#harry styles wattpad

[harrysonlylover]

Ride Along*

Summary: Y/n is feeling bored alone at her apartment, so Harry takes her for a ride.

A continuation to Discipline.

Trope: Agent Harry

WC: 6.3k

Warnings: mentions of speeding, a pinch of meanrry, smut, degradation, choking, face spitting, unprotected sex, implications of somnophilia, after care.

A/n: The writing is a bit rusty because it’s been a while since I wrote smut😬

Main Masterlist | Agent Harry Masterlist

Y/n was placed on house arrest by Harry for a week, and it was torturous.

Perhaps “house arrest” is a bit dramatic but she felt suffocated. She could leave her apartment whenever she wanted. Harry’s insistence on her relaxation was clear, and he only meant for her to avoid any activities that require physical exertion.

Anyone would be thrilled to have a week off from work, but it was rather confusing for Y/n. Although she hadn’t been an agent for long, she adapted quickly to the agent lifestyle which was hard to suddenly pause.

Even with Harry’s confirmation and reassurance that he wasn’t disappointed, she still felt the need to occupy her time with something useful.

There was absolutely nothing in her apartment that could pass away time. At least nothing that interested her. 

She cleaned up a bit, reorganized the living room, and stuck to the meals that Harry sent for her daily. They weren’t bad actually, except for the spinach soup that made her want to puke.

With no one accompanying her but Tim Tim and her thoughts, she realized how nice and caring it is to send someone customized meals. If someone heard her say it out loud, they’d snort in her face but—they just don’t know Harry and his personality.

He texted her every day at least twice. At first, she thought he only did so to make sure she ate the meals and took her supplement (which would be considered too kind coming from him), but slowly he began diverting from those topics asking her about her day and chatting with her.

He gave her updates on the agency and promised to pass by her apartment only to bail on her because of an emergency that required his presence.

On day 4 she was fully annoyed. She couldn’t handle being away from the agency for long, and even if she could go out and enjoy her time away—she didn’t know where to go.

She didn’t lead a normal life, no agent did and she was completely okay with it. She had no one to check up on or call to hang out with. The idea of going out somewhere alone felt weird. She would feel like an imposter amongst a sea of normal people.

She buried the eerie feelings and decided to spam Harry with texts to annoy him a bit. 

Y/n: I’m gonna pass by the agency :)

She pressed the send button and waited for his reply as she heated her lunch for the day.

His reply was almost automatic as if he didn’t have a load of responsibilities.

Harry: No.

Y/n: Yes.

Harry: I said no Y/n.

She huffed in frustration before remembering that if she could be a menace at the agency, then she could be a menace over text too.

Y/n: Too bad I’m already on my way.

Harry: Don’t test me.

Y/n: 😜

Harry: Are you disobeying me?

She choked on a piece of meat when she read his reply, and immediately reached for a cup of water. She wiped her mouth, staring at his text in confusion. It wasn’t strictly sexual, but it was a phrase that he always used during sex, because one thing that he combined between his professional and sex life was discipline, and Y/n adored it.

She loved his attitude, how he dared her to go against his orders or defy him. It wasn’t that she liked getting punished or sought pain—it was more of a need to observe him being dominant. The way he manhandled her and treated her like nothing but a toy, only for him to hold her to his chest right after.

Another text from Harry pulled her out of her fantasies and daydreams.

Harry: You’re well aware of how I feel about you disobeying me, right?

Y/n: Yes. I do.

Her response was automatic as if it was generated and not typed quickly by her. She wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.

Harry: Good Girl.

Motherfucker. He knew what he was doing. After all, he had her memorized by heart, and he probably was aware of how close she was to drooling. The meal in front of her didn’t appeal to her anymore because she had a different type of meal on her mind.

It had been a while since they hooked up and it was a rushed quickie behind closed doors at the agency. He kneeled on the ground to eat her out in no longer than five minutes before having to return to the training. He knew her body like the palm of his hand and had her panting and biting on her bottom lip in no time.

She adored it, really, but she craved the feeling of his cock driving into her as she held onto his body or while his hand wrapped itself around her neck with his mouth spewing the dirtiest sentences into her ear.

She sighed deeply reminiscing her adventurous sex life before he banished her to her apartment so she could rest. Was it a bit dramatic? Maybe. But she might be addicted to sex with him.

She glanced at his text knowing that he was probably smirking at his replies. He always knows how to get to her. She grabbed her phone and typed her reply because she was so fucking bored at the apartment and needed some fresh air.

Y/n: I’m still bored.

This time his reply wasn’t as quick as the previous one. It took him about five minutes to respond which was still fast considering how busy he was.

Harry: Okay. Go out.

Y/n: Wow! I didn’t think of that.

She scoffed at his dumb reply because who said that she was waiting for his approval?

Harry: Why didn’t you go out?

Y/n: I’m not sure…it feels weird…?

She could see the little dots that indicate that he was typing appearing only to disappear a few seconds later.

Harry: I’ll pick you up at 9. Dress comfortably.

When she complained about her boredom she thought that he would recommend her places to visit or give suggestions, not take her out. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head when she read his text. She wasn’t hallucinating, right?

Y/n: Where are we going?

Harry: Eat your lunch and take your supplement.

Y/n: Damn grumpy pants.

He didn’t reply to her after that but if he did she’s sure he would have sent a thumbs-up emoji even if it was out of context. She continued her meal just like he instructed her. The hold he had on her was unreal, and she was okay with it.

Harry was knocking on her door at exactly 9 PM. Not a minute later.

This time she didn’t welcome him in with a tear-stained face, and grumpy attitude. It was the entire opposite of it. The only thing that was similar to the previous time was her shock. Harry was dressed in all black and a leather jacket. His hair looked so fucking soft, and a hair strand fell on his forehead as he leaned against the door with his hands in his pockets. He was a sight for sore eyes, especially Y/n’s whose jaw almost dropped.

“Hello, little minx.” He grinned devilishly as he entered her apartment. His cologne had her knees buckling, reminding her of when she’d bury her face in his neck.

Black shirt, black pants, black boots, and a black leather shirt. He’s going to be the death of her, surely. He strolled in like he owned the place while she shamelessly stared at his body.

“Little minx…” He tutted, cornering her against the kitchen counter. “… sent me message after message today as if I don’t have a workload.” His tone made her feel like she was in trouble, but the good kind of trouble.

“But you still answered, no?” She replied confidently with a smirk to remind him of the hold that she also had on him, even if they never spoke about it directly.

He remained silent, offering her his cheesy smirk as his eyes raked over her face and neck like he was trying to come up with sinful scenarios. She was more addictive than any type of drug.

“Ready to hit the road?” He deviated from the topic skilfully while checking out her attire to make sure that she’d be comfortable during the ride.

“Hmm. Let’s go.” She walked in front of him like a princess, going down the stairs excitedly.

She stepped out to the street and looked around with a hint of a smile painted across her face. She could hear Harry’s boots behind her and smell his cologne that seemed to have stuck to her clothes.

“So…are we going to walk there?” She asked with confusion evident on her face.

“We’re riding there.” His response held a sense of pride as he grabbed her hand and walked down to the end of the street before taking a left and stopping.

A large black sports bike was parked in its glory itching for someone to take it for a ride. Y/n stood still in her place with her mouth wide open in shock. Harry was a motorcycle guy?

“Oh…wow.”

“Scared little minx?” He mused like it was so fun to see her reaction. He approached her from behind, bumping his body with hers and trapping her physically. She could feel him breathing against her neck as she swallowed down his throat. One touch from him and she’s paralysed.

He pressed a soft peck behind her ear before whispering. “Don’t worry… you’ll hold on to me.” She barely processed what he said as he immediately urged her forward and gave her a helmet to put on. She wore it as soon as he gave it to her to cover her facial expression from him. He helped her tie it up before placing his helmet on.

“C'mon hop on behind me.” He situated himself on the bike, and the more Y/n stared, the more the wetness between her thighs increased. Seeing him in all black was something but with a biker helmet on? She wanted to drop on her knees right there and then, but she didn’t.

Instead, she hopped on behind him and wrapped her arms around his torso. Her grip was weak making him urge her to get closer and glue herself to him. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, it just made her ridiculously horny.

The feeling of hugging his muscular body with her core touching his lower back had her feeling some sort of way. She could feel his abs under her touch, and his cologne drifting in the air was not helping.

“I can’t even see anything because of your back!” While she joked about it, deep down she found it fucking hot. His broad back and shoulders blocked her view, and the only thing she could do was rest her head against it.

“I don’t hear you complaining when you’re scratching on it.” Even with his helmet on, she could feel him smirking.

She gave in to the feeling of his warm body against her as if he were shielding her from everything. It was not an ideal timing for her size kink to get activated, but she genuinely couldn’t help it.

“Hold on tight little minx.” The engine roared to life and Harry fixed his position before taking a turn and heading straight for the highway.

This was her first time on a motorcycle surprisingly. At first, her body was tense, and it didn’t feel nice. Despite having a helmet on, it felt like the wind was slapping her. Harry turned out to be a skilled biker who speeds for fun—still he was careful.

She eventually regulated her breathing and unclenched her jaw as she adapted to the adrenaline rush that she felt. It was an otherworldly feeling. She couldn’t tell what made her feel this way. Harry’s body against her, the evening breeze, or the rush of speeding.

No matter what it was, she felt amazing.

Harry wanted to taunt her in some way, preferably verbally—but she seemed like she was having fun, and her arms around him were a distraction. The feeling of her body clinging to him was priceless.

He tried to avoid speeding on the highway for her sake despite loving to do so. It was one of the things he resorted to when he needed a break from everything. Nothing could compare to the adrenaline rush he felt…maybe just Y/n’s lips.

He slowed down and took an exit on the highway that led them to a deserted road and ultimately a hill. He stopped and turned off the ignition before stepping off the bike.

“Fucking hell. Do you want to kidnap me?” Y/n joked as she looked around the dark and deserted space.

“If I want to kidnap you, little minx, I’ll simply carry you.” He chuckled as he took off his helmet and fixed his messy hair. She swallowed down her throat as she stared at him. Why did he have to look this good?

“C'mon.” He gestured for her to follow him, and she jogged to catch up. He placed his hand on her lower back to urge her forward. His body was dangerously close to her, and she could smell his cologne again. Harry’s hand itched to hold hers, but he wasn’t sure if she’d like that, so her lower back should suffice.

They took a small turn to the left as rocks crunched under their shoes. Harry wondered whether he should tell her to close her eyes or not. But if he does, then it’d sound romantic which crosses the boundaries of their physical relationship.

“It’s right…here.” They were met with a gorgeous view of the city. They could see almost all the lit buildings as if they were in the sky. It felt as if they were spying on the city with its lights and secrets. No one but them on the deserted hill.

“Wow..this is so beautiful”. Y/n gasped in shock at the view in front of her. She never expected Harry to take her to this spot-she didn’t even know it existed.

“I know.” If she wasn’t too occupied with the scenery, she would’ve noticed that Harry was in fact, staring at her with a smile on his face.

“How do you know this spot?” Y/n still couldn’t take her eyes off the shimmering buildings.

“I discovered it once by mistake, and I come here often.” He didn’t mention how this place was his escape from the world, or that he came here before heading to her apartment that day.

“It’s so nice.” Despite the darkness filling the space, Harry could still see and feel her smile.

He quickly got the bike so they could sit on it, and left it turned on for the light.

“Oh, it’s so big I could sleep on it.” Y/n remarked.

Perhaps he was feeling extra chill or it was just from being around her but a weird sound came out of his mouth as he tried to suppress a laugh. Y/n usually gets sleepy after sex, and his dick isn’t the average size. So did he think of her sentence sexually and almost burst out laughing? Yes.

“Did you just try to laugh at me?” She asked in an annoyed tone.

“Me? Never.” He covered up his chuckle with coughing.

“Whatever…” She mumbled a few other words under her breath as she attempted to climb the bike, but it was gigantic. She can’t even recall how she climbed it previously and she’s not even short!

She gasped suddenly as Harry’s hands lifted her body like she weighed nothing and placed her on the seat before she could blink. She was glad that he couldn’t see her face clearly because she could feel her cheeks burning. Was she that touch deprived?

“I was handling it just fine.” She huffed in confidence.

“Mhmm.”

The bike was indeed huge, but Harry took most of the space making their bodies glued on the seat.

The tension between them could be cut with a knife. Y/n would usually be the first to break the silence, but she just couldn’t. She felt paralyzed next to him, and he didn’t even touch her yet. His presence and cologne were enough to weaken her.

“Are you still mad at me?” He cleared his throat.

“What?” She couldn’t mask the shock in her tone as her face turned around to meet his.

“About last week.” It sounded as if something was holding him back, almost like he was afraid of asking.

She took a few seconds to process his question, mostly because she was shocked at the gesture. She knew deep down that it meant a lot. No one would believe her if she said that Agent Harry Styles was checking up on her and apologized. They’d probably laugh in her face.

She couldn’t decode what it meant. Was he just feeling guilty, or did he share the same feelings? The need for more than just physical boundaries haunted her but she wouldn’t dare to bring it up. Even if he was feeling guilty, it still had to be something. He’s literally merciless to other agents.

“I—I—“

“You don’t have to give me an answer.” He reassured her in a low whisper.

“No, I do—I’m just confused.”

“About?” Harry was itching to know her answer. He even rehearsed his question for the past week.

“Well… why did my lack of performance anger you in the first place?” She had a lot to ponder about in her free time. Questions that popped into her head about Harry.

He took a deep breath and clasped his hands together before exhaling. “I didn’t want you to get hurt on the field. Most of the time when agents slack, they end up getting injured in the field…”

“Wanted you to be strong for when I’m not there.” He whispered as if the city was able to hear him confessing his secrets.

“Oh.” Y/n’s head was swirling with thoughts and questions-none that came out of her mouth. She could even feel Harry’s stress radiating off him. She simply allowed her Pinky finger to touch his as they continued staring at the city.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that she broke the silence.

“I’m not mad anymore. I was just surprised. Just—don’t do it again.”

“Never.”

They stayed in the same position with their fingers touching for almost two hours, as they chatted about important and mundane things. His heart fluttered when she laughed her ass off after he told her how an agent peed his pants because he was caught smoking.

He even told her about his mother briefly. That’s how whipped he was. She shared a few details about growing up as an orphan, but they both decided to close the topic knowing how heavy was.

“Your cologne is suffocating me.” Her remark was innocent, it really was—but his mind wasn’t.

“Thought you liked it when you buried your face in my neck?” Cheeky Harry was back in full force. He inched his face closer to her and he could hear her swallow down her throat.

“Harry…”

“Tell me…did you think about me knocking on your door and fucking you against the wall?” Lust dripped from his voice and Y/n’s chest was rising. Goosebumps spread all over her skin as their noses bumped.

“I—yes.”

“Good. Cause I stopped myself from doing that every single day.” He was needy for her, and only her.

“What are you waiting for then?”

In a few seconds, he had her straddling his lap with his hand supporting her lower back as his lips devoured hers. Their kiss was sloppy, wet, and lustful. Harry counted the minutes that led to this moment so he could taste the sweetest fruit.

He was fucking obsessed with everything about her. Her lips, eyes, body, mind, and pussy.

“Fuck!” He moaned into her mouth when she grinded over his clothed cock. He might as well cum right there in his pants if she kept doing that.

“Behave. “He slapped her ass causing her to whine sweetly. His large hand rested on her cheeks trying to knead them over her leggings.

Their breaths were labored as their tongues clashed like lovers who hadn’t had sex in ages. His mouth was fucking devouring her and she could already feel her lips getting sore. He kept urging her body closer as if he could morph them into one body.

“Ne—need you.” Her whimpers made the blood rush to his cock.

“Yeah? Where do you need me, my baby?”

She ignored his question and continued kissing all over his face, brushing over his stubble and chin. She was hungry and he adored it. But she also didn’t answer him.

He pulled her away by wrapping his hand around her throat. She gasped, secretly loving the feeling of his veiny hands choking her.

“I asked you a question, little minx. Where do you need me?” His voice was so deep and lustful that she wanted to get down on her knees and suck him.

“Uh—In my pussy.” She breathed out, feeling the wetness increase between her thighs just from his hand around her neck. “Here, baby?” He cupped his other hand over her pussy making her feel tingly.

“Y—yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes sir.”

“Attagirl.” He felt her wetness on his hand and if it wasn’t so dark he’d bend her over the bike and fuck her into the next day. Besides, his little minx gets sleepy.

“C’mon, I need to get us to your apartment.” He spanked her cheeks again, earning a squeal from her. He pulled her off his lap and winced at his painful hard on before fixing his pants as much as he could and seating himself on the bike. His hand reached out for her and pulled her onto his lap again.

“Whoa! What are you doing? I should be behind you.”

“No. Since my cologne makes you horny, you’re gonna have your face buried into my neck the whole ride.” His smirk was sick but fuck her if she didn’t like it.

Her nose bumped over his neck and she fought a moan. This had to be the best punishment.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you with my body.” His arm tightened around her waist as he took the route they came from.

It was going to be a torturous ride.

Y/n could barely open the door properly with Harry kissing on the back of her neck. His hard on was pressing into her ass as she tried to insert the key. Her soft whines only made him hornier and needier.

As soon as they were inside, the keys dropped to the ground followed by the loud shut of the door. Harry grabbed Y/n by the throat pushing her to the wall where he kissed her deeply. The kiss was rushed and erotic, he could never get enough of her lips or sweet whimpers every time he pushed his tongue inside her mouth.

“My minx…” The warmth between her thighs was torturous. His deep voice rumbled from his chest sending vibrations straight to her pussy.

“Uhh..” She tried to push her core against his crotch for any sort of friction.

He caught on immediately as he smirked against the kiss and tapped on her ass to lift her on his waist. He had her placed lower than usual so she could feel him against the fabric.

“Is that what you wanted sweet girl? To feel how hard I am for you?” He panted, cradling her jaw with his hand as he deepened the kiss.

“Y—yes." She didn’t want to respond or part from his lips for a millisecond. She could feel her pussy pulsating just from the feeling of his cock pressing into her core.

She pulled away reluctantly, glancing at his neck like it was her next meal. He may have been teasing her, but he was right. She loved burying her face in his neck and sucking on it. She prided herself in knowing that the hickeys she’d give him would be on show for all girls at the agency.

His scent always played with her pheromones and messed with her brain. His cologne had a hold on her, and she knew that she looked like a puppy in heat when she clung to him. “Dirty girl…” His hand rested on her hair as his head rolled backward giving her access to his skin. He was a sight for sore eyes with his face scrunched in ecstasy and lips slightly parted. She didn’t have to speak for him to understand her possessiveness and boy did he like it.

His little minx was obsessed with him just like he was.

“Bedroom please.” She laid her forehead against his having had her fill from giving him love bites. Their noses bumped as they looked into each other’s eyes that shared the same desire.

She didn’t need to tell him twice. He supported her body with one hand around her waist as she directed him to the room. He didn’t waste any time and kept his mouth busy with her neck.

He placed her down on the bed gently before taking off his clothes quickly while she stared at his toned body and tattoos, holding in her drool.

“You could stare at me all night darling, but now I need you to be a good girl and take off your clothes so I could relieve that needy cunt of yours.” Harry barely finished his sentence, and her clothes were off in a few seconds.

The light in the room was dim, supported by a small bedside lamp. If she thought that staring at his body was a delight, then she should read his mind as he stared down at hers.

She looked so fucking pretty for him. Only him.

It was like an erotic scene out of a movie or a wet dream. Y/n on her back with her legs spread showcasing her glistening pussy and hardened nipples, and Harry standing tall in front of her with his cock erect to his stomach begging to sink itself inside her warm walls.

The sight of him standing like that nude and horny will never leave her mind. Almost as if he were a Greek god.

She squealed as he pulled her by her legs to the edge of the bed. Harry suddenly lowered his body till his face was at the same level as her pussy. His teasing game was strong, she was crumbling underneath him.

“My favorite scent.” He buried his face in her cunt and inhaled. A tiny whine left her mouth as his nose bumped into her swollen clit. Y/n felt like she could cry if he didn’t fuck her, and he was taking his sweet time in savoring the scent of her wetness.

“H—Harry.”

“Mhm?” He turned his attention to her, hovering over her body and taking delight in her needy face.

“Please—it hurts.” If he waited any longer, Harry was sure that a tear would’ve fallen from her eye.

“Oh poor baby…” He cooed as he caressed her cheek gently. “…you just need me inside, don’t you?” She was quick to nod while slightly squirming beneath him.

He pulled her closer, situating her core right under his cock, and stroked it giving her a show of his moans before tapping it against her wet cunt.

“Is that where you need it? Just have to slide in.” His sick grin with the feeling of his cock sliding over her cunt back and forth made her eyes roll back.

“Please.” She dug her nails into his back followed by a set of pleas.

“Shhh.” He whispered softly, pressing a peck to her cheek before pulling away from her and fixing their position.

He placed her legs on his shoulder and gave her his twisted smirk as he stroked his shaft and bit his bottom lip. “Gonna be my good girl as usual? Hmm?”. He lowered his body again, allowing his cock to rest on her stomach.

“Uh—huh.” She nodded mindlessly immediately. She was already cockdrunk and he wasn’t inside her yet.

“Ready baby?” His hand rubbed her legs softly as she gave him the cue. He glanced quickly at his cock resting on her skin and he almost got dizzy from the size difference. It got to him every damn time.

His eyes were focused on her facial expression as he slowly pushed himself inside of her. A wave of relief washed over her face with a sweet moan making him still his hips to avoid cumming.

There was nothing like sinking inside her warm walls that begged him to go deeper. Wet squelching sounds filled the room the more he pushed inside her—his baby was made for him.

“That’s it little minx—so fucking warm for daddy.”

Y/n’s brain felt mushy. Harry was so fucking good to her, and his cock scratched the itch just right. He never referred to himself as daddy before, only sir but she liked it so bad.

She pulled at his arms with soft whimpers signalling for him to get closer to her—which he did without hesitation. She clung to him, digging her nails into his back and tugging at his hair. His cock drove deep into her cunt, massaging her hot walls with its veins and thickness.

“Use me d—daddy”. Y/n shed tears from pleasure that stained his face since he was glued to her, pressing pecks to her cheeks and nose.

“Yeah? Want daddy to use you like a fuckdoll?” He increased his pace, going deeper and moaning into her ear at the feeling of her bare cunt.

They both adored raw sex and went for it almost every time. Y/n was on birth control, and Harry tested regularly (despite only fucking her). He was pussy whipped.

“Uhh—be rough daddy.” He stilled his hips at her words, leaving them glued to hers. He lifted his body and took in her fucked sight. Messy hair, tear stains, and a needy face.

“Wanted to be gentle with you but I forgot that you’re a whore deep down.” He chuckled before spitting on her face, and watching her chest rise and fall as she breathed heavily.

His little minx was insatiable and provoked him further by trying to fuck herself on his cock as she bit her bottom lip. He could faintly hear her whimpering ‘Daddy’ under her breath.

He wanted to slap her knowing how much she liked it but something else distracted him. He looked down to where they were connected noticing the mix of her wetness with his precum. He pulled out slowly, moaning at the loss of contact and his cock that is painted in white.

Harry tried to breathe in and out to avoid cumming. Not only did she cream on his cock, but her cunt was pulsating as if she was asking for his cock to slide in again.

“Pathetic. Creamed all over me.” Her inner thighs were coated with wetness, and she didn’t close her legs—not even a bit. She knew that she should always keep them spread for him.

He flipped her on her stomach effortlessly and she immediately arched her back, presenting her ass to him. “What a good fuckdoll.” He slapped her cheeks and placed his tip at her entrance before sinking into her warmth again.

Her walls pulled him back in as if she were some sort of seductress that made him addicted to her. Harry balanced himself and focused on the fast thrusts instead of her extremely warm cunt.

“Fucking insatiable aren’t you?” He grunted with his eyes fixed on his cock entering her pussy and coming out all creamy as her ass jiggled.

Y/n’s muffled moans were all she could offer. With her face smushed in the pillow and brain turned off, she was in fucking heaven.

The arch of her back had him rolling his head backward as his hips rotated forward, going deeper and harder.

“That’s it slut. Take my fucking cock.” He gritted his teeth, grabbing a fistful of her hair, and pulling it backward before wrapping a hand around her neck and lifting her body to his chest. 

She was completely gone. She could only look at him with teary eyes that begged him to claim her.

Deeper, harder, faster.

“D—d…” 

“Good fuckdolls keep their mouth shut.” He tightened his grip on her jaw, tapping on her mouth to open it up before spitting inside.

“Swallow.” If the warmth of her cunt didn’t kill him, it was going to be her face. So needy, compliant, and dizzy from pleasure.

Their bodies were glued to each other, skin to skin with her back to his chest as he thrusted inside her while panting in her ear. 

He was supporting both of their bodies seeing as she could do nothing but whine. His arm was secured around her torso with her hand clinging to his bicep. The clenching of her walls around his cock was always the hardest for him. She’d rile him on trying to milk his cum, taking every drop.

“You wanna cum?” He panted against the back of her neck knowing how her body acts when she’s reaching her orgasm.

She gave him a weak nod, clinging harder to his bicep as she laid her head on his shoulder. They didn’t always cum together, but when they did, the euphoria was unmatched. Harry had been holding himself back ever since he sunk into her, just to feel her shake and pulsate around him as he spilled his cum into her.

“C’mon minx, give it to me.” His tongue left a broad lick on her neck with a harsh bite. It wasn’t her clit that got her off—her sensitive spot was her neck, whether Harry choked her or sucked on her skin—she was a goner.

“H—Harry” Her nails dug into his skin as she looked up at him with sweet eyes and shaky legs.

How could he resist laying his lips on hers as he stilled his hips to empty himself inside her?

She was shuddering—even with their skin glued together. Her sweet moans made his cock twitch inside her, already hungry for more. Her orgasm hit her hard, clouding her vision and thoughts. The feeling of his cum spiling inside her with her pussy clenching to take it inside was the only thing she felt and wanted to feel.

“Fuck. That’s it, take every drop my lo—minx.”  His eyes fluttered open at his word slip up.

His eyes furrowed in confusion and immediately glanced at her face which seemed to be too occupied with cumming. His chest heaved as he swiped his hand across her face, moving her sweaty hair strands away before kissing her temple.

“Talk to me, are you okay?” He angled her face towards him to examine her expression.

“Yes.” A hazy smile was planted across her face making him chuckle.

“Mhmm. I’m going to pull out now and carry you to the bathroom so you can pee.” He gave her a heads up while rubbing her cheeks.

Once she nodded at him, he began pulling out slowly, wincing at being separated from her warmth—something that she reciprocated. Harry tried to avoid looking down—he really did, but it was too tempting.

His creamy load dripped out of her pussy, sliding down her legs, and the more she clenched, the more came out.

“Fucking hell.” He muttered under his breath, swiping his finger across her pussy and gathering his cum before tasting it.

Y/n’s whine echoed in his ear. She sported an angry look on her face that disappeared once he signalled for her to open her mouth. He spat the residue of what he tasted inside of her mouth, enjoying the faint moans that spilled from her.

“C’mon let’s clean you up.” He carried her effortlessly to the bathroom before giving her privacy and heading back to the room to change the sheets.

Who knew that changing bed sheets would make him irritated? He let out a huff, finishing the last touch right as she came out of the bathroom.

She was dressed in nothing but a plain white shirt that barely reached her thighs.

“Hm I love my bed.” She smiled as she climbed the mattress, giving Harry a show.

“Y/n.” He spoke rigidly.

“Yeah?” She glanced up innocently at him as she relaxed under the duvet.

“I was supposed to clean you up…and where are your panties?” He questioned her as he joined her on the bed—nude.

“You can wake me up at night, make a mess then clean me.” She taunted him, switching to the side and giving him a view of the shirt riding up her ass.

He got under the covers, situating himself properly so that he was attached to her.

“Is that what you want little minx? Hmm?” His fingers caressed her skin slowly starting from her arm, down to her legs.

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll see.” He nibbled on before earlobe as she dosed off to sleep. She loved sleeping after sex and Harry knew that, but it was almost 1 in the morning and she needed rest.

Harry dared to let his hand dip in her hair, giving her head scratches as she slept peacefully. He didn’t realize what he was doing until she stirred in her sleep making him pull his hand away.

His eyes furrowed in confusion as he stared at her sleeping face. First the word slip up and now he’s playing with her hair.

What the fuck was going on with him?

Taglist: @prettythingsworld @slut4marvelmenn @wandas-lawyer @tbsloneely @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @missmielyhoran @harryssideboob @harrysficreblog @itslottiehere @hsonlyangelxo @gem1712 @adachhi @tpwkkkkk @hrryberry @summertime-pills @lhhrryismyhome @marzhshaim @keepdrivingkisses @rideeonstyles @matildasatellite @a-strange-familiar @greivingfortheliving @straightnogayhs @awesomenavy @infinatetatie @be-with-me-so-happily @harrysrockstarsgf @cherrys4suckers @stilesissaved @daphnesutton @elioslover @myalovesharry

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

[stylessbean]

Harry Styles Wattpad Fan Fiction Recs

------------ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍓🍒🍄 ꒱ ˎˊ˗ ------------

I do majority of my reading on Wattpad, so I've put together a list of my all-time favourite books from there and also attached my own reading list as well for anyone who would like to look through it!

Click for the full reading list

Breaking The Ice by sarbearfive

Hockerry with a slow burn romance. Read it all in one night IT WAS SO GOOD!!!!!!

Spotlight by Kiwiharryy

Enemies to lovers, also they're in a fake relationship which I eat up everytime!!!!

Rising Stars by tpwk1d00

Two famous singers fall in love

PRETEND by alittleloveeee

Another enemies to lovers where they're actors

Scandal by angelsvol6

Yet another fake relationship fic, trust me THIS ONE IS SO INCREDIBLE, I've read it at least 3 times now.

Assumptions by sugarpaperactuallyx

Famous au where the reader is working on the "behind the album" documentary with harry.

[1800titz]

Hi! I write this fic on Wattpad, but figured I would put it up on tumblr, too!

WARNINGS: THIS IS A BDSM FIC

WATTPAD ALTERNATIVE | TRAILER | ALPHABET PROMPT | tdiag things

DESC:

"My name is Eros," the masked male cocks his head a smidge at her, and, if only slightly through the shadow cast between the parted zipper, Isla catches sight of a smile tugging at his lips on the latter fragment of his statement, "But you already know that. I'd hope, anyways. We've had a chat. Or two."

His lips - his mouth. Isla ogles the latex through the peepholes of her own and wonders what shape the rest of his features take, what carves and forges his face, how his nose slopes, the assemblage of it all.

"Although we are acquainted," Eros smooths his fingertips over the arm of the chair, a lavish facade of plastic masquerading, "You will address me as Master."

Isla swallows. Despite her prior train of thought looping so intently on the tracks to decipher what she believes he'd look like beneath his mask, it's entirely derailed by the serious note in his previously light cadence. She wonders how a mere introduction manages to send such a thrilling rush rolling down her spine. Eros leans forward, forearms braced to his splayed thighs, almost as if to bend to her level.

"Or Sir. Master, Sir, it's all the same to me. Your preference."

CHAPTER 1

The one with Masks & First Meetings, Mr. Executioner (or Mr. Friendly??), and a scene feat. a blindfold and an unexpected participant

CHAPTER 2

The one with negotiations in a room that draws memoirs of therapy appointments (fancy chairs — comfy chairs), Harry: “Crying = enjoying... Got it,” testing the limits, face-fucking, and a glint of teeth

CHAPTER 3

The one with shoplifting grapes, drafting a contract feat. a debate on honorifics, creampies — according to Harry, generally too sweet, floggers, fear-factor-except-it's-kinky, and four too many orgasms

CHAPTER 4

The one with a manacle and a mean man who lends a helpful hand in a house hunt, the same mean man being nice .63737382 seconds later, sloppy cunnilingus, and a Series of Mysterious Knots

CHAPTER 5

The one with a Series of Mysterious Knots Part 2, sleeves caught in car doors and impromptu rope swing climbing, a pair of dress shoes, and sixteen minutes too many

CHAPTER 6

The one with the birth of the infamous yada yada, Isla “what happens at three?” Cleery, the glove (singular!) comes off, a very jittery ottoman, a cane, and some (unwholesome) late night talking

CHAPTER 7

The one with another house tour, a …vivid imagination, the rise of the green-eyed monster, Harry “your actions have consequences” Styles, the importance of taking breaks, and emotions brewing and bubbling to the surface

CHAPTER 8

The one where (more) emotions brew, a ham and cheese croissant, an oat milk latte, and a book about pain-slut-ism, the discovery of villain origins, even more emotional brewing, and an exploration of boundaries

CHAPTER 9

The one with a sprinkle of consensual violence, the cane, feelings-ish (that Harry buries in pussy), and the D word

[shroombloomm]

18+ - read at your own discretion.

wattpad books:

• sinners place, (ongoing; harry styles is a priest & anna camino is a church girl. dark harry fic.)

• starboy, (ongoing, harry styles is a star-being desperate to save his planet & aurora is a college student, infatuated with astronomy.)

• singularity, (a book of MC one shots, all of them smutty.)

• sacré bleu, (ongoing, harry is a painter who wants to change the way people see women, and margot is a model who struggles with her own body image.) — | tumblr version

~~

tumblr works:

• tanktoprry.*

• plug + bhhrry.*

~~

fantasy/dark harry:

• the dark king*, (harry styles is a dark peter pan.)

[missluckycharms]

FAÇADE. COMING SOON.

“Agent Styles, you have been called personally to deal with this case.”

His deep voice fills the dark room, dimly lit by the screen from a computer sitting in front of him. Agent Styles stood silently, watching him as he speaks, not daring to interrupt.

It’s like a lump is stuck in his throat as he awaits to hear the rest, time going slower than he’s ever felt it pass before, as if someone has snapped the hand off the clock of the entire world.

“Our men in the CIA have reported back with dozens of reports of an online server, hosted by an anonymous user.”

He isn’t sure where he’s going with this, the CIA? What could possibly be so wrong that this case has been silently dealt with for god knows how long, whose computers have they been collecting data from?

“This server however, isn’t like a usual one, there’s much more to it, something more sinister,”

Harry wishes he’d just get on with it already, spit it out so he can get this over and done with, why is there so much suspense.

“The person running these servers calls himself The President, he’s a god of this online server, many occupants logging on daily to read his words,”

“Agent Styles, we’ve called you here today because this is no ordinary server, this is a simulation, not just online but in real life.”

Harry is just as puzzled as anyone would be, what does all this mean? Is there some sort of brain washing going on?

“Before we really begin, please, tell me what you know about a little place called Victory?”

He finishes his words, sliding many photos of what looks like homes from the 1950s, wives happily waving their husbands off to work, as if all in sync.

“I don’t understand, I’ve never heard of it.” Harry finally speaks, puzzled as he files through pictures upon pictures of what their lives used to be like many years ago.

“That’s what I was hoping for, please await your case assignment file, and who will be working alongside of you. That will be all.”

Harry has never been scared in his line of work before, but something about this doesn’t sit right with him, something sinister is happening.

And he’s been chosen to put a stop to it all.

—

A DWD AU. Agent!Harry & Agent!Y/N try to tear down a virtual world called victory without getting sucked up into it’s perfection.

Is it Perfection or is it all just a Façade?

Parts Coming soon.

Read as a non Y/N fic on my Wattpad here

[harrrystyles-writing]

Hmmm, meu primeiro pedido de concept.

Quero um angust com os números 10, 12, 15 e 16

Bem dramático do jeito q eu gosto.

Frases: Você foi uma perda de tempo." "Você me fez me odiar./Quando você deixou de me amar?/Como faço para você me amar de novo?"

Aviso: Angústia.

NotaAutora: @nihstyles que goste meu amor, deixei ele bem dramático 🥹🥹

🌼 MASTERLIST 🌼

HARRY CONCEPT #21

— Que porra é essa? — S/n gritou assim que olhou a foto no celular de sua dama de honra — Isso é real?

Era seu noivo sentado em uma poltrona com uma mulher nua o beijando.

— Foi tirada ontem a noite. — Sua irmã tristemente respondeu. — Na despedida de solteiro dele.

— O que?! Ele não pode ter feito isso comigo. — Ela tentava se mexer, mas o enorme vestido branco impedia de fazer muitos movimentos.

— S/n, você está bem?

— Lógico que não, cadê ele? Está no outro cômodo?

— Não! Ele já está no altar esperando, você vai até lá?

— Eu preciso, porque não vai haver mais casamento. — Soltou um suspiro longo, tomando coragem para a situação mais constrangedora de sua vida.

Não era para terminar assim.

Houve uma época em que tudo era perfeito, uma época onde S/n era uma noiva feliz e Harry não a traíu.

Ela gostaria de poder voltar no tempo.

 — O que faz aqui? Eu já não disse que não era mais para aparecer. — Seu coração apertou-se ao vê-lo entrar pela porta lateral de manhã.

— Eu só vim pegar algumas coisas.

— Faça isso rápido. — Rispidamente retrucou. — Vou sair daqui a 20 minutos e não quero você aqui.

— Eu tenho muitas coisas não vou conseguir tudo nesse tempo.

— Eu não importo, só quero que você suma da minha casa, eu ainda estou sendo bem boazinha deixando você pegar suas coisas ao invés de queima-lás.

— Da nossa casa, essa ainda é minha casa. — Afirmou com convicção.

— Não, esta não é nossa casa, ela deixou de ser um lar, logo após você ter dormido com outra mulher.

— Eu já te disse que isso nunca aconteceu.

— Ah! Sim, só foi um beijo estúpido na sua despedida de solteiro?! Não foi assim que você descreveu? — Ironizou, jogando sua xícara na pia,todo o apetite de café da manhã havia sumido — Mas eu vi a porra da foto, ela estava nua em cima de você, Harry.

— Olha, eu não vou entrar nessa discussão de novo, estou cansado.

— Que bom, porque já estou cansada de ver suas lágrimas falsas de perdão. 

— Não precisa ser tão rude comigo, eu ainda sou um ser humano, sabia? E você tem me tratado pior que um animal. 

— E como eu deveria tratar um traidor? Que simplesmente me fez passar a pior coisa da minha vida?

Não restava mais nada além de pura amargura e ódio dentro dela nesse momento.

— Eu sei que mereço ser punido, eu sei, no momento que eu vi a stripper lá eu deveria ter acabado com tudo,eu sei, mas todos estavam animados e bêbados e ela acabou me beijando sem mesmo eu querer isso, me perdoa por ser um bêbado estúpido, quantas vezes eu preciso dizer que eu nunca quis aquilo, mas o que você anda fazendo me machuca muito, parece que todo o amor sumiu. — Seus olhos estavam vermelhos, prestes a chorar. — Quando você deixou de me amar?

— No momento em que eu vi aquela porra de foto prestes a entrar no altar!— Às lágrimas quentes borravam sua maquiagem. — Quer que eu me importe com seus sentimentos agora? Você pensou nos meus sentimentos quando me traiu? Certamente não pensou enquanto bebia e via uma stripper nua na sua frente ou quando todos naquela igreja também viram aquela foto, então por que eu deveria ser boazinha com você? — Apontava o dedo indicador para ele. — Você me fez me odiar. — Soluçou. — É isso que uma traição causa em uma pessoa.

 

Harry se odiava e odiava mais por ela o odiar agora. Ele fez a única coisa que prometeu que nunca faria. Ele quebrou seu coração.Ele disse que ela era o amor da vida dele e depois a fez sentir completamente o contrário. Agora nada poderia consertar seu erro.

— Aqui estão as chaves, o aluguel vence dia 09, pague certinho e não teremos problemas. — O senhor de bigode entregou o molho ao Harry. 

— Muito obrigado. — Sorriu educadamente antes de fechar a porta.

Vendo aquele apartamento vazio, ele quis chorar, tudo parecia estranho sem ela, ele precisava daquela doce voz para dizer que tudo ficaria bem. Ele nunca quis magoá-la, Harry desejou nunca ter ido à casa do Matt naquela noite estúpida, porque aquele beijo não significou nada, mas isso não importa mais, porque custou tudo a ele e dói demais até para admitir.

 

As coisas do novo apartamento finalmente estavam no devido lugar, mas ainda percebeu faltar algo. A dor no peito só aumentou assim que ele deitou-se exausto na cama para dormir, mas não conseguia, ele precisava dela, ambos eram para estar em lua de mel agora, mas nunca aconteceu por sua causa dele e sabia que do outro lado da cidade ela estava tão triste quanto ele.

Harry precisava tentar uma última vez, nem que fosse para sair de coração partido, ele vestiu seus sapatos de corrida e correu por quase toda a cidade até ir de encontro a porta dela.

— Oi... — Seu sorriso era tímido assim que S/n atendeu a porta na oitava vez que apertou a campainha.

— O que você veio fazer aqui?

— Eu precisava ver você. 

— Tchau, Harry. — Revirou os olhos, indo fechar a porta.

— Espere. — Ele colocou o pé a impedindo.

— O quê?! — Sua voz já estava um pouco alterada.

Ele percebeu seus olhos inchados, ela chorou.

— Eu preciso te perguntar uma coisa.

— Perguntar o quê?

— Como faço para você me amar de novo? — Quase como um sussurro questionou. — Você é a melhor coisa que já aconteceu comigo, eu não quero ficar sem você.

Sua expressão não mudou, em outra vida seu coração até podia palpitar ao ouvir essas palavras, mas agora era só dor que preenchia seu peito, ele fez isso com ela. Harry era tudo para ela, seu porto seguro, sua alma gêmea, mas agora não passava do homem que quebrou seu coração.

— Você foi uma perda de tempo.

Não era assim que se consertava as coisas, ele simplesmente não podia só chegar e dizer o quanto a queria, assim ele só estava piorando as coisas e a machucando ainda mais no processo.

— S/n, por favor. — Harry ajoelhou-se implorando. — Eu faço o que for preciso para ter você de volta, pode me tratar como quiser, pode me xingar e me fazer de capacho, eu faço tudo com tanto que no final do dia eu possa estar com você, olhar para você, eu não consigo viver sem você.

— Eu não consigo mais confiar em você, sei que você diz que foi só uma noite e só um beijo, mas você é um traidor, você beijou outra pessoa um dia antes de se casar comigo, como eu posso querer uma vida com alguém que é capaz disto? Vá embora, Harry e faz um favor a nós dois não me procure mais. — A porta foi lentamente se fechando, mas a dúvida em sua mente a consumiu a fazendo perguntar. — Harry?

— Sim? — Ele já estava pronto pra se virar e partir.

— Valeu a pena?

— Você sabe que não.

Muito obrigada por ler até aqui! Se gostou fav, reblogue ou deixe uma ask, isso realmente é muito importante para mim 🥺♥️

Taglist: @little-big-fan @say-narry @umadirectioner @harry-sofrida @lanavelstommo

[muserryy]

HIS NECKLACE

masterlist

It's silent. Your heart is feeling heavy with despair as you cling onto Harry, fighting back your tears and sadness. But he knows what is wrong and he tries to comfort you but he himself feels helpless seeing you like this, watching you struggle with your emotions. You've not been talking much for the past hours and just clinging to him in every way possible. It's so silent that Harry can hear your breathings, and the thoughts you never voiced.

Sometimes, you tend to get upset over things and situations which you know are bound to happen. You spend your time knowing it's going to hurt and there's nothing you can do about it. It's like an inescapable cycle.

You know he will eventually leave, he has to. You know he can't be with you every moment, but just knowing this doesn't lessen your pain. You find it difficult to struggle even with the thought of being separated from him and being alone again. He knows this is all happening inside you.

There are times when you feel homesick and struggle to cope with living away from home for your studies. It's vacation time, and your flatmate has gone back to her home. As for you, your financial situation just didn't allow you to go home this time. You felt hardcore isolated and homesick, you called your family but that just resulted in missing them even more. You called Harry and upon hearing that you are on break, he decided to visit you cause it had been a long while since you last met. Now, he has spent the past week with you, putting off his commitments but he cannot anymore, he has to go now. Your time together is coming to an end.

Oh! he will be gone and you'll be homesick once again.

"We've been quiet for some time now…" he breaks the silence, running his fingers through your hair.

You are snuggling each other firmly on your small bed, your body is pressed against his as you're on his lap, feeling his heartbeat against yours. Your nose buried in his neck, breathing in his scent. You nod and pull away, sitting up to face him.

Your eyes are gathering the moisture, "yeah,..." you rub your eyes. Harry notices that you're at the verge of breaking down.

"c'mon, don't be sad now." he whispers softly, moving to rub your arm to comfort you. "We had some good times, didn't we? And we will keep that up for sure, I promise, but right now I have to leave."

He caresses your cheek as you sigh, nodding. "I understand."

Within this week of yours. You did have some good times. The lazy mornings; waking up and still laying in bed together, enjoying the quietness and peace. Fun afternoons, the little activities you two had done; painting, baking and watching funny videos on YouTube. The evening walks to flower shops and stationary stores. And the loving nights; the kisses and whispers, intimate and mischief moments, even staying up all night and doing late night talks.

He sits straight as something clicks his mind. He looks around for his sling bag, which is far next to him on the bed. He leans on his side, moving and dragging the small bag to him while you stay sitting on his lap.

He unzips the bag and searches for… something. He pulls out a small transparent plastic pouch. You quietly watch him, your palms resting on the side of his waist. He takes out a necklace.

"Here…" He puts that thin chain around your neck. You look down at it. It's his banana necklace but now it also has the letter 'H' dangling on it. you take it in between your fingertips. "Remember, when you told me that you wanted to wear my initials? so I took one of my necklaces and got a pendant on it." He says and you listen to him silently, looking down at it.

Your eyes brim with admiration. "No way!"

He caresses your chin with his thumb, and directs your attention to him. "I know how hard it gets for you and this…" he touches the chain, gesturing to it. "is just a reminder for you that I'll always be with you, close to your heart."

He reassures you, all the time. He understands how overwhelming it gets for you at times. It can be challenging for you to connect. He always tells you to call or text him, knowing you don't reach out for help and support even when you desperately need it. And although you're really reliant on him for comfort and emotional support, you still tend not to bother him. Which is why he encourages you, every chance he gets, to reach out and express your thoughts and feelings, no matter the distance or circumstance.

This all just makes you realise that you have someone who cares for you and takes your emotional needs seriously.

His phone dings. He picks it from his side and checks.

"I'm leaving in 10 minutes." He says in a soft tone and leans away from the wall but you keep sitting on his lap, realizing it's time for him to leave.

He gazes at you for a moment as you do the same. You never wanted anyone to stay as much as you want him to right now. Others are tiresome but Harry. He cups your cheek and leans in, pressing his lips to yours. The skin touch melts you and you kiss him back, touching the side of his face. He presses quick kisses on your lips and sides.

He pats your cheek gently and you move away from him to the side, giving him space as he collects his hair by putting on his little hair clip on the top of his head. Getting up from the bed, he grabs his phone and puts on his sling bag. As he does this, he notices you just sitting there and watching him. He offers you a little smile, trying to reassure you that everything will be fine.

You trail behind him as he walks to the door with his bag, asking, "You have packed me some brownies, right?" referring to the ones you two baked together yesterday.

"Yes, I did." you chuckle. You have divided the brownies equally for both of you. Your eyes land on his sunglasses that are on the table of your small living space. You fetch it for him and walk to him where he's standing at the door.

"Oopsie, I almost forgot them." he laughs, noticing as you hand it to him. You smile at him, unquietly. "Alright, y/n, let's not be sad."

"It wasn't a good idea. you shouldn't have come here." You speak. Harry laughs, aware of how confused your emotions are right now and how contradictory they sound.

"No ma'am, it was actually the best idea. Otherwise, you would be on the phone with me, complaining how much you miss me." he says teasingly.

"I know, but…" you stutter in a small voice, unsure of what to feel or how to express your emotions to him.

It's something like… when you miss someone so much and finally you get to see them, it can be an euphoric moment but then reality sets in that they have to leave again. It seems better to have not seen them because seeing them and then having to say goodbye can hurt even more, knowing all the time you have spent together comes to an end, even if it may be for a certain period of time.

Bittersweetness… is what you feel right now.

"c'mere," he gets close and pulls you in a tight hug. You immediately wrap your arms around his torso. "I love you." he reminds you while rubbing your back soothingly.

"I love you too, harry." you whisper, holding him tightly as you keep hugging him, breathing in his scent for the last time now. His hands rubs your back, his cheek squishes against the top of your head. He moves his other hand in your hair, running his fingers through it. You retreat from the hug as you both hear the horns outside the door.

You both lean in for a longer kiss. Your fingers curl around his hair, holding him as close as you can. Pulling apart for a moment, your noses lightly brush against each other, breaths mingling.

"I will call you once I reach back there. Take care." he says, kissing your forehead. He takes his bags, opening the front door and stepping out.

The car is here. The driver steps out of it, helping Harry with his bag as he looks back at you and waves at you, smiling. You wave back at him, smiling even as your sad heart aches. It's difficult to always say goodbyes, but this is a part of your long distance relationship.

He gets in and you watch the car drive off. You stand there until the car is completely out of your sight.

Sighing, you go inside and lock the door behind. You move to the couch and lay down there, staring idly at anything in front of you. Your fingers find his initials you're wearing. You bring it up in front of your vision and your cheeks tingle pink upon that realization.

You fist the small banana pendant and the initial in your hand and bring it close to your chest as you curl up on the sofa, closing your eyes.

The necklace feels like a warm hug from harry.

thank you for reading :)

[dallianceangel]

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 🫦❤️‍🔥

This is my first Harry-related fic on here, it’s pretty random but I’ve been on a writing roll these past few days, and I needed to have it carry on.

🫦 comments, likes and reblogs are highly appreciated 🫦

You take another glance at him, the champagne you just gulped back quickly taking effect.

“When do you have to be on stage?”

Harry bites his lip as he looks at you, “In thirty minutes.”

He already knows what you want from him. Without you even asking him, Harry takes off his shirt and throws it in your direction, reaching for your hand so he can guide you into his dressing room.

Thirty minutes later, you’re watching him perform to a crowd of thousands with a smile on your face, the aftermath of your encounter now drooling out of you.

[alisonfelixwrites]

Informed consent: chapter 5

Word count: 11,300

Mia didn’t think she had often been this nervous.

She remembered being nervous to tell her parents she got two B’s in sixth form. She remembered being nervous when her parents introduced her to Daniel with a very apparent wiggle in their brows. She remembered being nervous about being alone with him for the first time only to feel disappointment pretty soon after as he was constantly on his phone and hardly spared her a glance.

But now, she was extra nervous.

For one, she had never gone on a date before. She wasn’t sure what to expect even if Hazel had gone over a billion different scenarios with her.

Mia had blindly agreed when Harry so politely asked her on a date. Sharing that hug with him had felt like being surrounded by a warm blanket, Mia had felt. And then they had broken apart, shared some tea as he was alone in his apartment and spoke a little more about his brother.

Harry had admitted that Mia had spoken the truth with the words she spoke during the therapy session. She had also said that professor Dillon pushed her into forming some sort of diagnosis and to confront him, something she tried to get through to Harry that she didn’t want to do.

He understood, and told her it was alright. He opened up though, to Mia, not therapist Mia.

And then when she decided to go home once her stomach started growling, he left another one of those mind blowing kisses on her cheek. Mia was certain that by now he knew fully well the effect those kisses had on her. They made Mia flustered and made her stumble over her words. She truly had difficulty remembering the English language when he was that close to her.

And she was right, Harry did know how he made her feel. He relished in it a little, making her squirm just the right amount that it stayed playful before crossing the line into making her anxious or uncomfortable. He hoped she’d communicate it to him, if he crossed a line.

Mia was picking out an outfit for the date, and so far Hazel had convinced her into thinking of a codeword that she could text if she needed saving. Mia felt like she was overdoing it a little, solemnly getting back at Mia because that was how she behaved whenever Hazel went on a date with someone.

Mia always made Hazel turn on her location so she could follow along. She also asked for hourly updates, which Hazel usually forgot. Mia didn’t blame her, but it had caused her to stay up sometimes during the night, checking her phone every few minutes to see an update for Hazel that could ease her mind.

Hazel didn’t go that far, only teasing Mia a little for her excessive worries. With Mia going on her own date tonight, Hazel was playing stylist. Mia wanted to look like herself, only a little more put together. Harry hadn’t told her much about the date or what they were going to do. 

So she wore black wide slacks and another cute floral top that she had lying around. Hazel continued complimenting her when she wore them until Mia shyly blushed.

“What time is he picking you up again?” Hazel asked for the fifteenth time. Mia anxiously nibbled her lip as she let Hazel brush through her hair. She had been for a while now and Mia suspected that her hair was brushed through enough, but she also suspected that Hazel could sense her anxiety and continued brushing through her locks to ease Mia’s nerves.

And she was right, it did feel extremely calming to feel someone playing with her hair.

“Seven.” Mia breathed, sliding a ring around her finger and then holding up her hand to inspect the way it looked. She tilted her head to the side for a better view, narrowing her eyes and all until she eventually decided to take it off again. She dropped it back into her jewellery box and let out a deep breath, “Okay, so tell me again what to do when he wants to – uh.. sleep with me.” Mia squeaked out.

Hazel drew a breath, “You’re going to be firm and clear. You’re going to say ‘Harry, I like you but I don’t know you well enough to take that step’.” She spoke. Mia nodded, repeating the words in her head before letting out another breath, “A-And do you think he’ll try to?”

“I don’t know.” Hazel shrugged, dragging the brush through the lengths of Mia’s brown hair, “Not everyone is set on sleeping with the other on the first date. It’s just important to have that conversation and it’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

Mia nodded, “Yeah.” She tried to convince herself at this point.

“Mia, he just likes you a lot.” Hazel softly spoke, stopping the movement of the brush as she moved to sit opposite Mia. Hazel’s hair was in a high bun and she was wearing casual wear. Apparently for once, she wasn’t going out on a Friday. She had caught a bit of a cold during the week and had been feeling a little under the weather.

Mia had taken it upon herself to make some fresh soup this afternoon after her classes. Even though Hazel stopped her and said it was too much, Mia had to admit she only partly did it for her friend’s sickness but also did it to ignore the nerves about the evening.

So cutting up carrots, tomatoes, onions – until she was crying violently and had to blink harshly to get rid of the tears and the stinging – and some leek, while watching Grey’s Anatomy, had made her think of something else besides the upcoming date with Harry. Which is what she had been thinking about for the past twenty four hours.

After her first excitement settled, the inevitable anxiety came lurking. What if he expected things? What if he realised he didn’t like her? What if it got awkward? 

That’s when Hazel started distracting Mia by bringing up stories about the worst first dates. They started out as funny until Mia was giggling while stirring the vegetables on the stove, waiting for them to soften. The confessions turned rather serious after a bit though, with Hazel going over some important bits with Mia.

“I’m serious, Mia. When you say ‘no’, it means ‘no’. It doesn’t mean ‘maybe’ and it certainly doesn’t mean ‘yes’. Anything besides ‘yes’ means ‘no’. Only ‘yes’ means ‘yes’. Got it?”

Mia had listened intently and then had slowly nodded, asking Hazel what it meant if she just didn’t say anything. It was a possibility for Mia. More than often she had found herself unable to speak in moments of discomfort or anxiety. Like she just lost her tongue and couldn’t form words.

Hazel had firmly shook her head, “Silence means ‘no’. Only ‘yes’ means ‘yes’.”

The importance of consent was something her mother never really explained to Mia. Not her father either. The only thing her mother had really taught Mia about sex, was that it happened to serve the husband. 

Of course throughout her education, Mia had gotten classes on sexual activity and during her readings in the field of philosophy or even psychology, she had learned a lot. Also through watching Grey’s Anatomy – where everyone seemingly had a relationship with everyone – Mia’s view on sex changed completely. She no longer thought she had to just lie there and wait for her husband to be done using her. She felt like she earned pleasure and that she had a say in it.

Hazel confirmed that, going on about different positions until Mia winced and curled up into a ball, wishing she had been born without ears or Hazel without a mouth. 

Sex had never appealed much to Mia. She didn’t feel overly hormonal and had never come across a person who made her want to explore her own sexual side. She had never masturbated and was even a little scared to do so. It just didn’t sound like it could be something she liked, if anything – it sounded near painful.

So Mia steered clear of all those areas. Until she met Harry.

For the past few days, she had woken up during the night with a slight sheen of sweat covering her skin, with her mouth open in either a gasp or a moan, her hand tightly clutching the pillow and an uncomfortable pool of warmth between her legs.

Once, she had curiously dipped her finger down when she felt sticky and gross, and her eyes had widened in surprise upon feeling wetness. She had moved into the bathroom with red cheeks to clean herself up but not without inspecting what she saw on the toilet paper.

It wasn’t pee, because it was stickier and slimier than that. Also, it was see-through and it didn’t smell. Mia was curious, rubbing some of it between two of her fingers to feel the texture before she disposed of it and washed her hands.

It was unfamiliar, but it excited her nonetheless. Her body was reacting to Harry in a way it had never reacted to anyone else. For Mia, this was partly a confirmation that she truly did like him.

Mia was just zipping up her second boot when someone rang the bell. She straightened up immediately and just as quickly, Hazel’s head peaked out her bedroom with a wide grin, “It’s seven!”

Mia bit her lip and felt her heart drumming harshly in her chest. She nodded at Hazel and walked up to the intercom, pressing the little speaker, “Hey.” She smiled when she saw Harry through the little screen. He turned around to inspect the intercom and then grinned at the camera, “Hi.”

“I’ll be down in a second.” Mia smiled, already letting her eyes trial over what he was wearing even through a small black and white screen. Harry shortly nodded, “Can I come up for a minute? I have your book.” He held the book in his hand that she had handed him less than a week ago and Mia’s eyes widened, “You finished that?”

“Mia, maybe it’s easier to speak face to face then through the intercom!” Hazel called from her bedroom. Harry let out a chuckle upon hearing Hazel’s distant voice and Mia blushed, nibbling her lip, “Okay, second floor.”

Harry nodded and Mia pressed the button to let him up. She opened the door on a crack while running her hands through her hair again, pulling up her pants, tugging on her sleeves and smoothing her hands over her abdomen.

The footsteps in the hallway grew louder and she could faintly hear Harry greeting someone he passed by in the hall. Mia suspected it was Mister Stevens. He was an elderly single man living in this building and was always lurking around to catch everything. The moment he heard a bell going, he wandered the halls to see who arrived and which apartment they went into.

Hazel had had a few altercations with him when she brought home someone for the night and Mister Stevens caught them making out in the hall.

Soon enough, Harry’s head came into view as he jogged up the last bit of the stairs. He was in wintery attire with his signature navy beanie on his head, a cosy long sleeved shirt with a flannel over it and then his winter coat.

He wore black jeans and equally black boots and Mia had to really force herself not to drool at the sight of him. Especially when he smiled and those dimples made her lose her breath.

“Hi.” He mumbled again, standing in the doorway. Mia exhaled shakily, “H-Hello.”

The look she shot him – eyes open in wonder, cheeks slightly flushed – hadn’t gone unnoticed by Harry and it boosted his ego. He wasn’t wearing anything special since they were headed somewhere rather casual. He hadn’t told Mia much but she looked like herself too.

“You look so beautiful.” Harry complimented, taking in her form. The black slacks accentuated the length of her legs and nipped in at the waist a little where the dark shade of her bottoms contrasted with the lighter burnt orange of her flowery top. Long sleeves and a little tight around her chest, the fit complimented her body perfectly. Her hair was brushed over one shoulder and she couldn’t stop playing with the ends of her locks as she blushed under Harry’s compliment.

“Thank you.” Mia smiled, “You too.”

“I look really beautiful?” Harry teased and Mia blushed deeper, licking her lips and trying her very hardest to think of words in the English vocabulary that she could then speak instead of staring at him like a lost puppy.

“Yes.” She settled on murmuring and Harry’s smile grew a little as he breathed out a chuckle. He held up his hand, “Here, this is yours.”

“You finished it so quickly?” Mia asked, gently taking it from his hand. She flicked through the pages and exhaled a breath, suspecting that Harry didn’t like it if he went through it that fast. Maybe he really only pretended to read it to be of interest to her and have something to chat about. Those quotes he knew in the library could’ve been dumb luck of him opening up the book on the good page.

He shot her a blinding smile though, “I did. Couldn’t put it down. You highlighted all the passages that I liked the most, it was amazing to read with your little notes.”

Mia blushed deeper and tucked a strand of her hair away as she felt Harry’s eyes gazing over her features. She put the book to the side and shyly grabbed her coat right as Hazel popped her head out again, “Hi Harry.” She smirked.

“Hazel.” He nodded politely. She grinned, “Are you going to get my girl back home before midnight?”

He breathed out a laugh, “I’ll get her home safe, yeah. No worries.” He didn’t answer about the midnight thing, hoping this night would carry on a little longer than that.

Because little did Mia know she wasn’t the only one who had been nervous all day. Harry played it off cool though. The first six times his friends asked him about it, he shrugged it off and vaguely responded that he looked forward to it but didn’t really dive in.

The seventh time – when Zayn asked – Harry cracked. He spilled everything, about being so nervous about this date which honestly to him just felt like the first serious date he’d ever been on. Other times it just felt mandatory if he wanted sex, and now that wasn’t even on his mind.

Well, it was. Mia was gorgeous and involuntarily flirty. She made his heart flutter and blood rush to places she’d probably blush about, but Harry couldn’t help it. When she was around him, he became nervous because if she could read his mind, she’d judge him for sure. To Harry, Mia was the epitome of grace. He obviously didn’t know all that much about her yet, but she carried herself innocently and it was one of the things that attracted him.

She was almost childish in a way, but in a cute way. Like she just looked at the world with rose-coloured glasses and she saw Harry that way too. And no one had seen Harry engulfed by pink ever. 

So he thought about her a lot. About the shape of her body, her scent, the way her skin felt when he leaned in and kissed the high of her cheek. The way she blushed and looked at him with round eyes afterwards, her mouth in a little ‘o’ in pure shock. But he also thought about how much he liked talking to her, how the conversation never ended, how she smiled at his jokes and how considerate she had been when he opened up about Edward.

It wasn’t an easy topic for Harry. His friends knew since they had visited him at home over the summer and had physically met his parents and Edward, but he just didn’t really talk about it all that much. Mia would probably have some psychological theory about that, Harry thought.

So this night had a lot riding on it. It was really their first time hanging out like this, besides from last week when he sort of saved her from that guy at the bar. Then they talked at home on the couch but it was still a little reserved. Now it was a date and they had called it a date. And both of them knew that a date meant romantic feelings.

Which they both already had for the other, but they were both too shy to admit it. Mia because she had never felt this before, and Harry because he now realised he also had never felt this before. He had felt attraction, sure. But not like this. And it made him nervous, how quickly Mia had made him swoon and how quickly she turned him weak in the knees.

Mia put on her long coat and flipped her hair out of the neckline, letting it cascade down her back before also grabbing a beanie to warm her a little. She smiled softly upon realising the shade of it matched Harry’s quite well, and he seemingly noticed it too as he chuckled and then stepped aside to let her out of the apartment.

They descended the stairs together and Mia fixed her beanie a little upon stepping outside, the cold air greeting them as darkness already had taken over. Mia shuddered slightly at the change of temperature and Harry bundled up his coat a little thicker, “It’s not very far, where we’re going. Are you okay to walk or is it too cold?”

Mia shook her head, keeping the chattering of her teeth under control, “It’s not too cold, walking is fine.”

Harry smiled and then nudged his head in the direction they started walking in as Mia buried her hands in the pockets of her coat, “So where exactly are you taking me?”

Harry turned his head and shot her a half-smile, “Are you hungry?”

Mia nibbled her lip, deciding for the first time today to listen to her body. On days where she was nervous, she usually couldn’t eat much. Her body just didn’t feel like it, but the growl in her stomach made even Harry’s brows shoot up, “I’m taking that as a yes.”

Mia blushed and nodded, “Yes, I’m quite hungry. Are we having dinner?”

“Yes.” Harry nodded with a bashful smile, “There’s this Italian place not too far, I’ve been there like once with my folks when they visited me and it’s really nice. Do you like Italian?” The conversation started flowing as Mia eagerly nodded, “I love Italian!” She exclaimed.

Harry chuckled at her enthusiasm and nodded, “Good, I made the right pick.”

“You sure did.” Mia smiled back, a loud chatter of her teeth making Harry frown a little, “Mia, you’re shivering.”

“I’m okay, really.” She brushed it off.

Harry brought one hand out of his pocket and gently reached for her, not quite touching her yet. Mia saw the gesture and blushed a little, unsure of what he was trying to do. Harry smiled at her panicked reaction and exhaled a chuckle, “Can I hold your hand?”

“Can you – oh. Y-Yes. Of course. Yes.” Mia stuttered much to Harry’s amusement. She slipped her hand from her pocket and he took it in his, warmth immediately engulfing her as his large palm covered her smaller one. Mia was mesmerised from the tingly touch as she felt Harry rearranging their hands until her arm was linked with his, and he brought their entwined hands into his pocket.

She couldn’t help the bright smile from forming on her lips as the position immediately made sure she was flush to his side. They matched their step and even Harry had a tiny blush on his cheeks. Their fingers were laced together in the pocket of his coat, nice and warm and gentle as he stroked his thumb over the back of her hand.

Mia had trouble breathing, feeling like she was floating on little pink clouds instead of walking in the puddles that littered the sidewalks of London while they made their way to the Italian restaurant Harry had booked them a table at.

He was a dream, Mia decided. And not just a wet dream like she had experiencing in the past few days, but a dreamy dream. One that made her just sigh and rest her chin in her palm with her eyelids fluttering shut and her lips in an easy smile as stardust filled her brain.

“Thank you.” She murmured and he gave her a gentle squeeze, “No problem, love.”

Mia felt butterflies zapping up her spine, making her dizzy. If she was lying in bed right now, she’d be rolling around with cheeks that hurt from smiling and her feet kicking as she hardly knew how to deal with these feelings. She had laid like that more than once in the course of the last week while on a call with Harry.

They chattered a little more about the rain and their classes that day before Harry made them stop in front of a tiny little Italian restaurant. Mia eyed the place with wondrous eyes, the warmth greeting her along with the scent of fresh marinara sauce once Harry opened the door for her.

It had like six tables and soft music played as the lights danced from the shaky candles on each table.

Harry spoke to the waiter who then guided them to a table in the far back. Mia took off her coat and hung it up on a hook on the wall before flipping her hair over her shoulder and taking her seat. Harry shifted in his chair opposite her, their knees bumping together softly before Mia crossed her legs over one another with a small smile.

“Thank you so much for bringing me here.” She spoke to Harry as her eyes darted around the interior, “This place is so cosy.”

“Do you like it?” He asked and she nodded immediately, “I love it. Truly. I –“ She cut herself off with a sigh and a nibble of her lip, “I’ve never been on a date before.” She admitted.

Where she thought Harry would give her a confused frown, or where she thought his brows would raise in surprise, he didn’t show anything on his face besides warmth and understanding. His hand easily found hers across the table, like they were drawn together after that touch outside and the handholding for warmth.

It felt natural now to hold her hand, Harry decided, and he never wanted to let go. Her palm was small and soft and he could feel a small scar above her second knuckle. He couldn’t wait to ask her how she got it, he couldn’t wait to get to know every little detail about Mia.

“Well, they don’t know what they’re missing out on.” Harry softly spoke, “And I feel very lucky that I’m sitting here with you for your first date.”

Mia blushed and stared at their fingers toying together. It was electrifying and addictive. She cleared her throat, “Have you gone on a lot of dates?”

“Not a lot.” Harry shrugged, “A few. Like maybe three. But never here.”

Mia wasn’t sure why that piece of information made her smile a little wider. She felt special. Treasured. Harry had never brought anyone else here, yet he brought her. A place he liked and had been before with his parents.

Harry licked his lips, lowering his eyes for a moment. Mia admired the way he looked, his hair a little flattened from wearing the beanie but after running his fingers through it a few times, it was pushed back from his forehead again as usual. Dark, chestnut waves that framed him perfectly. Green, soft eyes, pink lips, a slight stubble on his chin and once more that little scar on his nose where she wanted to ask if he used to have a nose ring.

She noticed the way his thumb stroked over her pointer finger a little quicker the longer they stayed silent.

Just as she opened her mouth, Harry opened his, “I spoke to professor Dillon today.” He spoke, words leaving his mouth faster than Mia was used to from him. Harry was a slow talker, something she had learned to admire during the therapy sessions. His speech was calculated and he often searched for his words with a gaze somewhere far away, but it’s how Mia felt like he was really putting thought into the question she had asked.

Mia tilted her head to the side, “Really?” 

Harry nodded, “Mhm. Told him I wanted another therapist.” He smiled softly and Mia returned it, nodding her head. It was for the best. She didn’t feel too good anymore being Harry’s therapist and getting to know him like that. She wanted to know him as herself and see him on her own time, not because it was mandatory. 

“A-And did you tell him why?” She followed-up. Harry leaned over the table a little with a dreamy smirk on his lips, “I did. Told him I started to like my current therapist a little bit too much and it wouldn’t be all that ethical.”

Mia blushed and giggled out a small laugh before biting her lip, “I think I did receive an email from him around six.”

“You haven’t read it?”

“No.” Mia breathed, “I – uh, Hazel made me promise that I wouldn’t check my emails anymore on a Friday night. 

“Why’s that?”

Mia licked her lips and opened her mouth, only to be interrupted by the waiter who briefly handed them their menus and went over tonight’s specials. Mia hardly heard him, if she was honest, her eyes were already anxiously dancing over the words in front of her. She immediately felt a pop of panic as she had trouble reading them quickly, the Italian words even more difficult.

“Hm?” Harry brought her back to their original topic and Mia lifted her gaze, “Oh – uh, well, I just often got caught up doing school work on a Friday night when I went through my emails. Like I just always felt the immediate need to do something. And according to Hazel, it’s a crime to work for school on a Friday.” Mia chuckled softly. 

Harry smiled and let out a laugh, a sound that made Mia grin, her body erupting in tingles when he laughed at her little joke. Mia liked it when Harry smiled, or laughed. It made his dimple more apparent and the crinkles around his eyes deepened. Also – it was a weird thing to think, Mia thought – but she felt like Harry had cute teeth.

They weren’t perfect, but nothing about him was. Yet that made him all the more attractive to her. She had said it before and she’d say it again. She had grown up around perfection and had always learned to be so. She had always heard that imperfections were something to hide, that she had to strive for perfection.

She’d had lengthy talks about it with Hazel. Now that Mia thought about it, Hazel truly was somehow her therapist. Hazel had always called out Mia for being a perfectionist. But after only a few days of living together, Hazel quickly realised that Mia really couldn’t help it.

And the more Mia thought of it, the more she tried to find imperfections in people. She liked finding them and felt like it made them more human. She admired it about others. Somehow hoping she’d be able to accept her own.

“She sounds like a good friend.” Harry remarked and Mia smiled, nodding, “The best. She’s so nice.”

“That’s nice.” Harry returned her smile before dragging his eyes back down the menu, “Have you decided what you want yet?”

Mia’s smile faltered as she attempted to read the words, but the more she tried, the harder it became. Her hands trembled softly as she drew a breath, “Just the margarita pizza, I think. You?”

Harry flicked his eyes up, “Really? D’you not want anything different? They have quite rare stuff on this menu. This tonnarelli looks amazing.”

Mia didn’t respond and Harry glanced up to see her again, “Mia? Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” She breathed, putting down the menu with a sigh as she anxiously bit her lip, “Would… would you mind reading the menu out to me?”

Harry blinked at her a few times as Mia held her breath. He eventually nodded, “Sure. Okay, so there’s ricotta ravioli with butter and sage. Tagliatelle with porcini mushrooms, garlic and parsley. Then there’s the seafood risotto – which sounds great, to be honest.” He mumbled, “Tonnarelli with colatura di alici and tomatoes. Colatura is like a fish sauce, made from anchovies. It’s really great.”

He bit his lip with a concentrated frown on his face, “Then there’s pappardelle with ragu. There’s some salads,” He lifted his eyes, “d’you want a salad, Mia?”

Mia blinked before softly shaking her head and Harry hummed, diverting his attention back to the menu, “There’s eggplant parmesan, grilled squid with mussels and prawns, lamb with anchovies, rosemary and potatoes. Roasted pig with grapes and white wine. And tagliata with rosemary and balsamic vinegar.” Harry closed the menu.

“Thank you.” Mia whispered after a silent moment. She couldn’t believe it. Harry hadn’t even asked her why she needed the menu read out. He hadn’t questioned her or made her feel weird about it, he just went with it. After contemplating for a brief second, she felt like he earned it even more to know this bit of information about her. One of her imperfections.

She knew some of his. His relation with his parents and his brother, the whole library incident, the fact that he blew his first year. He knew she struggled with school and that her parents controlled most of her life.

“I’m dyslexic.” Mia murmured. Harry stared at her for a bit, “You are?”

Mia nodded, “Yeah. It’s obviously something I can work around and I don’t want to blame everything on it, but it is one of the reasons I struggle with the course materials a little.” She explained. Harry immediately nodded, “Yeah, of course.”

“So, that’s why I asked you to read the menu.” She blushed a little and Harry tilted his head to the side with a small smirk, “Really? I thought y’just liked the sound of my voice, Mia.”

It was her turn to throw her head back in a laugh and Harry smiled as she laughed freely. He felt privileged to know this piece of information about her. It wasn’t something she actively tried to hide, it seemed, but it also wasn’t something she was overly proud of.

It made more sense now, though. The typo’s in her texts or emails, her needing extra credit to get through her subjects, her excessive studying. Her perfectionism.

“So, what’s it gonna be?”

Mia puckered her lips in thought, “Either the seafood risotto, the tagliata or the tagliatelle.”

“You’ve narrowed it down to three?” Harry teased and Mia giggled, “I have. Which one would you pick?”

“I was set on the tonnarelli but that seafood risotto… I think my pick has been made. So how about you take either of the other two and we can share?”

Mia’s face lit up, “Which one do you like more? The tagliata or the tagliatelle?”

“I like both.” Harry chuckled, “’M not a picky eater, you can choose.”

“Maybe the tagliata?” 

Harry hummed, “Great pick, love. Any drink preferences? D’you want to share some wine?”

“Wine?” Mia raised her brows, “Oh. I don’t know, I’ve never had it.”

“You can try it if you want. Maybe just a glass? And if you don’t like it or don’t want it anymore, I’ll finish it.”

“You’ll have two glasses of wine?” Mia questioned in surprise and Harry nodded, “Sure. I won’t be drunk from two glasses, Mia. Promise. I’ll still be a perfect gentleman.”

Mia gazed at him for a second, “I mean… I’ve always wanted to try it. Hazel says it tastes good.”

“Yeah, you can choose. I’d take some water with it too, to hydrate. But red wine tastes great with Italian.” Harry shrugged.

“Okay.” Mia breathed, “Which one should we pick?”

It was Harry’s turn to pucker his lips, and he hadn’t given Mia an answer yet by the time the waiter came for their order. Mia ordered the tagliata and Harry the seafood risotto and the waiter nodded while writing down.

“Then maybe a bottle of sparkling water?” Harry checked with Mia and she nodded as he continued, “And then, uh – two glasses of your Sangiovese wine.”

“The 2020 or the 2017, sir?” 

I raised my brows at Harry who seemed deep in thought, “The 2017, please. Has it got some Merlot in it, too?”

“Yes.” The waiter nodded and Harry hummed, “Very good, thank you.” And then we handed back our menus. I chuckled under my breath, “Wow. Do you know a lot about wine?”

“Not at all.” He snickered, “Just said some words and hoped it’d sound fancy.”

Mia giggled bashfully, “It did, convinced me.”

Soon enough, the waiter returned for Harry to taste the wine and give it his opinion. Mia watched with intense eyes as the small bit in his elegant glass got sloshed around, the wine dancing around the side of the glass and dripping down in streaks as Harry inspected it carefully.

He had his eyes on hers as he took a tiny sip, and Mia felt her insides trembling at the eye contact. Harry puckered his lips as he inhaled a little breath with the wine in his mouth to let it breathe. He swallowed it in little sips, both me and the waiter waiting for his verdict.

I knew he was faking and teasing, and I brought my fingers to my mouth to hide my little smile.

“Delicious.” Harry smiled at the waiter, who seemingly nodded in relief. He poured the both of them a glass and Mia curiously lifted it up. It felt heavy in her hand, and she felt like she looked sophisticated with the fancy glass resting casually between her fingers.

“Cheers.” Harry softly smiled, holding up his glass. Mia grinned back while ticking them together, “Thank you again for bringing me here, Harry. This is amazing.”

He felt warm at her genuine compliment, and nodded in agreement, “It really is. ‘M glad you like it.”

They both took a sip of their wine, Mia careful and tiny, while Harry was already a little more used to the taste and drank more confidently. Mia tried to mimic the way Harry had tasted the wine so professionally earlier, copying his movements without him realising. 

She liked the taste, having expected it to taste like it smelled. And it did.

“So is it finally my turn to ask you questions?” Mia asked. Harry shot her a grin, “What do you mean?” He teased, “You’ve been asking me questions for four sessions, Mia.”

She giggled and shook her head, “Not like that. Not about… the library. Just you.”

“Just me.” Harry nodded, leaning his free hand over the table again to meet Mia’s halfway, which was somehow already waiting for him in the same spot as before. Their fingers found each other easily and Harry felt completely giddy, “Just me and just you.”

Mia’s cheeks hurt from smiling as she hid slightly behind her glass of wine and nodded.

“What d’you want to know? Choose carefully, the first one is a big one.” He playfully teased and Mia bit down her lip, “Did you used to have a nose piercing?”

Harry’s smile grew until it turned into a full laugh, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled, “Is that really your first question?”

“Yes.” Mia laughed, “I’m curious. I’ve seen the little scar on your nose.” She pointed to her nostril and Harry shook his head with a smile before taking a breath, “I did. When I was sixteen, I had like a hoop in my nose. I took it out when starting college, only had it for a few years.”

“Why’d you take it out?” Mia questioned, studying his face. Harry shot her a playful smile, “Why do you ask, sweetheart? Would you have liked me even more?”

He subtly dropped her dazed confession from a few days ago and Mia blushed while taking another small sip of wine and then alternating with some cold water. The nickname made her shudder even if Harry said it so casually. She’d remember that forever, the way the word sweetheart sounded, falling from his lips. She could already tell it’d be another reason for her to wake up sweaty and with sticky thighs. 

Harry chuckled and gently squeezed her fingers, “I took it out because when enrolling in uni, they kind of gave me a hard time about it. Our school’s quite conservative, Mia. Don’t know if you’ve noticed.” He sounded a little sarcastic.

Mia didn’t say anything and Harry continued, “I mean, they’re making students do forced therapy… I know it’s your field and all, but I think it’s weird. You can’t give mandatory therapy because people won’t pay for whatever they broke or whatever damage they inflicted. It’s like bribery.”

Mia casted her eyes down, her finger mindlessly tracing over the ring around Harry’s middle finger. She hadn’t even really noticed they’d been holding hands this entire time and it felt so normal. “I understand what you’re saying. I-I’m only doing it for the extra credit.” Mia started near defending herself and Harry quickly frowned, “Mia, ‘m not accusing you of anything. I know you’re just executing a system that you probably don’t really stand behind.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded, “I-I’ve thought about what we spoke about last week. About me maybe wanting to do something different.”

Harry’s face lit up, “Y’did? What’s that mean, hm? Have I taken you to the philosophy-side?”

“Not quite.” Mia snickered before drawing a breath, “I was thinking about sociology or… anthropology maybe.”

Harry smiled and raised his brows, “Really?”

Mia blushed softly and nodded, “Yeah. Seems interesting, if I’m honest. It’s not about the individual, but on groups of people and their dynamic. It… uh – it requires me to talk less.” Mia admitted, “I think I’d like that.”

“To be fair, I think you’re quite a good therapist. Already.”

Mia smiled, “Thank you. But I still don’t think it’s really for me. Like you said, I don’t really believe in it, and it’s hard to be passionate about something I don’t believe in.”

“Sociology leans a lot more into philosophy.” Harry smirked in triumph, gently tapping his fingertip against Mia’s knuckle. She smiled, “It does. ‘S a bit more of everything. Anthropology, biology, psychology and philosophy. And less epistemology, which is great.”

Harry groaned out, “Shit, yeah, epistemology. The worst.”

Mia giggled and Harry looked at her, “So how’re you going to do it? Finish your year? Or just your semester?”

“It’s mostly just an idea for now.” Mia backed down a little, “I’m not sure how my parents would take that. And if I’d be a-allowed to.”

“Allowed to? Do you still think they’d try and push you into a field you don’t want to be in?”

Mia cast her eyes down, “I don’t know.”

“You could try and talk to them about it?”

“Yeah,” She shrugged, “maybe. I might finish my year, try and get my grades up and take my credits into next year. I’m sure I could skip a few subjects that overlap with what I do now.”

What Mia really meant to say was that she’d try and finish her year, hoping that maybe her feelings towards psychology changed and she’d suddenly find her passion so as to avoid a very nerve-wracking conversation with her parents where they’d just repeat how disappointed they were in her.

Harry somehow sensed this, leaning over the table a little more, “They sound… uh – a little bit controlling.” He carefully voiced his concerns. Mia offered him a brief, tight smile and exhaled through her nose, “I-I think they just want the best for me.”

Harry sensed that she sort of closed off around the topic and decided that now wasn’t the time or place to get into it. So he just nodded, “Perhaps.”

They fell silent for a second and each took another sip of their wine before Harry cleared his throat, “Do you want to talk about your dyslexia?”

Mia lifted her eyes right before swallowing, and licked the excess taste of wine off her red-stained bottom lip – which made Harry moan internally as he watched her carefully. “Sure.” She responded, “You can ask me about it, if you want. I don’t mind talking about it.” It was partly the truth. Mia had just never really spoken about it much in general. 

“So… is it just reading you have some trouble with?”

Their hands were still joined together, Harry rubbing soothing circles into her palm as Mia traced her finger over the rim of her glass of wine, “Reading and also writing. And just… processing information in general. I don’t know, it’s a little hard to tell because I’m so used to it and I don’t know any other way. Words just… flow together a little and it’s not as easy to read one word like in full. It’s like I have to break it down and it takes me three times as long to get through a sentence.” She tried to explain.

Harry listened intently as Mia continued, “So when I’m taking notes in class, I really just scribble stuff down and rely a lot on what I hear. Which is why I don’t like skipping classes. Going through the presentation afterwards just takes me so much longer because I have to read it all. And then after taking notes during class, I have to re-write them once I get home because…” She blushed a little bit in shame, “t-there’s a lot of mistakes in how I write. I have to filter them out and write the words down properly.”

Harry felt for her, seeing the way she got slightly embarrassed about it and he didn’t have to think long before knowing why that was. Her parents. He shifted in his seat a little, “That sounds like a lot of extra work.”

“It is.” Mia nodded before exhaling a chuckle, “Hazel often thinks that what I do in my room is actively studying, but I’m usually just redoing my notes or reading through bits of the classes that I missed throughout the day because the professor went too quickly.”

“And does the school know? I’m sure they’d be set on helping you if you explained it to them.” Harry offered and Mia cast her eyes down before shaking her head, “No, they don’t.”

Harry blinked, realising that this meant that she’d take regular exams like everyone else. Students with dyslexia were allowed to take their exams in separate rooms where it was calmer and less crowded. The exams were printed on larger paper with larger letters and some questions were swapped out so they’d have to read and write less. Also, they got scored less on grammar and little vocabulary mistakes.

Harry was sure Mia also knew this, and he continued to glance at her as she nibbled on her lip again, “They did know when I was in high school. I think that’s why I experienced that so differently and never struggled a lot with any materials. I passed with flying colours and somehow that made me think I was really smart or that I was this great student. But now…”

“You really can’t compare uni to high school, Mia.” Harry coaxed, “It’s completely different in a lot of ways. But I think I agree when you say that maybe it was different because they knew of you being dyslexic. I-I think you should tell now, as well. They can help you a little. And it’s not making it easier or anything, they’re mechanisms to support you. Right now, you’re doing like… three times as much as anyone else. You’re taking these tutoring classes, you’re doing this therapy stuff and you’re going through your notes at least twice just to re-write them. No one’s got the time for that.” He softly spoke.

Mia didn’t say anything, a little baffled by how Harry stood up for her even when she didn’t for herself. Her insides felt warm and even though this was nowhere near funny, she had to force herself to keep her smile down. Harry let out a short breath, “Sorry.”

She shook her head quickly, “No, no. Don’t apologise. It’s definitely something I’ll think about.”

Harry flicked his eyes up to see the genuine look in Mia’s eyes and he knew she wasn’t just saying it to coax him, but she had truly listened and found herself agreeing.

The food came moments later, with their hands breaking apart and the plates standing in front of them. Mia found herself peaking into Harry’s plate, who immediately noticed. He let out a chuckle, “How about we each eat half and then swap?”

She nibbled her lip, “We can do that?”

“Sure.” He shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world. Mia couldn’t even imagine, swapping plates in a restaurant just like that. Her parents would call it impolite and rude, but she was here with Harry and she was having the most fun she’d had in a very long time. She smiled and nodded, “Okay. Wait for me, though. I eat a little slower.”

Harry found himself wishing his chair was right next to hers so he could pull her into his side and have her rub her nose into his neck, “Of course.” He smiled. He just felt so floaty around her, and somehow it was the best feeling in the world. 

They started their food, Harry checking Mia’s face when she took the first bite. Her eyes closed and she exhaled through her nose while her shoulders dropped. The sight made him grin and he scooped some risotto on his fork, “Is it good?”

“It’s so good.” She hummed, “This meat is so soft.”

Harry found a joke there, something about other meat definitely not being soft, but he kept it down. Part of him suspected that to not be Mia’s humour and he certainly didn’t want her to choke on her food in surprise of his dirty mouth.

Harry ate more, stopping after a few minutes to shrug off his flannel and then roll up the sleeves a little of the long sleeved shirt he wore underneath. Mia’s eyes darted to the exposed skin and Harry noticed, slightly smirking at the way she so blatantly checked him out.

“D’you like my tattoos?” He asked. Mia blushed and her eyes widened, stopping mid-chew as she realised Harry caught her. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and nodded shyly, “I do. They suit you really well. I-I’ve never seen someone with that many tattoos.”

“Oh, I’ve got loads more.” Harry smiled, “All over my chest and even some on my legs. I’ve got a huge butterfly on my stomach.”

Mia’s eyes widened more, “No way.”

“Yes.” Harry chuckled and Mia straightened up, “That’s – wow. Do you have a picture?”

Harry narrowed his eyes with a small smile, “I definitely do, but I think I want to wait to show you until you’re ready to see in real life.”

Heat flushed over Mia’s chest and up to her neck as she stared at him, realising what he said. Even just the thought of a shirtless Harry was enough to get her heart hammering violently in her throat and the butterflies to go insane. 

Butterflies. She gathered herself, “Why’d you get a butterfly in that spot?”

Harry smiled to himself, “You know, when people talk about liking someone a lot – or being in love – they mention butterflies in their tummy?”

Mia couldn’t breathe. She simply nodded and Harry took amusement in her flustered state, taking it a little further, “Well, that’s why I got it. Representing the butterflies.”

“S-So,” Mia stuttered out, “you felt the butterflies? W-When you got the tattoo?”

Harry shook his head, “No. I wanted to, but I didn’t. So I got it tattooed, if that makes sense? I don’t know.” He took a sharp breath, somehow having to man up to say the next part as all his confidence in the world just faltered when turning so vulnerable, “I do know I never felt them before. Until now, with you.”

Mia stopped breathing altogether. She had admitted in a blurt last week that she liked him. And that was a lot and she had thought about that moment and damned herself as there was no way to save her from that. But Harry just admitted that he felt butterflies in his stomach while being around her. For the first time ever. 

The other people he went on dates with, no butterflies. The people he had kissed, no butterflies. The people he had slept with – including the girl in the library -, no butterflies.

Harry’s heart was drumming hard, seizing up Mia’s reaction. This was too much, he thought. He had been too blunt, had scared her away, had fucked it all up. Right as he was about to open his mouth and take the entire thing back in an attempt to save their evening – probably wrapping it up quickly so he could go home and wallow in self-pity – , Mia took a breath.

“Me too.” She squeaked out, gathering all her courage to respond and voice her reciprocation of his feelings of affection. 

Harry’s eyes rounded as he gazed at her, a small little smile tugging on his lips, “Yeah?”

Mia bit her lip to fight her smile and nodded, “Mhm.”

“Fuck.” Harry mumbled with a wide grin, shaking his head to himself. Mia found herself smiling wider when she noticed the blush on his neck, crawling up to his jaws and cheeks. She giggled under her breath, “You’re blushing.”

“Stop.” Harry laughed, his leg bobbing underneath the table as he tried to contain whatever he was feeling. Unfamiliar, this giddiness. He hadn’t experienced it and he wasn’t sure where all the energy in his body came from. Well – he did. It was caused by Mia, but he couldn’t understand how one person could make him feel this way with so little words.

She liked him. She really liked him, felt the butterflies that he felt. They liked each other, and Harry would go as far to admit that he was very quickly falling hard for her. If he hadn’t yet. 

Images of Mia in a white wedding dress flashed through his brain, images of her with a round belly, images of them on vacation where they’d enjoy food and wine and each other. It was one date and he somehow could see an entire future and he needed to calm. down. 

Harry caught his breath, willing away his pink cheeks – which only she could pull from him – as he dared lifting his eyes. The look in Mia’s face nearly made him fall off the chair. She softly glanced at him, holding her chin in her hand, elbow on the table. It seemed like her food was long forgotten, a soft look in her eyes, a dreamy look. Her eyes were a little closed, her lips up in the tiniest little smile and he swore he could hear her purring.

He couldn’t look away, completely lost in pale blue eyes that he was quickly drowning in. He held onto the last little bit of composure he had before he’d blurt out that he fucking loved her on their first date.

“Swap?” He suggested with a dry throat. Mia seemingly snapped out of her daydream, straightening up with a soft pink on her cheeks as she bit her lip and smiled to herself, “Swap.”

She smiled as they clumsily changed plates and cutlery, and she tried not to think of how weirdly intimate it was that she was eating the risotto with the fork that had been in Harry’s mouth before as he took a bite of the meat. He moaned a little more than she had when he took that first bite, clearly a little excessive to get them out of their intense staring mood they had been in for the past few minutes.

Mia didn’t mind the more playful vibe Harry pulled them into again, and soon enough they were lost in another conversation about philosophy. Harry no longer teased her for studying psychology, he sensed it was a sensitive subject and they’d had enough of that already tonight. So they continued discussing lighter stuff, little philosophy debates which Mia knew surprisingly much about.

They spoke about Harry’s first year in uni, with Mia asking him to recall the moment he first met his four best friends. It was a question he’d never received before, but he liked it. He went over the memories he had with Niall, Zayn, Louis and Liam and Mia smiled and laughed as he recalled some embarrassing or funny moments with the four idiots he called his besties.

Mia also asked him about Sarah, and her heart melted into a puddle when Harry explained that he often walked Sarah home after their classes when Mitch couldn’t make it. Sarah had been harassed on campus a few times and he and Mitch had an agreement that they’d never let her walk home by herself.

It’s why she showed up at room two after their session when Mia had seen them. Harry was quick to tell her that there had never been anything romantic between him and Sarah, that she was one of his mates’ girlfriends who he got along with. 

It was endearing though, Mia felt, how protective Harry felt. Not only of her, but over women in general. He walked Sarah home when it got a little late and it was dark, he had saved Mia from Tyler at the bar as well. 

Mia swooned over his whole saviour complex which she had learned a lot about. Many women hated it, but she secretly loved it for some reason. Maybe because she had never really felt protected before. 

They finished their food while talking, Harry excessively scraping up every scrap of sauce left while Mia took the spoon through the risotto to not leave anything behind. They both decided they loved this restaurant, and immediately made plans to return here someday.

Mia could picture it, them celebrating their anniversaries here. She was going crazy, she felt. Harry would certainly run for the hills if he knew she was somehow planning their entire future in her mind. 

The restaurant had run empty by the time the waiter handed them the dessert menu. And even though Mia was full, she agreed on sharing some red velvet cake – which was a chef’s speciality apparently. It wasn’t very Italian, Harry noticed, but he didn’t mind. 

The wine was gone, and Mia had to admit that she didn’t feel any different. It was pleasant, knowing she could maybe enjoy a slow glass of wine without having to fear losing her composure or feeling dizzy. They drank their water until the waiter came back with their tea and the piece of cake.

It stood in the middle of them, both holding onto a spoon as they tried to split it in half. Harry laughed when Mia reached for the biggest part jokingly until granting it to Harry. They had a little discussion about it until Mia convinced him she truly wasn’t hungry anymore and he could have the biggest part.

Harry nibbled his lip as he took a small scoop of the cake and then held up his spoon. Mia understood what he meant and leaned over the table, softly parting her lips as Harry fed her the little bit of cake. It had to look stupid, she knew that. From onlookers, they had to be cringey and disgusting, but she loved it. Her fingertips numbed when he intently stared at the way the spoon disappeared between her lips, his fingers gripping the table cloth out of the corner of her eye.

The tension was driving Harry absolutely crazy, but he suspected that Mia didn’t do any of it on purpose. She didn’t realise how sexy she really was. They ate the cake – which had been a great choice – and finished their tea around midnight.

“Mia, come on.” Harry laughed, fighting her over the bill. She had her finger around it but Harry’s hand pried it away from her, “I’m paying, seriously.”

She sighed in defeat, “Fine, but I’m paying next time.”

The sentiment made Harry’s heart flutter and he nodded immediately, “Okay, love. You can pay next time.”

He got up and went over to the cash register to pay for their dinner as Mia put on her coat. They hadn’t really agreed that the night was ending, but somehow they both started walking in the direction of her apartment complex, hands once more entwined in Harry’s coat pocket like they had done it all their lives.

Mia felt warm, matching their steps and feeling a little more comfortable with leaning into his side a bit. The streets felt empty and it was cold, their breaths clouding in front of them as they softly talked a little more. 

Stopping at her front door, Mia pulled out her key and looked at Harry over her shoulder, “D’you – uh, do you want to come up?”

He smiled and instantly nodded, “Yeah. Promised Hazel I’d get you home safe, didn’t I? That means up to your door, if I’m not mistaken.” He playfully joked and Mia bit her lip, nodding, “I think so too.”

They were silent in the hallways so as to not wake any other tenants at this hour in the night, walking up to the second floor until Mia laid eyes on the closed door of her apartment. 

“This is the door.” Harry sighed as they stood in front of it. Mia nodded, “This is the door.”

She held her key but didn’t make any moves to open it up, and Harry nibbled his lip, “So – uh… I had a great time tonight.”

Mia turned to face him, taking her hand up to her hair to slip off the beanie and tuck it into the pocket of her coat. She nodded at him with a smile, “Me too, Harry. Really. Thank you so much for taking me out.”

“’S my pleasure, love.” He chuckled out, daring to take a step closer to her. His eyes darted over her features, seeing how her eyes flicked between his and how breaths tumbled from her parted lips a tad quicker at the proximity.

She leaned against the doorpost of the closed door, Harry in front of her, “Have you ever been kissed before?” He asked.

Mia swallowed through her dry throat, inhaling the perfume she had been faintly smelling all evening. She softly shook her head, “No.” With the admittance of her being a virgin in every sense of the word, she wondered if it’d turn Harry off. He was obviously more experienced than her and she somehow thought he’d already figured out she was very inexperienced, but still.

But his reaction amazed her once more. He simply nodded, no shock or surprise or confusion written on his face. He shuffled a little closer again, “C-Can I please kiss you?”

Mia held her breath, her hands in tight fists next to her as Harry stood close, towering over her in the hallway of her apartment building. The automatic lights flicked off, leaving them in darkness. Only the small window at the end of the hall made some light pop in from the streets below. It illuminated part of Harry’s face, who stared at hers intently.

“You can say no.” He added in a whisper, “It’s okay if you say no.”

Mia remembered the talk about consent she had with Hazel and swallowed thickly again. She had dreamed of Harry’s lips on hers, yet the word was somehow stuck in her throat. It was stupid, it was just a kiss. Mia wasn’t sure why she made such a big deal out of it.

“What’s it feel like?” She asked in a murmur. She could faintly see the side of Harry’s lip tug up in a small smile as he took his hands out of the pockets of his coat. The movement made the hallway light turn on again, suddenly showing the entirety of Harry again.

He didn’t pay attention to it, gently lifting his hands until he reached her face. His fingers played with some free strands of her hair until he took it upon himself to brush the locks behind her shoulders. He seized up her reaction with each little movement he made, but Mia was just widely staring into his eyes as he leaned in.

Fingers on her jaw, cupping her cheeks, Harry leaned in to press a kiss to her cheekbone. They had done this before, and Mia puffed out a soft breath as she felt like she could sink through her knees at any moment.

“Like this.” Harry whispered, “But then on your lips.”

He repeated the action, kissing a little more towards her nose this time. Mia’s eyes fluttered close as he did it again, up to her brow bone and then her forehead until moving over to the other cheek. Her breaths came out puffy and shaky when she leaned into him. Her fingers had subconsciously gripped the fabric of his flannel and Harry pressed a tiny kiss to her nose, “Hm?”

Mia’s brain was swirling with lights and fireworks and she nodded with his hands around her, “Y-Yes. Please.”

“Please, what?” He whispered, needing her to say it. It was stupid, but he needed her to say it. Knowing she was about to ask him so politely to kiss her, would haunt his dreams for life and it was selfish, but he needed it.

Mia swallowed again, her throat so dry she felt woozy, “Please, k-kiss me.”

Harry exhaled and dipped his head, closing his eyes when kissing her. Their lips pressed together and Mia closed her eyes as well, tightening her grip on his clothing and pulling him closer to her at the same time. Harry happily obliged, shuffling closer until he was flush against her, legs between one another.

The lights turned off again as their lips were joined, and Harry pulled back when he felt like he was about to pass out. He only pulled back an inch, not enough to set off the lighting in the hallway. Their noses brushed together and he continued to leave little pecks on Mia’s parted lips. 

“How’s that for a first kiss?” He whispered against her lips. Mia exhaled a trembling breath and Harry smiled when he felt it against his mouth. Her eyes fluttered open again, the darkness concealing her wildly blushing cheeks as she still tasted him on her lips, “R-Really good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” She squeaked out, “Can – Can you kiss me again?”

“Gladly.” Harry murmured before repeating the action, a little more confidently this time. His body was on fire. He kissed her again, eyes closed, hearts open, his fingers cradling her closer to him. Their noses bumped together and Mia sighed out, leaning back and letting him guide her through it entirely. 

She loved kissing, Mia decided. Or maybe she only loved kissing Harry, she wasn’t sure. Mia had never been drunk before, but she felt drunk on him. Mesmerised, completely lost. He was soft, his lips were like little pillows pressed to hers. It was everything she could’ve dreamed of and Mia wanted more.

She pushed herself up on her toes a little, attempting to match his height more. The lights turned on again but they both had their eyes closed, ignoring it completely. Harry used his hands to tilt her head a little more, fitting his form better for easier access.

He pulled back and immediately kissed her again, moving his head to the other side. His entire body trembled when Mia exhaled the softest whimper against his lips. He couldn’t stop it, the gentle parting of his lips and the way he swooped his tongue over her lower lip. 

Mia froze and the breath hitched in her throat when she felt it, and she grew nervous all over again.

Pulling back, she felt him breathing against her lips. Her eyes stayed closed as Harry pressed another little kiss to her top lip, “Sorry.” He whispered, having felt how she tensed up a little at his attempt to deepen their kiss. But he was so addicted and he wanted so much. This slow pace felt savoury but also it felt like torture.

“Sorry.” He repeated in a sigh, “Just wanted to taste you a little more, ‘m sorry.”

His three apologies made Mia frown and she quickly shook her head when he felt his fingers around her cheeks loosening. She didn’t want him to let her go, if anything – she wished they could stay like this for a very long time. Her lips felt tingly and warm and she shook her head, “No, don’t apologise, please. I just – uh…” She took a breath, “I don’t know what to do. W-When you do that.”

Harry breathed out, his eyes still closed and Mia stared at his lids. The lights turned off again and with the tilt of Harry’s head that he did to brush his nose up against hers, it flicked on again. He opened his eyes with a small smile, “That’s okay. You can let me take the lead, you don’t have to do anything.”

Mia’s heart hammered in her chest, knowing they were about to  make out. She wanted to, but she was so nervous. They stared into each other’s eyes again until the lights turned off and Harry breathed out a chuckle, “Maybe we should go inside?”

Mia froze up, inhaling sharply, “I don’t want to sleep with you.”

“I know.” Harry whispered, “I know.” The lights turned on again, “Not what I was trying to do, Mia, I promise. That’s totally alright.”

She felt more at ease again at his comforting words, and his quick agreement just showed how much he cared and how sex really wasn’t the only thing on his mind right now. Harry had to admit it was some on his mind with how close they were standing and how they had been kissing for a few minutes, but he just wanted to make her feel safe and comfortable.

“These lights are just annoying me a little.” He chuckled quietly and Mia mimicked his smile, nodding while he still had his hands around her cheeks, “Okay.”

“You sure? ‘M not inviting myself in to try and sleep with you.” He repeated, wanting her to really know. Mia immediately nodded, “No, I know. I know.” She pushed herself up into him, bumping her nose into his and Harry’s eyes closed at the feeling. He couldn’t stop himself before leaning in and gently pressing a little kiss to her lips, “Okay.” He murmured.

“Okay.” Mia smiled back. 

[kwritingbooks]

Storm’s Calling

your phone’s dead, your car’s dead, but the small grocery store’s lights are very much alive at this time of night. given the ghastly storm beating down, you don’t really have much other choice but to run inside. but who might be waiting behind those doors?

tags: sci-fy, thriller, angst

word count: 4.2k

my masterlist here

The rain was pelting harshly at your windshield as you stared blankly at it. Exhaustion had seeped into every crevice of your body; all you wanted to do was be home. You supposed that tiredness had translated into not paying attention to your car's needs, too.

Shocking.

Except, the fatigue of the week looked to be the least of your concerns now as your dead car sat idly in a grocery store's parking lot with a heavy storm beating down on you and your useless vehicle.

"Fuck," you finally mumbled out as you beat your hands against the steering wheel. "Fuck!"

It was the only word that seemed to fully encapsulate your predicament, and even then it didn't seem to do it justice.

Your eyes trailed over to the store that still had its lights on. Strangely, you were surprised it was still open. Just before your phone died, the numbers on your device read out just past midnight, and you didn't know many stores that had hours like that anymore. Especially given how this place seemed to actually be in the middle of nowhere, along with about two other cars in the lot with you.

Maybe they were broken down just like yours. Stranded in a strange town on their way home from a work trip, consumed with stress and the aching of their own messy bed, too.

"I'm gonna have to go in there, aren't I?" You whispered to yourself as if someone else was supposed to answer that for you.

You knew the answer though.

There was no one coming to rescue you like those movies showed when you were growing up. And given the rough wind and lightning outside, as well as very minimal street lights, a movie much more daunting would have been more fitting than a rom-com. Something you did not intend to sit and wait for to happen.

And you didn't even have an umbrella.

Of course.

Reluctantly, you shoved your keys into your purse and wrapped your cardigan more tightly around your body before slinging the driver's side door open. One step out was a sudden wake up, immediately getting pummeled by the rain above.

The door slammed shut, but it was muffled by the sound of lightning clusters above. It even lit little flickers of light against the dark pavement as you hurriedly rushed to the entrance.

Splashes of water hit against your ankles, soaking your socks and shoes in the process. You could feel your pants grow heavier as the bottoms collected the rest of the water that didn't splash everywhere else.

You didn't care too much though, the end was near. The fluorescent lights were getting closer. The chime of the entrance bell was already ringing in your ear with anticipation.

Your arms were reaching out for the handles before you even made it there, anxious to at least be surrounded by not so much noise. You didn't even care that it was radio music that you typically would skip through playing in the building either. Anything was better than being outside stuck.

Not that inside stuck felt all that great either.

You scanned your eyes around the store, practically begging to meet anyone's eyes. There had to be someone with a phone you could borrow to order an Uber, or even you could maybe beg one of my friends to drive the hour that was left of your drive to come and get you.

They were all pretty heavy sleepers though.

So you'd just deal with that Uber cost and leaving your car in a random parking lot later. Tomorrow. You just needed to get home first, and then you would figure it out.

"Hello, welcome to Corner Mart," a voice from behind said cooly.

It startled you, causing your heart to quicken up even more than it was before as you spun around.

A young guy, probably about your age, stared back at you. He had a beige apron over his clothes, which was just a white t-shirt and a pair of grey slacks. He held his hands in front of him with a slight crook to his head as he seemed to examine you.

An eyebrow of his crooked once he noticed how crazy you must have seemed: soaking wet, out of breath, and looking lost.

"Hi, um, do you by chance have a charger? Or a phone I could borrow?" You stammered out.

You shifted on your feet, adjusting the bag on your shoulders while you continued to both stare at each other. You couldn't tell if what you were feeling was unsettling or not. Maybe it was just in your head, but something just felt strange. And it didn't even seem to be from the guy standing in front of you.

If anything, the more you watched him, the more you realized he was actually not that bad to look at. Handsome, even.

Very handsome actually.

"No cellphone, but we've got the company phone." He blinked his eyes kindly back at you, sending a small wave of relief through your body.

At least he didn't seem the crazy type.

Without much else said, he led you toward one of the only three checkout lanes. He fumbled with something underneath your view, and you tried not to look as impatient as you felt.

But, it wasn't like there were any other customers that needed help. As if they would even be as in dire of need as you were right now anyway.

He pulled out a phone that looked about a decade older than it should have been, but you tried not to judge too quickly.

Ubers were definitely out of the question with that dinosaur, though.

"Do taxis come out this far? This late?" You asked, flicking your eyes intensely from the phone to his face.

His expression seemed a bit confused, like he didn't know what you meant by the question. That only elevated the annoyance bubbling inside of you. If only he realized all the shit you had been through the past week with work and now this.

"Er..." He trailed off as he looked at the buttons. "Not sure." He shrugged his shoulders.

Another "fuck" loosely slipped from your lips without realizing.

"Is everything okay? I can maybe help. I don't have shit else to do," he shrugged his shoulders again, but apologetically this time. If it wasn't for his soft tone, you might have considered lunging at him from his laissez-faire attitude.

Not that that would have been productive, you knew that. Or appropriate.

"It's my car." You breathed out an exasperated sigh. "It's dead. I've been ignoring getting the engine checked for a couple weeks now, and I guess this is the consequence."

He hummed with a sly smile across his lips. He rested his elbows on the table with his chin tucked neatly in his palms.

Your eyes crinkled as you surveyed how he was looking at you. What was so funny? How was any of this funny?

"That engine light exists for a reason," he said as he pushed himself off the counter to come back around.

You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

"Wow, you work at a grocery store and you're smart. Isn't that something?" Your eyes continued to lock onto him, even with his venturing somewhere else. A light laugh escaped his mouth without you trying to be funny.

"You're funny," he remarked.

You incoherently grumble curses under your breath in response.

"So can you help me..." You trailed off as you squinted your eyes to his name tag. "Henry?"

"Harry," he quickly corrected.

"Okay, Harry. So are you able to help me?" You tried your best to keep your tone light and airy, like women's magazines taught you from a young age on how to speak to men when you wanted something.

He thought for a moment, and you almost envisioned the little mice in his head spinning the wheels with each quick step of their feet.

"I'll call Steven, he might be able to help." Harry replied, as if to himself, while he walked back to the phone he just left. "He's a mechanic down the road. Only one in town, too."

"He'd be able to help me out this late?" You questioned, stepping closer to the register, as if a paying customer. You tried not to sound like this was the best news in the entire world, but it sure felt like it at that moment.

"Maybe. I never really know with him. He's a bit unpredictable." He casually replied as he tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder, dialing random numbers I couldn't place.

Only a couple seconds passed before he pressed his fingers to hang it up, repeating the dials once again. Little veins in his forehead began to creep up as he had to hang up and retry again.

"Do you remember his number?" You didn't mean for it to sound like you were scolding him, but that was definitely how it seemed. You cleared your throat to try and rectify it.

He slammed the phone down for the last time, shaking his head. "Phone's are down."

You were sure the blood fell from your face and left you bottom heavy, wanting to fall to the ground at a moment's notice.

"What do you mean down? I was just on mine earlier before it died!" I croaked out, trying to hide the sobs that wanted to pour out as hard as the rain outside was.

"Sometimes it just goes out. Probably a power line, I don't know. I'm just a grocery store worker after all." He shot a brief look at me, pegged lightly with annoyance but that soon faded to another sly grin.

You ran a shakey hand through your wet hair. Examining your nails, you thought through your possibilities.

I could sleep in my car, you thought. Wait until the morning and maybe the lines will be back up. More customers will have come in by then, and someone is bound to have a cellphone, right?

"Um..." You trailed off, looking behind you towards your car that had yet to move.

God, it looked scary out there. Even if there wasn't a violent thunderstorm going on. This would've made a perfect horror movie starting point.

Now all we needed was a scary masked murderer to walk in at any second...

"Ma'am?" Harry asked.

You shook your head, coming back out of your daze as you looked back ahead again. He had moved from behind the counter again, now directly in front of you. You didn't even hear him move, so your heart picked up from the startle.

"Yeah? Sorry," you let out as a hand rubbed at your temples. "It's been a long week. You don't have to call me ma'am though. My name's Y/N."

He smiled back, taking a couple steps away to lean against the conveyor belt. "Nice to meet you, Y/N." He nodded his head. "I'll be here all night if you want to wait it out in here. Probably safer."

You sucked in a sharp breath through your nose, your body stiffening at the thought. A quick glance over your shoulder back to your car solidified what he said. It really was safer in here.

You were pretty hungry, too.

You ended up finding a pre-made sandwich in the deli section. You made sure to double check, even triple check, the expiration date just to make sure it hadn't been sitting out as long as that phone looked to have been.

It was nothing special. Ham. Cheese. Small slice of lettuce and tomato (which you took off).

You ate beside the greeting card section. It was the warmest area you could find against your still dampened body and clothes. You had taken off your soaked cardigan as to let it dry by one of the store's industrial fans that Harry brought out from some back room.

Since then, you hadn't seen him much besides small stolen glances as he faced different products in the aisles. You tried to keep your head down and focused on your own tasks, even a task as small as eating your sandwich, as to avoid his eyes. Not because you didn't want to look at him, but because his contact sent a surge of heat against your cheeks. It made your stomach flutter ever so slightly when the corners of his lips would curl into a smile as he darted his own eyes away from you as well.

You felt like a little kid again.

Was it because of the situation? Was this your way of filling your time? Crushing on some random worker in a deserted town?

You picked one of the cards that had a bouquet of flowers on them. Cursive letters twisted together to form an "I'm sorry for your loss." You quickly placed it back in its spot, not wanting to think about that.

Your eyes scanned the rest of them, reaching for a more cheerful pattern. It was bright red with little pink sparkly hearts dotted all over. You took a guess that it was Valentine's related. You brought it closer to your face to read the presumably cheesy one-liner that would be attached.

"I extend my heart to you, sending love and peace to you during this hard time," you read aloud. A frown immediately replaced your once curious features, quickly putting it back again.

Your eyes zoomed along each one, searching for something that didn't make you want to cry in a corner. They all reminded you of your grandma, who had died just a few weeks ago, adding onto the already stressful time you had had. It was part of the reason you wanted to go on that work trip. It was a chance to get away from everything—from everyone sending you their well wishes. If only there was a polite way to tell people to fuck off and leave you alone.

Was there any card for that?

The answer to that was no. They were all about mourning the loss of a loved one.

Every single one.

My condolences.

My thoughts and prayers are with you.

Please accept my deepest sympathies.

Your sandwich no longer sounded as it did a moment ago. You tossed it directly in the bin across from you, happily walking away from the depressing rows of cards.

It was only a small section dedicated to cards. Maybe they were out of birthday ones. Maybe they didn't get restocks often. Maybe that even meant not many people died here, so those weren't needed like the others. It was just Mother's Day recently after-all.

You laughed to yourself as you watched your feet move ahead of you. Of course you had to make everything seem so dramatic. It was the one thing you could always count on.

"Coffee?" Harry's voice broke out, startling you for what felt like the millionth time that night.

You stopped in your tracks, the smile wiping briskly off your face. You stood only a few inches from him. If you hadn't stopped when you did, you would have most definitely rammed your body into his, spilling the coffee that was cupped nicely in each hand all over the both of you.

You looked down at it for a moment, wondering the chances of it being spiked. You were too desperate for warmth and caffeine that that thought soon dissipated into nothing.

Remember? He's not crazy.

You might be, though.

You extended your hand towards the cup, not having stepped away from the rather muscly guy ahead yet. His muscles protruded in a way you hadn't noticed before. The sleeves of his shirt seemed tight against them, but perhaps it was just the closeness that made everything seem magnified.

"Uh, thank you." You cleared your throat with a weak smile. "I'd love some."

He smiled wide, exposing a deep set of dimples on either side. "Thought you might. You look cold."

You took a step back as you looked your body over. Small prickles of goosebumps sprinkled themselves against your arms and legs. You weren't sure if they had been like that the whole time or if they just sprung up since he showed up this close.

"Thank you,” you hummed out, pressing the cup to your lips with a small swig. The coffee felt like a tight hug from a loved one, enwrapping your body with an accompanying warmth as well.

You could feel his eyes on you, watching as you continued to take another drink out of the cup as he did the same. Relaxation filled your body with each sip. The anxiety of the night, the week, the month, was soon feeling less uncontrollable. This little moment of bliss in midst of the chaos was like a breath of fresh air.

Words flowed out of you like they hadn't in years it seemed. It first started as normal chit-chat, talking about your job and then your work trip. Then, it soon turned into deeper things you hadn't even told your friends yet. It was weird how everything came out so effortlessly. You weren't even scared you were saying too much, even though you probably were.

It wasn't like he knew anyone that you did. You didn't know anyone that he did. You were both strangers to each other, and maybe that was why it was so easy.

He listened with open ears, nodding his head as you spoke. He waited patiently when you had to take a deep breath, fighting away the tears that wanted to spill from your eyes. He listened better than any of your friends at home would have listened.

And you listened to him, too. It was like you both needed this. Seconds passed that turned into minutes, minutes that soon turned into hours. You were both sat criss-crossed on the floor, way after the storm had already seemed to pass. All that was left was a light rain that still softly hit against the cement outside.

Sunlight soon flashed through the big windows, alerting you that time really had passed—and quite a bit of it, too.

"Oh, shit. What time is it?" You questioned, looking over Harry's shoulder.

Both of your empty coffee cups were still beside the two of you, tipped over at some point during the conversations.

He looked over his shoulder, a light laugh dripping out of his mouth before he turned back around with a shrug. "Morning it looks like."

"I should be getting home. The storm is gone, too," you said quietly, unsure yourself about leaving yet.

He sat up, using his knees as leverage. He extended one of his hands in your direction, pulling you up with one quick swoop.

“Y/n?” His voice sounded hollow, worried even. You crinkled your eyebrows at him.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I should probably tell you.” He scratched at his arm, looking over his shoulder like someone could have been eavesdropping.

Was this where he told you he lied about the phone being down? That he didn’t actually work there? That this was where you now had to die?

Your heart hammered heavily against your chest. You felt like you could vomit.

“What is it?” You said through gritted teeth.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he stared directly at you. A darkness seemed to cast over the two of you as if the past few hours hadn’t existed at all. The previous weight it had lifted seemed to fall back down all at once again.

“Harry?” You trembled out. You couldn’t help the anxiety that overwhelmed you now. He looked like he wanted to throw up himself.

“You can’t go home,” he rushed out, avoiding your eye contact.

You felt your heart stop, fighting to keep you alive.

“Harry, what the fuck do you mean I can’t go home? Are you kidnapping me here?” Your anxiety was turning into anger. You wanted to run, fight your way out, run all the way home if you had to.

You weren’t staying here.

“No, no. I’m not holding you hostage.” He waved his hands in front of him, like he was trying to find the right wording himself. His eyes were squeezed shut as he thought. “Like…”

“Like what?” You couldn’t help the anger that spilled through your words. “No, actually, I’m done listening to this. I’ll find a ride on the way home. Thank you so much for wasting my time, Harry.”

Without anything else said on your end, you pushed past him right through the door. It chimed just as it did hours ago when you pushed in, soaking wet.

You mumbled similar curses again under your breath. All that time you thought you really found someone who was listening, not wasting your time. You thought it was someone who was just trying to make your time less miserable, actually. You could’ve been home by now. The storm had stopped awhile ago, but he was just another selfish twat that probably wanted something else out of it, holding you up as long as he could to reel you in.

“Prick,” you cursed out loudly.

You gave your car a pat, as a bit of a farewell, as well as “I hate you for putting me through this.”

But then you felt a sudden onset of dizziness hit you only about five feet away from your parked car. It probably didn’t help the hunger that gnawed at your stomach. Those few bites of sandwich mixed with coffee could only hold someone over for so long. But that idea quickly subsided when everything went black.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when your eyes managed to pry themselves back open. Florescent lights glared back at you, radio pop music ringing in your ears.

“What?” Your hand reached up to rub at your head, feeling a small knot that had begun to form.

“You passed out,” Harry replied matter-of-factly. “I tried to tell you, but you left too quickly.”

You sat up on your elbows, the blurriness in your sight not fully gone yet. “You carried me all the way back here? Were you watching me that whole time?” Even in the grogginess, your attitude was back just as forcefully as before.

“No, I haven’t moved.” Harry leaned against the counter, his arms crossed as he looked down at you.

“Well how else did I get here?” You motioned around the empty store. “Not like there’s anyone else here!”

“There’s not anyone else, just us.” He crooked his head to the side, like what he was saying was the most rational thing in the world and not the most confusing.

You buried your face in your hands, wanting to scream. This was making your head hurt.

“Harry. If you don’t start making sense in less than a minute, I’m running out those fucking doors again.” Your face was still partially buried in your hands, smoothing them out in your hair.

“We can’t leave. It just brings you back here.” He said solemnly. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

You glared at him, darting your eyes between both of his. You were looking for something but unsure what of. Insanity? Maybe?

Without much else thought, you ran out again.

Past the door.

Past the lights.

Past the car.

Bam.

Your headache hurt worse this time around, eyes opening to the same view you had just tried to argue out of.

“What the fuck!” You screamed out. “Harry, what the fuck is happening!”

“I don’t know how to say this,” he began.

“At this point, just say it! I’m tired of these weird fucking riddles or whatever this game you’re playing is. Just tell me!” You shouted with vigor.

“We’re dead.”

Your breath stopped. Your heart stopped. Your body stopped moving. You just stopped.

“W-what?” You stammered to no one in particular. “That’s not possible.”

“That’s what I thought, too.” He switched positions, no longer leaning against the counter and knelt closer to you. He brushed a piece of hair out of your face, trailing a finger along your forehead.

Out of the back of his pocket, he brought out a mirror, shining it back towards you.

What stared back looked like a version of you, but not really you. A long scar started and ended from one side of your forehead from the other. Tiny scratches sprinkled in various places, some with bits of glass still stuck inside. Why did it look healed?

You reached up, expecting to feel it, but the pain didn’t spread. It didn’t pulsate. It didn’t bleed.

“What? H-how…” You whispered to yourself, pulling out a shard of glass without even a tickle.

“I wish I knew, I’m sorry.” His face peered over the side of the mirror, but you averted your gaze from him.

“What…what do we do then?” You dropped the mirror from your grasp, it landing with a thunk in your lap.

He let out a deep breath, his eyes trailing along the floor. He looked up at you once more.

“Guess we’ll find that out together I hope.”

[harrysonlylover]

Psycho For You*

Summary: In which jealousy runs deep in his blood.

Warnings: MEAN Harry, blood, mentions of violence, filthy rough smut, shower sex, choking, degradation, size kink.

WC: 1.4k

Main Masterlist

Y/n had good intentions in mind. Not pure or angelic, but the right amount of playfulness. She didn’t anticipate this to happen or meant to do any harm.

She should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve known better than to rile him up, and fuel his jealousy. All she wanted to do was mess with him, and it took a different route.

The blood was dripping on the tiles, but he didn’t wash it off because at the moment he had a lesson to teach.

“You think you’re so clever, huh?” A sadistic smile was painted on his face as he nipped on her skin.

The blood belonged to the man she ‘flirted’ with, he didn’t kill him despite the burning urge he felt. Instead, others at the party had to pull him away before it escalated.

And the sick truth? She liked it.

“Don’t you know that you belong to me?” He grabbed her throat with a tight grip, staining her skin with blood.

The hot water poured on their naked bodies as he rested his forehead against hers, with his cock nestled deep inside her heat.

“I do.” She shivered from the thrill of it all.

“Tsk tsk, looks like your little brain forgot again.” He thrusted inside her, causing her head to tilt backward against the glass wall.

He refused her help once they arrived home, dismissing the need to clean and stitch his hands. That wasn’t what he needed. He craved having her warm walls engulf his cock as he watched her facial expression change for him.

The steam from the hot water covered the glass walls, and Harry had her body supported with his.

“Silly girl, pushed my buttons on purpose and now look what happened.”

The wet sounds caused by his thrusting could not be overpowered by the dripping water. He adored hearing how his cock penetrated her, and he was extra rough this time.

“Whose slut are you? Hmm?” His grip on her jaw would surely cause visible bruises in the morning.

“Yours.” She replied weakly and incoherently because of her smushed cheeks.

“Oh look, the brainless slut can speak. Looks like I’m too easy on you.” He suddenly stopped mid thrust, raking his eyes all over her gorgeous face. A grin slowly made its way before he pulled out and slid in again with a rough force.

He used his hands to bounce her body on his cock quickly. Her screams were music to his ears.

“Bet you liked how I almost killed him for you. You want that, don’t you?” His wet curls covered his forehead while he bit her shoulder.

Her answer was muffled by her moans and whimpers. He lived to hear her beautiful sobs and cries of pleasure. His cock was made to pleasure her always soaked pussy—or should he say his pussy?

“Not gonna answer, eh? No need darling. I felt the clench of your dirty cunt when I asked.” She tugged at his hair knowing how much he adored the pain.

If not for her mushy brain and feelings of euphoria, she would’ve answered him properly. She wasn’t even ashamed of it because he had corrupted her to the core. Fuck yes, she liked it.

She wanted him to protect her and loved the idea of him going crazy for her. Loved the idea of her man, exploiting his physical strength for her.

Her hands held onto his biceps as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. His thrusts were merciless. He hit her G-spot repeatedly and stopped whenever she clenched a lot which was an indication of an orgasm.

He followed it with a wicked laugh and more aggressive kissing. His mouth nipped all over his body, whether it be biting, sucking, or ‘gentle’ kissing. He made sure to leave his marks everywhere. The bruises that will form on her body were the smallest example.

He would soon cum inside her walls, plant his seed deep inside her womb and give her the feeling she begs him for. And over the next few days, soreness will follow.

“Would you look at that?” He chuckled as he glanced down to where his cock pulled out from her warm pussy again. It was coated with their wetness but more specifically her juices.

“Pathetic slut, getting off the fact that I hurt other people for you.” He pulled her hair, causing a stinging sensation in her scalp. He gently tapped on her cheek signaling for her to open her mouth. He spat inside before guiding her lips to his and clashing his tongue with hers.

“Should’ve just spat on you instead from how filthy you are, and you’d like it anyways.” The steam from the hot water caused fog to arise in the small bathroom. She genuinely could not think straight. Everything was too overwhelming and euphoric. She couldn’t resist dropping her gaze to his glorious body where his cock was hanging.

No wonder her pussy felt empty.

She swallowed down her throat at his size, she really wondered how he fit inside her sometimes, but she was immediately reminded of how many tries and lube it took for him to fit in.

After that, he had her stretched properly to his shape and curve because he simply owned her.

“Little bunny, you’re about to drool.” He tsked, raising her chin with his finger. She gave him innocent doe eyes that had him weak in the knees.

“All for a cock?” He laughed, pushing hair strands out of her face.

“Fuck me.” She begged, digging her nails into his tatted skin.

“Should I though? I mean it’s too big for your tight cunt.” He pretended to hesitate, placing his cock from the base near her pussy, allowing it to stand reaching her stomach.

“See? I could probably move your womb if I want to.” He mocked her with every single word he spewed. And of course, she loved it.

She went crazy for how he degraded her and made her feel small. He knew that her exact weakness was their size difference and how he rearranged her insides with how deep he went.

“Please, I need to cum.” She grinded her dripping pussy against his shaft, earning a harsh slap to her her engorged clitoris.

“So fucking needy and whiny for my cock.” He lined up the tip with her entrance and slid in swiftly.

The relief on her face once he entered her was fucking priceless. God, he lived for her pussy and intimacy. She had him hooked.

“Is that how you want me to treat you? Like you’re just a hole?” His hips snapped against hers as her cries filled the small space.

“Well guess what darling? You’re nothing more than that.” He landed a harsh slap to her ass, before bringing his hand to her throat.

“Harder. You own me, Harry.” She managed to speak despite the tight grip.

“I know I fucking do.” He sneered, plowing into her like a madman.

It was on a whole other level of pleasure and craziness. A psychotic lust. He placed all of his godly stamina into claiming her pussy.

Her face scrunched in both pleasure and pain. An expression that he loved.

“Oh good, does that hurt?” He tilted his head to the side, not forgetting to glance at her bouncing breasts.

She nodded weakly at his question, with her nails scratching down his back over previous scars caused by their rough sex.

“As it fucking should. My pretty fuckdoll. What do you say?”

“Tha—Thank you.” She breathed out.

The sound of skin slapping intensified, he was hitting her cervix with every thrust, deeper and deeper. Their fucks were filthier than orgies.

“Now cum on my cock so I could fill this pussy up.” He whispered in her ear and nibbled on her earlobe.

She had been waiting all night for his cue, almost cried even. He teased her continuously for his pleasure and mocked her tightness when he knew how stretched she was.

“Uh—ohh.” Their faces were inches apart and he stared into her eyes right as her orgasm hit her. Her body was lit on fire as she moaned audibly, and clung onto him. He kept fucking her through her high, feeling the wetness drip down his thighs.

He was about to follow her and allow himself a release but instead, he turned the water off.

“Can’t have the water wash my cum away, it should be deep inside of you.” He panted heavily and caressed her flushed cheeks.

The moment he said that she knew she was in for a long night of rounds, orgasms, and humiliation.

And she wouldn’t want it any other way.

——————————————————

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[jarofstyles]

Helllooo my loves!

Cover reveal!

We have now put Verboten (bff dadrry) up on Wattpad. We reworked the first part and are editing it to add more stuff in it, so if you can check it out and give our first chapter a vote we would be so appreciative!

[1800titz]

Here is chapter 8! 17.6K words feat. Mr. Business Casual Baring it All, BUTTERFLY WORSHIP, BUTTERFLY WORSHIP, BUTTERFLY WORSHIP, and some more of the cane (except this time it's less fear play and more "Let's make good associations!"). You can tell where I cut off the scene — if I'd kept going, this piece would end up at, like, 25K. I mean, I would have kept going, and going, and going, and going. But the pause just means we'll have more content for the next chapter! I will put a TW for the villain origin story on the cane situation, though. We learn Isla's history with the cane in this one — if it makes you uncomfortable, put yourself first and skip that little block of text. Otherwise, happy reading, and enjoy! (✿◠‿◠)

PREVIOUS PARTS HERE — WATTPAD ALTERNATIVE HERE

If you’re a normal person, with a normal sense of empathy, seeing someone cry would probably cull some form of discomfort. 

If you’re Harry, some, very specific circumstances may draw arousal. 

This isn’t one of those circumstances. 

He doesn’t detect it at first — the way the pattern of her soft breaths thins into becoming detained by her lungs, to stave off huffs. The way she shrivels against him, the smidge of a shift in the position of her head, so that his linen shrouds her face further. The way her soft press over his pec contorts into a fist at the fabric. He doesn’t note the first sniffle. Not until the second one comes. 

That’s not innately weird — Harry stares at the ceiling, it feels so far away, and he chalks the sound up to remnants. Typical traces. And then he spares her a glance and realizes she’s holding onto his dress shirt like a lifeline, and he hears the third, and something scary twists in his chest. 

Thrown, the dominant cranes his neck to give her a good look, but all he’s capable of viewing, at the angle, is her middle part, so. And she just nudges further into him, as if sensing the motion. 

“Hey, hey. Sweetheart,” he ducks his chin a bit and presses his hand to her cheek, just kind of mentally coaxing her to turn back to him, hopeful that just the press of the gentle touch is inclination enough. His accent carries bewildered notes, “Baby. Are you crying? Hey. Talk to me.”

And Isla just shakes her head against him, and that’s — he blows out a breath. That’s the opposite of talking. Kinda nullifies the entire basis of discussion.

There’s this thing that’s inherently strung along with sleeping with Harry, at Indulge. It’s masked, first and foremost — a tagline of anonymity that shuns strings and deflects feelings. It’s not real. It’s real sex. Real, really good sex. But it’s nothing beyond that, and for now, it’s just real, really good sex on a time crunch. The hourglass looms over them — their encounters — every Friday night. Like an invisible, unspoken holograph of peril. At first, it just seeps. It seeps slow, sand slinking through the crevice, from one end to the other, and at first, it kind of doesn’t fucking matter. Because, so much sand, right? So much time. So much time to indulge. 

Except, the thing is, eventually there isn’t. Eventually, there’s only grains, and they flit through the cranny as the time flies by, and six sessions morph into one in remainder. And that’s kind of sad, right? That this — that enjoying real, really good sex with Harry, is probably going to happen one more time, contractual obligations concerned. They’ll reconvene, at some point or another, probably. He’ll merge into her cycle of perpetually circulating doms, and she’ll merge into his, of subs. They’ll rotate each other out, fusing when their schedules alott it. And it’ll be normal and fine. 

Except — no. 

Because everything has started to blend and turn murky, because this doesn’t just feel like really good sex, anymore. Not after drawing the correlation between Eros and Harry — a curly-haired, charming stranger who’d nosily probed his way into her life by interrogating her on her shopping basket contents. Who spent Friday evenings toying her body into submission, and spent the rest of the week lending a helping hand in her house-searching process. 

Isla is crying, because it all feels like too much, and too little, all at once. She’s never been burdened with such an intense twisting in her chest linked to someone from Indulge, and if she were in the right state of mind, she’d definitely curb the tightening in her throat and the impending wave of tears until she was at least in the driver’s seat. She’d squeeze the purple-padded steering wheel in the safety of her Corolla and let her emotions crumble and give. Instead, it all sort of splashes out, then and there, because everything is fuzzy, and buzzing, and incomprehensibly uncontrollable. Everything. It’s a coalesce of confusion, and she doesn’t have control over any of it, it seems. 

And she doesn’t want to submit to that. 

And Harry — well, of course he does all the right things, the best things he could do, given the circumstances, and that kind of just makes Isla break down further. Because she doesn’t want to discuss her feelings, not when they aren’t linked to whatever cruel and unusual sexual punishments he’s brought to the table, standing over her like a cartoonish devil with a bullwhip of braided nylon. And he’s always so open to imbibe, regardless of the lack of tether. Always so eager to wipe her tears away with smooth, pleather-coated thumbs and velvety croons. 

If she told him, I don’t want this to end — I don’t want our contract to end next week, he wouldn’t look at her funny. She’s sure of it. Jade would soften through onyx latex, and his pupils would scope over her pitifully ruddy face as he’d wipe away her drool. 

Isla can’t do it. Expanding their one-on-one would just fissure the rift further, the one over the surface, and it’d dig deeper into deeper sentiments that she was horrified to recognize and acknowledge inklings of. Because in some ways, maybe just a little — enough to make her sob into his chest, apparently — Isla yearns for …more, beyond the masks. He’s cheeky, and he’s kind, and he just has a way …about him. This particular way, that she’s so sure she’d let him walk her down the streets of San Francisco on a fucking leash. She craves them, those innocent, intimate details to him, all with a sense of curious wonder. She imagines what he’s like outside of Indulge — outside of work and Indulge. She imagines his hobbies, his habits, his friends. She wonders if he sleeps on the right side of the bed or the left — whether he curls up on his side or splays flat on his back. She mulls over whether he prefers coffee or tea, in the mornings. She thinks about Harry picking her up in his Range Rover. She thinks about holding hands with him over a booth in some uncharted little restaurant, in a nook on a side street, with really good paella, sharing tapas while they make jokes and laugh. She thinks about him tucking her away at his place, post dinner, and doing the same vicious, nearly unspeakable things they do at Indulge. Only, she’d have a spare toothbrush in a little cup, beside his own, and she’d spend the night coiled up against his side instead of slipping into her Corolla and driving home to be met with an empty bed. 

It’s sad. It’s sad, it’s fucking weird, and it’s insane. It's an uncomfortable fantasy — an odd one, it’s just—

She couldn’t say that to him. Ever. 

How absolutely pitiful, Isla thinks, digging her digits further into a fist at his button-up, unable to stifle the sobs that jolt her shoulders. How absolutely pitiful, that all good things, eventually, must come to an end. 

“Baby, baby. Making me worried. Did I hurt you?” 

Baby — GAAAAH. She’d like to sink into the mattress until she slinks through and her body’s only unveiled on the opposite end — away from his prodding inquiries. The young woman shakes her head, side to side, her only response for his peace of mind. The crease that’d carved between his brows doesn’t let up with the notion, though. 

Okay. Seeing the young woman — feeling her, lachrymose, against him, weepy and nuzzling to seemingly ward off his questions, incites trepidation to swirl in own chest. They were fine — everything was fine, only moments prior. He’d checked in with her, during the scene, coaxing her to nurse a beverage even when she’d brazenly refused, at first. When he’d undone the cuffs, she’d been alright. When he was petting down her bare back, the only rise, beneath his palm, was slow and controlled as she took dazed breaths. His face twists. Had it been something he said, maybe? He thinks back, mentally listing through precedent coos, for any insinuation of anything disheartening — anything that would trigger this type of reaction. Maybe something, between the lines, he’d overlooked? But — no. Nothing immediately crests behind his skull. It’s all sort of a script (as insensitive as it sounds) — a general baseline of phrases to be said during aftercare with any of his partners. He slips into it, almost like autopilot, with the comedown. It’s difficult not to, when it’s routine. Though, his words are never false. He is proud of her — she does make him happy. The point is, everything he’s said tonight, he’s said before. She’s stiff against him, she holds her breaths, and when they spill she shakes like a leaf. The cycle repeats.

The dominant regards her, for another moment, face twisting with pity, and eventually settles back against the mattress, a newfound tenseness in his jaw. He can take a hint. She doesn’t want to discuss, evidently, (though, they absolutely will be discussing this when he’s able to lure a reaction from her beyond a tremble and what can barely be deemed a headshake), but for now, the man settles on cradling her and just letting her cry, as uncomfortable as his own lack of action may feel to him. And it is, it’s so fucking uncomfortable — because if he can’t find the root, then he feels like he can’t fix the issue, and he has to fix the issue. It’s his job. He can’t find the root when she's sobbing against his heartbeat, (which has picked up in pace considerably since he’d made the observation), and he’s just laying there shushing her. 

“S’alright, darling,” he promises, eclipsing his own notes of worry from his vocal chords with a firm baseline of gentle reassurance, fingertips gliding down the back of her ribcage, “You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” 

That just makes her cry harder — so. Okay. He handles her tenderly in his palms, then, for a bit, warding off the buds of melancholy that bloom within him by pressing his chin against her head, traces of a frown looming between his brows and faint lines of a grimace shaping his cushiony mouth. Eventually, though, she stops quivering beneath his arms, her sobs stifling into sniffles and simmering off. Even still, though, he bites his tongue, worried to launch off another episode of tears. He doesn’t say anything, not until she says, against his chest, “Sorry, sorry.” 

The way her voice is small, and teemed with chagrin makes his heart swell, in a sad kind of way. 

Isla hears the rumble of his voice from his chest, as he clears his throat, as if to ground sure notes into his cadence before he tells her, “Nothing to apologize for, pet.” 

He strokes at her hair all caring-like, too, and that just makes her feel worse. Isla sighs. There definitely is. An abrupt influx of emotions, post a scene, has to be at least a bit disturbing for him to witness. Unsettling, maybe, at best. She sits up as it clears. She still feels shit, mostly, but now the intensity of her sadness has dimmed, and it enmeshes with embarrassment. 

“Fuck — sorry,” the submissive tells him again, rubbing a hand over her face. The lace is sopping, but to a bystander, it bleeds with black, so she supposes it won’t make a difference to the naked eye, anyhow. Just to her face. Doesn’t feel very nice. She sniffles. God — a whole little patch of his shirt has sodden through, and normally she’d be all too keen to notice the shapes and shadows over his skin through the wet white, but it just makes her feel worse, it all makes her feel so much worse—

“What’s got you so upset, baby?” she’s snapped out of her staring daze as he shifts over the sheets, using core strength to brace himself onto his forearm. The dominant strokes a bundle of hair strands, that’ve grown frizzy and unkempt, off of her forehead, his gaze full of concern, “Talk to me, hm?”  

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” is the response he gets in return — another unnecessary apology. At least, this time, she tacks on some form of explanation. The young woman pinches the bridge of her nose between the pads of her thumb and forefinger, sniffles loudly, and tells him, “That was just a— I don’t know. Intense scene, I think. Didn’t mean for all of it to come out like that.” 

It’s not a lie, Isla thinks, in its entirety. The scene was intense — it’d gotten her into a vulnerable headspace, and in turn, her emotions had brewed and bubbled to the surface amidst it all. There’s a bit more to it than just that, but. What she doesn’t blatantly let on isn’t inherently called lying. 

Just glossing over the truth, Isla thinks, as his eyes soften and flit over her face. 

“You’re quite pretty when you cry, but when you cry like that, it makes me worried,” Harry tells her, his lips crooking, traces of joking interlacing the syllables of his concern. 

Instead of settling for the jesting fragment, Isla settles into his concern, letting the waves of it lick at her until she’s basked by chagrin. “I know. Sorry.” 

“Hey — don’t apologize, darling. S’just intense? That’s it?” the dominant lifts his hand to stroke over her digits, lax in her lap, his jade searching for something — anything, “You promise?” 

No. 

“Yeah,” Isla tells him, bobbing her head in a nod to subdue his worries. Because eyes are windows — they say more than any other piece of her face could, but they can’t give anything away if they’re out of sight. She flexes her fingers into squeezing at the placating, sweet pet of his own digits. The submissive sighs, and the inhale she takes through her nose still sounds horribly congested. “Yes. I promise.” 

See — that part, vehemently, audibly promising — that’s teeming into the territory of lies. The young woman stifles and shoves down her guilt by wearing a brave face, letting her lips quirk up, hoping the notion isn’t as half-hearted as she feels. Perhaps it’s less of a sin to lie than it would be to admit she’s past the interest of protecting anonymity, with him. 

“Promise. All good, now.” 

Harry regards her in a way that inclines her to believe he doesn’t accept it at face value. He chews into his cheek, letting her squeeze his hand a bit longer, before he tugs it away and uses his palm to stroke over her thigh, instead. 

“If I did something,” he starts, slowly, casting his gaze from the touch to her face — and his eyes, they’re so piercing, then. They’re soft, they’re full of comfort, but they read into her, just in this way that he does. As if he can see behind her mask — as if it’s composed of mesh. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, love?”

Something twists in her chest.

“Of course.” 

“Because if I ever do anything that’s not a vibrant green light—“ he doesn’t take his sight away from her as he talks, gentle in tone but with this firm, inherent nature, “anything you’re not into, at all,” he glances to the caress, Isla watches his tongue peek out to glide against his lips, he squeezes and looks back to her, “I need you to tell me. Even if you realize after. Even if it doesn’t seem important. S’important to me.” 

I kissed you, Isla wants to tell him, her throat growing dry, like it’s become parched with cotton balls. His eyes scope over her, and she feels like she can pinpoint what he’s vaguely referencing without his hints. You didn’t break a limit. I kissed you. 

But that admission opens doors. It opens doors into conversations, about her boundaries, about the meaning behind her boundaries, and what it means for her to take the leap and break past them. She doesn’t wanna do it. She can’t do it. Slowly, Isla shakes her head. She feels as if her mouth is the Sahara desert. 

“No. Everything was good. I promise. Just a little intense, and I think I slipped a little too far. It’s happened before—“

Lies. She’s never just cried like that, after a scene, after she was fine. No one’s drawn that reaction. 

“—I can get really emotional when I …slip like that.” 

Less lies. More truth to her statement, but. Still not the entirety. But she’s not under oath, she supposes, so she can …twist and dilute the details. Harry looks over her, pupils roving, for a second, as if he isn’t keen to just accept the answer. And despite it all — despite her demure to gloss over the broken boundary entirely (it’s her boundary to break) — he still brings it to the table, like he’s unable to gloss over it himself. Isla wants to bash her face against the headboard. 

“And the kiss,” he says slowly, jade bouncing from her face to his gloved palm, fondling over her thigh. 

Because we talk. That’s what we do, his words from nights prior ring behind her skull. 

His irises sparkle like emerald stones beneath the sweep of his lashes, “That didn’t have anything to do with it, pet?” 

“I kissed you,” she expels in a breath, after a second, refraining from ogling her fingers and picking at her nails — a telltale, she can’t give him that. Not when she’s trying to hide an elephant behind a napkin. Her voice is much more sure on the latter, “Not the other way around. You didn’t break any limits. I promise.” 

Harry gnaws into the corner of his mouth. Isla half-expects the man to prod further, to dredge deeper into the sentiments behind the fissure in her self-imposed limits, but he doesn’t need to. Isla can see the gears turning behind his skull, slotted like puzzle pieces, cycling with his thoughts. He doesn’t say anything. Not for a moment. There’s a quiet moment, where he kind of just pets at her skin sweetly and mulls over the words. The two slip into a kind of limbo, then — words with sentiments unsaid. They hover over them, and they loom alongside the hourglass, in oblivion. 

A ham and cheese croissant, an oat milk latte, and a book about pain-slut-ism (sort of, there’s a bit more to it than that) — that’s what Harry and Isla bond over the next time their windows overlap in a public space.

She’s on her lunch break, and she didn’t grab lunch from home this morning, but today the sun beams down instead of being shrouded by clouds as a torrential downpour annihilates the streets, so it’s all sort of okay. Isla’s in line at the bustling cafe across the street from her office — second in line for the register, actually, with a whole myriad of patrons waiting patiently behind her, nearly stood up to the welcome mat beside the glass door, and the young woman is cradling a physical edition of Hold me Down by Sara Taylor Woods. Great read — probably not the greatest to be caught perusing in public. But the imagery over the cover is innocuous enough for her to catch up on some light reading at one of those little, round tables, by a window, despite the content.  

There’s a lot going on, around her — volume-wise — and she’s become zoned out as she stares ahead at the back of the customer ordering. At least this one isn’t wearing unsightly, sagging jeans. Just a crisp, white dress shirt. Slacks. Tailored, of course. Very smart — lush, in fact. Tall Stranger is put together. Isla’s only snapped out of her daze when a familiar inflection beckons her. 

“Isla?” 

Her pupils flit. Harry Styles has turned. He’s the customer ahead, whose back she’s been ogling for the better part of the last two minutes. Harry Styles — her charming realtor, her bane of sexual demise. How opportune, universe — truly. Yes, let’s flip the day upside-down at eleven AM. Dimples dig into place beside his soft smile as he regards her warmly. She blinks out of her stupefied daze, and then her face morphs. 

“Oh— hi! Jeez. Small world.” 

“Small world,” the man grants her a little nod of agreement, jade sparkling as it stays fixed on her. His pupils roam down to her book, then, pasted between her arm and her side. He eyes the title. Hold me Down. The irony is blistering. Harry clears his throat, “Catching up on some reading?” 

Isla blinks, sparing a glance to her book, and after a beat of lull that goes on just too short to be deemed an uncomfortable pause, she curbs and mentally wills her face from turning ruddy. “Yeah. Yep.” 

And then Harry’s chin pivots toward the girl working the register, and he tells her, “Sorry, could you add her order onto mine, if you don’t mind?” 

Oh — Oh. No—

“Oh, you don’t have to do that—“ Isla starts, quietly, but her speech is stifled by the expectant looks encircling her. She starts again, her smile small and uncomfortable and polite, “Um. Just a small iced latte. Oat milk. Thank you,” she rocks forward onto her toes, and dips her cadence into a lower volume as she steps forward and tells the cashier, “and could you just add a ham and cheese croissant onto a separate tab—“

It’s a poor attempt. Harry clears his throat. “Same tab,” she hears him say, from beside her, and Isla physically bridles her grimace. The young woman sighs, a little indignantly, because why was he buying her lunch— but then the girl working the register just taps it all into the POS and casts her gaze towards the curly-headed brunette. Isla looks up at Harry from beneath her lashes, a bit sheepish, “Thank you.” 

“Sure. S’my good deed of the day,” he shoots her a look, wearing a cheeky smile as he taps his card over the pad, and then stuffs it back into his wallet, tucking that away into a pocket. He motions with his arm, “Any thoughts on the property I showed you?” 

“It’s a great property,” Isla tells him, towing behind as the man winds around the bend in the counter to stand ahead of the sill — the next customer steps up into line. It’s humdrum in the making. The world spins. “Definitely at the top of my list.” 

“Yeah?” he spares her a glance, “That’s good to hear. Mulnich or Sweeger?” 

“Both,” the young woman responds, after a moment of musing, “But I think — maybe Sweeger, a little more.” 

“Really?” Harry’s mouth quirks, passing her a straw and her respective beverage before taking his own as it pops up on the sill, “I would’ve thought Mulnich, for sure.” 

“They’re — thank you — both great, but. I don’t know, that rope swing,” Isla tells him with a shake of her head. Really, it’d been the sheer space of the backyard, the vaulted ceilings, the renovations, the pretty palette of neutral tones, the distance from the heart of the city — but she just can’t afford to let the joke slip past without wringing it a bit. It’s worth it, Isla finds, as the corners of his mouth buckle in response, and she has the pleasure of being graced with his dimples. 

“That’s the selling point for you, innit,” he motions out with his cup, showcasing perfect, beaming white teeth in a grin before he takes a sip of his coffee — black, simple, satiating, “A rope swing?” his lips curl over the lip of the lid. It’s kind of scalding hot, but being around her, in unsuspecting circumstances, sort of sends a chill down his spine, anyhow, so he supposes it’s all got a strange way of balancing out. Can’t say some inane shit if he’s burned his taste buds off. 

“Mm,” Isla hums, wrapping her lips over the end of the straw and nursing a sip — chilling, in comparison to Harry’s beverage. Her croissant, warm in its wrapper, slides through on the counter, and she wraps her hand over it. 

“Is it any good?”

“Sorry?”

“Your book, love,” the man grins, “I’ve been trying to get into reading more, and I’m really looking for recommendations.” 

“Oh,” her eyes widen a smidge, a nervous note of laughter leaking into her cadence, “I don’t know if—“ those same eyes scope over the book pressed against her, “I mean, yeah it’s good. Really good, actually. But it’s,” Isla clears her throat, “It’s kind of a romance, so I don’t know if… I don’t know that…”

The young woman discovers Harry staring at her, then, partly expectantly, and majorly amused. Christ. She wishes the ground would swallow her whole, then. Explaining that her current re-read was a BDSM-centered erotica focused on the pleasures of exploring masochism to her dominant-who-doesn’t-know-he’s-her-dominant was not the way she thought she’d be spending her lunch break. 

His lips twitch. “What’s it about?” 

”Learning that being yourself is okay,” the young woman tells him — that explanation comes easily enough. It’s the same reason the book is one of her favorites. Sure, the erotica is great, and the writing is brilliant, and the character details, their actions, their methods, their hearts — it makes it easy to fall in love with them. But the main message, all about learning to be yourself, that the things others say, the journey to the climax (pun unintended), the journey of the protagonist’s foils and struggles, and the subsequent resolution — that makes the book for Isla. 

“It sounds beautiful,” the dominant-unclad tells her, amusement lacking as his features soften into something …serious, and open, and curious, “Can you tell me more?”

Well. Not that she would prefer not to discuss masochism in a bustling cafe, but. Honestly, she’d prefer not to discuss masochism in a bustling coffee shop. But then her counterpart just sort of looks at her with those eyes that speak volumes, the same ones she’s grown so familiar with, but they don’t say anything. Not in the way they do during a scene, glinting with mischief. They’re just curious, interested, bemused, open. She glances about herself. The patrons are consumed with themselves, and for those who wear headphones and browse through their laptops in silence, there’s five more who chatter away, and the baristas mill as the line grows lengthier and lengthier. Nobody is going to listen in on Isla discussing the adventures of masochism. And, well. She blinks up at him. If it wasn’t Harry, and she wasn’t positive that he’d beat her with a strap in a fetish club two weeks ago, even if he wasn’t aware that she was the one wearing the lacy mask, she’d probably reject the idea, but. Isla’s well aware that her spark notes are not going to leave him thinking that she’s weird for enjoying that kind of literature. 

“It’s all about this girl that, well, she has these,” the young woman follows Harry as he ambles towards one of the tables, gaze fixed on her entirely to cue that she’s to tail him, and a pinch works between her brows, “desires. Like, she’s into pain, and she doesn’t know how to cope with it properly. Like, she’ll go into the gym for hours on end to feel it, and wear a rubber band on her wrist, and — well, actually, it’s kind of dark. I don’t want to spoil anything, but at some points it’s mentioned that she goes really far to get this pain that she’s craving.”

She blinks. Harry is still with her. He scootches out a chair for her and then sits in the one across. Isla takes her seat, and the legs scrape over the tile loudly as she scoots the chair in.

“But she also has all this other stuff going on in her life, like — she has this awful relationship with her father and she goes to this God awful therapist, right. Like — terrible therapist. And everyone, the entire time, is just trying to dissect her and tell her that she’s not healthy, and that everything she feels is wrong,” Harry watches as a crease works its way between her brows, enthralled by her passion. There’s something she’s related to, in this story — he can tell, and he listens to her explain, “and, well. She meets this guy at the beginning of the book named Sean. And despite everything she’s heard her entire life, and everything she keeps hearing, Sean is trying to show her the entire time that it’s totally normal to like what she likes and, like, through meeting him she learns to handle these desires she has in a healthy way, and he really alters her self image in a positive direction.”

”Does it have a happy ending?” 

The paper crinkles beneath Isla’s palm. She almost unveils her sandwich, but doesn’t. 

”I — well, I don’t wanna spoil it, but it does, yeah. I just really like the message behind the book. Because when you read between the lines, it’s got so much more meaning than just, like, a love story with kinky sex,” she looks down at her drink, a pinch working over her brow bone as she verbally expands on her thought process, “It’s a journey about being yourself, and that it’s okay to be yourself.” 

There’s a moment of lull. Which — technically there isn’t, not around them. The world still mills and bustles with pedestrian routine — a coffee machine dings, a wrapper crinkles, shoes scuff over the tile and chatter flows in overlapping waves over the soft electro-indie leaking from the speakers overhead. There’s a pause between them, though. Isla feels like, maybe, she’s said something too much, or maybe he thinks she’s strange for her ardent attraction to pages depicting a bunch of pain-slut-ism erotica, but then she shoots him a peer from the nervous stall she’d settled on with her latte, and he’s just …watching her. 

“You’ve convinced me,” the soft smile that toys at his cushiony mouth has her heart speeding up a smidge, “S’going in the kindle cart.” And then he casually fishes out his phone. The young woman watches him scroll through a few tabs, silent, until the pads of his thumbs swipe over the LED display, like he’s typing, and Harry says, “Hold…Me Down…by?” and shoots her a glance through his lashes, chin dipped. 

“Sara Taylor Woods,” Isla supplies, crossing her legs beneath the table. It digs into her knee a bit, in a nice, grounding way. His gaze flits away, back to the screen.

“Sara Taylor…Woods,” the man thumbs through his phone for a bit longer before he casts his gaze up to her and tells her, cheekily, “I’ll give you my review when you call me about putting in an offer for that property.” 

She bites into her cheek to stifle her smile and rolls her eyes, “I’m not sure about the property yet.” 

“Fine, you can use my number to set up a formal book club, then, since you have it.” 

Slowly, Isla doffs the wrapper from her croissant, and laughs before she quips, “Is a two person book club really a book club?”

“Fine, we can go out to dinner, and I’ll happen to give you my review on the book,” the left corner of his mouth jolts up, crookedly, and he tacks on, when she blinks at his proposition, “and then we’ll talk about the property. How’s that sound?” 

Isla just sort of stares a little, kind of stupefied. Was he — was this…was he asking her out on a date? She’s unsure if she’s supposed to be offended that he was pursuing another woman, even if it was herself, just in a …different context, by proposing a date when they had a sexual arrangement (a whole contract, in fact), or if, maybe, she should be flattered that he was asking her out on a date. She nearly stuffs her croissant back into its paper confines. 

“Oh— I… like a…?”

“I’m asking you out to dinner,” the man supplies, irises intent and intense upon her. He wears soft traces of a smile as he casts a glance to his beverage — taller than her own, whatever it is, and the young woman watches his ring clad digits stroke down the papery cup. “How does next Thursday sound?” 

Next Thursday — Isla wracks her brain, mulling as if there’s a viable reason to do so. Her Eros was asking her to dinner — if need be, she’d clear her schedule to make room. She refrains from picking at her cuticles and keeps her voice ludicrously even and nonchalant when she tells him, “Okay. Yeah, that should work.” 

“Sick. Thursday, next week.” 

Sick. 

Sick, I think we’ve covered all the bases. 

His mouth quirks, “I’ll text you,” the man’s shoulders jump once he presses the lip of the lid to his mouth, and he swallows the warm liquid before he tacks on, “the details for the dinner — not my book review, mind you. While I’ve got you here, though, any other literary recommendations?” 

“I have a request,” Isla says, her arms slung over his shoulders. 

Eros is sat back, braced with locked elbows and palms planted, on the Scary Sheetless Mattress — a routine spot of many rendezvouses and discussions, it seems — in the Dungeon. 

“I’m all ears, darling,” the dominant tells her, head cocked and mouth crooking lewdly. This is a thing — it’s their thing. Their …last thing. Isla stuffs the unpleasant reminder back into the dark dells — she won’t let it get her down. Besides, he’s asked her out to dinner — maskless. Unbeknownst, perhaps… probably, actually, but. All the same, in a way. 

It’s why she brings it to the table now. Because, if it’s their last thing, at least for the time being, she’d like to explore something new. 

“I want to…” she licks out at her lips, and Harry watches the tongue swipe hungrily, “A couple weeks ago, you…”

“I…?” he blinks at her, raising his brows behind the latex expectantly, a tad teasing. 

“Well. You talked about the… changing the association that I have,” Isla swallows, making a valiant effort to stifle the butterflies that bloom in their flume and flutter along her insides, “with the cane.” 

She expects some sort of reaction. Something — maybe not as far as his eyes brightening, but something settling into curiosity, or some form of ardor, something with intensity beside a blank gaze. In lieu, she gets nothing. There’s no shift in his body language, or his touch, or tone, or the verdant of his gaze. He stays a blank slate.

“Mm.” 

“And I wanted to explore that,” Isla tacks on. 

“Okay. We can do that,” he jerks his chin in a little nod, and then cocks his head as she continues. 

“Just don’t — I mean, don’t beat me with it,” she tenses up a bit, her eyes widening — though he can’t see, behind the lace — for emphasis, and her knees shift over quilted stitching and rosettes. 

The dominant’s mouth crooks, and he reassures her, intentions pacific, “M’not gonna do that.” And then he lifts a hand to pat at her hip. His oddly ominous words wear an almost unfitting, placatory tone when he tells her, raising his eyebrows, “But. You’ll have to trust the process. Yes?” 

Isla takes a bated breath, and tries to stave off the chill that wracks down the knobs of her spine with the insinuation — if we do this, we’ll do it my way, and it’ll be uncomfortable, at least at first. But the apprehension that teems her is welcomed. Like the kind before jumping off of a cliff into deep, warm waters below. She gives a little nod, “Okay.”

“Okay,” she watches his strawberry tongue glide out over his pillowy, pink mouth. Eros traces his touch over her hip, then, sitting up a smidge to encompass the motion when he prods, “Can you tell me a bit more about the …villain origin?” 

His mouth quirks up, and he smooths a hand over her waist, “Y’don’t have to. But I’d like to know.” 

It’s — she’d sort of expected the inquiry with her suggestion. Of course he’d want to dig deeper to comprehend her traumas if they were going to push against them. And it’s not like the recollection coaxes this horrifying unnerve in her — it was just a bad play. A bad call — on her part, on the dom’s, in the scene. A nudge on limits that’d breached and marred, at the time, but she wasn’t fouled-up past the point of discussion with it. It sucked, but when you’re trying loads and loads of new, scary, dangerous things, something can always go wrong, and Isla knew that — sort of from firsthand experience. It’s how you learn your limits, after all. That was her wrong thing. Except, when you’re learning limits, the routine goes: you try something, you go, shit, I didn’t like that, and it ends there. Except it didn’t. Her hesitancy flourished, and she nourished it with the cycle, and it grew and towered, until its roots were intertwined in her like her veins, and she couldn’t pick them out. 

But it didn’t all start out that way. 

Titan was a nice guy. Nice guy, but the label wasn’t to be confused with his inclinations as a dom. In the dom aspect, keyword, he was mean. But in every other circumstance, Titan was nice, with his spiffy white sneakers, and his golden pendant on his golden chain. He’d hold the door for her, and sometimes he bought her a mocktail, and he always gave really, truly, beyond adequate aftercare. He was good with that. Titan was a routine she’d slipped into post the exit of Artemis — her first dom experience outside of the familiar. He was a good trial run — a really good trial run, and Isla was never left unsatisfied post his cruel affections. And the thing with Titan, just like it was with Artemis, was that Isla was all too eager to try new things. She was still fresh-faced to the scene, at the time, but she knew just enough to where she became comfortable to push. And Titan liked that — he liked pushing her, and he liked that she was willing to push herself. He was a sadist, true in form, but he was careful. He was good, and he was careful, and he was really thorough about everything. 

Isla wasn’t. 

Isla liked the push — the push she gave herself, the push on buttons, the push on limits. Exploration — it felt like. Adrenaline, alive, sans common sense, back then. Because Isla was eager, and she was flippant, and she didn’t understand that body cues were to be read with intent caution. Titan let her push herself. It wasn’t his fault, innately. She was fresh-faced, but she wasn’t fresh to Indulge, and she knew all about the implements she liked, and how she liked them, and just the way she wanted to be coddled and grounded post whatever new thing they tried in a night. He’d stand over her with a flogger and it felt like terror in its purest, rawest form, but there was a safety to it — like melting back into a plush, red seat at a theater showing of Paranormal Activity in 3D. The fear could bite, but it couldn’t mar beyond play. Right? 

The cane was something Dan Sever never wanted to explore. He was always a little weird with it — a little weird with marks. And canes, sometimes even with a solid groove of warm-up, left stripes — and sometimes those would bleed, if you weren’t careful. It was kind of funny, in an ironic way, Dan Sever comically stood over her with all sorts of terror-inciting toys, sans the ability to stomach the thought of blood, which. That was never Isla’s thing, anyways, but she sort of found it interesting that Dan didn’t even enjoy leaving finger-pad-shaped bruises over her hips. Dan liked control. He liked having control, he liked seeing her pain, he liked seeing her pleasure, and he liked being in control of it all. But Dan didn’t like the really intense, sort of hardcore stuff, per se. So, anyways, Isla didn’t delve into that toy — not until Titan, who was all too eager, just like Isla. 

They started slow — the first time wasn’t it. The first time she’d been warmed up well, and she’d received maybe ten strikes with it (probably, not even — probably nine, but the memory is hazy) that left pretty stripes over the backs of her thighs, and that was that. It hurt, but there was this bloom of pain she was enthralled by, and she fell in love with monitoring the marks morph, over the course of the week in her bathroom mirror until their next liaison, in the same way she’d fallen in love with Indulge. She couldn’t let it go. So she asked for it again, and she’d read up, on the amazing, spectacular internet (which knew all answers on everything) that a cold caning would cause far more intense bruising. Which sounded nice, because the marks would last longer. It’d hurt more, sure, but this was all a very …controlled environment. 

So she’d brought the concept to the table with Titan. He entertained it. The second time was definitely a further nudge into fuck-this-sucks-territory than the first had been — she cried pretty easily with it, but it was a short session and the marks to admire over the following week or two were well worth it, Isla deemed. And the tide of endorphins with that raw kind of pain was unfathomable, almost. It was like bliss. How did you like the scene? Titan had asked after, when he’d coddled her out of her teary spell. Isla was on her stomach, and she’d shot a weak, dazed peer over her shoulder at the little blooms of aubergine in thin lines, and—

Yes. Just — yes. How she liked it, the young woman wasn’t too sure, but she did, undeniably. She liked it. 

Introducing the cane as a punishment had been Titan’s idea — not her own. And it wasn’t this devious, out-of-pocket suggestion sculpted from his mind based on his own cruelties and thin air  — they’d already explored it in different contexts, and Isla had enjoyed it, so the prospect wasn’t as terrifying as it would’ve been had she not been exposed to the implement, prior. They discussed it before the scene began — an informal negotiation. She doesn’t remember what had been the catalyst — a disorderly series of comments, on her part, or something, maybe, so he’d hauled her across the room by a firm hold on her upper arm and bent her over one of the leather-padded benches (in a room since renovated). The warm up was his hand, first, and then they worked their way up to a short session with a little, rectangular shaped paddle that would kiss her backside with a bite. The cane was one of those long, thin, switch-y ones, but it didn’t innately terrify her. She felt the warp in her, when everything started to grow fuzzy and floaty on the high of endorphins — when it’d seep into the marrow of her bones and she was just left pliable. It wasn’t entirely either party’s fault — Isla was floaty, and Titan didn’t space the strikes out enough, and there had been this rift that’d grown between them in the communication process over the course of the caning. And the thing with the whole incident was that Titan had warned her — he’d warned her that it would hurt more, he’d warned her that it was important to listen to her own cues. The first few were fine — they made her gasp, and rise up on her toes, and claw at the padding over the bench while her knuckles grew white. And then the sixth one hurt, and the seventh hurt worse, and the eighth felt like red. She wasn’t sure what had caused the sudden morph of a green light into a blazing crimson, but something had. It felt fiery red — it felt like a yellow that’d shifted, and still, even as the stoplight hit red, she hurtled past the white line and ran it. And then ninth was just one past red, and then the tenth—

It wasn’t anyone’s fault, not inherently — it was just one of those freak-accidents that was sort of bound to happen when you’re doing a power-exchange with loads, and loads of scary-looking things that have the potential of culling serious levels of pain. She knew that, but she was still kind of incapable of reassuring Titan as he roved over her hands, after, his hair in wild disarray and his eyes wilder with the self-imposed recognition of danger. And later, when he was holding her, and she cast her gaze up to him, his gaze wasn’t nearly as wild, but it was tired and worn, distant and mulling. 

There’s always this initial discomfort that settles, at first, when a boundary is broken. Because, what can you do, really, besides learn from it? It can torment both parties in different ways, and sometimes it’s much more difficult to bounce back from than other instances. 

They worked past it. They didn’t play with the cane anymore. 

Her interest in the fear-play aspect didn’t spawn until months later, when she was playing with a different dom, and he’d stood ruminating over the wall of implements. His hand had stroked over a cane — a long, wooden one in beige-y hues, and her hair had literally stood on end at the sight, chills erupting over her arms and her throat growing dry on her swallow. He hadn’t done more than smoothed his fingertips over it, glance momentary in timespan, before he moved on and culled a paddle — but it was enough for this peculiar sense of dread to bloom within her. And more peculiar, maybe — the excitement that ensued as the dread ebbed. It was like… liquid relief. She swallowed it, and it left her rejuvenated, and jittery, and—

It was weird. It was really just …something odd, but after that, every time he’d waltz back over to that wall of implements and drag his fingers over the varieties, she’d sort of …perk up a bit. And watch. She’d take that shot of adrenaline, and it would run through her veins, spiking her heart rate as he mused, and she’d chase it with relief when he passed over the toy. Sometimes she’d sort of hope he’d sift through the options and elect one of the canes, in a weird, half-hearted, sort of way. He never would — it was on her list of limits, pre-discussed. Of course, he never would. 

But that was the start of it. 

And then came Hercules — and she’d explored the interest with him, baring her vulnerabilities with him tentatively in negotiation. Because it was weird, right? This thing, it freaked her out, so why would she feel this bizarre interest in chasing after that fear. Hercules didn’t make her feel weird about it. Hercules just told her that it was all cool — Hercules was the one who had really introduced her into the fearplay aspect. And at first, the dread stemmed from the discomfort of the memory ingrained — she’d remember the way it had made her feel, and it made her pulse quicken. Eventually though, it became as if she was classically conditioned to have a sudden influx of adrenaline. The attachment of the memory faded, and, as if she was expecting to experience the hormonal release, it began occurring on its own volition. Now, just the sight of the implement beside her incited her nervous system to go on overdrive. But, she found that she liked that, too. That rush of adrenaline — like the drop on a roller coaster. 

Isla tells him the story, barring the crude, verbose details, half-expecting to see something in his face contort, even a smidge, and twitch at the mention of another play partner. But nothing happens. His eyes stay a blank slate, open and imbibing of her uncomfortable past with the implement while he listens quietly. Halfway through, Isla slips into the routine of picking at her cuticles — telltale inklings of her apprehension, and the dominant’s gaze skids to the motion, bridling a verbal command for her to stop. She does it on her own, eventually, and her shoulders rise in a shrug, and she casts her gaze up to him as as the tale comes to a close. For a moment, Harry doesn’t say anything. His pupils roam over her, over her face, down the column of her throat, over her stomach, but by that point the motion of his sight seems to be absent-minded — hand in hand with his musing. Finally, he sighs. 

“‘M’sorry that happened to you, pet,” the man draws with a crooked knuckle in over her cheekbone, a frown painted over his lush mouth — the digit grows laxer with his sweep, and eventually he’s drawn a line down her jaw with the pad of his forefinger. 

It sort of tickles — his touch — and the softness behind it incites a warmth to flourish in her chest when she brushes off the discomfort of the story and tells him, “I mean, it wasn’t anybody’s fault. Kinda bound to happen if you’re not careful enough.” 

Harry gives her a half-sad sort of look, like she’s not wrong, and he doesn’t know much more he could add to the conversation. He slides his palm over her hip, and casts his gaze down, lips parting as if he’s about to say something — and then he just stops. His mouth purses. Eventually, he does talk. 

“I guess. I wouldn’t say bound, though. I feel like I get it, with you — you were new to it, and you were too eager. But he should’ve been more careful when it came to picking up on your cues. Especially when playing with something like that.” 

“Sure,” Isla concurs, placing her hand on to his cheek and thumbing at the open zipper over his eyes. The pad of her digit focuses on the little fragment over the bridge of his nose, and she wishes, with a blip of disappointment billowing, that she was able to stroke over his cheekbone and feel skin beneath her fingertip, rather than a smooth, rubber coating. “Water under the bridge, now, though,” she supplies, her shoulders rising in a shrug as her mouth pastes together into a half-hearted sort of smile. 

“S’a shame, too,” Harry tells her, after a moment, fondling over her bare thigh — she shifts over him a little with the motion, “Caning can be quite sensual.” 

“Sensual?” Isla bridles her snort as her nose crinkles behind lacy fabric, “It sucks.” 

Harry sets his strawberry mouth into a line and shakes his head from side to side, “I thought you liked it, at first.”

“I did— but it still sucked,” Isla’s laugh chokes off, “Like. Still, …ouch. It was more about the marks.” 

More about the marks. That — Harry could relate to. His caress over her flesh turns a little firmer, and the glint in his irises turns a little more lewd …with flecks of mischief. 

“You,” his tone becomes more …suggestive, growing lower as the conversation dips into more lighthearted territory, “always treat me like an evil, little …demon for getting off on the marks. But it looks like you and I are one and the same, after all.” 

Isla’s unable to stifle the bark of nervous laughter that leaves her cheeks teeming with warmth at the insinuation. She leans back from him a bit, because — no, “Oh — we are not the same. And you are like an evil, little demon.” 

“Well, that’s just impolite.” 

“You are— it’s like,” she pauses, unable to come up with a credible argument, and she scoffs, motioning with the hand that’d so fondly brushed over the bridge of his nose only moments prior as the corners of the man’s mouth buckle in dirty knowing. 

“It’s like…?” 

“Well, it’s different!” the young woman exclaims, but she’s not the least bit convinced by her own statement, even when she tags on, “It’s different because I don’t get off on leaving them on other people — therefore, I am not an evil, little demon.” 

“Now you’re just kink shaming— that’s quite rude, you know,” the dominant tells her, raising his eyebrows and feigning seriousness despite the obvious nature of their banter. She knows him far too well to fall for it, anyhow. “Why does either of us have to be the evil, little demon?” 

“I guess—“ again, the young woman’s shoulders rise in a shrug, “Neither of us has to be. But those were your words,” she points with her index at his chest, the pad of her finger digging into the linen a bit, “not mine.” 

“Exactly,” Harry lifts the palm that isn’t gripping and manhandling over her thigh to motion and cocks his head, eyes rolling in with exaggerated mirth, “Neither of us has to be. So you agree?” 

“Agree…?” 

He ducks his chin, a crease between his eyebrows behind the rubbery hood, “That we’re just two sides of the same coin?” 

Again, her nose crinkles, and the visible features of her face contort, coaxing the edges of the dominant’s lush lips to curl up. “Absolutely not.” 

“Why are you so against it,” Harry prods, laughter interlacing his smooth cadence, “Hm?” 

It’s sinful, honestly, the reaction he manages to draw when his tone turns a little more sensual, when he lowers his volume and teases, “Just admit it. After I strapped you, you spent a couple of days admiring the marks in the mirror.” 

The accusation — no, the unbeknownst reminder, rather, causes her to nearly choke on her saliva, all pliable good-nature in her system washed away by the violent wave of lust that crashes over her, post the sentiment. Because she had. She had admired them — the faint, ruddy tinges fading into an invisible ache, some splotches settling and sticking for days after the majority of the canvas had dissolved back into her skin tone. The love bites over her backside, in particular, her irises had come to wend over, again and again. She’d eye over the blooms of bruises and think back to his lips being there. His tongue, laving over her florid skin. The press of his bare hand on the opposite side while his mouth sucked bruises into her skin — like palpable remnants of his affections, as if they were meant to be admired for days after. Because they were. 

Her eyes slip shut, all traces of the smile she’d worn, previously, melting away. And he doesn’t need her to admit it, because the wordless retort is sort of all the confirmation he needs. In return, the man’s stupid, stupidly-kissable mouth crooks up. She wants to bat his touch away for making her thought process so incomprehensible so early on in their rendezvous, but he’s got her in this sort of grip that leaves the rest of her body, physically, just as dumb and pliable. 

“You’re—“ she sniffs, casually, shaking her head in an attempt to gather her bearings in, at least, a somewhat dignified manner (the man’s lashline narrows in cheeky awareness), “What were we talking about?” 

“Your diabolical infatuation with marks,” Harry supplies, entirely unhelpful. The young woman’s mouth is twitchy as she fights her smile at his dumb, typical quip, and she has to physically curb the instinct to roll her eyes behind her mask. 

“Right,” rather than poking at him on his side-tracked discourse on diabolical infatuations with marks, to stave off yet another side-tracked bloom of discourse, Isla doesn’t bother entertaining the banter, “Before that.” 

The dominant digs his tongue against his cheek, taking his free palm to fondle at both globes of her ass, he shifts her over his lip with his palms and says, after a moment of apparent mulling, “Caning can be sensual.”

Right — that. Yes. No. Isla disagrees. 

“You just did it wrong,” he expresses, his hands squeezing cheekily with the remark. 

“Oh? And what’s the right way, then, Mr. Sensual Caning Connoisseur?” 

Eros gives her a look — one of those looks, like she’s being improper by referring to him with an improper honorific, but then he just …licks his lips and clears his throat, like he’s chosen to gloss over it entirely. Pick your battles, and all that, “You start off with a massage, relaxed muscles, do a solid warm up with another implement — more massage to relax more. Start gentle, only increase in little bits. Go slow.” 

He shrugs, and tugs her closer to him with the grip over her backside, as if this is all very simple common sense, “It can be fun.”

Isla’s eyebrows quirk up, and she’s about to insert a sarcastic retort on the impressive nature of his knowledge, all for the sake of joking around before her impending doom — but then he keeps going. Tacks on, like an afterthought, “Position matters too. Y’know, cause—“

The young woman’s breath catches in her throat when the dominant shifts again, the pads of his glove-clad fingers digging into her skin with his shameless fondling, “If you’re bent over, then you’re, like. Stretching more. Versus, if you’re laying flat on your stomach, the skin is more relaxed.”

“That,” Isla sighs, far more swooned with arousal than she would’ve anticipated (it’s the fondling — the fucking fondling), “makes sense. Mr. …Professional.” 

Her mouth twitches on the latter, a note of amusement interlacing with the syllables. She watches his tongue run a tantalizing line over his pillowy bottom lip, pulsing between her thighs, and then watches it pause, just poking out a smidge, at the corner of his mouth. And then Eros puts it away, entirely, his mouth closing. Flinty jade narrows, and one of the palms that’d been squeezing so sweetly only moments prior pulls away and smacks on one side, coaxing a squeak and a subtle jolt forward from her. 

“Stop doing that,” he warns, but there’s faint traces of amusement to his inflection. 

Isla feigns innocence, despite her stinging skin, “Doing what?” 

“The Mister shit,” Harry chimes, unimpressed. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she giggles, “what honorific would you prefer?” 

“Sir.” 

“Mr. Eros—“

Her giggles dissolve into a gasp and a pout when he just does it again. She grumbles, rocking forward a little and tucking her hair over one shoulder before she asserts, “You call me little miss! That’s hypocritical, you know. Very mean.” 

His mouth quirks in response, and he assuages by rubbing over the stinging skin with his palm. Isla focuses on his lips with her eyes — perfect, a shade of muted berry, just there, and so close, so irresistibly …kissable. Her train of thought is derailed when the man pats at her thigh and coaxes, “I know. I’m so horrible. Hop up, little miss.” 

“Sir, yes, Sir,” Isla cocks her head, her voice teeming with impetuous sarcasm. She muzzles her quip of Mr. Bossy, picking her battles and bridling them to become spaced apart. It’s a wise choice, because her Eros doesn’t comment on her words, despite the tone, unlatching his grip and holding onto her hips as aid when she climbs off of his lap. 

Then, Harry stands and takes a few slow steps away from the mattress. Isla falls back onto it, unceremoniously, only sitting up to watch his planning process, in action, with a sense of curiosity. 

“Here’s how this is gonna go. You’re gonna stand,” the dominant takes a few more, slow steps, until he taps out at an expanse of empty, concrete flooring with the toe of his shoe, clearing his throat, “Right here. With the wand,” he shoots her a glance. Isla relaxes back a bit. The wand. She likes this train of thought. 

“Whatever setting you’d like. And I’m just gonna touch you with the cane. The whole time. If you can make it until you cum without crying,” he crosses his arms over his chest, casting his gaze back onto the young woman, “Then I have a proposition.” 

Isla, from the sheetless mattress, leans back against braced arms and planted palms and cocks her head in question. 

“If you cry — facial,” Harry tells her. Isla’s features twitch behind her shrouding. A facial didn’t seem like all that vilely discouraging of a consequence. 

“But,” the man swivels to face her fully, “If you can make it the whole way without breaking down, then you can have a creampie.” 

And that’s — just — wow. Okay. Shit. His filthy suggestion sends a current of warmth lapping in the trench of her tummy, it sends her body tensing up a tad, and it leaves the pace of her pulsing speeding up. Despite this, Isla sits up a tad. There’s a nervous quality shrouded by mirth, in her voice. 

“Um,” she starts, a crease working between her brows as Harry regards her apparent …rejection with bemusement, “You don’t have to… if this is because I kissed you last week—“

When she slides her gaze back up to his face, though, traveling quickly from the concrete, to his dress shoes, over his attire, and finally settling on onyx latex, she can see that his mouth has curled up. 

“I— what? What’s funny?” 

“Nothing’s funny.” 

“Then… well, then, why are you…?” her words melt away as he turns, one, pleather-coated hand in his pocket and the other by his side as he takes slow steps back to stand ahead of her, until her neck is craned back to encompass the height difference in her seated position. 

The hand that isn’t tucked away in his slacks comes up to her face, at first just brushing, and then it morphs into a  squeeze over her cheeks. She pants in his grip before he runs his thumb over her lips. 

“It’s not because you kissed me,” he asserts, his voice soft, “It’s not a quid pro quo. I just …want to, and you’ve expressed interest in it, so I thought you did, too.”

He makes sure he’s done everything he can to meet her eye, despite the lacy veiling that shrouds the brown irises he knows hide behind it, before he tacks on, carefully, “But if you don’t want to, anymore, then that’s okay, too, love.” 

Isla weighs his words behind her skull, the personal nature of the confession. I want to break a personal boundary with you — something that’s personal, to me. She tries not to let the admission rile her and send her imagination off onto a wild exploration of what it all could mean.

“It’s just that …you’ve talked about how it’s too personal for you, is all, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to,” she gnaws into her lip as his touch withdraws and he peers over her, “I don’t know. Return the favor, or something.” 

For a second, Harry doesn’t say anything. The man stuffs both of his hands into his pockets, just standing over her, looming with this undeniable allure of dominion, and then he asks, “Why did you kiss me?” 

The brazen question catches her so off guard that Isla nearly has whiplash in the process of trying to gather a suitable answer for him. 

“What?” 

“Why did you kiss me, darling?” he reiterates. Simple. It’s a simple question. It could have a very simple answer, or it could have the truth. 

Because I’m into you beyond the masks. Because you’ve unwittingly encroached upon the personal realm and broken down my boundaries, unintentionally, just by existing outside of Indulge, and you’ve gotten far closer to the real me than anyone here ever has before. Because I like you, beyond the sex. Because I want to do more than just this with you. 

These are all very …viable answers. They’re all true, but as the words flit through her mind, showcasing what she’s tried so long to avoid recognizing and acknowledging, it’s just. She couldn’t admit it to him. She can’t. Isla clears her throat. 

“Because I wanted to,” the young woman settles on. It’s the bare bones of legitimacy. 

Harry doesn’t see it that way. He doesn’t prod further. He just nods at her answer and then tells her, “Exactly. And I want to.” 

The dominant doesn’t tack on, it doesn’t have to be more than that, right now, despite his deep-seated hankering for it to be everything more. Everything beyond the masks — everything beyond Indulge. 

“If you don’t want to, we don’t have to. I can always,” he shifts forward just a bit, insinuating that he’s got far more than what’s fathomable upon first glance, up his sleeve, “give you another reward.” 

“That’s not it,” Isla promises, shaking her head from side-to-side, “I want to do that, I just don’t want to …overstep what’s a boundary, to you.” 

It’s not a boundary with you, he wants to assure, all while he thumbs over her cheekbones and tucks away that skimpy, knickers-looking thing that shields the pretty face beneath. I don’t want to have any personal boundaries with you. 

He can’t do that. He can’t do any of those things, tell her any of those things, because she is a walking boundary that he’s deemed himself unable to overstep. Here, where he can see her scantily clad, where he can witness the tip of his cock nudging up against the inside of her cheek, where he can press his fingertips between her legs, she’s Peitho. She’s Peitho in intimacy, with nothing intimate beyond sex. And he can’t do those things with Isla Cleery. Isla Cleery is all soft smiles and professionalism, and friendly banter that rides the edge of innocuously flirty, at most. And he can’t kiss Isla Cleery. He can’t shove his digits past Isla Cleery’s lips and rest them on her wet, strawberry tongue, and he can’t wrench her neck back with a hold on her throat while his hips rock up against her. He can’t fill Isla Cleery’s cunt with his cum, and then watch it dribble and gush out onto her inner thighs, staining them, before he shoves remnants back in with his touch. 

It feels as if he lives a double-life, kind of, with her. Because he has to toe at this, like, weird, uncomfortable line that divides Peitho and Isla Cleery, and simultaneously, he has to toe at the weird, uncomfortable line between Eros and Harry Styles. But he’s always toed at the line — he’s used to toeing at that line. It’s the way he lives, and he’s never encountered a situation in which the two become close to intertwining, especially with the precautions he takes to become unrecognizable as Eros in every context but Indulge. Because on Monday, on Tuesday, on Wednesday, and Thursday, Harry Styles is just Harry Styles. Charming bachelor, the realtor with signature dimples pasted on benches. He’s dark blue trunks contrasting against milky skin when he runs out to grab the mail in the mornings, and house tours with cheap-ish, plastic-containered cookies, and occasional bar outings with a handful of close friends sharing alcohol and jokes. He’s just Harry on every day except on Friday nights. 

But that line’s become worn awfully thin. And somehow, for one reason or another, he feels that line smudging and enmeshing the two. He feels Eros, slowly but surely, slipping into Isla Cleery’s bubble, and vice versa. 

Harry wants to run his gloved fingers over Isla’s cheeks, he wants to smush over her lips and press a kiss to her mouth when he assures her that he doesn’t want a creampie, of all things, to be a limit with her. He doesn’t. He doesn’t tell her that, or duck forward to paste his mouth against her own. 

Instead, he runs a knuckle over her jawline, and tells her, “You’re not breaking a boundary. Wanna fuck you, and then wanna watch my cum drip out of you.” 

His words are intimate, in a coarse, sordid way — but the statement is far from romantic, far from the things he wants to tell her. Because he can’t. It doesn’t matter, anyways. It seems to be all the convincing the young woman needs, because her back grows as straight as an arrow, and her breathing pattern stifles and grows …slower, with the admission. Like she’s hungry for it. 

And all Isla Cleery can say, in response to that, is, “Okay.” 

“Okay?” his mouth quirks, and he satisfies his penchants, in part, by dragging his thumb over her bottom lip. It’s the only aspect of the privy desires he’ll allow himself to enjoy. 

Isla nods, a small, nudging sort of motion, like she’s scared the movement will coax his digit away. 

“Then we’re all squared, aren’t we?” the dominant tells her, his soft-spoken cadence barely over a whisper. He muzzles the instinct to duck and cherish her mouth with his own. Instead, he retracts his touch altogether, and takes a step back, cocking his head, “You’re on some form of birth control, aren’t you?” 

He’s sure the answer will be an agreement, considering she’d expressed her interests in the activity, prior, but he asks just to tie up any loose ends. It takes Isla a second to respond, almost as if she’s been rendered brainless, sort of, on account of his physical attention. The man represses a self-satisfied smirk. Good. He quite likes when he’s able to get her that way, so easily. 

“Yeah— uh. I have an IUD.” 

He stuffs his hands back into the pockets at the front of his dark slacks and walks back into the area he’d designated for her, nodding at the ground as his dress shoes click over the flooring. “Wonderful.” 

The young woman’s cadence, then, soft and subdued from the mattress behind him makes him take pause. 

“Actually — I. Well, I have another …request.” 

“Shoot,” Harry encourages, scraping at an uneven fragment of the flooring with the toe of his shoe. 

“I— um,” the submissive starts, her speech dying off in the back of her throat once it registers how ludicrous and …oddly personal the request would be. Isla thinks, perhaps better not to ask at all. 

The dominant, whose pockets shroud his gloved hands, pivots from across the room to face her, his lush lash line narrowing at the notes of hesitancy plucking at her vocal cords. Oh, no — now was definitely not the time for apprehension to go unsaid. He turns a little more, and takes slow steps in an amble to the bed, where she’s sat with her own fingers dug into the thickened hem over the sheetless mattress. 

“Tell me,” Harry prods after a second, cocking his head down at her. He watches Isla’s tongue sweep out over her lips, her chest rising on her inhale at his sudden, no-nonsense beckon. 

“It’s—“ a bemused crease works between his brows as the young woman shakes her head from side-to-side, “it’s silly. Don’t worry about it.” 

His hands unveil from their confines, less lax in body language, before she feels his palms grasp over either side of her face. They don’t press, but they guide — until her gaze is cast up to him and she’s forced to endure the curiosity of his prodding, the softness of his gaze that has no lack of that firm dominion she’s grown so familiar with. 

“Love. S’kind of my job to worry. Tell me,” Harry coaxes, his cadence gentle and inquisitive — a gentle contrast against the bite of his typical tone in these rooms. 

“Well,” Isla starts, her pupils flitting behind him, despite the fact that he can’t witness the motion. The young woman feels a little less silly if she’s unable to blatantly witness the unintentionally ridiculing rejection that she’s sure will crest his features upon hearing the request. “It’s just — well I’m always naked, and you’re …never …naked.” 

The worry that’d begun to bud in his chest shrivels back into its root until the blip vanishes with her insinuation. The corners of his mouth buckle. Isla sees it, faintly, in her peripherals, and the submissive focuses on marred brick as Harry’s backdrop, harder. If his gloves were off, maybe, the way blood rushes to her face would be palpable to his hands. 

“Mm.” 

Her features twist up and she sighs, batting his touch away as her chin turns towards the wrought-iron headboard, “It’s silly— I told you. Don’t worry about it.”

Jade roves over the submissive, curiously. It wasn’t a jarring observation — there was a purpose to his lack of dishabille. Ink caught stares and etched memoirs — identifiable fragments that posed a risk if he were to be seen out and about in shorts and short sleeves, bearing eyefulls of matte sketches. They’d spawn memories and draw unnecessary connections — connections he didn’t need mangling anonymity. It’s a crying shame. Truly. The conflict of Harry’s affinity for being nude and the interest — no, need to shroud all of his trackable characteristics. His face, his hair, his tattoos. Harry took great care in hiding those, always, for a reason. Now, though, he weighs her words behind his skull. Isla Cleery wants to level the playing field, and Isla Cleery was Isla Cleery. Strangely (and to some degree, unsurprisingly), he’s past denying her. 

The man lifts his leg, then, plants the sole of his shoe against the mattress, an empty space beside where Isla’s legs are pressed together, bends to brace his forearms against his thigh, and nudges with his chin as he tells her, “Untie my shoe.” 

A pinch works between her brows before she ducks her chin and her eyes stick to his shoe, shiny and ever-so-formal. Typical. She tears her gaze away and casts it to him, her confusion shrouded by the fabric over her face. And Harry — he just blinks, unimpressed by her tentativeness. 

“Untie it, and take it off.” 

Slowly, her hands rise from the stubborn spot they’d taken in her lap, and she brings her fingers to his laces, tugging with her fingertips and unraveling the loops and knots. He watches the motion quietly, and once Isla’s dug her forefinger beneath the tongue on his shoe and loosened, he levels his torso back up straight for her to slide the shoe off. She does cast her gaze up to him apprehensively, before, though. 

“Take it off,” Harry tells her. His inflection is soft, but his voice still carries that undeniable, underlying firm note of dominance. 

So Isla does. She wraps one palm over the back of the shoe and presses the opposite over the top, before she slides the

shoe off of his foot. With one foot bared down to nothing but a sock, he sets it back onto the concrete flooring and switches, this time placing the other foot on the other side of her legs. Wordlessly, the dominant gestures with his chin toward the dress shoe. 

So Isla mirrors her actions, discarding the opposite, and then the man leans over, grasps each shoe with a curled middle and forefinger, and sets them down beside the bed, on the ground, sort of unceremoniously. Isla stares at him, bemused as he just seems to ogle her in this weirdly sexual, silent tension. 

“I don’t think it’s silly,” Harry starts, lifting one of the palms she’d batted away to grasp at her chin — he tucks it between his thumb and forefinger, pulling her, literally and figuratively, from her cycle of overthinking, and turns her back to face him.

His expression is soft behind smooth, shiny latex, Isla can tell, and his eyes stay on her as he takes his touch away and works over each glove, digits first, beginning with the right. 

“I get it. It’s no fun being the only naked one,” the dominant speaks, his vision only skidding away as he tugs one of the gloves off. He tosses it beside her, onto the mattress, and Isla’s mouth waters as he brazenly begins working over the opposite.  

“So you want me to get naked, too, right?” his gaze stays locked on her as he discards the second, and Isla’s own sight jumps from his face to his hands, tanned, familiar — neatly manicured by lilac polish. 

Harry’s chin dips to his collar as he brings his fingertips to the first button, unlooping it through for fabric to part, and Isla’s just …stupefied, kind of. He shoots her a glance, the corners of his mouth buckling, and then the man sticks one of his hands out and nonchalantly wriggles his fingers — an invitation for her to place her own hand into his. The young woman’s throat bobs as she swallows, and slowly, she lifts her palm, slotting it against his own. It encompasses her nerve endings with warmth, but the heat that teems within her when he guides her hand to his belt buckle — that doesn’t even begin to compare. 

Eros tells her, then, cadence soft in decibel and firm in tone, almost distracted-sounding as he works on the third button — beaks, Isla can see more, belonging to birds that she’s only witnessed in glimpses, prior, “Take it off for me, baby.” 

Yes, okay. Take his belt off for him — baby—

Isla physically curbs the desperate whine that nearly escapes from the back of her throat as she short circuits. For a moment, the young woman blanks, her palm settled over his belt buckle and her fingers twitchy in lulled astonishment. And then her Eros pops open another button, and she’s faced with the beginnings of a great, big butterfly that sweeps in ink over his abdomen — that’s a new view. The dominant’s mouth quirks at her shock-stifled response, and— 

“Well, go on. Not gonna bite you,” the man teases, chin dipped to his handiwork and mirth palpable over his softly curling strawberry mouth as he tacks on, in a quiet note of absolute deviousness, “Yet.” 

With fumbling fingers, Isla undoes his belt buckle, loosening it before she pastes the touch to his button, and then his zipper, until she digs her thumbs into his waistband and untucks his dress shirt to expose laurels she’s seen prior, peeking from the lettering of Calvin Klein. She’s unable to muzzle her soft sound when he parts the shirt, entirely, and his shoulders rise and ripple with muscle to shrug the sleeves off. Because that just exposes more — it showcases graphic designs etched into his skin over his shoulders, over his biceps, over his forearms. Images that wind over skin and move as muscles flex. Her pupils rove in a frantic daze as she attempts to note details that’ll serve as palpable memoirs behind her skull — she tucks them away. A heart, a coat hanger, three nails, a ship, a fern, a rose. A mermaid, a bible, an anchor. Smaller symbols, over his wrist, that become put on display as his hands twist — one of which she makes out to be the aquarius symbol. Interesting, very interesting, this is all very interesting. Eros folds the shirt, and leans over to hang it over the headboard.

Her irises flit to the vertical line of coarse hair that starts from below his belly button and dips into his waistband — his fucking happy trail (yes, these are all happy revelations) — and Isla feels her the saliva flooding from beneath her tongue as she stares. Her eyes slink back up to the butterfly, sketched in jet over firm muscle. It nearly flutters as the man’s abdomen rises with each breath he takes. Her ogle on it fractures as Isla risks a glance to his face, looming above, and he’s— it’s—

His gaze is darkened, pupils blown with lust bordering danger, the kind that makes Isla feel as if she’s simply prey to him and his predatory teeth. Those have tucked his plush bottom lip behind their bite, like the sight of her so stunned by the sudden bareness of him makes him weak, and Isla can only swallow dryly, weakly, when he asks, with a rasp to his voice, “Like it?” 

The young woman doesn’t have to inquire to know that he’s referencing the butterfly — she’s been honed on it as if physically magnetized. Even if he can’t directly see her line of sight, the dominant can certainly tell when her face is lined up to stare straight ahead. When it stays like that, with her gaze pasted to his abdomen. She gives him a little nod of acknowledgement, a weak motion. 

When he tells her, “Why don’t you give it a little kiss, then?” no jesting to tone, with his tongue swiping out over his pillowy mouth, pink and glimmering in the highlights surpassing the shadows of his downcast face, Isla feels her cheekbones and temples teem ruddy. 

Weak, she’s weak, she is so beyond weak for this man, and she’s relieved to be sat down, because if she were standing, she’d surely crumble like a sandcastle gone wet, with the crash of a wave, at the suggestion. Slowly, Isla leans forward and pastes her mouth to the column between its wings — her lips linger, but apparently, the man deems it chaste. His head tilts down at her a tad as he tuts. 

“That’s it, darling?” Eros gnaws into the corner of his mouth, before he adds, “That’s all it gets?” 

With more determination (post his obviously unimpressed comment) spurring her motion, the submissive glues her lips back to his abs, pasting another kiss — a longer one — onto the drawing’s thorax. Harry watches her, pure, hedonistic want brimming beneath it when her puckered lips detach and press back again onto a wing. And then another, and another after that. She draws kisses over it, mirroring what’s been done to one wing on the opposite, and her palm presses beside the tattoo as her gaze bolts to his face to gauge his judgment. She finds traces of craving there — he’s not weak for her in the same way she is for him, if initial impressions are clues. He’s weak in that it makes him darker, harder, his irises cloudier with hunger.

When she filthily drags her tongue over the center of the tattoo, Harry’s jaw unhinges for his mouth to part a smidge. He pants and imagines her pretty brown eyes peering up at him as she draws vague shapes against him, aching for his approval. The mere thought is pure eroticism. Her lips smush over the ink, and she drags mouth over a little fragment of the tattoo, the motion tugging her bottom lip down, and the dominant’s cock pulses in its confines. And then Isla starts nipping at his skin — her open-mouthed kisses morphing into suckling as her short nails scratch against him and that’s— she’s—

Christ. 

The husk on the “Fuck,” the dominant manages out causes her ministrations to stall, and she eyes him through her lashes behind the lace. Her mouth grazes against his abdomen wetly when she speaks. 

“Is that better, Sir?” 

And she’s so …knowing and mischievous, feigning innocence like she’s blissfully unaware that her little display has caused his heartbeat to race and his insides to coil with want. 

“Filthy, little thing,” the dominant croons, raking his digits into her hair along the side of her scalp as her cheek smushes to his sternum. Harry exhales, wrapping the opposite hand over the nape of her neck in a manner that incites chills to rise awake over her skin. “Gonna be a good girl for me tonight?” he flexes the fingers in her hair to tighten, just a smidge and feels the warm puffs — chilly against his skin from the wet residue — fall a little heavier as her mouth parts on the motion, “Hm?” 

Isla muzzles her desperate whine, his touch coaxing desire to swirl in her. The palm over the back of her neck squeezes a little. “Yes, Sir.” 

“Take them off,” Harry instructs, in reference to his trousers (which are still slung, loosely, now, over his hips), “and, y’know what,” he says, his eyes narrowing just a bit, for a moment — the motion is nearly indecipherable — before Isla has the opportunity to dig her fingertips into the fabric. The man takes a few slow steps back, just enough to give her room to slip onto the floor — though, she doesn’t realize that’s what he’s planned until he shoots her a glance and gestures with his chin, “Why don’t you get on the floor, for me, right here.” 

For a second, Isla just stares, her fingers clutching at the edge of the mattress, and then, slowly, she slides off and slips into a kneel ahead of him. 

“Better angle,” Harry tells her, a lewd sort of smirk gracing his mouth at the sight of her, submission, beneath him, “More …subservient. And you always look quite pretty, down there.” 

Isla doesn’t smile. She suppresses melting in response, like a popsicle left out in the sunlight, and tries to regulate her breathing pattern and the intense arousal that always seems to bloom upon seeing him just …ooze sex like this, so nonchalantly. Like it’s innate, of him. 

His next words don’t help. Not a bit.

“Always so sweet and pretty when you kneel for me like this,” Harry states, almost like a comment made offhand, and lifts a palm to stroke over her hair. And then his thumb just …winds lightly and brushes over the bottom-most hem of her mask, on the right side, just below her cheekbone. Like he’s testing. Whatever thought he seems to have, in the moment, dissipates, then, quickly fleeting. 

“Finish up what you started, and take them off, all the way, Peitho,” the dominant commands, his touch withdrawing. 

She can’t deny him. She doesn’t want to deny him. Isla digs her fingertips, obediently, in on either side of his waistband and tugs the fabric down over his sculpted thighs (GOD, why are they so sculpted? He’s pure sex). Her pupils travel and roam over tanned skin, and hair, and a tiger tattoo, what the FUCK has he been sheltering from her? These expanses of skin are a sin to hide, Isla decides. Partly because she feels blessed to bask in the sight of, now. She’s also greeted by the view of his dark trunks — they rise high on his quads, but what catches her eye most in the bulge he’s sporting. That aspect she’s all too familiar with. She’ll definitely come back to that. When the young woman has drawn his trousers to his ankles, she shoots a glance up to him — he’s towering over her, Christ, and the sight is familiar, but it never fails to incite this fiery arousement in her. The dominant steps out of the pants, pooled on the cemented flooring, and Isla swipes them aside, almost absentmindedly, but then— 

“Ah, ah,” Harry tuts from above, chiding, his jade narrowed in a way that nearly coaxes chills to form over her skin, “Fold them. Nicely. If I find wrinkles in them, you’ll have consequences.” 

How can you punish me when this our last contractual scene, Isla wants to chime, brazenly, but she restrains the insolence and picks the trousers back up, like a nice, (uncharacteristically) subservient submissive, and stretches them out before she starts to tuck the edges together. The circumstances cull blood to the surface of her face. She’s a horrible feminist, all things she lets Eros do to her, considered. Still, she gathers he slacks and hems them crisply, placing them on the ground beside her, and she looks up at him, like she’s searching for his approval. 

The “Good girl,” he awards her with is well worth feeling like a shit feminist. She is, right now. Definitely. The 20th century sisterhood is probably screeching at her, from somewhere. It’s all kind of well worth it. 

“Gonna leave those on?” Harry questions, obviously in reference to his underwear, but there’s no genuine question to his cadence — just partly unimpressed complaint, when she takes too long scoping over his skin. Mental images, these are all valuable, mental snapshots. And — he’s such a cocky fucker, Isla thinks, her gaze narrowing up at him. He’s being mean, and in turn, she cups over his bulge, still clad in fabric, and nuzzles her face against his thigh, just gazing up at him, though he won’t see it. It satisfies her, in that moment, in a twisted sort of way, knowing that he’s missing out on the sight of her lashes fluttering up at him. 

That decision culls a sharp inhale, from him, and a subtle jerk forward of his hips. Isla squeezes lightly. Harry doesn’t offer much of a reaction besides the inklings in his change of breathing pace. 

“Be a good girl and take those off, too,” he coaxes, eventually, tracing a bare fingertip over her temple, “Wanna do a good job, don’t you?” 

She wants to rile him, partly, but mostly, she does want to do a good job. She wants him to be happy with her. She’d bend over backwards, there and then, if that was what it took to siphon his pride for her. Cheek pressed to the fabric and lips mouthing wetly over his hardness, Isla hums in agreement. 

“Then finish up, and get everything off, sweetheart.” 

So the submissive does. She goes for the last fragment of clothing she’s capable of discarding (besides his socks), and wiggles her digits up under the waistband and tugs. It always makes her happy to see his cock, but evidently, his cock is just as happy to greet her. It springs free from beneath the Calvin Klein lettering, bobbing with a bead of precum bubbling from the tip, and it takes all of her willpower not to lean forward and swipe it away with her tongue. Instead, she shimmies the fabric all the way down his (newly denuded!!) thighs and casts her gaze up to him until he steps out of those, too. 

“Good girl,” Harry runs a bare hand and rakes it through her roots — bare, he’s so bare, and she nearly can’t wrap her mind around the concept. He’s all tanned skin and muscle and ink, and she could stare at him, like a piece of art, for hours. 

She doesn’t though. The dominant coaxes her to stand up, and his cock brushes against her tummy when he winds his arms around her back and works over the clasp of her brassiere. It pops open with a little click, and he slides it off of her, down her arms. And then he kneels, irises sparking like emeralds when he peers up at her, pressing kisses in a line down from her sternum to the edge of her panties. Harry nudges his fingertips onto either side and tugs. It’s all kind of a tacitly …romantic ordeal, all things considered, Isla thinks. She thinks about it while he stipples his pillowy mouth to her skin, when he looks up at her through his lashes, when his mouth travels to the soft, naked crease between her thigh and her pelvis. When he wrenches his gaze away and ducks his chin, cuing her to step out of her panties. The crotch is wet. 

His mouth is all twitchy when he reaches over, grabs his neatly folded trousers from the ground, and his lips still wear cocky traces when the man hands the clothing pieces to 

Isla. Harry instructs, “Go and put these on the bed. Nicely.”

The young woman cradles the articles, only hesitating for a moment — though, long enough for Harry to blink at her, expectantly — before she turns and takes her steps towards the sheetless mattress. She sets the slacks down first, and then she makes a neat, little pile of her own with her lingerie. By the time she turns back in Harry’s direction, he’s stood, taken his socks off, and is mid-walk towards the back wall of scary toys. How …wonderful. It is sort of a wonderful sight, though — she can’t deny that. He’s all disrobed, and sexy, and the muscles in his arms and back visibly ripple, and— 

A hook rattles when he culls a cane. Her breath catches and stalls in her lungs. Harry shoots her a glimpse, purses his mouth, sets it back onto its designated area. The smaller, thinner implement he chooses isn’t much better of an option. And his mouth is still all purse-y when he makes his way back to the spot he’s deemed for her. Her eyes jump from the cane, lax and nonchalant in his fist, by his side, to the way he strokes with his hand and twists with his opposite wrist, over his cock.   

“Still wanna do this?” the man teases, but there’s genuine inquiry to his words. 

“Yes,” Isla clears her throat— there’s a nervous apprehension that hinders a convincing quality, even to her own ears, so she tries again, “Yes, Sir.” 

He just ogles her, for a moment, weighing the impression of her demeanor, before he nudges with his chin to incite her to come over. So Isla does. She does, and does, and does — follows and appeases each of his requests, her bare feet padding over the flooring until she’s stood ahead of him, despite the hammer of her heart behind her ribcage. When he winds around her, the smooth implement grazing her thigh, just barely, she narrowly stifles a gasp. 

“‘M’not gonna hit you with it,” Harry promises, cupping over the vale of her waist from behind, and even with the reassurance, she can’t help the way her mouth sets into a line or the goosebumps that rise over her skin when he draws the cane over her tummy. The young woman squeezes her eyes shut. His mouth brushes over the shell of her ear as he talks all low, “What’s the goal?” 

What’s the goal? This is …a valid question. There is …a goal? Isla can’t fathom it when his hardness presses into the small of her back and a mortifying, little stick incites her chest to tighten.

“Um,” she stares at the door, fighting to stabilize her thoughts into something cohesive, “to— not to cry.” 

“Right. And what do you get if you don’t cry?” 

Her cadence takes on a cheery kind of quality with the reminder, and quiet notes of glee pluck at her vocal cords when she responds (with a cherubic sort of excitement that has soft dimples forming in the dominant’s cheeks), “A creampie.” 

“A creampie,” Harry mirrors her quiet enthusiasm, his lilt washing the area behind her ear with warm breath, “and because,” the hand that’d settled over her waist detaches to tuck loose strands back behind her ear, “I’m such a nice person, we’ll even do a trial run first, so you’re prepared. So we’ll have a clean slate if you can’t quite make it the first go-round. Sound fair?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

He ducks her chin a smidge, coaxing her chest to roll with soft breaths when he holds the cane out, ahead of her, “Hold this for me.” 

With shakey, obedient palms, Isla complies. She takes the cane in a loose grip, wrapping her fingers over the stem, and Harry pats over one of her hands like he’s pleased with her. Okay. Holding it — she’s just holding it, Isla tells herself. 

“Thank you. Very good helper,” Harry chimes, a smirk playing over his strawberry mouth. His joke-y nature nearly inspires the corners of her mouth to twitch up, a bit, but then his next words steamroll all of that alleviation. 

“Are these sore?” he ponders aloud, plucking at her nipples with both of his newly freed hands. Isla stiffens. 

“No…” 

“No?” his mouth pastes to her neck, and his speech is a murmur against her skin, “Let’s make them a little sore.” 

Isla can only melt into him when he rolls the sensitive buds between his fingertips. 

“I don’t play with these nearly as much as I’d like to,” the dominant expresses, and Isla’s digits tighten over the cane with the pinpricks of delicious pain his touch siphons.

Her breathy little sound enmeshes with apprehensive mirth, riding the wave of a nervous laugh before she chimes, “You use those clamp-things …all the time.” 

He hums against her neck, behind her ear, into her hairline, the singular, palpable inkling of his amusement to her answer. “Sure. But that doesn’t mean I’m playing with them, does it?” 

The dominant emphasizes his point by pinching the nubs with either thumb and side of curled forefinger, “Right? Not my fingers—“

Isla chances a glimpse at his handiwork, and just the sight of his bare digits, short nails polished with lilac, playing with her nipples, has her tummy absolutely coiling with hunger. A warmth spawns between her thighs on full-heat. The sturdiness of her knees nearly melts away entirely. 

“—Not my tongue on them. You’d like that, I’m sure.” 

His tongue, on her—

Christ. Isla might self-combust. The mental images the dialogue inspires of Harry, on his knees with his tongue laving over one of her tits while he fondles the other in his colossal grip are enough to send everything within her on overdrive. Fuck. 

“Wouldn’t you, little miss?” Harry sponges kisses down, pausing in the nook between her neck and her shoulder. Isla nearly drops the cane altogether when he switches from pinching at her nipple and starts squeezing over her breast. 

And then he lets go where he was squeezing and just …wraps his right palm over the middle of the implement in her clutch. Her hold only grows tighter, then. Still, he slides it from her hands, and she just lets it happen. The submissive’s breathing grows shallow. Surely he can tell her pulse has quickened from the absolute camp he’s set up, to paste kisses. 

“Still doing okay?” 

“Yes…” Isla responds, but there aren't even traces of a convincing element to her response. 

“Look, s’not even the big, scary one,” Harry tells her, rolling a nipple between deft fingertips as he draws with the thin implement over her torso. 

For a moment, Isla freezes up, solely under the erotic pressure of his fingers toying at her, but then he nonchalantly slides the cane down to her thighs while his pillowy mouth pastes to her thundering pulse, and she makes a soft sound in the back of her throat and shifts on her feet. One of her thighs shies away as her foot twists on its toes with apprehension. 

“But that’s worse, that’s so much worse, those hurt so much worse,” the submissive whines, shifting on her feet in his grasp, and she gasps when he prods at the crease between her thigh as her pelvis with it. 

Harry’s mouth quirks against her skin, upturned at the melody of her squeaks and sighs when she pinches her nipple harder and taunts her with the implement. 

“Well. That is how the physics of it works, technically, yeah,” he croons against the shell of her ear, notes of mirth leaking through his inflection, “Smaller area of impact, more concentrated pressure, right?” 

Harry expects her to make a snide comment about the impressiveness of his physics discourse, deadpan and laced with sarcasm, or something. Or he expects her to whine a bit more and jerk around on her feet. What he doesn’t expect is that she just stands there and when she sighs, her breath comes out all shuddery. 

“But it’s just a little stick,” the dominant promises, slowly, in a soft-spoken croon that bathes her in lull. His voice husks, raspy, and his accent is thick, and his warm breath caresses the back of her ear. It sends chills spiraling down the nape of her neck while the pads of his fingers send tides of pleasure rolling through her. Waves that the fear surfs on its little, resin-coated board. 

Isla sniffles. She takes a breath, and while she holds it, Harry pauses, his chest still pasted to her back as her shoulder blades expand and shrivel back into place with her quivery sigh. The man tuts. 

“Oh, no, no, no—“ he starts, cocking his head, and a comforting sort of condescension glazes over his voice when he prods, almost in a whisper, “Are we already crying?” 

Isla doesn’t have it in her to make a derisive remark. She doesn’t have it in her for her jaw to set, to duck her chin and scoff, to turn away for her gaze to narrow with resolve while some sarcastic retort plucks at her vocal chords. She wants him to make her feel small, then, like she doesn’t know the answers. Because then he could be her narrative foil. When he talked to her like that, it meant that he knew better — that he had the answers, that he could solve every dilemma, that he knew what she needed and what she needed to do next. And that was, undeniably, a nice thing to fall back on, from time to time.  

Isla Cleery is self-reliant. She’s determined, she was bred for success, and she likes to know all of the answers to everything — she needs to, almost. It’s a yearning ingrained. She has her own apartment that she pays for with her own money, she manages nearly every aspect of her life alone, and she doesn’t let those smarmy mechanics mansplain the importance of replacing her blinker fluid, or let them convince her into buying premium air for her tires when she goes to get an oil change. Last month she put together a shelf from IKEA all by herself, and there’s never even written directions on those instruction pamphlets. The sense of accomplishment was kind of unparalleled. Isla Cleery needs to be perfect, and she needs to have that innate, woman-versus-self-esque pressure on her, always, at all times, and she certainly doesn’t ever need the “expertise” of a man prying into her endeavors, trying to smooth anything away with answers. 

Except, at Indulge, Isla Cleery isn’t Isla Cleery. She’s Peitho, and Peitho doesn’t have to have the answers, and Peitho doesn’t have this all-consuming need to DIY. Peitho is lax — Peitho gives up the reins and falls back into the safety net, because the safety net decides that he knows better. And it’s really, really, really nice to just let go and give in, in the circumstances. Because Peitho is already crying, because Peitho is allowed to be weak, because Peitho is scared, and Peitho doesn’t know how to trounce the obstacle. 

And Eros has all the answers. 

“Hm?” Eros prods, nipping at her earlobe and tracing with his tongue down her neck for a moment — it distracts her, momentarily. But when the pads of his digits switch to a palm, fondling over one of her tits, and he draws the cane just above her belly button in a horizontal line, Isla gnaws into her cheek. “Are you already crying? How are you gonna hold off for the real thing, if you can’t do it during the trial run?” 

“I don’t know,” the young woman admits, letting her vulnerability suffuse her tone. 

Harry pauses. There’s this sort of coiling in his tummy that comes about when she’s all tender and weak for him like that, when they’re in a scene — and normally, it incites this …particular form of self-satisfaction. Pride, where his ego swells like a water balloon wrapped over a running garden hose. It happens when he breaks her derisive barriers — when he trounces her brazen spirit of insubordination and mangles her into subservience, because she won’t give without a push, because she wants him to tear her walls down like she’s barricaded by old cabinetry, and he’s a sledgehammer. 

It’s different, right now, though, because the aim isn’t to break those barriers. Her vulnerability is instability — it’s a fragility he’s meant to mend, and she’s open with it because she wants him to mend it all. To make all the choices, to tell her what she should do. The pride warps and simmers away into softness. Tucking loose strands behind her ear that’ve become disheveled back into disarray, Harry presses back to her ear and guides, tone gentle, “Look at the door. Focus on it.” 

His tongue peeks out from his mouth and swipes, his cadence a velvety croon that swallows her like a blanket, “What do you do when you’re scared? You find something, and you focus on that, to take your mind off of the fear, right? Tell me about the door.” 

Isla blinks. The organ behind her ribcage hammers away. Harry draws the tip of the cane over her thigh. Her hands squeeze into fists, but she doesn’t screw her eyes shut. There’s a burn, back there, settling. And she knows that this whole first attempt doesn’t count, really, but she just… doesn’t want to give into it. Not so easily. 

“Go on. What do you see about the door? Describe it.” 

“It’s green,” Isla answers finally, a nervous note in her voice that seems to have made itself at home for the duration of the session, “It’s green, and it… it’s, like, peeling. And it has one of those long door knobs instead of the twist-y circle ones.” 

“Pick a spot on it. The doorknob, let’s say. And you just focus on that.” 

Isla does. Her pupils hone onto the rust-stricken knob and fix onto it, like his suggestion is a lifeline in this little game they play. The tip of the cane ventures into the space between her thighs — they’re parted, but they nearly press together in frenzied desperation when the edge of the implement skims her inner thigh. That burn-y ache flourishes at the backs of her eyes. Isla focuses on the doorknob.

TDIAG MASTERLIST HERE

[1994tpwk]

First Kiss

summary: yours and harry’s first kiss!!!!

cw: y/n has anxiety/insecurities, comfort!harry, sexual themes but they don’t go anywhere <3

━━━━━

Y/N and Harry have been dating for a few months now. They’ve been inseperable, in her room at all moments. You’d think maybe they’re in there, doing something they shouldn’t be, but no.

“‘Yes,’ I tell him. It feels like nothing else exists outside of that word, this moment. There’s just us. Everything that happened this past summer, and every summer before it, has all led up to this. To now,” Y/N says as she closes the book (The Summer I Turned Pretty, their favorite book series) and looks down at the boy with curly locks that’s currently laying with his head on her stomach, content.

“That’s how it ends? I want to know what happens though,” Harry looks up at Y/N, confused.

“We’ll have to start the second book soon, babe,” she smiles at him. Harry groans and nuzzles his face back into her stomach. “Not right now, but maybe tomorrow!” she runs her hand through his hair.

Y/N is happy laying there with him, until she feels him kissing her stomach. She started to feel insecure and uncomfortable, and came to one conclusion;

she needed to get out of the situation.

“H-hey babe, I, uh, got-gotta go to the bathroom. I-I’ll be right back,” she mutters out, as she gets out from under him and practically runs into the bathroom.

When she closes the door, she thinks. She thinks a little too much.

She hadn’t done anything with Harry yet, and she knew he wanted to. She just didn’t know how he liked anything. She sits on the floor, tears starting to spill from her eyes. She’s never been so happy with someone, yet so helpless.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Hey, love. You okay in there? You’ve been in there for quite a bit now…” Harry mutters through the door.

“Uh, yeah, I’m oka- fuck,” Y/N’s voice cracks on the last word which makes Harry go on high alert.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Please let me in,” he tries to open the door, but Y/N locked it.

Y/N looks at herself in the mirror. Her mascara is running down her cheeks, her eyes are light pink and puffy, and she just looks completely run down.

She grabs a towel, quickly wiping off the tears, but the mascara stains aren’t budging.

After a minute or so, Y/N unlocks the door. Harry opens it, to see his girlfriend, but she looks so… different.

He isn’t used to seeing her like this. He’s used to her smiling, blushing, and not chewing on the inside of her cheek enough to make it bleed.

Hey, hey, baby. Come here, it’s okay,” he coos at her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, sitting on the floor with her.

“I’m so sorry H,” Y/N cries into his neck, grabbing onto his black sweater.

“Love, what are you sorry for? You did nothing wrong,” saying softly into her ear, rubbing her back.

They sit there for a while, and when she’s calmed down and her breathing has slowed, he leans away from her, and wipes away her tears with his sleeve.

“I want you to kiss me.”

“What?” Harry looks at her. “Oh, my love, is this because of me kissing your stomach? Baby, I’m sor-” Y/N cuts him off.

“Harry, baby. Please, just kiss me. I haven’t really done this before, and I don’t know what you like or don’t like,” Y/N rambles out. She comes up to sit on his lap, straddling him.

Harry brings his hand up to push her hair out of her face and cradles her jaw in his hand, running his thumb over her cheek. He pulls her in, and leans in the remaining distance to let their lips touch. It feels like they almost ghost over each other before he pulls away.

“Love, are you sure?” he leans away, looking into Y/N’s eyes.

She starts to smile, and it feels like she hasn’t in years.

“Baby, just shut up ‘nd kiss me,” she leans back into him, letting their lips mold around the others.

She brings her arms around his neck, one of her hands running through his hair. Harry’s hands go from her face to her waist, running his thumb over her covered hip. Neither of them want to let go of the other.

But, Y/N stands up, pulling away from Harry, and pulling him towards her. Harry follows her into her room and closes the door before cornering her onto the bed. She lowers her body onto the bed and he towers over her.

“Baby, I don’ like seeing you like this. Hurts my soul knowing you cried in there an’ I couldn’t comfort you,” he wipes away her stray hairs framing her face, and rubs the mascara stains away. He kisses her cheeks, then lays on his side, signaling her to lay in his arms.

“I know H, I just got anxious. I’ll work on it, just for you,” she smiles into his neck, slightly kissing the places she can reach from where she is without moving.

“Okay, love, let’s not start something we can’t finish, he chuckles as he kisses the top of her head.

[harrrystyles-writing]

14,16,4 e 6

Angst e fluff (pq são meu favoritos), pode ser algo mal entendido da parte dela ou algo do tipo, sabe? Uma briga com ele fazendo de tudo para reconciliar. Final feliz, com muito dengo e sem sexo, por favor.

Bjao ❤️❤️❤️

Frases: Você não tem que ficar./ Eu quero./ Nada é tão bom quanto voltar para casa para você./ Nada é tão bom quanto ter você vindo para casa para mim./ É isso que você pensa de mim?/Como faço para você me amar de novo?

NotaAutora: Uma das minhas seguidoras mais presente por aqui, muito obrigada pelo seu pedido, demorou mais do que deveria, mas não pude deixar de fazê-lo, aproveite.

🌼 MASTERLIST CONCEPT 🌼

HARRY CONCEPT #20

  

Você estava sentada na sala de seu apartamento compartilhado com Harry esperando-o se trocar para verem um filme. Ele chegou cansado e precisava de um banho.

Você rolava pelo catálogo da Netflix procurando algo quando ouviu o celular de Harry vibrando, ele havia deixado na mesinha de centro, você não queria olhar, mas uma nova mensagem tocou e mais uma, o que te deixou intrigada, pegando o telefone instantaneamente, desbloqueou o telefone, ambos tinham a senha um do outro e abriu a conversa. 

Julie: Tem certeza que ela não descobriu?

Julie: Não acredito que ela não tem ideia, você sempre foi um péssimo mentiroso.

Julie: A reserva do hotel já está feita! Até o fim de semana!😘

Quem era essa Julie? 

Você nunca ouviu falar dela, e Harry disse que teria que trabalhar no fim de semana.

Sua mente estava acelerada, só havia uma explicação lógica para a conversa que acabara de ler, certo? 

Harry era um filho da puta traidor.

O ar pareceu faltar em seus pulmões.

— Bebê, o que foi? Você está bem?

— Como você pôde fazer isso comigo, Harry? — Acusou-o quase num grito.

— O que eu fiz? — Recuou surpreso com toda situação.

 Você pegou o telefone jogando em seu peito.

— Você leu minhas mensagens? — Ele parecia irritado agora. — Cadê a confiança um no outro que dissemos que teríamos?

— É sério que quer falar em confiança? Você está me traindo e quer falar sobre confiar um no outro?

— Do que você está falando?

— Julie — Cuspiu o nome dela.

— S/n, não é o que você pensa.

— Não quero ouvir suas desculpas estúpidas.— Rapidamente começou a catar qualquer coisa que fosse sua, sua bolsa, chaves, celular.

— S/n! Espera! Para onde você está indo? 

— Para qualquer outro lugar que seja bem longe de você.

— S/n! Julie não é o que você pensa, me deixa explicar. — Única resposta que ele teve foi a porta da frente batendo.

Você saiu correndo de lá com lágrimas escorrendo pelo rosto, não sabendo exatamente para onde ir, era tão difícil pensar agora, tudo o que sua mente pensava era Harry lhe traindo e todas as maneiras possíveis. Mitch e Sarah não moravam muito longe dali e, alguns minutos longos de caminhada, lá estava você batendo na porta deles.

— Hei S/n! — Sarah, com um sorriso, lhe atendeu. — Querida, o que aconteceu? — O sorriso desapareceu no instante em que a viu em prantos.

Sem pensar duas vezes, você pulou em seus braços chorando, seu mundo estava desabando, não conseguia conter as lágrimas.

— S/n, vamos entre. — Suas mãos acariciavam delicadamente suas costas. — Por que você não me conta o que está acontecendo? 

— Tudo bem. — A seguiu para dentro. 

— Então o que aconteceu? — Perguntou assim que sentaram no sofá.

— Harry me traiu. 

— O quê?! — Mitch misteriosamente apareceu na porta. 

— Querido! Pode nos dar alguns minutos?

— Tudo bem, ele pode ficar. — Mitch prontamente sentou ao lado de Sarah, atento. — Eu realmente pensei que as coisas seriam diferentes com Harry, não sei por que confiei tanto nele. 

— Mas como exatamente aconteceu? — Sarah pareceu incrédula, mas era óbvio vindo de sua amiga.

— Eu vi mensagens no celular dele, uma tal de Julie. 

— Mas você ter certeza disso? Harry nunca faria isso. — Mitch o defendeu. 

— Eu vi as mensagens, essa tal de Julie disse, nossa não acredito que ela não desconfia, ainda reservou um hotel super luxuoso nesse fim de semana, mas ele disse para mim que ia trabalhar, eles vão se encontrar, quer mais provas que isso?

— É realmente suspeito, mas pode ser um engano, não pode? Não acho que Harry poderia fazer algo assim, ele te ama, ele te ama muito. — Sarah segurou sua mão.

— Eu já nem sei mais no que acreditar.

— Tenho certeza que há uma razão para isso, sei o que pode parecer, mas tente ficar mais calma e depois conversar com ele. — Aconselhou ela.

— Tudo bem, me desculpe vir assim, eu não tinha para onde ir.

— Sem problemas, sabe que sempre pode contar conosco, se precisar de uns dias para pensar, Mitch pode arrumar o quarto de hóspedes para você.

— Tem certeza?

— Claro. — Sarah deu um sorriso suave. — Querido, arrume o quarto, por favor?

— Tudo bem, mas não falem nada importante sem mim.

— Vai logo fofoqueiro. — Sarah disse fazendo todos rir.

… 

Na manhã seguinte tudo pareceu estranho, era estranho não dormir em casa, não dormir com Harry. Você chorou a noite toda por ele, sua cabeça doía, o cansaço dominava seu corpo, que teve que se arrastar para sair da cama.

— Bom dia. — Pareceu na cozinha depois que Sarah a chamou para o café.

Dois passos para dentro do local foram o suficiente para ter o vislumbre do homem alto, olhos verdes tão cansados quanto os seus, cabisbaixo ao lado do Mitch.

— Amor.

— Não me chame assim.

— S/n, podemos conversar? 

— Não quero ouvir nada de você, seu traidor de merda.

— Mitch vamos — Sarah puxou seu marido para fora da cozinha. — Tenta ouvir ele, por favor. — Deixou um beijo em sua bochecha antes de saírem.

— É isso que você pensa de mim?

— E como mais eu poderia pensar depois de ontem?

— Você nem ao menos me deu a chance de explicar. — Levantou-se indo até você.

— Já disse que não quero explicações, eu não quero ouvir como o problema não era eu e que foi um erro, eu não quero ouvir nada.

— Eu não trai você. — Segurou suas mãos mesmo relutando. — Eu não trai você, eu nunca faria isso, eu amo você.

— Eu já nem sei se eu amo você depois disso.

— Como faço para você me amar de novo?

— Não sei se pode.

— Você não pode ter parado de amar de um dia para outro, então me diga como consertar isso?! Eu quero falar sobre a Julie.

— Ok, vá em frente, tente me convencer que está dizendo a verdade.

— Ela é uma amiga, na verdade, uma amiga da família, que faz eventos mais íntimos para minha família desde que me conheço por gente. Eu pedi para ela reservar um hotel bem romântico para esse final de semana.

— E por que disse para mim que ia trabalhar?

— Porque era uma surpresa, eu... Eu ia te pedir em casamento.

— Você o quê? — Seus olhos se arregalaram.

Então era um pedido de casamento?

Ele não traiu você?

— Desculpa, eu estraguei tudo, eu relutei para falar de Julie por isso, acredita em mim agora?

— Harry! — Você não sabia direito como digerir isso. — Me desculpe, eu realmente errei em acusar você e não deixar você se explicar, eu não deveria ter olhado seu celular também, sinto muito, eu estraguei tudo. — Você se sentou no chão, chorando mais uma vez, a culpa agora preenchia seu peito.

Harry sentou-se ao seu lado e a puxou para um abraço apertado, que significou mais do que palavras poderiam expressar.

— Você não estragou, eu ainda amo você, eu continuo aqui.

— Você não tem que ficar.

— Eu quero. 

— Eu te amo.

— Eu te amo mais.

 — Eu gostaria que você me levasse para casa, estou exausta, não consegui dormir só pensando em você.

— Claro, vem. — Harry a ajudou a se levantar.— Mitch e Sarah já podem sair, eu vi vocês aí. — Harry brincou, vendo os olhos curiosos de seus amigos atrav��s da patente da porta.

— Mitch é muito curioso.— Ela deu um tapinha em seu marido.

— Então, vocês vão se casar? — Mitch parecia mais entusiasmado que a própria Sarah.

— Bem, ainda não, Harry ainda não propôs. — Deu um olhar de canto para seu namorado.

— Mas eu vou.— Deixou um beijinho no topo da cabeça de sua namorada. — Vamos?

— Vamos!

Na volta para casa, vocês ficaram em silêncio, somente alguns olhares trocados.

— Quer tomar um banho? — Perguntou ele assim que passaram pela porta.

— Sim.

Você foi atrás dele até o banheiro, ele a ajudou com as roupas e depois ambos entram no chuveiro. A água quente escorria sobre os corpos abraçados, apreciando o momento.

— Sinto muito por arruinar a surpresa — Seu olhar triste encontrou o dele. 

— Agora não preciso mais guardar segredo. — Harry deu um beijo suave no topo da sua cabeça. — Sabe que não gosto de ter segredos entre nós.

— Nada é tão bom quanto voltar para casa para você.— Você diz antes de deitar a cabeça em seu peito, fechando os olhos. 

— Nada é tão bom quanto ter você vindo para casa para mim.— Harry abraçou você.

  Ele te amava mais do que tudo no mundo, e mesmo com o pedido de casamento arruinado, ele daria um jeito de que nada o atrapalhasse da próxima vez.

Muito obrigada por ler até aqui! Se gostou fav, reblogue ou deixe uma ask, isso realmente é muito importante para mim 🥺♥️

Taglist: @little-big-fan @say-narry @umadirectioner @harry-sofrida @lanavelstommo

[muserryy]

THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME

• masterlist /contents

You take a sip of your coffee, watching the butterfly flying in your garden through the window of your kitchen. Your tote bag and your file with all the designs you've worked on is placed on the table. You're ready for yet another work day. You work in a fashion house. Let's say you enjoy your work but sometimes it does become stressful. This week is going to be really busy.

You slowly take yet another sip of your coffee, and let the taste linger on your tongue before gulping it down. You glance down at the untouched newspaper and see that the date reads. "25th October 2023."

You lean your chin on your hand as the other hand stir the cup in an idle way. Halloween is soon. You think back to the night of the harryween show, the one you attended. You smile, reminiscing about it but soon press your fingers to your lips, hiding it for no reason.

The memories come flooding back, you remember the moment when you took in the sight of your handsome man dressed up as Dorothy. You remembered how the crowd went wild when he came on stage in his cute dress and red ruby slippers, and how everyone in the room was awestruck by his singing and dancing. You were there, dancing and singing along to every song, and watching his stunning performances. The costume itself was perfect, and he wore it so well. There was something about Harry that night that was just magical, and you're definitely still under his spell.

You feel his soft lips pressing under your ear and then down your neck. You place your hand down on the table, leaning back as his honeyed scent fills up your nostrils, driving you out of the sweet memory. A smile appears on your face at the feeling and you feel him smirking too. The tickling of his lips doesn't last long as he pulls away, putting the paper bag on the table in front of you. Muffins. He went to buy some banana muffins.

"very busy, hm?" He stands straight and pulls out a chair and brings it near you before sitting on it. He sits facing your body.

You frown, "No…"

"You know what I mean. I've been watching you for 5 mins. What were you thinking? that you didn't even blink."

"Oh, I was thinking…"

"Yeah about what?" he asks and retrieves the box of muffins from the bag. 

"Harryween." 

A faint smile appears on his lips, as he hears you. He looks at you through his pretty eyes. "What about Harryween?"

"The first night where you were dressed up as dorothy." 

He leans in his face closer to you, getting curious and amused. "and what about it?" he asks.

Your cheeks tingle pink as your finger scratches the mug, watching his face closely, his eyes, nose and cheeks. "That night was amazing, one of my favourites. Everything about that night and especially you."

He chuckles and leans back "oh yeah I remember, you didn't stop talking about it for days, not to forget how much you cried."

"Please, that's because I didn't get to makeout or touch you in that dress." you purse your lips in a little pout. "you know how much I wanted that?"

"what?" He raises an eyebrow and chuckles. "You never told me that."

"I never did, did I?" you say with a shy smile. "I think I realized later on that it was something I wanted."

"Hmm," he takes his phone out of his pocket and gets busy on it. "Well, that's sad your wish wasn't fulfilled."

"Also, no Harryween this year." you watch him and sigh, looking down at your now empty mug. 

He glances up at you and nods, pouting slightly "sad." he says.

You stare at him for a few moments. "I will make you coffee." you get up, take your empty mug and place it in the sink and walk to the platform and start preparing hot coffee for him. 

He looks up towards you but your back is facing him. You're wearing a deep red, short sleeve-cropped cardigan blouse with your blue wide leg jeans. It's Harry's favourite 'cause it has some lace work at the sleeves which he finds cute.

You put the whipped coffee in the cup and then add the hot milk into it. you stir the coffee a bit and its surface becomes creamy.

Your waist is now wrapped in his arms as he is behind you, pressing you to his chest. He pecks your cheeks a little too hard, making you giggle as his mouth is occupied with chewing. He brings his half eaten muffin in front of your lips and nudges it, gesturing you to open up. you open and take a bite of the muffin and chew. "Have work today?" he asks.

"Yeah, Halloween is around so we have some orders to do." you say after swallowing, taking the cup in your hand you turn around. "your coffee." you beam at him.

"Well, thank you." He bows his head before taking it. you chuckle, watching him take a sip.

"I gotta go. I might get back late." you inform him. He's wearing his t-shirt hoodie and shorts, with a hair clip on his head.

"Alright! have a good day." he says and pulls you in a hug. You hug him back, your heart racing. You don't want to go to work when you know Harry is at home, looking this cuddly. "Call me when you get time." 

"sure." You smile and pull away. You walk to the dining table and grab your file and put it in your bag and then your lunch and water bottle. Checking to make sure you have everything, you put the bag over your shoulder.

You go back to him. "Can you give me a kiss before I leave?"

"Oh, absolutely!" he pulls you close and kisses you. "See you tonight. Love you."

"i love you too, see ya'" after exchanging a warm smile, he watches you walk to the front door and out.

31st October : THE HALLOWEEN NIGHT

You are at the doorstep, exhausted after a long day of dealing with the demanding clients at work, but you finally made it home. You push the key into the lock and turn it, and the door swings open. You step inside, It's silent, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you as you leave the hustle and bustle of the city behind. You close the door and lean against it for a moment, savoring the peace and quiet. You place the bag down on the floor and kick your shoes off, feeling the floor under your bare feet.

"I'm home." you say and call him out. "harry…" but get no response. You walk further and notice the light coming from the living room. You enter the room and frown as you see the decor. the dim glow from the fairy lights, the curtains drawn, the big couch with pillows and some blankets, looking perfect for lounging. You smell some of his favourite scented candles. Then your gaze lands on all treats and snacks placed on the coffee table but What is this all for? Did he plan any Halloween party? oh god no.

You call him out again, about to turn to walk out of the room in confusion but right then you are wrapped in a pair of arms. 

You look down to see Harry's tattooed arm and smile, touching them. He kisses your temple and then your cheek making you smile even wider. Your heart flutters as you take in his warmth, enjoying the intimacy. All the stress vanishes away as you feel safe and loved in his embrace. 

"There's no place like home." he breath tickes as he says softly against your ear, making you laugh and frown simultaneously. He spins you around to face him.

Your mouth opens in surprise as your eyes scan his face. You are stunned as you take in the sight of him fully. He's wearing the same blue gingham dress that he wore on his first harryween show, along with his gingham bow, the red tights and red ruby slippers. The makeup is done in the same way. His rosy cheeks and he's wearing mascara. oh! my dorothy.

You cup his face to believe it's real. You observe his face closely, your hands moving down to his neck and and then to his chest as you feel the fabric. Your mouth stays open.

He chuckles, getting amused by our reaction. He brushes his  soft lips against your parted lips. "surprised ya', didn't I?"

You blush and your lips quiver as he did. "i…yess..you definitely did..You look so...real," you whisper, gazing at him as if you were in a dream. He chuckles and kisses you on the lips, pulling you closer. You kiss him back. 

"I just couldn't resist the chance to surprise you. I planned a little harryween for just the two of us." 

You stare at his mascara-laden eyes for a few seconds, so he bats his eyes at you. Your heart aches and melts as he does that. There's a subtle shimmer in his green eyes that glints beautifully as he looks at you. He's too cute to handle. "Oh Harry, you're adorable." you cry, caressing his cheek and nudge his nose with yours.

He chuckles and rubs your back. "How was your day?" 

"As usual, tiring but I'm happy to be home." you can't help but keep looking into his eyes, watching the lashes everytime he blinks.

"Don't worry I will take care of it. Do you wanna dress up?" he asks, raising his eyebrows as he grins at you. "or are you too tired? You don't have to if you don't want to."

He put so much effort into the surprise, just for you. Not only did he plan the details and decorations but went all out with the make-up and costume. You will feel bad if you don't dress up regardless of how tired you are. After all, where's the fun if you don't dress up for Halloween even if it's only two of you. The thought of him doing such a sweet gesture touches your heart, and you eagerly agree to dress up for the evening with him. 

"I want to dress up too." 

Harry grins as you say that, pleased that you're going along with it. He takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom and further into the dressing room you share. "But what am I going to wear?"

"Hmm, let's see." He goes through the wardrobe, picking out clothes and dresses for a moment. "how about you freshen up, while I will pick something out for you?" 

"Okay but I wanna wear something cute…something that matches yours." you say from next to him.

"I will find something perfect for you, don't you worry." he grins, and continues to search for a perfect dress for you, that would match with his. You hurry up and head to take a quick bath.

~~~~~

'Keep driving' plays in the background as you take a sip of red wine and put it down on the vanity as you continue to apply the face cream. you have put on the red gingham dress Harry chose for you. It has a tiny bow in the middle and its little puffy half- sleeves pretty much match with Harry's dorothy costume. 

I would ask, "Should we just keep driving?" 

"y/n, our line." He takes your hand and draws you closer to him, putting his hands on your waist as you put yours around his neck. 

Maple syrup, coffee

Pancakes for two

You both sway your bodies together, big grins on faces as you both sing along.

Hash brown, egg yolk

I will always love you

When you reach the lyric "I will always love you," you both lean in and share a soft kiss. Your cheeks flushed from the kiss. You are both giddy and grinning like little kids. That line has always been yours and his. It's like a signal for you both to kiss. Whenever you listen to that song and that part comes on, You always kiss after the 'love you' part. It's almost become a habit. 

It's like a little thing… a mini tradition for both of you.

His hands caressing your waist as he pulls you even closer. The love he feels for you is palpable, and the moment is as romantic as it can be. You smile at him, your heart fluttering. As the song continues to play in the background, the two of you remain in each other's arms, lost in the love that you share.

You stare in his eyes as he stares into yours through his flutter lashes. "you look so much like a doll," you whisper as you slightly bite your lower lip. "and your cheeks… I can't even express how much I want to eat you alive." 

He chuckles as you compliment his feminine appearance. "Eat me alive, eh? What a delicious thought!"

You laugh and can't help but run your hand down to his chest and stroke it. "Who did your makeup today?" you ask.

"Oh, I had a stylist come in." he replies, placing his hand over yours that is still caressing his chest. "and I asked Lambert to send me the dress right away when you were missing this look that day.." he replies, placing his hand over yours that is still caressing his chest.

"what!" you exclaim. That morning in the kitchen he was being nonchalant when you were talking about it. "Oh Harry, thank you so much. I never thought I'd see you in this costume again." You say and shake your head. "I love you."

"I love you too." You kiss again. "Now let's get ready, we have lots of fun waiting." he smiles.

You move back to the mirror and uncap your favorite lip gloss. Looking in the mirror, you start applying the lip gloss on your lips. Meanwhile, Harry takes a sip from the shared wine glass.

As you finish applying the lip gloss, you feel Harry's fingers brushing your hair, gentle and caring. He places the tiny bow hair clips in your hair, one after the other.

"Perfect! Now we need a picture of our outfits," he takes his phone and moves beside you, allowing you to circle your arms around his waist. You exchange a warm smile and lean your head on his chest as he rests his head on yours, feeling your soft hair brush against his cheek. He lifts his phone up and clicks a mirror selfie of you both.

The two of you coordinate perfectly, with Harry's blue gingham dress matching the red tones of yours, creating a harmonious ensemble.

Click, click, click. you both take some more selfies and more.

~~~~~

It's been hours and the night is going great. You and Harry are having a great time together. You played his songs and some of yours and Harry's favourite artist. Singing and slow dancing. Not to forget how many times you guys make out tonight. 

Harry never left any chance to kiss you remembering how you wanted to makeout with him in this look. He wants to make this night unforgettable. A secret harryween night for only you and him and away from the world.

Now you are sitting on the big comfortable couch of your cosy living room, munching on some Halloween treats and chips.

Harry takes a sip of his cold beer while you eat the last bite of your tacos. The heat from the sauce and pepper seems to be getting to you. You wipe your fingers with the napkins and take a few sips from the glass of water but then decide to pretend that it's too spicy to handle. another excuse to smooch harry.

"Uh oh, it's a little too spicy for me." You say with your mouth agape and flushed cheeks. 

"oh is it?" He turns to you and says with a subtle smile on his lips. His dimples and red blush never go unnoticed by you. He scoots closer to you where you are sitting at the side of the sofa. "Try this cold beer." He puts the mouth of the bottle between your lips. You look him in the eyes and take a hold of the beer, sipping through it. He seems to get your hint.

After gulping down a sip, you fan your mouth still pretending like your tongue is on fire. "Not helping. Do you have any other remedy in mind?" 

Harry chuckles at you, almost challenging him to a rematch of your flirtatious comment. He sees your opportunity and smiles. You have set yourself up for a kiss. 

"hmm…let me see what might help then." He moves his face closer to yours. He gives you a kiss on the cheek and slowly lowers himself down to kiss your lips. You feel a flutter in your stomach.

The warmth of his body fills the space between you. He tastes the spicy taco remnants on your tongue. You lean back into the side comfort of the sofa and it turns into a makeout session again. His fingers run up your thigh. You let out a soft gasp and let yourself be taken by the moment. 

You grip on his dress in pleasure as he takes his time, caressing his lips on the corner of your mouth, going down your jaw and then under your ear. You feel your body heat up, his lips are intoxicating. You kiss each other's mouth again.

He moves his lips away from yours, you're left gasping for breath. You're still holding onto his dress tightly. Your eyes are closed and you're still feeling his touch. You slowly open your eyes and see Harry smiling at you with tenderness in his gaze, his chest heaving. 

"I knew you were making an excuse to kiss me." he says, teasing. Your lips twitch in a big smile and you laugh.

"You're saying this because you already got what you wanted." You tease back.

"And you got what you wanted as well." He replies. You giggle and snuggle closer to Harry, who wraps his arms around you and holds you in tight embrace. It has been a while since you both last had this moment. 

"What should we do now?" he asks.

"It's getting late," you say. "maybe watch a movie?" you suggest. 

"only if you cuddle me." he teases, making you giggle again.

"only if you kiss me some more." you reply.

"I'll kiss you as much as you want." he leans in to kiss you again. Life is just so sweet right now. "Should we put on something more comfortable?"

"Yeah we should. we might fall asleep while watching the movie." 

"Let's go then." he picks you up, you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom again.

"Are you gonna take off your makeup too?" you ask, admiring his lashes and cheeks. You eyes dart up to the ribbon in his hair. "And that bow too…? I don't want you to take off this dress." you say sadly.

"You can't keep me in this forever, darling." he laughs, entering the bedroom with you in his arms. 

"I wish I could." your fingers went in his hair. He takes you to the dressing room and you stand down on your feet in front of the vanity table. You stare up with a pout at him for a few seconds before he speaks.

"Don't be sad, love." He pecks your forehead and slowly unclips the bow from his hair but keeps it in his hand for a few seconds, glancing lovingly at it before he lets it drop to the table. 

You both get changed into some comfy clothes and move back to your cosy place for the night.

The lights are off. The only source of light filling the room is from the television screen, its flickering glow illuminating the two of you. The smell of your favorite scent candle. You lay on the big sofa with Harry next to you, the little spoon, curled up against your body. His head is on your chest. The blanket envelopes your bodies and provides extra warmth and comfort. He watches the movie on the television but you caress his cheek and admire him. The sound is low but you can hear the dialogues.

Harry has a soft smile on his face as you keep caressing his cheek gently, his hair tousled up. You enjoy being close to harry. 

You turn your head towards the television and watch the movie. After a few moments you slowly start to nod off, getting drowsy and tired. You slightly shift down to get more snug. Harry moves, looking at you as you lean your head closer to his. You turn your body to his and cuddle him gently as you wrap your arms around his body, hiding your face in his neck. 

"sleepy?" he whispers, cuddlings you closer.

"mhm…very." you reply in a hushed tone.

"me too… let's sleep now." he leans forward to the table, squishing you against his chest but you love it. His chest is like a pillow. Taking the remote, he turns off the TV and cuddles you again.

"Harry…" you murmur.

"Yes, my love?" he smiles to himself, stroking your hair gently.

"Hold me a little tighter…" you ask sweetly, eyes closed already. 

"Okay, I got you." He holds you tighter like you need. You notice the sound of his breathing is shallow and even. You smile and tiredly peck his neck, making him hum. 

There's no place like home. With him by your side and you by his side, the house you two share together is more than just a home. It's your world. 

You had always thought of home as where you rest and relax after a long day of work but it never felt like a true home, now it's clear to you. No matter where you go, or what new adventures lay ahead for you, there is always a home to return to: Harry. Where you let your guard down and let go of your worries. Where all the stress goes away. 

"There's no place like home..." you mumble the words that he said earlier to you. It's enough for Harry to hear it. "and it's with you, harry." he smiles wide, you can't see it but you can feel it. He kisses the side of your head while you stay cradled in his strong and safe arms.

"There's no place like home with you." he repeats in a sweet whisper as you two drift off to the sleep. 

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ