#ONE DIRECTION

[harrys-toothpaste]

he is the only teacher i need in my life

+

[stylesonfilms]

the days are long, the days are hard [h.s]

word count: 4.5k

after a long, excruciating week at work packed with bad news, all you want is your husband, harry.

(inspired by one of my moots that has had a rough few days, hope this brings some comfort!)

warnings: none, just fluff!

Your week started off rough—rougher than most, in fact. The kind of week that clings to your chest like damp fabric, making it hard to breathe and even harder to find the energy to push through.

Monday was everything you’d expect a Monday to be: sluggish, jarring, and unforgiving. Getting back into the groove of things at the office after a much-needed holiday break felt like trying to climb uphill in heels on black ice. Your inbox was flooded, your calendar double-booked, and your brain resistant to the demands of corporate life. The fluorescent lighting overhead seemed brighter than usual, glaring down at you as though it wanted to mock your every misstep.

By Tuesday, the headache that had been brewing since the start of the week blossomed into a full-on throbbing migraine. You powered through with your phone glued to your ear, making calls and leaving voicemails to important individuals who somehow never seemed available. The phone grew slick in your clammy hands, and you found yourself gripping it tighter as though that would keep it from slipping away along with your patience.

Wednesday hit like a freight train. You walked into the office, already dreading the growing to-do list, only to be blindsided by the news that you’d be giving not one, but two speeches at back-to-back meetings. Meetings that you didn’t even know existed until that very moment. You had smiled through clenched teeth and nodded at your boss, silently berating yourself for not anticipating this kind of curveball. The weight of your own expectations pressed heavily on your shoulders, making the simple act of breathing feel like a chore.

Meanwhile, Harry was a ghost in the rhythm of your week. He left before the sun rose, his coffee cup rinsed and drying in the sink by the time you wandered into the kitchen each morning. By the time he returned home, long after the sky had surrendered to darkness, you’d already have dinner waiting—his plate warm, yours half-empty. Conversations were quick and superficial, exchanges of how-was-your-day glossed over in favor of tired smiles and heavy eyelids.

Friday arrived, and with it, the chaos of the city seemed to mirror the storm inside you. Your phone buzzed incessantly in your purse, vibrating against the side of your hip as you weaved through the swarm of New Yorkers hustling to get wherever they needed to be. The cold January air stung your cheeks, and the weight of your tote bag dug into your shoulder as you dodged elbows and briefcases. You muttered an apology to someone who bumped into you, though you couldn’t bring yourself to look up from the sidewalk until you reached the revolving doors of your building.

Once inside, you let out a sharp exhale, your breath fogging up the glass as you took a moment to compose yourself. Tugging at your blazer, you smoothed it over your pencil skirt before running your fingers through your hair, trying to tame the frizz that had been building from the morning’s commute. Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as you made your way to the elevator, the sound echoing faintly in the open lobby.

“Hi, Martha!” you chirped at the receptionist, flashing her a smile that felt paper-thin.

“Morning! Good luck today!” she called back cheerfully, though her voice felt like it was coming from underwater.

You loved her, truly. She was one of the few people in the office whose presence didn’t add to your stress, but today, you could barely muster the energy to respond with more than a quick wave. Your nerves had been stretched to the breaking point, and your usual confidence felt like it had been replaced by quicksand.

If it had been any other day, Harry would’ve held you the night before, grounding you in the warmth of his arms as he peppered light kisses across your face. He would’ve whispered words of reassurance into your temple, his voice low and steady as he reminded you of just how capable you were. His hands would have found the curve of your back, his thumb tracing soothing circles into your skin until your worries melted into the sheets.

But last night, you hadn’t let him in. Despite his gentle prodding and his furrowed brows that silently begged you to confide in him, you had brushed him off with excuses of being overtired. You’d told him about your unreasonable bosses, blaming your frustration on the endless pile of work. He didn’t believe you—Harry never did when it came to half-truths. He knew you too well.

He’d pressed his lips into a thin line, his silence carrying the weight of his concern, but he had let it go, probably sensing you didn’t have the energy to delve into your worries. And maybe you should have let him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to add to the weight he was already carrying. With two employees down at his job, he’d been shouldering triple the workload, yet he still came home each night with that same lopsided smile.

You thought about the time, three years ago, when you asked him how he managed to leave the stress of work at the door. His answer had been so simple, yet it had stayed with you ever since.

“Because,” he’d said, pulling you into his arms, “at the end of the day, no matter how bad it gets, I get to come home to you. And that makes everything else feel small.”

The memory brought a faint smile to your lips, even as you stepped into the elevator and prepared yourself for another long day.

You sighed as the elevator dinged softly, floor by floor, the sound seeming to echo in the confined space. It was a rhythmic, monotonous chime, yet it only heightened your sense of dread. Fishing your phone out of your purse, you let the leather strap slide from your shoulder and settle in the crook of your arm. The screen lit up immediately, bathing your face in a cold glow, and a notification blinked persistently at the top. A voicemail.

Your stomach tightened when you saw the name attached: Martin Mayer-Harvey. The name alone carried weight—a man whose influence stretched across six major publishing branches, a figure both revered and feared in the industry. His voice had been a beacon of hope during your one-on-one interview, one you had approached with equal parts trepidation and determination.

Harry had been ecstatic when you first told him about the opportunity. He’d grinned so wide his dimples had cut deep into his cheeks, his enthusiasm bubbling over as he pulled you into a celebratory hug. “This is it,” he’d said, his hands cradling your face. “This is the door opening for you, babe. And you’re going to crush it.” He’d even gone the extra mile to send recommendations on your behalf, his faith in you unwavering.

But now, standing alone in the elevator, the air felt thick with foreboding. With a swipe of your thumb, you tapped the notification, bringing the phone to your ear as you turned the volume up. Another ding. Another floor.

The voicemail played, Martin’s voice smooth and clinical, like velvet stretched too thin.

“Mrs. Y/N, thank you for your time and the professionalism you demonstrated during your interview. I regret to inform you that you have not been selected as an employee for this upcoming year. Nothing personal, it just comes down to the finer things—successes and ethics, and all. Thanks again. Your time was appreciated.”

The words hit you like a gut punch. Your stomach churned, a nauseating wave rolling over you as your breath caught in your throat. Not selected. You repeated the phrase in your mind, the syllables heavy and jagged, cutting deeper with every repetition. Successes and ethics? What did that even mean? Was he saying you weren’t accomplished enough? That you lacked whatever intangible quality he deemed essential?

You swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat refused to go away. When you’d shaken his hand after the interview, his words had brimmed with promise, his smile so genuine you’d dared to believe the position was yours. Yet now, the sterile tone of his voicemail made you feel like just another name crossed off a list.

The elevator dinged again, jolting you out of your spiraling thoughts as the doors slid open with an indifferent hum. The bright fluorescent lights of the seventh floor spilled in, harsh and unforgiving, making you squint as you stepped out into the long hallway. Blinking rapidly, you shoved your phone back into your purse, gripping the strap tightly as if it could somehow anchor you.

Your heels clicked against the polished tiles, the sound sharp and deliberate as you forced yourself to move forward. The walls, painted a dull beige, seemed to close in on you with every step, the air growing heavier as you approached your office.

When you finally stepped inside, the familiar scent of stale coffee and printer ink greeted you, a small comfort in an otherwise dismal moment. Dropping your purse onto the desk with a dull thud, you leaned against the wooden frame, your fingers curling around its edge as if it could keep you upright. Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as you closed your eyes, willing yourself to regain control.

The weight of disappointment pressed down on you, a suffocating heaviness that made your fingers tremble as they tightened around the wood. You hated this job. Loathed it, really. What had once been a golden opportunity now felt like a gilded cage. Five years of grunt work had left you disillusioned, the spark of ambition dimmed by endless busywork and little recognition. You had learned, yes, but at what cost?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the door swinging open, followed by a brisk knock. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Let’s go,” your boss grunted, his voice clipped and devoid of warmth. A briefcase dangled from his hand as he nodded toward the hallway. “You’ve got work to do.”

The meetings were as grueling as you’d anticipated. Standing in front of the room, under the scrutinizing gaze of your colleagues, felt like being trapped under a spotlight. The projector whirred faintly as you fumbled with the remote, your palms damp as you flipped through slide after slide. Words stumbled out of your mouth, tangling together as your nerves got the better of you. Every time you glanced at the room, the blank faces staring back only made your stomach twist further.

You kept replaying Martin’s voicemail in your head, the words looping like a broken record, distracting you at every turn. The disappointment, the humiliation—it all burned, settling low in your gut like a stone.

By the time the meetings ended, you could barely muster the energy to exchange handshakes, your smiles forced and brittle as you bid everyone a good day.

You checked the dainty watch on your wrist—a delicate silver piece Harry had gifted you on your one-year anniversary. It read 5:30. You sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you snapped your case closed on the meeting table.

“What happened out there?” your boss asked, his tone sharp and unimpressed. His gaze swept over you, narrowing slightly as though he could see every crack in your armor. “I thought you were prepared.”

You gave me just under two damn days, you thought bitterly, though the words never left your lips.

Instead, you offered a tight-lipped apology. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I let myself get distracted.”

Your boss lingered for a moment, his eyes scanning your face before letting out a quiet “hm.” He turned on his heel and left without another word.

The breath you’d been holding escaped in a shuddering sigh. The weight of the day bore down on you, your muscles aching under the strain. All you wanted was to go home. To take a long, scalding shower and let the steam wash away the tension clinging to your skin. To crawl into bed, pull the covers over your head, and pretend for a moment that the world wasn’t so heavy.

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The hot water cascaded over your skin in steady rivulets, steaming against the cool tiles and filling the bathroom with a dense, comforting warmth. Each droplet hit your shoulders and back with a soothing rhythm, dissolving the tension knotted in your muscles from the week’s troubles. You leaned forward slightly, pressing your palms against the wet shower wall, letting the stream ripple through the strands of your hair and drip down to your toes. The scent of pomegranate and shea butter from the body scrub filled the air, sweet and creamy, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

You had gotten home just over half an hour ago. The house had been quiet, the kind of stillness that usually greeted you on Fridays. Harry’s car was absent from the driveway, as expected—he always stayed late at the end of the week, wrapping up whatever loose ends needed his attention. The emptiness of the house had been neither comforting nor unsettling; it simply was. You’d set your bag on the kitchen counter, slipped off your heels, and headed straight for the shower, bypassing the bedroom entirely.

Your clothes lay in a careless heap on the tiled floor, a small pile of the day’s exhaustion. You’d scrubbed at your scalp with your fingernails, washing your hair thoroughly not once, but twice, as if doing so could cleanse not just the grime of the day, but also the weight pressing on your mind. You busied yourself with every task you could—shaving over every inch of skin, exfoliating with the grainy scrub until your arms and legs felt soft and raw, then lathering up with the matching body wash, its silky foam sliding over your skin before being washed away in swirling streams.

When the water finally stopped, you stood for a moment in the silence, the air heavy with steam and the faint aroma of your products. You wrung out your hair with practiced motions, droplets splattering onto the shower floor as you reached for the towel. With a flick of your wrist, you flipped your hair forward and wrapped it into the plush fabric, the soft pink standing out against the misty haze. Another towel—this one a little coarser—was pulled from the rack, and you pressed it to your damp skin, blotting and drying before wrapping it securely around your body.

The bathroom was your sanctuary for the next hour. You took your time moving through your routine, dabbing on lotions and serums, brushing out your hair, and slipping into a pair of soft, oversized pajamas. The familiar scents of lavender and coconut oil mingled with the lingering steam, grounding you as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your heart still carried the same heaviness it had since hearing the voicemail, a quiet ache nestled in your chest. But now, it felt distant—muted, like background noise to the slow hum of your movements.

By the time you left the bathroom, the house felt cooler, the air outside the warmth of the shower almost brisk against your skin. You padded down the hallway barefoot, the soft patter of your steps swallowed by the carpet. The living room was dimly lit, the glow from the TV casting flickering shadows against the walls. You curled up on the couch under the throw blanket, its weight comforting as it settled over you. Your comfort show played softly in the background, the familiar voices blending seamlessly into the quiet. A well-loved book rested by your side, its pages slightly worn, ready to pull you in if you felt like retreating further into your own world.

Around seven PM, the sound of the front door opening broke the silence. The subtle click of the latch, followed by the rhythmic clack of Harry’s work shoes against the hardwood floor, was a melody you didn’t realize you’d been waiting for. His keys jingled briefly before landing with a soft clink in the bowl by the door, and the heavier thud of his briefcase settling onto the dining table made your heart lighten just a little.

Relief bubbled in your chest, warm and effervescent, as you shifted under the blanket. Your arm hooked around the back of the couch, your head tilting to look over your shoulder as Harry rounded the corner. The sight of him brought an instant smile to your face.

He was still in his work suit, the sharp lines of his dark grey blazer and slacks softened by the slight dishevelment that came with a long day. The plain black button-up underneath was unbuttoned at the collar, and the sleeves were cuffed up just enough to reveal his wrists. His hair was slightly mussed, a few strands falling across his forehead.

His lips curved into a familiar, easy smile when he saw you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he lifted a bag of takeout into the air. “I brought takeout,” he said, his voice warm and teasing as he walked over to you. “Figured tonight was one of those nights.”

Your chest swelled with gratitude— he knew you so well. He always had.

You murmured a quiet thank you, your voice soft and a little worn, and let out a contented sigh as he sank onto the couch beside you. His arms wrapped snugly around you, pulling you close as the weight of the day melted away. You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest as his familiar scent— something clean, woodsy, and uniquely him— enveloped you. His nose brushed against your damp hair, and the warmth of his presence grounded you in a way nothing else could.

For the first time all day, you felt like you could finally exhale.

“You smell good, baby.” Harry’s voice was a soft murmur, his accent thick and lingering in the air like honey, each word wrapped in warmth. His large hands splayed across your back, their weight grounding you as they roamed gently over the sleek fabric of your pajama set. His touch was tender, deliberate, as though he was trying to smooth away the burdens of your day. You melted into him, your arms winding around his torso, clinging to him like he was your lifeline. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you, blending seamlessly with the faint aroma of soap lingering on your own skin.

Your face nestled into the crook of his neck, the warmth of his body radiating into yours as you fluttered your eyes shut. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath your cheek, his heartbeat a gentle, soothing rhythm that seemed to lull your own into sync. Being here, in his arms, felt like finally exhaling after holding your breath all day.

Harry’s lips pressed into a small frown, the pinch of his brows betraying his concern. His hands, broad and steady, paused on your back, giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze before he pulled back slightly to study you. One hand slid beneath your chin, his touch feather-light but firm, guiding your gaze up to meet his.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked softly, his green eyes searching yours with an intensity that felt like he was looking straight into your soul. His voice was gentle, but the concern etched into his expression made your chest tighten. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone in a slow, comforting stroke, its warmth grounding you even as you struggled to hold his gaze.

You let out a small, weary sigh. “Meetings,” you mumbled, though even to your own ears, the excuse sounded thin. Still, you nuzzled into his touch, seeking comfort as your words trailed off.

Harry’s hand cradled your jaw now, his thumb continuing its soothing path along your skin. His other hand found its way to your bare thigh, his palm warm and steady as it swept up and down, brushing lightly under the hem of your sleep shorts. His touch was instinctive, effortless, but it carried with it a deep well of care that threatened to unravel you.

“You don’t get this worn and torn over meetings, love,” he said quietly, his voice like a low hum of thunder, steady and grounding. “Is there something else?” His green eyes held yours, steady and unyielding, like a comforting fire that wouldn’t burn but would warm you to your core.

Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat. You sighed again, this time deeper, your shoulders slumping under the weight of it all. His hands never wavered— one cupping your face, the other continuing its soothing rhythm against your thigh.

Finally, you spoke, your voice trembling with a mix of sadness and resignation. “That job at Mayer-Harvey completely fell through,” you admitted, your breath hitching as the words spilled out. “He said... he said I wasn’t qualified enough, not accomplished enough, just… not enough.” The words felt heavier the more you said them, the ache in your chest twisting a little tighter.

Harry’s frown deepened, the lines on his face etched with quiet frustration— not at you, but at the world that had made you feel this way. His thumb stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle sweep across your cheek. When your gaze dropped to your hands, which were busy fiddling with the edge of his blazer, he tipped your chin back up with tender insistence.

“Baby, you know that’s not true, right?” His voice was firm but still soft, his words laced with conviction. “None of it. He doesn’t know an ounce of what he’s talking about.”

You shook your head slightly, your brows furrowing. “H, he owns six different branches. I would say he—.”

“No.” Harry’s voice interrupted gently but firmly, his head shaking in disagreement. “Just because he owns them doesn’t mean he knows how to work them. I can guarantee you, in two months, he’ll realize just how badly he messed up by letting you go. He’ll regret it, love, because no one brings what you do to the table.”

Your lips wavered into a faint pout, sadness glazing over your eyes as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. “I just… I have to keep looking, I guess. Maybe I wasn’t meant to work there anyway.”

“But you damn sure wanted it,” Harry said, his voice softening, though the conviction in his tone remained. His hand on your thigh paused to squeeze lightly before resuming its gentle strokes. “And you deserved it. Y/N, I’ve seen your work. I’ve seen how dedicated you are, how much effort you put in, even when it’s for a company that doesn’t deserve you. And I know,” he paused, leaning a little closer, his eyes locking onto yours, “I know you’d pack a bigger punch for a company that’s actually worth it.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, slowly loosening the knot of doubt and hurt in your chest. Maybe he was right.

You nodded slowly, your fingers tracing the lapel of his blazer as you whispered, “I really wanted it, H.”

“I know, baby.” His voice was soft, his lips brushing against your forehead in a kiss that was as much a promise as it was an act of comfort. He kissed the bridge of your nose next, lingering there for a moment. “But don’t worry, darling. We’ll find you something better— something that deserves you. And listen, if you want to leave that job now, I’d be more than happy to support us. All I want is to take care of my girl. That’s it.”

Harry’s hands framed your face, his thumbs stroking softly against your cheeks as he looked at you with an intensity that made you feel seen in a way no one else could make you feel. Then, slowly, he leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss so gentle, so tender, that it made your heart swell and your worries ebb away.

With Harry by your side, it didn’t matter what the world threw at you. His unwavering support, his patience, his love— it was all you needed.

“Now c’mon,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to press another kiss to your forehead. “Let’s have dinner, yeah?”

You spent that night cooped up under his arm, the fabric of his suit soft but slightly wrinkled from your cuddling. Neither of you cared. All that mattered was the comfort of being close, the way his steady heartbeat became your lullaby as the hours ticked by. The movie played quietly in the background, but neither of you was paying much attention. Harry’s fingers absentmindedly traced little patterns along your arm, while you nestled deeper into his side, letting his warmth soak into your skin.

When dinner was done and the plates had been set aside, Harry stood, stretching dramatically before grinning down at you. “Don’t move a muscle,” he teased, his green eyes crinkling with affection as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

He took care of the cleanup, tossing the trash and rinsing the dishes with that same effortless grace he did everything else. You watched him from the couch, your heart swelling as he moved around the room, sleeves rolled up, that signature Harry charm shining through even in the simplest of acts. He looked over his shoulder to catch you staring, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips. “What’re you looking at, huh?”

“You,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that made his smile widen.

“Good answer,” he chuckled, before walking over and scooping you up effortlessly. You let out a small squeal, laughing as he carried you bridal style toward the bedroom. “C’mon, love. Time for a proper cuddle.”

Once in bed, Harry wrapped you up in his arms as if he never wanted to let go. The suit jacket had long been tossed to the side, but his tie still hung loosely around his neck, a detail that made you smile. His hand found its way to your hair, fingers combing through the strands with a tenderness that melted away the last of your worries.

“By the way,” he murmured, his voice soft and low, “I took the next few days off.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him in surprise. “You did?”

“Mmhm,” he confirmed, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “Figured my girl needed me more than work did. And honestly, I needed this too. Just you and me for the weekend. Sound good?”

You nodded, your smile spreading as you snuggled closer, your hand resting against his chest. “Sounds perfect.”

Harry’s arms tightened around you, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. Because I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And as you drifted off to sleep in his embrace, the weight of the world seemed to disappear, replaced by the quiet, unshakable love that only he could give.

[1d1195]

Pucking Rookie

Harry is a star hockey player. He could have any woman he wants.

Except the pretty girl with a camera who doesn't want anything to do with hockey players anymore.

But Harry will die trying to get her attention if he has to.

Part 1

Part 2 (1/30 hopefully)

Part 3 (maybe?)

[sunnystarr]

[onedirection4eversstuff]

Nobody's home

.

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 28

word count: 5.1k

i need to up my game on this story im SORRY! <3

The party downstairs carried on, its energy buzzing through the walls like a live current. Music thudded against the floorboards, muffled but persistent, as Aspen and Harry descended the staircase. Harry stumbled over a step halfway down, prompting Aspen to stifle her giggle behind a hand. He turned to her with a faux-serious expression, his brows furrowed, though the tips of his dimples betrayed his amusement.

“Did that on purpose,” he slurred lightly, his grip on the railing tightening in a show of mock confidence.

“Sure you did,” Aspen teased, her voice lilting with laughter. She grabbed his free hand, steadying him as they made their way down. Harry’s fingers wrapped around hers with a lazy, possessive grip, his thumb brushing along her knuckles in a way that sent warmth spreading from her fingertips up to her chest.

When they reached the living room, they settled back into their earlier spot on the couch. Kirsten, to Aspen’s quiet relief, was nowhere to be found— likely off somewhere with her hookup. Isobel sat nearby, her legs draped lazily across Zayn’s lap as she sipped on something new, her lipstick staining the rim of the glass.

“That was pretty badass,” Isobel declared, tipping her drink toward Aspen with a playful smirk. Her hand shot out to lightly fist-bump Aspen’s knee, the motion casual but full of approval.

Aspen huffed and rolled her eyes, but her lips curled into a reluctant smile that she couldn’t suppress. “Whatever,” she replied softly, her attempt at brushing off the compliment falling short when Harry leaned forward to press a slow, deliberate kiss against the back of her neck. His lips were warm against her skin, and she felt his hum reverberate softly.

“Only my girl,” he murmured, just loud enough for her ears, his tone brimming with quiet pride.

Before Aspen could respond, Louis appeared in front of them, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. With one hand, he slipped a red solo cup into Harry’s grasp, and with the other, he placed a juice box squarely on top of Aspen’s head.

“Stay hydrated,” he quipped with a laugh as the box toppled onto her lap. He tossed a tin container onto the coffee table before flopping down beside Niall, his laughter loud and carefree.

Aspen glanced at the tin, her brows knitting in curiosity. She leaned forward slightly, trying to catch a better glimpse of what Louis had brought to the table— literally. When he flipped the lid off with a dramatic flourish, her eyes widened. Inside was a neat row of pre-rolled joints, their paper pristine and almost professional, with a small lighter tucked alongside them.

Her gaze darted to Isobel, who was already reaching out to grab one. Zayn followed suit, his easygoing demeanor unchanging as he took one between his fingers and lit it with a flick of the lighter. The sharp, familiar scent of marijuana quickly filled the air, blending with the faint sweetness of spilled drinks and the tangy smell of snacks lingering on the counter.

Harry, however, made no move to join in. His arms remained firmly around Aspen, his cup now balanced precariously on her knee as he pressed another kiss to her shoulder. His lips brushed the exposed skin there, soft and warm, and she felt his low chuckle vibrate through her.

“Oi, Harold, snagging one?” Louis called, holding out a joint in Harry’s direction with a waggle of his brows.

Harry didn’t even glance up, shaking his head as he pressed his lips against Aspen’s shoulder again. “Nah,” he replied casually, his voice muffled but certain. “Got my lady tonight.”

The words sent a flush of heat to Aspen’s cheeks. She turned slightly in his lap, her wide eyes scanning his face. He looked at her with a lopsided grin, his green eyes heavy-lidded from the alcohol but still sharp and focused on her. He gave her hip a playful squeeze, his thumb brushing idly over the girl's skirt.

“What?” he asked, his grin widening as he caught her staring.

“Nothing,” she said softly, her lips curving into a small smile. She tapped his nose lightly with her finger, unable to stop the warm flutter in her chest. “I just didn’t know you smoked, is all.”

Harry’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Is that a problem?” he asked, his tone light but edged with genuine curiosity.

Aspen shook her head quickly, the movement making her hair brush against his arm. “No, not at all,” she assured him. Her voice was steady, though the smell in the air tugged at a faint memory from her past. “I just didn’t know that about you.”

Her sister used to smoke a bit while their parents were out of town, needing a relief from the mess that their parents were. As Aspen was under her care most of the time, it was a regular routine for her to experience.

Harry nodded, his hand slipping down to take the juice box from her lap. He carefully poked the straw through the foil and handed it back to her, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“I don’t do it all the time,” he admitted, his voice softer now, like he wanted her to understand. “Just when work gets... a lot. Zayn, Niall, and I will hang out at my place and smoke, but I wouldn’t do it around you.”

Aspen tilted her head, her brows knitting slightly. “Why not?”

Harry shrugged, his free hand rubbing small circles into her hip. “I don’t want to expose your little innocent mind to that,” he said with a teasing smirk. “And I want to take care of you.”

Aspen felt her heart skip a beat, her fingers tightening slightly around the juice box. “But you can drink?” she teased, her lips curling into an amused smile.

Harry laughed, the sound low and rich as he tipped his head back slightly. “Alright, y’got me there,” he admitted, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Just say the word, and I’ll never touch another bottle.”

Aspen shook her head with a soft laugh, her chest warming at his sincerity. “No, H. It’s okay. I... trust you. I know you know what you’re doing.”

Harry’s lips parted in a slow smile, his lip piercing catching the light as he rolled it between his teeth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. Her eyes sparkled as they met his, the warmth between them palpable even amid the haze of smoke before the sound of Isobel's giggles broke through the median noise. 

"Zayn, stop!" Isobel huffed out into a fit of laughter as her boyfriends fingers dug through her sides in a tickling manner. 

"You stole my joint!" He protested, laughing as his actions came to a halt, plucking it back between his fingers. 

Harry’s laugh rumbled low in his chest, his breath warm against Aspen’s shoulder. “God, those two…” Aspen muttered under her breath, her lips quirking upward in a wry grin as she glanced toward the chaos on the opposite end of the couch.

Harry shook his head, leaning closer to Aspen, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone. “He’s havin’ me tattoo somethin’ for her next week before the shop opens,” he said, the warmth in his voice laced with amusement. “Did she tell you?”

Aspen turned back to face him, her curiosity piqued, her laugh from moments earlier fading into a softer smile. “No,” she replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “What is it?”

Harry clicked his tongue, smirking as he swirled his drink lazily in his cup. “No can do,” he teased, leaning back slightly against the couch. “Must be a surprise, then.”

Aspen narrowed her eyes at him, the playful challenge in his tone sparking something within her. “Please?” she pleaded, her voice dipping into a slightly dramatic whine as she pushed out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “I won’t tell. I just want to be nosy and silently happy for my friend. Pleaaaase?” She grinned as she grabbed hold of Harry’s shoulders, shaking him lightly for emphasis.

Harry chuckled deeply, the sound rich and gravelly as he balanced his cup on his knee. His green eyes twinkled with amusement as he glanced from the couple back to Aspen. “Alright, fine,” he relented, his lips curling into that signature smirk that always managed to make her stomach flip. “But you cannot tell.”

“I won’t! I promise!” Aspen beamed, leaning in closer, her expression practically glowing with excitement.

Harry raised a brow, his smirk widening into something more mischievous as his gaze flicked pointedly down to her lips. “You know,” he started, his voice dipping into a slightly lower register, “I like it when you beg f’me, doll. Trying to send me a message?” He wiggled his brows dramatically, his teasing tone both playful and suggestive as a puff of laughter escaped him.

Aspen’s eyes widened, and a soft, scandalized gasp slipped past her lips as she lightly shoved his shoulder. “Harry!” she hissed, glancing around quickly, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink.

Harry only laughed harder, his dimples deepening as his shoulders shook. “Fine, fine,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender, though the glint in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t sorry at all.

Aspen huffed softly, willing the heat in her cheeks to subside as she darted a quick glance at the others. None of them seemed to have noticed Harry’s cheeky comment, but the coil in her stomach tightened anyway. She could still hear the rasp in his voice, thickened by the alcohol, his accent drawing out the words in a way that was both casual and impossibly magnetic.

She turned her focus back to Harry, who now rested his arm lazily across her lap, his cup in hand. His lips tilted into a lopsided grin as he spoke again, his gaze flicking briefly toward Zayn and Isobel. “He’s gonna get her eyes right on his chest,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he turned back to Aspen. “I’ll one-up him, though. Get your whole face smack-dab on m’back.”

Aspen rolled her eyes with a laugh, swatting his arm lightly. “Don’t you dare,” she replied, her voice tinged with playful exasperation. “And second, I think that’s sweet. She’s got cute eyes, and she’s going to absolutely freak when she sees it.”

Harry snickered, shaking his head. “Zayn described them as ‘hot blowjob eyes,’” he added, his words tumbling out between bouts of soft laughter as he brought the cup back to his lips.

Aspen froze for half a second, her head tilting slightly as she processed the comment. Harry’s hum of amusement only deepened as he swallowed, his gaze warm and teasing when it landed back on her.

“‘S what a girl’s— or guy’s, I suppose— eyes look like when they give a blowie,” he explained, his tone matter-of-fact despite the wicked glint in his eye. “Down on their knees, lookin’ up type of thing.”

Aspen’s cheeks flushed crimson, and she wrinkled her nose, a mix of surprise and embarrassment rippling through her. The thought of Zayn saying something like that about Isobel sent a swirl of conflicting emotions through her chest—discomfort, amusement, and secondhand embarrassment all at once. She opened her mouth to respond but found herself momentarily speechless, her eyes darting toward Isobel, who was obliviously laughing at something Zayn had whispered in her ear.

Harry’s quiet chuckle beside her pulled her back, his hand giving her hip a small, reassuring squeeze. It was a fleeting touch, but one that grounded her, reminding her that despite his teasing, there was an ease to their connection that felt natural. She exhaled softly, shaking her head at him as her lips twitched into a small, reluctant smile.

"Do you think that?"

"Think what?" Harry tilted his head, feigning innocence, but the glint in his eye betrayed him.

She huffed softly, her cheeks tinged pink. "That she has... those eyes."

His lips curved into that all-too-familiar smirk, the one that sent her heart into a frustratingly uneven rhythm.

"I've seen better," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low rasp that curled around her like smoke. His hand gave her hip a firm, reassuring squeeze, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of her shirt. Before she could even think to respond, his touch shifted, his fingers brushing the bare skin of her lower back with an unhurried ease, his thumb tracing gentle arcs just beneath the hem. "Possibly the fuckin’ best."

Her breath caught, a quiet gasp hitching in her throat as the intensity of his gaze pinned her in place. His green eyes, darkened by the dim light and whatever alcohol lingered in his system, locked on hers with a look that was equal parts teasing and reverent. She felt like prey caught in the sightline of a hunter—cornered and vulnerable, her defenses melting under the weight of his attention.

Aspen’s lips parted as if to protest, but no words came. Her thoughts tangled, incoherent, as heat crept up the back of her neck and bloomed at the tips of her ears. His stare stripped her bare, not in a crude or obvious way, but with a quiet, steady persistence that made her feel like she was the only person in the room.

Harry leaned forward slightly, his movements unhurried, calculated. His hand abandoned her back, trailing along the curve of her waist before settling firmly on her thigh, his touch just below the frayed hem of her denim skirt. The heat of his palm bled through her skin, amplified by the cool press of the silver rings on his fingers. The juxtaposition of warm and cold sent a shiver coursing up her spine, her body betraying her even as her mind scrambled to catch up.

The scent of weed continued to waft through the room, mingling with the sharp tang of alcohol and the subtle notes of Harry’s cologne— something musky, with a hint of cedar that clung stubbornly to his clothes. The voices of their friends became a muted hum in the background, drowned out by the steady pulse of music. Somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard Liam ask Harry if he needed another drink, but his voice barely registered. Harry was far too preoccupied to notice— or care.

All of his focus, every ounce of his attention, was on her.

Harry’s eyes roamed her face with a quiet intensity, as if committing every detail to memory. The way the loose strands of her hair framed her cheeks in soft waves, the way her lips curved naturally into the slightest pout, their rosy hue deepened by her nervous habit of biting them. He thought of the way the sun caught her features earlier that day— how her lashes cast delicate shadows on her cheeks, and the warm light brought out the flecks of hazel in her otherwise brown eyes. He’d seen it a thousand times before, but still, he’d swear she was something out of a dream.

“Picture fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her, though the words carried enough weight to send her heart into a chaotic flutter.

Before Aspen could fully process what he’d said, his fingers slid further, dipping just beneath the edge of her skirt. The movement was deliberate, slow, as though he wanted to give her a chance to stop him— but she didn’t. His fingertips brushed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, the cool metal of his rings creating a stark contrast that left her reeling.

Her breath hitched audibly, the sound so soft it barely reached her own ears, though Harry caught it immediately. He tilted his head, his smirk widening just enough to deepen the creases around his mouth. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, betraying the slightest hint of amusement beneath the layers of something darker.

Aspen’s fingers tightened around his shoulder, her nails pressing faint crescents into the fabric of his shirt. The action wasn’t forceful— more a reflex than anything. She wasn’t pushing him away, nor was she pulling him closer. She was caught somewhere in between, her body betraying her confusion as the tension between them crackled like static electricity.

Her voice caught in her throat, but she didn’t need to speak for Harry to know what she was feeling. The subtle shift of her breathing, the way her pupils dilated as her wide eyes searched his face, the faint tremor in her hand as it gripped his shoulder— it all told him everything he needed to know.

And yet, Harry wasn’t rushing. He wouldn’t. Every touch, every glance, was measured, deliberate. He was entirely in tune with her, and it wasn’t just about the physicality—it was about her. How she’d respond, how she’d feel. The anticipation thrummed between them, heavy and heady, as though the entire room had dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the two of them in its wake.

"H, what're you—."

"When are y'gonna let me see those eyes again, huh?" He murmured, his tongue slow and deliberate as it came out to wet his lips. 

Harry tightened his grip on her thigh, kneading the flesh between his palm. Aspen couldn't help but follow the movement of his tongue with shy eyes, meeting his again. Only to have them looking right back at her.

"I believe I asked you a question, little mouse. Are y'gonna be good and answer me?"

Aspen couldn't help but squeak out a noise, about to turn her head to make another check before he caught her chin. 

"You're going t'give us away, Asp. Now, answer me."

She huffed through her nose, and despite the blush on her cheeks from embarrassment, her chest ignited.

"W-whenever," She whispered, her brown eyes flickering to his lips and back to his eyes. 

He chuckled softly, low and slow as he brushed the tip of his pinky along the thin material of her panties that covered the mound of her cunt. She sucked in a small breath at the touch that took her by surprise, fisting the shoulder of his shirt momentarily before relaxing again.

"Whenever, huh? Even if I took you to the guest room again? Or what about in the Uber back to my place? What if when we got back to mine," another brush of his pinky, "and the moment I closed the door? Would you let me push you down to your knees? What about wakin' me up and givin' me those sweet eyes from under the blanket, hm?"

Harry's hand took another firm grip of her thigh again, his eyes still locked on hers. He knew well enough that his friends were busied with themselves, talking on and on about hula-hoops to skateboards to weird laws in Switzerland.

Aspen's breath hitched at his words and his gaze. The girls lips parted, as if to say something, before they shut once more. The feeling in her tummy boiled up to her chest and she wanted to scream for him to have mercy on her soaked panties. She shifted in his lap and swallowed, nodding after a few moments. 

"Y-yes, all of those..." She brushed her fingers along the tattoos of his neck, suddenly becoming so interested in the line work that trailed up.

"Y'know what I think?" Harry mused, taking another sip from his cup as he took a look around before back at her. "I think you want it as much as I do. Just need your taste of havin' my cock in your mouth, don't you?" He murmured carefully, cracking a smile when he saw the way her cheeks tinted and her gaze stay on his neck. His shy little girl.

"I've corrupted my sweet little virgin, but don't get me wrong. Fucking love this side of you. Do you understand me?" He squeezed her thigh once more, making her squeak and nod. 

"Aspen..."

"Y-yes, I understand," she breathed out, biting the inside of her cheek. She was about one second away from grinding into his hand, her body betraying her better judgment, when the sharp sound of Niall's voice cut through the smoky haze like a record scratch. The sudden intrusion yanked Aspen back to reality so fast it felt like whiplash.

Harry’s hand slipped from beneath her skirt in a practiced, nonchalant manner that almost convinced her it hadn’t just been there at all. He turned his head towards Niall, his features relaxed, though there was a faint flicker of annoyance that crossed his face—a frustration he quickly masked with ease.

“Refills!” Niall called, his voice carrying over the music as he swaggered towards them, the nearly empty bottle of liquor in one hand and his joint balanced between his lips. He leaned forward dramatically, tipping the bottle over each person’s cup with a lopsided grin. The sweet, bitter tang of the alcohol hung heavily in the air, cutting through the musky scent of weed that had settled in the room like a thick fog.

When Niall waved the bottle in Harry’s direction, Harry shook his head, his lips twitching into a small smirk. “I’m done for tonight,” he said, his voice even but edged with amusement.

Niall raised a brow, the smirk on his face widening as he plucked the joint from his lips and took a slow drag. Smoke curled around his head like a halo before he barked out a laugh. “Oh, Harry’s lookin’ to get some tonight, is he?”

The words hit the room like a bomb, and every head turned toward them in a wave of collective curiosity. Aspen froze, her body going rigid against Harry’s side as heat flooded her cheeks and neck. She let out a soft whine, burying her crimson face into the crook of Harry’s neck, wishing the ground would just swallow her whole.

Harry laughed at her reaction, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated against her cheek where it rested on his skin. He gave her thigh a reassuring squeeze, his fingers lingering just long enough to ground her, silently reminding her that it was just Niall being Niall. Still, the corner of his mouth twitched upward as he shook his head, his amusement clear.

“Speaking from jealousy, Ni?” Harry quipped, his tone smooth and dripping with mockery.

Niall’s eyebrows shot up, and he smirked, gesturing lazily with the bottle. “Jealous? Me? Woah, woah, who says I won’t get any either, huh? Safe to say we might all be occupied tonight, eh?” He nudged Zayn to his right, then Louis on his other side, his grin widening at his own joke.

The room erupted into a mix of groans and laughter, their friends rolling their eyes in unison. Even Aspen couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips despite her embarrassment. As much as Niall’s teasing grated on her, it was impossible not to laugh when everyone else was.

It was true, though. Everyone in the group acted like drunken rabbits once the alcohol hit and the inhibitions dissolved. Niall’s comment wasn’t so much a joke as it was a painfully accurate observation, and that fact only made it worse.

“Well, that’s our cue…” Isobel’s voice rang out, light and sing-song, as she wobbled to her feet. She tugged on Zayn’s arm, giggling as she stumbled slightly. Her sheepish smile did little to disguise the blush creeping up her cheeks.

Zayn caught her with ease, his hands steadying her with practiced familiarity. He chuckled, shaking his head as he allowed her to drag him toward the front door. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, waving a sloppy goodbye over his shoulder.

“Bye, lovelies!” Isobel added, her voice cheerful and slightly slurred as she threw exaggerated kisses to the group.

Harry hummed, patting Aspen’s thigh softly before rising to his feet. He extended a hand down to her, his smirk firmly in place as he pulled her up with ease. “It’s best if we go as well,” he announced, his voice laced with mischief. “For Isobel, of course.”

Aspen rolled her eyes, her blush still clinging to her cheeks as she tucked herself under his arm. “Of course,” she muttered, the sarcasm in her tone light but not unnoticed.

Harry grinned down at her, his arm snug around her shoulders as they made their way toward the door. Aspen reached out, returning high fives and fist bumps from their friends as they called out a chorus of goodbyes.

Her stomach fluttered as Harry guided her forward, his hand resting comfortably on her side. The air outside would feel cool against her heated skin, and she couldn't wait for the slight reprieve. Yet, when she glanced up at him, his jaw sharp in the low light, she couldn't quite fight the small smile that tugged at her lips.

And if Harry turned back to their friends as they walked out, mouthing “Score!” while silently pumping his fist in victory, well, that was for him to know.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The cool night air was a sharp contrast to the hazy warmth of the house, wrapping around them and carrying the lingering smell of smoke and spilled liquor. Harry tapped on his phone with the precision of someone used to keeping his wits about him, even while a slight buzz hummed in the back of his mind. The glow of the screen cast soft light across his features, emphasizing the sharp line of his jaw as he confirmed the Uber. His fingers moved fluidly, almost automatic, while his thoughts drifted back to the feel of Aspen against him moments ago, her skin warm beneath his touch, her laugh like a melody he hadn’t realized he needed.

Zayn stood a few feet away, similarly engaged with his phone as he finalized the ride for himself and Isobel. He was grinning faintly, undoubtedly replaying some moment from inside. When Harry tucked his phone into his pocket, his eyes instinctively sought Aspen, and without thinking, he pulled her to him, sighing heavily as she melted against his chest.

The scent of her shampoo, sweet and slightly floral, mixed with the faint smell of weed and sweat clinging to their clothes. Harry rested his chin on the top of her head, closing his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the peace of having her in his arms. Her hands slid up his back, her palms flat against the fabric of his shirt, and the tension in his shoulders eased. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the soft rustling of leaves and distant laughter from inside, the world around them fading into the background as they simply existed in each other’s embrace.

Aspen’s heart beat steadily against his chest, and Harry couldn’t help but smirk to himself, thinking about how easy it was to feel at home with her like this. She was his calm in the chaos, even if she didn’t know it.

Then, a familiar voice broke through the moment. “I need to pee. Come with,” Isobel slurred, stumbling slightly as she made her way over, her eyes glassy but bright with mischief.

Aspen pulled away reluctantly, looking up at Harry with an apologetic smile. “I’ll be back,” she promised softly, her hand briefly squeezing his before she turned to follow her friend back into the house.

Harry watched her go, his smirk softening into something fonder, though he’d never admit it out loud. He slid his hands into his pockets, glancing over at Zayn, who had been watching the exchange with a knowing look.

“You’re whipped, mate,” Zayn teased, his grin crooked.

Harry snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, alright. Like you’re one to talk.”

Before Zayn could retort, the faint hum of an engine drew their attention. A sleek black car rolled up to the curb, its tinted windows gleaming ominously under the streetlights. Both men exchanged a glance, their relaxed postures stiffening as the car came to a halt.

The passenger-side window rolled down with a faint mechanical whir, revealing Leone’s face partially obscured by the glow of his cigarette. The sharp scent of tobacco mixed with the crisp night air, and the tension between the three men became palpable.

Zayn exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening as he muttered, “Great.”

Harry leaned against the car, ducking slightly to meet Leone’s gaze. His green eyes were sharp, calculating, though his tone was deceptively casual. “What do you want?”

Leone took a slow drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke billow lazily into the air before speaking. “I need you two boys next Thursday. Big dealers coming in.” His voice was gravelly, laced with authority that demanded attention.

The cigarette’s ember glowed brighter as Leone took another drag, his free hand shifting slightly. That’s when they saw it—a gun resting casually on his lap, his fingers running along the barrel as if it were a natural extension of his body.

Zayn’s hand twitched at his side, but he kept his voice steady. “You can’t come showing up like this,” he hissed, his tone low and sharp. “Not so public.”

Leone chuckled bitterly, a sound that sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. “I own you fools,” he said, his voice cold and unyielding. “And I’m always careful.” His eyes glinted dangerously as he leaned forward slightly, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Thursday. Be there. Don’t make me have to fuckin’ find you twats.”

The window rolled up smoothly, cutting off any response they might have had as the car pulled away from the curb. The taillights disappeared into the distance, leaving Harry and Zayn standing in heavy silence.

Zayn let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. “I hate that prick,” he muttered under his breath.

Harry’s jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Yeah, well, he’s not exactly my favorite person either,” he bit out, his voice low.

The weight of the encounter lingered between them, unspoken but understood. They had no choice, and both of them knew it.

The sound of laughter broke through the tension as Aspen and Isobel stumbled back out of the house, their arms linked and their cheeks flushed from the cool air. Aspen’s eyes found Harry immediately, her smile softening as she made her way over to him.

“Everything alright?” she asked, her voice light, though her gaze flicked between the two men, sensing the shift in their moods.

Harry forced a smile, his hand reaching out to pull her back under his arm. “Yeah, just talkin’ shop,” he said smoothly, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Zayn and Isobel exchanged a brief glance before their Uber pulled up to the curb. Isobel tugged Zayn toward the car, waving a cheerful goodbye to Aspen and Harry as they climbed in.

A few moments later, Harry’s Uber arrived, and he opened the door for Aspen, letting her slide in first before following suit. As the car pulled away, the tension in Harry’s shoulders eased slightly, though the encounter with Leone lingered in the back of his mind like a dark cloud. For now, he focused on the warmth of Aspen beside him, her head resting against his shoulder as the city lights blurred past the windows.

[mylovefor1d]

“Omg you’re so funny”

Thanks my favorite band went on a 18 month hiatus 8 years ago then one of the members died

[georgiarose94]

He's actually so adorable I can't I just wanna give him a hug 🥹

my little cutie boy i wanna squeeze him so bad

[28harryssunflower]

Fix me if you can

The festival grounds were alive with music and chaos, the kind of electric energy that only came from thousands of people packed together, hearts thundering in anticipation of the next act. Harry stood near the side of the stage, his sunglasses shielding him from the sun and, perhaps, the look in his eyes that he didn’t want his bandmates to catch.

He was watching you.

You were halfway through your set, and to say you had the crowd eating out of the palm of your hand would be an understatement. The moment you strutted onto the stage, wearing a black crop top that showed off every curve and a pair of denim shorts that left little to the imagination, you commanded attention.

You didn’t just perform. You owned the space. Your lyrics were explicit, your voice sultry, and the way you moved was… intoxicating.

“Mate, you’re drooling,” Louis said, breaking Harry’s trance.

“I’m watching the performance,” Harry replied, though even he didn’t believe his own excuse.

Louis smirked knowingly. “Sure. Watching the performance. That’s what we’re calling it now.”

“She’s trouble,” Liam added from beside him, arms crossed as he surveyed the stage.

Zayn nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. Trouble with a capital T. She’s not the kind you take home to Mum.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, though he said nothing. He didn’t care about your reputation - or the countless stories that followed you wherever you went. The media loved to call you a bad influence, a bad girl, someone who didn’t care about rules or expectations. But Harry wasn’t interested in the rumors. Watching you now, he didn’t see the person they described. He saw someone fierce, unapologetic, and utterly magnetic.

“Don’t get your heart broken, Haz,” Niall chimed in, always the voice of cautious optimism. “She’s not the girlfriend type. Not for someone like you.”

Harry glanced at his bandmates and shrugged. “Maybe I don’t want a girlfriend. Maybe I just want to talk to her.”

Backstage, the festival grounds were a maze of equipment, staff, and performers coming and going. You stepped off the stage, your adrenaline still surging, your skin glistening with sweat. The roar of the crowd still echoed in your ears, but you were already focused on getting to your dressing room.

That’s when Harry made his move.

“You were incredible,” he said, his voice soft but carrying enough weight to catch your attention.

You turned, your brow arching as you sized him up. “Thanks,” you said shortly, continuing to walk.

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he said, keeping pace with you. “Styles. I’m with One Direction.”

“I know who you are,” you replied, your tone clipped.

For a moment, Harry faltered. You weren’t making this easy. But he wasn’t about to give up. “Right. Well, I just thought I’d tell you how much I enjoyed your set. You’ve got this… thing about you. It’s amazing.”

You stopped in your tracks, spinning around to face him. “Look, I just got off stage, and I’m not in the mood for small talk. So, if you don’t mind-“

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, raising his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Something in his voice made you hesitate. He wasn’t like the other guys who had tried to hit on you backstage - full of empty compliments and flirts. Harry seemed… genuine.

You sighed, your expression softening. “It’s not you,” you said after a moment. “I just… performing takes a lot out of me. I get a little on edge afterward.”

“I get that,” Harry said, his tone understanding.

You studied him, your guard up but wavering. “Sorry for snapping at you,” you muttered.

“It’s alright,” he said with a small smile. “Can I make it up to you by asking for your number?”

The corner of your mouth quirked up into a smirk. “Nice try, Styles,” you said, before slipping into your dressing room and shutting the door behind you.

——————————————————————————

Weeks passed, and you didn’t think about Harry much. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. But then, at an afterparty following another festival, there he was again.

“Miss me?” he asked, his dimples on full display as he sauntered up to you.

“Not even a little,” you lied, though your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

The night unraveled quickly. A few drinks, some harmless flirting, and before you knew it, you were in his hotel room.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the windows of Harry’s hotel room, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. The room smelled faintly of his cologne and your perfume, mingled with the remnants of last night. The sheets were a tangled mess, draped haphazardly over the two of you.

You stirred awake first, the haze of sleep still clouding your mind. Blinking, you sat up slowly, careful not to wake Harry, who lay sprawled on his stomach beside you, his face half-buried in a pillow. His hair was a mess of curls, wild and carefree, and his back rose and fell with each deep, steady breath.

For a moment, you just looked at him. He was beautiful, vulnerable in sleep, and it made your chest ache in a way you didn’t want to examine too closely. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to let him get this close.

Quietly, you slipped out of bed, gathering your clothes from the floor. The soft rustle of fabric was the only sound in the room as you pulled on your shorts and slipped your crop top over your head. You moved with the precision of someone who’d done this a hundred times before, ready to disappear before things got complicated.

“Don’t go.”

His voice was soft, rough with sleep, and it stopped you in your tracks.

You turned slowly to find him awake, his green eyes blinking at you as he propped himself up on one elbow. His hair fell in messy waves across his forehead, and his voice, low and pleading, struck something deep inside you.

“I have to,” you said quietly, your hands fiddling with the hem of your top. “This… it’s not who I am, Harry.”

He sat up fully now, the sheets pooling around his waist as he ran a hand through his hair. “Why not? Why can’t it be?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Because I don’t stay. That’s not what I do. I don’t wake up in the morning and stick around for breakfast. I don’t… I’m not that girl.”

Harry stood from the bed, the way he moved so natural, like he wasn’t even conscious of his own grace. He stopped in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body, and reached out to gently take your hands in his.

“I don’t care about what you’ve done before,” he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “I don’t care if you’ve never stayed before. I’m asking you to stay now. Just this once.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “Harry… I’m not good for you. I’m not good for anyone. You’ve heard the stories. You know what they say about me.”

“I don’t care what they say,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “I know you. And I think you’re scared. I think you’ve spent so much time convincing yourself that you don’t need anyone that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to let someone in. But you let me in last night. Don’t act like that didn’t mean something.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t wrong. You had let him in. More than anyone else in years. But that terrified you. Because if you let him in, if you let yourself believe that this could be real, what happened when it all went wrong?

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to be what you want me to be.”

Harry’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, his hands sliding up to cup your face gently. “You don’t have to be anything other than who you are,” he said. “I’m not asking you to change. I’m just asking you to trust me. To trust that maybe this could be something good.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you hated yourself for how vulnerable you felt in that moment. But Harry didn’t pull away. He just stood there, waiting, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Harry…”

“Just stay,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “For breakfast. For today. And if you still want to leave after that, I won’t stop you. But at least give me that much.”

Your resolve wavered, the walls you’d built around yourself crumbling brick by brick under the weight of his gaze. No one had ever looked at you the way he did - like you were more than the sum of your mistakes, more than the stories people told about you.

Finally, you nodded, the smallest movement, but it was enough.

Harry’s face broke into a soft smile, and he pressed his forehead against yours, letting out a shaky breath. “Thank you,” he whispered.

You stayed.

The morning unfolded slowly, the two of you moving around each other in the quiet intimacy of his hotel room. He made you coffee, insisting on adding just the right amount of sugar despite your protests that you liked it black. You sat on the couch, your legs curled beneath you, and listened as he told you stories about growing up in Holmes Chapel, about the time he got a cut from a mango (a story you couldn’t stop laughing at).

And for the first time in a long time, you felt… safe.

When the morning turned into afternoon, and the conversation turned from lighthearted to meaningful, you realized something else: you didn’t want to leave.

Maybe you didn’t know how to be in a relationship. Maybe you didn’t know how to stay. But Harry wasn’t asking for perfection. He was asking for a chance.

And for him, you were willing to try.

That was the day everything changed. Slowly, day by day, you let him in a little more. And every time you stumbled, every time you felt like running, Harry was there - steady, patient, and unwavering.

Because maybe love wasn’t about being perfect. Maybe it was about finding someone who saw your flaws and stayed anyway.

And for the first time in your life, you believed you could stay, too.

[ignitedminds27]

Zayn keeping Liam with him in this journey.

[wtfx1d]

[harrys-toothpaste]

everyone give a big shout to zayn,

“WE ARE SO PROUD OF HOW FAR YOU’VE COME!!!” 🗣️🗣️🗣️

💖💖💖

"In the band I didn't even used to talk at all, I used to just stand on the stage frowning, brooding... So it's an improvement."

— Zayn at his show in Washington tonight (via adi.on.tour)

[shortiepinocco]

Because Liam is fireproof.

[book-enthusiast28]

i just did a deep dive on storygraph challenges and found some One direction and Marauders ones.

FINALLY, I FOUND WAY TO COMBINE MY LOVE FOR 1D, MARAUDERS AND BOOKS :)

[xomalik]

zayn in nyc last night!! ლ(´ڡ`ლ)