Summary: The one where you have to use your safeword with Mr. Styles and you worry it'll ruin everything.
~~~
"Just like that...shit, just like that, Peach. So fucking good. Can feel you, honey. Fucking feel you—"
Mr. Styles' hand intertwines with yours before he brings them both to your stomach. Pressing your palm taut to the flesh until you can feel the subtle bulge from his cock. Thrusting into you so deep, your eyes roll all the way back into your head.
He's been at it for hours. Showing off for the camera, allowing them to see him at his most powerful. And you at your most vulnerable.
You're used to it by now. More than used to it, and on any given day, you thrive off it. You indulge in his prowess, his intentions. More than willing to be flaunted in front of the large audience of onlookers as he takes you anyway he wants you.
So you're not sure why today feels different. Why the weight on your chest is heavier than it usually is. Why his hands – while always kind, always comforting – feel like tools in a game of your misery.
You don't want to stop him. Don't want to scare him or upset him. You know the moment you utter the words, the dynamic will shift instantaneously. And perhaps that's what you want, but the repercussions might be more than you're prepared to handle.
Yet the thought doesn't leave you as he lowers his fingers toward your clit to pinch and tweak your next orgasm out of you. But you're already far too sensitive, far too gone in the stimulation and the pain to enjoy it.
Instead, you try to focus on the little red light that blinks from the camera, try to imagine how pleased the audience will be to see this. How all of this will be worth it. It has to be worth it.
"Feels good, honey, doesn't it?" he groans, now pushing your knee into your chest until you're whimpering. "My pretty pussy takes me so well, doesn't she? Let's me fuck her exactly the way I want. Till she's fucking crying."
You nod weakly and the sight of your wet eyes makes his cock twitch as he drives himself in at a quicker pace.
And suddenly, you can't breathe. Can't slow the racing of your pulse or ignore the ringing in your ears. It's everywhere, this pain. Your vision of him has gone blurry and your poor pussy feels swollen and abused.
But you tell yourself it'll be fine. That you just need to catch your breath. You just need a second, and it'll be okay.
Because you don't want to say it. You've never had to say it before, and you don't exactly want to start now. And you aren't sure why, you know he'd be more than understanding. But this is silly, you feel silly. Because you're fine. You just need a second. And it'll pass.
It will pass.
But it doesn't pass, and you don't feel in control of your own body anymore. Which is normally the point, but not today. Today you need to feel grounded, to feel some semblance of power over the anguish. And he's so good, and so kind, and you can't say it. You can't do this to him, can't do this to yourself, and if you can just catch your breath, it'll be okay.
Because he feels good, he really does. And you're making him feel good, and you don't want to take that from him. Because then he won't get to cum, and he'll be upset, and he'll never treat you the same. He'll always remember that you were too weak to take it.
So you'll take it, you will. You'll be his good girl, his good little slut, and you'll make him proud.
You will.
Your eyes squeeze shut as you repeat this mantra. As you command yourself to like the pain. Because you do. You have to. You can't say it. You can't, so you won't, and you won't do this, and you won't ruin it, and it's fine, and everything is fine—
"Wait," you whisper, hands tugging on the sweaty curls at your disposal. Hard enough to capture his attention. "Wait, hold on, hold...yellow."
Just like that...it all stops. He stills, instantly. No more thrusts into your cunt, no more pinching or pulling on your clit, no more kisses to your neck. It all stops in the blink of an eye, and you hear him inhale a quick breath as his body freezes above yours.
Seconds pass. Quiet and filled with a charged, tense energy that's so eerie, you can almost hear your heart thumping in your chest.
Then, he murmurs, "Okay. Okay, m'waiting."
Your lashes flutter shut as a wince stretches across your expression. He doesn't sound upset, but maybe he is. And you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, can sense how hard he's trying to hold himself back, how difficult this must be for him to stop like this.
And you realize now that you've ruined it, and he's gonna be pissed, and he's going to end things, and he's never gonna fuck you again—
"Peach," he says softly, face still nuzzled against your shoulder. "Talk to me, what do you need? What would you like me to do?"
You don't trust your voice. Can feel the influx of tears racing up the back of your throat as you squeeze his hair harder and shake your head.
But this isn't an answer he accepts, his fingers gently tugging on your waist. "Peach, I need to hear you. I need to know what to do—"
"Nothing," you exhale, the words getting lost in his cheek as you hold on for dear life. "Nothing, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just need one second. One second and you can go, okay? I promise, I'm sorry—"
"Peach." It's not angry but it's fervent. Determined. "Don't...shit. Don't you dare fucking apologize right now, just tell me...tell me what you want me to do. Do you want me to pull out? Or do you want me to stay still?"
And you want to answer, but you can't. Because there's too much happening in your head right now. In your heart. It's going faster than you think it ever has, and your lungs feel like they're going to collapse, and you want to cry—God, you want to cry. Can already feel the tears slipping down your face, fast and without mercy.
Because he's so good, and so wonderful, and so kind, and you don't deserve him. Especially after making him stop, and why did you make him stop, why did you do this, why can't you just get over it—
"Hey, hey." His head lifts, eyes finding yours as his hand comes up to cup your jaw. As delicately as he can without startling you. "Okay, it's all right. You're okay, Peach."
His lips press to the tears on your skin. Gently and with great compassion. Which, in turn, only makes you cry that much harder.
"You're okay," he whispers between slow kisses to your cheek. "Deep breath, my love. You're all right, I've got you, yeah? M'right here. Won't let you go until you want me to."
You melt into the mattress as he continues holding you to the best of his ability. As he attempts to comfort you without causing you any more pain.
"Honey, I need you to tell me what you need. What your body needs," he repeats after a moment, nose faintly brushing against yours. "Do you want me to pull out or do you want me to stay still?"
Truthfully, you aren't sure what you want. It doesn't sting the way it did before, but you're worried if he moves, the pain will return tenfold.
And the thought of him taking himself from you makes your chest ache.
"I don't know," you whimper, attempting to hide yourself in his neck. "I don't know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm trying—"
"Hey." The stern voice returns as his palm tightens against your chin and pulls your focus to him. "What did I just say, hm? I don't want to hear one more apology out of this pretty mouth. Is that understood?"
Your bottom lip quivers. "...I'm sorry."
With a gentle but slightly amused sigh, he says, "Peach—"
"I am," you insist, nails curling into the back of his neck. "I don't know why I made you stop, I'm fine. I'm fine, really. I think I just got scared or something—"
"Scared?" His demeanor shifts on a dime, brows furrowing, and expression quickly growing distressed. "Scared how? What did I do? What can I do?"
"Nothing," you repeat, gasping slightly at the implication. "Nothing, no. You didn't...that's not what I...fuck."
"Okay, easy, Peach," he mumbles, sweeping his thumb along your bottom lip soothingly. Waiting until you calm. And he studies you for quite some time, as though looking for the answer written somewhere on your face. "It was a lot, yeah? I pushed too hard."
"No," you try again, but his look of disapproval makes you wilt. "I mean...it was a lot, yes, but you didn't...normally, it's perfect. It's never too hard or too much. You didn't do this, I think I just...my mind wasn't here. Maybe."
He nods once. Contemplates this. "I should have checked in with you more frequently. Especially with the camera on—"
"No," you huff, resisting the urge to slap his shoulder. "Stop putting this on yourself, it's making me sad."
"And your apologies make me sad," he counters. "But that's the point of the safeword, isn't it? The system we have in place? It's nobody's fault. It's about communication. About trust, about safety."
You swallow thickly and settle into the calming safe of his eyes.
His finger continues to trace the outline of your mouth, almost as if in an attempt to collect himself. "Do you trust me, Peach?"
Your stomach sinks. "Of course."
"Do you feel safe with me?"
"Yes." You leave a kiss to his thumb. "Always, Sir. I promise."
He begins to frown. "No, I don't want you to call me that right now. I want you to call me Harry."
And this shift – this instruction is what you were afraid of. Lashes fluttering as you whisper, "It's...it's okay. You can still be Sir, I promise—"
"No, I don't want to be your dominant right now," he corrects firmly. "I don't want to be your Sir. Or your boss or your investor. I want to be your partner. Your equal. I want to be you and me. Us."
And you know he means it. Can sense the truth of it behind his assertion and it feels like the first deep breath you've been able to take all day.
"Okay," you agree, taking hold of his wrist to keep his hand close to your face. "Okay, we'll be us."
He seems relieved, dipping down to kiss the center of your forehead before asking, "Now...tell me what you want. Do you want me to pull out or keep still? What does your body need right now?"
You take a moment to find the right answer. "I don't...honestly, I don't know. I'm okay right now. Doesn't...doesn't hurt as much. You can...you can keep going if you want."
"It's not about what I want," he reminds you. "It's about what you want. What you need. If you want me to stay, I will. If you want me to go, I will."
"I...I don't want you to go. Really, I didn't mean to make us stop, I swear—"
"We're not stopping yet," he interrupts. "Not until you say red. Right now, we're just taking a break. Reassessing what you need. Okay?"
You nod weakly. "Okay."
"Good." He presses his palm to your cheek. "Do you want to say red? Do you want to stop?"
Again, you deliberate this. "No. No, I don't think so."
The frown returns. "I need you to do more than think, Peach. I need you to be sure."
"I am," you rush to clarify, shifting a bit beneath him as you squeeze his arm and fight against a pained wince. "I am, I promise. I just...I don't know what happened. It just...there was a lot happening all of a sudden, and I couldn't...I couldn't enjoy it. Couldn't focus. Couldn't breathe or...or understand why I felt so off."
A certain sadness finds him again as he nods and presses a couple more kisses to your temple. "I think you had a panic attack, my love."
It's an odd thought. One you aren't quite familiar with, as panic attacks aren't that common for you. In fact, you don't believe you've ever had one before. At least not that you were aware of.
"Oh..." The words feel empty in your head. Weightless, with no meaning to grasp onto. "I...why?"
The corner of his mouth curls up, and the delicate smile makes your heart soar. "I don't know. Sometimes we can't find the cause, it just...happens."
You blink up at him. "You've had a panic attack before?"
"I have," he says calmly, and it surprises you more than it should. "I get them occasionally. Not as much anymore, though. With you."
And this admission feels like something you can't explain. Another piece to the Harry Styles puzzle you get to add to. Letting you see his big picture.
"I didn't know that," you whisper, and he shrugs.
"I never told you." Another kiss to your forehead. "But I know how disorienting they can be, and I think it's best we take a longer break before we continue."
You feel your expression fall as he gently begins to move. "No, I...I don't want to stop, I'm fine. You can...you can go—"
However, when he suddenly shifts his hips, it forces you to suck in a sharp, pained breath. Making it clear that continuing is no longer an option.
And for some reason, it feels like a punch to the gut. Knocking the wind from your lungs until that heaviness returns to your chest.
He really is going to stop. He's going to take his body from you, and his weight, and his heat, and his cock. And the scene will be over, and maybe you won't start again. Maybe he won't be in the mood, or he'll jerk one out in the shower without you, or he'll look at you differently.
And you hate that thought more than anything in the world.
"No," you practically whimper, grabbing onto his hips to keep him still. "No, we don't have to stop, I'm fine. Really, it was just...it was nothing. Please, Harry."
His thumb quickly returns to your face, brushing just below your eye to help dry the fresh set of tears on your warm, stained cheeks.
And he looks so very wounded. "Peach...this isn't a punishment. There's a reason we use the traffic light system, and it's for moments like this. To keep things safe—"
"But I am safe," you argue, the sound of your plea timid and riddled with distress. "And I'm fine now, really. You can go, we can finish. I want you to finish—"
"Peach," he says again, but it's a bit more resolute. "This isn't about me finishing. It will never be about me finishing, all right? We can always resume the scene later if you'd like, but right now...I want to hold you. I want to help you feel steady again."
And it's the most perfect thought in the world. From the most perfectly imperfect man, and yet the idea of stopping sends sharp needles down your spine.
"Please," you whine again, sniffling softly. "I don't want to stop, I promise. Please don't make us stop, please don't...don't..."
He dips down and nuzzles his nose to yours, forcing you to take a deep breath. "Honey, I'm not doing this to hurt you. Or upset you. I want to help, I want you to let me help. To honor our system and take a break."
But you tug on him tighter, face disappearing into his chest as you shake your head. "Please don't. Please just ignore me. I'll feel worse if we stop, really. I'll get worried and I'll overthink, and I'll panic again, and it'll just be so much worse. So just...let's finish, okay? I want to finish."
You hear – and feel – him sigh. "Baby, I need you to listen to me right now, okay? This is my answer."
It's rare he uses this nickname, and even though it might be a little cliché, it makes your stomach wrench in the best possible way.
Yet still, the anguish is evident. "Harry," you whisper, pleading desperately with everything you have left.
He slips his palm around the back of your neck to pull you from his body and allow him to see your face. It's scrutinous, his expression. Slightly stern and somewhat doleful. "Do I need to be your dominant again? Is that the only way you'll listen to me?"
Truth be told, you wonder if it is, and your sad little hiccup seems to be answer enough.
So, while fighting a smile, he says, "Then I want you to be a good girl and let Daddy hold you. I don't want you to argue with me, or fight me, or act like a brat. I want you to say, 'Yes, Sir,' and be done with it. Is that understood?"
With a shaky inhale and a feeble nod, you murmur, "Yes, Sir."
"Good," he hums before landing his mouth on yours. Kissing you for the first time in what feels like years. "Much sweeter when you behave for me, my love. Aren't you?"
But you don't have the strength to answer.
"I know," he says for you, chuckling against your lips. "Now...I'm gonna pull out. And I'm gonna go slow, all right? Try to be as gentle as I can. And I want you to tell me if it aches or if it's too much, yes?"
"Yes, Sir."
With this vow, he begins to draw his hips back, cock retreating from your pussy until that full feeling begins to diminish.
And at first it's a bit uncomfortable. Tight, in a sense but eventually, he's all the way out, and your cunt is provided a moment of much needed reprieve.
The moment that relief finds you, it seems to melt across your expression. And he notices, smiling gratefully but with a twinge of regret. As though he's punishing himself for causing you the displeasure in the first place.
But before either of you can argue about it again, he's settling on the mattress beside you and slipping an arm around your stomach. Keeping you pressed against his body to hold you the way he promised.
"There," he sighs, lips returning to their rightful place on your neck. "Is that better?"
Your eyes fall shut in blissful ecstasy as you lace your hand with his. "Yes, Sir."
He grins and that familiar dimple reappears. "Attagirl. And you're gonna let me hold you, yeah?"
"Mhm. Always, Sir."
He kisses the spot below your ear. "Good."
The large bedroom falls silent while the little red light from the camera blinks the seconds away. You imagine you'll have to scrap this video, and you want to feel regret over wasting so much content over this.
But you know, deep down, it's not about the videos, or your OnlyFans, or the money.
Because all you really need...is here beside you.
"Sir?" you whisper into the delicate air.
His head rolls back. "Yes, Peach?"
"Thank you."
He squeezes your hip. "Don't have to thank me, honey. This is my job. This is what we agreed on."
"I know," you admit, allowing your other hand to travel to his hair. Fingers absentmindedly sweeping through the curls. "But I don't think any of my other partners would have been this understanding. And I really appreciate it."
His eyebrow raises. "Well, that's why they aren't your fucking partners anymore. You needed someone that wasn't a total fucking twat."
You smirk. "Touché."
Another quiet lull as you listen to the sound of his soft breaths. Reveling in the feel of them against your heated skin. The way they keep you present in this moment with him instead of losing you to the voices in your head.
Contented, you turn and press your cheek to his forehead, nails scratching down his scalp gently. "Harry?"
"Yes, Peach?"
With a racing heart, your eyes flutter shut.
"...I love you."