Heavy hands — VI (Patreon)

This took forever to post but it was only because I couldn't nail the smut. I just felt like it didn't reflect the passion and everything i wanted to entail between Y/N and Harry. However, I got it now! Let me know what you all think! Angst is coming soon.

wc-> 7k

📌 Warnings: the following chapter contains SMUT, rated R content, +18 content. You've been warned!

Y/N turned to the mirror, adjusting her top, pretending not to notice the way his eyes dragged over her reflection.

She wore a sheer black mesh top that hugged her torso like a second skin, with a bold, structured black bralette beneath that peeked through the delicate fabric. And a pair of high-waisted, loose-fitting black jeans that cinched perfectly at the waist. Leaving some of her skin bare to the cool air of the room…and Harry’s burning stare. Harry sat back on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, jaw tight.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” he said after a moment, voice low.

She met his gaze in the mirror. “Doing what?”

His eyes narrowed, amused but tense. “Testing me.”

She blinked, feigning innocence. “I’m just getting dressed.”

His tongue pressed into his cheek. “Right.”

Y/N turned around slowly. “You’re the one watching.”

“Hard not to,” he muttered, gaze dropping to her waist.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, deliberately, she walked toward the bed—toward him—pausing just in front of where he sat. His legs parted slightly, just enough to welcome her in.

She didn’t know where the confidence came from. Maybe it was the way his voice had dropped, or the heat in his eyes, or the way he always seemed to have the upper hand. But tonight, she felt the urge to tease—to give him a taste of his own medicine. A little payback for all the ways he drove her crazy.

He looked up at her, his expression unreadable. Hands still clasped between his knees, like he was forcing himself not to touch her.

Y/N tilted her head. “Something on your mind?”

Harry’s eyes stayed locked on hers, sharp and hungry. “You have no idea.”

She reached for her bag on the floor, the movement bringing her closer—too close—and he inhaled through his nose like he was trying to keep it together.

When she leaned back up, her chest brushed his, just slightly.

His voice came out rough. “You’re pushing your luck.”

She smiled sweetly. “Am I?”

His jaw flexed. “Yeah.”

He finally moved. One hand slid up the back of her thigh, firm and slow, until his fingers dug into her hip, pulling her the rest of the way between his knees.

“Harry—”

“I’ll behave,” he muttered, dragging his mouth along her hipbone through the thin fabric. “Until we get back.”

She let out a shaky breath, her hands resting on his shoulders for balance.

“You act like I’m not just here to have a good time,” she whispered.

His eyes flicked up, sharp and unreadable. “You are. Just don’t forget who brought you there.”

She blinked, pulse skipping.

And then, he stood abruptly, towering over her, gaze heavy.

“Helmet,” he said, nodding toward the door.

Tension still hummed between them as he walked out of the room.

“Let’s go cause some trouble.”

The motorcycle rumbled to a low hum as Harry cut the engine, the night swallowing the last of its echo. Y/N climbed off, the cool night air brushing her skin as she straightened her jacket. She barely had time to adjust before Harry was behind her, an arm slipping around her waist.

“Stay close,” he murmured near her ear, the possessiveness in his tone subtle but unmistakable.

Y/N’s stomach fluttered at the command, her pulse a little quicker than before.

He guided her with a hand pressed low on her back, eyes scanning the crowded line in front of the club. People were already spilling onto the sidewalk, music thrumming from inside. It was loud, chaotic—yet somehow she felt grounded by the solid weight of Harry’s touch.

Inside, the lights pulsed red and violet, the bass thick in the air. Almost immediately, Harry’s gaze swept the room until it landed on a couple tucked near the bar.

Nate grinned the moment he saw them. He looked like trouble incarnate, dressed in black-on-black, a single chain glinting at his throat. Sasha stood beside him, all glam and sharp eyeliner, sipping something dark through a straw.

“Look who decided to show up,” Nate said as they approached. “And on a Friday night. Miracles do happen.”

Harry barely nodded. “Had to introduce her to the shit shows you call social outings.”

Nate’s grin widened as his eyes flicked to Y/N. “There she is. The infamous girl who’s had you in a fucking chokehold.”

Y/N laughed, biting her lip. “Infamous?”

Sasha leaned in conspiratorially. “You poor thing. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“She seems alright,” Nate added, giving her a mock-evaluative once-over. “Cute, calm. Definitely smarter than you.”

“Obviously,” Harry deadpanned, pulling Y/N a fraction closer. His hand hadn’t left her waist once.

Nate raised a brow, watching how close they stood. “Damn. Haven’t seen you cling this hard since—actually, no. Never.”

“Only when he’s scared someone’s gonna steal his toy,” Nate quipped.

Harry shot him a glare, but it lacked any real heat.

“I like her,” Sasha said, pointing her straw at Y/N. “You’ve got that look. Like you know you could kill him with kindness.”

Y/N chuckled. “Or with my heel.”

Harry’s mouth twitched in amusement, and she felt his grip on her hip tighten slightly.

Before she could speak, Harry leaned closer, lips brushing her ear. “I wouldn’t mind being killed by your heels,” he said lowly. “As long as you’re naked when you do it.”

Her breath caught, heat blooming in her cheeks as she swatted lightly at his chest, hiding a smile.

Sasha snorted. “He’s such a menace when he’s obsessed.”

“He’s always been like this,” Nate added. “Remember the time he—”

Harry shot him a look. “Don’t.”

The table burst into laughter, the teasing warm and easy, though Y/N’s thoughts flickered back to earlier—to when they had called her a toy.

She hadn’t reacted at the time, but now, surrounded by people who clearly adored him, who joked and laughed like nothing was complicated, she felt a tight knot of doubt in her chest. She knew Harry teased her—loved to get under her skin—but a small, anxious part of her wondered if there was truth behind the playful edge. If he saw her as something temporary. A distraction. A toy.

She glanced at him.

But then he looked back—eyes sharp, focused, full of something deeper than amusement—and squeezed her thigh gently under the table. As if he felt her slip away for a second and needed to anchor her back.

She let out a soft breath and smiled again, deciding—at least for tonight—to believe he didn’t mean it like that.

The music thumped through the floor as Sasha pulled Y/N to the edge of the dance floor. The crowd had grown, thick with bodies and flashing lights, but the two of them carved out a little space, laughing as they moved to the beat.

Y/N was a little shy at first—self-conscious in the outfit that still felt daring on her skin—but Sasha hyped her up, spinning her once and letting out a cheer. Y/N relaxed into it, letting the music take over, warmth blooming in her chest from the drinks, the laughter, the adrenaline of the night.

Then a stranger approached.

He wasn’t bad-looking—tall, confident, a grin that said he thought he had a chance. He leaned in as he danced close enough to catch their attention, his eyes settling squarely on Y/N.

“You look like trouble,” he shouted over the music, clearly directing it at her.

Y/N gave him a polite smile, glancing at Sasha who merely raised a brow, waiting to see what she’d do.

“I’m here with someone,” she replied, still swaying to the beat but not inviting more.

“That so?” the guy asked, not backing off. “Didn’t see anyone next to you. Lucky me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but laughed despite herself. He was persistent, but not creepy—just the kind of cocky that belonged in a club like this. Still, she shifted a little closer to Sasha, hoping her body language did the rest.

Across the room, Harry leaned against the bar beside Nate, two drinks in hand.

“You’re not even listening,” Nate said, elbowing him. “I just asked if you wanted to go to Brighton next weekend, and you just fucking nodded like I asked you to marry me.”

Harry’s eyes were glued to the dance floor. “Sorry.”

Nate followed his gaze and laughed. “Jesus. You’re gone. What the hell did she do to you?”

Harry’s jaw ticked slightly, but there was no irritation. Only disbelief.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “It’s like I blinked and suddenly she’s all I can think about.”

“Since when are you the sentimental type?”

“I’m not,” Harry said. “That’s the problem.”

Nate opened his mouth to joke, but Harry’s entire body shifted suddenly—shoulders straightening, posture stiffening.

Because through the pulsing crowd and strobing lights, Harry saw her.

Y/N, dancing. Laughing. Smiling at some guy who was standing just a little too close, leaning in just a little too much. The guy said something, and Y/N laughed—soft and maybe a bit unsure, but she didn’t walk away.

Harry’s grip on the glasses tightened, jaw locking.

“Uh oh,” Nate said, clocking the change in him instantly. “That the ‘I’m about to murder someone’ look?”

“She told me she wouldn’t talk to strangers,” Harry said lowly, voice like flint. “Didn’t think I had to be more specific.”

And with that, he was moving—drinks still in hand, shoulders tense, gaze sharp as a blade as he pushed through the crowd like it might part for him.

The music didn’t change, but the air did.

Harry didn’t storm over. He didn’t shove anyone or spill the drinks still balanced in his hands. He just moved—steady, silent, cutting through the crowd like a current of something cold.

When he reached them, the guy was mid-sentence, grinning as if he had a chance in hell. Sasha saw Harry first and immediately stepped aside, eyes wide.

“You alright, mate?” Harry asked coolly.

The stranger blinked, thrown off. “Yeah—just talking.”

Harry didn’t look at him again. His gaze was locked on Y/N like she was the only thing that existed. And then, softer—but sharp as broken glass:

“She’s with me.”

A beat. Still no heat in his voice. But it landed like a blade.

“Aren’t you?”

Y/N couldn’t breathe. For a second, she just stared. There was something lethal in the way he said it—not loud. Not threatening. But it shook something loose in her chest. In her stomach.

In between her legs.

Because it wasn’t a question, not really. And it wasn’t a threat either. It was a claim. A warning. A promise.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he was already taking the drinks from Nate, handing one blindly to Sasha without looking, and tugging Y/N aside. Not violently—but not gently either. He was firm. Determined. Like he couldn’t bear to wait another second.

They cut through the back of the club, down a dim hallway lined with mirrors and velvet rope. He pushed open a staff-only door, not caring, and guided her into the quieter corridor beyond—bare concrete and the distant thrum of bass behind them.

Then he stopped. Back to the wall. Breathing hard, but silent.

Y/N looked up at him, her lips parted, ready to speak—but he beat her to it.

“You want him instead?” His voice was low. Shaky in the edges. “Say it. If you do—I’ll walk away.”

She blinked, stunned.

“But don’t let me stand there,” he continued, his voice cracking just once, “and watch you laugh like that for someone else. Not when I’ve had you under me.”

The silence echoed.

Harry looked away first. Jaw clenched. A muscle in his cheek ticked as he shook his head slowly.

“I don’t share,” he muttered. “And I don’t do this.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Her skin was hot. Her body tense. And something sharp and low and wicked pulsed between her legs.

It scared her.

But not in the way she thought it would.

Not in the I-should-run way.

In the I-want-more way.

Harry dragged a hand through his hair, jaw flexing hard.

He turned back to her.

“But then there’s you.”

His eyes were dark now. Not sweet. Not soft. Possessive.

“You make me want to kill a man just for standing too close.”

He stepped in. Just enough to crowd her. To make her tilt her chin up.

“I don’t share. Not your time. Not your laugh. Not your body.”

He didn’t touch her. But it didn’t matter. Her thighs pressed together instinctively. Her breath faltered.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’ve done to me,” he muttered. “But I know I’ll burn for it.”

And then silence.

Tension. Hunger. A loaded second stretched between them, thick with heat and fear and desire and everything else neither of them knew how to name.

Y/N swallowed hard.

She could feel the heat radiating off him. The rage. The restraint. The sheer force of everything he was trying to hold in. And yet… there was something else beneath it. Something raw. Wounded.

He’d just given her a way out. He would’ve walked away if she’d said the word.

But she didn’t want out.

Not even close.

“I was laughing because I was thinking about you,” she murmured. “I got nervous—I thought you might hit him or something.”

Harry froze.

Her voice was low, breathless, but steady. She wasn’t scared of him now. Not really. What she’d felt before—when he’d pulled her into the hall, when he’d backed her against the wall—it wasn’t fear. It was adrenaline. Lust. Need.

“I didn’t want him,” she added, taking a step toward him. Her voice dropped, words almost a whisper. “I wanted you to come find me.”

His jaw clenched. Like he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“You don’t have to walk away,” she murmured. “I don’t want you to.”

Her hand came up, tentative but sure, brushing his chest. She could feel how hard he was breathing beneath her palm.

Then, without warning—she stood on her toes and kissed him.

Not shy. Not hesitant.

Bold.

Her lips pressed to his with something that felt like a declaration. A claiming of her own. She kissed him like she’d been dying to. Like she finally couldn’t take it anymore.

And Harry—Harry lost it.

He didn’t move at first. For half a heartbeat, he was stunned—like the very idea of her kissing him first short-circuited his brain.

Then?

Then he grabbed her.

One hand on her jaw, the other gripping her hip, hauling her closer as his mouth devoured hers in a kiss that was all teeth and heat and breath. He kissed her like he’d been starving. Like he’d needed her to do this.

And she felt it.

All of it.

The hardness of his body against hers. The heat of his arousal pressing through his jeans. The low groan that tore from his throat when she whimpered into his mouth.

He was already hard.

Because she’d kissed him. Because she’d chosen him.

Because all that possessive fury in him had finally found its answer—and it was her.

His hand slammed against the wall behind her, trapping her in place as his mouth crashed onto hers—kissing her with a hunger that made her knees tremble. Teeth caught her bottom lip, tongue sliding deep until she moaned.

That sound made him growl.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered against her mouth, his hand already moving down her side.

She gasped when his fingers curled around her hip and yanked her forward, grinding her into the thick bulge in his jeans. He was rock hard—already on the edge, already struggling to hold back.

And she loved it.

Loved that she did that to him.

But Harry didn’t stop.

Didn’t hesitate.

His hand slid to her waistband, and without breaking the kiss, he popped the button on her jeans, then dragged the zipper down with aching slowness.

She tensed, breath catching. “Harry—”

“Shh,” he murmured. “I need to see.”

He pushed her jeans down just enough to reveal it—that sliver of red lace stretched over her hips, hugging her like a promise. A red thong. One she’d put on just for him.

His breath caught in his throat.

“Christ…” His eyes flicked up, dark and ravenous. “Wearing this for me, weren’t you?”

She nodded, breathless.

He smirked, low and dangerous. “You look like heaven,” he muttered, dragging his knuckles just under the waistband, “but I know you’re hell underneath.”

Her stomach fluttered violently. That voice. That look.

Then his hand slipped lower, cupping her through the thin fabric—already soaked.

“Oh, you are a good girl,” he murmured. “So wet. Just from me kissing you?”

She whimpered, hips twitching toward his hand. That was answer enough.

He leaned in, lips grazing her ear. “You like when I touch you like this, huh? Like when I take what’s mine?”

She couldn’t speak. Only nod, barely managing to hold onto the collar of his shirt as he kissed her again—slow and filthy and possessive.

He pulled her hips forward, grinding her right against the thick bulge in his jeans. Her thighs clenched involuntarily.

“Fucking look at you,” he growled. “So needy. Gonna let me touch you right here?” His fingers slipped beneath the lace. “Let me make you feel good?”

She gave a strangled little gasp. “Yes—please.”

“Good girl,” he purred, kissing down her jaw, down to her neck, where he bit softly. “Keep begging. I like hearing it.”

His fingers slid through her slick folds—slow at first, then firmer, more deliberate. He circled her clit with practiced precision, watching every twitch of her body, every little breath she hitched.

She buried her face in his shoulder, biting back a moan.

“Don’t hide from me,” he whispered roughly. “Wanna see you fall apart. Wanna feel you drip down my fingers.”

Her back arched off the wall, hips rolling against his touch. He kissed her again, slower now, deeper, while his fingers worked her expertly.

“You’re perfect like this,” he said against her lips. “So fucking tight. So sweet. All mine.”

She nearly cried when he slipped a finger inside—then two. He fucked them into her slow and deep, curling just right until she was trembling.

“Harry,” she gasped.

“Say it again.”

“Harry—oh, God—”

“That’s it,” he breathed, dragging his thumb over her clit. “Come for me, angel. Want it all over my fucking hand.”

And when she did—soft cries muffled against his mouth, body jerking, thighs shaking—he held her through it, whispering filth into her ear, telling her how good she was, how sweet she felt, how desperate he was to bury himself inside her next.

When it was over, he pulled his hand back, his chest heaving.

He looked down at her, flushed and fucked-out, jeans still half-undone, lips swollen.

She looked up at him through heavy lashes, flushed, breathless.

“Something on your mind, sweetheart?” he murmured against her skin.

She hesitated.

He tilted his head, dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Tell me.”

“I…” she swallowed, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt. “I just want to make you feel good.”

That made him pause.

His lips twitched into a slow, devilish smile. “Do you now?”

She nodded. “Please.”

“You’ve already made me feel good,” he whispered, brushing his nose against hers.

“I want to learn,” she said softly. Then, braver: “I want to try.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Try what?”

Her cheeks flushed. She bit her lip, eyes flickering to his jaw, his throat, then lower.

He smirked, licking his lips—still tasting her. “Say it.”

“Harry…”

“Say it,” he repeated, voice a rasp now. His hand found her jaw, thumb dragging across her lip. “You want to do something for me? Use that pretty mouth?” Another kiss. Hot, breathless. “Then tell me.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she whispered, “I want to taste you.”

“Louder.”

“I want to…” She paused, heart pounding in her throat. “I want to suck your cock.”

His reaction was instant.

A sharp, low groan escaped him, and his hand clenched at her hip. “Fuck—say that again.”

She blinked up at him, a little stunned at the way his entire body reacted.

“Say it again, baby,” he growled.

“I want to suck your cock,” she repeated, voice shaking now with both nerves and something darker—need.

He exhaled hard, like he was fighting for control. “You’re gonna ruin me,” he muttered.

Then he took her hand, gently, and guided her down to her knees.

“Just like that. On your knees for me, pretty girl.”

She settled in front of him, heart racing.

His hands moved to his belt slowly, letting her watch as he undid it. He pulled down his jeans and boxers just enough to free himself—hard, thick, leaking already.

Her eyes widened slightly.

He smirked. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, brushing a hand through her hair. “I’ll teach you.”

His thumb traced her lower lip again. “Open up for me, yeah?”

She parted her lips, and he let the tip slide across her tongue—just a tease, just enough to make him hiss through his teeth.

“Fuck, that’s it. Good girl.”

He guided her slowly, one hand firm on her hair, the other resting on the wall behind her. “Start with just the tip. Get used to it. Look at me while you do it.”

She did. Her eyes locked on his as she licked a stripe along the underside of him, then wrapped her lips around the head, sucking gently.

He moaned, low and rough. “Yeah, just like that. Christ.”

She grew bolder, slowly taking more of him, hand wrapping around the base as she hollowed her cheeks.

“That’s it, baby,” he grunted, jaw tight. “So good for me. My good fucking girl.”

She moaned around him, the praise doing something to her—something hot and wicked.

His hand tightened in her hair. “You keep that up and I’m not gonna last.”

But she didn’t stop. She wanted to see him fall apart. Wanted to make him feel the way he made her feel.

When he finally pulled back, groaning as he slipped free of her mouth, he looked down at her like she was the only thing that existed.

“Get up,” he said roughly. “We’re leaving,” he said, voice ragged.

Her breath caught. “What?”

His thumb traced her bottom lip.

“Need more privacy,” he murmured, smirking, “to do what I plan on doing to you”

Her knees buckled.

They stumbled out of the hallway like fugitives — flushed, breathless, high on each other. Harry’s hand never left her waist, fingers curled tight against the denim of her jeans like he still owned her body, like he wasn’t finished yet.

Y/N could still taste him on her lips. Still feel the drag of his mouth against her neck, the promise in his voice. Need more privacy. Her legs were unsteady, heart still hammering, pupils wide from how fast everything had unraveled between them. She clutched his shirt for balance, caught somewhere between dizzy satisfaction and nervous anticipation.

The club pulsed around them — bass thudding, lights slicing through darkness in flashes of red and gold. The crowd had thickened. Sweaty, swaying bodies pressed around them as they tried to make their way toward the exit. Every few steps, someone reached out to touch Harry — a pat on the back, a nod, a smirk from someone who thought they knew him.

But Harry didn’t acknowledge any of them. He kept his eyes forward, cutting through the club like a blade, dragging her with him, single-minded in his need to get her alone again.

And then — she appeared.

Directly in their path, like she’d been waiting.

“Wow.”

Y/N felt her stomach drop as her feet slowed on instinct.

Liv stood planted in front of them, lit by the red wash of a strobe, one manicured hand wrapped around a half-empty drink. Her eyes flicked between them with lazy disdain, landing on Harry’s hand gripping Y/N’s hip, his shirt rumpled, hair slightly tousled. She smiled like it amused her.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here, Harry,” she said, voice syrupy. “Thought you didn’t do relationships. Or was that just with me?”

Harry didn’t answer. His arm tensed around Y/N.

He didn’t look at Liv. Not really. But the muscles in his jaw flexed, and his mouth pressed into a flat line.

Y/N tried to keep walking — to pull him forward — but Liv stepped in closer, her heels clicking as she closed the gap, eyes now zeroed in on her instead.

“You should ask him what he does,” she said, tilting her head like she was offering friendly advice. “Not just in bed.”

The words sliced through the noise.

Harry didn’t flinch. But Y/N felt it — the way his body suddenly stilled beside her, like a predator deciding whether to strike.

“What the hell does that mean?” Y/N asked quietly, voice caught between anger and confusion.

Liv smiled, slow and mocking.

“I used to be like you,” she said. “Thought I was different. Thought he would be different for me. But you’re not special. He’s just good at making you think you are.”

Y/N’s fingers curled around the fabric of Harry’s shirt, as if bracing herself.

“Ask him who he really is. Ask him why he disappears. Why he never talks about his past. Or why he acts like the world’s out to get him,” Liv continued, eyes gleaming now. “Or maybe he already has you so wrapped around his finger that you don’t care.”

“Liv,” Harry said sharply, his voice low and ice-cold.

She turned to him, completely unfazed. “What? I’m just telling her the truth. Someone should before she ends up in deeper than she already is.”

“Stop,” he warned, voice flat.

“You gonna tell her the truth, Harry?” Liv asked, lifting a brow. “Or just fuck her into forgetting?”

Y/N’s breath caught.

That was it.

Harry’s hand slid down to her wrist in one smooth movement. His grip wasn’t rough, but there was no room for argument. He pulled her through the crowd without a single word, the people around them blurring into sound and color.

Once they broke through the doors, the cold night air rushed to meet them. It slapped her skin, cleared some of the haze — but not all of it. She barely had time to breathe before he yanked open the car door and looked at her.

“Harry—” she tried, voice shaking.

“Don’t,” he muttered, not looking at her.

“But… what is she talking about?” she whispered. “What does she know that I don’t?”

“Get on the bike” Harry ordered, swinging his leg over like it was final.

There was no edge in his voice now — just something quieter. Something darker. Like he was holding himself together with frayed string.

But she didn’t move.

“No.”

He turned his head slowly. “What?”

“I’m not getting on unless you talk to me.”

His brows twitched. His body stilled. “Y/N.”

“No,” she snapped, arms crossed despite the chill. “I’m not just going to sit back and pretend none of that happened in there. Or that Liv didn’t say what she said. You don’t get to fuck me senseless and then keep me in the dark.”

Something shifted behind his eyes. A flash of warning.

But she held her ground.

He exhaled harshly and looked away. “This isn’t the time.”

“Make time.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t care. “What do you do, Harry? Who are you, really?”

“I’m a bartender,” he muttered.

“Bullshit.”

His eyes snapped back to hers.

“I work at a bar,” he said simply.

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not the truth.”

“It is. Kind of.” He looked away again. “The bar’s just a front. A place to be seen. To keep up appearances.”

“For what?”

He hesitated. Then:

“I work for people who don’t like being crossed. I make sure they get what they’re owed. That people pay. That no one forgets.”

She blinked.

“I collect for money. I enforce things that need to be enforced. And I’ve been doing it ever since my dad’s debts caught up with us.” His voice turned harder. “He owed people. A lot. The kind of people who send men to your door with baseball bats. So I made a deal.”

She stared at him.

Y/N stared at him, heart thudding.

But something still didn’t sit right.

“That still doesn’t explain the fighting,” she said, stepping closer. “Why would you do that? It’s horrible.”

Harry didn’t flinch. He just looked at her, dead in the eye, and told the truth.

“I don’t do it for the money.”

Her brows pulled together.

“I get paid well enough for the other shit,” he went on. “I fight because I like it.”

She blinked.

“It’s a release,” he said, voice low. “It’s the only time I don’t think. Don’t feel. Don’t carry the weight of all the shit that’s happened. It’s violent, yeah. But it’s honest. And it’s fun.”

Her stomach twisted at that word.

Fun.

She didn’t know what unsettled her more — the way he said it so easily, or how calm he looked saying it. Like he’d made peace with it a long time ago. Like the bruises and blood were just part of his skin now.

She swallowed. “What made you that angry?”

He held her gaze.

Then looked away.

“I’m not ready to share that yet.”

His voice was flat, final.

Y/N nodded slowly, her pulse still unsettled, her body torn between fear and empathy, concern and curiosity. She didn't know everything. Not yet. But something in the way he said it told her he might want to tell her—someday.

Just… not tonight.

The silence stretched between them like a loaded gun.

Y/N exhaled shakily. “Liv said—”

“Liv is fucking crazy.”

Harry’s voice cut sharp, his jaw tight as he turned back to face her fully. “She’s just messing with your head. She’s pissed off because she never got under my skin the way you have.”

Her lips parted.

“I don’t do this,” he said, voice rough. “I don’t spend the night. I don’t walk girls to class. I don’t—” His hand gestured vaguely, frustrated. “I don’t let people in.”

She blinked, stunned at the vulnerability slicing through his words.

“But you…” he huffed out a dry laugh, like he hated even admitting it, “you’re different.”

Her chest tightened.

“I haven’t done this before,” he said. “Not like this. Not with someone like you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, not accusatory, but quietly — like she needed to hear it from him.

He looked at her then, really looked, and said, “You’re not like the rest. You’re not trying to prove anything. You’re not chasing something. You’re just… you.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

“I don’t know what the fuck this is,” Harry admitted, “but it’s not nothing.”

For a long second, Y/N didn’t say a word.

She just stood there, heart pounding, lips parted, eyes searching his face. Whatever it was she saw — the rawness in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the truth in what he’d just said — it was enough.

She reached out.

Took the helmet from his hands.

Harry blinked, caught off guard.

Then a slow, crooked smile tugged at his lips. He said nothing — just watched her as she slipped the helmet over her head, clipped it under her chin with trembling fingers, and stepped closer.

She climbed onto the back of the bike and wrapped her arms around his torso. Tight. Solid. Like she needed to hold on to something real.

And Harry, for once, felt like he was.

He started the engine.

The roar covered whatever they were both too scared to say.

Back at campus.

They barely spoke on the ride back, the night wind rushing around them. But her arms stayed around him, unmoving. And when they pulled up near her dorm, she didn’t hesitate.

She hopped off the bike and grabbed his hand.

“Come on,” she whispered, tugging him toward the side entrance.

“You sure?” Harry murmured, low and teasing near her ear.

She turned, walking backwards for a second as she looked up at him. “You coming or not?”

That smirk came back.

They crept up the dim staircase like two criminals, careful not to wake the few other students that might still be lingering. She fumbled a little with her keys at the door, nerves and excitement thrumming through her chest.

When they stepped inside her room, everything felt… smaller. Quieter. The air between them, thicker.

She closed the door.

Harry didn’t say anything. Just stared at her — eyes darker than they’d been all night.

The door clicked shut behind them.

For a moment, Y/N just stood there, her back to him, her hand still on the doorknob. Her heart was beating so fast she could hear it in her ears. The room felt small, quiet, intimate — like the whole world had narrowed down to this one point in time.

She was nervous. That much was clear.

But beneath the nerves was something stronger. Something warm and electric, curling in her stomach, pulsing through her chest — excitement. Desire. A pull that had been building from the very first time Harry looked at her like she wasn’t invisible.

She’d never felt anything like it.

For so long, she’d been cautious. Measured. A spectator in her own life. Following the rules, doing what was expected, staying inside the lines.

Then Harry showed up — reckless, sharp-edged, unapologetically alive — and he’d lit a match inside her. No one had ever made her feel the way he did. No one had ever looked at her like that. Touched her like she was something rare. Kissed her like he was starving for it.

He scared her.

But he made her feel real.

Alive.

And maybe it was reckless — maybe it was too soon, maybe she was being stupid — but all she knew was this: she wanted him. Not just his body. Him. The quiet parts, the broken parts, the parts he never let anyone see.

He made her brave.

And even though a part of her was terrified he’d disappear after this — that she’d let him in and he’d vanish like smoke — she was starting to understand that life was about taking chances. Living in the moments that made your heart race and your hands shake.

She hoped he didn’t leave.

Because she really, really liked him.

But even if he did — even if this burned fast and left her singed — she knew she’d never regret it.

Not with him.

Not tonight.

Harry leaned his back against the door, watching her. His green eyes were heavy-lidded, dark with hunger, his jaw clenched like he was holding himself back. She stood near her bed, breathing uneven, chest rising and falling under her thin tank.

“You just gonna stand there and look at me?” he said — voice low, gravel-dragged.

He reached for her waist and tugged her against him in one smooth pull. Her breath caught. His lips grazed her neck — soft, barely there. Then again, a little lower, then again, harder, teeth scraping.

Her fingers fisted the fabric of his shirt. “Harry…” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

She swallowed. “I’m ready.”

He stilled for half a second.

Then — his mouth crashed against hers. Hot. Deep. Claiming. His tongue swept into her like he needed her, like he was done pretending he didn’t.

He’d kissed her a hundred times before, but this one — this one felt different. Final. Like a threshold.

She moaned into him, and he lifted her easily — hands under her thighs — until her back hit the dorm wall. He ground his hips against her, the thick line of his cock pressing hard between her legs.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he muttered, voice hoarse, lips brushing her ear. “Every fucking night.”

His hands slipped under her tank. He peeled it off slowly, deliberately, like a gift he was finally allowed to open. When he dropped it to the floor, he just… looked.

Her chest rose and fell. His gaze dropped to her breasts — full, flushed, nipples hard from the cold and nerves. His thumb brushed over one, gentle at first. Then again, a little rougher. She gasped.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “So fucking soft.”

His mouth wrapped around her nipple. Hot, wet, slow. She whimpered, arching into him as he sucked, then dragged his teeth across the sensitive peak. Her fingers tangled in his curls.

“Bed,” he ordered, voice low.

She climbed back, heart pounding. Harry stripped slowly — black hoodie off first, then his shirt. She stared.

His body was all hard lines and shadows. Sinew. Scars. His torso was a story written in bruises and rough living, but it was beautiful. She reached out, touched a faded scar on his ribs.

He grabbed her wrist. Not rough — but firm.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “I want this.”

His eyes searched hers. Then he leaned down, knelt between her legs, and kissed the inside of her thigh.

“You tell me to stop, I stop. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Harry dragged her shorts off slowly. When he got to her panties, he paused, then pulled them down with almost too much patience — like he was savoring every second. Like she was his reward.

And then he looked at her, bare and spread before him, and exhaled a quiet curse. “Fuck.”

“Is it okay?” she whispered.

He lifted his eyes to hers.

“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Then his head dipped.

He licked a slow stripe up her folds — one long, deliberate taste that made her hips jerk. His hands held her thighs open, strong and steady. His mouth was hot. Relentless. Tongue sliding against her clit with maddening rhythm. Soft at first. Then firmer. Suck. Flick. Suck.

She cried out, hand flying to his hair.

He groaned against her — like she was turning him on just by falling apart under his mouth.

“You taste so good, baby,” he rasped between licks. “Been thinking about this pussy for weeks.”

Her head tipped back. The coil inside her tightened. Her thighs shook.

“I—I’m gonna—”

“Let go,” he growled. “Come for me.”

She came with a cry, body tensing, then breaking. Her back arched, fingers tugging at his curls, thighs trembling as he licked her through it — slow and thorough.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were slick, jaw shadowed, eyes dark as sin.

“Good girl,” he muttered. “So good for me.”

He leaned over her again, kissed her — messy, wet, letting her taste herself on his tongue. Then he reached down, lined himself up, and paused.

“Gonna take it slow,” he promised, though his voice was tight with restraint. “But I need to be inside you. Right fucking now.”

He pushed in.

The stretch was intense — not pain, not exactly, but overwhelming. She gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Easy,” he breathed. “I’ve got you.”

He slid in deeper — slow, deeper still, until he was buried in her to the hilt.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “You’re so tight. Like you were made for me.”

She clung to him, overwhelmed. But the sting faded fast, replaced by something warm and full and right.

He didn’t move yet. He kissed her jaw, her neck. “Still okay?”

She nodded, breathless. “Please.”

Then he began to thrust — slow and deep. Every roll of his hips had purpose. Her body lit up, nerves on fire. Skin slapping. His muscles caging her in. She could feel everything.

Her legs wrapped around his waist. Her nails scratched down his back. He growled low in his throat.

“You are mine now” he grunted. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes—”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

He fucked her harder then. Faster. Deeper. Like he couldn’t hold back anymore. The headboard thudded against the wall. Sweat dripped down his temple. His hair was a mess. His eyes never left her face.

When her second orgasm tore through her, she screamed his name.

“Harry—oh my God—”

He kept thrusting through it. Chasing his own. His jaw clenched. His rhythm faltered.

Then he buried himself deep with a final groan, hips twitching, filling her with everything.

They stayed like that — tangled and breathless.

Harry pressed his forehead to hers. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.

“You’re ruining me.”

And she smiled, because maybe… she liked ruining him.

let me know what you think!