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harrys-titties · 2 years

Text

Harry’s a dick, and Y/N hates him for it.

WARNINGS: small dick energy from Harry until all of a sudden it’s big dick energy, if anyone treats you like this at work, please for the love of god go to HR, switch Harry and Y/N, degrading sex, PIV sex, oral (fem and male receiving,) rimming, spit kink, idk man lots of different sex things in this, lots o’ swearing bc it wouldn’t be a fic by me without it and lots of plot where they just hate each other so much lol.

(A/N Here it is; love you all. Pls let me know your thoughts!)

-masterlist-

Y/N hated Harry.

She hated his perfectly coiffed hair and his smooth, glowy skin. She hated his award-winning smile, which drew people in like a siren or summat, his melodic laugh and the swoon of his voice, which could charm even the grumpiest of coworkers. She hated his leather jackets and his heeled boots, his vanilla and tobacco scent and his tattoos.

And she especially hated the way he teased her.

Y/N would consider herself a strong and willful woman; she was intelligent and knowledgeable about her work. She cared about her clients and the colleagues around her, even if they were more often laughing at her than actually talking to her. She was well-spoken and confident, but something about Harry riddled her into a bumbling fool for some reason. She could hardly form a sentence around him. And if, by some miracle, she did, it was primitive and nonsensical, often made more embarrassing by the fact that she was usually trying to defend herself against his incessant taunting.

It was infuriating. Each time she saw him leaving one of the elevators across from her desk, she would internally groan, duck her head and try and focus on whatever was on her computer screen. Anything to avoid capturing his attention, and no doubt his mockery straight after. Why did he need to come down here so often? It felt like he was doing it on purpose. None of the other members on the associate's team would bother to come down to the analyst floor (too busy dealing with actual clients and pretending they were much better than any analyst still wading through spreadsheets and numbers), but each day he would arrive, waltzing down and gliding across the shitty commercial carpet as if he owned the place, and Y/N fucking hated it.

She couldn't be alone in it; she knew she couldn't. But her lonesome status within her own team made it hard to ask, and it looked as if everyone worshipped the very floor he walked on, greeting him as if he was a celebrity and laughing at his less than funny jokes (mainly when they were aimed at her.)

She'd had enough, and each time she heard the soft pat of his shoes against the carpet heading straight towards her desk, she'd attempt to gear herself up for the fight, try and prepare exactly what she was to say when he would inevitably point out something that didn't meet his satisfaction. But each time, she would only look at him dumbly in response, the words getting choked in her throat and coming out in a mismatch of errs and ums. She hated the way he'd stand at her desk waiting for her response, his arms across his chest and his shit-eating smirk plastered across his (let's be honest, not that good looking) face.

Until she'd finally give up, a cheerful laugh leaving him and a "still learning to speak, are we?" Or an, "hm, such a good point" thrown behind him as he stalked off.

It was safe to say, Y/N fucking hated Harry Styles.

——

Harry had a good life and an even better job. He'd basically waltzed into the company when he was fresh out of university, applying for a role much above his pay grade and far beyond his experience level.

Even he was shocked when he actually got the position, understanding that charm and wit could only get you so far in investment banking. But it seemed flirting with the Vice President of the company and the hiring director during his interview paid off some, allowing him to nestle into an associate's role without ever having to even understand how to calculate the statistics down on the analyst's level.

He was grateful, his skill always lying in dealing with people, often knowing the best place to exactly prick and prod at to get a favoured reaction, and he proudly brought that ability into his work, swindling money from the country's finest CEO's none the wiser that they were talking to someone who had skipped half of his classes in university, relying heavily on his natural intelligence and the occasional blowie for some notes to pass the semester.

It wasn't Harry's fault he was witty and likeable. He only used it to his advantage, no one could blame him for that. He was more than used to getting what he wanted; coworkers usually more than willing to help him out where they could and kiss at his feet if he so requested, taking whatever he said blindly as the truth. There were only a few select people on this earth that Harry tolerated calling him out on his bullshit, those being his mum, his sister and Sarah, who just so happened to be sitting in front of him doing so right now.

It had started when they'd both gone down to the analyst's floor, needing to pick up reports from last week to discuss in Harry's next meeting, when he'd made his daily stop at Y/N's desk. She was a nervous little thing, constantly shaking and choking up around him, barely even able to look him in the eye for longer than a second, and Harry would be lying if he said he didn't love to watch her squirm.

He'd noticed a little origami flower sitting on her desk, which ordinarily Harry may have considered cute, but it was too easy. He had picked it up, watching as she'd rushed to stop him, her face construed in panic, an intense overreaction to a piece of folded paper if you asked him. "Ohh, is this what you were busy learning during your mathematics class in uni?" He didn't wait for her to respond, continuing regardless of her open mouth, clearly ready to speak. "Now your reports make a lot more sense. Maybe you can try and redeem them by folding them into flowers next time? Make them a tad less painful for me to try and decipher, hm?"

He had watched as her shoulders slumped, her upper lip twitching, and he waited as he always did for her to respond. He kind of hoped one day she would give him a bit more than the pathetic attempt she usually produced to construct a basic sentence, but today hadn't been the day. A tattered "um, I-, well my mother taught… I didn't-," leaving her. He had interrupted her once again, revelling in the way her hand wound into a fist on the desk in front of them, "err, I-, um," he stuttered mockingly, "I'll stop you right there, sweetheart. Wouldn't want you hurting yourself."

He had twirled the stem of the fake flower between his thumb and forefinger, watching as the glint from the light hitting his ring blinded the girl in front of him momentarily, before popping it in the breast pocket of his silk shirt, turning around without acknowledging her again and winking at a cute red-head sitting on the desk across from Y/N's.

Sarah hadn't been too impressed, always nagging him to be nicer to the analysts who were slugging their way through their jobs the same way so many of the associates in Harry's team had before being promoted. And well, Harry was nice to them, just maybe not to Y/N.

"You were awful, H, god. I felt so sorry for the poor girl. Did you see how they all laughed at her as you teased her?" He actually hadn't, to be fair. His teasing wasn't for the entertainment of the office. If anything, it was for his own amusement. He hadn't even noticed them snickering, too busy focusing on the angry flush crawling up Y/N's neck as he spoke and the cute little crease between her eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

"It's all friendly banter, Sarah. Bet she likes the attention."

He watched as Sarah's lip raised in disgust, "you're such a pig." Harry was ready for the admonishment he was about to receive, now used to the boring lectures from Sarah, who cared a little too much about everyone around her. One time even going so far as to do thirty minutes of photocopying for one of the pricks on their floor because she felt bad his pet hamster had died. He had come to expect the service, though, going so far as to drop extra work on Sarah's desk each morning for two weeks until Harry had stepped in, too used to people abusing Sarah's kindness, tearing the paper in half right in front of the pricks desk and letting him know where the next lot would be shoved if it ended up on Sarah's desk again.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you liked giving her the extra attention in your own narcissistic and fucked up way." Harry scoffs, his own lip drawing to match the pose Sarah's was still stuck in. Sure he liked teasing her, and he liked when her cheeks would flush, and her lips would purse, but what Sarah was insinuating? Absolutely not. She wasn't his type, too vanilla and frankly dull for him. Plus, he usually liked his dates to be able to at least say a complete sentence to him without turning beet red. "Why the fuck would I be attracted to her? She's not my type in the slightest. Have you seen the ugly blouses she wears?"

Sarah rolls her eyes in response, taking a sip of her steaming coffee and leaning forward on the table in front of him, "c'mon, Haz, she's pretty, and she's smart. I'm not buying into that report bullshit; hers are always the neatest and most accurate, and you know it."

He did know that.

So what?

He had exaggerated a little bit while talking to her; sue him. "You know you're allowed to find her attractive, right? Even if she’s not your usual type. From what I've heard, she's sweet, a bit fiery even." Not in a million years could he picture the puppy-like girl who blushed when he came near her as fiery. She was too demure, too plain to strike Harry as anything but a quick entertainment fix, and he was beginning to become frustrated with Sarah's pointed stare. "I don't give a fuck. She could be the fucking Beyonce's long-lost sister, and I wouldn't give a fuck about her, so let's just drop it."

Sighing, Sarah nods, picking up the magazine she'd bought at lunch and begins to read it, leaving Harry to his own thoughts. But now he wasn't so sure. Was she attractive? He guesses she always smelt nice and had a pretty smile from the few times he'd seen her giving it to someone else. She seemed a bit plain, but he knew he's only ever seen her fuming silently at her desk when he was around. While her clothes were often dated and also a bit ordinary, he does recall her wearing a nice pair of Gucci loafers into work one time, but Harry had quickly pounced on that, asking if she had robbed someone to get her hands on them, even though he had actually quite liked them and had gone out and bought a similar pair that weekend.

Eh, what did it matter? He wasn't going to stop, and he hardly cared if the girl he was teasing was hot anyway. There were plenty of fish in the office for Harry to fry, and the knobby kneed freak wasn't going to be one of them.

He opens his yoghurt cup, sighing slightly while he eats, thinking how nice his life really was and wondering if that red-head he'd winked at earlier today was single.

——

Y/N hated getting called into the boss's office, she's not sure she knows anyone that likes it (maybe Harry if he saw it as another chance to manipulate their boss into giving him a holiday house in Prague or whatever his dickish tendencies allowed him to do,) but it reminded her too much of standing in front of her father's desk, receiving a scolding for getting a 'B' rather than an 'A' on her biology exam or for being home five minutes after her curfew.

The long elevator trip up was spent with an anxious belly and Y/N trying to calm her breathing, each inhale and exhale laboured and unnatural. It's only made worse when the lift stops on Harry's floor, and the man himself steps into the elevator, all flared pants and suspenders, his telltale vanilla scent wafting over the other side of the lift where Y/N is desperately trying to keep her head down so as not to provoke him.

She feels his stare through the mirrored walls and waits for the barrage of mockery to come, but it never does. Instead, when Y/N glances over at him, she sees him give her a once over, starting down at her brown boots and moving up to her face, where his gaze meets hers. He holds it for a moment, looking between her two irises and squinting his eyes some, prolonging the silence between them before the elevator dings. Without another word, he tears his stare away from her and walks through the open doors onto the associate's floor, a trail of vanilla left behind him.

Y/N thinks that's the first time she's ever been so close to Harry without him making some comment on the fraying edges of her pants or how her hair was too messy. Why did he not this time? Maybe he was wondering why she was coming up to one of the upper levels, analysts usually not having much cause to travel above their own floor. Perhaps she just didn't look a mess today. She had a bit of extra time to get ready, waking up earlier than usual due to her new kitten tearing up her curtains a whole hour before her alarm.

Or perhaps it was all a part of his game, which made Y/N even more upset. Was he that desperately cruel that he would allow her to believe she was free from his torture before attacking her again ten times worse? God, she hopes not. She was nervous enough already; the added anxiety of Harry's presence would do nothing to curb the stress frothing in her gut.

——

Turns out, Y/N had nothing to worry about. While she had stood with her knees knocking in front of the oak desk that her boss, William Garner, leant against, he had delivered her with good news rather than bad. She was getting promoted. And while the initial announcement had sent her into a celebratory spin with her heart soaring and her fingers tingling, the more Y/N thought about it, the more she realised it might not be the best news.

While it obviously meant she was doing her job well and would be moving from analyst to an associate, it would also mean she would be working on Harry's floor, and she's not sure she could stand his constant berating for the whole eight-hour work day.

It was bad enough experiencing it for the five or so minutes he would spend on the lower level, but with their offices so close to each other's, she's worried he would take full advantage. So when she's instructed to bring some of her items up into the empty office space on the associate's floor, she does so with her head down and her gaze focused on the box of knick-knacks and folders in her hands, usually stored on or in her desk downstairs.

The office is a decent size, with a plain desk in the centre and a nice window view down to the streets below. It's a vast improvement from the cramped space she had shared downstairs, with all 'offices' being a bunch of tables in their own two metres by two-metre area, with barely enough room to fit a rubbish bin beside the work surface. It also felt more private, and it worked well for someone like Y/N, who typically liked being alone.

She briefly holds hope that maybe the enclosed walls would dissuade Harry from his taunting, but her wish isn't long made before he's stepping foot inside the space, the room suddenly feeling tiny and cramped, like both he and Y/N's presences we're bursting at the seams. He takes a moment to look around, his tongue pressing against his cheek before his gaze settles on the woman in front of him, reminding Y/N of a snake about to strike. "Who'd you fuck to get this?"

Instantly Y/N opposes the notion, her mouth dropping and her eyebrows furrowing in part surprise and disgust, "what? I- no, I didn't… I wouldn't do that."

He only nods, walking over to the box sitting on the desk behind her and begins to wade through her belongings as if he owned them himself. It almost pisses Y/N off more than the jab he'd delivered on his arrival. "Didn't take you for one to sleep around to get your way to the top, but I guess you continue to surprise me." He motions to the room around him, and Y/N has to actively remind herself to stop grinding her teeth, worried they'd be reduced to stumps within the month if Harry kept his behaviour up.

She walks around to her chair, sitting down with a sigh and pulls the box away from his wandering hands, somehow managing to get out a complete sentence, something that Harry had not been privy to before. "I didn't sleep with anyone to get here."

For a moment, he looks shocked, perhaps at the fact she'd actually managed to string together a complete sentence around him- even if it was basically whispered, or maybe he really did believe she had blown Garner to get an office like this. Either way, he drops a picture frame (one of Y/N's grandmother and herself on Christmas) a little too heavily for Y/N's liking back into the box and stands up, tugging on the lapels of his jacket, "I see. Well, that's disappointing, love, because I am quite the gossip."

She picks up the frame that had just left his hands, checking the glass covering it wasn't smashed and to avoid his sharp gaze, which she's sure is pointed directly at her waiting for a reaction. When he doesn't get one, he continues, "got any secrets I can spread?" She scoffs aloud at that, struggling to contain the obvious reaction. As if he of all people would be the one she would tell her secrets to! She didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. So she takes a moment to glance at him, almost physically recoiling at his expression. If she didn't know the conversation they were having, she'd think he was perfectly content, smirking with a devilish look in his ivy-stained irises.

She shakes her head. "No? What happened to all that courage you had just a second ago, pet? Seem to be at a loss for words or summat." She feels the telltale heat of embarrassment rushing to her face and looks down at her hands, picking one of the hangnails on the side of her finger.

He was enjoying this too much, his grin only growing as he realised how uncomfortable she was with his overwhelming presence, his casual lean against her desk feeling villainous and threatening. She really was just too easy. "Maybe you can stick by me. I'll show you the ropes around here and make sure you're nice and comfortable." Instantly her eyes flick up to his, the look of frustration and fear swirling dangerously inside them. For the second time in this little impromptu meeting, Y/N feels courage sweeping up her spine. "I don't want to spend any time with you." She spits.

He laughs. He actually laughs, the sound hearty and genuine. It takes everything in Y/N not to give him a right piece of her mind, but she's too scared of the repercussions, knowing full well she'd probably end up twisting her words and sounding more like an idiot than ever. So she sits quietly, trying to breathe deeply as she sees him stand up and cross his arms in her peripheral vision.

He leans even closer to her, and Y/N finds herself wanting to cower, but his alluring gaze and telltale vanilla scent leave her frozen in her place. "You wound me, sweetheart. Be careful what you wish for, love; you just might get it."

He laughs again, leaving her office. There's a certain emptiness with him gone, and it's the first time in the five minutes he'd been here that Y/N feels as if she could actually breathe. His presence was suffocating, the sentiment he'd left her with almost sounding like a threat.

Y/N doesn't even want to know what he has up his sleeve.

——

Be careful what you wish for? The more she thought about it, the more it pissed her off. Who did he think he was, the pompous bastard? He was nothing but a bully, and so to spite him, Y/N spends her weekend reciting exactly what she wished for like a mantra.

In between meals, while she's feeding her cat, while watching TV, Y/N says the same sentence repeatedly, hoping the more she does so, the more likely it would be to come true.

"I wish Harry Styles would leave me alone."

——

Y/N came into work on Monday bright-eyed, feeling residual confidence from her weekend that would inevitably fizzle out and fade with each second spent in the office. Still, she was using it to her advantage while she could. She dragged her desk closer to the wall, set up her picture frames exactly where she wanted them, and dusted the shelves and filing cabinets that had been there when she'd begun to occupy the space.

She's only interrupted by a cough behind her, and when she turns, she notices Garner and Harry standing in the doorframe. She immediately blushes, pulling the skirt that had definitely ridden up in her activities and coughs slightly. She notices Harry's eyes quickly avert their gaze to the ground when he sees her doing so (although she can’t imagine why, she doesn’t picture Harry being someone to purposefully protect her modesty like that,) before travelling back up to meet her eyes.

"Sir! What can.. uh, what can I do for you?"

While Garner was intimidating, he also had the same kind of energy as a father figure who was strict but kind when needed. For that reason, Y/N quite liked him. He was fair and well-liked, so much so that she'd heard Harry and himself were pretty close, so the sight of both of them standing in her office made her tummy begin to stir. She does her best to calm her breathing, choosing to completely ignore the more infuriating one of the pair and focus on her boss's kind eyes, now looking between herself and Harry.

"I'm aware it can be a bit intimidating starting in a new team. Harry's brought it to my attention that you'll need to be trained up anyway. So for now, I'd like you to be following him along, attending his meetings and helping him complete his work until you get the hang of things here." Immediately nerves begin to shoot through her body, but she does her best to keep her face void of emotion, only nodding along as he speaks and replying once he is finished. "Sounds good, sir."

He nods once, looking around her workspace quickly before heading towards the elevators on the other side of the building, leaving herself and Harry alone again. As usual, he's the first to speak, "I warned you, didn't I? You'd get whatever you wished for." He smirks at her, grinning at the disgust smearing across her face, "no, I- I didn't wish for this."

He feigns shock, looking behind him like he was checking the coast was clear before leaning in slightly, "what did you wish for then, hm? To see me naked?" Harry can't stop the wolfish grin that spreads across his face as a splotchy red flush spreads against Y/N's.

Y/N didn't think it was very fair. Day after day, she watched Harry waltz towards her, his insults and teasing falling easily and freely from his pink lips like he didn't even have to think twice. He'd drop each jab as if he was sprinkling flour onto Y/N's freshly washed clothes, and no matter how many times she tried to brush them off, it would only smear and leave ugly white streaks. It wasn't fair because she was left a stuttering mess each time she tried to combat his attacks. She tries to tell him she hasn't and would never think of him naked, but she can't. It's like the words are stuck to her tongue like glue; no matter how often she tries to spit them out, it only comes out in sputters, a mash of meaningless words.

She hated it, she hated him, and she wanted him to leave her office, leave her in peace and leave her alone for good.

—-

Don't get him wrong, Harry loved to prod at Y/N's exterior, but the way she deflates and looks at the desk in front of her blankly suddenly makes it seem a lot less fun. It was only exciting when he could see her flush and stutter, trying desperately to dispute whatever bullshit he was spitting her way. He didn't feel bad for her, far from, but maybe he didn't want to push her when she clearly didn't feel even up to replying (or trying to, for that matter.)

So he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning forward to catch her attention and bring her gaze back to him, "I'm only kidding, Y/N, jesus." She nods, her eyes telling him that she probably didn't find it all that funny, but he didn't really care. At least she wasn't crying on him.

"I'll send you the stuff for the meetings I have this week. Just try not to fuck it up."

At this, he exits her office and leaves Y/N, clenching her fists underneath the desk, too angry to do anything else.

——

The week had gone as well as it could have. Harry had been as friendly as Y/N believed he possibly could be, primarily by just ignoring her. He would drop reports on her desks without saying a word, not acknowledge her emails and simply did his work without bothering Y/N and well, she was relieved. She still didn't quite believe he wasn't capable of returning to his horrible tendencies, so she did her best to avoid him, dropping the work he had asked her to do on his desk when she knew he was out for lunch, sitting as far away from him during meetings as she could, keeping her head down while in her office, and embarrassingly even leaving the break room when she saw him and his little posse enter, scrambling to pick up her yoghurt cup and cookie from the table and eating the rest in her office.

Which is where she sat now, mindlessly scrolling through her phone before she's interrupted by the sound of footsteps and an overwhelming smell of flowers. She looks up to see Lucy standing in the doorway of her office, a sandwich and an apple in hand. "I've been looking all over for you! Why are you hiding in here?" She looks around the room, her face mixed with confusion and slight disgust.

While she wouldn't be Y/N's first choice outside of work, she was the only friend she'd made here. Y/N believed it was worth putting up with her obnoxious talking and sometimes questionable opinions if it meant she at least wasn't so alone, knowing full well Harry's teasing had put her on a list of people that her coworkers definitely did not want to make friends with. So, the fact that Lucy was willing to talk to her and help her out meant more than Y/N could imagine.

As stereotypical as it was, the two women had met at the photocopier, where Y/N had been attempting to copy the notes Harry had sent her when it had jammed. The machine had whirred and whined, letting out a choked sound while Y/N avoided looking up at the rest of the office, knowing full well her face would be bright red as she tried to find the latch where the paper was. It was Lucy who had come to her rescue. While Y/N was shaking with embarrassment and frustration, Lucy had run over in her four-inch heels and quickly pulled open the drawer on the side of the machine, pulling out the jammed piece of paper and closing the drawer before Y/N could even say thank you.

Maybe it was because Lucy had only started two or three weeks before Y/N had and was fairly new herself, or perhaps she just pitied the poor girl, but Y/N appreciated the help nonetheless.

"Oh, this damn machine, it's the worst! My whole first week, no one told me how easy it jammed- had to figure that out on my own." She'd turned to Y/N, scrunching the piece in one hand while holding her other hand out to Y/N, "I'm Lucy! It's nice to meet- oh, I love your shoes!" Y/N had stuttered slightly, a tad overwhelmed with her bubbly persona, but she'd quickly gotten used to her rambling and talkative nature.

"Uh, I don't know, didn't want-"

She's interrupted by Lucy herself as she sits down on the chair in front of Y/N's desk, "did you see the shirt Harry was wearing today? You could practically see his pecs with how tight it was!"

Y/N stops herself from rolling her eyes and fakes a smile. She had, in fact noticed. It was pretty hard to miss. He'd walked into the break room, his red flares catching Y/N's attention immediately and the blue and white striped shirt tight against his arms and chest, a few buttons undone at the top, leaving a peak of the swallows inked against his collarbones. God, she wishes she didn't hate him so much. She may have given herself the time to admire the gentle curve of his bum in the pants and the tuft of hair layered against his chest. She might have given herself the time to imagine licking against the wing tips of each of the birds plastered against his collarbones, and perhaps even the feel of his arms, which Y/N had never realised had any certain appeal until she'd seen the shirt rolled up around the thick muscles.

What a shame he was such a prick.

She focuses back on Lucy, nodding slightly in agreement, not even bothering to say something before Lucy begins to speak again. "I can't wait to see what he'll wear to the work drinks this weekend. Are you still planning on coming?"

Originally, Y/N had no intention of going to the event, finding the eight hours in the office surrounded by the assholes in the workplace bad enough, and imagining spending even longer with them while drunk would be an absolute nightmare. It was only Lucy who had convinced her, telling her how much fun she'd heard they were and what she was planning on wearing. To be honest, Y/N still wasn't convinced, but she thought she could go for an hour or two and come home and change into her pyjamas if it was boring.

Maybe this would be her chance to form connections with other workers and show them she wasn't just the bumbling idiot Harry reduced her to. "Uh yeah, I'll come for a bit, but-" she's interrupted by the devil himself stepping foot into her office; somehow, another shirt button had opened since she'd last seen him, revealing even more of his chest, which for some reason makes Y/N even angrier. Who did he think he was, flashing his toned chest like it was a fashion show?

“Hello ladies, planning on coming to the drinks this weekend?”

Y/N stares blankly as Lucy nods her head so hard, Y/N’s worried it may fall off, but when she looks back to Harry, his gaze is set dead on her, ignoring Lucy entirely. She’s taken back some, feeling the damned flush spoil her cheeks as per usual, “uh, I’m- we don’t-”

He interrupts her, his dimpled grin adorning his face as he lets out a chuckle, his hands sitting comfortably in his pant pockets. “Simple yes or no question, honey. Don’t tell me it’s too hard for your little brain to come up with an answer.”

She feels frustration bursting in her chest at his rude exterior, the anger spreading directly outwards, warming her arms and hands. “Yes, we’re coming.” She wants to wipe the surprised but pleased look right off his unfairly attractive face, but she doesn’t, only sits with her hands in her lap as she always did. “Well, this will be interesting! won’t believe you can let loose and have fun until I see it.” With that, he stalks out, leaving Y/N to breathe through the anger threatening to bubble over and explode from her throat and Lucy, with her mouth dropped and brows furrowed.

She turns to Y/N, her face a mixture of disbelief and annoyance, “you did not tell me Harry flirts with you? Does he act like that all the time? He’s never been like that with me!”

It’s Y/N face that skews into disbelief now, “flirts with me? Lucy, he’s awful. What are you on about?” The woman in front of her is taken aback, and if Y/N wasn’t trying desperately not to offend her, she would roll her eyes at her dramatic tendencies, particularly the gasp she lets out as her hand comes to her chest, like she’s in a period drama or summat. “Awful? You think Harry’s awful? How? He’s so dreamy!” Y/N’s about to actually roll her eyes at this, the sentiment too ridiculous for her not to, but Lucy’s following statement only leaves her confused. “I thought you guys would’ve gotten on very well.”

There isn’t a universe Y/N could conceive in which Harry and herself would get on ‘well.’ He was a right prick, someone who made every day she worked in the office miserable, all while walking around like he owned the place and all the people within it- and she guessed he did, which annoyed her even more. It was as if he had all of them under his spell, everyone basically kissing the very ground he walked on, and hanging on every accented word of bullshit he spat from his pretty mouth.

“What? Why on earth would you ever think we’d get on?” Lucy looks at her in awe, confusion clearly muddled through her perfectly plucked brows and beautifully painted lips. “Well, he got you the promotion up here. Fought mighty hard to get you here too.”

It’s as if Y/N’s whole world stops, and if she wasn’t in the situation she was in, she’d take time to notice how comically she had paused, her mouth agape and her eyes staring dumbly at Lucy. Harry got her the promotion here? Harry who never missed the opportunity to call her dumb or tell her the reports she submitted were sloppy. The same Harry who once told her she didn’t deserve this job and who told her at least once a week that not a thread on her cheap clothing was worth sitting in the building she was in. She didn’t believe it. It just wasn’t possible!

“What- how do you know that?”

Lucy looks like she’s lost interest in the conversation, the polar opposite of Y/N, who’s still stuck in the same stunned position- like a shitty street performer or something. “Garner wanted to promote Cheryl, but Harry said you’d be better. He stopped the whole meeting to convince him he was making the wrong decision.”

Y/N could not believe it. It wasn’t like he’d passively agreed she would be a good candidate for her current position. He had stopped the meeting and directly opposed what Garner had already decided. Granted, their boss hung off Harry’s every word, but still. She didn’t know which she hated more, the fact she owed this job to Harry or this unpredictable side of him. Was this part of a bigger plan Y/N wasn’t aware of? Was he going to hold this against her, or was he just not as bad as Y/N initially thought?

It was a shock, to say the least. Until now, she genuinely believed Harry thought she was hopeless, and if she didn’t know she’d clam up in front of him, she’d go to his office and ask him herself.

She wasn’t brave enough though, so instead, she followed Lucy’s lead and slowly began eating again, using the silence between them to ruminate over what she had learnt.

Her opinion of Harry hadn’t changed, but maybe her expectations of him had.

——

While Y/N’s expectations of Harry had perhaps increased, she was fully aware they may lower again, and she was just waiting for this to be the case.

Turns out she didn’t have to wait long.

She had spent hours getting ready for the work drinks, changing her pants, her shirt, and then her pants again. Each time the mirror revealed another outfit that wasn’t perfect, and Y/N’s face slowly became more disparaged with each new ensemble. She’d spent much too long trying to perfect her eyeliner, giving up after the third time. Wiping it off and reapplying it, a huff left her as she grabbed a few dry biscuits on her way out to ensure her stomach held something and wouldn’t absorb the alcohol too quickly.

Why did she care so much? Well, she really couldn’t tell you. She guesses she wanted to impress her coworkers, show them she could dress up a bit outside of work and exceed any low expectations Harry had created for her. Maybe she was just nervous and wanted to feel more confident than usual. Her attempts, however, had been dire. Sitting in the cab on the way to the bar, Y/N felt even more uncomfortable and out of her own skin than ever, the leather seats sticking to her just too hot skin, the wind flowing from the wound-down windows not nearly calming enough.

It didn’t help that Lucy hadn’t replied to Y/N’s last text either. They had briefly agreed upon a time when leaving work that evening (an hour after the drinks were supposed to start, so they could avoid any awkward niceties), and Y/N had sent her a text to confirm their agreed-upon hour as she was leaving. Yet her phone sat quietly in her bag, the comforting ding of a reply not coming through- not even when Y/N had arrived at the bar and gotten out of the car, now awkwardly waiting in front of the building.

After fifteen minutes spent battling the wind, Y/N is led to believe that Lucy wasn’t showing up any time soon, so reluctantly, she heads inside and up the stairs on her own. She shoots a brief text to the missing girl, desperately trying to keep her tone light and friendly when realistically, she wants to be anything but.

Each step towards the upstairs area allows drips of anxiety to seep into Y/N’s tummy, the final step leaving her innards in turmoil as she thinks of what she will face when she arrives.

When she opens the door, a wave of chatter and music washes over her, working to calm her none, especially as she sees her coworkers scattered around the building, some dancing and laughing, others simply talking. She instantly finds comfort within the bar, standing in front of the wooden panelled bench and ordering herself a drink, praying that Lucy would miraculously show up once she turns around. However, the lack of sound from her phone doesn’t fill her with confidence.

What was Y/N supposed to do? She couldn’t very well cling to the bar like a lifeline the whole night, but the thought of joining a group already formed didn’t sound so appealing either. Instead, she walks towards the balcony, clinging onto the metal railing, cold against her flushed skin. The vibration of her phone against the banister startles Y/N, but she rushes to reach into her bag; at this point, desperate to know if Lucy is on her way or if Y/N should call it a night and go home to warm pyjamas and her kitten.

“Sorry, babes! Got caught up, be there in 20 mins!”

And well, the sound of Y/N’s kitten and a warm pot of tea sounds more appealing as the seconds tick by. What was she supposed to do for twenty minutes by herself? She turns around, the railing digging into her back and tries to find a group she could possibly join in tiding over her loneliness. To the left, it’s a group that Y/N doesn’t recognise, so instantly, she rules them out. Right ahead, it’s a group of men, one whom she recognises as Liam, who she’d hooked up with before he had moved up to the associate’s level.

It wasn’t anything special, a sloppy blowie in one of the office’s bathrooms after hours, a blowie that led to absolutely nothing but awkward glances while working. Y/N was relieved when he had been moved up to the associate’s level a few weeks later, and to be honest, she’d almost forgotten it had occurred altogether, made easier with the way Liam would avoid her like the plague. Which he seems to be doing now, the man awkwardly glancing over in her direction before quickly averting his gaze when he realises she’s looking.

Rolling her eyes, she turns to the right, where the melodic voice and full silk outfit are a telltale sign that one of the group members is Harry, facing away from her and chatting with the group in front of him, his broad shoulders slimming down into his narrow waist accentuated by the high waisted pants he was sporting.

Y/N isn’t one to pry, and she’s about to draw her attention away from the group when the conversation they’re having catches her attention- only because her name is mentioned.

“Well, I’ll have to keep her away with a ten-foot pole!” He chuckles, taking a sip of what looks like a gin and tonic. It’s Harry’s friend, Adam, who replies. “You really think Y/N’s interested? She walks out of the room every time you enter it.” Harry laughs once again, like every word Adam said was utterly irrelevant.

Y/N would hug Adam if she could; although he wasn’t admonishing Harry for what he was saying, he was at least arguing that she wasn’t interested in him, and well, god, she wasn’t.

“She’s just nervous around me, obviously. Although I hope you’re right, it’ll be a weight off my shoulders if I don’t have to worry about her coming onto me. She’s not that ugly, but I do have standards, yeh?” It’s then Y/N notices a woman next to Harry (she thinks her name was Sarah, but she couldn’t be too sure) slap his shoulder, motioning behind him to where Y/N stood, her mouth agape and tears forming in her eyes.

Y/N couldn’t explain why her heart stopped in her chest or why it felt like she’d just swallowed acid, but it did. She can’t explain it because, for fucks sake, Harry had said worse to her face! But there was something different this time. Y/N was under the impression that Harry disliked her, but she also thought he had purposely antagonised her just to get a reaction. Thought he got off on her blundering and nervous flushes in his own sadistic way. But speaking about her in this way to his friends, when Y/N wasn’t even around to stumble her way through a defence, well, it just felt crueller. More real. More true.

He had no reason to lie, no reason to make this up.

The very thought of Y/N even finding him attractive despised Harry. And Y/N feels every bit of confidence inside of her shatter.

She feels herself well up even further as she desperately tries to say something, but all that escapes her mouth is a choked sob, the sound tearing from her chest before she gives it permission.

Quickly turning around, she drops her drink on the closest table and walks swiftly towards the stairs, wanting nothing more than to get away from this god-awful party with the even more awful people inside it.

——

Harry had fucked up.

Don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t interested in Y/N, not even close, but even he wasn’t so cruel to not feel guilty after she’d heard him speaking about her as he had.

The look on her face had felt like a knife to the chest, the tears welling up in her eyes and the tremble of her chin twisting it deeper into his chest, bit by bit. She looked so heartbroken and helpless, and the second she turned around and jogged off, Harry followed her, calling out for her to stop.

Maybe she was ignoring him, or perhaps she just genuinely couldn’t hear him, but she didn’t slow down in the slightest, running all the way down the stairs and out the front with Harry on her heels. It’s only when she steps outside does she respond to his frantic yelling, spinning around and scaring him with the intensity in her eyes as she practically yells at him. “What?”

He takes a step back, shocked by the aggressive tone, which honestly Harry would’ve expected from anyone else, but not the puppy-like girl he loved to tease. He continues nonetheless, the guilt and sympathy in his eyes only working to make Y/N even angrier.

The only solace for her is that this time, it’s Harry that’s the one stuttering.

“I- Uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t-” as Harry had so many times before, Y/N interrupts him in the middle of his pathetic attempt at an apology, the anger boiling beneath her skin, finally being released.

“How fucking dare you. I can’t believe you! Seriously, how old are you?” She pauses to run her hands through her hair, frustration overcoming her so much it feels as if it’s becoming her, the feeling overwhelming and unwelcome.

“As a grown adult, I usually have a conversation with someone if I’m that concerned about being around them.” She takes another moment to take a breath, the feeling of finally speaking her mind to him allowing a sense of relief to flood her veins, but it’s quickly replaced by anger again as she watches him struggle to find words, as she so often had around him.

“Y/N, listen, please.”

She takes a moment to realise it’s the first time he’s ever called her by her name, previously under the impression that he simply hadn’t known it, but the fact he had and purposely chose nicknames he knew would piss her off, causes her to lose her temper once more.

“No. You listen to me, Harry. You’re a prick who doesn’t give a fuck about anyone around you, particularly me. You’re rude and juvenile, and I can’t stand even being in the same room as you, let alone dating you! I wasn’t interested in you before I heard you speaking about me like a pig, and I’m certainly not interested in you now.” She watches as his face falls with each passing sentence, actively squashing the slight sense of sympathy she feels for him, before picking the strap of her bag up and placing it back on her shoulder.

“Seriously, Harry, don’t stress. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

At that, she turns around and walks away, leaving Harry standing in front of the bar. For the first time in what feels like forever, guilt wracks Harry’s body, the feeling so alien he clutches his hand to his chest and takes a deep breath.

What the fuck had he done?

——

The weekend felt grey. Heavy clouds covered the blue, leaving a dreary feeling to slink through the windows and into Y/N’s apartment. All colours felt muted and dull, even the pot plants she had dotted around the place looking droopy and sad.

She wasn’t the type to feel sorry for herself, but there was something so heartbreaking about how Friday night had panned out. She didn’t necessarily care what Harry thought about her, she knew he was a prick, and his actions the previous night had only confirmed this. She guesses it was just a knock to her confidence, the same confidence she had spent so many years building and strengthening. She was sure of who she was, but sometimes it was hard when people would pick out the weak parts of her and use them against her.

Was she really that undesirable?

Was the idea of her affection such a burden to others that the very prospect worried them? Y/N didn’t want to know, and she was trying desperately not to think of it but was failing miserably. Not even Moose, her little tabby kitten, could cheer her up. His mischievous and naughty nature made the little tike a right handful, but Y/N hardly cared at the moment, watching him tear at a loose strand of her carpet until even Moose had lost interest, choosing instead to lay on her lap, asleep.

When she arrived at the party, Lucy had messaged her, but Y/N hadn’t replied. Too caught up and tired to explain the whole situation, and perhaps a little embarrassed, particularly when Lucy had messaged her upset that the man in question wasn’t present at the work drinks as he had promised.

Y/N briefly wondered if he had gone home after their tiff, slightly surprised by the idea. She didn’t think he’d care, choosing to believe that his guilt-ridden tone was nothing but a ruse. Once again, she’s left wondering if her expectations of him were too low, but like kindling catching fire, the memory of his spiteful words roars into her mind leaving her skin burning and her eyes watering, doing nothing to put out the fiery anger broiling in her chest.

Not even Sarah, Harry’s friend, could change her view of him. On Monday, when Y/N was waiting for the kettle in the communal kitchen to boil, a presence behind her had scared her. It was Sarah, with her warm smile and soothing voice, standing with her hands cupping her elbows, the gesture clearly an attempt to calm her nerves. And Y/N’s not surprised. The last time she’d seen the woman standing in front of her was when her best friend was exclaiming very loudly about how undesirable he found Y/N.

She wasn’t sure what on earth Sarah could want with her. She didn’t know her all that well and was briefly concerned she would show the same tact as Harry and rub his teasing directly into her face. However, what Sarah says takes her by surprise.

“Hi. I just wanted to apologise for what H said on Friday night. It was horrible and so unfair. I’m sorry he did that, and if it’s worth anything, I ripped into him after you left.”

Y/N’s fully aware that the shock was written very clearly across her face, the only thing breaking her out of her reverie was Sarah herself, a small cough leaving her throat, her eyes filled with nerves as she awaited for any sort of reply.

“Uh…” but what was Y/N supposed to say? She wasn’t inclined to say it was okay because it definitely wasn’t, and she was not about to let Harry off the hook that quickly. “Yeh, it was pretty awful.” Sarah’s quick to nod in agreement, her wide eyes earnest, leaving Y/N to believe she genuinely did feel bad. “I know. It really wasn’t like him at all. He’s not nearly as bad as he seems, I promise.”

Y/N laughs now, in disbelief, uncomfortable in the current situation- with the woman in front of her clearly friendly and caring, apologising on behalf of a man who was anything but. Sarah smiles now, reaching out to squeeze Y/N’s hand gently before crossing her own arms once again, “I know. You don’t believe me, and I don’t blame you.” She looks around as if she’s checking the coast is clear before she leans in, her voice dropping a decibel or two. “Between you and me, I think he was talking absolute shit when he said that stuff about you. In fact, I’m not even sure he had himself convinced.” Y/N’s about to ask Sarah exactly what she meant by that, but Sarah’s phone rings before she can. The woman excused herself and ran out, answering the phone with a gentle “hello?” As she leaves the room.

It left Y/N alone with her own thoughts. What was she to make of what Sarah had told her? Honestly, she didn’t believe he didn’t mean what he had said.

If Y/N was being honest, this whole interaction told her everything she needed to know about Sarah but did absolutely nothing to change her opinion of the man in question.

She hated the idea of him. She hated his voice, his disgusting way of speaking about her. She hated his stupid silk shirt and sparkly rings. She hated the way his voice wavered as he tried to apologise. She hated how his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth skewed around his lie.

Y/N hated everything about him.

Y/N fucking hated Harry fucking Styles.

——

The morning felt grey. The black clouds in the sky matched the bags under Harry’s eyes almost perfectly, and if it wasn’t for the coffee burning Harry’s hands, he’s not sure he’d even be able to stay awake. It was one of those days when Harry wanted to return to bed the second he’d gotten out of it. The only thing that had motivated him to wake up and get himself here, in front of the lift in the office, was the idea that he could come back home and slip into the silk sheets again in the evening.

He takes another sip of the coffee, the bitter brew burning his tongue, and if Harry was in a better state of mind, he might have even reacted. Instead, he stares blankly at the lift doors, waiting for them to open so he can begin his ascent.

He wasn’t one to regret his actions, and he wasn’t one to ruminate over poor decisions he’d made, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty over how the events on Friday night had unfolded. It was almost impossible to forget the broken stance Y/N had shown when he had turned around, the same stance he’s almost sure he would’ve mirrored immediately. He didn’t necessarily like the girl, but fuck, he wasn’t a monster. The same scene had replayed in Harry’s head all weekend, and if he didn’t get it to stop soon, he’d go insane.

Finally, the lift opens, and he steps inside, pressing the button to the associate’s floor and leaning against the back wall, his gaze trained solely on his Gucci loafers against the tiled floor. The sound of stilettos against that same floor catches his attention, as well as the familiar scent he often thought about, all clean linen and citrus. When he looks up at the lift doors closing in front of him, the gap showing the lobby is quickly replaced by the reflection of the same eyes he had watched well up Friday night.

He almost drops his coffee in surprise, getting a grip again when her gaze meets his and then quickly shakes it, moving instead to the floor Harry had just been looking at. Following her line of sight, he takes a moment to realise exactly what she’s wearing, red bottomed heels (surely they weren’t Louboutins,) a professional-looking black dress ending mid-calf and a beautiful black jacket to match, black fur lining the cuffs and hem. She looked… good?

Harry had never considered himself a psychic, but god, it didn’t take someone in tune with the metaphysical to feel the rage radiating off of Y/N. It was palpable, so much so that Harry’s sure if he reached out in front of him, he could feel it, perhaps even taste it on his tongue. He only realises he’s staring when he catches a look that could kill a weaker man than he, her filled eyebrows creasing in the centre of her face and her pretty lips being pulled into a snarl.

But Harry wasn’t weak, and he never claimed to be very smart either.

“Y/N, I- can we talk about what happened last week?”

Well, if Harry thought the look he had received before could kill a man, this one could kill ten. The intensity of her stare almost causes Harry to flinch, but he stands firm, his hand reaching out towards her in a calming gesture, trying desperately to plead to her rationale.

Luckily for Y/N, she’s saved by the bell; the obnoxious ding of the elevator had never sounded sweeter. She gives the man in front of her one final poisonous look before storming out of the lift.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

——

Y/N’s proud. She didn’t think she would ever even be able to string together a sentence around the prick consuming her thoughts, and now he was the one fumbling at her feet, struggling to form a coherent thought in her presence.

If she wasn’t so upset by what he had said, she might have taken the time to bask in the power she wielded, maybe even used it to her advantage. Alas, she’s too frustrated, too angry to even be near him, let alone gloat at him. Instead, she takes for silent high-fives to herself each time she successfully avoids him, a quick pat on the back when she promptly ignores his apologies and a second to bask in the glory each time she feels him give her a look filled with guilt and regret.

But her eminence is quickly overturned when Harry himself walks through her office door. He’d given up trying to apologise a few days ago, instead adopting Y/N’s tactic of avoiding every situation in which they’d need to be together, so his presence took her by surprise.

Instantly she goes to berate him, “get ou-,” but he interrupts her.

“Relax, I’m just here for work. Garner has assigned us to look at the Andrews case together.” Harry has to grit his teeth at the look of absolute disgust that crosses her face, but he couldn’t very well chastise her for something like that, could he?

“What?” She’ll never know why the world seemed to have turned against her in the last 72 hours. “Why do we both have to do it?”

Y/N watches as he obviously attempts to stop his eyes rolling back into his head. “You handled the case when you were on the analyst’s floor, and it’s been dealt to me. Doesn’t make much fuckin’ sense, so he’s asked us to do it together.”

She was a good person. She worked hard, paid her taxes, she volunteered at her local dog shelter each summer; why was the universe out to get her?

“I don’t want to do it with you.”

Harry can hardly help the fake smile that overtakes his features, his temper beginning to get the better of him. He’d fucked up, he knew that, but he was trying his damn hardest to be professional, and her teenager pity party really wasn’t helping the situation.

“Great. Should you go tell Garner that, or shall I?”

He had won. He knew he had, her shoulders slumping and lips tightening over her teeth. She may not have been happy about it, but she realised he was right- they didn’t really have a choice.

Harry sits down on the chair in front of her desk that she pushes outwards with her foot, motioning with her hand for him to take a seat in a way so blasé it only works to bring Harry’s temper up further.

It seemed Garner was the one that had fucked up this time- how they were supposed to work together on the project without killing each other, Harry didn’t know.

——

Y/N didn’t think her day could get any worse.

She’d been in a rush to get to work this morning, eating a tub of yoghurt with so much honey she had failed to realise it was very much out of date. While rushing out the door, she had pushed her favourite little pot right off her shelf, causing it to shatter into a hundred pieces on the floor- surrounded by the plant’s guts and dirt. The rush to pick up the sharp pottery so her kitten wouldn’t hurt himself on them and sweep up the dirt had left her to be late for work- rushing up the stairs and into the elevator with beads of sweat rolling down her back.

And what was to meet her when she finally got into her office, but Harry himself, sitting in her chair.

“You’re late.”

Y/N wishes she could say she handled this taunt with grace, but her shitty morning mixed with her growing comfortability around him, meant she definitely didn’t. “Fuck off and get out of my chair.”

While Harry loved the way Y/N stuttered and stumbled around him, he almost loved it more now that she griped back at him. He wasn’t sure if the cruelty of his actions had led her so far past the edge that she didn’t care anymore or if spending time with him on the Andrews case had allowed a certain familiarity to form between them. Whatever it was, he loved that now when he teased her, she would come up with her own jab at him, asking if he’d looked at himself in the reflection of his overly priced and overly shined shoes when he’d asked what was wrong with her hair on Wednesday after she had unfortunately gotten stuck in the wind.

He loved it even more, when she didn’t even bother to come up with a witty comeback, hissing a “fuck off” at him with a face that could startle a bear and so much venom in her voice that sometimes it even surprised him.

“Well, looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the crypt this morning!” He says as he stands up, walking around her desk and leaning against the side of it, forcing her to turn and face him directly to fit herself between him and the wall to get to her chair.

As she passes him, she takes a moment to look him up and down, noting the white boots, lime green pants and blue wool jumper. “Is your stylist a small, untalented five-year-old girl or?”

Harry can’t help the cackle that leaves him, watching the small smile fill her face that she tries to conceal as she places her handbag on the desk and takes a seat, turning on the computer without looking at him as he replies.

“Uh, his name is Harry Lambert. He’s a genius actually- styles for Milan and everything.” Y/N didn’t care if she was being honest, the subtle flex not impressive in the slightest when looking at this outfit. However, what does surprise her is that he actually has a stylist, but well, of course, he fucking does.

“You actually have a stylist?”

Harry nods, “Yes. How else would you explain my model-worthy looks?” For the first time, Y/N cracks a genuine smile, thinking of all the awful things she could say to him. In the end, she says, “do you really want me to answer that?”

Ignoring her, Harry walks around her office, flicking one of the fake plants on the corner of her desk, screwing up his nose.

“Did you come into my office for a specific reason, or did you just want to annoy me?”

He turns to face her completely, waving the file in his hand towards her as if it was a trophy, “ah, yes. Although I do enjoy the latter, I came in to let you know I set up that meeting with Andrews tomorrow to present our recommendations.”

Y/N feels apprehension drip down her spine and into her stomach. Her first meeting was always going to be a source of anxiety, but doing one with Harry seemed to make it worse. Unfortunately for her, Harry catches the look of uneasiness that crosses her face, briefly wondering if he should take it easy on her. He decides not to. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re scared. I would say you have nothing to be nervous about, but, well…” he motions to her with his hand, a look of dismay on his face.

If he was being perfectly honest, Y/N had actually been pretty easy to work with, a bit nervous and confused, but that was to be expected- it was her first few weeks in the new position, after all. But she was intelligent and asked the right questions, taking the initiative to complete tasks Harry himself hadn’t even thought of yet. All of her reports were labelled and printed on lined paper, not a dot point out of place or a spelling mistake in sight. He didn’t know if she’d done it purposefully or not, but he could even smell a distinct perfume on each sheet as if she’d sprayed each one individually.

Harry would never say anything like this to her, though, choosing instead to nitpick her work until she rolled her eyes or snapped at him or he would just blatantly ignore her- it depended on his mood.

——

Y/N could feel anxiety rising in her chest, the feeling swelling and ballooning in her throat, causing each breath to be laboured and heavy.

She forces herself to take them anyway as she sits on the floor of her office with her legs crossed and her hands resting on each knee. Slowly, Y/N forces herself to calm her breathing in an attempt to ground herself. Rather than focusing on the suffocating feeling within her lungs, she paid attention to her body, the way she was sitting, the way the cheap carpet scratched against her legs, bare thanks to the tight skirt that had rolled up in her position. Taking a moment, she notices how her hair is brushing against her back, how her clothes feel resting against her skin, and how the weight of each of her limbs presses her further into the ground.

Counting each breath that enters her body and each that leaves her, Y/N feels her muscles relaxing, a sense of zen replacing the stifling worry that had previously occupied the space.

Her first meeting with Harry was only twenty minutes away, and while Y/N knew she could do it, it didn’t stop the pressure from getting to her. Scenarios of her fucking up kept playing on repeat until she forced herself to leave the break room in a flurry, cutting Harry off as he broke down the brief she had already read ten times through.

While meditating had allowed her mind to float outside of her body for a moment, the sound of her office door opening sends it straight back into place, her eyes flying open while she scrambles to stand- not prepared for Harry to ask why she was sitting on the floor of her office like a petulant child. But it’s not Harry that enters, but rather Lucy, the smell of flowers and cheap lipstick following her.

She doesn’t even ask any questions, which Y/N silently thanks her for. Instead holds out her hand for Y/N and helps her up, brushing an invisible bit of lint from her shoulder as she does so. Lucy’s stare begins to become uncomfortable, her green eyes piercing as they wait for Y/N to say something, anything really.

“Lucy, I- sorry.”

Lucy’s perfectly manicured eyebrows twist in confusion for a moment, “for what? Think you scared Harry more than anyone else.”

Y/N nods her head, imagining how it had looked from his perspective, “the meeting. I just, I’m not sure I can do it.” Shockingly, the red-headed woman in front of her only scoffs, “Jesus Y/N. I know you’re scared, but if anyone can do it, it’s you. We all know you deserved that promotion more than anyone. I know it, Garner knows it, and even Harry does. He wanted you up here for a reason, girl, and honestly, I think you surprised everyone.”

Y/N feels herself smiling and shaking her head in confusion, “surprised you?” Lucy nods solemnly, “how?”

She looks up, pondering her next words carefully. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but the most we’d heard from you was the shy and flustered muttering you’d say to Harry occasionally. The fact you came up here, more than capable, smart and confident, shocked everyone. You’re damn good at this job, Y/N. You should’ve been promoted long before half of us.”

Y/N didn’t know this was how the others felt about her. While she wasn’t too impressed that people actually had seen her as Harry had tried to portray her, the fact that she had proven herself worthy of a position here made her ego inflate, a sense of elation filling her chest. This was the nicest Lucy had ever been to her and the longest she’d spent talking about anyone but herself, and Y/N couldn’t be more grateful.

“Okay, I think I just need to relax. I can do it.” Lucy nods along, “if it makes you feel any better, I accidentally asked the client if he’d give me sex rather than ‘a sec’ in my first meeting. I’m still here, and while it was embarrassing, I got through it!”

Y/N bursts out laughing, the idea of a bright red Lucy standing in front of a board of powerful people asking for sex relieving the tension she feels some.

“Thank you, Lucy, really. I appreciate it.”

She brushes it off, shaking her head, “you’ve got this girl. Now go find Harry before he has a conniption.”

Y/N nods, pulling her skirt down and leaving the office, a renewed sense of confidence and serenity filling her.

But who was to walk around the corner when Y/N was feeling the first shred of confidence she’d experienced in the year she’d worked here but Harry himself. Only it’s not his presence that surprises her most. No, it’s the instant burning feeling against her chest as his steaming cup of coffee is spilt down the front of her shirt, her freshly pressed, cream fucking shirt.

Y/N stifles the pained yelp that threatens to leave her, only leaning forward and pulling the burning cloth away from her no doubt red skin, looking up to see Harry in shock before her, looking at the mess he’d made from his clumsiness. The surprise on his face was replaced by relief for a second, “Y/N!”

Still in shock and now in pain, she doesn’t acknowledge him, “fuckin’ hell.” She groans, rushing towards the women’s bathrooms next to the elevators.

She hears Harry following behind her, so close she almost turns around and scolds him for not giving her space when she clearly needed it.

“Are you okay?”

She feels as if he’s not just referring to the potential burn she was currently feeling the effects of. When he doesn’t receive a reply, he follows her straight into the bathroom, ignoring the startled yelp and dirty look Martha, whose office sat across from Y/N’s, gave him.

Y/N heads straight for the paper towels on the wall, running some under cold water and rubbing at the substantial brown stain covering the front of her chest. As she does so, she watches Harry’s face in the mirror, still reflecting his own shock and, if she didn’t know any better, guilt. She jumps when he interrupts her, “no, no! Dab, don’t rub. This is silk. It’ll never come out like that!”

Y/N doesn’t say anything, just gives him a quizzical look as she changes her strategy, dabbing gently at the stain rather than rubbing it. She was awfully confused. While she and Harry had been getting along better, he also isn’t the type to care so much about anything regarding her. In fact, she’s almost surprised he didn’t laugh in her face at the first drop that had left his mug. But looking at him now with his face in his hands, she’s left bewildered. “What’s wrong? It’s just a stain.”

Harry looks at her as if she’s insane, his hands held out in front of him, his eyebrows screwed up in disbelief, and his pretty pink lips gaping apart like a fish. “The meeting Y/N! The fucking meeting!” He begins to pace, and Y/N realises her mistake. He wasn’t concerned for her well-being or even the well-being of the overpriced silk button-up she was wearing. No, he was only concerned with himself and the meeting they were supposed to present in less than fifteen minutes. Of fucking course.

“Uh, okay. I’ll… I’ll run home and grab a different shirt while you start the meeting without me.”

He interrupts her as she finishes her sentence, “no!” She looks at him quizzically once again, waiting for some sort of explanation or a better idea from him. “I can’t do it without you.” Y/N watched as a light pink blush swept across his cheekbones, his gaze averted as his following words came out softer, “besides, we don’t have time. You’d never make it back before I finished the meeting.”

Y/N feels her gaze soften slightly at that because, god, she never thought that the Harry Styles would be telling her he couldn’t complete a meeting without her, but here she was, in all her coffee-stained glory. “I might have a shirt or something in my car that you can use.”

Well, he did have a shirt, a whole range of shirts, actually. From women’s blouses to men’s graphic tees, he seemed to have a sort of wardrobe in his back seat, the organised chaos a stark difference from what Y/N can see as a sparkling front seat. She didn’t want to know how or why he had some of the items he did. Still, none seemed to work, all a bit too small or casual for their business meeting, until Y/N is ushering Harry to stop looking, whining that they only had “five minutes left,” while the bottom half of him hung out the side of the back door, and the front half frantically searched for something that could work.

“Aha! This is the one I was looking for.” He pulls out a linen shirt, similar to the one she was previously wearing in cut and style, only this was white. It was slightly crinkled, a symptom of being smushed in the backseat of his car, she imagines, but he was right- it might just work. There’s an awkward pause as Harry waits for her to try it on, and Y/N waits for him to turn around, covered enough from prying eyes in the corner of the car park and behind his door but completely exposed to his gaze. She looks at him expectantly, watching as the realisation crosses his face, and for the first time ever, Y/N believes she’s caught him off guard, an embarrassed red hue flushing his cheeks.

As he turns to face the other way, Y/N unbuttons the spoiled shirt and replaces it with Harry’s, his cologne still weaved in the fabric as she tosses it over both shoulders and does the buttons up before trying to look in the reflection of his shiny black sedan to see if it looked presentable.

To be honest, it was a little tight on her breasts, just toeing the line of inappropriate for a corporate workplace, but it would have to do. The only other option was her now coffee-coloured dress shirt or Harry’s ‘I’d love to fellate George Harrison’ tee, which she’s sure HR would be really interested in hearing about if she chose to wear into a meeting that could potentially bring the company millions.

“Y’done?”

Y/N sighs, trying to tame some of the flyaways that had escaped in their flurry as she replies, “yeah.”

He turns instantly, his gaze immediately dropping to her breasts straining against the fabric, “jesus Y/N.”

She takes a moment to look at him with admonishment, “it’s the best we can do. Let’s hope the board aren’t a bunch of fucking lechers like you.”

He followed behind her, skipping slightly to keep up with her fast pace, set due to the time crunch they were currently under. “I am not a lecher! I didn’t mean it. They were just fuckin’ there! Why would I be staring at your tits anyway?” He exclaims, putting emphasis on the ‘your.’ Y/N promptly ignores the slight jab, entering the lift and turning around to face the front, pulling at the shirt away from her still sticky chest without much thought, unsure if she’s trying to lessen the amount of cleavage visible or keep the clean shirt away from her coffee-stained skin.

He enters behind her watching her movements for a second, his brows furrowed and his mouth set in a frown, before reaching forward, surprising Y/N when he grabs her wrists lightly and puts them down by her side. The touch is so gentle and considerate that she has to check it was him that was still holding her wrists, “it looks fine, Y/N. I’m just bein’ a prick.”

She looks him in the eyes, the most genuine and earnest she’d ever seen them, taking a moment to notice the darker green ring surrounding his iris and nods slowly. Harry wasn’t usually so kind to her.

They are so close to each and Y/N can’t quite place whether it was her or Harry who had moved to make it so. For a moment, they just stand there staring at each other, Y/N suddenly becoming hyper-aware of the tightness of his hands around her wrists and the way a flush is creeping up the smooth skin of Harry’s cheek. Y/N is struck by how pretty Harry really was, his top lip forming the perfect arch of his cupids bow, the tiny mole in the corner of his mouth, the gentle flop of his hair and his striking but gentle eyes, flicking between her own and to Y/N’s surprise her lips- so quickly she almost misses it.

The air feels thicker, and as Harry’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, Y/N feels the space become stifling and uncomfortable.

This is Harry. She’s not supposed to feel a tightening in her tummy at the way the artificial light of the elevator makes his pink lips glisten, or the way his hands are beginning to feel sweaty due to how tightly they’re wound around her wrists.

She steps back slightly, breaking the intense stare they were sharing, and Harry does the same, dropping her hands, coughing lightly and turning awkwardly back to the lift doors waiting for them to open.

Y/N actively avoids his gaze in the mirrored walls of the lift, only moving when the doors slide open. The energy in the confined space seemed to have momentarily slowed time, but the second she left, the urgency of their situation rolled over her in full force.

Without a word, they both go to their offices, grab the files they need and meet back in front of the meeting room door.

He looks down at her, the same gentle look in his eyes that was present in the elevator, the gentle slope of his nose and crinkles surrounding his eyes leaving her bewildered, not yet used to the tender gaze.

“You ready?”

With a silent nod from her, he opens the door, motioning with his ring-clad hand for her to enter, following close enough behind her that she can feel the lapels of his jacket brushing her arm.

And suddenly, she finds herself in a room full of people, all holding the fate of her job in their hands- her only salvation, the painfully arrogant man standing behind her.

——

The meeting had gone well. So well, in fact, that Y/N could hardly believe it herself. Everything still felt a little surreal. The way Harry had acted in the meeting was inconceivable, treating her as a partner. An equal.

He’d not once spoken over her or corrected her but instead would ask her for confirmation on their recommendations or her own findings on specific stocks. He even chuckled at all her (probably miserable) attempts at lighthearted humour, inciting rumbling laughter from the much older and much more experienced board sitting in front of them.

Even the way Garner had entered her office with a smile bigger than she’d ever seen from him plastered on his face, and a new project for her to jump onto immediately felt unbelievable.

Y/N would carry this weightlessness with her all the way to two weeks later, where she just happened to be sitting at her desk, the office the type of quiet you could only find when everyone had gone home while the blaring ten o’clock from her phone was mocking her for her foolishness. She hadn’t meant to stay this late; she really hadn’t. But god, she didn’t want to let Garner down after her first presentation with Harry had gone so well. And if she was being perfectly honest, this case was much more complex than the one she had just completed, only made more challenging without the albeit annoying but ultimately experienced and helpful eye of Harry watching over each decision she made.

She felt like she’d been thrown into the deep end here. Was everyone expected to do one assisted case and then given another to do all by themselves?

One that could potentially cost the company millions?

Y/N was stressed. She’d long passed the point of caring, leaving her uncomfortable heels in front of her desk and letting her hair out of the way too-tight ponytail it had been occupying during the day, rubbing her eyes out of frustration.

She could tell Garner how much she was struggling, but she didn’t very well want to do that. It was hard enough being the newbie on the office floor, let alone the newbie that complains the second something becomes slightly complicated.

No. Y/N could do this. She knew she could. She just had to dig deep and perhaps get another cup of coffee to get her through.

What she doesn’t expect when walking towards the kettle is the very man that had been occupying her thoughts since the meeting had ended to walk right around the corner.

Harry looked as if he could be walking into the workplace at 8am on a Monday morning, his skin glowing, hair perfectly coiffed, and his clothes looking freshly pressed, a stark contrast to what Y/N imagines she looks like with her crinkled skirt, bare feet and messy hair.

“Harry? What on earth are you doing here this late?”

He looks as surprised as she probably did, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he tilts his chin, looking behind her as if the reason she was also here at such a time was hidden behind her.

“Could ask the same of you. Garner finally getting you to pay him back for that promotion?” She can’t help but roll her eyes at the statement, one she now would usually cop on the chin and reply with something like, “no, he said he was too worn out from his go with you,” but she was too tired. Instead, she lets out a humourless chuckle and continues her journey to the kettle, hoping that a fresh mug would give her the energy she needs to deal with the asshole now behind her.

“What, not in the mood to play with me tonight, hm?”

At this, she turns around, leaning against the counter and taking a sip of the hot beverage she’d just poured herself, “unfortunately not.” It’s then something clicks in her mind, and Harry watches as her eyes widen and she stands a little straighter. “Actually, I heard that maybe it shouldn’t be Garner that I should be thanking for my promotion.”

It takes Harry a second to catch on, his mind whirring through possibilities of what she could be talking about before he realises, and then a teasing look comes across him, and Y/N knows whatever he has to say next, she probably won’t like.

“Wait, are you offering me a blowie?” He says with faux shock, his eyes glinting with a playful look as pure shock (and annoyance) flits across Y/N’s face.

“In your dreams, asshole.” Harry can’t contain the smirk that fills half his face.

“How’d you know?”

Y/N tries desperately to stop the flush that overcomes her but knows she fails when Harry only looks at her gloatingly. This new relationship she and Harry were walking into was dangerous territory- one full of flirty advances and looks that Y/N doesn’t know if she has the strength to decipher.

It was like something had shifted in the elevator. Harry hardly ever made fun of her anymore, and if he did, it felt like he was inviting her to laugh with him rather than laughing at her. Each poke and prod followed by a look that for some inexplicable reason leaves Y/N blushing.

She chooses instead to ignore his jabs, and walk back to her office, sure there was plenty more she could do with her time than entertain his playful taunting.

The quick pad of his footsteps behind her tells Y/N her plan may not work out.

As she sits at her desk and focuses her attention back on her computer, she feels the overwhelming gaze of Harry, standing in the doorway and his low voice interrupts her once more. “What are you actually doing here this late? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, saving stray kittens or summat?” Y/N actually laughs at this, and Harry has to stop his own flush from spreading to his cheeks.

“I should be, yes. But I’m stuck trying to figure out the Davis case. It’s all a bit up in the air, and Garner wants it done by Monday.”

Harry frowns, “so why are you here at ten pm?”

Y/N scowls slightly like it should be obvious, “I can’t figure it out.” He nods, “well, lemme have a look,” as if it wasn’t a big deal. Like by doing that, he wasn’t putting himself out, doing extra work that wasn’t his at ten pm on a Tuesday.

She’s quick to refuse his help, not doing much as he gently pushes her chair away from the desk and occupies the space for himself, “no, Harry, you don’t have to do that! Really, I can figure it out.”

Y/N fights away the feeling of déjà-vu as she’s taken aback by his proximity when he turns slightly, so close his breath tickles her lips as his eyes flicker down to look at them, “it’s fine, Y/N,” he rolls his eyes.

Perhaps if she wasn’t so stunned by his actions, she’d have the strength to refuse again. Instead, she merely nods, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down. What on earth had gotten into her? Two times in one month, she’d thought about kissing him, and two times in one month, she’d actually wanted to.

Y/N could smell Harry’s cologne as he typed away at the computer in front of her, each movement of his deft fingers sending another gust in her direction. Y/N feels her stomach tighten as he gently pulls at his lip as he reads the text infront of him, his eyes darting back and forth. The only thing that draws her attention away from his lips is the text notification from her phone.

She forced herself to pull away from him, hoping whoever had texted her might pull her back into reality and knock some sense into her spinning head. However, the text she receives only works to confuse her further when she notices it’s from Liam.

Why in the ever living fuck would Liam be texting her? He hadn’t spoken to her since she’d sucked him off in the office bathroom, their last interaction consisting of him giving her some paper towel to wipe the cum off her fingers, and now he was messaging her? He’d ignored her for months. What was she supposed to do with the ‘hey! I was wondering if you wanted to go out for a drink sometime?’ she’d just received.

It’s then Harry notices the girl beside him, frozen and looking at her phone, puzzled. He directs his attention toward her, leaving the computer in favour of whatever seems to be capturing her attention.

“What’s wrong?”

How could Y/N explain this? Liam had asked her not to tell anyone what had happened, and she’d respected his wishes, but now she was just confused. Not just confused, Y/N was angry. He really thought he could treat her like dirt and then waltz back into her life, asking her out once the boss looked at her favourably? Fuck no. Why was she doing him any favours in the first place?

“Uh, it’s Liam.”

Harry pauses, taking a second to process what she’d said. “Liam? As in Liam Payne? You mean the wanker with the middle part and leather jacket, Liam Payne?”

She can’t help but giggle, and Harry revels in the way the furrow in her forehead softens slightly. Nodding, Y/N confirms Harry’s suspicions and leaves him desperately wanting to know why a prick like Liam even had the chance to text her. Why did someone like that have her number when even he didn’t?

“What’s he doing texting you? ‘Specially at this time of night. Don’t tell me you’re fucking him!”

Y/N screws up her nose and shakes her head a little too quickly for Harry to believe he’s entirely off the mark, and he tries desperately hard to keep the judgement off his face. It wasn’t like Liam was entirely insufferable, just known for fucking girls around and being particularly lazy at work.

And well, Harry didn’t exactly have a leg to stand on there, but at least no one could ever call him lazy.

He waits for Y/N to speak again, can practically see the gears turning in her head as she thinks of what to tell him. “We didn’t have sex.” She glances up quickly to gauge his reaction, only being met with the indifferent look he usually sported, so she continues, “I just- we um. I sucked him off in the bathroom.”

The last part is said quickly and so quietly that Harry has to pause for a moment to process whether he’d actually heard her correctly.

He couldn’t believe it. This little innocent puppy in front of him was actually something of a minx. Y/N must see the look on his face because she quickly tries to backtrack, stuttering even more than she usually did. “No, it wasn’t like that! It literally- well, it only happened once, and we haven’t spoken since. He hasn’t said another word to me!”

Harry’s brows furrow at this, a new, unfamiliar feeling leaking into the bottom of his spine. “He didn’t speak to you again afterwards?” Shaking her head, Y/N looks away, desperately trying to avoid any gaze Harry tries to initiate. “Well, it was just casual. I didn’t expect him to court me with flowers or anything!”

There was something sort of sad about the way Y/N was speaking, as if she’d tried so hard to convince herself of this that she believed she was talking sense to him now. “Y/N, sweetheart. It’s not about flowers and all that, the least he could do was fuckin’ speak to you after. Especially after making such a pretty girl get on her knees in the bloody office bathroom, no less. Why would anyone go out of their way to ignore you after that?”

And well, Y/N doesn’t know. It was true. She really hadn’t been expecting much from him. But Harry was right; she was at least hoping he’d acknowledge her existence when walking into the office kitchen and not run out like a startled rat.

Harry doesn’t know why exactly, but he can’t stand the way her face drops, and he quickly jumps to stand in front of her, grabbing her soft hands in his own. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. Forget about him, yeh? He’s not even worth your time.”

What Harry really wanted to say was god, she could do a million times better than fuck face Payne. He wanted to tell her she deserved to be courted, to be surprised with flowers and to be asked about her day. But he didn’t know how and it wasn’t exactly his place to tell her this; they’d only just gotten onto friendly terms.

Harry couldn’t pinpoint why this sudden possessiveness over Y/N had come up. All he knows is he didn’t want her anywhere near Liam, couldn’t bear the idea of them together. And don’t get him wrong, he knows Y/N was a grown woman that could make her own decisions, so why did the idea of Liam’s prick in her mouth send a pang to his chest?

Looking at her now, Y/N is giving him that same puppy-eyed look she used to give him when he would make fun of her at her desk, and he briefly wonders how he ever saw her looking at him like that and didn’t instantly get on his knees apologising. It was so full of sadness, lacking the usual life and verve he’d gotten used to in her gaze during the past couple of weeks.

Without thinking, Harry rubs his thumb along her bottom lip, “enough of that. Stop your poutin’.” Out of instinct, Y/N pulls back, Harry’s hand dropping from her face, and she cringes as she watches the wounded look that crosses his face.

“I- sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He only nods, looking away and pulling back from her slightly to face the computer once again, but Y/N doesn’t want that. No, right now, Y/N wants him back close to her, she already missed the soft press of his thumb and the gentle puff of air each time he would exhale, blowing against her cheek. She couldn’t explain it, this want, this need. It was so pent up inside her like it had always been there, and she’d finally acknowledged and given it a reason to be let out, the two seconds without his contact suddenly becoming unbearable.

So she grabs his hand and places it back on her cheek. His rings are cool against the flushed (and no doubt red) skin, but it feels good. A sense of relief and respite from the heat pumping through her veins and into her face, so she nuzzles gently into his palm, holding the smooth skin of his wrist. His eyes soften as he watches her.

“Oh puppy, look at you gettin’ all soft on me.”

Harry feels her jaw bob slightly as she swallows, the movement drawing his attention down from her eyes to her mouth, and it’s only when she speaks does his gaze meet hers again. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to pull back, just not quite used to this… uh friendliness, yet.”

He only nods, this time in understanding, watching as her own line of sight dances between his pretty eyes and his even prettier lips. “What are you lookin’ at my lips for, hm?” The blush that sports her cheeks is instant and Harry can’t help but chuckle as her mouth opens and closes, at a loss for words. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to- “

“Oi, what’d I say? Stop with the pouting. I’m only teasing.” Harry interrupts, pulling at her pillowy bottom lip that had somehow become wedged between her teeth again. “If I didn’t know any better, Y/N, I’d think you were looking at my lips because you wanted to kiss me.”

If Harry was being honest, he expected her to scoff and shake her head like she usually did when he teases her like this. But instead, he watches as her eyebrows scrunch up slightly as if she was just as confused by it, her gaze meek as she nods, looking down longingly at his lips once more. Harry has to stop himself from moaning, feeling his cock twitch in his pants at her uncharacteristic confidence.

“Y’want to kiss me?” It comes out whispered and breathy unintentionally, originally meaning to sound blasé and unperturbed.

Y/N hardly has to nod again before he pushes his mouth against hers. He pulls back, gently brushing his lips against hers, giving her time to protest, time to tell him this is the opposite of what she wanted. Instead, he feels as she pushes back against him with as much fervour as he had, moulding her soft lips against his own slightly chapped ones.

The whine Harry lets out is nothing short of embarrassing. He just couldn’t explain it. Kissing had never felt like this before, like her lips fit perfectly in the slot between his own. As if his whole life, he’d been waiting for her mouth to fill the spot so many others couldn’t.

It just felt right.

They continue kissing, their tongues brushing against each other’s, tasting of coffee and frustration and missed opportunities.

This whole time he was teasing her; this is what he was missing? If Harry could travel back in time, he would. He’d go back to the first day they met when she’d walked into the work elevator and promptly dropped her iced tea on his new white vans. He’d take back the dirty look he’d given her as she tried to apologise. He’d tell her it was okay, not ask her if she was ‘fucking kidding’ and telling her to leave him alone as he went to the bathroom to try to wash the sticky liquid out of the canvas. He’d do it all differently.

Maybe Harry could’ve avoided a lot of unenthusiastic one-night stands and unneeded frustration. Maybe Harry would have jumped to this part a lot quicker. Just maybe.

Y/N pushes Harry back slightly, giving herself more room to join him in kneeling on the ground, but it just wouldn’t do. Harry needed to have her as close as possible to him, and sitting next to him wasn’t nearly close enough. He pulls away from her mouth and stands up, scoffing and sending her his signature smirk when she instantly kneels up, trying to undo his belt. “Jesus Christ, you little minx, you’re trying to get your mouth on me already?”

She laughs, but he doesn’t miss how a blush spreads across her face, a clear sign of embarrassment. Pulling her up to meet him, he kisses her again, taking his time to feel her pulse against his palm as he cups her neck gently before turning around and sitting in the chair she was previously occupying, pulling her to straddle him. “There’ll be plenty of time for that, trust me. Just wanna kiss you right now.”

She nods against him, slipping her tongue against his before lightly nibbling at his lip between hers, soothing the slight sting with a soft brush of her tongue. She understood. She just wanted to be close to him, to feel all of him right away. But she knew that wasn’t smart. She was confused by the way she was feeling, and having sex with him at the same desk he’d teased her relentlessly at probably wouldn’t clear much up for her.

He just tasted so good; each touch of his mouth to hers sent little zaps through her, straight to her inner thighs. He was addicting in every sense of the word, and she could finally admit to herself that the second he’d kissed her, there would be no stopping herself. Y/N felt out of control, and while she knows hooking up with Harry here probably wasn’t the brightest idea, she really struggles to find it in herself to care right now.

Instead, she leans between them and palms gently at the growing bulge in Harry’s slacks, rolling her eyes and moaning as she feels him hardening underneath her palm, “god, you really are a minx. Just can’t help yourself, can you?”

He grabs both of her wrists in one of his hands (Y/N swallows at that image because fucking hell, how big were his hands to fit around both of her wrists), and she lets him hold them against her chest. Using his other hand, he plays with the button on her pants, wasting enough time that Y/N begins to buck up underneath him, silently begging him to do something, literally fucking anything.

He looks up at her, and she feels like she’s about to be scolded, so she stops the movements of her hips.

“Good girl,” he mutters and Y/N pants like a dog.

Undoing the buttons, Harry helps Y/N lift her hips until he can slide her pants off onto the floor, pulling her back down onto his lap. She jolts lightly as she feels his erection against her soaking pussy, even through his pants and her underwear.

Continuing to play with her, Harry snaps the elastics of her underwear against her tummy; he smirks at the little whines she lets out each time he does it. He could already tell Y/N was gonna be vocal, and he couldn’t wait to pull as many sounds out of her pretty mouth as he could.

“Please- Harry, touch m-” She’s cut off by him harshly pressing at her clit through the cloth covering her, and she lets out a moan, her toes curling at the pressure.

“What was that, sweetheart?” She rolls her eyes, and for some reason, Harry doesn’t think it’s because of his fingers. He decides to humour her anyway, pulling back and slipping his fingers into her underwear before she can complain about the sudden stopping of his movements and presses a finger into her.

He groans as he feels her folds, already silky and wet, and he’d hardly even touched her. His middle finger meets absolutely no resistance, although he feels her walls tighten around him at the intrusion. She instantly bucks towards him as he begins to thrust in and out, the pleasure almost too much and yet not enough, so he slips another finger into her sopping cunt, her wetness dripping down his digits and making the silver of his rings slippery.

Overwhelmed by the pleasure his fingers were giving her, Y/N tries to grip her hand against Harry’s shoulder to ground herself. Unfortunately for both Harry and herself, her fervour to do so means she isn’t all that careful in getting her hand there and instead accidentally knocks his chin on her way past.

The laugh that leaves her is comical as she watches his face drawn with concentration, instantly fill with shock as he looks up at her, curious to see if she did it on purpose. Y/N swallows at the look that simpers across his features and finds herself letting out a deep moan at the sudden harsh and deep strokes Harry’s fingers take on, almost as if he was punishing her for laughing, a smug grin filling half his face.

Y/N couldn’t believe how stretched out she felt from just two digits. She never would have described his fingers as thick, but feeling them inside her now, stretching her open, she began to wonder how his cock would ever fit inside her.

While Y/N’s moan reverberates in the air in front of them, Harry’s eyes don’t dare leave her own, watching as hers crease in pleasure while holding the challenging gaze. When Harry looks down to watch his hand moving beneath her underwear, Y/N grabs onto his chin, pulling his gaze back to her, almost as if it was out of instinct. The small intake of air he takes in shock would usually make Y/N giggle if she wasn’t so focused on getting his gaze back to hers.

It’s dominant in how she grips his strong jaw, so tight her thumb slightly indents into his cheek and so completely unlike her. Usually, she preferred to take on a more submissive role, particularly in the bedroom- but the way Harry is pliantly moving his head, whichever way her hand directs him to, sends a shiver up her spine. Slowly, and while still maintaining her grip, she brings her forefinger to gently trace his spit-slicked lips, the cupid’s bow slightly swollen from Y/N’s teeth nipping at it while they were kissing.

She’d never thought of herself as dominant, but when Harry obediently opens his mouth, Y/N feels a rush between her legs, noticeably wetter at the sight of the man usually so cocky and smug, docile at her touch, like putty in her hands as he waits with his mouth agape, his tongue pushed out and his eyes fluttering in pleasure. Gently she traces the tip of her pointer finger over his tongue, watching as he jolts at the tickling feeling before slipping her finger into his mouth completely. She can’t control the whimper that leaves her as he closes his lips around her, sucking gently at the digit and nibbling at the sensitive pad of her finger.

It’s erotic and filthy to watch his arm move beneath her skirt while her index finger gently ruts back and forth into his mouth, Harry accommodating to the intrusion, licking and sucking it as if it were a cock.

She watches as Harry’s eyes flutter, rolling backwards as she slots her middle finger in his mouth too, no doubt the fluttering of her hole at the erotic scene in front of her making him even weaker.

Y/N can hardly believe it when she pulls her hand back, hooking her thumb onto his lower jaw to keep it open, and Harry obediently follows her lead, unsure what she wanted to do but sticking his tongue out dutifully like his body could read her intentions even while his mind couldn’t.

She leans forward and watches as the realisation clicks in his eyes as she purses her lips and spits lightly into his mouth, the saliva sliding to the back of his mouth and disappearing as he swallows, a broken moan leaving him.

And with that, it’s like something snapped.

Harry’s standing up, her precarious position on his lap meaning she was pushed backwards as he did so, her spine landing roughly on the desk behind her. Y/N can hardly bring herself to care as he begins sliding his large hands up her thighs, pushing the material of her shirt further upwards and out of his way while leaning over her, rubbing his lips gently across her stomach.

He glances at her briefly before standing back up straight, the submission he was sporting long gone as he sees the wet patch on the front of her underwear, a smug grin sliding onto his pretty mouth to replace it.

At the first touch of his thumb against her cotton-covered clit again, Y/N hisses, the contact not nearly hard enough to give her any pleasure but enough that she felt his presence there, slowly rubbing over the soaked material.

“Messy, messy girl. What are we goin’ to do with you, huh?” Y/N whines, meeting his gaze again, and Harry almost drops down to his knees then and there at the pleading look in her eyes. He prevails, too hellbent on teasing her and chooses to pull the material taught against her swollen lips by the hem, his eyes glazing over as he watches her hips driving up, riding the seam of her underwear.

A light groan leaves Y/N’s open mouth. Harry takes the opportunity to slip his middle two digits onto her tongue, crooning praise as she immediately begins sucking the remaining slick from her weeping hole, lapping at the salty taste. “Tha’s my good girl, look at you. Such a whore when you want to be, aren’t you? Were you this enthusiastic sucking Liam’s cock?”

Instantly she’s shaking her head, her eyes meeting his own, pleading as if she was desperate for him to believe her before they roll into the back of her head, the right amount of pressure on her aching clit sending a zap of pleasure through her.

“No? Well, aren’t I lucky then, s’all for me”

He pulls the material to the side, sliding his fingers through her silky folds, ignoring her protesting groan at the pressure on her pussy being removed. Instead, he tuts his tongue, “to think you were trying to be all dominant. Looks like you were born to be on your back for me.” With that, he slips the wet fingers from her mouth into her hole once again, curling them upwards on each stroke back into her sopping cunt.

His fingers just felt so good, reaching further than her own could ever, tapping gently at the sensitive spot inside of her, his thumb gently rubbing against her clit, but Y/N needed more. She needed his mouth on her. She grasps at his bicep, pulling him further down, closer to her mound and watches as he pulls his fingers out of her and slips them into his own mouth, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the heady taste of her.

“God, you were so greedy licking all this before, not letting me have a taste or anything.” She wanted to tell him to shut up, to get his mouth on her, but all her confidence had slipped away once she was thrown onto the desk, Harry reducing her to a stuttering mess like usual.

“Plea- Harry. I- come on, I need….”

The feeling of Harry slapping her pussy sends a jolt through her, the pain mixing so deliciously with the pleasure that any trail of thought she had was long gone.

“Spit it out, Y/N. I won’t do it unless you ask me.” She huffs, and he gives her a warning look, one that tells her that being a brat would get her the exact opposite of what she wanted.

“Please, Harry, I need you.” A cocky grin fills his face, and he stands up taller again, leaning his elbow against her knee that was bent on the desk. “Need me to what?”

She growls, “lick me. Make me cum, please.” She’s hardly finished her sentence before he’s on his knees and finally putting his tongue on her, sucking her clit into his mouth.

“Fuck Harry, yes!” She pulls him even closer, feeling his tongue exploring her folds, dipping into her hole and back up to the most sensitive part of her again and again.

Y/N can hardly stop herself from grabbing his hair and pushing his head into her, the tip of his nose rubbing right against her clit as he uses a flat tongue to lick into her.

She’s confused for a brief moment when she feels him stop moving, sticking his tongue flat against her again before she realises what he wants.

He wants her to use him.

Using her hold on the back of his head for leverage, Y/N begins grinding onto his face, directing him exactly where she needs as she moves her hips back and forth, each time pushing his mouth onto her a little rougher.

The groan that leaves Harry sparks the beginning of Y/N’s orgasm. He sounded so desperate, so turned on by the thought of her using him this way, she has trouble believing he’s not a switch. Sure he was dominant; the last ten minutes alone had proven that, but Y/N could see as clear as day that he enjoyed being manhandled too, that the brief moment he had allowed her fingers and spit into his mouth was not a one-off.

Harry Styles was as submissive as he was dominant.

The thought brings Y/N’s climax to the edge, and Harry’s arm wrapping around her thigh to rub her clit with his thumb sends her plummeting.

She feels her whole body stiffen before waves of pleasure soar, each wave sending another spasm through her legs. Harry’s mouth and thumb are relentless through it. Each time she thinks her orgasm is ending, he sparks another jolt of pleasure. By the time she finally calms down, her legs are shaking around his head, and her thighs are closing around him as the stimulation becomes too much.

Y/N watches as his face emerges from between her legs, the bottom half of it smeared with a smug grin and her cum. A shudder is sent down her spine as he uses his thumb to wipe some from the corner of his mouth, sucking the pad of his finger like it was a bit of ice cream that had missed his mouth, the groan that leaves him from her taste sending the shiver deeper, to in between her legs.

Like he hadn’t had his tongue nestled in her cunt for the last ten minutes, and like she hadn’t just had a mind-shattering orgasm.

If she was being honest, Y/N could go again right then and there. In fact, she feels the need doubling as she looks down at the apparent bulge nestled between Harry’s legs, straining against the fabric of his slacks. She hears the man above her clear his throat, and her face instantly flushes as she realises she’s been caught staring at his crotch.

Harry laughs, the sound travelling through her tummy and straight to her cheeks, she hadn’t even seen his dick, yet she was acting this cock drunk? What was wrong with her?

Last time she checked, she was supposed to hate Harry, but she knew that was no longer the case. You don’t ride your enemies’ faces, and you definitely don’t crave their cum down your throat.

Harry must see the confusion flitting across her face because he takes her chin in his hand and guides her face upwards, leaning down and brushing his lips against hers.

“Hey, come back to me, yeah? What’s got my pretty girl all confused, hm? Talk to me.”

My pretty girl. The statement shoots through Y/N like a rocket, each nerve ending sparking at the indifferent way he had claimed her as his.

She chuckles lightly, “god, I’m supposed to fucking hate you.” He grins back, the stretch of his lips tickling her own as he moves. “Yeh? Why are you so wet then?” At this, he drags his ring finger through her puffy lips, pulling back slightly to show the slick practically dripping from the digit in front of them.

Y/N briefly wonders if it’s healthy to blush so much as she feels her cheeks heating up once again. Harry revels in how she ducks her head shamefully, the colour on her face deepening as he pops the cum covered finger into his mouth and sucks off her sweetness. Leaning in, he kisses her gently, groaning as she opens her mouth and sweeps her tongue against his, licking off the remaining taste of herself.

If Harry’s honest, he wants her tongue against his cock. He wants to thrust inside her mouth until her throat’s constricting around his weeping head; he wants to split her open. He wants to hear her cry his name as he thrusts inside her again and again, but he doesn’t want to ruin this. He wasn’t exactly sure what ‘this’ was, but he was fully aware that no other person had made Harry so gooey inside.

This felt so different from anything Harry had ever experienced, and what was he supposed to do with that? He wanted to protect it, take Y/N in his hands, hold her close to his heart and never let go. Not that he was going to tell her that, not yet anyway. So when she deepens the kiss further and reaches down to stroke him through his pants, he pulls away, holding back the whine he instinctively wants to let out as her hand stops its movements immediately.

She looks confused, and Harry’s heart aches.

“Are you okay?” He nods and watches as her gaze drops to his adam’s apple bobbing with the movement. She leans up and presses a gentle kiss against the side of his throat, pulling back and looking him in the eyes, and she holds his head in her hands. Inadvertently, Harry leans into the touch, enjoying how her thumb stroked against the smooth skin of his cheekbone. “We should get you cleaned up.” Instantly Y/N frowns, her mouth forming a delicious pout that Harry has to drag his gaze from. “What about you? I wanna make you feel good too. Please let me.”

He shakes his head, dropping it against her plush chest. Instinctively she smooths her hands through the tufts at the back of his head, gently stroking and tugging. “What’s wrong, Harry? Talk to me, please.”

He lifts his head, resting his chin against the bone of her sternum, careful not to rest too much weight on her. “Nothing, I promise,” his signature grin plastered on his face. “I’m happy, just want to be with you now. Don’t want anythin’ else from you.”

She doesn’t quite believe him. Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever met a man who would willingly turn down a blowjob, but she would always respect boundaries, even if she didn’t believe the intention behind them. Perhaps he was just uncomfortable, or hadn’t shaved and was self-conscious about it or summat? Maybe he just didn’t want to, and Y/N was more than okay with that. Thinks at this rate, she would do whatever Harry wanted, even if the rational part of her brain was screaming at her to do the opposite.

So she only nods along and pushes a few loose strands of hair away from his face admiring the gentle slope of his cupid’s bow and the flutter of his eyelashes against the curve of his cheekbone.

“Okay. That’s okay.”

The smile he gives her makes Y/N’s heart flutter tenfold.

She was utterly fucked.

—-

Y/N didn’t know why she felt nervous. She definitely shouldn’t. It was just Harry; she’d spoken to him thousands of times, dropped bits and pieces into his office a million times over without hesitation.

It was just Harry.

Just Harry, who had his face buried in her pussy not twenty-four hours earlier, that is.

Y/N couldn’t help it. While she could’ve confidently explained why Harry had made her restless and fidgety a few months ago, words escaped her to explain why that was now. If anything, she should feel more comfortable than she was before. He had seen, felt, tasted parts of her that not many people had been privy to, and he’d made her feel good, at ease.

So why did she feel so nervous now?

The very thought of entering his office, seeing those eyes staring through her and those perfect lips shaping around her name, sent a shiver down her spine.

Y/N was still trying to figure out if this was good or bad when she forced herself to walk through the door anyway.

Instantly the smell of vanilla and patchouli overwhelms her senses. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, she feels her iron grip on the folder in her hands loosening slightly. It was calming, so familiar and intimate. It brings her back to lying on the desk last night, pleasure overwhelming her while she eyed the water-stained roof, Harry’s fingers tightening around her own.

"Y/N, hey!" The voice is definitely not Harry's; she only notices Sarah's presence when she looks to her left. She jumps slightly, she hadn't anticipated company and her mind quickly ranges through emotions of comfort and then disappointment.

Sarah's presence meant there was another person to help ward off any awkwardness and also significantly increased the chances that the topic of last night would be narrowly avoided. But it also meant Y/N couldn't take Harry in exactly how she just this moment realised she wanted to.

Shamelessly, without hesitation and perhaps with a kiss to kick it off, though she shakes her head, trying to rid herself of that thought.

Sarah's voice brings Harry's attention upwards, away from his computer screen, and he physically has to tear his eyes away from Y/N's legs, bare and in a black mini skirt- just toeing the line of inappropriate for the workplace.

He coughs, his cheeks heating with the knowledge that Y/N has definitely noticed his indiscretion if the uncharacteristic smirk is anything to go by.

"Hi, pretty girl."

If Harry struggled with her bare legs, Y/N is battling for her life. She knew she was completely and utterly fucked. Those few words had nearly brought her to tears, her thighs instantly squeezing together at his voice's raw and raspy tone. He knew what he was doing; he had to.

And, of course, he did, referring to her the exact way he had last night after coaxing her back from her orgasm.

He was such a tease.

Standing up, Harry walks towards her, motioning to the folder in her hands, "what's this?"

The return to Harry's regular cadence of voice seems to wake her up, her eyes visibly opening from the hooded daze they had been in, no doubt remembering the events of last night.

"Uh, just dropping this file off. Tom said it might help you with your client." Harry squashed the brief fluttering of jealousy in his tummy at the thought of Tom (an admittedly attractive coworker he had overheard talking to his friends about how he thought Y/N would be good in bed) with Y/N. They worked together; of course, they'd need to talk eventually. Besides, it wasn't Tom's tongue that was buried inside of her last night.

"Hm, how kind of him." He lets Y/N assume this is the end of his sentence and watches as she nods in agreement before continuing, "can I ask why Tom himself isn't delivering it?"

Busted.

It wasn't as if Tom hadn't asked her to supply Harry with the folder, but it technically wasn't as if he had either. Y/N had overheard him chatting with a friend in the breakroom about when Harry's lunch break was so he could ensure he was in his office when he delivered it, when Y/N had stepped in and, well, lied.

"Oh, I have to take something to him as well. Did you want me to just grab yours too?"

And well, Tom didn't hesitate. She guesses one less task for him to complete. But she couldn't necessarily tell Harry that, and she certainly didn't want to, knowing it would inflate his poor ego even further, and with how big it already was, she feared it would float away.

Harry knows that whatever was about to come out of her pretty little mouth was a bold face lie, thanks to Tom coming into his office about half an hour before attempting to pry any details he could about Y/N's willingness to see him out of Harry.

"Uh- not sure! He just asked me. I guess he's probably… well, he's seen us around, assumed we were friends or summat? Not sure! You'd probably have to ask him yourself." She finishes with a smile. To anyone else, it would probably look unassuming, but Harry can see right through her.

He nods, stepping even closer to her, about two steps away from invading her personal space- not that she'd mind, but she'd noted it, with Sarah being in the room and all. Harry watched her gulp, her throat bobbing as her eyes trained upwards to accommodate the height difference between them. The image of her on her knees flashes in his mind, and he has to consciously expel it, although his voice comes out raspy and bothered due to its effect.

"You're cute when you're flustered. Lying to me already?" He pulls his arm in between them, pointedly checking the time on his watch, his wrist brushing gently against her covered chest with the movement, "and it's only 11 in the morning."

Her eyes flash to Sarah, still sitting unassumingly in the corner on her phone and blissfully unaware that the territory Harry was walking in was quickly overstepping the line from professional.

What with his 'fuck-me’ eyes and his bottom lip tucked safely under his top two teeth.

"I'm not… I'm not lying."

His eyebrows raise in question, an amused but intimidating smirk stretching across the bottom half of his face.

It's then that Y/N realises he definitely knows she's lying and that she hasn't even nearly gotten away with it.

She rolls her eyes, "okay, so I offered to bring it to you. What's the big deal?"

His grin reaches cheshire status, his eyes fully alight, and they take on an air of teasing. "Did you just want to see me, hm? Miss me already?"

The smell of mint wafting off him almost causes Y/N to roll her eyes for a different reason, but she smiles nonetheless. "Maybe," she shrugs.

Reaching up to twirl a strand of her hair around his ringed finger, he leans in even closer, "you only saw me last night." She swallows, his proximity affecting her more than she could ever admit, her gaze flicking between his unwavering eyes and his plush lips, "I know."

Her voice is hoarse, and she hopes to god Sarah is seriously engrossed in whatever is on her phone because anyone who heard it would immediately be able to tell it was laced with a certain desperation for the curly-headed man before her.

Harry feels happiness soaring through his veins at her admittance, her hungry eyes causing blood to rush through his veins and between his legs. Sparing a glance at Sarah, he presses a gentle kiss on Y/N's cheek, leaning closer to her ear and whispering, "I missed you too," before he leans back, taking the folder in his hands and walking back to his desk.

"Thanks for this, Y/N, and tell Tom I said thanks too."

Y/N feels the need to clear her throat, the brash difference between his low intonation while whispering in her ear and the bright and cheerful way his professional facade returned, leaving her dizzy.

"Uh- I will. Thanks."

Slowly, she begins to back out of the office, unable to entirely take her eyes off the man who now sat in front of his computer, his attention on an email he definitely did not need to read at that very moment, but what could Harry say? He liked to make her squirm. She loved how he could feel her attention on him, begging him to return her longing gaze.

He only glances up when she says a quick but friendly goodbye to Sarah, the yearning look in her eye disappointing him none.

Harry allows himself a mere three seconds of silence before it's abruptly interrupted by Sarah.

"Huh."

Harry forces himself not to roll his eyes, trying desperately to keep his attention on his computer screen and not on the very annoying woman pointedly looking at him from the corner.

He lasts all of five seconds before her stare causes him to turn to her exasperatedly, "what?" Sarah laughs at his theatrics, holding her hands in front of him in surrender, "nothing, nothing! I just don't think I've ever seen you be so friendly with Y/N before."

This time Harry does roll his eyes, "and?"

She laughs again, her eyes holding a certain curiosity Harry really wasn't interested in addressing currently, "nothing!" She repeats. "Just if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were interested in her." She drops her voice and very badly tries to mimic Harry's slow british drawl, "Hi, pretty girl."

Harry takes a moment to wonder how hard he'd have to roll his eyes before they popped right out of his head. Whatever the answer, he imagines he'd be pretty fucking close. "Fuck off, Sarah."

"C'mon, Haz, I'm only teasing you!" She waits for him to look up at her again, a suspiciously innocent look overtaking her face before she adopts her ridiculously inaccurate imitation again, "what? Miss me already?"

She's cackling as Harry's growling at her, "get the fuck out of my office!" Before she makes her way out, taking great pleasure in the way he was crossing his arms and huffing like a petulant toddler.

And it wasn't like Sarah was wrong, which is perhaps why he's so annoyed. He was interested in Y/N; of course, he was. In all honesty, he's surprised he didn't immediately confide in Sarah about the events of last night as soon as she'd stepped foot in his office, but something about it felt different. It felt private, a secret between just he and Y/N, something he felt would be breaking her trust if he told someone, even his best friend.

He didn't know if perhaps he was worried it wouldn't play out exactly how he hoped or if he was just concerned that sharing the experience with anyone else would water down its saporous taste. Harry felt greedy. He wanted it all to himself, he didn't want anyone else to know how Y/N sounded when he suckled lightly against her neck or how soft the skin of her wrists was.

No, he thinks for now, he'll keep Y/N all to himself, let the taste of her settle on his tongue and slip down the back of his tongue, intoxicating him through and through.

—-

The thin paper of the coffee cup does nothing to stop the liquid inside burning Harry's palm, but in all honesty, he hardly feels it. No, the burning of something much deeper licks up his spine.

It's the sight of Liam Payne standing in Y/N's office, his Y/N.

And don't get him wrong, Harry wasn't necessarily jealous, but something about Liam's stance in front of Y/N's desk pissed him right off. So cocky and confident, why was he leaning down and towering over her like that?

Harry walks closer, leaning into the door so he can hear what the pair are saying, but even with his closer proximity, Harry has to strain to hear a thing.

"So that's just it? You're fucking him now?" The low drawl of Liam.

"Li- I don't know, why are you even... Who told you that?" Harry's furrowed eyebrows naturally soften at the confused and upset tone of Y/N. Who on earth were they talking about? Surely not him? How would Liam, of all people, know what had happened between them?

"No one had to tell me. It was a pretty easy guess," the man snarls, "you do see the way he follows you around like a lost puppy nowadays, right?"

Okay, maybe he was referring to Harry, although he definitely didn't appreciate the unnecessary comparison.

"He does not! We are fri-friends. I like spending time with him." Harry hears the way Y/N's voice cracks on the word 'friend', and he has to ignore the flush of pleasure he gets from her referring to him in this way like he didn't have his fucking tongue between her legs last night! What was he becoming? Maybe he was like a lost puppy around her, for god's sake.

It's Liam's following words that cause Harry to jump in, the instant anger boiling in his blood causing him to swiftly step inside the office and shoulder check Liam as he walks by, coming to sit on the desk in front of Y/N.

"That's what you said about us, and next thing you know, my cock was down your-"

"Oi wanker, what are you doin' here?"

Liam's mouth drops open in shock, and if Harry wasn't so angry, he would've laughed at his dumbfounded expression.

The man in front of him fumbles slightly, unsure how to handle the clearly disgruntled Harry sitting in front of him, whose stature- even when sitting down- was nearly as considerable as his own. "Uh, nothing, just chatting to Y/N." He tries to flash her an annoyed look, but Harry merely leans slightly to the right, blocking his view of her and replacing it with his less than impressed simmer.

"Huh. Didn't realise you two were that close?" Immediately Harry can see Liam become defensive, his arms moving to cross his body and his posture leaning back slightly. "Could say the same about you two."

When Harry's gaze doesn't even flicker away from his own, Liam continues, desperately trying to fill the silence in which he felt his confidence drowning in. "Look mate, can ya move? We're just chatting."

Harry almost has to laugh; chatting was one way to put it. Mildly harassing was how Harry was more likely to phrase it.

"Chatting, huh?" It's for the first time now that Harry glances back at Y/N, humour in his eyes. "Did'ya hear that Y/N. Chatting!" She still has a slightly worried look in her eyes, one that Harry had very much begun to love, but it's mixed with a sense of hilarity at Harry's very clear teasing.

He turns back to the man in front of him, "what is it exactly that you were chatting about, huh, Li? I do love a good gossip!"

Liam's nose scrunches at the unfitting nickname, but Harry can sense his hesitation to answer the question. He probes even further, "didn't sound too light-hearted and fun to me, but maybe I'm misinterpreting your fascinating attempt to 'chat,'" he emphasises the word, the 't' leaving his mouth sharply. Liam flinches like Harry had slapped him, his brusque manner of speaking more poisonous than he'd realised.

Good.

He hoped Liam was scared.

"Move it along, Payne, back to whatever hole you crawled out of."

The man in front of him snarls, "fuck off, Styles." He backs away anyway, moving towards the door while maintaining eye contact with Harry, only dropping it once he was over the threshold.

Harry is quick to turn back to Y/N, "y'alright, babe?" She nods, although the uneasy look in her eyes tells Harry that she's not being entirely truthful. "Yeh, I think so. How- um, how much of that did you hear?"

Y/N watches as a grimace flits across the handsome man's face, "enough. You sure you're okay?"

Nodding again, she swallows, the sound uncomfortably loud in the silent office. "Yep. I mean, we knew he was a dick, right?" A shallow laugh leaves her, and Harry knows she's more upset than she's leading on. Instead of pushing it, he leans over the desk, taking her face in his and gently pressing a kiss against her plush lips. Pulling back slightly, he whispers, watching the way she shudders against him, "that is an understatement."

He leans back, and Y/N scolds herself for instantly missing his presence so close to her, "I um, I brought you a coffee."

And maybe Y/N's heart swelled in her chest; perhaps she had worried that things would change after the nature of their relationship did.

She takes the cup he's holding in front of her and takes a sip, the warm liquid instantly easing the anxiety present in her stomach.

——

The next few weeks are one of pure amazement. It was honestly like a switch had been flicked inside Harry's mind. He was kind and considerate, gentle and understanding and loving, so so loving.

Y/N can't say that he was necessarily cruel to her ever since they'd become closer working on the Andrews case, but it wasn't like this, nothing like this.

Every morning he would drop a coffee at her desk, whether she was there or not. Usually, if she was occupying the office, the delivery would come with a gentle kiss on the cheek or a squeeze of her hand, but if she wasn't, she would be greeted with the cup and a note left right on top of it. One morning he'd even taken the time to draw a little flower with sunglasses and a smiley face.

Y/N had to consciously stop herself from cooing out loud.

He'd begun to pick up her printing when she got distracted after sending it to the printer (which, if she was honest, happened more often than she would like to admit. Her head was always too busy! She'd click print and then get distracted by a new email that had come in or an advertisement for some shoes that she had been looking at on Instagram the night before because obviously, that meant that the universe was sending her signals that, yes, she absolutely needed them.)

But Harry wouldn't get annoyed or tease her when he'd noticed her telltale orderly and colour-coordinated meeting notes sitting in the tray of the printer. He would just laugh and drop them off at her desk, entertaining her mindless rambling about fate or kismet or whatever the fuck she was talking about and simply tell her the shoes would suit those green pants she loved.

He'd sit with her in her office with his laptop while she did her own work, answering her with ease each time she asked how to spell 'receipt' or 'chauvinistic,' although he had no idea what that had to do with her work, and ignoring her mindless muttering at her computer screen.

He'd basically scared Liam off forever, sending him a vicious glare each time he even stepped a foot closer to Y/N than he needed. One time, Y/N had even told Harry to back down. He looked like a dog ready to attack at any moment, and Y/N swears to god she was worried he would start barking at the terrified bloke in the middle of the elevator, but Harry had just brushed her teasing off once Liam had left, the same fondness he always held in his eyes when looking at her returning.

Harry had even cemented Lucy and her own spot in the cliquey office food chain, inviting them to lunch with his group daily. It was quite cute, Y/N thought. Mitch and Sarah were together, Lucy had taken a particular interest in Harry's friend Xavier, and well, Y/N and Harry were a couple of sorts, not as evident and official as Mitch and Sarah, but she often caught him looking at her when she was distracted talking to Lucy and Xavier often rolled his eyes and teased them about how soft Harry was around her.

Harry would go out of his way to invite them both to social events that, three months ago, Y/N literally would have thrown up at the very idea of going to, but the thing was, she had fun! She was happy at her workplace for once, and she finally felt like part of a group.

It wasn't that Y/N didn't still get nervous around them, she definitely did, but she'd stopped stuttering as much when asked direct questions- Harry's presence probably helped a lot with that.

It still didn't mean that Y/N didn't need at least three standards before she could openly talk to Sarah about her preference for home-cooked over ordered-in meals or answer Mitch's blunt questions. (She'd really thought he'd disliked her before she realised that Mitch kind of spoke to everyone like that, even Harry, who had known him for at least four years.) Harry had invited Lucy and herself out for drinks after work on Friday, and while Y/N felt anxiety tightening through her tummy, she could hardly say no to Harry's puppy dog eyes and overexcited smile.

And well, now Y/N was drunk. Not so drunk that she couldn't walk, but drunk enough that the world was slightly fuzzy, and the light shining onto Harry's soft skin made him look akin to an angel.

He was so pretty, his brown curls swooping perfectly across his forehead, and his candy-coloured lips looked soft and kissable. And perhaps he'd noticed Y/N staring all doe-eyed at him, but he hadn't said anything, only squeezed gently at her thigh that was resting comfortably against her own before returning his attention to Mitch.

It was only when she'd begun to let the sleepiness plaguing her for the last half hour win by leaning against Harry's shoulder did he acknowledge her properly. "Y'alright?" She only nodded in response. "Just sleepy, hm?" His heart constricts in his chest as she sleepily blinks up at him, rubbing her eyes like a toddler and nodding again. "Hmm yeah, haven't been sleeping well. Moose's been keepin' me up."

Harry had fallen in love with Y/N's little tabby cat, probably because of his big green eyes that Y/N said looked exactly like his, but probably more likely because the second he'd stepped foot in the door of Y/N's two-bedroom apartment, Moose was rubbing against his legs and purring like it wasn't Y/N that fed him and kissed him and loved him daily.

He could barely contain his laughter at Y/N's disbelieving face as she stood staring grumpily at the loved-up pair, exclaiming, "it took him two weeks just to let me pat him!" And then turning to the purring creature, "traitor," before rolling her eyes and making Harry a cup of tea while glaring at them both from the kitchen.

"My boy being naughty again?"

She glared at him through her lashes, and Harry had to will away a stiffy, the look she was giving him had quickly become one of his favourites.

"What?" He knows what.

"You know what. He's not your boy," She sways slightly as she says this.

They're interrupted by Sarah cooing from across the table, "aw, you two are too sweet!"

Harry rolls his eyes at his friend's antics, and Y/N briefly wonders if this wasn't the first time she'd teased Harry because of this, "fuck off, we are just friends."

And well, Y/N didn't know any other friends who ate each other out on their desks and spat in each other's mouths, but she wasn't going to say anything. These were Harry's friends, and she guesses it would be his decision about when he would tell them- if he ever would at all, although the thought of her being his dirty little secret forever made her a little sad.

She notices he pulls away from her slightly, and it makes her even sadder.

—-

The fuzziness of the world had become slightly clearer now that most of the alcohol had flushed from her system, but Y/N still felt giddy. Maybe it was Harry's hand resting on top of her leg, or perhaps it was the way that, regardless of his friends garnering his attention for most of the night, he had steadily moved closer over the last three hours until they were pressed right against each other.

Y/N felt each inhalation and exhalation he made, every laugh rumbled through his body into her own, and when Y/N would trail her hand up the back of Harry's neck while he was busy chatting and twirl the curls at the base of it, she felt the way his breath would hitch.

They'd outlasted everyone, Harry's friends saying goodbye one by one until it was just them at the table stuck in their own bubble. But Harry just didn't want the night to end. It wasn't like they'd never be able to hang out like this again; hell, they'd see each other on Monday at the office, but he couldn't bring himself to untangle their limbs, not just yet anyway.

That is until Y/N had looked up at him with these doe-like eyes that he knew she was trying to make look sexy and whispered in his ear, "wanna go back to your place?"

Y/N watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed until he grabbed her hand and pressed a light kiss to the back of it, "I'd love to," leading her gaze right back to his stupid kissable mouth.

She could hardly stop herself from kissing him right then and there, so she really has to applaud herself when she manages to control herself all the way into the hallway of Harry's apartment, which is finally where her composure snaps.

Just as he gets the door shut, Y/N is leaping against him, pressing her mouth against his own and groaning at the taste she'd only experienced once, weeks ago now.

It had been so fucking long, and she knew Harry was a gentleman, and she knew they were just spending time with each other without sex getting in the way. But if she was being candid, tonight, she wanted Harry to treat her in every disrespectful way he knew how to.

She didn't want the romance right now. She didn't want the sweetness- she knew Harry could be like that. No, right now, she wanted his tongue down her throat. She wanted him to fuck her, hard. She wanted to wake up tomorrow and feel exactly where he'd squeezed, pushed and pulled.

She just wanted to feel every bit of him.

So when he lets out a grunt of surprise but almost instantly deepens the kiss, Y/N moans throatily.

He pulls back, still close enough that their lips brush as he speaks, "finally," he mutters. "Been waiting all fucking night for you to do that." Then he's leaning back in again, no sense of hesitation as he slips his tongue between her lips and brushes it against her own immediately.

Had she really been that obvious? She hadn't thought so, perhaps she'd been looking at his mouth more than she usually would, but that was it! She hardly has time to feel embarrassed because Harry is everywhere, grabbing her cheek, her jaw, her throat. He's pulling her so tight against himself that it's impossible she could be any closer, but she can feel his desperation. Feel it in the way his hands grasp different parts of her so quickly like he wanted so badly to hold all of them at once but couldn't find the time or patience to do so. Her breast, her cheek, her waist. Only when his thumb brushes against her nipple through her shirt does he slow down.

The sharp inhalation she makes draws Harry's attention to his actions. He pulls back, looking down between them and brushes her nipple again, slowly tracing the tip of his thumb against the bud, visible even through her bra and shirt. Y/N's almost embarrassed at the shaky whimper she lets out.

“Fuck,” Harry whimpers under his breath. She was so fucking hot. The way she’s biting her lip, with her brows furrowing and fuck me eyes boring into his own. He had never gotten so hard, so fast. She had barely even touched him, and he was already leaking from his tip, and he has to swallow down the embarrassment, he wasn’t a fourteen-year-old boy, yet she’d reduced him to acting as such in mere minutes.

“You need- please, get this off.” He’s yanking at her shirt, trying desperately to pull it over her head, and she complies, pulling the fabric up and revealing the plain bra she had on underneath. She smirks (actually smirks, god, she really was a minx) at the way Harry’s gaze drops down and scans back up to her face, his pupils blown out and his lids heavy against them.

He really needed to pull himself together, he’d already had his tongue between her legs before, yet the sight of her in a bra made him pull uncomfortably at his jeans, trying to get the fabric to feel less suffocating on his cock.

They make their way to Harry’s bedroom, the movement a little awkward since Y/N had only been in his apartment once or twice. She would rather have opened her eyes and walked there herself, but each time she would try to pull back, Harry was pulling her closer to him twice as hard. She gives up after the third time, letting him blindly lead her to his room, only bumping into a corner once.

The way they’re kissing is messy, all tongues, teeth, and noses bumping against each other, and when he lays her down and presses his weight on top of her own, she has to hold back her groan. He was so warm and sturdy above her that she could feel the muscles of his shoulders even through his clothes.

He pulls back, smiling down at the woman beneath him, taking a moment to appreciate the way; even in the moonlight streaming in through his partially opened blinds, her eyes still look so bright and lively. It was corny and all, but it looked like they were sparkling. Harry takes a moment to imagine they only ever looked like that when she looked at him, even if he didn’t quite know if that was true.

“Ya look so pretty right now, like a goddess or somethin.’” She rolls her eyes and laughs, shoving his shoulder lightly, but Harry doesn’t miss the gentle hue of pink that spreads across her cheeks.

“Cos’ I’m underneath you, right? Only time I look this good?” It’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes. “Certainly helps, but no. You’re this pretty all the time.”

Y/N doesn’t have time to respond before he’s leaning down with his mouth open against her neck, each breath tickling the skin there. “Must not tell you enough if you don’t believe it.”

Y/N closes her eyes, enjoying his closeness against her and how it tickles even more when he speaks. It’s only when he scrapes his teeth against her pulse that she rocks up against him, haphazardly meeting Harry’s hips which were grinding down against her.

The friction is so sweet after so long, and they moan in unison, Y/N’s back arching as Harry continues to rock his hips against her. He was so fucking close, she could feel the heat of him pressed against her, each thrust nudging her clit perfectly, and she grabs the curls at the back of Harry’s head, tugging his head so his mouth met hers again.

Harry's surprised gasp when Y/N unexpectedly flips him over is music to her ears. He’s unsure how she even had the strength to do it, but he doesn’t have time to wonder as her soft lips dragging against his slightly rough neck works to distract him. She nibbles at the skin, taking time to soothe each bite with a swipe of her tongue, working her way down to the gentle jut of his collarbone against his skin, licking against the laurels present there too.

He’s torn between letting out an emasculating giggle at the tickling feeling and groaning at the sensual way she’s sucking and nipping; each kiss getting lower and lower till she’s pushing at the unbuttoned lapel of his shirt to teasingly lick at his nipple. He jerks at the feeling, a whispered, “fuck,” leaving him.

He felt so wound up, so tightly strung that each touch, no matter how hard, was slowly working to undo him. Harry felt as if he was about to burst, but god, the way she was unbuttoning his shirt and pressing gentle kisses against each newly presented slither of skin was sending shivers down his spine.

Finally, she gets to the waistband of his pants, and embarrassingly, Harry is already bucking his hips up against her, whining when she stubbornly pushes them back down each time. She’s killing him. Gently licking at the stripe of hair trailing up his lower tummy, kissing along his hipbones and biting amorously at his fingers as they keep trying to undo his belt until he's a whimpering mess beneath her. Each touch that doesn’t serve to satisfy the ever-growing and painful bulge in his pants brings him closer to flat-out begging- and he realises with a start that it’s exactly what she wants.

“Plea-fuck. Please, Y/N.”

She grins up at him as if he’d just asked about how her day was, not like she’d been torturing him for the past ten minutes. “What?” Any other time he really would find her little nose scrunch endearing, but currently, it's the last thing on his mind.

He throws his head back on the pillow behind him in frustration. “Fuckin’ hell, please just do something!”

Instantly she’s tugging at his belt, pulling it through the loops and undoing the button of his slacks. “Okay, you just had to ask, jeez.” And he really is about to kill her, thinking of how exactly he could get her on her back and choke her while his fingers are slamming into her when his thoughts are abruptly interrupted when she nuzzles and sucks at the tip of his cock through his underwear.

“Fuck!” He cries out. He couldn’t help it, the touch so unexpected and so, so fucking good he felt his legs already shaking. The little vixen is smiling up at him, tonguing his slit and humming around him, rolling her eyes at the salty taste of his precum.

Harry pulls her by the hair, pulling her back long enough to grab his cock out of his underwear, hissing at the relief it brings and instantly groaning as she’s tugging against his hold, desperate to get her mouth back on him.

Sucking his head back into her mouth feels ten times better without the cloth between them, the smooth and wet surface of her tongue sweeping against his slit and the sensitive skin of his frenulum causing him to push her head rather than pull it, silently begging her for more friction. And thankfully, she obliges, taking more of his shaft down her throat and sweeping her tongue against the underside as she goes, bobbing her head back and forth in a rhythm that leaves Harry breathless.

He can feel how her throat tightens and constricts each time she pulls him down further, and he seriously struggles not to buck up each time, instead letting her do her own thing and take him in her own time.

She pulls back, saliva dripping from her mouth and her voice croaky and broken, “can you fuck my mouth? Please?” She really doesn't have to give him those silly puppy dog eyes. Harry thinks he’d do just about anything she asked him at this point.

He moans and grabs her head, pushing her down as far as she can go. He feels her nose smush against the tuft of hair on his pubic bone before he pulls her back up, repeating the process and gasping out each time her throat squeezes around his sensitive head.

“Fuckin’ hell. You’re so good. You’re too good for me.”

She’s moaning and gasping for air each time Harry pulls up long enough to let her, giving him those fucking eyes and Harry just about loses it, yanking her hair until she’s completely off him. She’s sucking in air so quickly that Harry starts to feel a little concerned, although it works to stave off his impending orgasm. One more second of her mouth around him, and he absolutely would’ve been cumming down her throat.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

She glances up at him, and it’s only a second before she’s pouncing on him, opening her mouth and sweeping her tongue against him, Harry moaning at the taste of saliva and cum lingering there. She’s muttering in between kisses, “so fuckin’ good. You’re so hot.”

Laughing, Harry throws her against the bed, turning her over onto all fours and yanking her hips up; Y/N moaning at how he was treating her like a ragdoll. Harry takes a moment to admire the soft curve of her waist, she really was sexy, and Harry feels his prick throb at the thought of her soft cunt sucking him in.

It’s like he can’t get her clothes off fast enough, unbuttoning her jeans from behind and yanking them down her legs, grinning at the giggle Y/N lets out at his haste. They meet eyes as he pulls her pants and underwear around her ankles and onto the floor below them. While this whole experience had felt rushed and passionate, he took a moment to revel in the soft look of humour in her eyes. The way her hair is mussed up from him throwing her around and the gentle smile pulling at her lips. She must be noticing these things about Harry too, because her gaze softens as they hold each other's gaze, Harry pressing a gentle kiss to the swell of her ass and squeezing her hips gently.

He really, really likes her.

The thought scares him and makes his heart swell all at once.

The wiggling of Y/N’s hips brings his attention away from his mushy feelings and into the scene in front of them. He feels slightly bad as he realises Y/N has gotten almost no pleasure herself from this experience yet, choosing to focus solely on his own pleasure, and well, that just won’t do.

Using his thumbs, he parts the puffy lips of her pussy, biting his lip as her slick clings to each one. Like she knows what insane view he has in front of him, she groans, wiggling her hips in protest of Harry admiring her and not doing anything about it.

He dives in and listens in pleasure as her low groan transforms into a high-pitched whine, her face buried into the sheets before her, her hands clutching to them like a lifeline. Without even looking, Y/N can tell her knuckles are white with how hard she’s grasping at the duvet; each lick of Harry’s tongue against her hole forces her to rut forwards and for her whole body to tense in pleasure.

He’s eating her out like a lifeline, sweeping his tongue around and into her pussy, leaning down and suckling her clit, his nose rubbing against the sensitive opening of her hole. Y/N squeals with delight when he even licks around her tighter puckered hole, pressing the tip of his tongue inside and sucking at her rim.

He wants desperately to keep tasting her, but his cock is screaming at him from below, begging to be sucked in by her slick slit. So he stands, pushing her forward until he can fit behind her on the bed on his knees, and gently presses the head of his dick against her budding cunt; groaning deeply at the feeling of her walls contracting around him already.

“Fuck Harry, gonna stretch me out.” She moans, reaching behind and squeezing at the hand on her waist, her heart beating a little faster when he intertwines their hands and squeezes back.

“Yeh? Think you can take it all?” She nods, mewling and trying desperately to look behind her and see his cock entering her, to no avail. “Yeh, I can. C’mon, Haz, give it to me, please.”

And well, Harry can’t say no to that. He slams into her. So hard that Y/N has to push her hand back onto the bed to support her weight, each press of Harry’s hips lurching her forward. Again and again his tip hits the bottom of her cervix, the feeling just budding on the edge of too painful, but for now the pleasure outweighs it.

She’s so loud it sends shivers down Harry’s spine, “shh,” he soothes, although it completely negates how the front of his thighs slam into the back of hers. “It’s alright, y’alright”, he reassures, trying to quiet her upsetting cries as he slows his movements. The loss of friction was too much, and she reached back around her legs, blindly grasping at Harry’s hip in an attempt to get him to keep moving.

She cries out again when he grabs her hand and squeezes lightly but makes no attempt to push back into her, “oh babe, you crying for me already?” he tugs at her until she realises what he’s trying to do, slipping onto her back and gladly accepting the kiss he presses against her panting mouth, “just wanna see your pretty face, yeh?”

She nods, unsure what else he wants, but she understands. She wants to see him too.

He resumes his movements, although this time, his pace isn’t fast as it had been, no. It was slow but hard, pushing her forward with each press of his hips, his tip nudging so deep inside her she felt dizzy.

“God, just listen to you. Such a whiny whore, fuckin’ hell,” he’s met with more whines in response, the effect of them tenfold now he can actually see how her face screws up in pleasure each time he thrusts into her. Her fingers grasp down at the hand he has splayed against her waist, and he mindlessly lets her guide it wherever she wants.

It’s only when he notices that she’s bringing his hand up to her throat do his thrusts falter, a low moan leaving his chest as she places his fingers and thumb on either side of her neck. He recovers and squeezes lightly, “maybe this will shut you up, yeh?” She nods desperately, the only thing on her mind being Harry, Harry, Harry. He feels her tightening around him at his words, and he has to consciously stop himself from choking her too hard as he loses himself in the pleasure.

Each thrust feels harder and deeper than the last, and Y/N struggles to keep up with what Harry is saying; it goes in one ear and straight out the other. “Look at you, god,” he laughs condescendingly, “you’re that fuckin’ cock-drunk.” She nodded and whined because god, he was right, she could hardly focus on a thing he was saying, the tiny remnants of alcohol in her system and Harry’s proximity making her absolutely dizzy.

He laughs again, feeling drunk with the power she was giving him. She sat plainly in the palm of his hand, letting him twist her body this way and that, letting him grasp at her throat like a lifeline and taking it all and loving it at that.

Harry can feel how much she loves it, and it makes him want to scream.

He gives her another rough thrust, pausing to grind deeply into her once he reaches the hilt and watches as tears spill from her clenched eyes. She had tried so hard to keep them in, had felt the burning sensation begin to well as Harry’s cock grinded roughly against the sensitive spot inside of her.

She feels him slow, “hey, hey, you alright?” She sniffles gently, “Y/N take a breath.” He watches as another tear slips down her cheek, gently wiping it with his thumb, “do you usually cry?”

The look she gives him makes his heartbreak. He honestly couldn’t read it- didn’t know if it was pain or longing, desperation or despair. He begins to pull out, but her hand grasping at his waist and her cry of dejection makes him pause some. He’s close to begging her at this point.

“Please talk to me. Is it just with me? Do you want me to stop?” She sniffles again but shakes her head, “please don’t stop. It’s just- so,” her voice cracks, a small sob leaving her, “it’s so much, feels so intense.”

He nods and kisses the corner of her mouth so gently that Y/N feels like crying for a completely different reason. “It’s okay, I’m here. You’re alright.” He holds her tightly and begins slowly pushing into her once more. She meets his eyes again, and Harry feels a pang of longing deep in his chest at how absolutely wrecked but desperate she looked.

And god, he gets it. He didn’t know if it was his feelings that were making this feel so intense, but he had never experienced anything like this before, and he completely understood why Y/N was in tears below him. It was like every nerve ending was alight; each tiny movement caused jolts of pleasure through him, like the simple fact of her body being against his was enough to make him close to cumming.

He feels every squeeze around his prick, feels every gasp and groan she lets out deep in his chest. Even now, as she throws her head back, Harry knows she’s close to her peak- though he’d never had sex with her like this before, it was like he could tell what she needed before she could even begin to voice it herself.

He wraps his hand around her jaw, his fingers pressing hard enough that the soft skin of her cheek is dimpled underneath them. She opens her mouth, and Harry doesn’t hesitate to slip fingers inside it, pressing down on her tongue as it laps desperately at his fingertips.

“Harry, spi-,” she cuts herself off with a moan. Harry cocks his head, “what was that, sweetheart?”

She tries again, “spit- spit on me,” he can hardly make it out, but when she pulls back slightly, opens her mouth and sticks her tongue out, Harry almost passes out.

She was gonna fuckin’ kill him.

He doesn’t hesitate, letting a string of saliva slip from between his lips and into her awaiting mouth, watching her throat constrict as she swallows it down with a moan.

Harry begins to sloppily rub at her clit, and Y/N grits her teeth, grabbing at Harry’s wrist and squeezing tightly as the sensation of her impending orgasm sweeps through her. She throws her head back as the feeling finally overcomes her.

“Oh my god, are you fuckin’ coming?” He laughs condescendingly. “Fucking hell, you’re even sluttier than I thought. Just need to rough you up and spit on you a bit, and that’s it?”

She honestly couldn’t comprehend what Harry was actually saying to her. Her orgasm was just too overwhelming. It was all-consuming, white heat burning through her and Y/N could hardly stop herself from bucking up underneath him. It felt like it was never going to end, this feeling, and honestly, Y/N’s not sure she’d mind. The idea of getting lost in Harry, his smell, his taste, his touch, forever, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

As the light show behind her eyes finally begins to fade, she feels Harry’s hips falter, once, twice, three times, before he’s pressing inside her as far as he can, leaning over her and letting out the prettiest little moans Y/N had ever heard. She ignores the mild discomfort at Harry pushing inside of her oversensitive cunt. Instead, she wraps her arms around him and pulls him closer, holding his torso against her heaving chest as he works through his orgasm.

Finally, she feels his breathing even out, and he begins to hold her back, slipping out of her gently and cooing at her when she hisses at the feeling. “I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry.”

Y/N’s heart pounds at the feelings welling up inside her, she feels overwhelmed by them, and her chest begins to hurt. It was like a fire inside of her, so much passion and… love. Y/N shudders at the idea of that, and just as quickly as she feels it burning inside her, she feels it fades when she remembers Harry referring to her as his ‘friend.’

She didn’t have to read into this. The rational part of her can safely assume that he didn’t want his friends asking too many questions, particularly when she and Harry hadn’t had the chance to answer them between themselves yet, but there's a tiny part of her that keeps niggling away. Keeps screaming at her to run before she gets attached to someone who doesn’t want to commit back, but she’s not sure she could believe Harry wouldn’t want that.

He had been so charming and caring these last few weeks, going out of his way to spend time with her, even if it meant he had to sit on the floor of her office during lunch and even if it meant he would grouch at her about how much his back hurt because of it.

She can’t imagine the man still wrapped around her would be so malicious to purposefully lead her on. He’d tell her if he wasn’t interested in her like that, right?

He begins to run his hands through her hair, carefully detangling the knots he runs into on the way. It feels good, and he huffs a laugh at the shiver that wracks through Y/N’s body.

Leaning back, he gently holds her jaw, rubbing his thumb across her eyebrow, down the bridge of her nose and over her cupid's bow before kissing her lips gently.

It truly felt as if he could read her thoughts and had purposefully tried to quell them, the kiss so careful and full of tenderness.

“Like you a lot, ya know.”

Harry’s heart clenches at the look she gives him, and he has to press another kiss to her lips. She’s already smiling when he pulls back, a blush spreading over her cheeks in embarrassment as if he hadn’t just fucked her within an inch of her life for the last hour.

She was too stinkin’ cute.

“I like you too,” she giggles.

“Yeh?” He laughs back, attacking her neck with kisses, grinning at the tinkling laughter it pulls from her.

Harry’s not sure how many times he had to say it, but fucking hell, he truly was fucked.

—-

The cool air of Harry’s living room causes goosebumps to pimple along Y/N’s bare legs. Her oversized shirt from the day before doesn’t provide any added warmth, and she briefly wonders if she should turn around and rummage through Harry’s draws for something to cover her legs. He’d left enough items of clothing at her house over the last month they’d been sleeping together, always claiming to forget them after they were thrown off ‘in a fit of 'passion’ (his words, not hers) but didn’t seem to mind when Y/N happened to wear them.

He said they looked better on her anyway.

Perhaps she could steal a pair of sweatpants or his oversized basketball shorts. (She’d been gunning for a specific pair of sweats Harry had, grey with a soft fleece lining, but Harry had caught on pretty quickly after the third time they’d gone missing from his apartment and magically ended up at hers. Somehow these didn’t make the cut of things she was allowed to steal. She was sure the little prick had purposefully been hiding them from her, and she wondered if now would be a good time to look for them, while Harry was distracted by the warmth from the shower.)

Alas, the sound of the front door opening completely derails Y/N’s sneaky plan, sending her in a panicked frenzy instead as she watches Mitch and Sarah walk through the door. Y/N’s pretty comfortable with nudity, but right now, with two of Harry’s best friends (both utterly oblivious that the two were fucking behind their backs), looking at her bare legs makes Y/N shrink inwards slightly. The only action her scrambled mind can think of doing is pulling the hem further down her legs, fully aware that she probably currently looked like a stunned mullet. Hair sticking out all which ways and her eyes so wide they had started to water from the breeze the air conditioner had created.

“Y/N?” Mitch and Sarah looked just as shocked as she did, standing in the doorway, mouths open and feet frozen in their spots. Mitch has the decency to avert his eyes slightly as he sees Y/N’s pantless predicament while Sarah is stuck looking between the half-naked girl in front of her and her own boyfriend, fully knowing if Harry had told anyone but her about his secret relationship, it would be him.

“Fuck- Mitch, Sarah. I’m so sorry.” That’s the only thing Y/N can think of. She’s sorry. So fucking sorry. And she doesn’t even know why! Sorry, she’d gotten caught? Sorry, she’d gotten involved with someone who wasn’t interested in telling his two best friends? Y/N doesn’t know. All she can process is the shame squeezing at her tummy with an iron fist.

They’re interrupted by Harry walking out of the bathroom in only slightly more clothes than Y/N, the very sweatpants she had been planning on stealing sitting low on his hips, and his toned torso glistening with water from his shower.

“Y/N! Do you wanna make french toast for break- Sarah? What the fuck!” He stops dead in his tracks, looking between the beet-red Y/N and his two friends, who seem to have been frozen in the doorway.

“We could say the same to you, Harry. What the fuck is happening here?”

—-

The table is awkwardly silent, all four of them sitting in their own thoughts, watching the french toast cool. The only sound echoing through Harry’s dining room is Mitch’s fingers, nervously drumming at the table.

He’s interrupted by a frustrated Harry, “can ya stop that?”

Y/N instinctively places her hand on Harry’s thigh in a soothing gesture, and she watches as Sarah’s eyes follow the movement.

She removes her hand.

Honestly, she didn’t know why she felt so weird. Y/N and Harry were touchy-feely all the time. It wasn’t like how they were acting was completely opposite from normal, but she guesses it was different this time. This time Sarah knew Harry had been lying to her.

And look, Y/N and himself had spoken about this a few times, Y/N thinking the sooner they told them, the better, while Harry was firm in believing it wasn’t their business and he would tell them when he felt ready- so much for that plan.

Y/N was supportive of his decision, though. They were his friends, and if Harry felt more comfortable with their relationship (whatever that relationship was) being a secret for now, well, Y/N would support Harry in that. She thinks she’d just about do anything Harry asked of her if she was honest, and she’s still not sure if that was necessarily a good thing- look how this had turned out.

“Uh, look, I’m sorry for lying-”

“Why? Why would you both lie about this?” The look Sarah gives him makes his chest hurt and his stomach turn in anxiety. He gets it. He really does. They never lied to each other; Sarah was the one person he told everything to. He imagines if she had been seeing Mitch for months without at least telling him she was interested in him, and his tummy tightens. “I’m happy for you both, I really am. I just don’t understand why you felt you had to hide it from us.”

“Yeh, does this mean you weren’t actually going to that pottery class?” Harry forces himself not to roll his eyes at Mitch’s contribution because, of course, that's all he cares about. (He’d been so excited when Harry had fed him that excuse, claiming, “shit man, nice ceramics aren’t cheap, this is great!” Harry had felt a little guilty when he’d actually gone over to Y/N’s apartment, but he got over it pretty quickly when she pushed him against the wall and sucked him off in the front hallway the second he arrived.)

He turns to Sarah instead, “Look, I am really sorry. I- time just got away from us. I wasn’t ready for the whole office to know, and I wanted to just keep it between us while we figured it out. I’m sorry.” Y/N stops herself from noting that she’s not sure they even had figured it out just yet. She was still a little lost as to whether they were friends who liked sleeping together or what but didn’t say anything.

Instead, she grabs Harry’s hand, squeezing it in solidarity and sending a small smile over to Sarah. “I’m sorry too.”

“I wouldn’t have told the whole office, Haz. I wouldn’t have done that.” She looks so sad. Harry hates seeing her like this. “I know, Sarah, I’m sorry.”

She nods and sends a tight smile across the table, slowly becoming genuine as she notices Harry’s fingers slotted between Y/N’s. “So… are you together now, or?”

They share a glance, and Y/N feels anxiety slither up her throat. She leans in, almost as curious to hear his answer as Sarah seemed to be. Harry grins and nods slowly, “uh yeah. I think so. We haven’t necessarily discussed it yet,” he sends a pointed glare at Sarah, who has the decency to look sheepish, before turning back to Y/N, “but um, yeah. I’d like to be.”

Y/N nods, bringing his hand to her mouth and pressing a kiss against the soft skin of his knuckles. God, she wanted that so bad.

He had to know. If the starry-eyed look was anything to go off, he had to have some kind of clue.

And of course, he did, Harry had been trying to find the time to have the conversation with Y/N for weeks, but they always seemed a little busy, either too deep in conversation or too enraptured with each other and he figured she knew how he felt after his hazy post-orgasm confession.

But Harry couldn’t imagine sitting with anyone else at lunch or watching criminal minds with someone that wasn’t Y/N. He couldn’t picture anyone else reading through his meeting notes and retyping them after he fell asleep because they were too messy or teasing anyone else in the office. He couldn’t imagine touching anyone else the way he touched Y/N, and he couldn’t picture anyone reacting to him the same way she did. It didn’t seem possible for anyone else to fit him the way she did or for anyone else to make him feel so fucking lost in how much he liked them. Their lips just slotted together a little too perfectly, and she just happened to challenge him in the exact right way.

He turns back to Sarah, “yeah, we're dating.”

A gentle flush settles against his cheeks, his teeth gnawing gently at his bottom lip. Y/N really couldn’t believe how beautiful he was and how lucky she was that he was hers.

God, she really was fucked.

----

Follow up can be found here :)

TAGLIST

@ndunad @eddiestyles-harrymunson @thhsbitch @michellekstyles @captainchrisstan @styles-weasley @chubby-cheek-calum @yourhsficsplug @chanelhearts777

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry #styles #writing #harry styles writing #I love you all #so so so much #het sex #het relationship

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jodiie-leighanne · 2 years

Text

Warnings: Smut, degradation, daddy kink, unprotected sex, fingering, m/f, Swearing.

"Tighter, tighter still"

"I-I can't breath.."

"Good, then it's perfect"

Tears whelm in my eyes, ribs pained with every contraction of my lungs. Spines of the corset all but piercings my flesh.

As a child, the same as many I dreamed of being a princess. Grand balls, lavish dresses designed by the finest seamstresses. Jewels, many jewels cut from the rarest of diamonds.

Descending a marbled staircase, gold encrusted railings. Admirers flooding to compliment my appearance, prince's fawning at my feet.

A dream. That's all it was, a juvenile dream.

Here I am at nineteen years old, Princess of Wales absolutely miserable.

'She's a bit pale' 'She's ghastly thin'

My father had enemies, he was hated.

Therefore, so am I.

"Y/N darling, can you come to my office for a moment"

Sighing at the sound of my father's voice over the intercom, it was only the two of us. No mother, no siblings. There was a handful of staff. Maids, personal assistants, chefs and guards of the Royal.

Castle halls silent, barely a whisper could be heard and those weren't usually human.

Tapping of my heels sounded, ricocheting wall to wall.

Turning left down the hall, I knock twice before hearing a hushed 'enter'.

Globes widened at the guests accompanying father. Each turned to me, bowing out of respect.

Father stood from his thrown extending a hand chivalrously leading me to my seat.

Before us stood three men, dressed in crisp white shirts tucked into their charcoal trousers, matching suit jacket hung on set of broad shoulders open to peek the expensive leather belts. No doubt these suits took a certain wealth to own. Down to their polished to perfection shoes, like obsidian mirrors.

Each male intimidating in stature, plain utterly dull. Except one. Second in from the right, he aura beckoned arrogance, an inch taller than the rest muscles popping in the tight fitted attire. Listless silver locks trimmed, the exception of loose strands reaching his furrowed brows.

Pupils dilated swamped in mists of molten oceans, adding a sparkle to almost transparent skin.

He looked otherworldly, like I should be curtsying in his presence. Jaw hallmarking his facial features, a smirk resting on his thin lips. He was a masterpiece, almost hand drawn.

Father cleared his throat, summoning attention to his which he got instantly.

"Welcome gentlemen, I am honoured you accepted my invitation. As you know there's been threats to my self and my only child, recruiting you here will just strengthen the forces we already hold within the castle.."

Threats? What threats? My face Puzzled as I parted my lips to speak earning a warning glare from the king.

Princesses act accordingly. Graceful, ethereal and silent. Speak when spoken to.

"Y/N, you will have you own personal guard he will be based outside of you bed chambers all hours of the day unless you are elsewhere, the he will follow"

"Father, I hardly think that necessary"

"It's necessary if I say it is" Tone rounded and harsh, I knew to clamp my mouth shut.

"Now, please introduce yourself to Mr. Draco Malfoy.." Gesturing to the brooding blonde who graciously nodded dipping his head slightly as we locked gaze. "I assure she is safe in your care?"

Chuckling he replied, "No hands are safer than my own" Flitting my gaze to two vein laced hands, thick, strong and callous. Each knuckle bejewelled. Thighs rubbing together at the thought of those touching me .. He leaned towards me right palm out flat as I tentatively extended mine, a soft kiss placed ardently on my knuckles. Steel Steel contrasting with y/e/c "Pleasure to meet you, princess" Fluttering erupted in different locations.

As he pulled back only I caught the subtle wink, causing my mouth to dry and face to shade pink.

Fathers hands clasped together "Wonderful, The remaining are with me, darling go to your wing and study"

Thoughts ran wild knowing he was separated by flimsy wood, it's no secret Princesses are chastised until wedlock. Pure little trophy wives.

That doesn't pause erotic thoughts or wandering fingers.

She had to regain control.

Perhaps asserting her authority will subside the lingering heat.

Striding to the door Y/N swings it open eying the man "Could you go to the end of the hall, third buzzer down left of the wall summon the maids" Not waiting for a reply as she slammed the door to a close again.

Draco, gritted his teeth out of sight. Following the order, knowing all to well that princess needs a lesson in manners, a briefing in hierarchy although her status out ranks his - Malfoys always trump.

Give it time, her fall from grace will be oh so pleasing to the ego. That bitch will quiver under me soon enough.

Observing the her meals being brought at her beckon call, waiting for dusk to fall.

Draco's knuckle tap the door thrice, receiving no response any normal person would turn away, he entered without qualm.

Taking in the empty surroundings, her room not personalised the bare minimum filling it.

Spotting a slither of light cracking through a half open door steam seeping through. Smirking to himself he took a seat at the vanity, lurking in the shadows waiting for her to return. That's when he would establish the ground rules.

Lathering herself in almond butter suds allowing the aroma to overwhelm all senses, taking extra time to clean in between her thighs.

Y/N sauntered from the shower, cold air nipping her skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. Wrapping an Egyptian towel around her body, taking time to brush her teeth along with a nightly skin routine.

Emerging into her bedroom, Y/N failed to see the figure laying in wait. Patiently sunken in the background hoping to catch her off guard.

Usually it's required to wear a silk knee length night dress, tonight was different Y/N reached in her lower draws for a oversized t shirt her back facing the dressing area. Where he slowly stood tall now, creeping up behind her.

Towel dropping to the floor bare to the seemingly empty space Y/N stretched her limbs over her head, allowing her neck to crack with a sigh. Gasping soon after when strong cold hands grasp her one placed of her hip, the other snaking up to wrap around her neck. Giant compared to her small frame. Screams built in her throat before being released, warm breaths hit her ear.

"Shh princess, we wouldn't want a false alarm now would we"

Tensing at the familiar raspy drawl.

"D-draco?" Pinching her eyes tightly shut, quaking in his hold.

"Am I that memorable little one?"

He was no-one made words sound as silky.

"W-Why are you here?"

Chuckling deeply as it vibrating through her.

"Sugar, don't act like you don't know what you do to me" Pushing his hardening length against the cushioning of her ass grunting in satisfaction of her squirming.

"Y-you shouldn't be in here"

"No?"

"N-no" Y/N stuttered ashamed of the arousal forming.

"You don't want me here princess?" Fake pouting, she felt nibbling at her lobe.

"I-I.."

"What would your father say if he saw you naked in front of you body guard hmm"

Blushing rising mortified at this position. Draco's grip loosened.

"Turn around from me baby, show me all of you" She did as he asked, stepping away and beginning to turn slowly arms Instinctively shielding herself. Earning a slow shake of the man's head "Don't cover yourself" Cautiously dropping her arms to her side.

Swallowing hard, praying her saliva would replenish.

"Fuck, you are gorgeous aren't you" It wasn't really a question more of a statement, allowing my eyes to meet his hungry ones. Fingers making quick work of the button down he wore.

Lower lip caged in his teeth.

"Tell me, do you want to be daddy's toy? My personal plaything hmm.." Striding with confidence towards her shell shocked form.

The ability to talk escaped her, as he twirl a piece of damp her around his rough tips. Titling forward breathing her in.

"Bloody hell, your dripping for me aren't you? I can smell it, pure, untouched" Clenching her thighs Y/N whimpered. "How pure are you kitty, is your sweet cunt untainted?"

Without thinking words blurted out "A- I'm a virgin - no-one has had me"

Growling in response Draco snatched her jaw forward Smashing his lips to Y/N, it was untamed, messy and damn right filthy. She had never done this before, he noticed calming to allow her to catch the rhythm. Roaming her body roughly, she moaned unaware her vocals could do such a thing. Using the gap to his advantage, his tongue entered her mouth forcing its way down her throat, making her gag.

Parting for air, he grinned knowing she played into his game.

"On the bed"

"Please, we shouldn't what if.." She felt off, like this could be a huge mistake.

"Getting caught part of the thrill love"

"B-but my father" A palm struck her cheek, as Draco hissed in response.

"Forget about your father, focus on your daddy"

Daddy? He is a bad bad man.

"Do you want the king to catch you? Being pounded, begging in pained pleasure by the very person sent to protect you"

"N-no sir" Fuck, that did it for Draco. It made him feel superior, older; which he was compared not by many years but enough to count.

Leading her backwards to the bed, palm reacquainting with her neck.

"By day she is a modest princess, heir to thrown a pinnacle of Innocence. Then night strikes and she craves to get a taste of bitter sweet cum, pussy torn to pieces the image of a filthy whore"

With that I was pushed onto the mattress body bouncing from the impact.

"On your back, legs spread" Shyness takes over, I can't possibly show him myself like that all open, yet I still parted them displaying my pussy.

He knelt between hovering over where I wanted him to be, using his middle and fore finger to edge back my lips. Groaning as his nose brushed my nub, settled back on his heels.

Gasping as he spat directly onto my heat following it with a slap on my clit. Wincing at the sting.

"You like that don't you?" Nodding, he smirked.

Y/N cunt glistened before Draco taunting his tongue to dive in. Without warning he slammed two fingers inside her tight walls, pacing at speed, covering Y/N mouth with his own, swallowing each cry.

"Shh.." He cooed "Now where is that special spot?" What does he .. oh shit. Curling up inside, back arching in the air "Jackpot" repeating these actions, plucking her nub in his lips gently sucking.

Chuckling at the reaction, Y/N head thrown back eyes snapped shut.

"P-please Draco, I-"

"Not my name try again" He mumbled against her.

"Ah, s-sir please" She said.

"Good girl" An odd sensation rose in her lower abdomen, Y/N touched herself before never feeling this. It was always pointless, the way he does it is fucking heavenly.

Whining, wiggling her hips as he pulled his fingers and face away. Suddenly feelings empty.

"Hush kitten, you'll be full to the brim in a minute" He hastily began stripping each item of clothing whilst she did nothing but enjoy.

Tracing his abs with lustful hues, anticipation killing her as he lowered his slacks letting them fall. Thumbs tucked in the waist band of his boxers, locking eyes with her own as he pulled them - holy fuck.

That is going to hurt.

Smugly, Draco raises a brow "Don't worry ill be slow, at first"

Heart rattling inside Y/N chest.

He crawled back up, capturing her lips again. As the swell of him line up. "Look at me" his knuckles brushed her clammy cheek bone. Slamming his tongue into her mouth, as she felt him breach her entrance.

Wincing at the stretch, he inched in letting her adjust. Nodding, moaning as he cursed at the warmth.

"More.. please more"

"As you wish" pulling out to just the tip he drove his hips into hers. Ploughing hard and fast, he was desperate so was she.

This was euphoric.

Bruising her skin with possessive grips, heavy pants and yells of sin filled the room.

Thank god, Y/N wing was unoccupied except her.

Palm slapping her cheek again, "Who's are you?"

"Y-Yours sir"

"Slut, giving a stranger her sacred virginity all it took was a few coaxing slurs" Sinister grin on his features.

Y/N pictured her first time to be sweet, with someone she loved. This right here it's degrading its uncouth and she fucking loves it.

"My needy girl, fuck you look so cute under me, so innocent, you look like your mine"

"S-sir I need to cum"

He shoved two fingers in her mouth, letting her suck them like a pacifier muffling her moans, as she cleaned the remnants of her juices off.

Draco's movements became slopping signalling he was close. Dragging his wet digits out her lips strings of spit connecting them. Pinching her chin in his hold tightly "Maybe I should watch you getting roughly handed by other Bodyguards right, one would stuff his cock in your mouth, the other ones is claiming your cunt, twisting your clit" He grunted loudly, causing Y/N to shiver eyes meeting her skull. "While I watch you in a distance jerking myself off, Would you like that princess?"

Y/N mouth gaped open sighing a 'yes' this angered the man, fist balling her mane. Causing her chin to meet her chest.

"Nah, every fucking inch of your filthy stained body is mine"

"S-sir can I cum?"

"Give it to me baby, let me feel you" His brows narrowed hiding his pleasure.

Y/N spasmed fluttering around his thick cock, bring a hand down Draco flick her clit fast.

The girl felt light headed, "Fuck, atta girl we have a squirter" She had no idea what that meant, the sheets below drenched with fluid. Draco seemed to enjoy what happened, rutting impossibly quicker.

"I want to fill you with my cum, watch it pour out your used cunt, not today though" Letting Y/N ride her high, once sure it was fulfilled he pulled out place his angry red tip at her lips.

"Open" Not fully entering he stroked himself in need, thighs twitching head thrown back, moaning. Spurts of cum landing in and around her gaped mouth.

Panting as he came down, grinning at the sight of the dumb fucked female.

He passionately kissed her moaning at his own taste.

After assuring Y/N was cleaned up, and not injured. Draco began dressing himself.

"This stays between us baby, I'll be back for more don't worry"

Y/N lay motionless and exhausted on her bed eyes fluttering closed. Placing a peck on the corner of her mouth.

Draco speaks "Would you do anything to please me?"

"Y-yes sir"

"Good, because you have two more holes I need to claim" She was alert again, two. Her mouth, what else is there .. Then it dawned on her.

"I'll have them all in one sitting, rest well"

With that the door shut.

Y/N was left in her thoughts. Thinking I'd do anything for him.

#draco smut #draco malfoy x reader #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy smut

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plainlo-inthemorning · 3 years

Text

The Night Father Paul Got Tied Up

Warning: PRIEST SMUT. No minors, please.

! This is a sequel to The Night Father Paul Went Shopping for Slim Fit Jeans. I recommend reading that one first for context.

Additional warnings: Rough sex, some angst. Always use protection IRL, no matter the hotness of the priest.

“So, what sees you traveling to Crockett today, miss? Family visit...?”

…

“…Miss?”

You’re reluctant to tear your eyes away from the sunset. The sea is calm. A bed of sparkling diamonds reflecting the last rays of this Thursday afternoon so like any other, and yet the most important Thursday there ever was.

Today is the day you see him again.

It’s been a few months and a whole weird, new life almost not worth getting out of bed for if he’s not in it, as eager to hold you again as you are to drown in his arms.

Goodbye, empowered feminist agency, hello lovestruck lunatic happily on her way to serve her soft-spoken tall dark priest.

If Paul – no, John – wasn’t so damn adorable in his God given ability to spin even the most morally shady details into a simple matter of faith in the Lord’s grand plan, you’d consider yourself the Harley Quinn to his Joker.

You make yourself giggle at the thought that the man almost certainty has no idea who either character is.

The blunt realization that you’d probably have followed him even then, plain murderous intent or not, is a bit more sobering.

Since the night you met, you’ve often felt like your own moral compass got tangled in a pile of sweaters on the floor. When you locked up the clothing store and left with him that early morning, his arm slung around your shoulders in a way that was so right, you simply left it behind.

He literally fucked your brains out.

And then tasted your blood as you lay half-dead on the sand floor of an old cave ruin outside of the Old Town wondering, absurdly, whether in fact the expression la petite mort should be taken at face value seeing as you’d somehow achieved arousal per violent death.

Except you hadn’t died, of course. Although it had certainly felt that way when the beast (“No, y/n, Angel”) had sunk its teeth into you, ribbed out a good-sized chunk of your neck and fed on you.

It had left you bleeding, gasping for air, as John knelt and scooped your limp body into his warm, strong arms (so unlike the cold, naked leather of the ‘thing’) cradling you, stroking your hair and wiping away your tears with soft caresses, whispering words of comfort and sweet adoration in your ear.

In between carefully, delicately licking away the blood that still flowed from your wound like a cat washing a kitten.

Then you’d passed out.

“Um, Miss?”

Earth to y/n.

Someone, a man, is still trying to make conversation.

You turn towards the voice and look into a pair of very pretty brown eyes. In an equally handsome face.

The man leaning against the railing next to you on the top deck of the small ferry has jet black hair sprinkled with flecks of silver, a well-trimmed beard, and a look of curiosity as he smiles at you a little tentatively.

Also, he’s wearing more denim than you’ve seen anyone sport unironically since the early noughties.

To top up the lone ranger ensemble, he even has a star fastened on the breast pocket of his jacket. He must be the island sheriff.

Or on his way to a theme party.

“Sorry, hi.” You smile back at him. In your life BHP (Before Hot Priest), this would have been exactly the kind of stranger to make your stomach flip. Especially if he really is a man of the law.

God, what is it with you and men of authority who can dole out punishment?

“No, really, I’m the one who should apologize”. The man clears his throat. Somewhat shyly.

Cute.

“You looked like you were deep in thought. Only we get so few visitors to the island, so I’m always curious when …”

You look at him, expectantly. He exhales and grins. For some reason you get a feeling he hasn’t done that in quite some time – grinned. He almost seems a bit out of practice.

“Hell, no point in pretending I’m not just nosy by nature. Comes with the trade. Or perhaps it was the other way around once. I’m Hassan, the sheriff of Crockett.”

He extends a hand, and you take it. His shake is firm and warm.

“No worries. Nice to meet you … Sheriff” (Stop it…) “I’m y/n. I’m just going for a bit of holiday. And maybe write a travel feature.”

“About Crockett? Really?”

The sheriff raises an eyebrow.

“I mean, I’m sure our mayor would welcome a bit of good publicity after the whole oil spill deal a few years back, but you do know this isn’t exactly the Hamptons, I hope? Otherwise, you might be in for a disappointment in about 30 minutes’ time.”

You chuckle and nod.

“Oh, I’m not expecting beach parties and artisan coffee or anything. There’s actually been a big upswing in tourism to more remote and, um, authentic island communities lately. City folks wanting to experience a different slice of life and that kind of stuff, you know.”

“Well, in thatcase …” Hassan grimaces satirically and makes you both laugh.

Then he composes himself, looking suddenly a little guilty. “I shouldn’t be making fun. I’m a relative newcomer myself after all. It’s a…”

He looks like he’s actively searching for something positive to say. Wow, how bad is it out there?

“…it’s a safe spot to live. Lots of honest, hardworking folks.”

John’s voice: “They deserve a chance of rebuilding their lives. Of restoring what was. I couldn’t be there for them when they needed it most. I will be there now.”

And you’re going to help him help them.

You’re about to ask Hassan why he chose to move to Crockett seeing as he doesn’t strike you as a tiny island type of person, but then an elderly couple nearby spots the sheriff and cuts in, stealing away his attention with a matter of someone’s stolen bike and something about whether he has found the cause of a … dead cat? Or cats?

Odd.

Hassan shoots you an apologetic look as you head indoors again, and you spend the remainder of the trip sitting a little too upright on a plastic seat staring out the window and fiddling with your phone, excitement and nervousness growing rapidly.

Images, memories, flash through your mind at random:

An endless starry sky over the desert, John’s hand in yours as you walk along a gravel path. Listening to the incredible story of his journey and new calling. Unbelievable were it not for the fast-healing bite on your neck.

Arguing with him about the nature of the ‘angel’. A lot.

Lying in bed under the sheets, limbs sweaty and entangled, in the hotel room he got for you both when you got back to the town.

Falling for him, faith creeping in. Faith in him.

Spending hours and hours of working out the travel logistics, putting on the charm with various customs officials over the phone. Hitting a brick wall and trying again.

Teaching John the basics of modern technology and encountering a comically childish impatience usually well-hidden under his serene façade.

Him, kneeling in front of you and spreading your thighs in the shower cubicle, hot water trickling down your naked bodies as he kisses his way up to your most sensitive spot.

Coming so hard for him again and again that you forget your own name.

Being fed little droplets of ‘angel blood’ from a flask in his inner pocket. Feeling it crystalize your thoughts, strengthen your body.

Being told to be a good girl and do without for weeks, months, until your reunion.

Clinging to him so tightly before saying goodbye and feeling all the air dissipate from your lungs at the thought that you might never see him again.

Then being permanently hungover for an eternity while your body slowly reverted to its old, boring constitution and the thrilling sense of invincibility ebbed away.

Missing him. Missing him madly and hoping and waiting for that call.

Sitting in your room in the city, your city, in a bar with friends, on the subway, in front of your laptop not working and only thinking of him.

And then finally …

There had been the small matter of arranging for a place for you to stay on Crockett, seeing as you can’t very well rock up to John’s house with your backpack for all to see.

Miraculously, truly, there had been two Airbnb options on the map: One a room in a single man’s home (no thank you), the other a whole house owned by a couple who had moved their family to the mainland years ago but kept the place as a summer residence.

They had seemed legitimately surprised when you contacted them.

So, you’ll go there and wait for him, ready to play your part to perfection, but praying he won’t ask you for anything that involves getting too close to the ‘angel’.

You feel the hairs at the back of your neck stand up at the mere thought of coming face to monstrous face with it again, of clammy, too-long fingers gripping your shoulders…

Anything else.

The ferry docks and you gather your things. You heart is hammering away, making your hands shake, and the straps of your bag keep slipping from your hold.

It’s unseasonably mild for April on these parts, but you still put on your white leather jacket over your low-cut cobalt blue knit, if only so you won’t have to carry it. Judging from the get-up of the other passengers, your wardrobe and the fact that you pilled on the Dior Show mascara a little too generously this morning may make you stand out on the main strip.

You’re walking down the ramp when you spot him.

And freeze on the spot.

He’s standing on the dock talking to a fisherman, two boats down from the ferry, his arms folded over his chest. He’s wearing the black buttoned shirt with the collar, a grey zipper cardigan, and those grey, slim jeans.

The cardie and jeans you picked out for him on the other side of the world.

The jeans that you then opened before giving him his first blowjob.

Your breath hitches in your throat, and only when the elderly couple from before try to push past you on the ramp a little rudely are you jolted back to life.

He’s right there.

Before you can even begin to wonder if he’s here by coincidence, or secretly waiting for you, his eyes look up and find yours, and you know it’s the latter.

The fisherman is still talking to him, but to you it’s obvious that the priest is no longer listening.

John’s eyes swallow you whole, and even from a distance, you can tell he’s trying his best not to grin.

He looks like he’s gripping himself to keep from closing the distance between you as fast as possible.

You send him a small, knowing smile. Dammit, your legs feel like jelly. Keep walking. You must walk past him, find the house. He’ll follow later.

Ugh, but he looks so ridiculously handsome, just like you remembered. His thick, wavy hair is beckoning for you to run your fingers through it – to grab it when he goes down on you.

He’s tense as well, though. More so than you’ve seen him since those very first moments when he came into the store.

No wonder: He’s been pretending for weeks, lying through his teeth to people he has known all their lives. It must be taking its toll on him.

But there’s something else as well.

Something to his posture and the way his dark eyes sparkle in the low light that hint at a more prominent change.

Madness, a voice whispers treacherously in your head before you can stop it.

No, surely not.

He’s too good for that.

The angel will have supplied him with its nectar while on the island for him to keep his strength of both body and spirit, so most likely it’s the life-giving beauty of its effects you’re seeing.

You’ve just forgotten what it looks like since it left your own system long ago.

How many others on Crockett are currently in the process of rejuvenation, destined for a more meaningful, more wholesome existence closer to their God? The sheriff? That fisherman?

You want to catch up and fast. A familiar, otherworldly hunger is rearing its insatiable head.

John’s eyes stay on you as you walk along the dock, and you’ve just about made up your mind to go ask him for ‘directions’ (that wouldn’t be so strange for a visitor to do, right?), when the sheriff is suddenly by your side.

“Hey, again. Any chance you need help with directions?”

How bored/lonely/horny for new blood is this man?

Friendly, y/n.

He’s just friendly, you reprimand yourself.

Welcome to small-town America where not everyone’s gripped by a Tinder frenzy.

“Yeah, maybe I do, thanks.”

You stop and put your bag down, fishing out your phone with the address on it. You notice that you don’t have a lot of signal.

“I’m staying at this house…” You angle your phone so Hassan can see the screen as well, and his shoulder brushes against yours as he steps closer.

He smells very clean of aftershave and fresh ocean air.

“Ah, yes, that’s on the outskirt of town. Not too far from the church. I can walk with you some of the way, if you don’t mind, the station is just…”

“Evening, sheriff.”

Both you and Hassan jump a little. John is somehow standing right next to you and your heart nearly stops. He smiles over your head at the sheriff but it’s not wholly genuine.

Or maybe you’re imagining things.

“Hi, Paul.” You don’t fail to notice how Hassan opts not to use the religious title.

Definitely not a churchgoer then.

“I see we have a new visitor to the island.” John looks to you and his smile instantly warms. His eyes are dancing with mischief in a way you sincerely hope Hassan won’t pick up on.

“I’m Paul Hill, the local priest for the time being. Welcome to Crockett, Miss…?” John extends his hand. When you take it, his thumb brushes against the underside of your wrist in a tiny, intimate gesture only noticeable to the two of you.

Electricity spreads through your veins at his touch.

“Hello, Father.” (Oh, there’s that slight smirk of his alright.) “I’m y/n. Just visiting for a few days.”

You gaze into his eyes, and it takes everything you got not to throw your arms around his neck. By the look of it, he’s struggling too.

His poker face really was never very good.

“Y/n was just telling me she might write a travel piece about the island”, Hassan breaks in, and John looks back to him with an air of indifferent politeness, still holding your hand.

“Is that so? How wonderful.”

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

The two men exchange rather stiff smiles.

You can’t imagine that all visitors to Crockett are greeted by being sandwiched between what must be the two hottest men on the island having a bizarre little stand-off.

If that’s what’s happening here.

“Anyway, as I was saying to y/n, I can walk her to…”

“I’ll walk with you,” John supplies, a little too readily, and you instinctively worry your lip with your teeth. Of course, he knows where you’re staying, but Hassan doesn’t know that.

Sure enough, the sheriff looks a little surprised.

“Okay-y.”

“Well, thank you, both of you,” you say quickly. “I guess it’s true what they say of small-town hospitality! I’ll be sure to, um, make a note of that if I write the article.”

And off you go, John on one side (he takes your backpack before you can protest) and Hassan, looking slightly sour, on the other. Maybe he really was trying to flirt with you before John interfered, albeit clumsily.

You make light small talk with both men, but nearly sigh audibly with relief when you reach the sheriff’s station, and Hassan bids you a good evening.

You can feel his eyes on your back as you and John continue down the road towards your Airbnb and, beyond that, St. Patrick’s.

A silence bursting with anticipation has fallen between you and the priest, and you’ve only passed a couple more houses when John quickly looks over his shoulder, then takes your hand and pulls you away from the main road, down a narrow dirt path between tall pines.

“Come. We’re going to my place.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you squeeze his hand hard.

“Is it…is it safe? Won’t people notice?”

“Not if we go this way…my little swallow.”

You can’t wait any longer.

Tugging at his hand, you force him to stop.

You barely get up on tip toes before he has put down your bag and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you against him and capturing your mouth in a deep, desperately hungry kiss.

You moan into each other’s mouths, and you glue yourself to his chest, clawing at his neck and grabbing his hair to pull him even closer. To erase all the days and nights filled with longing and loneliness since you last breathed in the scent of him.

One of his hands slides under your jacket, then your sweater and up your back, and the feel of his fingers on your naked skin has you shivering.

“Our sheriff seems to have taken a shine to you…” John leaves kisses down your throat, and you sigh lustfully. “My, Father, are you jealous? Isn’t that a sin?” you tease him.

He finds your lips again and kisses you thoroughly till your head swims. Claiming you.

“I think you and I have moved well past cataloguing the sins committed between us”, he whispers.

His erection is grinding against you, and when you rub your hand over the bulge, he inhales sharply. You want to tear the buttons of his jeans open – with your teeth, if that’ll make him growl for you in that intoxicatingly sinful manner, he does – but he grips your wrist.

“Not here.” His breathing is fast and shallow, and his eyes are hooded with desire. “So impatient…”

He smiles, a touch of pride flashing over his features. He loves to be wanted by you.

“It’s just a little further…”

John practically drags you the last bit of the way, and soon you emerge from the trees behind his tiny house. The priest steps around to the porch first to check if anyone’s around, then softly calls for you to follow.

The door closes behind you, and he turns the key.

A simple couch.

A small kitchen.

That’s all you have time to register as the man you worship swiftly lifts you up, and carries you to the bedroom, your legs wrapping around him, your hand eagerly tearing the collar from his neck.

John almost stumbles onto the bed and just about braces himself on one arm before crushing you under him (but you want him to!), and you pull feverishly at the buttons of his shirt, as he in turn pops open your jeans and lets a hand travel under the lining of your panties.

You gasp and arch your back when his fingers find your sex, expertly part your slick folds and trace your entrance.

“Mmm, missed me, did you?” His breath is hot on your neck.

“So much! I missed you so much,” you pant into his gorgeous, soft hair, and though you can’t see his face, you can feel his smile.

Then he slowly inserts a finger into your soaked core, and you all but whine.

God, you need him, all of him, inside you!

Finally, there are no more infuriatingly small buttons, and you practically tear the shirt off his shoulders while he’s still moving a finger in and out of you, his thumb circling your little bundle of nerves with a tenderness at odds with the way the strong muscles of his arms and shoulders flex hard.

He’s trying to restrain himself, and it thrills you to feel how much he wants you too.

“I’ve thought about you every minute of every day,” he whispers, so earnestly, and your heart melts.

He carefully removes his fingers from you and pushes himself up on both arms, looking down at you with pure wonder and naked want in those irresistible eyes.

“Being apart from you has been agony. Even with all the work here, all my duties…”

You snake your fingers around his neck and pull him to you for a soft kiss.

“I’m here now. I was so scared you’d never call…” you mumble against his lips.

“Then allow me to ease your mind of any doubts you may have had in my affections…”

John sits up on his knees and pulls your sweater over your head. Your bra is quickly dispersed with, and hands caress your breasts, fingers teasing and lightly pinching your nipples before his touch wanders south.

You’re not the only one who’s shaking with expectation.

Eyes ravenous, he tugs off your jeans and socks, before hooking his fingers under the waistband of your lace panties and slowly pulling them down to expose all of you before him.

You squirm and lift your pelvis to help him move faster, and he smiles that wicked, sexy smile that no one who hasn’t known him like you would ever think him capable of.

And how many have known him like you, ever?

Feeling so special it makes you dizzy, you spread your legs wide for him as he unbuttons his own jeans, and the way he wets his lips looking at the mound between your thighs makes your core burn.

John kicks off his jeans and his boxers, but instead of settling between your legs, he moves down the bed, kissing the curves of your breasts, your stomach, the inside of your thighs and then… then his lips and that heavenly skilled tongue find your most sensitive spot, and you whimper when he laps at your clit.

After all those nights (and mornings, and afternoons, and…) in the Old Town, he knows exactly what you like, and it takes him no time to render you completely unintelligible as he alternates between licking and sucking your little nub till you thrash and turn on the madras.

He has to hold your hips in an iron grip to keep you where he wants you, but just as you’re about to beg him for release – pleasepleaseplease John! – in one fluid motion he moves up the bed again, settles between your legs and guides his cock right into you in a smooth, deep thrust that has you gasping and digging your nails into his upper arms.

The headboard makes loud contact with the wall.

You’re so sensitive, you could come at the drop of a hat, and he knows it, setting an unhurried pace so you won’t race ahead. His cock fills you perfectly, and you clamp your thighs tightly around him to make sure he never leaves you. Not now, not ever.

Your mouths meet again, and there is nothing else in the entire universe than the two of you closely linked as you move together.

When you come up for air, he brushes a lock of hair out of your face, and his gaze is so tender, you feel tears welling up.

Then he starts thrusting faster, and budding ecstasy blurs your vision.

Soon you’re both panting hard, grabbing each other’s hair and skin, licking, biting, while you chase your high.

“Look at me!” John grasps your chin, and you lock eyes as his breathing becomes more erratic, and his thrusts knock the air out of your own lungs.

One of his hands moves between your sweaty bodies to find your clit again, and when his fingers start working you, waves of pleasure pull you under. Somehow you remember where you are, that you must not scream, and when you come apart, your walls spasming around his cock that’s still pounding into you, you bite down on your bottom lip till you taste blood.

Before you can catch your breath, John’s mouth is on yours, capturing the drops as violent shudders run through his body. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, but instead of coming, he pushes away from you.

And then things happen very fast.

“Y/n, get away, get away from me!”

John scrambles backwards out of bed, knocking over the nightstand. A lamp crashes to the floor.

“John, what…?!”

You sit up in alarm, lightheaded from orgasming and scared by the panicked tone of his voice.

There’s a smudge of red on his lips and his face…his beautiful face looks like a predator’s.

He cowers in the corner of the bedroom, fists clenching and unclenching before he buries his face in his hands and rocks back and forth on his knees.

“Please forgive me, forgive me…” He sounds almost maniacal and he’s visibly shaking.

You make to get out of bed, but his head snaps up: “Don’t come near me, y/n, please! Stay there! I can’t… I can’t be trusted. Oh, God in heaven…”

He looks like he’s about to cry. Or lunge at you.

Maybe both.

Your own voice almost fails you and your blood runs cold as you gather the bedsheet around your naked form, at once acutely aware of your vulnerability.

“John, what did you do?!”

He doesn’t answer. He’s staring at the floor and rambling off prayers to himself, to God, to you.

“John. Please. You’re scaring me! What did you do?”

He looks up and in the low light his eyes shine at you.

His unnatural eyes.

Just like…in the cave…

Oh, no.

Your voice is but a whisper as you ask him: “How much did you have?”

He starts crying.

He had too much. Much too much.

“Did you…did you know this would happen? Are you like him, now?”

John, you trusting, blind, too ambitious for your own good fool.

“I didn’t know,” he stammers, gesturing helplessly at nothing with trembling hands.

“I couldn’t stop. I needed the strength, but it was never enough, never lasted long enough, I only needed more, and he gave it to me, he knew I wasn’t strong enough on my own…”

You feel a lump in your throat.

“Oh, John, you are strong. You are. You don’t need to become…that. You’re enough, you…”

“It’s too late!” he almost shouts and reflexively you pull the sheet closer around you.

He sees and his expression breaks. “Y/n, I’m so sorry, I never want to hurt you! He did what had to be done to show us both the way, to open our eyes and guide us, but me I would never…it was not supposed to be like…”

The words turn into sobs.

Then he forcibly gathers himself, closes his eyes and takes deep breaths, and for a few unbearably long minutes neither of you say anything.

When he does, he sounds eerily calm and matter of fact in stark contrast to his prior despair.

“I have been blessed with new life and a new, even greater purpose. It’s what will enable me to spread his gospel. To help not just the people on this island, but beyond. However…”

He looks at you and ice shoots down your spine.

“I have to feed. More often than I’d like.”

Your thoughts are racing in a thousand different, terrified directions, and your body is screaming at you to flee, but you sit still as a mouse and try to focus.

“Does that mean you can’t go out during the day anymore, like him?”

A memory of the two of you sitting close together on a bench in a city park, sun warm on your faces. Fingers entwined; his collar left behind in the hotel room.

He nods.

“Okay.”

You inhale.

There are too many things to unpack right now with the both of you naked and shook up in his humble bedroom, in this suddenly claustrophobic small house where his parishioners may come knocking.

Jesus, you haven’t even been on the island for two hours.

Namely, you don’t want to begin analyzing the way his “purpose” has expanded before you’re at least wearing underwear and not leaving wet marks on his sheets (I told you, there is madness in him… the voice within unhelpfully adds).

“Y/n, I thought I would be able to control the urge around you. I made sure I fed before you arrived, but…”

You put a hand up to silence him, really not wanting him to go into details on that either at this moment.

“Well, yes, having wild sex is probably not very constructive for simultaneously containing other primal urges,” you say drily.

“Apparently not”, he concedes sadly, and despite everything you can’t help smile at the disappointment in his voice.

As always, he had faith.

And you do love him. Even now.

You waited for him. Came all this way because you believed in the genuine good of his plan to help the less fortunate.

All does not have to be lost, you can work this out, together.

“John, there’s really only one way I can stay here with you now.”

You try to sound calm. You’re not.

He searches your face.

“Y/n, I wouldn’t ask it of you…I never thought I had to.”

“Do you want me to stay or not?”

John gets to his feet a little unsteadily and walks to the bed (you will yourself not to move. It takes a lot).

He sits down on the edge and takes your hand. His hair is completely unruly, his skin still moist.

But he looks like himself again.

“Yes, I want you to stay. I want you to stay with me always,” he says quietly, and you think you’ll die from happiness that this naïve, dangerous, newborn vampire priest wants you in his life.

(John doesn’t like the term vampire. You’ve already had that discussion and he has as good as convinced you that really, the legends of vampires stem from encounters with angels gone horrifically awry. Still, you’re sticking with the term, if never within ear shot of John and Edward Cullens great-grandfather.)

“Then we’ll figure this out,” you say, and pull him to you so you can put your arms around him.

He stiffens.

“Y/n, I think maybe I should go out for a bit. I’m not sure this is safe…”

“Please, John, stay”. You don’t let go of him. “If I’m going to follow you, then…”

“No!” He looks upset. “I won’t be the one to cause you harm when it’s his divine gift, his blessing, you deserve. You of all people. It has to be done right. We will go together and ask for him to extend the Lord’s love to you directly.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ll rather crawl out of your own skin than have the angel ‘extend’ anything to you, but you only smile and nod.

“Okay, Father. If you say so.”

After all, if you know one thing about John, it’s that he, like everybody else, takes great comfort in being right.

Yet you don’t want him to leave.

In fact, you have to admit there’s something perversely seductive about his new state…

You make a decision.

“John, I want you to lie down again.”

He stares at you.

“What? No, I can’t, didn’t you hear me? We’re getting dressed now, both of us, and then I’m walking you to your…to your house.”

You want to laugh. He sounds so utterly unconvinced of his own words, it’s funny.

“No.”

You hold his gaze, determined. You know that turns him on.

As deliciously dominant as he can be in bed, you’ve discovered that he has a secret kink for being told what to do.

He’s about to protest, but you put a finger to his lips.

“John, you will lie down on the bed, and if you behave, I will offer you the same sweet release you just gave me. It’s only fair.”

He swallows. You can see the conflict in his eyes.

Looking down, you can also see his growing erection, however.

“I don’t want to hurt you…” he begins.

“Then we’ll have to make sure you can’t, hmm? Give me your belt.”

He hesitates for another few seconds, then he surrenders, as you knew he would.

He finds his jeans on the floor next to the bed and pulls the belt from them (the black leather belt you picked out). He hands it to you.

“Good. Now lie back and put your hands up by the headboard,” you instruct him, and he obeys without a word.

You feel your own desire building again as you straddle his chest, and bend over him to tie his wrists together with the belt, then loop the ends around the wooden bars of the headboard. You tie it as tight as you can and buckle it.

He’s looking up at you with a mixture of lust, concern, and a pinch of catholic guilt (so much for being past sinning with you).

It only makes you want to torture him a bit.

You bend down to kiss him, slipping your tongue into his mouth, and he groans.

Oh, he’s so into this already.

“Are you going to be a good boy and do as I say?” you ask, and grab a fistful of his hair, tugging his head back.

“Yes”, comes the hoarse reply.

“Alright then.”

Kissing his neck, his collarbone, his chest, you make your way down his body.

His cock, now painfully erect, is twitching before you even touch it, pre-cum wetting the head.

You plant light kisses next to it on his lower abdomen, and he growls. The leather creaks as he flexes his hands, and you look up to see him follow your movements intensely under eyelids heavy with want.

Keeping eye contact, you move your head slightly further down…and lick his length from base to tip in one, wet stroke.

John throws his back and moans loudly, and you smirk.

“Now, don’t make any loud noises. Otherwise, I’ll have to stop this instance.”

His eyes snap back to you.

“Please…”

“Please what, Father?”

His chest is heaving.

“Please, don’t stop. I’ll be quiet.”

“Good.”

You take hold of the base of his cock and let your tongue swirl around the head, eliciting the sweetest little mewling sounds from the priest.

When you take him in your mouth and start pumping your hand slowly, his whole body trembles and the leather creaks again, louder this time.

You hum around his length as you bob your head up and down, knowing the vibrations and the sounds of you deriving pleasure from pleasuring him will drive him crazy.

When you start caressing his balls with your free hand, he groans anew, legs twitching, and you grab his cock a little harder. Working faster now, you push him to edge while he whimpers, sucking and licking at his length until a strangled “Please…” tumbles over his lips.

But you won’t give it to him, not just yet.

So, you go back and start from the top again, ignoring his desperate pleas as you kiss his face and his upper body, before lavishing attention on his cock again, continuously pulling him back from the brink whenever he gets too close.

When you finally decide to move things along, his eyes are so feral, you briefly wonder a) if the belt is enough to restrain him and b) if he’ll hesitate to kill you if it’s not.

You must be crazy too.

You straddle him, taking hold of his cock and rubbing it leisurely against your wet entrance. Beads of sweat are running down the side of the priest’s face, and he’s breathing through clenched teeth.

“Please…”

“Please what, Father?” You slip the tip of his cock into you, and his eyes roll back.

“Please, please…just let me come.” His voice is so hoarse it sounds more like a snarl.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you say, giving him a lascivious smile. You lift yourself away from his length again, and his hips thrust up helplessly.

“Maybe you’re right, maybe we should cool it for a bit. Let you calm down in peace, alone.” You move all the way off him.

His eyes go instantly wide.

“No! Please, y/n, don’t…”

You shake your head at him like a disapproving teacher and get out of bed.

“Now, Father, be good like you promised. I’ll come back at little later…”

He’s staring at you with wild disbelief as you grab your panties from the floor.

“Please, don’t leave me, not like this…” he’s begging, and there’s a darkness to his tone too, now. You may be pushing your luck.

“Sorry, I think it’s for your own good”.

You pretend to roam around to find your clothes but have to turn your back on him to hide your grin.

“Where did I put my…”

You don’t get to finish the sentence.

There’s a sound of wood breaking.

A change in the air as something moves across the room, fast.

Strong hands grip you from behind, and you shriek in surprise as you’re pulled back and practically thrown onto the old madras.

The springs squeak noisily as John follows and quickly flips you on your stomach, tearing your panties down and forcefully spreading your legs with his knee.

He grips your hips and pulls you up on all fours, and you cry out when he enters you roughly, burying his cock in you to the brim. A hand shoots out to grab your hair, and he leans over you as he starts to move, each hard thrust designed to nail you to the bed.

“I’ll have to punish you for that,” he growls in your ear, making you even wetter for him.

If such a thing was humanly possible.

“Yes…Father” is all you get out as he continues to fuck you so mercilessly, you can only moan and writhe under him.

“Good girl,” he gasps.

Then he reaches around your body and attacks your clit, and you realize he’s about to give you the same treatment, you afforded him.

Only knowing him and his stubbornness, he’ll drag it out for much, much longer… If he doesn’t accidentally murder you before you can come again.

----

It seems like hours later when you both lie panting on the bed.

You’re so utterly spent, you can barely lift your head, but John rolls onto his side and pulls you to him.

He kisses your ear, and you sigh blissfully, your back nestled snuggly against his chest.

“Were you really going to leave me here?”

You smile in the dark.

“Of course not, silly.”

Silence.

“Were you really going to kill me?”

“I don’t know.”

You shiver.

His arms tighten around you.

“I love you.”

---

Hope you enjoyed this and thank you for reading!

You can find my other Father Paul and John Tyler smut fics right here:

MASTERLIST

Also thank you a million to those of you who have liked, shared and commented ❤️ It means the world.

#father paul smut #father paul x reader #midnight mass #midnight mass fanfiction #hamish linklater #father paul #father paul hill #monsignor john pruitt #monsignor pruitt #father paul fanfiction #midnight mass smut #priest smut #hot priest of 2021 #catholic guilt #midnight mass netflix

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mediocre-writerr · 4 years

Text

don’t let me let you go [katherine pierce]

katherine pierce x fem reader

requested: Hi! Sorry, can I request a Katherine Pierce x Fem!Reader?

Maybe where reader is a powerful being, well since demons are real in that universe, maybe a fallen angel? Or something along those lines, and they met along somewhere where Kat was still on the run, so they like hooked up but Kat promises that they'll meet again soon and makes the reader promise that they should be safe as well?

And then years later they accidentally meet up at a party, started dating and Kat is actually soft when it comes to reader. Elena and the gang barge into Katherine and Reader doing something fluffy because they were actually hunting down Katherine since they think that Reader is her next victim or whatever.

Thank you in advance!

*not my gif*

So you left.

Katerina Petrova was how you knew her. Still know her at least, she hasn’t really left your mind since then.

And that was back in 1764.

You could feel what she was. She wasn’t human and her compelling tricks made no match for you. She was arrogant like most vampires were, but she slipped past all your defenses and fell in love with her, no matter how “wrong” it was back then.

“Lady Katerina Petrova, this is Lady Y/N Y/L/N. She’s the owner of the great estate. Her family actually passed recently in a terrible sunken ship, somehow Y/N survived.” one of your noblemen introduced the two of you, after you sensed she was a vampire.

She eyed you carefully and you just smiled at her. Before whispering a ‘thank you’ to the man. The two of you embarked into a formal conversation until you were the only ones left in the room.

“So what are you?” she asked, bluntly.

You chuckled softly, intrigued by the beautiful brunette, “You don’t skip the niceties now do you?” you asked.

“Niceties aren’t my thing,” she shrugged.

“Neither are they mine.”

You were snapped out of your vivid memory when Stefan waved his hand in front of you. You shook your head and he just laughed at you.

“I think they’re here.” he whispered. You and the rest of the gang were at Mystic Falls Grill waiting for Caroline to come back to introduce you to someone who has been blackmailing and torturing them for a couple years now.

You recently moved to Mystic Falls and Stefan felt how different you were compared to everyone else. So he confronted you just like every other supernatural you’ve met in the past how many years.

From there he introduced you to the rest of the gang: annoyingly arrogant, yet good looking brother Damon, pretty blonde Caroline, supernatural hunter, yet working with supernatural beings Alaric, selfless, doesnt get enough credit witch Bonnie, and lastly, the one who looked like a split image of the one who got away Elena.

They thought you’d be a great asset to them, seeing how you can see how/when someone dies and how any supernatural being can be killed. Just one of the perks of being a fallen angel. You reluctantly agreed to help them and they want to know your take on how to kill this person named Katherine Pierce.

You lifted up your head to see her. It wasn’t Elena, you knew that for a fact. Because Elena has been here the entire time. Her hair was in looser curls nowadays and her wardrobe certainly changed as well. But it suit her, the confident bold woman you knew, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans.

Her eyes landed on yours and she remained her natural composed self, “Katherine, this is Y/N Y/L/N, she just recently moved to Mystic Falls.”

“So what are you?” she asked, bluntly.

You chuckled softly, your first conversation popping back in your brain, “You don’t skip the niceties now do you?”

“Niceties aren’t my thing.” and you could tell she’s fighting back a smile of her own.

“Neither are they mine.”

After the rest of the day of Katherine picking fights with everyone, but you. You excused yourself to the bathroom while they were pressing Katherine for what she really wants here.

Memories flashed into your kind again causing you to become lost in thought as you washed your hands.

“Goodnight Katerina. Sleep well.” you said, formally at her doorway. You were about to turn back around when she called out after you.

“Y/N, come in please,” she said.

You smiled to yourself softly, as you made your way into her room. You closed the door behind you as you sat next to her on the foot of her bed.

“Do you mind helping me take this off? The zipper’s stuck and I suppose my arms don’t reach that far back,” she suggested.

She looked at you with pleading eyes and you nodded softly. Slowly, unzipping her zipper and you did what you thought you’d never do in your life. Be bold.

You kissed the bare skin that became exposed on her back. She turned her head to look back at you and you could see the lust filling her eyes. She stood up and you followed her movement as the dress fell to the floor like a puddle.

And that’s when she turned you around, repeating the same actions you took. The only thing left on the two of you were the corsets. She cupped your cheeks ever so slightly.

“Are you sure about this?” this was probably the first time you’ve ever seen her gently and soft-spoken, “You’re a very beautiful girl Y/N, many more suitors are worthy of your love. Much more better suitors with their name and money.”

You pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, savoring in the way she tastes. The way her lips were so soft against yours, “What I’ve learned in my entire lifetime on this Earth and being a fallen angel is that falling in love with someone is falling in love with their soul. Not their money or their name, their soul.”

Yet another comforting kiss was pressed to her lips, “And I never found that. Until you, Katerina.”

You thought you were alone as you watched your hands when you could feel a presence behind you. In the mirror you could see her leaning her back against a bathroom stall.

“It’s been a while,” she spoke up and you nodded.

“A few thousand years, give or take.” you joked and she chuckled along with you.

She took a step closer to you, tucking the hair to behind your ears. You mirrored her images, following a step forward. The two of you only a breath apart.

“You kept your promise?” she asked you, moving her hands to cup your cheek. As if she was trying to memorize every little feature. From the way your eyes lit up at the sight of her or the way you were melting under her touch.

It was the morning after you and Katerina expressed your feelings for one another. In a more untraditional, intimate kind of way.

She was singing you a soft song in another language, which you’re assuming is Bulgarian. And the usual confident girl was playing with your hair, looking at your beautiful sleeping figure. She didn’t want to wake you up, but she was unsure if any of the workers were looking for you.

Then there was the fact that she had to go. She didn’t want to leave you, but earlier that night her insight told her Klaus was coming. She had to get as far away as she possibly could. So she pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

Your eyes fluttered up, smiling at the girl in front of you. But then ultimately frowning when you saw the same frown on her face.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly.

“I must go Y/N. I’ve done things, things people don’t like. And they’re coming after me, so we must part ways. For my safety and yours.” she said and you look at her with eyebrows furrowed, “I promise you Y/N, the only I want right now is to lay here with you. Compel all these people and live our immortal lives, but I need to go.”

“Katerina, no,” your voice barely above a whisper.

She kissed your forehead, then your cheeks, the top of your nose, and finally your lips, “I promise you, I’ll find you one day. We’ll be together. But you need to promise me to stay safe. I would like you to be alive and well and waiting for me when I return.”

You didn’t know where this path would lead you. Every other path looked so certain, but this one was blurry. Yet, you nodded, “I promise, I’ll wait forever for you.”

“I did. I’d wait forever for you Katerina.”

She wrapped your arms around you and you did the same, holding the slightly taller girl closer to you. Relishing in the feeling of her touch, something you haven’t felt in thousands of years.

She swayed the two of you back and forth, “How about we go to the place I’m staying at?”

“Right now?” youvasked and she just hummed in response, “Let’s go.”

It probably wasn’t the best idea for you to not answer your phone when you left or to give them a heads up that you were heading home. But the gang became worried when you didn’t come back from the bathroom and Katherine disappeared as well.

But you were fine. You were just in a state of bliss. The way the two of you were just cuddled up in bed. Your head resting on her chest as she just held you, playing with the soft strands of your hair.

You began to fall asleep as she sang you the same Bulgarian song she once sang. Your eyes closed as you focused on her heartbeat and soothing voice.

Until someone came barging in through the door. Your eyes shot back open and the gang was standing there waiting to fight. Except for Bonnie who was shocked at what she was witnessing

Katherine groaned, “Can you all just go away? She’s not in any harm, I swear.”

“Wait. How do you know each other?” Alaric asked.

You knew she would handle this so you just continued to keep lying in the spot without saying a word, “We’ve met before, long before the two of you.” she pointed at the two brother.

“So are you two a thing?” Caroline asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

And you finally spoke up, “Yeah. We promised to wait for each other until we could actually meet again.”

“But she’s an actual bitch!” Damon exclaimed.

“Maybe in your eyes, Damon. But Katerina has a strong beautiful soul who has lost many things. I’m very willing to give all my love to her.” you told them.

All of them looked skeptic like she just compelled you. Until Bonnie finally spoke up, “Whatever you do Y/N, we’ll respect your decisions,” she said and you smiled at her gratefully.

Stefan took a few steps closer, “You hurt her in any way, I will not hesitate to stake you in the heart myself.”

Katerina didn’t say anything. All she did was stare right back at Stefan, “Can you guys please go now? You’re making the room smell like some weird stench.” The gang left much to Damon’s hesitation, “Now where were we?”

You got comfortable again in her strong embrace. She smiled at you softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, as she returned to sing the Bulgarian song.

“I love you, my Katerina.” you mumbled, lazily as your eyes fell close.

So you missed the wide smile that formed onto her face and the way her whole eyes were lit up. She hugged you back, tighter than ever, “And I love you, my beautiful soul.”

#the vampire diaries imagines #the vampire diaries #katherine pierce imagine #katherine pierce x reader #katherine pierce

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thefallennightmare · 4 years

Text

Amnesia

Pairings: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Words: 2551

Warnings: A few swears, ANGST(lets be real, what else is new?), and some fluff.

Summary Request: Sebastian and reader broke up like a year ago and one day she receives a call from the hospital and they tell her that Seb had an accident and she’s still his emergency contact so she goes to see him because she still loves him. And when he wakes up he has amnesia and he doesn’t remember they broke up, so he thinks they’re still together and the doctors tell her she has to play along because telling him the truth can be damage for his brain and he has to remember on his own?

A/N: Here is the very long awaited request someone sent in. I’m so incredibly sorry this took SO LONG to write but life got away from me. I really hope you like it and it was well worth the wait.

The double doors in front of me opened with a breeze as I quickly walked up to the small lady behind the front desk. She was chatting with another girl but the conversation immediately ceased when I walked up.

“Hi, can I help you?” Her tired voice asked.

Guilt raked me when I realized exactly how late it was but knew that this was normal for them.

“Uh, my name is Y/N Y/LN. I got a call from Dr. Stone that someone was admitted to the emergency room,” I stuttered over a few of my words.

“Can I have the patient's name?” The nurse clicked at her computer.

“Sebastian Stan.”

I hadn't muttered that name in so long that it sounded so foreign on my lips.

The nurse's ears perked up and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m going to need to see some I.D.”

Muttering some not so nice things under my breath, I slid my I.D over to her and smirked in triumph. “Can I go see him now?”

“Room 5 on the right,” she nodded behind the desk, where the doors to the emergency room opened.

A large breath left my lips as I slowly walked towards the room, preparing myself for what I was about to see. The phone call I received said that he had fallen while doing a stunt, hitting his head hard on the mat below him. Thankfully he wasn’t severely injured but what worried me was what the doctor had stressed on the phone.

He thinks it is April of 2019.

That was over a year ago.

He had amnesia but the doctor was very optimistic that it was temporary and that he would remember everything soon; I needed to be the one to help him with it.

“Y/N?”

My feet came to a halt at the deep voice behind me and I gave the man in a leather jacket a soft smile. “Hey Anthony. How is he?”

Mackie smiled. “He’s good, all things considered. He still thinks it's April of last year.”

“So he thinks?” I trailed off.

Anthony nodded. “The docs think it’s going to help him if you play along, pretend you two are still together.”

I let out a soft sigh. “I don’t think I can, Mack. We exactly didn’t have the easiest break up.”

“I know but anything to help him get better, right?”

I nodded, agreeing, and with a quick hug goodbye to Anthony, I entered the room trying to ignore the doubts that filled my mind.

He laid in his bed, the T.V in the corner playing a soft tune of FRIENDS reruns but his eyes weren’t watching it; they were trained on me.

“Hey babe, I was wondering when you would get here.” He went to sit up in bed but hissed in pain.

“Seb, relax. You don’t need to sit up, you should be relaxing,” I chastised him.

Pulling the chair next to his bed, I sat down and hesitated before taking his extended hand. His hair was much poofier than I remembered and the amount of grey hair in his beard had doubled. The bags under his eyes were deeper than the last time I had seen him, his work schedule weighing him down.

“What happened?” I questioned.

Sebastian squeezed my hand. “I fell while doing a stunt. Doctors said I smacked my head really good.”

“Did they say when you could leave?” I asked.

“Tonight. They suggested that you watch me closely, in case I do have a concussion.”

My heart sank. We had to spend the night together?

Biting my lip, I quickly nod. “Of course, Seb.”

Silence fell between us and it took him a second to notice something was wrong.

“Are you okay?,” he questioned while lifting my gaze to meet him. “You seem distant.”

Swallowing the large lump in my throat, I tried my best to reassure him with a nod. “Yeah, I was worried about you, that’s all.”

My heart hammered in my chest when I felt his soft lips graze across my forehead. “I’m okay, babe. I’ll be even better when we're back home in bed.”

I felt my body stiffen at that thought of us in bed together. How could I play it off that we were still together and in love when truthfully, we should hate each other? We broke up over a year ago and it was the nastiest one I had ever experienced.

We hadn’t spoken one word to each other since that night but I couldn’t help but feel warmth fill my heart knowing I was still his emergency contact.

Tonight was going to be fun.

“Need anything else, Seb?” I questioned after getting him set in bed.

The flat we used to share looked exactly the same, as if I never left. The clean pile of clothes still had a permanent residence on the large grey chair in the corner of the room; Seb never having the time to put them away.

The light from the moon still cascaded it’s way through the bay window, causing beautiful shadows across the hardwood floor and across Seb’s face.

“Just you in bed with me,” Seb gave me a cheeky grin.

I couldn’t help to mirror it before nodding. “Give me a few minutes, I want to freshen up before bed.”

Eyes followed my every movement as I rummaged through the dresser drawers, remembering where Seb kept his shirts and sweats. My body froze when I saw the picture that sat upon the dresser. It was one of us when we were vacationing in Greece and we were standing in front of the Acropolis.

I couldn't help but pick it up, smiling at the fond memory.

“We should go again,” Sebastian's voice said from behind me.

I nodded. “It was a great trip, wasn't it?”

Tears brimmed at my eyes but before he could say anything about it, I scurried into the master bath, letting the door quickly shut behind me. While I freshened up, I tried everything to not let this whole situation bother me.

How could I pretend to still be with Sebastian, knowing what I know. There was a point, long ago, that we were happy. We loved each other, more than anyone knew, but the love wasn’t enough for the doubt that weighed us down.

“Y/N?”

A soft knock tapped against the door.

With a quick sniffle and wiping away my tears, I quickly opened the bathroom door. “You okay?”

Sebastian looked at me with a worried look. “Were you crying?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m fine.”

“You shut the door. You never shut the door,” Sebastian noted.

“Oh,” my fingers gripped the dark wood, forgetting that I always used to keep the bathroom door open when we lived together.

Sebastian's fingers laced with my own and with a gentle tug, I followed him to the bed. Before I knew it, my head was on his chest and his strong fingers raked through my hair. The familiar feeling made my stomach flip and I bit my lip, hoping the tears didn’t force their way out.

“I know you were scared from my accident today but I promise babe, I’m okay.” Seb’s soft voice comforted me.

No words were finding their way through my throat so all I could do was nod. I allowed myself to look in his gorgeous green eyes and with one quick look, I told myself that this was going to hurt like hell when this was all over.

Just like it did when we broke up.

The domestic bliss found its way between us and I allowed myself to melt into his embrace. My finger traced circles on his bare chest while he rubbed my back.

“You know what I noticed,” Seb’s voice spoke.

“Hmm?”

“You haven’t given me one kiss tonight,” He pouted.

My body froze in his embrace and he immediately noticed. I sat up in bed while Seb reluctantly let me go.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” I cried while getting out of bed and starting to collect my things.

“Y/N, what is going on?” Sebastian questioned.

“You honestly don’t remember anything?” I asked after taking a quick pause while putting on my shoes.

When he shook his head, I couldn’t stop the word vomit that spit out of my mouth.

“We broke up, Seb! Over a year ago!”

He shook his head. “What?”

Pinching my eyes together, I let out a large sigh. “The doctors said you had amnesia and the last thing you remembered was April of last year. We broke up last July.”

“I’m confused. Then why are you here?”

“The doctors thought it would be best if I played along, to help you remember on your own but I can’t do it anymore. Knowing how we broke up and why; I can’t pretend that we are in love when you actually don't anymore.”

I could see in Sebastian’s eyes that he still wasn’t believing what I was saying so I pulled out my phone, letting a voicemail play on speaker.

“Y/N, I know that we’re not in the same city right now and this is a terrible way to do this but I can’t do it anymore. We’ve been apart for almost a month now and I’ve come to realize that I can’t keep stringing you along. I need time to grow and focus on my career, I can’t have someone waiting for me back home when I don’t even know when the next time I would be coming home. It’s not fair to you to wait for me; for someone that can’t keep his promises. I’ll be home next month so that gives you time to move out. I’m sorry.”

Silence fell throughout the flat, the sudden look of remembrance flashing across Sebastian’s face.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed. “I remember.”

“You broke up with me with a fucking voicemail. A three year relationship ended with a goddamn voicemail!” I yelled.

“I was scared,” Seb defended.

My eyes doubled with anger. “Don’t give me that bullshit again, Seb. We went through this already. I just want to get my things and go home.”

I went to run down the stairs away from him but he stepped in front of me, stopping me.

“I never meant to hurt you, Y/N. It wasn’t fair to you for me stringing you along. I was only thinking of you.”

“Give me a break, Sebastian! You broke up with me then a week later you were seen with some blonde chick!” I yelled.

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair and his shoulders fell. “It wasn’t what the media made it seem like.”

“Did you sleep with her?” I asked, the same question that I had asked him the last time I saw him.

“No,” Seb answered without hesitation.

The same answer he gave me last time.

“I can’t keep having the same fight, Seb. It’s exhausting. I was finally in a good place with myself. I was getting over you then got a phone call telling me you had an accident. My world stopped. I thought you were seriously hurt, Sebastian. The second I saw you, all those feelings came back.”

He stuffed his hands deep in his sweat pockets and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N.”

“Do you think we could ever go back to how we used to be?” I asked.

This time, Sebastian hesitated. “I don’t know. My brain is still so fucked from my fall today. It’s hard remembering some things.”

I nodded, reluctantly getting my things together before walking away. “Let me know when you do know, Seb.”

The same heartbreak I felt a year ago resurfaced as I realized that Sebastian was letting me walk out of his apartment and out of his life; again.

My T.V played a soft tune in the background as I browsed through my phone, trying to let another boring day pass. My fingers had a mind of their own as I typed away a certain username on Instagram, wanting to know what he was up to.

Nothing new.

No posts or stories.

Sebastian had been M.I.A on instagram for over a month now, since before his accident.

And since the last time we had seen each other.

We both had no contact with each other, not knowing where we stood. Or even in there was something between us to hold us together. I knew it in my heart that even though how we ended was terrible, I still wanted to be with Sebastian. I wanted to be like how we used to be but there was a doubt lingering in my mind; would he want the same? Would he even feel the same?

The clock on the wall struck midnight, the chimes sounded loud bouncing off the walls of my small apartment.

A soft groan left my lips as I stood up and started making my way towards my bedroom, however, a persistent knock on the door locked my feet in place.

My eyes darted to the bat that laid against the wall next to the door. Who was at my door in the middle of the night?

“Y/N?”

His deep but yet soft voice immediately eased my fear. Before I could even second guess my decision, I found myself opening the door.

Sebastian stood in front of me, his hair way more fluffier than the last time I saw him. The stubble on his face had grown in and I smiled at the few grey hairs peeking its way through. He looked distraught, his thoughts keeping himself up the last few nights.

He let out a few deep sighs, hesitating a few times, something deep on his mind.

We both stared at each other for a few moments, the lust and love that we felt when we were together clouding around us. It encased us in our own bubble and without a second thought, Sebastian was crossing the threshold attacking my lips with his own.

My hands gripped his hips while his own found their way through my hair, gently pulling on the roots. The kiss was one of those ‘hungry, teeth smacking, and lip biting’ kisses; the kind that made your head spin and insides melt.

Reluctantly, we broke apart to take a breath but not before Seb placed another chaste kiss on my lips.

“I know the way I ended things was a dick move and I should have broken up with you in person.”

My vision was still blurry from the kiss so all I could do was nod.

“If you still want me, I’m here. If you want me out of your life for good, just say the word and I’m gone. But if that kiss means anything to you as it did to me, I know that I’m right where I need to be.”

“Lock the door,” I mumbled against his lips. “We have a year of catching up to do.”

My giggles sounded throughout the apartment when I felt Seb toss me over his shoulder, carrying me up the stairs towards my bedroom.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan and reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan and y/n #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan angst #sebastian stan fanfiction #reader insert

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fanmoose12 · 3 years

Text

It's been a long, exhausting day, and Hange is happy to finally come home. She shrugs her jacket off, throwing it haphazardly somewhere in the vicinity of the clothes rack, kicks off her shoes and stumbles inside the living room.

Something lies on a coffee table - she doesn't remember putting anything, more than that, she's pretty sure she tried to clean up the apartment the other day, so the presence of an object is exciting. Hange skips to it, greedily snatching it in her arms.

It's a book - The Hobbit, or There and Back Again. Hange read it, of course, many, many times during her high school and university years. She has a copy somewhere on a bookshelf too, but this is copy is so much nicer. It's not exactly new, but the book is leather bound, and as Hange opens it, she lets a sign of reverence - inside there are plenty of illustrations - beautiful, majestic drawings that seem to come alive right underneath her fingertips.

One picture in particular, the one with Gandalf and Bilbo makes her chuckle in delight. She closes the book and holds it close to her chest for a second, and then she travels into her bedroom to put it on a shelf, on the most prominent place, where it would attract attention of anyone who comes in.

"Thank you!" she yells into the open window.

She doesn't know if anyone listens - she really hopes no one does (she possesses some preservation skills, thank you very much, Moblit) - but it never hurts to be polite. Especially to the one who showers her with so much gorgeous gifts.

This - the mysterious apparitions of new things inside her home - started recently, two months ago. A mysterious gifter started breaking into her apartment and leaving various gifts throughout her home. Sometimes they're endearing - like that book she just received and that geranium that now stands on a windowsill. Sometimes they're useful - like that time, for example, when she forgot to buy something for her cat and almost started running to the closest store only to find a can of cat food that was so much more expensive (and probably much more delicious) than she could ever afford. And sometimes the gifts are straight up weird. One time she came home and found an extremely detailed replica of a human's scull. If that was, indeed, a replica.

Nababa then joked that she's been targeted by a serial killer.

A secret admirer, Mike had cooed right after, with a dreamy smile hidden by his moustache.

A stalker, Moblit had grimly concluded, watching Hange with unconcealed worry.

He didn't stop there, too, and out of the kindness of his heart, offered Hange to help her find the identity of the mysterious gifter (or stalker, as Moblit was adamant to call him).

Of course, Hange, fueled by her endless curiousity and even bigger desire to thank that very kind person, agreed instantly. That agreement led to both of them, couped up in her apartment, lying on a couch with more takeout food that they could possibly eat and a lengthy marathon of Lord of The Rings and Harry Potter.

They spent two days not moving from that extremely comfy couch. And the only person who came to her apartment was the delivery guy.

Moblit didn't stop so easily, though. Hange was actually impressed and proud of his determination. When she first met Moblit, he was such a sweet, soft-spoken boy who sometimes got too shy to order at McDonald's. But now he grew up in a resolute, strong man with a big, caring heart.

It's his determination and overprotectiveness that Hange blames for that afternoon when he decided to set up cameras all over her apartment.

They disappeared the very next day.

Moblit didn't wish to give up even then, threatened to watch her apartment from the other side of the street, staring at her window with the help of binoculars, but Hange managed to convince him that it really wasn't that necessary.

After all, the mysterious gifter never tried to harm her. And, well, she's not quite the romantic that Nifa is, and certainly not as romantic as Mike, but- she finds it all extremely endearing. Every time she comes home, no matter how shitty her day has been, and finds a new gift waiting for her, her heart swells and her lips curl in a smile so wide, her face might just break one day.

Of course, she wishes to know the face and name of her admirer (if that indeed who they are, and she is the one who is right, and not Moblit), but she also admits that not knowing... is pretty exciting too. It's so unusual, so romantic, she feels like she lives through a fairytale or a shitty love story.

And it gives her something to munch on, except boring work stuff. Sometimes she indulges in that a little too much, trying to decipher who from her tight circle of acquaintances can be her secret admirer.

Moblit's candidature is the first one to go. Giving his apparent and very loud aversion to the mysterious gifter, he, of course, might just be the very first suspect. But Moblit is the worst liar Hange has ever seen, so she rules him out without a second thought.

Erwin is a definite no as well, he's too busy to indulge in something like that. Besides, he's too straightforward, and even if he wanted something to happen (and wouldn't that be so much fun!), he most probably would have just said so, without resorting to make Hange feel like she's a love interest from those books Mike always reads during his lunch breaks.

Speaking of Mike, he and Nanaba are out of equation too, since Hange has already received an invitation to their wedding.

Hange thinks (hopes) that it's Pieck, a girl she's been hopelessly crushing on since forever, but even she is not so much out of touch with reality to believe that Pieck Finger herself has deigned to shower her with so much affection. The girl is a sweetheart, just not when it comes to Hange, for some reason.

Then there's a matter of Zeke Yeager, who probably, maybe, kind of has a crush on her. At least, that's what he says every time they stumble upon each other. But Hange is not naive enough (thank you very much again, Moblit) to think that his feelings are genuine. Even if they were, Zeke is too arrogant and self-affected to pay so much attention to someone who isn't him.

Of course, there is also Onyakopon. Sweet, funny and very handsome Onyakopon, another one of her assistants. Hange doesn't think it's him either. He's too orderly and straightlaced to endeavor a stunt like that.

There is another suspect, though, one Hange doesn't even fully believe is real.

There was... a guy Hange met in the back alley. It was Friday night, and, as tradition had it, she, Erwin and Mike were having fun at the bar, drinking beer and trading stories about their work days. Hange had walked out to get some fresh air, when she spotted him - a guy probably her age, trembling on his hands and knees with a pool of blood already forming beneath him. Hange - as one should (as one crazy person should, Moblit would have corrected) - hurried to him.

His eyes were unfocused and his face was covered in bruises. He flinched from her touch, almost violently so, reminding Hange of a scared, wounded animal.

She raised up her hands and swore that she only had good intentions.

After a second of just staring at her, the guy relaxed, staggering into her arms.

He didn't tell her his name, didn't explain what happened, only kept repeating "no hospital". So Hange dragged him upwards, swinged his arm over her shoulder and together they stumbled in the direction of her apartment.

Their journey was accompanied by the man's pained gasps and hisses and Moblit's voice inside her head that kept chanting "what the hell are you doing Hange, this man can be a criminal, he can be a thief or a murderer, or a part of the mafia, which means that he's both".

Hange ignored it just as she always did. Moblit was a wise man with a sound mind, but, even though, she was the first to admit and praise his thoughtfulness, Hange never listened to him. It made their relationship more interesting, it made them unique.

Once they tumbled through her front door, Hange almost losing hold of her precious and very hurt charge, she deposited him on her very comfy couch and, making sure that the man stayed put (he didn't need much convincing, could barely turn his head in the direction of her voice), she ran to get the first aid kit.

She hurried back to him and, after taking off his shirt, she learnt that the covered in blood stranger was also extremely ripped.

And, more importantly (Hange, focus!) covered in blood, so much blood, Hange nearly threw up. But beat up or not, she guessed that the stranger wouldn't enjoy it if he suddenly became covered not only in blood, but in her vomit as well. He didn't seem to be that kind of freak.

So Hange tore her eyes away from those abs and focused them on the bruises that bloomed on the left side of his stomach, at the edge of his hip and up on his collarbone. The wide cut that ran down his right side made her doubt her own abilities, she almost reached out for the phone, but then a strong hand curled around her wrist, forcing her to shift her eyes up to his face.

"No hospital," he repeated, his voice raspy like two stones shifting against each other. "Please," he added, when the doubt refused to leave her features.

Hange faltered for a moment more, before surrendering with a heavy sigh. "You brought this on yourself then," she muttered, as she set out to work.

Her hands trembled and her lips quivered every time the man under her gasped or took an overly sharp intake of breath.

He didn't speak though, didn't even curse at her, so Hange decided to take this task upon herself and fill the silence with her own voice.

At first, she talked about herself and work, but then, as she moved from cleaning his wounds to stitching them, her ramblings came in in earnest. She talked and talked, sharing every interesting fact she had ever heard or read.

The man didn't answer, but whenever she looked in his eyes, he looked right back.

His gaze, even basked in pain, set her heart aflame.

But then Hange finished, put a blanket over her patient, gave him her favorite pillow and went to her own bed, exhausted beyond words.

And when she woke up, there was no sign of him. Nothing in her apartment was even able to hint that another person had spent the night there.

Even her couch, which, as she clearly remembered, the guy had bled out on, was now spotless.

Well, not completely spotless. There was a wet stain as though... as though somebody had tried to clean it.

The revelation drove her to laughter.

She wasn't sure how that man could have not only walk out of her apartment without bleeding out to death, but also clean her damn couch, but she was fairly sure he was relatively alright.

She hoped so, at least.

Writing the night's incident as nothing more than, well, a weird accident, she proceeded with her day.

And a week later - the first gift came.

And, maybe, just maybe, it is a coincidence (Hange doesn't believe in such thing, though, she's a scientist, goddamn it), but a part of her hopes the gifts come from that man. She also hopes, perhaps, foolishly so, that she would see him again.

***

It's been extremely long, but surprisingly - because Mike has been nagging her with his wedding preparations and wondering who she would bring as a plus one - unproductive shift. Hange enters her apartment with a tired sigh, wondering if there is a gift at her coffee table that will make it all better.

After kicking off her shoes, the first thing she does is check the coffee table. There is no gift there.

Instead - there is a girl sitting on top of it.

Hange blinks, beyond confused, lifts her glasses and rubs at her eyes. The girl doesn't disappear.

Instead she turns to her, squealing loudly.

"You finally came! We've been waiting here all day!"

Hange numbly nods, and when her brain that works at a sluggish pace registers that the girl said "we", her arm starts reaching out to the baseball bat she keeps in her closet.

"She's pretty," the girl says to someone, turning her head to the side. "Although, doesn't look like an angel with eyes deep as an ocean."

"You forget that he was on painkillers when he said that," that someone scoffs. "And he also said that the eyes looked like ocean of shit, so, really, Levi isn't the best poet."

Levi? An angel? Ocean of shit?

What the hell are those people talking about? And, more importantly, what the hell are they doing inside her apartment?

Hange touches the handle of a bat, her fingers are curled around the hilt when the girl turns back to her.

"Hi!" she waves and the outstretches her hand, tugging at someone's sleeve. A guy comes into Hange's view - tall and lanky, with short light hair. He waves at her too and curls up his lips, although his smile isn't nearly as bright as his friend's.

"Hello," Hange answers slowly, heart hammering in her chest. So this is it? She really is going to die? She wonders if the bat can save her. There are two of them and they got inside her apartment without any sign of forced entry. They're clearly very skillful. And, possibly, more deadly that her bat could ever hope to become.

"What are you doing in my apartment?" she asks it tentatively, careful not to provoke them.

"We came to say hi!" the girl's smile grows even wider. She bobs her head from side to side, her pigtails swinging in the air. If the situation had been at least a little bit different, Hange would have found her endearing. Maybe, even offered her the candies she always keeps in the pocket of her jacket.

"We won't harm you," the guy says, rising his hands to prove that he's unarmed. "We just want to talk."

"And ask you for a favor!" the girl adds in a singing voice.

"A f-favor?" Hange shifts her gaze from one intruder to another, thinking if maybe she should call the police? She will, she decides. But after she hears what favor they need from her.

Your curiosity will be the end of you, Hange, Moblit's voice chides in her head.

"You know about the gifts, right?" the guy wonders.

Hange nods. "The one that always appear on a coffee table."

The duo frown.

"You didn't check the closet?" the girl asks.

"And under your bed?" the guy adds.

"Um..." Hange scratches her neck, feeling it warm up under their confused stares. "I'll go check there right now."

"No!" the girl surges forward, seizing her hand. Hange tenses immediately, thoughts "they're going to kill me, this is it, I'm going to die" racing through her.

But then nothing happens, and the girl even steps back when she notes Hange's discomfort.

"We just want you to meet someone," she says, and her sweet voice coupled with those adorable puppy eyed look make Hange resolve crumble.

Your kindness and immense trust in people would get you killed someday too, Moblit scolds her again.

"We just need to take some precautions, if you don't mind," the guy speaks up. Hange's throat closes up when he takes out a white handkerchief. "But you will be safe, I promise."

You're going to get kidnapped and then killed, Moblit continues to nag, and then I'm going to come to your funeral, stand over your grave and say I told you so.

Hange ignores the voice in her head the same way she usually ignores Moblit's warnings at work. She nods again, and then the guy comes behind her and takes off her glasses, wrapping the handkerchief around her eyes.

"You guys are into really kinky stuff?" she jokes as he starts pushing her forward.

The girl at her side snickers. The guy groans, muttering, "God, you'll make a great pair."

***

Thankfully, they take the handkerchief off before pushing her through the door of some old, battered up building. The floors are creaky and the windows are shattered in some places, but the building is clean.

Exceptionally clean, much better than her apartment.

The gears in her head start turning, as Hange remembers a stranger who scrubbed out a blood stain from her couch while probably still bleeding. The suspicions continue to grow when the guy - Farlan, he introduced himself on their way there - leads her to a room upstairs.

Inside stands a couch, nearly not as comfy as hers, and an old, grainy TV. On a floor next to it sits a guy. He wears a grey t-shirt, so his abs are not on display this time, but Hange recognises the stranger she saved right off the bat.

She wants to exclaim "you!" and point a very accusing finger at him, but he beats her to it.

"Isabel," he narrows his eyes, staring the girl down. She stares back, unflinching, her smile sweet like a candy. "Farlan," he turns to him, his gaze even darker.

"Saw her standing at our entrance," Farlan explains, overly flippant. "Says she wanted to meet ya."

"We'll leave you to it!" Isabel chirps, giving Hange's hand a quick squeeze and then turning around.

"R-right," Farlan starts moving too. "Izzy and I forgot to buy groceries. Have fun, Levi!"

The door after them closes with a loud bang, and suddenly Hange is alone with a guy who possibly (she didn't prove it yet) spent the last months breaking into her apartment and leaving gifts not only on a coffee table, but inside a closet and under the bed as well.

"So," she begins, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. Perhaps, the tension wouldn't be so unbearable if the guy - Levi - stopped staring at her so intently. "You've been giving me all these gifts?"

"Kinda," he admits, and breathing comes a little bit easier when he turns his gaze downwards.

Although, Hange notes with a sort of sobering bewilderment, his eyes are really, really nice, and she really wants to see more of them.

"You know that's really creepy?" she asks, delighting in the way his shoulders tense. "You made my friend worry."

"That idiot?" Levi lets a tch sound. "The one with the shitty cameras? Almost got caught by that fucker."

"So why did you go through all that trouble?"

"Just wanted to thank you," he mumbles. "For saving my life back then."

"Could have just said so," Hange advises. She takes a pause - a long one - to prepare him for her next words. Truth be told, she needs to prepare for it too. "You could have asked me out on a date too."

He looks up so quickly, Hange wants to laugh. She wants to, but she can't, because there is a lump in her throat that would only disappear after Levi gives her an answer.

He holds her gaze for a long, long time. Hange feels like she can't breathe, and she thinks Levi is doing that on purpose. Maybe, it's a payback for her earlier teasing.

"There is a waffle house around the corner," he jerks his thumb in the general direction. "It's not as nice as the one next to your house, but if you want-"

"I do," Hange cuts him off, and then laughs at his surprised expression. "I wanted to ever since I found you that night," she admits softly.

"When I was bleeding out on a street?" he asks incredulously. "You're a freak, four-year."

"Oh please," Hange rolls her eyes, playfully punching his arm. "You're the one to talk. Eyes as deep as the ocean of shit?" she quotes.

Levi's ears catch fire. "I told them to never bring that up," he mutters, his fists clenching.

"It's kinda cute, if I'm being honest," Hange confesses, grinning at Levi. "Not exactly flattering, but certainly creative."

"God," he groans again. "Are you always that insufferable?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Good," Levi murmurs.

Hange's heart flutters and she reaches out for his hand, holding it in hers and intertwining their fingers. Levi - in a stark contrast to the their first meeting - lets her.

They start walking, still hand in hand, and Hange feels like the main character from the love stories Mike likes to read so much.

Levi looks up at her with a faint smile on his lips, and Hange feels like her grand romantic adventure has just began.

#/comes back after several days of no activity not to post any of my wips but give you THIS/#whatever this is lmao #levihan

143 notes · View notes

hcrringtonshair · 3 years

Text

See My Girl

Sam Wilson x Reader

Summary: You follow Sam & Bucky and Zemo to Madripoor to see your boyfriend after a, for you, too long time.

Word Count: 1851

Warnings: bad smut without plot, unprotected sex, dirty talk (+18 readers only please!)

A/N: I'm seriously nervous to post this. It's my first time posting smut. It's my first try! So it's kinda bad, I'm thankful for every advice from you if you tell me what I could do better! A huge thank you to@nobody-but-somebody-yet-nobody for beta reading this and making me feel confident about it! <3

Masterlist

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The crowded room was filled with music, sticky air, glasses clinking, people laughing and chatting loudly. A view down on the display of your phone, that showed a new text message, muted the loud ambiance around you. Nervous because of the unknown, dangerous place where you have followed Sam and Bucky, you empty the glass of whiskey in your hands, ignoring the burning taste of it going down your throat. You take a step away from the bar and see the people you have been waiting for.

It seemed as though the crowd split only for them as they walked through straight in your direction.

The upper class of Madripoor was curious about new faces, so their eyes followed the movements of the incomes, just like yours. Casually, your eyes ran up and down their bodies, stopping at the face of the man who came closer than the other two, “Gentlemen.” You nod to Bucky and Zemo with a polite smile before looking back at Sam who is now nearly chest to chest with you.

“Thought you wouldn’t make it. Did Sharon save you like the rumors said?”, you ask with a smirk. In the darkroom with colorful lights shooting through the air wildly, his eyes seem nearly black as he looks down on you, checking out the, for you, unusual choice of clothing.

“Would I ever fail when I have the opportunity to see my girl?” If he hadn't spoken directly into your ear, you wouldn’t be able to understand a single word of his low voice. Your eyes switch back to see only an empty space where Bucky and Zemo had stood only seconds before.

“I don’t think so. It has been a few weeks now.” You click your tongue as you look back into the eyes in front of you. The dark blue spotlights give his face contours and you couldn’t hesitate to bite your bottom lip at this view. His hands travel over your hips and waist, causing shivers to run down your spine. The world around you was far away and only you and Sam were in a bubble with up heating air.

“Bet you’re thirsty. I’ll get you a drink.” In his hands, you turn around to lean forward, resting the elbows on the glass counter, and feel Sam pressing himself against your back. A bright grin lights up your face as his fingertips trail over your ass.

Turning back with two glasses of whiskey in your hands, his hot breath hit your cheeks.

“You look damn awesome as always. Even better than I imagined.”

Even though he had emptied his glass in one go, his voice was still rough.

“How did you imagine me?”, you say as you down the glass just like he did and place it on the counter with a loud clunk.

“That‘s not important now after I saw this.” His eyes leave yours for a second to wander over your chest.

“I bet it will be even better without this.” He pulls a strap of the dress off your shoulder. Without an answer, you grab the hand that lies on you and take him with you through the party crowd.

You hear the voice of Bucky, questioning where you were about to go, but you wouldn’t stop for him. Of course, Sam keeps up with you and with fast steps, you both enter the glass stairs. Excitement is building up in your stomach and only his strong hand holding yours keeps you from falling because of your shaky legs. The heels clicking on the Marmor floor is soon the loudest noise in the empty private area of the house.

In the dim light you find the door to your room, Sharon has been nice enough to allow you to stay for a couple of nights while you were in the city. Sam hasn’t said a word since you both left the bar and you kept up with that until the door was shut.

“Damn Babygirl you know how to drive me crazy.” His hand slaps your ass loudly before he cups your face and kisses you until you are out of breath. You bite into his bottom lip and wrap your arms around his neck, causing him to grunt satisfyingly which is enough to get your pants wet.

“I’m done with waiting”, he mumbles to himself and lifts you up directly onto him. He peppers your neck with kisses, gently biting into the soft skin causing you to moan softly with your eyes shut. As he walks across the room, with you in his strong heavy arms, you feel him hardening against your already soaked underwear, letting you moan even louder.

The cold duvets make you shiver even more as he lays you down on the bed kneeling over you. “Look at you.” He continues covering your body with kisses, by trailing up your angled legs, slowly parting them. Your dress slides up your thighs, ending up on your stomach, letting Sam hum in approval by the view of your exposed lower body. With fast movements he straightens himself and you up, pulling the dress over your head leaving you only in your slip as you lay back.

“Fuck what a sight. God, I missed these.”

You weren’t able to answer properly, a satisfied sigh left your throat followed by louder moans as his hand covers your left boob and his mouth touches your right one. You rub your hot core against his thigh between your legs and he slightly laughs but doesn't stop circling your nipple with his tongue. “It’s all for you”, your breath comes out shaky when he leaves your chest to straighten up again. You look up at him, watching how he pulls off his leather jacket and pullover in swift fast movements, moaning at the sight of his bare chest making you even wetter.

“You like what you see huh?” His mouth turns into a cheeky smile as he continues to remove his belt and trousers. Pouting, you grab his hand to stop him and guide them to your panties, and let him slip inside. You both moan in satisfaction as his tender fingers move between your folds.

“Who made you that wet baby? Tell me.”

Distracted by his moving fingers you lift your back, previously pressed to the bed, into his touch. “You”, more moans fill the room as he easily slips inside of you. “Only you make me this wet Sam. Only thinking about you makes my pussy this wet.” You cry out in frustration as he leaves you and leans back to pull off your panties before throwing them across the room.

“Right.”

He starts trailing kisses down your uplifted leg, which he still holds in one hand, before burying his face in between your thigh.

His tongue touches your throbbing folds, slowly licking up all the juices making you scream out in pleasure before one finger enters you again.

He growls against your pussy while continuing licking and the vibrations let you start to grind against his mouth. As he adds a second finger your hands shoot up, covering your boobs massaging them and you stare at the top of his head.

Fascinated by the view, stitches form in your stomach, slowly building up your orgasm as he flicks his tongue right. “Oh god- fuck Sammy I’m so close, I-“ He fastens the pace of his fingers pumping in and out of you, so do you with your hips moving against them. “C’mon let go babygirl. Cum for me.” His head goes up far enough for him to look at your face.

His eyes lock with yours make you reach your high and under his intoxicating gaze, you come hard.

You shut your eyes as the orgasm rushes over you, accompanied by high-pitched moans and whimpers. He continues to lick over your sensitive skin, cleaning it up before lifting himself up reaching out for you. Your mouth meets his and you taste yourself on his lips.

“You are delicious baby.”

Giggling at his words you help him pull his trousers and underwear down his legs, before enclosing his cock with one hand, gently starting to stroke it, feeling him pulsate in your grip. You continue pumping him, stitch breaths leaving his mouth while he nibbles on your earlobe, biting into your neck. “If you don’t stop I’ll make a mess right in your hand baby.”

You gave him a kiss, “Maybe that’s what I want.” He giggles against your cheek but stops abruptly, surprised by you rolling over him.

“Later baby. First I want to fill you up.” You gulp at his words, feeling your core heating up again. With a single move, you are under him again, watching him on his knees lining up between your legs. “I need you to be inside me, Sam”, you whine as he takes his time to give himself a few strokes, smiling at your inpatient behavior. “I will be, I will be stretching out that pussy so good.” With those words he rubs his tip against you, making you squirm under him.

You gasp in pleasure as he enters you completely, only letting you seconds to adjust. “Fuck!” You both breathe out at the same moment as he starts thrusting into you. With both hands, he holds you into place at your hips. Your nails dig into the bedsheets as you lift one leg to give him more space. “Damn you’re so beautiful. That feels fucking amazing.”

His husky voice let you shiver as you moan as an answer, feeling his thumb circling on your clitoris.

“Sam faster, please. Oh my-“ He paces up before you finish and you see stars, your view goes black under all the pleasure that is rushing through your body. His fast deep thrusts accompany heavy breaths, his skin slapping onto yours makes you nearly pass out.

“Shit I’m close.”

“I’m too. God damn fill me up, baby.”

He bites his bottom lip while frowning, concentrating on keeping up the pace as his thrusts were becoming sloppier and hit the right spot. He lets out a deep growl and you feel his cum shooting inside of you and you reach your own climax.

“That’s it. You do so well coming all over my cock.” He leans down on you, placing little kisses on your mouth. Both of you, out of breath you stay like this for a short time, leaning your forehead against one another.

“God I love you babygirl.”

“I love you, Sam.” You whine shortly as he leaves you, making you feel empty. He lies down beside you, wrapping both arms around you and you lean your head against his chest.

“You okay?”

“I’m feeling awesome.”

He slightly laughs into your hair, brushing over it as he hums an unknown melody.

“How much time do we have?”

“I have to be with the others in a few hours. Let’s say until sunrise.”

Frustrated, you look up into his eyes before starting to grin.

“So then don’t make yourself too comfortable. You only have limited time to make me cum again.”

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson smut #sam wilson one shot #tfatws spoiler #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #the falcon #sam wilson tfatws

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flying-nightwing · 4 years

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Gentle - Jason Todd

Hi people! It’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted anything, honestly it’s been a hectic two months and I barely made it out alive lmao. But Jason was never too far away in my mind, don’t worry kids. So this is something I’ve been wanting to write for some moments now, and I came through, well, right about now.

I haven’t really written something axed on the emotions/feelings like that, once again I’m trying to expand my style to new stuff. This is my first hurt/comfort that was actively trying to be that, and yet another take on Jason because I’m a simp. This is also very, very soft. I hope you’ll enjoy xx

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word count: 1731

Warnings: mention of blood, Jason being heartbreakingly insecure and vulnerable, allusion to the effects of his trauma.

Summary: Being with Jason Todd often comes with its own load of complicated hardships, but you would never let him go through it alone ever again.

You barely heard him come back.

You had a sharp ear and a light sleep, which means you always knew the moment Jason came back from patrol. Usually it would be followed by the sound of the shower and him joining you in bed, but sometimes it would not. And those times were usually when things had gone bad.

Quietly, you got up from the bed and navigated the apartment in the dark. By now, your feet knew the way without needing the guidance of your eyes. Only the light from the stovetop was turned on, casting a weak glow on the common area. You could dicernate Jason’s still body on the couch, still in full red hood gear with the exception of his helmet. He knew you were there, of course he did, but he didn’t look at you. He couldn’t, you figured. Hard nights did that to him.

With a pinch in your heart, you went and knelt in front of him, just not touching him yet. His eyes were open and glossy, staring into nothing. The instances where you found him like this had become rarer in the last years, but they still happened. You were just glad he wasn’t pushing you away anymore. He once told you to just stay asleep and not bother with him, but you could never. Secretly, he was grateful for it. He would never tell you how much, though, because he didn’t want to make you feel like it was something you had to do for him.

“Hi babe” You spoke in a whisper, making you slide his eyes to you. You could see the hurt in them, reflected in the blue of his irises and the red of fatigue and frustration around them. His beautiful expressive eyes that could hold so much love could also hold so much pain at times. It wasn’t fair. “It’s okay. You’re okay now”

You didn’t expect an answer. He had a tendency of getting non-verbal in these situations.

“May I?”

You raised your hand lightly, and he gave you a little nod. Slowly, you enveloped his gloved hands in yours with one hand, while you pushed back a wild streak of hair out of his face with the other. You kept your touch light, knowing he would be already over sensitive as it was. He closed his eyes, enjoying the much needed comfort you provided him. You could feel the almost dried blood on his hands, the tensions in his jaw, the hurt coming off of him in waves. Not physical hurt, you were pretty sure he was unscathed beside the few bruises or cuts here and there.

“Can I help you with it?”

He breathed out unevenly. The question really meant let me help you, it was a plea for you to help him feel better. Only a little while ago he had actually allowed you to take care of him at his most vulnerable moments. Still, he nodded again. You pulled yourself on your feet and gently helped him to sit up on the couch. Without rushing him, you then helped him stand up beside you and lead him to the bathroom. You kept the light dim so as not to hurt his eyes and guided him in front of the sink. In a slightly better light, you could see how tired and battered he looked. It must have been one of his worst nights ever since you had known him.

You began undoing his gloves first, taking off the blood and dirt soaked material from his hands, then pulled off his leather jacket that you threw in his Red Hood hamper. You could deal with it tomorrow. You turned on the tap to warm water and gently guided his hands under it. You softly rubbed the red and brown colors from his skin, letting the grime disappear down the drain. You made sure to wash it all; between his fingers and under his nails so he wouldn’t have to look at it at all when you’d turn off the tap.

You carefully dried his hands with a towel before you moved to his shirt. You began pulling it off and he helped you pass it through his arms when it was too high for you, and the piece of his suit joined the rest in the hamper. Blood had seeped through the fabric, mixing with the sweat to taint his chest light red. You moved him to the toilet, where you softly pushed him down on the closed lid. You then damped a washcloth and came back to him. His eyes met yours as you gently washed away the remnant of a gruesome and violent night on his face. His glance meant everything, it was a little stitch on the wound to see your action seemed to help him feel better.

You moved to his neck and chest, kneeling in front of him once again. You repeated your actions there, your hand still careful and steady. He closed his eyes and sighed, and you felt his muscles untense just a little bit. You observed his scars as you went, still wondering after all this time how he was so strong. It amazed you how he could pull through every curveball life threw at him, and how he could still remain the good man he was today despite all of it. As you washed down his arm, you picked his hand and left a little butterfly kiss on his wrist that made his breath hitch. Then you trailed up the inside of his arm with your lips until you stopped mid bicep. You met his bright eyes and slowly reached for his cheek.

“How can you even look at me?”

You tilted your head at his quiet words, a saddened smile on your face. “How could I not?” You spoke back in a whisper. “You think your scars are ugly, but you’re so wrong. They write your story in a language very few understand, like a holy text kept in a secret temple meant to be worshipped. You’re strong and passionate, rash and beautiful. And never, remember that, never will I look at you with anything else than the adoration you deserve”

The light of the bathroom reflected the tears pooling in his eyes like crystals as you rubbed your thumb on his cheek. He leaned into your hand, and his long eyelashes brushed against your finger when he closed his eyelids. He didn’t need to say anything more, you understood what he was trying to communicate. It was why he loved you so much, why he let himself be vulnerable around you. You were patient and kind, always there to help him up. You weren’t blind to his flaws but you accepted him as he was, not as everybody wanted him to be. You understood, which was more than he could say about most people in his life.

And when you looked at him like that, like he was your entire world and universe, he couldn’t help but feel safe. He didn’t have to run, fight, or survive. It was like he could breathe now, like he could finally live. And it scared him, it scared him so much because he felt like he had never truly left that coffin six feet under ground, until you began digging out the dirt to reach him. He was lost in the best kind of way, trying to figure out what to do with the sunrays that finally warmed his entire body after being subject to the coldness of the grave for so long. He was helpless to you, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it to end.

You stood up and grabbed a new washcloth, warming it under the tap and returning to Jason. You passed over his face again, then his neck and his chest to wash away the remnant of diluted blood on his skin. You placed a light kiss on his shoulder before you helped him up again, then helped him out of his tactical pants. You grabbed your washcloth again, but he gently stopped you with a hand on your wrist.

“Go back to sleep, my love” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I got it from here”

You stared into his eyes, trying to find a clue that he was trying to hide away. But he was way calmer now, his eyes did not hold as much hurt as when you had found him on the couch. His glance was tired and exhausted, yet soft and loving. “Only if you’re sure”

He nodded, blinking slowly. In any other circumstances, it wouldn’t have convinced you that he didn’t need your help. But for now, it was enough. Just the fact that he had it in him to speak was the indicator you needed. You retreated to the joined bedroom and slipped under the covers that had almost gone cold in the little time you were out of them and rested your head on the pillow. Your eyes softly closed, not yet completely succumbing into sleep yet. The soft noise in the bathroom played in the background like a muffled speaker, keeping you conscious just enough to check on him from afar. After a moment, the door opened and the light shut off, followed by quiet footsteps coming your way. The covers lifted and the bed dropped, then you opened your arms for Jason to crawl into them. His skin was still a bit cold from the hand wash, but the warmth of your embrace made him sigh against you. You caressed his hair as you fought not to fall asleep just yet, but your movements became slower and slower. The world around you started to fade at the first birds began to sing outside your window, their songs gradually lulling you to sleep.

Just as you were on the edge of consciousness, you hear the faintest whisper reach your ears. Two simple words that yet meant the world, especially coming from Jason. Admitting he needed help was something big for him, and even more expressing gratefulness at something he thought he didn’t deserve. That little spoken note guided you to a peaceful sleep with your lover safe and sound in your arms, or at least for tonight. Two simple words that didn’t need to be explained.

“Thank you”

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fic #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #dc #dcu #dc universe #dc imagine #dcu imagine #dc universe imagine #batfam #batfam imagine #imagine #red hood x you #outlaws

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flannels-and-fannypacks · 4 years

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Will They Won’t They | Part 1/4 [Reggie Peters]

Pairing: Reggie Peters x fem!reader

Words: 7000

Summary: Reggie and reader were the best of friends up until middle school where they drifted apart and decided never to speak to each other again. What happens when a shared algebra class and a resulting detention force them to spend and increasing amount of time together. Will it be enough to overcome the mutual hate? Or was the relationship doomed from the start.

WARNINGS: swears, spicy dancing, ANGST

A/N: Okay this is the first of hopefully many collabs between Drea and I! We’re both so excited to share out very long baby with you and hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it! - mimi <3

A/N (2): hi babes it’s drea taking over HAHAHA to repeat what mimi said, we are SO EXCITED to collab and work together to create this SUPER ANGSTY but also SUPER FLUFFY AND FUN fic! your feedback is highly appreciated! and if you like our writing, please like, comment, and reblog! we’d love to hear what you have to say! sending my love! - drea :)

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The night was young in your eyes. All the lights in the (L/N) household were off, aside from the nightlight in your bedroom. Despite it being nearly eleven at night, you and your best friend, Reggie Peters, were far from tired.

The soft humming from the radio was all that could be heard from your room, along with the occasional giggle from you or joke cracked by Reggie. You laid on your bed next to him, your legs tangled in the bedsheets. As much as you loved sleepovers with your best friend, you had to admit that Reggie’s growth spurt did not help your cramped situation.

“Your elbow is jabbing my ribs,” you grumbled, kicking Reggie towards the edge of your bed.

The boy only shoved you back, a playful smirk on his face. “You’re just jealous I’m taller than you now, Cookie,” he said triumphantly.

“I’m jealous you’re taking up all the space on my bed, dork,” you shot back, kicking hard enough to push him over the edge. Reggie let out a yelp before hitting the ground, groaning upon the impact. You fell into a fit of giggles as you peeked over the edge of your bed to see a pair of narrowed blue-green eyes and a scowl. “Sorry, Flicka,” you squeaked.

Reggie glared at you jokingly, rubbing his elbow in pain. “No you’re not,” he whispered back.

“Yeah, I’m not.”

You swung your legs over the edge of your bed, standing up to reach -well almost- Reggie’s height. You frowned at his arm, gingerly taking it into your hands. The boy winced upon first touch, but relaxed in your grasp. “Does it hurt a lot?” you asked in a concerned voice.

Reggie shrugged his shoulders. “It’s whatever,” he responded nonchalantly, but the pain in his voice was visible.

You raised an eyebrow at your best friend. “You don’t have to pretend to be all strong and tough,” you reminded him.

The taller boy sighed, a pout adorning his lips. “I know,” he murmured. “But we’re starting middle school soon. I should be ‘all strong and tough.’”

Snorting, you shook your head. “Who cares about that nonsense?” you exclaimed in a hushed voice. “We all feel pain, that’s not a bad thing. Besides, it’s just me, Flicka. You don’t need to put up an act.”

Reggie’s lips turned upwards as he looked into your eyes. Everything just felt right at the moment. The smile on your face. The redness in his cheeks. The moonlight reached the window and illuminated the room. It was perfect.

The radio, forgotten by the two of you, started to play a new song. Your song.

“You got a fast car

I want a ticket to anywhere”

Glancing up at Reggie, you could both tell you were thinking the exact same thing.

“Dance with me, Flicka?” you asked, giving his hands a squeeze.

Reggie’s face burned in embarrassment as you moved his hand to your waist. “I’m not any good at this, you know that, Cookie,” he muttered, resting his chin on top of your head.

You scoffed, starting to sway along to the music. “Just follow my lead, Reggie. I promise I won’t leave you hanging.”

There, the two of you swayed silently to the music. The moon shined bright from your window, making the blue and green in his eyes shine brighter than usual. Reggie watched as you moved your head so that it laid against his chest. You could hear his heart practically beating out of his chest, making you giggle softly.

“Flicka? you spoke up in a hushed tone. Reggie only hummed in reply. You took a deep breath. “Promise me you’ll never leave me?”

Reggie looked out the window, seeing a glimpse of both of your reflections through the glass. “I’d never leave you, Cookie.”

“You promise?” you whispered.

“I promise.”

That was your first broken promise. The first broken promise upon millions. Reggie told you he’d never leave you, that he’d always be your friend.

Funny how fragile promises can be.

That was nearly seven years ago. The late nights spent doing who knows what, listening to the radio seemed like a distant memory from a past life.

Now your days were spent alone in the library, bent over textbooks determined to ace your classes to get a scholarship and go to a good college. You wouldn’t make your parents pay for that. That was asking too much of them.

You weren’t sure where Reggie was, or what he was doing. Once you both were in middle school, he found himself new friends, and apparently a band, too. Even though you weren’t on speaking terms, you had listened to his music every once in a while. You knew he was destined for big things. Those big things just didn’t include you.

But that was fine. Your entire life wasn’t centred around some boy from your childhood. You had school and your family. So, for you, that meant signing up for all the most challenging classes and studying your ass off for all of them.

You didn’t want to admit it but this class was killing you. Your pride always got in the way. Most of the time, you believed you were capable of passing every class with flying colours. But, there was no denying this class was more difficult than the others. How were you supposed to know what effects the Great Depression had on farmers of that era? You weren’t them and they were all dead.

Your tired eyes drifted over to the clock and you sighed as you realized what time it was. Packing your things, you left the library and dragged your feet to your algebra class.

Sitting patiently in the front row while your teacher explained the lesson plan you barely even registered the faint knock on the door frame, but when you turned your head up your expression changed from one neutral to a scowl.

He hadn’t changed a bit. Aside from the whole outfit -he definitely switched his old sports sweatshirts for leather jackets sometime in freshman year- he was the same old Reggie Peters. The same dark hair, piercing blue-green eyes, and rosy red cheeks.

“Um, sorry I’m supposed to be in algebra with Mr. Milenika, I just got transferred.” the dark hair teen said, running a hand through his hair and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yes, Mr. Peters correct?”

Reggie nodded wordlessly. Your heart was beating out of your chest. Not from nerves, but is pure hatred for the boy. He couldn’t be in this class. He just couldn’t. Why would the universe do that to you?

“Very well, take a seat.”

Reggie walked into the class, eyeing where to take a seat when he noticed the only open spot was next to you.

His features hardened and he threw his bag down next to the empty desk, pulling out the chair and sitting in it with a loud thump.

“Flicka,” you spat.

“Cookie,” he nodded with a hiss in return.

“Great, I take it you two know each other?” Mr. Milenika asked, unaware of the drama that was associated with whatever relationship you and Reggie had. It was a stretch to say you even had one.

You and Reggie gave him a bitter “Yes.”

Mr. Milenika, never one who was ever good at differentiating bitterness and normal answers, beamed at the two.

“Good, because even though this is a math class, I will make you work with your partner quite often. So I suggest you get to know whoever is sitting next to you.” Your body stiffened. As if it couldn’t get any worse, Mr. Milenka never failed to disappoint.

Mr. Milenika continued on, explaining the rest of the plan for the class, but you seemed unable to concentrate, entirely focused on the boy who was now sitting next to you. With his stupid face and stupidly strong cologne, you couldn’t focus at all on whatever was on the board. It was as though you were in a haze, and all you could think about was him.

It had been years since you’d last spoken, not to mention you barely saw him in the halls anymore. He was notorious for skipping class to go rehearse with his so-called band while you were quite the opposite. Never missing a day, no matter what it took.

“Never thought you were one for staring,” he whispered under his breath and you scoffed.

“Oh so we don’t talk for seven years and you think now’s a good time to start?”

“Yeah, I do, cause then I could tell you how stupid those shoes look,”

“I’m literally just wearing converse, you are too Reginald,” you spat.

“Shut up!” he said, raising his voice slightly.

“You first!” you said, voice becoming louder. Was it a childish comeback? Perhaps, but you weren’t one to back down, no matter how stupid your comebacks were.

Now the whole class was listening, even Mr. Milenika had stopped teaching to observe what was going on with his students and just as he was about to intervene it seemed the debate had gotten worse.

“Me? shut up? You’re the one who was always bossing me around and telling me what to do! I could never get in a word with you!” Reggie snapped back.

“That’s because you were too thick-skulled to listen to anything I had to say!” you hissed, not realizing the audience you had. “Who knows Flicka maybe if you had you wouldn’t have failed this class last term!”

“That was uncalled for!” Reggie exclaimed, now standing from his chair. “And it’s not my fault the tutor bailed on me because it was a conflict of interest. This isn’t Judge Judy (Y/N)! If anything it’s your fault!”

“You manipulative little asshole!”

“Suck up!”

“Motherf-,”

“That’s enough!” Mr. Milenika yelled over both of you, causing you to shrink and turn to look at the very angry teacher. “Never in my years of teaching have I seen such barbaric behaviour! That’s two months' detention. Both of you! Now go to Mrs. Hillside’s office, immediately.”

Reggie angrily grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, kicking a stray chair on his way out while you followed close behind in a much quieter fashion.

You had no words as you entered the principal’s office, sitting across from her desk while Reggie took the seat next to yours.

It was your first day back from the holiday. Your first day back and you finally had a conversation with your childhood best friend in seven years and got two months of detention with said childhood best friend. Your heart ached at the thought of the big flaw printed on your record. You only had Reggie to blame.

Purposefully, you shuffled away from him and he rolled his eyes as Mrs. Hillside finished her phone conversation with Mr. Milenika.

“Disrupting a class?” The woman exclaimed. “Foul language? Damaging school property?” Your face burned at each accusation.

Mrs. Hillside glared at you. “Ms.(L/N),” she addressed with a frown. “I did not expect such reckless and irresponsible behaviour from a promising student like you. I’m greatly disappointed.”

Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. “Please don’t make it go on my record,” you whimpered, your voice cracking.

The woman pressed her lips together. “You’re lucky this is your first detention, Ms.(L/N).” You released the breath you had no idea you were holding.

“Kiss ass,” Reggie muttered.

You narrowed your eyes at the boy, prepared to shoot back another comeback when your principal had something far better.

“I find that rich from you, Mr. Peters,” she laughed humorlessly. “Remind me, how many detentions did you have last term?” The boy’s cheek flushed, instantly shutting his mouth. You held back a laugh as to not get a snapback of your own from the teacher. “Now as much as this is infuriating, you both do have a class that I believe would be in your best interest not to miss. So we’ll draw up a schedule for these two months of detention and then you can return to your class in an orderly fashion. You understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” you nodded and Reggie just shrugged, if he blew this for you, well let’s just say there wouldn’t be any evidence of the crime.

“So let’s make this three days a week for two months. Thursday, Friday and Saturday and the hours will vary from time to time depending on the tasks you need to complete.”

“Three times a week?” Reggie exclaimed. “Mrs. Hillside, I have band practice-”

“And I’m losing my patience,” she cut him off. “Now go back to class before I make it four detentions a week.”

You squeaked a quiet “Thank you” before picking up your things and leaving the principal’s office. Speeding down the hallways, you didn’t hear Reggie catching up close behind you. When you saw a blur of black and red in the corner of your eye, you fought the urge to turn your head.

“Stupid Reggie Peters,” you muttered under your breath. “Stupid algebra class. Stupid Mr. Milenka and his stupid detention. Stupid-”

“Are you talking to me, Cookie?” Reggie spoke up, making you jump in surprise. By that time, you were already at the door of your algebra class.

You pressed your binder close to your chest, shooting the boy a pointed glare. “I hate you,” you said, opening the door just enough for you to slip through and slam in Reggie’s face.

You didn’t dare speak when you returned back to class, not wanting to try your luck and possibly extend your already long detention.

Reggie seemed to be thinking the same thing, possibly except he didn’t have his record on the line it was that stupid band practice of his. If he had spent as much time studying as he did practicing maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation because he would have passed the class in the first place.

You knew that you’d need to spend time catching up tonight so you didn’t even bother paying attention to the lesson. Anger bubbled in your chest as you mindlessly wrote notes for the class, not processing anything at all. Occasionally, you would notice a pair of blue-green eyes staring at you, only for them to turn back to the board each time you would look back.

You couldn’t even look each other in the eye. How were you supposed to last two months of detention with him?

Finally, the bell rang and allowed you to escape the confinement that was the loud stares of your classmates as you headed to your first assigned detention. Cleaning up the backroom of the library.

Reaching the library, you were met with the librarian, Mr. Mallard. The old man was hunched over a box filled with books, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. It seemed as though he didn’t realize you were right behind him, so you awkwardly cleared your throat.

Mr. Mallard jumped, turned around to see you nervously waving at him. “Oh, Ms. (L/N), I didn’t see you there.” You waved his comment off.

“Not a problem,” you said with a kind smile. You mentally let out a sigh of relief. Good thing Mr. Mallard was nicer than the rest of the teachers here.

“I was just listening to music,” he explained, nodding at the radio playing soft music. He looked back at you. “You know I used to be a dancer back in my day? Now, I got this bad back, so I’m stuck here with you rascals.” You laughed at the man as he tried to snap his fingers and sway his hips to the music. “Ah, I got too carried away, sorry, dear. Now I must be getting old because I could have sworn there were supposed to be two of you here with me.”

You nodded, looking around for the boy in a leather jacket and red flannel, but came up empty. “He must be running late,” you told him.

Mr. Mallard frowned. “Well, I guess we can wait for him,” he settled, sitting down on his desk chair. “Feel free to take a seat over there until he comes in.”

Reggie came in a few minutes later, tossing his bag onto one of the chairs and placing his bass guitar on the table.

“The usual Mr. Mallard?” Reggie asked and the older man gave him a nod. It seemed Reggie had become familiar with the library as you had, just in a different way. “Well what are you waiting for?” he looked at you unimpressed. “The faster we start the faster we leave.”

You didn’t say a word, only followed him into the back room where you’d be organizing some old books, boxes and trophies

You stepped into the room, squinting at the shadows of assorted boxes. It was completely dark.

“Well, come on, Cookie,” Reggie said, giving you a shove. “We don’t have all day.”

You took in a shaky breath. “It’s dark,” you pointed out.

Reggie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I think we’ve established that,” he said. “Let’s just find the light switch and start cleaning.”

You nodded, blindly searching along the walls for that damn switch. Not noticing the small box on the floor, you kicked it aside, spilling all sorts of books onto the floor. You squeaked in fear, grabbing the first thing in sight. Of course, that had to be Reggie’s hand.

You whipped your head around, face red in embarrassment. Lucky for you the darkness of the room prevented him from seeing that. “Sorry,” you muttered.

Reggie scoffed at you. “Still scared of the dark?” he asked in a teasing voice.

“Still sleep with that horse plushie of yours?” you shot back.

Reggie glared at you but didn’t say anything else. Without letting go of your hand he flicked on the switch and the room filled with a dim orange hue.

“You can let go now,” you said, trying to shimmy your hand away from his, only prompting him to grip harder.

“What are you scared of me now?” he asked with a smirk and you scowled, ripping your hand away from his.

“Let’s just clean, like you said, the faster we get this done the faster we can go home.”

The room was silent aside from the noises of books falling against the floor, making a quiet thud. You made a small area of your own in the back of the room, a stack of boxes hiding your view of Reggie. But from the lack of noises made in his part of the room, you could tell he wasn’t doing anything productive.

You poked your head out of your small space, frowning at the boy. He was sitting on the floor, slouching as he scribbled on a dusty piece of paper.

“Hey!” you called out, throwing an old yearbook in his direction.

Reggie barely ducked in time, sitting up and turning in your area. “What the hell?” he yelled.

“We’re supposed to be working on cleaning this room!” you snapped. “You aren’t doing shit, Flicka.”

“I did clean,” he muttered. “I just had an idea for the band-”

“That stupid band! Why can’t you just stop for once in your life and focus on what’s in front of you,” you scowled, frustrated that even now you were the one stuck doing all the work. Seemed like maybe things hadn’t changed much from seven years ago.

“Maybe if you loosened a screw or two we wouldn’t need to have this conversation,”

“Just shut up Reginald, you have no idea what it means to take responsibility for something. You haven’t changed and you never will.”

Reggie was about to come back with a retort when the door to the backroom swung open and Mr. Mallard came in with a smile on his face.

“Could I get you kids some snacks?” he asked kindly.

“Always, you’re the man Mr. M.” Reggie grinned, completely ignoring you and giving the librarian a high five from where he sat on the ground.

“I’m good Mr. Mallard,” you shook your head and he left you both with a nod of his head and promised to be back with some assortment of fruits and such.

After your first detention, it was safe to say that all hope of fixing your friendship with Reggie went down the drain. It seemed as though every hour you spent with him gave you all the more reasons to throttle him and be glad he stopped talking to you back in middle school.

—

Detentions became just another regular part of your week, integrated with your studying and your part-time job at the cafe. So you were more than happy to take a minute and walk back home where you could take a minute to rest.

Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

“Reggie!” a voice yelled. You took a deep breath as you tried to make yourself invisible. It was his friends, Luke, Alex, and Bobby. The friends he left you for.

Reggie’s face lit up as he walked past you, running over to his friends. “Hey guys!” he said with a toothy grin. “What are you doing here?”

Luke shrugged his shoulders. “We thought we might as well give you a ride to practice since we were already around here for lunch,” he explained nonchalantly.

Bobby sent his friend a glare. “You mean I gave you a ride,” he corrected, gesturing to the keys in his hand.”

Luke waved his comment off. “Details. Oh, who’s that?” Luke asked pointing over to you and you tried to pick up your pace before he eventually made his way to you.

“That’s just (Y/N),” Reggie shrugged. “We have detention together.” Luke approached you with an overexcited pep in his step. You tried to back away as subtly as possible, but you were stopped by a wall.

“You’re adorable!” he grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulder while you looked at him in a sort of odd confusion. “Your face is so cute and pink, kind of like a bunny! You know, growing up I had this bunny for a pet named Carrot. We’re adopting you, right boys?”

You ducked under his arm, trying to stay as polite as possible. “Oh, I’d love to be your friend and all,” you began nervously. “But um...I just have things to do and-”

“We’re. Adopting. You,” Luke said in a sickly sweet but firm voice. “Right boys?”

As you tried to slip out of his grasp and walk away, Alex, who was also coincidentally your lab partner, called out from the van.

“Hey (N/N), you need a ride?”

“No thanks! I’m fine walking,” you called back, but Luke didn’t want to take no for an answer. He ran up in front of you and scooped you in his arms, throwing you over his shoulder causing you to shriek in surprise.

“We’re taking you with us! Who knows what kind of dangerous types are wandering around LA.”

“At the moment I would think you’re one of them!” you exclaimed, squirming to have him put you down, before finally giving up when he tossed you in the van. “Could this constitute a kidnapping? I feel like it’s a kidnapping. Can I call the police?”

Reggie followed close behind the two of you, clearly not liking this at all. He had already spent enough time with you in detention. Now you’re with his friends? He took the backseat, right behind you. “Dude, come on,” Reggie said as Luke fastened your seatbelt before patting the top of your head. You shot the guitarist a glare. “I really don’t want to be arrested for kidnapping. Especially since it’s her. Lord knows she’ll manage to pin the charges on me.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Nonsense,” he said. “We’re not kidnapping her. We’re making friends!”

“That’s not how making friends works, Patterson!” you yelled as he slid the van door closed.

While they were making their way to your house Luke seemed to glance at the time on the dash and gasped.

“Shit! Guys turn around we’re gonna be late for practice!”

“Practice, you said you were taking me home!” you exclaimed. “This is actually a kidnapping now! Flicka your friends suck!”

“Sorry Lady Bunny,” Luke shrugged and you whined.

Reggie groaned and banged his head on the seat in front of him while Bobby took a definitely illegal u-turn to go where they normally had their rehearsals.

The car stopped in front of a fairly nice house with a big studio. The boys filed out, leaving you grumbling in the back seat. Luke opened the door, bowing dramatically.

“Lady Bunny,” Luke said, reaching his hand out to you.

You scowled at the boy, crossing your arms on your chest. “I want to go home,” you muttered.

“No can do, Lady Bunny,” Luke said with a shrug of his shoulders. “We have practice to do.”

“Then I’ll walk home,” you whined.

Luke laughed at your frustrated face. “Can’t let you do that either,” he told you. “Besides, you’re too little and innocent to brave the world on your own.” Luke reached for your cheek, patting it softly until you turned your head and bit his finger. “Ouch!”

“Yeah, bunnies bite, dick head. This is holding an innocent party against their will and you will do jail time,”

“(N/N), just stick around this once, I’ll make sure you get home later,” Alex offered and you slouched in your seat and mumbled a “Fine,”

Alex patted your back and led you into the large studio where there was a girl with frizzy brown curly hair, sitting on a couch.

“Finally! What took you guys so long!” she sighed and stood up.

“We adopted a bunny, Rose!” Luke grinned and hugged you from behind tucking your chin in his shoulder. You rolled your eyes and mouthed help me, to the girl and she scrunched her nose as if to say, ‘sorry honey there isn’t anything I can do.’

Luke pulled you to the couch and sat you down. “Now you stay there while we practice, okay bunny?” he said, patting your head.

“If you’re good we might give you snacks,” Bobby added from behind Luke, snickering under his breath.

Rose shot both boys a pointed look. “Cut that out, you two,” she ordered. Rose sat next to you, patting your knee. “Can I get you anything? Water? A snack? You don’t have to do a flip for treats or whatever.”

You laughed in response, nervously playing with the hem of your sweater. “I’m fine, thank you,” you responded politely. “If anything I just want a ride home.”

Rose frowned, leaning against the pillow cushions. “I’d give you a ride but my sister took the car for today,” she explained apologetically. Rose could sense the awkward tension, and wanted to break the ice. “So which one of them is your boyfriend?”

You choked on air, not expecting her question. For once, you were thankful the band was blasting music. “I’m sorry?” you coughed, causing Rose to reach over to grab a water bottle from the table and offer it to you. You took a big gulp, sighing. “What made you think that?”

Rose hummed as she thought of her answer. “Well, you’re way too nervous around me,” she began. “And the boys all keep on looking at you. Alex is not your boyfriend because he’s currently talking to this guy in my English class. Bobby...definitely isn’t your type, now that I look at you. I considered Luke for a moment but he’s way too dedicated to music to date anyone but his six-string, you also just seemed way too annoyed by him, but what’s new. And now that leaves Reggie.” she looked over at the boy playing the bass. Reggie, who apparently was watching the two of you talk, quickly ducked his head, his cheeks visibly red. “You two have history, don’t you?”

You froze, eyes widening. “How did you-”

“I think you forgot we were in the same homeroom since fourth grade,” she laughed. “You and Reggie, you guys were glued at the hip. Don’t you have nicknames for each other or something?”

“I-I guess,” you shrugged, it wasn’t really something you used as a term of endearment anymore, but it was still there. “He was Flicka and I was Cookie,”

“Did you date?” she asked curiously, leaning in closer.

“No,” you shook your head. “Just friends. Used to be.” you corrected and Rose frowned, but before she could ask another question you stopped her. “If I have to sit here and wait for Alex to take me home you think we could talk about something else?”

“Sure,” Rose nodded, “Well in that case I think you should come around here more often,”

“What do you mean?” you nervously chuckled.

“I don’t know, I just think we’d be pretty good friends,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

You leaned your head on her shoulder, smiling at the warm feeling bubbling inside you. “Yeah,” you agreed in a quiet voice. “I’m starting to think so, too.”

—

“And then he told me I was annoying!” you hissed, angrily scribbling the data of your experiment onto your notebook. “Can you believe that? Him!”

Alex anxiously watched you as you reached for a pipette, squeezing the poor thing like it stole your money. “Really?” Alex only said in a shaky voice.

You nodded furiously, taking the indicator, not even caring to count out your drops and just pouring the purple liquid haphazardly into the Erlenmeyer flask.

“He’s-He’s just a… argh! I can’t stand him!” you waved your hands almost knocking over the whole buret and ring stand with a very strong molarity composition of hydrochloric acid in it causing Alex to let out a strangled yelp from the back of his throat.

“C-can you please at least stay ten feet away from the table?” he requested. “You’re going to either break something or send me to the hospital with an acid burn and I really would prefer if that didn’t happen.”

You placed your materials down, glaring at the blond boy. “What are you talking about?” you snapped, not meaning to take your anger out on your friend (and chemistry experiment, at that).

Alex placed his hands up in the air in defence. “Just-” he swallowed loudly, trying to think of the right words. “Maybe take a deep breath? I know Reggie gets you all angry and stuff, but please don’t put our lives and chemistry grade on the line.”

“Makes me mad is a fucking understatement,” you grumbled.

“Okay, we can start there,” Alex began, slowly moving the materials far away from you. “I think it’s reasonable and incredibly understandable that you dislike him. But do you really hate him?”

You scowled. “Yes, Alexander,” you said in a scarily calm voice. “As a matter of fact, I do. He’s a fucking pain in my ass and can go fuck himself for all I care. He’s rude, inconsiderate, and selfish beyond belief.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Alex, you’re not my therapist, stop acting like you have every right to be in my business when you don’t know a single thing about me!”

Alex didn’t respond to that comment, fearing what you might say next. You paused, noticing Alex’s uneasiness. “I’m sorry,” you only mumbled.

He nodded wordlessly, gently placing his hand over yours. “Don’t worry about it, (N/N),” he reassured you.

Silence followed, aside from the quiet mumbling of instructions for the experiment. Minutes in, you finally decided to break the silence.

“Because he left me,” you whispered in a broken voice.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?” he said, genuinely not hearing you.

You sighed, placing your pencil and notebook down. “He left me for your stupid band. He got friends and I got nothing,” you explained further. You removed your glasses, wiping away a stray tear. “I probably shouldn’t even be mad at him, at this point. He’s moved on...and got popular and actually has something going on for himself. And me?” You laughed humorlessly at yourself. “I work a job to help mom and dad pay the bills and work my ass off so I can go to school and make a life for myself. No one told me trying for success would be so lonely.”

“(Y/N),” Alex said, frowning slightly.

You shook your head. “But he’s happy, isn’t he?” you asked. “Reggie. He’s smiling wider than I’ve ever seen before. Singing and playing the bass, dancing his heart out on stage. He never used to do those things with me.” You looked away from Alex, unable to take his pitiful gaze. “He’s changed while I’ve stayed the same. I’m stuck here, still moping about my past. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he is better off without me.”

“He’s not,” Alex said without even thinking.

“How could you say that? He’s clearly happier. It’s not like you can pretend you don’t see that,”

“But he’s not. He just replaced what he had, his friendship with you, with music. I might not know him as well as you, but it’s his coping mechanism. It hides all the bad things in life that he chooses not to deal with,”

“Reggie’s not like that,” you shook your head, refusing to believe what Alex was saying.

Alex, starting to get frustrated, slammed his hands on the edge of the table. “Dammit, (Y/N) can you just realize for one second that you don’t hate Reggie and that Reggie doesn’t hate you?” Your mouth remained closed, so Alex took it as an opportunity to push further. “You two talk my ears off about each other more than you realize. It’s always “Reggie did this” or “(Y/N) did that” can’t you two get your heads out of your asses and see that?”

“C-Can you take care of this, I’m just going to run to the washroom,” you murmured, not waiting for a response. You took off your goggles, gloves and lab coat, making your way to the courtyard, contrary to where you said you were going. Pulling your MP3 player out of your pocket you threw on a pair of battered headphones and turned the volume all the way up clicking on the familiar track of Fast Car maybe you couldn’t run away physically, but right now, your heart sure needed a break.

—

“You two will be with Mrs. Leona today in the dance room,”

“What does she need?” you asked with much confusion. Normally Saturdays were used for either sitting in silence or cleaning up some area of the school.

“She needs help choreographing the dance she’s going to use for the sophomore class next semester,” Mrs. Hillside explained. “Now go on, get dressed and meet her in the dance room.”

You and Reggie walked away to the locker rooms. A scowl was plastered on the boy’s face. “These detentions are getting more and more ridiculous each day,” he muttered.

Scoffing, you crossed your arms on your chest. “Well, that’s something we both can agree on.”

You parted ways for a short time to get changed before meeting back up again in the dance room where Mrs. Leona was already setting up and waiting for you both.

“Perfect! So glad you guys could make it,” she grinned.

“We have detention,” Reggie noted. “Not really much of a choice,” You shot the boy a glare, elbowing him roughly in the ribs.

“Right,” she chuckled. “Well, I’m working on a routine for my sophomores. Apparently, they think we’re doing the same thing over and over again so I’m going to give them something new for a change. I was thinking a partner assignment would work best.”

You and Reggie nodded as Mrs. Leona walked over to the stereo, popping in a CD and playing All That She Wants in the background on repeat while she would lead the stretches.

“Isn’t this song a little inappropriate to have sophomores dancing to? Or like even just to play in school?” you asked as you followed along.

Reggie rolled his eyes. “Of course that’s what you ask,” he muttered.

Mrs. Leona waved off your comment. “It’s fine,” she insisted. “It’s an upbeat song, and it’s “in,” so might as well give the kids a fun assignment.”

“Mrs. Leona, what kind of dance moves are you thinking?” Reggie asked curiously. “Because I’m not that good of a dancer and (Y/N) is practically so old she could break her hip by breathing.”

“I’m not old,” you snapped, crossing your arms on your chest.

“You sure act like it,” he shot back.

“You bit-”

“Enough talking!” Mrs. Leona cut you both off. “More dancing. Now I have a couple of ideas for you two, so make sure you’re really stretched out so you don’t pull something.”

You groaned, looking up at the ceiling. “What did I get myself into?”

—

“It’s a simple concept!” Mrs. Leona insisted after the millionth attempt. “You two are just so awkward with each other.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Can you just explain it again, please?” you requested.

Mrs. Leona sighed, standing up to show you the dance sequence. “Reggie, take her hand and bring it to your lips. Step away, and (Y/N) you pull him back. Then Reggie turn so that you and (Y/N) are facing each other. At that point, you grab him by the shirt while he takes your waist, then he twirls you and goes in to dip you. Simple enough!”

Simple to maybe a Rockette, but not to a bassist and an awkward bookworm.

“Let’s take it from there, okay guys?”

You grumbled to yourself, positioning yourself in front of the boy. “This is way too much,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

“Just shut up and do what she says,” Reggie hissed. “I don’t want to be any closer to you than I have to.”

When the music started playing, you felt Reggie’s fingertips trace down your arm to your hand, unknowingly creating a trail of goosebumps. Weaving his fingers with yours, he brought your intertwined hands up to his face, his lips ever so gently grazing your hand.

On beat, Reggie started to walk away from you, only for you to pull him back. His eyes met yours as you brought your other hand to his chest, balling the fabric of his shirt in your fist. You watched as he dropped his hand to your waist before pulling away to twirl you. The moment he pulled you back into his chest, you saw his cheeks redden. You were so close, close enough to smell that stupidly distracting cologne of his. You knew Reggie was just as flustered. His hand was getting clammy in yours. Before you could even process it, he dipped you down, making you gasp in surprise.

You didn’t even notice the music had stopped. All that was on your mind at that moment was Reggie. His eyes flicked down to yours, and you could have sworn you saw a hint of a smile on his lips.

The loud clapping coming from Mrs. Leona had snapped you out of your trance. Immediately regaining his composure, Reggie loosened his grip on you. You fell to the ground, hitting your elbow upon impact.

“Ass,” you muttered, rubbing your elbow in pain.

“If you’re saying I’ve got a good one then I agree,” he smirked and you scoffed loudly.

Mrs. Leona walked up to the two of you. “That was probably the best dancing I’ve seen from the two of you all morning,” she applauded. “And for that, you can take a five-minute break,”

“Oh thank God,” you whispered and flopped onto the ground, trying to relax your muscles. You tried to pull one leg over the other, stretching it out, but unable to turn properly in order to pull the tension out of your muscle.

Your eyes were closed so you didn’t notice Reggie coming closer and kneeling toward you, placing a hand on your thigh and pushing it down for you, causing you to open your eyes and see him practically leaning over top of you.

“Ow! Fuck! Too much,” you hissed and he loosened his grip. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Helping you stretch, you’re ancient so I thought I might be able to lend a hand,”

“Get your hand off me,” you said seriously.

“What,” he grinned, lifting his hand higher and causing your breath to hitch and slap his hand away and sit up, scooching back.

“Fuck off Flicka,” you said, the words barely able to leave your mouth, throat turning dry.

“Only trying to help, Cookie,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He looked over at your arm, seeing as you winced with every movement. “Does it hurt a lot?”

You cradled your elbow. “It’s whatever,” you mumbled in response, unconsciously mimicking his answer.

Reggie scoffed, leaning back on his hands. “Say what you want, Cookie, but I know when you’re lying. You can’t pretend around me.” You paused, vaguely remembering that night with the radio.

“I said I’m fine, Reggie,” you insisted firmly.

“Just let me see it,” he asked, crawling over to you, prompting you to scoot all the way back until you hit the mirror. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he frowned.

“That’s what you said seven years ago but I’ve learnt the hard way to take promises from you with a grain of salt,” you said venomously.

Reggie paused, moving back to his spot, far away from you. “Fine,” he simply said. “But don’t act like you were the only victim. I got hurt, too.”

You opened your mouth to respond when Mrs. Leona walked back into the room with three water bottles. “Well, I’m back. Are you two rested enough to continue?”

You shook your head. “Mrs. Leona, um I think it’s probably time we head back to Mrs. Hillside’s office,” you suggested. “It’s erm, late and I hurt my elbow, so…”

Mrs. Leona nodded understandingly. “Yes, of course, I forgot how much time had passed. You two work so well together, I might as well keep you guys in my class!” You laughed nervously before grabbing your things and waving goodbye. You didn’t bother looking back at Reggie. There was nothing left to say.

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