ldr13beaches

[ldr13beaches]

⋆˙⟡ 𝐻𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝐿𝑒𝓌𝒾𝓈- 𝒟𝓇𝓊𝓃𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝒻𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈

Harry and you had been inseparable since you were kids. Growing up in Guernsey together, it was like you were glued at the hip. Even when life pulled you both in different directions, you'd always found your way back to one another. When you both made the decision to move to London, it was only natural that you'd live with Harry. The apartment you’d found was shared with your other close friends, the two Callums—Callux and Calfreezy—who somehow always brought the chaos with them.

It was just past two in the morning, and you were lounging on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. The apartment was quiet, except for the hum of the city outside the window. Harry had gone out earlier with Ethan for a night of drinks, and you'd had stayed home, enjoying the solitude. You hadn’t felt like partying; it was just one of those nights.

Then, a noise broke the silence. Muffled voices. Footsteps shuffling up the stairs. You squinted, not sure if you were hearing things. The voices grew louder until you could make out Harry's slurred voice from behind the door.

"Y/N? Cal?" Harry’s words were thick with alcohol, each syllable dragging a bit too long.

You sat up groaning, your head in your hands. Not again.

There was another voice, one you recognized instantly. Ethan.

"He’s wasted, someone come get him," Ethan said, knocking on the door again, clearly annoyed.

You sigh, glancing toward the bedrooms where the Callums were probably dead asleep. 

You begrudgingly walk to the door and unlocked it. Harry was standing there, leaning against the frame for support, his eyes half-lidded and unsteady. Ethan was just behind him, shaking his head.

“Here he is,” Ethan said with a smirk, stepping back. 

You roll your eyes, holding the door open wider. "Fucking idiot, I could kill him."

Ethan chuckled, "Good luck." 

You sigh, "Thankyou for bringing him home." 

"Course," Ethan nods, waving  goodbye as he disappeared down the hallway.

You turned back to Harry, who was swaying slightly. He looked up at you with that goofy, drunken grin plastered across his face.

"Hey," Harry mumbled, his voice low and raspy. "I missed you."

You shake your head, with a small smile. It was hard to be angry at that face. You tried not to get too distracted by the way his messy hair fell across his forehead. "Uh-huh. Missed me, hm?"

"Mhm," He hums, grinning as you take his arm to lead him inside.

You chuckled softly, brushing your hair out of your face, the light from the lamp casting a soft glow over the room. "Maybe you should get some sleep," you suggested, a playful hint in your voice, though there was a small tug of concern buried underneath.

Harry blinked slowly, his gaze drifting toward you with an intensity that made the air around you feel heavier. His eyes held something unspoken, and it made you wonder for a moment if maybe you had been wrong—maybe he wasn’t as tipsy as you thought. "You’re really beautiful, you know that?" he said quietly, almost as if the words were meant for no one but himself.

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his tone. There was a tenderness there, something you weren’t used to hearing from him. You laughed softly, your voice a little shaky. "Harry, you’re drunk."

But he shook his head, his expression serious, eyes fixed on yours like he was searching for something. "Doesn’t matter. You are."

Your heart fluttered, the words lingering in the air between you like a weight. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out right away. The room felt smaller somehow, more intimate, the distance between you both strangely charged.

"Bedtime, Harry," you said at last, your voice gentle but firm, trying to redirect the moment before it slipped into something you couldn’t undo. "Don’t say anything you’ll regret."

He sat back a little, but not far enough to break the closeness. You reached out to help him up, but before your hand could close around his arm, he reached for you—his fingers brushing yours with a softness that startled you.

The contact was light, but it sent a jolt through your body, a quick spark that ran from your hand to your chest, and you instinctively pulled your hand away, your breath catching. You told yourself it was nothing, just a fleeting thing. But his touch lingered in your thoughts, like an echo you couldn’t quite shake.

For a long moment, Harry didn’t speak. His hand hovered near yours, still as though he were waiting for something, and you could feel the space between you both growing heavy with the unspoken. His eyes never left yours, and you saw something there that wasn’t just the lingering fog of alcohol. There was something deeper, something that made the air feel too thick to breathe properly.

"Harry..." you started, your voice coming out softer than you intended, "you’re not yourself, this isn't-"

But he cut you off, his gaze softening as he shifted closer, just enough so his presence surrounded you. "I’m not asking for anything, Y/N. Just..." He seemed to struggle with the next words, his hand hesitating once more. "Just... don't leave. Please.."

The plea in his voice was almost imperceptible, but it hit you in a place you weren’t sure you wanted to admit was there. "Harry it's nearly half past two in the morning," you whispered, your pulse thrumming in your throat.

He let out a small, tired laugh, and there was something almost vulnerable in the sound. "Stay." He knew he was drunk, knew he wasn't thinking straight. But the sight of you, the sound of your voice, the touch of your skin under his fingers—it made him forget about everything else.

You felt the weight of the silence between you two, the slow pull of something neither of you could quite name. His hand, still close but not touching, seemed to be waiting for you—waiting for permission, waiting for you to make the next move.

You opened your mouth to speak, but instead of words, all that came out was a soft exhale, as if you were suddenly afraid to break whatever fragile thing was unfolding between you. The room seemed to shrink around you both, the silence growing more and more intense. You were acutely aware of every sound—the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the soft ticking of the clock on the wall, and the soft sound of Harry's breathing.

Harry suddenly stood up and stepped close to you, the proximity causing your mind to spin. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and you caught a whiff of his scent—a distinct smell you recognized as uniquely his. With every step, you felt the distance between you and Harry shrinking, like magnets drawn together. You had to tilt your chin up to keep your eyes on his. Despite the height difference, Harry's gaze never wavered. He was intense, his eyes locking onto yours as if he was peering into your soul.

One of his hands moved to cradle your cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the contour of your jawline. The touch was gentle but somehow possessive, as if he were trying to claim you in this moment. 

You sigh and pull back slightly, "Harry, you know I love you, you're my best friend... but your drunk."

Harry's touch lingered on your cheek, his thumb still gently tracing patterns along your skin. There was a softness in his eyes as he looked down at you, a vulnerability you hadn't seen before. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their shallow breathing, the air almost crackling with tension. Then, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters Harry!" I groan.

Harry's fingers twitched on your cheek, his thumb still tracing those gentle circles. Despite the sharpness in your tone, there was no anger in his eyes, just a flicker of sadness. The touch on your skin felt like a lifeline, grounding him in the moment.

He took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving yours. "Drunk words, sober thoughts." He grumbles.

Harry's hand dropped from your cheek, falling back to his side as he took a small step back, putting some distance between them. Clearly, you'd pissed him off slightly with your statement.

He ran his fingers through his messy hair, his jaw tight. There was a mix of emotions in his eyes—disappointment, hurt, maybe even a hint of shame. But above all, there was something there—longing, longing that he couldn't quite conceal. He forced out a humourless laugh.

"Do you really think I'm just your 'best friend'," he echoes your earlier words. The two words felt heavy in the air, laden with the weight of unspoken feelings. There was a sharp edge to his voice—a hint of anger mixed in with a hint of melancholy. He took another step back, creating a small pocket of space between you both.

Harry's back hit the wall behind him, and for a moment he looked like a fish out of water, struggling to find something to anchor him in this moment. His eyes flicked across your face, the intensity in them almost suffocating.

He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath. The words seemed to be clawing their way out from somewhere deep inside him. "You know, it's not fair." he muttered, opening his eyes again to look at you, his gaze intense. "To have you as a friend and nothing more."

"Harry, come on, please don't do this, not now," you say, your voice wavering as a knot tightens in your chest. You knew, deep down, you wanted the same thing he did, but not like this. Not when he was drunk. This wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this—not even remembering his words the following morning. 

He stared at you, his eyes slightly unfocused, but there was something in the way he looked at you that made your heart ache, something raw and vulnerable that you hadn’t seen before. He took a step closer, swaying slightly as he reached out for you, his hand brushing your arm with a softness that didn’t match the intensity of his gaze.

Harry's hand was warm against your skin, but there was something almost desperate in the gesture—as if he was grasping for something, anything to hold onto. He leaned forward, his head tilting to the side as he whispered your name in a voice that was a strange mix of vulnerability and determination.

"Please, don't push me away."

His hand, which was still touching your arm, slid down slowly to your waist, his fingers gently tracing the gap where cropped shirt ended and your trouser began. It was an intimate gesture, one that sent a shiver down your spine. His gaze flicked down to your lips for a brief moment, and for a moment he looked like a man drowning, desperately grasping for air. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion, and then his eyes met yours once more.

His voice was barely a whisper, but the words echoed painfully in your ears. "You're killing me."

He was really testing your restraint now. "Fuck Harry." You breathe out, not wanting to take advantage of his drunken state. 

Harry's mouth curled into a small, smile at your words. There was something almost masochistic about the intensity of his drunken gaze, the way he seemed to be silently daring you to keep pushing back.

He leaned in, his breath hot and slightly sweet on your skin. His hand, still on your waist, started to slide up under your shirt, tracing an infuriatingly teasing path over the bare skin of your stomach. The fact that you weren't stopping him was enough.

Harry's lips were so close to your ear now, you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin. The closeness was intoxicating, a potent mix of alcohol and desire that had your senses on edge. "Stop running," he murmured, his voice thick with the weight of something deeper than the alcohol in his system. "I know you feel it too. Don't pretend you don’t."

Your chest tightened. His words were so quiet, yet so heavy, and it took everything in you not to crumble under the weight of his gaze. You couldn’t help but feel the heat rising between you two, the way his body shifted closer, his warmth invading your space.

"I... I’m not running," you whispered, but even you didn’t believe it. You were holding back. You knew you were. But you weren’t sure if it was because you didn’t want him, or because you feared what would happen if you did.

“Then why do you keep pulling away?” His voice was low, dragging across your skin like a touch, and it made your pulse spike. 

"Harry you're my-" I start.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm your best friend, whatever. I've heard enough of that bullshit Y/N. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep pretending that I’m not dying to have you. Not when you look at me like that. Not when you make me feel like I can’t breathe without you.”

His hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer, and suddenly, you were pressed against him, the heat between you both almost unbearable. His lips brushed against your ear, his voice a low, seductive murmur. “Let go. Let me show you how much I need you. How much I want you. Just once. Let me make you feel everything.” 

You felt your breath hitch, a thousand thoughts colliding in your mind, but you couldn’t push him away. Not this time. Not with the way his words, his touch, had unravelled every defence you’d put up. He was right. You did feel it. That same pull. That same burning need that he’d felt, too. And for once, you didn’t want to fight it.

The moment was hanging by a thread, and in it, everything felt possible. The world outside of this room didn’t matter. You didn’t care about the consequences, the aftermath, the broken pieces that might come later.

His lips, still so close to your ear, curled into a small, playful smile. He lifted a hand to cup your cheek, pressing his forehead against yours as he took a shaky breath, "I fucking love you Y/N." And with that Harry's lips crashed against yours, hot and insistent, as though the confession had unlocked something deeper, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. You could taste the rawness in the kiss, the desperation, the longing that had built up between you both over time.

For a moment, you lost yourself in it—lost yourself in him, in the way his fingers traced the lines of your jaw, in the way his body seemed to press into yours with an intensity that made everything else fade away. The world outside? Gone. The years of uncertainty, the quiet doubts, they all melted under the heat of his touch, under the warmth of his confession.

You couldn’t think straight. You didn’t want to. Everything about him felt like it had always been meant to happen. His lips, his hands, the way he held you like you were the one thing that kept him tethered to the earth.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you could hear the pounding of your heart in your chest, and you realized—maybe for the first time—that this was real. And somehow, that scared you. The intensity of it, the certainty, the way you couldn’t deny it anymore.

But when you looked into his eyes, there was only that same pull. That same gravity that had always existed between you two. And before you could stop yourself, you whispered, “I love you too, Harry.”

And just like that, everything fell into place.

[ldr13beaches]

ＭＡＳＴＥＲＬＩＳＴ

I have absolutely no fvcking clue how to use this app, but here's my masterlist <3333

Harry Lewis (W2S):

Mini Golf

2. Drunken Confessions

[ldr13beaches]

⋆˙⟡ 𝑀𝒾𝓃𝒾 𝑔𝑜𝓁𝒻- 𝐻𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝐿𝑒𝓌𝒾𝓈 𝓍 𝒴/𝒩

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the lush green of the mini golf course. It was one of those perfect afternoons where the air felt fresh but warm, and you could not be happier. Harry stood a few feet ahead of you, casually adjusting his cap, his focus more on you than the game. You tried to shake off the fluttering feeling in your chest, but it was impossible. He had that effect on you—he always had.

"Alright, Y/N," Harry said, his voice smooth and teasing. "Let’s see if I have any real competition today." You glare at your boyfriend, and stick your middle finger up at him, trying not to crack a smile. You both knew how competitive you were, and Harry always found entertainment in teasing you.

You walk up to take your turn, placing your pink ball down on the starting dot. Harry watched you line up your shot, amused by the grumpy look on your face already. He had always loved seeing you get competitive. Harry watched as you stuck your tongue out in concentration, swinging the golf club.

Much to his entertainment your ball went flying at an angle, landing nowhere near the hole. He chuckled and shook his head. "Unlucky," he grins. As you turned around with a pout, Harry couldn't help but smirk at your face. 

“That didn’t count. Redo!" You shout quickly running to go pickup your ball. Harry, who had tried to stifle his laughter, couldn’t hold it in any longer. You ignore him and quickly pick your ball up before he can stop you, placing it back on the green, immediately hitting it again. Your second hit was not so bad, but Harry was still amused.

Half an hour later and 17 more terrible shots later, you were finally at the last hole. Although the pair of you could be extremely competitive, you were both simple enjoying each others company. Harry leaned in, placing a kiss on your temple as you readied your final shot. "Ready to lose?" he teased.

"Piss off. We're only 5 points apart." You shot back, adjusting your stance and narrowing your eyes at the hole, willing yourself to focus. You hit the ball, way too hard and it flew over the side of the green, making a beeline straight for the river that ran alongside the course. You both just look each other and burst out laughing.

"Fair play Haz. You win." You grin, holding your hand out to shake, and ignored you hand and instead grabbed your waist, pulling you close, and kissing your face all over, making you squirm and laugh. You gently held his face, rubbing your thumbs over his rosy cheeks, silencing him for a moment. His soft, blue eyes locked with yours, and his messy blonde hair tumbled slightly over his forehead, making him look effortlessly perfect. Harry’s gaze softened, and he leaned in just enough that his breath brushed against your lips.

"What?" he murmured, his voice low and warm, the kind of voice that made your chest tighten in the best way.

“Nothing,” you whispered, your heart fluttering as you closed the gap between you, pressing your lips softly against his. He sighed into the kiss, one of his hands moving to rest on your waist, pulling you a little closer.

When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, the feeling of his warm skin grounding you. “I love you,” you murmured, a quiet confession that felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“I love you too,” Harry replied, his voice filled with sincerity. He brushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear and smiled, his eyes never leaving yours.

He checks his watch and we realise how late it had gotten. "You'd better take your last shot then," I hum.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance at Harry as he lined up for his final shot. You noticed everything, whether it was the small crease between his brows as he focused, or the muscles in his arms flexing just enough as he gripped the putter—everything about him had you feeling MANY things. When he hit the ball it landed just shy of the hole, and you couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped your lips, despite his failed attempt. “Almost,” you teased with a grin. "Your welcome by the way, any shot following mine looks fucking brilliant."

You chewed on your lip absentmindedly as you watched Harry stretch, his movements slow and deliberate. The way his arms reached above his head, muscles flexing beneath his shirt, made you want him more. Harry turned to face you after his shot, a confident grin spreading across his face, realising you’d been staring at him the entire time.

"Something on your mind?" he teased, his voice low and playful, his grin widening as he took a small step closer. His grin broadened, a hint of teasing mischief in his eye.

"Just admiring the view," you smile. He then grabs your hand, and walks you to the exit putting both your clubs away. As you approach his car he opens your door.

"Get in," he smirks.