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loganlermanstanaccount · 7 months

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Rigor Mortis (part 9)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 8, Part 10

summary: You both come to a realisation.

warnings: smut! f! masturbation, grinding, humping, fingering, (implied) recreational drug use, alcohol, dubcon (-ish! reader is drunk but the interaction is consensual, tagging just in case xx), teeny tiny bit of mutual pining. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: yuhh

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

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wc: 7.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

all that light lost in gaps

You're gone, in the morning.

…he should've expected it. Miguel stumbles out of sleep, groggy and disoriented. He finds himself reaching out for something in the half-light.

He finds himself reaching for you. And when you're not there, leaving a person sized gap at the crook of his arm, his stomach churns. He pretends it's not disappointment, or the sharp crack of yearning ; settling at his chest like a crowbar, and prying open his ribs. It's worry, he decides resolutely, a perfectly normal, healthy amount of worry. As your roommate; and nothing else, he keeps reminding himself; he's just worried about where you've rushed off to, especially after yesterday.

Senior year. He was assigned a bullshit paper in a Civics class – one he'd usually half-ass for an easy A. He'd wax poetic about morality – amorphous, vague platitudes about duty and societal expectations. By the end of the year, he had it down to a science: a couple thousand words remixed and plucked from lesser known philosophers, videos online, and overdue library books. Either he was getting too good at it, or his teacher was too stupid to notice; but regardless, he coasted through the class right up until graduation. His last paper, and he remembers it distinctly, was on the book of the same name; aptly titled What We Owe Each Other. A plodding, pluralistic read; of which he had only scanned through, anyways. Extra credit, anything to graduate early, and he'd had more than enough on his plate at the time.

And so, he wasn't expecting the B+ underlined and circled in red ink on the front page. It felt like his teacher had handed it back to him face down, slammed onto the desk like the thunderous crack of a whip. And he didn't need that A, strictly speaking. Yet, he had found himself staying over after class, crinkling that piece of paper in hand as he'd asked why.

She sighs. Miss Hunter's glasses slip down her nose, as they are prone to do.

"You're an outstanding student. I hear you're graduating early, and you're off somewhere prestigious in the fall. This is… definitely not a bad grade, and it's nothing, I promise you."

It doesn't work like that, for him. His teacher doesn't get it, but it will eat him up inside-out if he's not able to understand.

"Was it my referencing?" He fumbles with the strap of his bag.

"No. Not at all–"

"I did the extra reading…the article you mentioned in class, and–"

He's cut off by the scrape of a desk chair. Miss Hunter gets up to close the door, before settling on her desk.

Arms crossed, she seems tired. Worried, maybe, but it doesn't register with Miguel. The thought doesn't even cross his mind, that there are others with the capacity to worry about him.

"Technically, it's well written. As usual, Miguel." She gives him a weak smile. "It just… lacked heart."

His brows jump up. "...heart?"

"There's not really a narrative voice, here."

He taps at the paper on the desk, frustrated. "You didn't ask for a narrative voice, though. You didn't ask for… for heart. I read the book, I did the extra reading, and I wrote a report. That was the brief."

"Not quite." She says it gently, but it still sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him. "The brief was vague, intentionally so. 'What Do We Owe Each Other? Discuss.' I gave examples, sure: excerpts from the book we touched on in class, articles, academic papers, etcetera. They were… suggestions."

"...suggestions." He's incredulous.

She nods. "You followed it to the letter, Miguel. You gave me a summary, with a few key links. Fully referenced, yes. Well-written, yes. But this feels like a sum of parts. It doesn't tell me anything about you; your perspective, your angle. Your voice."

He's biting back choice words. It sounds like bullshit to him, for lack of a better word. Flowery, hoity-toity BS; served up to him on a steaming platter. That's it?

Maybe it shows on his face, because she's asking, as delicately as possible,

"Is everything okay?"

Instinctually, he seizes up.

"Yeah. Yes. I'm good."

"I know you don't take this class as seriously because it's not an AP, or an elective, or maybe not as challenging as you need it to be. And that's okay, Miguel. I'm happy for you to use my class as a break from all the other stuff." She swallows thickly. "You're not from our usual feeder schools. The Academy is particularly rigorous. But considering your… situation, we can make exceptions. If there's anything I can do–"

"There isn't a 'situation'."

"Right. Of course, I'm sorry. But if you need a couple days off of school because of…" She pasues, saying the next part softly. "Because of the baby… I mean, you're already acing my class–"

"No." He says it firmly, eyes trained onto the wood grain peeking out from underneath piles of documents. He wants to ask how she knows, and how he's always the last to find out that rumours have spread, and–

"Miguel." Her voice cuts through dense fog. She repeats her previous statement. “If there's anything I can do–”

“If you want to help, you can give me that A.” It's bone dry, said with the kind of sarcasm he's grown accustomed to. He wears it over his shoulders, sometimes; draped to keep out biting cold, or unfamiliar warmth from a stranger - it all feels the same, now.

She gives him a rueful smile. “Need more than that, m'afraid.”

Heart. Voice. What We Owe Each Other – and he doesn't know why that phrase sticks in his throat. It's been drilled into him since childhood; family and community, helping each other out of the starting blocks; and beaten out of him during adolescence. The creaking and cracking of bones after each step, where out in the world it's a different matter entirely.

His mama has bad taste in men, and he finds himself picking up the pieces. Gabi is more sensitive than he'll ever admit, trying not to cry amongst broken plates and chicken-wire hidden in a bouquet of peonies: prickly words that cut and hack, and it's Miguel that wipes the tears from his brother's cheek. That devastatingly gentle sigh when he had told his mama what he had done - how he had fallen for a soft bed and even softer lips at the ripe age of 16 and a half - and Miguel carries that weight. What We Owe Each Other – and he's only ever fed entitled egos. Not his family, of course, but he's been burned. He's had more than his fair share of it.

He doesn't owe the world shit, he thinks.

He doesn't owe you shit.

It doesn't help that he's been stuck in place, grasping at cushion covers and a raggedy blanket. Trying not to drown in the heady scent of you, he's been dragging thick fingers over the fabric as if in a trance. You don't owe him anything, either. Nary an apology, an explanation; so much as a sorry spilling from pretty lips in that way where they quiver like a gentle flame.

He's touched them, felt them drag across his skin like the finest silk, and dropped to his knees in search of something you've never given him. It doesn't matter if you don't; kiss him , that is; the swirling, desperate sort that leaves him heaving and creaking and begging for more. He thinks he'd still scuff up the denim at his knees if you asked, regardless - he'd do anything , if it was for you.

It's not realistic to expect anything from you. You don't need to tell him where you've gone or why you've left so early. You don't need to, and yet he finds himself reaching for his phone.

Miguel sends a well placed message; deft fingers tapping away at the screen. Before he changes his mind, it's sent; and he's chewing his lip whilst waiting for a steady three dots. Lyla is slower than usual, but she comes through. She doesn't ask questions - because she knows him better than he knows himself - and gives him a thumbs up.

They'll call each other later, that much he's sure of, but for now he reads between the lines. Short bursts of text, like firecrackers flashing across a night sky, and only through nonsensical emojis and odd slang can they understand each other.

This part, he can do. And he'll do whatever he needs to, not what he owes.

~~~

You make it to Pam's just after it opens.

At 7 o'clock sharp, you've made the journey; in an empty subway car, spilling out onto the streets like treacle left in the neck of a bottle. It's not quite a squeeze, passing by only a handful of people, with nothing but a jacket thrown over last night's clothes. In a daze, you realise too late: it's Miguel's. A dusty, worn thing; brown leather crackling at the sleeves and heavy on your shoulders. It feels like a hug, and it feels like him : warm and stiff. It smells like him too, and you bury your nose in the collar on the subway, sleeves kissing your palm like his hand is in yours.

It's a feeling that takes you all the way to the doors: past the slats bolted shut and down a familiar alley. You push past them, sneakers on slick tiles, and give a weak smile to the woman that perks up from behind the counter, kicking away the mop and bucket.

"Hiya, welcome to Pam's! How can I–"

"Oh, God , no." You wave her off. "Take your time. I need a minute, if that's okay."

Settling on the barstool, you watch as the young woman smiles, picking up a rag and wiping at the counter. You sit in it, for a while.

Dregs drip in through the front. The bell at the top of the door chimes, tinny and cheerful in the relative gloom of a quiet morning.

It's cold , outside. Autumn, biting at your fingers and nose. Eventually you opt for a coffee, piping hot to stave off that chill. Bitter, the aftertaste lingers at the back of your throat. You find yourself picking at the chipped mug, chasing away that taste with fluffy pancakes. The combination doesn't feel quite the same – not after many a morning with your roommate.

You settle into the seat. You wrap that old jacket around you. You sip at tart coffee and pick at your nails. A quiet morning, one to yourself, one to keep hidden at the crook of your chest. Some semblance of peace , wrapped up in the spindles of a dandelion. That is to say; delicate and fleeting, whipped away by the breeze.

You've decided not to think too hard about it. That kind of thinking ends dangerously, you've realised: with long, hot nights spent tossing and turning. It ends with a head full of cotton, and a pounding at your chest. With blood, with tears, with a stranger in your bed. And so, you go for the cleaner option. The safer one, all things considered, that's less likely to end in a broken heart.

You float around for a while. Walking without a real destination, trying to ground yourself. Eventually, you end up home, opening the door to an empty apartment. There's no traces left of a night spent in Miguel's arms. Good, you think, slipping your shoes off at the door. It doesn't feel good , but if you say it enough times you just might believe it.

The cleaner option; the one with less gristle and bone; is a familiar one. You settle into a shower; steamy and soapy, taking your time to clean out the blood from under your fingernails. The grime, the dirt ; you watch it swirl into the drain, hands running across soft flesh. You try to do it like Jamie did, once upon a time. It doesn't feel right, and has you leaning onto the cool tile. The shower head sputters, a shaky pressure on your back but you lean into it and close your eyes. You rub a hand at the crook of your chest, and then down, down, down, circling your breast and then following the curve of hips to the apex of your legs. Tipping your head, letting the hot water stream through your hair and then your back; and you touch, feel , and you can almost taste him ; sweet and saccharine Miguel, at your lips.

With two fingers flat against your clit, you rub little circles at the nub, dipping into your hole for much needed wetness. Your other hand travels up soft skin, pads of your fingers grazing collarbone, and then they curl around your neck. With a little pressure, your thumb grazes your jaw. Like he does, except your hands aren't as deliciously rough or as large. You slip a finger in, and then two, water pounding your back and eyes screwed. You push past that initial tightness, searching for a little give. When it comes, cunt clenching around your fingers, just shy of that sweet spot as you press your clit with the heel of your palm; you're imagining it's your roommate. He'd wrap those thick forearms around you, press his cock to the crest of your back and touch you like you deserve.

You do it like Miguel would, reverent , touching you as if you were clay at a potter's wheel. In the hands of God herself, you cum; falling, falling, falling; tumbling down white water rapids and spit back up into the rushing water. You're panting, now, out of breath.

When you sink onto your bed, you realise it's not quite enough. Still in a fluffy robe, steam curls from your skin like clouds – ones that smell of cheap body wash and shampoo. Before you know it, you're reaching for your phone, sending two quick messages to a certain somebody.

[Sent: 15:32]

hey mig

[Sent: 15:32]

where did u go?

You don't expect a quick reply - he's never been much of a texter. But those three dots pop up in no time at all, much to your surprise.

[Received: 15:33]

Out.

[Received: 15:33]

Running errands.

It's succinct and to the point – of which you expect nothing else from Miguel. Your thumbs fly to the screen to reply but another message tugs the rug out from under your shaky legs.

[Received: 15:35]

Is everything okay?

[Sent: 15:35]

yeah

[Sent: 15:36]

all good

When that provides no response, you're left chewing on your lip, anxious. He's seen the message, he's read the message; but for some reason, several minutes go by and there's no response.

You're ready to give up and chalk it to your roommate's hot-and-cold nature, when your phone rings.

Immediately, you pick up.

" Don't believe you." His voice rings out, tinny, nestled amongst the covers.

"Hey, Mig." You settle down on the bed, putting him on speaker and placing it by your ears.

" Did you hear what I said?" His tone is deep and intense, making you shiver. It's not quite the same, of course, but you're reminded of nights spent with his lips tucked close the shell of your ear.

You swallow. "Yeah. I… I did."

" You sure? Because you suck at lying."

"Don't be an asshole."

" Think I get a free pass when you disappear for the whole day."

You roll your eyes. “You didn't call–”

“ Would you have answered?”

Ouch. He sounds frustrated, the quiet chatter of his background bathed in heavy silence. Silence thick with tension, and you almost choke on it.

He breaks it with a heavy sigh. “ You okay? ”

“No. Not really.”

“ Okay. ” He lets it sit for a while, before saying, “ I'll be home, soon. There's leftovers in the fridge, and you should eat, sweetheart. You want anything from the store? ”

His voice is so, so soft. It crackles like kindling on a fire: warmth that blooms and spreads to your chest. Like slipping off frozen gloves to thaw off in front of a heater, and he just makes you feel impossibly warm.

“Not really, thanks.” You mumble it, and hear a satisfied grunt from the other end. Before you change your mind, you say, “Sorry. M'sorry.”

Miguel gives a light chuckle and you think you can hear him smile, the kind you always chase after a stupid argument: one that tugs at the corners of his pretty lips.

“ You've got nothin' to be sorry about .”

He gives you a moment to feel the weight of his words, and ends the call. That heat at your chest blooms.

If Miguel O'Hara is the Sun, then maybe you don't mind being pulled into his orbit; bathing in steady light and warmth.

~~~

He comes home with flowers. A beautiful bouquet; delicate and balanced, featherlight wildflowers and brush, interspersed with sprays of blue and purple and pink. It's wonderfully dense, reminding you of the tangles of colour a child might decorate a picture with in wobbly crayon. Simply put, it's nothing short of a vision, and you notice how delicately he places it on the dining table.

With the rest of the grocery bags, Miguel clatters in, and you can't help but be curious. You're poking through the bags, sitting on the counter as he puts them away – after offering to help, of course, but he bats you away easily. Your bare legs bristle in the chill brought on by the window cracked open, and he just breezes past.

The cabinet opens with a thud , and your roommate busies himself with putting away food. Carefully, you watch the way the muscles of his back flexes this way and that - cut and lean under that thin sweater. He’s otherwise occupied, and so you take the opportunity to stare, playing with a loose string at the hem of silky shorts. And so, it makes you jump when your phone buzzes beside you. Innocuously, you glance at the notification, and your eyes go wide.

“Who’s that?” Miguel asks, voice light. With that freaky sixth sense of his, he doesn’t need to turn around to know, it seems.

“Lyla.” You murmur, reading the rest of the message.

“ ...And? ”

“Uh. Well…” Blinking, you can’t quite believe what she’s asking. “ Girl’s Night . I-I mean… she’s asking me to come with her for a Girl’s Night.”

“Really?” His tone is surprising, and you can hear how he beams by its lilting nature. Maybe he’s laughing at you, maybe he’s not, but you snap back regardless.

“ ... don’t act so surprised.”

“ You sound surprised.” He laughs.

“It’s different when I do it.” You say simply. “I just… I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even know we were close enough to–”

“Bullshit. You text her all the time.”

“A couple of times, Mig.” You correct him, trying to pin down a suitable response to give Lyla. You draw a blank. “I don’t want her to feel like she has to, or anything.”

He turns around, sleeves still rolled up. The look he gives makes you wither: one that could say about a million things. You think it means cut the crap , but he could just be constipated: you haven't quite mastered the art of reading Miguel O’Hara.

“Do you want to go?” He gets closer, hand flat on the counter next to your thigh.

You nod, and his hand creeps up and up.

Giving you a little smile, he shrugs. “Then go.”

It makes you shy. Bashful , even; and you’re wriggling as he squeezes the flesh. A hand on his forearm, and he’s close; so much so that all you can feel is the press of skin, and feel gentle breath fluttering past your cheek. You’re stuck underneath the gaze of his pretty lashes, and entranced at the way he licks his even prettier lips. A sudden thought seizes you - so heavy it makes your chest tight and leaden.

Oh. You want to kiss him.

In a moment, it’s gone. A broad palm nudges your thigh aside, and you’re shifting so he can reach the drawers just by your legs. You oblige, falling back into familiar routine.

Life moves on. Like Miguel said it would, and you find yourself entwined with the idea of time passing. Lying awake each night, picking out sand from underneath your fingernails, after clawing your way out of the hourglass. Steady, slow dregs; and it's tipped over each morning, restarting the clock.

The flowers disappear from the dining table. Miguel retreats into the folds and dark corners of your apartment; you see him less and less. Passing ships in the night, you seem to miss each other by a fraction of a second. All of a sudden he's busy , and all of a sudden you're swamped with work. You only see each other at night, looking out for the bits and pieces left as proof of life: sometimes he'll leave a hot flask out for you in the mornings, and you'll greet him with a cheesy soap in the evenings. If he's not leaving later and later after work, that is.

He looks tired, you note. Exhausted; prone to little yawns as you turn to him every now and then whilst watching on the couch. It's sweet, the way his frown has made way to a dopey smile, but it's frayed at the edges, tinged with something you can't quite place. You let him sleep that night, bringing pillows to lay his head on, and wrapping him up in that old blanket.

Girl's night creeps up on you. It shakes you by the shoulders when you collapse on the sofa after a long day – and you're rushing to get ready. There's no Miguel to make sly remarks or prod you into action, this time. You wonder what he'd say about what you're wearing; a leftover dress buried in boxes from your ex's apartment.

Short, tight, snug; it has you feeling glamorous – but you hope it doesn't look as fanciful as it feels. Too much; yet again, you're worried about being too much. Even though you're running a little late, you take the time to carefully apply makeup; something shiny on your lids, a dab of blush, and gloss slathered onto your lips. When you sling on little heels, and snatch a petite bag from the hooks near the door, there's barely enough time to catch that last glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Down and out you go, into a dusky night.

~~~

“I had to go through her manager– and wait, can you believe this girl has a fucking manager, now?” Lyla bats at MJ's shoulder, and the redhead laughs good-naturedly.

“It's not– she's exaggerating! My manager's just my mom, I swear.”

“It's a good thing, no?” You smile, taking a healthy swig of a brightly coloured cocktail.

“It means she is booked, and–” Lyla hiccups, raising an unsteady glass that threatens to tip. MJ straightens her elbow instinctually, before raising her own. “ – very busy .”

It's your turn to laugh, glass held high in the air. With a clink , there's a clash of crystal that's all but drowned out by the chatter in the upscale bar.

Somewhere fancy, courtesy of Lyla. One of those places that serves tiny portions in big, empty plates, a fusion of cultural food with white, upper class owners. No-doubt the result of summering somewhere in the ever-broad global South , Lyla had said slyly, under the lip of a menu.

There's powdered sugar on the rim of your flute. It dissolves on your tongue. You down the rest. Sickly sweet, and you wipe what drips onto your lips.

It has you checking your phone. Miguel hasn't called, not that you were expecting anything. Whilst Lyla and MJ talk, you scroll mindlessly through his chat; a smattering of one word answers. Missed calls. Unanswered messages.

" –what about you, babe?"

Your eyes snap back up to meet Lyla's, expectant.

"Uhhh…"

"Nevermind." Sharp eyes travel to your phone, and there's a flash of recognition. "Miggy said you're in school. He said you're gonna graduate early, this year."

"He said that?" You're confused. "I mean… I'm trying but it's not looking like that, right now."

She wags a finger, shaking her head like she's trying to remember something. "No, no, he seemed adamant. Said you're working hard, doing well."

"Doing better ." You correct her, shyly.

" Bullshit. " She says it the way Miguel does, and it makes you laugh. You see it now; he's the product of the people he loves. A kind of Frankenstein's monster, he's stitched together those bits and pieces; he's made himself beautiful. You wonder what piece of you he carries. If he even holds you that close to his chest.

"I bet you're doing amazing. " MJ finishes. Her smile is warm, and copper-coloured; it feels hazy and ambered in your little corner. "Better than me, anyways. I would rather die than go back to college."

"Back?" You ask.

"Oh, of course! You don't know." She giggles, leaning in like she's about to say something scandalous - the drink is clearly doing its job. Her next words are an exaggerated stage whisper. "I dropped out."

" Seriously? " You play along, with faux shock.

"...damn right she did." Lyla gives a drunken wave to a nearby waiter, asking for another glass of wine. Something expensive, she whispers, giving a deceptive smile.

"It just wasn't for me, I guess. I went because everyone around me was going, even Pete. Uhh, English Lit, or something. And it didn't… I–I mean it just wasn't–"

"It didn't click."

" Right!" She snaps her fingers. "It was too much. I didn't know what I was doing, I was 18, for God's sake. Think I stuck at it for a bit too long, honestly."

"...and the world didn't explode." You breathe.

MJ answers with a knowing nod. She chugs the rest of a crisp Mojito, raising the empty glass once more.

"To doing better ."

You're quick to follow. "To doing better."

Lyla frowns, looking for a glass that's tucked into the corner. The room must be spinning already, with the way she pats around for it. You nudge it towards her with an elbow, and she's raucous; crumpling into a fit of giggles.

One drink turns to two, two turns to three, and then four ; until you're ready to spill out onto the busy strip. When the waiter places a slip of paper into the centre, one with so many zeroes it makes your eyes bulge, you don't even have to pretend to reach for your wallet. Gleefully, Lyla picks up the bill, sliding a shiny Amex card onto the dish.

She's generous, you note, as she buys a bottle of wine to go when MJ picks up her bag. She's perceptive, too. You see it when MJ wrings her hands, still tipsy and stuttering in her heels as you pile onto the street. She's making apologies already - I've got an early start and need to see my May - but Lyla intercepts. There's the gentle clink of a bottle thrust into her hands, something expensive, and she kisses the apples of her cheeks before sending her off in a taxi.

Her own cheeks are ruddy, rosy with drink and she splits into a wide smile. The back of her hand comes up to your neck. Warm , she whispers, before linking arms with you like a schoolgirl off to do something they shouldn't.

Eventually, with shaky legs, you end up in a nightclub. She knows someone who knows someone, apparently, and you're ushered into a packed place just off 76th. Lights and pounding music, a flurry of limbs; you let the crowd take you in. If this is what it means to be a part of a whole; some writhing, heaving beast, to be more than your hand in someone else's and theirs in yours; then you could live here forever, you think. Forever, for the night, for the next ten minutes; you blink , and time passes.

You're having fun, you think. Letting the blood rush to your head, hips swaying to the music and you don't push away the quiet snap of a phone camera, nor it's red recording light. Dancing, singing, many seem to be pulled into orbit around you. This is how it works , pushed into an ebb and flow of people held together by broken lyrics and a thumping bassline. You let it wash over you, all-consuming, dragging yourself into murky depths.

You're in a booth, now, anchored by a dainty hand around your wrist. Pupils blown, she cups your face to inspect you, to figure out where you've gone. Someone's bought you a drink, there's a stranger's arm around your shoulders, but Lyla pushes them both away. Too much? It's a question, of which you shake your head firmly - lolling and with a distinct lack of fine motor skills - no. Not enough.

You blink. Bitter liquor hits your throat, and you chase the taste of somebody else's lips. A stranger, and even under the influence you know it doesn't feel right. Bile rises, and you're gone, clamping onto your stomach and trying not to hurl.

You blink. You're on the sidewalk, with a heavy head on someone's shoulder. The strap of your heels dig into your ankles and you fumble with it, trying to stop the road from spinning. Lyla holds you up, not much more up to task than you are.

A car pulls up, and at first you don't recognise it; entranced by shiny rims coming to a stop. You look up, still buried in Lyla's thick jacket; and you see it. You see him.

Miguel's wearing glasses. That's the first thing you notice, stumbling to your feet. Immediately, your face cracks into a dopey smile, leaning onto the lip of the open window. He gives you a once over, swallowing thickly, brows drawn.

Quiet chatter flys straight over your head. Lyla arguing, Miguel wagging a finger at her; but all you can see is him. It's like you've got blinkers on, tunnel vision making you focus on the curve of cheekbone, and the way his eyes scrunch up around black rims and glass.

You clamber into the backseat.

“Get in, Ly.”

The other woman seems resolute. “ M'not –”

“Did you take something?”

“Fuck you.” Flashing a middle finger, she wraps up her coat like a robe, walking away down the road.

He's adamant, driving up next to her. You keep your head on the glass where it's cool.

“Let me take you home. Please. ”

Frowning, she stops. When he leans over to open the passenger's side, she slips off her boots, and sidles in.

Their voices feel like a blur. You can barely register, only picking up half of the words hissed under their breath.

“... I called you, you can't give me a lecture…”

“...not fair, Lyla…. can't keep babysitting…”

“... fucking hypocrite… not the only one… I'm going through some shit…”

“...too far…. always taking it too…”

He drops her off outside of the apartment. From the backseat, you're sobering up; able to catch his heavy sigh as he watches her through the window. It's only when he sees her walk in does he turn to you, passing bottled water kept in the console.

“You want to come out to the front?”

You like the way he says it, for some reason. Any anger or frustration he had towards Lyla dissipates. He doesn't bring that into a quiet conversation with you.

He's too solemn, too serious, and so you clamber into the front over the console; limbs and legs everywhere, as obnoxiously as you can. A slight elbow to his chest, a hand clutching his shirt; you want to make him laugh. As you settle onto the seat, you see it: huffing dramatically, he gives you a small smile.

Miguel reverses back out onto the road.

You blink, and you're home. Legs still shaky, he helps you up the stairs, settling you onto the sofa. Car keys clink onto the dish by the door, and he slips off his coat – that brown one, your favourite, you think.

Fumbling with the strap of your heels, it must be too painful for him to watch as Miguel settles by your feet. His big, strong hands are surprisingly deft when he undoes the dainty buckle.

“Are you mad at me?” Meekishly, you watch and he shakes his head, not making eye-contact. Maybe it's the alcohol, but you're staring; looking for that light in his eyes amongst the dark room.

Now, he looks up. “What?”

“M'just looking.” You say, chewing the inside of your cheek as one shoe slips off. “ I'm not allowed to look?”

The other one comes off, and he hisses when he spots a little cut where the strap dug into your ankle. He can't help it, rolling it gently in his hands, trying to ease the pain with a massage.

“You wear glasses.” You say it softly, more to yourself than to anyone else. Giggling now, you cradle his face and he sits up. “I didn't know that.”

“ That's not – I've always worn glasses. You're just not paying attention.” He shrugs lazily, but he's smiling.

“Not true , Mig. I would've noticed.”

“You're drunk–”

“When it's you, I always pay attention.” Absent-mindedly, your hand curls into his hair. He keens . “Like… your hair's getting longer.”

Gently, he shakes out of your grip, getting up. “I know, I know. I need a haircut.”

“I like it.” Starry-eyed, you look up at him. “You're so pretty, Mig.”

It makes him heave. Still tipsy, your legs spread ever so slightly, hand taking his and pulling him closer. Placing his hand on your thigh, you let it trace up, up, up, catching at the hem of your short dress.

He practically caves in, collapsing next to you on the couch.

“You should–” His eyes are glassy as you ease yourself onto his lap. “ F-Fuck . You should go to bed, sweetheart.”

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you roll your hips, watching as he groans wantonly.

“But I'm not tired.” His hand ends up on your waist, applying just the right amount of pressure. Underneath, you can feel him stir, increasingly hard under loose sweats. “And you haven't touched me in weeks. ”

You're exaggerating, but it goes to his head anyway. He buries his head into the crook of your shoulder, whispering into the bare skin.

“I know, I know…”

“Just the tip, Miguel.” You're grinding your clit onto him, pussy barely covered by a thin thong. Whispered into the shell of his ear, you're a siren, honeyed words dangerously close to breaking him down. “Just the tip, and I promise , I'll let it go. Please , baby.”

Your dress rides up, and his hands come down to palm at your ass.

“ Please…” You're pleading, lips on his neck as he squeezes, forcing you down to hump directly over his cock.

“Oh, shit.” His hips jump once, twice; and then he stills, hands at your hips and ass to stop you.

Desperate, you whine, trying to fight against it. He doesn't let up, hand cradling your chin so you can look him in the eye.

“ Bed .” He says, shakily. “Not like this.”

He slips you off, noticeably adjusting his pants. Legs spread wide, head tipped back as he sighs; he looks delicious , and you're fighting off the urge to let him take you right there and then.

You stumble through the little hallway, pushing past some doors. Something clatters into your thigh, and you hear a dull thud as another thing falls to the floor. Frustrated, you strip down to your underwear, something light and lacy and it leaves very little to the imagination.

There's a bed, and you collapse on it; swimming in the silky sheets. It smells like him - musky and oaky and gentle - and you think you must be dreaming already. And then, you sit up, realising too late - this isn't your room.

Miguel wasn't too far off, hearing the thumping and clattering; hesitant as he opens the door. You're wrapped up like a present, spilling out of lingerie on his bed. He swallows, turning away to dig into his wardrobe, intending to pull out a baggy shirt for you.

“ Miguel .” You croak, but he ignores the want in your voice, so heavy it goes straight to his cock. “Miguel, please. ”

All his shirts blend together. He can't concentrate.

“Do you think I don't want it? Because I do, fuck, I need it. So bad, baby, please.” Your body heaves with a half sob.

Heart splintering, he turns. Finally, you meet his eye. You spread your legs.

“ Here. Right here .” You tap your clothed cunt with shaky fingers, pulling your thong to the side. His eyes drink it up, the way you glisten when your cunt eats up the fabric. You know he's watching, and you take advantage of it, circling your clit with the pads of two fingers. “Like this . When I touch myself, I think of you… d-did you know that?”

Swallowing roughly, he can't take his eyes off of you.

“What… What else?” He croaks.

“I think of your tongue, a-at my pussy. And your fingers… God. ” You slip a finger in, and he watches as your cunt clenches around it; gushing and sloppy. “Your l-lips. Meant it, before. When I said you were pretty. Want to sit on that pretty face and watch you melt– oh-h- fuck- ”

He wants to lick it up, all that slick that sluices from your hole. His mouth waters, just thinking about it.

“Put another one in, for me.” He says it low, sinking to his knees to watch you fuck yourself.

Nodding, you oblige.

“Does it feel good?”

“ Yes. ” You don't hesitate.

“Can you fit another one? Want to see how good she looks when she comes, sweetheart.”

Three fingers in, now, and he slides your thong a little further aside; reaching up to press his thumb to your clit. Light streams in from blinds cracked open and highlights your thighs perfectly. Nevertheless, he adjusts his glasses to make sure he doesn't miss anything.

The twitch of your leg, the way your hand cramps up, the way your lips curl into a delicious O - he sees it all, commits it to memory.

“ Faster , please.”

“ Doesn't –” You're frustrated, clearly chasing something that refuses to surface. “Not the same. Can't fucking reach. ”

He titters, nipping at your thighs and soothing the bites with the flat of his tongue.

“Poor baby. Will you let me help?”

Fervently, you nod, slipping out your fingers as he takes off his glasses. They're discarded, too foggy to be useful right now.

“Did I tell you to take them out?” He sighs and gestures for your hand. Wrapping his lips around them he sucks them clean, humming lightly. He pats your clit with a wet slap, content. “Put two fingers in, sweetheart.”

Doing as he says, your head feels full - cotton wool and bubble wrap, only able to focus on the pleasure building behind your clit. And when he slots two fingers in next to yours , it rips out a gravelly moan.

“ Here? ” He says dragging himself deeper, curling his fingers up. “Or is it… here? ”

You groan, limp against his hand as you feel impossibly full. It reminds you of the stretch of his cock; creaming around the base of his two fingers and yours. That wonderful curl as he pumps himself in and out, cupping your hand in the process to make sure you match his pace. He can feel your walls spasm around him, impossibly soft and velveteen.

“Can't say no to you,” His eyes are low, grunting as he palms himself roughly. “Even though… fuck … even though I should.”

It's wet, the slap slap slap of skin against skin echoing in his room. Miguel sits up, pressing his lips to your neck, and you take the opportunity to slip your other hand into his sweats. You start pumping, in time with his ministrations, eyes blown as you swipe your thumb over his weeping slit.

You know he likes it rough, and you jerk him into your palm; fast and hard and you watch as he matches your pace. Even now, you're competing, trying to catch the him up; to see who can make the other cum first.

You push back on his fingers, hips slotting against his, whispering nonsense into his neck. You're too fucked out to care; confessions you never thought would see the light of day. All the little things you like about him, things he says, things he does; and you don't even register the ochred flush smattered along the ridge of cheekbone.

He spills into your hand, and you're quick to follow; cumming around him as his fingers stutter in and out. It feels good , dangerously so, and has you pressing shaky kisses around his mouth, and nipping at his bottom lip.

He stills, but you're greedy, aching for more. You want him in you; seating his thick cock deep inside, painting your walls with hot cum, and pushing it back in with deft fingers. Every part of you is on fire, barely satiated by your heated foray.

You tip back onto the bed, and he joins you; caging you in with thick forearms, looking at you like you've stolen all the stars in the sky. That feeling , again, slams into your chest like a bullet. Messy hair, ruddy cheeks, hand gently tracing your jaw; he looks gone, and oh so soft. You want to kiss him ; and it's a thought that sticks, embedding itself somewhere you can't reach to dig it out.

“ Miguel .” You whisper, enough alcohol at the edges of your mind to stop thinking and spill your guts to him, unfiltered. “Are you sleeping with someone else?”

His eyes flit over your face before answering and he shakes his head.

“No. No. Just you. Only you.”

“ Don't believe you .” But you want to. So, so desperately. “Promise me?”

“I promise, sweetheart.” He swallows. “Are you?”

“No. Don't think I could if I tried.” It comes out watery, stuck at the back of your throat.

He just looks, for a moment, cradling the back of your head.

“I want to kiss you.” It spills out from your lips.

“I know.”

“Then why won't you kiss me?”

“Not a good idea.” He strains, kissing your forehead, and then each cheek. Hesitating, he places a gentle peck to your chin. “Ask me tomorrow.”

He says it simply, too easily; and it makes you want to sob. When Miguel slips away, and you hear the sound of a light turned on in the bathroom, you can't move. Catatonic; you blink, and he's cleaned you up, and slipped a shirt over your shoulders. Laying back in his bed, you watch as he lingers by the doorway, shrouded in shadow.

Goodnight. Y ou think you say it out loud, but it echoes in your head.

He says back, but not really. Instead, he leaves that goodnight hanging by the doorway like an old coat, and you wrap it over your shoulders.

It keeps you a little warmer through the night.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

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guardarecheluna · 4 months

Text

Wishing you were here tonight is like holding on. (CEO!H)

Words; 11.6K (look at me gooooo!)

Warnings: Fluff city, angst, parent death, smut (oral; fem rec. praise, penetrating sex.)

Summary: Harry has a brand-new employee at Pleasing. An employee that he fell in love with the minute he saw her, that he constantly had to hide his emotions from, because, well, he was the boss.

A/N: My first CEO!Harry one shot!! Eeeek I’m so excited for you to read this one, I’ve worked really hard on it, and I’ve always wanted to write about CEO Harry. I love him already; I hope you do too! If you read, please let me know what your favourite part was or talk to me here. I’m always open for conversations <3 (ALSO! This is my first time writing any smut, so be kind please) Take care and go easy on yourself this week. Elle x

March 2018

Harry is a good boss. Really, he is. He always stands up for his staff members, approving vacation days without much trouble and brought in pastries to the creative meetings.

He would maybe even be described as a happy, joyfull person, kind and engaged in what his staff was creating and how they were doing. And he was, but it was mostly a façade.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t feel joy around his colleagues, or that he was faking it to gain something else – Harry was just miserable in his personal life.

You would think it is impossible to be sad and to feel hopeless when you have a multi-million-pound company at the ripe age of 34, the cars, the women, the parties and all the vacation days he could ever want. But Harry wasn’t that shallow, he never had been. He wanted connection. Craved and yearned for a soulful connection with someone else. A lover, a soulmate to be his own, and not just a one-night stand or a drunken philosophical debate with whoever was available.

Harry sat in his penthouse suite, in the lounge. The penthouse was eerily quiet, apart from a few raindrops smattering against the glass of the windows. The sky looked as dreary and sad as he felt on the inside, his chest tightening and a furrow between his brows as the thought about her. There wasn’t a her yet, but when Harry sat there on his sofa, tie loose around his neck and clammy hands resting on his thighs, he couldn’t help but imagine her there with him.

He wasn’t going to cry though, have a breakdown or feel sorry for himself; it didn’t do him any good, even if it was all he needed right now. He almost called his mom, ready to confess his loneliness, his longing, empty, fragile heart, in hopes that his mothers love could glue at least a few pieces back together.

There was no use, though. He could feel himself falling deeper and deeper into the feeling of loneliness, his head leaning back over the arm of the couch.

A sudden phonecall woke him up from this circle of evil he found himself in. It was Niall, his COO, and best friend, the co-founder of Pleasing. Harry took a deep breath, readying himself for answering Niall’s phone call. It was past 8pm on Wednesday, if anything he wanted to go have a drink at a shitty bar somewhere and drag on about his ex-girlfriend. Harry couldn’t have that tonight.

Harry pressed answer and put on his façade, like he always did when there was possible business to oversee. “Hey, Niall.” Harry said, putting on his calmest, most stable voice. “Heeeeey there H! Sorry to bother you at this hour, I may have done something stupid, but I want you to hear me out before you get pissed, you hear me?” Niall enthused over the phone. Harry sighed, falling back on the sofa with the phone to his ear. This could be anything, it could be that he sold his part of the company to the devil himself or that someone put roses instead of tulips at the entrance of the building. “What did you do, Niall?” Harry let out, already feeling defeated with how his evening was going. His hand over his forehead, bracing himself for what was about to come out of Niall’s mouth. “It could be worse, Styles, I’ve done worse than this. So, you know how we were going over the applications for the new senior creative for cosmetics and design earlier?” Niall led on. “Yes.” Harry replied shortly. “Well, a very interesting application just got through a few hours late and I’ve already called her and set up an interview for tomorrow afternoon. Her resume looks incredible, she’s just leaving her post at Rare beauty and has previously worked as a creative at Milk makeup. She does marketing, press, design and has so many other skills, I just couldn’t put down her application without giving her a chance. If she’s anything like what’s mentioned in her resume she’ll-“Niall rambled on, Harry interrupting him, annoyance filling his head, although Niall didn’t deserve the blow of it. “Niall. We have a full day of interviews tomorrow, and you just booked another one until late. We don’t have time for this, I’m sure someone we’re interviewing can do all those tasks just as well.” Harry just wasn’t feeling it, at all. He didn’t care if Niall had just found the rarest gem in the industry, his workday was over at 5 and not a minute later. With how much brainpower has gone to his depressed mood and anxiety, he couldn’t bear the thought of staying until at least 6:30 on a Thursday. “Harry, I don’t know what to tell you, but I have a feeling about this one. I can stay and do the interview on my own if it bothers you that much. I just want us to give her a chance.” The line got quiet. Niall knew he had messed up not checking with Harry first, but his gut was telling him that this girl might be right for Pleasing. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Niall.” Harry plainly said and hung up the phone. Harry threw his phone on the couch, not wanting to even think about how drained he’ll be tomorrow as he went for his evening shower.

The next day dragged on, Harry keeping a big smile on his face for every new applicant that came through the door. There were a few possible hires, definitely, but with the final interview coming up, Harry felt the day wash over him as he waved goodbye to the one applicant they had just finished interviewing.

Their floor was pretty much empty now, just a few staff members hanging around and talking about their day. Harry needed a coffee to be able to finish strong, he didn’t want to leave Niall to do the final interview himself, even if all he wanted right now was to get a takeout and then get straight home. “Do you want anything?” Harry mumbled to Niall as he rose from his seat beside him, making an exit for the door of his office. There was still a few minutes remaining until the last applicant was supposed to be interviewed. Niall didn’t look up as he just said, “No thanks, mate.” And continued reading through the next applicant’s personal letter and information.

Harry walked out into the hall, hearing cheerful laughter down by the offices as he made his way through. His eyes zeroed in on the end of the hallway, the coffee machine calling out his name. “Hi, Sorry, can I just ask you something?” A sweet, nervous sounding voice came from behind him. Harry turned around and was met with what was probably the most stunning woman he had ever laid his eyes on. His breath caught in his throat, cheeks already flushing just by looking at her. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Harry realized he had been quiet for a few seconds to long and kicked himself back into gear. “Of course, what can I help you with?” He got out, flashing his sweet smile at her. He got a chance to study her features, her outfit. Her full lips as she smiled, eyes bright and curious as she looked right at him. He felt like he had won the lottery, just by looking at her, his chest was on fire. She was wearing a fun, colourful outfit that was still business casual, a few cartoonish looking enamel pins on her blazer pocket. Creative she was. “I’m sorry to be a bother, I think the receptionist has already left. I have an interview for the senior creative position here and I’m just lost looking for Horan and Styles offices. Do you know where I can find them?” She smiled at him, a hopeful, kind look in her eyes as she awaited his answer. Harry immediately felt disappointment, if she was looking for work at Pleasing, he couldn’t even think about looking at her the way he was right now. Harry reached his hand out. “I’m the Styles you’re looking for, it’s nice to meet you…” He looked at her with a questioning look, not yet having heard her name. “Oh! This couldn’t be more perfect! It’s Y/N Y/L/N.” She bubbled with joy, reaching for his hand and shaking it. “It’s really good to meet you Y/N, you can call me Harry, everyone here does.” He smiled at her; he really couldn’t help it at this point.

“I was going to get some coffee before our meeting, we still have…13 minutes. Do you want anything?” Harry continued, looking down at his wristwatch to catch the time. Her shoulders slumped in relief, maybe partly relaxing because of his kind demeanour and kind offering. “I-yes, coffee sounds like it’s exactly what I need right now. Thank you, Harry.” She said lightly, with a giggle in her voice. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever heard such a beautiful sound in all his life, and she had managed to worm her way into his heart and make an impression bigger than the other 5 applicants had made combined. They walked together to the coffee machine, small talking about visions and dreams for the company and why she sent in her resume to work for them. And Harry, Harry was in trouble.

---

Harry was light on his feet as he stepped into the lift at Pleasing HQ this morning, because he was in love. His whole life had transformed in just a matter of months, no longer feeling the lonely, bitter thoughts taking over him at night. He was in his own world of pink rose petals falling from the sky, rosy cheeks and laughter echoing in his head. He felt like he way going crazy, and maybe he was. Y/N had obviously gotten the position as a senior creative. After she left her interview, Harry was just obsessed with her. With what she saw for the company’s future, her laugh and kindness, her witty humour.

Y/N had been working for pleasing now for the last three months, taking it all in stride and charming the whole office with her tactics and energy; Harry had never seen anyone so passionate about their job, so caring about the people around her. She was the perfect puzzle piece.

There was just one issue.

Y/N had no idea about any of this. Or, maybe she could’ve guessed. Niall had to tell him how obviously in love he was with her, and that he had to get his ducks in a line or there would be issues. Dating a co-worker, especially as a boss was frowned upon, however not forbidden.

Harry just couldn’t stop thinking about her, ever. And they were friends, really good friends. Having lunch together, always getting stuck in conversation at their after-work gatherings, and Harry always did an extra round by the offices in the afternoon just to have an excuse to talk to her. Maybe she saw right through him, but he’s not sure he minded it. He was desperate to be a part of her world at this point, just to have a little piece of her, even if he couldn’t have her in the way he so desperately craved. This was going to have to be enough. It was like Harry had accepted his fate of this unrequited love, but he couldn’t really complain as long as she was still in his life. He didn’t feel sad about it anymore, it wasn’t that heartache he had felt previously, he had accepted that he had found his person, but that he was never going to have her. It was alright, he decided.

Y/N was doing a big pitch today, her first one. She had ben scrambling around for the first three months trying to learn everything about the company, the values, the staff and the consumers to really get an idea of what they were wanting to put out. She had worked hard, stayed some late nights to finish a mood-board or sketch a new design for something.

And Y/N was excited. Nervous for sure, but mostly excited to show everyone her interpretation of what Pleasing could become.

Harry spotted her in their conference room as he entered the floor. A smile on his lips immediately after seeing her setting up some snacks for everyone and trying to get the projector to work. He knocked on the slightly open door. “Morning, there! You need help with anything before we kick off?” Harry offered as he leaned against the doorframe. Y/N hastily turned around from the table she was standing on, trying to fix the cord to the projector that was not doing it’s best work today. She jumped down, straightening out her clothes and sighed. “I think most of it is all set, I just can’t seem to pull down the screen for the projector though, and you seem like a tall enough lad.” Y/N jokingly said to him, eyes scrunching and her little crow’s feet by her eyes showing. Harry loved every detail of her. “Course, love.” Harry replied as he walked over to the front of the room and pulled down the screen, easy as pie. “Thank you, H.” She said, now focused on her laptop screen, and fingers picking nervously at her lips. “You’re going to do incredible; I know it. Don’t have to be nervous, it’s just the staff and you know all of them.” Harry said, catching her nervousness as he’d known her for years. “Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m a little nervous, but everyone here is so nice, I have trouble believing I’ll be roasted by any of you.” She answered. He noticed that she never replied to his compliment about her being incredible. Sweet girl, Harry thought, she’s too nice and too sceptical of her own ability, she’s absolutely incredible at what she’s doing. Just as he was about to repeat himself, affirming his trust in her, the other staff started to trickle into the room. Harry hadn’t even put away his coat since he got here, he just went straight to Y/N. “Oh shit, give me a minute, yeah? I’m just going to put away my things, I’ll be right back.” Harry excused himself from the room, but not before hearing, “Hurry up, bossman, you’ve got to minutes to business-time!” Y/N shouted after him, earning a giggle from the people in the room. Harry just smiled to himself as he shook his head in adoration before walking over to his office.

She did so good. Of course she did. She had nothing to be nervous about, and she charmed the whole office with her visions and imagination of future products. She had put fourth an idea about more homegoods, candles, pyjamas and blankets. She had even went so far as to research materials, resellers for those materials and always making sure to stay true to the company’s values according to fair trade and labour rights. Her presentation was also funny, It barely felt like a meeting, she was just so naturally comedic, and Harry absolutely adored her. He sat way in the back, leaning back on his chair and twiddled with his shirtsleeve, looking like a lovesick puppy. Her every move and her every word entrancing him and pulling him deeper and deeper into her trenches. Although, he’d happily go down.

Just as Y/N finished, everyone cheered and clapped for her, everyone was proper impressed by her ideas and research, and couldn’t wait to get started with things. Harry stayed in the back, listening to everyone talk and share their ideas, budgets, raw material ideas and colourswatches. Harry was so proud of her. Everyone slowly left the room, congratulating Y/N on her impressive work, giving her hugs and encouraging words. Harry was the last one there. He was wearing a big, dimply smile as he walked up to her. “You have no idea what you just started, did you hear everyone? You’re fucking amazing, Y/N I don’t even know what to say. I’m so, so impressed.” Harry said, the smile never leaving his lips. If he didn’t know better he’d congratulate her with all the kisses she’d want. Y/N was blushing, her cheeks turning rosy as she looked up at him. “Thank you, Harry. I’m so relieved everyone liked it and that you’ve been here to support me, I really couldn’t have done any of this if you weren’t there so I could ask all those stupid questions.” She replied, humble as always. Harry got stuck in her eyes, just nodding to her. “Celebratory lunch? On me?” Harry followed up with, the blush never leaving her cheeks. “I’d like that.”

---

Another 4 months had passed, and Harry fell just fell deeper and deeper into the sticky sweet lovecloud he was constantly in. It was dreary and dark out, the middle of November as Harry made his way into the office, preparing for their regular staff meeting, when he noticed Y/N was nowhere to be found. A pang of worry beat through his chest. Had she called in sick? Maybe she got in an accident on the way here? Harry felt his heart beating out of his chest in worry for his favourite girl; and just like that his phone went off. It was her.

He’s never answered his phone so quickly in his life. “Hey, there, I was beginning to wonder where you were.” Harry said immediately with a smile teasing on his lips, waiting to hear her voice. The line was quiet on the other end, he could hear her breathing and some rustling of something in the background. “Love? You there? Are you alright?” He said, softening his voice for her, the worry back in his chest as he stepped aside from a few other co workers and into his office, closing the door. “Harry…I’m sorry to call so late in the workday, I-i just don’t know what to do, i-.” He heard her crying over the phone, clearly upset, her breathing irregular and voice shaky. “Shhh, it’s okay love, take a deep breath for me, yeah? Tell me what’s happening, are you alright?” Harry was pacing in his office, wanting to demand her to tell her what was wrong, but he kept his voice gentle for her. He felt his pocket for his car keys in case he had to come get her. He would do anything. “It’s my dad, my dad has- he passed away in the night, and th-they don’t know what happened, I just I ca-can’t come in today so, so I was just…can I-I work from home today, is that o-okay?” Harry’s chest was aching as he listened to her tearful voice. Silly girl, working from home when something like this happened. He couldn’t allow it, and all he could think about was seeing her, wrapping her up in his arms to shield her from the pain she was experiencing. “Listen to me, Y/N, everything is going to be alright. I’m so sorry about your loss, I am so, so sorry. You’re not working today, or tomorrow, you’re going to take the week off and go see your family, do you understand?” He tried to be as gentle and clear as possible so her foggy brain could understand his words. “Do you have someone there with you?” Harry continued, biting his nails in worry for the sweet girl he had fallen so hard for. Harry already knew her answer, her family lived a plane ride away and she was pretty new in London, not yet having made a steady base of friends to look after her. She didn’t protest when he said she wasn’t going to work this week. “No-no. I’ve already booked a flight home, but it isn’t until the weeken-nd.” She stuttered through her tears. “Can I come see you? I just want to make sure you’re alright.” He said immediately, taking any chance he could to care for her. “It’s, it’s okay, Harry. You’re busy, and i-I’m a mess anyways. Thank you for l-letting me out of work tho-though, I’ll make it up to y-you.” She said, but he knew her better than this by now. He knew she’d never ask for help, even if it was from a friend, and just the fact that she called him instead of her closest boss, or Niall for that matter, made his cheeks warm, they were friends first, he decided then.

“Don’t worry a second about work right now, I’m never too busy for you, you know that. I’m going to excuse myself from the meeting and I’ll be at yours in 30 minutes, alright?” He said gently, her heavy breathing on the other side. “It’s going to be okay, doll, I’ve got you.” Harry continued as he grabbed his coat from the hanger and fished his keys out of his pocket, not letting go of his phone for a single second. “Thank you, H.” She just said, as they hung up and Harry was sprinting through the office building to get to the meeting he was supposed to attend minutes ago. He peeked his head through the glass door. “Sorry everyone, Niall can I borrow you for just a second? Important.” Their staff was all very kind and gentle people, Niall excused himself as small talk was rolling around in the meeting area. The staff not wanting to intrude on their conversation. “Y/N’s father has passed away, and she needs a friend right now, she’s all alone and her family lives a plane ride away. I just got a call from her, and she needs someone, will you be handling the meetings for today?” Harry said as he buttoned his coat up, barely looking at Niall, cause all he could think about was her, her, her. Niall put on a knowing smile, but not without feeling his chest tighten for one of his favourite colleagues. “Of course, mate, that’s so shit to hear. Be gentle with her and give her a hug from all of us, yeah?” Niall said, looking for eye contact with Harry. They weren’t a super big company, they were around 20 people and everyone knew each other well, including Y/N. Niall thought he’d tell them she wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week. “I will be, good luck, I’ll phone you tonight.” Harry said, already halfway to the lift as he harshly pressed the buttons in attempt to get a move on, faster. Niall gave harry a smile and nodded. He had to know exactly what Harry was feeling, he was a shit liar and could see right through him.

Harry sped off to Y/N’s apartment, making no stops and pushing the gas a little extra to get to her as fast as he could. He almost ran up the flight of stairs to her apartment, out of breath as he knocked on her door.

And there she was. Still the most beautiful person he’d ever known, despite the tears staining her face, her messy hair and pyjamas still on. It was like another wave of tears hit her the minute she saw Harry, it was like now that he was here, she was going to be okay. “Hey, doll, I’m so sorry.” Harry said as Y/N crashed into his arms, her body heavy and limp from the crying, panic and absolute bottomless darkness she found herself in. Harry had shivers running down his back, just being able to hold her like this, comfort her. His arms wrapped around her, his cheek pressing to the top of her head as he breathed her in and continued whispering affirming words to her. Without letting go of her, Harry stepped them inside her apartment, closing the door behind him with his foot. “Shhh, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, love.” He continued, pulling her head out of his chest and tear stained shirt, his thumbs drying her cheeks and looking her in her eyes. “I know it’s difficult right now, but I’m here to help, alright? C’mon, let’s get you settled, yeah?” He continued. She couldn’t have possibly missed his loving gazes and soft language. She couldn’t have possibly missed how he without any doubt took her into his chest to calm her down. She couldn’t have possibly missed how Harry’s heart was beating out of his chest when he held her so close.

Harry took her into her lounge, witnessing a mess of tissues, her open laptop and a now ice-cold cup of tea on the table. Y/N was still burrowed in Harry’s chest, searching for any kind of comfort she could find. In this moment, she didn’t care that he was her boss, that he had hired her months before to be an addition to his very successful team of workers. She knew it was a strange situation to be in, and to be such good friends with your boss, but with her being so new to the London, sha wanted to grab and hold onto the people she had. And Harry was a very special friend to Y/N, she really liked him as a friend, but it was difficult to not harbour feelings for the man, affectionate, kind and clever as he is. She tried her best to keep things as casual as possible between them, but she was stumbling in the dark right now, looking for whatever lifeline she could grab, and Harry showed up. Of course he did.

Harry settled her down in the lounge, now on a mission to do whatever he could to make her feel at least a little bit better. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, kiss her, stroke her wild hair and paint soft circles on her skin with his fingers but he had to draw a line. He couldn’t use this situation to his advantage, this wasn’t about him and his feelings.

Harry knew her well by know, she couldn’t function in a messy environment, so he took the first step, that was deemed appropriate enough, and started cleaning up and cozying up her lounge area. He removed all the tissues, wiped down her table and made her a new steaming hot cup of tea. He lit a candle, and put on some soft, but not too sad music for her in the background. She protested, of course, not wanting to bother him, it was almost embarrassing that he had to take care of her in this way; but for Harry it was an act of pure love. Of course he would do absolutely everything and anything for her, even if it was picking up her snotty tissues.

As he finished, he settled down on the other side of her sofa where she was laid down. Her crying had settled, she didn’t have a single tear left in her eye. At this point he was just staring at the candle in front of her, trying to focus her energy on something else other than the trainwreck that was her current situation. Harry sighed as he looked over at her. “Thank you for being here, Harry.” Y/N mumbled quietly, not letting her eyes drift away from the flame. “You don’t have to thank me; you know I’d do anything for you.” Harry answered her, his warm hand coming to give her a comforting squeeze around her ankle. She just nodded.

There they sat, Harry’s hand still on her ankle, at loss for action or words. “Is there anything I can do, at all, to help you? I know it’s a stupid question, I know there’s physically nothing I can do to make this any better, but if there is anything, please let me help.” Harry said into the still air of the room. A few more tears welled up in her eyes; he was so kind to her. “C-can I have a hug? I know it’s not proper but I coul-” Y/N said quietly, almost ashamed to be asking such a thing from him, but she really needed him right now. Harry let a puff of air escape his lungs, almost relieved at her words as sat up slightly and opened his arms for her. “C’mere, sweet girl.” Harry let the words slip from his mouth so easily, he couldn’t help but call her those sweet names when she was like this. And Harry often did call her those names, she didn’t seem to mind.

Without another word she turned over on the sofa, crawling her way up into his arms, and letting his scent embrace her and calm her down. His warm chest and comforting strokes to her back. Harry was trying hard to keep his cool with her so close to him, and tried to emit calmness in hopes that she could feel it too. And it wasn’t just a hug, it was more of a cuddle. But in that moment, they both needed it more than anything else.

---

After that day at her apartment, Harry and Y/N had become even closer. Y/N had gone to see her family for the weekend, and Harry had assured her that she could stay longer if she needed to. She was slowly coming out of her hazy mind, thinking more clearly, but she was still barely functioning. Grief is hard. It’s cruel, dark and endless. Y/N’s mind was constantly racing between the final time she saw her dad, their memories, and all the things she had to do that was piling up over the week. Harry was checking in on her constantly, texting, calling, showing up with dinner or helping her with the most simple tasks, that felt huge and impossible in her state of mind.

Y/N was going back to work tomorrow, and although she dreaded the pitying looks and comforting hugs, although she really wanted to get back to her life. Not to forget what had happened with her father, but more to kickstart herself, she knew she didn’t want to lose herself in this grief, so she had to at least try and do something about it.

Harry was taking up a big chunk of her mind as well. As if she wasn’t falling for him before all this, she was now hopelessly lovesick over someone she couldn’t have. She didn’t want it to turn out this way, and she had thought about all possible scenarios for them to maybe, just maybe have a chance together, but was constantly reminded of the one thing that made her heart ache more than anything – he probably didn’t want her. He was just the best human alive, supporting and cheering for his friends, she knew he was like this with all of his friends, he couldn’t possibly not be. She shouldn’t mistake his kindness and generosity for being in love with her.

---

Harry felt like he was going to explode at any given time. They had spent so much time together in the last few weeks, and now that she was coming back to work, full time, he wasn’t sure if he could handle just seeing her without giving her a good cuddle or asking how she’s doing. He knows that as a boss, this is the last thing he should be doing and thinking about, but Harry had never felt like this. It had been months of torture not having her the way he wanted, and he felt completely blinded by the love he felt. Even so far as considering leaving pleasing to Niall just so he could maybe be with her. That was an insane thought though, he was still pretty sure that Y/N didn’t even reciprocate those feelings for him, and he was weighing his options of telling her what he felt or if he was going to take it to his grave. He didn’t want to risk her career, and if they actually got together, he wasn’t sure how the company would take it. HR would hate it, even though it wasn’t forbidden to date a coworker.

This was what his mind was racing on and on about, and he felt like he was going to accidentally expose himself soon if he didn’t say anything.

He had to talk to Niall. He was his best friend, his COO. Harry knew that he was blinded by the love he had inside of him, he needed someone with a clear mind.

“Niall, I need you here for a short meeting, it’s personal though so don’t bring anyone with you.” Harry texted Niall after lunch that day. He wasn’t functioning properly, he felt incapacitated from all of this love that he had nowhere to put, and it was time to come clean to someone, although Niall already knew some of the feelings he was harbouring for Y/N.

Not even 2 minutes later, Niall popped into Harry’s office, closing and locking the door. His office at leas had some frosted glass, so they wouldn’t be totally exposed. “What can I do for you, lad?” Niall said as he sat down across from where Harry was sitting, at his desk. Harry looked deep in thought, his arm leaning on the armrest of his chair, chin supported by his hand. He didn’t even know how to say it, but he could feel a word vomit coming up his throat as the silence grew bigger. “I don’t know what to do, Niall.” Harry said, eyes glazing over as the iceberg finally tipped over, and everything came to the surface. Niall instantly looked worried about his friend, not yet knowing where he was going with all of this. Niall leaned forward in his seat, eyes on Harry as he watched him rub his eyes to rid them from tears coming through.

“I’m so in love with her and I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel like I can’t do anything without thinking of her, I feel totally incapacitated. But I know that if I tell her this, her career could be at risk. I want to let her know, I need to, but it could go wrong in so many ways. She probably doesn’t even feel the same way I do, and I don’t think I could live with that. I’d rather not tell her and keep her in my life for as long as I can…And I know it sounds dramatic, but I’m desperate at this point, Niall, It’s been seven months and I-“ Harry trailed off as he rubbed his eye once again, refusing to let another tear fall for this girl. He was rambling, almost incoherent at times, but Niall listened to him.

Niall knew, he knew without Harry even mentioning her name. It was obvious that they were both in love with each other. The whole office basically knew, except for Harry and Y/N. And for this, Niall wanted to almost laugh at this immensely dense friend of his, but he kept it to himself, aware that this was probably paining Harry more than he knew.

“Harry, I’m going to tell this to you straight and you need to listen to me.” Niall said, no readable look on his face. Harry readied himself for a proper metaphorical fist to the face. He knew this wasn’t right, he was her boss for chirst’s sake. Niall continued. “I think the whole office knows that you’re both in love with each other except for you two. And I need you to get your house in order because I can’t watch this anymore. You’re going to tell her, and you’re doing it tonight. Y/N just left for her half-day and I suggest you call her up right now and see her tonight.” Harry is just staring blankly at Niall, not completely sure that he heard him right. He just starts nodding. And then the tears come. It was relief in some way, and although he still wasn’t sure about her response if he told her, there was still something there for them to build on. “Niall, I-. What if it all goes wrong, I’m her fucking boss, what do I do if she becomes uncomfortable at her own workplace, she’s a genius, I’m going to have to be the one that leaves.” Harry stuttered. “You’re not going to spend a single second thinking about that just yet, because it might not even happen. In fact, I don’t think it will. You know, she’s talking about you all the time. And she has these disgusting puppy eyes every time you just walk past or even glance at her direction. This needs to end. Call her.” Niall continued, supporting his friend. Niall really did think they were endgame, he could already see it when she had her interview here, all those months ago. Harry nodded. And in a moment of bravery, he got out his phone and pressed her contact information.

Y/N’s heart grew when she saw Harry’s contact on her phone. She didn’t waste a second picking up. “Hey, there bossman, everything alright?” She chirped on the other end of the line. Harry’s heart was beating out of his chest. “Y/N.” He just said, as her blood ran cold. She felt like she was in trouble. Had she forgotten something important? Did she do something to offend him? Y/N was thinking at a million miles per hour, every thought she had ever had about Harry was coursing through her brain at the same time. Harry continued. “I was just wondering if I could come see you later, I have something I need to speak to you about.” Harry said, trying his best not to let his emotions spill into his speech. “Harry? Are you alright? I’m free now, do you want me to come back to the office? I just left.” Y/N said. She could tell this wasn’t the regular hang out or check in like in the past two weeks. “I’m alright, love. And don’t turn around. Can I pick you up at 6 and we could go to mine?” Harry said, looking at Niall who was still sitting across from him, nodding and giving him a thumbs up like a child doing a prank call. Harry’s nicknaming made her slightly calmer, maybe he just had a stressful day. Although, he’d never offered her to come to his, if they were hanging out they were always at hers. “Of course, that sounds good. I’ll be outside by 6, then?” Y/N replied. “Yeah. I’ll see you later, okay?”. Harry said and then hung up the phone.

---

Harry’s hands were shaking on the steering wheel of his range rover. When he had gotten home from his office he stormed around his penthouse, cleaning up any mess that he could detect. He made sure he had something to serve her, and some snacks in case they wanted some. Every thought he had about telling her, he tried to steer away. Instead he cleaned up, took a shower, did some nervous pacing around, and now finally, he was behind the wheel, minutes from Y/N’s apartment. It was all or nothing, now. And he thought about every likely outcome for what was about to happen, he just couldn’t stop stressing out about it.

He didn’t want to mess this up. That thirst, longing, yearning feeling for connection had immediately been quenched the minute he met her. The person he had been waiting for. And maybe, if it didn’t turn out the way he was hoping, all those dreams of a love so deep maybe wasn’t meant for him. And maybe it would be okay if that was the outcome. Harry wasn’t sure he wanted anyone else but her.

Y/N was stood outside her apartment complex as harry drove up. She looked heart-stoppingly beautiful, like she always did. She had been getting a little better sleep and routines for the past few days, which had been nice to see for Harry. He was such a worry wart when it came to her.

Y/N enthusiastically threw the door open to his car, stepping in as if it was nothing.

“Hi, doll.” Harry said sweetly. “Hi, H.” She replied. “So, what’s this mystery topic you can’t talk about over the phone, huh? Top secret business?” Y/N continued, wiggling her eyebrows in suspense. A smile crept on Harry’s face for maybe the first time today. “I’ll tell you when we get to mine, yeah? You might be surprised, who knows?”

Y/N stepped out of the elevator that led directly into Harry’s penthouse. Her chin was on the floor, she didn’t realize he lived somewhere like THIS. She was almost ashamed of the fact that he had ever hung out in her neighbourhood. She was absolutely well paid as a senior creative at Pleasing, but this was a whole other level. “Sit down, cuppa tea?” Harry led her to his lounge, overlooking the city skyline. “Mhm, yes please.” She said, instead going over to the windows rather than sitting down. Harry disappeared for a second and she could hear him put the kettle on. You could see the office from his window, just barely.

Y/N zoned out in some kind of philosophical thought, looking at the skyline, thinking about her current life. But at the forefront of her mind, she was always thinking about Harry. And now she was at his place.

“Cuppa tea, for you, love.” Harry mentioned, putting their two mugs down on a table by the sofas. Y/N stood still, looking at all the lights as she could feel Harry’s presence behind her. She felt his eyes looking at her, and she craned her neck to take a good look at him. Y/N is thinking that he is getting more beautiful by the day. His defined features lit up by the twinkling lights of the city, and his perfectly unperfect chestnut brown curls, framing his face in the most delicious looking way. A pang of adoration fought it’s way into her chest, but she couldn’t let him know.

“Y/N, I really need to tell you something. And before you say anything I really need you to listen to me and let me explain. Can you come sit down?” Y/N was shaken out of her daydream with his serious words. Y/N could just nod, plopping down on the sofa, facing him as he tried to relax against the back of the sofa. Y/N did her best to put on a calm and settled look, smiling at him when she could tell that he was getting nervous. This was going to be way worse than she was expecting, she’s sure now.

“I don’t even know how to say this.” Harry started. It took everything in Y/N’s body to stay still and not question those words from him, he had told her to just listen at first. Her thoughts were racing, as she stared at him, waiting for more words to come out of his mouth. He doubted his voice, trying to get words out and then it was like he was changing his mind. Over and over again. Y/N reached for his hand that was resting on his thigh, fingers lacing together as she gave him a long, hard squeeze. Harry looked to their interlocked hands, carefully stroking her hand with his callous fingers. He gained courage enough to look straight at her. ”I’m in love with you. I have been since the day I first saw you.” The words left Harry’s mouth as he gauged her reaction to them in real time. Harry continued, “And I feel like an asshole, because I know I’m putting you in a tricky situation with me being selfish and telling you this. But I also want you to know that if you want nothing to do with me, or this situation, that’s okay. I-I just had to tell you, because I felt like I was going to drown If I didn’t.” Harry looked right into her eyes. “I was fucking drowning.” He said, almost like he was all out of air, or breathing oxygen for the first time. Y/N couldn’t believe a single word coming from his mouth. This had to be a prank, it couldn’t be. And if it is true, maybe she wouldn’t feel sad ever again. “Harry…” Y/N got out before he stopped her again, grabbing her same hand with his other one. “I’ve been realizing a lot of things lately, and one of them-.” Harry continued. Y/N could see the gears turning in his head, trying to get the right words out, but she couldn’t wait another second for her lips to collide with his. Her eyes glazed over as she realized that he wasn’t going to let her speak. So instead, she took control. “Harry!” She said loudly. Moving from her position on the sofa, towards him and settling herself in his lap. “Shhhh, I don’t want to hear another word about that, just tell me again.” Y/N said as she got closer to his face. Lips calling out to one another. Harry couldn’t breathe. Not with her this close, with her breath on his lips, her thighs hugging his, his hands around her back. It was Harry’s turn to get teary eyed. It just dawned on him what her answer to his speech would be. “Just tell me.” Y/N breathed against his lips. “Please.” She was almost begging to tell her those words again. Just to know if they were true. “I love you, I’m in love with you.” The words left his mouth like they had been sitting on his lips for his whole existence. Y/N let a watery smile overtake her features, and a chuckle left her mouth. “Thank god.” She whispered as she finally pressed her lips against his. His pink, puffy lips danced with hers as their tongues licked into each other’s mouths. It wasn’t like any first kiss; this was a long time coming. It was desperate, passionate and everything they had been craving. Their wet lips then collided in a smattering of pecks, one after the other being placed on their lovers’ lips. Wanting to do absolutely anything except speaking words right now. “I love you, H.” It was Y/N’s turn to speak, in between desperate kisses. Harry was seeing stars as she said those words loud, her nickname for him feeling like it’s burning a hole through his heart.

It was hard for Harry to be vulnerable. He only really was with his family, and Niall. He couldn’t even remember how it felt to have a possible partner to be vulnerable with. Someone he could pour his heart out to, someone who listened, and who vowed to take care of him. Y/N has stepped into his life and cracked open his whole being, it felt like he was on fire from top to toe from all the emotions and tenseness releasing. Y/N let go from his lips as she felt wetness smeared onto her cheeks. Harry was full on crying now. Y/N put her hands around his cheeks, drawing soft patterns on his cheeks with her thumbs, strategically removing the tears from his eyes. “I-I’m so happy, I promise, I ju-st…” Harry breathed, looking at her with wet, wild eyes, his face leaning into her hold. “I know, it’s alright. It’s been a long time coming, yeah?” Y/N chuckled out, in attempt to lift the moods. Harry nodded, smiling to her. His hands moved to her wrists, holding her in place. “I’m going to tell you everything I’ve been feeling these past few months, but the girl I love just told me she loves me too, so I just need to breathe for a second. Take a good look at her.” Harry joked, eyes still focused on Y/N’s face, his gaze bouncing all over her features, drinking her in. Y/N just nodded to him, her love for the man in front of her glowing in her chest. It had been a long, long time since she had felt like this.

This wasn’t at all what Y/N had in mind when he had called her earlier that day. She really had no idea that he was in love with her, she really had no idea that he felt the same way she had, especially in the last few weeks, with them becoming extra close since her father passed away.

Y/N agreed to stay over at Harry’s that night. She didn’t bring a single thing with her to prepare her for an overnight stay, but Harry had convinced her that he had everything that she would need. And she really didn’t want to let him go, not when their night had turned out like this, maybe she would just stay here, always.

They had barely stopped touching since the moment he told her. Always at least one hand on one another; they had a lot of time to make up for.

As they settled in his bed for the night, it was still early, barely 10. They had changed into soft, comfortable clothing, and Y/N got to borrow a set from him. There they laid, Harry was behind her, strong arms wrapped around her frame, fingers lightly touching and playing. Harry breathed in her scent, burrowing his face into her neck and soft, lavender scented hair.

They talked for hours, pouring their hearts out about the past months that they had known each other. But the tears had since long left their eyes, they had each other now, and there was not a single broken heart in sight.

“I still feel like this is all in my head. Like I’m going to wake up from this dream and I’ll be as fucking lonely and sad as I always am.” Harry said into her neck, placing a light kiss after he finished his sentence. “I know. But it isn’t a dream, although my mind is definitely trying to tell me otherwise.” She replied to him. Her eyes focused on the lights from the city dancing on the walls. Suddenly Y/N turned around in his arms, so that they were facing eachother. “Hi.” She said. “Hi, sweet girl:” Harry’s reply came so easily, and he was finally able to say it whenever they wanted to. “I think we need to talk about work, what do we say to HR, do we even say anything? I know it’s all still so new, but I want you to know that I’m all in…if you want that as well.” Y/N continued, a worried look on her face. The thought was bothering Harry as well, but as things had turned out well for them, his positive mindset was telling him that it was going to be alright. And work, HR and people’s opinions was about the last thing he wanted to talk to her about. At least for tonight.

They talked for hours, kissed for hours. In this room, it was just them, Harry and Y/N. They had both been craving this for so long, Y/N had thought of him so much. How it would feel like to be loved by him, what it was like to feel his hands on her body, in her hair, on her cunt. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking about it some nights when she was all by herself in her apartment, with her hands between her legs. Heavy breath lingering in the air as his name left her lips in a desperate call for him to do anything to her, anything he wanted. She had felt guilty about it, of course. But now that they were in his bed together, those illicit thoughts were starting to creep back into her head. Now that he was touching all over her, she wanted more.

Her lips reached for his neck, leaving wet kisses and small bites around his soft spot, as Harry’s breathing got a little heavier. “Love, what are you up to, hm?” He said in the gentlest voice, knowing where this was going as her kisses had suddenly changed from pure and loving, to slightly more sexual. “Tell me what you need, pet. I’ll give you anything, do you know that?” Harry continued, as he brought his lips to hers. Y/N almost mewled out a reply, mind fuzzy from his scent and sweet talking. “I need you, everywhere. Please. Just do anything, I’m yours.” Her eyes closing as Harry placed kisses all over her face, nose, cheeks and corners of her mouth. “You’re mine now, huh? I love to hear those words from you, you have no idea. But I need you to tell me what to do pet, what do you want?” He tried again, wanting to make sure that she knew what she was asking for, and wasn’t just caught up in her hazy mind. “I need you to touch me, k-kiss me, I just want you, H.” Y/N said desperately, in an almost whisper. Harry chuckled at the sweet girl in front of him. Of course he was going to take care of her. “Alright, love I’ve got you, yeah? But I need you to tell me if there’s something you need or if you want me to stop, do you understand?” Harry spoke clearly to her now, looking into her eyes to make sure that his message got through. “Yes. Yes, H, I want you.” She got out, her hands now underneath his t-shirt, nails scraping against his stomach. Harry’s hands touched her all over, keeping her close to his body, his hands travelled south and dipped into the waistband of her borrowed sweatpants. He stroked her soft skin over the thighs, bum and finally stopped on the outside of her underwear. Their mouths connected, and Harry was trying to stay focused on her pleasure, on the ques and clues she was leaving him with her touches and the way she moved. “Please, H” She moaned out, so zeroed in o finally getting a little taste of him on her tongue. “Shhh, pet, you’ll get all of me, don’t worry.” He tried to reassure her as his hand grazed over her underwear, laying soft and gentle strokes over her underwear, right on her clit. He moved devilishly slow, and Y/N was aching for more, higher pleasure from him. A moan slipped from Y/N’s lips and it was like all of the blood in Harry’s body rushed to his cock, almost making him lightheaded. Harry’s fingers that were moving on the outside of her underwear was now moving said underwear out of the way, being able to fully feel how wet she had become just from a few touches. Y/N had started to tug on his t-shirt. “Off, I want it off” she said to him in the dimly lit room, wanting to see all of him. Harry chuckled at the silly, sweet girl in his bed and removed himself from her, pulling his shirt over his head aswell as removing his sweats, just in his underwear mow. His next mission was to get Y/N out of her kit. He tugged on her t-shirt. “Is this alright? Wanna see you.” Harry whispered in her ear as his large hands were already underneath the t-shirt she was wearing, massaging her soft sides. Without a word from her, she sat up, and pulled it all off, discarding the t-shirt and her bra on the floor. “You’re so fucking beautiful, love.” Harry said, without tearing his gaze away from her breasts. His mouth instantly coming towards her belly and kissing up towards her boobs, wrapping his lips around one of her nipples, fingers tugging and rolling the other one. A moan ripping out of Harry’s chest the second he got a taste of her. “Shit, H, that feels…” Y/N moaned out, fingers running through Harry’s hair, slightly tugging on it. Harry continued kissing her chest, any skin he could to touch or kiss, he was there. Desperate to taste every inch of skin that she’d offer him.

Harry’s mouth started to travel down Y/N’s belly, teasing at the waistband with his green eyes looking into her’s for permission to remove them. Y/N slightly lifted her hips to make it easier for him, and her underwear and sweats were on the floor in barely a second, his body falling in between her legs, as he continued to kiss anywhere he could get to. “Are you going to let me have a taste, pet? Yeah?” He said to her, eyes still looking into hers. Another “please” fell from her lips, eager to get him on her. “Hmm, so kind to me, yeah? I’ll show you my worth, I promise you.” Harry said with a gentle tone, leaving her even more needy and ready for him to do something; anything. His lips finally met with her wet cunt, licking broad, strong swipes over her entrance and clit. Harry moaned at the taste of her, his eyes falling shut; he’d been dreaming about tasting her like this, but this was way better than anything he could’ve imagined. Y/N was writhing in her place on the mattress, her hips chasing after his tongue and heavy moans escaping her throat as he continued to kiss, lick and poke at her with his tongue. “You’re so goo-d, Harry, fuck! You’re mine, please,” Her moans encouraged him and simultaneously made his cock even harder, if that was even possible. Harry’s arms came up, one arm over her hips to slightly still her, and one over her breast, teasing her nipple. “I’m yours, don’t worry pet.” He replied to her, letting go of her messy, wet cunt for just a second before diving back in. Y/N’s hand flew to his hair, searching for anything to hold on to in her intense amount of pleasure. “Please, I’m going to come, you’re gonna make me com-e, please” Y/N was moaning out, almost screaming at this point, to deep into her pleasure to realise how loud she as being. Harry didn’t mind it at all. The hand that was previously on her breast moved down to her cunt, a finger playing at her entrance before pushing two of them inside her, slightly curving his fingers as he could feel her clenching around them. Y/N could almost black out at this point. She could barely remember the last time someone else had made her come this hard, it wasn’t usually happening at all with her previous partners. Her breathing started to get heavier as she came closer to her climax. “Come for me, pet, let me taste what I’ve worked so hard for. Look at me.” Harry let out, having to rut his hips into the mattress to get some kind of relief, he felt like he could come just by looking at her in this immense state of pleasure. With her eyes locked to his, she came, orgasm ripping through her body, legs trembling as Harry worked her through her orgasm with his mouth and fingers. When she slowly started to come down, Harry’s touches became lighter and more gentle, not wanting to overwhelm her after such an intense orgasm. As Harry’s lips let go of her, he moved to crash down on top of her, kissing her puffy, swollen lips. He had already missed her mouth. “I think I’m going to have to keep you forever, if that’s how you’re going to make me come.” Y/N admitted with a smile, her flushed face close to his and lips lingering on each other. “Darling, you know I wouldn’t mind, I’m here for as long as you want me.” He said back. Now it was her hands that started to travel down to his boxers, slipping inside of his boxers and gently stroking over his cock. “Shit, doll, I’m not going to last if you put your hands and me and I’m planning on at least two more orgasms for you.” Harry shakily breathed against her lips. “Mmmh” Was Y/N’s only reply, instead ridding him of his underwear and mumbling. “Are you clean, please tell me you’re clean I just want to feel you. I have a Nexplanon.” She almost begged him, it felt like too much to just get out of bed in search of a condom. “I got tested after my last partner, I’m clean as well, do you trust me? I could go get a condom, it’s no trouble, pet.” He replied in between kisses.

“No condom, I want to feel all of you. Please?” Her wide eyes looked into his for any kind of regret about it. She trusted him, he had already proven himself to be loyal and trustworthy, and she couldn’t find a single reason not to believe him although Y/N religiously always wore a condom with new partners. “Of course, pet, give you everything, you can trust me. Always so good for me, yeah?” He said, loving her reaction to the words that came out of her mouth. He turned them around, so that he was on his back, with her on top. “I want you on top to start with, okay? You can go as fast or as slow as you’d like, pet, it’s up to you.” Her heart trembled as he encouraged her to feel good with his body, completely trusting her and wanting to go at her pace. Although, her face fell slightly as her confidence wore thin when she had been on top with previous partners. Harry could read her immediately. “Shhh, no frown on that beautiful face, just to start and then I’ll take over when you’re ready, yeah?” He said, sitting up so their naked, upper bodies were flush against each other. “C’mon, doll, take what you want.” He encouraged her as she lined him up and slowly sank down onto him. She was slightly worried about taking him, he was above average in comparison to others and she wasn’t a fan of the pain that it could bring. But as sank down and took all of him, and she had never felt such a spark of pure pleasure as he filled her up. “Fuck me, pet, you feel so good around me, never had anyone feel this good on my cock.” Harry praised her, as she started to slowly grind her hips for some friction. Harry held her close, arms clasped around her upper body for support, as he attached his lips to hers. They moaned into each others mouth as Harry’s encouragement made her more brave and she moved more freely, her hips desperate for more, more of him. She had never felt this good during sex. Y/N’s thighs were burning from the work out she was getting, her belly on fire from him, so deep inside of her. “You feel good, baby? You’re taking my cock so well, look at you.” Harry praised her. She could barely think straight, not even being able to form a single word as more moans escaped from her lips and spilled into his mouth. His lips went to her neck, leaving lovebites, kissing, sucking, not for a second thinking of any marks he was leaving, deciding that he liked it like that. “Harry…” Y/N let out a tired whimper of his name, feeling so close to another orgasm already, but her legs felt like jelly, and she was frustrated that she couldn’t keep up her pace to chase after her climax. “I’ve got you.” Harry replied, giving her a big smile as his hands came up to her sweaty face to get some hairs away from her eyes. He just wanted to see her properly. “Going to let me take care of you? Make you come, again?” Harry continued, a proud, cocky, smile on his lips. Y/N just about had time to nod as he pushed her onto her back onto the mattress, getting up after her and getting on top of her. “This is my favourite…” Harry said into her neck, proceeding to put both of her legs over his shoulder, Harry leaning over her. As he pushed himself back into her, Y/N could swear she was seeing stars, the angle made up for her almost lost orgasm as after just a few strong thrusts, she was barrelling towards her orgasm again. Her hand attempted to slip in between them, to rub her puffy clit, she could taste her orgasm, it was just right there. Harry had realised quickly pulling up her arm and replacing her hand with his. “You’re going to come for me, again, pet? Spoiling me, aren’t you?” Harry laughed, pressing and pinching her clit, as Y/N’s lips attached to his neck. His scent was grounding her as another orgasm rolled through her body, causing her to grip on to Harry hard, pressing herself against him as if he would vanish at any given moment. Y/N’s nails pressed into his biceps, his shoulder blades, earning a grunt from Harry. Every nerve ending in her body was exploding, wanting more him, needing him like water or air.

Harry’s pace didn’t falter, he worked her through her orgasm and continued. The pleasure was so overwhelming, but she didn’t want to stop, she wanted more. “Darling, look what you’re doing to me. Promised you another one though, didn’t i? I’m so close, pet, be gentle with me, alright? Harry stuttered softly to her, kissing her lips as he released her legs from his shoulders, pulling out of her. Wordlessly, he turned her to her side, placing a pillow under her head as he got in behind her and pulled Y/N’s leg up for him to enter her again. Y/N was lost for words, she was in some hazy dream state driven by her lust for him, and not thinking a single thought besides him. “There we go,” Harry whispered to her, his arm encasing her shoulders as his other hand find it’s way back to her clit, in hopes of luring her into another orgasm. Y/N sighed as he picked up his pace again, her head falling back on his shoulder as she let him manipulate her to wherever he wanted. She was almost pissed at this point; she had gone her whole life without having sex that was this could? She had no idea that this is what it could’ve been. And she’s also pissed at herself for missing out on so much time with him, when he had been in love with her this whole time.

“Pet, you’re going to make me come any moment, where do you want it?” Harry’s voice was strained, trying to keep his composure as he neared his end. Y/N could barely get her words out, already feeling her next orgasm growing from those words he said to her. “Inside, come inside me.” She manged to say into the air as she turned her head slightly to catch his lips.

Harry let out an otherworldly moan from that sentence. “So good to me, Y/N, i’m going to come, are you with me?” He grunted out, his thrusts quickening as did his hand on her clit. Y/N was sure she was going to black out by the time they were done, as she felt her orgasm triggered by Harry’s cock steadily poking her g-spot. Y/N just about screamed, hands clawing at Harry’s arms, writhing around in the bed, wanting to get closer to him and get away from him at the same time. She could feel Harry’s cock twitching inside of her and his cum filling her as his pace faltered, giving deep, hard thrusts into her. They were both moaning out, breathing laboured, as they had just ran a marathon. Y/N was now shivering in her post orgasmic state, Harry’s cock still inside of her as he had caught up to reality, placing soft kisses on her neck, jaw, and cheek.

“Did so good for me, you feel okay, pet? I’m honestly kind of pissed that we didn’t get to do this earlier, best I’ve ever had.” Harry mumbled, nose grazing her cheek. Y/N smiled, slowly coming back to reality; their minds had to be connected somehow. Y/N turned around in bed, now facing him on their sides as she clung on to him. Sweaty bodies embracing each other, heartrates still way too high to be healthy. “Mm-hmm.” Was all she could reply to him, as she closed her eyes, taking in his scent, a mixture of sweat, his cologne and pure man, peppery, citrusy. “I don’t even think I could form a proper sentence; you’ve absolutely wrecked me.” Y/N manged to get out, a teasing smile on her lips as their eyes made contact. “Yeah, I was kind of hoping I’d ruin everyone else for you, you’re mine now, huh?” Harry winked at her, an almost comedic tone to his voice, although Y/N could see the hopeful glint in his eyes as he had repeated those words back to her. He can’t fool her that easily. “I am yours. If you’ll be mine.” She said to him, watching a glowing smile spread over his face, a puff of air escaping his lungs, full of all the love he had for her. “I’m all yours, and I have been for a long time.”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #ceo harry styles #ceo!harry #ceorry #harry styles smut

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leviscolwill · 7 months

Text

— dad!jude bellingham headcanons !

pairing: dad!jude bellingham x fem!reader

req: could you write dad!judebellingham ml <3

note: i tried writing headcanons because i feel like my writing is very 👎👎🍅🍅🍅 at the moment, i hope you'll like it still !! reblogs are VERY appreciated since the tags are in a silly goofy mood right now #useless 😝🤪

tag list: @ceofmercedes <3

it's well established on judeblr that he is a girl dad, so girl dad it is

i think he would spiral a bit over the fact that you're growing a whole human being in you

he would say random shit like “no but do you feel her legs grow ?”

and you're like 😐😐😐 of course not

but the poor boy is just clueless 😪

he would always remind you of how you're the most beautiful woman on earth, even when you're crying your eyes out because ron fell off his chess piece in the philosopher's stone

now,, i think we're all well aware he would spoil your daughter rotten

getting her new clothes or new toys whenever he passes in front of a store because “she might need it one day”

but !! he would never let her turn into a “daddy i want a squirrel” kinda girl

you would both make sure she's very well mannered because he is very aware his parents' education played a big part in who he is today

i feel like being strict wouldn't be a problem for him either

yk being the eldest in his family, he wouldn't be swayed by your girl's pleading eyes when she acts wrong

he would 100% cry on her first day of pre-school (it's the cancer in him)

and he would try to drop her / pick her up from school as much as he possibly can with training and stuff

if you speak another language, you'd learn it to your daughter and use it to talk shit about jude 🤭

“have you seen what he wore today ?” “yeah daddy's shirt is very ugly”

in my case she would say quoicoubeh to him

i feel like he'd get so frustrated and start sulking amd pouting before your daughter reassures him

okayy bc it's spooky szn rn 😋

family matching costumes !! (call it corny 😡 i do not care)

monsters, disney characters or the adams family... he'd have soooo many ideas

he'd go trick or treating just to eat all the sweets

playfights with your daughter for their girl's attention

“it's my mommy !”

“oh yeah ? but mommy liked me before, so i'm the number one in her heart”

“it's not true ! mommy tell him he's a liar”

you can only roll your eyes because he really has beef with a whole child ???

but he's just a kid himself !!

everytime she gets to see uncle jobe she's overly happy

and jude would smack the back of his head when he says a bad word

(like he's not the one to curse at home yk 🙄)

is it a bad thing i think he would secretly hope your daughter has a bad dream so she'd have a good excuse to sleep in between you both ?

because he would

just to cuddle with her

then he regrets it when she wakes him up early in the morning

when she grows up he would be soooo invested in her school's dramas

like, actually asking for updates during dinner like he's dan from gossip girl

“what do you mean ben is dating his ex's best friend ?? he's such a di... bad person”

he'd be so gassed whenever she would wear his shirt (especially at school)

like you got all these clothes but chose this particular england shirt ? 🥹🥹

(as if half her wardrobe isn't his jerseys from every club he's been at)

(+ jerseys he exchanged with other players and signed jerseys by football legends)

he would sooo show her off to his teammates

“yeah my girl knows how to read now” 😎

and show every picture of her EVER

even the embarrassing ones

100% would introduce his friends as uncles

“say hi to uncle gio” (🫠)

now hear me out bc i think it's my favourite idea

he would totally look up hairstyles tutorials for your babygirl and try them out

once he gets the hang of it, he would never stop finding new ones

and since he doesn't have a sister, he would go to his mum for advice

on hair, but also girl stuff so he can pretend he already knows it all in front of you

you'd also go to his mum to advice tho, because being a parent (especially a mum) is never easy

and she would gladly share all of them with you

when you get into fights with jude your girl would always try to make it better

“dad says he's sorry”, “mum said she's not mad anymore”

of course you both know she's lying but somehow it always works ???

so your relationship is the prime example of what she's looking for when she grows up

and she secretly hopes she gets to love her s/o just like her parents love each other (too corny now ?)

anyways jude would treat you both like his little princesses, and he's so so so grateful he gets to live a lifetime with you two

or maybe more than two who knows 🚶‍♀️

#is it too messy ??#or is it readable ?#is this too much ?#yeah probably #jude bellingham x reader #football x reader #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham #jude bellingham headcanons #football one shot #football fluff #football imagine #football headcanon

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vivwritesfics · 29 days

Text

In Bloom

Chapter One

Max wasn't like other Hogwarts students. He was having to live with the terrible things his father had done. Everybody expected him to turn out like his father, but he was the furthest thing from. He just needed two people to see that

Lestappen X Reader

6.7K

Okay so this follows the basic plot of the Harry potter books (from memory), with some major differences to fit our drivers. A list of which Harry potter each driver relates to can be found HERE

Series Masterlist

Max Verstappen could still remember the dread he felt as he stepped up to the sorting hat at just eleven years old. Everybody avoided him on the train, and he'd waited at the back of the queue to be sorted.

Not Slytherin, he thought as he climbed those stairs. Anything but Slytherin.

It came as no surprise that he was sorted into Slytherin. His entire family had been, and he was no different. 'There wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin,' he'd heard somebody say before the sorting.

But even Slytherin didn't want him. He went to sit down and everybody shuffled away from him, giving him plenty of space. Even in his newfound house, even with the people that were supposed to be like his family, as professor Vettel had said, he felt alone.

Unable to look past his own dread, Max had failed to notice something. He failed to notice the boy with his hair covering his forehead and eyes, definitely impairing his vision. Even when the boys name was called, Max didn't notice.

He shouldn't have been surprised to hear the name 'Leclerc Charles' called. He was the boy that had defeated his father, after all. The whispers began as soon as his name was called. Gryffindor, his new house, cheered as he ran to join them. The same thing happened for Max just moments later, but without the cheering. They were like mythical creatures to the other students in the hall. Well, Charles was. Max was more like a circus freak.

First year for Max Verstappen was incredibly lonely. All anybody wanted to talk to him about was his father. They were all questions he couldn't answer because he didn't know his father. He had been destroyed when Max was only a year old.

Flying lessons were Max's favourite. He'd grown up watching Quidditch with his mother, even playing it sometimes. She'd played it for her entire life, up until she met Jos. It was in Max's blood. Max was determined to show Professor Button just what he could do to be put on the Slytherin team. No first year had ever made it onto the team before, he was determined to be the first.

Max tried to act shocked when Professor Button went to Professor Alonso, the head of Slytherin house, and begged him to put Max on the Qudditch team. "He's the best thing this schools ever seen!" Professor Button insisted.

Professor Alonso gave him a trial period. One match to prove he could keep up with the older kids on the team. For Max Verstappen, it was the easiest thing in the world.

This was the stuff of legend in Hogwarts. But it was overshadowed by Charles Leclerc and his idiot friends.

Max didn't know what happened to Charles, Esteban and Pierre under the school. It was all speculation and rumours. Nobody know whether they fought a dragon or found the legendary philosophers stone. Only Professor Schumacher knew that. Professor Schumacher and Charles.

Max heard all of the rumours. He ignored them as best he could. But there was one rumour that he couldn't shake. "Someone said that it was your dad Charles was fighting under the school," said Nikita, a fellow Sytherin and a massive dickhead. "Said he killed him, again."

Max couldn't stop his reaction. He leapt out of his seat in the common room and swung his fist at Nikita, hitting him square in the jaw. Nikita stumbled back, holding his jaw. Shock played on his face, but it soon turned into a smile. "You're going to regret," he started. "Didn't you know my father is close, personal friends with the minister?"

"I didn't ask, Nikita," Max spat as he walked away, leaving the common room all together.

First year wasn't all bad for Max. No, he made history on the Quidditch team and he made a few friends. Lando and Daniel, two Hufflepuffs with the widest smiles and hearts of gold.

He met Daniel first. He was maybe the first person Max had ever properly gotten along with. He found a kindred spirit in Daniel. He was maybe the funniest person Max had ever met.

Daniel had introduced Max to Lando halfway through their first year. Max had never had that connection with anybody. He finally knew what it was like to have friends, and it felt amazing. For the first time since arriving at the school, Max was himself. He was happy, funny, bubbly. Every joke Max cracked had Daniel folded at the waist, hands on his knees as he laughed.

Their friendship continued into Max and Lando's second year. Daniel was just that little bit older, going into his fourth year.

Second year was the first proper run in that Max had with Charles Leclerc. It had been a shit day for Max, Nikita was being an ass and his potions test scores were less than perfect. He was pissed at himself. His escape was the quidditch pitch. It was supposed to be empty. He could fly around, weaving in and out of the stands and goal hoops as much as he liked.

But he wasn't alone. No, somebody else was opening the box of quidditch supplies. Max hung back, watching to see what Charles did. He watched as Charles tucked the quaffle under his arm and mounted his broom.

He wasn't even on the quidditch team for his house. What was he doing there? But, the more Max watched, the more he understood. He watched as Charles flew around with skill. He did what Max was going to do, weaving around the stands and through the goal hoops, all with the quaffle tucked under his arm. It was no easy accomplishment. Max was thoroughly impressed.

He gave Charles a nod as he mounted his broom and flew around. They stayed away from each other that time, practiced without disturbing one another.

As soon as Max was done, he rushed to Professor Buttons office. He was still in his quidditch robes, his fingers a little frozen as he held his broom. "Professor," he called as he knocked on the door. "Can I talk to you?"

Max would never tell Charles Leclerc that he was the reason he was on the quidditch team. They hadn't spoken two words to each other yet, Max couldn't imagine a time where they'd be that friendly.

In his second year of Quidditch Max proved himself to be better than anyone expected. But, with the addition of Charles to the Gryffindor team, Slytherin finally had some real competition.

But the year wasn't all sparkles and rainbows. Not when the attacks started. Muggleborns being petrified, it was terrifying.

When the chamber of secrets was opened, everybody turned to Max. His father had opened it last time, hadn't he? So it only made sense that he opened it this time.

Those were the first words Charles Leclerc spoke to him. "Did you open the chamber of secrets?"

Mac couldn't hide the shock on his face. "Are you kidding me? Why would I want to attack muggleborns?" One of his best friends was muggleborn, for goodness sake.

But still, Charles wouldn't leave it alone. Things only got worse when Esteban was petrified. Charles cornered Max, demanded he fixed what he had done. All Max could do was express condolences and walk away.

But then Daniel was petrified. "Fuck," Max choked out when Lando told him. He followed him to the hospital wing and rushed straight to Daniels side. He wouldn't leave, not until his best friend was up and moving. The nurses were too afraid of him to pull him away.

Golden boy Charles saved the day. He found out who had been opening the chamber, a little first year who had no control over her actions. A cure for the petrifications was made using Mandrakes and Esteban and Daniel were on their feet just before the end of the year.

Max had been avoiding Charles. Ever seen his confronted him over Esteban, he wanted nothing to do with him. He and everyone else would always see him as the villain. It was so sad to learn that at just twelve years old.

But Charles found him. He cornered him once again, but this time, his expression was soft. "I'm sorry," he said.

Max looked at the floor, his jaw tight.

"It was wrong of me to assume that you're the one who opened the chamber. I realise that now," he continued.

Max let out something of a snort. "Just because my dad is a monster, it doesn't mean I am," was all he said. He pushed past him, trying to get away, trying to get to the end of year feast. But, before he could get too far, he stopped and turned back towards Charles. "If you want any chance of beating us in Quidditch next year, you should get a haircut, stop it from going in your eyes."

Just before the start of their third year, mass murderer Nico Rosberg escaped from Azkaban. Max remembered reading it in the paper. He read the headline out loud and his mother let the plate she was holding slip from her grasp. "Nico got out?" She asked as she rushed over.

Max nodded his head and showed her the paper. "I wanna know how he got past the dementors," he said with curiosity. He then turned to his mother. "Did you know him?"

It wasn't often she spoke about her time with Jos. From the little bits Max knew, it was awful and Max was the only good thing to come from it.

She shook her head. "He started Hogwarts just as I was finishing. I remember hearing his name a lot. He was always causing some sort of trouble with his best friend."

Max dropped the topic. The news article had said that Nico had been a supporter of his father. If he was out, maybe he was going to try and finish the job on Charles.

At the first feast of the year, a new teacher was introduced. Professor Hamilton, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for the year. But that wasn't all. Max watched from the Slytherin table as Lando walked into the hall, his arm around a pretty girl. He knew Lando had other friends, had seen him with this girl a few times. But he didn't know her, not at all.

It was indescribable how pretty she was. Max's eyes followed as she sat herself down between Lando and his other Hufflepuff friend, Max (Fewtrell).

Max tried really hard not to stare, but it was damn near impossible. She was his very first crush, and he didn't even know her name.

For the few classes he shared with Hufflepuff, Max tried to get Lando to tell him her name. Maybe it was because Lando wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, but he just wasn't getting it. Max was being as obvious as he could be, without saying anything at all.

The day he learnt her name was the same day that he watched her run up to Chatles Leclerc and plant a kiss on his cheek. Maxs face fell. She was his first crush, and she was with somebody else. That was just his luck.

She was with Charles, that was clear. Max saw the way he placed his arm over her shoulders while they talked with Lando. So, why the hell was Lando introducing her to Max in the middle of charms?

She held her hand out to him, a lovely smile on her face. "I can't believe you two haven't met before," Lando said as he sat on the table.

Max couldn't quite believe he was shaking her hand. He had no clue what to say to her and, in a desperate bid to make a good first impression, he made a terrible one

But it didn't matter. The next time Max saw her was care of magical creatures with professor Brown. As with every lesson, Nikita made an ass of himself. Max couldn't help but shut him down, and that seemed to impress her.

But Nikita didn't know when to quit. It was his fault the beast struck him. It was his fault he'd sustained such an injury to his arm.

It was all he could talk about for the next few weeks. Max didn't know what would happen to the beast that had 'attacked' Nikita. Nikita boasted about a trial, about the beast being put to death. Of course, Max didn't believe it, not until he saw her crying about it.

She was too pretty to cry, Max thought as he watched her across the hall. She sat at the Gryffindor table, leaning against Charles as he rubbed her back. That should have been him, Max couldn't help but selfishly think.

On the day of the beasts execution, Max followed her and Charles down to Professor Brown's hut. He stayed behind them, watching as she swung her fist towards Nikita. Good, he thought. It was what that prick deserved.

She and Charles didn't notice him as they stepped into Professor Brown's hut. But Professor Brown did. "Come on in, Max," he said, stepping aside to let her and Charles see him.

Charles didn't scowl, like Max had expected. He gave him a sad smile as she stepped towards him, holding him. "It's awful, Max," she sobbed against his shirt. "They're going to kill him because Nikita is an asshole."

Max stood there, looked at Charles over the top of the head. There was a minute before he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed slightly.

"I found something of yours," said Professor Brown as he guided her away from Max. He grabbed a shoe box and opened it up, revealing her pet rat.

She didn't show up to Hogwarts with an owl, cat, rat or toad. This rat she had found at the station and, in a bid of desperation, she picked him up. He was so tame, she figured he had to be a magical rat.

Before they knew it, they were being ushered out of the hut by Professor Brown. They hid behind shrubbery as Professor Schumacher, the head master, brought Bernie Ecclestone, the minister, and the executioner, down to the hut.

As soon as the three of them had their backs to the students, Max and Charles got her back to the castle. They got halfway there before the sound of the axe hitting something stopped them.

Her gasp rang in the boys ears and she turned towards Charles, burying her face in his chest as she cried. "It's okay, chérie. I've got you."

But, suddenly, he didn't have her. Suddenly she was on the floor, screaming as a vicious, hairy beast dragged her towards the womping willow, its jaws clamped around her leg. Charles screamed her name as he ran after her, but the tree fought back.

Fuck, Max thought as he ran after Charles. The tree attacked them however it could, keeping them away from the tunnel the beast had dragged her down.

Charles dodged those he could, but one smacked him in the chest and he went flying back, the air knocked from his lungs when he landed. Max had gotten closer to the tunnel entrance. He jumped over the trees limbs when they came towards him, getting to the tunnel entrance in minutes.

But he couldn't leave Charles behind. The tree didn't fight him as he ran back towards him. "Come on," Max grunted, grabbing Charles's hand and pulling him to his feet.

The tree once again tried to stop them. Max kept a hold of Charles's hand, pulling him around the attacking limbs. They ducked and dodged and jumped. But one limb managed to knock them both over. Max immediately grabbed the limb and Charles grabbed a hold of him.

They were lifted into the air, the tree trying to throw them off. But it was doing do in a pattern, one Max easily deciphered. "Hold on!" He shouted to Charles, who just squeezed him tighter.

At the right moment Max let go of the branch, falling into the tunnel entrance. Charles was right behind him, landing on top of him. "Sorry," Charles said, taking his hand and helping him up. He pulled his wand from his back pocket and held it out in front of him. "Lumos," he whispered and the tunnel lit up.

Holding his wand out in front of them, Charles led the way through the tunnel. They followed paw prints until they weren't paw prints anymore, but feet, the soles of battered shoes against the dirt.

When they got to a set of old and unstable steps, Max and Charles looked at each other. She was up there, she had to be.

"Nox," Charles whispered. The first step creaked under his foot and he nervously looked to Max. But they climbed the stairs anyway. The closer they got to the top of the stairs, they more they could hear her pained gasps. The two of them hurried.

Charles couldn't stop himself from kicking the door open. "Charles, Max, no!" She cried, grasping her bloody leg. "It's a trap, he's an animagus!"

As the door swung shut behind them, Max and Charles turned around. There he was, his striped jumpsuit tattered and dirty. The smile he wore was grim and his blonde hair was long and disgusting.

Immediately, Max and Charles put their bodies between her and Rosberg. The escaped convict's smile only grew as he took a step forward. "Move aside." His eyes were focused on Max. "It's not you that I want."

But Max stood in front of them protectively. "If you want to get to either of them, you have to go through me."

Rosberg laughed. "Stupid boy," he said through his laugh. "I don't want either of them, I want him," he said, pointing at her.

Her body tembled as she held her mangled leg. The rat in her pocket was squeaking uncontrollably. "I-I'm a girl!" She cried.

But Rosberg let out an exasperated sigh. He lifted his wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

Professor Hamilton, that years defence against the dark arts teacher, stood in the door way. It wasn't a surprise that none of them heard him coming up the stairs, not with the way adrenaline was running through them.

Professor Hamilton looked at the kids and then at Rosberg. And then he dropped his wand and stepped forwards, pulling him into his embrace. "Good to see you, old friend," he said, clapping him on the back.

"What the fuck?" Max couldn't help himself. He held his wand out in front of him. "I trusted you, and this entire time you've been working with him? You've been on my dad's side, too?"

"Max, you don't understand," Hamilton replied, holding his hand up. "This entire time I thought that Nico did all of those terrible things. But then Charles came to me and said he saw someone on the map that I believed to be dead. Sergio Perez."

"Well, the map was wrong, then!" Charles called. He had migrated over to her, crouching by her side. She wasn't okay and there was nothing he could do.

Hamilton shook his head. "The map never lies," he said. "It could only mean one thing, Charles. That Checo was alive and he was the reason your parents are dead."

Slowly, Charles stood up. He pulled his wand from his pocket as he walked forward. "That's not true," he said. "It couldn't have been him because he died. Rosberg killed him and all they could find was-"

"A finger! Chopped it off and escaped into the sewers, he did," Rosberg finished.

Hamilton looked past them as Charles tried to process everything in his mind. "Your rat, please," said Hamilton as he looked at her.

"What? No! What do you want with him?" She cried as she pulled him from her pocket and held him close to her chest. But Professor Hamilton was still advancing, reaching for the rat.

It was Charles that stopped him. He held his hand up, asking Professor Hamilton to just give him a moment, before crouching down to her height. "Please, chérie. I need you to trust me," he said, reaching for the rat.

For just a moment, she stared at Charles. He thought he was going to have to pry the rat from her hands and lose her trust forever. But she willingly gave the rat to Charles, who handed it to Professor Hamilton.

"We do this together," said Rosberg as he grabbed his wand from the floor.

"Expelliarmus!"

Once again, Rosbergs wand went flying out of his hands. Hamilton kept ahold of the rat as they wheeled around to find the head of Slytherin house.

"I told Schumacher," Alonso began as he walked into the room. "I said from the minute you arrived that you were trouble. And here you are, helping your old friend into the castle. Well, Lewis, you can have Nico's old cell once the dementors give him that kiss. I've heard they're looking forward to it. Got a cell in the tower waiting for you."

"Oh, piss off, little Nando no mates," Nico spat, but suddenly Fernando had his wand against his neck. Instantly, Nico stilled.

Fernando turned his attention to the kids. "You three, get back to the castle."

But they weren't going anywhere. Max knew it, Charles knew it, and she couldn't move.

Fernando quickly turned his attention back to Lewis and Nico. Before he could begin talking, Charles had raised his wand. "Expelliarmus!"

It was just meant to disarm Alonso, not send him flying back into the wall, knocking him out cold. "Shit, Charles," Max said through something of a grin. "You attacked a teacher."

But Charles didn't care about that. "Show me Perez," he demanded.

Hamilton and Rosberg were only too happy to oblige. Hamilton placed the rat onto the floor. He and Rosberg pointed their wands at the rat, sending silent spells in his direction.

The rat kept going, seemingly dodging the magic. But then, he wasn’t a rat at all. It wasn't clear which one cast the incantation, but a small-ish man in tattered clothing stood in the place of the rat. The most damning piece of evidence? His missing finger.

Charles couldn't quite believe his eyes. So Rosberg hadn't been the cause of his parents death. It had been Perez all along. Rosberg was an innocent nan, wrongfully imprisoned for all of those years.

"We do this together," said Rosberg. Hamilton nodded and, together, they pointed their wands at Perez.

"No, no, no!" He cried, scurrying across the floor. He quickly moved past Charles,towards her. "Girl, sweet girl," he said as she attempted to shuffle away from him. But, with her leg, she couldn't get far enough. "You won't let them hurt me, will you?"

Max pushed Perez away from her. "Leave her alone," he said through something of a snarl.

"Don't kill him," Charles said as he looked to Hamilton and Rosberg. "Take him to the castle. The dementors can have him and you could go free," he said, eying Rosberg.

Rosberg couldn't quite believe it. He cast a spell that bound Perez and lifted Alonso into the air.

"Oh, chérie," Charles whispered. He leaned forward to kiss her forehead before lifting her into his arms. She let out a small cry as Charles adjusted her, her injured leg brushing against his arm. But she locked her arms around his neck.

Max led the way. His wand was out, light coming from it as tye group of seven made their way back through the tunnel towards the school. Periodically Max turned around, looking at Charles as he carried her. That should have been him, he thought again.

Max climbed out of the tunnel first. He turned taking her body from Charles. One by one they climbed out of the tunnel. She stood on her uninjured leg as Alonso's still unconscious body was placed on the ground. Rosberg and Hamilton wandered a little way away from the group,the two of them looking up at the castle.

"How're you feeling, chérie?" Charles asked. He hardly called her by any other name. She gave a weak, pained smile. That was all Charles needed before he was pulling her body into his own, letting her rest against him.

Suddenly, Hamilton made a noise. A low, guttural noise, something inhuman. He looked away from the castle, his jaw slack and his eyes distant as he stared at the moon. The full moon.

"Shit," Rosberg hissed. Max stood to attention, placing himself between the changing werewolf and his friends. "Lewis, not now!" Nico cried wrapping his arms around him, as if trying to hold him together. "Any time but now!"

But Hamilton was still changing. His limbs were elongating, a thin layer of hair covering his skin. His clothes were shredded from his skin as his snout formed and hid ears sharpened.

Realising that he could do nothing, Nico let go out Lewis. He transformed into his animagus form, putting himself between the werewolf and the students.

At first, Hamilton barely moved. His breathing was heavy as he took just a moment to recover from the transformation.

As best as she could, she hopped forwards. "Chérie," Charles hissed in warning, trying to keep a hold of her.

She couldn't push him away, couldn't stand on her own as she looked at the werewolf. "Professor?" She called. "Professor Hamilton?"

The beast raised its head. The howl it let out echoed around the castle grounds. It was enough to rouse Professor Alonso from his temporary time out. "You!" He cried, pointing an accusing finger at Charles. Charles, who didn't much care, Charles, who was more concerned with getting her as close to him as possible.

When Alonso turned and around saw the beast, he threw his arms protectively around the three of them, keeping them behind him. There wasn't much else he could do but watch, his body shielding them, as Nico jumped at the beast.

The werewolf immediately threw him off, but Nico came back, this time doing damage. But again, the werewolf tossed him to one side. This time, Nico didn't get back up.

With his threat neutralised, the werewolf turned his attention back to the four of them. He got down onto all fours and slowly stalked forward. His slow pace only seemed to indicate that he was toying with them, that, no matter what they did, they were his prey.

Suddenly, from way in the distance, there was a howl. Hamilton turned towards it. He howled once more himself before he took off, running in the direction the howl had come from and completely ignoring his once prey.

As soon as Hamilton was gone, Charles passed her to Max. "Get her to the hospital wing!" He shouted as he took off running.

"Leclerc!" Alonso bellowed, but he made no move to go after him. "Get back here!"

But Charles was gone, disappearing off to wherever Nico was.

Her arms locked around Max's neck as he picked her up. Suddenly he was thinking quidditch for the useful muscles it had given him. "I'm sorry to put you through all of this," she whispered as her head fell against his shoulder.

He shook his head. "You didn't put me through anything," he replied. He so desperately wanted to kiss her head like he had seen Charles do. "Besides, if I wasn't here Professor Alonso would be carrying you. Do you really want that?" He asked and she let out a little giggle.

A small amount of pride blossomed in his chest.

At the hospital wing Max was asked to leave. But he refused. There was no way in hell he was just going to leave her. It was the only time he threw his name around to get his way.

At some point in the night Charles was brought into the hospital wing. He looked awful, like he had tried to drive a race car after suffering from appendicitis. But the nurse had confirmed that he was alive.

Max didn't sleep much that night. He stayed up, watching over his friends, recounting the events. It wasn't Nico Rosberg who had killed all of those people in the name of his father. It was Sergio Perez. Perez had gotten away in the commotion of their teacher being a fucking werewolf. It was crazy, but Max didn't know how he hadn't spotted it soon. Lupin took a few days a month off, Max just didn't notice that they were around the time of a full moon.

But Perez had gotten away, his father's loyal dog had gotten away, and Max would never forgive himsed.

He didn't know when he had fallen asleep. But, when he woke up, Pierre and Esteban sat around Charles. "I can't believe you went with him instead of us," Pierre muttered as he gestured to Max. Max simply sat up straighter, scowling in return.

"He saved her," was all Charles said as he nodded towards the girl sleeping beside Max.

The three of them continued to talk, and Max tried his best not to listen in. But it was harder than it looked when he constantly heard his name being dropped. They could fucking talk about him, he didn't care. By this point, he just didn't care.

When the doors flew open and Professor Schumacher strode in, Esteban and Pierre stood up. "Esteban, Pierre," the professor said. They said goodbye to Charles and walked past their head teacher. But, before they could get too far, Professor Schumacher grabbed a hold of Pierre. What he said to Pierre was too hushed for anybody else to hear, but it had him pulling something from beneath his shirt and striding towards the boys.

"Max, Charles," he said and Max left his chair, coming to stand beside Charles. Wordlessly, Professor Schumacher placed something over their heads.

Max picked up the necklace. "A time turner?"

"What's a time turner?" Asked Charles.

But Professor Schumacher didn't answer his question. "Two turns should do it," he said. "And you should be able to set everything right. Remember, don't let anybody see you," he said and strode out of the hospital wing.

Max turned the time turner. "How on earth did Pierre get one of these?" He asked as he spun it twice, and the room around them moved backwards. Professor Alonso carried Charles out of the hospital wing and Max took her back outside. Other students came and left, time still turning around them.

When it, at last, stilled, Max pulled the time turner from around their necks and placed it in his pocket. "Come on," he said as he grabbed Charles's hand.

As he pulled him out of the hospital wing, Max checked the time on his watch. "It's 5PM, where were we at five?"

Charles took a moment to think. "Ugh, I know I was taking her down to see Zac," he answered. "She punched Nikita."

Knowing exactly where to go, Max pulled Charles along. He pulled him through the halls, towards where they already were. But, suddenly, Max stopped. "Wha-" Charles began, but Max put his hand over his mouth, silencing him as he pulled him into an alcove.

The Max from before, the one that had been following Charles and her, turned for just a second. But, when she swung at Nikita, it distracted him long enough for the Max from the future to pull Charles outside.

"Max, what the hell?" Charles hissed as they watched Nikita and his friends run away. Charles from the past had his hand on the small of her back as he moved her along, heading to Zacs, Professor Brown's, hut. Max from the past followed. "That's us!"

"You're incredibly observant," Max quipped as he grabbed his hand once more. "I suppose you can see now you've cut your hair."

Charles let out a scoff, but Max was pulling him along once again, into the woods just opposite Zac's hut.

Nobody saw them, nobody but Rocky, the hippogriff. He raised his head and snorted, but quickly went back to sleep. "We can save him, too," Charles realised. "Him and Nico."

He strode forward and sent to grab the chain that kept Rocky tethered to the garden, but Max stopped him. "Professor Schumacher and the minister need to see him first, or you'll get Fred arrested," he whispered. Charles clenched his fists at his sides, but he nodded.

They watched as Fred pulled the rat from the box and handed it to her. There he was, Sergio Perez. Max and Charles looked at each other, their thoughts much the same. But they held back, and not just because the headmaster and the minister were coming.

They watched as the three of them left the hut. As the minister and Schumacher conversed with Fred, Charles and Max ran into the vegetable garden and grabbed a hold of Rocky's chain. "Come on, Rocky," Charles hissed, but the creature insisted on sleeping. It was only when Max bribed him with food that he followed them into the woods.

A sliver of satisfaction ran through them when the execution brought his axe down onto a bit of wood in anger. Rocky was safe, and all they had to do was wait.

It was surreal, watching everything that had happened. They watched as Nico, the dog, grabbed her leg and dragged her beneath the tree. They watched as they struggled to follow her.

"Can I ask you something?" Max enquired as he sat on the ground beside him. Rocky was behind them, playing in the trees. When Charles nodded his head, he continued. "Last year, you asked me if I opened the chamber. Do you really think I'm that much of a monster? Do you really think I'm that much like my dad?"

Charles let out an audible sigh. "I feel awful for that," he said as he lent back against the tree behind him. "All I know about your dad is that he's the reason my parents are dead. I'd met him in first year and, well, I still have nightmares about it. Of I had known you last year like I do now, I wouldn't have dreamed of blaming you."

They talked, actually talked, until Professor Hamilton came to the tree. "Did you have any idea he was a werewolf?" Max asked and Charles shook his head.

He pulled the time turner from his pocket. "Do you know why Pierre would have that?" Charles asked as he reached out to touch it.

Max shrugged his shoulders. "It makes sense, though. Pierre has been in so many classes this year, more than he should have had time for. This must be how he's being going to them all."

Next, Professor Alonso came by, and then, minutes later, they were all making their way out of the tree. "Thanks for looking after her," said Charles as he watched himself hand her to Max.

Max waved him off.

But it wasn't long before Professor Hamilton started his transformation. "Fuck," Max whispered as he watched Nico try and fail to protect them. What happened when they were up there? Something had howled, but no howl was coming. "Shit, get ready to run," he said to Charles before cupping his hands around his mouth and letting out a mighty howl.

The werewolf looked, but he didn't immediately begin running towards them. So, Max did it again.

The beast howled back and suddenly it was running towards them. "We're going to die out here," said Charles.

"Yep," Max agreed and the two boys took off running. But they didn't get very far, not before the werewolf caught up to them.

Their hearts were beating, blood so loud in their ears that they were sure the werewolf could hear them. Max squeezed his eyes shut, unable to keep them opened. He was incredibly grateful when Charles pulled him further around the tree they were hiding behind.

All they could hear was their werewolf Professor sniffing around behind them. It was the only indication that they were somewhat safe. But then, the sniffing stopped and the growls began. The two turned, almost paralysed with fear as the werewolf stood to its full height. "Professor," Charles began, but he was no longer human.

He moved towards them and they tried to back up. He raised a large, clawed hand, but he didn't get a chance to bring it down, to strike them. Not before Rocky jumped in front of them, using his large talons to fend off the beast.

Whimpering, the werewolf ran off. "Go Rocky!" Charles called as the hippogriff pranced in front of him.

Max checked the time on his watch. "Come on," he said, once again reaching for Charles's hand. Over the course of the evening he'd noticed just how much he'd enjoyed that, enjoyed holding Charles's hand. "We've got to get back to the castle."

But Charles ripped his hand away from Max. "We need to go and save Nico!" He called before he took off running. "Someone was there, Max! Someone cast a patronus and fended off the dementors! I need to know who it is!"

But, when they got to the lake, nobody was there. Just Charles from the past cradling Nico's body as dementors fed off of them. "Charles!" Max called.

"They're coming to help! I know they are!"

But Charles from the past and Nico looked terrible, close to the end. "Charles, you're dying. And nobody's coming," he said softly.

Charles bit his lip as he looked at Max. He sucked in one steady breath and ran over to the edge of the lake. He raised his wand, drew in a deep breath and bellowed, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

It was an incredible sight. Max knew Charles was capable of some serious magic, he just didn't realise it was this serious. All of the dementors left the scene just in time for Professor Alonso to lift the unconscious Charles and Nico away from the scene.

Nico, they could still save Nico. "Come on!" Charles shouted as he climbed onto Rocky's back. Taking Max's hand, he pulled him onto Rocky's back and he secured his arms around him.

Rocky flew them out of the woods. "Where would Alonso put Nico?" Max shouted over the sounds of the wind.

"When we were in the shack, he said something about the tower," Charles called back.

That was exactly where Rocky took them. As he landed them outside of the cell, Max slipped from Rocky's back and cast a spell to open the door.

Immediately, Nico ran out to them. "Thank you," he said to them. "Both of you. If it wasn't for your bravery, I would have lost my life."

"Quick, take Rocky and go, before the dementors come," Charles said. He helped Nico onto the Hippogriff's back. Immediately they took off, and Charles and Max began running, heading back to the hospital wing.

When they got there, Professor Schumacher was pulling the doors shut behind him. "We did it," said Charles, his hands on his knees. "We saved both of them."

Professor Schumacher looked at the both of them. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said and took his leave, leaving the boys standing there.

Charles released a breath. "I can't believe we actually did it," he said, grinning at Max. "Should we go and tell her all about it?"

Max nodded his head and Charles pushed his way into the hospital wing. He watched, frozen in place as he strode across the room, over to her. Suddenly, Max didn't feel so jealous as he watched Charles run his fingers through her hair.

That was when he realised, he liked boys, too.

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