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#harry Styles x you
justlemmeadoreyou · 3 days
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Unrequited
(the second part to unfulfilled)
(i still don't think y'all will like this, but 🥺🥺)
Summary: Harry invites you to a party, and something goes wrong. He blames himself for it, but then something unexpected happens.
Words: 2.7k
Warnings: Mentions of drinking, intoxicants, kissing, fluff.
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“Hey, you wanna come to the party tonight?” Harry asked you, smiling.
You looked around, not believing that he was asking you, of all people. He saw you looking around, and said, “What?”
“You’re asking me?” you answered.
“Yeah.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. You. You wanna come or not?”
You stared at him for a few moments, waiting for him to burst out into laughter, and tell you that he was joking, it was all a silly prank. But, he didn’t.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, y/n. seriously. I'm asking you to come to a party with me tonight.”
“But-but no one ever asks me that. Like, ever.”
“Why?”
“I tell them not to…” you pout, and he presses his lips together.
"Come on, why not give it a shot?" Harry urged. You shifted uncomfortably, feeling a rush of conflicting emotions. On one hand, the idea of attending a party with Harry, someone who was way more confident and popular, and…extroverted, was exhilarating. But on the other hand, you couldn't shake off the feeling of being out of place, like a puzzle piece that just didn't fit in.
"I...I don't know," you stammered, clutching onto the strap of your bag tightly. "I don't belong there?"
Harry's expression softened, and he stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. You'll fit right in, I promise. And besides, I'll be there with you the whole time."
His words were comforting, and you found yourself slowly nodding in agreement. Maybe this was an opportunity to step out of your comfort zone, to experience something new.
"Okay," you finally replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I'll go."
Harry grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Great! You won't regret it, I promise."
As the evening approached, you found yourself growing increasingly nervous. You fussed over your outfit, second-guessing every choice you made. But despite your apprehension, you couldn't deny the flutter of anticipation building in your stomach. You hadn’t felt that in a while.
When Harry arrived to pick you up, you were greeted with a warm smile that instantly eased your nerves. As you made your way to the party together, he chatted animatedly, sharing stories and jokes that made you laugh until your sides hurt. He was fun to be with, and you both got along really well.
Upon reaching the bustling venue, the sound of music and laughter filled the air. Harry guided you through the crowd, introducing you to his friends with an easy charm that made you feel surprisingly at ease.
But as the night progressed, you found yourself retreating into the background, feeling increasingly self-conscious amidst the sea of confident faces. Everyone danced and drank with confidence, feeling lively and free. But you felt like you were trapped, and you envied every person who enjoyed themselves without a care in the world, and didn’t feel guilty afterwards. You clutched onto a plastic cup of beer, taking small sips and trying to stay there. You had no idea how you wound up in this corner, or where Harry went. He was supposed to be by your side the whole night, so where was he?
Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice when Harry began to search for you, his concern growing with each passing minute. He navigated through the throngs of people, his eyes scanning the room until he stumbled upon a dimly lit alcove hidden from view.
There, sitting hunched over with a vacant expression, was you.
Harry's heart clenched at the sight, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. Without a moment's hesitation, he made his way towards you, his footsteps audible as he got closer.
"Y/N?" he called softly, his voice laced with worry. "Are you okay?"
You looked up, your eyes glazed and unfocused, a wave of relief washing over Harry at the sight of your familiar face. As he got closer, he saw the worry in your expression, and it made him even more concerned.
"What happened?" he asked gently, crouching down beside you and placing a hand on your shoulder. "Did someone do something to you?"
"I need to get out of here," you muttered, your voice barely audible over the thumping music.
Harry glanced at you, concern etched across his features. "Are you okay, Y/N?"
You shook your head, your movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. "No, something's wrong. I need to leave."
Harry's brow furrowed with worry as he took in your disoriented state. "Okay, let's go," he said firmly, his hand reaching out to steady you.
But as you made your way towards the exit, Harry's suspicions were piqued. He noticed the way your steps faltered, the glassy look in your eyes, and a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. You weren’t yourself, and even if you didn’t drink often, it wouldn’t have been because of just a couple of beers.
"Wait," he said, his voice urgent. "Did you drink anything tonight?"
You frowned, trying to recall the events of the evening through the haze of confusion. "I...I don't remember," you admitted, your heart pounding with fear. Everything felt so big and loud, and you just wanted to close your eyes and fall asleep right then and there.
Harry's expression darkened, anger flaring within him as he surveyed the chaotic scene around you. "Damn it," he muttered, his grip tightening on your arm. 
"I bet someone spiked your drink."
Fear gripped your chest, and you held onto Harry's arm, grateful for him being there for you.
"What do we do?" you whispered, your voice trembling, and you sighed loudly..
"We get you out of here, now," Harry replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Hold onto me, Y/N. I've got you."
With Harry's arm wrapped protectively around your waist, you stumbled towards the exit, your heart pounding with fear and adrenaline. Each step felt like an eternity as you fought to keep your wits about you, your mind racing with a million thoughts and fears.
As you got out of the ridiculously overcrowded place, you felt better. Air rushed into your lungs, fresh air–that hadn’t come out of somebody else’s mouth. He guided you to his car, and assured you he was sober.
“Promise?” you asked, looking up at him with doe, glassy eyes. He nodded, gripping your chin and mumbling, “promise”
Once inside, he wasted no time in starting the engine, his hands gripping the steering wheel  "Hang on, Y/N," he said firmly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "I'll get you home safe, I promise."
Harry drove through the quiet streets, the weight of the situation pressed heavily on his shoulders. He stole glances at you through the mirror,, his heart sinking at the sight of your slumped form in the passenger seat, your eyes glazed with intoxication.
As the car rolled to a stop outside your dormitory, Harry turned to you, concerned. "We're here, Y/N," he said gently. 
You nodded weakly, your movements slow and unsteady as you struggled to gather your bearings. With Harry's help, you stumbled out of the car and towards the entrance of the building, your steps faltering with each passing moment.
As Harry guided you down the hallway towards your room, your steps wobbled with each movement, and you couldn't help but giggle uncontrollably at the slightest provocation.
"Hey, watch your step," Harry chuckled, trying to steady you as you stumbled over your own feet.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," you slurred, your words muffled by a fit of laughter. "I look like a drunk moron."
Harry couldn't help but laugh at your quip, shaking his head in amusement as he guided you towards your door. "Sure."
As Harry helped you into your room, you collapsed onto the bed with a dramatic flourish, your limbs splayed out in every direction as you let out a contented sigh.
"Ah, home sweet home," you declared, your voice tinged with merriment. "I think I might just live here forever."
Harry couldn't help but chuckle again, shaking his head in amusement as he watched you flop onto the mattress. "I think you've had enough excitement for one night, Y/N."
You pouted playfully, your bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated display of disappointment. "But the night is still young, Harry! We could have so much fun together."
Your demeanor had suddenly changed, from afraid and scared to carefree. The intoxicant that was added to your drink might be doing its work.
"I think we've had more than enough excitement for one night, let’s tuck you in" he replied, his tone teasing yet gentle.
As Harry tucked the blankets around you, you let out a contented sigh, your eyes drifting shut and becoming droopy.. "You're a good friend, Harry," you murmured, your words slurred with exhaustion. "The best."
Harry's heart swelled with affection at your words, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched you drift off to sleep.
"Sleep tight, Y/N," he whispered, his voice soft with warmth.
As Harry finished tucking you into bed, he turned to leave, but before he could take a step, you reached out and grabbed his hand, your sudden touch sending a shiver through him.
"Harry," you whispered, your voice soft.
Harry turned back to face you, his heart skipping a beat at the vulnerability in your gaze. "What is it, Y/N?"
Without warning, you pulled him towards you, your movements clumsy but filled with determination. Before Harry could react, you pressed your lips against his, the kiss sloppy and uncoordinated but filled with a raw intensity that took his breath away.
For a moment, Harry froze, his mind reeling with a whirlwind of emotions. He knew he should pull away, should put an end to this before things went too far. But as he felt the warmth of your lips against his, he couldn't deny the spark of desire that ignited within him, the longing that pulsed between them like a current of electricity. He had wanted this, maybe for far too long. But it was tucked away in a corner of his heart, and right now, it was exploding out like firecrackers.
But then, with a sudden surge of clarity, Harry pulled back, his hands gently but firmly pushing you away. "Y/N, we can't," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret.
You looked up at him, confusion in your eyes as you searched his for answers. "But why not?" you whispered, your voice filled with hurt.
Harry's heart ached at the pain in your gaze, but he knew he had to be honest with you, even if it hurt. "Because...because I can't do this to you, Y/N. You're not yourself right now, and I can't take advantage of that."
You stared at him for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in as realization dawned upon you. "I...I'm sorry," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. "I didn't mean to...I’m just–just stupid and–"
Harry reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch tender yet filled with sadness. "It's okay, Y/N. I know you didn't mean to. You’re really high and you should sleep"
You nodded once again, closing your eyes shut and pulling the blanket over you, suddenly feeling cold. He murmured good night, but you were already passed out.
He stood there for a while or two, watching as your mouth dropped open. Your face looked peaceful, and it gave reassurance to him. His heart was pounding in his chest since he found you at the party, and he kept blaming himself for all that happened.
But his heart was at ease now. You were safe, and sleeping beside him.
He couldn’t be happier
. . .
The next morning, you woke up with a heavy weight on your chest, your mind clouded with confusion and regret. As you stumbled out of bed and got ready for class, you couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that you didn’t remember what happened last night.
Your steps were slow and hesitant as you made your way to the lecture hall, your heart pounding with anxiety. You were trying to replay all the moments of yesterday back and forth, but the last thing you remembered was drinking a beer and then going for another one, when you had seen 5 already filled cups kept in a tray. Without thinking, you went for that one, and you were now cursing yourself for it.
When you finally reached the classroom, you kept your head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone as you took your seat at the back of the room. You felt like a stranger in your own skin, the weight of guilt and shame bearing down on you.
As the minutes ticked by, you found it increasingly difficult to focus on the lecture, your mind wandering back to the events of the party, precisely to those you didn’t remember. Harry was nowhere to be found, and you wondered if you had misbehaved towards him.
He must regret inviting you in the first place.
Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice when Harry entered the classroom, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of you, your face drawn and weary, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy you had exuded the night before.
"Hey, Y/N," Harry said softly, making his way towards you with a hopeful smile. "How are you feeling today?"
You looked up, startled by his sudden appearance, and forced a weak smile. "Hey, Harry. I'm...I'm okay, I guess."
Harry's smile faltered slightly at the hint of sadness in your voice, but he pushed aside his concerns, determined to lift your spirits. "That's good to hear. Listen, about last night..."
But before he could finish his sentence, the professor began the lecture, cutting off their conversation and leaving Harry feeling frustrated and disappointed. You let out a sigh of relief, because you didn’t have to hear about the horrible things you did last night, for an hour at least.
During class, Harry felt uneasy and unsure about where they stood. He kept looking at you, feeling worried when he saw you looking down.
As the lecture came to an end, Harry gathered his things and made his way towards you, 
"Y/N," he said softly again, "Can we talk for a minute?"
You looked up, nodding "Sure, Harry. What's up?"
Harry took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest as he searched for the right words. "I just wanted to say...about last night. You were perfect, Y/N. Nothing bad happened, okay?"
You frowned, confusion in your eyes as you tried to make sense of his words. "What do you mean, Harry? I don't remember much from last night."
Harry's heart sank at your admission, a pang of disappointment piercing through him like a knife. "It's...it's nothing, Y/N. Don't worry about it."
But despite his attempt to brush off the conversation, Harry couldn't shake off the feeling of sadness that lingered within him. He knew that he should be grateful that nothing bad had happened between you both, but deep down, he couldn't help but wish that you remembered the kiss you had shared, and the way you made his heart beat faster. He wished you remembered him driving you home, and then being silly around him.
“That’s a huge relief! Oof” 
You said after a while, trusting him on that. He wouldn’t lie to you, you were sure of that.
“Yeah” he replied, forcing a smile, because he was sad.
“Guess I’ll see you later?” you asked, and he nodded.
You collected your materials and stuffed them back into your bag. Checking your schedule, you made your way to your next class, leaving Harry and his thoughts alone.
"But I love you more than words can say,
I can't count the reasons I should stay,
One by one they all just fade away,
But I love you more than words can say."
♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡
tell me if you like this! please reblog or comment if you like, it makes my heart happy :)
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daisyblog · 2 days
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Birthday Twin
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Our Story Masterlist Summary: YN and Harry welcome their baby girl into the world.
Warning: labour, delivery, child birth, gas and air
11th of April 2024
35 weeks and 5 days pregnant
The Tomlinson family had all travelled to Doncaster for a few days of celebrating YN turning thirty. 
“Your last couple of days of being twenty nine Kiddo!”. Louis gently ruffled YN’s hair as he walked by her in their grandparents kitchen. Both filling their plates with some more food from the buffet spread their Nan had made. 
“Don’t remind me!” YN groaned as she reached over and put some extra sandwiches on her plate. 
“Fookin’ ‘ell, is baby girl hungry tonight?”. Louis joked as he watched his sister continue to fill her plate that was already slightly full of food. 
YN laughed as she looked at her plate compared to Louis. “Your niece is a foodie, what can I say?”. She naturally ran her hand over her large bump. 
“Can I?” Louis gestured towards her tummy, his way of asking if he could touch. When YN nodded, Louis placed his hand over bump. “‘ello little one, are you gonna come and meet us soon?”. 
“You’re going to spoil her rotten aren’t you?”. YN couldn’t help but smile at the small interaction. She had witnessed her brother as a brother, dad and uncle already and she could tell how much love he already had for her little girl. 
“Uh obviously, I just hope she comes before tour starts again.” 
---
12th of April 2024
35 weeks 6 days pregnant 
8:30am
YN suddenly woke from small niggles in her lower stomach, something she had been experiencing for a few weeks. She tried to ignore the dull ache and go back to sleep, but after tossing and turning, she gave in and got up. 
As she entered the kitchen she noticed her grandmother sitting at the table with a cup of tea in her hand. “Morning my love, you’re awake early!”. 
YN began to make herself a cup of tea, as she sat beside Jen. “Morning Nan, yeah braxton hicks again!”. 
“You’ve been having them a lot haven’t you darling?”. Jen had a concerned look on her face as she watched her eldest granddaughter stir her tea. 
YN only shrugged her shoulders. “Apparently it’s normal at this stage, I just didn’t realise how painful they could be”. 
11:00am
As the morning went on YN noticed how the niggles only continued and become a tad more painful. But not wanting to draw attention or to cause everyone to worry, especially Harry, she suggested her and Harry take Teddy for a walk.
They were walking through the quiet field, Teddy running just a bit in front of them, when YN stopped suddenly and held her tummy as a sharp pain caught her off guard.
“What’s wrong babe? Are you alright?” Harry immediately went into panic mode, worry evident all over his face. His hand protectively wrapped around her smaller frame. 
“Yeah, just cramp that’s all”. YN noticed Harry’s worried look, his eyebrows in a tight frown and tried her best to hide how much pain she was really in. “I’m fine, it’s braxton hicks again.”. 
Although Harry wasn’t fully convinced, they continued their walk before heading back to the house. 
2:00pm 
Within a few hours, the pain had gotten worse with YN baring her weight on anyone or anything to try and ease the pain. It was when YN cried out in pain, as she grabbed onto Louis’ hand, that Harry decided to take matters into his own hands. 
“I’m phoning the hospital, this can’t just be braxton hicks!” Harry announced as he began to dial the number on his phone. 
“Harry’s right Tiny, you’re in far too much pain for this not to be real labour”. Louis agreed with Harry, taking note at how much his sister was squeezing his hand. 
After phoning the hospital and explaining everything to the midwife, Harry was told that it sounded like YN was in early labour and they needed to monitor and time how quick she was having contractions. 
At this news Daisy, Phoebe and the other men decided to take Lucky and Olive to Phoebe and Jack’s house to give YN some space before she had to go to hospital. 
“Ahhhh!” YN cried out in pain as she held onto Harry for support. “This hurts so fookin’ much!”.
Harry rubbed circles on YN’s back, trying to comfort her as much as he could. “I know baby…but you’re doing so well.”.
“You’re doing so well YN”. Lottie praised her sister from where she sat next to Louis. “All the pain is worth it in the end, trust me”.
“Lottie’s right Tiny…just think you’ll be holding your baby sooner than you thought”. Louis gave Harry a small smile, knowing how special that moment will be for them both. 
5:30pm
With her contractions lasting around a minute and only being five minutes apart, YN found herself in the hospital with gas and air being her new best friend. 
YN was lying down on the bed, the gas and air attachment in her mouth as she breathed through another contraction. Harry sat on one side of the bed telling her how proud of her he was and saying how it wouldn’t be long until their little one would be here. 
“Harry…baby…I can’t do this!”. YN’s head hit the white plump pillow behind her, as the contraction ended. “I’m so tired already.”.
“You can do it and you are doing it”. Harry brushed some of her away from her face. “You’re making me so proud!”. 
“YN, you’re doing amazing and just remember nothing worth having is easy”. Lottie encouraged her sister, having been through labour and birth herself, she what to say. 
“Listen to your birthing partners YN, you’re doing amazing”. The midwife smiled proudly at how supportive and calm they both were. “How about trying to the birthing pool?”. 
Harry helped YN into the pool and instantly YN’s once tense body was now relaxed. In between contractions she began to make jokes about how she’s glad she had shaved her legs before that day. 
When the next contraction hit, Harry was quick to kneel down beside the pool and hold onto YN’s hand as she took in the gas and air to numb the pain. “That’s it, keep breathing through the pain, you’re doing so well love”. 
8:00pm
“So how did you two meet?”. The midwife began to make conversation with the couple as another contraction ended.
YN was back sitting on the bed, the attachment still in her hand whilst her other one held Harry’s. “He was my brother’s best friend”.
“Oh how interesting!” The midwife leaned forward in her chair, eager to hear more. “How did that go? You know breaking the news to him?”.
“Not well but he came around pretty quickly”. Harry explained as YN worked her way through another sharp pain. 
“I wouldn’t have listened even if he didn’t come around”. YN allowed the gas and air to do a little bit of talking. “Couldn’t resist the charm”. 
Before anyone could respond, a gush of water surrounded YN and turned the blue sheet below a darker shade. “And that’s your water breaking!” The midwife announced before she helps YN to clean herself up. 
11:45pm
The contractions were coming thick and fast, YN was attached to the gas and air more than ever and Harry tried to hide how hard she was squeezing his hand. 
“YN I’m going to exam you, is that alright darling?”. The midwife stood at the bottom on the bed, gloves covering her fingers ready for the examination. With YN’s permission, the midwife began to see how far YN was dilated. “Oh darling, I can feel baby’s head, do you feel like you-“.
Before the midwife finished; YN let out a small groan as she bore down and began to push. Harry was overwhelmed with joy, excitement but also nervousness that any minute now their whole world was about to change. 
“Keep listening to your body YN, you’re doing amazing my darling” the midwife encouraged as she continued to watch the baby’s head begin to crown. 
“Aww I can see her head!”. Lottie’s excited voice could be heard as she took in every moment of watching her niece being born. 
YN took a rest in between contractions before she needed to push again. “I love you  “. Harry placed a peck to YN’s forehead. 
“I love you too!”. 
0:01am
After several more pushes, Harry and Lottie were in awe as the tiny little baby appeared and was placed on YN’s bear chest. The tears streamed down YN and Harry’s cheeks. 
“Hello baby girl!”. YN held her daughter tight, and kissed her head gently. Despite all the pain YN was still in, a large smile covered her face as she looked down at the small version of herself and Harry.
“Baby girl born one minute past midnight on the thirteen of April, weighting six pound exactly”. The midwife announced to the three of them. 
Harry smiled down at his wife and newborn daughter. “Happy birthday baby!”. It was in that moment that YN had realised that their little girl was born on her thirtieth birthday. 
---
13th of April 2024
6 hours old
“Thank you.” Harry spoke into the quiet and calm room as he held their newborn in his bare arms. “You’re a real life superwoman for doing all that and bringing our girl into the world!”.
“I’d do it a thousand times again because she was totally worth it”. YN watched as Harry’s hand held onto the tiny newborn fingers. “I couldn’t have done it without you or Lotts though.”.
“She’s your double”. Harry smiled as he observed the little’s one features, all resembling her mother’s. “She looks like your Mum too!”. He gave YN a sad smile. 
YN didn’t want to get too emotional at the thought that her Mum wasn’t there to meet her daughter, so she tried to remain positive. “I think me Mum sent her as a birthday gift and it’s the best gift I’ve ever had”. 
---
Instagram Reel:
Made by Lottie
The black and white video begins, the sound of Heartbeat by James Arthur playing over it. 
YN is sat on the birthing ball, her hips moving slowly, in her grandparents living room. Harry kneeling down in front of her, holding her gently and whispering how well she’s doing. Louis is sat to her side, holding onto her hand and being a support whilst he can. 
In the hospital corridor, YN has her neck tucked into Harry’s chest as they stop to allow her to breathe through a contraction. Harry places small pecks to the top of her head. 
Sitting crossed leg on the bed, YN takes in the gas and air that she’s holding up to her mouth. Her eyes are closed as she’s breathing through each contraction. 
YN is in the birthing pool, the gas and air still attached to her hand has she takes in another breath, Harry is kneeling down by her side. She holds onto his hand, he looks on with a slight frown on his face as he watches his wife work through another contraction. 
Now lying on the bed, YN cradles her new born daughter to her chest, tears running down her and Harry’s face as they meet their little baby for the first time. Grace Johannah Robyn Styles had stolen their hearts and YN couldn’t have asked for a better birthday gift. 
---
ynstyles
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liked by annetwist, lottietomlinson, and 5,634,543 others
ynstyles Grace Johannah Robyn Styles🤍 View all 15,788 comments
niallhoran Aww my little bestie❤️Can’t wait to meet her xx ⌞ ynstyles Little Grace is excited to meet her Uncle Niall!!
gemmastyles I’M AN AUNTIE🥰❤️Thank you both for blessing me with the most beautiful niece xx ⌞ynstyles AUNTIE GEM🩷
annetwist My family grows and my heart is so full❤️Congratulations my darlings! Grace is a beautiful little girl and I love you all very much xxx ⌞ynstyles We love you😘🥰Thank you for being the best Grandma already❤️
lottietomlinson Our beautiful Grace!! What a magical moment watching her come into the world. Love you all ❤️ ⌞ynstyles Thank you for being there every step of the way Lotts!! I’m so glad I got to share that special moment with you. Love you lots🩷
louist91 Can’t wait for more cuddles!! Proud of you both!! Grace is amazing!!xx ⌞ynstyles Grace loved her snuggles with Uncle Lou xxx ⌞harryfan3 Uncle Louis🥹 ⌞louisfan7 I bet Louis is the best uncle!!!!
zayn congrats guys! So happy for you. Big love x ⌞ynstyles Thanks Z! Hope to see you soon xx ⌞1dfan6 OMG!!! WE’RE GETTING A REUNION!
louteasdale 🥹🥹🥹Congratulations babes, can’t wait for a cuddle xx
liampayne Congratulations both. Can’t wait to meet her!
the.daisytomlinson Another precious niece to love🩷 So proud of you sis xx
thephoebetomlinson Olive’s little bestie🩷🩷
marktommo1111 Beyond proud❤️Another chapter begins!xx
mrlewisburton Congratulations to both of you. Welcome to parenthood❤️
sallietommo A precious baby girl! So proud of you beautiful girl❤️❤️❤️
perrieedwards Congratulations babes🩷Welcome to motherhood xx
pillowpersonpp Wow! What a cutie🥹
daniellepeazer Beautiful name🤍Can’t wait to meet her☺️
ryan.viggars ❤️
jefezoff Congrats guys! Very happy for you both!
j_corden A huge congratulations. Can’t wait to meet the little one
jack.varley7 Congrats guys!!
brianasrealaccount Congratulations Auntie YN and Uncle Harry. I can’t wait to meet baby Grace. I love you so much, love from Freddie❤️ ⌞ynstyles We can’t wait to see you Fred! Grace can’t wait for cuddles from her big cousin. Love and miss you soooooo much😘
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avatar-anna · 11 hours
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Workday Blues
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2024 Masterlist
i wrote this weeks ago after a co-worker had me seeing red lol
"I just don't get it, H," you sighed, leaning back against the leather seat of your car as you waited for the light to change. Your voice felt strained, and you knew you sounded whiny, but you couldn't help it. After a long shift at work, you told yourself you reserved the right to complain. "Why can't people just, I don't know, do the job they showed up to do and get paid for?"
"I'm sorry, bub," Harry said, his voice tinny as it filled up your car. "Did you talk to your manager?"
You scoffed. "There's no point, but I swear I wanted to tell them I didn't want to work that shift anymore. I'm just so sick of—of—doing more than what's required of me and not being compensated for it."
Harry remained quiet over the phone. At this point in your relationship, he knew when you wanted his advice and when you just needed to vent about your job. The latter happened more and more as of late. Sometimes you felt bad for being so negative, but after nine hours of being overly positive as a restaurant server, you didn't have much positivity left in you.
"Need me to leave you a review again?" Harry finally asked.
Despite your exhaustion, you smiled. "What's that, now? The third one this month?"
"Fourth. Three and a half. I had Mitch leave one after the, what did you call it, 'influencer incident?'" he asked, referring to an afternoon where someone tried to pay for their meal by posting a video online.
"Hm. I'll have to bring him a slice of pie the next time I visit the studio."
"Hey, what about me? Where's my pie?"
Grin widening a bit, you said, "I'll give you something better."
"And...how far from home are you now?"
"Pulling in right now. I'll see you inside."
You pulled into the home you shared with Harry, resting your forehead against the steering wheel once the car was in park. Your feet hurt, you smelled like the food your restaurant served, and you desperately needed to take your makeup off. Sometimes you wondered why you were still putting yourself through all of this, and Harry definitely did too. For years now, Harry promised to take care of you, to take care of your student debt so you could focus on your career and not be so tired and unhappy. He didn't say it often because it typically led to an argument about independence and needing to be able to take care of yourself, but you knew how he felt, and after days like today, the idea of letting someone else take care of you financially seemed more appealing than it normally did.
Sighing, you slid out of the car, gathering your lunch bag and purse before shuffling into the house on slippered feet. "H?" you called, eyes lighting up when you heard the sound of nails scraping against wood floors. A shadow of jet black fur whipped around the corner and bounded toward the entrance hall to you, tongue out and tail wagging.
"Hi, pookie! How's my sweet boy?" you cooed. Hades nudged your leg with his nose, and you bent down to run your hands over his soft puppy fur until he eventually fell onto his back in need of belly rubs.
"You talking to me?" Harry's voice sounded like it came from the kitchen, which you followed once you straightened up and your dog was finished licking your face.
"You're gonna eat your words when you get your cute butt over here."
"I live with two boys, and only one of them greets me excitedly without fail. You do the math," you joked.
You smiled and shook your head at the comment. Harry knew your feelings about your "unflattering" work uniform, so he often went out of his way to compliment you whenever you were in it.
When you finally made it to where Harry was standing at the kitchen counter, tears nearly welled up in the corners of your eyes. "Is that—"
"Wild Cherry Pepsi," he said, his grin wide and knowing as he read your expression. "With pebbled ice. And dinner, but I know you care more about the drink with that sugar addiction of yours."
"You know me so well," you said, your voice rising in pitch as your head bowed.
"Aw, come here, bub." You shuffled over the last few steps to Harry, folding right into his welcoming embrace.
His body was firm and comforting against yours, his t-shirt soft beneath your cheek. Breathing in deep, you wrapped your arms around Harry's torso, letting every frustration you felt at work fall away as he held you.
"Thank you," you mumbled, tilting your head up after a minute or two had passed.
Harry smoothed his hand over your hair and down your back, pulling at the hair tie that held your braid in place all day. "For what?"
You shrugged, eyes closed as he began to pull the strands of your braid apart. "I don't know. For being you, for not suggesting I should quit when I know you want to."
"Another time," Harry promised. Pulling out a chair at the kitchen table, he gestured for you to sit down. You practically fell into the chair, feeling like you could finally relax as you took the plastic to-go cup into your hands and took a sip. Your eyes closed, feeling as though you could fall asleep right then even though you knew you should probably eat. As if he could tell you were on the brink of sleeping, Harry asked, "Do you want to keep talking about work or are you ready to forget?"
Harry wasn't being rude, nor was he belittling your frustration. You'd done this song and dance a time or two, but some days required you to vent more than others.
Around the straw, you said, "Can I?"
He sat beside you, taking Hades in his lap, who was happy to be held even though he was getting way too big for it. Usually, you chided Harry for holding Hades like that, but you were too tired, and honestly, it was kind of cute.
You talked while you ate, and Harry listened, letting you get everything you needed off your chest. He was quiet but attentive, apologizing for things out of his control and cursing your co-workers when you did. None of it would really improve the situation at work, but you always appreciated Harry's willingness to listen when you needed him to, and share in your anger and frustration when necessary.
Standing from the table, you took your plate and put everything in the dishwasher. Grabbing your plastic cup in one hand and Harry's hand in the other, you said, "I think I'm all done."
Harry kissed your temple before pulling you up the stairs toward your bedroom. Hades snaked between you and him to run ahead, waiting on the landing impatiently. "Good, because the Real Housewives of Salt Lake City won't wait for just anyone."
"Not a reading night, huh?" you asked, resting your head on his shoulder. Harry looked down and raised his brows in an expression that expressed he was not, in fact, going to be cracking open his book tonight. Kissing his cheek, you said, "Go ahead and start the next episode, baby. I'm gonna hop in the shower and wash my day off."
Harry, who'd been on his way to do just that, paused and frowned. "Well now I want to watch something else."
Grinning, you held out your hand while you continued to sip your drink. "Come on."
Hades, who had already claimed his spot at the edge of your bed, tilted his head to one side, clearly confused as to why his parents were walking away instead of joining him. "We'll be quick," you promised, even though you knew your dog didn't understand. But the message was for Harry too.
When you were finally in bed, watching Harry's show through eyes that were struggling to stay open, you looked up from where you resting against his shoulder. Harry's glasses were perched on his nose, his eyes focused on the television in front of him as he ran his hand idly over Hades' fur, who had conveniently found his way onto your lap once you settled into bed for the night.
"If you insist," Harry said on an exhale, turning the shower on and setting it to a temperature he knew you both liked.
"Be honest," you said suddenly. "I'd be happier if I quit, right?"
Harry was quiet, but you knew he'd heard you. He was just weighing his words. "Is another job lined up in this alternate universe?" he finally asked.
"I don't know, maybe. They argue quite a bit, though. Don't think you want to be part of all that drama," he replied, taking the remote and pausing his show. He looked down at you, eyes soft but perhaps a little concerned. You'd never considered his offer of letting him provide for you this seriously before. "Honestly? I think you'd get bored, bub."
You shrugged. "I don't know. You've said you'd always take care of me. What if I just...let you? I could be one of them," you mused, nodding your head at the women on your TV.
A nod and a noncommittal hum was your only response for a few seconds until you'd gathered your thoughts. "I'm just so...tired. I'm tired of everything I do not being appreciated. I'm tired of not being supported. I love my regulars and I like most of my co-workers, and part of me feels a sense of loyalty to this place despite, well, everything."
"We'll do some job hunting tomorrow," Harry said. "I'll help you update your resume, you'll send some feelers out, and we'll go from there. How does that sound?"
"I could get a remote job," you mused. "I'd get to be home more. I could travel more with you."
Harry kissed the top of your head. "As much as I would love that, I think your strengths lie in the connections you make with people. You certainly charmed the pants off me."
"Literally or metaphorically?"
"Both."
You grinned, cheeks reddening as you recalled the night you first met Harry.
*.*
"Holy shit you're Harry Styles."
Your hand immediately clapped over your mouth, as if physically covering it would keep you from embarrassing yourself further. In your defense, it was the first time a celebrity sat in your section at work, and no one had thought to warn you. And Harry Styles, no less. The man in front of you was probably still immortalized on your childhood bedroom wall, and now you'd all but outed yourself as a fan when he'd no doubt wanted some privacy.
"I'm so sorry, I—" How were you supposed to recover from this? Harry stared at you with a small smile, a pitying one, no doubt. God, you had one opportunity to act cool in front of a celebrity and you blew it in less than ten seconds. "I'm sorry, let me start over. Hi, I'm Y/n, and I'll be taking care of you today. Can I get you something to drink?"
"Just a water please," Harry replied, his voice soft as his smile widened, which made you think that perhaps he thought you making an absolute fool out of yourself was at the very least amusing.
Once you made it back to the service station to retrieve his water glass, you gave yourself exactly one minute to collect yourself. "He's just another customer. An extremely attractive customer," you murmured, grabbing a pitcher of water from the fridge. "You can do this, Y/n. Pull yourself together."
From there, things went smoothly. You acted like you hadn't freaked out when you initially greeted Harry's table, and Harry was thankfully on board with that plan. He was polite, wasn't fussed when a dish he wanted couldn't be made vegetarian, and was surprisingly interested in making conversation with you anytime you were at his table.
"How long have you worked here?"
"Too long," you joked. "Sometimes I feel like there's a bit of Stockholm Syndrome with this place, but the tips are good."
Your eyes widened a bit when you realized he might think you were making a joke about one of his songs—which you absolutely weren't trying to do—but you didn't comment on it, and thankfully neither did he. You talked a little bit more about the career you did want to get into, and casually asked what brought him to the restaurant you worked at. It wasn't one celebrities tended to frequent, but perhaps that was its charm to Harry.
"Had a day to myself, just thought I'd do some exploring," he explained before you left him to enjoy his meal.
You'd gotten a couple more tables since then and couldn't go over and talk to Harry like you wanted, but perhaps that was for the best. You flitted around the restaurant floor like you always did, charming customers and taking complaints in stride with a smile. Tips were key, and snarky comments or not being accommodating would get you nowhere with certain customers, even if it did kill you inside just a little bit to see an insufferable person get their way.
You didn't realize it at the time, but according to Harry, he watched you—not in a creepy way, per his recollection of your first meeting. He watched you chat with regulars and help your co-workers place orders and carefully placate disgruntled customers. And all the while, you still managed to stop by his table, smiling and topping off the coffee he ordered after he ate, which, according to him he'd done just so he could keep talking to you.
Apparently, he'd been working up the courage to flirt with you when you finally set the check down on the table. "No rush," you said with a smile before heading to another table, a party of ten that you accidentally huffed to him was supposed to be a party of five.
Harry paid, then smiled when his bill and credit card came back to him. Sorry for acting like an idiot earlier. It was nice meeting you! you'd written on the receipt, adorning it with a smiley face. You watched as Harry smiled as he read your note from Expo before one of the line cooks shouted at you to run the food that was up.
You didn't think you'd ever see Harry again, a universal truth, some might've called it. But for some reason, the notion disappointed you, and not because you didn't get a picture with your teenage crush. It felt bigger than that somehow, which was altogether crazy considering you'd only just met him.
So imagine your surprise when you saw him again two days later. "He was supposed to be in my section, but he insisted on yours. Don't fuck it up," one of your more vile co-workers told you, clearly jealous. And as you saw him, his head bent over the menu and his knee bouncing beneath the booth, your heart leaped in your chest in a way that made you both nervous and excited.
"You forgot something," he said as he closed out his check for the second time that week. Time had passed in a blur, despite it slowing down every time you went over to talk to him, which was to say a lot. It wasn't as busy as the day he first came in, leaving you no choice but to check on him more than you normally would.
"Did I?" you asked, looking down at the bill with furrowed brows.
"Last time I was here, I mean," Harry corrected.
Last time, you thought. All Harry had gotten was a salad and a coffee, but the tip he left was well over half of what your other tables had left that day combined. But you rang everything in correctly. Perhaps he was expecting a discount for his celebrity status? He didn't seem like the type, but that was the only conclusion you were able to draw.
"The note you left," he continued, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. He sat up straighter, giving you a better view of the Keith Harring shirt he wore. "It didn't have your number on it, so I've had to come back the last two days so I could ask you for it. Only now I know you don't work on Mondays."
Shock ran through your entire body, to the point where you couldn't even speak. Harry, Harry Styles, mind you, wanted your number. Badly enough that he'd come back to an average Mom-and-Pop restaurant to get it.
"No, I—I don't," was all you could manage as your entire face heated up.
"I hope I'm not sounding like a creep right now," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "I realize now I may have participated in some light stalking."
"You're not," you blurted, trying to remember how to speak. You felt like you'd somehow entered an alternate dimension. "Here, hold on."
You pulled your order pad from your back pocket and scribbled your number down, willing your hands to stop shaking. Ripping it off the stack, you handed it to Harry, who took it from you graciously.
"Can I call you later?" he asked, standing up from the booth. You had to back up a couple steps to give him room, and you were now aware of just how tall he was as you craned your neck to look at him.
"Please," you blurted, cursing yourself for sounding so eager. Harry didn't seem to mind, though, smiling as he slipped his phone and wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. "I—I mean, sure. I'm off at eight tonight."
"I'll be counting down the minutes," he said before cursing under his breath. "Shit. I sounded like a stalker again, didn't I?"
A laugh bubbled out of you, making Harry's shoulders relax. "I'll allow it. Just this once."
Harry laughed too, then winked, and you were honestly so proud of yourself for not swooning in front of him. "I guess I'll be talking to you later then, Y/n."
*.*
"You made me so nervous," you said as you recalled the memory of how you'd embarrassed yourself in front of Harry the first time you met.
"I know," he said, laughing when you smacked his arm. "It was cute, though! And you also made me plenty nervous, to be fair."
"That is true," you sighed, grinning a little as you turned your face into his arm. "One of us stalked the other, and it certainly wasn't me."
"Sure, but one of us has posters of the other plastered all over their childhood bedroom."
Scoffing, you sat up and scooted away from him, making Hades bark in protest. "It's one poster. And you weren't even my favorite. Zayn was."
"Sure. Keep telling yourself that."
"I will."
Sighing, you settled deeper against him, as much as you could considering the puppy still in your lap. "Sometimes I think I keep the job because that's where we met."
"It's okay to let it go. We'll have the memory," Harry promised, his hand meeting yours as he began to scratch Hades' fur. "We'll figure it out. I promise."
Nodding, you reached for the remote and pressed play on the show, content to leave the conversation there. If Harry promised to help you figure it out, then you believed him.
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Text
Love at The Second Sight - with Harry Styles
Situação: marido!Harry Styles x Leitora
Contagem de palavras: 935
Pedido de @httnathxs: Você está aceitando pedidos? Se sim você poderia fazer um imagine do Harry. Onde a S/n tem muita insegurança com o cabelo por ser cacheado e por isso ela faz progressiva ( lembrando o Harry nunca viu o cabelo dela cacheado e eles já se conheceram assim) aí quando ele vê o cabelo dela natural ele se apaixona duas vezes mais por ela.
N/A: Obrigada por enviar sua ideia, anjo. Gostei muito de escrever a história. Espero que goste do resultado e me diga o que achou :)
curte e reblogue o post para me ajudar 🫶
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- Você tá preparada? - os olhos de S/N fitaram através do espelho o amigo e fiel cabeleireiro desde seus 15 anos de idade. A expressão da garota continha uma mistura de pavor e ansiedade. Uma ansiedade boa que trazia um leve frio na barriga e a boca seca, sedenta pelo o que estava por vir.
- Não me pergunta de novo, senão é capaz de eu desistir. - a risadinha mostrou um tom de verdade.
- Isso nunca! - protesta, levantando o dedo indicador da mão esquerda e com a direita logo pega a tesoura para iniciar seu trabalho. - Eu sonhei tanto que esse chegasse. - diz emocionado olhando o cabelo molhado e repleto de anos de química que ele mesmo realizou. S/N alisava o cabelo desde que se conhecia por gente. A progressiva já fazia parte da vida dela, que a própria dona do cabelo não se recordava como era seu verdadeiro eu. No entanto agora seria questão de tempo para ela se encontrar consigo mesma quando o barulho da tesoura foi ouvido e cortado a parte dos fios modificados quimicamente. De modo involuntário e inevitável de certa forma a mulher fechou os olhos, uma atitude em vão quando parada para pensar, já que ela não conseguiu visualizar o cabelo sendo cortado. Mas deixou o reflexo de seu cérebro tomar conta pelo barulho da tesoura sendo utilizada. Seu coração acelerou e uma sensação nova instaurou-se sobre seu ser, especialmente quando observou o chumaço de cabelo na mão do cabeleireiro ao final da ação. Por conta da transição ter iniciado há pouco mais de um ano, o cabelo dela estava gigante, mesmo cortando boa parte ainda sim o comprimento chegou aos ombros. - Você está livre! - Elton comemora e S/N dá um sorriso de alivio acompanhando de emoção, vista pelas olhos marejados.
A finalização foi seguida de um cuidado ímpar com cada cachinho, e ao final da experiência S/N não acreditou quando finalmente viu seu reflexo naquele espelho imenso. Na verdade ela não reconhecia aquele cabelo, aquela S/N. Ela estava radiante, com um volume estrondoso e impecável que realçava seu rosto, especialmente seus olhos, que por conta da situação continham gotas aprisionadas até a primeira lágrima cair lentamente. O amigo, que viu aquela menina crescer, não conseguiu segurar a emoção e chorou com ela.
- Obrigada… - a jovem diz com a voz embargada e um sorriso lindo nos lábios.
Ao chegar em casa, S/N queria fazer uma surpresa para todos que a conheciam com o cabelo liso. E o primeiro deles era seu esposo. Harry havia um compromisso na casa de um dos amigos que casaria na semana que vem, e como padrinho tinha de comparecer ao último ensaio da cerimônia. Contudo a mulher não acreditou quando ele disse que seria rápido, surpreendendo-se quando percebeu que o rapaz já havia voltado da reunião, mas estava no banho quando ela entrou.
Animada por ainda sim conseguir realizar a surpresa, a garota imaginou por uns dez minutos como prepará-la, e decidiu que só apareceria para Harry quando ele descesse as escadas e a encontrasse na sala.
S/N deduziu que o chuveiro ser desligado já que não escutou sons de água escoando, e sentou-se no sofá, ligando a tevê “despretensiosamente”. Em menos de cinco minutos os passos descendo as escadas surgiram e antes de chegar no primeiro andar Styles grita.
- Como assim você já chegou e não…. - o moreno simplesmente perde a fala e trava no penúltimo degrau quando enfim visualiza a figura inédita da esposa. S/N conseguiu pegar todos os frames do marido surpreso, abrindo a boca e brilhando os olhos quando percebeu a mudança na jovem. O sorriso dela era gigantesco, contagiando Harry no mesmo segundo até os dois soltarem uma risada eletrizante. - Meu Deus! - fala deslumbrado, erguendo as sobrancelhas e caminhando devagar até o sofá. - Você tá tão, mais tão linda, S/A! - a sinceridade foi algo genuíno que mexeu com a emoção já abalada de S/N. - E eu juro que não tô exagerando. - ela ri, um pouco envergonhada.
- Diferente né?
- Muito! - ele diz enquanto avalia o novo visual da mulher, agora mais de perto. - Posso tocar? - o modo como ele pediu foi extremamente fofo.
- Pode. - ela responde rindo, completamente derretida. Em seguida Harry afaga os cachos cuidadosamente e percebe a maciez incrível, além do aroma fresco que o cabelo carregava. Por fim, e com um sorriso de orelha a orelha ele segura o rosto dela com uma mão em cada bochecha e encara os olhinhos lagrimejados da garota.
- Acho que me apaixonei de novo por você, amor. - a moça ri encantada e ele a puxa para um selinho. - Esse cabelo combina demais com você! - permanece em silêncio enquanto as pupilas dilatam percorrem lentamente cada detalhe que antes ele não dava tanta atenção. - Sua boca, seu sorriso, seus olhos! Poxa, seus olhos estão lindos!
- Tá me deixando com vergonha.. - dessa vez ele se derrete por ela, abraçando-a forte e beijando seus lábios novamente.
- Vai se acostumando, porque eu vou te elogiar por muito tempo. Afinal, olha esse cabelo! - comenta empolgado. - Simplesmente perfeito em você.
- Desse jeito a minha insegurança vai embora.
- E ela nunca deveria ter existido. - reafirma o que ele sempre defendeu. - Sua beleza está mil vezes mais potente com esse volumão e cachos lindíssimos.
- Obrigada, meu bem.
- Agora nós dois temos cachinhos! - Harry chacoalha a cabeça mexendo seus cachos úmidos, recém lavados e faz a esposa rir e repetir o ato, a cena mais fofa de todos os tempos, que com certeza seria contada adiante durante os próximos anos de relacionamento do casal mais apaixonado do mundo.
_____________________________________________
Feedbacks são sempre bem-vindos e de extrema importância para quem escreve. Se possível, não esqueça de deixar um comentário sobre o conteúdo lido acima na ask! Adoraria saber o que achou :)
xoxo
Ju
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grapejuicestyless · 13 hours
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But I’m Kind Of Green
Harry Styles x fem!reader
Summery: April showers bring May flowers. As the warm spring air carries in a warmth you and Harry haven’t felt for months, you spend the day basking in the sunlight and admiring the things you couldn’t really see in the dark winter.
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The grass underneath my fingertips tickles my skin as I wrap my knuckles around the roots a tug. Soft sounds of squeaking filling the silence that lingers between us. The silence is never awkward, nor is it heavy. Our eyes flicker between each others faces and our hands narrowly avoid the others in the freshly cut grass.
“Did you wear sunscreen?” Harry smiles with his front teeth before shaking his head, and his eyes flicker down to my nose for a moment.
“I can tell.”
“Yeah?” He mumbles, scooting his hips closer to mine and tucking his hands beneath his head like a pillow. He rests his hair in his palms.
“You get burnt under your eyes real bad, I can see that coming in. But you’re also getting freckles again.” Harry laughs.
“Anything else?”
I think about it for a second, but decide to just move impossibly closer and place my own palms beneath my head to rest.
“No.”
Harry hums.
“Well, I like being in the sun, we haven’t had weather like this in a while.” He begins, “and I think it’s my favorite kind of weather because it’s easier to see you.”
“How so?” I smile, still searching around his own face. I can feel the heat not only radiating from the sun above but also bouncing off of his body onto mine. It’s a warm blanket of love and comfort wrapping around us in the early may heat.
“In the winter your eyes are brown.”
I raise my brow, blinking more rapidly subconsciously.
“Well, my eyes are brown.” Harry smiles smugly, “Says so on my license too.”
“Well then your license is wrong. Your eyes are hazel.” He smiles proudly, his leg throwing itself over my knee to link us together in yet another way.
“Are they?”
Harry hums, smiling sweet at me and turning to the side completely to admire the way the sun beats down on us. He has a dopey look in his eyes I wish I could capture forever in my memory. A lazy haze that he only gets at this time of the year, when the harsh winter is transitioning into a breezy summer.
“Yep. But you can only tell in the sun. They look plain brown in the dark, but when we lay out like we are now you’re green all over. Not to say I don’t like your brown eyes, but I just think it’s interesting because I don’t really get to see the green for that long.” His thumb swipes over my cheek slowly, tracing my cheekbone down to my chin. He sets his hand back under his ear with a shuffle.
“Well, your eyes are just kind of green in the winter but they get really green in the summer. I think that’s pretty cool too. And your hair, it’s darker in January than it is in June.” I laugh under my breath, melting into every lingering touch of Harrys skin to mine.
“I guess we’re both kind of green then. That’s something else we have in common.”
Sometimes when Harry talks to me like this I wonder if I’ve done anything in my life good enough to deserve this. All the love the that pours out of him reflects back onto me so I can send it back over. We sweet talk and laugh like we have no stress in the world and if I cry I know he’ll be the one to hold me. I wonder if there are other people out there who experience the same kind of love we have, if the little things make them feel as giddy as they do for us.
I can feel the laughter bubbling up my throat and through my body with the realization that we both share a but of green in ourselves. I never really noticed the green before Harry pointed it out, and I would have never have known if he hadn’t told me.
In moments like this I wonder how I survived in such a grey and dreary world without Harry by my side. I think back on all of our adventures and think about how boring everything must have been without his warm presence and soft laughter in my ear.
“But I’d still love you if you weren’t.” He adds with a cheeky smile, his hands gripping my waist to lift me over his hips. I lay my head near his and bathe in the may breeze with the people around us and the bees in the leaves.
I think I whisper to him that I love him, but I’m not really sure because now I can only focus on him and all of his greens.
I once lived a life of total winter, darkness clouding my eyes, but now I see the world the way I think I should have always been seeing it. Because summers are more fun and the winters are shorter. Brown eyes are nice, but I’m kind of green and so is Harry.
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heartateasee · 3 days
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A teaser for the next blurb to come!
- - -
It was quiet between the two of you, and you waited for Harry to say something, anything, but instead he just stared at you. Shaking your head, you spoke up again. “Don’t even bother coming back in here tonight. You can sleep in the fucking guest room.”
Standing up from the bed, you snatched your heels off the floor before heading into your en-suite - not even sparing Harry a second glance as you did so. You slammed the door shut and locked it, dropping your shoes to the ground as you rested both hands against it. Sucking in a deep breath, you allowed your forehead to fall to rest between your hands as your eyes slipped shut.
You hadn’t heard the bedroom door open back up, so you knew that Harry hadn’t left yet. After a moment, you heard the sound of him walking over to the door, and you opened your mouth to tell him to go away again, but you were met with the sound of him dropping his shoes off in front of it. The footsteps trickled away and got quieter, and you heard the bedroom door open.
“Fuck,” you heard him say sharply before the door clicked shut.
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finelinefae · 1 month
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flower [tattooH x Innocenty/n]
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synopsis: harry's the boy next door, he's also a tattoo artist aannd y/n's sexual awakening because she's an innocent virgin with a flower shop. 
word count: 8.6k
content warnings: smut (fingering, daddy kink, praise kink, virgin Y/N) 
read part 2 here
my first imagine !! i hope u enjoy it !! i enjoy it here very much !
. . .
Y/N had been having a terrible week.
She owned a flower shop called 'Sweet Juniper' which had been hers for almost an entire year. It had been her dream to share her love of flowers with everybody so when she finally saved enough money to set up a shop, she worked tirelessly to make it the best possible floral shop the town had ever seen.
People would put in special requests if they needed flower arrangements for special occasions or others would just come by to just lift their mood a little bit if they were having a tough day. Y/N loved her customers and spent so much time chatting throughout the day all whilst tending to her plants.
But this week was not fun.
The shop next door had been empty for a long time now - ever since Y/N had set up shop. She lived in the flat above the shop so it was ideal not to have to handle any neighbours. But the past few weeks, decorators and construction workers had been making a lot of noise - fixing up the empty shop - which meant someone was moving in.
Y/N hadn't met them yet so she wasn't sure what the shop next door would be. The town was relatively quiet so she expected a bakery or maybe a clothing boutique. Only yesterday, with the shop all set up and ready to go, she found it to be nothing of the sort.
It was dark and music pulsed through the walls of her flower shop. The heavy bass made it sound like someone was trying to fight their way through the floorboards she had painted a very, very light pink.
Her customers had complained especially the older bunch. They had trouble concentrating whenever they tried to talk to her or hear her advice on what the best flowers were during the current autumn season.
So after a not-so-fun week and frequent visits to the corner shop to top up her headache medication, Y/N made the decision to confront her new neighbour and tell them exactly how she felt. She wasn't going to let her flower shop fail because of an inconsiderate, noisy fool.
Y/N flipped the sigh from 'open' to 'closed' and took off her apron which had her name in swirly handwriting embroidered onto the breast pocket. She took three deep breaths and mentally went through her speech. She wouldn't be unkind but she would be fair.
"You can do this Y/N," She said to herself before she exhaled and opened the door to walk five steps over to her next-door neighbour.
She hadn't seen the shop properly since the decorating was completed so was immediately struck by how dark it was in comparison to her own shop. It was painted black with illustrations and pictures of people's tattoos set up in the shop window.
The pavement was lit up in the darkness by the red neon lights coming from inside the shop. Everything about it was so different to her baby pink and white flower shop.
The sudden thought of turning back and going upstairs to her apartment almost tempted her enough to turn away but she knew the problem would not be resolved if she were to sit by and do nothing.
Her Mary Jane heels tapped against the pavement as she came to stand in front of the door. It seemed as though the shop was still open, so she pushed the door and stepped inside.
The smell of tobacco and musk and ink hit her senses as she closed the door behind her. The heavy bass of the music was now pounding through her ears. The nerves were rising within her and turning back seemed much more tempting now.
She spun on her heel and reached for the door handle, only to be stopped by someone clearing their throat.
"Are you here for a tattoo?" His voice was deep, husky and... pretty.
She turned around and was met with a tall figure standing in the doorway to the back of the shop. His arms were by his side and he was wearing a black, fitted shirt with black trousers and low cut doc martens with red laces. His face was illuminated by the red, neon sign on the wall with the words 'Styles INK' written in a grungey font.
"T-tattoo?" She gulped, the script she had rehearsed over and over again was nowhere to be found like the words had silently fallen from her brain, through her nose and slipped from her mouth before she had time to speak them out loud.
He walked to the front desk, footsteps heavy against the wooden floor. "We don't take walk-ins this late at night if that's what you're after."
The tone of his voice made her tremble in her heels. She curled her fingers into a fist and tried to stop her heart from beating so fast. "I-I'm not here for a tattoo. I-I'm actually from next door."
His head lifted up, she could finally see the colour of his eyes were a pale green and his hair was curly and brunette. "Ahhh," He dropped the pen he was fiddling with on the desk, "The flower girl."
She huffed, "Yes, that would be me."
"M allergic to flowers." He said.
"W-what? Why would you set up shop next to a flower shop then?" She asked.
"Only place that offered a space with an apartment." A breath slipped past her lips.
He was not only her shop neighbour but her neighbour neighbour too.
Well, this just made things a bit more awkward.
He came in front of the desk and leaned against it, crossing his arms. Y/N saw every inch of the skin on his arm littered with tattoos and even caught a glimpse of his ring-clad fingers. "Listen, if you're not here for a tattoo then why are you here? I need to close up so I'd appreciate it if you were quick with whatever it is you came here for."
Y/N swallowed her nerves, "Your music is too loud a-and it's driving my customers away."
"What was that?" He wanted her to repeat herself.
"Y-Your music, it's much too loud and my customers are c-complaining." She wished she didn't stutter but at least she got what she needed to say out.
"My music?" His eyebrows scrunch up.
"Yes." She nods.
"What about your music?" He retorts, "s all I can hear when I'm upstairs."
She immediately blushes and wonders how long he has been staying in the apartment upstairs. Y/N was so used to not having neighbours that she hadn't thought to turn her music down or take a break from her lonesome karaoke nights.
"That's different."
"If I have to hear you sing to that broken-hearted, bubble-gum pop princess every night then you can't complain about me playing my music like I have." He argues.
"B-but I don't play it in the day like you do! It's so loud! It is - hey quit laughing!" She huffs when he snickers at her.
"M sorry, you're just so little." He laughs. "Maybe that's why I haven't seen you since I've moved in."
Y/N crossed her arms, "I'd just appreciate it if you turned your music down a little, just so my customers can shop for their flowers in peace."
He says nothing. Instead, his eyes scan her face and then fall on the rest of her. She was wearing light blue jeans and a pink, cosy sweater. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail with a white, silk ribbon and her heels were still on her now aching feet.
He smirks, "Alright, I'll turn my music down but you have to do the same. I don't want to hear you sing about Romeo and Juliet or running out of the woods at 11 o'clock at night when I'm trying to relax."
She turns pink but luckily the red light hides the true colour of her cheeks, "Fine." She huffs and turns on her heel, too embarassed to say anything else.
"It was nice to meet you, flower." He says and she swears she can hear him smiling.
Her entire face heats at the nickname.
***
The next day, Y/N walked downstairs to her flower shop and prepared for a new day. She spent the rest of her night after visiting the stranger next door, quietly listening to music in hopes he would reciprocate today.
She hadn't seen him since last night and part of her was grateful for that. He was tall and intimidating and covered in tattoos but his voice was just so...nice that she couldn't seem to get the thought of him out of her head since she walked out of his tattoo shop. It was embarrassing to admit and Y/N was awfully bad at hiding her emotions so she hoped that would be the last time she'd speak to him face to face.
When she flipped the sign on the door to 'open', she held her breath as she waited for the sound of heavy, rock music coming through the walls only to find complete silence. She smiled and mindfully tapped herself on the back for being brave enough to go over and stand her ground.
Her customers were happy with the change too. They stayed and chatted with Y/N for a while, bringing home their baskets of flowers. The day had been much more successful than the past week had and she was thankful things would finally get back on track.
After cleaning the shop at the end of the day, she walked upstairs to her apartment and immediately decided to get into her new cute pyjamas she had ordered from Hollister - long trouser bottoms and a cute tank top both covered in the same pink, ditsy floral print.
She made herself some dinner and snuggled up on her tiny couch with her pet cat, Marshel, nestling to the side of her. Y/N hummed in delight when she made the decision to re-watch her favourite Harry Potter movie- it was the best film for the autumn weather.
Ten minutes into the movie sounds of people speaking and loud music sounded through the walls of her apartment. "Oh please no," She looked up at the ceiling, praying that someone out there would put her out of her misery.
It could only be her new neighbour, the tattoo artist, the one with the nice voice.
She pressed her ear against the door of her apartment and from the racket of people speaking and how loud the music was, she knew he was having a party.
"It's going to be a long night Marsh." She sighs, picking up her kitty and carrying him to bed.
At 2 am, Y/N was still awake. The party was still going and the music had yet to quieten down.
Y/N had been tossing and turning all night. Tears in her eyes as she tried to sleep but couldn't because of the loud noises coming from next door. At this rate, she'd only get four hours of sleep before she had to be up again for the busiest day of the week at the shop.
She couldn't handle it anymore. She flipped her duvet off and swung her legs over the bed. Her eyes fighting to stay open as she stumbled for the door.
At this rate, she was so tired she didn't care how she looked. She just wanted the quiet.
She flung her front door open and already found herself outside the tattoo artist's door. She knocked but the music was so loud, the only thing she could do was invite herself in.
The door opened and suddenly she was in a whole new world. There was cigarette smoke and a strong stench of alcohol. It was dark but red LED lights lit the room. People were laying on the floor or sitting around chairs or dancing in the empty spaces. There must have been about thirty people but with how tiny the apartment was it felt like much more.
Y/N took a deep breath and began her mission to find the source of where the music was coming from. Everyone was much taller than her which made it harder for her to push past people, especially in their drunken state.
"Excuse me please," she mumbled.
"Flower," his voice made her freeze in place.
She stilled and spun round on her sock-covered feet, making a mental note to throw them in the trash when she got home.
The person standing in front of her looked the same, wearing the same all black outfit he wore yesterday. She could see the illustrations of his tattoos a little better this close and she could also see the anger that covered the features of his face.
"Y-you." She said through parted lips, unable to hide her fear or shock.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" He grabbed her arm and pulled her to a corner of the room. He placed his hand on the wall behind her and covered her with his body like he wanted to hide her away.
"The m-music it's too loud and I-I can't sleep." She said, nearing on tears.
"You and your loud music." He muttered, "It's Saturday night. Shops aren't open on a Sunday."
"Mine is." She said.
"What?"
"I open my shop on a Sunday. I do work shops for little kids whose parents have to work on weekends and for elderly people who get a little lonely." It was her favourite day of the week but now she was dreading it because of the lack of sleep.
His expression seemed to soften but he rolled his eyes, "Of course you do."
"I just need to sleep for four more hours and then you can carry on doing whatever you're doing." He smirked.
"You've never been to a party before flower girl?" She shook her head and yawned.
Harry's smile fell and he sighed. He looked around at the party and then at the sleepy girl in front of him. "Fucks sake." He muttered and wrapped an arm around her.
Y/N's eyes widened when his hand rested on her shoulder. He tucked her into his side and quickly manoeuvred past everybody.
"Is that your new girl Styles?"
"Nice one, H."
"Have fun Styles."
"Ignore them." Harry told her as he reached their front door.
"Is that your name? Styles?" Y/N realised she had yet to ask what his name actually was.
"S Harry. You call me Harry." He says and she smiles at how normal and soft his name was compared to his dark and grizzly stature.
She hadn't realised what he was doing until he opened the door to her apartment. She gasped, suddenly wide awake and highly alert considering he was now in her very messy, untidy apartment.
"W-what are you doing?" She ran to her sofa and picked her blankets up from the floor before grabbing her bowl of popcorn from the coffee table that was littered with books and magazines she was halfway through reading.
Harry's eyes darted around her small apartment. The corner of his lips flinched into an almost smile when he saw the pastel colours littered around the place. It was so her - cute and cosy.
"You wanted to sleep." He said, "M helping you sleep."
Her mouth opened and closed in shock, "Helping me sleep?"
"Mhm, I've got these," He pulled out some earbuds from his pocket, "They're noise cancelling. Can't hear a sound when you've got them in your ears."
She looked at them in intrigue, "Where's your room?" He wondered, already walking in the direction of her bedroom like he'd been in her apartment many times before.
"My room's a little untidy," She tried to get past him so she could block him from coming into her room but he was much too tall.
"Don't care flower, just helping you out." He walked into the messy bedroom and paid no mind to the state of the floor. She'd never had a man in her room before so wasn't sure exactly what to do. Her apartment seemed so much smaller from his presence alone. "Get into bed, love." He pulled out his phone.
"O-okay," She said and tucked herself under her blanket.
It was strange to let a person she barely knew into the confines of her room but she was too tired to care and something inside of her trusted him.
He crouched beside her, resting an arm on her mattress. "Here put these in," He handed her the headphones, "Can you hear me?" He asked but received no reply, instead, Y/N giggled.
"I can't hear you Harry!" She laughed and something weird happened in his chest.
He smiled, "Tha's good." He murmured and put on a song he knew she would like.
Her heart stopped beating in her chest when the gentle piano music began to play. An instrumental of 'Cardigan' by her favourite singer whispered into her ears as he played it on a low volume.
"Sleep now flower." He encouraged.
"M name's Y/N." She whispered, her eyes fluttering shut, "You can call me Y/N."
"Y/N," He whispered back and the name seemed to unlock something deep inside of him. He said it once more for good measure before leaving her there with the music still playing.
***
Y/N woke up the next morning with a phone that was not hers resting right by her head. She had managed to fall asleep for four hours thanks to the man who she now knew as Harry. She felt as though last night was a fever dream and Harry had been a guardian angel, granting her sleep at last.
She could have slept in for another four hours but the shop would not run itself and she had many workshops on today that a lot of people had signed up for. She grabbed Harry's phone and made a mental note to give it back to him before she went to open the shop.
She made herself a good breakfast and fed Marshel as well, before getting dressed into a grey mini dress with a cute white collar and an encrusted black bow. She tied her hair back into a half up, half down and fastened it with a black bow to match her dress. She wore the same black Mary Jane heels and a bag with her packed lunch inside.
When she left her apartment, she listened out for any loud music coming from Harry's apartment only to be met with silence. She knocked three times- his phone in her hands- but no one answered.
She'd come back later, she thought. Maybe he was also catching up on some much-needed sleep.
Her first workshop of the day was with a group of children.
Their parents worked weekends and some of them were from the orphanage that they had signed up to help them develop new hobbies. Y/N knew them all by name and loved teaching them how to grow their own tomato plants and arrange flowers with cute bows.
An hour before lunch, she had a class with a group of mothers whose children had just left home. Most of them came because they needed a little company on the weekends when not a lot was going on at home or they wanted to pick up a new hobby.
In the midst of her basket weaving session, Y/N heard a phone ring. She glanced at the phone still on the front desk and saw the screen lighting up. "Excuse me ladies," she slid off the chair and walked over to Harry's phone.
Mike Supplier was the name on the screen. She wondered whether or not it was important and if she should answer it just in case. The phone stopped ringing for a brief moment until the name lit up the screen again.
"Seems important, Y/N." One of the ladies said.
Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and walked to the back room, pressing the green button to accept the call. "Fucking finally!" A gruff voice speaks on the other end, "I've got your stash when do you want it?"
"Excuse me?" Y/N blushed, not use to such aggressive language.
The person paused, "Are you Styles' new lady? Listen can you put him on the phone? I need to speak to him urgently."
Y/N was in shock, "I'm not his lady! I'm his neighbour."
"Well, whatever you are could you just pass the phone to him?"
"Give me a second," She huffed, entering the shop again and turning towards the ladies who were in deep conversation, "Ladies, I just need a moment to go next door." They nodded.
Y/N could hear Mike Supplier cursing over the phone even as she had it by her side. She noticed Harry's shop was still unopened so went upstairs instead.
She knocked on the door of his apartment repeatedly until she finally heard footsteps coming towards the door. His door swung open, "Can I help you flower?" Her eyes widened.
He stood in the doorway with nothing but grey sweatpants and socks. His bare torso was littered with tattoos and his brunette hair was clipped with a tiny claw clip.
"Your p-phone," She held it out to him. His eyebrows furrowed like he had a lot of questions as to why she had his phone but he took it from her anyway and held it to his ear.
"Yeah, yeah shut up." He spoke. Y/N could still hear Mike Supplier talking on the other end. "Come by this afternoon. I'll wait outside the shop and don't wear that dodgy fucking hat this time."
The conversation ended and Y/N stood awkwardly in front of him. "Well I should go,"
"Wait," Harry stopped her "Did you steal my phone from me flower girl?"
"N-no! You left it in my apartment." She argued.
"Oh yeah," he grins like he was thinking back to being in her room last night, "Your lips go all pouty and you snore when you sleep you know that? 'S cute."
"Hey," she huffed, "I do not snore!"
"Whatever you say baby." Her cheeks warmed at the new nickname he had accidentally added to the seemingly growing collection.
"W-well who was that anyway. He was a little rude." She mumbled.
"You spoke to him?" He arched a brow, "was he rude to you?"
"He swore at me,"
"Dick." Harry muttered, "He's my supplier."
"Oh like for the shop?" She asked. Harry could have sworn he was having palpitations from how innocent she looked.
"No baby," he smirked, "a different kind of supplier."
"Oh," she said, still not fully understanding what he was getting at, "Well I better get down to the shop. My class is waiting for me."
"Sure I'll come with you." He grabbed a sweater and his jacket from the coat hanger.
"Wait, what? No."
"I'm bored and I want to hang out with you." He shrugs, "I don't see how that's a problem."
"You want to hang out with me?" She couldn't make sense of it.
"Mhm," He shut the door of his apartment behind him, "Lead the way, flower girl."
Y/N argued with him as they walked back downstairs. She tried to push him out of the shop before he could even step foot inside but she was too small for his 6ft frame and he gently grabbed her waist and picked her up as if she weighed nothing, stepping into the shop.
All eyes turned in their direction. Y/N blushed and stuttered as she said, "L-ladies, this is my neighbour."
"Hi, I'm Harry." He said from behind.
The ladies looked confused and then concerned and then suddenly they were grinning ear to ear, slipping out of their seats to welcome their new guest.
"Oh Harry, you look as old as my boy! It's so lovely to meet you." Mildred, one of the elder ladies said.
"Nice to meet you too." He spoke in a warm, almost flirtatious way.
Y/N stood there in shock, her mouth opening and closing like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Kathy and Lucy had already sat him in between them both and got him the things he needed to weave a basket.
"Are you interested in flowers Harry?" Julia asked.
He looked across the table over at Y/N whose cheeks seemed to be a shade of red they'd never even been before. "Only one."
"Oh well Y/N's an excellent teacher. We're making hanging baskets to plant daffodils in them for the spring."
"Hmm I guess I've come to the best place to learn then." His eyes remained fixed on Y/N who defeatedly picked up her basket to show Harry exactly how to make one himself.
"How are you so good at this?" Y/N whispered in awe as Harry finished his basket.
"These hands are good with fiddly things." He says.
"Oh that's wonderful Harry!" Kathy exclaimed, "You could take over Y/N's job. Might help her out and she can finally have a much deserved rest."
"S that right? You tired flower?" Harry murmured when he saw Y/N's eyes opening and closing as she leant against the desk.
"Not tried at all," she lied but Harry seemed to see right through her.
"Hmm," he frowned which immediately had Y/N standing straight and trying to disguise her exhaustion a little better.
"You hungry?" A tall shadow loomed in front of Y/N as she sat at the desk, processing payments for her classes and labelling the baskets for the ladies to take home.
She looked up and saw Harry, his voice now a familiarity after the last almost twenty four hours since she had met him. "A-a little." She decided not to lie this time since apparently, she was much easier to read than she thought.
"I've got food upstairs, wanna come up?" He asks.
"A-Are you sure?" 
"C'mon little flower, I wouldn't be asking you if I didn't mean it." With a nod, Y/N locked up the shop for lunch and followed Harry up to his apartment. When she stepped inside, it was completely different to how it had been last night. 
It was clean and tidy. A few boxes were lying on the carpeted floor of his open living room here and there, but for the most part, it was pretty neat. Y/N's eyes were immediately taken by the prints hanging up on the wall. 
"These are incredible." She gasped, feeling particularly fond of a line drawing of a woman. 
"It's my mother," He stood next to her, looking up at the drawing with her. 
"You drew it?" She asked, wide-eyed.
"Mhm," He hummed. 
"Wow, no wonder you're a tattoo artist," She glanced at the intricate tattoos littered on his arms. 
"Ever thought of getting one yourself?" He asked. 
"N-Not really, I'm no good with needles." She said, rather sheepishly. 
He smirked, "Let's get some food in that tummy." 
Twenty minutes later, Y/N and Harry sat on the small two-person couch eating sandwiches and a fruit salad they had prepared together in Harry's even smaller kitchen. Y/N giggled as Harry threw a grape into the air and tried to catch it in his mouth.
"T-tell me about your tattoos," Y/N insisted after taking a bite out of a strawberry. Harry's eyes looked down at her lips and back to her big, doe eyes. "What does this one mean?" She questioned, pointing to the words written in Hebrew.
"M' sisters name," He starts, "And that says 'Can I stay?'" 
"Hmm, you have a lot of hearts." She said, fingers lightly touching the human heart on his arm. 
"I have a lot of love." He grins, cheekily, like he knew the line was cheesy but wanted to use it anyway. He was glad he did from the smile it had formed on Y/N's face.
Y/N hadn't realised how close they had gotten until she felt his breath on her neck.  Her voice wavers slightly as she tries not to think too much about it, "And what about this one," She points to the rose, her fingers tracing the petals. 
"I did that one myself," He murmured, lips close to her ear. 
"You did?" She said but it came out more as a whisper. She seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, her brain turning to mush and all her thoughts suddenly turning into Harry. 
"Mhm," She glanced up and his deep, green eyes were already boring into her. Her eyes darted down to his lips and then back up again. "You're pretty," He mumbled, loud enough so she could hear.
She shook her head, "I-I don't think so," She was suddenly flustered and confused and wondering why her brain was not acting the way it usually did. 
"I know so," His hand reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ears, and she shudders when his fingertips brush against her cheek. Slowly his head inches forward and the nearer he gets it feels as though more oxygen leaves the room. "Relax," He whispers, touching her hand, "You're okay flower girl."
"H-Harry, I-I've never kissed anyone before." She admits, embarrassment flooding her. 
"What?" He furrows his eyebrows. 
"O-oh, it's just that... I've never been k-kissed before."
"By anyone?" She nods. "Impossible." He whispers.
"We can stop if you want to," He says, his voice gentle and comforting.
"No," She wraps her small fingers around his wrist before he pulls away, "I-I want to,"
"Want to what?" He smirks, "You've gotta tell me baby."
"I want to k-kiss you," She blushes, it's all she seems to do around him.
"Cute," He murmurs before his lips press to hers.
Y/N's not sure what to do at first, her eyes are open and shock courses through her, but Harry's lips move against hers and he breathes, "Relax flower," He insists and she does. 
Her eyes flutter shut and she mimics his movements. What he gives, she gives right back and a small whimper leaves her when he kisses her even harder. She starts to lose her breath with how long they kiss for but she's far too deep, floating too much, to pull away. She grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in closer, a groan eliciting from somewhere deep inside him. "Baby," The name escapes his lips and a shiver runs through her. 
With panting breaths, she pulls away and so does he. Her face is flushed and his lips are pink, "You okay?" Is the first thing he asks, receiving a nod. "I think 'm a little bit obsessed with you." He confesses.
"M-Me?" She couldn't believe what he was saying. 
"Don't think I've ever wanted anything more," He looks away like being vulnerable is a foreign thing for him.
"Why?" She can't help but ask.
He shrugs, "Sometimes it just is." 
She thinks on his words before replying, "Can we kiss again?" 
Harry chuckles, "Kiss me all you want flower."
. . .
Y/N had a permanent smile on her face the next day as she went back to work. People asked her what was making her so happy and she was constantly finding things to lie about instead of speaking the name of the tattooed boy next door. 
An hour before lunch, the postman came to deliver her new ribbons for the bouquets and accidentally dropped off a package meant for Harry. Y/N couldn't help but smile at his name written on a brown box. 
"Give me a second ladies, I'm just going to pop next door." Y/N grinned, ignoring the knowing looks of the ladies she was teaching. 
As Y/N walked next door, her confidence seemed to shrink with every step. She realised she had yet to go to Harry's tattoo shop when he was actually working and she knew she would stick out like a sore thumb once she took a step inside. She was wearing a lilac dress and white heels, of course, she was going to stand out.
The bell rang as she stepped inside and a few customers looked up, some of them doing a double take at the small girl. Music played through the speakers but it was a lot less quiet compared to the first day Harry's shop had opened. 
Footsteps walked on the wooden floorboards and Harry walked out from the back room. His eyes caught sight of Y/N and his frown immediately turned into a smile. He held his arms out for her and she quickly walked into his embrace. "Hi flower," He murmured into her hair. 
"I came to drop off your package," She held out the box to him when he let her out of his arms.
"Oh," He took the package from her, "That's all?"
She bit back a smile, "Mmm, I may have something very important to tell you," She gave him a not-so-subtle wink.
He grinned, almost wickedly, "Well, do follow me this way to tell me this very important thing," He led her way from the waiting area and somewhere closed off and hidden from everywhere else. 
When they were alone, he grabbed her hips and hoisted her up onto a countertop, knocking things over. "Harry," She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. 
"Shhh no more talking baby," He said before kissing her lips that he spent all night dreaming about. Their mouths were wet and hot against each other as they made out in a closet hidden away from Harry's customers.
His hands slid down her back and around her waist, pinching her hips, "Did you wear this dress f' me baby?" He murmured, the tone of his voice sending shivers up Y/N's spine. 
"Wanted to be pretty for you." She told him. She had spent all morning trying to find a nice outfit to wear, not only for work but for when she saw Harry too.
"Fuck," He groaned against her lips, "Where have you been all my life?" 
Y/N felt like a teenage girl getting all flustered and hot over a boy. She'd never experienced being with someone in this way before and now she had a taste for it and couldn't get enough of him. She had left Harry's apartment yesterday in a daze and she felt like she was still floating from the high of her first kiss. 
He stood in between her legs and she subconsciously rolled her hips against him. She gasped in both shock and at the feeling of him against her, "You're okay baby," He soothed her, sensing her confusion.
"Feels good huh?" He pulled her hips into him again and she felt a moan bubble in her throat. "Have you ever touched yourself Y/N?" He wondered. 
She froze, "N-no," She confessed, embarrassed. 
"Nothing to be ashamed of baby," He comforts her, his words soothing the insecure part of her. He kissed her lips softly, "Can I visit you this evening?"
She nods without even thinking about it, "Please," 
He smirks, "Please baby? Please? What are you asking for?"
She didn't know, her mind was foggy and all she could see was him, "Everything." 
His eyes darkened but his smirk never left, "'M polite little flower."
"Harry," She whined, burying her face in his neck. 
Harry laughed and cupped the back of her with his hand, kissing her forehead, "I'll come visit tonight and you better be wearing those cute pyjamas," He knew she was smiling because he could feel her lips against his neck. 
That evening after Y/N had closed the shop, she ran upstairs to her apartment and kicked off her heels. She ran around her living room, hiding things she didn't want Harry to see and flinging dirty laundry into the washing basket. 
She walked into her very pink bedroom and pulled out her pyjamas, happy to finally be wearing something comfortable. She spritzed some of her favourite perfume and rubbed vanilla lotion into her skin. 
Y/N sat on her sofa with Marshel seated by her feet on the carpeted floor. She switched on the TV and watched a few episodes of friends whilst continuing to finish her knitting project - she was making a blanket since one of the ladies from her group was pregnant and would be giving birth very soon. 
She fought to keep her eyes open as she waited for Harry to knock on her door. His shop was meant to have closed twenty minutes ago so she assumed he'd be here by now. 
Slowly, an hour had gone by and Y/N was getting worried. Her mind spun with insecurities and a sudden fear that something might have happened to Harry. She placed her knitting project on her coffee table and patted Marshel on the head. She walked to the door and slid her sock covered feet into her brown UGG boots. 
The shop was not its usual LED red colour when she came to stand in front of the window, instead it was neon blue. Y/N frowned when she heard music playing from inside and checked to see whether the door was open.
Her hand pushed the door handle, the door swinging open and the muffled music suddenly became coherent. She could hear voices coming from the back room where Harry tattooed his customers.
Walking towards the sound, Y/N eventually caught the sound of Harry's voice amongst the group of people chatting. Her shoulders relaxed at the thought of him being here, at least she knew she'd be okay if he was there with her. 
Turning the corner, her eyes landed on Harry with two other tattooed men, smoking something that - in Y/N's opinion - smelt a little strange. 
Harry must have sensed her presence as he turned his head and caught sight of her hiding behind the corner wall. He smiled, "Hey flower," 
"Hi," She murmured, feeling embarassed. 
"C'mere," He held out his arm for her and she scurried towards him, attaching herself to him by snuggling her body into his side. He put an arm around her, kissing her forehead. "I thought I was meeting you upstairs?"
Y/N frowned, "You took too long,"
He smirked, "M impatient girl," He nodded towards the two men he was talking to, "Y/N, these are 'm friends, Mike and Dan."
"Mike supplier," Y/N whispered, finally putting a face to the name of the man she had spoken to on Harry's phone.
He was tall and bald with a beard and looked to be in his forties. Like Harry, he also had tattoos but not nearly as much. Beside him was Dan who looked closer in age to Harry, maybe a little older. He was blonde but wore a cap on his head and a silver chain around his neck. 
After Harry had finished smoking with his friends, he said his goodbyes and led Y/N upstairs back to her apartment. "What were you smoking? It smelt funny," Y/N asked,"
Harry fell back onto the couch and pulled her down with him. She lay on top of him, the smell of the smoke still lingering on his clothes. "'S just a bit of weed." He confessed.
Y/N gasped, "Weed? Is that legal?" 
Harry looked at her amused, "Not here but it doesn't do much harm to me, been smoking it for ages." He twirled a piece of hair around his finger, "Does that bother you?"
She thought about it but the idea didn't really seem to phase her. As long as he was being safe and was using it in a healthy sort of way, she didn't mind. "N-no, not at all." Harry's smile widened into a grin. He didn't hesitate to kiss her, feeling her soft lips which had recently become his new obsession. They were so soft and red and kissable and made just for him. 
Y/N didn't want him to stop kissing her whenever he did. She loved the feeling of her eyes fluttering shut and all of her senses just filling up with him. Harry pulled away, still cupping her cheek in his hand. Y/N's chest heaved up and down against him as she tried to catch her breath, "Breathe, flower." His heart ached when she looked up at him with swollen red lips, trying to catch her breath. "Lose your breath a little bit huh?"
"A little," She huffed. 
"You're too cute." 
Y/N kissed him again once she had caught enough air again. Harry sat up, pulling on the roots of her hair as her legs wrapped around him so she was straddling him. She whimpered, tugging on the fabric of his t-shirt.
"What do you want baby?" Harry mumbles against her parted lips. 
"Take it off," She whispers, pulling on his shirt. 
Harry does as he's told, pulling his shirt up over his head and revealing his muscular, tattoed torso. Y/N's eyes widened. She'd never seen something so beautiful, he looked as though he was one of those marble statues in a museum. "Eyes on me baby," Harry smiled, pushing her chin up with his finger so her eyes were looking directly into his. "What now?"
"I-I-I don't know," She blushed, losing her confidence now that they were no longer kissing. 
"We don't have to do anything you don't want." He looked at her with a soft gaze.
"I-I don't want to disappoint you." She admits, her insecurities coming to the surface. 
"Couldn't disappoint me baby, ever." She smiles, feeling secure in his words and his hold. Y/N leans forward and rubs her cheek against his chest. Harry's hands go beneath the tank top of her pyjamas, brushing her bare back. "If it helps I've never done this before."
She's shocked but she tries to hide it, "W-what do you mean?"
"Been intimate with someone." 
She smiled. 
She really, really liked him.
. . .
For weeks after, Y/N was obsessed with two things. 
Her flower shop and her tattooed boyfriend next door.
When she wasn't working, she was with Harry, either cooking in his apartment or cuddling together on the couch in her living room. Harry had also developed a new taste for basket weaving, joining in on Y/N's Sunday classes with the elderly ladies in the morning. 
In the short time they had known each other, Y/N had come to learn that Harry wasn't a morning person but he never missed a Sunday class even when he was exhausted from the busy day before at the tattoo shop. He would stumble downstairs with dishevelled hair and sleepy eyes in sweatpants and a hoodie, sitting in his seat between Mildred and Julia as they fussed over him. 
Y/N had also grown a love for kissing Harry at every opportunity. She'd take many five-minute breaks, walking over to the tattoo shop and kissing Harry in the cupboard or visiting him in the alleyway behind the building where they'd make out against the brick wall. Even Harry had an addiction to his girlfriend's very kissable lips, sneaking out of his shop in between appointments to smother her in kisses in the storage cupboard. 
"Hey Marshy little fur ball," Y/N bit back a grin when she heard the door of her apartment open and the familiar gruff voice speak to her little cat. 
She swung her legs over her bed and paused the movie she was watching, running to the front door and leaping into his arms, "Hi flower," Harry murmured, inhaling the scent of her coconut shampoo. 
Y/N nuzzled her face against his jumper and squeezed him tightly, "Hi Harry," She sighed, blissfully.
"Wanted to come see ya, hope tha's okay." He kissed her quickly. 
"Course, I was watching a film in my room." She tugged on his hand and lead him to her bedroom. 
Harry had spent nights in Y/N's room before. Sometimes he would ask her if it was okay if he took a nap in her bed whenever he finished work early because it was much comfier than his. She'd find him curled up under her blankets, hugging one of her stuffed animals to his chest with the hood of his sweatshirt over his head.
Harry removes his sweatshirt, leaving him in only sweatpants, before he crawls into bed and pats the spot beside him. Y/N turns on the movie but knows that neither of them has any plans of watching it. 
With the amount of kissing they had been doing, Y/N hoped she had gotten a lot better. She realised Harry would often make small, quiet noises whenever she did something he liked, like tugging on his hair or sticking her tongue in his mouth. 
It wasn't long before they were making out again on her bed. Her leg hooked around his hip and her hands in his hair as he gripped her waist, every now and then he would squeeze her ass remembering the first time he did it and how much she loved it from the soft moans that left her. 
Y/N thought that kissing Harry was the best thing in the entire world but what she didn't know was that Harry had plenty more up his sleeve. 
His hand slid from her waist and down to her bare thigh - she was only wearing pyjama shorts since her apartment was pretty warm. He squeezed her softly, "Can I feel you baby?" He asked.
Y/N froze, not sure how to react. "I-I-"
Harry cupped her cheek, "I know," He already knew what she was thinking before she even said anything, "We can carry on doing what we're doing if you prefer. It's no rush." 
"N-no," She grabbed his wrist in both her hands. Y/N was a virgin but she wasn't afraid... Just inexperienced and that made her a little wary. But with Harry, she knew she wanted to allow that part of herself to him. Maybe not the whole thing but a little something. 
"Y-you can feel me... I-if you like." She said, awkwardly. 
Harry chuckles, "What about if you like, hmm?" His fingertip traced circles on her thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps. 
"I-I would l-like that p-please." She whispered.
Harry grinned, "Only because you're so polite sweet girl."
Harry's arm slides between her legs and hooks his fingers around her pyjamas bottoms to pull them down her legs. Y/N inwardly praised herself for shaving the night before yet she was pretty sure Harry wouldn't mind either way. Harry tuts when he sees her underwear, "Did m' little flower get all wet from kissing on daddy?" 
She felt the air leave the room and her body heat at the nickname. It was so dirty and yet she felt herself aching from his words. "Y-yes," She breathes. 
"Yes what baby?" He kisses up her thigh. 
"Yes daddy," She murmurs. 
Harry eyes darken as he looks down between her thighs, "My good, polite girl." He pinches the flesh on her thigh and she feels her chest heave.  Y/N gasps for air when his fingers trace the fabric of her underwear and her heart races even more when he moves her underwear to the side to see a part of herself no one had ever seen before.
"Fuck me," He whispers under his breath. "Prettiest pussy I've ever seen." 
"R-really?" Y/N blushes, her cheeks hot.
"Don't think I've ever seen something so pretty." 
"T-thank you, daddy." She whispers the last part but it doesn't stop the bulge from growing in Harry's sweatpants. 
"Have you always been this needy when we kiss baby?" Harry murmured in her ear as his fingers part her pussy. He tries to stop himself from groaning at the slick wetness that coats his fingers.
Y/N gasps at the new feeling but is immediately overcome by pleasure as Harry begins to move his finger back up to her clit, "Harry," She whimpers. 
Harry's quick to pull his hand away, "Nuh uh baby, that's not my name."
Y/N's head was all dizzy but she managed to reply, "Daddy, please," She whines.
"Barely even touched you and you're already whining," He tuts before rubbing his thumb over her clit and making small, slow circles. Y/N whimpers at the new sensation of intense pleasure. "Does that feel good flower?" He asks, nipping her ear as he murmurs against it. 
"S-so good- so good daddy, so, so good." She babbles as he continues to tease her clit with his thumb. 
"Who'd have thought I had such a naughty girl hmm?" She arches into his touch as he moves his finger in a certain way. She wonders how she managed to go on for so long without feeling something so blissfully delightful. 
"Put your hand here baby," Harry instructs, reaching for her hand that wasn't currently scrunching the duvet, and placing it flat over the top of his, "Let me show you how to touch yourself. Watch daddy," Y/N's eyes look down to see his gold ring-clad fingers drenched in her wetness, his tattooed hand moving in circles as her rubs her clit. "This is how I want you to touch yourself when you think of me baby and when you're good, I'll make your perfect, little hole feel good too." Y/N gasps and clenches when he brushes a finger against her hole. 
"I-I'm good-Please, I'm good," She mewls and her hand grips his wrist instead. She uses it as leverage to twist and turn into him, the pleasure overwhelmingly good she can't help but hide her face in his neck. 
"You are good," He kisses her forehead, "My good girl." She nods at his praise, eyes shut. 
Harry forces her legs a part and continues to pleasure her in a way she didn't know about until today. She writhes and moans beneath his touch as he whispers dirty things into her ear. "I want you to cum baby, think you can do that?" 
"Mhm," She sighs, already feeling the bubble of pressure in her tummy. "F-feels - feel's s-so-" 
"Feel good m'love?" He coos, "Cum f' me. Cum f' daddy, wanna see you soak my hand." 
At his words, Y/N whimpers as she becomes increasingly sensitive the more he circles her clit. Harry feels as though he's about to explode as he watches her cheeks flush pink and she grinds her pussy against his hand as she rides out her orgasm. "That's it my little flower, so good." He praises her, feeling her shudder as she finishes coming down from her high.
She's panting heavily as Harry slides her panties back into place. "You okay?" Harry checks, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Y/N nods and instantly feels embarrassed, hiding herself in the crook of his neck. Harry chuckles, "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen."
"You're lying," Y/N says, her voice muffled against him.
"Never gonna lie to you flower, never." He promises. 
Y/N removes herself from her hiding place and looks up at him. Harry's heart bursts in his chest when she sees her sleepy, blissful gaze. He wonders where this girl has been all his life and how he managed to go this long without her. He was pretty sure he was falling in love with her but that was a conversation for another day.
"W-what about you?" Y/N looks down and sees the very noticeable bulge in his trousers. 
Harry shakes his head, "Not today," He smiles, "We have plenty of time to experiment some more but think you've had enough experimenting for one night."
"Me too," Y/N curls into his side, not bothering to put her pyjama bottoms back on. "Having sex is exhausting." 
"We didn't even have sex, silly girl." Harry laughs.
"Felt like it," She mumbles against him.
"I'm that good huh?" He grins, cheekily, "Just you wait baby,"
"The best," She slurs, yawning, "M so tired." 
"Yeah? You sleepy baby?" He kisses her forehead. "Get some sleep m'love," He wraps an arm around her and tucks her into his chest. 
"I like you very much Harry," She whispers, sleepily. 
"I like you very much too." Harry replies, holding her close.
psa don't let strangers into your room... actually don't let anyone into your room
3K notes · View notes
freedomfireflies · 5 months
Text
Knockout*
Summary: The one where Harry is a handsome stranger who always comes to your diner covered in bruises.
Word Count: 9.4k (jeepers, sorry!)
Content Warning: 18+, smut, slight exhibitionism, very brief violence
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Your stranger is here.
He’s sitting in his favorite booth, fifth one down from the first row, directly next to the window.
He’s got his usual hoodie pulled over his head, obscuring any view of his face. His clothes are dark and seem to cover nearly every inch of his skin. His knuckles are wrapped in white gauze, but are stained with streaks of red.
And he’s looking down. Staring at the menu on the table as though he doesn’t order the exact same thing every time.
A cup of coffee – black – and a slice of pie.
He’s like clockwork. He comes in exactly five minutes after midnight, takes a seat in his booth, and orders his usual.
Then, he pays his bill, and he leaves.
You’ve grown used to him. Comfortable with the idea of his face and his voice and the strange, but unsettling presence he brings with him.
You find that it’s more unnerving when he’s not here than when he is. 
“Hi, Cherry.”
Your stranger’s voice cuts through the quiet diner and forces your attention from the mug of coffee you’re pouring. 
You glance up, finally able to see his face now that he’s lifted his head. His skin is littered with deep cuts and vicious scratches. There’s a bruise just by his eye that’s dissolving into an unsettling shade of purple and his bottom lip is split down the middle.
Even still, he’s smiling. A gentle upturn that looks almost painful given the cracked fibers and dried blood.
“Hi,” you reply softly, feeling your heart race beneath your chest as his eyes find yours. “Would you like your usual?”
Somehow, his grin gets a bit brighter. As though he’s touched by the question. “Of course,” he answers calmly, in a voice you imagine you’d recognize anywhere. It’s deep and sultry, but it crackles like lightning. Sensual in a way you can’t exactly explain. “What have you made tonight?”
“Chocolate,” you tell him, glancing back toward the counter where the pies are displayed. “With extra whipped cream.”
“Mm.” His hum is playful, and it matches the glint in his eye. “How much extra?”
“As much as you want.”
He laughs, and you swear fairies are born. “Then I will have a slice of your chocolate pie, with as much whipped cream as you’ll allow.”
You feel your cheeks warm as you nod and turn on your heel to grab his order. Setting the coffee pot down before grabbing a small plate.
Once it’s ready, you return, sliding it across the table beside his mug. “Is that all?”
“No,” he says simply, gesturing now toward the seat across from him.
And just like every other time, you feel your pulse jump. “I’m…I need to get back—”
“You don’t need to go anywhere,” he interrupts with a wry grin. “Please?”
Your lips roll into your mouth, and your heart lands in your throat. Your stranger has always been good at getting you to do what he’d like, and it seems tonight is no different. 
So, with a sigh, you glance back toward the kitchen. Checking to make sure you aren’t needed too direly before you slip off your apron and slide into the booth.
“There,” he hums, placing his arms on the table to learn forward. “S’much better, hm?”
And you can’t help but smile as you nod and glance toward your cuticles. Avoiding that vivid green that always seems to send your stomach into a frenzy. 
“How are you?” he asks next, and his voice is soft, as if attempting to draw your attention back.
Braving a glance, you lift your head, and meet his eye. “I’m all right. How are you?”
“Good. Better now.”
The flirtatious remark sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. But you don’t respond, instead reaching out your hand toward his. Allowing your fingers to dance along the gauze that’s wrapped around his knuckles. 
“It’s bad again,” you whisper, and you feel him study you. 
There’s a gentle pause. And then, “Not by much. It’s been worse.”
You suck in a quiet breath and hold it deep within your lungs. Turning his arm around in order to inspect the wounds painted near his wrist. “You promised.”
Even without seeing the full of his face, you catch his expression fall. 
“I know, Cherry,” he murmurs. “And I’m trying, I promise. S’just…not that easy.”
Your throat constricts, growing dry from the implication. “I know.”
It’s almost inaudible, but your stranger still hears it, and he sighs as he slips his fingers between yours. Pulling your focus back to him. 
“You know you don’t have to worry about me,” he says, squeezing your palm as if to cement the point. “M’gonna be okay.”
“Are you?”
He looks gutted. Ashamed of your disappointment. “It’s just something that I have to do.”
“Why?”
He considers this before shaking his head once. “I don’t know.”
It’s the same answer every time. You ask him who does this to him. Why he does this to himself. Where he goes, why he keeps going back.
But he never offers anything concrete. Just enough to keep you hoping.
He leans closer. Desperate to make you understand. “I’m gonna be all right, Cherry. I promised, didn’t I?”
“But this isn’t ‘all right,’” you argue quietly, once again studying his scars. “You hurt yourself. Or you let somebody else hurt you. And I don’t know why.”
He takes in a breath before setting it free. “I don’t know why, either. But it’s not forever. And I promised you I would be okay. So, I will be.”
You release him and pull yourself from his grasp. Creating a physical distance much like his emotional one. 
“I have to be,” he adds, and that charming smirk reappears. Popping a dimple from his cheek. “I’d miss your pies too much.”
Even if your insides have twisted, you can’t help but laugh. “I suppose they’d miss you, too.”
“Good, I would hope. Might be my second-favorite sweet thing here. Only after you.”
Again, his coy remark leaves you entranced. Hands gathering on your lap as you look out through the large window beside you. “You’re quite forward tonight.”
“M’forward every night. You just don’t notice.”
“Is that right?”
“It is. Can’t really help myself, Cherry.”
The familiar nickname feels like home. It was coined after the first night he’d come in. He’d sat in your section – this very booth – and made small talk while you served him. 
He asked for your recommendation, and you suggested one of the desserts. The pies were your specialty, and you made a new one every evening. He seemed charmed by this and ordered two slices.
That night was cherry. He ate every bite between sips of his coffee and compliments to you. Leaving nothing but crumbs once you came to collect his plate.
He told you he loved cherry pie. It was his absolute favorite. But he’d never had a pie as good as yours.
And from that night on, you became his Cherry.
He never asked for your real name, and you never offered. You supposed this was intentional. A way to protect you from whatever life he led outside the diner doors.
And in the few weeks he’s been coming back for yet another slice of your pie, you’ve learned only three things about him:
He always pays with big bills.
He drives a vintage, black ’69 Mustang.
And his name is Harry.
Anything past that you suppose isn’t yours to know. Yet despite that, you feel drawn to your stranger. Even if he only seems to exist after midnight.
“You weren’t supposed to be working tonight,” he says, calling your attention back. 
You glance away from the window just in time to see his frown. “Joshua asked me to cover a few of his shifts,” you explain. “I’ll be here through the weekend.”
“You covered him last week,” he reminds you, with just a touch of disapproval. “And a few weekends before that.”
Your stranger is right, but you merely lift a shoulder and let it fall. “I don’t mind. The extra money is nice, and the night shift is always quiet.”
“Not always,” he retorts, and you notice the pull of his eyebrows. “Not everybody is as kind as you, Cher. Not in this part of town. Or this late.”
You can’t help but smile at his need to shelter you. “I know. But Owen is here, and he makes sure to check on me from time to time.”
However, Harry’s expression seems to settle into something hard and unnerved. “And what if he gets distracted? What if he doesn’t see some loser trying to grab for you? Or talk to you? Or take advantage of you?”
His voice is rising, a gentle but obvious crescendo that turns the heads of the few patrons scattered about the diner. 
You reach for his hand once more, squeezing it hard to implore him to listen. “Then I will use my extensive training as a waitress and kick their ass.”
You can tell he doesn’t want to, but he smiles. Brushing his thumb along your wrist before looking down. “I’m only trying to protect you.”
“I know,” you whisper, dipping down in order to find his eye. “But I’m not the one who needs protecting.”
The air is charged with a sort of tension you can’t explain. He feels so close and yet so very far away. Your heart aches for your stranger, and for his scars that never heal.
“Hey,” calls a loud voice, ringing through the small diner until you and Harry both turn. You find a man sitting near the counter, wearing a camouflage baseball hat and flannel shirt. His beard is long and scruffy, and his expression is wildly annoyed. “Do you fucking work here or not? Been waiting on a refill for ten goddamn minutes.”
Feeling rather embarrassed of the way you’ve neglected the other customers and deserted your post, you quickly slide out of the booth and stand. Cheeks warm and heart racing. “Yes, of course. I’m so sorry, sir.”
You rush to check on the coffee pot near the counter, making sure that it’s hot and fresh before you approach. Then, you tip the spout into his mug, and refill his drink that’s already three-fourths of the way full.
You can see Harry watching you from his spot. A similarly irritated look behind his eye as he studies the man sitting before you.
Once the coffee has been refilled, you nod an apology, and begin to retreat.
“Not so fast,” the customer grumbles, clearing his throat as he straightens up. Forcing you to hesitate. “I want my check. And a slice of pie on the house. For my troubles.”
Your heart leaps into your throat, but you nod again. The Starlight Diner doesn’t exactly offer free pastries, and anything that a staff member has to comp comes out of the employee’s paycheck. 
Granted, one slice won’t set you back too far, but the shame will. The idea that you left a customer waiting while you chatted with a man you hardly know. It’s unprofessional and not at all how you’d like to be perceived in the workplace. As a mindless girl who merely doddles her day away. Fawning over handsome strangers and daydreaming about a life she can’t have.
“Absolutely,” you tell him, rushing to grab him a fresh piece just as Harry begins to stand from the booth. “Will that be all?”
“Don’t be stingy with the whipped cream,” he instructs. “In fact, I’d like to see you put it on in front of me. So I can make sure you aren’t trying to fuck me over.”
The blood drains from your face. You feel humiliated under the warm hue of lights strung up around the restaurant. Grabbing the can of whipped topping in a desperate attempt to please and end the interaction all together.
“Why don’t you watch your fucking tone,” Harry grits, approaching the man from his left.
But the customer merely scoffs, refusing to offer him even a disinterested glance. “Yeah, and why don’t you mind your own business?”
Suddenly, Harry’s hand smacks down onto the counter beside him, inches from his plate while the coffee inside his mug trembles.
You can’t help but jump, arm recoiling away from the pie while the entire diner grows quiet. Everybody’s attention has turned to your stranger. Watching him closely as he leans forward, and dips down to catch the man’s eye.
“Wasn’t a question,” he murmurs darkly. “You watch your fucking tone when you speak to her. Or I’ll watch it for you.”
And you can tell the older gentleman is a bit off-put by Harry’s distressing demeanor. Yet he remains rather calm, clearing his throat again before leaning back. “And what are you gonna do about it, cupcake?”
Harry’s head cocks to the side. “Would you like me to show you?”
“Harry,” you whisper, just loud enough to force his eyes to yours. “It’s okay. It’s fine.”
“Yeah, she’s fine, buttercup,” the customer snorts, spinning around to face you once more. “Now let’s go, princess. I don’t have all fucking night.”
His fingers snap together before he points toward the pie. Instructing you to continue applying the fluffy cream until you hesitantly continue.
The whipped desert sprays out of the can in a steady stream, piling higher and higher atop the pie until it begins to spill over onto the side.
Yet he doesn’t stop you. He simply nods and mutters for you to keep going. To fill the plate until he’s satisfied. 
And you know exactly why he’s doing it. Not to satiate a sweet tooth but to demean you. To force you under his cruel, sadistic stare until you fold like a house of cards.
Your stranger fumes from his place a few feet away. You can tell he’s desperate to intervene, but he obeys your look of frantic insistence. Remaining quiet while you oblige the customer’s request. 
Soon, the can runs out. The last few drops spewing from the nozzle until you’re left with nothing but air and an empty bottle.
With a hitch in your breath, you begin to withdraw your hand. He’ll have to drop this degradation act now, and you hope that he only demands the rest of his check before going about his night.
However, before you can fully retract your arm, a collection of grimy fingers dart out and curl around your wrist. Keeping you in place while the man’s eyes narrow and he hisses, “Did I say you could stop?”
But the moment his palm touches your skin, Harry is stepping forward, grabbing a fistful of his collar, and hoisting him from his seat. Then, he shoves him back against the tile wall just behind him, the connection so forceful, it knocks the gentleman’s hat askew.
The other customers, including yourself, gasp from the sudden act of violence. Watching as Harry steps up to him and sneers in his face with the vilest look of disdain you imagine you’ve ever seen.
“Don’t ever…” he seethes through deep, even breaths, “…put your fucking hands on her…again.”
And he’s terrifying. So utterly terrifying, with his busted knuckles, his cracked lip, and his bruised jaw. It’s clear he’s a threat, and the man he’s holding goes deathly pale as Harry keeps him trapped against the wall.
All he can do is nod his understanding, choosing to end the fight before it can begin while Harry – after a very long moment – finally lets him go and allows him to flee from the diner.
There’s a stillness in the café that makes your heart race. The few regulars that are left watching on with a mixture of sympathy and embarrassment. It’s not until Harry shoots them their own venomous glare that they quickly turn away and continue on with their meals.
You slump into the counter, letting the can drop to your side while the sound of a door flinging open echoes from somewhere behind you.
“The hell…is going on?” Owen calls, exiting the kitchen in order to get a better look around. He finds you first, raking his stare up and down your frame before looking to Harry. “What happened?”
“You fucking left her out here, alone,” Harry barks. “That’s what fucking happened.”
Owen’s eyebrows raise as he moves his attention to you. But you quickly side-step into Harry’s path, attempting to end another confrontation before it can begin.
“Just…a customer,” you finally answer softly, reaching for the plate in order to clear your regret away. “It’s fine. He left.”
Your boss nods once. “But he paid first, yes?”
Again, your heart sinks into your toes. Lashes fluttering when you realize his bill will be coming out of your paycheck. “He…um, no, he…he left before I could collect it—”
“Darling,” Owen sighs, and it’s heavy with disappointment, “what did we talk about?”
“I…I know. I’ll…I’ll pay for it—"
Harry’s palm suddenly smacks down onto the counter for a second time this evening. Yet now, there’s a wad of cash beneath his hand. From the looks of it, well over a hundred dollars.
“This will cover it,” he mumbles, turning his unforgiving stare to your boss. “And it’ll cover the rest of her shift, too. She’s done.”
With that, his fingers are wrapping around your upper arm before you can even wrap your head around his offering. Blinking wildly while Owen glances from the cash to you in an effort to piece together Harry’s instruction.
 But your stranger leaves you no room for questioning or bargaining. He’s pulling you out the diner door and into the dark parking lot before you can even bid your boss goodbye.
He strides between the cars before hooking a left around the building. Leading you toward the back alleyway where he normally keeps his car, the wet pavement squeaking beneath his sneakers.
 And during this fervent stalking, his fingers slide down from your upper arm and into your hand. Grasping it tightly as if to make sure he won’t lose you.
Perhaps a part of you would like to feel miffed or ashamed of what just took place, but you can’t seem to fault him for his reaction. He’s always been nothing but kind to you – even if he doesn’t always lend that kindness to others. Expressing his desire to protect you, even if he doesn’t know you.
You wonder if this need to defend is part of the reason why you’ve only ever seen him covered in scars and bruises. If he comes to the diner in the dead of night in order to watch over you. Like a guardian angel or vigilante. 
Right now, however, he disappears into the shadows, gently pulling you along with him until you see his car only a few feet away. He releases you at the same time that he releases a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark curls as his hood is pushed down. 
“Harry…” you begin quietly, tentative of startling him.
“I’m sorry,” he says before you can even finish. “M’sorry, I lost my temper. I know.”
You watch the way he turns away from you. Bracing himself against the hood of the Mustang while dropping his head in what you only assume is remorse.
And your heart aches for him. For the gentleman that lives beneath the outlaw. “Harry,” you whisper again, stepping closer in order run your fingers down his back. Feeling the way his muscles tense before melting beneath your touch. “I’m not mad, I promise.”
“I know you don’t like it when I interfere,” he mumbles, and it’s almost swept away by the cold, early morning air. “But he fucking touched you, and I—”
“I know,” you interrupt tenderly. “I know, and I’m not mad. I’m glad you did it. I’m glad you were here.”
He hesitates, face turning toward his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You allow your chest to meet his spine. “Always feel safer with you.”
He exhales deeply, releasing something heavy before he’s turning around, and reaching for your cheeks. The soft, stained gauze slides against your skin, and his touch is firm. Keeping you in his embrace while he gazes at you warmly. 
“Are you all right, Cherry?” he asks now, thumbs sweeping beneath your eyes. “Did he hurt you?”
Your head shakes. “No. Scared me a little, but I’m okay.”
It’s clear he doesn’t like this, that familiar frown reforming as he holds you a bit tighter. “He never should have spoken to you like that. Much less put his fucking hands on you—”
“I know, but it’s okay,” you interject again, hoping to ease his stress. “I’m okay because you were here.”
And this is the only thing that seems to calm him. That familiar smile of his the perfect remedy for such a strange night. You don’t want to tell him how often this happens. Especially during the later shift. But that’s what you get for working at a 24-hour diner, and you’re starting to think this is merely part of the job.
And truth be told…you think he already knows.
His forehead meets yours, and you can’t help but grin yourself. Grateful for the comfort he provides – stranger or not.
“Speaking of which…why are you here?” you ask gingerly. “I thought you didn’t come in on my days off?”
“I don’t. But…I saw your car.”
“Oh…how?”
His smirk transforms into something coy. “I was driving by.”
“Oh, really?” you tease. “On purpose?”
The smile slips now, a more reverent look in his eye as he nods. “I like to check on you. Make sure you’re okay.”
And maybe in any other universe, this would strike you as odd. Perhaps even unsettling or disconcerting. 
But even if you don’t know him, you know him. You know his intentions have only ever been pure, and even without having much more than his name, he has always made you feel safe. 
You choose to believe in him. In the goodness of your stranger and the care he provides. Inside and out.
“You do?” you murmur, allowing your hands to rest on his chest. “How often?”
A beat. Then, “…every night.”
The alley grows quiet. Scattered streetlamps reflect off the pools of water that are sprinkled across the cement, warming the dark night with their sepia-toned beams.
And you stand there, just you and him, while the weight of the world seems to rest on his shoulders.
But instead of chastising him or asking any further questions, you push yourself up onto your tiptoes…and kiss him.
It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, and you know, undoubtedly, that it won’t be your last. Your stranger has been stealing your kisses for weeks now.
And you suppose stealing isn’t exactly a fair comparison. After all, you’ve nearly pleaded with him to kiss you every time he’s come in. 
Not that there’s much need for begging when he’s so willing to offer them to you. Sneaking you away the moment your shift is through. Chasing you through the parking lot…pulling you into the backseat of his car.
It makes you giddy. You feel like a schoolgirl with a crush on the handsome senior. Slipping into the shadows where he waits. Letting him hold you, kiss you, touch you.
It doesn’t matter if you don’t know more than his name or what he does behind closed doors. You choose to share these special – albeit somewhat scandalous – moments with the mysterious gentleman in booth 505.
“My sweet girl,” he breathes against your lips. The wonderfully delicious nickname melting on your tongue. “Missed you.”
You want to remind him that it’s only been about two days, but you can’t. Because you missed him, too.
“And m’so sorry,” he says next, trailing his quick but fervent kisses down your neck. “So fucking sorry for being so bad. Never wanna scare you or make you anxious.”
A soft, delicate noise bleeds from your throat, and you cling to his much stronger frame as though you’re afraid you’ll simply disappear without him.
“Wanna make it up to you,” he whispers. “Will you let me, Cherry? Let me be good again?”
You nod, needing him to keep himself as close to you as he’ll allow. You want to settle him in your lungs, keep him snug inside in your chest. Against your heart.
And a large part of you just wants to keep him…always.
“Let me make it better,” he says, hands dropping to your hips in order to push you toward his car. Placing you against the door in order to trap you and deepen his kiss. “Let me be good, sweet girl. Be good for you.”
And he’s always good. Good to you, good for you. It doesn’t matter how he is with everybody else. 
“Please?” he asks again, leaning back just far enough to catch your eye. “Will you let me?”
He wants your explicit consent. Wants you to say the words before he continues, and you appreciate this stricter habit. 
“Yes,” you manage to answer, exhaling the word with the little strength you still possess. “Yes, please—”
He takes your hand before you can finish, guiding you over toward the backseat before swinging the door open and stepping aside.
“Lay down, baby,” he mumbles gently, pressing a kiss to the side of your head while guiding you in. “On your back, okay? Want you comfy.”
You do as instructed, dipping down into the vehicle before settling into the soft, leather seat. Flipping over until you can find a position you like. 
Harry is quick to follow, landing between your thighs before pulling the door shut. You both maneuver until he can hover his body above yours, keeping you beneath him as he runs a palm up the side of your leg.
His warm hand feels good against your bare skin, the dress you’re required to wear as part of your waitressing uniform bunching just at the top of your knees from the new position. But it’s like ecstasy, heating up your goose bumped skin from the nippy air outside. 
“How’s this, hm?” He squeezes your hip. “You all right, Cher?”
You rest your head against the door and nod, fingers already itching to reach for him again. “Yes, I’m okay.”
“Promise?”
“Mhm. Promise.”
The side of his mouth curls up, and it makes your stomach flutter. “Good girl. Gonna go slow, okay? Earn my forgiveness.”
He continues the lazy strokes to your thigh, falling all the way down to your ankle before going back up. It is slow, and it almost drives you mad. Because he knows what you want. And he knows just how badly you want it.
Things with Harry never go further than you. Something you’re almost tempted to find odd, but he’s a giver. That was made clear from the first time. He derives more pleasure out of your orgasms than he apparently does his own. He only ever wants to touch you, taste you, feel you. It’s never about him. 
You often wonder if there’s a deeper reason for this. If he’s denying himself release on purpose or if he’s merely terrified of getting close. And occasionally you wonder if he simply just doesn’t want to fuck you, but something tells you that’s not the case.
Maybe one day you’ll be brave enough to ask.
Tonight, however, it seems he’s still determined to put the attention on you. Long fingers gently scratching at your leg until you shiver. It makes him grin.
“Can I see you, baby?” he asks softly, letting his eyes trail beneath the hem of your dress. “See how pretty you are?”
Again, you can only whine pitifully as you motion your head up and down quickly. Wanting to succumb to his strong touch. Only feeling grounded if he’s there to hold you.
“Thank you, sweet girl,” he breathes, using his scarred hands to push your outfit up a bit higher. Revealing your quivering stomach and the delicate pair of panties around your hips. 
They’re nothing special. In fact, you imagine they’re rather embarrassing. A simple, tan fabric that does absolutely nothing to make your pussy look more desirable. 
Perhaps it’s a little silly, but you like to look nice for him. On the nights you know he might be coming to see you (which has been every night you’ve worked since you met), you tend to pick prettier pairs. 
Some with lace, some with little bows. Sweeter colors, sexier colors. Anything that might make him smile.
But you hadn’t anticipated seeing him tonight, and now, you almost want to shy away. Lashes fluttering as you look up toward the roof of his car.
But he doesn’t seem to notice. Nor does he seem to care about the color around your waist, his eyes growing wide as his attention glues to the mesmeric sight before him. Pink, bruised lips parting with wonder while he moves closer. 
“Cherry,” he exhales, the feel of his breath sweeping against your bent knee, “missed you so much. Been forever, hm?”
You nod again, braving another glance just in time to see his hand lower. And then you feel him. Feel his thumb pressing gently into the front of your underwear, just above where your clit lies.
Your entire body seems to spark to life like the flicker of a flame. And you gasp, subtly bucking up into his touch in search of more. In search of him.
He smiles. “S’it feel good, honey?”
You let out a soft breath, chest nearly caving in as you whisper, “Harry…”
He looks up, eyes flicking to yours as that coy smirk grows. “What, baby? You okay?”
Of course you’re okay. He knows you’re okay, but you’ve noticed he likes to hear you say it. He likes to know he’s making it better for you. That he’s helping, that he’s doing good.
When you don’t answer, he returns to your pussy, fingers strumming up and down your covered cunt like he’s playing an instrument. Tuning your body to his needs. 
“Can I touch you?” he asks now, dipping down to nudge his nose beneath your jaw. Pressing a soft kiss to your throat. “Wanna touch you…be good for you, Cher. Was so bad…just wanna make it better.”
He’s attempting to atone for what he did in the diner. To apologize, offer his remorse.
And even if you know he has nothing to apologize for, you can’t find it in you to deny him. Reaching up to tangle your fingers in his curls as you tug him closer. Kissing him fiercely.
He’s hard on himself. You know he is. You don’t know why. You don’t know what the cause is. But you can see the repercussions. They’re painted all over his body, and he wears them proudly. 
He curses against your mouth, and you’re reminded then of his busted lip. Instantly pulling away while you mumble an apologetic, “I’m sorry. I forgot—”
“No,” he nearly groans, slipping his other hand around the back of your neck to keep you close. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind, I promise. I like it.”
His kisses become hard again. Anxious, desperate, and rushed. As though he needs you in order to survive. His nose knocking into yours from the way he readjusts himself. Wanting to take you deeper, really taste you. 
You’ve never been so happy in your life.
He only pulls away in order to slip your panties down your thighs, pushing them to your ankles until he can really see you.
His entire expression softens the moment his eyes find you. Filled with a certain kind of hope and indulgence as he gazes at you almost tenderly. Unable to resist reaching out and letting his finger brush down your folds. 
You make another noise, but he doesn’t notice this one. Too content to be touching you. Feeling you. Spreading you open just to watch you drip.
“So fucking good to me,” he murmurs. “You know that, sweet girl? So perfect for me. Exactly what I need and far more than I deserve.”
You aren’t sure what he means, but the implication makes you frown. Pulling on his hair a bit harder while he moves to your clit and begins to press down.
The pressure of his thumb against the more sensitive nerves leaves you breathless. Squirming beneath him from the rush of pleasure that only serves in making you needier. 
“Always so warm,” he muses quietly. Almost as if to himself. “So soft. So sweet. Can’t ever get enough of you.”
It makes your head spin the way he seems to adore you. The way he talks about your body as if he can’t believe he’s lucky enough to behold it. To feel it, to get to indulge in it. Worshiping you like you’re his religion.
He begins to rub your clit in slow, teasing circles. Kissing you once more in order to taste your whines and feed off your desperation. Wet noises fill the car. Not just from your pussy, but from his frantic kisses that echo between the foggy windows. 
It makes you shiver, loving the way he nips at your bottom lip just to leave you restless. The way he whispers your nickname before moving to your neck, pulling your skin between his teeth and smoothing over the mark with his tongue.
He goes faster. Chasing after your whimpers and the way you arch your body into his. Loving how excitable you get from only a few flicks of his thumb across your sensitive clit.
Then, he slows down. Exhaling a heavy breath as if bracing himself to edge you. Like it hurts him more than it hurts you.
And you mewl pitifully as you cling to his broader frame and tug him down into your arms. “Harry—”
“I know,” he coos, and it’s gentle the way he speaks. Sympathetic almost. “I know, sweet girl. But m’not done with you yet. Just wanna keep you a little longer. Is that okay?”
You bury your face in his neck and make another noise. Something akin to his name that gets lost in the way he curses.
“It’s okay,” he tries again, allowing you to use his body like a lifeline. “I’ve got you, baby. All right? M’right here, I’ve got you.”
He proves this by resuming his sweet torture. Circling the nerves a time or two more before moving down. Smoothing through your folds and lowering toward the pooling of arousal that waits for him. 
You hear him hum. “So precious. S’this all for me, then? Mine to play with? Mine to taste?”
You whine, “Yes, yes, yes,” as quickly as your mouth will permit, and he chuckles. 
The tip of his finger dips inside, presumably to collect everything you have to offer him before he’s lifting it toward his lips.
And you settle back against the door to watch. Enchanted by the way he places you on his tongue and sucks. His lashes fluttering and cheeks flushing from the taste.
You don’t imagine you’ll ever get used to watching him do that. After all, you’ve never been particularly…unbothered by the idea of somebody tasting you. Not even with past partners. You get too caught up in your own head. Worried about the taste, the feel, the smell.
Truth be told, most of the men you’ve been with before were never interested in you. They wanted what you could give them. And then they wanted out.
By all accounts, Harry is nothing like anyone else you’ve ever known. Not just because of the mystery that follows his persona, but because of his endless attention to you. To what you need, what makes you feel good. 
He devotes every second to making you feel like you’re God’s gift to Earth. A gift to him. Praising you for simply existing. Indulging in your taste as though you're the sweetest dessert he’s ever had.
Like now, while a deep moan reverberates from the depths of his chest. Filling the car and your ears like music, making your thighs clench around his hips.  
“S’why I call you my sweet girl, you know that?” he murmurs, sucking on his fingers until you’re sure there’s nothing left. And even then some. “So fucking sweet for me. Can’t ever get enough. Gonna get me addicted, baby. Might already have.”
The moment he takes his hand back out, you’re lifting up, and pressing your mouth to his. And you don’t even care if you can taste yourself on his tongue because all you really taste is him.
But the mixture of him, and you, and the slight tang of blood from the busted fibers of his lip is euphoric. Strange but lovely in a way you hadn’t anticipated. 
He seems to understand this despondency, growing a bit more frantic in his need to please. No longer focused on edging as he drops his fingers back to your cunt while his other hand moves for the buttons on your chest.
He pops them free one by one until your equally plain bra is revealed to him. But again, he doesn’t take notice of such things. Instead swallowing thickly at the sight of your breasts that swell behind the cups.
He kisses you again. And again, and again. Then he moves to your cheek and down your neck. Trailing his tongue toward your collarbone and along your sternum. 
You feel restless. Waiting for something – for him. You already know how magical his touch is. You already know the kind of pleasure he provides, and it nearly drives you mad to simply sit in anticipation. Stuck on his time.
Eventually he reaches your chest, lips moving for the curve of your tit before he’s making another noise and sucking into the tender flesh. Nipping at it, pulling it between hungry teeth. Smoothing over the marks with the warmth of his mouth while you reel.
Your hands disappear back into his hair. Stroking the curls almost fondly, nails lightly scratching at his scalp.
He’s always seemed to enjoy this. Instructing that you pull on him as hard as you’d like. That you tug and scratch. That you use him to inflict your pain and your pleasure. That you think of him first and foremost.   
Now is no different. He nuzzles himself further into your breasts while simultaneously sighing with contentment at the way your hand feels against his head. The way you keep him close to your heart. 
You’d keep him forever if you could.
You hardly even notice the way his finger has slipped inside. The way it strokes your delicate walls that flutter from the intrusion, tensing before relaxing in order to allow him in.
“There,” he whispers, pleased with the way your body obeys him. “S’okay. Gonna make it better. I promise.”
And you know he will.
“So tight today, baby,” he says, leaving another kiss to the swell of your chest. Open-mouthed and messy. “Has it been that long?”
You don’t know. You can’t remember the last time he touched you, although you’re almost sure it hasn’t been more than a week. The two of you have become rather insatiable for each other. Chasing after a kind of release you only seem to find within the hands of the other.
Those beautiful green eyes flitter up to yours, studying you closely. Benevolently. “Have you not been taking care of yourself, sweet girl?”
You take a moment to consider what he means before you feel your cheeks warm. Offering him nothing more than a quick shake of your head.
He frowns, brows pulling together. “Why not, hm? Thought you promised you’d try for me. Help make things better when I’m not around.”
You shrug, growing a touch embarrassed. “I know, but…it’s not the same. Don’t like it.”
“Is that right?”
Another shake. “Get bored.”
“Bored,’ he repeats, and there’s a certain glint in his eye. But instead of disappointed, he seems empathetic. “Cause it’s not the same, yeah? Your fingers too small?”
Now you nod, making a noise of agreement. 
He nods along with you, beginning to smirk. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Bet it’s just so frustrating, isn’t it? Trying to find all your sweet, little spots, but just not quite being able to reach?”
You cling to him as he stretches you a bit further. Doing everything you can’t do for yourself. Effortlessly curling his finger into that one spot until you begin to shake.
“Just like that, hm?” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to your collarbone. “S’that what you can’t find, baby? S’that what’s so achy?”
And it is. It’s so infuriatingly sore that it almost makes you cry. Wishing you could chase after that feeling until your heart gives out. 
“I bet.” More kisses to your chest. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna fix it, okay? Make it all better again.”
“Please?” you whimper, nails scratching down his broad back. Attempting to pull him closer. 
“Mhm.” He leans forward and brings his lips to yours now. His kiss quick but full of promise. “Always gonna take care of you.”
He begins to thrust the longer digit in and out. Slow enough to work you up but fast enough to leave you wanting more. Coaxing the muscles open before bringing a second finger into play.
The sounds of your wetness being pushed and pulled by his hand are sinful. Sending a chill down your spine and directly into your cunt.
You moan when you feel them, writhing a bit beneath his body until he has to press his leg into yours to keep you still.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he mumbles. Leaving another kiss below your jaw. “Know you can take it, baby. You always do. Don’t you?”
And even if that’s true, you aren’t opposed to the slight sting. Instead invigorated by it and the way he uses great care with you. Wanting to make sure you’re all right so he can please you the way he wants.
Yet somehow, it’s still not enough. Even with the way he curls, and pumps, and thrusts those beautiful digits into your pussy, you feel empty. Barely scratching the surface of that itch as he presses his chest to yours to calm you.
Your noises are becoming more pathetic. Your entire being heaving with the weight of promised pleasure in a way you can’t seem to understand.
His thumb presses into your clit every few minutes, attempting to guide you closer to your release, and it works. The combination making your stomach coil until you nearly see stars. Every cell in your body tightening.
“You close, Cherry?” His free hand moves for your face. Palm pressing into your jaw as the bandage on his knuckles sweeps across your cheek. “Hm? You gonna cum for me?”
And you are. You are, you are. You can almost taste it. Can feel it bubbling up from between your thighs, ready to unravel like the seams on your favorite sweater. 
“Yes,” you gasp, arching from the leather seat. “Yes, please…please don’t stop. Please—”
“Won’t stop,” he promises in a soothing tone, lips ghosting atop yours. “Never stop, I promise. M’gonna be right here until you do, okay? Go ahead. I’ve got you.”
And this is all you need. It happens suddenly and yet far too slowly. Pulling you apart from the inside out. 
You moan so loud, your chest shakes. Eyes rolling back and nails scratching down his spine as it hits you. 
Instantly, he moves his hand from your jaw to your lips. Palm pressing hard against your mouth in order to silence you as he whispers, “Shh, baby. Gotta be quiet for me, okay? It’s okay, you’re all right. Just let go—"
And you do. Allow your body to deplete itself of all energy as he works you through every goddamn second. Dragging it out as far as it’ll go. Increasing the speed of his flicks and thrusts. Pumping your orgasm out of you until it sits in his waiting hand.
“Good,” he breathes before finally removing his hand in order to kiss you quickly. Fingers squeezing the back of your neck as he brings you closer. “So fucking good, there you go. S’okay. Keep going, come on.”
And it’s so good, so wonderful. You feel like you’re floating, high up into the clouds. You decide then that he must be an angel, carrying you in his wings and setting you on a sunset.
But you’re still squirming, seemingly discontented, and he notices far too easily. “You okay, Cher?”
“More,” you whisper faintly. “More…please…”
“More,” he echoes. “My sweet girl wants more. More what, hm? What do you need?”
“More,” is all you say. Once again wiggling your hips down as if to sink his fingers in further. “More, Harry, please.”
“Oh. You want another one. Is that it?”
You nod silently, too strung-out to think in coherent sentences.
He chuckles again, kissing your other cheek before pinching your chin. “All right. Give you as many as you want, baby.”
Feeling incredibly grateful, you allow your trembling limbs to fall slack. Once again settling beneath him as he works to get you to your second.
But even as he resumes the languid but practiced thrusts of his fingers, you feel unsatiated. Eager for something else, but you aren’t sure what.
He realizes before you do. “S’not enough, is it?” he coos. “Need something bigger, don’t you?” 
That’s what it is, and you nod eagerly as your nails scratch down the sleeves of his hoodie. 
“Think you can take something bigger? Think you can take another finger, baby?”
Another nod. Faster, more fervent. Eyes pleading with him to give you anything he has to offer.
He obliges this, glancing down before lining his fingers up, and slowly slipping all three inside.
This stretch is a bit more prominent. He’s deliberately gentle, never giving you more than he assumes you can handle. 
And he watches you closely. Searching for any grimaces or winces of discomfort. 
When he finds none, he seems relieved, kissing up from your chest to your throat once more. “Good girl. There you go.”
You begin to writhe a little more ardently until he has to bring his other hand to your knee in order to press it down into the seat. Keeping you spread and still until you settle.
“Easy,” he coos gently, placing some of his weight onto your thigh. “Gonna have to be good, baby, and relax for me. Let me make you feel good, okay?”
You want to obey. You do, really. But the overstimulation and sensitivity from your first orgasm is almost too much. Making you choke on the heated air until you can hardly breathe.
“Like it when I take care of you, don’t you?” he asks you now. Licking a stripe along your jaw. “Like it when I steal you away from them?”
He’s right, you do. Perhaps you shouldn’t, but there’s something about the way he makes you feel as though you deserve more than this. As though you’re meant for more than the diner. He makes you feel invincible.
“Maybe one day I’ll take you away,” he decides. “Fucking take you from them and make you mine. Forever. For always.”
And you decide you like the sound of that.
Another moment of his strenuous torture passes before he leans back to watch. And you notice something in his face. Utter fascination and lust over the way your body bends to his will. Over the way it stretches around his fingers, the way he pulls it open.
He releases a deep, coarse groan through clenched teeth. Fixated on the way his fingers disappear into your pussy. “Taking me so well, baby. Know you’d take my cock, too, wouldn’t you?”
You whimper miserably, undone by the thought. You can’t deny that you’ve wondered what he’d feel like. All of him, stretching you open. Fucking into you while leaving you a panting mess.
You often imagine what he’s like in bed. In an actual bed and not in the backseat of his car or yours. What he might be like when he’s truly lost himself to the pleasure. Guiding his hips to yours, bending you into a hundred and one positions meant just for his indulgence. 
You wonder if he’d be just as careful as he is now. Just as devoted to you. If he’d be hard and fast or soft and slow. If he has dirty kinks, secret fantasies. If he likes the lights on or off. If he likes the bed or if he likes it up against the wall. 
You hope one day you get to find out. 
“Think you would, yeah?” he continues, sliding his digits all the way to the knuckle. The fibers of the gauze brushing against your clit. “Know you would. Be so good for me. This sweet little pussy would treat me so well, wouldn’t it?”
You nod quickly, pouting at him anxiously.
“I know,” he tuts, finally leaning back over to kiss you again. “Know you’d be such a good girl for me. Let me work you open until you could fit me…let me stretch you just right.”
You reach out for his wrist in search of something to squeeze, and it makes him chuckle. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip until you moan.
“Might take a while,” he muses. “Might take hours. Days. I’ll have to just keep you in my bed until you can fit me, hm?”
He attempts to pull away, but you chase after him. Looping an arm around his neck in order to yank him back to you. 
His smirk feels good against your lips. “M’not going anywhere, sweet girl. Just like to watch you. Bet it’d be fun to watch you take my cock, wouldn’t it? Watch it sink right into this tight little hole.”
He’s evil. Absolutely sadistic and it makes you groan against his tongue until he has to soothe you.
“I know, baby. One day,” he breathes. “I promise. M’gonna take you away and do it right. Make it worth it.”
The thrusting of his fingers becomes more poignant. Enough to drive a plethora of desperate moans from your chest as he nuzzles his nose below your jaw and simply breathes.
“Gonna worship you. Give you everything you deserve.” He sucks in a quiet inhale before dancing his lips along your throat. “Have you sit on my face until I can’t breathe.”
The image has your eyes rolling back. Even if you aren’t sure you’d ever feel comfortable doing so, you’re enamored by the idea. Of the thought of him holding onto your thighs, pressing you down to his mouth. Completely controlling you. 
“Can never breathe when I’m with you, anyway,” he whispers, and you almost don’t catch it. You wonder if you were meant to. “M’gonna do it right, sweet girl. I promise.”
And this is the vow that pulls you through to the other side. Large digits curling up into that one spot that makes your legs shake and you’re falling apart for the second time.
But he still doesn’t stop. Stroking, pressing, pumping even after the tears have begun to slip from your eye. 
“Keep going, there you go. Does it feel good? Feel so good, cumming all over my hand?”
And it does, but you can’t exactly answer. Can’t seem to do anything but cry out as you ride the wave and his fingers as though your life depends on it.
“Doing so good,” he murmurs gently, raising up to kiss you once more. Swallowing your pitiful mewling. “So fucking good, baby. M’so proud of you. Took me so well. So beautiful when you cum, Cherry, you know that? Could watch you forever.”
The sentiment makes your entire body grow warm. You’ve always wondered what you might look like when you orgasm, and truth be told, you imagine it’s not very pretty.
But to hear him say it now – so earnestly – makes your stomach wrench. Nails curling into the seat below as you lift off the leather and knock your chest into his.
He holds you as tight as he can before slowly pulling his fingers out. Relieving you from the overstimulation before putting you back in his mouth. Sucking until a string of saliva drips down his into the gauze on his knuckles. Painting it a much prettier picture than the red has.
After swelling every drop of you with a lewd groan, he finally pulls his hand out, and takes you into his arms. Kissing you through the remnants of the blissful rush.
“So good,” he says again, face burying back into your neck while stroking your thigh with his soaked fingers. “Always make me so proud.”
Your limbs tangle with his as you both slouch into the backseat. Allowing your heart beats to synchronize into one, steady rhythm. 
And once they have, you begin to grin. “Harry?”
“Mm?”
“Thank you.”
He exhales a soft laugh before leaning back onto his knees to get a good look at you. “What for, sweet girl?”
“Just for…this, I suppose,” you mumble shyly. “For all of it. Tonight. Standing up for me and…you know, this part.”
His chuckle becomes a bit more smug. “Are you thanking me for making you cum?”
“I’m…trying. I think.”
“Hm.” His grin is playful and so damn charming as he dips back down to hover his lips near yours. “Don’t have to thank me, Cherry. Believe me. It’s my pleasure.”
His teasing remark makes you giggle, and you kiss him hard before he has the chance to leave you again.
You kiss for a while. A long while. Until you can hardly breathe, your muscles beginning to ache and your eyelids beginning to grow heavy from the lack of sleep in this early morning hour. 
It’s not until you actually yawn that Harry finally remembers to pull himself away and reach for the panties around your ankles. “Shit, it’s late, isn’t it? Know I’ve kept you longer than I should have.”
With a quick shake of your head, you push up onto your elbows. “No. I’m fine, I promise. Just…cumming makes me sleepy, I guess. And you’re so warm. It’s nice.”
This makes him smile again, and that dimple of his makes your heart ache. “You know I’d keep you in this car until the sun came up if I could.”
“I know.” Your fingers outstretch for his hoodie, tangling into the material on his stomach while he guides your underwear back up around your hips. “Maybe one day, yeah?”
His expression softens, and you almost swear you see a flash of sadness behind that sage green. “Yeah. Maybe.”
It’s quiet as you rebutton your dress and pull the hem back down. And even quieter as Harry opens the door and slips out of the car, extending his hand toward you in order to help you out as well.
But once you’ve straightened up and turned to face him, you see that something has changed. A look of longing that hadn’t been there before etched between those scarred features.
His thumb brushes just beneath your eye and then down to your lips. Tracing the lines and dips before he sighs and cradles your cheek in his palm. “Are you gonna be all right?”
You place your hand over his and squeeze. “Are you?”
Another deep breath. Heavier and more forlorn. “You know I’ll try.”
“Promise?”
His forehead meets yours, and you both still. “I promise.”
And you choose to believe him.
You say goodbye, and regretfully let him go. Shaky legs carrying you back to your car as his eyes follow you all the way. Making sure you get there safely before you take off down the road and leave him behind.
A few nights later, you’re back for your next shift. And truth be told, you’re almost excited. Because having to go so long without him feels like a form of punishment. Like your days aren’t nearly as bright without him. And neither are your nights.
You can’t help but count the seconds as you go about your evening. Unable to distract yourself with the pastries no matter how hard you try. Thoughts drifting back to those chocolate curls and that devilish smile.
When midnight strikes, you feel relieved. Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you grab your notepad and slip out of the kitchen. Ready to greet him in his favorite booth.
But the moment you slip past the door, you find that the diner is empty. Not a single customer to greet you as you scan the floor in search of that familiar face. Even a glimpse of his shoes or the sound of his voice.
But the booth is empty, the diner is quiet, and it’s 12:06. 
Your stranger isn’t here.
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I know not too much has happened yet but we are building up to tons more smut and plot and angst and fluff, I swear!! 😭💞
Next Part:
~ Whiplash*
~ Main Masterlist
~ Blurb Masterlist
Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞
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cupid-styles · 1 month
Text
renaissance (art teacher!yn x single dadrry)
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in which y/n is harry's son's art teacher and he develops a big dumb crush on her. or: kids art teacher!yn x single dad!harry
word count: 6.5k
content warnings: none, just kids! some mentions of different types of familial relationships/dynamics (death of a parent)
masterlist | talk to me
. . .
"Alright, kiddos, let's clean up our big, beautiful messes!" 
Y/N claps her hands three times to signify that class is slowly crawling to an end. Her hour-and-a-half art course for kindergarteners is one of the longest and, if she's being honest, labor intensive classes that she teaches. It's set at the end of the school day from 2:30 pm to 4 pm, designed specifically for parents that work late or need to place for their little ones to go after school is over. Most of her students' parents are single and working full-time, or have intense careers like nursing or... whatever it is they do. 
Y/N weaves her way through the small smattering of children ambling over to the sinks. She watches to make sure they're having an okay time with washing out their paint cups and rinsing their brushes, followed by using the correct amount of hand soap to scrub paint stains away.
(That one almost always requires extra help — to this day, she tries not to get frustrated when she thinks about Johnathan dumping an entire bottle of Dawn soap all over his clothes because he had a tiny bit of yellow marker on his tee-shirt. It was the price she paid to teach kids, though.) 
"Clementine, do you need a little help?" she asks, peeking over to one of her quieter students. With fluttering lashes and a slightly baffled look on her face (Y/N could always tell when she was getting stressed out by the way her little eyebrows wrinkled together), Clementine nods, and Y/N makes quick work to appear behind her. She gets down to her level, where her Mary Jane-clad feet are resting atop a stool to help her reach the sink. "What's going on, lovebug?"
"'s everywhere," Clementine whines lightly, her bottom lip forming a sad pout. "Paint all over my hands!"
"I see that, sweetheart! But you know what?" Y/N makes a show of pretending to look side to side to ensure no one else can hear her. "It's okay if we get a little messy sometimes. The cool thing about everything we play with in this class is that it's colorful and pretty, and if it gets on our clothes or our bodies, it can get washed away."
Clementine considers this for a moment. Her hands are still stuck under the lukewarm stream of water, where the caked on hues of bright pink and orange are slowly starting to fade away. "What about on my art?" she asks slowly. "Will that get washed away?"
"Nope," Y/N shakes her head. "That stays forever. But on your clothes and body? It doesn't stand a chance."
"Oh. Okay."
And just like that, Clementine's minor stressed out moment floats away. Y/N smiles to herself as she pours a bit of soap into her small hands and helps her scrub them together, the lingering paint forming a pretty swirl down the drain. 
"There you go, lovebug," she murmurs as she stands back up, giving her head a light pat, "Don't forget to grab your painting when mommy picks you up, okay?"
Clementine nods and scampers away to her table. She chuckles, placing her hands on her hips as she takes stock of the kids. She has about 10 minutes until it's officially time for dismissal, and most parents are good about picking them up right at 4 pm. She thinks about playing a game with them to keep them occupied, until she sees it. 
Riley Styles. With globs of red paint in his curly, brown hair. 
"Oh my god," Y/N mumbles to herself, rushing over to Riley's table, "Riley! Can I ask what happened here?"
She tries to keep her voice at a measured, not-freaked-out level, but it's kind of impossible given the child standing before her is dripping with paint. 
"My cousin has red hair." Riley answers simply before shrugging his shoulders. "I think she uses paint, too."
"Ohhhh, I see," Y/N replies, pressing a gentle hand to his back, "Well, Riley, I think it would be best to clean this up. It look like it feels a little messy and icky." 
Her stomach is bubbling with anxiety as she glances up at the clock. There's now eight minutes to dismissal time, and Riley's dad is never late. 
"But you told Clementine that messes are okay—"
"Messes are always okay!" Y/N exclaims in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice, "Um, why don't you come with me to the bathroom, Riley?" 
She doesn't give him an opportunity to reply before she's looping his hand with his and making quick steps to the faculty bathroom. Realizing she's just left 15 kindergartens in a room unsupervised with a plethora of art supplies, she peeks into Lea's classroom. 
"Lea! Hey, um, Riley and I need to go to the bathroom to clean up a little mess! Can you keep an eye on my kids?" 
Lea, who already has her jacket zipped up and looks like she's about to walk out to her car, furrows her eyebrows. Her eyes widen when Y/N backs up slightly to give her a view of Riley, who has been trailing red paint with every step they take. 
"Oh my god!" she all but squeals, and Y/N's jaw clenches, "Yeah! Sure! No problem! Good luck with that mess, Riley!"
Y/N resists the urge to roll her eyes at her friend as they finally make it to the bathroom. She glances down at her watch, which tells her that took a whopping three minutes of their time. Swallowing tightly, she tries to figure out the best plan of attack, ultimately deciding that it would be best if she just attempted to wash his hair with soap and water while he stood there. 
"Alright, Riley, can you try and stand still for me?" she asks, already pumping an absurd amount of hand soap into her hand, "I'm going to try to help get this mess out of your hair. Don't you miss those pretty curls you have?"
He shrugs as she begins to lather the soap between her hands. "I thought my cousin's hair was pretty."
"I'm sure!" she replies, massaging the foamy liquid into his hair. She's never been so thankful for washable paint before as the tints of red that latched onto his strands begin to wash away. "She probably didn't use paint though, and it's important that we keep the paint on our projects instead of our hair."
"Messes are okay, though. You said it."
She grimaces. Why do kids remember everything?
"You're right, messes are totally fine! But those are accidental messes. It's alright if we get it on our shirts or hands, but paint doesn't go in our hair. Does that make sense?"
His hair is completely saturated with hand soap now. She doesn't have a better way to wash it out (other than dunking the poor kid's head in the sink, which definitely feels unethical), so she's simply getting her hands wet and washing out section by section. It's going moderately well, especially since Riley's hair is on the shorter side, until the bathroom door bursts open, followed by angry footsteps.
"Riley!" 
Y/N turns, her mouth forming an embarrassed o-shape when her eyes make contact with a seething Mr. Styles. 
"Daddy!" Riley exclaims, rushing over to his dad. He latches his arms around his leg, giving them a squeeze, and getting the watered down red paint everywhere in his wake. Y/N winces. 
"What are you doing alone with my son in a faculty bathroom?" He demands, jabbing his finger in Y/N's direction. 
"I'm so sorry! H-he put red paint in his hair and I needed to wash it out, this was the only place I could do it since the kids' bathrooms aren't big enough—"
"And you didn't think to take another faculty member with you?" He spits angrily. Riley's now running around in circles, shaking his hair out like a dog. "How do I know you weren't doing anything—"
"I would never do anything inappropriate and you know that, Mr. Styles," Y/N cuts him off, feeling rage bubble up in her chest, "You've been sending Riley here for two years and this is the first time anything has ever happened. Until now, both you and him have only ever been happy with your experience here."
Mr. Styles clamps his jaw shut, his gaze falling to Riley, who's now pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back. 
"It's washable, then?" he asks through a clenched jaw. "The paint?"
Y/N swallows, then nods once. "Yes. Everything we use is washable and water-soluble. It was coming out fine before."
He straightens his posture and runs his tongue over his two, slightly overlapped front teeth. "Okay. Riley, come on, we have to head home now."
Mr. Styles stretches out his hand and Riley takes it happily, his smaller one clutching his dad's fingers. The sight makes Y/N's stomach squeeze, but she quickly diverts her gaze and clears her throat. 
"I can grab his backpack and jacket," she says, boots clicking against the tiled floors as she walks out of the bathroom. Her face is warm and she feels tears lining her eyes, but she refuses to let herself cry in front of a parent. What she said to Mr. Styles — it's true. She's been working at the studio for five years and nothing has ever happened. She supposes a fuck up was overdue, especially since she works with kids, but it doesn't lessen the sting any.
She's surprised when she hears footsteps behind her, realizing that they're following her. She swallows the lump of tears in her throat and flashes Lea a small, forced smile when she returns to her classroom. The rest of the kids are gone already, their belongings and paintings with them. 
Y/N walks over to the cubbies, where Riley has his jacket and backpack hooked. Gently, she removes them, and turns to hand them to Mr. Styles.
"Again, I apologize for today. I was helping another student clean up and I must have missed this entirely," she says, trying her best to keep an even tone. 
Mr. Styles nods awkwardly, taking Riley's stuff into the crook of his arm. "I, um, apologize for insinuating that you'd do anything... unsavory. I know you wouldn't. I just panicked."
"I understand completely." she replies, and she means it genuinely. 
"Daddy?"
They both look down to see Riley tugging at his dad's pant leg. 
"What does usavory mean?" 
Mr. Styles and Y/N's heads both snap back up, eyes wide as they stare at each other.
"...Nothing," he says with a small smile, making Y/N's own lips curl into a grin, "I got you dino nuggets for dinner. Doesn't that sound yummy?"
Mr. Styles waves goodbye to her as he pulls Riley out of the classroom, chanting dino nuggets! dino nuggets! on his way out.
. . .
When Riley doesn't show up for class the following week, Y/N sincerely contemplates poking her eyes out with paintbrushes. 
She feels stupidly embarrassed. It took her two full days to move on from the whole red-paint-in-the-hair thing, in which she replayed every single moment of Mr. Styles staring her down like he wanted to pummel her across the city. And while she thinks things ended on a relatively decent note, she wonders if he was just being polite and now he was pulling Riley out of her afterschool art classes. 
She's never had a parent unenroll their kid for reasons that weren't out of her control. Moving? Sure. Wanting to try a new activity? Understandable. Parents wanting to spend more time with their child? Y/N wouldn't dream of getting upset over that. But Mr. Styles, who always showed up at 4 pm on the dot in his neatly pressed slacks and crisp button downs to retrieve Riley from class? 
She didn't know much about him. Unlike other parents, Mr. Styles didn't care much for idle chatter or small talk. For most of her students, she knew at least something about their personal lives or home dynamics — Reese's mom was a pediatric nurse, Tyler had a twin sister who preferred playing soccer after school, and Sabrina's dad passed away when she was a baby, so she lived with her grandparents and mom. 
Anything she put together about Riley's home life was from pure speculation: His mom never picked him up, so she wasn't sure she was in the picture. (She doesn't think Mr. Styles is married, either, considering he doesn't wear a wedding ring, but that's neither here nor there.) He alway showed up to the art studio in professional work clothes, which led Y/N to assume he came straight from wherever he worked. Riley never spoke about having any siblings, so she thinks he's an only child.
And that's about it. 
She spends the entirety of class holding her breath and mentally preparing for her boss to ask to see her once all the kids were picked up. Nina would probably start out by thanking her for all of her hard work over the past five years, and then before Y/N even realized it was happening, would switch over to her lack of care for Riley and the complaints made on Mr. Styles' behalf. She could envision the words leaving her mouth now: And so, we have no choice but to let you go, Y/N. 
Except... to her surprise, that doesn't happen. Nina doesn't come in after dismissal and she even tells her to drive safe on her way out of the building. There aren't any meetings placed on her schedule in the week that passes by before Y/N's next course with Riley's group, and she's damn near shocked when her students come bustling in seven days later, the curly haired boy included. 
Today, Y/N teaches them about working with oil pastels. She breaks the medium down to a very basic, understandable level for kindergarteners and lets them go wild after her usual 15 minutes of instruction, instructing them to let their creative minds run wild. It's one of her favorite parts of teaching art to kids — they rarely overthink it, instead just allowing whatever flows to come through to the paper. 
Unsurprisingly, oil pastels aren't as messy as paints, so there's less clean-up required than their previous unit. At 4, the parents arrive in quick succession, though when her eyes flit to the clock, she's surprised when Mr. Styles still hasn't picked Riley up by 4:07. 
She doesn't like to bring attention to late parents (she's found that some kids get all knotted up about it, worrying that something happened), so she usually has a few busy activities prepared for this very event. She grabs her folder of coloring pages to bring over to Riley's table, who's busying himself with peeling glue off of the worn, messy table. 
"Okay, Mr. Riley, what are we in the mood to color tonight?" she asks, flipping open the folder, "We have a garden, a firetruck, or a puppy!"
Riley silently contemplates the pictures in front of him and for a moment, Y/N feels like some childhood psychiatrist analyzing his decision. She has nothing to examine, though, beyond the fact that she's hoping he opts for the puppy or firetruck so she can work on the garden as they wait for Mr. Styles. With his small tongue poking out from the side of his mouth, Riley taps his finger decidedly on the puppy.
"This one, pwease."
She smiles and nods, stuffing the firetruck back in the folder and keeping the garden and puppy out. Riley always expressed good manners, and his sweet "pwease" and "tank you"'s always warmed her heart. 
"Sounds like a plan," Y/N pulls the cup of used Crayola crayons so they're within easy access. She buys a new pack every semester because, as she expected from her very first year working here, kids love to destroy crayons, even if they don't always mean it. Even from just a few months of use, the current 64-array is in rough shape. "Do you have a puppy at home?"
Riley shakes his head as he immediately grabs a teal color to color in the fur. "No. I want one, but Daddy says no."
"Puppies are definitely hard to take care of," Y/N nods as she pulls out a light pink for the flowers on her page. "I have a cat. Her name is Biscuit."
"Biscuit?" Riley giggles. Y/N grins. 
"Mhm. She loves to jump up on the kitchen counter and eat whatever food I make," she leans in closer and lowers her voice. "It's pretty naughty, if you ask me."
Riley's giggles erupt into full-fledged laughter. Y/N can't help but chuckle, too, but it's almost immediately cut off when Mr. Styles rushes in, looking frazzled with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. 
"Oh! Daddy's here, Riley," Y/N announces, standing up from the little table. Riley turns around with a grin, excited to see his dad as always. 
"Hey!" Mr. Styles greets loudly, though his tone teeters on nervousness more than excitement. "I'm so sorry I was late. I had to, um... make a stop, and there was a lot of traffic. Rush hour."
Y/N nods understandingly, "That's alright. Riley, do you wanna show Daddy what you made today?"
"Actually, uh, one sec bud— why don't you keep coloring that... blue puppy, huh?" Mr. Styles's eyes peer over the page he's diligently working on, an expression of confusion making Y/N press her lips into a small smile. Completely content, Riley continues on, and Mr. Styles darts his eyes back over to Y/N. "Um, do you have a moment?"
She nods, swallowing harshly. She assumes this is it — the moment when he tells her that he's pulling Riley out of the program because of her unprofessionalism. It kind of hardens the blow a bit more given the massive flowers in his hand, which he assumes are for a girlfriend at home, maybe Riley's step-mom to-be. Or maybe he's trying to work things out with his birth mom. It's none of Y/N's business, but for some reason the thoughts swirl around in her brain, making her feel all the same — anxious, worried, self-conscious, and even a little down.
She leads him to the corner where her desk is so they're able to speak quietly and freely, out of Riley's earshot. Mr. Styles doesn't say anything for a brief minute. He's always been quite kind to her, so she figures he's trying to figure out the nicest way to say, "you're the worst art teacher and I never want my kid to be around you ever again."
"These are for you," he says, stretching his arm out to hand Y/N the flowers. Her eyes go so wide they feel like they could pop out of her head. It takes a second for her brain to compute the words and he looks at her expectedly, waiting for her to accept them. Finally, she does, hand clutching the brown wrapping around the excessive bouquet of stems. (Seriously, there's at least 25 in here.) "I wanted to apologize for last week. Again. It was... so rude of me to say anything even remotely close to that. You've been nothing but a bright light in mine and Riley's lives and I was just having an awful day already, and... kids are kids, they do silly things, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
Y/N's eyebrows still feel like they're glued to her hairline. She's beyond surprised. In her years of working with kids, she's had parents say way worse things to her, and she never received an apology for any of it. 
"Oh... Mr. Styles, this is—"
"Harry." he cuts her off, a wrinkle forming between his brows. "You can call me Harry."
She nods slowly, still processing the information. "Harry, this is very kind of you, but so, completely unnecessary. I didn't— I love Riley, he's a great kid, and I was worried you didn't want him to come back when he wasn't here last week."
Harry quickly shakes his head. "No, no. He had the flu. Ever since he started kindergarten, he's been getting sick left and right."
"Oh," Y/N says dumbly, beginning to realize that she worried herself sick for a week over quite literally... nothing. "Oh. That makes a lot more sense."
He chuckles and stuffs his hands into the pocket of his slacks. "Yeah. So, anyway, I hope you accept my apology, and even if you don't, I understand. Just know that I'll have Riley try to dye his hair blue next time or something," he teases, his face instantly falling the second the words leave his mouth. "That was a joke. I'd never do that."
Y/N laughs. "See, and I think pink would fit his complexion better."
Harry grins widely, and she realizes she's never noticed the cute little dimple that pops out of his cheek when he does.
She secretly hopes she gets to make it happen again sometime soon.
. . .
"How was Riley today?"
Y/N smiles knowingly at Harry as she wipes off one of the empty tables. "You know the answer to that. You don't have to ask."
Harry shrugs, putting his hands up in mock defense. He still has one of the Clorox wipes in his hand, quickly returning to cleaning off the crayon- and paint brushed-filled cups. 
"I just like to make sure he isn't a complete menace, that's all."
"He's never a menace," Y/N replies, tossing the wipe in the garbage, "He's always very well behaved and well mannered. Kind of wondering if you built him up in a lab."
Harry chuckles. "Nope. Not quite how those things work."
Y/N's cheeks warm so she turns on her heel to glance up at the clock in the front of the classroom. It's edging closer to 4:30, which is about as long as she likes to stay after work. She always makes quick work of cleaning up the floors and tables, de-sanitizing them little kid germs for her 11 am disabled adult class tomorrow morning. 
Ever since she and Harry had that chat with the enormous bouquet of flowers (they're all nearly wilted by now, but Y/N refuses to just throw them out), Harry comes to get Riley a few minutes after 4. By then, Riley's the only kid left, save for one or two on days with bad weather. Y/N will have them set up with their coloring pages and, instead of immediately helping Riley pack his things up to leave, Harry just... sticks around. Riley doesn't mind because he adores the different print-outs he gets to choose from, and Y/N can't help the way her heart hammers in her chest as Harry offers to help her clean up or ask about her day. 
It's been nearly a month of this — once a week, dancing around tiny tables and conversations accompanied by the scent of Clorox — but Y/N secretly hopes that it's because Harry wants to spend time with her. She doesn't see any other reason why he'd do it, but she doesn't want to seem cocky, either. 
"Okay, let's get you two out of here. It's already dark." Y/N announces as she unlocks her small closet in the corner, pulling her coat and bag out. 
"Is it alright if we walk you to your car?" Harry asks. 
She turns around to see Harry helping Riley zip his jacket up. The sight makes her chest tighten. The love he has for his son is so incredibly sweet that it makes her feel crazy some days. 
"Um... sure, if it's not too much," she eventually replies, swallowing harshly, "I'm just a few rows back."
Harry nods and stands up from his place on the floor. He reaches down, a silent request for Riley to fit his smaller hand in his. 
"Ri, what do you say to Ms Y/N for all the cool coloring pages?"
"Tank you!" he exclaims, his free hand in a tight fist, wrinkling today's coloring of a dinosaur.
"You're very welcome, cutie! I love that you made the dinosaur purple today." Y/N says with a grin. She follows them out, but not before turning all the lights off and locking the door. 
"Daddy puts all my pictures on the refrig—refig—refigerator?" 
"Refrigerator," Harry says as they walk down the empty hallway, "But close. Good job, bud."
Riley looks up at his dad with a grin. "Yeah! Daddy puts them all up. He says they're pwetty."
"They are pretty." Y/N nods, agreeing with a smile.
"He says Miss Y/N's pwetty too, and that's why we always stay late now—"
"Ah!" Harry yelps, cutting Riley off with an embarrassed flush. Y/N presses her mouth into a line nervously, trying to hide the excited smile curling at her lips. The conversation ends after that, though Y/N has trouble ignoring the butterflies flapping in her tummy. She clears her throat when they approach her car, her mitten-clad hands pressing the 'unlock' button on her keys.
"This is me," she says, pulling open the passenger's seat door to put her bag in. 
"I'm so sorry," Harry rushes out. "I— that's not why we stay. Well, it is. Well, I mean, I think you're very nice and I like being around you, and I do think you're pretty, however I'm not trying to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I just— I, um. Sorry."
"Don't be sorry," Y/N replies, this time allowing the smile to flower over her face, "We can always... we don't have to just hang out here. Like, we can get a coffee or something. Not in the company of your very sweet child."
He scoffs playfully, nevertheless pulling his phone out and opening his contacts. Hesitantly, he hands it to Y/N, who pulls off her mitten before accepting it and putting her information in.
"Text me when you wanna get together," she says as she gives it back to him. "Also, for the record. I think you're pwetty, too."
. . .
Harry texts her the following morning: I haven't asked someone out on a date in a long time, so I'm a little rusty... would you want to get dinner with me on Saturday night?
Y/N, who learned the whole wait-10-minutes-before-you-text-back thing back in college, doesn't even let her screen go dark before she messages him to say that Saturday sounds perfect, and he did a great job. 
On Saturday evening, he picks her up at 7 pm on the dot. She's not sure what she was expecting, but she definitely didn't anticipate him getting out of his car on such a dreary, cold evening, ringing her doorbell, and bringing her yet another bouquet of flowers. She tries her best to hide the fact that she's shocked by his presence on her doorstep, her boots clacking against the wood floors of her rental, as she promises him she'll be back in a second once she puts them in some water. 
Gentlemanly as ever, he escorts her to his car, a sleek, black sedan. She's not sure what he does for work and assumes he'll tell her tonight, but it's apparent that he has money — she doesn't think she's seen Riley in the same outfit twice and he's always showing up to pick-up in a stylish suit that may cost Y/N's entire biweekly salary.
They make slightly awkward, first date small talk on the way to the restaurant, which feels silly for both of them considering they know each other outside of this. 
"What did you do today?" Harry asks, and Y/N's not quite sure how to say "I stayed inside all day doing nothing" without sounding like an elderly woman. 
"Um, caught up on some TV. Painted a bit. Nothing too exciting, really. How about you?"
"Riley and I went to a kids science museum. It was fun, he enjoyed it," he replies, tapping his thumbs against the leather of the steering wheel. "Do you do a lot of art outside of work?"
Y/N nods, "Oh, yeah. I went to school for it. I actually wanted to be a museum curator."
"So how'd you end up working with snotty-nosed brats like my kid?" he asks teasingly. Y/N laughs. 
"It was supposed to be a side gig until I found something more permanent, but... I started five years ago and got too attached, I suppose."
Harry hums. "Well, you're great at what you do. I've only seen you work with kids, obviously, but I'm always impressed with you."
Y/N shrugs, trying her best not to seem slightly overwhelmed by his compliment. He had a habit of doing that — making her feel dizzy and melty, all because he looked at her for a beat too long or said something she wasn't expecting. 
"Thank you. It's nothing special, though," she says softly, swallowing tightly, "What do you do? I don't think I've ever asked."
"I'm in finances. It's incredibly boring," he replies almost instantly, as if it's a knee-jerk reaction. "But, um... pays the bills. You know how it goes."
It feels like an add-on, but nonetheless, Y/N nods understandingly. It seems like it does a lot more than pay the bills, but she doesn't question it.
The rest of the drive is on the quieter side. It makes Y/N's stomach bubble with anxiety, wondering if she's being too boring and attempting to come up with talking points that fall flat — every time she thinks of a question, she talks herself out of it, assuming it would sound silly leaving her lips. 
Thankfully, Harry pulls into a parking spot not 10 minutes later. They're in a quaint part of town and, despite the holidays coming and going, the streets are still lit up with pretty snowflake displays. It's on the quieter side, which Y/N also appreciates — considering the fact that she already assumed Harry was fairly wealthy, she had worries that he'd take her somewhere far too fancy. 
He looks slightly dejected for some reason when Y/N gets out of the car, burying her hands in the pockets of her jacket. He hurries over to where she's standing on the sidewalk, locking the car with the key fob.
"You look like you're freezing, I'm so sorry," he mumbles, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. It's an act he wouldn't do under any other circumstance if she wasn't all but shaking. "I should've dropped you off at the restaurant."
Y/N shakes her head, "No, don't be silly. Where are we going, anyway?"
He gives her shoulders a small squeeze as he guides her down the sidewalk. "Well, you mentioned not being able to find a decent sushi place nearby. This has been a favorite of mine for a few years."
She glances up at him, a look of confusion on her face. "I said that?"
"Yes," he chuckles. "A few weeks back."
She knows it's true — she gets a mean sushi craving at least once a week but has yet to dine at a spot that she dubs her go-to. She tries to think back to their conversations over the past month or so, but it's a fruitless effort, especially once he holds the door open for her, his large hand pressed against the small of her back. Immediately, the warmth of the restaurant is a welcomed sensation, but the feeling of his touch feels even more delicious. 
"Reservation for Styles." he says to the hostess, who, without even looking down at the book on the podium, grabs two menus and walks them over to their table. Y/N's thankful that they're placed in a back corner, where she can cozy up and, perhaps slightly unattractively, stuff her face with spicy tuna rolls and sashimi until she can barely breathe.
"This place looks incredible, Harry," Y/N says softly as she looks over the delicate menu. "You come here often?"
She only says it because the prices are on the more expensive side, so it's difficult for her to imagine casually ordering in from here. She glances up to see him shrugging his shoulders lightly, eyes still glued to the menu. 
"Every now and then." he answers vaguely. 
As if on cue, a waiter approaches their table, placing down a bottle of wine. 
"Your usual, Mr. Styles," he says, and Y/N swears she watches Harry's jaw clench, "Shall we do another tasting menu tonight?"
Her eyebrows furrow and a zap of anxiety electrifies her chest. Clearly, he does come here often. Why would he lie to her then? Was this where he took all his first dates? Y/N clears her throat uncomfortably, shifting on her bum as she starts to let her mind spiral. Suddenly, she feels like just another pawn in a man's game.
"Give us a few minutes, please. No tasting menu tonight, we'll be ordering entrees." Harry says curtly. The waiter nods with a smile and leaves them be.
Without thinking much, Y/N leans over the length of the table, the bones of her elbows pressing into the bright red tablecloth. 
"Do you always take girls here?" she demands, a bite to her tone. Harry's head snaps up with wide eyes.
"What? No, why would you—"
"Because you said you come here 'every now and then', but the waitstaff knows your wine order and asked if you wanted a tasting menu again," Y/N replies briskly, blinking at the man in front of her. "You know, I'm not just some girl you can mess around with—"
"Y/N," Harry breathes, shaking his head. "No. No. It's not like that at all. I take my employees here quite frequently and do business dinners here. I'm aware that it's on the expensive side and I just... money is an awkward subject."
"Well, it's even more awkward when you pretend like you don't have any—"
"I wasn't pretending," he mutters, swallowing tightly. "I know you're not like that, but I haven't dated in a long time. Partially because of Riley, but also because people I've been with have only cared about the money. So I just try not to let it be a focal point, especially on the first date. I'm sorry if I didn't do a good job of that."
Y/N's stomach plummets. She feels sick — she hates that she assumed the worst out of him, letting her own dating traumas get in the way of him just trying to protect himself. God, she was the worst first date ever.
"I'm so sorry," Y/N breathes out shakily. "I'm being an asshole."
"You're not." Harry mumbles as he looks down at his lap. "Just... first date jitters, maybe?"
She smiles gently. "Can we start over?" Harry flicks his eyes up at look at her. "I like you, Harry, and I really, really want this to go well."
She watches as his throat bobs, a smile curling at his lips.
"So, Y/N. What is it that you do for work again?"
. . .
Harry feels like he's known Y/N for his entire life. 
When they leave the restaurant (she attempts to put her card down and he can't help but snicker at her before explaining that they already have his on file), her hand curls around his as they walk back to the car. It makes his entire body erupt into flames as their palms press against one another's, intertwining their fingers tightly. Their shoulders bump into each other's with lopsided, goofy smiles on their lips. 
"Tonight was fun." she says as they approach his parked car. He gives her hand a final squeeze before unlocking the doors. 
"It was," Harry echoes her sentiment. They separate briefly to get into the vehicle; Harry immediately turning it on to crank the heat up. "Would you wanna do it again sometime?"
"Yeah. That would be nice." She nods, grinning. "What did Riley get up to this evening?"
He chuckles, "He's with the babysitter for the evening. She's used to my late nights with business dinners."
Y/N hums, peeling her hands out of her jacket pockets now that they're a little less chilly. "So you're not in a hurry to get home, then?"
Harry's chest dings with a bead of nervousness. He swallows and flexes his hands in his lap. 
"Sort of. Riley has swimming lessons in the morning."
It's not a complete lie. Riley does have swimming lessons, but Harry wants to stay out with Y/N more than anything. He's not in any kind of rush — he's just anxious about what she's thinking about proposing after not dating anyone since his son was born.
"Oh, sure," she smiles, and Harry's surprised by the way her face maintains its happy composure. "Well, we can just end the night here if you need to get back. No worries."
That makes Harry feel bad — the fact that she's just so incredibly understanding, even if he's feeding her excuses based on his own insecurities. He clears his throat awkwardly and attempts to shift in his seat to face her. 
"I haven't done this in a long time," Harry blurts out. "And I'm very nervous."
Y/N's face crinkles into an adorable smile. "The date is over, Harry. I thought we established that we had a good time."
"We did!" he rushes, lifting his hand to run it through his hair, "No, we did. I had an incredible time with you. I really like you."
"So what are you nervous about?" she asks softly, reaching out to take his hand into hers.
That.
That's what he's nervous about.
"It's just... it's been awhile since I've liked anyone. Since I've... touched anyone." His throat bobs and his eyebrows shoot up as he realizes the insinuation of his words. "Not like that! Well, yes, like that, but— I meant, not just sexually. Holding hands. Kissing. We don't have to do a single thing anytime soon, but I haven't done this in years."
"You're nervous about physical touch?" Y/N says gently, her voice soft. He nods. "That's fine, Harry. Like you said, we don't have to do anything anytime soon. We can go at your pace, whatever that means."
"I... I want to kiss you, though," he admits in a raspy tone. "I just don't know... how."
Y/N's heart feels like it shatters into a million pieces. With a thumping chest, she leans into his side over the middle console and gently takes his cheek into her palm. His face feels cold from the chilly winter evening and he can't help but press into the warm, comforting feel of her touch. His eyes flutter shut and she smiles, nibbling on her bottom lip as adoration fills every inch of her body. 
"Can I?" she whispers, punctuating her question with a nervous swallow, "You can say no. I just... I'd like to try."
"Please."
She's hesitant in her movements, not wanting to overwhelm him as she slowly inches closer. She tilts her head ever so slightly and presses her lips to his raspberry ones, eyes flittering closed as fireworks explode between their chests. It's perfect — it's slow, and it's leery as both of them try to find a comfortable pace, but of all the first kisses she's ever had, she's positive this is the best one she'll ever experience. 
They sit in Harry's car kissing until Y/N's breathless. Neither of them know how long it's been but eventually, she breaks it apart, panting quietly through spit swollen lips. He keeps his forehead pressed against hers with a dopey smile. 
"'s good," he mumbles, and she mimics his grin, "That was... yeah. It was so good."
She giggles and her tummy feels like it's filled with butterflies and carbonated bubbles and excited tingles. 
"So good." she echoes.
He's surging forward with a grin to reconnect their lips not a moment later, and they're both positive they've never been so content before.
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stylessbean · 2 months
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Harry Styles Fic Recs: Smut
------------ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍓🍒🍄 ꒱ ˎˊ˗ ------------
Hello everyone! Thank you so much for 200 followers! Here is the long-awaited smut fic rec masterlist so I hope y'all enjoy 😏😏
Last Updated: 7/02/2024
Series
Personal by @shawnxstyles
Only Angel by @cupid-styles
Blacking out and breaking hearts (slowburn!) by @dont-call-me-baby-posts
teach me by @freedomfireflies
office neighbours (another slowburn) by @atlafan
baby honey by @narrycherries
One Shots
Wishing you were here tonight is like holding on by @guardarecheluna
private show by @stylesharrys
the long weekend by @gurugirl
tentmate by @purplekiwis
moans and elevator music by @pleasingforharry
manbun by @eveningepiphany
just friends that f*ck by @1800titz
don't stop by @justlemmeadoreyou
the pact by @harryslittlefreakk
intimacy by @goldengalore
rough day by @goldengalore
Y/N and Harry have been on a dry spell, but then they fuck by @jawllines
short straw by @adorebeaa
learn to knock by @eveningepiphany
bound together by @harrysonlylover
overheard by @0nlythrowharrybeaux
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watchmegetobsessed · 1 month
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MAD MAN
A/N: he looked like a snack, his ce vibes were too strong to hold them back
base of the idea was by @harrysblackcoat
WORD COUNT: 1.3k
SUMMARY: You came to the game to forget about the massive fight you had with Harry a few days ago, but your alone time is soon interrupted by the man you've been trying to avoid.
MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!
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You weren’t planning to come today. Well, you were, until about four days ago, but then the whole ordeal happened with Harry and suddenly you didn’t want to do anything else than stay at home, cry or either sleep until you forget about the shit you both said. 
It was nasty. You don’t even remember how it started, maybe it was because he got home too late, or was it because you couldn’t choose a restaurant again and it always drives him crazy.
You have no idea what started it, you only remember how bad it got. Screaming, shouting, saying the worst things you ever did and probably neither of you meant. But you said them and you can’t take them back. 
Maybe packing your stuff and leaving wasn’t your best idea, but you needed time and space. Harry has been blowing your phone up ever since, but you feel like you need just a little bit more time away from him to think about… well, the two of you. 
You’ve had the ticket for months and you didn’t have the heart to miss out on the game just because of what happened. So you pulled yourself out of your depression cave, aka your old apartment you still haven’t sold since moving in with Harry and came to the game. Now you’re sitting in your usual seat, waiting for it to start while trying your best to keep him out of your thoughts at least until the end. 
Looking across the stadium you see the VIP section and immediately, you fail at not thinking about him, because you think of how he is the kind of man that would be standing there, sipping on something fancy and expensive. 
Groaning you turn your attention to your drink, playing with the straw, but then you remember the time you explained to Harry why this is your favorite seat in the stadium.
“Okay, enlighten me, baby,” he smirked at you, pulling you to his lap after pushing himself away from his desk.
“It’s close to the exit, I can leave before the crowd gets moving, the toilet is 20 seconds away and the line is always short, because the one by the F stairs is more popular. And…” You peaked at him, checking if he was still listening and there he was, giving you his undivided attention with a cheesy smirk on his handsome face. “And the drinks are better in the buffet that’s behind.”
“Better?” he chuckled. “Baby, they are the same.”
“Nope,” you shook your head. “It’s less… watery.”
“Mm, if you say so,” he smirked and then kissed you, making you forget about what you were talking about just a moment ago.
You need to blink your tears away. You promised yourself you wouldn’t be crying during this game, that you wouldn’t think about how much you miss him and how even despite the fight you love him more than anyone. 
You dig into your bag for a tissue, right when someone tries to squeeze past you to their seat. The tall man inches into the row, his long coat brushing your knees while you’re still elbow deep in your bag and you faintly register that he sits beside you. 
“Here,” he deep voice speaks up beside you and you know who it is even before his hand moves into your view, holding out a tissue. 
“What are you doing here?” you ask, taking the tissue without looking at him. 
“Why do people come to football matches?” he asks back and you can’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes. “I’m here because you wouldn’t answer the phone.”
“That might mean that I don’t want to talk to you,” you casually reply, staring ahead of you.
Harry exhales sharply beside you and his knee presses against yours, making you gasp.
“Y/N, I hope you didn’t think I would just let you slip out of my hands like that, right? We need to talk.”
“And you thought a football game would be the best place for that?” 
“This seems to be the only way to get you to talk to me, so yeah.”
“How did you even know I would be sitting here?”
“Because you told me this is your favorite seat.”
“I did not. I just told you I have one, I never told you it’s this one.”
You sit in silence for a bit, trying to figure out if maybe you did tell him the exact seat, but you get to the same point: you didn’t.
“I never told you, so how did you know?” you ask and finally look at him. His beauty strikes you, as always, the chiseled jawline, the slope of his nose, the curly lashes, he still takes your breath away. 
He runs his tongue across his lips and then looks at you.
“The drink,” he then finally says.
“What?”
“The drink. It really is better here.” You watch him and he continues. “I tried… I tried them all in the stadium and it really is less watery.”
He tried them all. He went around the stadium and tried them all to figure out where you’re sitting. 
“Now that you’re listening to me, can we talk?” he then asks with a soft smile. “Or it could be just me speaking, but I really want to tell you what I’ve been thinking about the past few days.”
“Okay,” you breathe out. “Talk then.”
His gaze lingers on your face, as if he is taking in every tiny detail before speaking up again.
“I fucked up, Y/N. I said all those terrible things in the heat of the moment and I regretted them right away. I didn’t mean any of them.”
“Not even when you said that all I do is get on your nerves?” you find yourself asking.
“You do get on my nerves, Y/N,” he says and you’re just about to open your mouth, but he is quick to continue. “You make me go crazy in the best way possible. With your silly dancing in the kitchen, the way you sing every song with the wrong lyrics and swear your version is the right. When you get mad at me for using words you don’t know the meaning of, or when you put me in my place when I’m being a total ass… you make me go crazy… for you.”
Your eyes are tearing up again and when his hand moves to your knee you lean closer to him, wanting more of his touch instantly. 
“I love you, Y/N. I never thought I could love someone this much, but you just always prove me wrong,” he chuckles softly and your hand finds his on your leg, your fingers locking together. “Please come back. I’m nothing without you. Come back and get on my nerves every day because I want to be a mad man, but only if it’s you who makes me crazy.”
Now you’re fighting the urge to cry like a baby. You love this man and you can’t imagine a day when you won’t. 
“I’m sorry too,” you whisper, tears rolling down your cheeks. He reaches up and wipes them with his thumb. “I didn’t mean it when I said you must be fucking all your assistants at work.”
“That hurt,” he smiles bitterly.
“I just… I still wonder why you chose me,” you admit with a shrug. 
“Because you’re the one for me,” he simply answers, as if it was the most obvious thing ever. You take a deep breath and exhale it shakily before leaning in and kissing him. The game starts right when your lips meet, but all the screaming and clapping tunes out as you’re back in the arms of the man you love. 
“Do you want to move to the VIP section?” you ask. 
“Nope,” he smirks down at you. “This really is the best seat.”
“See? I told you!” chuckling, you just pull him in for another kiss before making yourself comfortable with his arm around your shoulders.
Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!
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harstyle · 2 months
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the styles’ nanny
Summary: Y/N is a twenty-three year old uni student and Harry is a thirty-six year old single dad. Y/N is a part-time nanny and Harry is her employer. Y/N thinks Harry is hot, and Harry… well, he’s a bit confused.
Pairing: plussize-nanny!yn + older-singledad!harry
Word-count: 7.3k
Warnings: age gap (13 years), mentions of alcohol and drinking and lashing out during an argument, no happy ending yet
A/N: I don’t know why I keep writing characters that start out insecure but I swear it’ll get better later!! Let me know if you want to read more, I’m thinking maybe three parts? Also, the fact that y/n is plus-size doesn’t really become a big deal in the story, but that was how I originally had her in mind so I’m leaving it that way. Hope you enjoy!
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Y/N was twenty three. She was twenty three, and she used to love being twenty three. She used to love going out to party, the feeling of alcohol burning down her throat, the rush of palpable excitement when having sex with people she’d never met before. She used to love that. But she didn’t anymore.
And the reason for that? One Harry Styles.
It was ridiculous, of course; Harry had other companions he could turn to before ever settling on her— oh and not to mention, he was her boss. Yet, it felt daring, like that time she’d fallen in love with her biology teacher or looked differently at her camp instructor in high school. Authority figures did something to her brain, and Harry was no different.
But of course there was a lot at stake and she would never actually approach the idea; it was a fantasy at most. And she thought… as long as she didn’t act on her brain’s poisoning, it would be fine.
“Y/N, did you hear me?”
“Oh,” she was snapped back to her current state following the short distraction, the butter knife in her hand now seeming more dangerous than when she’d held it seconds before. “Sorry, Harry, what was that?”
She swore she could see an amused smile tugging at his lips for a brief second. She’d always wondered what he thought of her.
“Are you free next Thursday? I have this meeting until late and I doubt I’ll be home for dinner—I was thinking you could maybe put Jamie to bed? You can stay the night if it’s too late to catch a train, or just take the other car?”
Y/N’s work day at the Styles’ house ended at five pm most days in time for Harry to get home, but she did adore Jamie, so staying longer wasn’t remotely an issue.
“That’s okay, I can just stay the night like I did last time, if that’s alright?”
Harry had insisted when she’d begun working for him that she have a room in the house where she could take naps to rest or stay the night all together when it got too tiring to catch the train home, and the notion of it had pulled at her heartstrings. He was very considerate and that was rare in bosses.
Harry shook his head, waving her off with ease, “course it’s okay.”
“Great. I should get home, I have an important test coming up tomorrow. Am I good to go?”
He glanced at the clock, noticing how late it had gotten (he’d offered to cook dinner and Y/N had never been one to reject hot men’s company) and cursed quietly to himself. “I’ll drive you.”
“Oh no Harry, really, it’s okay!”
“It’s almost eight and I feel uneasy whenever I send you away in the dark. Sides, I’m sure Jamie will love a late road trip to your flat,” he reassured with a smile, standing up as if to restrict her getting a choice and starting to load the plates into the dish washer. “Grab your coat and I’ll wait by the door. I’ll get Jamie.”
Y/N did love the way he asserted his wishes to her, kind but dominant in his decisions. He didn’t let her deter him and she, for one, didn’t mind it at all.
“Okay, thank you.”
“No problem, love.”
“Can I please just get one scoop? Please?”
“I’m sorry, buddy, we just don’t have any ice cream! I would let you have it if we did, but we don’t. Is there any other snack you’re interested in?”
Jamie was being fussy today and Y/N couldn’t figure out why. He’d been happy when she’d picked him up from school, raving on about his art teacher’s praise on a drawing he’d done with the widest grin resting lazily on his small lips. It had been at around three that he’d started whining at her, not wanting to eat even though he’d requested the grilled cheese and flicking through about twenty channels until he’d finally settled on not watching anything at all. Y/N had figured he was tired, but he didn’t want to sleep either, so she was left thoroughly baffled trying to find ways to tame his mood.
But he wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop whining and crying, wouldn’t stop flailing his tiny arms and legs, wouldn’t stop pouting at her. Jamie had the best behaviour Y/N had ever seen on a boy, really, so this behavior worried her. “I just want ice cream!”
“Jamie, we don’t have any ice cream. How about I get you ice cream tomorrow, hm? And today we’ll have something else? Come on, remember how we learned about compromise?”
Y/N was trying, pulling Jamie into her lap to comfort him even though he didn’t care for any of it. His face was red and angry and nothing she said registered in his brain. He cried into her shoulder instead, gripping at her sides in terror. “You’re being mean to me.”
“Hey, that’s not very nice, I’m trying to help you bud.”
“Please, I just want ice cream.”
It was kind of cute how even in his state of devastation, he still managed to be polite to her.
“And I hear you, Jamie, but we don’t have any right now. Will you settle for Oreos? Or chocolate?”
He merely shook his head.
Y/N breathed a grateful sigh when she heard the front door being unlocked, still bouncing Jamie up and down in her lap in hopes that he’d settle down just a bit. She was sure Harry’d heard the crying from the front door because his steps were fast and his expression of concern clear.
“What’s wrong, bub?”
Jamie reacted with a devastating whine, calling for his dad and reaching his arms out begging to be carried. Harry shot Y/N a look of mixed confusion and apology, leveling the boy out from inside of her lap. He mouthed the question she knew he’d been thinking and felt bad when all she could offer in return was a shrug because she knew it wasn’t the ice cream anymore
Harry sung in whispers into his ear in the hopes of calming him, bouncing him around on the spot. He pressed kisses to his forehead, drawing circles on his back. It worked better than when Y/N had done it, Jamie’s sobs having soothed into few hiccups and sniffles.
Y/N couldn’t help but admire how naturally skilled Harry was at being a father. She knew a little bit of the history— his fiancée at the time leaving him for another man months after having given birth to Jamie and having to raise him by himself. He was a busy man and Y/N could often tell that he felt bad about being unable to do things like pick up his son from preschool or spend all day playing in the den, but he was still a better father than hers had ever been. He was a great father.
Not long after his crying had died down, Jamie fell asleep in Harry’s arms. Y/N finally breathed a sigh, relieved to catch a break. She loved taking care of Jamie, but jesus had today been hard. Harry carried him up to his bedroom, careful as to not bother him and advised Y/N to wait for him to come back.
Whilst Harry was putting Jamie to bed, she decided to clean up a bit. She went through the array of toys Jamie had taken out and discarded after a short minute of playing with them, and placed them back in the drawers. A smile tugged at her lips when she saw the dino plush toy she’d gifted him when she’d first started working for this family months ago— he still played with it all of the time. In fact, Harry had once sent her a photo of it sitting next to him in the car when they’d gone on vacation in the summer. She recalled tearing up because of it.
“Hi, sorry for taking so long.”
She swore she almost jumped in reaction to his thick voice, gripping the plush tightly against her chest in shock. Harry allowed himself a chuckle, raising his arms just enough to surrender. “Sorry, should’ve knocked.”
Y/N’s only response was a forced chuckle. It still felt weird to be in a room with him by herself, without the presence of a cute five year old to tend to. It was moments like these she felt guilty about fancying him. Most of the time Harry was merely a ghost around the house and whenever he settled back in, she would leave. She rarely ever had time to utter more than a quick ‘see you tomorrow’ and rush off home. It wasn’t like he was there, so her thoughts about him didn’t seem too off putting— now, with the company of awkward silence engulfing them, she couldn’t help but feel disgusted by herself.
“Think he’s getting sick,” he then added.
“Probably,” she agreed. “I don’t think I’ve seen him like that before so it was just a bit worrisome.”
“Yeah, he only really gets like that when he’s sick, so I think it’s safe to say… you’re alright, though?”
“I’m fine, just a bit worried, as I said.”
He smiled like he found that amusing, “he’ll be okay. Are you hungry? I was going to make pasta for dinner.”
“Oh, are you sure?”
Last time she’d had dinner here, Jamie had sat next to her. It hadn’t been just her and him.
“Yeah. Why don’t you put the dino down and we’ll go make it together?”
In an instant, her cheeks heated up. She hadn’t even noticed she was still clutching to it for support and figured he must’ve thought she looked so stupid welcoming the comfort of a plush toy. Another awkward chuckle escaped her as she threw it gently into its container, bucking down to lock it away as well as her memory of these last two minutes, hopefully.
Harry was a good cook, but that wasn’t really surprising at all— in fact, she couldn’t imagine there were many things he wouldn’t excel at. Y/N, on the other hand, she was terrible. She’d burned so many things in her apartments kitchen that she couldn’t keep count even if she tried. So naturally, he took the lead in every task she did, from cutting onions to seasoning the salmon.
“Wait, no, y’can’t— here,” she couldn’t help but giggle as he took the knife from her hands, cutting into the flesh himself. He huffed, but she knew it was teasing. “You’ve gotta learn how to cook.”
“I know how to cook basic things, just not some five star gourmet meal. I think you’d be surprised what I can do with some seasoning, eggs and tomatoes.”
“I have no choice but to take your word for it, do I?”
“Guess not. Can I do something else? I feel so useless.”
He clicked his tongue, not even sparing a glance her way. “Go sit on the counter and look pretty.”
And at first, Y/N didn’t know how to respond to that. Did she just… literally sit on the counter? Probably not. It was… a joke, right? How did he expect she would react to such a bizarre request? For a second the guilt she’d been feeling about potentially being unprofessional subsided in a flush.
Then he finally let his eyes settle on her and she just about fainted at what he had to say, “what? Do you need help getting up?”
She was 99% sure at this point that he just got off on pestering her, what with the dino, and now this? Prior to these last two weeks he’d never even spoken more than five words to her, and now he was inviting her to dinner. He probably found the confusion written all over her face amusing.
She could probably indulge a little then, right?
“Yeah, I do.”
He didn’t just laugh, though, like she’d expected him to— no, he ran his hands under hot water, wiped his hands on his (very) expensive trousers and walked toward her. He motioned to the counter as if asking her to get closer and—
“Wait, no, I can do it.”
He immediately stepped back, hands dropping from her waist and smirk molding his mouth.
“You can now?”
“Yes.”
He held eye contact for a few more beats before moving away with a solid nod.
What the fuck was that?
Y/N had expected him to dismiss her, uttering something along the lines of ‘I was only joking’, but that? Never would she have thought that that would be the response.
It was funny, too, because he never could’ve carried her up without at least a bit of struggle. She knew what he was used to— thin women, supermodels even, and she was neither.
So despite the confusion, she got up on the counter like he’d asked. On her own.
And when he’d started asking her about normal things like family and uni, Y/N slowly eased out of her awkward stance. She told him about her mother, her brother, and left her deceased father out of it. He smiled, nodding along to her words whenever the situation allowed it and kept his eye on the food.
A blink was all it took for him to announce dinner and the two of them sat at the table together, peacefully quiet.
It was around six thirty when the patter of tiny feet sounded through the house, from the stairs to the kitchen. Both of the adults waited patiently, eyebrows raised in surprise that the little gremlin had decided to wake up after only having slept for two hours.
“Daddy?”
Y/N almost melted at his sweet, buttery voice.
Harry hummed, “is that you, bub?”
He finally poked his head into the room, carrying a plush toy in one hand and rubbing his sleepy eyes with the other. He studied the room before settling his green irises (clone of his dad’s) on Y/N.
“Y/N, you’re still here.”
She smiled, a pity smile, and answered in a sweet tone, “I am, bud. Is that okay?”
He merely nodded, stalking closer. Harry pulled him up into his lap, kissing his forehead before letting him rest against his front.
“I wanted to apologize for being mean before.”
Her stomach did another flip.
Was this a dream, or did a five year old just apologize to her on his own incentive? She swore these Styles boys surprised her every day!
Her eyes flickered to Harry and she watched as a proud smile stretched his mouth. He met her gaze, the grin undeniably wide, and shrugged as if to say didn’t tell him to.
“That’s okay, Jamie, I understand you were frustrated. Are you feeling better?”
He nodded again, although it was weak and subtle, “my throats itchy.”
Harry’s smile faded with his confession and he pressed the back of his palm to his son’s forehead, “why’d you get out of bed, then, silly? You need to rest if you’re sick.”
“Missed you, daddy.”
She could see that same guilt she’d seen so many times before manipulate Harry’s features again, and her heart broke a little bit for him. She couldn’t keep track of the amount of times she’d wanted to just break and say you’re a wonderful father to him, but stopped herself in fear of overstepping.
Knowing he wasn’t going to say anything soon enough, too lost in his own thoughts, she went on for him. “Tomorrow is Saturday, Jamie, how about you go rest so you can have a full day with your dad tomorrow? S’not nice spending weekends sick in bed, as you know.”
In a manner that was so much more than cute, Jamie’s fingers trapped his chin to appear deep in thought, and then he nodded. “That makes sense.”
Y/N almost laughed, “doesn’t it?”
“Will you be here too, Y/N?”
Jamie knew very well that Y/N wasn’t here on Saturdays, so she guessed he was only implying that she should be. An invitation of sorts.
But she really couldn’t handle being around Harry on the weekends as well as on weekdays, so she shook her head gently, “no, but I’ll be back on Monday, is that okay with you?”
To show his dismay, he jutted his lip out in a pout. “Can’t you come over for lunch?”
Harry nudged him, “Jamie, remember how we talked about what Y/N does when she isn’t here with us?”
“School. But there’s no school on Saturdays!”
“She does school, you’re right. When you get older, there’s so much you have to do for school that it never stops, not even on weekends. And you know what else she does? She meets up with friends, she plays tennis, she goes shopping for groceries. There’s tons she has to do besides spend time with us, yeah?” He never met her gaze as he spoke to Jamie, and it was better that way— he’d probably have caught her loved up eyes if he dared to do it. He remember details about her she didn’t recall telling him about. As if it hadn’t been enough, he added onto it, “plus, I reckon she’d appreciate a break from us, huh? We’re definitely not the only boys in her life, so we should share once in a while. No matter how much we like having her around.”
It was almost magical, the connection Harry and Jamie shared with each other. Nevermind what he’d said to make Jamie understand (she definitely hadn’t missed that last sentence— or the idea of ‘other boys’ altogether), it just made her happy to listen to them converse. It was healthy, a bit serious when need be but mostly light and protective. He did everything in his power to preserve Jamie’s innocence, especially about his upbringing and the whole mother issue.
After a long train of thought, Jamie slowly nodded his small head, “okay. Fine. But I get you Monday! No other boys Monday through Friday.”
Y/N couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled from her mouth, incessant and silly. “Okay, Jamie, I promise I won’t let other boys come between us Monday through Friday, okay? Is that good for you?”
“Me and daddy, though. He’s the only other boy allowed.”
She giggled again, avoiding Harry’s gaze but nodding nonetheless, “sure. Daddy too.”
She felt Harry shift out of her periphery.
“Okay,” he finally settled, outstretching his arm across the table, “pinky promise?”
She did the same, but just before Jamie had a chance to interlink his much smaller finger with hers, she pulled back. “If I pinky promise you on this, will you pinky promise me that you’ll finally go rest?”
He hummed in agreement.
She welcomed the promise, letting her finger link with Jamie’s for a few seconds until he felt ready to let go.
“Now go lay down. I’ll see you Monday, okay?”
“Kay. Can I have a hug?”
“Of course,” she cooed at him, arms already outstretched the moment he’d climbed down from Harry’s lap. Jamie gave the best hugs, so she figured Harry would as well. She’d never gotten to test that theory, though. “Okay, good night.”
“Night.”
Jamie took slow steps (he was much like his father that way, taking his time in everything he did) and slowly disappeared into the main room, eventually stalking up the stairs as both Y/N and Harry listened for it.
“Thank you,” Harry then broke the silence. Her eyes flickered toward him, eyebrows drawing together in confusion, but a nervous smile playing on her mouth. “You’re so good with him.”
“It’s my job to be good to him.”
“It’s your job to take care of him, but you’re not… you’re doing much more than just be nice to him and I appreciate that. So thank you.”
“He’s a great kid, so… not a very difficult thing to do.”
The air had somehow become thick and unwavering, unspoken words wafting between their bodies across the table and back. Harry looked like he wanted to say more but his jaw stayed shut in place and she certainly wasn’t going to pester him about it. It was already difficult to keep in mind that despite the lighthearted dinner, he was still her employer, and that the boundaries they had been practicing since the beginning of her time here were slowly being blurred and tested.
So it didn‘t really matter what she felt whenever he spoke to her, she had to preserve herself and her position here.
She feigned a glance at the clock to justify looking away and sat up in her chair, “I should go home.”
His nod was curt, “okay. I’ll get the keys.”
“No, don’t worry, I have to stop by somewhere else before. I’ll manage.”
It was a lie, of course it was.
“Fine.”
As Y/N made her way back outside, she regretted declining his offer and the farther she walked away from the house, the more she thought about the things they could’ve talked about had she let him grab his keys and escort her home. If he would walk her to the door like last time, without Jamie in the car of course, and bid her a proper goodbye. How maybe, if they’d inched close enough, they would share a moment of hesitation before kissing. Her imagination ran wild with it and she knew that it wouldn’t really happen, but the chances would’ve been greater had she just been bad.
Shit.
Y/N was crying.
She was bursting into tears outside of a bar looking like a pathetic, lost idiot— and it just wouldn‘t stop. She couldn’t recall anymore what exactly she‘d expected before going into the date she‘d spontaneously agreed to as a result of her mother‘s pleas, but it certainly hadn‘t been such an embarrassing let down. Her shoulders slumped as she thought back on her date‘s words: I don’t see this going anywhere, but you’re a really nice girl. Friends?
And why was she crying? She was crying because she knew what he’d really meant was: you’re not my type at all, and this was a waste of my time. How did she know? The way he’d looked at her, with a sparkle of disgust in his eyes, the tone he’d used; pitiful and mean. How he’d looked at other, skinny girls while Y/N had been planted directly in front of him and lastly, how he’d left before the date had even ended.
Y/N hadn’t left the bar as soon as he had, no, she’d stayed until now; closing time. She’d drunk herself to exhaustion, pulling shot after shot and even worrying the barista who went to her psych class at uni. Before she’d known it, the clock had struck three am and four hours had passed since what’s-his-face had left her to rot in there.
She had no idea what to do, she could barely even form a thought. It didn’t matter that she’d been rejected— this wasn’t about that, it was about something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Since the beginning of time relationships had been sparse and dreadful, so another notch on her belt couldn’t have mattered so much as to bring her to a multitude of tears, but she did feel unlovable and undesirable in the way she had throughout all of her life. People had told her things would get better if she waited it out, but they’d lied. Guys were still assholes.
There was really only one person she felt like contacting, and that was Harry. He’d been on her mind all weekend. She’d been wondering if she ever crossed his mind, if for a sliver of a second he allowed himself to think about her in the way she thought about him, and felt a disgustingly sour taste in her mouth when she realized the answer had to have been no.
But Y/N was drunk, and people did stupid things when they were drunk— so without much afterthought, she used the remainder of her battery on dialing his number. He answered after the first ring and her mind wandered to question the plausibility of him being awake at this hour.
“Y/N?”
She was struck watching the road in front of her, unable to answer. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
What had she done?
“Y/N, is everything okay?” another wave of tears overwhelmed her senses and as a result, she sobbed right into the speaker, and heard shuffling on the other side. “Sweetheart, where are you? What’s happened?”
“This guy— he just— he was so mean and he left me here—“
“Where? Where are you? Who left you?”
“The viper.”
“Y/N, that place closed twenty minutes ago. Are you inside?”
“No, she… she said I need to get out, so I did, but I didn’t know where to go cause m’drunk, and I…” there was a pause in which she realized how stupid he must’ve thought she was, “I don’t know what to do.”
“Okay, listen to me. Please stay there, don’t move, and send me your location. I’m coming to get you.”
She had no fight left in her, so she nodded to herself. Harry didn’t see, obviously, but he hung up with the hope that she’d understood him clearly.
When he arrived not fifteen minutes later, he put his car in park and hopped out to find Y/N sat on the floor, a lazy smile pulling at her lips when she laid eyes on him.
“Harry, hi! I was just thinking about you!”
He said nothing, a tick in his jaw as he helped her up on her feet, grounding her stature. She nuzzled her head into his shoulder and he kept a steady beat to bring her to warmth as quickly as possible. Y/N got the idea, aimlessly buckling up and failing miserably until he offered assistance.
“Thank you,” she murmured to him, though he refused to give a verbal response. He merely nodded, jaw still locked in place before he closed the door. Y/N watched as he walked over to the other side and opened the door.
He drove in silence and Y/N tried to be okay with that. She stared ahead, mind still gloomy, with her lips jutted out in a pout. The silent treatment made her feel like a scolded child, like Harry was her angry father who refused to speak to her because she’d come home past her bedtime. She looked over to scan over his features, make sure the crease between his forehead had subsided at least a little, but it hadn’t.
After the longest minute of her life, she finally asked, quietly, “are you mad at me?”
And when he didn’t say anything, her heart dropped.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Y/N didn’t dare to say anything for the rest of the ride. When they got back, Y/N opened her own door and hopped out, refusing to wait for Harry to help. He sighed, she could hear, but she just slowly trailed after him.
“Up on the counter,” he grumbled, grabbing a glass of water to help sober up. She took it from his hand.
“Harry, I’m sor—“
“Drink the water.”
She almost flinched at his angry tone.
Y/N was halfway done with the glass when he scoffed, unable to bite his tongue any longer, “I’m angry because you were irresponsible. First you go on a date with some dickhead—“ she opened her mouth to protest, but failed to when he put up a finger to halt her, “then you get yourself drunk and sit outside of the bar alone in a stingy area. Something could’ve happened to you, then what?”
All Y/N could say was, “it didn’t,” and it was the weakest argument she could’ve thought of.
“It very well could’ve and you’d have your stupidity to thank for it.”
Her heart banged again. She didn’t like getting reprimanded by Harry, nearly at the end of her rope anyway. She‘d never seen this side of him before, stern and miserly. Clearly Y/N had only really seen one version of him and had gotten lost in the illusion of it all.
In a last attempt to make him understand, vulnerable and naked, she let herself sniffle, “I don’t think anyone is ever going to love me.”
She‘d expected it to pull at her heartstrings more than it ended up doing— ironically enough, she felt fine confessing to him. Maybe it was the fact that she‘d bottled it up for so long that it was nice to finally admit to it, to allow somebody else to step into her shoes. Of course, every confession came with a tinge of embarrassment (it wouldn’t be a confession otherwise), but this one was still manageable. And yeah, maybe it was the alcohol coursing through her system, but who cared?
“What?”
“No one loves me. I’ve never… guys have never liked me enough to want to brag about it, or keep me around for longer than a month, and… and I do get it, cause I come with a shit ton of baggage, but it just… it takes a lot to be motivated about things that way. I’m twenty three and I’ve barely experienced what it means to love someone and actually have them love you back.”
The display of vulnerability floated heavily through the air.
He was silent for a second. He did that sometimes, she noticed, especially when he was processing things.
Once he did open his mouth, though, he knew exactly what to say, “you can’t let some immature boys get to you like this, you hear me? Tell me one good asset the guy you went on a date with had.”
Y/N shook her head, not because she couldn‘t have if she‘d thought about it hard enough but because she had no energy to continue this conversation any longer. He wouldn’t get it
“See? No guy is worth crying over, especially not on some dirty pavement outside of a bar.”
He truly did have a point there, she supposed.
But it wasn’t just about that, so she told him exactly that— well, at least tried to, “it’s more than… I don’t… I don’t feel good enough.”
“You’re being a bit silly, sweetheart.” She registered how sweet he’d gotten again, finger brushing against her knee and features softening just enough to convince her of safety. He probably felt bad for her. “You’re plenty good enough.”
“Y’don’t get it,” she murmured, “you don’t understand what it feels like to get rejected solely because of your looks.” Y/N had always felt slightly weird talking about her appearance with people who weren’t her closest friends, and even then she felt judgment coming from them. Each time they asked if she would come clubbing with them to score boys, she was never able to honestly express that she‘d never wanted to go because it was always her who was left riding home in an uber alone. And it wasn’t like she felt ugly— in fact, there were instances she felt so confident nobody could’ve told her anything, but then there were those few others… and her whole system came down crashing.
“What do you mean?”
He couldn’t be so daft, could he?
“You’re— you just don’t fucking get it, okay? It’s… whatever, I don’t care.”
That took some courage too, courage she only registered after having uttered the words, but she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t mutter the words this guy didn’t fancy me because I’m fat, because she still had more class than that— even drunk. Ever the childish, pouty person she was, she had more shame than that.
She buried her face in her hands, breathing out, “I’m sorry. Sorry, that was rude of me.”
“It’s fine,” he placed a warm hand on her thigh, thumb stroking soothingly. With a sympathetic look in his eye (confusion too, she guessed), he tried to pacify her concerns, “you need sleep, everything will be better when you wake up.”
He was probably right about that.
“Okay.”
As he escorted her up the stairs, she couldn’t help but let her eyes trail over his features, watching as they hardened and softened based on the turmoil occurring inside of his mind. She wanted to reach in there and grab onto clues, grasp an understanding of the workings of him, but he made that nearly impossible. She would look away if he caught her eye, cheeks heating up every time she was captured by his darkened green irises.
He opened the door, allowing her to take the first step. She didn’t really need the help, but she couldn’t complain when his hand posed on the small of her back so he could maneuver her onto the sheets.
“Do you want a change of clothes, Y/N?”
“Um, if you have something?”
She doubted there was anything in his huge closet that would fit her in the way she preferred, but the idea of spending the night in jeans was just as dreadful, so she took the chance and nodded.
He came back later with a stack of clothes perched on his left hand, the other holding another glass of water. “Anything else?”
Y/N paused for a moment to think and shook her head, “no. But just—“ she swallowed around the lump in her throat, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
She couldn’t believe the words she spoke next, no thought invested into them: “will you come into bed with me?”
Time refused to pass, the ball was in his court.
When he gave a subtle nod, it was like god and the universe were sending good karma her way. Her compensation for the night. “Just until you fall asleep.”
Y/N scooted to the other edge of the bed, reaching down under the blanket to rid herself of her jeans and pull on those grey sweatpants. Surprisingly enough, they fit extremely well. Harry laid down over the blanket (to prevent getting too comfortable, probably) and perched himself onto his forearm.
Another bold wave met with Y/N’s courage as she reached out her hand to trail over his chest. Harry swallowed thickly.
“You’re really nice t’me.”
“You deserve to be treated well.” The snort that left her was completely involuntary, but it still made Harry frown. “You do.”
“Everyone does,” she later mumbled in agreement. He seemed to dislike the way she’d surrendered, though, because he did that thing with his jaw whenever he was ticked off.
What he didn’t like was the implication behind her tone that she only deserved respect because everyone did, regardless of her own character. She was disregarding her beauty and her kindness, her character, and reducing it to a commodity when it wasn’t.
He’d always had difficulty expressing his feelings, though, so he stuck with silence. Stone cold silence.
It pertained for five more minutes until he watched as sleep slowly overtook her figure, peaceful breaths cascading from her mouth. She looked so pretty asleep; relaxed, void of concerns and the crinkle in her forehead from tonight’s events dissipating into its initial form.
He wondered if she’d ever given him other implications of being an insecure girl— if she had, he’d caught none of them. He never would’ve thought somebody so effortlessly beautiful and kind as her could think to deserve less on such extreme levels. It made him wonder if anyone had ever treated her as she deserved; he noticed once that whenever she spoke about her family, she failed to mention her father. It seemed men had disappointed her in more ways than one.
There was inner turmoil bothering him. He didn’t know what he was feeling for his child’s nanny, but there was surely no other woman he felt as eager to take care of— picking her up, driving her home, clearing a room for her.
It was terrifying to allow himself these few minutes of observing her because he feared the impure thoughts which would cross his mind. Not perverse, but intimate. She deserved more than him, he was sure of it.
He left the room after another five minutes, trying to be as subtle as possible as he walked to the door. It was later than four am, so he stopped by his son’s room to check on him. When he saw nothing out of the ordinary, he finally carried himself to his own bedroom.
He would lie awake until sunrise.
Y/N had never woken up so panicked before, chest heaving and mind elsewhere entirely. Her head was pounding and her heart rate palpable, she was sweating all over and she could only recall last night in small, blurry tidbits.
God, and she had to face Harry. On a Monday morning.
After maybe ten minutes of lying around and procrastinating, she finally moved herself out of bed. She pulled on her clothes from last night, drank the water that was situated on her nightstand and tidied up in the bathroom before going to search for him. She looked upstairs— no trace of him, so she cascaded down the stairs and made her way to the kitchen. On the way there, his office caught her eye. The door was cracked opened and at a closer peek, she saw him sitting at the desk with his hand buried in his hair, mumbling something. She knocked, he flinched.
“God, Y/N, you scared me.”
“Sorry,” she gave a sheepish smile, “are you busy?”
“I—“ he sighed, shaking his head. It was when he spoke into the phone lying on his desk that she realized he’d been one a phone call. Before she could backtrack, he’d muttered an ‘I’ll call you later, Stace’ to them and hung up for her. She stood there, fingers interlaced in front of her body and balancing on the balls of her feet in intimidation.
He didn’t look happy either, and that was probably because ‘Stace’ was Jamie’s mother. She would call every few months, he’d told her, and cause some sort of havoc— from wanting to talk to Jamie on the phone to wanting to see him in person. When asked why he didn’t like letting her see Jamie, he’d given Y/N a very vague answer; wouldn’t do any good. She’d settled with that back then, having sensed the energy shifting.
Y/N felt bad for him now, the stress assuming control of his features almost overwhelming to look at.
He was already glancing up at her expectantly, but the words disappeared from her brain and all she wanted to do, really, was comfort him.
“I— are you okay?”
It was a visceral reaction he had to those few little words, the furrow in his eyebrow deepening, “yes, why?”
“Because… well because you were talking to Stacie on the phone—“
His scoff interrupted her pity stutter, “so you’re listening in on my conversations now?”
Oh, she was no longer sorry; she was scared. “No! No, I’m not, I swear! I was walking past looking for you and I heard you mumble something, I don’t— I would never…” and he must’ve known that. He must’ve known that she would never, ever listen in on his conversations, nor try to overstep the line by doing that (obviously she’d fucked up last night, but aside from that). He knew her, he’d trusted her for long enough for her to know that he knew that, so his accusation ticked her off.
But he looked terrifying right now; eyes dark, eyebrows furrowed, closed off stance, and nothing like the Harry she’d gotten to know well. And she had no idea if it had been last night or this that had finally pushed him over the edge.
“So why bring it up?”
“Because you— because you’ve talked about it before and I was just— I wanted to check on you!” She was stuttering like an idiot, she was aware, but with her comfort bubble gone, her speech wasn’t a reliable asset anymore. She’d always been terrible at communication and even worse at confrontation. And he must’ve known that because he was using it to his advantage— and that was mean, because he knew she would never. He knew. Didn’t he?
“It’s not professional, Y/N, but I’m sure you know that. I’m sure you know that last night wasn’t either, but you keep fucking pushing me.”
And that… well, was partly right.
“I know last night wasn’t…” she shook her head, “it wasn’t professional, I know that. I don’t know why I called you, I don’t get it either, it just happened, really, and I wanted to apologize. I understand if you—“ she peered down toward her hands, swallowing the lump in her throat, “if you don’t feel comfortable with me being here anymore. With your son, I mean, I’d totally understand.”
Y/N thought that was quite sensible of her. Of course, if she could get a chance to have a repeat of last night, she would take it in a heartbeat— but she couldn’t, so this was all she could do. She loved working here, giving it up would hurt, but she understood if that was what needed to be done.
“You just… you can’t fucking call me at three am in the morning drunk off of your arse—“
“I know that—“
“Clearly you don’t!” And she detested how his voice raised. “And clearly you don’t get that there are things you just can’t talk about; like Stacie, or your own relationships, or whatever the fuck else you’ve brought up to me.” If she felt like a scolded child yesterday, then she’d had no idea how bad it could get. “I’m your— I’m your employer, not your fucking therapist. I’m not here to clean up your fuck-ups, pat you on the head and tell you it’s alright.”
Her eyebrows furrowed because she knew that too, and she found it borderline preposterous that he would imply she didn’t.
There was a 180 here, and she was becoming less and less understanding.
“I told you I don’t know why I called you, Harry, I don’t know! What am I supposed to say? I was terrified and sad and don’t ask me why, but you’re the only person who actually gets what I’m talking about half of the time, so it just happened!”
“You act like I’m somehow responsible for you.”
Her frown deepened; she hated the notion that he had to take care of her in some way, as if she was incapable of it on her own account. “On what basis? I think you might be pressuring yourself into that, Harry, because it’s fucking ridiculous. I never made you do anything.”
He released a frustrated breath, “you have to stop worming your way into our lives— you’re our nanny, that’s it. You don’t ask me about my personal life, you don’t call me in the middle of the night to make me worry and you don’t ask me to get into bed with you.”
“You act like I don’t know that!”
“Evidently you don’t.”
“Yes I d—“
“Just—just stop. Stop talking.”
It shut her up. It did not only that, the increase of his volume had made her flinch on the spot. She wasn’t a fan of confrontation, as mentioned before, but what she despised even more was yelling. She couldn’t stand yelling, fighting, accusations being thrown in the air with no regard to anyone’s feelings. It was an extremely sensitive thing for her and she definitely hadn’t expected to experience it with him today.
Y/N saw him a little differently in this light. The sternness with which he delivered those words, strict and mean, reminded her of her childhood. He saw her weakness, saw the stress she was under, and did nothing to relieve the situation. Instead he’d yelled at her.
Her hand was shaking a little and tears were forming in her eyes. She couldn’t let him see it, though, the weakness. She couldn’t allow him to see that a simple instruction had made her want to cry.
“I can’t deal with you today, Y/N, so please just… just go.”
She left without another word— straight up turned around and closed the door behind her with shaky hands. She couldn’t stand him right now, but even more she couldn’t stand herself.
She’d fucked up so badly.
And maybe… maybe she needed to quit.
-
And there we have it! don’t hate me for that ending it was necessary!
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meetmymouth · 8 months
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social media au: harry and y/n are besties. really good besties. featuring LOTS of tweets, memes, insta posts and harry being horny in the comments section.
note; i rarely use a face claim. for this one, i somehow (it just happened) used gracie abrams. there’s not many photos of her, though. hope u still find something funny below to enjoy either way.
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liked by yn and others
lloyddddddddddddddddd Love On Tour. Nothing I can type here can describe what the past 18 months have been like for me. I’ve loved every second. Thank you so much to everyone involved and to all of the incredible people Ive met along the way for making it a truly phenomenal experience.  And ofc a special thank you to @harrystyles for bringing me along, what a boy.  Hope you all enjoyed the pics 💘
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bradgouldtraining Best in da game
ynsgolden LLOYD ITS SEVEN IN THE MORNING!!!!!!!
glenne_azoff @yn
paulithepsm @yn
harryshoehouse bet u were giggling taking the second pic
lolharryshouse why's everyone tagging y/n lmao
harrysgrapejuice EVERYONE TAGGING Y/N JHFBSDNS
yn nice abs asshole
harrysgotthestyles YN!!!! LMAOOOOOOOOOO jessbrian ok girly we see u dianelouise JUST TEXT HIM LMAO
captainstyles someone check on y/n lmao
jeff_azoff @yn 👀
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yn day n night (see also: my two personalities)
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ynsbread ok but queen
harryteheestyles sooooooo classy 🙄
harryscowboy WHOSE PILLOWS??????????
gemmastyles That t-shirt is so you.
yn thanks again 😂
bradgouldtraining 👀
anthonypham don't start yn yeah be gone mr. muscle
harrystyles 🐎
theestylees OMG HAYRY????D??@EFKCJ giawilliams ARIANA WHAT ARE U DOING HERE harrysgoldboots boY JUST TEXT HER LMAO ynshouse you guys are so h*rny for each other it's insaneeeee lovemeontour gIRLLLLLLLLLLLLL WHATS THET MEAN bradrry YOU ARE INSANE FOR THISSSSSSSSSS
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yn i ♥️ italia
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ynxniall i recognise that eye
aveceyepatch GREEN EYES
ynsbestie i know that eye
annetwist 🥰😍😘!
goldenharry MOTHER APPROVES
ynarchive soft launch.........SOFT LAUNCH
harrystrainer girl they were eating each other's faces yesterday what soft launch are u talking about!!!!
harrystyles 🤝
fratrryy BOY BYE breadkingharry GIRLLLLLLLLL YOURE TOO MUCH zarrysheart harry.... ynspookie you're playinnnnnnn too much
bradgouldtraining Slay!
yn i will be blocking you
stylesarchive faves
jeff_azoff Slayyy.
kidharpoon Slayed
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harrysfolklore · 1 month
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ring hard launch - blurb
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the content we got today just SCREAMS fiancé!harry for me so i came up with this, enjoy !
gif by @sunkissedlouis <3
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
If there was something that was definitely at the top of your list of favorite activities, was spending time with Harry.
It didn't matter if it was getting groceries, joining him for a bike ride or simply laying on the couch together, every moment that you spent together brought you contentment and joy that you couldn't find anywhere else.
And now that he was your fiancé, it was safe to say that both of you wanted to be glued to each other every single minute.
Harry proposed the morning of New Year's Eve, in the comfort of your home with both of you in your pajamas as you enjoyed homemade breakfast bagels, and it was absolutely perfect.
Ever since, you had been happier than ever, sharing the news with your family and closest friends and enjoying your engagement in private without prying eyes from paparazzi, fans and media.
"We better win tonight," Your train of thought was interrupted by Harry's voice, you were currently heading to the Luton vs Man United game, and even though you couldn't care less about football, your need to be close to him all the time made you say yes when he asked you to join him, "Thank you for tagging along, baby. I know this is not your scene so it's nice you came."
"I'm just here for the drinks and snacks," you teased, watching him roll his eyes at you, "And to enjoy the evening with my handsome fiancé, of course."
"There we go," he smiled now, grabbing your hand and placing a small kiss to the ring on your finger.
Ever since you got engaged, that had became his favorite habit, and it made your heart flutter every single time.
"It sucks that I have to take it off," you said, making him look at you with a raised eyebrow, "The ring, I mean. I have to take it off before we get out of the car, otherwise headlines will go crazy and Jeff is going to freak out."
"Mm-hmm," he paused to think, eyes darting for the road to you, "What if... you don't have to take it off?"
"What do you mean?" you said, noticing that you were about to enter the back of the stadium.
"I mean..." he grabbed your hand again, tugging the ring affectionately, "What if we let the world know about it? I talked to Jeff and the rest of the team last week, they said we could make it public whenever we felt like it, at our own terms. So why don't we do it today?"
Harry parked the car at the spot that was reserved for him and turned to look at you with a wide smile, waiting for your answer.
"Are you sure?" you smiled back at him, noticing the glow in his eyes that almost made you melt.
"Couldn't be more sure, love. Besides, the album is coming soon and everyone is going to connect the dots as soon as they listen to the first song, might as well give them an early heads up."
"Let's do it," you said, leaning over to kiss him, "I feel like everyone is going to focus on the fact that you're finally outside and with brand new hair, they won't even notice the rock on my finger."
Harry rolled his eyes again and gave you another kiss, "I swear to god, woman. You're something else."
You headed inside of the stadium to the VIP suit you were going to watch the game in, walking hand in hand with your engagement ring glistening on your finger, cameras around filming and taking pictures of both of you.
"Do you think twitter is freaking out yet?" you asked Harry as you settled on your seats.
"No idea, baby, I don't use that app," he shrugged, "Do you want anything to drink?"
"Would you get me something fruity that has alcohol that doesn't quite taste like alcohol? That's the only way I won't be bored to death."
"Sure thing." Harry laughed and kissed the side of your head before standing up to get your drink, coming back a few minutes later with exactly what you asked and a bottle of sparkling water for himself.
"So we're rooting for Man U, right?" you asked as you took a sip from your drink.
"Seven years together, months away from getting married, yet you still don't know I'm a Man U ride or die," he put a hand on his chest, "I don't think this is going to work."
"I was just teasing, drama queen," you pecked his cheek, "I know your true loves are Man U, the Green Bay Packers, peas and Fleetwood Mac."
"And you," he winked, making you roll your eyes with affection and take another sip from your drink.
A few minutes into the game, you found yourself quite invested on it, constantly asking Harry about the stuff you didn't understand and getting nervous when the other team was about to score or your team missed a goal.
"Lord, I don't want to watch," you said as a player from the opposite team was getting ready to hit a penalty, hiding your face against Harry's shoulder, "Harry! You're supposed to be watching the game, you've been staring at me for half of it now."
"Sorry, you're just too cute," he kissed the crown of your head, "You can watch now, he failed it."
"Thank god."
By the end of the game, you were both on your feet, cheering as Man United secured a win. Harry was ecstatic, and you found yourself caught up in the excitement, cheering alongside him.
While you were engulfed in your own bubble during the game, cameras has caught up on the ring of your finger, and Harry and you immediately became a world trending topic, with fans speculating whether you were actually engaged or not.
As you laid in bed scrolling through the millions of tweets about the game Harry finally emerged from the bathroom, ready to get in the covers.
"Are you reading about us?" he asked, sliding into bed beside you.
"Yeah," you replied, showing him some of the tweets, "But I don't think it was quite clear for some of your fans, some of them don't think we're really engaged."
"Well, I guess it'll be clear when the album comes out."
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gurugirl · 2 months
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Next Door Neighbors
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Summary: You just wanted peace and quiet and Harry just wanted to jam out in his garage for his birthday. So you decide to confront your new neighbor but things don't go as you planned.
A/N: Here it is! Sorry I didn't get it out earlier but it's here now! Enjoy this little 🎈 Harry Styles Happy Birthday Treat 🎈xoxo
Word Count: 7.8k
Warning: 18+ only, smut
It was the perfect house with the perfect backyard in the perfect neighborhood. You’d hit the jackpot. Your first big girl purchase. A house with a lovely garden, two bedrooms, a lovely little kitchen with the perfect rays of light that shone in through the big windows all morning. And the neighborhood was nice and quiet where you could enjoy your weekends in peace reading to your heart’s content.
It was a huge upgrade from the apartment life you endured for years while you saved up for just this thing. And you’d finally found it. Things seemed to be coming together for you in life finally.
On Friday after you got off work, Zoya called, asking if you wanted to go out with the girls but you politely declined, “I’m just gonna stay in I think. I hope you don’t mind. Maybe next weekend, Zo.”
You had a bottle of wine tucked under your arm as you held your cell phone to your ear on your way to the checkout lane at the little neighborhood market a few blocks from your house. Your new house. The one with your name on the mortgage.
Your plan was to drink a little wine in your cute new backyard and read a book, just taking in the peace of your new place.
You turned on the twinkle lights over your back porch (your dad had helped you put them up into the trees) and sat down in your outdoor lounge chair with a glass of wine and the book you’d been looking forward to reading. The sun had just gone down and you could hear crickets. A perfect Friday night, in your opinion.
That is until you were twenty pages into your book and suddenly the loud racket of what sounded like obnoxiously loud live music playing from next door had you closing your book and standing up to investigate.
The closer you got the more you could hear the unmistakable sound of a live band playing, the pop of a snare drum, the trill of a guitar... You looked over the wood fence into the driveway of your neighbor’s home and couldn’t see much but you saw lights on inside of the garage and the loud ruckus of a homemade instrumental band.
You didn’t want to be one of those neighbors. One of those awful people who complained about everything their neighbors did. But this was ridiculous. It seemed they had no regard for any of the people that lived around them.
Walking back to what was supposed to be your little oasis you sat down and grumped to yourself about how rude some people could be. You’d give them one hour until you went over there and told them in person to lower the noise.
You’d only been living in your little house for a few days and this was your first Friday night. You had really been looking forward to a peaceful night at home. Not even your second glass of wine could calm you down.
You didn’t know why you were so mad about it. In your apartment, you were bombarded with noise from all the neighbors who shared a wall with you and the loud heard of elephants that lived above you.
But this? It was meant to be your sanctuary. Your place of solitude.
But you’d had it. When an hour had passed and you paced around your backyard getting up the nerve to walk over there you huffed and psyched yourself up as you made your way into the front yard of your neighbor’s house and could see three men inside the wide open garage. A drummer pounding away, and two men standing – one with a guitar and another with a bass.
You stepped into the driveway and clutched your cardigan closer to your chest as you appeared at the threshold of the garage and the music abruptly stopped when the tall one with dark curls laid his eyes on you.
“Hi. You’re the new neighbor,” he raised his hand from the neck of the guitar he had slung over his shoulder and smiled.
You instantly no longer were raging with anger when you heard his voice and realized this was the man you’d seen briefly the morning before as he got into his car. You imagined he was attractive but not this attractive. Tattoos along one arm, thick curls, plush pink lips, dimples…
“Uh… yeah. I just moved in next door a few days ago.” You looked behind yourself and back toward the men before continuing, “I was hoping you guys could–“
Your voice was cut off by the clash of a symbol then the hit of a snare before the drummer tapped his sticks together, “We’re in the middle of something here in case you didn’t see.”
“Hey… chill. Don’t be rude man,” the curly-headed man with the guitar shot a look at the drummer before looking back at you, “What were you saying? Sorry.”
You shifted on your feet, “I was wondering if you guys could keep it down. It’s so loud and it’s all I can hear while I’m trying to read.”
The guy with the bass guitar spoke, “Oh come on, lady. We hardly ever get to do this.”
Your neighbor began removing his guitar, lifting the strap over his head as he looked at the other two, “Let’s call it a night guys. That’s enough.”
The other two began to grumble as they packed away their things and your neighbor stepped out of the garage in front of you with his hand held out to you, “I’m Harry.”
You smiled and placed your palm against his, “Y/n.”
The drummer came up beside Harry, “Today’s his birthday you know. The only thing he wanted today was to jam out for a bit.”
Your eyes widened as you looked at Harry, “Oh. I didn’t know. I’m sorry… you–“
“Don’t worry about it. We had a good hour. I’m beat anyway. Long week at work.”
The bassist gave Harry a side hug, “I’m gonna head home. See you later, okay? Happy birthday, dude.”
“Oh. I should leave. I’m really sorry again,” you waved as you began to back away.
But Harry stepped in toward you, “Stick around for a minute okay?”
The drummer followed suit, bidding Harry a happy birthday and then getting into his car to drive away as you stood awkwardly at the edge of the garage until it was just you and Harry.
“I’m sorry. I feel really bad that they left. And it’s your birthday too? I’ll… do you want a bottle of wine or something? Let me grab you a bottle as a gift and an apology…”
Harry grinned at you and shook his head, “Mind if I come with you? I’d love to see the inside of the house. Never got the chance to see it before. That can be your birthday gift to me.”
You noted the smirk on his face, his confident posture, and then you realized he had crystalline green eyes. Something in the way he was looking at you gave you those ridiculous butterflies in your tummy.
“Yeah. Of course, Harry.” You turned and he followed behind you as you led him into your backyard, closing the gate behind yourself.
“This is the backyard. I’m gonna put in some flowers over there,” you pointed, “And maybe do something with the porch at some point.”
Harry looked around the backyard briefly before he put his gaze back on you as you opened up your door to let him inside. You were sure you were insane to be letting your neighbor, whom you did not know, into our house with you alone at night, but you only live once, isn’t that what they say?
“Kitchen,” you gestured your hand and then moved through into the living room where Harry trailed behind you and looked around.
“It’s nice. I like how big the windows are. Always was jealous of how big they are compared to mine.”
You looked up at him and smiled, “It’s one of the reasons I bought the place. The window in the kitchen overlooking the backyard kind of sealed the deal for me. Lots of great light comes in for most of the day.”
“I bet it does,” he kept his eyes on you and your tummy was still fluttering about.
“Over here is the bedroom,” you flipped on the switch, “It’s got its own full bathroom. Tiny but I like it.” You turned to move down the hall and flipped on the switch to the hallway bathroom, “Another bathroom, here,” and then moved to the final door, pushing it open to an empty room, “And at some point, I’ll furnish this. It’ll be like an office, guest room sort of thing.”
You turned off the light and looked back at Harry who was standing right behind you.
“Thank you, for showing me around.”
You felt your face warm up as you looked at him. You liked how he said your name. Liked how his lips moved around his words when he spoke.
“Of course. Um… do you want any wine? I was a glass and a half into a bottle if you want to finish it with me?”
That was an easy yes from Harry. You brought your glass in from outside and pulled out a clean one for your neighbor before pouring a bit of the burgundy liquid inside for him.
“Happy birthday, Harry,” you held your glass out to him and he tapped the edge of his glass to yours, “Sorry that I ruined it, though. I kind of feel awful.”
Harry shook his head, “Don’t be sorry. Like I said, it was a long week at work and we had a good hour anyway. Plus this is nice. Getting to know my neighbor,” he took a sip of his wine.
“How old are you today?” You took a sip of your wine as you watched him.
“30,” he sighed, “Grown adult officially.” He smiled.
You laughed at his remark and nodded, “Yes, 30 marks the official entry into adulthood. That’s my belief as well.”
You really liked Harry. He was easy to talk to and you decided he made you feel very comfortable.
“So, you’re a musician?” You raised your brows.
He shook his head and chuckled, “Well, I like to sing and play instruments. I’m not really great or anything. Just a hobby. Used to be in a band in college but then I realized I had to get a real job and figure out how to pay my bills and get along in life.”
You leaned your bottom into your kitchen counter and smiled at him, “Oh yeah. I know all about that. Would be nice if we could make good money just doing our hobbies so we didn’t have to get real jobs,” you laughed, “What do you do for work?”
“I’m an electrical contractor. Have a small business with three employees. It’s hard work but it pays well. Most of the time.”
You smiled. He continued to get more attractive the more he talked and the more you learned. It didn’t hurt that you could tell he was in incredibly great shape as well. He was tall, his shoulders were broad and his shirt stretched tightly over the lats at his back and hung loosely where his waist was, indicating a nice healthy build and upper body strength. His arms were lean muscle and even his thighs filled out the tops of his jeans so you understood it wasn’t just his upper body that was well-muscled.
You heard Harry chuckle as you darted your eyes back up to his. You’d been caught checking him out. You hadn’t meant to let your eyes scrape down his frame but… well. Here you were.
“And what do you do, Y/n?”
Harry kept his sight on you as he sipped from his glass. His sultry gaze was doing things to your hormones and making your heart pump a little harder behind your ribcage.
“I’m the general manager at SpendCo,” you laughed and shrugged, “Not a fancy job but I like it. Good benefits. Was able to save up for this place,” you gestured your hand around the kitchen.
“My job’s not fancy either,” Harry laughed, “But yeah. It’s steady work. A good paycheck.”
You nodded. You could relate in some ways. You’d gone to school for business but wound up working your way up from the bottom at SpendCo. When you started you were making just over minimum wage as a cashier, but now you worked in the office, Monday through Friday (no more weekends for you) and had shift managers and employees working under you. It felt good to be the boss.
“Wanna sit in the living room? Couch is brand new. In fact, I’ve hardly even had the chance to sit in it myself.”
“Yeah. Let’s break that couch in, Y/n,” Harry grinned as he nudged you with his shoulder.
Oh?
You laughed at his comment but decided to not take it the way you imagined he meant. Of course, he obviously meant just sitting on it and breaking it in that way. Certainly, there were no innuendos behind his words.
You didn’t have a proper coffee table yet so you pulled an empty bin with a lid to the front of the couch, “We’ll use this to put our glasses on. Still not done decorating or buying things I need, as you can tell.”
Harry sat his glass down on the plastic lid of the bin and pointed at your stereo setup next to the TV, “Can I put on some music?”
“Yeah, sure,” you smiled as you took another sip of your wine and watched your handsome neighbor get up and turn on your stereo and speakers. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and searched for the Bluetooth to connect and a song began to play over your speakers.
“Like Chris Isaak?” Harry asked as he sat down on the couch, right next to you, his knee knocking into yours.
“Yeah… I think. I’ve heard this song before anyway,” you smiled as you looked down at your thighs.
Harry leaned his back into the cushion and you felt him shifting next to you, his arm propped up on the back of the seat behind you.
“So where did you live before you moved in here?”
You turned your head to look at him before placing your eyes safely on the plastic bin, “In an apartment over in Roger’s Park. Nice little neighborhood. But I hated living in an apartment. Lugging groceries up three flights of stairs every time I went shopping. I mean I got used to it but still…” you laughed.
“Oh yeah. I know what you mean. I used to live in an apartment too. Actually also in Roger’s Park… but that was like five years ago.”
You peeked at him with your brows raised, “Yeah? You lived in Roger’s Park too? What area?”
“Off Grand near the big bus terminal.”
“Wait. For real? At Sheraton Oaks?”
Harry furrowed his brows and squinted, “Yes. Shit. Is that where you lived?”
“It is. 3rd floor. Apartment 10.”
Harry turned his body toward you, his thigh flush against yours, “No fucking way, Y/n. I lived in apartment 10,” he pointed his thumb at himself with a wide surprised grin on his face.
You shook your head and looked at him in disbelief, “That’s wild. How funny that two people who used to live in the same apartment at different times became next-door neighbors. What are the chances?”
Harry laughed, “Seems quite unlikely in such a big city.”
You and Harry sat facing one another in amazement as a new song came on.
“You okay?” Harry’s pupils ran over your features and you saw him looking at your lips as he poked his tongue out to wet his own.
“Yeah. Why?”
Harry softly smiled as he lifted his hand to your face and you felt the pad of his thumb press into your cheek, “You’re biting the inside of your cheeks. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t nervous or something.”
You puffed out a laugh and shook your head, “No. I’m not nervous. Sometimes I chew on the inside of my cheeks. Bad habit.”
Harry nodded shallowly with his eyes on you but he didn’t respond. Instead, he reached for his glass and took a sip of wine.
“So… um…” you glanced at him and shot your eyes to his hand that held the stem of the glass. His hands were nice and big and you noticed he had his nails painted, alternating blue and yellow.
“So, um… What? What were you gonna say?”
You gulped and forced yourself to look into his eyes. He was so handsome and you were beginning to get hot all over. He was too close (not that that was a bad thing), his thigh was solid against yours, and his eyes were drawing something out of you. He was alluring.
“I don’t…” you shook your head, “Forgot what I was gonna say.”
Harry pulled his lips into his mouth, a muted grin on his face as you watched dimples carve into his cheeks. Like he knew what you were thinking.
“I like this sweater,” he gestured toward your cardigan and you looked down at it. It was knitted with a cat playing with a ball of yarn on the left side.
“My aunt bought it for me for Christmas last year,” you smiled and as you brought your eyes up you noticed he was wearing a necklace but you couldn’t see the whole thing as it was tucked under his t-shirt.
He pulled at a button on your cardigan and cocked his head as he looked at you, “Are you sure you’re okay, Y/n? Do you want me to leave?”
Your eyes widened, “Oh no. This is nice. I… I’m okay. Honestly.”
“Okay. You just seem a little frazzled. Want to make sure I’m not doing anything that’s making you uncomfortable.”
You shook your head, “No. You’re great. You haven’t done anything to make me uncomfortable.” You bit your bottom lip into your mouth and tried to give off an air of calm and confidence like Harry was but he was something else. He was so incredibly attractive and the eye contact was making you slowly melt. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander to what it would be like to kiss him.
He grinned, one side of his mouth pulling upward, “I see.”
You watched as he took a deep breath and placed his wine glass back down before looking back into your eyes, “So, um… can I ask you a personal question?”
You nodded, “Yeah. Sure.”
“Do you have a boyfriend or…?”
Your brows raised upward, “Oh. Uh, no. No boyfriend,” you put your hands into your lap and fiddled with your fingers, “And, uh… you? Significant other?”
A breathy laugh fell from his chest as he shook his head, “Nope.” He popped the p as he responded.
You nodded and looked down at the hand that he’d placed over his thigh. His pinky was pressed into your leg. You were sure he was giving you some kind of signal. All the signs were there. His body language, eye contact, asking you about a boyfriend, and the nearness of him… He was so close you could smell the soap he used.
“Mmm…” you racked your brain to think of anything to say, “How long have you lived here?”
He licked his lips again, “Five years. Moved out of Sheraton Oaks and then bought the house next door.”
You smiled, “So that means I moved in right after you moved out.”
Harry slowly moved his hand further toward your leg and you felt his pinky and ring finger press into your leggings before subtly bending his pinky finger out to rub the fabric under his digit, “Sounds like we have a lot in common.”
“Yeah. Guess so,” you gave him a weak smile and looked down at his hand.
“Am I overstepping?”
You shook your head and looked up at him.
“No? What about if I kissed you? Is that too much?”
Your breath caught in your lungs as you kept your eyes pinned to his and shook your head again.
“No, it’s not too much? Or no you don’t want me to kiss you?”
You swallowed and your heart bounced around in your chest so wildly you could almost hear it, “No, it’s not too much.”
The smile on Harry’s face was soft as he looked from your eyes to your mouth, “It’s okay then? You don’t mind the birthday boy stealing a kiss from his cute neighbor?”
That pulled a laugh from you just as he hoped it would, “I’d like that I think.”
Harry slid his free hand up to the side of your neck, his thumb at the base of your jaw close to your ear, “Last chance to say no.”
You laughed again and placed your palm over the top of his hand that had fully moved over your thigh, “Kiss me.”
The slow movement of his face toward yours, the nudge of his nose to your skin, hot puffs of breath spreading over your cheek, soft lips brushing against the edge of your mouth, before he finally pressed his smooth pink lips against yours was alchemic. Something about him, about the way he handled himself and spoke to you and devoured you with his eyes… But with his mouth against yours, his thumb softly rubbing at your jaw, and his hand moving to fit his fingers between yours as he kept it pressed over your thigh you felt electrified.
And he tasted like mint and smelled like soap and his lips were smooth and moist against yours. Your Friday night had already turned out far better than you imagined it would.
Yeah. Making out on your new couch in your new house with your new neighbor was way better.
You slid the palm of your free hand up his shoulder and to the nape of his neck as his own grip on the side of your neck and jaw tightened the slightest.
But your mind was on his mouth. The heat coming from his touch. The way his tongue slid through your lips to beckon them open…
Harry pulled at your hand and urged you toward his lap. Parting your legs you sat down over the spread of his thighs, settling yourself as close to him as possible.
He slid his hands up your thighs and you felt ravenous. It was as if sitting in his lap made it so much more real. He was moving things along and you were keeping pace.
You pressed your tongue against his and softly rocked your hips down. As your pelvis tilted against Harry, he moaned into your mouth and it was the hottest thing you’d ever heard.
“Fuck. You still good?” He parted from the kiss, keeping his nose bumped against yours.
You breathed out a yes as you nodded and when you lifted your face your lips brushed against his and it started all over again. Lips smothered over lips and tongues wetly dragging against tongues.
Harry’s hands inched up to your hips and you pressed your fingers into the back of his neck, feeling his pulse, steady and strong under your skin.
He lapped over your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth and then dropped his cushiony lips down to your jaw, peppering damp kisses under the space of your chin and over your neck.
You loved having your neck kissed. Not just loved it… you craved it. The feel of a man’s breath and mouth and tongue and nose against your pulse point and the delicate skin that wrapped over blood pumping through your arteries had your skin tingling.
Another rock of your hips down and you felt the obvious swell of something growing under his jeans. He hissed and you backed away from his mouth, not knowing if his sharp inhale was from pain or if he liked the slide of the fabric over your crotch pressing against him.
When you looked at his eyes he was a different man. His pupils had widened and his plush pink lips were wet and parted, nostrils taking in air heavily as you felt his fingers dig into your hips.
“Did I hurt you?” You brought one of your hands toward his jaw feeling the light scruff along the bone under your knuckles.
He shook his head, “No. Not at all. But I do need to reposition.”
You looked down between your bodies and moved back on his thighs to give him space but before your brain could connect to your motions you were reaching down for his button to unpluck from the thick jean fabric. He gently lifted his hips as you unzipped his pants and then you looked at him as you pushed the bottom hem of his shirt upward over the band of his underwear.
“You wanna help?” He spoke breathily as you nodded and pulled the elastic away from his skin with one hand and used the other to reach under the fabric. It was sparse hair and skin and then and then denser hair and warmth until you felt him tucked awkwardly to the side against his pelvis.
The small coo that fell from your mouth was involuntary as you wrapped your hand around him. Hot and thick in your hand. He inhaled sharply again when he felt your palm on his cock as you helped guide him upright.
Your breath was unsteady and shallow as you kept your eyes on Harry’s, “God, Harry.”
“What?” His teasing smirk gave away that he knew what. He knew his cock was big and watching your reaction to that was pleasing.
You gulped and peeked down at it, your hand still holding the fabric away from his hips. A swollen, smooth ruddy colored tip that matched the pink of his lips. The length of which pushed out from the top of the band and sat perfectly in between two fern tattoos at his hips along the bare part of his skin.
“It’s…” you looked back up at him, “It’s nice.”
Harry breathed out a laugh, “Nice? Why thank you.” He grinned.
But then you felt his fingers slide under your t-shirt, pushing the fabric up slowly until his skin was pressed into your sides. It felt like he was urging you to remove your shirt so you did. Pulling your cardigan off first you let it fall to the floor at Harry’s feet before you peeled your t-shirt off.
Harry was surprised to see you weren’t wearing a bra. It had been easy enough to hide under the knitted sweater you figured, so you never put a bra on when you went to confront him earlier. And of course, you weren’t wearing one. It was meant to be a quiet Friday night in. There had been no need.
He pushed his hands up your sides until his fingers were wrapped around your ribs with his thumbs pressing into the soft plump underside of your tits.
You watched him take you in. Your nipples were straining and goosebumps littered your flesh as he ghosted his thumbs along the sensitive tissue.
It felt like so much. You had never done anything remotely sexual with someone you didn’t know. But Harry was hot and you were turned on. So much so that you could feel the dampness in your panties.
You reached back to his chest, pulling at his shirt. You wanted to see more. Wanted to know what he looked like underneath it all. You knew he was fit. And you were positive there were more tattoos hidden away under the material of his shirt.
With his eyes on yours, he moved his hands away from your breasts and pulled his shirt off, taking the back and bringing it over his head at the front. You got a glimpse of the necklace he wore. A white gold cross that slapped against his chest when it caught on the fabric of his shirt as he removed it.
You had been right. His body was defined and strong. Bulky muscular pecs and toned abs. Inked skin from his clavicle to the butterfly under his pectorals and down to the ferns, where his cock poked out of the top of his underwear.
Pressing your palms over his pecs you smoothed your hands down over his nipples and to the butterfly tattoo underneath.
Harry put his hands on your hips again while you admired his torso and you felt his fingers dip under the waistband of your dark-colored tights. Another signal. A question seeking approval for more.
Drawing your eyes up to his you put your hands over his fingers and pushed the material down with him.
Of course, sitting in his lap hindered too much movement but he understood your hint as he pushed you up by your hips and you found yourself being moved off of his lap to your back on the couch.
“Still good, Y/n?” He looked at you with those dark pupils, an air of respectful authority. He made your skin boil.
You nodded, “I’m good.”
Harry began to pull at the stretchy fabric, bringing it down your hips and over your thighs til your knees were free and then he lifted your legs so he could get the leggings off your feet.
When your pants were on the floor, he still had your legs held upward, one hand at the back of your ankles and you peered down at him indulging in the sight of your skin at the back of your thighs and down to your bottom covered in your panties.
You saw a grin on his face as he brought your legs down before he stood up and pulled his jeans off his legs.
His body was so strong and masculine. He could easily dominate you, the thought briefly crossed your mind as you watched the muscles in his arms flex, his abs clench, and the sinew on his powerful-looking thighs bulge as he steadied himself one leg at a time until his jeans were off and he was only clad in his underwear with dark inky designs on his skin and even on his thigh.
He kneed himself down onto the couch, hovering over you as you naturally spread your legs to allow him space between your thighs.
And the feel of his hard shaft pressing over your mound before his lips dropped down to yours once again had you dazed. It almost didn’t feel real.
“So fucking hot, Y/n…” he whispered against your lips, “Made me so hard.”
You gasped when he rocked himself down over you, fabric rubbing against fabric until your arousal had seeped through your panties and began wetting his underwear.
He moaned and parted from this kiss, “You’re all wet.” He slid himself upward and then back with a grin. “You like that?”
You nodded with a moan.
“Yeah? What else do you want, Y/n? Hm? Want to get rid of these panties?”
You moved your shaky hands down your hips and pushed at the fabric to bring them down. All you wanted was him. Your hormones were screaming at you and all you could think about was his big cock and how it would feel sliding inside of you.
Harry laughed at how enthusiastic you seemed and moved back to help you remove your panties, “Okay. We can get these off. Mind if I lose my underwear too?”
You sat up and reached for the band of his briefs as he began to push them down until he was completely bare before you.
His cock hung heavy outward, pointing toward you, like it was beckoning to be touched so you did, reaching for him and taking your palm from his tip to his base until your hand hit the dark thatch of hair and then pulled back up to his smooth head.
“I want it. Want to feel it, Harry.” You looked at him as you pumped him again.
He groaned as he watched your small hand move along his length.
“Do you have a condom?”
You swallowed and paused your motions. You definitely did not have a condom. Which was quite unfortunate because that could only mean sex was not going to happen unless he had one and was willing to go to his house to get it.
Shaking your head no you frowned.
Harry licked his lips and trailed his eyes over your tits and down your tummy, “S’okay. Plenty of other ways to have fun.”
You whined as you looked down at your hand. You had really wanted to feel that big thing wrecking your insides.
Harry took your chin and tilted your face to look up at him, “What’s wrong?”
You inhaled and let go of his pretty dick, “I wanted to feel you so bad.”
He pressed his mouth against yours, soft reassuring kisses had your heart strumming in your chest.
“Well I would hate to disappoint you,” he grinned, “Want to go to mine? I’ve got condoms. We’ll just have to put some clothes back on.”
You nodded and pushed yourself up, quickly pulling your cardigan on and slipping your leggings back up your legs.
Harry liked how desperate you seemed. That was quite the ego boost. He put his shirt back on and pulled his jeans up but left the zipper down as he clutched the fabric to keep it up.
“Guess that’s good enough for breaking your couch in, yeah?”
You laughed and nodded, “Was a good first use for it I think.”
Harry laughed as he took your hand and you two made your way out your front door to his, hurrying over grass under bare feet and small chuckles until you were in the safety and privacy of his living room. He kept your hand in his until he got to his bedroom where he pulled his shirt off and you followed suit, ridding yourself of the annoying clothing you’d had to put back on.
But you knew it was going to be worth it.
Harry dug into his bedside table for a condom and laid it on top of the wood before looking back at you, “You still want this?”
You nodded and climbed onto his bed. The tunnel vision you had was keeping your mind from wandering too far off course as you watched Harry stroke his cock, long pulls up and down to his base as he crawled after you onto his bed.
You easily opened up your legs for him to fit his hips between and felt his warm cock slipping through your folds, rubbing against your clit.
“So slippery, Y/n.” You knew you were as he drove himself over your labia, smoothing his cock against your arousal back and forth.
A shaky moan fell from your throat and Harry grinned as he smeared his lips against your mouth.
He worked himself up and down, wetting the outside of his cock and his tip as he inched through your pussylips smoothly.
You loved his mouth. Loved how he kissed you. It was raw and felt like he gave a damn. Felt like he was enjoying your mouth just as much as you enjoyed his.
Finally, he pushed himself back and reached for his condom looking at you, “Do want anything else first? Or do just want my cock?”
You looked down at his hard dick with your arousal spread all over him and it was all you wanted.
“I want your cock,” your words were breathy as you looked up into his eyes.
“Yeah? A greedy little thing aren’t you?” Harry began to pull the condom over his shaft, pinching the tip as he dragged the rubber down as far as it would reach before settling himself back against your hips, pushing your thighs back slightly, “So desperate for it,” he nudged his cock down against your pussy and then slid it up to your clit teasingly, “Couldn’t wait to have me inside you. Insisted on it even,” he grinned as he tormented you with his wide girth slipping back and forth against your cunt.
You tilted your hips up and groaned, trying to get him to push inside but he continued his taunting movements, “Now, now… so impatient. I’ll give you what you want soon enough sweetheart. But today’s my birthday so I get to control the pace. Don’t want you getting all bossy with me.”
You moaned and slid your hands over his shoulders as you rolled your hips upward again, kissing his slit with your entrance but this time he placed a hand over your thigh and held you in place, “Is it that bad, Y/n?”
You nodded, “Please, Harry.”
“Mmm… love a well-mannered lady. You gonna be good for me?”
You sighed and you would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so horny, so out of your mind desperate, “I’m gonna be good. Please.”
“Yeah? Cause once I slide inside of you there’s no turning back.”
You gripped his shoulders tight and groaned, “Please.”
The feel of his warm, heavy cock smeared against your clit was almost too much. In fact, you could probably come from that alone if given enough time.
“So sweet for me, Y/n,” Harry took the thigh he’d been holding down and brought your leg over his low back, smoothing his hand over your skin as he positioned himself at your entrance.
The moment you felt him pressing his bulbous head through your slick muscle you dropped your mouth open and moaned but then his mouth caught yours and the noises you were making became muffled as he moved his lips against your mouth.
You knew he was going to split you in half. The slow glide of his cock inside your warm walls was intense. Inch by inch he pushed in as his lips were wrapped around yours.
Holding onto his lats you lifted your hips against his as he slid back and then buried himself into the hilt. You gasped into his mouth at the ache of him nudging into your guts and then pulling back to his tip only to slide himself back in. Working you open slowly, he continued to drive into your cunt with gushy wet noises coming from your pussy as he stretched you open.
You appreciated him plunging in slowly and easing you into fitting around his cock properly. You liked the warmup but more than that, you needed him to destroy your pussy.
When he felt you bucking upward into him he parted his mouth from yours and sat back with his knees bent. You saw him watching the space where he was connected with your cunt as he continued rolling into you.
His abs were flexing as he steadied himself in and out. You gasped when he began to fuck into you a little faster, his cock sliding through your walls and bumping into all the slick bits on your insides.
A gurgled moan fell from your lips as he smacked his hips into yours. The patting of his balls against your ass came out in wet thuds. Your tits bounced with every long stroke into your tummy and he was panting as he let his eyes scan over your body and up to your pretty face.
“Taking me so well, Y/n. Making me leak into my condom already, pussy’s so good.”
You both moaned as he drove into you, his mattress under you giving way to the force of his thrusts.
“Feels so good, Harry…” you panted.
“Yeah?” He bucked inward and ground against you, swiveling his hips and you gasped at the deep press into your cervix.
His fingers were pinching into your thighs as he stuffed himself in and you gripped his forearms for leverage and lifted your neck to watch as his cock disappeared into your body over and over again.
His shaft was coated with your shiny arousal as he slid in and out, your pussy gripping around his skin perfectly.
Harry’s moans were growing louder as he continued fucking into you wetly, hips slamming against yours making his balls strike into your ass.
His thighs were flexing as he rocked against you while your body was shivering and feeling the bliss of getting an itch scratched that you’d been needing.
You felt his right hand release your thigh and then watched him press his thumb over your slippery clit.
You let out a pathetic cry of relief when he smoothed the pad of his digit in circles on your bud, “Yes! Oh god!”
Harry coughed out a moan as he watched your face twist up, “That feel good, Y/n?”
You focused your sight on his eyes and nodded, “Yes…”
The grin on his face could have been akin to something cocky but your brain was mush as you let him wreck you with deep strokes into your tummy, wet and sloppy, dripping arousal down your ass.
The springs in his mattress were bouncing in time with his thrusts and the wooden frame on his bed creaked when he jerked his hips forward into you.
“Just like that, huh? Pussy needed fucked, yeah?” Harry’s words were coming out tight and shaky. You could hear it in his voice how good it felt for him too.
He pressed down and moved his thumb deliciously over your puffy clit as his cock punched into your organs and tissue making you throw your head back and close your eyes arching your back upward.
Harry loved the sight; your sloppy wet pussy spreading apart for his cock as you arched your back like the sexy thing you were, soft tits swaying every time he buried himself in balls deep, lips parted, neck long and stretched out as you breathily moaned his name, “Hh… Harry…”
He could watch you like this all night. Stretches of skin covered in goosebumps as if you were cold, hard nipples at the center of your wobbly squeezable tits, soft tummy clenching, and wet pussy ruined and clenching around him.
The way he was smushing and circling his thumb over your clit had your head fuzzy and your heart racing. But then he leaned over you and pressed his other hand over your low tummy as he fucked into you, pushing against your insides and making the space he was invading with his cock feel tighter as he slid upward and nudged into your guts.
“Gahhh…” you let out a gasped moan when his hand pressed into your stomach.
“Does that feel good, Y/n?” Harry’s eyes were on yours as he drove himself into you.
You nodded and scrunched your brows upward when your insides began to twist with your pussy stretching around him indulgently.
Your legs began to quiver from the strain of your muscles as you felt your orgasm nearing. Everything he was doing to you set your body alight. You reached for his strong biceps and dug your fingers in tight gasping at the depth of him.
“Be good for me, honey… there you go,” he spoke through clenched teeth, holding back his release, “Right there, huh? Feels good like that?”
You whimpered with a nod as you pinned your eyes to his. The expression on his face was lusty and filled with need as he dipped into you, pasting his hips against yours now, only fucking inward, pressing solidly against your insides.
You cried out when you felt the small burst and snap of your orgasm and he quickly moved his hands from your tummy and clit, leaning his hips against yours before pressing his palms into the mattress on either side of your shoulders and angling his body so he could pound into you and fuck you through your orgasm. The way his pelvis smushed against your clit, hips grinding against you as he pulled back and then forced his way through your opening to bury himself deep inside sent you over the edge.
You clung to his shoulders as you spasmed around his fat cock, slipping deep inside of you with a wet squelch as he reared back to his tip before rutting into the hilt.
Your vision and hearing grew muted as you came so you couldn’t hear him clearly when he babbled off nonsense, “Shit! Squeezing the fuck out of me, honey! Oh my god, that feels good. So fucking hot. Gonna make me come so hard…”
Harry’s hips struck against you repeatedly until his balls constricted and tightened and then he was pumping into his condom, his muscles stiffening with his hips pressed into yours, mashing your body into the mattress underneath you.
He choked out a moan as his cock spurted his release, throbbing and twitching inside of you as you panted at how hard he’d come. The front of his thighs were pressed into the back of yours, holding you down with his hips as he drained every drop of his come into his condom.
Then it was silent. The sound of sex and moaning was quieted and the bed was no longer creaking and thumping.
Harry pressed his chest against your tits and you felt his plushy lips on yours again and you sighed against his mouth. Slowly your ears stopped ringing and you smoothed your hands up his strong back.
He pushed his face into your neck and his warm breath dampened your skin, “Happy fucking birthday to me,” he laughed.
You grinned with a tiny giggle and opened your eyes before running your fingers into his thick curls.
When he’d pushed himself up to look down at you, you couldn’t get over how adorably handsome your neighbor was. He was sexy as hell and yet so cute at the same time.
“You all right?” His raspy voice was quiet as he searched your face and brought a hand up to your temple, his thumb drawing over your skin.
The grin on your face should have told him as much as you nodded, “Very much all right.” You puffed out a laugh.
He laughed with you and smiled widely, dimples appearing in his cheeks, “Well, welcome to the neighborhood, Y/n.”
Raising a hand up to his jaw you nodded, a cheeky grin still stretched over your mouth, “And happy birthday to you, Harry.”
Part 2
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1800titz · 2 months
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HI FRIENDS. WOOOOOOOOOOO. Camprry. Aimed for 5K or less and managed to get wordy again. Reader insert and basically pure smut. This one was supposed to be vanilla with some praise kink (and exhibitionism if you SQUINT since it’s in a tent) but….. hahahahaha….. WEEEELLLLLLL.
CONTENT WARNINGS: oral sex, face fucking, exhibitionism-ish if you squint, choking-ish if you squint, light dom/sub, praise kink, daddy kink, intercourse
WC: 7.5K (whoops)
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There is nothing remotely sexy about a camping trip. 
In fact, Y/N thinks that if she were to deduce a list of words upon first thought when it came to camping, sexy would be the furthest one from qualifying. 
There’s nothing sexy about reverting to caveman-ism, sleeping on the ground, sheathed by some paper-thin layer of nylon and polyester and plastic support beams. There’s nothing sexy about pit stains from the lack of air conditioning or its antithetical twin sister, the bumps that rise over chilly skin and trembling bones without the luxury of an electric heater. There’s nothing innately erotic about kindling fire like electricity doesn’t exist, and cooking hot dogs on skewers over the flame, and perpetually swatting at insects that incessantly stick to shins and calves like the flesh there is coated in sugar. 
There is something sexy, though, when it comes to the way Harry’s arms work as he pitches a tent, bi’s and tri’s intermingling in an alluring duet, pumping and settling with each motion. The sleeves of his tee ride up when he raises the limbs, and sunlight catches shadow in ridge and sinew of muscle. There’s something sexy in the way his back ripples, in the way that thin fabric does nothing to cover what she imagines — no, what she’s well aware lies underneath. The same traps and lats she’s scraped her nails over and dug into. The same shoulders she’s sunk her teeth into to bridle cries of bliss. 
There’s something hot about the cinch in his brow when he works, something alluring in the curl at the plush of his mouth when he turns his head and beams lopsidedly at something that their friend has said, too low for Y/N to catch. There’s something sexy in the way that his eyes skim her frame when she’s sitting in a fold-out chair with sunglasses. When his eyes glide over his shoulder. It’s in the most subtle way. There’s something sexy in the way he tears that gaze away. 
There’s something sexy in the way that no one around them knows she spends nights bouncing on his cock. 
This lustrous affair — this sneaky fling. This filthy, dirty secret that only the two of them share, slinking and sidling through the shadows. 
Really, it’s nothing more than a raunchy circumstance of friends-with-benefits, only kept on the down-low to evade prying questions from friends and the sickly confrontation of …feelings. Because it’d be easy to admit they’re fucking, that they’ve been hooking up for months after an impromptu, late night of drinking. But then it’s sort of cementing, right? At least, in a way. 
There’s a status that floats about when you confess you’re sleeping with somebody — when you admit that you’ve entangled them into your routine beyond one mishap of sex. In the eyes of your friends, admitting that you’ve upkept a sex buddy through the roll of the seasons is, like. Well, it’s basically admitting some form of something sentimental. 
They’re just fucking. They’re just friends that fuck. And the way that nobody around them has any sort of suspicion that he’ll most likely be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night for that... 
That’s sexy, the young woman thinks. 
They’re coiled around the campfire once the sun has ducked out and simmered off behind the trees, and Y/N thinks about it. She watches the shape of his features glow beyond the crackle of the flame, and she thinks about the way his nose bumps over her clit when he licks into her. She watches his mouth move when he talks, a muted strawberry that’s dimmed in the night, and she thinks about the cushion of it pressing open-mouthed kisses to her flesh. She’s in his sweatshirt, because she had to borrow one, and it smells like him. She’s coated in it — his scent. Warm, pleasant musk and remnants of tantalizing cologne. It reminds her of the way the same sweatshirt had been discarded and draped over the foot of her bed haphazardly one night, as he kneed his way onto the mattress and clambered over her, fingertips exploring and tongue trailing. It reminds her of the way he smells when he brushes past her in the company of others, just solid weight and warmth. He does it nonchalantly, but the green of his eyes is knowing and flirtatious. That’s when the same scent teases her senses. It reminds her of the way he smells when he’s up close and personal, when he’s rocking against her and groaning softly into the nook between her shoulder and her neck. 
She stares at his hands — the way they lay over the armrests of his fold-out, the way lengthy digits adorned with chunky rings cradle a can of beer. She imagines the same fingers wrapped over her throat, squeezing lightly, in that way that he does. 
Y/N isn’t panting into the chill of the air. The white of her exhales just surface …quicker. His hands, and his smell, and his mouth are entirely irrelevant to the matter. 
By the time they all retire to their respective tents, the young woman is pleased to get a breather from his hands and his …ludicrously plush, smiley mouth. At least in a public circumstance, so she can’t be caught fawning over his mannerisms from a distance. The smell …she can’t escape that. In all honesty, it should be shameful, basking in the scent of a sweatshirt. Instead, she coils up in it under the covers.
She’s turned on her side with gritty rock coursing through wire, chords of guitar and drums rippling out from the little speakers in her ears, entirely engrossed as she scrolls through what little apps can manage access without a durable station of wifi. 
Y/N nearly squeals when an arm slinks over her chest, when a palm nudges over her mouth. And then another hand is plucking at one of the earbuds, giving her leeway into the crinkle of the sleeping bag, crickets, and the sound of bated breaths behind her. 
A low baritone, hushed and teasing against the same ear where the earbud’s been removed, “Easy, baby.” 
The gentle murmur that his lips shape does, frankly, little to soothe the hammer of her heart. In fact, if anything, the muscle soars in pace behind bone with the way cushiony pink grazes her jaw, the way his warm weight presses up behind her. 
“Easy.” 
She’d sit up and turn over her shoulder if she had the opportunity, but the same inky, muscly arm she’d admired hours earlier cradles over, preventing the motion. Harry can tell too, evidently, based on his soft snicker. He’s pleased from the way her head juts to steal a peer back. He’s pleased when she doesn’t succeed.
Instead of letting up, he takes the same earbud he’d pulled out and presses it into his own ear so that they’re sharing the set, crooning, “What are you listening to? Hm?” 
He sponges another kiss to the side of her throat, a stray tendril flopping over his forehead. Y/N knows that he’s listening to it, too, then. She knows from the playful, little nudge of his head with the rhythm, from the way the cord of the earbuds grows taut, from the sound of mirth he muzzles to her skin when he drives his mouth over the side of her neck. The young woman wriggles her arm, just enough for his grip to loosen, and then uses the opportunity to raise her head to take her own earbud out. The motion jostles Harry from the nook he’s seemingly made homage in, and he nips at her earlobe in protest. Anyways, the whole thing sends a chill wracking down her shoulders. 
When he lets up, Y/N twists in his grasp to her back. The earbuds splay over her chest, his own discarded, too. There’s still music seeping softly. She blinks, gaze tracing over his features, basked in shadow and soft amusement. 
“Hey,” she croaks, her voice catching on a crack with the effort to keep quiet. 
And Harry drags a thumb down her stomach, fingers meddling where the fabric of her (no, his) hoodie has rucked up. The ticklish sensation makes her shift a little. His mouth quirks, and he smooths over the same spot again. 
“Hey, you.” 
Her lips part and her tummy jolts when he slips the chilly pad of his thumb back over the line he’d run for a third time. She wants to bring her own hand up and trace the contours of his cocky mouth with her fingertips. It shapes the words, like baritone bathed in honey, “Ticklish?” 
When he brushes over a fourth time, her arm twitches, and her hand shoots for his wrist, squeezing lightly. Corners of muted pink spring up, dimples scoring softly. 
“Yes,” she gripes in a whisper, but the gripe doesn’t come out very gripey at all. Instead, it’s sort of small — that’s on account of his warm weight shifting onto her. Which is a new development, and it’s one that stirs something familiar and warm below the sleeping bag she’s nestled into, half-zipped and mostly just thrown over. 
His sturdy thigh slips in the empty gap between her own, and Harry ducks his head, the dimples deepening and the glint of white teeth escaping through the part of his lips. And then he dips lower until his face is nearly tucked into her hair. 
“I missed you,” his admission is soft-spoken. It’d be sort of tender if it didn’t come out so …hungry. 
Y/N takes in a little, shuddery breath. The same hand that's settled over her hipbone comes up to brush hair away from her throat, and a mouth stipples kisses over her pulse. His voice is a raspy, desirous tease, “Did you miss me?” 
Christ. She thinks that maybe if he were telepathic and had even a brief glimpse into the filthy things that’d cycled behind her skull for the duration of the day, then he’d only be more smug. 
That’s dangerous. 
She’s glad he isn’t. 
The young woman hums — an apathetic sound that feigns contemplation, like his touch doesn’t light every nerve ending in her system on fire, like she hasn’t spent hours staring at his arms, his mouth, his hands. Like she hasn’t been picturing expanses of muscle and skin hidden under his tee, imagining her tongue tracing through the vales of his v-line and her fingertips following the trail of hair below his belly button, slipping lower and lower…
“No?” Harry murmurs, lips bumping wetly over her flesh. What follows is a gentle exhale, and then his mouth is sponging another open-mouthed kiss, and his tongue brushes warmth against her, like he’s petting with it over her pulse. He caresses all the way back to her ear. Something dirty and thrilling slinks down the knobs of her spine when he mumbles, unconvinced, “I think you’re lying to me, little miss.” 
Her breath stutters. 
“I think,” Harry muses, fingers dipping beneath the shroud of the sleeping bag and smoothing back over her waist testingly, “that if I had a look right now, you’d be a drippy mess.”
Her throat bobs on a swallow. Petulantly, and so obviously feigning, Y/N tips her chin back and tells him, “…Not at all.”
Instead of smoothing tips of digits back over the naked, little expanse of skin again, they venture lower, teasing at the waistband of her sleep shorts. “I think your sweet, little pussy would tell me otherwise, wouldn’t it, pet?” 
Another deep breath rolls her chest under the cushioned sheet of fabric when fingertips dwell in. Just centimeters, practically. They retreat. Harry presses another kiss just below her ear. 
“Hm? It’s been so empty all day long. Achy, I bet.” Chills rise awake all over when he murmurs, purely condescending pity painting every syllable, “Poor baby.” 
He’s always had it — this gift of filthy, dirty gab. This ability to render her craving and wanting with his words like it’s innate, practically. She shouldn’t be surprised when he shifts over her, just enough for her to feel how hard he is, tips of his curls tickling at her cheek, “Could stuff it full. Make it all better.” 
Y/N sighs. Finally. Like it’s a release of the whole act, and the seams of it come apart to bliss when he nips with his teeth. She cranes her neck to give him more room to work. 
“Would you like that?” 
And she would, she thinks. Very, very much, and his lingering fingers — when they pull out and he hooks a thumb in and just tugs down a smidge — remind her of how hot she suddenly is. How hot everything is, despite the chill in the air. Instead of answering, the young woman nudges with her chin — a nod. An unsatisfactory one, evidently. 
“Words,” Harry mutters. It’s gentle, and quiet, and she hopes the polar opposite of the way he’s going to fuck her.
She cranes her neck more and splays her thighs what little she can under his weight. It’s kind of a plea. It’s also sort of pathetic. “Yes.” 
But it makes his mouth crook. His palm draws away. No. That wasn’t the intended effect. She curbs her sound of protest, but he can tell that it’s bridled in the chamber — she knows because the curl of mirth grows wider. He sits up a bit, bracing on his arms until he hovers over her, and then he sighs, jade sliding to the sector of the bag that’s zipped. Slowly, like he’s teasing, he grips over the notch and tugs. 
“What d’you do if you want me to stop?” Harry beckons, nearly a whisper but not quite, fingers skimming up under his hoodie. The same hoodie clings to her flesh, and every nerve sparks alive at the touch, striking her lungs to expand heavier. The air catches when the pads of his fingers graze up the vale of her sides and siphon a flinch. 
“Teacup,” Y/N breathes the safeword in response, and the fingertips climb her ribs like a staircase, pleased. 
“Good girl,” He tells her, and the pads sink back over, bumping over the ridges, and he tugs the fabric up over her chest. 
Her bra is red. It’s a nice detail, all lacy cupped over her chest. He draws the tip of an index over the edge and says, “Cheeky,” like his comment isn’t, “…Did you wear this to get fucked?” 
The young woman gnaws at her lip. Innately, it’s not an accurate statement. She didn’t wear it to get fucked — not when she knew he’d be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night and fucking into her regardless of the state of her underthings. But it’s a nice touch when he ducks, palm squeezing over one of her tits, and tacks on all low against her ear, like it’s praise, “Because you know I love you in red, pet.” 
The satisfaction of pleasing him buds in her chest, right at the core of her ribcage, warmth pitted deep, and it slinks out like beams of gooey sunshine, winding and seeping through the cavity until her veins practically thrum yellow. She’s buzzing beneath him, pulse thumping and fibers of muscle twitching. It makes his mouth curve — the way he feels her trembling under him like she’s a taut string, and he traces a thumb over her mouth. 
Then jade flits to her chest, and Harry takes the thumb away to hook fingers under the cups and tug. They settle under her tits, perking them, and the way the wire settles over her ribcage isn’t particularly comfortable, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when he shimmies down her body and draws a stripe down with his tongue, all the way from the hollow of her throat to the edge of the bra, settling in between. He kisses down her stomach, green salacious and twinkling up through shadow at her, and his tongue draws a circle around her belly button. His mouth quirks there, too, because it makes her flinch. Because he knew it would. Harry brushes with wet taste buds lower, settles on a side, low on her tummy, and sucks a pressing kiss. Her whole spine wrings and writhes, arching when he pairs the sensation with a dull graze of his hand over a nipple. It’s barely anything, but it’s a touch she longs for. And she doesn’t know why, but it always lights her on fire when the pleasure entwines with something that makes her want to squirm out of her own skin.  
Because when he turns the graze into a pinch and a roll, when he hones on the drag of his tongue and the suckling of his mouth, when he skirts featherlight fingertips up her side like he’s plucking invisible strings, the yellow thrums red, and hot, and hungry. When his mouth lets up and he drags wet lips to curl over the opposite nipple and the featherlight turns more purposeful, squeezing at sensitive flesh, this knocked-out unph escapes her, like a bridled grunt he’s punched from her. Like a half-laugh, like a moan, like a mottled gasp, like discomfort and please-don’t-stop enmeshed, curbed out of desperation. It makes the red fucking neon. 
Harry withdraws with a pop from the bud, and the air bites onto the wet to replace his mouth. The ambiance of rickets and cold reminds her that they’re kind of, sort of, definitely in public, only really shielded from said public (and the intrusive presence of their friend group) by thin sheets of nylon erected with plastic poles. Her eyes say it all then — this hesitation sparking, lashes bouncing and bounding from the nervous shift of her pupils, working from his eyes to his plush mouth and back as he rises to settle over her more. 
“They’re asleep,” he promises, a hushed murmur he seals to her own mouth in a sloppy half-kiss. His top lip ghosts over her cupid's bow, and he smooths a hand back over the vale of her waist where he’d squeezed a second ago. Her chest rolls under him, and her mouth parts, just a little to let a mottled little sound escape, like a wheezing gasp she’s muffled. 
And he muffles it more with his own lips, pressing against her. The sleeping bag rustles, and it’s quiet beyond the stilted sheets barring the wilderness. Harry’s hand skims down. 
“Where do you want me to touch you?” Harry murmurs into her mouth, palm trailing until it stills at the waistband of her shorts, fingertip lingering over an expanse of skin below her belly button that he’s well aware will have her squirming. Y/N jerks. “Here? Or… maybe…”
The young woman practically does a squished, weighted version of a body roll beneath him when he moves his hand to her inner thigh, dragging the pad of his index over the sensitive skin higher up. “Maybe …here? …No, I don’t think so…” 
His tongue licks into her mouth when she opens wider for him, desperate for the taste of him on her tongue, and she nearly gasps over that same tongue — loudly — when his palm cups unceremoniously between her legs. “…I think you want me here. That’s about right, isn’t it?” 
Y/N makes a little noise — it’s something between desperation and wordless agreement, and it quirks the corners of Harry’s mouth, carving dimples in beside his smug beam. The hand withdraws so suddenly she wants to melt into the hungry soil. 
“Yeah, that’s it, sweet thing,” he declares, voice hushed, a bass-deep admission soft-spoken and colored with teasing.
Instead, he presses up until he’s hovering over her and then knees his way back, and then his fingers tuck up under the waistband of her shorts. When he discards them into the beginnings of a pile of clothing beside them, coaxing her hips to rise up enough with a soft word, blood teems into her cheekbones, like it’s all new and foreign. 
It’s not. 
It’s the most comforting and familiar when he traces a fingertip over the cleft at the crotch of her panties, the most familiar when he shimmies his fingertips under the sides of the fabric at her hips and tugs those off, too. It’s familiar when he holds a leg up, fingers gentle at her calf, and sponges kisses up her leg from her ankle to her inner thigh. It’s familiar when his tongue dances over hot, slick, flesh in craving, when it rolls around her clit and circles back. When he’s amused by the proof that he was right, that she is soaked, and his ego inflates like a hot air balloon. It’s familiar in the draw of his tongue, in the brush of his lips, in the way his fingers brush over her thighs, over her hole, over the sensitive areas in between. It’s familiar in the way that she watches stars speckle in the darkness behind her clenched eyelids, in the way that Harry doesn’t let up even as she pants and wrings her own fingers into his curls. In the way that he only responds with a moan against her at the rough treatment of his scalp.  
It’s somewhere between heaven and hell, teetering on the wire, when he laps over her pulsing cunt. His irises flicker up when she shudders, when Y/N makes a futile attempt to clasp her thighs over his head and prevent the light drag of his tongue over her oversensitive button. Instead, he tucks a palm against one of her legs and holds it down, plush lips curling around an ‘o’ and sucking. Every muscle seizes, her fingers twitching and struggling to curl into the thinly stuffed fabric of the sleeping bag. She bridles a whole-body thrash, neck straining as her breath stutters. 
“Please— plea— it’s too much—“ Y/N swallows midway her begging to avoid choking on her own spit, and that’s cute, Harry thinks. 
Aw, Y/N thinks he’d coo up at her from between her thighs, if his mouth wasn’t occupied at her core, those are pretty words. They don’t sound like a safeword, though. 
He doesn’t say that, though. He doesn’t say anything, humming quietly over her clit (honestly, she can’t tell if it’s in protest or agreement) and rolling a slow circle over nerves that are spent and nearly raw post his caress. 
Her chest is still rolling when he clambers his way up onto her, kneeing around her sides and then coaxing her arms up into a stretch. Harry cages those with firm thighs at the roots of the limbs, kneeing his way higher until he’s hovering over her chest and admiring her, all pliant and worn out and obedient beneath him. He sniffs, head cocked and eyes glimmering, and then sighs when he tucks fingers into the waistband of his shorts. Her fingers twitch, outstretched above her. And he’s weightless, and steady, and careful over her, but despite that, filth from his tongue punches her breath out like he’s sat directly over her lungs.
“Gonna suck my cock, baby.” 
It’s not really a question — not in tone. It’s a coo, a declaration, insight before Harry digs his fingers further past elastic and discards two layers of fabric with one tug, and his cock bobs free, glistening with a bead of precum at the head. 
Y/N swipes out over her lips with her tongue, and the sheen of spit over pink nearly matches the glimmer on the pink of his tip. The man cradles his free hand over his base and tucks the waistband lower on his hips, just until it rests under his balls and a glimpse of inked laurels and milky expanses of a bare tan line are on show. Bracing himself with a hand planted on the ground, Harry leans over her and aims his shaft, daubing over the plush of her mouth. When her tongue peeks out to swipe over the silky skin, she thinks he’s going to chastise her for her lack of patience. He doesn’t. Instead, he ogles down at the motion like she’s a goddess, cracks in otherwise apathy morphing; a light crease between his brows, a twitch in his lips. The same lips part for a shuddery breath like he’s trying to reign in his composure. And with every drag of his head over her slippery, hungry taste buds, a slow, side-to-side swipe that seems to lose precision with each motion, those cracks in his control give more. His jaw sets and he takes a long breath in through flared nostrils, and then shifts the palm that’d settled on the ground to rest over her wrists. 
“M’gonna fuck your mouth,” Harry tells her, pupils scoping carefully from her lips to her own eyes in finality. “What do you do if you want me to stop?” 
Y/N blinks. Her fingers twitch. She bends the digits over his grip and squeezes, flexing and unflexing over his own fingers like code in a tempo of frenzy. His gaze doesn’t even flicker from the aim of his tip, and he draws it over her mouth like he’s in awe of the sight.
“Good girl.” 
The young woman takes in a breath, mouth parting over his head slightly, all doe-eyed. He smushes his cockhead to the open seam.
“Open up for me,” the soft croon is accompanied by the tilt of his head, and a stray curl dangles over his forehead when he swipes the tip over her lips, “Nice and wide. Show me that pretty tongue.” 
And it slinks from her mouth as if on mindless command. Harry smears his tip over it like a filthy greeting, and then he feeds his fat cock in, guiding it up until the point to where he’s able to shift his weight onto the hand that doesn’t coat her wrists, careful not to cause the confined joints any discomfort.
“That’s it,” his praise seeps out all breathy, barely over an awed whisper as he sinks in and her tongue flexes to encompass the drag towards her gag reflex, “That’s a good girl.” 
The pointed little end grazes over his balls. 
“Eyes up here, pretty thing,” Harry encourages, ducking his own chin. There’s something pretty in the dance of her lash line, in the way her pupils flit up to his shadowy face, the way her lips tuck over her teeth to cushion his shaft. The way her tongue stays stuck out, flexing under the welcomed intrusion, “…Wanna watch them get all teary.” 
It’s like she tries to appease him. It’s as if on instinct to his words, that her lashes flutter as she tries to peer up, the beginnings of a ready sheen glazing the pretty color there as her tongue twitches and her throat bobs in an attempted swallow.  
And Christ, does it feel good when she does that. 
Harry’s own neck cranes, the muscles there flexing and veins swelling there like little ropes pulled taut under his skin. He groans, and it makes her do it again. His brows are furrowed when he risks a glance down at the picture-perfect view, and his hips nudge forward a smidge, only for him to bask in the sight of her irises lolling back and her lashes batting. A hiss lips through gritted teeth like rain through a gutter, and his head cocks further as he smooths an index to rest over her palm. She doesn’t have her digits balled — not all the way — not until his forefinger rests in her reach. She squeezes over that, almost like it’s an anchor. Something grounding to tether her. 
“Shit,” he manages out, barely over a whisper to bite back a throaty groan, hips rolling and brows furrowed in pleasure, “Shit — you’re good. You’re so good—“
And it makes the twitch of her lashes melt into a flitting bat, the color there rolling back and hiding behind the flutter. She can’t exactly hum in acknowledgment, but Y/N makes this garbled sound around him — this desperate kind she’d only make with his shaft stuffed down her throat, and it’s loud. Too loud. He squeezes over her wrists with his thumb, hips slowing until he’s wedged in to the hilt, stilled with the tip of her nose pressed to the light dusting of his pubic hair.
And Y/N thinks she’s going to implode. She’s going to implode if she doesn’t suffocate over his cock first. 
“Shh, shh,” Harry wriggles the index she’s gripping until her touch loosens enough, and he’s able to stroke the tip over her palm, “Shh.” 
Her pupils flit up to him in this deliciously delirious way for air. Harry tips his head down, the shadow of another curl flopping over his forehead. His cock twitches. Y/N makes another sound over him, this one lower. More pleading. More distressed. Her lashes flutter, cheeks puffing. Just when she’s about to clench and unclench over his fingers, he pulls out. It’s nearly all the way, but not quite, and she wheezes oxygen into her deprived lungs, muffling a fit of coughing. When she turns her head to take in more air, his tip slips out and draws a wet streak of saliva from the corner of her mouth across her cheek. 
“So pretty,” Harry murmurs. His tone sounds distant, and absentminded, and awed, like her mouth is divine and his voice is sort of full of worship, “You take me so well.”
Y/N blinks up at him, lips swollen post his ministrations and parted, slick with spit. Harry adjusts his grip, balancing his weight, and curls his lengthy digits over the base of his cock, aiming it back to that pretty, pretty mouth. 
Her jaw practically unhinges at the implication, tongue sticking out to daub at his cockhead when he croons, “And you’ll take a little more for me, sweetheart. Won’t you?” 
The sultry plush of his mouth curls up, all smug like when the tip of her tongue prods at his head, and then he feeds himself back into the warmth of her mouth. 
“Yeah,” Harry grunts, hips rolling slow and cautious as he guides himself in, “Yeah, you will.” 
He settles back into a pace of shallow, jutting thrusts, slow, and calculated, and testing. But then those melt and meld into something smoother, something deeper that brushes the back of her throat. Her fingers stretch wide and open and curl helplessly, never quite squeezing over his own digits, and Harry basks in the wet, pornographic sounds that envelop his shaft. Even as she tries to dim their volume, the sound of her sputtering around his cock isn’t something she can exactly mask when he brushes her gag reflex, again, and again. With every prod forward, every second she spends with her jaw wide open for him, that flame in her core kindles higher and higher. When he pulls out, jaw clenched and tummy flexing, ridges of his abs caught in the shadows, it’s like he pours kerosene. 
“Suck,” her friend tells her, soft-spoken as he nudges with his hips. His palm cradles his cock, fingers curled under the base. But her range of motion is limited, and Harry tips it up from her wanton, slick lips. Almost like it’s purposeful, because it definitely is.
A tentative tongue slips out to draw over his balls, and the way his front teeth lodge against the plush of his bottom lip, head cocked to indulge in the innocuous peer of her eyes beneath him — that’s a pretty sight she can make out even through the lack of light. She takes a million mental snapshots with her pupils, all of him in his all, curls dangling from the angle and the sharp line of his nose, his panting mouth as her tastebuds drag, sinew of muscle at his abdomen flexing, a rise and fall. The barest shape of the dark anchor etched into his wrist, his long, ring-clad fingers, the way they curl over his cock. The shape of it hovering over her face. 
A low groan squeezes past the door he’s made with his teeth, and then he says, “Yeah. There. Go on.” 
Her tongue morphs to her mouth, lips latching over lightly and sucking, just as he’d directed, and parting teases paste to him like doting kisses. Her lashline bounces as her eyes attempt to make his responses out through the rough angle and the dark that coats them. His head craned back there, his tummy rising and falling in pants there, his face tipped down over her to watch. The most insightful — and frankly, the most satisfying — are the sounds. 
The hisses of air he sucks in through his teeth, the way huffs fall out from between his open lips. They’re slow, and they come out like he’s trying to control them for the sake of the decibel, but they shake as they escape, and that’s a telltale. And then there’s the moans. 
There aren’t many of those to indulge in, but there’s a couple, one that Harry can’t seem to curb, despite his seemingly best efforts, when Y/N rolls her tongue over him all slow-like and comes off with a pop. And then another, later, that has him hanging his head when she stipples kisses to the sensitive skin there. 
“Christ, you’re gonna kill me.” 
The young woman hums, maybe in agreement or maybe goading, lashes batting innocently beneath him as she draws her lips over his sac aimlessly. 
“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and then he stifles and clams up like he’s contemplating. When her tongue drags over him again he seems to make a decision, tearing himself away and kneeing his way back until he’s hovering over her thighs, his cock bobbing and wet with spit, “Sit up. Take this off.” 
Do this, do that. A shudder climbs up the knobs of her spine, slithering its way up the bone as she basks in the dominating note plucking at his tone. The sweatshirt catches on her hair and tugs strands, but it’s frenzied, somehow fond, the way his hands rove up her sides and slip up her back, roaming over hot skin to toggle at the back of her bra.
Then it’s, “Roll over,” with the last of her clothing discarded into the darkness, somewhere beside them in the same, sloppy pile with her shorts and her underwear. “Gonna—“ she thinks he sheds his t-shirt then, imagines his muscles rippling and flexing as he pulls it off, over his head from the back, “—fuck you like I want your snug cunt wrapped around me forever.” 
And then go his shorts, judging by the way his weight dips and balances, the shuffling from behind as he kicks them off and they’re flung somewhere by his ankle. He presses up onto her, grappling her by the hip, all warm weight and everything brushing together. 
“You wanna bounce on my cock, baby?” Harry murmurs, pink lips grazing her temple. A curl tickles at her cheekbones when he ducks to skim his teeth over her earlobe, to ghost a breath of promise — of foreshadowing against her neck when he tells her, sultry low and smooth like honey, “Be a good girl and ask Daddy nicely. Maybe then I’ll let you.”  
Shit. Fucking Shit. That little word teems down her ears and hikes all the way down her nervous system and back up, lighting everything in her alive.  
Quietly, barely over a whisper, Y/N beckons, “Please.” And when Harry doesn’t immediately move, she licks out at her slips, swallows, and pleads, “Daddy. I need you. Need you inside.” 
In response, her friend cups a hand over a love handle and guides his cock to press against her. But he doesn’t breach. 
“Better, but not quite,” he sighs. There’s leaves rustling outside in the gentle breeze, but Y/N doesn’t hear anything besides the rush of blood in her ears when she begs more, and it doesn’t get any quieter when Harry rewards her by tucking himself inside and pumping forward, just about halfway. 
It’s a crying shame when he doesn’t make any motion to keep going. And then it’s quiet besides their panting breaths intermingling. Eventually, though, he does talk.
“Fuck yourself on it,” Harry instructs, cadence ludicrously controlled given that half of his cock is tucked into her. Y/N peers over her shoulder to catch glimpses of his furrowed brows — the rip in the stitch of semblance. She can only manage to see so much. He ducks his head and nips at the shell of her ear, coaxing tingles down her neck, her shoulders, all the way from her nape. “Go on. Don’t pretend to be shy about it.” 
Fucking fuck. How can she not be, she thinks, when he talks like that? 
There’s a heat that seeps over her the crest of her cheekbones where he can’t see, and she squeezes over him in response to the filth. Harry settles back up. From the corner of her eye, Y/N notes lines of muscle shaping his arms as he hovers over her. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she arches her hips up a tad and nudges back. It’s not enough — it’s maybe an inch, and she rocks forward by pressing her hips down and then repeats the motion. Just as there was a lack of control over her shame when he spewed dirty, brazen, filth, there’s also a lack of motion when she’s rolled forward with her tummy pressed to the ground. There’s only so much — so many inches she can ride back on when she’s rendered immobile. 
He knows it, too — it’s obvious by the poorly muffled note of mirth in his tone from behind, “Good girl. But you can do better than that, can’t you?” 
Helplessly, Y/N grits her teeth, fingers tangling into the fabric of her sleeping bag as she rolls her hips back in another attempt. It’s stuttery, and awkward, and not really a seamless, Shakira-esque roll at all. It’s a poor shuffle, hips raising more than traveling back. 
“Come on,” Harry goads, tutting like her tries are half-assed and she’s not currently exerting her body into creating motions that are simply unrealistic, “Take it proper. You want it? Then take it. Show me.” 
Camping is supposed to be wholesome. Camping is supposed to be laughter, and deep, pure breaths of air that scrub out the tainted glaze of city life from the walls of your lungs, sticky like cigarette smoke residue on the walls of a house. It’s hiking boots stuffed with the thickest socks. It’s marshmallows on twigs over curdling flames that lick up, it’s flashlights, and spooky myths and legends verbalized, and more laughter. 
Instead, Y/N is camping, and she’s currently barely grinding over inches of Harry’s cock. 
“I can’t,” she grits out, frustrated, but it sounds more like a whine than anything with bite.
“You can’t? Sure you can, pet,” Harry grapples over her hip, bracing on one arm in, honestly, an impressive showcase of athleticism, and manually rakes her hips back over him. It allows for more — more of him, more of his cock, more of his touch. More of him splitting her open and spreading her apart over him. “Just like this, right?” 
She’s sure he must be meeting her at least a quarter, if not halfway, though. It all feels like a devious ploy. Y/N whines. He makes this amused sound then, one of those puffs expelled through his nostrils like a half-laugh, accompanied by a hum. And then he pulls out and pumps his hips forward, until he’s flush to her backside, and then reverses and repeats. Three times. He gives her three, good, long, full thrusts, smoothing out to the tip and in to the root until she’s stuffed, just like he’d promised. Then, he presses in all the way and just basks in her heat. 
“Better?” Harry asks, but his tone catches on a quiet grunt and wavers in its prior composure. She squeezes over him, really squeezes, and he muffles a groan with the seal of his mouth. For a second, he doesn’t say anything at all, and then the filth spills again. It’s odd how patronizing he can sound, despite the way her cunt so obviously affects him, “Need Daddy to do all the work, is that it?” 
Y/N hums. There isn’t much she can say to disagree because it’s good. At some point, his slow rolls morph into sharp juts, and the brace of his arms bends and gives until his chest is flush to her back. 
“Please, please, please, please,” Y/N croaks out the mantra, muzzled by the smush of her cheek to the ground with the pressure of his hand palming at the side of her skull. 
“Shh,” Harry rocks forward, fingertips twitching into her roots like a meld of petting and admonishment. He rocks into her until he’s flush against her backside, splitting her over him to the hilt, “Shh …don’t need to beg, sweetheart. You can have it. Have it all.”
He’s warm weight over her, hard muscle like hot, sticky stone as he works into her from behind. He’s a welcome stretch, a pleasant burn, inches of bliss that her spongy walls cling to in a warm hug. He’s tips of curls brushing over her cheeks, filthy words in a murmur flush to the shell of her ear, little, repressed grunts and shuddery exhales as his hips rock. He’s a headlock that squeezes over her throat deliciously and keeps her neck craned back. It’s in this perfect way that almost has her gasping for breath. 
The young woman practically bites into her tongue to curb a nearly animalistic groan that climbs from the depths of her chest and squeezes out past her detained windpipe. She doesn’t need to try as hard when his opposite arm shimmies up over the poorly-cushioned sleeping bag, when his hand clamps against her mouth, palm smushing over her lips. Instead, her high whimper catches on his skin and muffles out. Her nostrils flare over his digits when Harry shushes and chastises through grunts. 
“I know, baby. I know. Need you to be — shit — a good, quiet girl for me, though.”
Her irises nearly loll back into her skull, fluttery for the ceiling of fabric in their sockets at the dominating tone of his cadence. 
“Gonna be good for me? Make me—“ his words taper off when he muzzles a groan with the seal of his own lips, and what comes out is hushed, and masculine, and obviously bridled. But it doesn’t make her as hungry as when he beckons, “—Make me pleased with you?”
Because she wants to please him, wants to be good, wants his digits to press harder over her tongue when he slinks them into her mouth. It’s not her fault when the motion siphons a whimper. So Harry does — press harder that is, an inclination for her lips to wrap over his fingers, his chin tucked over her shoulder. His mouth presses to her temple, gracing her with puffs of air through his nose as he rocks into her.
“There we go,” Harry coos, soft and barely over a whisper when her mouth seals over the intrusive digits, “There’s a good girl. Let’s keep those pretty sounds to ourselves.” 
He rocks into her until she’s whining into his hand, until they’re really slick with sweat, and he’s grazing at his own peak, working until it unravels him from the inside out. She’s still making hushed sounds against his palm when he groans all low into her hair and his motions melt into something stuttery, when he empties ribbon after ribbon as she clenches over him and milks him through it.
He’s probably going to rifle through the dark for some discarded fragment of fabric to clean the mess. It’ll be haphazard on account of the night, and she’ll still feel the sticky remnants, dried up at the peaks of her inner thighs in the morning. But it won’t really be gross. Sort of a sordid, morning-after keepsake, sort of a dirty thrill as they pack their stuff among the others in their cohort. Sort of, probably, an excuse to fuck later in the day when they have a moment alone to themselves, reminiscing on the night before. 
But before that, he’ll probably clean his mess and run a hand down the vale of her side in a praising caress, like he normally does. Probably lay next to her for a bit before sneaking off to his own tent because, even though they’re just friends that fuck, he’s never been weird about cuddling — aftercare is sort of a must. He’ll probably say goodnight with another searing kiss, the kind that burns deep inside, because every time he leaves is kerosene actively poured into the pit of a bonfire. Because every time he leaves, she wants him more.
Tomorrow they’ll still be friends. 
Just friends that fuck.
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