body just froze and your walls started to spasm as your orgasm washed over you. The gorgeous flutters of pleasure bloomed from your tummy and rippled through your body, making your legs twitch and for your finger nails to dig into Harry's thick, muscular thighs.

"Yes, baby. Yes!" he groaned as his own pleasure built up to a point of no return. His steady rhythm faltered as he grunted through three deep thrust until he was holding your hips tightly as he started to shoot his sperm deep in you. You loved how he praised you for taking it all.

And when the height of it passed he only pulled out to turn you onto your side and then spooned you only to thrust back in. He lightly shivered from the sensitivity, but he wanted all of his cum to stay inside. You pulled one of his hands up to your mouth and kissed the back of it before sighing happily.

"I'll always take care of you. You know that, right?" he asked and you nodded as you hummed, "You're everything to me." he said softly, "I already love you with everything in my being. Can't possibly imagine how much more it can grow for you once we have our baby." he said softly and you smiled.

"I think you'll love the baby the most." you whispered.

"I don't know...you're the one giving me the baby." he reasoned and you smiled. "But what I do know is that you're my whole life. I'm so fucking fortunate to have you to share this with. Love you." he hummed.

"Love you, H." you smiled.

"Want you to do something for me, baby." he added, "Gonna send you some stuff I was looking up earlier. Stuff to like prepare your body and increase your chances, you know? Give it a try?"

"Of course, baby." you agreed easily.

***************

On top of the things Harry had suggested to you, you had also been implementing your own measures to optimize your health enough to successfully conceive. You had made significant improvements to your diet and even started taking prenatal vitamins and teas that you hoped would help. And since Harry owned and worked at the brewery you asked him to please stop serving you alcohol, no matter how much you asked for it, so your taste-testing badge had been revoked. You were also getting more rest and even started exercising more with him. Incidentally, this was something that just made you more horny for him. Considering that exercise helped you produce endorphins you were in a far better mood and up for sex more than before. 

  Maybe it was a little indecorous of you, but you honestly enjoyed the dull ache that seemed to permanently reside between your legs as of late. You actually craved more of it, especially at times like these, when you watched him working out from across the gym while you just kept a moderate pace on the elliptical. He was making eye contact with you from the mirror with a subtle smile ignoring the other people who were very clearly ogling him as he did his deadlifts. You couldn’t blame them, Harry was a masterpiece of a human. He was tall, handsome, attractive, and good natured. The way his muscles tightened up as he worked through his routine made you hungry for him in sinful ways. So much so that you needed to go and fuck. Now.

You got off of the machine and went to grab a wipe to clean off the handles and buttons you’d touched before asking him to leave. He wouldn’t mind cutting his workout short, that’s what you’d be doing more of anyway if you really thought about it. You decided to gather your things from the locker in the bathroom and then head over to grab him. When you headed over to the free weights area you saw a girl trying to chat him up, he seemed a bit annoyed but was too polite to tell her to go away. It may have seemed he was fair game because he wasn’t wearing his wedding band right now (you always reminded him to take his ring off when he was lifting heavy because your wedding bands were made of gold, a soft metal, so it could easily get warped with the amount of weight he lifted), but he was all yours and you needed him now. His evident display of strength had you completely drenched in your underwear. You could feel the steady throb of your walls even as you walked over. You could see him glancing over to the cardio section through the mirror, probably searching  for you to help but you were just about to reach him.

“Baby!” You called out to him from a few feet away and he whipped around and his smile of relief made you smirk. He could see the hunger in your gaze from where he was. The girl that walked up to him looked mortified as she connected the dots before scurrying off. Harry quickly re-racked the weights he’d been using before setting the bar back in place and hurrying over to you. “I need you to get me home. Stat.” You said lowly as you walked through the gym and he chuckled.

“Alright, my love. Not a problem.” He hummed with a big, warm hand on your lower back.

In nearly twenty minutes you were carefully getting into the shower together, the foreplay was in how he talked to you and touched you as you got cleaned up. Everything was building up as he smoothed over your breasts with his soapy hands and talked about how big they’d get when he finally got you pregnant. Things like this that you never thought could rile you up were doing the job. You loved to see his big veiny hands playfully tugging and rolling your nipples between his fingers while you ground back into his erection.

“God, you’re so fucking big.” You mumbled as he rutted his erect cock again your plump backside.

“I know. Almost too big for your pretty little cunt.” He responded and you nodded in agreement. “But you like that, don’t you?” You asked and you nodded.

“Yes, daddy.” You hummed, already feeling a little loopy.

“Turn around.” He said and you twirled around and looked up at him, “How do want it, my love?” He asked and you bit your lip as your mind started to wander and imagine all of the options you had. Then, you glanced over to the bench you used for shaving, “Wanna ride me?” He asked upon noticing where it was you had looked.

“Yeah, can I?”

“Of course.” He smirked.

And before you knew it you were sinking down onto his cock impatiently. You slightly hissed at the sting of the initial stretch but kept going, pushing through the slight discomfort. You loved the pain of the stretch as he tried to fit inside of you. You sometimes grew sad over the fact that it’d never feel like the first time you had sex again, you’d only been able to take half of him that first time and you’d been so tight around him that he came twice all over your pussy and tummy. Riding him was as close as you got to recreating that. You loved how full you felt when you rode him, how it felt like he was so big that he was penetrating up into your stomach, literally rearranging your guts. It made you breathless and cock drunk so quickly. He was holding you up a good amount because the bench wasn’t as big as it looked, so you were struggling and your knees were starting to hurt and you couldn’t touch his big, taut muscles like you hoped you could.

“Fuck this, lets get out.” You panted impatiently and he lifted you up like you were nothing, holding you to his body as he quickly shut the water off, shampoo and all still in your hair. You stumbled into the bedroom and barely made it to the bed. He just sat and you started grinding away at him. You pushed his chest back and he got the hint and laid back as you started to ride him a bit harder. 

“Put your arms behind your head for support.” You said and he did so.

“Like this?” He asked and you nodded quickly. His glorious arm muscles were on full display and you could see how even his lats were nice and toned.

“Flex for me.” You requested and he did and you groaned loudly. You just wanted to bite into his biceps.

“You’re so fucking hot, daddy. So big and strong, always take such good care of me.” You panted as you rode him. Your hands roamed his chest and abs, feeling the firmness of his muscles, tracing the dip between his pecs with your index fingers and then going between his abs like you were tracing through a little maze. You started grinding in a way that he could plunge against your g-spot and he moaned over you as he felt his tip up against your spot and his eyes squeezed shut for a second.

“Fuck, right there…I’m…I’m gonna come soon.” He warned and you smirked.

“So fast?” You teased and he chuckled before wrapping his arms around you and squeezing your body tight.

“You want my cum don’t you? So what does it matter?” He asked and you melted at his question. Normally you wouldn’t mind if he came soon, you didn’t necessarily need orgasms for sex to be worth it for you. What got you off was the vibe. His energy, being present and in tune with him, making each other feel good, relishing in the intimacy of the moment. But right now, you did want to come around him.

“I want to come.” You whined softly and he suddenly flipped you back to missionary and thrust deeper into you until you gasped and pinched your eyes closed for a second.

Harry knelt up to have a better range of motion and he started going deep and slow. You could feel every inch of him sliding in and out of you, it was absolute bliss. Over and over his tip was colliding with that spot inside of you that ached and felt like ecstasy at the same time. He then slid one of his hands up your tummy until he was reaching for your breast. He groped and squeezed and felt at it in his hand. You reached for his arms and just caressed his arm. You traced up his fingers and then felt over his forearm, you were obsessed with how solid it was. Then, you worked your way up his bicep, squeezing his muscles, feeling his strength. Then, you lightly raked your nails from the butterfly inked above his abs all the way down to where your bodies were connected. His skin was littered in goosebumps and his movements stuttered.

“Fuck…” he groaned lowly and you glanced up at him, “It’s too much, baby. I’m so close!” He warned again and you smirked. Just getting to be close and feel him like this was working you up to his level. Watching him be so affected by your feather light touches was doing you in. You tickled up his other arm and he shuddered as he squeezed over your breast harder than before and you intentionally squeezed your walls around his cock. You took the time to feel it all; how he felt inside of you, how his damp skin was getting warmer and warmer the closer he got to coming. How every time you bucked up with him, your clit would bump against his pelvis, that’s how close you were. It was pushing you to the edge, you were teetering on it! 

“Me too! I’m so close, daddy!” You moaned and he started going a bit faster and you moaned breathily, “Fuck, right there! Just like that, don’t stop!” You pleaded. He was locked in on this place until he felt your thighs starting to tremble around his hips. He lowered himself and kissed you deeply.

“You’ve been so good, haven’t you, my love? Taking such good care of yourself so that you can have my baby?” He asked.

“Yeah, daddy!” You whined out.

“Fuck, I hope this is the one…” he groaned and you moaned again. “You’re squeezing so tight…shit, come for me. Come on my cock, baby.” He grunted through his hard thrusts and the tight coil of pleasure finally gave way and that tight feeling in your body started to come undone. Your hips thrusted against his without any concern for the pace he’d set as the pleasure just racked through you and wiped you out like a tidal wave. You could feeling it consuming ever nerve ending from the top of your head and down to your toes. You hugged him close to your body, letting your hands roam down his back and squeeze his ass, pushing him even deeper until he couldn’t go any further inside of you. 

“Please, put your baby in me! Come inside me, baby. Come inside me, breed me!” You whimpered and he groaned as he started to deliver hard, unforgiving thrusts as his sperm shot deep into you. The sounds coming from where your bodies were joined were absolutely filthy but you loved them. You loved that there was so much of his sperm that it made a squelchy mess for you that could be heard. You were twitchy and trembly as he filled you to the brim but that didn’t stop him from slipping out and getting on the ground to lick up your cunt. His tongue flicked at your clit until you were crying out in over stimulation as you came again. 

Your abdominal muscles were putting in work as your orgasm rippled through you, your spasming walls started to push out some of his sperm but he was not about to let any of it go to waste. 

“Nuh-uh, this cum is for you.” He mumbled lowly as his fingers slid down to about your perineum before he smeared them over your entrance carefully to get it back in you. Just knowing that the slight gape of your tight little hole was caused by his big cock made him want to fuck you all over again. He stretched you open a bit more and was able to see his cum stuffed inside of you, right to the brim. “Fuck, there’s so much of it.” He chuckled lowly as you twitched beneath him. He then laid back down and had you drape your legs over his just to keep you at an incline.

“Think we did it this time?” You asked and he smiled before kissing the back of your hand.

“Think so… but as much as I want to have a baby with you, I wouldn’t mind if it takes a little while longer. I love fucking you like this.” He chuckled his confession and you did as well. 

“This is not the position you want me in if you want this to take longer to accomplish.” You pointed out and he laughed a bit and then got up and leaned over you to kiss you slowly. You hugged him close and rubbed over his back soothingly. You wrapped your legs around him and trapped him against your body, koala style. He laughed at your silliness as he tried to pull back. “Not yet.” You pouted.

“Baby, we need to finish our shower.” He reminded. “Come on…I’ll fuck you again after. Really make it stick.” He said with a suggestive tone and you loosened your grip around him enough for him to pull back.

“I am obsessed with you.” You said and he smiled, “I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else. I wouldn’t want to.” You added softly and tenderly before arching up to kiss him deeply.

“As am I, my love. And I promise, we’re gonna keep trying as long as it takes.” He assured you. “And all through it I’m going to take such good care of you. I’ll keep you safe. S’my job, as your husband to do that. My favorite job in the world.” He smiled as he looked at you lovingly.

“I love you so much.” You hummed.

“Love you.” He whispered.

>> Next Part>>

Trying update ask! (WC: 3.7k)**

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[harrywavycurly]

Worth The Fight: If I Was A Worm?

Masterlist: Here

CW: Pregnancy stuff, one emotional moment, jealous Harry and a touch of panic.

A/N: Y’all have been wanting protective Harry and I am trying to deliver so I hope y’all enjoy and sorry for the dramatics right off the bat but hormones will do that to you lol✨

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Summary: You are officially on maternity leave and finally get to meet Gemma and have a baby shower✨

“Would you still want to be with me if I was a worm?” You ask far too casually from your spot in the middle of Harry’s at home gym where you’re sitting on your bright purple pregnancy ball, gently rotating your hips in a circular motion while holding a magazine in one hand and your bottle of water in the other.

Harry doesn’t even blink twice at your random question since this is now the fourth one you’ve tossed at him in the span of ten minutes, he just shakes his head and chuckles to himself as he begins the cool down part of his run on the treadmill that’s a few feet from where you’re supposedly working out. It’s only week one of your maternity leave and you’re already missing the routine of having somewhere to be everyday but Harry insisted you take advantage of the time the library offered so you could get as much relaxation and rest possible before the twins arrive. So that’s how you wound up down here in his gym, having gotten bored in the living room after not being able to get comfortable on his couch without him there to rub your ankles.

For his own peace of mind he refused to think about you walking down the steps without his help when you suddenly appeared in front of him when he was lifting weights. But his anxieties were quickly forgotten when you plopped down on the bright purple ball and began rolling around on it a bit, your maternity bike shorts and an oversized t shirt only accentuating your very prominent baby bump making him nearly drop the weight in his hands at how effortlessly adorable you looked, letting him know he should move to the treadmill before he accidentally hurt himself while staring at you.

You bring the straw of your water bottle up to your lips as you look over at Harry who has a look on his face as if he’s deep in thought. Then suddenly his eyes shift and lock with yours making a smile creep onto his face when he sees your cheeks get pink when he catches you staring at him.

“Have you always been a worm or did I come home one day and you were suddenly a worm?” He asks as his pace on the treadmill begins to slow down. You look away from him and down at the magazine in your hand to check if the question has any more details to it other than what you asked him already.

“It doesn’t say but let’s just go with you came home one day and I was a worm.” You explain after slipping the straw out of your mouth. “Would you still want to be with me?”

“No.”

“Really?” Your brows furrow as you stare at him making him just shrug as he finishes up on the treadmill. “You-you didn’t even hesitate you just said-said no.” You don’t even feel the magazine fall from your hand as your eyes begin to sting. Harry is by your side before you can even begin to blink the tears away, bent down so he can place a hand on your knee rubbing the top of it with his thumb in soothing circles.

“Baby you’d be a worm.” He says softly as you turn your head so you’re not looking at him.

“So? I’d-I’d be your worm.” You mumble as you swallow down the lump forming in your throat, feeling a mixture of anger at how silly you feel for being upset over something like this but also feeling hurt at how quickly Harry answered with a solid no.

“Would you want me to keep you in a jar or something and just take you everywhere with me then? Would that make you happy?” He asks as his free hand reaches out and grabs your water bottle from you so he can place it on the floor behind him.

“Yes.” You answer with a sniffle and a nod as you turn your head so you can look at him. Harry feels his heart ache at the tears welling up in your eyes and the way your bottom lip is trembling with how hard you’re fighting back the tears that so badly want to begin rolling down your cheeks.

“Okay love.” You feel yourself lean into his touch when he brings his hands up to softly cup your face. “I’ll put you in an empty jar of that raspberry jam you love so much and carry you around with me everywhere how does that sound?”

“Gross.” You say with a watery laugh making Harry smile as his thumbs run up and down your cheekbones. “You’d have a worm in a jar-someone would end up throwing me away.” Harry just shakes his head no making you roll your eyes casing a few tears to spill over your waterline and slide down your face.

“I’d kill them before I let them throw my worm-or excuse me sorry I meant I’d kill them before I let them throw my girlfriend away.”

“That’s not very treat people with kindness of you.”

“What else am I supposed to do to someone who tries to toss my girl out with the trash?”

“I’d be a worm not your girlfriend.”

“So are you saying if you were a worm you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore?” Harry knows exactly what he’s doing by asking you this, making you tell him the same thing that he said to cause you to get upset in the first place. Oddly enough it’s something he’s learned helps you move on from an upset like this and he knows it’s working when he feels you shake your head while his hands still gently hold onto your face.

“No.” You barely get the word out before a few more tears spill over and stream down your face. Harry just gives you a soft smile as you look at him with a worried expression and he knows you think you just hurt his feelings so he quickly pulls your face towards his so he can place a kiss to your lips.

“I understand why you wouldn’t want to be with me it’s okay.” He says as when he pulls away in hopes it’ll help you feel better but when you just let out a small sniffle and place your hands over his that are on your face he pinches his brows together as he stares into your eyes.

“What’s wron-”

“I don’t want to be a worm.” You practically sob as your eyes close and your chest rises and falls at a quickened pace and Harry wants so badly to grab the magazine that’s on the floor near your feet and rip it to shreds for being the cause of this breakdown thanks to the relationship test where you got all your questions from printed in the back of it.

“Okay how about just being my adorable girlfriend who seems like she’s in need of some foot rubs on the couch-”

“The bed.”

“Okay foot rubs in bed and maybe a movie? How does that sound love?”

“Good.” You answer as Harry’s thumbs gently wipe the last remaining tears from under your eyes. “Sounds good.”

“Good.” Harry smiles as you drop your hands and place them on top of your bump. “How are they treating you today? Moving around a lot?” You look down as you feel Harry’s hand sliding under the hem of your t shirt so he can place his hands on the side of your belly making you let out a small sigh at how good the warmth of his hands feel through the thin material of your bike shorts.

“Nora is practicing her dancing while Edward is keeping to himself.” You answer with a small sniffle letting Harry know you’re calming down a bit, he looks up at you with a quirked brow as his hands slide to the front of your bump.

“And how do you know it’s Nora dancing around and not Edward?”

“I can’t explain it. I just know.” Harry smiles and nods at your answer as he moves his hands around your bump. “She’s right here.” You tell him as you move your shirt up so you can grab one of his hands and place it where you feel the most movement happening.

“Hello my little love.” You smile as Harry leans in so his face is a few inches from his hand that’s resting on your bump, his voice causing the movements to increase right under his hand making him chuckle. “Can you do daddy a favor and maybe take a little break from the dance lessons?” You cover your mouth with one hand to muffle the sound of your laugh as Harry talks to your bump, his other hand sliding around until he feels a very small kick letting him know where the other twin is.

“You know your voice only makes them wilder.” Harry ignores your comment and leans in closer so he can place a kiss to the middle of your bump.

“I can’t help that my voice is exciting.”

“Exciting? You really are a narcissist.”

“Ignore her my loves your mommy is just in a bit of a mood right now.” You roll your eyes as he gives your bump a little rub with both hands as he looks up at you with a playful smirk on his face. “We love you and can’t wait to meet you.”

“But we aren’t in a rush. Stay in there as long as you like.” You quickly add making Harry chuckle as he gives your belly one last kiss before standing up and holding his hands out for you.

“Come on my darling let’s see how long it takes you to get upstairs.” His voice is soft but with a teasing edge to it that makes you let out a huff as you grab his hands so he can help you up off your pregnancy ball.

“You can’t rush me with the stairs Harry it’s rude because you know I can’t see my feet and I’m trying not to fall and you’re over there timing me like I’m training for a marathon or something.”

“As if I’d ever let you fall.”

“Oh when does Gem get here?” You ask not trying to intentionally changing the subject but you just remembered your baby shower that she’s hosting for you is in a few days and if you don’t ask your questions now you’ll forget and then feel overwhelmed when she just shows up on Harry’s front door.

“Tomorrow afternoon.” He answers with a smile as he places a hand on your lower back while standing behind you as you begin your slow trek up the stairs. “She’s very excited to meet you and of course her and my mom plan on obsessing over you so just be prepared for a lot of fussing about your comfort and-”

“I’m already used to being fussed over so that’s fine.” He doesn’t miss the tease in your voice making him smile because he won’t even try to deny it, he has been fussing over you ever since you allowed him back in your apartment and now that you two are officially an item ever since he took you on your first date two weeks ago he has just upped his obsessing over your comfort and safety but you don’t seem to mind or at least if you do you don’t say anything to him about it.

“Yeah Paris does seem to a bit clingy with you. He was on top of your legs yesterday during your pre dinner nap and he nearly chewed my hand off when all I was trying to do was adjust your blanket.”

“Right Paris is clingy.”

“Quite the momma’s boy that one.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Touché.”

You can’t stop laughing as you watch Gemma smack her younger brother upside the head in the middle of his kitchen after making a rude comment about your choice of tea that you still drink on occasion when your tummy is upset. She arrived earlier than Harry had expected but only by a few hours and for a moment he felt utterly and truly complete as he stood by and let his sister full on bear hug you as his mother rushed off to his backyard after saying hello, wanting to check on a few things for the baby shower that’s being held back there the following day.

But as soon as Harry mentioned making lunch and helped you take a seat at his kitchen table you and Gemma seemed to be on the same page when it came to getting a kick out of picking on him, making him realize that eventually his own daughter will probably be joining in on their teasing but that makes him hope that his son will be on his side because he will go positively mental if it turns out to be four against one anytime their aunt Gem is in town.

“You can’t call your girlfriend and mother of your children’s tea preference disgusting Harry that’s rude.” He rolls his eyes as he takes a step away from his sister so she can no longer reach him from where she’s standing cutting up some fruit. “Besides you’re the reason she needs peppermint tea in the first place you knob.” Harry just turns and sends her a glare that she doesn’t even bother looking up from the cutting board to acknowledge making you laugh even harder.

“What does that even mean? How am I the-”

“You’re the one who got her pregnant.” Anne says as she walks into the kitchen with some fresh herbs she clipped from the small garden tucked away in the corner of his backyard. Harry feels his cheeks get hot as his mother casually brings up the fact he got you pregnant and that’s the reason you need peppermint tea with honey every now and then.

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Talk about what? How you couldn’t even wait to get her home so you had to go at it in the bathroom of some-”

“Gem honey please don’t talk about your brother’s bathroom romps while making lunch.”

“You’re right it’s more of a dinner conversation.”

“Mom make her stop.” Harry whines as he looks towards his mother for some assistance but she just laughs and gives him a shrug as she grabs a plastic bag to put the herbs in, you can’t help but smile as you watch the three of them interact, enjoying how they tease each other but underneath it all you can still feel the love they have for one another.

“I see you haven’t grown out of the having to ask mommy to come save you phase? I thought surely that would come to an end when you hit thirty.”

“You’re never too old to need your mom to come save you.” Anne says in Harry’s defense making Gemma roll her eyes as she looks up from the cutting board and over at her brother who has a smug smile on his face as he drapes an arm over his mother’s shoulders.

“You’re just mad that she’s still upset over you breaking her lemon colored tea set.”

“Lemon colored tea-you mean the one that disappeared ages ago?” Gemma’s eyes narrow as Anne looks at her with a raised brow. “Gem you broke that? It was a gift from your Nan.”

“Oops I forgot she didn’t know.” Harry’s voice is dripping in sarcasm as he brings a hand up to playfully cover his mouth. “Sorry.” He adds with a shrug while Gemma’s grip on the knife she’s using to cut the fruit tightens.

“How much do you fancy my brother? Like really?” She asks as she turns her head to look at you. “I think you could live without him right? You’d be fine?” You let out a laugh as Harry glares at her while Anne just walks off towards the pantry to grab some honey for the tea Harry was in the middle of making for you before this little argument started.

“Oh that’s enough.” Anne states as she holds out the jar of honey for Harry to take. “Finish making her tea before it gets cold.” With that Harry grabs the jar and goes back to making you a cup of tea to help soothe your tummy a bit before lunch.

“Harry!” Your voice shouting his name has Harry tossing his phone onto the couch as he rushes towards the stairs, taking them two at time he is upstairs and in his bedroom in record time.

“Baby are-”

“Oh god.” Your voice is strained as you let out a groan that has Harry’s heart about to beat out of his chest as he quickly walks into his bathroom.

The scene in front of him isn’t one he was at all mentally preparing for, you’re standing in the middle of the large bathroom with the dress you found after spending days sorting through wracks of maternity clothes only half way up your body so you’re top half is just covered by your bra and of course you have your handheld fan that’s been your bestfriend as of late due to your hot flashes mixed with the warmer weather, blowing cool air on you as you use one hand to lift your hair up so you can fan under your neck.

“Sweetheart are-are you okay?” He asks as he tries to calm down his racing heart having been sure your cry for him was due to something much more distressing than whatever this situation is.

“It doesn’t fit.” You say as you reach down and grab at the material of your dress. “I-I don’t know what happened Harry but it-it doesn’t fit. I can’t zip it.” The way your voice cracks lets him know he doesn’t have long to remedy this situation before you’re in full on hysterics, something he has only seen happen once and doesn’t ever want to have to witness again.

“Let me try.” You don’t argue instead you just turn around so your back is facing him. He takes a few steps towards you so he can begin lifting the straps of the dress up your shoulder as you move the fan so it’s blowing under the skirt of the dress making him chuckle.

“Don’t laugh at me.” You warn as he looks over your shoulder to find you glaring at him in the reflection of the mirror that’s in front of you.

“Laugh at you? Wouldn’t dream of it love.” He watches you roll your eyes at him before he goes back to the task at hand, getting you in this dress even if he has to call for his mother to come sew in a new zipper and let a few inches out of the waist.

“Did you see the gift Niall sent?” You ask as you move the fan so it’s blowing on your neck, Harry has to fight off the urge to roll his eyes at your casual mention of Niall while he is standing in his bathroom with you only half dressed.

“You mean the gift his lovely mom sent? Yes I saw it.”

“No the knitted blankets are just from Maura I’m talking about the stroll-”

“Niall Horan did not buy us a stroller.”

“You’re right he didn’t buy us a stroller.” Harry pauses his movements so he can look at you through the mirror as you try to hold back a smile. “Technically he bought me a stroller since the card only had my name on it.”

“I’m sorry can we rewind for a moment? When did you get on a first name basis with Niall’s mom and I thought Mitch and Sarah got us the stroller?”

“Since he FaceTimed her while over for dinner one night and introduced us and she doesn’t have any babies to spoil since Theo is-”

“You-you had dinner with Niall? When was this?”

“A week or so ago? I can’t remember.” Harry has to take a deep breath and run a hand through his hair as he tries to process all the information you just dropped on him in a very short amount of time. “Mitch and Sarah got us the baby swings.” You add as you put the fan on its highest setting and hold it up so it’s blowing on Harry once you see his cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

“So-so dinner with Niall a week ago and now you and Maura are friends and she’s knitting the twins blankets and Niall got you a stroller?”

“Yes but it’s the one that the twins can just go one on top of the other not the giant side by side one. Isn’t that so sweet of him? He didn’t even know that’s the one I was looking at getting.”

“Oh perfect he got you the one you wanted without you even having to tell him. He’s trying to steal you from me you know that right? And you’re over here talking about how sweet it is.”

“Harry.” Your voice is gentle as you turn the fan off before letting it gently drop to the floor, you turn around so you’re facing him, your dress still unzipped. “Don’t be jealous of Niall okay? You’re the one I’m dating right? So clearly it’s you I want to be with.”

“That’s because Niall and Zayn aren’t avaible.” He huffs as he crosses his arms over his chest making you roll your eyes.

“True they both are spoken for but-”

“Don’t do that.” His voice is only mildly serious as he glares at you as you bring your hands up cup his cheeks, pulling him down towards you just a little.

“Don’t do what?”

“Try to distract me from being jealous of your obscene love for the Irish guy I used to be in a band with.”

“He’s your bestfriend.”

“That’s what you want to bring up? His title? Not the fact you’re in love with him?”

“I am not in love with him.” Harry lets out a scoff as you place a kiss to his cheek. “I love him the same way I love Ethan.”

“Oh yeah right I’ve seen how you drool over Niall and I’ve never seen you do that over Ethan.”

“You weren’t there the first time I met Ethan and well yeah Niall is-well he’s extremely handsome I mean those eyes? I don’t know how you lasted so many years in a band with him. But even you agree with me about how good looking he is.”

“Are you doing this to torture me?” He asks as his hands fall to your hips. “Is it because I accidentally stole the covers in bed last night and ate your last bar of chocolate? If so then I’m so sorry it won’t happen again.” You let out a chuckle as he rests his forehead on yours as he apologizes for things you don’t even care about.

“You know the first time I saw you I spilled my drink all over the bar because I was too caught up in how good you looked in the glow of those horrible pink and yellow lights.” You admit as your hands slide down to his shoulders so you can give them a nice squeeze. “I’d never seen someone look so effortlessly sexy but also still sort of smugly boyish in a way that made you seem even more unattainable because you just looked so in your element surrounded by people and loud music.”

“You really do spend too much time around books.” You ignore his comment as he lifts his head so he can look you in your eyes and when you see his lips curl up into his signature smirk you feel your cheeks get hot. “No one talks like that.” He teases as he leans in so his lips are only a few inches from yours.

“Sorry I know how flustered you get when I use such big words.”

“Very flustered indeed.” Before you can say anything else his lips are on yours as his hands that are on your hips move down so they can get a nice feel of your bottom making your hands grip his shirt pulling him closer to you. When his hands firmly grab your backside and you tilt your head allowing him to deepen the kiss he knows he needs to pull away before things take a turn towards a territory neither of you have explored before and now isn’t exactly the time to do so. He also knows people are due to be arriving soon, including his mother and sister to help finish setting up for the baby shower that starts in just an hour.

“Done being jealous now?” You ask after Harry reluctantly pulls away with a groan as he closes his eyes and rests his forehead on your shoulder.

“Yes.” He says with a huff as your hands gives his chest a few pats.

“Good now can you please finish helping me zip this dress before I freak out?”

“Of course love.” You give him a smile when he lifts his head and brings his hands back up to your hips giving them a soft squeeze before you drop your arms to your sides so you can turn around allowing him full access to the back of your dress. With one not so gentle tug and a few curse words mumbled under your breath he successfully has you zipped up.

“You look beautiful.” He says with a grin on his face once you turn around and take a step back to allow him to get a better view of you. The pink and light blue floral dress hits right above your knees and the skirt flares out just the slightest and the straps are thick enough you can wear your new favorite bra that had Harry in a mild panic when you started crying after trying it on, saying something about how comfortable and supportive it is.

“Thank you.” You can’t help but blush as you feel his eyes roam over your figure. “Now you need to get dressed. I’m going to go find Paris.” Harry just nods as you head into the bedroom, stopping next to him and giving him a smile as you look up at him.

“I think I heard him in Nora’s room.” Harry tells you as he leans down to place a quick but still sweet kiss to your lips. “Don’t go downstairs without me please.”

“Okay.” Harry smiles when you don’t try to fight with him and he has to stop himself from pulling you in for another kiss when you take a step away from him but he knows he has things to do so he lets you walk out of the bathroom and when he hears the bedroom door close he knows you’re now headed to find your furry orange son. The one you begged Harry to let you bring with you whenever you come to stay with him for more than a night because Paris gets lonely and stressed when he’s without you for too long and honestly Harry said okay because he understood, that being exactly how he feels when you’re out of his sight for too long.

Harry’s eyes find yours from across the backyard, a slow smile working its way across your features when he shoots you a playful wink. He watches as your eyes roam the backyard taking in all the little details, Gemma and his mom having gone for a tea party theme for the baby shower left no corner undecorated and no table without a bouquet that instead of a vase is an old tea tin with a variety of different ones scattered on nearly ever flat surface they could find but they made sure the one closest to your designated seat is of course a peppermint tea tin with yellow honey colored flowers sprouting out of it. He can tell that you’re happy by the little crinkles the corner of your eyes get as you laugh at something his sister said, how your cheeks have stayed a little flushed since the start of the party but the thing that sticks out the most to Harry that shows how truly happy you are is the way you keep catching him staring and instead of making a silly face you just smile at him. It’s a smile that reaches your eyes and tells him something you know only he can decipher like it’s a secret code, and that something happens to be a three worded confession that neither of you are quite brave enough to say out loud yet.

“You’ve got it bad dude.” Mitch’s voice takes Harry out of his thoughts and back in the moment.

“What are you talking about?” He asks playing innocent because he knows exactly what his friend is talking about. Mitch just rolls his eyes and brings a hand up to give Harry a solid pat to his back.

“Nothing.” He says with a shake of his head. “Congratulations though on the whole dad thing. It’s a wild ride with just one so I can’t imagine what you’re in for with two.” He adds making Harry chuckle as he brings his drink up to his lips.

“I’m ready for it.”

“Yeah? You got the car seats installed and everything huh?”

“I do yeah.” Harry answers as his eyes once again land on you as you take a sip of your water that’s in a very fancy glass with lemons floating around in it. “You know she fought with me about wanting car seats in every car? Said we should only use one car with the twins and she tried to tell me it should be her beat up little thing named Melanie.”

“Melanie? That’s her car’s name?”

“Yes she’s had it since-”

“Wait how many cars did you put car seats in?” Mitch asks with a raised brow that Harry doesn’t see because he’s still just staring at you as you talk to Gemma and one of your friends from work.

“Uh five I think?”

“You have five cars with car seats in them? Jesus Harry that’s a bit-”

“It’s how many cars I own. So actually if you include her car it’s six.”

“You’re insane.”

“That’s what she said.” This makes Mitch laugh as he takes a sip of his drink and lets a silence fall over them but after a few minutes when Mitch looks over at Harry and sees he has a zoned out look in his eyes and a lopsided grin on his face, Mitch knows the exact feeling his friend is experiencing.

“You love her huh?”

“Yeah-yeah I think I do.”

[harryspurpleloofah]

Just next door

Summary: the guy who just moved in next door invited Y/N over for coffee and she saw a sex toy. Him hearing her touch herself later that day evolves into phone sex

Warnings: swearing, female and male masturbation, fingering, phone sex, guided masturbation, mentions of reader hearing moans from Harry’s apartment while he hooks up with someone, I think like a tiny bit of swearing?

The warm scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the small apartment as Y/N set two steaming mugs on the table near the window. Across from her, Clara perched eagerly on a chair, her fingers drumming against the ceramic mug in her hands.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Clara said, leaning forward like she was about to deliver life-changing news.

Y/N arched a brow. “What? Did someone steal your parking spot again?”

Clara shook her head, a grin already tugging at her lips. “No, it’s way better. I was coming up the stairs earlier, and guess who I saw?”

“Unless it’s Freddie Mercury, I’m not guessing,” Y/N replied dryly, taking a sip from her cup.

“A man,” Clara said, her grin growing wider. “A hot man. Like, ridiculously hot. And he was moving boxes into the apartment right next to yours.”

That got Y/N’s attention. She straightened slightly, setting her cup down. “The apartment next door? The one that’s been empty like…forever?”

“Exactly!” Clara practically squealed. “And let me just tell you, this guy is no ordinary neighbor. He’s tall, has this messy, curly hair, and..oh my God—he was wearing a sleeveless shirt while carrying all those boxes. His arms, Y/N. His arms. I swear they look like they belong in a museum.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though a flicker of curiosity was in her. “Sounds like someone’s trying to show off.”

“Um, if you had arms like that, wouldn’t you?” Clara quipped. “He’s a walking thirst trap, I’m telling you. You should bake him cookies or something, just so I have an excuse to come back and see him again.”

“Yeah right,” Y/N scoffed. “The last thing I need is to deal with a cocky neighbor who probably spends more time flexing in mirrors than unpacking his boxes.”

Clara snorted, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Don’t write him off just yet. You haven’t even met him. What if he’s sweet? Or mysterious? Or—”

“Or obnoxious,” Y/N interrupted. “Or loud. Or the kind of guy who blasts terrible music at all hours.”

“Or the kind of guy who’s so hot you won’t care,” Clara shot back.

Y/N shook her head, laughing softly. “Let’s just hope he keeps to himself and doesn’t cause any trouble.”

Y/N was halfway through folding laundry on the couch when she heard a knock at the door. Her brows furrowed as she glanced at the clock—7:30 p.m. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Clara had left hours ago, and most of her neighbors preferred to keep to themselves.

She padded over to the door and opened it. There he was.

The first thing she noticed was the curls—a messy tumble of dark brown waves that framed his face just right. Then her eyes caught on the white T-shirt stretched across his chest and the tattoos that peeked out along his arms, ink twisting down his skin like art in motion. He had a lazy, easy smile, the kind that could disarm anyone without trying.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm, slightly raspy. “Sorry to bother you. I’m Harry—just moved in next door.”

Y/N blinked, forcing herself to recover. Of course, he’s stupidly attractive, she thought, Clara’s earlier words ringing in her ears.

“Oh,” she said quickly, gripping the edge of the door. “Hi. Welcome, I guess.”

His smile widened a bit, his dimples appearing. “Thanks. Umm, I hate to be that guy, but do you happen to have a screwdriver I could borrow? I can’t find mine in all the boxes, and my bookshelf is dangerously close to collapsing on me.”

She hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not she wanted to prolong this interaction. But then she caught the faintest trace of hope in his eyes, like he wasn’t entirely sure she’d help. That, and the hint of an accent lacing his words, made it hard to say no.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got one. Hold on a second.”

She left the door slightly ajar as she went to the kitchen drawer, rummaging around until she found the toolkit. When she came back, Harry was leaning casually against the doorframe, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

“Here,” she said, holding out the screwdriver. “You can just bring it back whenever you’re done.”

He took it, his fingers brushing against hers briefly. “Thanks. Lifesaver.” He paused, tilting his head slightly as if studying her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Y/N,” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral.

“Well, Y/N,” he said, his smile turning just a touch more charming. “I owe you one. First favor in the books already. You’re making it hard for me to be a bad neighbor.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out, even as she tried to suppress it. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

He grinned, taking a step back toward his door. “I guess we’ll see. Thanks again, Y/N.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving her standing in the doorway with a slight flush creeping up her neck and an unfamiliar warmth buzzing in her chest.

A month later, the café was buzzing with quiet chatter as Y/N stirred her iced coffee, the clinking of the ice against the glass the only sound between her and Clara for the moment. Across the small table, Clara was mid-bite of her sandwich, but the look in her eyes told Y/N she was just waiting for the right moment to drop something.

“What?” Y/N finally asked, narrowing her eyes.

Clara grinned, swallowing quickly before leaning forward. “Nothing. Just…how are things with your very hot neighbor?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she felt the faintest blush creep up her neck. “They’re fine. He borrowed a screwdriver the other day. That’s the extent of our interactions.”

She smiles, “Well when I pulled into the lot, your new neighbor..Harry, right? He was coming back from a run.”

Y/N looked up, her fork hovering in the air. “A run?”

“Uh-huh,” Clara confirmed, grinning now. “And let me tell you, it was a sight to behold. He was wearing these black running shorts and a tank top, and he was like, glistening in all the right places. I swear it was like watching one of those slow-motion workout montages in a movie.”

Y/N groaned, dropping her fork onto her plate. “Clara.”

“What?” Clara said innocently, though the glint in her eye betrayed her. “I’m just saying, the man has no business looking like that while casually jogging. And he looked so…relaxed about it, like he didn’t even realize every living being with eyes was staring at him.”

Y/N took a sip of her iced coffee, trying to hide the heat creeping up her neck. “Okay, you’re being dramatic.”

“Oh, am I?” Clara shot back, crossing her arms. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. The guy looks like he walked straight out of a Calvin Klein ad. How are you living next door to that and still functioning?”

“He’s just being neighborly.”

“Neighborly, my ass,” Clara said with a snort. “If he comes knocking again, you better invite him in for more than a tool. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Clara!” Y/N yelled.

“What?” Clara said with an exaggerated shrug. “I’m just looking out for you. If I had a neighbor like that, I wouldn’t waste a second.”

Shaking her head, Y/N stabbed at her meal, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere. But Clara’s words lingered, teasing at the edges of her thoughts.

Because as much as she hated to admit it, there was something about Harry that made her wonder just how long she could keep pretending not to notice.

Lunch wrapped up soon with banter, but as the pair strolled back toward Y/N’s apartment, Clara looped her arm through Y/N’s, still buzzing with energy.

“So,” Clara said, bumping her shoulder. “What’s the plan for the rest of the day? Because I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to go home yet.”

Y/N smiled, unlocking the door to the building and holding it open for Clara. “What are you saying? You want to stick around and steal all my food again?”

“Obviously,” Clara replied with a grin. “Your popcorn is better than mine, and you know it. Besides, it’s been ages since we had a proper movie night. You’ve been sooo busy.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as they made their way up the stairs. “I’ve barely been busy. You’re just dramatic.”

“Whatever you say,” Clara said breezily. “So…movies? Wine? Popcorn?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Okay, fine. But you’re in charge of picking the movies this time. If I pick, you’ll just complain the whole time and then end up watching them anyway.”

“Fair point,” Clara said, shrugging. “Alright, deal. I’ll find something good.”

They reached Y/N’s apartment, and as she unlocked the door and pushed it open, she glanced over her shoulder. “Just don’t pick anything sappy, alright? I’m not in the mood for tearjerkers.”

She opened the cabinet where she kept the popcorn. “Butter or kettle corn?”

“Both,” Clara said, plopping onto the couch and grabbing a pillow. “Oh, and maybe I’ll grab a blanket in case it gets cold. Can’t be too prepared.”

Y/N smiled. Clara’s energy was infectious, and as much as she liked having her space, she was glad for the company.

“Alright, movie marathon it is,” Y/N said, grabbing a bottle of wine from the counter.

As the familiar hum of the TV filled the room and the scent of freshly popped popcorn wafted through the air, Y/N couldn’t help but smile. Despite Clara’s endless teasing, she was glad for the distraction.

Soon Y/N and Clara were sprawled on the couch, surrounded by empty bowls of popcorn and half-finished glasses of wine. The action movie Clara had insisted on watching blared from the speakers, explosions and dramatic one-liners filling the space.

Y/N shifted under her blanket, stifling a yawn, when Clara suddenly sat up straighter, her head tilting to the side.

“Wait,” Clara said, holding up a hand to shush Y/N.

“What?” Y/N asked, frowning as she paused mid-sip of her wine.

Clara’s eyes narrowed, her expression a mix of confusion and amusement. “Do you hear that?”

Y/N froze, listening. For a second, there was nothing but the sound of the movie. But then, faintly, she heard it—a muffled rhythm, like the creak of a bedframe, punctuated by soft, indistinct noises.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Oh shit.”

Clara’s mouth dropped open, and she slapped a hand over it to stifle a laugh. “Oh my God,” she whispered, leaning toward Y/N. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Shh!” Y/N hissed. Clara ignored her, pointing toward the wall that separated Y/N’s apartment from Harry’s. “It’s coming from his place, isn’t it? Your neighbor?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N muttered, gripping her glass a little too tightly.

But Clara wasn’t letting it go. She reached for the remote, pausing the movie mid-explosion. The silence that followed was deafening, except it wasn’t really silent at all. The noises became clearer without the distraction of the TV, and there was no mistaking it now. A low, breathy moan filtered through the thin walls, followed by another creak of the bed.

Clara gasped, her eyes wide with delight. “It is him!” she whispered dramatically.

“Do you think it’s…like, a one-time thing?” Clara whispered, barely able to keep a straight face.

“I don’t want to think about it at all,” Y/N whispered back, sinking deeper into the couch and covering her ears.

Clara grinned, clearly reveling in Y/N’s discomfort. “I mean, hey, at least you know he’s good at something. Not that you’ll ever find out, of course.”

Y/N grabbed a throw pillow and smacked Clara with it, eliciting a loud laugh. “Shut up!”

The next morning, Clara had left at about 9 AM and now Y/N had just settled on the couch with a mug of coffee when a knock at the door startled her. Setting the mug down, she padded over to open it, her heart skipping a beat when she saw who was standing there. Harry.

He was leaning against the doorframe, holding her screwdriver in one hand. His curls were disheveled, and there were faint shadows under his eyes. He looked as though he hadn’t slept at all, but somehow he still managed to pull it off in a way that was unfairly attractive.

“Morning,” he said, his voice low and scratchy, like he hadn’t used it much yet. “Thought I’d return this before I forgot.”

“Oh, thanks,” Y/N said, taking the screwdriver from him. She hesitated for a second, her eyes scanning his face. “You okay? You look… tired.”

He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, you could say that. Had a bit of a rough night.”

She leaned against the doorframe, curious despite herself. “Oh? Something happen?”

Harry hesitated, his lips twitching in what might’ve been embarrassment or amusement. “Let’s just say I had one too many drinks… and some questionable company.”

Y/N blinked, her stomach doing a strange little flip. “Oh.”

He gave a dry laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s not exactly my proudest moment. Went out to blow off some steam, ended up bringing someone back. She left early this morning, and now I’m regretting pretty much everything about it.”

Y/N tried to ignore the sudden tightness in her chest. It wasn’t her business..he was an adult, and hookups happened. But still, the thought of someone else being with him, hearing those same soft, raspy tones directed at them, made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Well,” she said, keeping her tone light, “I guess everyone has those nights, right?”

Harry smiled faintly, leaning against the doorframe. “Guess so. Just…doesn’t feel great, y’know? She was nice enough, but it was all a bit…empty.”

Y/N tilted her head, surprised by his honesty. There was something raw about the way he said it, like he wasn’t just brushing it off as a joke or a casual story.

Harry chuckled, a low, warm sound that sent a tiny flutter through her chest. “Lesson learned,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not exactly my proudest decision. I guess I was just…blowing off steam, y’know?”

Y/N tilted her head, curious. “Rough week?”

He hesitated, leaning against the doorframe. “Something like that. Moving’s been a bit of a whirlwind, and… I don’t know. I guess I’m still getting used to being here. New city, new place, no familiar faces. It’s a bit… lonely.”

Her expression softened. “I get that. Moving can be tough. When I first moved here, I didn’t know anyone either. It took me ages to feel like this place was actually home.”

He smiled faintly. “Yeah? What changed?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just…let myself settle in. Met a few people, got into a routine. Eventually, it started to feel right.” She paused, feeling a pang of sympathy. “You’ll get there. It just takes time.”

Harry’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, the air between them felt heavier, more intimate. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Y/N cleared her throat, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. “Anyway, you should probably get some coffee if you’re running on no sleep. It might help.”

He smirked, tilting his head. “You offering?”

She managed to keep her voice steady. “Sure, if you don’t mind instant coffee and a very stubborn coffee machine.”

Harry laughed softly. “Instant coffee sounds like heaven right now.”

“Well, come in then,” she said, stepping back and gesturing for him to enter. “It’s the least I can do after you brought back my screwdriver.”

The apartment was warm and filled with the lingering scent of fresh coffee. Harry glanced around, his gaze landing on the cozy setup in the living room. “Nice place,” he said.

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, heading into the kitchen. “Make yourself at home. I’ll get the coffee started.”

As she fiddled with the coffee machine, Harry leaned casually against the counter, watching her with an easy smile. “You’re sure I’m not interrupting anything? I don’t want to mess up your morning.”

“You’re not interrupting,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “It’s nice to have some company, actually. Most mornings it’s just me and my to-do list.”

Harry chuckled. “Sounds thrilling.”

“Oh, it’s the height of excitement,” she deadpanned, pressing the button on the coffee machine—only for nothing to happen. She frowned, pressing it again. Still nothing.

“Uh-oh,” Harry said, stepping closer. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Yeah definitely not.”

“Is if broken?”

“I think so,”

He smiled softly, “No worries we can go to mine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Besides, I really need that coffee.”

Harry’s apartment felt like stepping into a place that was truly lived in..a home, not just a space. The walls were painted a soft, warm cream, and natural light poured through sheer curtains, casting golden streaks across the wooden floors. Potted plants thrived in every corner, adding bursts of green to the room. A woven throw rug lay beneath a large, overstuffed couch that was piled with mismatched cushions, some knitted, others patterned with earthy tones.

The coffee table was a mix of practicality and personality, a stack of books with worn spines, an old mug filled with pens, and a half-melted candle that smelled faintly of cedar and citrus.

In one corner, a record player sat atop a weathered wooden stand, surrounded by a scattering of vinyls leaning casually against the wall. Above it hung a cluster of Polaroid photos strung on twine with tiny wooden clips, each one capturing moments of laughter, travel, and faces Y/N didn’t recognize but instantly envied.

The kitchen blended seamlessly into the living space, its counters lined with signs of use: a ceramic bowl of fruit, a drying rack with a couple of dishes, and a cheerful tea towel hanging over the edge of the sink. The faint scent of fresh coffee wafted through the air as Harry stood at the counter, pouring steaming liquid into two mismatched mugs.

“You’ve got a really cozy place,” Y/N said, her voice soft as she took it all in.

Harry glanced over his shoulder with a small grin. “Thanks. Took me a while to get it feeling right. Guess I’m a sucker for a homey vibe.”

“You nailed it,” she said, her gaze drifting again.

She wandered over to a small shelf tucked beside the couch. It was cluttered in the best way…books stacked horizontally and vertically, a framed photo of what looked like Harry and his family standing on a windswept beach, and a small globe with the paint chipped in a few places. Everything about it felt warm and personal, like every item had a story.

“You can sit if you want,” Harry called out, his voice easy and light. “Promise I won’t be offended if you don’t want to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.”

Y/N smiled. “I’m fine. Just…looking.”

She continued her slow circle, her eyes catching on a door slightly ajar at the end of the short hallway. The bedroom, she guessed, though she quickly looked away, not wanting to seem like she was prying.

But then, as her gaze traveled to the other side of the room, something caught her attention.

It was on the floor by the edge of the couch, partially hidden beneath the throw blanket that had slipped off the armrest. At first, she thought it was just a random object—a stray remote or maybe some kind of gadget, but as she stepped a little closer, her stomach flipped.

A sleek, unmistakable shape came into view. It was a vibrator.

Small and simple, but undeniably there, lying just slightly out of place amidst the cozy, domestic warmth of his apartment. Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly looked away, her face burning. Had he seen her notice it? Did he even realize it was there?

“You okay over there?” Harry’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, and she turned to see him leaning against the counter, a mug in each hand, his expression amused.

“Fine!” she said quickly, her voice a little higher than usual. She walked toward him, hoping he didn’t notice her awkwardness. “Just…admiring your plant collection. They’re very..healthy.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it but too polite to push. “Well, thanks. They get all the credit. I just water them and hope for the best.”

As he handed her a mug, their fingers brushed briefly, and Y/N swore she felt a spark. She took a sip, letting the warmth of the coffee ground her as she avoided glancing back toward the couch.

But no matter how hard she tried, the image of the toy was burned into her mind, along with the unwelcome but undeniable thought of Harry using it on someone.

“So,” Harry said, oblivious to her spiraling thoughts, “tell me about yourself, Y/N. What do you do for fun when you’re not rescuing broken coffee machines or lending out screwdrivers?”

Y/N forced a smile, hoping he couldn’t see the pink still dusting her cheeks. “Oh, you know. The usual. Reading, bingeing bad TV, trying to keep my plants alive…” She trailed off, her voice softening as she met his eyes. “Nothing as interesting as this place, though.”

Harry shrugged, his lips quirking up in that easy, lopsided grin. “Guess it depends on your definition of interesting. My life’s not as exciting as it might look.”

Harry followed her line of sight, his brows furrowing in confusion at first. But then his eyes landed on the object partially hidden beneath the blanket on the couch, and his expression changed instantly.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “You, uh…you saw that, didn’t you?”

Y/N’s face flushed, and she quickly looked away, trying to pretend like she wasn’t dying of embarrassment. “Yeah, I did.”

“Damn,” Harry said, his voice soft with a mix of awkwardness and apology. He stepped around the counter, closing some of the space between them. “I didn’t realize—I mean, I should’ve—I didn’t know it was just sitting there. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Y/N said quickly, waving a hand as if to dismiss it. She could feel the heat crawling up her neck and cheeks, and she desperately wanted to escape the situation before it got any more mortifying. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. I wasn’t—”

“Still,” Harry interrupted, running a hand through his hair. “That’s…not exactly something you want to stumble across when you’re just trying to have a cup of coffee.”

She laughed nervously, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “It’s fine, Harry. I promise.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his green eyes searching her face like he wasn’t sure if he should drop the subject or keep apologizing. Then he sighed, shaking his head.

“This is so embarrassing,” he muttered, a small, sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I swear I���m not like having sex 24/7. It just…happens to be there, and I didn’t think—”

“Harry, seriously,” Y/N cut him off, her voice firmer this time. “It’s fine. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

She glanced toward the door, her heart still racing, and gave him a tight smile. “I should probably get going, though. I’ve, uh, got some stuff to do.”

Harry’s smile faded, and for a second, something flickered in his expression—disappointment, maybe? But he quickly masked it, nodding as he stepped back to give her space.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, his tone light and casual, though it didn’t quite match the look in his eyes. “Thanks for, you know, not freaking out.”

She smiled faintly, already moving toward the door. “It’s not a big deal. Really.”

He walked her to the door, his hands shoved into his pockets as they reached the threshold.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the frame, “thanks for the company. Even if I managed to completely ruin it.”

“You didn’t ruin it,” Y/N said, her smile softening. “It was…nice.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his grin returning, though it was smaller this time. “Good to know.”

She hesitated for half a second before giving him a quick wave and slipping out into the hallway. As the door closed behind her, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her heart still pounding.

Y/N leaned back against the headboard of her bed, her room dimly lit by the soft glow of her bedside lamp. The book she’d been trying to read lay forgotten in her lap, her mind betraying her with images of Harry—standing in his kitchen, the sleeves of his T-shirt stretched over his toned arms, that damn crooked smile on his face.

Her face burned just thinking about him, but no matter how hard she tried to shake it, the memory of the vibrator on his couch kept flashing in her mind. She bit her lip, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the blanket draped across her lap.

It was reckless, she knew that. But the way he’d looked at her earlier..the way his green eyes had lingered, the way his voice had dipped when he said her name, it had left her feeling more restless than she wanted to admit.

Her hand slid lower, beneath the blanket, her breath catching as her fingers grazed her skin. She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the fantasy. She pictured him leaning over her, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice low and teasing as he murmured her name.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the sound sent a shiver through her body.

On the other side of the wall, Harry froze. Their rooms must be back to back because he could now hear faint moans of Y/N.

He had just stepped out of his shower, towel slung around his hips, when the faint sound reached his ears. At first, he thought he was imagining things, but then it came again, soft, breathless, unmistakable. His name.

From Y/N’s apartment.

He stood there for a moment, completely still, his damp hair dripping onto his bare shoulders as he listened. The sound came again, and this time, there was no mistaking the hushed moan that followed.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding.

It wasn’t intentional..he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But now that he’d heard it, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. The wall separating their apartments was thin enough to carry the faintest sounds, and the realization sent heat rushing through his body.

He leaned back against the wall, torn between guilt and an intense, undeniable arousal. He should stop. He knew he should stop. But the sound of her soft, needy gasps of her whispering his name was doing things to him that he couldn’t ignore.

Inside her apartment, Y/N was oblivious, completely lost in her own world. Her breathing quickened, her movements becoming more urgent as she pushed two fingers in and out of her pussy and imagined his hands on her, his lips trailing down her neck, his voice rumbling in her ear as he told her exactly what he wanted to do to her.

“Harry,” she whimpered again, her body trembling as she edged closer to cumming.

He shouldn’t call her. He knew that. It was crossing a line, stepping into territory they hadn’t even begun to discuss. But the memory of her soft gasps, the thought of her lying in her bed, touching herself while thinking about him…

It was too much.

With a low groan, he grabbed his phone and scrolled to her name in his contacts. His thumb hovered over the call button for a second before he muttered, “fuck it,” and pressed it.

The phone rang once. Twice.

“Harry?” Y/N’s voice was soft, hesitant, and he could hear the slight tremor in it, like she wasn’t sure why he was calling.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I was…I’m awake,” she said quickly, though there was something breathless about her tone that told him she hadn’t quite recovered from what she’d been doing.

He let out a quiet laugh, leaning back against the couch. “Good. Because we need to talk.”

There was a pause, and he could almost feel her tension through the line. “About what?”

“About what I just heard,” he said, his voice dipping lower, more serious.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Oh my God,” Y/N finally said, her voice barely audible. “You heard that?”

“I did,” Harry admitted, his lips curving into a small smile despite himself. “Walls are thin, love.”

She groaned, and he could hear the embarrassment in the sound. “Harry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupted, his tone firm but gentle. “I’m not mad. Not at all.”

“But—”

“Y/N,” he said, cutting her off again. “Listen to me. You don’t need to be embarrassed, okay? I’m not judging you.”

She didn’t respond, but he could hear her breathing on the other end of the line…quick, shallow, and uneven.

“Are you still in bed?” he asked, his voice softening.

“…yes,” she admitted after a moment.

“Good,” he said, leaning his head back against the couch. “Stay there for me.”

“Harry…”

“You were saying my name,” he continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Weren’t you?”

Her breath hitched, and he smiled, knowing he’d caught her.

“I—”

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his tone soothing but commanding. “You don’t have to lie. I liked it, Y/N. Hearing you like that…knowing you were thinking about me…”

Her breathing quickened, and he could almost picture her lying there, her cheeks flushed, her body tense with anticipation.

“Harry,” she said again, her voice a mix of nerves and something else..something needier.

“Let me help you,” he said, his hand drifting down to his cock as he spoke. “Let me show you how good it can feel. Can I do that?”

There was a long pause, and for a moment, he thought she might say no. But then she whispered, “Okay.”

“Good girl,” he said, his voice like velvet. The words sent a thrill through him as much as they did her, and he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face.

“Are you touching yourself right now?” he asked, his tone low and deliberate.

“No,” she admitted, her voice shaking slightly.

“Then start,” he said. “Slide your hand down, just like you were doing before.”

He waited, his own hand slipping below as he imagined her doing exactly what he’d asked.

“Touch your clit,” he murmured, his tone thick with heat. “I want to hear you as you feel the warmth of your own touch.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her body still trembling from the intensity of their conversation. But his voice was like a magnet, drawing her in, and before she knew it, her fingers were moving against her skin, tentative at first, then more sure of themselves as she followed his instructions.

“Good,” Harry whispered, his voice growing rougher. “Now, gently slide your fingers in and out, slowly. Feel every fucking inch.” “Good girl,” he murmured, his words sending a thrill through her. “Just like that. You’re so good for me, Y/N. I can hear how much you’re enjoying this.”

“Now add a third finger for me.”

She did as she was told, she let out a slightly louder moan this time.

“That’s it baby just like that. I know you can handle it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so desperate for my cock would you? How are you gonna take it all for me if you can’t even take three of your own fingers? That would just be pathetic.”

She breathes out as she fingers herself deeper, just trying to forget theyre her own and imagining his ringed ones instead. “Harry..”

“That’s right love just like that,”, he started moving his hand up and down his own cock, holding back moans. “You wanna come over to my apartment tomorrow? So I can actually fuck you good?”

She barely even comprehends what he’s saying with the feeling of being stuffed with three fingers, win the reassurance that soon it would be even more filling than that with his dick. All she can muster is a soft hum of affirmation.

“Yes or no?”

“Y-yeah of course. Just text me what time.”

He sighs, adjusting himself to get more comfortable as he feels the orgasm coming. “I will. I’ll use that same vibrator on you then will you like that?”

“H-”

“And trust me it wasn’t the only thing I have at my house. I have a whole drawer you can have. Pick anything you want out of it tomorrow yeah, baby?”

“Yes Harry, fuck-oh god I’m cumming.”

“Just like that baby.”

Harry almost cums instantly as he hears her moans and then her clamming down afterwards, her breath heavy. And soon enough he does, groaning himself as the hot ropes shoot out of his cock to the towel now underneath him.

After everything settled into quiet, Harry’s voice, still thick with desire, came through once more.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and she could hear the satisfaction in his tone. “You did so well.” His words lingered in her ear, and she could feel the warmth of his praise seeping into her skin.

Y/N’s breath was still uneven as she slowly, hesitantly, lifted her fingers to her lips. “Lick them for me, love,” Harry coaxed, his voice soothing but laced with a hint of command.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, the request sending a shiver down her spine, but the sound of his voice, so commanding yet affectionate, left no room for doubt. Slowly, her fingers moved to her lips, her tongue darting out to meet them, and as she did, a soft gasp left her mouth.

“Good girl,” Harry said, the words slipping out in a near whisper. “So good for me. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

The promise of tomorrow hung in the air between them, leaving her pulse racing, her thoughts swirling with the anticipation of what was to come.

“I’ll make sure we have a good time, baby,” Harry reassured her, his tone still warm and low. “You deserve it. You’re perfect.”

Y/N let out a quiet sigh of contentment, still basking in the afterglow of everything they’d just shared, and though she felt a lingering desire, she could also feel the weight of satisfaction in the quiet moment.

“I should let you go now,” Harry said, his voice now gentle, as if sensing her need to breathe. “But tomorrow, we’ll have all the time we need.”

“Goodnight, Harry,” Y/N said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

“Goodnight, love,” he replied, his voice lingering in her ear as if he was right there with her. “Sleep well.”

The call ended, leaving Y/N with a soft smile on her lips, her body still buzzing from the connection they’d shared.

[cloudyluun]

Sunburnt & Smitten (p2)

Summary: Harry wakes up knowing he majorly fucked up. He has one goal today: make sure you forgive him (and, preferably, forget all about the book he sacrificed to the sea). His tactics start with sweet bribery, escalate to shameless sabotage, and ultimately end with him pleading his case in bed, where he’s much better at holding your attention anyway.

A/N: OMG, besties. I cannot even BEGIN to tell you how much FUN this was to write. Like, truly, who gave Harry the right to be this cocky and hot and impossible to resist?? (Oh, wait. That were @harrywavycurly & me. My bad 😌✨.)

Hope you all enjoyed this absolute masterpiece of unhinged horny behavior. Please like, repost, scream in the comments, and remember: if he’s not buying you books after mind-blowing sex, what is he even doing?

Word Count: 5,5k

Warnings: 

Smut (obviously, babes)

Teasing & power shifts (we love a battle of wills)

Filthy, filthy desperation (you're welcome)

Harry being cocky AF (but also absolutely wrecked)

Bribery via books & vacations (the ultimate love language)

Emotional vulnerability disguised as pillow talk (cry about it)

[part 1]

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Harry wakes up first. And for a brief, beautiful moment, he forgets about his crimes.

The morning sun is already warming the room, spilling golden light through the open balcony doors. The waves are soft, the air smells of salt and citrus, and most importantly you’re still here, tucked beside him in bed. His heart swells at the sight.

But then he notices it.

Your arms are crossed, even in sleep. Lips slightly pursed.

A knot of dread forms in his stomach.

Oh. Right.

He threw your book into the ocean.

Harry grimaces, replaying the crime scene in his head. It had been impulsive. Driven by jealousy and a complete lack of self-preservation. And now, here he is, lying beside you like a man on death row, waiting for the verdict.

Carefully, he shifts onto his side, resting on his elbow as he watches you stir awake.

He needs to fix this. Immediately.

“Morning, angel,” he murmurs, brushing a featherlight kiss to your shoulder. His lips linger, soft and sweet, an offering of peace.

You hum in response. But don’t move closer.

Oh, fuck.

His chest tightens. He’s in real trouble.

Time for damage control: “Operation: Bribe your girlfriend with breakfast.”

Harry moves fast. One second, he’s in bed with you, the next, he’s bolting down the stairs, determined to bribe his way back into your good graces.

Ten minutes later, he returns with a perfectly curated breakfast tray.

Fresh coffee, made exactly how you like it.

Flaky, buttery croissants.

A little bowl of berries, because he knows you like something light in the morning.

And—his pièce de résistance—a single flower he nicked from the villa’s garden.

He softens his footsteps, placing the tray on the bedside table before climbing back into bed.

You’re fully awake now, blinking at him suspiciously as he pulls the covers up, tucking you into the warmth of his chest.

“For you, my love,” he says dramatically, presenting the tray as if offering you the world itself.

He leans in, nuzzling your jaw, voice a syrupy sweet murmur.

“My muse. My heart. The only person I have ever loved.”

Your eyes narrow. “The person whose book you MURDERED?”

He flinches. “Right. That too.”

The Phone Snatching Incident

You exhale sharply, sitting up to grab your coffee. You don’t push him away, but you don’t cuddle into him either. That’s a bad sign.

Still, he waits. Watches. Hopes.

You sip your coffee. Take a bite of the croissant. Even pluck the little flower from the tray, twirling it between your fingers.

Harry holds his breath.

Just as he starts thinking maybe, just maybe, he’s done enough—

You reach for your phone.

His stomach drops.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice calm but internally panicking.

“Checking if I can get a digital copy of the book you sent to a watery grave,” you reply flatly, eyes on the screen.

Oh, hell no.

Before you can so much as type in the title, Harry snatches your phone away.

“Harry—!”

“Just hear me out, love—”

He rolls onto his back, holding the phone high above his head like a petty, overgrown child. You scramble onto your knees, reaching for it, but he’s got longer arms and zero shame.

“Harry, give it back!” you huff, straddling his waist now, fully prepared to fight him for it.

He smirks. Oh, he likes this position.

“Can’t,” he says, tossing your phone onto the other side of the bed. Far away from your reach.

Your glare could set him on fire.

“Why the fuck not?”

He grins. "Because, angel… I’m much more fun than a book."

Harry may have successfully delayed your vengeful book shopping spree, but you’re persistent and still mad.

So, when he eventually gets up to shower, you stealthily retrieve your phone & ereader, curling up on a lounge chair outside. The private deck overlooks the sparkling blue ocean, but you barely notice it as you quickly download the digital copy of your book.

Victory.

With a smug little smile, you settle in. Sunglasses on. Drink beside you.

Finally.

Peace.

You barely make it two pages before your peace is shattered.

A shadow falls over your screen.

A large, wet, obnoxious shadow.

You glance up.

Harry stands before you, dripping wet, curls plastered to his forehead, wearing only his swim trunks.

Your jaw clenches.

He smirks. “Can’t believe you’re really choosing a book over me, love.”

You sigh heavily, shifting your sunglasses down your nose to glare at him. “I wouldn’t have to if someone hadn’t THROWN MY FIRST COPY INTO THE OCEAN.”

Harry winces theatrically, placing a hand over his heart as if you’ve just stabbed him.

“Oof. Still sore about that, huh?”

Your deadpan stare could strip paint from walls.

He licks his lips, eyes flicking toward your screen. “What’re you reading now?”

“My replacement copy,” you say pointedly, lifting the e-reader so he can see.

Harry snorts. “Oh, so you’re serious about this, then.”

“Dead serious.”

His grin widens.

And suddenly, before you can react, he scoops you up.

You yelp, e-reader slipping from your grasp as he lifts you effortlessly from the lounge chair, one arm under your back, the other beneath your thighs.

“Harry, DON’T YOU DARE—”

Too late.

He tosses you into the pool.

SPLASH.

The water is cool and shocking, knocking the breath from your lungs as you resurface, gasping.

Dripping. Spluttering. FURIOUS.

"YOU MENACE."

Harry, the actual devil, is leaning lazily against the pool’s edge, grinning like he just won an award for Best Boyfriend Ever.

“Had to make sure you were paying attention to me, didn’t I?”

You stare at him. Unblinking. Seething.

You lift a hand and splash a huge wave of water right into his smug fucking face.

He laughs, shaking his head like a wet dog, flinging water everywhere.

You cross your arms. “Buy me the whole fucking series, and I might consider forgiving you.”

Harry tilts his head, pretending to think.

Then he lunges, gripping your waist beneath the water, yanking you into him. Chest to chest. Nose to nose.

"How about I buy you the series," he murmurs, voice low and persuasive, "and you promise to read it to me?"

Your lips part slightly, breath catching at the way his fingers trace slow, teasing circles on your waist.

"Read it to you?"

He nods, lips ghosting against your jaw, trailing wet kisses down your neck.

“Every single word.”

For a brief, fleeting moment, he has you.

His voice is low, warm breath fanning across your damp skin, fingertips tracing slow circles on your waist beneath the water. You feel yourself leaning in, your resolve cracking, just a little.

And then—

Your e-reader, floating pitifully a few feet away, bumps against your arm.

You blink.

Your anger resurfaces instantly.

“Nice try, Styles.” You push a hand against his chest, untangling yourself from his grasp and wading away.

He groans, tipping his head back dramatically. “Oh, come on, angel—”

“Nope.” You snatch the e-reader, wiping water from the screen. “You don’t get to seduce your way out of this. You committed a crime.”

“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

You shoot him a glare over your shoulder as you climb out of the pool. “You murdered my book in cold blood.”

Harry grins as he watches you grab a towel, wrapping it around your waist before flopping back onto a lounge chair. “I did you a favor, really. Now you don’t have to waste time on it.”

“Oh, trust me,” you say, lifting your e-reader again, scrolling through your downloaded pages. “I’ll be making up for lost time.”

And just like that—you’re back to reading.

Game. Set. Match.

Or so you think.

Because Harry fucking Styles is nothing if not persistent.

Less than five minutes pass before you hear it.

The long, drawn-out sigh of a man who is deeply, deeply suffering.

You ignore it.

Then, another. Louder.

You shift your sunglasses up, peering over the rim.

Harry is flopped dramatically onto the deck, arms sprawled out, sunglasses perched on his nose, looking for all the world like a tragic poet wasting away on the sands of time.

You blink.

He sighs again.

Louder. More pained.

You press your lips together, willing yourself not to react.

Another sigh.

A groan.

A soft, tortured whimper.

You snap your book shut. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Harry immediately perks up, but quickly rearranges his face into an expression of pure, unfiltered melancholy.

"It’s just… hard, y’know?" he murmurs, voice thick with existential despair.

You roll your eyes. “What is, exactly?”

He exhales deeply, shifting onto his side, propping his head up on one hand.

“Knowing I’m not enough for you.”

You stare at him.

He sighs again, this time with even more dramatic weight, and throws an arm over his forehead.

Your eyebrow twitches. “Harry.”

“Don’t.” He holds up a hand, eyes still closed behind his sunglasses. “No, really, don’t. Nothing you say can fix this.”

“Oh, for the love of—”

“I’ll just be here.” He gestures weakly to the deck, as if it’s his grave. “Alone. Forgotten. Wishing I was a paperback novel.”

Your jaw drops.

“Harry, are you fucking serious?”

“Shh.” He presses a finger to his lips, as if shushing the wind. “No words. Just let me… waste away.”

You gape at him.

Before you can stop it, a laugh bubbles up.

Because this man is absolutely ridiculous.

He’s pouting beneath his sunglasses, sprawled out like he’s auditioning for a tragic French film, sighing dramatically every few seconds just to make sure you know how deeply, deeply unloved he is.

And it’s so absurd, so childish, so Harry, that you can’t even pretend to be mad anymore.

You set your book down with a sigh, shaking your head.

“Alright, Mr. Clingy. What do you want?”

Instantly, Harry moves.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you effortlessly onto him, your legs tangling as he buries his face in your neck.

"Want you to pay attention to me.”

His voice is warm, pleading, lips brushing against your skin.

You huff, but your fingers are already sneaking into his curls, combing through the damp strands.

He hums in satisfaction.

You sigh. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

He grins against your shoulder.

And just like that, he wins.

Or at least, he thinks he does.

But you’re still clutching your half-drowned e-reader, your mind half-focused on the chapters you were about to dive into before he decided to ruin your entire day.

And Harry sees it.

The way your gaze flickers, the way your fingers twitch, the way—despite the fact that he is literally wrapped around you—you’re still thinking about that bloody book.

He needs to up his game.

So, he pulls back, just enough to study you, lips pursing.

Then, with a dramatic sigh, he peels himself off you and trudges away.

You blink. “What—”

Without a word, he comes to a halt at the very edge of the deck, standing stiffly with his arms crossed.

He just stands there.

You frown.

He sighs again.

Louder.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

No response.

You sit up, eyeing him. “Harry.”

He shifts his weight, staring out at the ocean, deep in thought.

A slight breeze tousles his curls, his profile bathed in golden light, jaw set, lips pressed together like he’s contemplating the meaning of life.

You narrow your eyes.

Something isn’t right.

He doesn’t look like he’s scheming anymore.

He looks…

Genuinely sad.

“…Harry?”

His shoulders rise, then fall.

And then, he speaks.

"D’you even love me anymore?"

Your mouth falls open.

“What?”

His chin tilts up, sunglasses slipping down his nose as he turns to face you, brows drawn together.

“I mean,” he shrugs, lips pursing, “you barely even looked at me today.”

You stare at him.

He continues, voice quiet now.

“And, I dunno… I just—” He licks his lips, tilting his head. “I just can’t help but think… maybe you love the book more than you love me.”

Your eye twitches.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Am I?” His brows arch, eyes scanning your face.

And for the first time all day, there’s no trace of teasing.

No grin hiding behind his words, no sly amusement in his expression.

He looks…

Heartbroken.

Like a sun-kissed, brokenhearted rockstar who just got his heart trampled on.

Your chest tightens.

Because fuck—Harry might be a menace, and he might be a walking, talking distraction, but…

He’s also yours.

And despite all his ridiculous antics today, despite the drama, the sabotage, the destruction of personal property…

You do love him.

You sigh.

Then, slowly, you set your book aside.

Harry watches you carefully, his expression unreadable as you push yourself up to your feet.

You take a single step toward him.

Then another.

His lips part, but he doesn’t say a word.

And then—

You’re right in front of him.

You cross your arms, tilting your head. “Alright, Mr. Clingy. What do you want?”

For a moment, he just stares.

In an instant, he lunges.

His arms lock around your waist, pulling you in, your feet barely touching the deck as he buries his face in your neck.

You yelp, hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself.

His voice is warm, muffled against your skin.

“Want you to pay attention to me.”

You exhale, a soft, breathy laugh spilling from your lips.

He tightens his grip, nose nudging against your jaw.

You roll your eyes, but your fingers are already slipping into his curls again, tugging lightly.

And just like that—

He wins. Again.

But this time…

You let him.

You tilt his chin up, brushing your lips against his pout.

Soft. Lingering.

He sighs into it, melting.

And when you pull back, he chases after you, lips grazing yours once more, arms still locked around you.

You laugh, pressing another kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Alright, rockstar.” You smile. “You win.”

His eyes flicker, bright with mischief again.

“Good.”

Then, with zero hesitation—

He picks you up.

You barely have time to gasp before his arms tighten around you, one beneath your thighs, the other braced against your back, his grip possessive, effortless. He doesn’t just carry you inside, he owns every step, moving with the kind of confidence that sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. His body is warm, radiating with that sun-kissed heat, his skin smelling of salt, faded cologne, and the lingering remnants of sunscreen.

"Harry—"

He doesn't let you finish.

The villa is quiet, save for the sound of his footsteps against the wooden floorboards. Outside, the ocean crashes against the shore, the rhythm of the waves almost in sync with your pulse—fast, pounding, uneven. He walks like a man with purpose, a man who knows exactly what he wants and has no problem taking it.

The moment you cross the threshold of the bedroom, something shifts.

Your back barely brushes the mattress before Harry follows, taking you down with him in one smooth, fluid motion.

You land on top of him, thighs bracketing his waist, hands catching yourself against the firm planes of his chest. His body is all lean muscle and warmth beneath you, the faint sheen of saltwater drying against his skin, the slow, teasing press of his hands sliding down your back to your hips.

There’s no rush to it—not yet.

Just slow, drawn-out anticipation, a game neither of you are quite willing to lose.

Harry watches you, gaze heavy-lidded, a smirk tugging at his lips. His hands flex against your skin, like he’s resisting the urge to flip you over and take control. You can see it in the way his jaw clenches, the way his Adam’s apple bobs when you shift slightly, just to test him.

You lean in, letting your lips ghost over his jaw, the scent of him—salt and warmth and something inherently Harry—filling your senses.

"You know, H," you murmur, voice slow, syrupy, dragging each syllable like honey. "If you wanted my attention that badly, all you had to do was ask."

His smirk doesn’t waver.

If anything, it deepens.

"I think I’ve done more than ask, love."

His voice is husky, rough with amusement and something heavier underneath. His hands slide up your sides, the heat of his palms searing against your bare skin. He doesn’t push—just holds, just lingers, waiting.

Waiting for you to make the next move.

You tilt your head, pretending to consider it, even as you shift in his lap, the slow drag of your body against his drawing the faintest hiss from between his teeth. His fingers twitch, grip tightening, but he doesn’t move.

Not yet.

"Mm," you hum, tilting your head. "And you think you deserve a reward for that?"

Harry swallows, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

"Maybe?"

You let the silence stretch between you like a taut thread, watching as the tension builds in his body. It’s delicious—the way his muscles twitch beneath your fingers, how his breath comes just a little quicker, how his fingers flex as if resisting the overwhelming urge to grab at you.

His wrists are still pinned beneath your hands, right where you left them. He could move if he wanted to, if he really wanted to—Harry is stronger than you, faster, more than capable of flipping you over and taking control. But he doesn’t.

He stays still.

Obedient.

Because despite the cocky smirk lingering at the corner of his mouth, despite the teasing spark still faintly flickering behind his darkening green eyes—he knows exactly what you’re doing. He knows he fucked up. He knows you’re going to make him work for it. And worst (or best) of all?

He likes it.

"Maybe."

You whisper the word like a promise, drawing your nails down the center of his chest—not hard enough to scratch, just enough to make him feel it, to make him shiver beneath you. His breath hitches at the sensation, his muscles tensing before relaxing again, like he's trying to keep himself in check.

You drag your fingertips lower, following the trail of fine hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his swim shorts. You don’t dip beneath, not yet, just rest your hands there, feeling the warmth of his skin, the way his abs tighten with anticipation.

His jaw ticks.

You smile.

You shift slightly, just enough to press your weight down where he’s already hard against you, and he exhales sharply through his nose. His fingers twitch against the sheets, grip tightening, and you know—know—he's barely holding onto his self-control.

Good.

Leaning in, you ghost your lips over his jaw, not quite kissing, just enough to tease. He turns his head slightly, chasing the touch, but you pull back. His lips part in frustration, his brows pulling together as he lets out a quiet, ragged sound.

"Eager, aren’t you?" you murmur.

His throat bobs as he swallows. "Bit hard not to be, love," he admits, voice thick. "Sittin’ on me like this, teasin’ me—kinda cruel, don’t you think?"

You hum, pretending to think about it.

Then, just to be extra cruel, you shift again, rolling your hips ever so slightly against him, feeling the way he strains beneath you. The deep, guttural groan he lets out sends a shiver down your spine, pooling heat low in your stomach—but you don't let it show. Not yet.

His hands twitch again, rising instinctively, palms brushing over your thighs—only for you to catch them, pushing them back down onto the mattress.

"Ah ah," you tsk, shaking your head. "I don’t think you’ve earned that yet."

His eyes darken. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

"Yeah?" he rasps, testing you. "And what do I need to do to earn it, angel?"

You smirk, letting your fingers trail up his chest again, featherlight.

"Oh, I don’t know." You lean down, lips hovering just over his, close enough that you can feel his breath against your mouth. "Begging might be a good start."

Harry exhales sharply, his brows furrowing just slightly, like he’s debating whether or not to fight this, to push back. But you know he won’t. Not really.

Because this is exactly what he wants.

You can feel it in the way his body tightens beneath you, in the way his breath comes faster, in the way his hands stay right where you left them.

Still. Waiting.

Obedient.

You grin against his jaw, pressing a soft, teasing kiss just below his ear.

"Good boy."

The noise he makes is sinful.

It’s not just a groan—it’s something deeper, something visceral, something wrecked. You feel it in the way his whole body reacts, the way he tilts his head ever so slightly, exposing more of his throat to you.

Oh.

That’s interesting.

You tuck that reaction away for later, storing it deep in the back of your mind as you continue your slow, torturous descent.

Kissing. Biting. Licking.

Dragging your lips over the ridge of his collarbone, over the firm planes of his chest, trailing heat in your wake.

When you shift again, pressing down exactly where he needs it most, his hips buck up automatically—only for you to lift up just in time, denying him.

A choked-off noise escapes his lips, something between a groan and a curse. His hands fist in the sheets, the muscles in his arms flexing as he fights the instinct to grab you.

"Need something, H?" you ask, voice as sweet as honey.

His head tips back, eyes squeezing shut for a brief second before he looks at you again.

"Don’t be cruel, angel," he grits out. His voice is rough now, thick with frustration, a deep rasp that shoots straight between your legs.

You pretend to consider it, tilting your head.

Then, with an innocent smile, you say, "You threw my book in the ocean, remember?"

His reaction is immediate—a groan, deep and frustrated, his head dropping back against the pillow.

"Fuck, love, I know," he groans, dragging a hand down his face. "I’ll buy you the whole goddamn series—just—fuck, please—"

You bite back a grin.

He’s close.

So close to breaking.

But not yet.

Not yet.

You can see it—can feel it in the way his whole body is wired tight beneath you, in the way his fingers dig into the sheets, in the way his chest rises and falls with every ragged breath. His lips are parted, swollen from how often he’s bitten down on them in frustration, his curls a wild mess against the pillow.

His eyes—God, his eyes—are pure desperation now, pupils blown wide, swallowing every trace of teasing mischief that had been there before.

You’ve reduced him to this.

The thought sends a thrill down your spine, makes your own breath come a little quicker, your skin prickling with heat.

But you’re not done.

Not until he’s completely wrecked.

Not until he breaks for you.

You shift again, rolling your hips ever so slightly, and the groan that rips from his throat is obscene. He’s trembling beneath you now, his fingers twitching like they physically ache to grab at you, to flip you over, to take control.

But he doesn’t.

He waits.

Obeys.

"You’re taking this so well," you murmur, trailing your fingers down his stomach, watching how his muscles tense beneath your touch. "Maybe I should reward you after all."

His breath hitches.

And then—finally—you sink onto him.

His reaction is immediate.

A sharp, choked-off curse tears from his lips, his hands flying to your hips like he physically can’t stop himself. His fingers dig into your skin, hard enough that you’re sure there will be marks tomorrow, but you don’t mind. You want the reminder.

His head tips back, exposing the long, elegant line of his throat, and you take advantage—leaning in, pressing your lips against his pulse point, feeling the frantic beat of his heart against your mouth.

"Fuck," he groans, voice hoarse. "Fuck—angel—"

You giggle at his reaction, at the way he’s coming apart so quickly.

"That good, huh?" you tease, pressing another kiss just below his ear.

His grip on your hips tightens. "You fuckin’ know it is," he pants.

But you don’t let him set the pace.

No—this is still your game.

Your punishment.

So even though you’re desperate too, aching for more, you keep it slow.

You rock against him, agonizingly deliberate, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his brows pull together, the way his whole body is coiled tight with restraint.

"You’re so mean," he grits out, his breath coming in short, shallow pants. "So fuckin’ mean."

You laugh softly, dragging your nails up his chest. "Mean?" you echo, tilting your head. "I think I’m being generous, considering your crimes."

His hips jerk up instinctively, chasing more friction, but you deny him, lifting just enough to keep him wanting.

He nearly whimpers.

And when you clench around him—just once, just to make him feel it—his whole body shudders beneath you.

"Fuck—" he chokes out, his voice wrecked.

You smirk.

Now he’s the one breaking.

It’s cruel, really.

The way you keep just enough control.

The way you deny him just enough to make him ache, to keep him on that razor-thin edge between pleasure and madness.

You can feel it in every shudder that wracks his body beneath you, in the way his hands—normally so sure, so confident—are now trembling where they grip your thighs. You can see it in the way his face twists with pure, agonized need every time you slow down, in the way his lips part around half-formed pleas he can’t quite voice.

And then, of course, there’s the sounds he’s making.

The low, wrecked groans that scrape up from deep in his chest. The ragged, desperate panting as he fights to keep himself from snapping. The murmured curses, gasped into your skin like a prayer.

Your name—over and over again—a reverent, pleading litany on his lips.

It’s intoxicating.

It makes heat bloom low in your stomach, makes your own thighs shake just a little, makes your breath catch as your own pleasure coils tighter and tighter.

But you’re not done with him yet.

Not until he completely unravels.

So you pick up the pace.

You roll your hips faster, move against him with just enough force to make him lose that last thread of control.

And oh, God, does he fall apart.

His fingers dig into your skin, hard, needy. His grip tightens, almost bruising, as his body shudders beneath you, all restraint shattering at once.

"Fuck—"

The sound of his voice—wrecked, desperate, almost pained—sends a sharp jolt of pleasure straight through you.

You can feel the exact moment he breaks.

He surges up suddenly, gripping your waist and flipping you before you can even gasp.

Your back hits the mattress.

And then—before you can even catch your breath—he’s on you.

Over you.

Inside you.

And this time, he’s the one in control.

The first thrust is deep—so deep you arch up instinctively, gasping, clutching at his shoulders.

The second is just as devastating.

And the third—fuck.

He pins you down, his forearm bracing beside your head, his free hand gripping your thigh, hooking it around his waist to hold you open for him.

There’s nothing slow about it now.

Nothing teasing.

It’s needy, raw, consuming.

He fucks into you with purpose.

Like he’s staking a claim.

Like he’s making sure you never think about anything else ever again.

Like he’s rewriting your fucking soul.

And God, it’s working.

Your nails rake down his back, dragging hard enough to leave marks.

His jaw is clenched, his brows furrowed in pure focus, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Say it," he growls suddenly, his voice low, rough, demanding.

Your mind is spinning. "Say what?"

His fingers tighten on your thigh. "Say I’m better than your book."

A breathless, half-delirious laugh spills from your lips.

"You’re better than my book."

His lips crash against yours, hot, desperate.

"Say you forgive me."

"I forgive you—"

His next thrust knocks the breath from your lungs. "Oh, fuck, Harry—"

You’re so close.

And from the way his grip tightens, from the way his rhythm starts to falter, so is he.

His name rips from your throat, high and breathless, as he drives into you again, and again, and again.

It’s overwhelming—the heat of him, the weight of him, the sheer intensity in his gaze as he watches you fall apart beneath him.

And God, you are falling apart.

Your whole body is on fire, burning from the inside out, aching with every deep, deliberate thrust.

Harry can feel it—the way you’re unraveling, how close you are.

His hand slips between you, fingers brushing down your stomach, finding exactly where you need him most.

And then—fuck.

He presses down, moves his fingers in slow, firm circles, his pace never faltering, never relenting.

Your whole body shakes.

Your grip on him tightens—nails digging into his biceps, legs locking around his waist, pulling him deeper, keeping him exactly where you need him.

His rhythm is messy now, frantic, desperate, every movement a plea, a promise, a demand.

"Give it to me," he groans, his forehead pressed against yours. "C’mon, angel. Let me feel it."

It’s too much.

The heat, the pressure, the way he’s watching you—

Like you’re the only thing that exists. Like he’d burn the whole world down for you. Like you already own him.

And then you shatter.

It hits you like a tidal wave, a wildfire, an earthquake.

Your whole body tenses, pleasure crashing over you in heavy, shuddering waves, your back arching, your breath catching, your lips parting on a broken moan of his name.

And he follows.

His jaw clenches, his grip tightens, his body stiffens above you.

And then—a ragged, wrecked groan—

His face buries in your neck as he falls apart, spilling into you, gasping against your skin, his body shaking with the force of it.

For a long moment, neither of you move.

The only sounds in the room are harsh, uneven breaths, the pounding of your hearts, the distant crash of waves outside.

Then—slowly, like he’s afraid to lose the moment—Harry pulls back just enough to look at you.

His hair is a mess, damp and sticking to his forehead. His lips are red and swollen, parted on soft, uneven breaths.

But it’s his eyes that make your chest tighten.

Because for the first time tonight, they’re completely, devastatingly open.

And the way he’s looking at you—like you just rewrote his entire world—

It’s dangerous.

Because you know you’re looking at him the same way.

Harry doesn’t let you go.

Even now, with both of you sticky, sweaty, and utterly spent, his arms stay wrapped around you—one draped lazily across your waist, the other tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your back.

His chest rises and falls against yours, his breaths still a little uneven, his face buried in the crook of your neck like he never wants to move again.

For a moment, neither of you say anything.

You just exist there, tangled up together, skin pressed to skin, hearts still beating in sync.

His lips brush against your shoulder, soft and lazy and unbearably sweet.

Another.

Then another.

"So… d’you really forgive me?"

You smirk, eyes still closed. "Mm. Maybe."

His mouth stills against your skin.

A pause.

"Maybe?" His head lifts, green eyes narrowing in playful outrage.

You crack an eye open, smirking at his expression.

"Buy me the whole series and book us a few extra days here, and I might."

His lips twitch.

Then he grins, wide and victorious.

"Done." He nuzzles closer, arms tightening around you. "But only if you read them to me. Naked."

You laugh, soft and sleepy and so incredibly full.

Then, just because you can, you kiss him.

Slow, sweet, lingering.

"Deal."

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖

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[ghstyles]

For Worse or For Worse

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WC: 4.2k

Masterlist

Preview and Summary

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Home was meant to be a safe haven. Somewhere to recharge, unwind, and leave the chaos of the outside world behind. At least, that’s what it should’ve been. For Harry, it used to be just that: a quiet refuge where he could knock back a drink, let the silence stretch, and forget the blood and noise of the day. But lately, stepping through his own front door made his stomach twist with irritation. He liked to think he had control over his emotions, but something about sharing his space with Y/N set his nerves on edge. It was an itch he couldn’t scratch or a thought he couldn’t silence.

The house reeked of her perfume. Her sickly, stupid, sweet perfume. It was like a reminder of everything he couldn’t escape. The smell clung to the walls, seeped into the fabric of the couch, the sheets on his fucking bed. It made his stomach churn every time he stepped inside, knowing she was there, in his space, taking up room in his life. It made him tense knowing that he had to cohabitate with—be married to—the one person he’d been taught to despise. Every conversation he had with his mother now was a half hour of listening to whatever that vain woman spat about his wife. And for good fucking reason.

"You must understand, Harry, she will never fit in." His mother’s voice, smooth as the silk she draped herself in, echoed in his ears even when she wasn’t around. "Women like her, they don’t belong in our world. They take and take until there’s nothing left of you."

He could picture her now, perched in the grandiose sitting room of the family estate, wine glass in hand, lips curling in distaste.

"She doesn’t have the breeding, the refinement. No matter how many couture dresses she wears, she will always be just a girl who stumbled into something she could never truly understand."

The worst part? Harry wasn’t sure if he even disagreed.

Harry kicked the front door shut behind him, the wall rattling with a force that sent the beautiful, heavy wood slamming back into its hinges. He didn’t call out for Y/N, didn’t fucking care to. Their marriage wasn’t the honey, I’m home, sort of covenant. He didn’t care for it to be either.

He enjoyed the silence. The perfect moment of blissful reprieve before she made herself known and he was sent wondering if the whole thing was really worth it.

His footsteps echoed too loudly on the marble floors, like the house itself was reminding him how alone he was. Even the chandelier above him, sparkling in the low light, felt oppressive, too bright, and too pristine. Everything about this place was designed to impress, but it only pressed on him harder

Every corner of the house felt like a gilded cage. It was all beautiful but empty. A mansion for a man who didn’t know how to live in it

For a moment, the silence of the mansion was a rare comfort. The house, still and cold, held its breath as Harry poured himself a drink. He enjoyed the finer things life had to offer, especially when it came to his liquor. The clink of the glass was the only sound, a small, fleeting peace before everything went to hell again. He flicked open the cap, pouring himself a generous amount into one of the gold-rimmed snifters, the amber liquid sloshing around the rim of the glass before finally settling.

As he took a sip his hand came up to unbutton the collar of his pressed shirt, opening up invitingly. And just when all seemed perfect, the sound of someone descending the staircase shattered his moment of peace.

He groaned, the sound muffled by the lip of his glass. He knew that gaze. Didn’t even need to turn around to assure himself that it was her lingering at the end of the stairwell. He could practically feel her eyes boring into his back.

The idea of marriage never appealed to him in the first place, but this was worse. Harry didn’t like Y/N—despised her—plain and simple. But it wasn’t exactly his clever idea to get married, even if he was cold enough to admire the practicality of the situation.

As grating as she was, he didn’t mind that he got the publicity for dating her. That was the only tangible thing keeping him from saying to hell with it whenever she decided to run her little mouth. Her pretty lips needed to shut the fuck up. It was a marriage of convenience at best. The only silver lining in the shit sandwich that was their arrangement was that Y/N was surprisingly, begrudgingly easy on the eyes.

“And here I thought I’d have a quiet night. Alone,” he mumbles. His words were pointed, bordering between confrontational and passively sarcastic. He shoved away from the cart, flicking Y/N a glance as he crossed the room over to one of the living room’s armchairs.

“Wishful thinking, I suppose. What has my lovely spouse come to me for now? Oh, you know you look tired when your brows are all furrowed like that. A smile would look better, sweetheart.”

Harry watched Y/N cross her arms defensively, those eyes of hers narrowing with familiar contempt. The feeling was mutual. Four months of this arrangement and they still circled each other like wolves from rival packs, neither willing to concede an inch of territory.

"What's there to smile about when I'm married to you?" she scoffs, "And don’t call me that, I just came here to get a bottle of water” she says, before rolling her eyes, continuing on her path.

"What's there to smile about?" Harry echoed with a bitter laugh, taking another deep swig of his whiskey. The burn felt good, at least something did in this godforsaken house. "I don't know, maybe the fact that your debts are being paid while you get to live in a mansion most people would kill for? Such a tragedy."

He sprawled back in the armchair, one leg draped carelessly over the arm as he watched her roll her eyes and head toward the kitchen. The soft glow of the refrigerator light cast shadows across her features as she pulled it open.

Harry ran a hand through his brown hair, mussing it slightly as he studied her. There was something about the way she moved—tense, guarded, like she was constantly bracing for impact. He'd noticed it more lately, especially after his mother's particularly venomous phone call yesterday where he'd had the phone on speaker without realizing. Even in the dim lighting, he could see the exhaustion etched across her face. It was three in the morning, after all.

"Bit late for hydration, isn't it?" His voice carried easily through the open-concept space. "Most people are asleep at this hour. Though I suppose counting all that money I'm giving you might keep one up at night."

“You don’t see me judging your choice of drink at three in the fucking morning, do you?”

The side compartments rattled as she slammed the door shut

"Fair point about the drink," he conceded with a shrug, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Though I'd argue whiskey at 3 AM is more socially acceptable than water. Makes me seem sophisticated rather than...whatever you're being right now."

"Who the hell came up with that?"

"Some sophisticated guy. You wouldn’t know him."

"You mean a drunk guy. Probably an alcoholic."

His mouth curved into a smirk at her obvious irritation, taking a slow sip. "A sophisticated alcoholic, then."

She had half a mind to chuck this water bottle at him, instead, opening it to drink. He watched as she tilted her head, the long line of her throat working as she swallowed. For a brief moment, his eyes lingered on the curve of her neck before he forced his gaze away, annoyed at himself for noticing.

"Nightmares?" he asked suddenly, his tone marginally less cutting. "Or just plotting ways to make my life more difficult tomorrow? I'd like to prepare accordingly."

“Plotting implies I think about you which...I don't”

"You don't think about me? I'm wounded, truly," Harry pressed a hand to his chest in mock hurt. "And here I thought I was the center of your universe. My mistake."

Something in her posture caught his attention, though—a certain rigidity that seemed out of place. The way her eyes kept darting to the shadows of the large, empty house. Recognition flickered across his face before he could mask it. He'd grown up in houses like this, but she'd been financially coerced into it.

"This place is different at night, isn't it?" he observed, his tone shifting slightly. "All those empty rooms. Every little creak and groan magnified." He took another sip of whiskey, contemplating her. "Is that why you're really awake? The big bad mansion too scary for the small-town girl?

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Please. I’ve lived through worse than a few creaky floorboards."

Still, she didn’t quite meet his eyes.

Harry hummed, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Of course. What was I thinking? Nothing rattles you"

"Glad we're finally on the same page."

But she didn’t move. Didn't turn her back to the dark hallway just yet.

His smirk deepened, catching the subtle hesitation. "Well, if you do happen to get spooked, feel free to scream. I’d hate to miss the chance to say ‘I told you so.'"

“You're real mature, you know that? now if you’ll excuse me, I’d hate to intrude on your night alone” she says, heading to the stairs.

“The security system could probably withstand a nuclear attack, if that helps," he added, almost as an afterthought. "My paranoid security team made sure of that."

“Of course they did,” she says, not even looking back at him as she reaches the stairs, “they sleep well knowing their prized pony boy is nice and protected.” 

Something about her dismissal irked him more than it should have. Perhaps it was being reduced to a "pony boy" or the fact that she was walking away from him mid-conversation. Either way, it stoked the embers of his annoyance.

"Pony boy?" he called after her, setting his glass down with a sharp clink. "Is that the best you could come up with? I've got three Grammys on the mantle, sweetheart. At least call me a thoroughbred."

She paused at the base of the stairs, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk. "Three Grammys and still desperate for my approval? That’s cute."

He rose from the armchair in one fluid motion, his tall frame unfolding as he followed her to the stairs. He wasn't entirely sure why he was prolonging this interaction as it certainly wasn't making either of them happier, but something about letting her have the last word felt like conceding defeat.

"You know," he leaned against the banister, looking at her retreating form with those penetrating green eyes, "for someone who claims to not think about me, you sure seem eager to run away. What's the matter? Afraid you might actually have a civil conversation with your husband?"

The word 'husband' tasted strange on his tongue, foreign and ill-fitting. Four months in and he still couldn't reconcile himself to the title.

"Or is it that you're scared of something else entirely?" A knowing smirk played at his lips as she paused. "Scared of the dark? The big empty house? Being alone?" His voice dropped lower. "You weren't waiting up for me, were you, Y/N?"

“I’m not scared of anything. Just couldn’t sleep”

"You know, if you're having trouble sleeping, I could always help you with that," he drawled, his voice low and menacing. "A good fuck might tire you out enough to actually get some rest. Though I doubt you'd be worth the effort."

She fully turns around, crossing her arms, looking at him with a ‘are you serious?’ look.

 “First of all, ew. I wouldn’t let you touch me with a ten foot pole, let alone a ‘good fuck’. Which, second, for you? I think is an overstatement”

Harry's eyebrows shot up at her sharp retort, surprise flickering across his face before a dark chuckle escaped his lips. She hadn’t backed down—not even flinched. Despite himself, he felt a flicker of something annoyingly close to respect.

"Overstatement?" he echoed, tilting his head, assessing her with newfound interest. "That’s quite the assumption for someone who’s never had the pleasure. Or is that jealousy I hear? Been listening to too many of my songs, perhaps?"

She scoffed, shaking her head. "Right. Because nothing gets me going like auto-tuned narcissism over a mediocre beat."

His smirk faltered just slightly, but he recovered quickly, climbing two steps, closing the space between them. The height difference was less pronounced now, the cross pendant at his neck catching the dim light as he moved.

"For the record," his voice dropped to a husky whisper, "I wasn't actually offering. I have standards, believe it or not." His gaze raked over her, exaggerated and slow. "Though I will admit, this arrangement would be marginally more tolerable if there were some... benefits."

She let out a dry laugh, tilting her head. "You sure about that? Wouldn't want to give your Mommy a heart attack."

Harry leaned against the banister, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the ink on his forearm. "You’re right. The very thought of touching the girl my mother warned me about since childhood..." he shuddered dramatically. "Small-town nobodies and all that."."

She raises a brow at the familiar insult, leaning her hip against the same banister, “Small-town nobody, huh? It's funny you say that as an insult considering this small-town nobody just gave you the biggest boner." she looks down at the bulge in his pants, "do I turn you on harry?" she says in a sultry tone

Harry's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking at the corner as her words hit their mark. His eyes narrowed at her boldness, at the way she'd turned his own game against him. The worst part was she wasn’t entirely wrong, no, his body was betraying him in the most inconvenient way possible.

"Don't flatter yourself," he growled, though the flush creeping up his neck belied his dismissal. "Four months of celibacy would have me hard for a particularly curvaceous piece of furniture. It’s biology, not preference."

Nevertheless, he shifted his stance slightly, uncomfortable with how exposed he felt under her knowing gaze. Harry Styles—Grammy-winning artist, heartthrob to millions—caught out by his arranged wife of all people.

"Sounds like a you problem," she shot back, arching a brow. "Maybe try getting some real hobbies. Touch some grass. Read a book."

"You think I can’t get what I want when I want it?" he challenged, taking another step up, further minimizing the distance between them. The air seemed to thicken around them, charged with something dangerous. "The agreement was to appear faithful, not actually be faithful. I could have anyone I wanted with a single phone call."

She snorted, arms crossing over her chest. "Then why haven’t you?"

That stopped him for half a second. His jaw tensed, but his smirk didn’t waver. "Maybe I’ve got standards."

"Or maybe," she mused, tapping a finger to her chin, "you’re just scared I might be right. That despite all your posturing, you’re actually wound up over me."

And he hadn't. For reasons he refused to examine too closely, he’d actually honored the spirit of their arrangement. Perhaps it was pride, or perhaps something more complicated.

"Do you turn me on?" he echoed her question, his voice dropping to a husky timbre as he leaned in, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath. "Maybe the question should be: does it turn you on to think you have that power over me?"

His green eyes locked with hers, searching for any sign of vulnerability, any crack in her defiant facade. There was something intoxicating about this standoff. Something more stimulating than any of the meaningless encounters he’d had before their arrangement.

Y/N didn’t so much as blink. Instead, she let out a low, unimpressed hum, tilting her head as if sizing him up.

"You talk a lot for a man who’s trying to convince me he’s unbothered."

His smirk faltered just slightly.

"And you deflect a lot for a woman who’s definitely bothered."

She let out a sharp, cutting laugh. "Please. If I wanted to feel something, I'd be in bed with a vibrator, not trading insults with you."

Harry’s expression flickered—something between amusement and irritation.

"Bold of you to assume it’d do a better job."

She took a slow step closer, close enough now that their bodies nearly touched. Her voice was softer when she spoke, more dangerous.

“Do it,” she says. “What’s stopping you huh? Definitely not the loving wife you have at home. If not being able to stick your dick in random girls every night bothers you, then go ahead.” with that, she turns to continue going up

Something in Harry snapped at her dismissal, the casual way she turned her back on him, the challenge in her words. Four months of frustration, of living in this bizarre limbo with a woman who simultaneously infuriated and intrigued him, culminated in one impulsive moment.

Before she could take another step, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping firmly around her wrist. In one swift motion, he pulled her back, turning her to face him. Their bodies collided, her back against the wall of the stairwell, his tall frame looming over her.

"You think I won’t?" he growled, his face inches from hers, green eyes blazing with intensity. "You think I give a damn about this sham of a marriage?"

Her breath hitched for only a second, but she refused to let him see it. Instead, she let out a slow, unimpressed exhale. "Oh, I know you don’t. You remind me every chance you get."

His free hand came up to brace against the wall beside her head, caging her in. The cross pendant dangled between them, catching the light as his chest rose and fell with quickened breaths.

"I've spent four months watching you walk around my house, sleeping in my bed, drinking my water at three in the fucking morning," his voice was low, rough with barely contained emotion. "And all the while thinking you’re so much better than me. The virtuous small-town girl forced to endure the big bad celebrity."

Her lips curled, head tilting as she studied him. "Please. You act like I asked for this. Like I begged to be trapped with you and your champagne problems. If anything, I’m the one enduring you, Harry."

He leaned in closer, close enough that their noses almost touched, his lips curling into a bitter smile.

"Here’s what I think, Y/N. I think you’re just as curious as I am. I think you lie in that bed at night wondering what it would be like. Why else would you be so fixated on what I do or don’t do with my cock?"

Her brows lifted, a sharp laugh escaping her lips. "Fixated? God, your ego is exhausting. I don’t give a damn where you stick it, as long as it’s far away from me."

"Tell me again to ‘do it.’ Tell me again what I should do, when we both know you’re just as trapped in this arrangement as I am."

His eyes dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to hold her gaze.

“I…” the words die in her throat, the proximity suffocating. The familiar proximity.

For a second, Y/N was transported back to a simpler time. Before all of…this. When Harry and Y/N were friends. Well…if you can call it friends.

The tension in the stairwell suddenly shifts, the air charged with something beyond their current animosity. Y/N’s hesitation, the way her eyes unfocus slightly, brings Harry up short. For a moment, he sees something in her expression—recognition, perhaps even nostalgia—that cuts through his anger.

His grip on her wrist loosens slightly, confusion flickering across his features.

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

Summer, 11 years ago

The air smelled of honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass, the golden afternoon sun casting long shadows across the small clearing behind the Styles' summer estate. Sixteen-year-old Harry lounged on a weathered picnic blanket, his lanky frame not yet filled out, his face softer, less angular. No tattoos marked his skin then, no world-weariness in his bright green eyes.

"You're never going to get this right if you keep tensing up," he laughed, watching Y/N struggle with the guitar he'd placed in her hands. Her fingers fumbled with the chord progression he'd been trying to teach her for the past hour.

"It's not as easy as you make it look," she retorted, frustration coloring her cheeks a pretty pink. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, wisps escaping to frame her face. "Some of us don't have natural musical talent."

Harry grinned, scooting behind her on the blanket. "Here," he said, reaching around to position her fingers correctly on the fretboard. "Like this."

Their bodies fit together easily, his chest against her back, his arms encircling her to guide her hands. The innocent touch sent a surprising jolt through both of them, a current neither was prepared to acknowledge.

"See?" His voice was suddenly softer, closer to her ear than necessary. "You just need to relax."

Y/N turned her head slightly, their faces unexpectedly close. For a heartbeat that stretched into eternity, they froze, caught in a moment of sudden awareness—of each other, of possibilities neither had considered before.

"Harry!" A sharp voice cut through the clearing. Anne Styles stood at the edge of the property, her expression thunderous as she took in the scene. "Inside. Now."

Harry jerked away from Y/N as if burned, the spell broken. He stood quickly, avoiding Y/N's eyes.

"Coming, Mother," he called, his voice shifting to something more formal, more controlled.

"You should go," he muttered to Y/N, not looking at her as he gathered his things. "It's getting late anyway."

Later that night, the shouting from the Styles mansion carried across the grounds, words like "beneath us" and "embarrassment" and "know your place" floating on the evening breeze.

It was the last summer Harry ever came to the estate.

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

Present day

Harry blinks, as if thinking about the same moment she was. His hand still holds Y/N’s wrist, but something has shifted in the air between them—a complication neither wants to acknowledge.

"You what?" he prompts, his voice rougher than intended, uncertain if she's experiencing the same uncomfortable flashback. "Finish your thought, Y/N. Or has the small-town nobody finally run out of clever retorts?"

The mockery feels hollow now, a desperate attempt to reestablish the safer territory of antagonism rather than confront the shared history that briefly resurfaced.

Her expression hardened, “stay away from me” she says, pushing him off, not waiting for him to recover before making her way up. 

Harry stumbled back a step, more from the unexpected force of her rejection than the physical push itself. Something unreadable flashed across his features—surprise, perhaps even hurt—before hardening back into his customary mask of indifference.

He didn't follow her. Didn't call out with another biting retort. Instead, he stood frozen on the stairs, watching her ascend, the ghost of their shared past hovering between them like an uninvited specter.

When she disappeared from view, Harry ran a hand roughly through his brown hair, exhaling a shaky breath. The encounter had veered into territory he wasn't prepared to navigate. Memories he'd buried beneath years of carefully cultivated disdain.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself, descending the stairs with heavy steps.

Back in the living room, he retrieved his abandoned whiskey glass, draining the contents in one burning swallow. The silence of the house pressed in around him, suddenly oppressive in its emptiness. He poured another generous measure, the amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

Harry moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the manicured grounds of his estate, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. His reflection stared back at him—successful, wealthy, miserable. Everything his mother had wanted him to be.

"Stay away from me," he repeated her words quietly to himself, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "As if I haven't been trying to do exactly that for the past decade."

The memory of younger Y/N laughing, open, untainted by the hardships that would later shape her lingered uncomfortably in his mind. Before his mother's poisonous words had fully taken root. Before fame and fortune had erected walls around his heart.

Harry took another long drink, welcoming the burn that chased away unwanted thoughts. This arrangement was strictly business. A mutually beneficial transaction. Nothing more. It had to stay that way.

Upstairs, he could hear the faint sound of movement. Y/N still awake, still restless in the too-large house. For a brief, mad moment, he considered going to her, apologizing, explaining...what exactly? That his mother had systematically taught him to despise her kind? That he'd spent years convincing himself she meant nothing?

Instead, he sank into the armchair, cradling his drink, determined to wait out the night alone. It was better this way. Safer. The alternative was far too complicated for either of them to handle.

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

A/N: sooo…? What do we think of part one? I literally couldn't wait to post it. Part two coming soon!

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate you <3

Taglist: @mysunflowerposts

[reputationolivia]

try again?

would anyone be interested in this, i thought of this plot awhile back and started working on it recently but i feel like its just gotten long and idk i feel like it might be a bit boring? so idk if anyone would be up for reading this! but i put a little snippet of it here so if anyone sees this please share your thoughts! :)

18+ minors dni

warnings: none for this one yet.

summary: you and harry dated for almost 5 years but you ended things, only problem? you got a cat together three years ago that you co-parent.

wc: 1.8k

I glanced around in search for opal as I tied the laces on my shoes. She’s always been good at hiding when she sees her crate out and ready for her, but i was ready for her today with her favorite treat in hand. "Opal, where are you baby?” I called for her. pacing through the living room I heard a faint meow coming from the kitchen, and i sighed, already knowing where she would be - the narrow gap between the counter and the fridge. I bend down and waved her treat in front of her little face to get her interested in it. “Come on out sweetie,” i coaxed, slowly her fluffy face popped out of the gap and she began licking the treat. I took this as my opportunity and gently tugged her out and scooped her up, letting her have the entire treat now as I walked over to her crate.

As I helped opal get settles into her crate I tried not to think too much about the trip ahead and what’s to come. The keys jingled in my hands as i snatched them from there small side table near the front door creating a slight sound of normalcy between all of the craziness my life has been lately. I slung my headphones around my neck, and with opal securely inside her carrier i finally stepped out into the bright, sunlit street. I caught my reflection in a car window and felt a bit ridiculous - sunglasses on, headphones dangling, and cat in tow - i shrugged it off and began my journey to the subway station.

The subway ride was pretty uneventful, at least it was at first. Opal was sitting quietly in her crate beside me as she watched the window in front of us, watching the city blur through the window. I put my headphones on and mindlessly browsed through Apple Music, i eventually decided on just playing “my station” after not being able to settle on any of my existing playlists. I wasn’t thinking of anything in particular really, i mean besides the fact that I was currently on my way to meet my ex boyfriend of 4 1/2 years. As if my phone knew what was on my mind a familiar melody began playing, i felt my body tense as i recognized it immediately, my chest tightened and the air suddenly became too thick to breathe. I reached for my phone to skip to the next song. It was his song, of course it’d be my luck that’s the song that starts playing as I’m on my way to see him again. Of course, skipping it didn’t help, the damage was done.

Moving on has been hard, actually it’s been more than hard, it’s been hell, absolutely brutal. We were together for so long, four and a half years. That’s a long time to share a life with someone, it wasn’t just the memories that lingered though - it was our plans, the dreams we shared that we’d stay up all night talking about, when the world felt ours. Marriage, kids, a beautiful house with a garden, i thought it was all within reach, that it was just a matter of time. But now? Just the sound of his voice in a song sends me spiraling. It’s only been a couple months since we broke up, and seeing him as often as I do doesn’t exactly help with the whole “moving on” thing.

But now, all we have left is opal.

Opal. Our little baby. She wasn’t quite a child, but the closest thing we had. We adopted her when she was just a baby, three months old. After we broke up neither of us could bear to part with her. we had gotten her together so in the end we decided on co-parenting opal, which isn’t ideal but at the very least she had two people who loved her, and despite our failed relationship i knew she was safe with him. Even if seeing him every time i dropped her off still hurt.

The familiar ding of the subway pulled me out of my thoughts and i realized we were at our stop. I pulled my headphones back down to the back of my neck as i stood up, then grabbed opals crate and hopped off the subway. I felt like the subway ride ended far too quickly, and before i realized it i was walking up the now somewhat familiar street towards his apartment. as i got closer and closer each step i took felt heavier than the last. It felt like i was dragging the weight of everything we left unsaid, unresolved. I tightened my grip on opals crate, her quiet purring served as a reminder that despite everything, some things hadn’t changed.

But most things had.

I wasn’t the same person who used to walk the streets of New York with him by my side, laughing at the stupidest things, talking absentmindedly about everything, and nothing at all. Yet now it feels like that was a lifetime ago when in reality it was just a few short months ago. And now here i was, walking the streets of the city we once shared, alone. Having to act normal in front of the man i loved, love but trying not to as I’m about to hand over our cat like it was just some business transaction, something normal.

Ahead i spotted him standing in front of his building. He was leaning against the wall near the doors to the lobby, looking down at his phone, a casual stance that didn’t betray any of the turmoil i was feeling. Typical harry, i thought. Always composed, always calm. I wished i could say the same for myself. I reached up with my free hand to adjust my sunglasses, hoping they hid more than just the sun from my eyes. As i approached his eyes were still glues to his phone, did he even notice i was walking up to him? Now a few feet away from him, i clear my throat in hopes of catching his attention, hoping to get this over with as soon as possible.

He finally looks up, his green eyes meeting mine, and though he couldn’t see mine due to my sunglasses i swore i could see something flash in his - recognition? Annoyance? Regret? I couldn’t quite place it. Maybe I’m just imagining things. “Hey,” he said, finally pushing off the wall and sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Hey,” i replied, keeping my voice as steady as i could even though every bit of me felt like breaking and like my voice was shaking with the tension of being this close to him. We walk into the lobby and i crouch down to let opal out. Immediately, she dashed out of her crate, and toward him, brushing against him with a happy meow. I couldn’t help the slight pang of jealousy i felt at how easily she seemed to adjust to this life of back and forth we’d created for her. I wish it was that easy for me.

“It’s been a while, nice shoes by the way.” Harry said as he crouched down, scratching opal behind her ears. He didn’t look at me when. He said it, instead keeping his eyes on opal. I couldn’t tell if it was a statement or a subtle dig when he said it’s been a while. “Yeah works been a bit hectic, and thanks.” I responded as i stood there awkwardly and hugged my arms to myself. Suddenly the distance between us felt a lot larger than just a few feet.

He stood up slowly, his gaze finally meeting mine, and i just wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole. “How’ve you been?” He asked, for a moment i almost believed he actually wanted to know.

Good. You?”

“Same.” he said, glancing down at opal again.

The conversation stalled, i could feel the silence expanding between us, this is all we had now — awkward exchanges, empty words just to fill the space where something real used to be. I wanted so badly just to say something, anything that could break through the surface. I didn’t even know where to start, everything felt too different, too fragile and close to breaking. Opal meowed again, winding between our legs, completely oblivious to the tension hanging in the air between us.

I sighed, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “She’s been eating normally. Likes to hide under the bed more often lately but that’s probably because of all the travel recently.” Harrys eyes softened a little. “Yeah, she’s always liked her hiding spots huh.” He paused, then added, “I’ve missed her.” His words hung there, suspended in the air between us for a while and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if he was just talking about opal. I nodded at his words, something about the way he said it lingered longer than it should have, i tried to push it aside, maybe I’m just reading too much into his words. Looking down at opal again i sighed, “i’ll uh, see you later.” I mumbled, now just wanting to get out and as far away from this awkward situation as possible. I turned to walk away before he could say anything, i felt his eyes on me as i made my way towards the lobby door. His gaze was sticking with me more than i wanted it to.

As i exited the building, i felt my footsteps heavy on the ground again. I took a deep breath, taking in the fresh air and trying to clear my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the what-ifs. How i wish i could be done with all this. I couldn’t afford to keep dwelling on our past, especially not with everything going on. At least through all this change i still had my job, and im fortunate enough to really love my job. My job has always been my escape, allowing be to take a break from my real life and everything i had going on. I could create stories outside my own, i could be in control, or at the very least, i could pretend to be. But in moments like this, i was just me - and I couldn’t pretend to be anyone else. I had no script or direction, and I didn’t know how to fix it.

The months after the breakup have been such a blur, it’s like I’ve been moving on autopilot. Filming, press events, and trying to keep it together in front of the cameras. I was good at that. I’ve played so many different roles, performed rehearsed lines perfectly, but none of that could’ve prepared me for the messy reality of seeing him. Missing him.

[harryshousekey]

Target {H.S.}

This is on wattpad (harryshousekey,) but wanted to share a bit of the chapter that freaked my friends out.

THIS IS SMUT. - Harry x OFC // From Harry's POV

Whatever Harry era you want (it's BTA harry in the book)

Vienna is a small blonde with brown eyes :)

He was literally hired to kill her. If you happen to read this psychological warfare of a book i'm writing, leave me a comment over there and we might have to kiss.

Word Count: 5,349

--

Harry Styles

Her back hit the wall with a dull thud, but she didn't flinch. She stared at me like she could kill me with a look, and hell, maybe she could. Maybe that was why I couldn't stop.

Her pulse thudded under my grip. Fast. Furious.

"Let go," she said, breathless.

"You want that?" I asked, stepping closer. Our chests nearly touched now, heat crackling in the inches between us. "Really?" I move my thigh, almost accidentally. But it wasn't.

My leg now sitting flush against her core, she glares up to me. Hate and lust seep out of her face into my body, and I soak it up willingly.

She didn't answer. Her eyes dipped to my mouth for half a second - too quick for most people to catch. But I did. I always saw her.

I let her wrists go, slow. She didn't move.

"You're a psychopath," she whispered.

"And you're still here."

Something in her snapped then. She grabbed the hem of my shirt harshly and pulled it up just barely, like it was a dare. I eye her back like I had something to prove - maybe I did. That she couldn't fight me off, couldn't pretend she didn't want this as badly as I did.

Angry hands rip the shirt over my head, inked skin now exposed to the cold hair in the house. Her nails raked down my neck as she brought her hands back down, the shirt landing somewhere in the kitchen. My hands found her waist, then her thighs - gripping, lifting, pinning. Her legs wrapped around me like it was instinct. Like this wasn't our first time losing control.

"You hate me," I muttered against her neck, working to leave marks. I love leaving marks.

She bit her own lip hard enough to draw blood. "Exactly."

It wasn't love. It wasn't forgiveness. It was rage and lust tangled up in a heated fire that burned too hot to last. And I didn't care. Not tonight. Not when I finally had her like this - furious, wild, and mine.

My hands slip under her sweater, struggling to pull it off. My sweater. The smell of me soaked the sweater and I can't apologize for the grin that spreads over my face as she throws her head back in frustration as I still work at her neck. I pull back, biting harshly where my mouth was before. The sensation pulls a gasp out of her, and I take the opportunity to get a grip at the hem of her sweater.

Her arms link around my neck for support as she lets me strip her of the warm hoodie, only unlinking to let me pull it over her head. My hand falls back on her lower back, the other throwing the sweater somewhere in the room, careless and thoughtless.

I get back to her neck, her short nails digging into my neck near my spine. I grunt at the feeling, reminding myself to let Elira get her nails done too.

Turning us around, I manage to find the bedroom we'd been sharing. The bed is unmade, sheets pulled back. Perfect.

I drop us onto the bed at the same time, crawling to hover over her and work at getting the rest of her clothes off.

My jeans feel really tight right now. Not yet, Harry.

I find her arms, loosely thrown over my body, and grab them both. Finding her wrists, I gather them in one hand to hold over her head. As much as the pain of her scratching my back feels incredible, I can't fucking focus.

She fucking whines, struggling under my grip to no avail. "Let go," she commands, voice strong despite my mouth below her ear. I pick my head up to look her in the eye, her brown eyes completely glazed over already. Through it, I still see her. She's still fighting.

I laugh at her request, "No."

She huffs, trying once again to struggle out of my hold. I really need to take her to the gym, but the struggle is kind of cute.

I suck back below her ear for a minute while she keeps fighting, leaving a mark that'll probably be purple in the morning. I smile at my own work, mentally patting myself on the back.

Finally letting her arms go back around my neck, she grips harshly once more, left hand sliding up into the base of my scalp. I try my damndest to ignore the feeling, reaching under her to easily unclasp the pretty light purple bra she has on, smirking at her when I get it first try with my left hand.

"Fucking-" I pull her bra out from under her, but leave her covered. I can't just expose her with no warning. "God, you're so cocky." She huffs, too frustrated to hold a sentence.

I grin at her, leaning down to bite the mark I left before leaning into her ear to whisper. "I know, baby."

She pushes the side of her face into the mattress, face scrunched. I take that as my cue to pull her bra off, finally taking her in. Her skin is tan for a girl who's been living on the road, and her breasts relax into her, nipples perking up in the cold air.

I have no restraint at this point. All self-control flies out the imaginary window as I grunt and lean down to take her into my mouth. She lets an untamed moan out, arching up into the sensation. I use my right hand to push her back down by the hip, making her groan in frustration.

I leave my left hand on her chest, touching her where my mouth can't. She pushes up once more, met with restraint as I keep her down, pushing on her abdomen now. "Vi," I warn, voice low, vibrating her chest.

She grunts and rolls her head to the other side, hands pulling angrily at my hair. It actually really fucking hurts. "Just fucking-" she breathes, pulling harder at my scalp. "Such a prick."

I decide not to respond, just pull her hands out and pin her wrists again. I hover over her face, giving her a warning. "Don't move them."

"Fuck off," she spits harshly. I pull my hand down to grip at her jaw, squeezing her face. She looks at me with pure hate, a feeling I revel in.

I force her to look at me, grip tight. "I'm pretty fucking busy right now, so for once on this fucking trip, behave."

I yank my hand away, going back at her other nipple, using my right hand now to keep her stimulated. It almost pisses me off every time she lets a noise out, because I'm not one for foreplay. Rather not split her in half until I can exchange her for my freedom, though.

Gripping her hips harshly, my thumbs traveling cautiously under her waistband. I'm about to ask when she brings her own hands down. The ones I explicitly said not to move. I'd be mad, but she's pulling her own pants down, revealing-

Oh, fuck.

I didn't go with her underwear shopping. Didn't wanna deal with it. Should've sucked it up, because now she's got deep red lace on, the same color as the stupidly tight dress she tried on earlier.

Without another word, she gets her pants past her ass and puts her hands back where I'd just placed them. Behaving.

She might actually make me pass out. I pull harshly at her pants, pooling them around her ankles before she flails her feet around impatiently to get them off entirely.

I exhale through my nose, trying to keep my focus, but it's really fucking difficult with her spread out beneath me like this-panting, glaring, waiting. The lace is deep red, delicate, and so goddamn unnecessary. It just proves my point. She knew this would happen.

I hook my fingers under the waistband, slow, dragging my thumbs over her hip bones, but don't pull them down yet. Instead, I tighten my grip, pressing my thumbs deep into her skin until she hisses.

"Something wrong?" I murmur, pressing my mouth to her stomach, deliberately skipping over the places I know she wants me.

"Yeah," she snaps, trying to shove her hips up. I dig my thumbs in again, keeping her firmly against the mattress.

"Problem?"

Her head jerks up, dark eyes burning. "You're a fucking tease."

I grin against her skin, letting my teeth graze her hipbone. "You just figured that out?"

Her breath stutters-just for a second-but I don't miss it. Her hands, still obedient where I left them, curl into the sheets like she's debating whether to follow my rules or claw at me again.

I nudge my nose against the edge of the lace, moving lower, but at the last second, I move back up. I drag my mouth across her ribs instead, letting my teeth scrape deliberately slow as I kiss and bite my way up to her sternum.

She groans, actually groans, head dropping back in frustration. I love that sound.

I smirk against her skin. "Something you'd like to say?"

"Yeah," she snaps, twisting against my hold. "Get the fuck on with it."

I laugh, really laugh, because she's suffering. She hates this as much as she needs it, and that makes me never want to give it to her.

I push up on my elbows, hovering inches from her mouth, so close she could kiss me if she just swallowed her fucking pride.

"You beg, I'll consider it."

Her eyes snap to mine, and for a second, I think she might slap me.

Instead, she laughs-sharp, humorless.

"You think I'd beg you for anything?"

My grin doesn't falter. "You will."

Her nostrils flare, frustration rolling off her in waves, and then-fucking finally-she moves.

Her hand lashes out, curling in my hair, yanking me down so hard I nearly lose balance. My mouth crashes into hers, violent and demanding, her teeth knocking against mine, and fuck yes.

I let her take control-for a second.

Then I take it right back.

My hands snap up, grabbing her wrists, pinning them above her head again. Her legs kick at my sides, pissed as hell, but she still locks them around me, pulling me closer.

"You're so fucking annoying," she grits against my mouth.

I bite her bottom lip hard enough to make her gasp. "And you're still underneath me."

Her head slams back against the mattress, hands tugging, testing my grip, but she's stuck.

"Harry." My name is a warning, furious and desperate.

I press my knee between her legs, just barely enough pressure. Just enough to drive her insane.

Her whole body tenses.

She stops fighting. Stops breathing.

And then she whimpers.

My smirk returns as I lean down, lips brushing her ear.

"That's close enough to begging, don't you think?"

Her breath shudders against my cheek, but her voice is still sharp, still full of venom.

"I fucking hate you."

I grind my knee against her just to hear her whimper again.

"Then hate me," I murmur. "Just keep your legs open while you do it."

Her whole body reacts before she can stop it-hips twitching up, fingers curling into fists above her head, lips parting just barely like she wants to say something but refuses to give me the satisfaction. I watch every flicker of emotion on her face, every war she fights inside herself, and I let it all sink into me. The frustration. The restraint. The push and pull of someone who hates that they want this and wants it anyway.

I keep my mouth right next to her ear, lips brushing the flushed skin, keeping her caught between every word, every inch of contact I allow. My knee stays where it is, pressing-not hard, not soft, just enough to make her ache for more. It's deliberate, calculated.

Just like everything else I do.

Her breath shudders, and I swallow down the sound, committing it to memory because fuck me, that's addictive. She's so fucking stubborn, and I want to be the one to break her. Not fully. Not in the ways that would ruin her. But enough to make her forget herself, even if just for tonight.

Her legs are locked around me, holding me to her despite the anger rolling off her skin. The heat of it burns, and I want to feel every inch.

I push lower, just barely, enough that her nails scrape at my scalp in retaliation. My jaw clenches at the sting, but I don't stop her-I let her have it, let her pull me down, let her take something back even as she loses the war.

Her voice is a whisper of a growl when she finally speaks, like she has to force the words through clenched teeth. "Let me go."

I press my lips to her jaw, soft but mocking. "Make me."

Her fingers tighten, pulling so hard it forces a breath out of me. She doesn't want soft. Doesn't want sweet. She wants to rip this from me, to tear into me the way I tear into her.

So I let her.

I release her wrists and the second I do, her hands are everywhere. She shoves at my shoulders, pushes at my chest, rolling us until I land on my back and she's straddling me, thighs tightening around my waist. Her breathing is erratic, wild, and I barely get a glimpse of her face before her hand grabs my throat.

I let out a low, dark laugh, dragging my tongue over my bottom lip as I take her in. "That all you got?"

She glares down at me, fingers flexing like she's debating whether to actually squeeze. Her nails dig in, but she won't. She knows it. I know it.

I drag my hands up her thighs, gripping them hard enough to bruise, and she inhales sharply, her body betraying her all over again.

"You fucking hate me," I remind her, pushing up just enough that our bodies align exactly how I want them to.

Her throat moves beneath her own grip as she swallows. Her jaw clenches. And then-so quiet I almost don't hear it-

"I do."

She tilts her hips forward just barely, her exhale catching in her throat, and that's it. That's my final thread snapping.

I sit up fast, one arm curling around her waist, the other tangling into her hair and pulling. She gasps, fingers tightening on my throat, but it's not a fight anymore.

Not really.

Her chest brushes mine, heat searing through every inch of fabric between us, and her breath is so close it sends a shiver down my spine.

I drag my nose against her jaw, slow, deliberate, teasing. "Then show me."

She does.

Her mouth crashes into mine, teeth and heat and desperation. Her nails scrape over my scalp as she pulls harder, hips rolling, pressing down in a way that might actually kill me. I grip her hips, forcing her down, controlling the rhythm, making her feel every second of this.

Her body shakes, just slightly, and I don't know if it's rage or anticipation. Probably both.

I pull back, just enough to bite her bottom lip, just enough to make her feel it. Her breath hitches, and she's so fucking close to losing control completely, I can feel it.

So I drag it out.

I reach between us, fingers teasing the waistband of her still-on lace, sliding under the elastic but going no further. She whines. Actually fucking whines, a noise so involuntary, so frustrated that I have to grin against her mouth.

"Oh, sweetheart," I murmur, fingers teasing lower, but not enough. Never enough. "You sound like you're begging."

She growls, low and dangerous, and I have half a second to smirk before she does something reckless. She reaches between us, grabs my wrist, and shoves my hand down exactly where she wants it.

I freeze.

Then I laugh-low, thick, dark.

"That desperate, huh?"

She glares, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. "Shut the fuck up and touch me."

And fuck me, I need to.

She's still on top of me, breathing heavy, skin burning against mine. Her nails dig into my shoulders like she's waiting for me to push back, fight her, tell her no.

I don't.

I grab her throat instead, not to choke, just to feel the way her breath stutters when my palm wraps around it. My thumb presses into the hinge of her jaw, tilting her head back, forcing her to look at me, to see me.

Her lips are parted, swollen, her pupils blown so wide there's barely any color left, and fuck, I could stay here forever-watching her, feeling her try to fight off the way her body gives in to mine.

But I have other plans.

My hand slides from her throat to her jaw, grip firm but not hard, and I drag my thumb down the slope of her bottom lip, pressing in just barely. Her tongue flicks against the pad of it, and I feel her body tremble in frustration when I don't give her anything else.

"You want something?" I taunt, knowing exactly what she wants. I want to hear her say it.

Her expression twists in pure defiance, but she doesn't move away. If anything, she leans into my touch, into my control, like she hates herself for it.

"I want you to shut the fuck up," she mutters, voice hoarse from the way she's been breathing me in like she needs it to survive.

I chuckle darkly, dragging my hand down her body, slow and possessive, feeling every inch of her before gripping her hips. I flex my fingers into her, rolling her against me, just enough friction to make her curse under her breath.

I lean in, my lips brushing her ear as I whisper, "Not happening, sweetheart."

And then, before she can throw something back at me, I move.

I flip us fast, pressing her into the mattress, letting my weight pin her down just for a second, just to make her feel it-how easy it is for me to control this, how little power she actually has. Her chest rises and falls sharply, her thighs tightening around me, but she doesn't fight. She never really fights.

She just pretends she wants to.

I pull back, sitting up on my knees between her spread legs, dragging my gaze down her body. She's a fucking sight-half-naked, flushed, her hair a wild mess around her, and she's glaring at me like she'd rather put a bullet in my head than let me keep looking at her like this.

Too fucking bad.

I take my time.

I hook my fingers under the band of her red lace underwear, snapping it against her skin before slowly-painfully slowly-dragging it down her hips, over her thighs. She shudders, a full-body tremor she tries to suppress, but I catch it. I feel it.

I smirk, watching as the lace pools at her ankles, and she kicks those off too, like she's trying to get rid of evidence.

But I'm the one committing the crime. More of a downright sin, really.

I push her thighs apart, holding them there even when she tenses like she might try to close them on instinct. She doesn't. She wouldn't dare give me that much satisfaction.

Instead, she exhales through her nose, tilting her chin up like she's daring me to do something about it.

"Oh, I plan to," I murmur, eyes locked onto hers as I lower myself down.

She stops breathing.

I can tell by the way her stomach tightens, the way her hands fist into the sheets beside her head, the way her body goes perfectly still as I settle between her thighs.

And I don't rush.

I drag my hands over the inside of her thighs, squeezing the muscle there, spreading her wider, making her feel how exposed she is. She's still glaring at me, still holding onto that last sliver of control.

I intend to take it from her.

So I drop my head and press the softest, most delicate kiss right against the inside of her knee. Then another. Then another, working my way up, each one deliberate, slow torture.

By the time I reach the crease where her thigh meets her hip, she's quivering. Not much, just a slight shake, but enough that I know she feels this everywhere.

I hover, just barely breathing against her, my mouth so close but not touching.

Her hips twitch.

She hates me for it.

"You're fucking insufferable," she breathes, voice cracking at the edges.

I grin against her skin, inhaling her scent, feeling her body tense with anticipation.

"And you're fucking impatient," I counter, my breath brushing over her most sensitive spot, watching as her thighs threaten to clamp shut before I hold them apart with both hands.

"Be good," I murmur against her. "Or I'll take my time."

She lets out a shaky, wrecked exhale, and I don't give her a second longer to process.

I lick into her slow, wide and devastating, dragging my tongue from base to peak, savoring every fucking inch of her.

She chokes on a moan.

And I?

I fucking devour her.

She tastes like sin. Like she's never let herself be touched like this-never let someone have this kind of power over her. And maybe she hasn't. Maybe that's what drives me fucking feral about it, knowing that I get to be the one to break her down, to force her body to betray her when she wants to fight me off.

I can feel her thighs trembling under my grip, every muscle coiled tight like she's about to bolt. But she doesn't. She just fists the sheets, sucking in sharp breaths like she's trying not to make a sound.

I won't fucking allow that.

I pull back just enough to drag my teeth against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, nipping, sucking-marking her, because I know it'll piss her off. She hisses, fingers twitching in the sheets. I don't acknowledge it. I just slide my tongue against her again, slow, filthy, purposeful.

Her breath catches.

I feel her hips jerk, trying to chase the sensation, and that's what does it. That's what makes me groan into her, low and possessive, because she can pretend all she wants-her body knows the fucking truth.

"You're shaking," I murmur against her, kissing her slowly, tongue flicking out just enough to tease.

She makes a frustrated sound, shoving at my shoulder with one hand, but I catch her wrist midair, pinning it down beside her. My grip tightens, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her who's in control here.

"You wanna pretend you don't want this?" I taunt, pressing another slow, deliberate kiss against her, feeling her twitch under my mouth. "Go ahead, lie to me."

She grits her teeth, her nails digging into the sheets now that I've taken away her chance to fight me off. But she doesn't push me away again. She doesn't move at all. Her breathing is ragged, coming in short, uneven gasps, and I know she's holding back, trying so fucking hard to stay quiet.

So I change tactics.

I flatten my tongue against her clit, dragging it up in a way that makes her whole body jolt. My grip on her wrist tightens when she gasps-loud, raw, unfiltered.

There it is.

I fucking grin against her, pleased, satisfied.

Her free hand slams over her mouth.

Not a fucking chance.

I reach up, grabbing her by the wrist, pulling it away from her lips. Her eyes flash, dark and wild, like she's ready to throw hands over it. But I don't give her the chance. I pin it beside her other wrist, forcing her to be open, exposed.

"Let me hear you," I demand, lazily dragging my tongue against her again.

She whimpers. Fucking whimpers.

I nearly groan at the sound, my cock throbbing against the confines of my jeans, but I don't let up. I dip lower, tasting her, sucking, licking, devouring her in slow, calculated strokes. I want to ruin her, make her lose whatever self-control she's clinging to.

She's close already. I can tell by the way her thighs are starting to shake, how her breath is coming in short, broken little gasps.

Still, she refuses to beg.

I'll change that.

I pull back slightly, flicking my tongue right where I know she needs me, circling, teasing, denying.

She whines, actually fucking whines, and I feel her try to rock against me. I tighten my grip on her wrists. "No," I say, voice gravelly, wrecked. I press my lips against her inner thigh, nipping, sucking, teasing. "You wanna cum?" My voice is a low, deliberate murmur. "Beg for it."

She shudders. "Fuck you."

Her whole body is tense, her jaw clenched, fighting so hard not to give me what I want. So I give her another slow, devastating lick, swirling my tongue just right before pulling away again. Her body convulses. I smirk, lips ghosting against her. "Say it, darling."

She hates that I use those names, nearly degrading at this point. I can see it in her eyes, the way they darken, furious and desperate all at once. But her voice shakes when she exhales, ragged and weak.

"Fuck you." I laugh, low and dark, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against her soaked skin. "That's not what I asked for, sweetheart." And then, because I want to watch her fall apart, I pull my head away.

She fucking hates this. Hates me. I can see it in the way her lips curl back, in the sharp bite of her nails against my skin as she tries to shove me away. Like she actually thinks she has a chance.

"Get the fuck off me," she spits, her voice ragged, her body twisting beneath me.

I catch her wrists in one hand and pin them above her head. "Not a chance," I murmur, my voice rough, breathless with the way she clenches around me.

She bucks against me, her glare slicing into my skin, but all it does is make me harder. She's furious, practically trembling with it, but her body? Her body's telling a different story.

"Fuck you," she hisses, her voice breaking on the last syllable.

A slow smirk tugs at my lips. "That's the plan, sweetheart."

She jerks against me again, but it's useless. I press my forehead to hers, watching the anger flicker across her face, mixing with something else-something she doesn't want to admit.

"You're gonna come on my cock," I breathe, my grip tightening when she tries to turn her head away. "And you're gonna fucking like it."

Some point along the way, I'd lost my pants. Hovering over her heavy now almost felt like too much. I reach down onto the floor, pulling my wallet out of my pants pocket.

Breathing heavy, Vienna's chest rises under me as she gives me a frustrated, yet curious look. I pull what I'm looking for out of my wallet, and hold it in front of her face. A condom. The gold wrapper makes her grunt impatiently. "Of course you have one in your wallet-just," she shifts under me, completely stripped, "Just hurry up."

I chuckle darkly, sitting up a bit to pull my own underwear off. I'm a bit embarrassed by the small wet spot on the front as the waistband comes down-

"Jesus fucking Christ."

I snap my head back up, pushing my boxers down the rest of the way. "What?"

She rolls her head back dramatically, gesturing to my lower half. "That's not-"

I smile at her, making her attempt to slap my chest. "That's not fitting."

Shrugging, I tear open the package carefully, examining it. The last thing I need is a mini of the person I can't stand. I roll it on carefully, rubbing myself up and down her folds, sliding easy in the mess she's created.

Moaning each time I pass her sensitive spots, I look up at her to be met with a simple nod. I huff. "I need fucking words, Vi."

She sits up, eyes blown out. "Yes, fuck. Just-"

Good enough. I push foward gently. I never bothered to ask about her sex life, which I'm now regretting.

Holy Shit.

She's so tight around me I can barely breathe. Her own eyes are scrunched shut as I keep my hips slowly moving.

By the time our hips are fully together, she's glazed over, focus on the ceiling. The sight alone almost makes me come.

I grip her thigh, keeping her still as I let her adjust, every inch of her clenching me like she wasn't sure she could take it-but fuck, she was. She would.

"Breathe," I murmur, my own voice coming out rougher than I intended. My forehead presses to hers for just a second, and her breath hitches. I can feel every shaky exhale she takes against my lips.

Vienna's hands clutch at my shoulders, nails digging in like she needs something to ground herself. She's warm, tight, fuck-so tight it's almost unbearable, but I stay still, giving her a second.

Her fingers twitch. Her body squirms, adjusting. Then her lashes flutter open, and she looks at me with something between frustration and need.

"Move," she grits out.

That's all I need.

I pull back, just enough to feel the drag of her around me, then push forward again, slow and deep. She gasps, back arching slightly. I do it again, watching her face, how her lips part, how she fights every sound that threatens to escape.

"Don't-" she swallows hard, "don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" I thrust a little harder this time, feeling the way her breath stutters, the way her nails dig deeper.

"Like you're enjoying this."

I let out a dark chuckle, lowering my mouth to her ear. "I am enjoying this."

She shudders, but she doesn't deny that she is too. Her legs tighten around my waist, trying to pull me in deeper.

"Fuck, Vi," I groan, picking up the pace, my grip tightening on her hips. The sound of our bodies meeting fills the room, her strangled little moans barely contained, and it's driving me insane.

She slaps a hand over her mouth, muffling herself, but I yank it away, pinning it above her head. "Let me hear you."

She glares, like she wants to fight me on it, but then I angle my hips just right, hitting something that makes her choke on a whimper.

"Fuck, Harry-"

"There it is," I murmur, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth before dragging my lips down her throat. "Now, be a good girl and come on my cock."

Her whole body locks up beneath me, back bowing as a sharp moan leaves her lips. She clamps down so tight around me that I nearly see stars, her orgasm ripping through her so suddenly that it drags me right over the edge with her.

I bury myself deep, groaning against her sweat-slicked skin as I spill into the condom, her name slipping past my lips in a hushed, wrecked whisper.

For a moment, all I can hear is our heavy breathing, the faint creak of the bed beneath us.

Then she exhales shakily, voice hoarse. "I still fucking hate you."

I smirk against her shoulder. "I hate you too, baby."

She tries to push me off almost immediately, her body still trembling beneath me. I don't let her. Not yet.

"Get off," she grits out, attempting to wiggle free.

I catch her wrists, pinning them lightly to the bed. "Stay still."

She glares at me, but I can see the exhaustion setting in. Her muscles twitch with the aftershocks of her orgasm, her breathing still uneven. I shift off her slowly, careful as I pull out, making her suck in a sharp breath.

She winces, legs clamping shut as she rolls onto her side like she's trying to get away from me. I don't let her.

"Need to clean you up." I tell her simply, because I'm not asking.

"I can do it myself," she snaps, pushing up on shaky arms.

I grab her by the hip, keeping her in place. "You can barely move."

"Fuck off, Harry-"

I ignore her, grabbing a tissue from the bedside table and running it between her legs. She tenses, the fight still in her, but her body betrays her when she lets out the smallest sigh at the contact.

Her eyes squeeze shut, her lips pressing into a thin line as I finish, taking my time even as I know she wants to swat me away.

Once I'm done, I toss the tissue in the trash and roll onto my back beside her.

The silence is unbearable.

She shifts, pulling the blanket over herself even though I can feel the heat radiating off her skin. She doesn't look at me. I don't look at her.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is our breathing, still uneven, like neither of us has quite recovered.

Then, from downstairs, the front door creaks open.

Laughter spills into the house, too loud, too carefree.

Niall and Kaydie are home.

--

A/N oh. my. gawsh.

i took her to my safehouse and i freaked it

Thanks for reading Tumblr :)

[maudie-duan]

Summary: Fuck domestic bliss…because you couldn’t remember the last time you didn’t want to bite Harry’s head off or if sex still existed between you both—weeks of cold indifference have turned into all the little angers adding up until you both finally hit your boiling point, and shit hits the fan, a breaking point neither one of you saw coming, and that's it! Now cue the aftermath as you watch the dust settle. How will Harry help you mend all the broken pieces that are past the point of fixing? A/N: This story is based on this request<- bear with me. I did veer off course slightly! But only like the slightest bit. I only added some little gems that made that juicy request even better. Long story short, my brain turned the request into a “worship kink,” and here we are! Warning: Fighting, Filth, Fucking, and Fluff. xFem!reader, this one gets a happy ending!😉 Word Count: 7.6k

Fuck domestic bliss.

What was it anyway? A phrase you had heard so many times and understood, had been lucky enough to have felt and lived it, but lately, you felt it slipping through your grasp little by little.

The contradiction of closeness lies in this truth.

Sometimes, the very comforts of domestic life that once drew you together can slowly pull you apart, familiarity breeding not contempt but a dangerous indifference. Maybe this wasn’t everyone’s truth, but there is truth in the tiny details—In the words left unsaid, in the gestures you keep to yourself, the small angers that were never addressed.

Somewhere between the shared routines and the predictable rhythms of togetherness, you lost sight of what truly mattered—the connection you had that once felt like magic was being buried beneath the mundane details of everyday existence.

And this was you and Harry.

Stuck in the rut of everyday life.

A rut it was because when was the last time you guys had sex? Felt the warmth of his body, not the chill that came with the silent shuffle of starting each new day, the curt good mornings said in passing, or perfunctory kisses goodbye. You knew you both desperately needed this reset.

Dinner had been perfect so far—a homemade lasagna in your favorite vintage casserole dish, the one with the delicate blue flowers around the rim that had been your grandmother’s. It was the only thing you wanted from her estate; you saved it for truly special occasions, and tonight—a chance to finally reconnect with Harry—felt worthy.

When Harry complimented your cooking, his green eyes creasing at the corners as he reached for seconds, you felt the first real thaw in the frost that had settled between you. Maybe tonight could be the beginning of finding your way back to each other. It was the kind of evening you both needed after a long week. The kind where the outside world ceased to exist, where deadlines and meetings and stress melted away with each sip of the rich red wine Harry had brought home.

A perfect, cozy bubble of domestic bliss.

Until it wasn’t.

“Harry, that’s not how you load a dishwasher,” you almost snapped, watching him haphazardly stack plates on top of each other, silverware pointing in every direction, the sight of it already getting under your skin.

He glanced up at you, a strand of dark hair falling across his forehead. “Does it matter? It all gets clean anyway.”

You sighed, setting down the wine glass you’d been drying. “Yes, it matters. The water can’t reach everything if you stack them like that. And the silverware needs to be sorted.”

“I’ve been loading dishwashers since before I met you,” Harry replied, continuing to place a bowl where it clearly didn’t belong. “Never had a problem.”

“Well, you’re having one now,” you said, moving to his side and beginning to rearrange the dishes for what felt like the 100th time since you moved in together, “Look, the plates go here, vertically. And cups on the top rack.”

Harry took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seriously? You’re actually reorganizing it?” And he huffs out a breath like a child being reprimanded, and it sets you off even further.

“Someone has to do it properly.”

The tension in the room shifted.

Thickened.

What had started as a simple correction was quickly becoming something else entirely, but you knew you couldn’t go on like this without saying another word.

For weeks now, you’d been swallowing your tiny irritations—the dishes left in the sink, the damp towels on the bathroom floor, the half-empty coffee mugs abandoned throughout the apartment. Each small oversight had been a pebble added to the growing pile of resentment, and suddenly, this dishwasher incident was the final stone that sent the whole thing tumbling down.

The pressure of all the unspoken frustrations had been building inside you like a kettle about to whistle, and now the steam needed somewhere to go.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry’s tone held an edge to it now, the one you recognized as his defenses going up.

“It means,” you forced, ripping a mug he had wedged between two plates, “that you never load it right, and I always end up fixing every damn dish.”

Harry scoffed. “For fucks sake, here we go. ‘Harry never does anything right.’ Is that it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant. I can hear it with every word you’re saying”

“If it’s not complicated, then why does it matter how I do it?” His voice was rising now, hands gesturing emphatically. “Why do you always have to micromanage every damn thing I do in this apartment?”

“Micromanage? I’m not your fucking mom, Harry!” You felt the heat of anger rising to your cheeks, fury burning through you. “Asking you to load the fucking dishwasher correctly is micromanaging?”

“It’s never just about the dishwasher, is it?” Harry ran a hand through his hair, a sure sign he was getting truly agitated. “It’s the way I fold the damn laundry, or how I organize the fucking refrigerator, or the fact that I put my shoes in the wrong spot. The shit I do is never good enough for you.”

The accusation landed hard, stinging more than you expected, piercing through your irritation, hitting something deeper. “That’s not fair.”

“How is that not fair? Am I wrong?” Harry’s eyes were dark now, his jaw set. “You say you’re not my Mum, but you’re always correcting me, always finding something wrong with how I do things.”

“I’m not—That’s not fucking true and you know it!”

“Yes, you are!” His voice echoed in the kitchen, making you flinch, and you stilled your movements, “You think your way is the only right way, and God forbid anyone do things differently!”

That’s when you felt the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, your pride refusing to let him see how much his words were hurting you. “I’m just trying to help,” you whisper.

“No, you’re trying to control,” Harry shot back, his voice still loud. Harry was so caught up in his anger that he couldn’t read the room--see the pain lacing your features, “There’s a difference.”

The silence that followed hung heavy, painfully deafening, filled with all the things you both wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for. You stared at each other across the kitchen, the distance between you feeling like miles rather than feet. It was terrifying how quickly love could transform into this—how the face you had memorized in all its expressions could suddenly seem like it belonged to a stranger.

The green eyes that usually held such warmth for you now flashed with something cold and foreign. In moments like these, it was easy to forget the thousands of tender touches that had come before, the whispered affections you shared in the dark. Anger had redrawn the map of his features, making him unrecognizable, and you wondered if he saw the same frightening transformation in you—if your face had become a mask that concealed the person he had fallen in love with.

“You know what?” Harry finally said, his voice quieter but no less intense. “I don’t need this right now.” He turned away from you, moving toward the counter where his keys lay.

As he passed the sink, his arm swung out with what seemed like unnecessary force, the dramatic fashion of a child not getting their way, his tantrum knocking against your precious casserole dish that was perched on the edge where you’d left it to soak, and then you caught his eye for just a fraction of a second.

And what was it that you saw?

Was it a flash of vindictive satisfaction hovering at the surface, or was it your imagination coloring the moment with your own anger?

Had he done it on purpose?

Because it all seemed to happen in the blink of an eye.

Time seemed to slow as you watched it teeter, then fall.

You felt the crash as it hit the tile floor, the loud crackle like an explosion, booming through your entire body as a lash of anger tore down your spine; the sound of the scattering pieces filled the quiet apartment as shards of ceramic exploded outward in a constellation of blue and white.

You stood there holding your breath in the aftermath, a split second of recognition as your knees went weak with despair.

“Harry! What the fuck is wrong with you!” The words tore from your throat as you dropped to your knees, shaky hands hovering over the broken pieces of your beloved dish. Maybe it was dramatic, but he knew how much you loved that dish, and here you were staring down at each fragment, each piece feeling like it represented a memory you would lose forever—all the stories it held through time, years of meals shared, now the life you were building with Harry—the meals it would never see.

Harry stood frozen, his face a mask of shock and regret. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“Just go…” you whispered, carefully picking up a piece of the rim, the delicate blue flower now split in two. The longer he stood there, the angrier you got until you were yelling, “Just go, Harry! Since that’s what you want to do anyway—Just fucking go!”

“Babe, I’m sorry about the dish, I really am—”

“It’s not about the dish!” And this time, your voice broke, the tears finally spilling over. “It’s about you wanting to walk away instead of talking to me. It’s about you thinking I’m trying to control every detail of your fucking life when I’m just asking you to do something simple.”

Harry’s expression hardened again. “And there it is. It’s simple to you, so I should just do it your way. My feelings don’t matter.”

“That’s not what I said!”

“It’s what you meant.” He shouted, stealing the air from your lungs, your ears ringing with the silence that fell over the room.

And this was the final blow.

The last accusing blow that sliced between you, a perfect circle of hurt and misunderstanding, and you watched, gutted, as he grabbed his jacket, his movements stiff with anger, fast, like he couldn’t get away from you quicker.

“I need some air,” he spits, not meeting your eyes. “Be back later.”

The door closed behind him with a finality that made your heart sink, and there you were, abandoned, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by the broken pieces of your casserole dish as tears streamed down your face. His departure felt like a betrayal—choosing escape over resolution when things got too difficult.

It was always like this, wasn’t it? When emotions ran too high, he fled, leaving you alone to pick up the pieces while he walked free of the responsibility of working through the hard parts together.

Slowly, carefully, you began to gather the fragments, each one a sharp reminder of the words he left you with. The dish was beyond repair; you knew that. Some things, once broken, couldn’t be fixed, and now you hoped your relationship wasn’t one of them.

As you dropped the last piece into the trash can, a sob escaped your throat. You knew It was just a dish, you tried to tell yourself—Just a thing—A material thing that could be replaced, but it was your thing, the one thing that held the most meaning. And now it was gone, reduced to shards in a garbage bag, just like your perfect evening had been reduced to angry words and a slammed door.

And there you were, cleaning up the mess, cursing to yourself as you properly loaded the dishwasher. Of course, the irony of it all was not lost on you as you slammed the dishwasher door shut like Harry had slammed the apartment door, and you poured yourself another glass of wine—a large one this time—and crawled onto the couch, ready to sulk in the misery of you and Harry’s aftermath.

Alone.

And if he could be petty and walk out the door.

So could you.

One episode turned into two, and you lost track of when your wine glass emptied the first time because then you were opening another bottle, your eyes drifting to your phone periodically, checking for any messages, any sign of life, but there were none. Each passing minute twisted the knot in your stomach tighter. Where had he gone? Was he drinking at some bar, venting to strangers about you?

Or worse.

Had he found comfort in someone else’s arms? You knew that would never happen, but would he have been angry enough this time? Your heart pounded as the intrusive thoughts multiplied, each more gut-wrenching than the last. The questions circled in your mind like vultures, swooping lower with each passing hour, feeding on the fears—leaving too many questions unanswered as the hours ticked by one second at a time.

It was nearly midnight when you heard the key in the lock.

But you didn’t turn around, keeping your eyes fixed on the television screen where a contestant was having a meltdown over a collapsed soufflé. The door opened and closed softly, followed by the sound of Harry removing his shoes—placing them in exactly the right spot, you noted with amusement, listening to his quiet footfalls, each step reminding you of the lingering irritation still caught at the surface.

His footsteps were hesitant as he approached the couch, stopping just behind you. You could feel his presence, the familiar warmth of him, but you didn’t speak. Let him make the first move, you thought. Let him show you where his head is at.

“You’re watching our show,” he said finally, his voice quiet and a little rough.

You nodded, still not looking at him. “Seemed fitting.”

“Without me?” He almost whined.

And the pained tremor in his voice had you turning around, meeting his eyes for the first time since he had left. Your heart sank when you saw they were red-rimmed and tired, his curls a mess like he had been running his hands through them repeatedly—a nervous habit you’d always found endearing.

“You weren’t here,” you replied simply.

Harry winced, acknowledging the hit. “I know. I’m sorry.” Your body stiffened as he moved around the couch, cautiously sitting down beside you, leaving space, maybe too much distance, as he tried to respect the invisible boundary your tough stance was emanating.

You knew it, but you couldn’t help it.

You were still mad.

Still hurt.

Part of you wanted to maintain the cold front, your pride still stinging from the fight, but deep down, you ached for him to ignore the warning signs completely—to pull you against his warm chest, wrap you in those strong arms that have held you so many times.

You wanted him to make a move, be the one to make the first real motion toward fixing things.

But fuck, it was never easy to let go of a grudge.

And so you remained rigid.

Your cold exterior stubbornly at odds with the longing building inside you.

“I shouldn’t have left like that,” he continued, that sadness still in his eyes when you didn’t respond. “It was childish, and it didn’t solve anything.”

Coldly, you took a sip of your wine, considering him over the rim of the glass. “No, it didn’t.” And your tone was dry, already wanting him to work harder for the apology.

Harry sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. “I was angry, and I felt... I don’t know, attacked? But that’s not an excuse. I should have stayed…talked it out.”

“Yes, you should have.” Your voice was steady now, the tears long dried. “And you shouldn’t have broken my dish.”

“That was an accident,” Harry said quickly, giving you the most sorrowful eyes that made you want to melt. “I swear to you, I would never deliberately break something you love. I was careless, and I’m so, so sorry.”

You believed him.

You really did.

Harry wasn’t cruel, just hotheaded sometimes.

“It was special to me,” you whispered.

“I know, baby.” He reached out tentatively, not quite touching you. “I know it was. And I know it’s not just about the dish.”

You perked up at this, his answer surprising you, warming your insides up, “You do?”

Harry nodded, his expression solemn. “I had a lot of time to think while I was walking around. About why you were really upset and why I got so defensive.”

This is what you had been waiting for, you thought as you set your wine glass down on the coffee table, giving him your full attention. “And what did you come up with?”

“That you weren’t trying to control me,” he confessed. “You were trying to help...in your way. And I took it personally because...” He paused, searching for the right words. “Because sometimes I feel like I don’t measure up. Like I’m not good enough for you.”

The confession stunned you.

So bare and honest that it made your heart splinter.

How long had he been carrying this weight?

The thought that he’d been feeling inadequate while you were oblivious sent a wave of guilt crashing through you. All this time, your attempts to help had been reinforcing his deepest insecurities—a reality so far from what you had intended that it left you without words. You never wanted to be the source of his self-doubt, the reason he questioned his worth, and your throat tightened with the shame of it as you reached for him.

Because he had always been enough.

This had never been a doubt in your mind.

“Harry, that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” He gave a sad smile. “You’re so put together, so organized. You know exactly how everything should be done. And I’m... not like that. I’m messy and forgetful and I load dishwashers wrong.”

A small laugh escaped you, then. “You do load dishwashers wrong.”

His smile grew a little, encouraged by your softening, and dammit, that sweet little dimple in his left cheek appeared, the one that always made your fucking stomach flutter. “I know. But when you point it out, sometimes it feels like you’re pointing out all the ways I’m not perfect. All the ways, I’m not what you deserve.”

“Oh, Harry, my love...” And you moved closer to him, that icy barrier between you beginning to dissolve. Your thigh pressed against his, warm and solid, sending a subtle electric hum through your body. “That’s never what I mean. Never.”

“I know that, rationally,” he said, finally reaching out to take your hand, and his thumb traced slow, gentle circles on the delicate skin of your wrist, the innocent touch awakening nerve endings you had forgotten existed after weeks of distance. “But emotions aren’t always logical, are they?”

As you squeezed his fingers, you felt the familiar calluses on his palm, slightly rugged, but these were the same hands that could fix a leaky faucet, soft in the way they could cradle your face with a heartbreaking tenderness that never left you guessing, and you couldn’t look away from his lips as you replied, your voice slightly lower than before. “No, they’re not. And I’m sorry too. I can be... particular about things. I should be more patient, more understanding that we have different ways of doing things.”

Harry brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to your knuckles that lingered just a beat too long to be innocent. “I worship you,” he said gently, his eyes never leaving yours, the green darkening as his pupils bloomed. “Every part of you. And I should be more open to learning your way, especially when it comes to things that matter to you. Like vintage casserole dishes.”

The mere mention of the dish brought a fresh pang of loss to the pit of your stomach, but it was duller now, overshadowed by the heat suddenly building between you. You knew it was happening the second he said ‘Worship,’ the word sending a rush of thrill up your spine, a wave of excitement swelling through you the closer your bodies got.

And you wanted it.

Welcomed it even as that familiar ache awakened between your thighs. “It was just a thing,” you said, echoing your earlier thoughts, your voice huskier than intended. “Things can be replaced.”

“Speaking of which,” Harry said, reaching into his jacket pocket with his free hand, his movement causing his thigh to press harder against yours. “I have something to show you.”

He pulled out his phone, and you, without hesitation, shifted closer, tucking yourself against his side as he unlocked it. You had missed him, missed this, and you let your head lower to his shoulder, breathing in his scent— his cologne and something uniquely him that had always felt like home.

As he navigated through his search history, you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his shoulder through his shirt, feeling him shiver in response, momentarily distracted his thumb hesitated over the screen for just a moment before he found what he was looking for and tilted the phone toward you.

Your heart stopped.

On the screen was an eBay listing for a casserole dish—not just any dish, but one identical to the one that now lay in pieces in your trash can and as your eyes roamed the listing, Harry pushed a kiss to the top of your head.

The listing showed it had been purchased just an hour ago.

“You bought this?” you asked, looking up at him in surprise, ready to jump his bones right here, right now, because you wanted him so fucking bad.

Harry nodded, a hopeful expression on his face that quickly shifted to something heated, more primal as your bodies connected. “It’s being shipped express. Should be here in a few days. I know it won’t have the same memories attached, but we can make new ones.”

And there it was again.

That ping.

That pulse.

That pull deep in your gut, and your body flushed at the thought of it as the heat spread across your skin like wildfire. “You spent your evening searching for a replacement?”

“Part of it,” Harry admitted, his voice dropping to that low register that always made your stomach tighten with want. “The rest I spent realizing how much I never want to miss moments with you again. Not even watching people cry over pastry.” And he nodded toward the television, where the show was still playing, forgotten in the background.

The sincerity in his voice.

His genuine regret.

And that fucking lovesick look in his eyes melted the last of your resistance.

The air between you seemed to crackle with electricity—every breath, every slight movement charged with unspoken desire. You set the phone down and moved closer to him, consciously letting your breast brush against his arm again as you pressed against his side, and his sharp intake of breath told you he felt it too.

That magnetic pull.

That desperate need to reconnect not just emotionally but physically.

“Prove it,” you said softly.

Harry blinked, his breathing growing shallow as he caught the unmistakable invitation in your tone. “Prove what?”

“Prove that you never want to miss a moment with me again.” Your hand found his thigh, fingers tracing an intentional slow path upward. “Prove that you’re sorry.”

“Tell me what you want?” His voice gravel, a tone that sent liquid heat collecting between your thighs, a shiver down your spine with want.

You leaned in, letting your chest press against him as your lips brushed his ear, teeth grazing his lobe before you whispered, “I want you to worship me.”

A low groan vibrated from deep in his chest, his entire body tensing, his hunger barely restrained as he moved without hesitation. Harry slid from the couch to his knees before you, his strong hands pushing your thighs apart, gentle but insistent, the pressure wanting, and holy fuck, the look he gave you from that position made your clit fucking throb with anticipation.

And this is what you missed; this is what you both needed.

“I do worship you,” he said, his fingers skimming up your inner thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they approached your warm center before diverting to the hem of your shirt. “Every. Fucking. Part of you.”

His words made your heart jump.

Your heart picking up when his fingers found the hem of your shirt, moving with tantalizing ease as he lifted it, exposing your stomach as his knuckles deliberately grazed your heated skin. Your nipples were already pressed hard, almost painfully, against the fabric of your bra as cool air met your exposed flesh, waking your entire body with its presence.

“I worship your strength…your strength to have to put up with my shit.” when he laughed, his hot breath fanned over your skin, and he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your quivering stomach, his tongue dipping past your navel in a way that made you gasp. “Your kindness…god baby, your fucking kindness.” he breathed, his tone weak as he pressed another kiss higher, working his mouth up your body.

Every time Harry’s mouth met your flesh, you drew your legs together, trying to dull the pulsing ache taunting you between your thighs, but Harry wouldn’t budge, and as they closed around his body this time, you felt a light pinch at your inner thigh making you buck your lower half.

And then you sucked in a sharp breath when Harry’s teeth scraped a gentle path against the underside of your rib cage. “Your passion,” he added as his hands slid around to your back, fingers splaying across your heated skin before they found your bra clasp, flicking it open with a practiced ease that reminded you of all the countless nights of pleasure because without a doubt there had been so much pleasure.

Harry’s eyes never left yours, green depths swimming with a craving, a hunger, something deeper, more profound as he removed your shirt and bra in one fluid motion, “I worship your heart,” he continued, cupping your breasts, a tender grasp as he said, “So full of love, even when I don’t deserve it.”

Greedy, you arched into his touch, your body more than ready, responding to each word that tumbled from his mouth with every caress. “Harry...” you breathed.

“Shh,” he soothed, leaning forward to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his warm tongue circling the sensitive peak. “Let me show you. Let me prove it to you.” Then Harry’s wandering hands moved to the waistband of your leggings, tugging them down with your underwear as you lifted your hips to assist him.

As the last barrier between you fell away, you found yourself naked before him in the soft glow of the living room light, and there was something sacred in this vulnerability—a heartfelt intimacy that transcended the physical. His worshipful gaze felt like kneeling at the altar to pray as you lay there naked.

With Harry, you never needed to hide—his eyes had always been your safest place, a sanctuary where every part of you was cherished without judgment. This moment of being completely bare before someone who held your heart with such care felt like the truest form of yourself that you could ever give him.

Then his hands were skimming up your calves, over your knees, along your thighs, your entire body humming with his touch. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, looking up at you for permission as if he needed it, and you felt that tight flutter deep in your belly.

All you could do was nod, unable to form words as the anticipation built within you. Harry smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that promised pleasure beyond measure, and you felt all the lingering tension leaving your body.

Then he lowered his head, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, working his way inward with deliberate care, each kiss slow, but you felt the silent plea with every touch of his lips to your skin, a quiet apology, each brush of his fingers a promise of devotion.

He started gently, teasing at first, licking a slow, delicate line up your slit, a hum of satisfaction vibrating against your pussy lips, and you gazed down at him, holding your breath as you watched his calm composure falter, his need for you making him weak, his brows drawing together in pure agony.

Pain and pleasure stole his features as he stilled his movements, sucking in a harsh breath against your thigh and he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into your skin. You watched him force a shaky breath from his lungs, and he pushed a hand into the crotch of his jeans, his whole demeanor shifting, physically aching from the presence of your pleasure.

“This...I worship this.” he rasped, pulling back to drive his point home, and you tried to draw your legs together as a breathy laugh slipped past his lips, and he nips your inner thigh with his teeth, making you gasp out, and you comply spreading them wide.

And like a flip of a switch, he dove in with a renewed hunger, his tongue already working, circling your clit as the other hand left your thigh, and then you felt his fingers teasing at your entrance, gathering your wetness, his finger sliding against you before slowly pressing inside.

One finger at first, curling upward with expert precision to find that spot that made your fucking toes curl.

“Oh, god—Harry!” you cried out, your hips jerking involuntarily.

“That’s it,” he bellowed against you as he added a second finger, ready to stretch you as he pumped them in and out in rhythm with his tongue. “So tight, baby—say my name. Let me hear how good I make you feel. Let me hear how much you fucking need this.”

And it’s true you fucking needed this.

You both did.

And now you wanted the release.

All at once, the dual sensation of his mouth and fingers was overwhelming, and you found yourself writhing beneath him, one hand tangled in his hair while the other gripped the couch cushion desperately, holding your breath as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable intensity, the sensation curling tighter and tighter in your lower belly.

“You’re dripping for me,” he rasped, his voice rough with want. “So fucking wet. Could drown in you and die happy.” Then his fingers twisted inside you, pressing harder against that perfect spot, his tongue flattening against your clit, firm this time, steady pressure you knew would have you coming in seconds.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice breaking as you felt yourself approaching the edge. “Please, Harry, right there—baby—please!”

“Wouldn’t dream of stopping,” he groaned, briefly lifting his mouth before immediately returning to your slick heat. “Want to feel you come on my tongue. Want to taste every drop you give me. Need it like I need air, baby, this is mine...”

Then you felt his fingers curl, curving inside you, hitting that exact spot with each thrust while his tongue worked your clit with unwavering focus. The combination was too much—the physical sensation coupled with his filthy words and, dammit, the sight of him between your thighs was so fucking beautiful, Harry completely devoted to your pleasure.

“I’m going to—” you moaned, your thighs beginning to shake uncontrollably as you fisted his hair, your grip tightening, pushing his face into your pussy like you could fit him inside you.

“Do it,” he commanded, his voice vibrating across your sensitive flesh. “Come for me, baby. Flood my fucking mouth.”

And then it was happening: your orgasm hitting with such staggering force that it knocked the air from your lungs, crashing through you in waves that seemed to go on forever, and you screamed out his name as your back arched off the couch, your walls convulsing around his fingers just like he wanted, and Harry moaned deeply against you, drinking in your release, his tongue gentling but never stopping as he guided you through every aftershock, every tremor of pleasure.

Harry didn’t stop until a soft whimper left your mouth, and you gently pulled away; only then did he reluctantly withdraw his mouth and he pressed his forehead against your trembling thigh, catching his breath in hot puffs against your skin as you gazed down at him, catching sight of your essence glistening on his lips and chin, a testament to your undoing.

When he lifted his eyes to meet yours, his gaze burned with more than just desire—they held a fierce, almost predatory pride in having unraveled you so completely, Harry knowing he had earned every shudder and cry his mouth had coaxed from your body.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your shaky thigh. “So fucking beautiful when you fall apart for me.”

“Come here,” you said, letting out a lazy laugh, your voice still hoarse from your orgasm as you tugged at his shoulders. “Let me kiss those shiny lips.”

Harry smiled as he rose from his knees, his movements a little stiff from the prolonged position. Of course, as he stood, you couldn’t help but stare hungrily at the prominent bulge straining against his jeans, and he moved to sit beside you on the couch, his lips a dark blush, wet with the evidence of your pleasure, his expression a mixture of adoration and raw, untamed hunger.

“I meant what I said,” he told you, brushing a strand of hair from your face with shaky fingers. “I worship you. Every part of you. And I’m so sorry for hurting you earlier.”

And even though you hear his words, you don’t respond. Instead, you grabbed his face and pulled him into a deep, aggressive kiss, gradually licking across his lips first, tasting your own arousal with a moan that made his entire body go slack.

And the groan that left his mouth spoke volumes as you climbed onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist as you straddled him, barely breaking the kiss as you continued, pressing harder, your tongue exploring every corner of his mouth, finding every hint of your essence that was left, a whole new greed filling your chest.

“You like that?” you asked, grinding slowly against his erection as you pulled back just enough to speak, your lips still brushing his. “You like when I’m filthy for you? When I lick my cum off your face?”

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily beneath you, his pupils completely blown with lust. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”

You smiled wickedly, dragging your tongue along his jaw to his ear. “You taste so good mixed with me,” you breathed, feeling him shudder beneath you. “And I believe you,” you added, your voice softening slightly as you pulled back to meet his eyes, stroking his flushed cheek. “And I forgive you. Now let me show you exactly how much.

Relief washed over his features, followed quickly by a need that seemed to rise up as you knowingly licked your lips, tasting the last glimmers of yourself. “Now,” you continued, your hand moving to the bulge in his jeans, “let me show you how much I love you too.”

Harry’s breath hitched as you palmed him through his denim jeans. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you assured him, working at his belt buckle. “I want to taste what I do to you. I want to taste us together.”

Your words pulled a deep moan from somewhere inside him, his hips lifting of their own accord to help as you tugged his jeans and boxers down just enough to free him, his dick bounced up between you, hard and straining, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.

You leaned down, maintaining eye contact as you licked it away, savoring the salty-sweet flavor that mingled with your own taste, still lingering on your tongue, and you watched Harry’s eyes roll back, his hands already fisting in the couch cushions.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “If you keep that up, this is going to be embarrassingly quick.”

You smiled against him, pressing a kiss to his sensitive head. “That’s okay. We have all night for round two.”

Before he could respond, you took him into your mouth, sliding down as far as you comfortably could. The sound he made—half groan, half your name—felt like one of the most erotic things you had ever heard as your head began to move.

When you finally pulled back to catch your breath, saliva dripped from your lips to his shaft as you pumped him with your hand. “You like watching me choke on this big dick?” you asked, voice rugged before you took him deep again, this time letting your throat constrict around his tip.

“Fuck!” he shouted, his thighs tensing beneath you. “I’m not gonna last if you keep that up.”

You loved this part.

This was your favorite part, watching how easy it was to make him come undone.

And you continued to work him with your mouth and hand, establishing a rhythm that had him panting and cursing above you. When his hands found your hair, it wasn’t guiding, just connecting, Harry needing to touch you as you pleasured him.

“I’m close,” he warned after only a few minutes, his voice strained. “So close, babe.”

You pulled off with a pop, looking up at him with a mischievous smile. “Not yet,” you said, climbing onto his lap and straddling him. “I want to feel you.”

Harry’s hands immediately went to your hips, steadying you as you positioned yourself above him. “Are you—”

You cut him off with a kiss, deep and passionate, as you slowly sank down onto him, taking him inch by inch until he was fully seated within you. The stretch now arousing the desperation even more, your body still sensitive from your earlier orgasm.

“I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want this. I want you.”

You began to move, setting a slow, grinding pace that had both of you moaning, and Harry’s hands roamed your body, touching everywhere he could reach, as if reassuring himself that you were really there, really his.

“I love you,” he said between kisses, the words like a prayer being answered. “I love you so much. Never want to fight with you. Never want to be apart from you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, increasing your pace as the pleasure built again. “Always, Harry. Even when we fight.”

“Fuck—you’re so big,” you moaned against his lips, your inner walls stretching to accommodate his girth. “Can feel you so deep inside me.”

“So—tight,” Harry pushed, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as you began to pick up your pace. “So fucking wet and tight around me. Like this pussy was made for me.”

And you both laughed when your eyes met his. Both of you realizing it had been way too long since you had spoken these filthy words into existence, but you needed it, both of you spurring one another on as the pleasure took hold of each of you.

You established a rhythm, rising until just the tip remained inside before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt each time. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps, each sound breathing life back into the space.

“That’s it,” Harry urged, his voice strained as he thrust up to meet your downward movements. “Ride that dick. Show me how much you fucking need it.”

And dammit, what had Harry said? you needed it like you needed the air in your lungs, the blood flowing through your veins, the fucking heart pumping in your chest that could only beat for him.

In this moment.

Always.

You needed him.

Forever.

The tension between you had transformed completely, the anger of earlier replaced by a desperate, all-consuming love. Each movement, each touch, each whispered endearment was a reaffirmation of your bond, stronger now for having been tested.

You felt hunger drive from within as you increased your pace, grinding your clit against his pelvis with each downstroke. “So deep,” you gasped, throwing your head back as he hit that spot inside you. “God—Harry—you’re so fucking deep.”

His hands moved from your hips to your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples as you bounced on his lap. “Look at you,” he groaned, eyes dark with need, with purpose as they raked over your body. “Taking me like this. Fucking goddess.”

The pleasure was building, charged with a thrilling energy that had you both sloppy for more as your second orgasm loomed even faster than the first. Harry could tell—he always could—and he slipped one hand between your bodies to circle your clit.

“Want you to come on this dick?” he forced, his voice a rough growl that sent shivers down your spine. “Going to squeeze me so tight I can’t hold back?”

“Harry—” you moaned, each movement becoming erratic as you chased your release. “Make me come, Harry. Need to come with you inside me.”

“The way you take me so deep... fucking incredible.” he praised, thumb stroking your clit in circles, moving in sync with your movements.

“Come with me,” he urged, his voice tight with the effort of holding back. “Want to feel you come around me.”

The added stimulation was all you needed, and you felt your second orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, less intense but somehow deeper than the first, and you moaned out Harry’s name as your inner walls clenched around him, pulling him over the edge with you.

Fuck.

It was so good.

This was so good.

And then he was burying his face in your neck as he came, his arms wrapping around you so tight that it was hard to tell where you ended and he began as a swell of longing flooded your body, and you held him just as fiercely, riding out the waves of pleasure together until you both collapsed, spent and satisfied.

For a long moment, you stayed like that, connected in the most intimate way, hearts beating against each other as your breathing slowly returned to normal, and Harry pressed soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, before finally finding your lips in a tender, loving kiss.

“I really am sorry,” he murmured against your mouth. “About the fight, about the dish, about leaving.”

You stroked his hair, smiling softly. “I know. And I’m sorry, too, for being so rigid sometimes. Maybe we can work on it together?”

Harry nodded; his eyes were serious despite the blissful aftermath you guys found yourselves in. “We will. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you the seller is including the matching serving platter too.”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, pure joy replacing the last vestiges of hurt. “You found the matching platter? Those are even rarer than the casserole dish!”

“Only the best for you,” Harry said, his smile mirroring yours. “I told you, I worship you. Every part of you, including your love for vintage dishware.”

You kissed him again, pouring all your love into it. “And I worship you, Harry. Even when you load the dishwasher wrong.”

When his laughter joined yours, filling the apartment with the sound of happiness restored. The broken dish was forgotten, replaced by the promise of new memories to be made, new moments to be shared, and a love that was stronger for having weathered its first real storm.

As you curled against him, content and complete, you knew that this—this imperfect, sometimes messy, always passionate love—was the most precious thing you would ever possess. And unlike a casserole dish, it couldn’t be broken by a careless moment or a heated argument. It could only grow stronger, more beautiful, with each challenge overcome together.

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Venom & Honey: Il

Where a girl once set out to catch a killer, and now shares his bed, his secrets, and the darkness he brought out in her.

Part two of Harry, a serial killer.

*Part one *

Content warnings: mentions of murder, blood, knives, cursing and filthy talk.

Word Count: 11k

The air in the courtroom was suffocating.

Y/N sat in the front row, her hands clenched together in her lap, nails pressing into her skin. She forced herself to stay still, to breathe, to keep her face neutral.

She had to watch this.

She had to see him go down.

The judge’s voice rang out, clear and absolute.

“Harry Edward Styles, you have been found guilty on all charges. You are sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.”

A rush of noise swept through the room—whispers, murmurs, a sharp sob from someone in the back.

But Harry didn’t flinch.

He didn’t react at all.

He sat in his chair, wrists cuffed, posture relaxed, his signature smirk still curling at the edge of his lips.

Like this was all a game.

Like he’d let them think they’d won.

Y/N swallowed, her throat tight, her skin hot under the weight of his gaze. Because he was looking right at her. She was burning.

Not at the judge. Not at the officers preparing to haul him away.

At her.

And when they came to take him, when the cold snap of metal echoed through the room as they grabbed his arms—

He snarled.

Not in anger.

In amusement.

His lips pulled back, teeth flashing, his eyes burning with something wild, something dark, something thrilled.

And then—

He smiled.

A slow, evil, knowing smile, one that made her stomach twist, made her breath hitch before she could stop it.

It was a promise.

A warning.

A threat.

They were dragging him away, pulling him toward a future that should have been a cage.

But the last thing Y/N saw before he disappeared through the doors—

Was his mouth moving.

Silent words.

Ones she would never forget.

“This isn’t over.”

Her blood ran cold.

Because somehow, someway…

She knew he was right.

It had been a year.

A full year since the trial, since the last time she saw him, since the last time she heard his voice.

Harry Styles was gone—rotting in a cell where he belonged.

Y/N had spent months convincing herself of that. Months rebuilding her life, pushing away the memories, trying to forget the way he had looked at her as they dragged him out of the courtroom.

But lately… something felt off.

It started small.

Little things she brushed off at first.

A window left slightly open when she was sure she had locked it.

The faintest scent of cologne in her apartment—something dark and musky, something that smelled like him.

Her phone buzzing in the middle of the night—unknown caller, no message left.

She told herself she was imagining it. That it was her mind playing tricks on her, that she was just paranoid, that she didn’t want it.

But then, one night, she found her front door unlocked.

And that?

That wasn’t her imagination.

That was real.

Her stomach twisted as she stood there in the doorway, staring at the lock, at the bolt that should have been turned but wasn’t.

She lived alone.

No one else had a key.

And yet, someone had been inside.

Her hands trembled as she pushed the door open, stepping in slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Nothing looked out of place.

No broken windows, no drawers rummaged through, no sign of a break-in.

In every creak of her bones, she felt it.

That eerie, crawling sensation at the back of her neck, the prickling awareness that she wasn’t alone.

That someone had been here.

That someone was watching.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe, forcing herself to shake it off.

Harry was in prison.

Harry was gone.

But for the first time in a year—

She wasn’t so sure.

Y/N locked the door.

Turned the bolt. Checked it twice. Stared at it for a full minute, willing herself to believe that it had been her mistake.

A lapse in memory. A long day. A moment of carelessness.

Nothing more.

She would not let herself spiral.

So, she took a breath, shaking the unease from her limbs, and forced herself to move on.

She made her favorite tea. Put on a mindless show. Scrolled through her phone.

But the entire time, she could feel it—that wrongness.

Like the air in her apartment had shifted. Like the walls had eyes that were watching her every move.

Every creak of the floorboards made her stomach twist. Every gust of wind against the window made her flinch.

She was being stupid. Paranoid.

But when she finally went to bed, she locked her bedroom door. Just in case.

The next morning, she convinced herself she had overreacted.

She threw herself into work, into routine, into anything that didn’t leave room for fear.

By the time the sun had set again, she felt normal.

Until she saw the mirror.

She was getting ready for bed, moving through her nighttime routine, when she noticed it.

The smudges.

Faint. Almost invisible in the dim light.

Like fingerprints.

Like someone had touched the glass.

Her stomach twisted as she stepped closer, heart hammering, fingers hovering over the faint outlines.

She never touched the mirror like this.

She never stood close enough to leave prints at this angle.

But someone had.

And when she exhaled, the breath fogged up the glass—revealing a streak that shouldn’t have been there.

A single, slow drag of someone’s fingertip.

Down the center of the mirror.

Her pulse roared in her ears, her throat going tight.

This wasn’t paranoia.

This wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her.

Someone had been here.

And somehow, she knew— It was him.

Y/N sat stiffly on the couch, her fingers gripping the fabric of her sweater as she stared past her therapist’s shoulder. The office was warm, dimly lit with soft yellow lighting, a candle flickering on the corner of the desk. It smelled like lavender, like something meant to be soothing.

She wasn’t soothed.

Dr. Bennett sat across from her, watching her carefully. A legal pad rested on her lap, pen poised between her fingers, waiting.

Y/N exhaled slowly, pressing her nails into her palm. “I think I might be losing it.”

Dr. Bennett didn’t react. “Tell me why you think that.”

She hesitated, swallowing against the dryness in her throat.

“It’s just… little things.” She shifted, fingers curling into the hem of her sleeve. “Doors unlocked when I swore I locked them. Noises in my apartment. My mirror had fingerprints on it, ones that weren’t mine.”

The words sounded ridiculous out loud.

She could hear the paranoia in them, the way they clung to her like something suffocating.

Dr. Bennett nodded, her expression unreadable. “You’ve been through something traumatic, Y/N. After what happened with Harry, it’s understandable that your mind is searching for threats. Even ones that might not be there.”

Y/N clenched her jaw. “I know that’s what it sounds like. I know it sounds like I’m being paranoid, but—” She inhaled sharply, rubbing at her temple. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like nothing. It feels real.”

Dr. Bennett leaned forward slightly. “How long have you been feeling this way?”

Y/N hesitated. “A few weeks.”

“And have you checked in on him?”

Her stomach turned.

She hadn’t. She hadn’t wanted to. The idea of searching for him made her chest tighten, made something crawl beneath her skin. If she found nothing, she could breathe again.

If she found something…

She didn’t know what she’d do.

Dr. Bennett’s voice softened. “Y/N, sometimes our minds play tricks on us. When we experience fear for long enough, we start seeing it in places it doesn’t exist. Have you thought about looking up his records? Seeing where he is now?”

Y/N clenched her teeth. “No.”

“But you could.”

She looked away, fingers twitching against her knee.

She could.

She should.

Because if she did, if she saw proof that he was still locked away—

Then she’d know.

She’d know she was just being paranoid.

She’d know that the wrongness in her apartment, the mirror, the unlocked door—

It was all in her head.

Right?

Dr. Bennett gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Why don’t you try? It might give you some peace of mind.”

Y/N inhaled deeply, nodding once. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I will.”

But when she left the office, stepping into the cold evening air, she didn’t feel better.

She felt worse.

Because part of her already knew what she was going to find.

Nothing.

And somehow, that terrified her more than anything.

Y/N sat at her desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Her apartment was quiet, save for the hum of her laptop, the only light coming from the screen. The glow cast soft shadows across the walls, stretching and shifting whenever she moved.

She didn’t want to do this, she had to.

Her therapist was right—if she checked, if she saw his name on the prison registry, she could let this go.

She typed in the website for the state’s inmate records, her breath coming slow and shallow as the page loaded. Her hands felt cold, her pulse a dull thud in her ears.

Her fingers moved before she could think too much about it.

Harry Edward Styles.

The cursor blinked, waiting, expectant.

She hit enter.

The page loaded.

And then—

Nothing.

Her stomach twisted.

She hit refresh.

Checked the spelling.

Tried again.

Still nothing.

Her breath hitched, panic coiling tight in her chest. Her fingers scrambled for her phone, quickly searching his full name, the prison he was supposed to be in.

No news articles about an escape.

No public records stating his release.

No proof that he was anywhere.

It was like he’d been erased.

Like he’d never been locked away in the first place.

Y/N’s hands began to shake.

Because this wasn’t paranoia.

It wasn’t trauma.

It was real.

Harry was gone.

And somehow—he’d made sure no one would know.

Her stomach lurched, a wave of nausea rolling through her.

A sharp gust of wind rattled the window, making her jump.

The shadows on the wall stretched, flickering as the light from her laptop screen shifted.

Her throat went dry.

She wasn’t alone.

She could feel it.

A presence.

A shadow.

Something watching.

She turned slowly, heart hammering, breath locked in her throat—

And the lights went out.

A sharp inhale was all she managed before the darkness swallowed her whole.

The moment the lights went out, Y/N barely had time to react.

Her breath hitched, heart slamming against her ribs as her hands scrambled for her phone, for anything—

But she wasn’t fast enough.

A hand clamped over her mouth.

Her body went rigid, a muffled scream swallowed by the thick fabric suddenly pressed against her face. The scent was strong, chemical, suffocating.

Chloroform.

Fuck.

She kicked, thrashed, her nails clawing at the skin of the hand holding her in place. She tried to scream, to bite, to do anything—

But the dizziness hit fast.

Her vision blurred, her limbs turned to lead.

She was falling.

No—being caught.

She felt strong arms wrap around her as her body slumped, her mind slipping into darkness.

The last thing she heard before everything went black—

Was a soft chuckle.

Low. Amused. Familiar.

“Shhh, sweetheart. I’ve got you now.”

Then—

Nothing.

Y/N woke up with a pounding headache.

Her body felt heavy, her limbs sluggish as she blinked against the dim morning light filtering through her curtains.

Her mouth was dry. Her head swam with dizziness. She felt hungover.

But she hadn’t been drinking.

She sat up slowly, pressing a hand to her forehead. Something was wrong.

Her sheets were tangled around her legs, her pillows slightly out of place. Had she thrashed in her sleep?

The night before felt fuzzy. Disjointed.

She remembered working at her desk. Searching for Harry’s records. Finding nothing.

Then the lights had gone out.

Her stomach twisted, a deep unease curling through her.

Had that been real?

Had she actually felt someone behind her? Had she actually struggled against hands that weren’t her own?

Or had it been a nightmare?

A cold shiver rolled through her as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, moving carefully. Her head still felt off, like it wasn’t fully attached to her body.

She needed water. Needed to clear her head.

Pushing herself to her feet, she made her way toward the bathroom, her hand reaching for the knob.

She turned it. It didn’t budge.

Her stomach dropped.

She tried again. Twisted harder. Still locked.

Her breath caught, fingers tightening around the handle, pulse ticking up in slow, creeping realization.

She never locked her bathroom door.

A sound from behind her made her freeze.

A shift in the air. A presence.

And then—A voice. Low. Amused.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Her pulse spiked.

Slowly, she turned.

And there—leaning against the wall, smirking like he belonged there—

Was Harry. Alive. Here. In her fucking bedroom.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Because for the first time in a year, she was looking into the eyes of the man she had put away. Y/N’s entire body locked up. Her mouth was dry, her heartbeat roaring in her ears as she tried to force rational thought through the rising panic in her chest. She needed to get out, needed to move, needed to wake up from whatever fucked-up reality she had just been dropped into.

But her feet were rooted to the floor, her back pressed to the locked door, her breath coming in shallow bursts that she couldn’t steady.

Harry took a step forward, slow and unbothered, like she was an animal he was waiting to bolt. His eyes flickered down the length of her body, taking in the way she was still in the clothes she had worn last night—except now they were rumpled, twisted, evidence of how she had been moved without her knowing.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Y/N inhaled sharply, her throat aching with the effort to hold back the fear clawing up from her chest. She didn’t want to give him that, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

But her voice shook when she finally spoke.

“How?” she whispered, barely recognizing her own voice. “How did you get out?”

Harry exhaled a slow, amused breath, tilting his head as he stepped closer. “That’s the first thing you want to ask?” His lips curled. “Not why you woke up feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck? Not why you can’t remember how you got to bed?” He took another step, closing the space between them, his voice dipping lower. “Not why the door’s locked?”

Y/N’s chest rose and fell rapidly, every muscle in her body screaming at her to run, to fight, to do something.

But she couldn’t.

Because there was nowhere to go, he had made sure of that.

Her back hit the door fully as he took the final step, crowding into her space, his warm breath ghosting over her skin, the scent of something sharp and musky filling her senses.

He was real.

He was here.

And she had never been more fucked.

Harry lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, brushing a curl from her cheek before trailing his fingers down to her chin, tilting it up just enough to force her to look at him.

His grip was gentle.

His gaze was not.

“You should be asking what I’m going to do to you now,” he murmured.

Her stomach flipped.

Harry’s thumb skimmed her jaw, his touch deceptively light, like he wasn’t holding her trapped, like he hadn’t just ripped apart the careful, controlled world she had tried to rebuild.

“But since you asked so nicely,” he mused, “I’ll tell you.”

His mouth quirked, his voice dipping into something dark, something dangerous.

“I walked out the front door, sweetheart.”

A chill rolled down her spine.

His smirk widened.

“And now?” he whispered, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear, his words curling like smoke against her skin. “I’m never leaving you again.”

Harry inched closer, his body pressing into her space, the scent of him—leather, smoke, something undeniably sharp and masculine—making her stomach tighten. His hand remained firm beneath her chin, keeping her head tilted up, keeping her gaze locked with his.

“You’re going to wish I’d slit your throat the first time we met,” he murmured, his voice a slow drag of silk-covered razors.

Y/N sucked in a breath, pulse hammering beneath her skin.

His smirk deepened, his thumb pressing into her jaw just enough to feel like a warning. “Stupid, silly girl,” he murmured. “You really thought you’d gotten away from me? That you’d just go back to your little life like nothing happened? Like I wouldn’t fucking find you?”

The words stung, but not in the way they should have.

Not with fear.

With something else.

Something she didn’t want to name.

Something she refused to acknowledge.

Her body reacted before her mind could stop it.

Her fist swung up, hard and fast, colliding with his jaw with a sharp, satisfying crack.

Harry’s head snapped to the side.

For a moment, there was silence.

Y/N barely had a second to breathe before he moved.

His hand caught her wrist before she could pull back, twisting her around, forcing her onto the floor before she even knew what was happening.

The impact sent a shock through her body, knocking the air from her lungs. Before she could scramble up, he was on her.

Straddling her.

Holding her down.

One hand gripped her wrist, pinning it above her head, the other pressing firm against her chest, keeping her trapped beneath his weight.

His breath was ragged, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with something vicious.

“You just don’t fucking learn, do you?” he growled, his grip tightening, his fingers digging into her skin. “Always running your mouth. Always thinking you’re smarter than me. Always thinking you have a fucking choice.”

Y/N’s breath came in shallow bursts, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his touch. Her limbs twitched beneath him, her body thrumming, every nerve on fire.

She should be fighting. She should be screaming. She should be terrified.

But she wasn’t.

Because, God help her—She had wanted this. Not the fear. Not the helplessness.

But the weight of him. The heat of his skin.

The way his hand wrapped around her wrist like it belonged there, the way his breath ghosted over her lips, rough and heavy, filled with the kind of anger that made her pulse quicken in the worst possible way.

And before she could stop herself— She smiled.

Harry froze.

His eyes flickered, searching, his fingers twitching slightly against her skin.

“What the fuck are you smiling at?” he muttered, his voice low, edged with something almost… confused.

Y/N swallowed, trying to steady her breathing.

“Nothing,” she whispered, her lips still curved, the weight of her secret burning at the back of her throat.

Harry narrowed his eyes. His grip on her wrist flexed, his body shifting slightly, pressing her further into the floor.

“Liar,” he murmured.

Her smile widened.

And Harry’s pulse fucking jumped.

Because this wasn’t fear.

Harry’s breath came hard and slow, his weight pressing her deeper into the floor, his grip unrelenting.

But it wasn’t just rage in his eyes anymore.

No, it was something else.

Y/N could see the shift, the way his expression flickered, the way his fingers flexed against her skin like he was testing her.

Like he was trying to figure out what, exactly, she was made of.

He tipped his head, smirk still curling at the edge of his lips, amused, disbelieving. “You’re smiling,” he murmured, dragging his thumb over the inside of her wrist, pressing just hard enough to feel her pulse beneath it. “I have you on the fucking floor, a knife was at your throat not even five minutes ago, and you’re smiling.”

His voice was slow, laced with something sharp.

Something dangerous.

Y/N licked her lips, her throat aching with the effort to keep her breaths steady.

She should say something.

Something smart. Something biting.

But she didn’t trust her voice.

Not when he was looking at her like this.

Like she was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

Harry hummed, tilting his head, his fingers dragging slowly down her arm, brushing over the exposed skin, testing, waiting.

“Do you like this, sweetheart?” His voice was quiet now, almost like a whisper, but deadly. “Is that it?”

Her stomach flipped.

She swallowed, her jaw tightening.

“You want me to believe you’re terrified,” he mused, his grip tightening again, forcing her still. “But you’re not, are you?”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“You should be,” he murmured, voice low, thick, edged with something dark. “You should be fucking shaking. You should be begging. You should be crying. But instead—”

He exhaled a soft, disbelieving chuckle.

“Instead, you’re smiling.”

Y/N sucked in a sharp breath, every muscle in her body locking up as he pressed his palm against her chest again, feeling her heartbeat.

Fast. Too fast.

But not panicked.

Not scared.

Harry’s smirk widened.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You really are a sick little thing, aren’t you?”

Y/N bit down on her lip, her body betraying her again, a shiver rolling through her.

Harry saw it.

Felt it.

And he fucking grinned.

“You like this,” he murmured, dragging his fingers up to her jaw, gripping it tight, tilting her face up toward him. “You like the way I could fucking ruin you, don’t you?”

Y/N’s breathing hitched, her secret unraveling in front of him.

Harry’s eyes darkened.

“You’re worse than I thought,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “And here I thought you were just a liar.”

Her stomach twisted, heat pooling at the base of her spine.

His fingers drifted lower, trailing the line of her throat, his eyes locked onto hers, watching, studying, learning.

Then—

“Admit it,” he muttered.

Her breath caught.

His grip tightened.

“Say it,” he pressed, his nose brushing against hers, his words slipping over her mouth like a secret.

“Say you like it.”

Y/N’s pulse pounded.

Her skin was on fire, every inch of her burning beneath his touch, beneath his attention.

She should have fought.

But instead she whispered, “I like it.”

Harry exhaled sharply, his eyes flickering, something dark and satisfied settling behind them.

“Of course, you do,” he murmured, his lips barely a breath from hers.

And then, he laughed.

Low.

Wicked.

Because now—

Now he knew exactly what to do with her.

Harry’s fingers tightened around her throat.

Slow at first, his palm warm against her skin, the pressure firm but not yet crushing. He was testing, waiting, watching the way her lips parted slightly, the way her pupils blown wide with something filthy and unspoken.

Y/N’s pulse hammered against his palm, a thrill shooting up her spine at the way he held her—like he owned her, like he could squeeze a little harder and end her right here if he wanted to.

And God help her—

She wanted him to, not to kill her, but to break her.

To ruin her.

Harry saw it.

And fuck, he loved it.

He leaned in, so close his breath ghosted over her cheek, his lips barely brushing the shell of her ear.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his voice rough, thick with something dark and amused. “You’re actually getting off on this, aren’t you?”

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

His grip flexed around her throat, pressing just a little harder, just enough to make her breath hitch.

“I could kill you,” he whispered, dragging his nose along the side of her face, his lips just barely grazing her skin. “And all you’d fucking think about is how wet it makes you.”

Heat flooded her body.

A whimper caught in her throat, her legs twitching beneath him, her entire body betraying her in real time.

Harry grinned.

“Filthy little thing,” he murmured, dragging his tongue along his bottom lip, his free hand skimming lower, teasing, taunting.

“You want it, don’t you?” His voice was a rasp, a taunt, a promise. “You want me to ruin you.”

Y/N gasped, barely able to think.

His fingers tightened.

“Say it,” he muttered, his mouth brushing against her jaw.

Her mind spun, her body burned, her own voice barely a breath when she finally choked out—

“Yes.”

Harry laughed.

Dark. Triumphant.

“That’s my girl.”

Harry’s fingers tightened around her throat once more, cutting off her breath just enough to make her squirm beneath him. His smirk curled wider, dark and wicked, watching the way her lips parted, waiting for the telltale sound of desperation.

Then—he let go.

Her chest heaved as air rushed back into her lungs, her head spinning, body aching with want.

But instead of giving her what she craved—what she had just fucking admitted to wanting—Harry pulled back, shaking his head with an exhale that was half amusement, half disappointment.

“Too bad,” he muttered, voice low, taunting, full of cruel satisfaction.

Y/N blinked up at him, her dazed, pleasure-hazed mind barely keeping up. “W-what?”

Harry smirked, shifting back just slightly, still straddling her, still caging her in.

“You think you get it that easy, sweetheart?” His fingers traced along her jaw, but there was no softness in it. Only control. Only ownership. “After all the bullshit you put me through?”

Her stomach dropped.

His eyes flickered, sharp and calculating, dragging over her face like he was studying her, peeling her open, exposing every lie she’d ever told.

“You want me?” he murmured, his voice turning mocking. “Want me so fucking bad, you’re smiling with my hand around your throat?”

He leaned down, his breath warm against her lips, so close she could taste him.

“Then beg.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Harry grinned. Laughed, even.

“But before that…” His hand slid back into her hair, yanking her head back just enough to make her gasp. His tone shifted, cold and sharp.

“I want answers.”

Her stomach twisted.

His grip tightened.

“Why’d you do it?” he murmured, dragging his nose along her cheek, his voice almost soft—almost. “Why were you in on the sting?”

Y/N’s pulse pounded.

She swallowed, but the lump in her throat wouldn’t go away.

Harry smirked against her skin. “What, nothing to say now?”

“I—” she gasped, but her words tangled in her throat, her mind spinning, reeling, breaking apart.

“You wanted me,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “So fucking bad.” His grip tightened. “So tell me, sweetheart—why’d you turn me in?”

Her heart ached.

“I—” she started again, struggling against the truth she had never wanted to say aloud.

Harry’s grin widened.

“You didn’t have a choice, did you?”

Y/N’s breath shuddered.

And Harry fucking knew.

He tilted his head, watching her fall apart beneath him. “That’s it, isn’t it?” His grip loosened, just slightly, just enough to let her breathe, to let her wallow in the truth.

“You didn’t want to turn me in,” he murmured, dragging his thumb over her lips, his voice dripping in something dangerous. “They made you.”

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut.

“I—”

Harry clicked his tongue, his smirk returning.

“Sweet girl,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You really are fucked, aren’t you?”

Her breath froze.

Harry exhaled a slow, amused breath, shaking his head as if he pitied her. As if she was pathetic.

“Fucked little thing,” he murmured, dragging his fingers down her throat, feeling the rapid thump of her pulse. “Did they tell you what to say?”

Y/N swallowed hard, her breath shaky, uneven.

“Did they feed you some rehearsed little script?” he continued, tilting his head, watching her like a predator watches wounded prey. “Told you how to get close to me, how to make me trust you, how to set me up?”

Her chest rose and fell, her lips parting slightly as she struggled for words, but nothing came out.

She was trapped.

Because he was right.

She had been sent in. She had been hired to be the one to get close to him, to make him slip, to catch him in a moment of vulnerability.

But it had never been that simple.

Because Harry had gotten into her head. Had wrapped himself around her thoughts, her body, her very existence.

And now?

Now she wasn’t even sure if she had ever really wanted to stop him.

Harry hummed, dragging his thumb over her bottom lip, smearing the warmth of his skin against her mouth. “You gonna lie to me, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” she whispered, voice barely there.

Harry laughed.

“That’s what you’re going with?” His smirk widened, his grip tightening as he forced her to look at him. “That’s your excuse? You didn’t have a choice?”

Y/N burned under his gaze, her skin hot, her pulse hammering, her mind spinning in too many directions at once.

“I—”

“You could’ve walked away,” he cut her off, dragging his fingers down to her chest, pressing just hard enough to make her feel it. “Could’ve refused.”

He leaned in, so close, too close, suffocatingly close.

“But you didn’t, did you?” he whispered. “You stayed. You played your part. You set me up.”

His grip tightened.

“And now?” His lips brushed against her ear, mocking, teasing. “Now you’re under me, telling me you like it.”

“You really are a sick little girl, aren’t you?” he muttered, his voice slow, cruel. “You wanted me. Wanted to be near me. Wanted to be claimed by me.”

Y/N shivered.

Harry dragged his fingers lower, over the delicate line of her ribs, his touch taunting, his eyes burning.

“You want me now, don’t you?” His smirk widened. “Even after everything, after all the lies, after what I could do to you right now.”

Y/N’s body betrayed her.

Her breath shuddered, her stomach tightened, her mind spun with the horrible, humiliating truth.

She wanted him.

Even now.

Even like this.

Harry’s grin stretched, his fingers pressing against her hip, holding her still beneath him.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, dragging his thumb along her jaw. “Look at you.”

He shook his head, almost in disbelief.

“You did all that work to put me away,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over her lips. “And now you’re still exactly right where I want you.”

His grip tightened.

“Say it,” he murmured, his tone dropping into something darker, something dangerous.

Y/N squirmed.

“Say you want me.”

Her breath came out ragged, her mind screaming at her to fight, to deny it, to hold onto whatever dignity she had left.

But instead—

She whispered.

“I want you.”

Harry exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching against her skin, his pupils blown wide with something filthy and victorious.

“Of course, you do.”

His lips curled.

“But I’m not giving it to you.”

Her stomach dropped.

Harry grinned.

“You think you get rewarded for betraying me?” He let out a mocking laugh, his fingers digging into her hips, pressing her further into the floor. “No, sweetheart. You work for it.”

Her throat went dry.

“You beg for it,” he whispered, dragging his tongue along his bottom lip. “After everything you fucking put me through? You don’t get to just have me.”

His grip flexed, his smirk taunting.

“You have to earn me.”

Y/N swallowed hard, every inch of her body on fire, every nerve screaming at her.

Harry let out a slow, heavy sigh before shaking his head.

“Fuck this,” he muttered, rolling off of her like he had just wasted his time.

Y/N blinked, breath still ragged, body still burning from the weight of him, from the way he had held her down, from the way he had looked at her like he was going to devour her whole.

But now?

Now, he was standing over her, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt, looking bored.

Bored.

Like she was nothing.

Like she was just another useless, desperate thing that had lost its appeal.

Harry stretched his neck, cracking it once before sighing. “There’s probably someone else out there more deserving of my time,” he said, barely even looking at her. “Some other girl who actually knows what she wants.”

Her stomach dropped.

Panic.

Real, raw, deep panic clawed at her throat.

Because no—no, no, no.

She couldn’t let him leave.

She wouldn’t.

Not after this.

Not after knowing what it felt like to have his hands on her, to have his full, undivided attention, to be the thing that made his pulse spike.

Before she could stop herself, she was on her hands and knees, crawling toward him.

“Please,” she gasped, voice wrecked, desperate, pathetic.

Harry stilled.

His head tilted slightly, amusement flickering in his dangerous, dark eyes.

She kept going.

“I’ll do anything,” she whispered, hands pressing into the floor as she stared up at him, shaking with need, shame, everything in between.

“Anything?” he echoed, his lips twitching.

She nodded frantically, willing to say, do, be whatever he fucking wanted.

Harry exhaled slowly, dragging his gaze down her body, watching her like she was nothing more than a pathetic little pet at his feet.

Then, after a long moment, his smirk deepened.

“Take your shirt off.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Her pulse pounded.

She didn’t hesitate.

Her fingers trembled as they reached for the hem of her shirt, ready to do exactly as he said.

Y/N grabbed the hem of her shirt, fingers trembling slightly as she pulled it over her head, tossing it aside without a second thought.

She sat there, bare from the waist up, chest rising and falling rapidly, her skin burning under his gaze.

Harry didn’t react right away.

He just watched.

His expression unreadable, his eyes dragging over every inch of exposed skin, like he was committing her to memory. Or deciding what to do with her.

Her stomach tightened.

“Your pants, too,” he murmured, voice low, commanding. “Then sit on the bed.”

Y/N swallowed hard, but did as he said.

She stood just long enough to unbutton her jeans, shoving them down her legs, kicking them off before sitting back down on the edge of the mattress, waiting.

Waiting for him.

Waiting for what came next.

Harry stepped closer, standing between her legs, his fingers trailing along her bare shoulders, down her arms, over her collarbone.

Soft, almost gentle.

Her skin prickled, heat pooling in her stomach as his touch skimmed lower, teasing.

He traced the line of her ribs, his palm skimming over her stomach, sliding around her waist, squeezing.

Y/N inhaled sharply, her breath catching, her body tensing, anticipating—

But then—

Harry chuckled.

Low, amused, cruel.

Her eyes snapped open, blinking up at him in confusion.

Then, he smirked.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured, fingers drifting lower, skimming her hips. “I was just checking for a wire.”

Her stomach dropped.

A wire.

He thought—

Her blood ran cold.

Harry’s smirk widened, like he was thrilled by her reaction.

“You really thought I was about to fuck you?” He let out another sharp laugh, his fingers digging into her waist for just a second before pulling away. “After what you did?”

Y/N’s mouth went dry.

Her pulse hammered, something twisting, coiling, breaking inside her.

Because he was right to check.

She had been a snitch.

She had turned him in.

Harry hummed, tilting his head slightly. “Guess it’s my turn to ask some questions,” he muttered, dragging his fingers along her jaw. “Since you’re being such a good girl for me now.”

She forced herself to swallow. Harry tilted his head, dragging his fingers down her bare arm, his touch light, teasing, but laced with something far more sinister. He was enjoying this, playing with her, unraveling her, exposing every lie she had ever told.

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her cheek. “So, tell me, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice smooth and laced with mockery. “Why you?”

Y/N swallowed hard, fingers digging into her lap, her entire body tensing.

She had known this question was coming.

She had dreaded it.

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she forced herself to breathe, to keep her voice steady, to give him something real.

Because Harry could smell a lie.

She knew that.

So she gave him the truth.

“I write true crime novels,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Harry stilled.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, he let out a slow, amused exhale.

“Of course, you do, so that part of your lie was true,” he muttered, shaking his head, his fingers skimming her shoulder, her collarbone, pressing just slightly into her skin. “Fucking hell, you really are a sick little pup, aren’t you?”

Y/N’s throat tightened.

She kept going.

“I was looking for you.” Her voice wavered. “Before the police ever got involved. I—I wanted to know if the stories were real. I wanted an up-close look at you.”

Harry grinned, his hand sliding lower, taunting her. “And what did you think when you found me, sweetheart?”

Her stomach twisted.

She could still remember the first time she saw him.

The way he had looked at her.

The way her entire body had reacted to him.

The way she had wanted him before she even knew what he was.

“I…” she hesitated, her pulse racing.

Harry’s fingers trailed lower.

“Tell me,” he murmured.

She inhaled sharply.

“I was obsessed,” she whispered.

Harry laughed.

Low. Dark. Triumphant.

“Of course, you were,” he muttered, his smirk deepening.

Her breath hitched as his grip on her hip tightened.

“You wanted me,” he continued, voice silky and cruel. “But instead of coming to me like a good little girl, you ran to the police.”

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach churning.

“I didn’t run to them,” she muttered, her voice strained.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “No?”

She forced herself to look at him.

“They found out about you on their own,” she admitted. “I had already been researching you, and when they started closing in, I—” she swallowed, “I reached out.”

Harry hummed, dragging his fingers over her jaw, gripping her chin just tight enough to hold her still.

“And they thought you were perfect for the job, didn’t they?”

Her throat bobbed.

She nodded.

“Because you looked like them,” Harry murmured. “Like the others.”

Y/N shivered.

Because she had.

That was why they had chosen her.

She fit the profile.

The dark hair. The delicate features. The softness, the sweetness.

The perfect bait.

Harry smirked, shaking his head. “That’s fucking poetic,” he muttered. “The writer getting thrown into her own story.”

His fingers tightened, his grip firm but taunting.

“But you weren’t just writing about me, were you?” His voice dipped lower, something dark curling beneath it. “You were fucking dreaming about me.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat once more.

“Thinking about what it’d be like,” Harry continued, dragging his lips close to her ear. “To be one of them. To see if you’d survive. If you could make me keep you. If you could fix me. If you could fuck me. ”

Her stomach coiled.

Harry smirked against her skin.

“And now,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction, “you’re exactly where you wanted to be.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, forcing herself to keep talking.

“I thought you were…” She hesitated, her fingers gripping the sheets beneath her, her body still bare from where he had made her strip down, still burning under his taunting, amused gaze.

Harry hummed, tilting his head. “Go on,” he urged, his voice slow, dripping with something mocking.

She swallowed hard, her chest tight, her pulse hammering against her ribs.

“I thought you were attractive,” she whispered, her voice barely there. “And charming.”

Harry froze.

For a second, there was nothing but silence.

He laughed.

Loud. Sharp. Cruel.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head, rubbing a hand over his jaw like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His amusement was genuine, his grin stretching wide, flashing his teeth. Harry let out another bitter chuckle, pacing in front of her, running his tongue over his bottom lip before flicking his gaze back to her.

“There are a million guys out there,” he said, raising an eyebrow, grinning like this was the funniest fucking thing in the world. “And you’re pining after the one that fucking kills people for fun?”

Y/N clenched her jaw, her face burning as humiliation twisted through her.

But she couldn’t deny it.

Couldn’t argue.

Because he was right.

Harry sighed dramatically, rolling his shoulders back before stepping toward her again, trapping her beneath his gaze.

“You’re the one who should be fucking institutionalized,” he said while point his finger at her and shaking his head. “Not me.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Because it wasn’t just an insult.

It wasn’t just something to throw at her in anger.

It was the truth.

She had hunted him down.

She had wanted to meet him.

She had let herself get close.

She had let herself fantasize about him, even after knowing what he was.

Harry dragged his fingers down her cheek, tilting her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

“You’re sicker than I am,” he murmured, smirking. “You just hide it better.”

Y/N didn’t move.

Couldn’t move.

She was still perched on the edge of her bed, her body bare, vulnerable, exposed to the man standing over her, the man who had dragged her into this, who had unraveled every carefully crafted lie she had told herself.

And now?

Now he was looking at her like he had finally figured her out.

Harry’s smirk lingered, his fingers still curled beneath her chin, keeping her face tilted up toward him, forcing her to hold his gaze.

“You gonna deny it?” he murmured, his voice smooth, taunting, wicked. “Gonna sit there and tell me you’re not just as fucked in the head as I am?”

Y/N clenched her jaw, her stomach twisting, burning, breaking apart.

Harry chuckled, his grip tightening slightly. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, his breath warm against her skin, his taunt curling through her like smoke.

His other hand trailed slowly over her collarbone, his fingers skimming the delicate line of her neck, his touch light, teasing, testing.

Y/N inhaled sharply, her body betraying her, her breath shuddering beneath him.

He saw it.

Felt it.

And fuck, he loved it.

Harry exhaled a slow, amused sigh. “You really are ill, sweetheart,” he murmured, dragging his thumb over her bottom lip, watching the way her breath hitched at his touch. “A normal girl would be crying by now.”

His smirk deepened, his fingers trailing lower, toying with the hem of her underwear, teasing her.

“A normal girl wouldn’t be sitting here,” he continued, voice dipping into something darker, something dangerous. “She’d be screaming. Fighting. Begging for me to let her go. ”

He tilted his head, dragging his thumb along her throat again.

“But you?” He hummed, shaking his head. “You’re sitting there, half-naked, still fucking wanting me. Still thinking about what it would be like to have this cock inside your mouth.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her entire body betraying her, heat coiling at the base of her spine.

Harry grinned, reading her like a book, seeing straight through her.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” His voice was slow, deadly, intoxicating.

Her stomach twisted, shame and desire colliding, melting together into something filthy, something humiliating.

She licked her lips, her voice breaking, wrecked, ruined.

“Yes.”

Harry let out a sharp laugh, his grip tightening on her hips.

“You are a stupid little thing,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away.

Y/N blinked, her body screaming at the loss of contact, her breath caught in her throat.

Harry stepped back, rolling his shoulders.

“Too bad.”

Her stomach dropped.

Her lips parted, eyes widening as she processed what he had just said.

Harry smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You think you get rewarded for betraying me?” he muttered, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, sweetheart. That’s not how this works.”

She clenched her fists in her lap, anger, frustration, need all colliding inside her, breaking her down further.

Harry just grinned.

“You want my attention? You prove you deserve it.”

He tilted his head, watching her closely, waiting.

“What are you willing to do for me, sweetheart?” His voice dipped lower, his fingers tapping idly against his forearm. “How far will you go to earn me back?”

Y/N’s stomach coiled.

Because she already knew the answer.

As far as he wanted. Y/N didn’t move.

Couldn’t move.

She was still perched on the edge of her bed, her body bare, vulnerable, exposed to the man standing over her, the man who had dragged her into this, who had unraveled every carefully crafted lie she had told herself.

And now?

Now he was looking at her like he had finally figured her out.

Harry’s smirk lingered, his fingers still curled beneath her chin, keeping her face tilted up toward him, forcing her to hold his gaze.

Harry didn’t move for a moment.

He just watched her, taking his time, letting the silence stretch, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter around her throat.

He still had one hand wrapped around it, fingers firm, commanding, possessive, but not pressing hard enough to hurt—not yet.

She had given him the words he wanted.

Now, he wanted her to show him.

His thumb stroked absently along her jaw, his smirk deepening as he tipped her chin up.

“On your knees,” he murmured.

Y/N shivered.

Her stomach twisted, flipped, burned with something filthy and unspoken.

She hesitated—not because she didn’t want to, but because she knew exactly what this meant.

If she did this, if she obeyed him now, there was no turning back.

Harry cocked his head, amusement flickering in his gaze as he felt the hesitation ripple through her.

“Problem, sweetheart?” he taunted, his voice smooth, almost lazy.

Her breath hitched as she shifted forward, hands trembling slightly as she slid off the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of him.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her entire body hot, on fire, burning beneath the weight of his stare.

Harry grinned.

“That’s better,” he murmured.

He reached out, dragging his fingers slowly through her hair, gripping just enough to make her tilt her head back further, to make her look up at him.

She exhaled shakily, her own pulse hammering against her skin.

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head with something like mock disappointment.

“You make me sick,” he muttered, but he was smiling.

Y/N clenched her hands into fists in her lap, her stomach coiling.

Harry let out a slow breath, dragging his thumb over her cheek, his gaze still locked on hers.

“You could’ve had a normal life,” he mused, his voice low, thoughtful, cruel. “You could’ve stayed away from me. You could’ve lived in blissful ignorance, never knowing what I looked like, never knowing what I was capable of.”

His grip in her hair tightened.

“But no,” he murmured, shaking his head, “you had to come find me.”

Y/N’s breath shuddered.

“You had to dig your nails in, had to crawl inside my fucking head, had to make me trust you.”

Harry exhaled slowly, his jaw clenching, his fingers digging in.

“And now look at you,” he whispered, voice dripping with mockery, with something victorious.

“Kneeling for me.”

Harry hummed, tilting his head, his smirk stretching.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmured, dragging his knuckles down the side of her cheek.

“How does it feel?”

Her breath hitched.

“How does it feel,” he repeated, slowly, his tone dipping into something dark, something dangerous, “knowing that you lost?”

Y/N swallowed hard.

Her pride was shattered, obliterated, reduced to dust beneath him.

And yet—

She licked her lips, looked up at him through her lashes, and gave him the truth.

“It feels good.”

Harry grinned.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head, dragging his thumb across her bottom lip.

Harry’s grip on her throat loosened, his fingers dragging down to her collarbone, his expression shifting into something calculating. The amusement faded just slightly, replaced by something sharper—awareness.

They couldn’t stay here.

For all the fun he was having, for all the ways he enjoyed pulling her apart piece by piece, he wasn’t stupid.

The police were going to start looking for him.

And now that he had her?

That meant they’d be looking for her, too.

He sighed, shaking his head, before finally stepping back. “As much as I’d love to keep playing with you here,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders, “we need to go.”

Y/N blinked, her body still humming, still shaking, still completely and utterly ruined from everything he’d just done to her.

But then, the reality of what he was saying sank in.

They were leaving.

Just like that.

Harry had decided.

She was going with him.

Her breath hitched, her fingers twitching in her lap. “Go where?”

Harry smirked, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. “Anywhere but here, sweetheart.”

And that was it.

That was all he had to say.

Because he had already won.

They drove for hours.

Y/N sat in the passenger seat, silent, obedient, devoted, watching the road stretch out endlessly before them, watching the night swallow the last pieces of her old life.

She didn’t ask where they were going.

She didn’t ask when they would stop.

She just existed beside him, waiting.

When they finally pulled into a run-down roadside motel, the neon VACANCY sign flickering weakly above them, Harry turned to her, tilting his head.

“You’re gonna take care of me, right?” he murmured, smirking, though there was something serious, something possessive behind the tease.

Y/N’s stomach coiled.

She nodded.

“Say it,” he muttered.

Her throat tightened.

“I’ll take care of you,” she whispered.

Harry grinned.

“Good girl.”

Y/N did everything for him.

She checked them into the motels.

She cleaned him up when he came back in the middle of the night, knuckles bruised, face splattered with things she didn’t ask about.

She washed his clothes.

She made sure he ate, brought him food, set it down in front of him like she was offering something holy.

And when he touched her, when he pulled her into his lap, when he whispered things in her ear that made her shiver, made her ache, made her cum, she let him.

Because she had already given him everything.

And now?

She didn’t know who she was without him.

The motel room was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic outside and the soft sound of water dripping from the bathroom faucet. The walls were thin, the bed was stiff, and the air smelled faintly of cigarettes and cheap cleaning supplies. But it didn’t matter.

Because they were alone, together.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, his arms resting on his knees, his head tilted back slightly as he watched her. Y/N was kneeling in front of him, carefully wiping his hands clean with a damp washcloth, her touch delicate, reverent.

She didn’t ask where the blood had come from.

She never did though she knew it came from another midnight kill.

And maybe that’s what made him feel something different when he looked at her.

Harry exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching beneath her touch, his gaze heavy as it traced the features of her face. She was so careful with him. So soft.

It had been a long time since anyone had handled him like that, with the love and devotion she had for him.

Y/N glanced up, catching his stare, her lips parting slightly as she held his gaze. “What?”

Harry smirked slightly, shaking his head. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Just thinking.”

She raised an eyebrow, dragging the washcloth over his knuckles one last time before setting it aside. “Thinking about what?”

He inhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders, leaning back against the headboard.

For once, he wasn’t smirking, wasn’t mocking her, wasn’t playing a game.

He just looked… tired.

Harry ran a hand through his curls, exhaling through his nose. “Just wondering how the fuck I ended up here,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual, slower, more thoughtful.

Y/N swallowed, shifting to sit on the bed beside him, tucking her legs beneath her. “What do you mean?”

He let out a soft chuckle, dragging his fingers along his jaw. “I wasn’t supposed to be this,” he muttered.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, curious. “Then what were you supposed to be?”

Harry exhaled, pausing for a long moment before answering.

“My mum wanted me to be normal,” he muttered, his voice almost distant. “Wanted me to go to school, get a job, get married, have kids. All that shit.” He shook his head slightly. “She always saw the best in me. Always thought I could be something good.”

Y/N swallowed, her stomach twisting at the way his voice softened when he talked about her.

“Where is she now?” she asked gently.

Harry glanced at her, his green eyes darker, unreadable.

“Dead.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

“I—”

“Don’t,” Harry muttered, shaking his head, his jaw clenching slightly. “I don’t need your sympathy.”

She nodded, staying quiet.

Harry ran his fingers along his bottom lip, exhaling slowly. “She was the only person who ever really believed in me,” he muttered. “Even when I started—” He stopped, his lips pressing into a thin line. “She knew something was wrong with me. But she never said it. She just kept trying to love me through it.”

Y/N’s chest tightened.

Because for the first time, Harry wasn’t speaking like a predator, like a monster, like the untouchable thing he always wanted to be.

He sounded like a person.

Like a little boy who had once been loved.

“What about your dad?” she asked softly.

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “Never knew him.”

Y/N stayed quiet, watching him.

Waiting.

And for once, he kept talking.

“My mum was young when she had me,” he muttered. “She did her best, but I think she always knew I was different. Other kids… they played football, they laughed, they made friends.” He smirked slightly, but there was no amusement in it. “I liked to hurt things. Even when I was little. I used to rip the wings off bugs, kill small animals, just to see what it felt like.”

Y/N’s stomach coiled, but she didn’t move away.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look at him like he was a monster.

And maybe that’s why he kept talking.

“When I got older, it got worse,” he muttered. “Started getting into fights. Started craving that feeling—the control, the rush, the power.”

His fingers flexed at his sides.

“I think my mum knew she couldn’t save me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But she never stopped trying.”

Y/N swallowed, her throat aching.

“She sounds like she really loved you,” she murmured.

Harry exhaled, dragging a hand over his face. “Yeah,” he muttered. “And I fucking ruined her.”

Y/N froze.

Harry didn’t look at her.

Didn’t say anything else.

Just let the words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

And for the first time, Y/N saw something in Harry she had never seen before.

Guilt.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to ignore the voice in the back of her head that told her she should be scared, that she should leave, that she should fight for whatever was left of her own life and dignity.

Because that wasn’t what she wanted.

She reached out, hesitating for only a second before placing her hand over his.

Harry’s fingers tensed beneath hers but he didn’t pull away.

Instead, he just looked at her, his expression unreadable, guarded, almost suspicious.

Like he couldn’t understand why she was still here.

Y/N squeezed his hand gently, her voice barely a whisper.

“I see you, Harry.”

His jaw clenched.

His eyes flickered.

And for the first time, maybe ever—

He didn’t know what to say. Harry didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t react the way she expected him to.

Y/N had thought he might shove her hand away, scoff, make some biting remark about how she was just another girl trying to fix him, trying to make him something he wasn’t, or that she was fucking crazy.

But he just sat there, still, quiet, staring.

His green eyes flickered, darting over her face, searching, testing, waiting.

“Say that again,” he muttered, voice low, almost like he didn’t believe she had said it in the first place.

Y/N swallowed, but she didn’t look away.

“I see you,” she whispered.

Harry inhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching beneath hers, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull away or hold on.

His jaw tensed, a muscle ticking in his cheek, his body rigid.

He wasn’t used to this.

To someone staying.

To someone not looking at him like he was a monster, a thing to be feared and avoided.

She wasn’t scared.

She should be.

But she wasn’t.

And that fucked with him.

Harry exhaled, dragging a hand over his face before shaking his head. “You don’t get it, sweetheart,” he muttered. “You don’t want to see me.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around his.

“But I do,” she murmured.

Harry scoffed, shaking his head, his smirk returning, but it wasn’t as sharp as before.

“You see what I let you see,” he muttered, his voice a slow drawl, lazy, dismissive. “You see the version of me you want to believe in. But that’s not real.”

Y/N inhaled, her heart twisting, because she knew that was only half true.

Yes, he had played a game with her.

Yes, he had controlled every move, every piece of their story.

But he had also let her in.

Even if he hadn’t meant to.

“I see you,” she repeated, her voice stronger this time. “Not the version you show the world. Not the one they talk about in newspapers or whisper about in interrogation rooms.”

She shifted closer, her breath shallow, pulse pounding.

“I see the part of you that still remembers your mother,” she whispered. “The part of you that didn’t want to disappoint her. The part of you that still feels something—”

Harry’s hand snapped up, wrapping around her throat, stopping her words in an instant.

Her breath caught, her pulse pounding against his palm, but she didn’t pull away.

Harry’s grip wasn’t crushing.

It was firm, commanding, warning.

His face was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were burning.

“You don’t know a fucking thing about me,” he muttered.

The motel room was still, but the air between them was charged with something unspoken, something neither of them wanted to say out loud.

Harry had let her in, just for a second, just long enough for her to see the cracks beneath the smirking, taunting, dangerous exterior he wore so well.

And he hated it. He hated the way being vulnerable made him feel. He hated feeling weak.

Y/N could tell.

She could see it in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t trust himself to do it.

But despite the tension coiling between them, he didn’t pull away.

Not yet.

He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders before dragging a hand through his curls. “We need to sleep,” he muttered, like he was forcing himself to move on, like he was forcing himself to bury whatever had just passed between them.

Y/N blinked, watching as he kicked off his boots, pulled off his shirt, and dropped it onto the chair in the corner like this was just any other night.

Like he hadn’t just admitted that she had gotten under his skin.

Like she hadn’t just made him feel something.

Y/N hesitated. “Do you want me to—”

“You’re sleeping in the bed,” he cut her off, not looking at her, not giving her the chance to argue.

Her breath caught slightly, her fingers twitching in her lap.

“But—”

Harry sighed, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart, I’m not making you sleep on the floor.”

Y/N swallowed, something warm curling in her stomach.

He wasn’t acting like a man who didn’t care about her.

Not really.

Because a man who didn’t care wouldn’t have said anything.

A man who didn’t care would have let her take the floor, let her suffer, let her figure it out on her own.

But Harry wasn’t that man.

Not with her.

She climbed into the bed carefully, waiting, testing, unsure of how close she could get without setting something off.

Harry sighed again, like she was exhausting him, but when he laid down next to her, he didn’t turn away.

He stayed facing her, his green eyes flickering in the dim motel light, his expression unreadable, guarded, but softer than before.

She let the silence stretch between them for a moment before speaking.

“Why are you letting me stay?” she asked, her voice quiet, careful.

Harry scoffed, dragging a hand over his face. “You don’t have anywhere else to go,” he muttered.

Y/N frowned slightly, watching him. “That’s not why.”

Harry inhaled, staring at the ceiling, his fingers twitching slightly against the sheets.

Then—he reached out.

Slowly. Hesitantly.

And he tugged the blanket over her.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

It was small.

It was barely anything.

But it meant everything.

Harry sighed, rubbing his jaw before turning to look at her again.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he muttered. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Y/N’s chest tightened.

Because she had won.

Not all of him.

Not yet.

But this.

This was something.

And for now—

It was enough.

The year slipped by in a haze of highways, dimly lit motel rooms, stolen glances, and the ever-present hum of danger that never really went away.

Y/N had stopped counting after the first six months.

She didn’t know how many towns they had passed through, how many different names they had used, how many times they had barely missed getting caught.

But somehow, they were still here.

Together.

And that was the only thing that mattered.

The motel room was quiet aside from the rain that pattered on the windows.

Harry sat on the bed, legs stretched out, his arm draped behind his head as he flicked a pocketknife open and shut, the blade catching in the low light.

Y/N sat cross-legged beside him, carefully wrapping his knuckles, her fingers steady, practiced.

“You’re getting good at this,” he muttered, watching her work, his voice deeper now, rougher with time.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “That’s not a good thing.”

Harry smirked, tilting his head. “Depends who you ask.”

She tugged the bandage a little tighter, just to make him hiss.

Harry chuckled. “Sadist.”

“Masochist,” she shot back.

His grin widened. “You love it.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I love keeping you alive, which is apparently a full-time job.”

Harry hummed, watching her carefully. “You’d miss me if I was gone.”

Her stomach twisted.

She didn’t respond.

Because they both knew it was true.

She had spent a year taking care of him.

Washing the blood from his skin.

Lying beside him in nameless motel beds.

Buying him cigarettes at gas stations in the middle of the night.

Keeping him alive, keeping him close.

And somewhere along the way, she had stopped trying to convince herself that she wasn’t in love with him.

Because she was.

She had been for a long, long time.

And he knew it.

That night, Harry let her settle against him, his arm curling around her waist, his body warm, solid, real.

She traced absent patterns over the ink on his chest, her fingers memorizing the way he felt beneath her touch.

“Do you ever think about stopping?” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the dark.

Harry inhaled deeply, dragging his fingers along her back.

“Stopping what?” he murmured.

“The running.”

His body tensed slightly.

She felt it.

Not much. Just enough.

“Not really,” he admitted, his voice quieter now.

Y/N swallowed, waiting.

And after a long pause, he added—

“But if I did, it wouldn’t be without you.”

Her breath hitched.

Her fingers froze against his skin.

Because he meant that.

Harry didn’t say things he didn’t mean.

She tilted her head slightly, looking up at him. “So if we found a place,” she murmured, “a real place, somewhere quiet, somewhere safe—you’d stay?”

Harry exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his curls before pressing his forehead against hers.

“If it was with you,” he muttered.

That night, Y/N rolled onto her side, pulling the thin motel blanket up over her shoulder. The room was calm besides for the steady hum of the heater.

She could feel Harry behind her, his body warm, solid, familiar. His arm slung over her shoulder tightly. His breathing was slow, steady.

She assumed he had already drifted off.

So she let herself relax, closing her eyes, letting sleep pull her under.

But just as she was about to slip away, she felt it.

A shift in the bed.

A faint exhale.

Then—his voice.

Soft. Low. Almost hesitant.

Like he was speaking to himself.

Like he thought she wouldn’t hear.

“I���d stay for you,” he whispered.

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she didn’t move.

Didn’t let him know she was awake.

Didn’t let him know that his words had just cracked something inside her.

His fingers brushed her hip, barely there, just a ghost of a touch.

“You’re the only thing keeping me here,” he muttered, his voice so quiet she almost thought she imagined it.

Almost.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, aching, twisting, screaming at her to turn around, to face him, to tell him she wasn’t asleep, that she heard him, that she felt the same.

But then—

He let out a slow, almost shaky breath.

And what he said next nearly stopped her heart.

“I don’t love many things,” he murmured.

A pause.

Then—

“But I love you.”

Y/N froze, her entire body tensing beneath the sheets.

But Harry wasn’t done.

“Mum would’ve loved you too,” he whispered, his voice soft, distant, raw. “She always liked people who made me feel better.”

[pinkboaclub]

Musician Ex-Boyfriend

Summery: You and Harry are exes, on the day of your wedding, he pays you a visit, causing you to rethink things.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: smut, cheating (not on Harry), fem!reader

"You look perfect."

You turned at the sound of his voice, and there he stood—Harry, in a sharp black, the sincerity on his face was palpable.

It was your wedding day, but not the one you’d envisioned. The love of your life wasn’t the man currently getting ready. No, he was standing in the doorway, on the verge of being caught.

You’d snuck away to collect yourself. You’d told your bridesmaids all day that you were close to tears from happiness, but that wasn’t the truth. It was fear, anxiety, regret—things you’d spent months ignoring, burying under a carefully constructed smile.

You quickly scanned the open room, making sure no one could see him.

“You can’t be here,” you said, your voice tight with urgency as you strode over to him, heels clicking sharply against the hardwood. “If someone sees you, they’ll start talking, they’ll—”

Before you could finish, Harry grabbed your arm, pulling you into the empty hallway. His hands found your waist, pulling you into him, his warmth and familiar scent filling your senses. You glanced over your shoulder, your heart racing as you checked again. No one was around.

"Harry, please," you whispered, trying to steady your breath, feeling the sting of tears rise again. "This isn’t right."

"I didn’t think you would go through with it." His voice was flat, emotionless, his eyes avoiding yours.

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. You had met Harry when you were both 25. It was supposed to be casual—two people who shared a love for music, books, and movies. He’d been on tour with his band, and you’d happened to be in the same restaurant with friends when they all decided to head to a club. That’s where you two started talking, the connection immediate, as if you’d known each other forever.

The texts started right after, every day, just a few words at first, then entire conversations that lasted into the early hours of the morning. His tour ended, and soon enough, long-distance visits turned into real dates. Three years of love, laughter, and dreams of a future together. A future that seemed so certain until life, with all its complexity and distance, pulled you apart.

It wasn’t sudden. It was gradual—the small, constant strain that turned into arguments about who was too busy, who wasn’t putting in enough effort. And then, finally, the break-up. The day you sat on the couch in your shared home, too many unsaid words filling the air, the silence louder than anything you could say.

“I love you so much and I don’t think I’ll ever stop,” Harry had sobbed, turning toward you with pleading eyes. You didn’t answer, unable to speak through your own tears.

You didn’t even know how it had happened, but you went from sitting on your couch crying, to laying on the couch, kissing with drying tears on your cheeks, ripping each other's clothes off. Maybe it was a last resort to salvage something, maybe it was an intense goodbye, you never really knew.

After that, you stayed friends. You kept up the pretense for everyone else. Friends, family—they all still thought you’d get back together. Harry even brought it up a few times, and you’d feel that pull, that ache in your chest. Of course, you thought about it. How could you not? But the idea of losing him again, of having to grieve the loss for a second time, felt unbearable.

And yet, here he was, on the most important day of your life, not as the man you were about to marry, but as the man you once thought you’d spend forever with.

“I have to,” you said, your voice a little softer this time. “I have to marry him.”

“Why?” Harry’s voice cracked, his frustration palpable. “Why him? Why do you need to? Nobody believes you actually want this.” His eyes searched yours, desperate, pleading for something.

You didn’t have an answer that would make sense to him—or to yourself. All you knew was that your future, the one you’d once pictured with Harry, had slipped away, and now the only choice left was the one that terrified you the most.

You stood there, caught between two worlds—two versions of yourself, each one tugging you in a different direction. Harry’s eyes stared into yours, demanding something you couldn’t give. You wished you could explain it all to him, but the words were stuck in your throat.

“I do want this,” you said, though you weren’t sure if you believed it. “But... I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve tried to move on. I’ve tried to do the right thing, and I’ve convinced myself it’s what I want. But—” You stopped yourself before the tears could fall. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Harry’s hands were still around you, his grip tight, like he was trying to pull you into a reality where the two of you could make it work. But it wasn’t that simple. You’d both changed, grown in ways that made that dream of forever feel distant, impossible.

“I just wanted you to know,” Harry’s voice softened. “That I never stopped loving you. I never stopped hoping… I didn’t think you would go through with this. Not like this.”

Your chest tightened at the words. They hit harder than you anticipated. “I know,” you whispered. “I didn’t think I could either. But… I need to. For me.”

“For him, you mean,” Harry corrected, his tone heavy with something you couldn’t quite place. Hurt? Anger? Maybe both. But there was a quiet desperation in his voice that made it hard to breathe.

You hesitated. “He’s a good man. And I do love him. I do. But it’s not... the same.”

Harry’s jaw clenched at your words, but he didn’t pull away. He just stared at you, his eyes dark, like they were holding back everything he wanted to say.

“You’re lying to yourself,” he said softly, almost too quietly for you to hear. “You’re pretending because it’s easier than facing the truth. You know it’s not right. But you’re too scared to admit it.”

The weight of his words made your heart skip a beat. You shook your head, trying to dismiss the gnawing feeling in your gut, the one that told you he was right.

“I’m not scared,” you said, but the words felt hollow. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

Harry took a step closer, his voice urgent now, low and rough. “What if the right thing isn’t what you’ve convinced yourself it is? What if you’re meant to be with me?”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, it was like time stopped. His presence enveloped you—the same pull you’d felt all those years ago, that same undeniable chemistry that had made you fall in love with him in the first place. But now, everything is different.

“I can’t,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “I can’t go through that again, Harry. I can’t lose you and have to pick up the pieces of me after. I don’t think I’d survive it a second time.”

“I’d never hurt you again,” he promised, his voice cracking with emotion. “I swear. I’d never let you go, not like I did before. Please, just—just think about it. Really think about what you’re about to do.”

The silence stretched between you two, heavy with everything that had been left unsaid.

Finally, you spoke, your voice trembling. “I can’t do this right now, Harry. Not today. Not when I’m about to be married, something I’ve promised to commit to. Please… just go.”

His face fell, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped back, looking at you one last time, his expression full of pain and love and the remnants of hope.

“Okay,” he whispered. “But I’ll always be here, waiting for you. No matter what.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the hallway, the echo of his footsteps still ringing in your ears.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, your mind spinning with everything Harry had just said. His words—his love, his pain—still hung in the air, refusing to dissipate.

But you had made a promise. To him, to yourself, and to the man you were about to marry. You had to keep moving forward, even if it felt like you were walking into the unknown.

You wiped the tears from your eyes, taking a deep breath as you turned to face the door at the end of the hall. The moment was passing, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, it wasn’t over. Not yet.

The sharp click of another pair of heels echoed from the other end of the hall, and you barely registered it before Aaliyah rounded the corner, her expression a mixture of relief and concern.

“There you are! I was starting to think I’d lost you for good! I-what’s wrong?” She halted in her tracks, eyes scanning your face, a frown forming as she looked at the tear stains streaking down your cheeks.

You quickly wiped your face, not caring that your makeup was surely ruined. "I—uhm," you faltered, struggling to find the words. "I’m just... nervous."

You almost told her everything. You wanted to. Aaliyah had been there for you through all of it—through the endless debates over whether or not you should try again with Harry. She knew the truth. She’d always known. But today wasn’t the day for honesty. Today was for pretending, for keeping the peace, for stepping into the life you thought you’d chosen.

“Oh, I know it’s stressful, but it’ll all be okay!” Aaliyah said, wrapping her arms around you in a comforting hug. You leaned into her warmth, her helping for only a moment. "I think I just need a little more time alone. To clear my head. Maybe go up to my room for a bit, have some water, a snack, you know?"

She hesitated for a split second, her eyes lingering on you as if she could see right through your smile, but she nodded, understanding your need for space. “Alright, I’ll stay down here. Just… don’t stay away too long, okay?”

“Promise,” you said, offering a small smile as you hugged her back, then hurried past her, your heels clicking against the floor as you made your way toward the elevator.

You had rented a hotel suite for the bridal party to get ready, a place where you could unwind and prepare. Your fiancée had his own room, staying with his groomsmen, where they were now. You had also reserved a hotel room for you and your fiancé to stay in before your honey moon in two days… so, now you had a free room to be alone in—well, almost alone.

As soon as you stepped into the room, you closed the door behind you with a soft click. You slowly slipped off the silk robe you’d been wearing, the one that said “Bride” in sparkling letters across your back, and traded it for the simple hotel robe draped on the back of the bathroom door.

Then you pulled out your phone, scrolling far down your contacts. Your thumb hesitated for just a second before you started typing.

“If you’re still in the hotel, I’m on floor 4, room 415. If you meant what you said, I’ll be here, waiting.”

A sharp knock at the door made you jump. Your heart pounded in your chest as you forced your legs to move toward it, each step heavy and unsteady. When you opened the door, there he stood, his brow furrowed with concern.

"I can't marry him," you murmured, barely audible. The weight of the words broke something inside you, and tears began to spill down your cheeks.

Without hesitation, Harry stepped forward, pulling you into his arms. He closed the door softly behind him, the world outside suddenly fading away. You clung to him, your sobs muffled against his shoulder, as if his presence was the only thing keeping you in reality.

When you finally pulled away, your eyes locked, searching for the words you had meant to say. But they escaped you. Instead, with a sudden, desperate impulse, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss was everything you’d missed, everything you’d been longing for—and it felt like home.

"I am scared by how much I want this, how much I want you." You finally said after you pulled away from your kiss. Harry tucked your hair behind your ear, taking a moment to admire your features before speaking.

“I don’t want you to be scared of me…of us…because I know-I know it would work this time. Were not as young, we know how to balance our schedules, and we know what it’s like to not be with each other. I love you so much Y/N”

Before you could cry anymore, you caved in to everything you knew you wanted. You kissed him again, this time leading him to the hotel bed.

"I am devoted to you," He murmurs as he unties your robe, his eyes not leaving your face. You both lay back. He watches the way your eyes widen when he moves one hand between your thighs to tenderly touch your core. "Let me please you," He knows he sounds needy, but he can't help it as he looks upon the woman he would do anything for.

“Please do.”

He took his eyes from your face and let them travel down your body, this was the first time he had seen you like this since you had broken up. He took in every inch of you, your beautiful bra-clad breasts, your rapidly moving stomach as you breathed. Then, your legs. Your left leg had a white lace garter belt on it. His hand slowly traveled up until he got to the garter belt.

“Supposed to be a tradition…a very odd one.” You broke the silence.

“I’m not complaining.”

He slowly pulled off the belt, your underwear following it.

He moves forward and leaves a trail of kisses along the soft skin of your abdomen and then down over your quivering thighs as his hand moves between your legs, letting his finger slip into you.

After watching the first drop of your arousal slide down his index finger, he had enough. He pulls his hand back and grips your thighs to keep you still while his mouth devours you.

Your soft little moans and attempts at saying his name make him grip you tighter, using his tongue in even more intricate ways just to coax out more of your sweetness, more of your angelic sounds. He squeezes one of your thighs and then slides his hand up along your side until his hand finds yours. He twines your fingers together, and then he gets back to devouring you like he was starving.

"I need more, Harry, please," You beg so prettily that he considers asking you to do so again, but he feels like it would be cruel after you’ve been so patient.

"Of course,"

He kisses you deeply to drown the pained whimper when he pushes his cock inside you without a pause, thinking it’s best if he gets the painful part over with as fast as possible. He grunts against your mouth as your nails dig into his shoulders. He stays still and kisses away your tears until you start laughing beneath him.

You’re the one who indicates that he is allowed to move by grinding your hips up against his. He hums in understanding and starts to thrust into you again. You too get lost as he find a perfect rhythm.

He flips you over with one quick motion after he has watched your breasts bounce for too many agonising moments without being able to do anything with them, his mouth becomes focused on them, finding the spots that make you cry out his name as loudly as you could.

“Fuck, baby.” He says, admiring your body continuously bouncing up and down. You move quicker at his encouraging words, riding him faster than you thought you could.

He takes one of your breasts in his mouth, twisting his tongue around your nipple, kneading the other with his hand.

You rock your hips back and forth, feeling the familiar surge of warmth spread through your body like—the same warmth he could only give you, one that was 10x stronger than your fiancé could have ever given you.

Your orgasm soon followed. You didn’t care about how loud you were. You didn’t care if someone walked in right now, you’d almost prefer it, maybe it would be your fiancé, or someone you both knew, they would tell him you snuck up to your room to ride the musician ex boyfriend, then you wouldn’t have to do it yourself.

“I-fuck Harry, it’s…” You stop, letting yourself moan from the euphoria you’re feeling. “It’s so good.” You finally spit out.

He chuckles at your inability to properly express your blissful feelings and tangles his fingers in your hair to pull you down for a deep kiss. He lets out a low groan as your fingers dig into his chest, followed by the shuddering of your body and the clenching of your walls around him that prompt him to spill his cum inside you.

"Fuck," he mutters as he tears his mouth away from yours. He knows neither of you should have done that, however, as Harry looks up at your blissed expression, he does not regret it, not one bit.

His arms wrap around your torso, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. He lightly rubbed his fingers up and down your back. The only thing that could be heard in the room was your heavy breathing.

“I love you, Harry.”

[0nlythrowharrybeaux]

Twelve Days^**

After Y/N's engagement falls through she's been having a very rough time of it. Y/N is dreading to go on her family's Christmas holiday knowing the scrutinization she might be subjecting herself to. But her time there goes better than expected when she and her brother-in-law, Harry, forge an even deeper connection than before through an exchange of struggles, secrets, and attraction.

Warnings: Depictions of mental health struggles/traumas, alcohol and drug use, infidelity, toxic relationships, sibling rivalry, sexuality explicit content (sex penetrative and oral, foreplays), verbal arguments/fights, family conflicts.

PART ONE- Y/N arrives to the vacation home in Palm Springs, more than prepared to have a bad time under her family's probably dissecting of her failed engagement. But it doesn't take long for Harry, her brother-in-law, to reveal an even bigger problem than her own. (WC: 11.5K)

PART TWO - After learning her sister, Julie's, secret Y/N confronts her. After hours, Y/N and Harry continue to spend time together and a new tension starts to build between them. (WC: 7.1K)

PART THREE - Harry feels a little anxious about the line that he and Y/N have crossed and is worried that it'll just lead to more heart ache and mess for the both of them. This newfound closeness is not lost on Julie. And she can't help but wonder if there is more going on. (WC 7.8K)

PART FOUR - After the holidays, Y/N is resigning to the fact that her closeness with Harry has run its course. And on top of things starting to get hard again, an unexpected visitor shows up to create even more conflict. However, much to her relief, Harry continues to show Y/N his care for her and gains the courage to set an ultimatum for Julie. (WC 7.2K)

PART FIVE - Y/N decides to confront Julie about some of the things she's been saying about her and to try and appeal to her reason. Since Julie has not been staying at their house lately, Harry decides to spend the next few days with Y/N. All is well in their little slice of heaven until Harry receives some unexpected news. (WC 10.5K)

PART SIX - After learning this life altering news from Julie, Harry is feeling a bit in shambles but decides to stand up to her once and for all. And despite their bitter end, Harry finds sympathy for Julie and even finds himself standing up for her. Though there is still a lingering worry that his relationship with Y/N will be used against him, he finds an unexpected ally who knows everything and more than ever, Harry is entirely optimistic about his future with Y/N. (WC 16.7K)

[harrywavycurly]

Not In The Same Way: A Harry Styles Blurb✨

Part 2: Like You Mean It

CW: Mentions of drinking, language, jealousy?

A/N: I have been thinking about this scenario in my head for a week and it just needs to get out, sorry in advance because it’s a bit sad-ish? Also this fts long hair Harry so if he’s not your thing that’s fine!

Summary: Sometimes Harry acts more like your boyfriend than your bestfriend, but he can’t help it especially since your actual boyfriend is an asshole✨

Harry looks at the time on his phone and lets out a sigh as he sees it’s just barely past midnight, far too early to be calling it a night seeing as he just arrived at the club that he’s currently helping celebrate the opening of not even an hour ago. But at the moment he doesn’t care as he slides his phone back into his pocket before he makes his way through the crowd towards the table his friends are at so he can tell them goodbye before he disappears for the rest of the evening. Once he spots them he puts a smile on his face but then he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and he doesn’t need to check it to know it’s a new text and without a doubt it’s going to be from you. When he finally reaches the table his friends, or more so just social acquaintances that he sees at these types of events that he chooses to stick with instead of venturing off alone, greet him with warm smiles and sounds of cheer that he’s returned to them after going to the bar for a drink.

“Uh oh he’s got that look.” Harry turns to look at Gina who’s sitting at the end of the table closest to where he’s standing behind an empty chair. “You can’t possibly be leaving us so soon?” She accuses before she takes a sip of her drink, Harry looks around the crowded club and lifts a shoulder up in a casual shrug before he places his full drink down on the table.

“Sorry but it looks like you lot will still have a good time without me.” He explains as he takes his phone out, he feels the corners of his mouth drop a bit at the words on his screen, another text from you about your current location and how you just want to go home.

“Harry come on you just-”

“I’m sorry I really have to go.” Normally Harry wouldn’t be so quick to cut people off when they are asking him to stay out a little longer, he’s normally up for having fun well into the early morning hours when he goes to enjoy a night out but everything changes when it comes to you.

This isn’t the first time a night out has been cut short due to a frantic phone call or a string of clingy texts all from you, and Harry never hesitates to pick up no matter what he’s doing or where he’s at because you’re his bestfriend and have been for the last few years. The only issue is that sometimes the lines get blurred that should tell him where being your bestfriend ends and where he should let someone else, such as the absolute prick Kyle you decided to start dating two months ago take over. But he can’t ignore your calls or your texts just because he thinks he shouldn’t be the one to pick you up when you’re at a bar with your friends and want him to take you home, he also can’t ignore the slight tingling of pride he gets knowing he’s still your first call whenever you need someone.

The phone in his hands vibrating brings him back to reality when he looks and sees your name along with a photo of your smiling face taking over the screen, he quickly slides his thumb across the screen and brings the phone up to his ear. He gives the table of people one last smile and a wave before he turns and heads for the back exit, not even bothering to stop when he hears the shouts begging him to stay for just “one more drink”.

“Harry?” He smiles as your voice hits his ears while he does his best to maneuver through the dance floor full of people swaying to the beat of the music being blared through the speakers of the dj booth. “Harry are you there?”

“I’m here love.” He answers as he finally finds his way to the back exit where his driver is already waiting for him in the alleyway. He holds the phone up to his ear with one hand while he pushes the door open with his other. “You okay?” He asks as he scans the alley, his driver blinks the headlights letting Harry know where the car is parked.

“I just wanna go home.” You sigh making Harry frown as he walks the short distance to his car. “Can we go home?” Harry feels his heart drop when he swears he hears the sound of a sniffle come through your end of the phone. He quickens his pace to the parked car and opens the door to the backseat and gives his driver a little nod letting him know it’s okay to start driving since Harry already sent him your location he doesn’t need to be told where he’s heading.

“Of course love I just have to get to you first okay? M’not far so I’ll be there in a few.” He hears the sound of a door closing before you let out a huff making him assume you’ve found your way to the bathroom, deciding to just wait for him in there instead of with your group of friends.

“Where are you?” Harry looks at his suit and wonders for a moment if he should lie to so you don’t get upset thinking you ruined a night out for him. He must’ve paused for too long because a few seconds later he hears you let out a small whine before your voice is full of concern and a touch of panic. “Oh god did I interrupt something? You’re not in the middle of-”

“Hey hey it’s fine I promise you didn’t interrupt anything okay? I wasn’t doing anything important.” It’s not a total lie, a club opening its anything Harry would consider important and when he hears you sniffle he knows he needs to do something to get your mind off of the idea of you ruining his night. “What color dress did you go with for tonight? The black or pink?”

“Black the-the pink one has a stain on it from when you spilled coffee on it last New Year’s Eve.” He hears you let out a small chuckle and he smiles because he can imagine you sitting on the counter near the sink in the small bar bathroom laughing at the memory of last New Year’s Eve. “You had glitter all in your hair do you remember?” Your voice is softer and less frantic as it was a few moments ago.

“That’s because you ran us right under a confetti and balloon drop.” He doesn’t mention the kiss you planted on him as soon as the clock struck midnight, simply telling him it’s bad luck to start the new year without a kiss even if it is just one shared between friends.

Even though to him there wasn’t anything friendly about the way your hands tangled into his hair as you pulled him down to you for a second and third kiss to his lips. But then again the same could be said for his hand that he had on the side of your face and his other that gripped your hip so he could pull you closer to him while also doing his best to prolong the moment because he didn’t want you to pull away and it be the end of it, the end of a moment you’d later just brush off as if it meant nothing while to Harry it meant everything he’s just never told you.

“I had no idea that bar was going to have a balloon drop that was a shock.” You say with a laugh and Harry just nods as he runs a hand through his long hair as he looks out the window and sees the sign for the bar you’re at in the distance as they turn down the street it’s on. “That was a good night.” Harry smiles as you let out a dreamy sounding sigh and he wonders if you’re thinking of the kiss.

“It was.” He feels the car come to a stop and he notices a few random groupings of people out front, mostly just outside for a smoke or waiting for their rides. “I’m here love do you need me to come in or-”

“Can you? Or is it too much?”

“I can come in and get you that’s fine you’re in your usual spot?” He asks as his driver gets out to come around and open his door for him.

“Yes I’m in the bathroom.” Harry laughs and nods as if you can see him, anytime he’s come to rescue you from this bar in particular you always seem to be in the bathroom so you can escape whatever it is that has you calling him to come get you in first place rather it be you’re too intoxicated and don’t trust anyone around you or your fiends are being a bit mean, the bathroom is always where he finds you.

“Okay see you in a minute love.”

“Okie dokie.” You say with a smile before hanging up just as Harry’s door opens allowing him to get out and put his phone in his pocket before he heads for the entrance of the bar he is extremely over dressed for.

“Hey Carl.” Harry greets the bouncer with a smile when he approaches the door, the man looks up from his phone and gives Harry a once over before raising an eyebrow at him.

“Harry it’s good to see you but you sure you wanna come in here dressed like that? It’s two dollar tequila night.” He warns with a laugh as he reaches out and straightens out Harry’s suit jacket making Harry roll his eyes and playfully swat his hands away.

“I’m just here to take her home so hopefully I won’t be in long.” He informs the older man who just shakes his head because he knows you just as well as he knows Harry if not better since you’re here more often than he is so he knows it’s never quite that simple as just coming to get you and leaving.

“Ah well make it snappy okay? Can’t have you classin’ up the place.” He jokes as he waves Harry inside with a pat on his shoulder as he walks by making Harry chuckle as he walks through the door.

He keeps his head down a bit so he can try to avoid being spotted by the group of friends he knows you came here with, not that he’s really able to be that inconspicuous in his suit and dress shoes that make a horrible noise every time he picks them up from the sticky floor to take a step. He knows this bar like the back of his hand with how often he’s been inside either as a ride home or to join you in a night out thanks to how close it is to your apartment and how often they run specials on your favorite liquor, so he knows the small round table in the far right corner is where he’ll find a few of your friends that don’t enjoy dancing as much as the others. He also knows by the end of the night the small table will be far too crowded with drinks ranging from totally empty all the way to full to the brim as well as a few tubes of chapstick rolling around, and it’ll be surrounded by all your friends and possibly a few new additions they deemed worthy of being their dance partners for the evening that’ll either end with a new contact saved in their phone or a fake promise to see each other again.

Harry looks up and quickly scans the extremely crowded dance floor just to make sure you didn’t move from your usual spot, the bathroom at the end of the hall behind the bar. When he doesn’t see any signs of you, which he would be able to spot the tiniest hint of your hair or your smile from a mile away because to him you’re just that easy to find in a crowd, he heads towards the bar. He offers a polite smile to people as he does his best not to step on anyone’s toes and maneuver his way through the people dancing, chuckling to himself when he spots your friends swaying a little off beat near their designated table.

“Figured it was only a matter of time before you showed up.” James the head bartender shouts over the sound of customers telling him and the other bartender, Rebecca their orders. Harry just rolls his eyes as he makes his way behind the bar, giving James a friendly pat on the shoulder when he walks behind him.

“She’s lucky I love her or I’d have kicked her ass out of the employee bathroom by now. She’s been in there for half an hour.” He explains before Harry can turn and head down the hallway, hearing how long you’ve been inside the single stalled bathroom makes Harry raise an eyebrow since it’s only been about fifteen minutes since your initial text asking him to come get you.

Harry sees the very familiar door that he knows isn’t going to be locked because one time you accidentally ended up locking yourself inside with the key stuck in the doorknob and it took ten minutes for James and Carl to get the door open. He tries to prepare himself for whatever state you might be in even though over the phone you didn’t seem drunk or even very tipsy so he begins to think maybe you’re just having a rough night and want to call it quits well before your friends do resulting in them being a bit teasing, something he knows you don’t handle well in situations like this. He brings his hand up to the door and gives it three good knocks before he steps back to give you space to open the door and check who it is that’s bothering you.

“Oh thank god.” Your arms are wrapping around his middle and your cheek is pressing into the fabric of his dress shirt all before he can even say hello. “I’m so happy you’re here.” You mumble into his chest as Harry finally returns your hug and wraps his arms around your shoulders so he can pull you closer to him.

“What’s wrong love? Why’ve you been-”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” Harry just lets out a small sigh as he feels you give him a tight squeeze. He places a small kiss to the top of your head while one of his hands run up and down your back.

“Ready to go home then yeah?” You pull away from him so you can look up at him and he smiles down at you as you nod but then he watches as your eyes take in his appearance making the wrinkle between your brows form as you look at him.

“You’re in a suit.”

“I am.”

“You said you weren’t doing anything important and-and here you are in a suit.”

“I wear suits to unimportant things all the time.”

“Harry…” your voice is a mixture of a groan and a whine as you rest your forehead on his chest. “You shouldn’t be here if you’re in a suit that means you were at an event and events are important because you’re Harry Styles and-”

“I’m exactly where I should be.” He says stopping your rant before you can say anything else. “Now come on let’s go get your purse so we can go.” He feels you tense up at the mention of grabbing your purse and it all begins to make sense to him while you’re hiding out back here instead of with your friends. “Having some trouble with the girls?”

“I just-they are so mean when I talk about him and it’s-I don’t like it.” Harry thanks his lucky stars you’re not looking at him as you bring up your boyfriend, Kyle because his face would’ve made you question if he was okay due to the way his jaw is clenched and his eyes are no longer soft around the edges like they normally are anytime he’s near you.

“What’s he done now that’s got them all upset?” You let out a long sigh as you pull away from Harry making his arms fall to his sides as you place your hands on your hips while turning your head to look towards the back of the bar.

Harry feels his heart sink when he hears you sniffle and give your head a little shake as you hold up a hand towards him because you already know his arms are desperate to pull you back into his embrace at the sight of you getting upset over your boyfriend but you want to answer his question and you won’t be able to do that if he’s holding you because you’ll be too comfortable and won’t want to ruin the moment.

“He uhm he’s cheating on me or-or that’s what they think.” Harry licks his lips before he tucks his bottom one between his teeth as he lets your words sink in for a moment. “And I don’t know if he is or not? I don’t-I just don’t know.” You mumble as you look down at your feet.

“Why do they think that?” His voice isn’t harsh but it’s not nearly as soft as it was a moment ago. “What’s he been doing that’s got them all accusing him of cheating?”

“His Instagram is private now and he unfollowed everyone and he uh also posted some things to his uhm Snapchat that-”

“He unfollowed everyone? Even you?”

“Yes.”

“When’s the last time you talked to him?”

“I really don’t want to do this right now.” Harry lets out a sigh as he runs a hand through his hair, that answer telling him everything he needs to know. “Please Harry. I just want to go home.” Your voice is watery as you turn to finally look at him again and all the anger Harry was feeling towards Kyle melts away when he sees your bottom lip start to tremble and your eyes gloss over with unshed tears.

“Let me go get your purse and we can go.” He takes a step towards you and places both hands on your face, gently cupping your cheeks. “I love you.” Is all he says before he leans down and places a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you too Harry.” The words sting a bit as they hit his ears because of course he knows you love him, just not in the same way.

[harryspurpleloofah]

Bunny (H.S)

Summary: Harry is explaining the terms and conditions to a man who wants to borrow money from him when Y/N walks in after having dealt with a man who had the balls to lie to Harry. Soon all the men leave Harry and Y/N alone.

TW: Harry’s drinking and smoking a lot, no graphic detail but mentions of blood alluding to injury, swearing, smut, riding, safe sex ☂️ , bit of fluff at the end, he’s not the nicest guy but he’s not a bad guy.

The bar was quiet, soaked in low golden light, the scent of whiskey and cigar smoke thick in the air. Outside, rain painted streaks down the windows, but inside, the world belonged to Harry Styles.

He sat in his usual booth..private, secluded, untouchable. One arm rested along the back of the leather seat, his fingers idly tracing the rim of the whiskey glass in his other hand. Across from him, the man sat stiff and uneasy, shoulders curled inward like he was trying to make himself smaller.

"You want money," Harry murmured, not a question—just a fact. His voice was smooth, slow, deliberate. A man with all the time in the world. "And you came to me because the banks won’t touch you, and every other poor bastard you’ve begged from knows you’re not worth the risk." The man swallowed hard.

Harry finally lifted his gaze, green eyes locking onto the man like a predator sizing up its prey. "That’s what you are, yeah? A fucking risk." He tilted his head, tapping one ringed finger against his glass. "But me? I’m a generous man. I don’t turn people away. I help them."

Relief flickered across the man’s face, just for a second. Harry smirked. They always made that mistake.

"You’ll take what I give you," he continued, voice never rising, never wavering. "And in two weeks, you’ll return it to me, plus fifty percent." He took a slow sip of whiskey, savoring the burn before setting the glass down with a soft clink. "Fail to pay on time, and the interest doubles. Another week? Triples."

The man shifted in his seat, his breath hitching. His mind was working a mile a minute, clearly calculating, panicking. "But…what if something happens? What if I can’t come up with it?"

Harry leaned forward just a fraction, his eyes sharp as blades. "You don’t want to ask questions, mate. You want answers. And here they are." He looked the man over, letting the weight of his words settle in like heavy stones. "You will pay. One way or another. Because I don’t give second chances. I don’t give fuckin' excuses."

The man’s voice cracked. "What…What happens if I don’t? What really happens?"

Harry’s smirk never faltered, but something cold flashed in his gaze. "You still don’t get it, do you?" He took another sip of his drink, casually, as if the conversation didn’t matter at all. "If you can’t pay in cash, you’ll pay in other ways."

The man leaned in, desperate, his voice growing more frantic. "Other ways? What do you mean by that? What are you gonna take from me? I—I have nothing to give!"

Harry studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing as the man flinched at his own words. "You really think I care about what you have?" Harry chuckled softly, the sound low and cruel. "I’ll take what’s mine. If I want something, I’ll have it. Whether it’s your money, your time, your freedom—or something you care about even more."

The man’s face went pale. "Something I care about? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Harry leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper, laced with cold venom. "It means when you owe me, I own you. You’ll do whatever I say, whenever I say it. If you can’t pay me, then you’ll pay with your life. And I don’t mean that as a threat—I mean it as a promise."

The man froze. Sweat started to bead on his forehead, but his mouth was dry, speechless.

Harry’s gaze never left him. He was patient, almost too patient, watching the man’s face twist with fear, confusion, and then realization.

"So what’s it gonna be?" Harry asked, voice almost bored now, as if the man’s decision was the least interesting thing in the world. "You pay, and we move on. Or you don’t, and I come to collect." He flicked his fingers dismissively. "Your choice."

The man sputtered, his chest rising and falling rapidly as panic settled in. He reached for the pen with shaking hands, still questioning, still uncertain. "But…what if I can’t get it??"

Harry’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "Then you’ll understand exactly what I meant."

He let the silence hang, the tension so thick it was suffocating. The man barely had time to blink before Harry continued.

"Either way, you’ll pay," he repeated, voice calm as ever. "And trust me, you’ll wish you paid sooner. You’ll wish you never asked me for a penny. But by then, it’ll be too late."

The man flinched at his name. His hand grabbed the pen with trembling fingers, the weight of the moment sinking in. His mind was racing, but his body had no choice but to obey.

Harry sat back, watching, eyes cold and unblinking, as the man scrawled his name on the paper. Harry’s gaze moved to the contract, then back up to the man, his lips curling into a small, satisfied smile.

"Good. We’re done here," Harry said, voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

The man stood up too quickly, still shaking. Harry didn’t move, not even a muscle, as the man backed away, his eyes locked on Harry, still wide with fear.

Harry’s voice followed him as he stumbled toward the door.

"I’ll be seeing you soon. And next time…don’t be late."

Soon, the door to the bar creaked open, the sharp click of heels against the hardwood floor cutting through the heavy atmosphere. The usual hum of low chatter and clinking glasses seemed to hush for a moment, as if the room recognized her presence before even her figure entered fully. A woman stepped inside—Y/N.

She was a vision. A black dress clung to her like it was made for her body, the fabric smooth and sleek, catching the dim light as she moved. It wasn’t overly flashy, but it fit her like a glove, with an effortless sophistication that said she owned whatever room she walked into. The kind of dress you could wear anywhere, but still make everyone turn their heads.

Her legs were encased in sleek black leather boots. The duffel bag slung over her shoulder gave her an air of casual chaos, the leather creased under the weight of whatever she had carried with her. Her ringed fingers, now smudged with a deep crimson, brushed absently through her hair.

The manicured nails, sharp and polished, seemed at odds with the mess she’d made of herself..yet it all added to her untouchable charm. One ring on her fourth finger, a perfect fit. But not just any ring. Her wedding ring.

She didn’t flinch at the looks thrown her way, nor the subtle tension in the air. Her eyes scanned the room for just a second, flicking over the unfamiliar faces, but it was Harry she was after. And Harry was already watching her, the faintest glint of a smile tugging at his lips as she approached.

Y/N’s walk was slow, almost languid, but every step was deliberate, purposeful. The man across from Harry still looked like he was about to cry watched her with wide, confused eyes. Harry’s presence, usually commanding enough to make most people tremble, suddenly seemed to pale in comparison to hers.

She slid into the booth beside Harry with the ease of someone who owned everything including him and knew it. The world moved around her, but she didn’t even flinch. Not when the man’s gaze followed her, not when the men glanced in her direction.

She didn’t speak at first, just reached for the cigarette hanging from Harry’s lips and pulled it from between them. A sharp inhale, deep and unbothered, as the smoke curled lazily from her mouth.

"I can see you’ve been busy," she said casually, her voice smooth but sharp like velvet. She didn’t need to ask; she already knew exactly what Harry had been doing, who he'd been speaking to, and the weight of the deal he'd just made. The power dynamic didn’t change for her. She'd been in this world far too long to be impressed by men like him or the way Harry ran his affairs.

Harry turned his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not busy enough," he answered, his voice low, heavy with a layer of satisfaction. "But I’m happy now that you’re here..."

Y/N flicked the cigarette to the ashtray with a practiced motion, eyes never leaving his. "You finished with him?" She nodded toward the man, who was still frozen, looking as though he might explode from nerves.

Harry glanced over at the man and then back to her, his expression unreadable. "We’re done. He knows what happens if he doesn’t get it together."

Y/N didn’t need to hear the rest. She'd seen the power Harry wielded, and she'd felt it countless times before. The deal was done, and the man’s fate had been sealed long before the pen hit the paper.

She slouched comfortably in the booth, her duffel bag now resting by her side as her body language turned laid back, like she’d been here a thousand times before. She crossed her legs, the hem of her dress shifting as her black boots clicked softly against the wood beneath her, and leaned in slightly toward Harry. "Good," she purred, her fingers grazing over his hand with a casual touch. "I don’t like waiting."

Harry’s lips curved into a knowing smile, the air between them charged with a dangerous kind of intimacy. He wasn’t just the one in control of the room, she had his attention, just as she always did.

The man, still standing awkwardly by the table, cleared his throat. But before he could speak, Y/N raised an eyebrow, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Do yourself a favor, mate," she said, voice silk-smooth but dripping with warning. "And leave. Before we make you regret sticking around any longer."

He quickly turned and left, his footsteps loud in the otherwise silent room, but neither Harry nor Y/N paid him any mind.

“What have you been up to, bunny?”, Harry gently asked her, taking her hand in his.

“I was dealing with that misogynistic prick. Brad. You know the forty grand he borrowed from you, baby?”

Harry nods, lighting himself another cigarette as she continues, “he spent at least half of them gambling and he other paying his lawyer to defend him against his wife who he hasn’t paid child support to in fucking years.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “got the money, love?”

She gestured to the bag. One of his men picked it up to look inside before nodding at Harry and putting it down. She turns to him.

Harry didn’t acknowledge her right away. He took his time.

One slow drag of his cigarette, one long sip of whiskey, his gaze lingering on the bloodstained curve of her knuckles before flicking back to the amber liquid in his glass.

Y/N smirked, kicking off her heels beneath the table before shifting to press herself closer, one leg crossing over the other, the sleek fabric of her dress riding up just enough to catch his attention.

Still, he didn’t look. Not yet.

"Busy today?" she murmured, tilting her head slightly as her fingers ghosted over the sleeve of his jacket, light and teasing.

Harry exhaled slowly, smoke curling between them.

"Should be," he muttered.

Y/N hummed, leaning in just enough that her perfume wrapped around him, something sweet and heady and utterly distracting. "Then why aren’t you?"

Harry finally turned his head.

That knowing little smirk, the subtle gleam in her eyes, the kind that told him she was enjoying this. Enjoying the fact that she could sit there, still stained from the night’s work, and have his full fucking attention without even trying.

She reached forward, plucking the cigarette from his lips, taking a slow drag before exhaling..deliberately close to his mouth.

Harry’s jaw tightened.

"You’re playing with me, Bunny," he muttered.

Y/N smirked around the cigarette, tapping the ash into his ashtray before leaning in again….closer this time.

"You always say that," she whispered, her breath warm against his jaw.

Harry’s fingers twitched against the glass in his hand. His men were still watching. He could feel them, their presence lingering, their gazes sharp, their patience thinning. And so was his.

A voice broke the silence. "Boss, we should—"

Everything stopped. Harry didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe.

But the air shifted. Something deep, impossibly lethal crept into his stillness, into the slow way he exhaled through his nose, like he was considering violence. His gaze flicked..just slightly.

One sharp, silent warning. The man froze. The others did, too. Because that look? They knew that look. That was the look a man gave right before he made an example out of someone. A thick, suffocating pause stretched between them.

"Out."

Not loud. Not a yell. Just low, cold, final.

The kind of command you didn’t hesitate to follow. And yet, one of them did. Just for a second. Just long enough for a flicker of hesitation to cross his face, for his weight to shift like he was thinking of saying something else. And then, he actually fucking spoke.

"Boss," the newbie said carefully, clearing his throat. "We should be focusing on business."

Silence.

Y/N raised a brow, but didn’t turn her head. She could feel Harry’s stillness beside her.

The newbie swallowed but kept going—fucking idiot.

"We've got clients to meet. Money to collect. Work to do." His voice had a hint of confidence now, like he actually thought he was making sense. "No offense, but...this isn’t important."

Y/N barely held back a smirk.

Not because he was right. But because he was about to learn something very important.

Harry finally turned his head..

"You new?"

The newbie shifted. "Y-yeah. I mean, I’ve been here a couple of months but—"

"Long enough to know how things work?"

"Of course, boss, I—"

"Good." Harry nodded once. "Then you should know better."

The confidence in the newbie’s face flickered. "I—I wasn’t trying to—"

"You were," Harry said smoothly, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray. "You thought I wasn’t paying attention. Thought you’d remind me of my responsibilities." He flicked his gaze back up, slow and sharp. "Thought you had something to say about my wife."

"You think I don’t know how to handle business?" His voice was smooth, almost amused. "Think I’ve forgotten how things run around here?"

The newbie hesitated. "I—I didn’t mean—"

Harry tapped the ash from his cigarette, barely sparing him a glance. "Let me remind you of something."

He leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the booth, his other hand rolling the glass between his fingers. "I got married while running six schemes across three countries. While laundering more money than you’ll ever see. While dealing with eight clients, two shipments, and an overdue loan breathing down my fucking neck."

His gaze lifted finally locking onto the newbie.

"And all of them," he said slowly, "were handled. All of them were done and dusted. And every single one of them knew better than to call me the second my bedroom door closed."

"You wanna know why?" he murmured, swirling his drink. "Because they knew what was best for them."

Harry took another slow sip of whiskey before setting the glass down. "You got something else to say?"

The newbie shook his head. Hard.

Harry smirked, flicking his wrist toward the door. "Then get the fuck out." The door closed without a second more.

The door clicked shut behind Harry’s men, and the room fell into a thick, dangerous silence.

The second she saw they were gone, she swung her leg over his lap, straddling him with the same ease as a predator. No hesitation.

Harry didn’t blink. He didn’t move. He simply watched her, his hands resting at his sides, calm but ready.

Y/N took his cigarette from his lips without asking, the edges of her fingers grazing his skin as she crushed it in the tray beside them. Her gaze locked on his, playful, daring.

“It’s not good for you, baby,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.

Harry’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t respond. His eyes, however, were dark with something that had her breath catching in her throat. He leaned forward just a fraction, lips curling as he licked them slowly.

“Neither are you, bunny,” he shot back, his voice low and rough.

Y/N smirked and took his glass from the table, bringing it to her lips. She sipped it slowly, her eyes never leaving his as she set it back down with a soft clink.

“Neither is that,” she teased, running her hand down his chest like she owned him, like she knew he was already on the edge of losing it.

His hands twitched at his sides, fingers flexing, but he didn’t speak yet.

“Thought they’d never leave,” she murmured, her voice shifting to more sultry. “Missed you.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, and he reached out, grabbing her wrist in one swift motion, pulling her closer until their bodies were flush, his lips brushing her ear.

“You missed me, huh?” His voice was laced with something dark. She unbuckled his belt and freed his cock from his boxers. She dug through her purse for a second, finding a condom and sliding it on before she looked back up at him.

“I’m not in the mood for foreplay ok?”

“Whatever you say, bunny.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, biting back a smile as she felt the heat building between them. Without another word, she moved, sliding herself down onto him. Slowly. Intentionally.

The second she sank down, she gasped, the feeling of him filling her sending a jolt of heat through her body. She was about to say something when his lips found her neck, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin, “what?”

“Don’t play coy with me,” Harry muttered, his voice strained as he gripped her waist tighter, pushing her down on him. "I’m the one who’s been waiting all night for this."

His fingers dug into her skin, pulling her into him as he moved his lips to hers, kissing her with ferocious urgency. There was no softness, no gentle teasing. This was about power, about claiming. “Bunny, come on let me have my fun.”

“I don’t need you to remind me who’s in charge,” she whispered, a dark laugh in her voice. “I already know.”

Y/N didn’t wait. She rode him good, her nails raking over his chest.

She reached up, her fingers grazing his chest with a tease before making quick work of his shirt. Her hands pulled at the collar, unbuttoning it with slow movements. The anticipation was thick, like every button that came undone added a layer to the building tension between them.

She soon managed it and slipped it off his shoulders, leaving him almost glowing in the dim light of the booth, his tattoos visible.

His hand shot up to her hair, threading his fingers through the soft strands, his grip tightening as he pulled her closer to him. His other hand found her waist, pulling her against him. He ran his fingers through her hair again, this time a little rougher, as his lips crashed against hers with ferocity.

“Fuck, Y/N.”

A while passes. It was going great but she was getting tired.

She bit her lip, trying to keep her focus, but she couldn’t deny it—she was feeling the strain in her legs, the ache in her pelvis. Harry’s hands were still gripping her waist, guiding her movements with firm, but slow control, and it was starting to feel a bit too controlled for her liking. She wanted more. She needed more.

She gave one last slow roll of her hips before she stopped, leaning forward to rest her hands on his chest for support, breathing heavily.

“You’re starting to look a little tired, baby,” Harry teased, his lips curling into a smirk as his hands tightened around her waist. “Should I do all the work now?”

Y/N shot him a playful look, her chest rising and falling with her quick breaths, but she didn’t argue. She was too exhausted, her legs aching with the effort. She wanted him to take control, to make her feel like she couldn’t breathe without him.

Without warning, Harry’s hands gripped her hips and flipped her onto her back, his body covering hers in an instant. She gasped, startled by the sudden change in position, but her surprise was quickly replaced by anticipation. His eyes darkened with desire, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

“You wanted me to do all the work?” he growled, his voice thick with need. “Well, here we are.”

Before she could respond, Harry slammed into her, his pace hard and fast as he took control of the situation. His hands were on her hips, keeping her in place as he moved above her, each thrust deep and precise. Y/N’s body arched beneath him, her hands gripping the sheets as she tried to keep her composure.

“Tell me how it feels, Bunny,” he murmured in her ear, his lips brushing against her neck as he continued to thrust into her. “You wanted me to take over, didn’t you?”

She could only moan in response, her head falling back into the pillows as his pace quickened, the tension in her body building again. She reached up, trying to grip his arms, but he was too far gone, too deep inside her for her to do anything but just look at him.

Harry leaned down, his lips pressing against her ear as he thrust harder. “I told you, didn’t I? Don’t ever forget who’s in charge here.”

Y/N’s nails dug into his skin as she writhed beneath him, her moans filling the space between their heated breaths. She could feel the hard length of his cock driving into her, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure through her core. Her voice grew louder, her words slurred with desire.

“Harry…oh, Harry…” she pleaded, her hips rising to meet his as if in defiance of gravity, trying to match his fervor.

Harry’s own breathing grew ragged as he intensified his pace. His hands roamed her body, one gripping her hair as he pulled her head back for a deeper kiss, the other sliding over her curves, exploring every sensitive spot with expert precision. His eyes darkened as he whispered, “You’re mine, Bunny. Let me have you—completely.”

Every thrust built upon the last, a symphony of heat and desire, until soon both of them were lost in a haze of sensation. The room seemed to disappear around them, leaving only the raw, unfiltered need that surged between their entwined bodies. Their rhythm quickened, and the air grew thick with the scent of sweat and desire as they edged closer to the peak of their passion.

“Cum for me,” Harry rasped, his voice rough with command and need, as he pounded into her with all the force of his desire. “Cum for me, Bunny—let it all out.”

Y/N’s response was immediate and explosive. Her body tensed, every muscle contracting as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Her cries mingled with his as she surrendered to the overwhelming release, her hands clutching at the sheets as she came undone beneath him. Harry’s own high wasn’t far behind; his pace surged as he reached his breaking point, his own release joining hers in a torrential, shared moment of ecstasy.

They came together, every thrust, every kiss, every whispered command melding into one singular, unforgettable explosion of passion. For that one, electrified moment, nothing existed except the two of them.

When the storm finally subsided, they lay tangled together on the soft couch, their breaths gradually returning to normal. Harry’s hand still rested in Y/N’s hair, stroking it gently as if to remind her that, even in the aftermath of their intensity, he remained her unwavering, dominant force.

Y/N lay there, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with her breath, her body still trembling from the release. Harry’s eyes softened as he looked down at her, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair away from her sweaty forehead. He could see the flush still creeping along her skin, the way her lips were slightly parted as she caught her breath

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low and soft, the usual dominance replaced by concern. He ran a hand over her body, almost as if checking if she was still there, still whole after the intensity of it all. His thumb traced the curve of her waist, and then he leaned in to place a tender kiss on her temple.

Y/N smiled, still catching her breath, but the warmth in her eyes told him she was more than okay. She nodded, reaching up to touch his face. Her fingers grazed his jawline, tracing the roughness of his stubble. “I’m good,” she said, her voice still breathy but soft.

Later that night they were in their shared king bed. He took her hands, now perfectly clean and lathered with handcream but he remembered the blood, “bunny?”

“Mm?”

“Maybe…we should go back to me handling the physical side of things..”

She looked up, “what? But I love helping you. I love doing this, we never hurt anyone for no reason you know that.”

“I’m aware love, I’m the boss remember? But I’m worried about you not our morals. What if something happens to you?”

“Couldn’t I say the same for you?”

“Well…”

“I guess we both have to be careful from now on. For each other.”

“Fair enough I guess.”

“Deal?”

“Deal, bunny.”

“Maybe….