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damnasstyles · 11 months

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One for the Money*

Summary: Working as an assistant for the CEO of a large corporation doesn't always pay the bills. So, you've turned to OnlyFans in an attempt to rake in a little extra cash.

Unbeknownst to you...your boss, Harry Styles, is an avid subscriber.

Word Count: 6.9k (hehe)

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are much more important!*

Soft, curvy hips. Silky, sweaty skin. Pink, pouted lips.

You.

Harry’s eyes trail across the length of your body that sits snugly within the small frame of his phone. He watches every twitch of your fingers, every rise of your chest, every curl of your toes.

You’ve been teasing him for the past five minutes. Or rather, you’ve been teasing your audience. Letting the tips of your fingers travel across your collarbones before dancing up your inner thighs. Sighing contently the closer you get to actually touching yourself.

But he’s not here to watch you come. Not exactly. He’s here because he promised himself that he would keep an eye on you. That he’d make sure you were taking care of yourself outside of his office, outside of your work.

And he can’t deny he’s interested in observing your technique.

He’s not new to porn. He’s not new to the idea of showing off for a camera or creating a business out of pleasure.

But he can tell you are. And try as he might, he can’t help but feel rather fascinated by the ways in which you’re attempting to earn a little extra cash when you’re not with him.

He just wishes you’d do it better.

He can’t help it. It’s hardwired into his DNA to search for improvements. To create business plans and strive for the highest profit. And ever since he happened to stumble across your OnlyFans account, he’s been noticing areas in which a bit of guidance could be helpful.

Like today for example. You’d started the video already on your bed when Harry would have suggested you gradually walk into frame. Reveal yourself slowly to your audience. Let them anticipate you.

You were already in your underwear, too, and he’d wondered how much better it would have been if your viewers had been privy to a little strip tease.

Which led him to his next thought: your lingerie. Plain, simple, and rather boring if he was being honest. Nothing exciting, sexy, or intriguing about it.

Sure, it was an upgrade from the flesh-colored bra and panties combo you normally picked. Now you were wearing a light lavender set with some subtle lace. Even still, it did little to accentuate the idea you were trying to sell.

But he has to admit, you’re getting better at edging your subscribers. You used to jump straight into the main event, bypassing a majority of the foreplay in favor of coming.

Now you take your time. Tease yourself a little. Work yourself up. Allow the audience to see the growing wet patch between your pretty thighs as they anxiously await for how you take care of it.

He smirks to himself as he leans back in his office chair and allows you to continue on with your routine.

Your soft little pants are precious, he thinks. Sweet, even. Which he supposes is fitting with a stage name like Peach Valentine. And you get even sweeter when you hook a finger into your underwear to pull it away and drag your touch through.

You’re so…gentle, Harry notices. Jolting from the first graze of your digit through your arousal alone. Circling your clit once before shivering and pulling your hand away to catch your breath.

You must be sensitive. It would probably be far too easy to overstimulate you and leave you in tears. Something else your viewers might like to see, although he’ll never be able to suggest that to you.

You have no idea that he’s a subscriber. In fact, you have no idea that he even knows you do this at all. And why would you? What you do on your own time is none of Harry’s business, and he certainly doesn’t care that this is how you’re making some extra cash.

He just…wishes he could offer his input. Help you earn the kind of money he knows you’re capable of making.

Or perhaps this is just his pathological need to look for a profit rearing its ugly head.

Your quick whimper brings his attention back as you finally push a finger in, body stretching to accommodate.

He hums proudly without realizing, letting his palm fall to his trousers so he can lightly push against his throbbing cock.

He made it a rule to never get off to one of your videos. He’s already towing the line of mixing business with pleasure by even watching you. And he’s a businessman, first and foremost. Not to mention your boss. He’s merely here to support you. Help you. Make sure you’re getting what you need.

It’s not about him, and truth be told, he’d like to keep it that way.

He can’t allow himself to slip like he did before.

He won’t.

He attempts to ignore the twitching of his dick as he watches you add a second finger, pumping it slowly as you work yourself closer.

And even still, he can’t help but imagine how he would guide you if he were there.

“Suck your fingers,” he’d suggest, maybe even bringing your hand to your mouth. “Nice and wet, Peach, come on.”

And you would do just that because even as his assistant, you’re always so diligent when obeying his instructions.

“Tease your clit,” he’d order next. “Play with it. Let them see how pretty it looks all swollen and sensitive.”

You’d show the camera and Harry would pull your leg back to provide a better angle. Let the light catch your glistening cunt as you mewled desperately.

“Good girl,” he’d praise just to watch you flush. You always tend to bask in his compliments, as rare as they are. But he’d offer it to you now if he could. “Tell them how good it feels to be stretched, Peach. Tell them how fucking full you feel. How you’re being so good for them. So sweet.”

You’d do just that. You’d speak to your audience and give them a show that would have them fucking their fists, their fingers, or their toys until they had nothing left to give. Until they had no choice but to come back and watch you do it again.

And after it was over, Harry would insist on you providing yourself with a bit of aftercare.

He’d tell you to run a bath, let your muscles soak in the warm water. He’d tell you to light your favorite candle and fill the tub with bubbles. He’d tell you to have a glass of wine and think about how good you made yourself feel.

He’d tell you to think about how proud he was of you.

And then he’d burn that horrendous excuse for lingerie.

Your hips buck up as you moan, two fingers plunged deep within your cunt as the heel of your hand grinds against your clit.

You’re close and you’re trying to stay quiet as you get to your orgasm, but Harry wishes you wouldn’t. He wishes you’d make it a show. Let yourself feel what you need to feel. Make the sounds that you need to make.

All you’re really trying to do is get to your orgasm so you can be through. But if you’d just forget about the camera and fuck yourself the way you deserve…he knows your subscriber count would skyrocket.

You just need someone to show you.

Harry wonders (not for the first time) if your timid nature on film is merely the result of being unfamiliar with a camera or if you’ve simply never been shown what real sex can feel like. He knows you have quite an active social life. Knows you’re very outgoing, not too terribly shy, at least not around him.

You do go on dates from what he’s gathered in the year you’ve been working for him. You’re incredibly pretty. Outrageously sexy when you want to be, although apparently you don’t know how to use your appeal to your benefit.

Either way, there’s something…off. And the urge to fix it for you is strong.

You cry out, the sound of your orgasm reverberating from his phone speaker and echoing around his empty office.

He doesn’t bother concealing the volume. It’s almost midnight, there’s nobody else on this floor but him. And he happens to like sitting here in his office with you like this. It’s almost a routine for him.

Despite the fact that seven hours from now you’ll be strutting through his door ready to start the workday. Completely unaware that your boss has watched you come all over your pretty little fingers.

Truth be told, that might be his favorite part.

You whimper something unintelligible as you ride the wave of euphoric ecstasy before slumping back down in bed. Your breathing is quick and labored, thighs still shaking as you slowly pull your hand away and reach for the camera.

Just like that…you’re gone.

Harry tosses his phone onto his desk before running a hand down his face. He likes this video more than some of your others. It was…cute. Simple. Maybe a little lackluster but you clearly needed the release. And that’s what he likes to see.

Your desperation.

He’d noticed that you’d been on edge this past week, and he is glad to know you’ve finally scratched that itch. He can’t help but wonder if he’ll notice a change in you tomorrow.

The idea makes him smile before he glances down at the prominent tent still residing in his pants.

Now it’s his turn.

Harry’s eyes won’t leave your chest.

They’re magnetized to your tits, never once deviating from the space where your blouse hugs your bra as you read off his schedule.

In fact, he’s been staring ever since you walked into his office this morning. Focused yet distracted. Almost as if he’d completely zoned out and forgot to look away.

And it’s not at all subtle, sage green iris glued to the curve of your body while you talk and pretend not to notice.

Truth be told, you think it’s rather funny. Harry’s not one to make you uncomfortable or put you on edge. You’ve been working as his assistant for almost a year now and in that time, you’ve learned a few things about him. Like the fact that he values hard work and professionalism. That he appreciates attention to detail and wants things done in an orderly fashion. That he looks for every opportunity to make the most money.

He's not as sleazy as some of the other guys you’ve worked for. In fact, there was a point when you wondered if he even had a sex life. Although with a face like his, you imagined he must have. But he never talked about it, never made any inappropriate comments, and never tried to fondle you as you passed by.

So, while this staring is a tad unusual for him, you can’t help but feel entertained. If anything, you look forward to pointing it out and watching him stammer out an explanation.

Assuming he manages to snap himself out of this trance he seems to be under.

“—and then you have a five o’clock dinner with Alex. And he made a point to mention that you’re not allowed to cancel on him,” you tell the distracted man across from you. “Again. Or he’ll sue. Which I think would be kind of funny, but whatever.”

Harry says nothing, unfocused stare still cemented to your chest.

“And then this weekend you’re meeting Kira for drinks to talk about the start-up she’s hoping to get you to invest in,” you continue, smirking to yourself before looking down at his schedule. “But she wants to call you around three to get your opinion.”

“Uh-uh,” he finally murmurs, eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly as he seems to study you.

You run your tongue over your bottom lip. “Mhm. And then tonight you’ve got that orgy in Central Park. Which you can’t be late for again. You know, since you’re the one bringing the lube.”

“Yeah. Right. Got it,” he replies absentmindedly.

You lower the notepad onto your lap and lean closer to his desk. “Mr. Styles.”

The increase in volume and use of his name makes him blink as he seemingly shakes the fog from his mind, finally dragging his eyes up to yours. “What?”

You nod your chin at him. “Are you okay?”

“Hm? Yes, I’m fine. Continue,” he replies, pushing himself back into his chair as if to get comfortable.

You debate his answer for only a moment before conceding and glancing back down at the planner. “Okay then. Andrew called, too. He’d like to go over the proposal he sent before your meeting tomorrow. He also wants to make sure you got the proposal as he’s convinced you send his emails straight to the spam folder.”

Harry’s mouth quirks up in an amused grin before his attention lazily trails back down your neck and toward your chest.

“And then Casey stopped by, she’d like to have a word before you leave today,” you continue before noticing the way his stare has drifted. “And wanted to know if you’d—okay, seriously, what is going on?”

A bit stunned, Harry blinks yet again and pulls his focus back up. “What?”

You glance over your blouse as well, looking for anything that might be wrong or out of place. “I mean, do I have a stain or something? Can you see my nipples? Is there a loose string?”

His confusion is evident. “Pardon?”

You motion back and forth in front of the area he’d been so attentive to. “You keep staring at me like something’s wrong. Is it a stain, did I spill toothpaste on myself or something?”

Finally putting the pieces together, he shakes his head once. “No, I was just…thinking.”

“About my tits?” you tease.

But he doesn’t laugh. “Yes, actually.”

A bit stunned, you hesitate. “Oh…uh. Okay? Is…why?”

He lifts one shoulder in nonchalant shrug, unfazed by this admittance. “Just curious as to how they might look in red.”

You smirk. “I’m sorry…what?”

“Red,” he repeats. “I imagine it would work well with your complexion. Although black would, too. And it adds a bit of intrigue.”

Your entertained chuckle dwindles down to a bemused grin. “I…Mr. Styles, I don’t…I don’t get it.”

He nods again, seeming to have assumed as much before leaning closer, folded hands finding his desk. “I’m attempting to improve upon your current wardrobe. Find what might work best for you going forward.”

Unsure whether to be flattered or insulted, you lean back in your chair. “Uh…okay. Is there some sort of new company policy on underwear I don’t know about?”

“This is not the company’s policy, no. But it is mine. Or…it’s yours. At least, it should be.”

“That was…incredibly vague,” you snort, head tilting. “Seriously, what’s going on? Am I doing something wrong?”

“No,” he says simply. “Not wrong, per se. I just think you might benefit from a bit of an…upgrade.”

“In…underwear.”

“Among other things, yes.”

You exhale a soft laugh as you glance down at your lap. This is quite possibly one of the strangest conversations the two of you have ever had, and you’ve had a few. Mostly when he’s drunk. Or pissed about a deal going sour. “All right, I’m thoroughly confused.”

“By what? I’m offering you some business advice.”

“Okay, well, I’m an assistant, remember? I don’t have a business.”

“No,” he agrees. “No, but…Peach Valentine does.”

The sound of your online porn pseudonym is like a slap to the face. Your eyes widen, your cheeks flush, and you just about melt through the floor. You consider feigning confusion although you don’t imagine that will help your case. If he knows the name, he knows that your face has been in almost every one of the videos.

Instead, you swallow thickly. “How…how do you know about that?”

“I’m your boss,” he says simply. “It’s my job to know everything about you.”

“I’m…I…” Good god, you have never been more humiliated in your life. “Mr. Styles, I’m…I don’t know what to say, I’m…I’m so sorry, I—”

“Relax,” he interjects. “What you do on your own time is your own choice. As long as it doesn’t interfere with your work or my company, you are free to do whatever you’d like.”

“Well…well, still. I’m sure that wasn’t something you wanted to see—”

“On the contrary. It was quite informative.”

There’s something methodical about the way he speaks. As if he’s given your porn a great deal of thought.

You’re tempted to feel ashamed that your boss has discovered your outside activities. Because Harry Styles is nothing if not intimidating, not to mention incredibly respected in his field. And for a man of only thirty, he’s already created quite a name and business out of nothing more than a hundred dollars and a storage unit he rented from his neighbor.

The idea that he knows you…defile yourself for strangers on the internet is incredibly chastening.

And it makes the blood drain from your face as you swallow thickly and meet his eye. “Oh?”

He nods once, deep set eyes studying you a bit closer. “Your content has quite a lot of potential. Truth be told, I hate to see it wasted on those cheap bras and faulty vibrators.”

You blink. “You…what?”

“I assume you don’t do this for the fun of it,” he comments. “So if you expect to actually turn a profit and bring in a larger audience, you’ll need to consider improving your stock.”

“I’m sorry, did you just refer to my pussy as stock?”

His smile is smug as he crosses his arms. “Of sorts. It is the income earner. The main attraction. Which is why it’s such a shame that you dress it up in nothing more than flimsy underwear you buy in a pack from Wal-Mart.”

“Oh, sure, okay,” you snort, tossing him a strange look. “Very nice. How do you know all of this anyway? Why were you even watching? And why does it matter how I make my videos?”

“I’m a businessman,” he says simply. “It’s kind of my job to look for improvements. And yours were glaringly obvious.”

You scoff.

“Second, I was watching because, like I said, it’s my job to keep an eye on my employees,” he continues. “Make sure what you do doesn’t reflect poorly on me. And to make sure you’re actually doing it right.”

Your eyes narrow although you’d be lying if you said it didn’t create a rather intriguing feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“And third…it matters because you are wasting your potential when you could be earning thousands of dollars a week.” He pauses as if to let this sink in. “With all the content already out there, you need to stand out. Make a name for yourself. A persona. A reason for people to come back.”

“They come back,” you can’t help but retort. “I’ve already got quite a few loyal subscribers. And I’m making decent money from how I’m doing it now.”

“Decent, yes,” he agrees, almost condescendingly. “And yet you still can’t buy yourself a nicer set of lingerie for the audience quite literally paying you to do so.”

With a wounded sneer, you look back down at your blouse. “Okay, rude. The stuff I have is nice. And isn’t the whole point of the video when I take it off?”

“Not necessarily,” he counters. “Part of the mystery comes from dragging the audience along with you. Making them sit and watch as you dangle what they really want right in their face. Wrapped up neatly in a lacey one-piece with a red bow.”

“Oh, yeah? And how would you know?”

“Do you really think I don’t watch porn…Peach?” he replies, and the nickname makes your pulse quicken. “It’s not just about setting up a camera so you can fuck yourself. It’s about creating an entire mindset for every person behind the screen. It’s about getting them off in the same way you’re getting yourself off.”

He makes an excellent point. Something he seems to do quite often, and it makes your blood boil. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway because things are fine the way they are.”

“Really? Do you make enough to quit your job with me?”

You hesitate. “Well…no.”

“Do you make enough to cover your rent?”

“…no.”

“Do you make enough to cover your utilities?”

Oh, you hate him. “Okay, no. But I don’t see why you should care.”

“Why wouldn’t I care? I can see a clear opportunity for you to make better money and I’m sharing that with you. I’d say that makes me pretty fucking nice.”

“Well, you called my underwear cheap. Which isn’t nice.”

“Doesn’t have to be nice if it’s the truth,” he argues. “In almost every one of your videos, you’re dawning those atrocious flesh-colored bras with absolutely no sexual appeal what-so-ever. And I’m willing to bet you a hundred dollars that you bought them from TJ Maxx.”

You really fucking hate him. “Okay…so? People only care about what’s beneath the bra, anyway. And why have you watched so many videos if they’re so atrocious, huh? And doesn’t that go against some sort of company policy? Watching your assistant get off?”

A moment of silence passes between you as he smirks. “You ask a lot of questions,” he muses. “But never the right ones. I watched them to help your view count. And no. We’re not breaking any HR rules, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Okay, well…that’s still weird that you watch.”

“Really? I would think you’d feel more comfortable knowing you had a familiar face in the crowd.”

You consider this. “I mean, maybe if you weren’t my boss.”

“Is that all I am to you? Just a boss?” He’s far too amused as his lips pull back in a grin. “Shame. And here I thought we were almost friends.”

“Yeah, well, friends don’t tell friends their bras are cheap.”

“Well, they are.”

“They are not.”

“Hate to break it to you, Peach, but twenty dollars is cheap. At least as far as lingerie goes.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’ll have you know that this bra cost me almost forty dollars.”

“Really?” He glances back down at your chest, almost as if amazed. “Well, by all means, take it off and let’s see it.”

“…what?”

“Your shirt. Take it off and let’s see this fancy new bra that’s gonna make you a porn star.”

You scoff again as your eyes roll. “Funny. I never said porn star, I just don’t see why it matters how much detail I—”

“I’m sorry, did I stutter?”

You wind down to a stop. “What?”

His expression is stoic. Perfectly groomed eyebrow cocking upward as he nods at you. “Did I stutter? I said, take. It. Off.”

“Yeah, no, I heard you the first two times. I just…why?”

“Why? Because I just fucking told you to.” He’s calm but there’s a definite edge to his reply. “Now take it off before I have to ask you again.”

Confused and slightly annoyed, you stand up, drop the notepad onto his desk, and reach for the hem of your blouse. Once you’ve pulled it over your head, you allow it to dangle beside you as Harry’s eyes rake down your chest.

You’re tempted to feel embarrassed under his scrutinous gaze, but you imagine it’s far too late for that now.

Besides, there’s something tantalizing about his eyes on you. About a man with his features, his assets, and his assertive demeanor that almost makes you want to bare yourself to him.

After a moment, he leans back in his large chair, chin raising as he studies you. “So, this is it, then? This is what you think is gonna attract views? This pathetic excuse for lingerie?”

“What? It’s cute,” you argue, glancing down at the lavender lace. “Men like that. You know, simple. And girly. It reminds them of innocence.”

“No,” he snorts, resting his temple against two fingers. “No, it merely reminds them that you don’t know what you’re doing. That the money they send you goes to shit like…that.”

He haphazardly gestures to the plain bra as you frown.

“Okay, well, I bought this with the money you pay me, actually,” you retort. “As cheap as my paycheck is. And I seem to be doing just fine if you’re one of my subscribers.”

“I subscribed to keep an eye on you,” he reminds you haughtily. “And because you clearly need someone to tell you how to do it right.”

“Oh, please. Tons of people love my content.”

“They’d like it a lot more if you weren’t wearing your grandmother’s hand-me-downs.”

You lean back, feigning insult. “I’ve gotten a ton of compliments on this one. They think it’s sweet.”

“That’s because they’re horny bastards that want you to take it off so they don’t have to look at it anymore and lose their hard-ons,” he argues. “And once you have, they have no reason to stay. And the less engagement you get, the less money you make. Until my cheap little paycheck is the only thing paying your rent.”

Your lips purse as you take in his unfazed expression and rather confident tone. Yet another excellent point, and despite how strange this entire conversation has become…you’re slightly impressed by his tips.

“Fine,” you concede. “Fine, let’s…let’s say there are some areas I could improve in. How…how would I do that?”

He smirks to himself before reaching for his coffee and taking a deliberate sip. “I’m so glad you asked.”

With yet another roll of your eyes, you pull your shirt back on, and flop down onto the seat. “Great.”

He chuckles under his breath before ripping a sticky note free and grabbing a pen. “Write down your measurements. I’m gonna send some potential outfits to your apartment and I’d like you to try them on.”

You watch him scribble something across the top of the memo. “Okay…and this doesn’t feel weird to you?”

“No.” He slides it toward you. “As your boss, it’s my job to look after you. Offer wisdom and advice, make sure you’re prepared. If you’d like, you can think of it as a business deal. And this is me investing in you.”

“Ah, yes, my pussy stock,” you tease, and he smirks. “Okay, and what if I hate everything you send?”

“You won’t.”

“But what if I do?”

“You won’t.”

“But what if I—”

“Then you can return them, and we’ll try again,” he decides, gesturing for you to take the pen. “I’ll have Nadia drop them off this evening.”

After writing down your preferred sizes, you hand the notepad back, and raise an eyebrow. “I’m guessing this’ll come out of my paycheck?”

“Why would it? I told you. This is an investment, Peach.”

You watch as he returns his attention to his computer, mindlessly typing as you mull this over. “So…you want something in return.”

“No.” His eyes flick across the screen before the typing continues. “All I want is to see my assistant…succeed in her business. You owe me nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” He nods once and then looks back to you. “See? Nice.”

You scoff playfully before grabbing onto his planner. “Fine. May I finish reading you your schedule now?”

“Yes. Yes, you may.”

The collection of lingerie lays across your bed as you stare. The variety of colors, designs, and material making your head spin.

Mr. Styles wasn’t kidding when he said he’d be sending an assortment. He said he wanted you to feel free to choose between them, and was sure there would be at least one or two that you’d feel comfortable in.

Looking at them now, you’re almost overwhelmed, amazed by the number of choices. You have to admit, he’s done a rather excellent job. You can’t imagine rejecting any of these, and you’re almost excited by the prospect of trying them on.

Granted, it still feels rather odd to be trying on underwear that your boss bought for you. But you understand his premise. Understand that to him this is simply about helping you grow your account and increase your potential earnings.

You appreciate the way he’s handling this with so much professionalism. Sure, it’s a bit peculiar, but you don’t think you really mind. You appreciate the help. And considering your boss looks like Mr. Styles, you know it could certainly be worse.

As you ponder your choices, your eyes dart back to the card he’d sent along with the lavish box:

Pick whichever you’d like. But once it’s on, do not take it off.

Smiling to yourself, you toss it aside, and reach for the red one-piece. It seems to be the tamest of the bunch, yet it’s still quite sexy.

Getting it on is rather difficult, considering how many ties and pieces are involved, but once you figure it out…you step up to the mirror.

It’s…stunning.

Sensual, skimpy, and Mr. Styles was right…red is your color.

You’ve never felt so beautiful and your heart leaps into your throat as you spin around and take note of your reflection from every angle. It hugs your body in all the right places, it dips down your chest teasingly, and it showcases your cunt like a prize.

Which…you suppose it is.

You don’t waste any more time, immediately moving everything off your bed so you can set up your camera and begin.

You start slow, allowing your hands to travel from your shoulders to your stomach as your finger dances down the valley between your breasts.

You indulge in the feel of the fabric on your warm skin. Imagine how it would look between someone’s teeth as they ripped it off.

Between his teeth.

Truth be told, you’ve never imagined your boss in such a context. Other people, sure. An ex. A celebrity. A couple you saw in porn.

But never your boss, never Mr. Styles.

Why? You aren’t quite sure. He’s certainly attractive enough. With his expensive suits, his chiseled jaw, and his large hands that are always sporting rings.

And the few occasions you’ve seen him in a casual t-shirt and jeans was almost enough to knock you over. You assumed he went to the gym. You just didn’t realize how frequently.

Images of his arms, his muscles, his tattoos begin to flood through your mind. They guide your hand further between your legs as you squirm and allow your fingers to ghost through your pooling arousal.

You imagine his voice. That soft, silky cadence demanding you touch yourself the right way. Telling you to be good, be patient. Not be so greedy.

You attempt to follow the request, circling your clit a time or two before teasing your hole. You’re so desperate to feel full, even if it’s just your own hand. Want more than anything to chase this pleasure building in the pit of your stomach.

“Sir,” you whisper, hips raising as if to follow your digit as it glides through your wet folds. “Please…”

“Not yet,” you picture him saying. “Not until I say. Is that understood, Peach?”

You nod, despite the fact that he’s not really here.

With a shaky inhale, you raise your palm to your chest, pulling on your tit before giving it a nice squeeze through the fabric of the thin covering.

You remember his instruction to keep the set on, smirking a bit as you consider his reaction. You aren’t sure if he’ll be watching this one, although you imagine he will be if he’s so desperate to keep an eye on his investment.

And knowing that he’ll be watching you later makes goosebumps explode across your back as you whine and finally slip a finger inside.

You spend the next twenty minutes edging yourself. Bending your legs to get a better angle, a better stretch. Arching off the bed whenever you get close just to crumple when you pull your hand away.

You’re fucking soaking your fingers. Soaking the beautiful lace. Soaking the bed beneath you and all you can think about…is soaking him.

How pretty he’d look with you dripping down his chin, or dripping down his thigh, or dripping down his cock.

The rush of pleasure nearly overwhelms you. It’s quite possibly the fastest you’ve reached an orgasm and before you allow yourself to finish, you picture him one last time.

“Fucking come,” you hear him whisper inside your mind, imagining his soft lips grazing the outer shell of your ear. “Right now, Peach. Let them see what a pretty, little cumslut you are.”

It rips through you hard and fast. Your eyes roll back, your toes curl, and you nearly scream for mercy. In fact, you almost scream his name but manage to resist before you’re lost to the sensation.

It takes you a few minutes to regain consciousness and turn off the camera. Your thighs still shaking as you crawl across the mattress to hit the button, a few aftershocks hitting you on your way.

You shiver when you feel it, glancing down toward your cunt where the dark, red fabric resides.

And seeing the remnants of your orgasm still dripping down your skin makes you smile.

Mr. Styles says nothing when you walk through the door to his office the next morning. He doesn’t even look away from his computer, one hand cradling a phone to his ear while the other scribbles something on a notepad.

You don’t mind, though. You didn’t expect him to want to continue on with the conversation. He already did his part and now, you’ve done yours. Things will go back to how they’ve always been and you’re more than okay with that.

“I understand,” he says as you take a seat on the sofa across the room from him. Your usual spot. “Yes. I’ll send them over. Mhm. All right.”

With that, the call ends, and finally…his eyes drift to you.

“Morning,” you call, already gathering the things you’ll need to take notes.

“Good morning,” he replies slowly, eyebrows pulling together as if observing you. His voice is deeper than normal, and it makes a chill run up the back of your neck.

You shake it free. “Janice mentioned you already stopped for coffee on your way in, but if you’d like, I can make another run before lunch.”

“No.” He rests his arms on his desk, leaning into it as if trying to somehow get closer to you. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

“All right.” You click your pen and hover it near the top of the paper. “Are you ready to begin?”

A beat. He’s quiet. Unusually quiet for this time of morning. He’s normally one to jump right into the list of things he’d like you to do and now…he does nothing but stare.

You’re getting a weird sense of déjà vu.

You clear your throat. “Mr. Styles?”

His head tilts. “Yes?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. I was just thinking.”

“Again, huh? Been doing a lot of that recently. Let me guess, my shoes are wrong?”

You add a teasing lilt to your jab but all he does is push up onto his feet and stride around the desk.

Shit.

“Your shoes are fine,” he says calmly, stopping on the other side of the table only to lean back into it. “That’s not the part of your wardrobe I’m interested in.”

“No?” You shoot him a smirk. “Then it’s my skirt. You think it’s cheap and boring.”

His response is to lift his finger into the air and motion you forward.

Now slightly nervous and a tad apprehensive on what his reaction will be, you obey his command, and stand from the couch. With slightly wobbly legs, you approach his side of the office, eyes glued to his while willing yourself not to trip.

You stop about five feet away, heart hammering in your chest as he sucks in deep breath.

“It’s not your skirt,” he finally says, raking in your figure once more before landing on your face. “It’s what’s underneath your skirt.”

Your ears begin to ring. “Oh?”

He steps closer. “I’d like to know if you took my advice.”

Of course he would. “I did,” you reply as calmly as you can manage. “Yeah, picked one of the sets and wore it for a video.”

His lips dance up into an amused smile. “Yeah? Good. Which one?”

“The red one.”

“Red.” His grin widens. “Interesting.”

Fucking bastard. “Yeah, well. What can I say? When you’re right, you’re right.”

He takes another step, and the smell of his cologne washes over you until you feel a bit lightheaded. Why the fuck does he always smell so good? Like sex and money.

“I’m always right,” he replies, eyes trailing down to your chest, watching the way it heaves beneath your silk shirt. “And did you follow my other request?”

Your lip slides between your teeth as you nod once. “Mhm. Kept it on the whole time. And you were right again, it really…really spiced up the video.”

“Yeah?” His head cocks. “Shame I haven’t had a chance to watch it yet. Sounds like you really stepped up.”

“I…I think so.”

“Good.” He nods as well. “Good. Glad to see I could be of service.”

“Yes. Yeah, no, thank you. It was really…really generous. They were all so pretty and I know they’ll be fun to add into the mix.”

“Good,” he repeats. “Would you say it made you more…confident? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but confidence is key.”

You smirk. “I mean…I guess? I definitely…felt…sexier. I guess.”

“You guess,” he echoes, lids narrowing slightly.

“Well, I just…I don’t know. I’ve never really watched my own videos, so I don’t know if there was really a change,” you explain. “But I did feel sexier. So…thank you?”

You grimace at how awkward you sound, but Mr. Styles remains unmoved. “Interesting. So you haven’t watched this one?”

“No. I edited it a bit before posting, but no,” you say. “I don’t know, I think it might be weird.”

“It would be weird to watch yourself come?”

“Well…no. Yes? I don’t know.”

“Interesting.” His arms cross. “Is it weird to know I’ve watched you come?”

Well…shit. “Uh…” Your cheeks flush as you glance down at the floor. “I mean…I…uh…honestly? I don’t…I don’t know that either.”

He says nothing, merely waits for you to settle on an answer.

“I guess…yes?” you finally admit, voice rather timid as you finally look back up into that familiar green. “And also…no? You were right, it does feel…better knowing there’s someone in the audience I know. And…you know, you’re you, so…”

His eyebrow raises. “I’m me?”

Shit, shit. “Yeah, you know, you’re…” You wave your hand toward his body. “I mean you look like that, so…it’s…nice?”

He smiles. “It’s nice that I watch you come?”

“It’s nice that you subscribe,” you correct quickly. “And that you’re being so…helpful, I guess. And not pervy. So…thanks.”

“I want to help,” he says simply. “You’re bright, and you’re ambitious, and you deserve to make money any way you see fit.”

You mirror his grin. “Thanks.”

Suddenly, he turns on his heel, and strides around his desk to take a seat. “Speaking of,” he begins, pulling the keyboard closer. “I believe this brings us to our next order of business.”

“Which is?”

“Research.” His focus flicks across the computer as he types. “Part of expanding a business is the search for ways to improve it.”

“…okay?”

“So, I want you to watch the video,” he continues. “Right now. And I want you to tell me all the things you did right…and all the things you did wrong.”

Your jaw just about drops. “I…seriously?”

He turns to you. “Seriously.”

“I—right now? In the middle of the morning? In your office?”

“Yes.” His tongue runs over his bottom lip, watching you stammer with a smile. “Do you not want to improve?”

“I…I just…isn’t it weird to do that here?”

“No. This is my office. My company. What I do is nobody else’s fucking business but mine.”

Honestly, you aren’t sure how to feel as you study him. “Mr. Styles, I really appreciate it, but I don’t know if you really wanna see that.”

“Honey, I’ve already seen you come more times than I can count,” he replies casually, and despite yourself, you feel a rush of longing and excitement. “I’m your business partner, Peach. Let me help you, hm?”

Your lashes flutter, palms growing clammy as watch him angle his lap toward you and extend an arm.

“Come,” he murmurs.

Your feet make the decision before your brain can, taking you to where he sits before settling down over his legs.

You wonder why he didn’t ask you to pull up a chair but you aren’t about to complain. His thighs are strong. Sturdy. Almost as sturdy as his chest that he nonchalantly pushes into your back as he returns you both to the computer.

Perhaps this isn’t the wisest idea, but you have to admit, it would help to get an outsider’s perspective. You want to be proud of the videos you create. Want to be proud of this kind of work you do, and you definitely want to make some extra money.

You suppose if he knows how…what’s the harm?

“You all right?” he asks quietly, and you can feel his warm breath fan across your cheek as he glances over your shoulder.

You nod softly, throat going dry. “Mhm.”

“Good.” You catch his wry smile out of the corner of your eye before he’s reaching for the mouse and hovering it over the Play button. “Are you ready?”

No. Yes. Fuck.

Your heart pounds beneath your rib cage as your video’s thumbnail stretches across the screen. Guess there’s no going back now.

So, you take a deep, brave breath…and nod again.

“Yes.”

Very excited to explore these two and their horny ways 🥹 I know a lot hasn’t happened yet but I swear we’re just getting started!!

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

~ Other Harry Blurbs

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @kathb59

#current read #reading

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damnasstyles · 11 months

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harry going out of his way to interact with fans that call him daddy will be my downfall

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damnasstyles · 11 months

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damnasstyles · 11 months

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Damaged but aware

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damnasstyles · 11 months

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Just realized that the reason I love making friends on tumblr is because it’s exactly how you make friends on the playground as a six year old. No, I don’t know their name but they love mermaids too and built this awesome sand castle. No, I don’t know their age but their imaginary cheetah is friends with mine. You like this show? You like this character?? You can sing the theme song really loud??? Here is a flower crown. Here is a juice box. You can share my time and I might never see you again but part of you stays in my soul forever. In my mind we’re still on the swing set and the sky is blue and nothing will ever be wrong again.

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damnasstyles · 11 months

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NO MORE GAMES

A/N: so this concept might be familiar for some of you bc i posted about it earlier before i started working on it but now its officially here! and this is my thank you gift for all of you for reaching 15k followers!!! it's insane, thank you so much and hope to bring you even more stories soon!!!

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: Your friend forces you to give Tinder a try. Surprisingly you fetch a date with the handsome and a little bit older Harry. But he stands you up and you lose hope in dating. However it's a real plot twist when you run into him at your dad's barbeque and he is introduced to you as the future CEO of your father's company.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

“This has got to be the lowest point of desperation.”

“Don’t be so dramatic!”

“I’m not, this is truly the end.”

Dani rolls her eyes and just keeps tapping away on your phone’s screen, setting up your Tinder profile.

You. On Tinder. The app you swore you’d never use. How did this happen?

Well, it happened because your boyfriend of two years decided to dump you in a McDonald’s parking lot, only to post about his engagement to another woman on Facebook three weeks later.

Disgusting pig, you’re convinced you were blind and deaf in those two years, that’s how you could put up with him for so long.

You’ve been wallowing in your self-pity for the past three months and Dani, your best friend had enough and said that you need to get on a dating app, hook up with some fine ass men and forget about Cruz.

“Alright, it’s all set, want to have a look?” Dani smirks, obviously pleased with herself as she hands you over the phone.

It’s a decent profile, she chose some good pictures of you, your profile was never your concern, it’s others on the app that makes you crawl out of your skin.

“Perfect,” you flash her a forced smile, she grabs the phone and then starts swiping vigorously. “Hey! Don’t swipe right on everyone!”

“Not everyone! Just the hot guys!”

“You’re not even reading their bio!”

“Because I don’t care, we’re looking for a hookup, not your husband here, duh!”

You sit, feeling helpless as you watch your best friend decide who is worthy of you in the virtual meat market. This is really not your scene and you’re more than skeptical anything good will turn out from it.

Dani keeps swiping for a while before you finally talk her out of it and you settle watching a movie instead, forgetting about the profile that is now available for every single man in your area.

To be honest, it completely slips your mind until you’re getting ready for bed and unlock your phone to set an alarm and see all the notifications from Tinder.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, falling into bed as you unwillingly, but tap on one of the notifications and the app opens.

It’s been only a few hours, but you got twenty-seven matches and five out of those even messaged you. You instantly skip the first three because one straight up asks for nudes, one just sends you a bunch of emojis and the third one sent the worst pick up line you’ve ever heard.

The fourth one is okay, but it’s kind of… well, it’s a simple “Hi, how are you?” and you’re not sure how to reply to that, so then only one’s left.

Harry.

The age next to his name reads 36, that’s not that big of an age gap, only eight years, you’ve seen worse. Besides, he looks younger, almost your age according to the pictures. He has a couple, but not too many. He’s smiling on his profile picture, the t-shirt displays his many tattoos on one of his arms, his hair is slightly curly and mostly a mess, but it’s the good kind.

He is definitely your type.

He opened with referring to something that’s written in your bio which feels nice, knowing that he actually read it instead of just swiping right based on your pictures. Your thumbs hover over the screen for a bit before you finally give in and type him an answer.

He replies right away. And so the conversation starts.

One message follows the other, you’re jumping from one topic to the next and at one point it feels like you’re talking to an old friend and not a guy you’ve never actually met. The next thing you realize that it’s three am and you’re still talking.

Y/N: We’ve been talking for hours and you still haven’t asked for my number, should I take it as a bad sign?

HARRY: Didn’t want to seem too pushy, but I wanted to ask for it the moment I saw your profile.

You smile like a little girl as you type your answer.

Y/N: That would have been too soon, you’re right. But now would be a good time.

HARRY: Hey, crazy idea! Can I maybe have your number?

You laugh. You genuinely laugh at the screen and that probably never happened before.

You give him your number.

You didn’t think it would go this far, this whole Tinder ordeal Dani forced you into. You were kind of set that it won’t work so why should you even try?

Now it’s a surprising outcome that you’re on your way to meet Harry at a bar, only three days after texting nonstop. And you’re kinda nervous about it.

You haven’t been on a first date in a long time and it’s giving you the jitters as you get ready. Your experience getting to know Harry in the past few days has been incredibly positive, you wonder if it will be the same when you physically meet.

You arrive at the bar a little early and take a seat at the table he reserved on his name. To ease your nerves you order a vodka soda that you drink quickly, the alcohol mixing in your veins pretty fast, but you’re still nervous to meet him in real life.

As you wait, a guy comes up to you who seems to be more interested in your cleavage than you while he tries to chat you up, but you quickly reject him, your gaze keeps returning to the entrance, expecting Harry to walk in at any moment.

Minutes pass by and then seven o’clock rolls around, the time when you were supposed to meet, but you see no sign of him, which makes your stomach twist and turn. You double check the time, the date and the place to make sure you’re where you need to be.

“You seem awfully lonely,” a voice speaks up behind you and for a split second you think that it’s Harry, you just missed when he walked in, but when you turn around you see a totally different man, holding two drinks in his hands, clearly offering one to you. You make no effort to accept it.

“I’m not,” is all you say, turning your eyes back ahead. He doesn’t get the hint.

“If you’re waiting for someone I’m happy to be your company until they arrive.” He rounds the table and stands in front of you, blocking your view of the entrance entirely. Exhaling irritatedly, you finally look up at him, your face making an obvious statement that you’re not open to the chit-chat.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“You definitely seem like you could use some cheering up, let me be the–”

“Oh my God, are you really this dumb? It’s a no, I don’t want to talk to you, now leave the table!”

“Jesus, what a bitch,” he mutters under his breath as he walks away. Normally, you’d definitely call him out, but right now, you’re just staring at the entrance, almost like a maniac as the minutes pass by and there’s still no sign of Harry.

You check your phone, praying there’s gonna be a text at least, saying that he is just late, that he will be here soon, but nothing. It’s dead silent.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, your feet jumping underneath the table. It’s already twelve past seven. This is not just being fashionably late now.

You wait some more, hoping for a miracle, but it never comes. So does Harry.

When it’s been over thirty minutes you chug down the rest of your cocktail you ordered to make you seem less like a loser and call it a night. On your way out of the bar you pull up your messages with Harry and send him one last text.

Y/N: Thanks for nothing.

And then you block his number, throwing the experience to the very back of your head while you delete Tinder off your phone.

The annual barbeque is here. Once a year your dad’s home turns into one big fair, he invites most of his employees, investors and partners, throwing a feast in his backyard. It means about five hundred people invade your previous home, where you still spend a lot of your time even though you have your own apartment now.

You always come as well, because one, your dad loves to show you off and introduce to everyone and two, you usually use this occasion to network a bit. You’ve just opened your own gallery and what’s a better place to promote your art than a backyard full of wealthy investors? Selling your art can seem like an impossible task sometimes, or to be more precise, most of the time. Until your work is not known you make no profit, you need that first purchase that will bring in the rest and get the business rolling. Unfortunately you have not had that one first customer.

Yet.

It’s a sunny Saturday, as if your dad ordered the weather especially for the occasion. There has never been a barbeque with rain or cold before, your dad seems to have control over this as well. There’s endless food and drinks, several activities for children, since it’s a family friendly event and everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, mixing and mingling.

You’re nursing a mojito you mixed yourself, so it’s generous in the alcohol department. Wearing a white sundress you’re trying to have a word with everyone you know and everyone you want to know.

“Sweetheart!” You hear your father calling out and you spot him a few feet away, waving at you. “Come over here, I want to introduce someone to you!”

Excusing yourself from the conversation you slalom between the guests and reach your father under the oak tree that’s near the tiny pond in the middle of the backyard. Yes, your father has a pond in his backyard, as well as two pools, a jacuzzi and a whole ass greenhouse. He is just that extra.

“Hi daddy,” you smile, joining him as he places a hand to your back and gestures towards a man who is currently turned away.

“Y/N, let me introduce you to the man who will take my place in the future, my successor, if you’d like. This is Harry Styles. Harry, this is my only daughter, Y/N.”

Your body makes the realization faster than your mind. The man turns towards you, but by that moment you’ve already recognized the tattoos you’ve looked at in pictures more than you’d like to admit. Then you see his face and your stomach drops before your brain processes who you’re facing.

Harry stood you up on your first date two weeks ago and you thought you’d never see him, but fate decided to make a joke out of it, because now he is here, in the flesh, looking at you with a just as shocked expression as yours.

You both are quick to gain control back over your faces and Harry is the first one to break the silence.

“Hi, it’s, um… It’s nice to meet you,” he clears his throat as he holds a hand out for you. For a short moment you think of just turning around and walking away, but you don’t want to cause a scene and have your father question your behavior, so instead, you shake his hand, the touch of his skin sending tingles down your spine as you let go of it in a bit of a hurry.

“Yeah, it’s really nice to meet you,” you nod, but can’t hold back the spite in your voice. Luckily, your dad seems to be oblivious to the scene happening in front of him.

“Remember that awfully long procedure we had to find the perfect person to take over after me? Harry was the only one to survive it and I knew we found our guy.”

Your dad pats him on the shoulder proudly and Harry smiles back at him, but you notice how tense he appears to be, most likely because of your presence.

“Ah, he seems like a decent, reliable guy,” you add with a forced smile and you know he understands the meaning behind your words.

“He is!” you dad beams. “And Harry, this is my wonderful daughter, she graduated from CalArts, top of her class, she is an exceptional artist, you should see her work!”

He has seen your work. Well, virtually. Naturally, you talked about what you do and he asked you to send pictures and you did.

He loved them. Or at least that’s what he said. Now you question everything he wrote in his messages.

“I’m sure she is… fantastic.”

The torture continues for a few more minutes before others join the three of you and you have a chance to slip away, which you grab without hesitation.

It feels like all your blood is pumping in your head, you can’t tell if you’re shocked, angry or disappointed, most likely all of these together. Part of you wants to chug something strong to forget about it all, but then another part wants to read everything on him and tell him to fuck himself.

A tequila shot and some internal raging later you’re inside the house, it’s quiet, everyone is enjoying the weather outside, so you have a chance to settle your thoughts. With another mean cocktail in your hands you’re pacing back and forth in the spacious living room, your racing thoughts making it impossible to calm yourself.

“Can I at least try to explain myself?”

The voice coming from the sliding door that leads out to the backyard makes you jump and when you turn around you spot Harry standing there, looking awfully good, but you’re way too angry at him to acknowledge it.

“I don’t think I want to hear it.”

Out of frustration you can’t do anything else than drinking and avoiding to look at him, hoping he might disappear if you ignored him. Unfortunately, it’s not the case, he moves closer.

“Y/N, I’m really sorry about standing you up. It was unacceptable, I know. I had a… um, I had a family situation and I didn’t have a chance to let you know I wouldn’t make it.”

“What situation?” you ask right away, and when he hesitates you know it’s all made up. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I don’t need your apology, you didn’t think it was necessary to tell me you wouldn’t come then, now you’re only apologizing because you were forced to meet me.”

“Y/N, it’s not… it’s not what you think.”

“Oh, I think it’s very much what I think it is,” you let out a bitter laugh. “It’s fine, but I thought you were mature enough to tell me you’re not interested in me anymore. I’m a big girl, I can take the rejection.”

“But I was interested, I still–” He cuts himself off, not sure if it’s fine to say that he is still into you in the situation you found yourself in. “Y/N, I didn’t want to hurt you. This… It’s not how I planned it. I’m sorry.”

You want to stay mad. You want to stand your ground and unleash all your rage at him, but… you can’t. He might have been bullshitting you about why he stood you up, but he truly seems like he feels bad.

And he really looks way too good.

“Alright. Apology accepted.”

He looks visibly relieved, his shoulders ease and even a tiny smile appears on his lips.

“Thank you. Really. So… Do you want to have a drink now?” he chuckles, but the devilish smirk you flash at him scares him instantly.

“Oh, I said apology accepted. That doesn’t mean we’re fine and back at where we were.”

Before he could say anything or question what you said you walk away, leaving him in a blur.

You only see him from afar a few times until the end of the barbeque, you catch him staring quite a few times as well and his looks reflect hunger, so you assume your looks definitely live up to his expectations after all. You miss when he leaves at the end, but you know it won’t be the last time you see each other.

A plan is formed in your mind about how to teach him a lesson for standing you up. A little game, to be exact.

Two days after the barbeque you have to meet your dad in his office and you definitely don’t want to miss the opportunity to mess with Harry. You go out of your way to change before heading to the office, wearing a tight, extra short black dress that will surely catch his attention.

With a stack of documents under your arm you stroll into the building as if you owned it. Well, for a while you were set to inherit the business, but when your father realized you’re more into art, he ditched his plans and started looking for his successor. You remember how nervous you were before sitting down with him and telling him you wouldn’t take over the company like he wanted you to. To your surprise, he took it well and you realized he just wants you to be happy, doing whatever your heart desires.

As a side hustle, you still get involved in some part of the business, just to learn the basic ropes and gain skills you can use in other fields as well, so every once in a while you can be found in the office. Today is one of those days.

The girls behind the front desk smile at you warmly and let you pass by, heading straight up to your dad’s office on the top. Standing in the elevator you check your outfit, making sure it’s not too revealing, but will do the purpose you wore it for. It doesn’t look like you’re going clubbing, but the amount of leg you’re showing will definitely earn you Harry’s attention, just how you planned.

It’s like fate is playing on your side, when you’re approaching the office you spot Harry in there with your dad, a devilish smirk tugging on your lips as you finally reach the glass door, knocking on it gently. They both lift their head up, but the expressions they make are very different.

While your dad seems happy to see you, gesturing for you to come in, Harry on the other hand seems… shocked to say the least. Most likely not because he is seeing you, but because of how you look. You catch his gaze wandering down your legs right away, his chest rising with a deep breath as you walk inside.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt. I brought the documents you asked for.”

“You’re not interrupting anything, come in!” your dad waves around, rounding his desk to greet you with two kisses on your cheeks.

“Hi Harry, it’s so nice to see you again,” you smile at him charmingly, angling yourself so your legs are perfectly in his view.

“It’s uh, it’s nice to see you as well, Y/N.”

The blush on his cheeks is proof that your plan worked pretty well. While chatting with your dad, you keep an eye on Harry and see him practically devouring you with his eyes, his jaw clenches every time you move your weight to one leg and pop your hip out to the side. It’s safe to say he is a fan of your outfit.

“Alright, I better get going,” you sigh and start to pack your stuff when you drop your pen on purpose. The plan was to lean down and tease him even more, but he jumps to your rescue instantly, picking it up for you, but it gets his face to the same level as your thighs and he straightens up faster than the speed of light.

“Here,” he hands you the pen, obviously avoiding looking at you. This is probably the most fun you’ve had in a long time.

“Thank you,” you smile at him, making sure to brush your fingers against his hand as you take the pen from him. “Have a nice day.”

And with that, you stroll out of the office.

Y/N one, Harry zero.

You don’t give him much time to recover from your appearance at the office. A few days later, on Friday, you decide to take advantage of your dad’s pool, which is one of the reasons you spend so much time at his.

And of course because you love him.

Today however, you have a different reason to parade in his backyard in the tiniest bikini you own.

Your dad’s office has floor to ceiling windows watching over the glistening pool. Most of the time you try to avoid having a pool day when you know your dad is working from home, but Harry is here today, so that changes everything.

You saw him arrive a few hours ago from your room’s window and they are still working, so when you’re done with your own business calls you decide it’s time to go for a swim. The neon pink bikini you chose was worn last time in Miami on spring break when you were still in college, a wild weekend you’ll never forget, but you’ve changed since then and it’s not really your style, but it will serve the purpose the best. To help your success you ‘ve also covered your body in tanning oil, making you glisten in the sun.

Putting on your sunglasses you grab a towel and tanning oil and head outside.

It’s hot outside and you’re already planning to lie in the sun after a swim, the water glistening on your body. Putting on your best poker face you finally walk out and approach the pool. You know this place like the back of your hand, so you know exactly when you come into view from the office. Squaring your shoulders you keep your head high and walk up to one of the sunbeds, dropping your stuff down before striking a not too obvious pose as you put your hair up. Angling yourself just right, you catch a glimpse of what’s going inside and you need everything in you not to start grinning when you spot Harry not far from the window, staring at you like he is about to burst. Your dad is somewhere in the back on the phone, oblivious to the scene that’s happening so close to him.

The second act starts when you grab the tanning oil and start applying it, rubbing it into your skin, making a show out of it. Oh, how you wish you could see Harry’s face up close, but you have a good guess what’s happening in his mind and it’s very pleasing.

First, you lie down to tan some, normally you cover your head with a towel because of the heat and not care about how you look, but this time you try your best to look as if you just jumped out of a Sports Illustrated catalog.

Not long later it’s time to jump in the pool. You swim a few laps before emerging from the cold water and returning to your sunbed, all while imagining what could Harry be thinking right now.

You’re still chilling in the sun when you hear the sliding door open and spot your dad walking out. For a moment you freeze, afraid he might tell you off for using the pool when he is working with someone in his office, but he seems delighted.

“Hey, I have to head out for a quick meeting, I’ll pick up lunch on my way home, want me to grab you something?”

“That would be great, thank you,” you smile at him peeking over the rim of your sunglasses.

“Harry is here, so don’t be surprised if you run into him. He’ll probably stay in the office.”

“Alright.”

With that he turns around and disappears in the garage. You hear the engine start and then he drives away, leaving you and Harry as the only people in the house. Not to make it obvious, you turn to look inside the office, but you’re surprised to see that Harry is not there anymore. Has he left the house as well? Did your plan not work after all?

It’s starting to get too hot outside and you didn’t bring anything to drink so you decide to give up and go inside. Heading into the kitchen all you can think about is a glass of cold lemonade.

Rummaging through the fridge you grab the bowl of fruit salad you made yesterday and brought over and as you’re balancing everything in your hands and pushing the fridge’s door closed with your hips, it scares you when you see Harry standing behind you by the kitchen island.

“Jesus, are you a fucking ninja? I didn’t hear you.”

Walking closer you set everything down to the island and pretend like your pulse is not over the roof. Not just because of the scare, but because he looks incredibly good. FItted pants and simple white shirt, the top few buttons are undone, showing a glimpse of his chest, the sleeves are rolled up, allowing you to check out his tattoos as well. God, if you weren’t trying to teach him a lesson you would be all over him already.

It makes you feel better though that he is definitely checking you out as well. He is not trying to mask it too much, his eyes keep wandering down your body that’s still only covered at the most crucial parts by your tiny swimwear.

“Having a day off?” he leisurely asks, hiding his hands in his pockets as he leans against the island next to you.

“Nope, my work is pretty flexible. I’m mostly my own boss.”

You see him nod from the corner of your eyes as you dig into the fruit salad, trying to act casual and ignore the fact that you’re in a hot pink bikini while he is dressed for work.

“So how long are we going to play this?” he then asks out of the blue.

You know exactly what he is talking about, but you won’t give in that easily. With your hands on your hips you turn to face him with an innocent look on your face and you don’t miss how his eyes snap down to your chest, then to your lips before they move back to your eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A tiny little smile tugs on the corner of his lips as he looks away, out to the terrace where the pool’s glistening surface is probably reminding him of the show you gave him not long ago.

“Is this supposed to be punishment?”

“Did you do something you deserve punishment for?” you tilt your head to the side.

He opens his mouth to reply, but then decides against it, just stares back at you and you wish you could read his mind. He pushes himself away from the island and starts to walk away, you take it as your wind or this round, so you turn back to your snack, but then suddenly he moves back and cages you between his arms, his hands gripping the counter on either side of you. He is behind you now, not even touching you anywhere, but still, it’s as if he was everywhere on your body. Your breath hitches in your throat when you hear his low voice in your ear.

“If you want to play, I’m happy to play along. But be careful, you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

This should be the perfect moment for a clever remark, but your mind is so fogged up you can’t articulate one solid thought. He moves back and you feel his presence disappear from behind you before you see him walking back towards the office, but before he could disappear he shoots one last comment at you.

“Pink looks good on you!”

He did not joke when he said he would play along.

So far, only you’ve been playing this game, but since your little pool side performance, Harry has definitely turned it up on his side as well.

He has been pretty subtle so far. The bastard has noticed that his tattoos make you droop, that you love to check out his backside whenever he is wearing fitted pants and those smirks… they make you weak in the knees every damn time. And he takes every opportunity to use these against you whenever you run into each other.

You’ve been dropping by your dad’s office a lot more often than usually in hopes of seeing Harry and he’s been a frequent guest at your dad’s house as well. Stolen looks, tiny touches and never ending teasing have become your usual lately and you’ve been enjoying it way too much probably.

It’s been pretty long since you had a crush and it’s an exciting change to have this little thing going on with Harry, whatever it really is.

The major change is that you’ve started to text again. A few days after your encounter in your dad’s kitchen the flow started again and you’ve been talking ever since. It’s like before the failed date.

Two weeks pass by and you realize it’s been only small little games, nothing extreme since your show at the pool. You’ve been trying to come up with a move that will leave him defeated and a shopping spree with Dani is what gives you the idea.

She always makes you go lingerie shopping, she likes to surprise her boyfriend with new sets and while looking around you find one that catches your eyes and you end up buying it with the pure intention of making it part of your game.

You’ve never been that big of a fan of fancy lingerie sets, but you do know it’s what you need to spice the game up.

When you’re finally home you put on the quite revealing black set, fix your hair and even look up what poses are the best if you want to send racy pictures to your partner. Well, Harry is not your romantic partner, but definitely your partner in this game.

You take quite a few pictures, some in the mirror, some with a timer, your camera roll turns into the newest issue of PlayBoy and it takes even more time for you to choose just one. When you finally settle on one it’s time for the fun part. Opening up the text threat with Harry, you send the photo and a few moments later a text.

Y/N: Sorry, meant to send it to someone else.

And then you just wait.

For an hour your message stays unread, but then the status changes and your heart jumps into your throat. He saw the message eleven minutes ago, but there’s no response and it sends you down the rabbit hole.

Did your plan work? Is he fighting a major hard-on at the office? Or does he think your attempt to seduce him was ridiculous? Is he gonna lecture you about sending nudes? Why is he not responding???

Minutes turn into an hour and you’re losing hair at this point, regretting you even thought about sending him a spicy picture and you’re about to block his number, getting yourself ready to never see him again when your phone finally chimes with a message and Harry’s name appears in the notification.

HARRY: No. Shit like this can only be meant for me. I’m serious.

You gasp. Almost moan reading his words. And suddenly you forget about the madness you went through in the past hour. It was worth it, it was all worth it because this one message has lit you on fire.

His message stunned you so much you didn’t even reply. What could be said after that?

Got it, sir.

Or maybe…

Don’t tell me what to do.

Oh yeah, that would have really messed with him, but you chose silence and he didn’t double text you either. It stopped the flow of regular messages too and in the next three days you realize how much you miss him when you’re not talking.

You’re falling for him and you hate that beside the little games, he is not taking the step you want him to.

A few days after the picture was sent an old friend of yours comes to visit his family in the city and the two of you agree to catch up over dinner. Salim was your study buddy through college, he was always up to spend the entire day in the library whenever you had a theoretical exam to take. Art school wasn’t just painting and creating all the time, unfortunately. After graduation he moved to France with his boyfriend and has been living there for the past years, but he often comes home to visit his loved ones and he always makes time for you as well. You’ve been keeping in touch, but not as regularly as you used to and it’s great to talk when you’re not only in the same time zone but also in the same room.

“Look at you! You’re glowing!” he greets you when you get out of the Uber and he wraps you in a tight hug.

“Not as much as you! I see Claude is taking good care of you!” you chuckle, squeezing him back before letting go of each other. He looks stylish as always and you notice he’s starting to dress more and more like Claude, whose style is excellent, by the way. They fit each other really well.

You walk into the restaurant, it’s one of your favorite places and the host shows you your table. You order appetizers and drinks and dig into everything you haven’t discussed over the phone in the past couple of months.

“Now, tell me about that Tinder guy you last mentioned,” Salim smirks at you over the table and you realize you never told him the whole story, just that you were going on a date with Harry.

A lot has happened since then.

You update him about the failed date and the meeting at the barbeque and how you’ve been messing with each other since then.

“You did what?” He almost chokes on his wine.

“I sent him a nude picture,” you repeat yourself with a coy smile.

“You’re really brave, I would have never had the balls,” he snorts.

“I needed to step my game up. But we’ve been stuck since then.”

“He’s too busy jerking off to your photo,” he chuckles.

“No,” you smile. “Maybe he is… here.”

Your eyes grow wide when you spot the all too familiar form of Harry by the bar and he is staring at you with a bewildered look that does things to you that you can’t exactly explain.

“What?” Salim’s face forms a confused frown.

“He is… literally here. At the bar and don’t turn around, but he is looking straight at us.”

Your body is reacting as if you were caught doing something you weren’t supposed to, but nothing like that is happening, so you’re not sure why your reaction is so intense. Luckily, discretion is no problem for Salim, so he turns to see Harry in a way that’s not too obvious. When he looks back at you his eyes are just as wide as yours.

“Holy shit, he really is hot!”

“I know!” you whisper, not sure what to do, because Harry is still very much staring at you. “Fuck, should I say hi?”

“No, let him come to you if he wants to!”

Nodding, you try your best to focus on the food and your friend in front of you, but it’s almost impossible when you can clearly see Harry over Salim’s shoulder. Either he keeps staring at you or you always catch him looking, doesn’t matter, because it makes your stomach drop every time your gaze meets his.

Then your phone lights up with a text from him.

HARRY: I hope it’s not a date.

“Oh my God, he thinks we are on a date,” you whisper to Salim upon reading the text while keeping your face as straight as humanly possible.

“Is he jealous?”

“Most likely,” you nod, typing your response.

Y/N: And what if it is?

His reply comes before you could even lock the phone.

HARRY: It better not be.

Y/N: So bossy. Unfortunately, you have no right to hold me back from dating.

“I think I stood my ground, but I feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

Placing the phone back to the table with screen down you’re determined to focus on Salim from now on, but it’s just impossible to move on from those texts. At some point however, Harry disappears from your view and you fight the urge to check your phone to see if he had any response.

While Salim is trying to decide if he wants some dessert or just another cocktail you excuse yourself to the restroom. It’s definitely been an emotional rollercoaster, not just your usual friendly catch-up, you’ll surely be thinking about it for a while.

Just as you’re about to close the door behind you a foot sticks in and stops you and then everything happens so fast.

The door is forced open and you gasp as you take a step back and watch Harry walk in, close the door behind him and lock it as well. His eyes are burning as he looks at you and you’re just a speechless ragdoll as he pushes you against the cold, tiled wall, caging you between his arms, his hips pressing against yours.

“Who is he?” he hisses at you, his pupils dilated and wild and you’ve never seen him from this close, you’re basically breathing the same air.

“He’s…” You can’t speak or form any words, the air is pushed out of your lungs every time you try to fill them enough to give you the strength to speak up. Fuck, you’ve never seen him like this, but it’s making your pussy throb for sure.

“Answer me or I’ll go out and make a scene to find out.”

“He’s just a friend,” you manage to breathe out.

“Are you fucking him?”

“No.” You want to tell him that you couldn’t even if you wanted to, because Salim would be more interested in fucking him than you, but the words die on your tongue when he exhales sharply at your answer.

“Fuck your little games, Y/N,” he then says, almost growls as he shakes his head in defeat.

“Fuck me instead,” you hear yourself saying, but it’s as if it wasn’t you who spoke, yet you still said exactly what you had in your mind.

HIs eyes are throwing flames again when one of his hands moves to the side of your neck, his thumb moving under your chin to tilt your head upwards, angling your head, but still just teasing you.

“No more games.”

“No,” you shake your head desperately. Your hands have found their way to his waist and you fist his shirt, fighting the urge to rip it off him.

“I mean it, Y/N. It’s all in or nothing. I want you to be mine.”

“I’m already yours.”

His kiss comes so fast your head goes dizzy for a second before you recover and return it just as eagerly as it came. It’s been the longest foreplay, weeks worth of teasing and yearning after each other end now as Harry’s body presses you against the wall with so much force it’s almost too much, but you want him as close as possible.

Even though you’re certain you’ve lost your mind, your consciousness still knows you’re in a public bathroom and you have limited time. Harry knows too and he wastes no time moving you over to the counter, he hoists you up and sits you on top of the granite next to the sink. You gladly wrap your legs around his waist and lock him against you while his mouth is now exploring the curve of your neck and shoulders, desperately pushing the straps of your dress to the side to reach more of your skin. Your body is reacting instantly to him, your hips roll against him and you feel his bulge between your legs, a tortured moan slipping out of your mouth.

“Harry!” you beg him, when his hand slips under your dress and into your underwear, his skilled fingers teasing you just right, but you need him fast and hard, this is not the time and place to play games.

“I wish I could take my time with you,” he grunts before playfully biting the soft skin on your neck while unbuckling his belt. “But I’m gonna fuck you fast and you’ll take it like the good little slut you are.”

All you can do is whine and force your legs further apart, watching him push his pants and underwear down in one motion, his cock springing free, ready to ruin you. Harry pushes your dress up your torso and hooks a finger into your panties, pushing the fabric to the side to reveal your drenched pussy.

“Have you thought about me while touching yourself?” he asks, his other hand going to his cock, lazily tugging on it, precum dripping from the tip.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He jerks on his cock a few more times before spitting on it and pushing inside you without warning. A scream dies in your throat, because you bite into your own hand not to make too much noise, but he is definitely bigger than anyone you’ve ever been with, his erection is filling you up, stretching you like nothing and no one before.

“Don’t whine, I know you can take it,” he pants, his eyes rapidly switching between your face and his cock buried balls deep inside you.

All you can do is nod before he starts moving. He gives you a few slow thrusts to adjust, but then he picks his pace up and starts slamming into you ruthlessly.

And you love every moment of it.

It’s so animalistic, so intoxicating, your head feels dizzy again and you need everything inside you not to start screaming his name. Normally you need more stimulation and time to feel your orgasm building up in the pit of your stomach, but it’s different with Harry. You can already feel your climax nearing.

“So fucking good, you take me so well,” he preaches you, his hands holding onto your thighs to keep you in place and you curl an arm around his neck to pull yourself closer to him, pressing your lips to his in a messy kiss.

“I wanted to fuck you the moment I saw you in that bar.”

His words reach your brain and you process what he said, but you can’t reply at that moment, because you’re already on the verge of your orgasm.

It doesn’t take long for the both of you to reach your climax, he is the first one but you chase after him just seconds later. It lasts long and he keeps thrusting into you even when it’s dying down. His face is buried in your neck when he finally stops and you both are panting heavily.

When he lifts his head he’s looking at you with hazy eyes, but the smile that tugs on the corners of his lips is something you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

“You said you wanted to fuck me the moment you saw me at the bar,” you repeat his words from earlier now that you can actually form words. Judging from the look on his face he knows why you’re questioning him.

You never met at the bar, he stood you up that night.

“I went there,” he admits. “I saw that other guy flirting with you and… I didn’t think I stood a chance with you. So I left.”

You’re staring back at him in disbelief. All this time you thought he didn’t come because you weren’t good enough for him, but it was the opposite. He was there. He came and wanted to meet you, but lost his confidence because of that random guy.

“You’re the only person who ever stood a chance with me,” you softly say as you reach up to take his face in your hands.

“I thought I was too old for you.”

“But I knew you were older all along,” you chuckle. “It was never an issue for me.”

“I know,” he admits with a sigh. “I fucked up, I’m sorry.” He kisses you softly and it’s mind-blowing how he was fucking you hard just moments ago and now he is treating you so gently.

“I need to go back, Salim will get suspicious,” you sigh as you slip off the counter, trying to fix yourself.

“Oh, your date is waiting for you,” he teases you, pulling his pants back up.

“He is gay, Harry,” you chuckle and watch his expression change.

“Okay, I approve.”

You laugh and pull him down for another kiss.

“Should we talk about this after?”

“I can come over when you get home.”

“I’m afraid we won’t do much talking if you do that,” you grin at him, arching an eyebrow.

“Promise, I’ll be a gentleman for at least thirty minutes. That should be enough for all the talking.”

“Uhuh, alright. See you at mine then,” you nod before slipping out of the bathroom.

The plates are empty, dinner is now officially nearing its end but you still haven’t broken the news to your dad.

The news that you and Harry are together.

He is sitting across from you at the table, his hesitant eyes finding your gaze every other minute. He is shitting his pants, you know that, even though you told him your dad will probably take it well. He is not one to stress about such things, but Harry didn’t believe you, he thinks he’ll throw him out of the company and tell you to never see him again.

Absurd.

Clearing your throat you decide it’s time for the announcement.

“Dad, I want to tell you something,” you speak up and panic flashes through Harry’s face for a moment, but he’s quick to mask it.

“Alright, I’m listening,” he smiles at you.

“Okay, I’ll just… Um, I want you to know that I’ve been dating someone. It’s kind of… serious,” you add, your eyes finding Harry over the table and you don’t miss the blush on his cheeks.

“That’s amazing! Do I know this person?” your dad enthuses.

“Well, you know him very well. He is actually sitting here at the table.”

You watch as realization washes over his face, he looks over at Harry and then back at you, while you both wait for his reaction.

Then a tiny smile appears on his face and you know you were right, there was nothing to worry about.

“That’s great news, I’m happy for you.”

Harry exhales in relief and you can’t help but laugh.

“See? I told you,” you smirk at him with a shrug.

“Are you sure you’re alright with it?” Harry asks, still a bit doubtful, but your dad just smiles at him warmly.

“I’m more than sure, son. Why would I not be alright with it? I trust you with my company, I trust you with my daughter too. Easy as it is.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

2K notes · View notes

damnasstyles · 11 months

Note

Any chance you could do a famous single mum reader x Harry fic

since he’s a certified MILF lover

CRUSH

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

SUMMARY: Harry has been into you for way too long, but you haven't given him a chance. You run into each other at the Grammy's afterparty and you finally tell him why you're so adamant about keeping your distance.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry will forever remember tonight.

It’s his second time going home as a Grammy winner and nothing can ruin this experience for him, not even how his performance was ruined. He did it again and nothing else matters for now.

Or at least that’s how he should be feeling as he is celebrating with his friends and other winners and artists at the after party, but something keeps bugging him.

Just hours earlier he ran into you again and he hasn’t been able to get you out of his mind since then. It’s no surprise you were at the award show, even though you’re not a singer he could have expected to run into you at one of the most important nights of the year. Yet, he was still surprised to see you walk down the red carpet, but it might have been because you always have that effect on him no matter what.

If someone asked Harry who his celebrity crush was he would say you with no hesitation or remorse. He’s been enamored with you since the first time he met you at some other after party a few years ago. The two of you were introduced by a mutual friend and he stuck to your side for as long as possible, drinking up every word, every laughter and every look you gifted him with. He thought you were way out of his league, he still does, but that doesn’t stop him from yearning after you like a lovesick puppy every time your paths cross. Harry can’t tell how many times he tried to flirt with you before, but his flirty comments were met with soft rejection every time, you never seemed to be returning the gentle feelings and though it was devastating, he knew he could do nothing.

He could at least call you his friend, more or less. He definitely has a tither connection with you than with most people in this room, there’s a bigger circle of friends you both share so you end up meeting every few months without planning it and there are periods when you’re even texting.

He hasn’t talked to you for a while now, so seeing you brought his feelings back he’s been harboring for so long.

Now as he’s sipping on his drink he can’t help but keep looking around, trying to spot you in the crowd to no avail for now. He pulls out his phone and opens the message thread with you, rereading the last few texts he exchanged with you a while back. His thumb hovers over the screen, fighting the urge to hit you up with a message when an elbow meets his side. Looking up he sees Mitch beside him.

“Your crush is here,” he informs Harry with a knowing smirk, nodding towards the bar.

He follows his friend’s gaze and spots you only seconds later. You’ve changed out of your burgundy gown he saw you wearing earlier, sporting a chic pant suit this time, but you’re just as breathtaking as ever.

Mitch just chuckles when Harry gets up without a word and heads over to you. Pushing between guests he ignores everyone who might try to strike a conversation up with him until he finally reaches you.

“Y/N, hi!” he smiles at you warmly. You turn to face him with a cocktail in your hands, a wide smile stretching across your face.

“Harry! What a nice surprise!” you chuckle. “Congrats on your wins!” You don’t hesitate to put an arm around his neck and pull him into a hug that he returns gladly.

“Thank you.”

“Though it was no surprise you won, the album is amazing.”

“You listened to it?”

“Of course,” you chuckle. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”

“Do you have a favorite?” he asks with a cheeky smile.

“Hmm, probably… Satellite.”

“Great choice.”

The conversation keeps flowing and suddenly it feels like it’s just the two of you even though it’s a crowded party that’s happening around you. Harry realizes that no matter how much time passes between each time he sees you, he will always catch himself falling for you over and over again. He tries to flirt with you this time as well and this is the first time he can feel like his rizz is not going straight over your head.

“Y/N, I need you to be very honest with me,” he starts, when you both had a few drinks. Neither of you is drunk, but definitely tipsy.

“About what?” you chuckle.

“Do I have a chance with you? For real, I’m not playing here,” he smirks, placing one hand to his chest, while holding up the other one, his half empty glass rising into the air.

You sigh deeply, looking away from him as you busy yourself with your own drink.

“Ah, it hurts!” he acts as if he was shot in the chest. “Am I that ugly and boring?”

“Of course, you’re not!” you roll your eyes.

“Okay, do you like me?”

“I do,” you admit, avoiding to look him in the eyes.

“Alright, then let’s take this conversation over to my place.”

“I can’t,” you shake your head.

“We can go to yours as well, I’m fine with that too,” Harry half jokes, but he notices that you’re not laughing. “Y/N, what is it then?”

“I need to get some air.” Jumping to your feet you leave your drink behind and head out to the back of the place that’s the smoking area, hoping to be alone for a bit, but Harry rushes after you, determined to get answers this time.

He finds you in a dark corner, your arms wrapped around yourself as you stare out into the void.

“Y/N, I’m sorry if I went too far, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s… fine.”

“I just… fuck, I really like you. A lot. I can’t stop thinking about you and… I couldn’t just not shoot my shot.”

“You’ve been shooting your shot for a long time.” He finally sees a tiny smile on your lips.

“So you did notice my attempts?” he grins. “Just chose to ignore them, I guess?”

“Harry, I can’t.”

“Can’t ignore them anymore?”

“No. I can’t date you.”

“Can’t as in…?”

Sighing, your head falls back, against the wall as you close your eyes for a few seconds before opening them and finally looking at him.

“I don’t date.”

“Why?”

“Because of Arian.”

The picture is finally crystal clear in Harry’s head. You’re depriving yourself from dating because of your son.

It’s no news to Harry that you’re a mother, he has even met your five year-old son, but he never thought of him as the reason why you keep rejecting him. You keep your private life pretty hush hush, especially since you split from your ex, Arian’s father three years ago. No one knows why you called it quits and there’s actually no photo of the little boy online either, that’s how dedicated you are to protect him from the public. Harry completely understands it, but he doesn’t see why you can’t date because of Arian.

“The little guy doesn’t want to share you with anyone else?” he tries to joke.

“I’m a single mother who is also an actress. My life is complicated enough without dates and boyfriends.”

“Woah, we’re only talking about one boyfriend,” Harry puts his hands to his chest. You crack a smile, but it’s not as genuine as he would want it to be.

“It’s just not the right time for me to start dating again. I’m sorry.”

“I’m a little hurt you’re not even giving me a chance.”

“I’m sure dating a single mother is not exactly your dream either.”

“Y/N, I haven’t even thought about it until you brought it up. Arian is a cool little guy and I have no problem with you being a mother.”

“You will at one point, trust me,” you scoff and Harry tries not to take it personal. You’re just trying to protect yourself and your son, it’s not against him.

“What if I prove that it’s fine? That I’m not just some random guy who will come and go?”

Staring back at him you chew on his words as you tilt your head to the side.

“We’ll see.”

At first the peace and quiet takes over your waking mind. You feel a gentle breeze from the window you left open for the night and you stretch long underneath the silky covers when it finally dawns on you.

It’s peaceful. And quiet. You haven’t had a morning like this in about… well, five years. Arian loves to wake you up whenever you’re home, jumping on the mattress, or just cuddling to you, either way, he never misses a chance to spend a morning with you.

So where is he now?

Slight panic rushes through your veins as you quickly wrap yourself in your silky robe and head out to find your baby. All the worst case scenarios flash through your mind, but they dissolve the moment you reach the stairs and hear his laughter coming from the kitchen. With careful steps you approach the source of his voice that’s mixed with another one, a more mature male voice that you don’t recognize at first but when you round the corner and see what’s happening in your kitchen, recognition washes over you.

Harry Styles is making pancakes in your kitchen with your son. And they are making a big mess, but Arian seems to be enjoying it. Music is playing in the background and there’s a ginormous bouquet of flowers on the kitchen island. Your heart flutters in your chest as you walk closer.

“Mommy!” Arian notices you and climbing off his stool he runs over to you and you gladly pick him up into your arms.

“Hey baby, what’s… what’s happening here?”

“Harry is making us pancakes!” He throws his hands up into the air in excitement as you walk over to the kitchen island and sit him down on top of it.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he smiles at you so charmingly, it’s hard to focus on the fact that he is in your house on a Saturday morning.

“Hi, what do you… Um, what are you doing here?”

“Mommy, I told you, he is making us pancakes!” Arian giggles.

“I know, baby. Hey, you’re still in your pajamas, why don’t you go up and change?” You help him off the counter and gently push him towards the stairs. He runs off singing to himself.

“Before you throw me out,” Harry starts, holding the spatula up, “You told me to prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“That it’s fine that you’re a mom. So, this is our first date, in your house, with your son, so you don’t have to worry about him or get a babysitter.”

“How did you even get into my house?” you chuckle in disbelief. You’re definitely touched by the gesture, you don’t like to spend time away from Arian when you’re not working.

Grinning, he starts flipping the pancakes in the pan.

“Well, I might or might not have contacted your agent who hooked me up with your housekeeper who let me in this morning.”

“Wow, my own staff betrayed me,” you chuckle.

“I wouldn’t say betrayed. They both were happy to help me, because they want what’s best for you.”

“And that would be you?” you ask, arching an eyebrow at his cockiness. He shrugs, but his smirk tells it all.

“Look,” he sighs, turning the stove off. “I really did mean it. I don’t care that you’re a mom. It’s all good, it’s part of you. I don’t want to just come and go in your and Arian’s life. Just give me a chance to prove that it could work.”

He must have some kind of magic power over you, because he really just waltzed in here, made some pancakes and convinced you to change your mind.

“Arian will always come first for me, Harry.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything else,” he nods.

“That means that even in my limited free time, you’ll most likely have to share me with him. I’m not the type to let nannies and babysitters raise my child.”

“And I love that about you. Arian is lucky to have you as his mother.”

Staring back at him you want to say no, but you simply can’t. It’s impossible.

“Okay,” is all you say.

“Okay as in… You’ll give me a chance?”

“Yes, but don’t fuck it up,” you chuckle as Harry walks closer and his hands find your waist, pulling you closer. It’s the first time he is physically this close to you, but it feels like he’s been doing it since forever, like you belong in his arms.

“Never,” he smirks and as he leans closer you hear a pair of tiny feet running down the stairs, so you step back just in time for Arian’s return.

“Give me the pancakes!” he giggles, climbing up to a stool and you smile at Harry.

“See, he is already cockblocking you,” you whisper to him chuckling.

“Touché,” he sighs with a smirk. “But he is cute, so it’s alright.” Shaking it all off he turns to Arian as he places the pancakes on a plate. “So, what do you want on top?”

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