#one direction fanfiction

[niallerspayno]

English Love Affair (frat boy Harry x reader) - Fic Request

Masterlist

Inspired by the song English Love Affair by 5SOS

Request for @purplekimijks: What began as a one-time fling quickly evolves into something more as you and Harry find yourselves seeking each other out for frequent, secretive hook-ups. As Ashton’s sister and a songwriter for 5SOS, the situation grows more complicated by the day. Will you and Harry continue with these fleeting encounters, or will you take the risk and make it something real?

Tags: frat boy Harry x reader, Ashton x sister!reader, smut with plot

Author's note: I unfortunately never really got into 5SOS, which is weird because I saw them open for 1D in 2013 and I'm Australian - just incase I get any details wrong about them

...

The tour bus hums beneath your feet, the steady vibration lulling you into a sense of rhythm as you absentmindedly scribble lyrics in your notebook. Life on the road with 5 Seconds of Summer isn’t always glamorous, but it’s the kind of chaos you’ve grown used to—probably a genetic thing, considering your brother Ashton thrives in it.

Being the band’s unofficial fifth member and go-to songwriter is a role you love. You’re good at it, too—helping the boys find the words to match their stories, giving them the push they need when inspiration runs dry. It’s fulfilling, creative, and keeps you close to your brother.

But if you’re being honest, it’s not just the music that keeps you here.

It’s him.

Harry Styles.

You don’t know when it started—maybe the first time you met backstage at some award show, his charm disarming and his dimples practically illegal. Or maybe it’s been brewing longer, a quiet fascination that finally burst into a full-blown crush when One Direction invited 5SOS to join their tour.

Now you see him almost every day. In rehearsals. At afterparties. Lounging around during those rare, stolen moments of downtime. And every time, you’re drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

It’s dangerous territory, crushing on someone like Harry. Ashton would lose his mind if he found out, and you can’t even imagine the chaos if the rest of 5SOS or One Direction caught wind. For now, you’re content to steal glances, laugh at his terrible jokes, and feel the thrill of his attention when his green eyes linger just a second too long.

“Daydreaming again?” Michael’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you glance up to find him smirking at you from across the lounge.

“Just working,” you say quickly, holding up your notebook as proof.

“Sure,” Michael teases, waggling his eyebrows. “Working on a song or working on Harry Styles in your head?”

Your face burns, and you throw a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

He laughs, dodging easily, and Ashton walks in, his expression suspicious. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing!” you and Michael say at the same time, a little too quickly.

Ashton narrows his eyes, but thankfully, he lets it slide. “Whatever. We’ve got soundcheck in fifteen. Let’s go.”

You gather your things, your pulse racing as you follow the boys out. In the corridor, you almost run into Harry himself, who flashes you that devastating grin and holds the door open for you.

“Thanks,” you murmur, your heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always does around him.

“Anytime,” he says, his voice low and smooth. His gaze lingers, just for a second, and it’s enough to make your thoughts spiral.

Yeah, this tour is going to be complicated.

…

The music thumps through the walls of the club, loud enough to make your chest vibrate. Ashton and the rest of the boys are deep into their second round of drinks, Michael and Luke shouting over each other about who can chug a beer faster. You should probably intervene before they make fools of themselves, but the atmosphere is charged, and you’re not in the mood to play referee.

Instead, you slip outside, the cool night air a welcome relief against your flushed skin. The alley is dimly lit, the sounds of the party muted as you lean against the wall and take a deep breath.

“You, too, huh?”

The familiar voice makes your stomach flip. You turn your head to see Harry stepping out of the club, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black blazer. His hair is a little messy, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to give a teasing glimpse of the tattoos on his chest.

“Needed some air,” you say casually, though your pulse quickens when he walks closer.

“Same.” He leans against the wall beside you, close enough that his cologne—warm and woody—lingers in the space between you. “It gets a bit… much in there.”

You nod, unsure what to say. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the awareness of his presence is almost overwhelming.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The sounds of the city fill the silence: distant cars, muffled laughter from inside the club, the soft buzz of a streetlamp overhead.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Harry says finally, his voice low.

“Just tired,” you lie, forcing a small smile.

He looks at you, really looks at you, and you feel like he’s peeling back layers you didn’t even know were there. “You’re not much of a party person, are you?”

“Not really.” You glance at him, trying to keep your tone light. “But it’s a necessary evil when you’re on tour with two bands of extroverts.”

Harry chuckles, the sound soft and warm. “Fair enough. But you do it well. I’ve noticed you’re good at blending in when you need to.”

His words catch you off guard, and you turn to face him fully. “You’ve noticed?”

He shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eye that makes your breath hitch. “I notice a lot of things about you.”

The air between you shifts, charged with something unspoken. His gaze drops to your lips for a split second, and you’re sure he’s about to say something else, but he doesn’t.

Instead, you find yourself closing the gap.

It’s not planned, not even a conscious decision—just a moment of pure impulse. His lips meet yours softly at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But when he pulls you closer, his hand brushing your waist, the kiss deepens.

The world fades away, the sounds of the city and the party melting into nothing as the two of you press closer. There’s a heat, a hunger, that neither of you bothers to hide.

When you finally pull back, breathless, Harry’s green eyes lock onto yours, and there’s a playful curve to his lips.

“Well,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “That was unexpected.”

You laugh softly, the sound nervous but giddy. “Yeah. It… it was.”

But neither of you moves to step away. Instead, he leans in again, his breath brushing your ear.

“Think you can keep a secret?”

Your pulse races at Harry’s question, his breath warm against your skin. You should say something—anything—but all you can do is nod, your body leaning instinctively toward his.

“Good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing just below your ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.”

His confession sends a shiver down your spine. The thrill of his words, combined with the tension that’s been simmering between you for weeks, pushes you over the edge.

“Harry,” you manage to whisper, but it’s less of a protest and more of an invitation.

He takes the hint, his hands finding your waist as he presses you back against the wall. His mouth captures yours again, this time hungrier, deeper, as if he’s been holding himself back and can’t any longer. Your hands slide up to his shoulders, gripping the soft fabric of his blazer as his body pins you in place.

The alley is quiet, the world shrinking until it’s just the two of you. His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, skimming the sensitive spot just below your ear. You bite back a gasp, the sound catching in your throat, and he chuckles softly.

“You’re so quiet,” he teases, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. “I was starting to think I’d have to work harder.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him back to you.

He grins against your lips but doesn’t argue, his hands sliding down your waist to your hips. The pressure of his touch is firm, grounding, and you feel yourself melting against him.

“Let’s go,” he says suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, his lips slightly swollen from kissing you.

“Go where?” you ask, your voice breathless.

“Anywhere but here.” He nods toward the club. “Unless you want to risk your brother walking out and catching us.”

The mention of Ashton jolts you back to reality for a split second. This is a bad idea—a terrible idea, really—but the way Harry’s looking at you makes it impossible to care.

“Fine,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “Lead the way.”

He takes your hand, his fingers lacing with yours as he pulls you toward the back entrance of the club. The thrill of sneaking off together sends a rush of adrenaline through you, and by the time you make it to his hotel room, you’re both laughing softly, your nerves tangled with excitement.

The door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stand there, looking at each other. The room is dim, the city lights filtering in through the window casting shadows on his face.

“You sure about this?” Harry asks, his voice low but serious.

You step closer, your hands sliding up his chest. “Are you?”

Instead of answering, he kisses you again, and this time there’s no hesitation. His hands are everywhere—your back, your waist, your thighs—pulling you closer, as if he can’t get enough. You stumble toward the bed, his jacket slipping off his shoulders and landing on the floor.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you let yourself fall back onto the soft mattress, pulling Harry with you. His weight presses down against you, solid and warm, grounding you in this moment that feels both thrilling and inevitable.

His lips move against yours, hungry and sure, leaving you breathless as his hands slide under your top, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of your waist. The heat of his touch sparks a fire that spreads through your entire body, your senses heightened by the closeness of him—his warmth, his scent, the soft rasp of his stubble against your cheek.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, his voice lower this time, tinged with impatience and raw need. His green eyes are darker now, locked onto yours, the question more of a formality than anything else.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you pull him down to you, crashing your lips into his, fingers tangling in his hair as you take what you’ve both been craving all night. It’s messy, hot, and desperate, and you feel his groan reverberate against your mouth as he presses his body firmly against yours, pinning you to the mattress.

The shift is immediate. His hands are on you, rougher now, gripping your waist and sliding down to your thighs with a possessive strength that sends a jolt of arousal through you. He’s not gentle, and you don’t want him to be. You arch into him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he grinds his hips into yours, his hardness pressing against you through the thin barrier of clothing still between you.

“God, you feel so good,” he growls, his voice ragged as his lips trail down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to leave marks. You gasp, your body responding instinctively as heat pools low in your stomach.

“Harry,” you gasp, his name falling from your lips like a plea, and it only spurs him on. He yanks your shirt over your head in one swift motion, his hands immediately returning to your bare skin. His palms are hot, his touch firm as they slide over your curves, fingers digging in just enough to leave a sting that’s more pleasure than pain.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he mutters, his voice rough and breathless as he pulls back just enough to take you in, his gaze hungry and intense.

You don’t give him a chance to say more. Your hands move to the hem of his shirt, tugging it off him in a rush before your fingers are on his belt, working it open with shaking hands. He smirks, the sight of your urgency clearly fueling his own, but he doesn’t stop you, his eyes darkening as you shove his jeans down his hips.

He’s on you again, his body pressing into yours with a weight that feels overwhelming in the best way. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider as he settles between them, his lips crashing against yours with a bruising intensity.

Your head tilts back against the pillows as he moves lower, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your chest before his lips trail lower, biting and sucking his way down. Your moan fills the room as he pulls your underwear down with a sharp tug, tossing it aside before his hands are on you again, exploring, teasing, claiming.

When he finally moves back up, his lips find yours again, rough and insistent, and you feel him against you, hard and ready. Your breath hitches as he presses forward, his hand gripping your hip tightly to hold you in place as he pushes into you with one slow, deliberate thrust.

The stretch is overwhelming, and you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders as your body adjusts to him. He stills for a moment, his chest heaving against yours as he curses under his breath, his control clearly hanging by a thread.

“Jesus, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice strained. But the pause doesn’t last long. He pulls back and thrusts again, harder this time, and the sharp cry that escapes your lips only seems to fuel him.

The rhythm he sets is relentless, his hips snapping against yours in a way that leaves you breathless. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, tangling in your hair, pinning your wrists above your head as he takes you apart piece by piece.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice rough, and you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The intensity there steals what little air you had left, and you feel the raw hunger in the way he looks at you, like he can’t get enough.

The room is filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, skin against skin, and the soft creak of the mattress beneath you. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, your body trembling beneath him as you surrender completely to the heat and intensity of him.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his lips brushing against your ear as he drives into you harder, his grip on your hips almost bruising. And in this moment, you don’t care about anything else—just the way he feels, the way he makes you feel, and the fire that’s consuming you both.

The tension in your body builds with every thrust, every roll of his hips, each movement pushing you further toward the edge. Your nails dig into his skin as your body tightens, every inch of you alive with the electric buzz of him, the heat between you. You can feel him, deep inside you, moving relentlessly, his breath ragged and harsh against your neck.

"Harry..." you gasp, your voice breaking as your body starts to tremble, your chest heaving with the effort to hold on. You’re so close, so close that everything else fades away, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of him and the burning need for release.

"Fuck, I know," he grunts, his fingers gripping your hips harder, his pace quickening, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. His eyes are locked on yours, his face a mixture of concentration and raw desire. "Come on, baby. Let go."

And then, just like that, it snaps. Your body gives way, a wave of pleasure crashing over you, your breath catching as you cry out his name. The world tilts as you lose yourself in him, the intensity of your release leaving you breathless, your body shaking as it waves through you.

Harry’s movements become more erratic, his control slipping as he follows you, his own release tearing through him with a low growl. You feel him pulse inside you, each throbbing wave of his climax pushing you even further into the haze of pleasure, your body still trembling under the weight of it.

He collapses onto you, his chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat, breathless from the overwhelming rush of it all. You lie there for a moment, both of you tangled in the aftermath, the room heavy with the echoes of your connection.

The silence between you is thick, the only sound the frantic beating of your hearts. His hand brushes against your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin there as he raises his head to look at you. There's something almost apologetic in his expression, but also a glint of something deeper—satisfaction, maybe, or desire, or something you can't quite place.

"That was..." he starts, but he doesn’t finish. Instead, he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment, before pulling away slightly to look at you again. "We don't tell anyone about this, right?"

You nod, your fingers lightly tracing the contours of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble under your touch. "Yeah. No one," you agree, your voice still a little breathless, but with a steady resolve.

His lips curl into a small, almost mischievous grin. "But we can definitely do it again, yeah?" he asks, his voice lowering, as though testing the waters.

You can’t help but smile at the suggestion, your fingers running through his hair as you look up at him, the heat of the moment still lingering. "Definitely," you reply, your voice steady, the hint of a laugh in your tone.

He leans down to kiss you again, soft and slow this time, a promise of more, as both of you settle back into the bed, the world outside forgotten. The night stretches ahead, and in the quiet aftermath, there’s only the unspoken agreement between you—what happened stays between the two of you. But it’s not over. Not by a long shot.

...

You wake up to the soft light of dawn streaming through the window, the quiet hum of the city just beyond the walls of the hotel room. You’re tangled in the sheets, your body still warm from the night before, but there’s an underlying tension creeping in with the awareness of what happened. You blink a few times, the events from last night flooding your mind in vivid flashes—his touch, the way he kissed you, the way your bodies moved together, and the marks he left on you.

You feel his breath on the back of your neck before you even realize Harry’s awake. He’s lying next to you, his arm draped over your waist, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, looking impossibly calm for someone who shared such an intense experience with you.

Your eyes widen when you catch sight of the dark purple marks scattered across your neck, a line of them creeping down toward your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat as you shift slightly, trying not to wake him. Then your fingers trail down to your hips, where you feel the telltale pressure of his hand—the faint outline of bruises, each one a reminder of the night’s wild intensity.

Panic starts to creep in. You have to hide these. You have to figure out how to sneak back to your room without anyone seeing. You don’t even know why it’s bothering you this much; it’s not like you and Harry made any promises, not like anyone would find out. Still, the idea of the band—especially Ashton—finding out makes your stomach churn.

Carefully, you slip out of the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible, but Harry stirs slightly. You freeze, heart hammering in your chest, but he simply groans softly and rolls onto his back, one hand draped casually over his eyes, completely unfazed. His deep voice, laced with sleep, cuts through the silence.

“Morning,” he says, his tone as nonchalant as ever, like he hasn’t just turned your world upside down.

You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure as you stand near the bed, searching for something—anything—to cover the marks. Your mind races, fingers fumbling as you search for a shirt or anything that will help hide the evidence.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low but teasing, not even glancing your way as he stretches. He’s acting so casually about it, like nothing out of the ordinary happened, like he doesn’t see the way you’re scrambling to cover up.

“Yeah,” you mutter, forcing a laugh, though it’s thin and awkward. You grab your shirt from the floor, pulling it over your head in a hurry. “Just, uh... need to go back to my room. Don’t want anyone to notice.”

Harry finally opens his eyes, his lips curling into a small, apologetic smile as he watches you. He sits up, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m sorry about that,” he says, nodding toward your neck and hips, where the marks are still evident. “I didn’t mean to leave them... though, you do look pretty fucking beautiful with them.”

You glance at him, surprised by his tone—genuinely regretful but also teasing, in that way only Harry can pull off. You try not to smile, but it’s impossible not to. The apology, even if wrapped in his usual charm, makes something warm stir in your chest.

“Doesn’t matter,” you shrug, trying to brush it off, even though you’re clearly bothered. You finish pulling on your jeans, quickly tugging the fabric over the marks on your hips. “I’ll figure it out.”

Harry slides closer, his hand reaching out to gently tug your chin so you’re looking directly at him. His expression softens, and he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s much gentler than anything from last night—sincere, almost apologetic.

“Next time, I’ll be more careful,” he whispers against your lips, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb traces the side of your neck where the marks are, making you shiver. “But I’m not sorry for last night. That was perfect.”

You lean into him, kissing him back for a moment longer before pulling away. "You really have to stop marking me," you tease lightly, but you can’t help but grin. "People are going to ask questions."

He grins back, his lips curving into that devil-may-care smirk. “If anyone asks, we’ll just say we were... being friendly,” he says, his tone playful but laced with that same intensity from the night before.

You laugh softly, but there's a tightness in your chest that you can’t quite shake. As much as you want to be carefree like him, you know the reality of sneaking back to your room is a little more complicated.

“I’ve got to go,” you say, standing up quickly, suddenly feeling the weight of the situation. “Before anyone notices.”

Harry nods, his smirk never fading, his eyes still gleaming with that mixture of mischief and satisfaction. “Don’t worry, babe. I won’t tell anyone.”

You pause, glancing back at him as you reach for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

He leans back on the bed, his hands behind his head, looking completely unfazed by the chaos of the night you both shared. “You know where to find me,” he says, his voice casual, but there’s that familiar undercurrent of promise.

You slip out of the room, your heart pounding, your mind racing. The door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stand there, breathing in the cool hallway air. It feels like everything just changed, and you’re not entirely sure how to process it. But as you make your way back to your room, you can’t shake the feeling that this won’t be the last time Harry’s hands leave marks on your skin.

...

You walk into the breakfast area, trying to shake off the lingering tension from last night. Harry’s already sitting with a coffee, looking casual as ever. You meet his gaze, but the smile he gives you is knowing, making your pulse race for a second before you force yourself to act normal.

The rest of the band is chatting, and you take a seat, trying to ignore the burn of the marks on your neck and hips. Ashton’s eyes keep flicking to you, the silence between you palpable. You can feel the weight of his stare.

Liam, ever the conversationalist, breaks the tension with an innocent enough question. “Hey, what’s up with you two?” he asks, glancing between you and Harry.

Harry shrugs, cool as ever. “Nothing, mate. Just breakfast.”

You nod quickly, sipping your coffee, trying to seem casual. But Ashton’s quiet. He’s not buying it. His eyes flick to your side, where you shift uncomfortably. “You okay?” he asks, his voice sharp, before glancing at Harry with suspicion.

“I’m fine,” you snap a little too quickly, and Harry intervenes just in time, his voice smooth and easy. “We’re all just adjusting to the time change, right?”

Ashton hesitates but then shrugs it off. The conversation moves on, but you feel like something’s off.

Then Niall spots the marks on your side. “Hey, what’s that?” he asks, pointing. “New ink or something?”

Before you can answer, Louis leans in with a grin. “Bite marks? Who’d you go home with?”

You force a laugh, brushing it off. “Just some random guy from the club. It didn’t mean anything.”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “A random guy at the club? Didn’t expect that from you.”

You shrug. “Sometimes you just need to blow off steam.”

Louis teases more, but Ashton’s quiet, his jaw tight as he observes. “Sure,” he mutters, his tone colder. “Nothing.”

You feel the shift in the air, Ashton’s unspoken frustration hanging between you, but you stay silent. Harry gives you a small nod, his eyes locking with yours for just a second before turning back to his coffee.

The rest of the conversation continues, but you can’t shake the feeling that everyone knows—or at least senses—something happened. And you’re left trying to keep it together, even though the heat from last night still burns beneath your skin.

...

A few days have passed since breakfast, and things have shifted, though no one’s mentioned last night’s heat. The band is busy with rehearsals and interviews, and the air between you and Harry feels charged, like electricity just waiting to snap.

That night, after the show, you slip away from the usual after-party chaos. You need to clear your head, to get some space from the noise and the people, but the moment you step outside, your gaze lands on him. Harry’s leaning against the back of the venue, hands shoved in his pockets, watching the stars like he’s waiting for something—someone.

You’re not sure what pulls you to him, but you find your feet moving before you can stop them. When he sees you, that smirk appears, the one that you know so well, and his eyes light up.

“Thought I’d find you out here,” he says, his voice smooth but with a hint of playfulness.

You stop in front of him, the cool night air biting at your skin. "Couldn't sleep," you reply, your heart already picking up pace as he steps closer.

"Couldn’t sleep, huh?" He steps forward, his hand brushing against yours. The simple touch sends a wave of heat through you, making it impossible to ignore the tension between you two. “I think I might be able to help with that.”

The words hang in the air, thick with meaning, and without thinking, you close the distance between you. His lips find yours almost instantly, pulling you into him. The kiss is hungry this time, no teasing, just raw need.

His hands are on your body, pushing you against the cold brick of the building, his lips trailing along your jawline, down your neck. Every movement is deliberate, urgent. You gasp when his teeth graze your skin, a rush of heat flooding your veins. You can feel him hard against your stomach, and it makes you dizzy.

“Right here?” you ask breathlessly, your hands running over the muscles of his back, the tension in his body matching your own.

He looks at you, his green eyes dark and intense, a spark of mischief dancing in them. “Why not?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s just us.”

You don’t hesitate. With a quick move, your hands are tugging at the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion. His skin is warm under your fingers, and your breath catches when his lips find yours again, harder this time.

You can’t keep up with the speed of it, the way he’s pushing you toward a part of the alley where the shadows swallow you whole. His hands move over your body, finding the zip of your jacket and pulling it down. Every touch, every movement sends you spiraling. There’s no waiting this time, no slow build-up. It's frantic, raw, like you’re both trying to chase the same thing.

You help him out of his jeans, the fabric sliding off his legs just as you pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. The cool air hits your bare skin, but Harry's warmth, the heat of his body, is enough to make you forget the chill.

With a sudden, fluid motion, he lifts you up, pressing you against the wall as your legs wrap around his waist. His lips are back on yours, and you can feel the intensity building again, the desperation of it. You feel his cock against you, and a shiver runs through you at the feel of him, so close, so desperate.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as his hands find their way to your hips, guiding you toward him. The way his fingers dig into your skin makes your heart race even faster.

The way he enters you, quick and relentless, takes your breath away. The world narrows down to the sensation of him filling you, the rhythm of his thrusts, the pressure in all the right places. You meet him with equal urgency, the rhythm between you sharp and frantic.

It doesn’t take long for the heat to build, for the world to go blurry and insubstantial. You’re caught in the force of it, lost in the way his body moves against yours, in the sound of his breath, his low groans as he pushes deeper.

It’s raw, fast, just what you both need to feel alive. The noise around you fades into nothing. All that exists is him—his touch, his body, the overwhelming heat that’s too much and not enough at the same time.

And when you reach the edge, when everything seems to come apart at once, you feel him release into you, his grip tightening as he lets out a low, guttural sound that makes you dizzy. It crashes over you like a wave, pulling you under, and you cling to him, riding the wave of pleasure until it finally fades.

You both stand there for a moment, catching your breath, leaning against each other for support. He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, still breathing heavily. “You good?” he asks, his voice soft but rough from the intensity of it all.

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him, feeling the aftermath of everything. You didn’t know it would feel this good—this easy, this undeniable. But it does.

“I’m good,” you reply, your hands still on his chest, feeling his heartbeat match your own.

He smirks again, leaning down to kiss you one more time, his lips soft now, slower, almost tender. "This isn't over," he murmurs against your lips. "We’re not done yet."

You pull back slightly, looking at him with a knowing smirk of your own. "I think we both know that."

...

A few days later again, and the night is loud, the music and chatter from the party blending with the thrumming bass of your own pulse. You're moving through the crowd, adrenaline pulsing, and you know exactly where you're heading. You don’t need to find him—Harry’s always in the same spot, tucked away from the chaos, waiting for the perfect moment.

You don’t waste time looking for him. As soon as you find him, you step into his space without hesitation. He’s leaning against the wall near the back of the venue, his eyes immediately finding you as you approach. The air between you thickens, a knowing tension hanging heavy in the seconds before you speak.

He smirks, his lips curling, but his eyes are dark with something more dangerous. “You alright?” His voice is low, deliberate, the edge of it making your pulse quicken.

You don’t answer with words. You reach up, your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, and pull him into a hard, bruising kiss. The kind that burns, urgent and hot. No hesitation. No sweet words. You’ve had enough of waiting, of being passive.

Harry’s hands find your waist, but you don’t give him the chance to pull you closer. Instead, you shove him back, pinning him against the wall with your body. His breath hitches, and for a moment, you feel his control slipping.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Not this time,” you murmur, your voice rough with desire. “I’m in charge tonight.”

Harry’s lips part, a flicker of something dark passing through his gaze. He’s caught off guard for a second, but the challenge only fuels him. He smirks, but it’s different now—almost predatory. “You sure about that?”

Without answering, you grab his wrist and tug him toward the back hall. There’s a small storage cupboard just around the corner, hidden from the rest of the crew. You reach it quickly, slipping inside with Harry close behind you, your back pressing against the cool metal door.

The moment the door closes behind you, it’s like the world shrinks to just the two of you. There’s no one around to stop it, no one to see what happens next. And that’s exactly what you want.

You waste no time, pushing him up against the shelves, the sound of metal scraping against the wall echoing in the small space. Your hands are on him instantly, pulling at his jeans, your mouth on his neck, the heat between you rising fast. There’s no teasing, no soft caress—just the immediate pressure of wanting him, needing him, right here, right now.

Harry’s hands come to your hips, fingers digging in as he tries to guide you, but you won’t let him. You’re not here for him to control. You kiss him again, harder this time, your hands undoing his belt, unzipping his jeans with quick, practiced movements. When you pull him free, his breath catches in his throat, and you feel him twitch under your touch.

“You think you can just take over?” Harry’s voice is low, rough, and it makes your pulse race even faster.

“You’re about to find out,” you respond, your voice steady despite the heat building inside you. You drop to your knees in front of him, not wasting a second before you take him in your mouth. It’s quick, sharp, the way you want it. His groan fills the small space, and you feel the way his fingers tighten in your hair, pulling you closer.

You know he’s holding back, fighting against the rush of pleasure, but you won’t give him the chance to regain control. You move faster, harder, your mouth working him while your hands hold his hips still, forcing him to take everything you give him.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, his voice strained, low. His grip on your hair tightens, his chest heaving as he struggles to stay in control. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

You look up at him, meeting his darkened gaze, and you can see the struggle in his eyes. It’s almost like he wants to push you away, take the lead again, but he can’t. Not now. You’re too far in control. You pull away for a moment, and his eyes flicker to yours with frustration.

But before he can say anything, you grab his wrist and pull him into the corner of the cupboard. The cramped space forces you both closer, heat between your bodies rising by the second. You push him back against the shelves, your hands sliding over his chest before you drop to your knees again, taking him in your hand, guiding him where you need him most.

This time, there’s no slowing down. You lower yourself onto him in one quick motion, feeling the stretch of him fill you completely. The angle is different, sharper, and the way he groans under you sends a thrill of power through you. You move against him, setting the pace, your body riding him with the urgency of a fire you can’t put out.

His hands grip your hips, but you don’t let him take over. You fuck him harder, faster, feeling the pull of your body tightening with each movement. The sound of your skin slapping together fills the small space, your breath coming in quick bursts, matching the frantic rhythm between you.

“You feel so fucking good,” Harry mutters, his voice low and raspy as his hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer. He’s close, you can feel it. But you don’t stop. You drive yourself harder onto him, taking him deeper with each thrust.

The heat builds, pressure coiling tighter and tighter until, with one final, sharp push, you both come undone. The force of it takes you by surprise, your body trembling as you collapse against him.

You’re both breathless, sweaty, and still reeling from the intensity. Harry holds you close for a moment, his hands running up and down your back, trying to steady both of you. You pull back slightly, looking up at him with a smirk.

“You didn’t think I could take control, did you?” you tease, your voice husky with satisfaction.

Harry chuckles, his lips brushing your forehead as he presses a soft kiss there. “You fucking blew me away, love,” he mutters, his voice filled with admiration and something else—something you can’t quite place.

You smile against his chest, the rush of power fading as you both come back down. You’re not done, not by a long shot. But for now, you both stay there in the cramped storage cupboard, tangled in each other’s arms, letting the aftermath wash over you.

For now, it's just you and him.

...

The next day, you walk into your hotel room, exhausted from the day's events, only to find Harry waiting for you. The door clicks shut behind you, and before you can say anything, he’s there, stepping toward you with that same confident smirk on his lips. His eyes are dark, and his stance says it all—he’s taking control again.

You try to keep your cool, but your pulse is already quickening. You hadn’t expected him to follow you, hadn’t thought he would be here, but now that he is, there’s no denying what’s about to happen.

“Still thinking about last night?” he asks, voice low and teasing, as he reaches you in two strides.

You can barely find the words. All you can do is stare back at him, your body reacting before your brain can catch up. “I thought we agreed���”

“We did,” he cuts you off, his hand brushing lightly against your arm, sending a shiver through you. “But I think it's my turn again.”

His mouth is on yours before you can protest. It’s a demanding kiss, his lips parting yours with purpose. His hands quickly make their way to your body, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat of him, the hard press of his chest against yours. There’s no room for hesitation, no time to think. He knows what he wants, and he's making sure you know it, too.

“Take your clothes off,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to let you breathe, but his eyes never leave yours.

Your body moves almost involuntarily, your shirt falling to the floor as he watches, his gaze intense. There’s something about the way he looks at you now that sends a rush of heat to your core. You can feel your body responding before you even realize it, your breath catching in your throat as he moves closer.

With one swift motion, he pushes you back toward the bed, never breaking eye contact, his hands on your waist, guiding you down. You’re almost powerless against his grip, the way his hands are everywhere, touching, exploring, pulling you closer.

"Stay still," Harry growls as he hovers over you, his lips trailing down your neck. His touch is rough, deliberate, his hands gripping you like he owns you. You try to fight it, try to hold on to some sense of control, but it’s impossible.

His mouth moves to your neck, biting down hard enough to make you gasp, leaving marks, branding you in a way that only he can. "You’re mine, remember that," he mutters against your skin, before trailing his lips lower, down your chest.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, his fingers are at your waist, slipping under your waistband. You tense at the suddenness of it, but there’s no stopping him. He doesn’t give you a chance to breathe before he's moving, quickly and efficiently, pulling you closer, his mouth returning to your skin.

“Missed this,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding over your hips, his touch like fire.

He flips you onto your stomach before you can even react. His hands grip your hips, pulling them up, positioning you exactly the way he wants you. You brace yourself, knowing what’s coming. It’s not gentle. He’s not gentle. His hand smacks against your ass, hard enough to sting, and you gasp.

“Don’t move,” he growls, his voice rough as he enters you in one swift motion. The force of it makes you cry out, the suddenness taking your breath away.

He doesn’t wait. His thrusts are relentless, harsh, driving into you with a power that has your body shaking. There’s nothing soft about it. Nothing tender. It’s all control, all power, and you can’t help but give into it, letting him take you in a way that only he can. The bed creaks beneath you, his hand still gripping your hip with a bruising force, and the sound of his skin meeting yours fills the room.

He’s rough, pushing you to the edge, your body moving with his, the tension building in your stomach. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his pace quickening. The marks on your neck throb with every movement, the bites and bruises adding to the intensity. You can feel him everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his body against yours.

It’s not long before you feel the tension snap, your body clenching around him as you cry out, your release crashing over you. Harry doesn’t stop. He keeps going, chasing his own release, his grip tightening as he finishes with a low groan, his body shuddering against yours.

He stays inside you for a moment, his hands resting on your hips, before he pulls out slowly. You collapse onto the bed, breathless, the marks on your neck and hips still stinging with the reminder of what just happened. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss to the marks he left, his lips lingering on your skin.

"Next time, don’t try to fight me," he murmurs, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll make sure you remember who’s in charge.”

You can’t help but shiver at the thought, your body still tingling from the aftermath. Harry pulls away, his expression smug as always, but there’s something in his eyes that tells you this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

...

The night air is thick with the promise of something to come, the city lights flickering below as the storm clouds gather above. You’ve been feeling the electricity between you and Harry all evening, the kind of tension that only seems to grow the longer you spend together. Tonight, something is different—there’s an undeniable pull that neither of you can ignore.

You’re in Harry’s hotel room, lounging on the couch, the hum of the city barely reaching your ears through the thick glass windows. Outside, the wind picks up, and you catch the first few drops of rain against the glass. You glance over at Harry, and your heart races at the sight of the mischievous grin that’s spreading across his face.

“You know,” he starts, voice low and tempting, “I’ve got a better idea than staying in here.”

Before you can ask, he’s already pulling you to your feet, his hand gripping yours with a firm urgency. The way his eyes glint with intent sends a thrill running through you, your pulse quickening. Without a word, he leads you to the door, and your stomach flips with the knowledge of what’s about to happen.

As you step into the hallway, the sound of rain grows louder, and Harry’s grip tightens around your wrist, guiding you toward a hidden staircase. “You’ll see,” he murmurs, a devilish smile tugging at his lips.

The air is charged with something unspoken, and as you ascend the stairs, you can feel the growing anticipation, your heart thumping in your chest. The storm outside is starting to pick up, a low rumble of thunder echoing in the distance. As you reach the rooftop door, Harry opens it, and the full force of the rain hits you—cold and sharp, the droplets crashing down as you step onto the wet rooftop.

The view is breathtaking, the city sprawled out beneath you, the sky above heavy with rain. You can hear the sound of water pounding against the pavement, but it doesn’t drown out the rush of your heartbeat as Harry turns to face you. His lips are on yours before you can even think, hot and insistent despite the cold rain soaking through your clothes.

“You’re crazy,” you murmur between kisses, your hands gripping his shirt as the rain drenches you both.

“You have no idea,” Harry replies, his breath hot against your ear. He pulls back for a moment, looking down at you with that smirk of his. “Let’s take this somewhere... a little more private.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabs your hand and leads you toward the far side of the roof, where a small, secluded corner offers some shelter from the storm. The wind howls around you, but the heat between you both only intensifies. Harry’s fingers work their way down your body, pulling you closer, your breath coming faster.

He presses you against the wall, his lips finding yours once more in a kiss that’s rough, desperate. His hands slide under your clothes, the cold rain making his touch even more electric against your heated skin. There’s no teasing this time—he’s all urgency, a desperate need that matches the pounding rain around you.

“Harry,” you gasp, your hands pushing his shirt off, “we shouldn’t be—”

But you’re cut off by his mouth trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his hands push you further against the wall. His words are muffled against your skin. “We don’t need to care about that now, do we?”

The adrenaline is coursing through your veins as you feel his hands tugging at your clothes, eager, impatient. The rain pelts down harder, drenching both of you, but it only makes everything feel more intense—more real. You’re soaked, and yet there’s nothing about the cold that can stop the heat building between you two.

He drags you up against him, his lips moving with feverish need, kissing you in the rain like it’s the only thing that matters. You can barely keep up as he lifts you, pressing you against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist as he pushes you further into the corner.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Harry mutters, his voice rough and low as he grinds against you. His hands roam, exploring, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough. You respond with equal hunger, the rain streaming down your face, the world falling away as you lose yourself in him.

His lips trail down to your neck, biting into your skin, leaving a mark that’s sure to last. The cold rain and the heat between you are at odds, yet they make everything feel more electrifying. You can’t stop your own moans, your fingers tangled in his wet hair as you pull him closer.

“Harry,” you whisper, your voice breaking as he moves faster, more urgently, each thrust more demanding than the last.

With each breathless moment, you know this won’t be the last time you end up like this—caught between the madness of the storm and the chaos of everything you two are. You’re both drenched, but it doesn’t matter. The rain may fall, but it’s the fire between you that keeps you both burning, relentless, until the world outside seems to disappear.

...

A few weeks have passed since that first hookup with Harry, and the tension between the two of you has only grown. The encounters have become more frequent, more intense. Sometimes it feels like there’s no hiding what’s between you, even though you’re doing your best to keep it under wraps. Harry’s smirks have become a constant, and the moments when he looks at you with that knowing glint in his eyes have started to make your stomach flip every time.

The bands—5SOS and One Direction—have started picking up on it, though no one’s come right out and said anything yet. There’s an unspoken feeling in the air, a shift in the dynamic, but everyone’s too polite—or too unaware—to confront it directly. The only one who seems to have picked up on something more than the others is Ashton. He’s been quieter, his eyes lingering on you with that concerned look you’ve come to recognise. He’s your brother, and you know him well enough to know that he senses something, but hasn’t quite put his finger on it.

You’re sitting backstage, your guitar resting on your knee, the hum of voices and instruments in the background. You’ve been working on a new song—one that’s personal, raw, and a little too close to the truth for comfort. The lyrics have poured out of you, each word more revealing than the last. It’s about what’s been happening with Harry, about the passion, the uncertainty, and the way he makes you feel all at once. You’ve titled it “English Love Affair,” a playful nod to the chaos of your tangled situation.

It’s time to show the guys. The atmosphere is a bit lighter today, everyone milling around in a relaxed mood after a long rehearsal. You grab your guitar, your fingers hovering over the strings as you make your way to where 5SOS and One Direction are gathered. Ashton notices you first, giving you a small smile, though his eyes still hold that familiar concern. The others are scattered around the room, laughing, teasing, but there’s a flicker of interest when they see the guitar in your hands.

“Got something to share, love?” Louis calls out from across the room, his voice loud and playful.

“Yeah, she’s been working on something,” Niall adds, eyeing you curiously.

You take a deep breath, nerves fluttering in your stomach. You’d been writing for months, but this one—this one feels different. The song is about Harry. About all the emotions, the heat, the connection, and the chaos of what you two have been doing. You’re not sure if you’re ready to show them yet, but if anyone’s going to understand, it’s them. You know how to separate your personal feelings from your music, but with this song, it’s a little harder to mask it all.

“Yeah,” you reply, strumming a few notes to test the sound, “it’s... a new one.”

Ashton steps forward, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall. His eyes are on you, searching, but there’s a quiet understanding there, even if he’s not sure what’s going on. You meet his gaze, offering a quick smile before looking down at your guitar.

The guys quiet down as you start to play, the melody flowing easily as you strum the chords. Your voice fills the space, the words slipping out with a raw honesty that makes your heart race:

“It started on a weekend in May I was looking for attention, needed intervention Felt somebody looking at me With a powder white complexion, feeling the connection

The way she looked was so ridiculous Every single step had me waiting for the next Before I knew it, it was serious Dragged me out the bar to the back seat of her car”

As you sing, the room grows quieter. The words, the rawness, the honesty—it’s clear this is something personal, something deeper than the usual pop tunes they’re used to hearing from you. You continue, each verse building with the tension that’s been hanging between you and Harry:

“When the lights go out, she's all I ever think about The picture burning in my brain, kissing in the rain I can't forget, my English love affair Today, I'm seven thousand miles away The movie playing in my head of a king size bed means I can't forget My English love affair My English love affair”

The last chord rings out, and the room is silent for a moment. You lower the guitar, waiting for their reaction, your heart thudding in your chest. Ashton is the first to speak, his voice quiet but steady.

“So, what’s this really about?” he asks, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of concern and something else—something you can’t quite read.

You don’t know how to answer. The song is about him, but it’s not. It’s about the complications, the passion, the messiness of what’s been happening between you two. It’s about more than just sex—it’s about feelings, connection, confusion. But you know the guys won’t get that. They’ll just hear the lyrics, the heat, and they’ll know. They’ll know exactly what you’ve been hiding.

You hesitate for a second, then shrug, trying to play it off. “It’s just a song. You know, inspiration. Whatever comes to mind.”

But Ashton doesn’t seem convinced. His gaze sharpens, and you can feel him trying to decipher what’s going on. The others, though, are still taking it in, the intensity of the lyrics lingering in the air.

“I mean, it sounds like something... more than just a song,” Luke says, his tone casual but with a knowing look in his eyes.

“Yeah, you’re not fooling anyone,” Michael adds with a smirk.

You try to laugh it off, but Ashton’s stare is unwavering. He’s not buying it. He knows something’s up, and though he’s not pressing you for answers, you can feel the weight of his silence.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just some fun lyrics.”

But in the back of your mind, you know that everything is far from just “fun” anymore. The song says it all, even if you’re not ready to admit it.

...

It’s late, long after the song reveal. The buzz of everyone’s reactions still lingers in the air, but you’ve distanced yourself from the others, needing a moment alone to process it all. You’re sitting in the corner of your hotel room, the soft hum of the city filtering through the window. The lyrics you poured out have left you raw, the reality of what you’ve been doing with Harry settling heavily in your chest.

Writing the song made you realize something you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge before: you want more. This—whatever this thing is between you and Harry—isn’t enough. It’s thrilling, electric, and addictive, but it’s not real. And you can’t keep letting it consume you if it’s never going to be anything more.

The knock at your door startles you. You already know who it is before you even open it. Harry stands there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his signature smirk in place. But there’s something more in his eyes tonight—a flicker of something softer, almost vulnerable.

“You were brilliant today,” he says, his voice low. “The song... it’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” you reply, your voice quiet but steady. You step aside to let him in, but as you close the door behind him, you already know how this conversation will go.

Harry wastes no time. The moment you’re alone, he steps closer, his hands finding your waist as his lips brush against your neck. “You know,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, “I can’t stop thinking about that song. About you.”

You place your hands on his chest, stopping him gently but firmly. “Harry,” you say, your voice soft but resolute.

He pauses, pulling back slightly to look at you. His brows furrow, and you can see the confusion in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. “I can’t do this anymore,” you say, your words steady but heavy with meaning.

His hands drop from your waist, and he steps back, his expression shifting to something you can’t quite read. “What do you mean?”

You meet his gaze, determined not to waver. “I mean this. Us. These... hook-ups, the sneaking around. It’s not enough for me, Harry. Writing that song—it made me realize I want more. I can’t keep doing this if it’s never going to be anything real.”

Harry’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he might argue. But then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You know how complicated this is,” he says, his voice quieter now. “With the bands, the press... everything.”

“I know,” you reply, your tone softer but still firm. “But that doesn’t change what I want. I can’t keep being this... secret. If you don’t want more, then we need to stop.”

The room feels heavy, the weight of your words hanging between you. Harry looks at you, his green eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right thing to say. But he stays silent, his hesitation speaking louder than any words could.

You feel your chest tighten, but you force yourself to stay strong. “I care about you,” you continue, “but I can’t keep pretending this is enough for me. So unless you’re ready to make this real, we go our separate ways.”

Harry’s gaze drops to the floor, and you can see the conflict written all over his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“I mean it, Harry,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He looks back up at you, and for a moment, you think he might say something—anything—to fight for you. But instead, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible gesture.

“Alright,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart aches, but you know you’ve made the right choice. You step back, giving him the space to leave, and after a long, silent moment, he does. The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving you alone in the quiet room.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, your emotions swirling as you try to process what just happened. It hurts, but deep down, you know you deserve more. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to love you out loud, someone who will choose you without hesitation.

And if Harry isn’t ready to be that person, then it’s better this way.

...

The greenroom hums with pre-show energy—chatter, guitar tuning, the low buzz of excitement. You sit on the couch, your notebook resting on your lap, though the words you’re scribbling barely register. The tension in your chest is suffocating. Since giving Harry your ultimatum, he hasn’t acted on it, and it’s tearing you apart. Worse, the teasing from both bands has started to escalate as they slowly piece things together.

“So, Y/N,” Louis calls out, his grin mischievous, “who’s the muse behind your little ‘English Love Affair’ masterpiece?”

Your head snaps up, heat crawling up your neck. “It’s just a song,” you reply quickly, forcing a light tone.

“Sure,” Niall drawls, smirking. “Except it sounds like someone’s been dragging you up staircases and kissing you in the rain. Pretty specific, if you ask me.”

Michael leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “And the sudden obsession with scarves? You trying to start a trend or cover up some marks?”

Liam chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Definitely the latter,” he murmurs, though there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“I knew something was up,” Luke adds, his teasing smirk widening. “You’re glowing, Y/N.”

“Alright, alright,” Calum cuts in, laughing. “Who’s the mystery guy? Come on, spill.”

The room falls quiet as everyone turns their attention to you. Your heart pounds, panic tightening your throat. Before you can stammer out a response, Ashton’s voice cuts through the noise.

“That’s enough,” he snaps, his tone sharp and unyielding.

All heads swivel to him, the easygoing atmosphere evaporating. He pushes off the wall where he’d been leaning, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes dart between you and Harry, narrowing as the pieces click into place.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Ashton’s voice is low, but the anger simmering beneath it is unmistakable.

Your stomach twists as the room goes deathly silent. Harry, sitting on the armrest of a nearby chair, stiffens but doesn’t look away.

“Ashton—” you start, your voice trembling, but he holds up a hand to stop you.

“Don’t,” Ashton says, his gaze locked on Harry now. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Harry rises to his feet, his expression calm but guarded. “Ashton, I—”

“You’ve been sneaking around with my sister,” Ashton interrupts, his voice rising. “Sleeping with her behind everyone’s back? Leaving marks all over her? And now you’re stringing her along like she’s some casual hookup?”

Harry’s jaw tightens. “It’s not like that,” he says firmly.

“Oh, really?” Ashton’s laugh is cold and bitter. “Because it sure as hell looks like you’re screwing her over—physically and emotionally—while you figure out whatever it is you want.”

“Ashton, stop!” you plead, stepping forward, but Zayn gently places a hand on your arm, holding you back.

“Let them talk it out,” Zayn says softly, though his dark eyes are watchful.

Harry steps closer to Ashton, his voice tight but steady. “I care about her,” he says. “More than you can imagine.”

“Then why are you hurting her?” Ashton demands, his face red with anger. “You’re leaving her bruised, confused, and heartbroken, Harry. That’s not love—that’s you being a selfish prick.”

“I know I’ve messed up,” Harry snaps back, his composure finally cracking. “I know I’ve handled this all wrong. But I’m not using her. I’d never do that to her.”

Ashton scoffs, his fists clenching at his sides. “You already are. If you cared about her, you’d stop treating her like some dirty little secret and give her the respect she deserves. She’s not just some girl you can screw around with—she’s my sister.”

Harry flinches at that, the weight of Ashton’s words visibly sinking in.

The tension is suffocating, the room silent except for the heavy breaths of the two men squaring off. Finally, Louis breaks the silence with an awkward cough. “Well… this is fun,” he mutters, earning a glare from both Ashton and Harry.

“Ashton,” Liam says gently, stepping forward. “Maybe give them a chance to work this out?”

“There’s nothing to work out,” Ashton retorts, his eyes narrowing. “Harry knows what he needs to do. Either step up or stay the hell away from her.”

“Ashton, I can handle this,” you say, your voice trembling but firm.

Ashton looks at you, his expression softening slightly, though the anger in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I hope so, Y/N,” he says quietly. “Because you deserve better than this.”

He turns and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The echo rings out in the silence, leaving everyone in a tense, uneasy stillness.

Harry turns to you, his face unreadable. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft.

You nod, though your chest feels tight. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer, his gaze dropping to the floor. Because the truth is, neither of you are okay.

...

The steady patter of rain against the hotel window is the only sound in the room as you sit on the edge of the bed, your legs crossed, your fingers lightly tapping the sheets. You’ve been staring at the door, thinking about everything that’s happened—the conversation with Ashton, the way he confronted you, and how much of your own behavior you’ve been running from.

When the knock comes, you know it’s him.

“Come in,” you call out softly, your heart thudding in your chest.

The door creaks open, and Harry steps inside, looking hesitant but determined. His hair’s damp from the rain, his jacket clinging to his shoulders. For a moment, he doesn’t move, just looks at you, eyes searching, waiting for permission.

He steps closer, his voice low when he speaks. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. For the way I’ve been handling this... or not handling it.”

You don’t respond immediately, your mind racing with the weight of everything. You’ve been torn in so many directions lately, guilty for the way you’ve been playing this game with him, unsure if you were using him to fill a void, or if it was something deeper.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were nothing more than a distraction,” Harry continues, his voice thick with sincerity. “But I’ve been acting like I don’t care about you, and I do. I care about you more than I’ve let on.”

You take a slow breath, looking up at him. “I’ve been stringing you along too, haven’t I?” you say quietly, the guilt surfacing. “I let things go on like this—casual, no strings, knowing full well that I wanted more, but not giving you a chance to show it. I made it so easy for you to stay at arm’s length, but I don’t want that anymore.”

Harry’s face softens, and he steps closer, kneeling in front of you. His hands hover near yours before finally resting gently over them. “I’m glad you said that,” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “Because the truth is, I’m scared too. Scared of what this means for us, for the band, for everything. But what I’m not scared of is you. I don’t want it to just be a fling anymore. I want this. I want you. For real. Not just when it’s convenient or when we’re sneaking around.”

Your heart flutters as you take his words in, your fingers curling slightly around his. You’ve heard him say things like this before, but now—this feels different. There’s no more running, no more hiding.

“I want that too,” you say softly, your voice steady, though a hint of uncertainty lingers. “But we both know this isn’t easy. I can’t keep doing this with you unless it’s real, Harry. No more games, no more keeping it quiet. If you’re in this, then I’m in it too. But I can’t keep pretending, not anymore. And if you can’t do that, then we’ll have to go our separate ways.”

Harry swallows, his gaze intense as he watches you. He’s not looking at you with the same playful glint as before. This time, it’s sincere, the weight of his words matching the look in his eyes.

“I’m in it,” he says quietly, nodding. “For real. I want you, Y/N. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, to show you it’s real. I’m not backing down this time.”

You take a deep breath, your chest tightening with relief. There’s something so final about his words, something that makes you feel like you’re stepping into a new chapter.

“Okay,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “No more pretending. We do this, or we don’t. But I’m not looking back.”

He leans into your touch, pressing his lips to your palm gently. “I don’t want to look back either.”

The moment stretches between you, the weight of the words still lingering, but now there’s a sense of peace—a promise that this, whatever this is, will be real.

You lean in, closing the distance, your lips brushing over his in a kiss that’s softer than the ones before, but carries the weight of something much more substantial. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“We’ve got this,” he says quietly, a hint of a smile curving on his lips.

The quiet between you both is comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding. For once, there’s no rush. No expectations. Just the two of you, finally on the same page. Harry stays close, his hands gently brushing against yours as he leans back against the bed, pulling you with him. You settle into his arms, your body fitting perfectly against his.

The only sounds in the room are the soft rustle of the sheets and the gentle rhythm of your breaths. Harry’s fingers trace small circles along your back, as if memorizing the feel of you in his arms, and you do the same, your hand resting over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“You okay?” he whispers, his voice low, a little hoarse from the emotion of the conversation, though it still holds that warmth you’ve always loved.

You nod, lifting your head slightly to look at him. “Yeah. I’m good. It feels like… everything makes sense now. Like I’m not pretending anymore. Like this is real.”

His lips curl into a soft smile as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m glad,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I want you to know, Y/N, that this is real for me. All of it.”

The words linger between you both, but this time, they don’t feel heavy. They feel freeing. The quietness of the room feels like a safe cocoon, a place where nothing needs to be rushed, where there are no games, no pressure. Just the quiet rhythm of the two of you, finding comfort in each other’s presence.

You press your lips to his, gently, a soft kiss that’s slow and unhurried. It’s not about passion in this moment. It’s about connection. About feeling the weight of what’s changed between you both. The kiss deepens, but it doesn’t push for more—it’s tender, the kind of kiss that’s meant for taking your time, for savoring what’s just beginning to unfold.

Pulling back, you rest your head on his chest again, your eyes fluttering closed. His arm wraps around you, holding you close, and you feel the warmth of his body seep into yours, grounding you in this moment.

“Goodnight, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, your voice barely audible.

His fingers continue their gentle movements against your skin, and the steady beat of his heart becomes the rhythm that lulls you into sleep. The world outside the room feels miles away, and all that matters is the feeling of his arms around you, the peace of knowing that this—what you two have—is real.

You drift off to sleep, wrapped in the comfort of him, the quiet promises of the night hanging in the air. It’s the first time in a long time that you feel truly at peace, knowing that you’ve found something that isn’t fleeting, that isn’t just a momentary thrill. This is real. This is yours.

And as you fall asleep, the last thought in your mind is that you’re not just a fleeting part of Harry’s life anymore—you're something more. And for the first time, you believe it.

...

The next morning, the air feels lighter between you and Harry, a sense of calm settling over you both. The conversation from the night before has laid the foundation for something real, and while there’s still a part of you that’s nervous about what comes next, there’s no more uncertainty between you two. You know where you stand, and you know that this time, it’s different.

You’re sitting with Harry in the common area, trying to act like everything’s normal. You’re not hiding anymore, but the rest of the bands are still operating under the assumption that something’s been happening between you two for a while now. Their teasing comments have become more frequent, but there’s an undertone of curiosity that lingers.

Harry catches your eye across the room, his expression soft. He stands up, extending his hand toward you, and you know what’s coming. You take a breath, pushing aside any remaining nerves as you reach for his hand.

“Oi!” Louis calls out, noticing the two of you getting up. “Where are you two off to?”

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you closer, his arm resting around your shoulders as he walks you toward the others. The whole room falls silent as you approach, the energy shifting instantly.

Ashton’s eyes narrow on you both, but there’s a look of relief in them now, even if he’s still on edge. Niall raises an eyebrow, still unsure of what’s going on. Luke and Michael are watching carefully, their expressions unreadable but attentive. Calum glances between you and Harry, a quiet smirk tugging at his lips as he folds his arms. You glance at the floor, feeling the weight of their eyes on you as Harry gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“We’ve got something to say,” Harry begins, his voice steady but there’s a slight tension in his jaw, as if he’s bracing for their reactions.

You take a deep breath, your nerves a little more palpable now that you’re in front of everyone. This feels like a big moment—like things are finally being put out in the open. You’ve kept this secret for too long, and now, there’s no turning back.

“We’re together,” you say softly, your voice clear but quiet. “For real this time. Not just... whatever it was before.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then the reactions come fast.

“Oh, thank god,” Niall says, a grin spreading across his face. “You two have been dancing around this for ages. About time you made it official.”

“I knew it,” Louis adds with a smirk. “You two were always making eyes at each other. It was only a matter of time.”

Harry laughs, his hand tightening around yours. “Yeah, well... we had to figure things out first. But now we’re here.”

Ashton crosses his arms, his expression a little more guarded. He’s trying not to smile, but you can tell there’s still a hint of protectiveness in his eyes. He looks at Harry, then at you. “I just want you to know, Harry,” he says, his voice low, “if you hurt her again, I won’t hesitate. You’ve got one chance to make it right.”

Harry nods immediately, without hesitation. “I know, man. I won’t hurt her. I care about her too much for that.”

The tension eases a bit, but Zayn and Liam exchange looks, their expressions still weighing the situation. Zayn’s lips curl into a small smile, but he remains quiet. Liam gives you a warm look, the faintest glimmer of approval in his eyes. It’s clear he’s not against this—it’s just new territory for everyone, and a lot has changed in the time since the last time they saw you and Harry together.

“So, we’re all good then?” Niall asks, a grin still on his face.

You nod, squeezing Harry’s hand tighter, your voice steady now. “Yeah. We’re good. We’re not hiding anymore.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted from your chest, like everything is finally falling into place. It’s not perfect—it’s never going to be—but it’s real. And for the first time in a long time, you’re not running from it.

Ashton looks at Harry one last time, then nods, a little less tense than before. “Alright. I trust you.”

Harry’s face softens, a grateful look crossing his features. “Thanks, Ash.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, and suddenly, it feels like things are less complicated. Everyone’s starting to come to terms with it, the unspoken questions beginning to fade away. For the first time, there’s no judgment, no tension. It’s just you and Harry, and the rest of the band, finally adjusting to the new normal.

Luke looks at the two of you, a knowing smirk on his face. “Alright, alright. So when’s the wedding?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Not that fast, mate.”

Michael laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, but at least it’s not a secret anymore.”

Calum chuckles, nudging Luke. “Maybe they’ll invite us to the wedding. They’ve been keeping us on the edge of our seats for far too long.”

The banter continues, but there’s a sense of ease in the air now. No more secrets, no more uncertainty. And as Harry pulls you close again, his hand resting on your shoulder, you feel like this is just the beginning. This time, it’s real. And you’re ready for whatever comes next.

[pinkboaclub]

Bikini

Summary: Harry’s frat hosts a pool party, Harry can’t keep his eyes off you and your skimpy bikini

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: slight exhibition, frat boy Harry, smut smut smut. sorry it’s so short, i just wanted to get something out !!!

In the sweltering heat of a mid-July afternoon, the sun blazed down on the pool party Harry's frat house was hosting. The smell of chlorine hung in the air as you and the other girls mingled with each other, while the boys played pool volleyball with each other.

You had on a skimpy white triangle bikini, one that left very little to the imagination. The fabric clung to your curves as if it had been painted on. Harry was supposed to be playing, but his gaze kept drifting over to you, his eyes lingering on the way the water droplets slithered down your body every time you emerged from the pool.

"Harry! Stop staring at Y/N's ass and pay attention to the game," one of Harry's friends called out, smacking him playfully on the shoulder.

This caught your attention looking over to the group of boys who were now all laughing. Harry glanced over to you, giving you a cheeky smile before snapping himself out of his gaze. "Can you blame me?" The rest of the boys didn't reply, not wanting to get themselves in trouble.

You felt a tingle of excitement at the thought of Harry's eyes on you, and decided to give him something more to look at. As he finished his game and got out of the pool to grab a beer, you adjusted to be fully on your side while talking to you friends, flashing the rest of your ass towards him.

Harry's eyes grew dark with desire as he watched you. He was wearing a pair of black short swim trunks, which did little to hide the outline of his erection. .

"You want a beer?" Harry asked, his voice thick with lust as he held out a cold bottle. You took it and took a long sip, your eyes never leaving his. The coolness of the drink was a stark contrast to the heat rising between you.

"Thanks," you murmured, your voice low and seductive. Harry leaned in closer, his eyes on your lips. You could feel the electricity crackling in the air. "But I had something else in mind for us to do," you said, taking his hand and leading him away from the crowded pool area.

You didn't check to see if any of your friends were watching you, you had set your sights on going up to Harry's room, and no one was going to stop you.

As soon as you reached the door to Harry's room, he pulled you inside and slammed it shut behind you. Without a moment to waste, his mouth was on yours, kissing you fiercely as if he hadn't seen you in a lifetime. His hands roamed over your wet skin, gripping the strings of your bikini top. You moaned into his mouth, feeling your body respond to his touch.

"You look so fucking hot," Harry mumbled through kisses, his eyes devouring every inch of you. You felt his hands tug at the strings, the anticipation building as the fabric gave way.

"Is this what you wanted?" you whispered back, your voice breathy with excitement. He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours as he pulled the bikini top off completely. Your breasts bounced free, the cold air conditioning making your nipples peak. Harry took one in his mouth, sucking and biting gently, making you arch your back with pleasure.

Your hands found their way to the waistband of his swim trunks, and you began to tug them down. Harry's erection sprang free, and you took it in your hand, stroking it gently as he continued to kiss and nibble your neck. He stepped back to admire you, his eyes tracing the lines of your body, and his cock twitched in your hand.

"You're so fucking perfect," he said, before pushing you onto the bed and climbing on top of you. His kisses grew more urgent, his tongue delving into your mouth as his hands explored your body. You could feel him grinding against you, his hardness pressing into your stomach.

You decided you needed to take control. You pushed him forward, and climbed on the ground, resting on your knees. Harry adjusted himself to sit on the corner of the bed.

You leaned down, your breasts brushing against his chest, and took his cock in your mouth. Harry's hands flew to your head, threading through your hair. You sucked him deep, your eyes never leaving his, watching every reaction flicker across his face. His hips bucked upwards, trying to fuck your mouth, but you kept control, moving at your own pace.

His grip on your hair tightened as you took him all the way in, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock. You could feel his body tensing up, and knew he was getting close. But you weren't ready to let him come yet.

You pulled back, licking your lips and smiling at him. "Good?" you teased, your voice sweet and innocent. Harry groaned, his eyes glazed over with lust.

"Fuck, yes," he breathed. "Don't stop."

You leaned back down, taking him in your mouth once again, but this time you went slower, savoring every inch of him. Your hand pumped at the base of his cock, matching the rhythm of your mouth. Harry's hips began to rock, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He felt his abs tense overtime he caught a glimpse of your breast, his breath becoming ragged when they would brush against his leg. You felt a thrill of power, knowing that you had him right where you wanted him. You kept going, taking him deep and then pulling back.

Suddenly, Harry's grip on your hair tightened, and he pulled you off his cock. "Get on your knees," he ordered, his voice gruff with desire. You obeyed, your heart racing. This was new for you, but the excitement was intoxicating.

He positioned you in front of him, your ass up in the air, and you felt his hand slap against your skin. The sting made you gasp, but it only made you wetter. He quickly slid down your bikini bottoms and threw them aside.

Then he was inside you, filling you up completely. You moaned, your body taking a moment to adjust to his size. Harry began to thrust, his movements deep and powerful. Each time he entered you, it felt like he was claiming you, like he owned every part of you.

You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him. Harry reached around, his hand finding your clit and rubbing it in circles as he fucked you from behind.

"You're so wet for me," he growled, his own pleasure evident in his voice. "You like it when I take control?"

You nodded, unable to speak, your loud moans and gasps the only response he needed. You could feel your orgasm building, like a storm.

"Is this what you want?" Harry asked, his voice dark and demanding. You nodded, unable to form words. "Everyone to know you came up here to get fucked like a whore?" You kept nodding, your views growing louder.

He leaned over you, his breath hot on your neck as he whispered, "Good girl."

Harry's strokes grew faster, his grip on your hair tightening as he drove into you. You knew he was close too, his breath coming in harsh pants.

You felt your body tighten around him, the waves of your orgasm crashing through you. "Gonna cum, H." You panted out, his cock continuously slamming into you.

"Fuck yeah, baby, scream it out. Let them know your getting fucked like a slut up here."

You screamed out, your orgasm erupting through your stomach as his cock kept thrusting inside of you. Harry groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge, filling you with his hot cum. You collapsed onto the bed, your body shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Harry pulled out of you, his chest heaving, and lay down beside you. You turned to look at him, your cheeks flushed and your eyes glazed with satisfaction.

Harry had a smug smile playing on his lips. "You looked beautiful in that bikini, baby." he said, his arm draped over your waist.

You turned to him, your eyes filled with mischief. "I'll keep that in mind."

[merrybloomwrites]

When The Wolves Come Out (Chapter 4)

Story Summary: When Y/N gets hired to play drums for One Direction, the last thing she expects is to find herself as part of their pack. Especially since it seems that they don’t want her there. Only time will tell if they’ll accept her, or if the omega will have to deal with rejection from the others.

Chapter Summary: A hometown show for Y/N means seeing her old packmates. This leads to tension between her and her current bandmates.

Previous Chapters: one , two , three

Word Count: 1.9k

Tags/CW: omega verse, omega reader, alpha Harry, alpha Zayn, alpha Louis, beta Niall, beta Liam, poly, Jonas Brothers, touch deprivation, scenting

AN: Shoutout to the anon who messaged me about chapter 4 today because they single handedly motivated me to finish this!

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With just one week left until you’re back home for a show, you tell yourself repeatedly that you’re fine. You can make it there, get the touch you need, and no one will have to know.

But hiding touch starvation isn’t easy. Even though they try to keep their distance from you as much as possible, you know that the others are suspicious.

You’ve been increasingly lethargic, dizzy, and cold. You always choose long sleeves, even in the balmiest South American cities. You’re often found in little corners backstage so you can squeeze in a power nap before shows.

One day it’s Louis who finds you. He helps you stand, and your skin practically burns when his hand touches yours. After months of nothing, this little moment of contact is like a shock to your system. And based on his concerned look, Louis definitely noticed this as well.

All of the clothes that Kevin and Joe had given you have lost their scent. On a particularly bad day, you can’t stop yourself from sneaking one of Harry’s bandanas, a t-shirt of Zayn’s, and one of Louis’ tank tops. You hide from the others and hold these stolen items close to your face, deeply breathing in the alpha scents. It soothes your omega just enough to stop the shaking for a while.

You’ve never been able to be close enough to them long enough individually to pick out each of their specific scents, but you know that blended together they make the most delicious smell. You find yourself daydreaming about them scenting you so that you can carry the wonderful aroma around with you.

But then Liam calls out for you, saying it’s time to go, and you’re shaken out of your thoughts. You make it through that night’s show, and the next one, and finally, the last one in South America.

A few days later you fly up to Toronto for a couple of concerts and then the day comes that you land in Newark. You never thought you’d be happy to see this airport, but today you’re so happy to be home you could almost kiss the disgusting ground.

It’s late, and you’re all quickly ushered to the hotel to get some sleep before doing shows the next day. You despise being in a hotel when you’re only a short drive to your house, but despite your best efforts, you’re not permitted to separate from the group.

The next day begins like any show day, and by mid afternoon you’re hanging backstage after sound check. The touch depri is spiking again, your entire body is shaking, and it feels like ants are crawling along your skin. More than once, black dots swim in your vision. You start to get nervous that you might go into an omega drop.

You’re once again curled in a corner when Niall finds you.

“Some friends are here to see you,” he says, not waiting to see if you follow before he turns and walks back down the hallway. Slowly, so that you won’t get too dizzy, you stand and start walking in that direction as well.

Suddenly, arms surround you, and your vision almost completely blacks out. You’re overwhelmed by touch and alpha pheromones, and there’s a moment of panic before you finally realize it’s Joe. A moment later Nick and Kevin hug you as well, and you nearly cry tears of joy to be surrounded by your old pack.

“I missed you guys,” you manage to squeak out.

“We missed you too, kid,” Joe replies.

“C’mon, let’s go sit,” Kevin says, and the four of you head to one of the nearby rooms. It’s clearly a storage area, but amongst the chaos are a comfy sofa and matching chair.

Nick takes the chair, leaving Joe and Kevin to sit on either side of you on the couch.

“So, tell us how tour’s been!” Joe says excitedly.

“It's good! Love the music, and we’ve seen some pretty cool places,” you answer.

“And how have you been?” Nick asks.

“I’ve been good!” You reply, but clearly they don't buy that.

“Omega,” Kevin says, and it feels so nice to be addressed this way after so long. “Please tell us the truth. You don’t look okay. I’m worried.”

It’s overwhelming to be so seen, to be so cared for. But you know you can’t hide anything from them so you reply, “It’s been tough touring without a pack.”

“I thought that One Direction was a pack,” Nick says. “That you would be a part of that.”

“Apparently that was the plan. But they’re not open to anyone joining them,” you reply.

“Isn’t the backing band in the pack?” Joe asks.

“No, it’s just the five of them. And they don’t want anyone else. But Simon wants me in with them so I share a bus with them,” you explain.

“If you’re on a bus with alphas, wouldn’t their scents help your omega?” Nick asks.

“Not if they’ve rejected her,” Kevin replies. He then turns to you and adds, “If they’ve rejected you, then I’m pretty certain you’re starting to deal with touch deprivation. Fair to say?”

“Yeah. That’s fair,” you answer quietly.

“What assholes,” Joe suddenly exclaims.

“They’re not assholes,” you defend. “They’re just protective of their pack.”

“They should be protective of the omega in their care,” he retorts. You can’t exactly fight that. As much as you hate that you need others to survive, any good alpha would know what to do to make sure omegas are healthy. And the boys haven’t done that.

Before you can think of it too deeply, the door opens and in walk your parents, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Jonas. For the next hour you’re surrounded by your family, and things feel normal, just like they used to. The time together flies and too soon you have to finish getting ready for the show.

Nick and all the parents head to their seats, but Kevin and Joe stay back.

“How quickly after the show do you need to be back on the bus?” Kevin asks.

“We have to be on it by midnight, so we normally have a bit over an hour.”

“Ok. That’s enough time. Meet us back here after and we’ll scent you. Hopefully we can keep any touch depri at bay for a while,” Joe says.

“If that’s okay with you,” Kevin adds, and Joe nods in agreement.

“I’d like that. The symptoms are starting to get bad, it will be nice to get rid of them,” you reply.

With a plan in place, the two of them each give you a hug and then you part ways.

It’s a great concert, and you love getting to perform at home. But once it’s over you’re rushing back to that room, excited to get physical touch for the first time in months.

You beat Kevin and Joe there by a few minutes, but before long they’re joining you. The three of you once again settle on the couch, and for the next hour you go back and forth getting cuddles from them. It hurts to say goodbye, but at least your touch levels are topped up and you feel better than you have in a while.

You’re the last one back on the bus, and you find the boys hanging in the lounge area. Months of them pushing you away has made you used to them ignoring you, so the last thing you expect is having their full attention on you.

“Why do you smell like that?” Louis immediately asks.

“Excuse me?” You reply.

“Why do you smell like other alphas?” Zayn questions.

“Why do you care?” You retort.

“We care if you’re rolling around with other alphas,” Harry says. “Could be dangerous.”

“Okay, first of all, since when do you care about my safety? Second of all, I was not rolling around with strange alphas, and even if I was it would be none of your business,” you say, now getting annoyed.

“If you weren’t with an alpha, then why do you smell like it?” Niall asks.

“Because my former packmates immediately noticed that I was slipping into touch deprivation, so they gave me the touch and scenting that I needed to prevent a drop. Simon was right, you guys have shit instincts.”

You look at the boys, their expressions ranging from angry to ashamed. You’re too tired to deal with whatever this is, and honestly you’re angry yourself. Finally you’d gotten the touch you needed. Finally you’re feeling better. And now they’ve gone and ruined what should’ve been a good night.

Without another word you storm off to your bunk and go to sleep, missing the conversation that continues in the lounge.

“Can’t believe she came back stinking of other alphas,” Louis states.

Sensing that their pack alpha is filled with a mix of emotions, Liam slides closer and leans into his side to offer some physical comfort.

“What if she’s right?” Zayn asks quietly. “What if we really don’t have good instincts.”

“An omega who lives with us went into touch deprivation without us noticing,” Harry says. “Of course she’s right. How could we not notice?”

“Well, it’s not like you asked to have an omega,” Niall says, trying to reassure Harry.

“It doesn’t matter. I was raised to care about all omegas, and I’ve been so stubborn, and that caused Y/N to suffer.”

“We’ve all been stubborn,” Zayn says.

“Can I say something?” Liam asks.

“Of course, Li,” Louis replies.

“Why are we still pushing back so hard? I mean, I like Y/N. She’s talented. She’s smart. Funny, kind, cute. Aside from pride, why can’t we include her?”

“Because I promised you all that it would always be the five of us. That’s what we’ve always wanted,” Louis answers.

“But what if we change our minds?” Harry asks. “I think Liam’s right. Honestly, I don’t have a problem with her. I like her.”

“I do too,” Zayn adds. “And it’s been kind of nice having an omega here. She balances things out.”

“Niall, what do you think?” Louis asks.

“I mean, yea she’s nice and all. But our pack is just the five of us. After that meeting with Simon you all said that wouldn’t change, and now you’re trying to change things? Maybe I can get on board but I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

“I agree with Niall,” Louis says. “I can’t just suddenly switch my way of thinking. For months I’ve been ensuring that our pack remains the way it was because I was under the impression that’s what you all wanted. It’s going to take more than one conversation for me to be okay with this.”

“We understand that Lou,” Harry says. “We’re not asking you to totally change your mind right away.”

“I just need some time,” he says. “Listen, it’s late and we have another show tomorrow. Let’s all sleep on this, alright?”

“Yes, alpha,” Liam replies, pressing a kiss to the other man’s neck to soothe him and show that no one is upset with his decision.

Listening to their alpha, the boys all head to bed, but none of them fall asleep right away. They’re too busy thinking about this new development. But one by one they all eventually drift off.

Louis is the last one awake, his mind racing with thoughts of the conversation they’d had. And if he has to get up and check that you’re sleeping safe and sound before he can finally fall asleep too, nobody has to know.

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AN: Thanks for reading! Looks like things might be starting to shift!!

[he4dlin3]

“Peach Pies & Foul Balls — H.S ”

Pairing ; Baseball player!Harry Styles x Baker!Reader

Synopsis ; 1960, summertime in a sleepy Southern town. You’re a baker, up at dawn kneading dough and dusting flour off your apron. Harry’s the golden boy of the local baseball team, all charm and smudged knuckles.

Material list | Navigation

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The bell above the bakery door jingled like it did every morning at exactly 8:02 AM. You didn’t even need to look up from the dough you were kneading to know who it was.

Same worn leather jacket slung over a muscle-touched shoulder. Same creaky cleats on the wooden floor. Same soft whistle under his breath—some old Elvis tune—like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Harry Styles.

The town’s baseball hero. Rookie pitcher for the Red Oaks. Always in the paper with a crooked smile and a bat slung over his shoulder. And always—always—with powdered sugar dusting the corner of his mouth when he left your bakery.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he drawled, leaning on the counter like it wasn’t sticky with jam and cinnamon glaze. “You got any of those peach turnovers left? The ones with the flaky crust?”

You rolled your eyes, tossing a damp cloth over the dough to let it rise. “If you keep showing up before the sun’s fully up, you’re gonna burn out.”

He grinned, unbothered. “I’ll risk it for a good turnover.”

You handed him the last one—warm from the oven, still soft in the center. He took it with reverence, like it was made of gold. “Don’t think I won’t tell Mrs. Davis you stole her order.”

“She loves me. She’ll forgive me.”

“Mmhm.”

He didn’t leave right away. He never did. Harry had a way of lingering—leaning on things, stretching out silences like he was in no hurry to be anywhere else. The bakery smelled like fresh dough and peaches, sun slipping in through the front windows and hitting the flour-covered counters in golden streaks.

You could feel his eyes on you as you wiped your hands on your apron, cheeks dusted pink from the heat—or maybe from something else.

“You gonna come to the game Friday?” he asked suddenly, between bites.

You didn’t look up. “Maybe. If I’m not too tired.”

“I’ll throw a no-hitter if you’re there.”

You laughed under your breath, folding a dish towel with too much focus. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“But I always keep them,” he said, voice quieter now. Softer.

When you finally glanced up, he was watching you like you were the only thing worth looking at in the whole damn town. Like you were the scoreboard he wanted to impress, not the crowd.

“I’ll leave your name at the gate,” he said simply. “No pressure.”

And just like that, he was gone—leaving nothing but a few crumbs on the counter and a faint scent of cologne in the doorway.

Friday night came with the smell of popcorn and cut grass and too many people packed into Red Oaks Stadium. You wore a sundress, soft cotton, something that let the breeze pass through and made you feel like you weren’t entirely out of place.

You didn’t go to games. Not usually. But something about the way Harry said it—like he wanted you there, not just anyone—stuck to you like sugar on your fingertips.

And so you came.

He spotted you by the dugout. Tipped his cap like a character out of one of those Technicolor movies and grinned like the world had tilted just a little in his favor.

You swore he pitched harder that night. Faster. Focused. He struck out batter after batter, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, casting you these quick glances like he needed to be sure you were still there.

Bottom of the ninth. Two outs. Bases loaded.

The stadium held its breath.

You didn’t even realize your nails were digging into your skirt until the final strike whistled past home plate, the umpire’s call cutting through the heat like a bell. The crowd erupted. People stood. Cheered. Stomped their feet.

And Harry?

He didn’t even celebrate with his teammates. He jogged straight toward the sideline where you were standing, winded and glowing with sweat, chest rising under his jersey.

“You see that?” he asked, breathless, hands on his hips.

You nodded, lips curved upward. “I guess you do keep your promises.”

He gave a little laugh. “Told you.”

And then, before you could say another word, he pulled you in—hands warm and confident on your waist, forehead resting against yours.

“Don’t suppose I can convince you to bake something for the next game too,” he murmured, voice low and teasing.

“That depends,” you whispered, heart hammering in your chest. “You planning on winning again?”

He smirked. “Only if you’re watching.”

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

[snugglysnoopystyles]

hi loves, i changed the username just cause honeyymoonss was the one I had before posting the bots and I never really liked it, so now you'll find me as snugglysnoopystyles everywherere cause I've always wanted a username with snoopy and harry together cause they're literally the same 🥹

I'll try to post a few more bots today, lots of love! 💕

@merylittlefreak @jlovescherry @littlebvnnyhs @xarviax @finelinemia @fallingwillow @harryslove13 @tillstalks @sweetcreaturekatie @keiramalik96 @tpwkmr

[harrywavycurly]

Worth the Fight: A Harry Styles Series

Summary: A one night stand turns into more than you bargain for when you find yourself pregnant after drunkenly hooking up with Harry Styles after a few too many rounds at a karaoke bar. You don't really know him and he doesn't know a lot about you minus the fact your cat really just doesn't like him, but the one thing you quickly learn is boy can you two argue. This series is all about how you and Harry navigate going from strangers to soon to be parents all while trying not to kill each other in the process and maybe see what these weird feelings that develop along the way are all about.✨

Pairing: Harry Styles x pregnant!reader

Trope: Enemies to lovers (with a twist because it's like lovers to enemies back to lovers?), slow burn baby so buckle up.

CW: Mentions of a lot pregnancy/baby things, language, Harry's a bit of a dick, possessive behavior, jealous behavior, angst.

Tag List: Open just let me know if you'd like on it.

Story Type: This series is a mixture of texts and one shots, I think it'll be fun to see a a good mix!

Extras: Here

Update Schedule: Once A Week✨

Part 1: Late for What?

Part 2: City of Love

Part 3: Reviews

Part 4: A Little Treat

Part 5: Mr. Popular

Part 6: Places of Peace

Part 7: Swoon Worthy

Part 8: Good Hands

Part 9: Civil extra: Harry’s convo with Niall here

Part 10: Smells Good

Part 11: Bad Energy

Part 12: It’s Just Cake

Part 13: Comes in Waves

Part 14: I’m Just a Librarian

Part 15: Don’t Ruin It

Part 16: Hand Flex

Part 17: If I Was A Worm?

[daisyblog]

Risky Fun

Our Story Masterlist Summary: YN and Harry have a little fun on the boys tour bus and get caught by Niall.

warning: sexual theme, oral (m receiving), smut, caught

Based on this request.

Craving each others touch and a moment alone to explore one and other, Harry and YN had snuck back onto the boys tour bus in between soundcheck and the show.

Harry was pleasantly surprised as he laid down in his designated bunk and YN wasted no time in reaching for his belted jeans, her smaller hands undoing them with ease.

“Someone’s eager!”. Harry gave a lazy smirk as he felt his lower half become harder with anticipation.

“Might wanna say that to your dick bubs!”. YN sent back a larger smile as the more she fumbled with his jeans, the longer and bigger his length grew.

Before Harry could return the quick whit, he felt the warmth release down his long length with ease and as he dared to look down, he was met with YN’s gentle strokes and her pink tongue swirled around his tip.

“Oh fuck…feels so good!”. Harry moaned into the air above him as his head voluntarily tilted back to meet the plump pillow. His fist traveled down and met with YN’s head to hold her ponytail tight.

As YN twirled her tongue with ease around the tip, leaving a path of wetness behind, her hand stroked up and down his length with rhythm.

“Oh yeah…uh fuck me!”. YN felt a pang at her ego rising and Harry continued to echo his moans with a grunt.

Knowing her wet tongue had teased Harry enough, she gently slid his long thick length down so it met the back of her throat causing her eyes to sting and his hips to buckle.

“Oh my fucking- your mouth is heaven”. Harry complimented as he took a shaky breath, feeling his thickness pushing its way down her tongue. Getting ahead of the feeling, Harry buckled his hips up to quick causing YN to gag on his length. “Shit…fuck…m’sorry babe!”.

Despite the worry in Harry’s voice as he panicked he’d pushed the moment too much, YN caused a whole new feeling inside him. “I liked it…do it again!”.

“Fuck me…you’re going to be the death of me!”. Harry dramatically announced into the air around them as he lolled his head back in search for comfort.

As YN’s mouth returned to her movements of licking and sucking his length, Harry moaned loudly without thought that they were only a few feet away from the others.

“Your moans are so fucking hot!”. YN spoke as she brought her mouth up for a break before her lips and nose met with the base of Harry’s stomach.

“Oh yeah….fuck…fuck…oh…oh…YN…yeah…I’m gonna cum…”.

In between Harry’s grunty moans, YN froze as she heard a familiar accent. A thick Irish one to be exact. “Fuck!”.

Harry’s ears quickly tuned into the noise coming from the other side of the curtain that kept them hidden.

YN could feel her cheeks rise with embarrassment as they heard Niall’s voice and loud contagious laughter. “Fucking hell lovebirds…you can hear you from the car park!”.

“Fuck off Niall!”. Harry was frustrated that their moment had been interrupted and the sound of his bandmates voice was enough to kill the mood.

“Oh yeah…feels so good…fuck…fuck…oh yeah YN!”. Niall mocked Harry’s moans before a teasing chuckle followed through the bus.

YN had made her way to lay next to Harry, knowing their moment alone was over. “Horan…kindly fuck off! You cockblock”. She felt Harry chuckle lightly at her honesty.

“Oi watch your mouth Tomlinson…or I’ll go and tell Louis what I’ve just heard!”. The couple knew Niall was teasing them, the comment was just banter but the heavy gulp in Harry’s throat spoke volumes at how worried he was about him spilling the information.

“Don’t test me Horan!”.

Tag List:

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats@harrysbbyh0ney @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r  @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @or-was-it-just-a-dream @hittiesontour@bunnyharold @fanfictioncafe @lilfreakjez @iamahallucinationnn @theekyliepage @indierockgirrl@buckybarnessimpp @ashleighsss @jerseygirlinca @fake-coolbeans @itsmytimetoodream@treehouse-mouse @mrs-anna-styles211994 @macy-tpwk @mrs-anna-styles211994

[hazzashouse]

Forgotten - Harry Styles one-shot

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! This one is a bit sad but I hope you’ll like it!

Summary: After Harry forgets an important anniversary, tensions boil over into a heated argument that leaves both of you hurting. Harry is forced to confront his mistakes and the cracks forming in your relationship. Determined to make things right, he sets out to prove that his love for you is stronger than his faults.

Triggers: arguments/raised voices, miscommunication and emotional tension, feelings of neglect/loneliness in a relationship, brief mention of crying and hurt feelings

Pairing: Harry Styles x female reader

Harry stepped into the house, running a hand through his hair as he closed the door behind him. It had been a long day, back-to-back meetings and calls about the tour, and all he could think about was collapsing into bed.

But when he looked up, you were standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed tightly, your expression a mix of anger and something sharper—disappointment.

His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Your gaze flicked toward the dining table, and his stomach dropped. The candles, the neatly set plates, the untouched food—it all clicked too late.

“It’s our anniversary,” you said quietly, your voice trembling with restrained anger.

“Shit.” The word slipped out before he could stop it. He ran a hand through his hair again, cursing himself. “I—fuck, I forgot. I didn’t mean to, I just—”

“Got busy?” you snapped, cutting him off. “That’s your excuse for everything, isn’t it, Harry?”

“It’s not an excuse,” he shot back, a defensive edge creeping into his tone. “You know how crazy things have been. I’m trying to keep everything together—”

“Everything except us,” you interrupted, your voice rising. “Do you even care anymore? Or am I just supposed to sit here, waiting for you to remember I exist?”

His jaw clenched. “That’s not fair. You know I love you. I’m doing all of this for us—for you.”

“For me?” You laughed, bitter and sharp. “Don’t put this on me. I didn’t ask for your schedule to swallow you whole. I didn’t ask to be forgotten.”

“Forgotten?” he repeated, his frustration bubbling over. “I’m out there working my ass off, trying to balance everything, and you think I’ve just forgotten about you? That’s not how this works!”

“It’s exactly how it feels!”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, but he didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to explain, to make you understand how much he hated being away, how much he hated this argument. But the words got stuck in his throat, tangled up in his exhaustion.

You shook your head, tears shining in your eyes. “I can’t do this right now.”

Before he could stop you, you grabbed a blanket from the closet and headed for the couch.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with desperation. “Don’t do this.”

But you didn’t look back.

———————

The house was silent, the weight of your argument pressing heavily on Harry’s chest. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word you’d said. Forgotten. The word echoed in his mind, a sharp reminder of how badly he’d messed up.

Around 2 a.m., he gave up on sleep, his body restless and his guilt gnawing at him. Quietly, he slipped out of bed and padded down the stairs.

There you were, curled up on the couch, your face turned toward the backrest, your body stiff even in sleep. The blanket you’d brought was tangled around your legs, barely covering you.

Harry’s chest tightened at the sight. You looked so small, so vulnerable, and it killed him to think he was the reason you were here instead of beside him in bed.

Carefully, he grabbed another blanket from the chair and draped it over you, tucking it gently around your shoulders. He crouched beside the couch for a moment, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

———————

When Harry woke up the next morning, you were already gone. A note on the counter simply said, At work. See you later.

The pang of guilt in his chest only deepened. He couldn’t leave things like this—not after last night.

When you came home that evening, the house smelled incredible—like garlic, herbs, and something warm and inviting.

You stepped into the kitchen, dropping your bag by the door, and froze. The dining table had been reset, fresh candles flickering softly, and a vase of flowers sat in the center. Harry was there, standing by the stove, wearing an apron that made you bite back a reluctant smile.

“Hey,” he said, turning to face you, his expression equal parts nervous and hopeful.

“What’s all this?” you asked cautiously.

He stepped closer, wiping his hands on the apron before pulling it off. “This is me trying to make it up to you. For last night. For forgetting. For everything.”

You stared at him, your emotions tangled. “Harry, I—”

“Please,” he interrupted gently, his eyes searching yours. “Let me say this.”

You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest, waiting.

“I know I’ve been…distracted,” he admitted, his voice low. “And I know I’ve been terrible at showing it lately, but I love you. More than anything. I hate that I made you feel like you don’t matter, because you do. You’re my everything, and I never want you to doubt that.”

Your throat tightened, and you looked away, afraid he’d see the tears welling in your eyes.

“I’m not perfect,” he continued. “I’ll probably mess up again. But I want to do better. For you. For us. If you’ll let me.”

When you looked back at him, the vulnerability in his expression made your chest ache. Slowly, you stepped closer, your walls crumbling. “You really hurt me, Harry.”

“I know,” he said softly, his voice thick with guilt. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that’s what it takes.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding as you wrapped your arms around his waist. He pulled you close, his chin resting on top of your head as you finally let the tears fall.

For the first time in weeks, you felt like you had him back.

The two of you ate dinner together, talking and laughing like you used to. It wasn’t perfect—there were still things to work through—but it was a start.

And for now, that was enough.

[strawberriesandhotmen]

Late Night Shenanigans

a/n: I absolutely adore getting requests from y’all, this one is from the lovely @purplekimijks. I’m so sorry this one took me FOREVER. I am pulling shit out of my ass I fear but I’m still pleased with this one. By the way, as usual, y’all are cooking with these asks. Making me feel some type of way 😘I think I only mentioned Louis and Harry specifically, but the others are obviously there in spirit, as we know. (also I know the gif isn't blonde Niall, but he's just so cute I had to use it)

pairing: fratboy!boyfriend!Niall Horan x fem!reader

CW +18 smut: swearing, basically pwp sorry not sorry y’all, reader is NEEDY but who isn’t for this man, things escalate quickly from the get go lmao, softdom!Niall (mainly in the beginning), public sex ish (everyone is asleep), exhibitionism if you squint (like really hard), let me know if I missed anything y’all

word count: 1.7k

This fucking bunk. You felt like a damn cave diver, imagining yourself trapped between two sheets of stone as you ran out of oxygen to breathe. The Devil’s Ass Crack seemed like a fitting enough name, given the close-as-fuck quarters. The only thing missing was a camera.

You really shouldn’t be complaining. Despite the aggravating sleeping conditions, these buses were actually fairly luxurious. They held whole living rooms, for fuck’s sake. More than that, what girlfriend gets to accompany her boyfriend on tour without anyone batting an eye? Probably a few, but you felt lucky nonetheless. 

You found your thoughts shifting from irate to giddy as you imagined Niall, his adorable little Irish self fast asleep in his shitty bunk. He was incredibly precious, in any and all situations. 

You began to recall the night before last, his hands all over you, his lips following close behind. You remembered his whispered praises in your ear and the way he touched your hair, those pretty blue eyes boring into yours as if begging you to never leave.

Soon, it became too much. You couldn’t take it anymore, being six feet apart from him. The distance was an annoyance, the location a minor inconvenience. 

You climbed out of your bunk, attempting to be as quiet as you could and thoroughly failing as you tripped over an amp someone had left in the middle of the bus.

Dammit Louis.

You cursed under your breath as you clutched your stubbed toe. Fucking men.

You blinked hard as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, fumbling around until you reached Niall’s bunk, suddenly offended as his was slightly more spacious. That annoyance faded quickly, though, as you realized the use you could make of that extra room.

After pulling back the curtain, you not-so-elegantly climbed on top of him, holding back a giggle when his eyes fluttered open into a confused expression.

“Is that you, love?” He whispered, squinting adorably as he tried to discern my facial features.

“No, it’s Harry.” You replied sarcastically, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see. He let out a dramatic sigh.

“I told you we can’t keep doing this, man. The lads are starting to get suspicious.” Your jaw dropped in a momentary lapse of common sense, and you smacked his chest as aggressively as you could in the cramped space. He laughed louder than he should have at this late hour, quickly clamping his mouth shut and switching to a quiet snicker.

“Don’t worry, love. I’m only joking.” He assured you, his hands now sliding up your thighs to grip your hips. “What brings you to my chambers?” You giggled at the tease despite yourself, laying your head on his bare chest.

“Wanted to be with you.” You mumbled, absently tracing your finger along his toned stomach.

“Oh? Is my princess lonely?” He smiled, moving his grip to your waist now and giving you a light squeeze. You only nodded against hom, relishing in the feeling of your bodies pressed together, of your legs straddled over his thighs. You could feel the thin material of his boxers along your inner thighs as his hands slipped under your sleep shirt, humming at the realization that you were only wearing panties.

“Dirty girl.”  He husked against your ear, smirking. His fingers toyed with the lace adorning my hips, sliding under the material and back out. “These the ones I got you?” He asked, and you nodded again without looking up. “That’s my girl.” He praised, and you could practically hear the smile on his pretty pink lips.

“You have good taste, Ni. In both women as well as underthings.” He let out another snicker, bringing his hand up to card his fingers through your hair. After a moment of comfortable silence filled with only the sounds of your breathing, Niall slowly and carefully shifted your position so that he was now on top. “What does my princess need, hm?” He hummed, his lowering fingers silently suggesting filthy things. “Need you to ask me for it, love.” You whined a little in flushed embarrassment, squirming beneath him.

“You already know, though.” You protested stubbornly, throwing your arms around his neck. He chuckled at your resistance, teasingly sliding his hand under the hem of your shirt (well, technically his shirt; you stole it). You wiggled again impatiently, drawing a ‘tsk, tsk, tsk’ out of him.

“You know the rules, pretty girl. Use your words.” You clenched your thighs together as his tone grew deeper, huskier. That sexy-as-fuck accent only made it better. His calloused fingers brushed against the underside of your breast, drawing a pretty little gasp from you that only excited him more.

“Need you, Ni.” Your words escaped you in a whine, the pathetic sound sending a jolt straight to his half-hard dick. Dragging his thumb across your pebbled nipple, he gave the rosy bud a pinch in a way to scold you.

“Specifics, love.” You huffed out in sexual frustration, tightly gripping the sheet beneath you.

“Inside.” You forced out, ignoring the way your ears grew hot in embarrassment at your neediness. It was truly pathetic, the manner in which you were behaving, but how could you not? This was Niall, for fuck’s sake. The man of your dreams, practically your fucking life force. 

You also chose to ignore the shit-eating grin you could just make out on his face, clearly displaying how pleased he was with your obedience to the ‘rules.’ They had never been distinctly laid out, per say, but given the dynamic between you, these guidelines were understood. Following an amused chuckle on his behalf, Niall leaned down to pepper kisses along the shell of your ear, his breath tickling your sensitive skin.

“What princess wants, princess gets.” And fuck you if those words didn’t nearly make you come undone on the spot, the sheer decision in his tone drawing another pool of arousal out of you to your already ruined panties.

In one swift motion, your (his) shirt was gone, your torso bare for him with only those useless panties to shield the rest (not that they were doing a great job of that, either).

“So pretty, baby.” He muttered between kisses on your neck, soon migrating to your collarbone and then your chest. And shit, he loved to play with your perky tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers and sucking like they gave him life. 

While he occupied his mouth up top, his hands groped your hips and thighs, clearly growing impatient at the scrap of soaked fabric that still served as a barrier. He yanked them down to your ankles in one decisive motion, allowing you to kick them away before he descended upon you once more. He allowed you no time to process what was going on, impatiently ridding himself of his boxers and letting his stiff length smack against his stomach.

Fuck, you needed him.

Evidently, he needed you too, because without giving you a moment to think, his tip was already bullying its way into your dripping hole.

“Ni, fuck…” You trailed off, gritting your teeth at the delicious stretch you felt as he slid deeper, inch by inch. The moment he was up to the hilt, you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding, immediately beginning to pant as he pulled back slowly.

The pace he set was ruthless, unrelenting. Both of you were quite aware of the time constraint, and you couldn’t afford to drag this out for very long. He slammed into your g-spot with every snap of his hips, his pelvis smacking against your pulsing clit. He’s too fucking good at this, you thought. 

His breath was coming in harsh pants, that rasp just audible above the sounds his actions were creating.

“Fuck, princess, feel so good around me.” He groaned against your neck, and you felt his cock twitch against your walls when you let out a pretty moan in response. You were being quiet, but probably not quiet enough.

“Faster, please…” You pleaded, desperately chasing that release as you held onto Niall. He obliged with immediate intensity, and you were surprised the both of you hadn’t yet toppled out of the bunk. You felt that knot in your stomach begin to grow to an unbearable amount, and with the way your plush walls clenched around his cock, Niall knew you were close.

“That’s it, love, let me feel you come around me. Fuck, want to see how pretty you look when you come.” His words were your undoing, your breath catching as you held back a moan when your back arched, your nails digging into his back. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, lasting a beat longer than you had remembered the last one lingering. You let out a squeak as he continued pounding into you, now chasing his own release.

“I know, princess, I know. I’m almost - shit - almost there.” And not three thrusts later, he was coming on your stomach, hot ropes of come shooting out to paint your sweat-soaked skin with white. He collapsed on top of you, holding you close as both of your breath’s slowed to normal.

“I love you so much, baby.” He murmured, pressing soft, tender kisses to your neck. You smiled, your eyes half-lidded, and you thought you may finally get some sleep.

“I love you too, Ni.” You chuckled to yourself, thinking back on what had just happened. “We really need to stop with these late-night shenanigans.” He let out a little giggle at your choice of words, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before pulling back to smile at you.

“Not a chance, princess.”

[babyflorencee]

Little Spoon

Harry Styles x fem!Reader

The bedroom is bathed in a soft golden light, the kind that makes everything look honeyed and surreal, like a memory you don’t ever want to forget. The window is cracked open just enough for the summer night breeze to slip through, carrying the scent of jasmine and the distant hum of passing cars. The sheets smell like vanilla and clean linen, and Harry—faint traces of cologne, whiskey, and something sweet from the fruity drinks he kept stealing from Y/n at the party.

Harry's sprawled across the bed, limbs tangled in the sheets, his dark curls a mess against the pillows. His cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy, and his smile—wide and lazy—hasn’t left his face since they got home. Harry giggles, out of nowhere, shaking his head against the pillow.

“What’s so funny?” Y/n asks, still standing by the bathroom sink, brushing her hair.

“You,” Harry sighs dramatically, turning on his side to face Y/n. “You’re so far away, and I dunno why. Why are you over there?”

“I’m just getting ready for bed.”

“Don’t care,” he pouts. “Need you here.”

Harry flops back onto his back, letting out an exaggerated sigh, as he throws an arm dramatically over his eyes. “It feels like it's been forever. You’re taking forever. I'm so lonely in this big, cold bed without you. I'm practically wasting away from loneliness.”

Y/n rolls her eyes with a smirk, setting her brush down. “It's been like five minutes.”

“Feels like hours,” he mumbles dramatically, rolling onto his stomach, his face half-buried in the pillow. “Missed you so much. ‘S not fair. I’m all alone. So cold, and so lonely. I might not make it.”

Y/n laughs softly, taking her time as she applies lotion to her legs. “You’re so dramatic.”

“M’not,” he whines. “You don’t even care about me.”

Y/n peeks at Harry through the mirror and finds him pouting, arms crossed over the pillow. He wiggles closer to her side of the bed, reaching a hand out, fingers stretching toward her. “Come back. Please? You’ve been gone for, like… like… years.”

“Have not.”

“You have.” Harry groans, flopping onto his back. “I could die. Right here. In this bed. Just… perish.”

Y/n laughs, shaking her head. “Wow. What a tragic ending.”

“Mmhm,” he hums, voice muffled against the pillow. Then he gasps dramatically, eyes wide. “Baby. Babe. What if I die and you can never kiss me again?”

“Oh my god,” she snorts.

“No, really! That would be so sad. Like, Romeo and Juliet sad. Like, the saddest thing ever.” His bottom lip trembles, but it’s exaggerated, too much to be real.

Y/n bites her lip, suppressing a smile. “I’m pretty sure you’re not dying.”

“Can’t be too sure,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut. “Only one way to save me.”

“And what’s that?”

“A kiss,” he whispers dramatically, peeking at her through his lashes. “Just one. To revive me.”

Y/n crosses her arms. “So you’re sleeping beauty now?”

Harry grins, goofy and wide. “Yeah. I'm the prince, and I need a kiss, princess.”

Y/n shakes her head, pretending to ignore him as she moves on to moisturizing her arms.

Harry gasps, offended. “Wow, you’re just heartless.”

“Am not.”

“You are.” He shifts, pulling the blankets up to his chin. “I’m just a poor boy. Cold and alone. With no kisses and no one to love.”

Y/n gives him a pointed look. “You are so drunk.”

“No, m’not,” he giggles. “I’m just wanting some love”

“That’s for sure.”

“I know you like it,” Harry says smugly, his voice slurring slightly.

Y/n doesn’t answer right away, just smirks and turns back to the mirror.

Harry lets out a groan. “Why are you still over there? What could possibly be more important than loving me?”

“My skincare.”

Harry gasps again. “Skincare over Harry?”

“Yes.”

“You wound me,” he mutters, pressing a hand to his chest like he’s been shot. “M'gonna cry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I might.”

Y/n rolls her eyes but takes her time finishing up. Harry watches her the entire time, big green eyes sleepy and lovesick, his smile dopey. When Y/n finally turns off the bathroom light and crawls into bed, Harry immediately latches onto her, pulling her into his arms.

But then, as quickly as he moves, he stops. Stiffens. Shies away.

Y/n raises a brow. “What's wrong?”

Harry buries his face in the pillow. “Nothin’.”

She leans in, brushing a hand through his curls. “What is it?”

Harry mumbles again, but it’s completely inaudible.

Y/n smirks, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “I didn’t catch that.”

Harry groans, dragging the pillow over his head. “S’Nothin’. Now leave me alone and go to sleep.”

“No, tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me, or I’ll go back to the bathroom.”

Harry gasps, horrified. “You wouldn’t.”

Y/n moves like she’s about to get up. Causing Harry to panic, grabbing onto her arm. “Wait! Wait, okay! Just—stay. Please.”

Y/n smirks, victorious. “Then tell me.”

Harry lets out a heavy sigh, and then, in the softest voice, he murmurs, “I wanna be the little spoon tonight.”

Y/n's heart clenches. She lets out a wide smile, tucking her arms around his waist and pressing a lingering kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re so cute.”

Harry groans, his face burning, but he still melts into her embrace, his fingers curling over hers, pulling her closer. “M’not cute.”

Y/n presses another kiss to his cheek, letting her lips linger. “The cutest.”

“No, take it back,” he whines, voice muffled as he buries his face deeper into the pillow.

“Nope.”

Harry groans again but doesn’t pull away. If anything, he pushes back against her body, fitting as perfectly into her arms as he could, causing the heat of his body to settle against hers, as if he were made for this. Harry exhales deeply and contently, as his fingers traced absentminded shapes against her forearm.

The city outside hums, as the breeze whispers through the curtains. Harry mumbles something that sounds like “I love you” but Y/n doesn’t ask him to repeat it. She just smiles, pressing one last kiss to his curls before they both drift into sleep, tangled together in the quiet hum of the night.

But then Harry wiggles again, turning in her arms just enough to face her, his eyes fluttering open with a drowsy smile. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hey,” she whispers back, brushing some of his curls out of his eyes.

“I’m so happy right now,” Harry murmurs, pressing his forehead against hers. “You’re so warm. And you smell so good, too.”

Y/n laughs softly. “You’re so drunk.”

“Mmm, maybe,” Harry giggles, tightening his arms around her. “But I still mean it. I love you. Like… so much. And I wanna stay like this forever.”

Y/n feels her heart swell, warmth spreading through her chest. She cups his face, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then his forehead, then his nose.

Harry giggles, scrunching it up. “That tickles.”

Y/n grins, pressing another kiss to his lips. “You’re adorable.”

“Stop,” Harry whines, hiding his face into her neck but still laughing. “I’m supposed to be, like, cool or whatever.”

Y/n runs her fingers through his curls, pressing one more kiss to his nose. “You’re perfect.”

He hums, his grip on her tightening, voice soft and dreamy. “M'gonna marry you someday.”

Y/n smiles against his skin, her own cheeks heating. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” he sighs. “Best idea I’ve ever had.”

She laughs, hugging him closer. “I think so too.”

And with that, Harry finally drifts off, the happiest, most content little spoon in the world.

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Reply All (H.S. Fic) | Chapter 2

General Masterlist uni!harry x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N and Harry were childhood best friends, inseparable through every laugh, secret, and growing pain. But high school brought unspoken feelings and decisions that tore them apart, leaving both with unanswered questions. Years later, a class project challenges them to face their shared past and uncover the truths they’ve both been running from. And a wrong click unveils the past and what will be the future.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, mentions of betrayal.

Your hands hovered over the keyboard, still staring at the email, torn between slamming the laptop shut or throwing it out the window entirely. The room was too quiet—that kind of quiet that made your thoughts unbearable, every line of Harry’s email replaying over and over in your mind.

You read it once, twice, at least ten times, blinking and rubbing your eyes, hoping it was some weird dream that would disappear if you looked away.

But it didn’t.

There it was: the email, glaring at you, with everyone’s email address in the recipient field.

The furious sound of the door bursting open snapped you out of your daze. Your eyes darted to Juliet, standing in the doorway, phone clutched in her hand, her face mirroring your shock and disbelief.

“Holy—” she started.

“Shit,” you finished.

Juliet rushed over, peering at your laptop, her jaw dropping as she confirmed what she’d already seen on her phone. “Oh my god. It’s real. The whole class—the entire 22 students—got this?”

You nodded numbly, closing the laptop with a sharp snap. “What’s happening? What is this? Is he... mocking me or something?” Your voice cracked as your thoughts spiraled a thousand miles a second.

Juliet stared at you “Mocking you? Y/N, he didn’t even mean to send it to you! Or anyone! This was a huge, accidental, disastrous mistake.” She paused “And that’s the thing—it’s raw. It’s real. It’s...” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s tragic and romantic and messy, just like the two of you.” She was too dramatic for her own good, maybe that’s why she chose literature and just maybe that’s why her name suited her so well.

“It’s mortifying!” you shot back, standing up abruptly and pacing the room. “It’s embarrassing! It’s—” Your hands gestured wildly in the air. “It’s a lie! That’s what it is!”

Juliet folded her arms, watching you wear a path into the carpet. “You think it’s a lie? After that email? Y/N, come on. No one writes something that vulnerable if it isn’t true. And they definitely don’t send it to the entire class by accident if they’re not losing their mind over it.”

You stopped mid-pace, running a hand through your hair, your emotions a swirling mix of anger, confusion, and something you weren’t quite ready to name.

Juliet watched you pace, her expression softening. “Y/N, it’s not a lie. Come on, you read the same thing I did. That wasn’t just some random excuse or a joke. That was real. Like... the kind of real people don’t just write down unless they mean it.”

“How can you be so sure? He’s barely spoken to me in years, Juliet. He’s ignored me, avoided me—he doesn’t get to just... just drop something like this and expect me to believe it.”

Juliet sighed, crossing her arms and leaning against your desk. “Maybe he doesn’t expect you to believe it. Maybe he doesn’t even expect you to read it. Hell, he probably wishes the ground would swallow him whole right now. But, Y/N... he wrote it. And that’s gotta count for something.”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “What am I supposed to do? Ask why he thinks writing about me like I’m his tragic love story is okay?”

Juliet’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I mean, that’s one option. Or, you know, you could just talk to him. Like two grown adults. Maybe figure out why he felt the need to pour his heart out in the middle of a class project.”

You shook your head, resuming your pacing. “It’s not that simple. If I talk to him, it’s like... I’m acknowledging it. Acknowledging him. And after everything, I don’t think I can do that.”

Juliet walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to stop moving and look at her. “You don’t have to figure this out right now. But, Y/N, don’t let this sit and fester. You owe it to yourself to at least try to understand what’s going on here. Whether you believe it or not, Harry just handed you a piece of himself”

Her words lingered in the air as she stepped back, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. The email, now closed behind the laptop, felt like it was still burning into your mind. You weren’t sure what your next move would be, but one thing was certain—you couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist.

🌷

The week was quiet. Too quiet.

You barely saw Harry around campus, and when you did, he seemed to be actively avoiding your gaze. His usual confident stride looked hesitant, shoulders slumped, as though the weight of his email disaster had physically manifested on his back.

Not that you cared.

At least that’s what you told yourself every time Juliet glanced at you with an arched brow, her unspoken words hanging in the air.

You, on the other hand, were drowning in your own thoughts. The email replayed in your head in snippets—his words, the tone, the rawness. It was like a broken record you couldn’t stop, even when you desperately wanted to. The anger in you simmered, hot and unrelenting, blocking out any other emotion trying to creep in.

Friday arrived, and so did the storytelling class.

You had spent the entire week doing everything possible to avoid Harry.  But as the day approached, the dread of sitting in the same room as him grew too overwhelming to ignore. You told yourself you weren’t going—not because you were scared or unsure, but because you simply weren’t ready.

But Juliet had other plans.

“Y/N, get up. You’re going,” Juliet said firmly, standing in front of your bed with her arms crossed.

You groaned, pulling the blanket over your head. “I’m not going, Juliet. I don’t have a story ready, and I’m not ready to deal with…him.”

“That’s exactly why you need to go,” she replied, yanking the blanket off with zero remorse. “You can’t avoid him forever, and skipping class isn’t going to solve anything.”

“Watch me,” you muttered, curling into a ball.

Juliet rolled her eyes “Listen, Y/N. Do you think he’s going to magically disappear? Or that ignoring this will make it less messy? No. What you need is closure. And maybe... maybe you’ll find it in that classroom. Or at least you’ll hear what he has to say. He’s probably dying to explain himsel”

She was right, ignoring it wouldn’t make it less messy, but maybe you wanted to believe he was going to dissapear

“Look, just come with me,” Juliet said, softening her tone. “You don’t even have to talk to him. Just sit in the back, pretend he doesn’t exist. But please, don’t let him take this class—or your peace of mind—from you.”

She got a point.

With a sigh you got out of bed. “Fine”

Juliet grinned, tossing you your bag.

🌷

The classroom was unusually loud when you arrived, but the moment you stepped in, the noise died down, replaced by the tension of stares. You didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what they were thinking. Of course, they still remembered the email—how could they not? It was the freshest gossip on campus, a dramatic story for everyone but you. For you, it was a mess.

Juliet gave you a reassuring nudge as you walked past rows of desks, guiding you toward an empty seat in the middle. "Ignore them," she whispered.

You tried to focus on her words and not on him. But there he was, sitting in the back corner of the room besides Noah. At least Noah accepted his offer. His face was unreadable as his eyes followed your every move. You could feel his gaze burning into the side of your head as you slid into the seat next to Juliet.

"Just breathe," Juliet murmured, pulling out her notebook. You mirrored her movements, pretending to organize your things as if your heart wasn’t racing out of control.

The minutes dragged on. Conversations around the room resumed, but you couldn’t hear them over the rush of blood in your ears. The weight of his gaze never wavered, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

And then, his voice broke through the noise.

“Juliet, can we switch seats for a minute?”

Your entire body froze. Juliet looked at you, then back at Harry, her expression shifting between surprise and excitement.

“Um...” Juliet hesitated, glancing at you for guidance.

You swallowed hard, staring straight ahead, willing her not to move. But Juliet, being Juliet, wasn’t one to back down from a dramatic moment.

“Why?” she asked bluntly, raising an eyebrow.

Harry sighed “Please?”

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t even look at Juliet, but why? you swore you didn’t want to talk to him, hell you were avoiding him all week, so why weren’t you running away, why did your legs decide to stay still, Why?

“Fine. Take it,” she said, stepping aside and shooting you a look.

Harry slid into the seat beside you, his presence immediately overwhelming. He didn’t say anything at first, and neither did you. The silence stretched between you, filled with unspoken words and years of unresolved tension.

Harry took a deep breath, his voice shaking slightly as he started speaking. "Look, I know you don’t want to hear anything I have to say"

Then why are you here? you thought.

You kept your eyes fixed on the notebook in front of you, your hand frozen mid-scribble.

"I didn’t mean for the email to happen like that," he continued "I was trying to send it to Noah—just Noah—and I don’t even know how I messed it up so badly. But I know that doesn’t matter. It’s out there now, and... and I’m sorry."

He hesitated, waiting for a response. You didn’t give him one.

"I know it probably made you feel a million things—angry, embarrassed, hurt... and you have every right to feel all of that. I would, too."

Your grip on the pen tightened, but you didn’t look at him.

"I wasn’t trying to drag you into this, Y/N. I swear I wasn’t. I just—" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was selfish. I was trying to make sense of something I’ve been too much of a coward to deal with for years. And now... now I’ve made it even worse."

You stayed silent, your pen hovering over the page, unmoving.

"And I know you probably hate me for it," he said quietly, almost to himself. "For everything I did back then, for the way I acted... and for now. I get it. I’d hate me too."

Still, you didn’t speak.

Harry exhaled slowly, as if trying to release some of the weight pressing on him. "I just wanted you to know I’m sorry, okay? For all of it. Even if you never talk to me again, even if this ruins everything even more than it already is... I needed you to know that."

He sat back in his chair, letting the silence between you stretch. But you still didn’t move, didn’t speak. And eventually, he stopped trying.

“Or maybe even if you want an explanation for everything, your friend Juliet probably knows where to find me,” he said, standing up and leaving again for his seat.

No, I know where to find you, you thought again.

🌷

After Harry's words echoed in your mind, you couldn't shake the way he had spoken to you—so raw, so regretful, yet so distant. The days following his apology felt like an eternity of silence, and yet your mind wouldn't stop replaying that moment over and over. The way he had stood there, the vulnerability in his eyes, and the quiet weight of his apology that lingered in the air. The words themselves had been heavy, but the silence afterward was even worse. You didn’t talk to Juliet about it. Instead, you spent hours lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything that had happened—what you had said, what he had said, and where everything had gone so terribly wrong. Was he really sorry? Did it even matter? You had asked yourself all the same questions a thousand times, but nothing seemed to have an answer.

That’s when it hit you: If you were ever going to move on, if you were ever going to understand anything, you had to do something about it. You had to go to him. Not for closure, not for anything grand or meaningful—but for yourself. Maybe Tragic Juliet was right all along.

So, when Friday arrived, you decided to go.

The campus was busy, students chatting and hurrying to their next destinations, but you weren’t really seeing any of it. You only had one destination in mind. You found yourself walking toward a secluded spot near his dorm. It was tucked away between the larger buildings, a quiet little hall filled with nature—a place you had seen him before, reading, writing, or drinking something late at night. Even if you didn’t want to, your mind couldn’t help but remember that.

And there he was, sitting at the only table there, his head down, focused on something—his phone, a textbook, you couldn’t tell. But he was there. Just like you knew he would be.

For a moment, everything felt suspended in time.

Harry didn’t look up at first, but when he did, his eyes widened slightly. The moment your gazes locked, everything about the past few days seemed to crash together in an overwhelming rush.

“Y/N, I…” he began, standing up immediately.

You crossed the room, your pulse racing, and stopped just a few feet in front of him, interrupting him. “Five minutes, and that’s all I’m g….”

“No,” he said, cutting you off. He sounded brave. “I can’t say what I want to say in five minutes, and you know it. Look, if you really want to hear me out, if you’re really willing to give me a chance to talk, I’m starting by telling you the truth. I need more than five minutes.”

And he was right. almost half a life of mess needed more than ten minutes.

“Fine…” you said, taking the seat in front of him, but he stood still “aren’t you going to sit down?”

“I was about to” he said faking he wasn’t just there stupidly shocked that this was actually happening

For a brief moment, that small exchange felt oddly normal, as if everything between you was okay again. Maybe, just maybe, the spark hadn’t completely disappeared.

He took a deep breath, bracing himself.

“We were in Year 10 when I decided to... screw everything up, basically. But this started way back in Year 8 or 9. Something like that.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t know what I was feeling, but every time I saw you walking through the school doors, it felt like I was the luckiest guy alive. And this isn’t some cheesy love confession—it’s the truth. I was confused. I was excited. But I was also terrified.”

He took a sip of water, his hands trembling slightly. You didn’t say a word, just kept looking at him, trying to process every sentence as it came.

“And yeah, it’s so fucking cliché. Best friends falling in love. Good job, Harry,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “I had the best years of school with you, and I didn’t want to ruin it over... a crush. I thought I could just shove it down, bury it, and stay your best friend. But the longer I stayed close to you, the harder it became to pretend. I thought I could get rid of those feelings if I just... distanced myself. But that backfired. Completely.”

He exhaled shakily and continued, his voice softer now. “The more I pulled away, the more I wanted you. And by the time I realized how much I’d messed up, it was too late. I wasn’t there when Zack broke up with you. I wasn’t there when you had that breakdown during P.E. I wasn’t there when we threw our graduation caps in the air—like we promised we’d do together. I missed everything, Y/N. Everything.”

His words twisted in your chest, each one hitting harder than the last. He knew exactly where he had been absent—every moment you had felt his absence, even the ones you hadn’t consciously remembered.

“And it sounds so childish, so immature,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But I promised you the truth, and there it is. I swear, I didn’t look at your applications. I didn’t even try to end up in the same class as you. But somehow, it happened. And I told myself that if we crossed paths again, I’d let you feel whatever you needed to feel. If you wanted to yell at me, hit me, hate me—I’d take it. I deserved it.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “And then I screwed that up too. Who even invented the ‘Reply All’ button? Why the hell would anyone need to reply to everyone?!” His voice grew more frustrated, and for a moment, it felt like he was arguing with himself, replaying the past week in his head.

“I’ve messed up more times than I can count,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “Even when I picked you for the project. I thought I could be subtle, keep it under the radar so no one would notice. But instead, I did the complete opposite...And th..”

It wasn’t just an apology anymore—it felt like he was punishing himself, listing every mistake, every failure, every regret.

“Stop,” you said firmly, not out of anger but concern.

He froze, his breathing heavy. 

“Sorry,” he said, exhaling like the weight of the last few days had finally caught up to him.

“I think that’s enough,” you said, standing up.

“No, it’s not enough,” he said quickly, following your movement. “I still need to—”

“It’s enough, Harry.” Your tone was calm but resolute. The seriousness in your eyes made him stop.

He held up his hands in surrender, letting out a heavy sigh. “Okay,” he said quietly, almost defeated. Harry had never pushed—not back then, and not now.

PART 3

Taglist: @hermionelove @mads3502 @cherryloveshs @harrystyleshotwife @familyshow-orisit @fadingcherryblossomblaze @lunaharrygurl @gem1712 @millsadoresyou

[niallerspayno]

Behind Closed Doors (Harry Styles x reader) - Fic Request

Masterlist

Anonymous request: Hiiiii can you do a imagine where it’s harry x reader and it’s during one direction and the reader is the sixth member of one direction and is dating harry but in secret because of the management and the boys catch them making out on the tour bus and never let them love it down? xx

Tags: Harry x reader, frat boy Harry era, friends to lovers, secret dating, fluff, smut

…

“You were amazing out there tonight,” Harry says softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you. He’s leaning back, his arm resting along the back of the couch, his green eyes fixed on you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

You smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You say that after every show, Harry. You’re not tired of repeating yourself?”

“Never,” he replies, his voice unwavering. “Because it’s true. Every single time.”

You try to laugh it off, shrugging. “I’m just trying to keep up with you lot. You’re the real stars here.”

“Stop that,” he says suddenly, his tone serious. You glance at him in surprise, and he’s sitting up now, his eyes locked on yours. “Stop brushing it off like that. You belong here just as much as any of us. You’re incredible, and it’s about time you believed it.”

You feel heat creep up your neck, his words catching you off guard. “Harry, where’s this coming from?”

He hesitates, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he starts, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “And I’ve been putting it off because I wasn’t sure if I should, or if it would mess everything up, but…” He runs a hand through his curls, exhaling shakily. “I can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

Your heart pounds, the weight of his words settling over you. “What is it?” you ask softly.

“I care about you,” he says, his words rushing out. “More than I should, probably. More than just as… friends or bandmates. I have for a while now.”

Your breath catches, and you sit up straighter, your pulse thundering in your ears. “Harry…”

He shakes his head, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I know it’s selfish, and I’ve tried to push it down, but it’s always there. Every time I look at you, every time we laugh, every time you’re on that stage killing it… I can’t ignore it anymore.”

The vulnerability in his voice makes your chest ache, and you find yourself reaching out, your hand brushing his arm. “Harry, you’re not selfish,” you say, your voice trembling. “Because I feel the same way.”

His head snaps up, his eyes wide with surprise. “You do?”

You nod, your heart hammering. “I do. I’ve just been scared. Because of the band, because of management…”

“Then let’s not tell them,” he says quickly, shifting closer to you. “At least, not yet. It can just be our thing, something that’s just for us. Please. I don’t want to miss out on this—on us—because of them.”

You hesitate, the weight of the decision pressing on you. But when you look at him, his eyes filled with hope and fear and something else—something deeper—you know there’s no going back.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Let’s keep it between us. For now.”

Relief washes over his face, and his smile is so full of emotion it nearly takes your breath away. He reaches out, his hand cradling your cheek as he searches your eyes. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmurs.

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours, soft and tentative at first, as if he’s afraid to push too far. But when you kiss him back, your hand sliding into his hair, he deepens the kiss, pouring everything he’s been holding back into it.

The world fades away, the distant sounds of the crew and the hum of the venue disappearing. It’s just you and Harry, and for the first time, everything feels right.

When you finally pull back, both of you are breathless. His forehead rests against yours, and he smiles, his dimples making your heart skip.

“One step at a time,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “We’ll figure this out together.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Together.”

And in that moment, you know you’ve just crossed a line you can never uncross—but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

…

A week later you’re snuggled with Harry in the back of the tour bus. Harry’s hand is warm against yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your palm. The faint glow of his phone illuminates his face, casting shadows that highlight his cheekbones and the soft curve of his lips.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice low to avoid waking anyone, “I think this might be my favorite part of touring.”

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Sitting on a lumpy couch in a moving box with no privacy? Sounds dreamy.”

He laughs softly, his dimples appearing as he leans in closer, his curls brushing against your temple. “No, smartass. Being with you. Like this.”

Your cheeks flush, and you’re about to respond when the bus lurches slightly, making you both laugh under your breath. The sound feels too loud in the otherwise quiet space, and you instinctively glance toward the curtain, half-expecting someone to appear.

“Relax,” Harry whispers, sensing your nerves. “They’re all dead asleep. Besides, they’d never look back here. Too lazy.”

You want to believe him, but the weight of the secret feels heavier in moments like this. “I just don’t want them to figure it out,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “Not yet.”

He squeezes your hand, his expression softening. “They won’t. And even if they do… it’s not the end of the world, yeah? They’d understand.��

Before you can respond, his lips brush against yours, soft and careful, like he’s savoring the moment. You kiss him back, your hand slipping into his hair, and for a brief second, it’s just the two of you in your own little world.

“Oi, where’s my charger?”

The voice snaps you apart like a rubber band snapping under pressure. You both freeze, your eyes wide as you hear Liam’s voice from the bunk area.

“Check by the table,” comes Niall’s sleepy reply.

There’s the sound of movement, and you can hear Liam’s footsteps coming closer. Harry quickly sits back, grabbing a pillow and tossing it into his lap, trying to look nonchalant. You scramble to fix your hair and sit up straight, your heart racing.

The curtain pulls back slightly, and Liam peers in, his brows furrowing. “What are you two doing back here?”

Harry’s quick to respond, his voice casual but steady. “Just talking. Couldn’t sleep.”

You nod, hoping your expression is neutral. “Yeah, same.”

Liam eyes the two of you suspiciously for a moment before shrugging. “Right. Well, if you see my charger, let me know.”

“Will do,” Harry says, offering a quick smile.

As soon as Liam disappears, you let out a shaky breath, your hand flying to your chest. “That was too close,” you whisper.

Harry grins, clearly amused by your reaction. “Admit it. You love the thrill.”

You glare at him, though you can’t suppress the small smile creeping onto your face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he teases, leaning in to steal one last quick kiss before settling back into the couch.

Despite the close call, you can’t help but feel the smallest thrill in your chest. For now, at least, your secret is safe.

…

The arena is buzzing with energy as the boys prep for soundcheck. The stage is set, crew members moving around to fine-tune everything before the show. You’re standing at the side, leaning against a speaker, watching them all warm up. Harry stands next to you, hands tucked in his pockets, his usual mischievous grin on full display.

You laugh at something he says, just a little louder than you intend, and Harry gives you a playful wink, leaning in closer. The way you two interact is casual, but it’s clear to anyone watching that there’s something more.

“Oi, what’s going on here?” Louis calls from the center of the stage, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smirk. “You two getting all cozy or something?”

You freeze for a split second, your stomach dropping as your heart picks up pace. Harry quickly shifts, straightening up as though nothing’s wrong, though the faintest glint of mischief dances in his eyes.

“What?” Harry says, throwing Louis an easy grin. “We’re just messing about.”

“Yeah, totally,” you add too quickly, nervously brushing your hair behind your ear. “We’re just joking.” You catch Harry’s eye, both of you fighting the urge to laugh, but the tension in the air is undeniable.

Zayn, who’s been quietly tuning his microphone, glances up from across the stage, a subtle but sharp look in your direction. He doesn’t say anything, but you catch the way his gaze lingers on you both.

Niall, ever the curious one, furrows his brow as he steps closer, his eyes flicking between you and Harry. “Really? You two are just ‘messing about,’ huh?”

You flash him a nervous smile, trying to keep your cool. “Yeah, of course. Just having a laugh.” Your voice comes out higher than usual, betraying your nerves.

Harry laughs lightly, a little too loudly. “Yeah, nothing to see here. Just good old banter, mate.” He nudges you with his elbow, leaning in slightly, making it look even more casual.

Louis narrows his eyes playfully but doesn’t push it. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. But, Harry,” he smirks, “You’re not trying to steal our secret weapon, are you?”

“What? You mean her charming personality?” Harry teases, a grin tugging at his lips.

You bite back a smile, but you can’t help but feel your cheeks heat up. “Harry’s right,” you say quickly, “I’m just full of charm.”

The other boys exchange looks, and Liam steps forward from where he’s been testing his mic. “You two are a bit too… familiar with each other. Are you sure there’s nothing more going on?”

You laugh nervously again, your hand instinctively reaching for your water bottle. “Nothing at all, Liam. Honestly.” You take a sip, hoping it’ll ease the tension, but it doesn’t seem to help.

Harry gives Liam a quick grin, trying to make light of it. “What can I say? We get along well. Nothing suspicious about that.”

Zayn’s gaze flicks between you two again, his expression unreadable. “Sure,” he says dryly, before turning his attention back to the mic stand.

Niall watches the two of you, a hint of suspicion in his eyes, but he shrugs it off with a grin. “Alright, whatever. You’re both weird, but I’m too hungry to care right now.” He heads toward the back of the stage, probably in search of snacks.

“Yeah, we’re all weird, Niall,” Louis chuckles, clearly dropping the subject. He starts fiddling with some drumsticks, but he shoots you both a look that lingers just a little too long.

The atmosphere in the room settles, but the unease lingers. You’re both careful now—trying to seem normal, to keep things light, but the tension between you and Harry is almost palpable.

Once the boys are distracted again, you exchange a quick look with Harry. His smile softens as he meets your gaze, his eyes saying everything words can’t.

“Close call,” you whisper, your voice still a little shaky.

“Yeah,” he agrees, though there’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “They’ll never figure it out.”

You roll your eyes, trying to suppress your smile. “You wish.”

He shrugs, looking far too pleased with himself. “Trust me, they’re too busy with themselves to catch on. But hey,” he adds, his voice dropping low, “we have to be careful.”

“I know,” you whisper back, feeling your heart race again, even as the other boys continue to rehearse. Despite the close call, you can’t shake the feeling that this game of pretending isn’t going to stay a secret for much longer. But for now, you’re safe—at least until the next time the boys catch on.

…

The tour bus hums softly as it barrels down the highway, the gentle motion lulling you closer to sleep. You’re curled up in your tiny bunk, the curtain pulled shut to block out the dim glow of the hallway light. Just as your eyelids grow heavy, you hear the rustle of the curtain, and Harry slips in without a word, his face illuminated by the faint glow of his phone.

“Harry, what are you doing?” you whisper sharply, your voice a little more panicked than you mean.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, his voice low, already sliding into the cramped space beside you. His body presses against yours, warmth flooding the small, cool space.

“This is a terrible idea,” you hiss, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you shift to make room for him, your heart pounding at the proximity.

“Relax,” he whispers, tugging the curtain closed behind him, blocking the hallway from view. He pulls you closer, his arm sliding around your waist as he presses a soft kiss to your temple. “No one will hear us. They’re all asleep.”

You want to protest, to tell him the risk isn’t worth it, but the feel of his body against yours makes it hard to think clearly. “One of these days, they’re going to catch us,” you mutter, though your words come out breathy.

“They won’t,” he promises, his voice confident but hushed. His hand slips under your shirt, the warm skin of his palm gliding slowly across your stomach. You shiver at the touch, your body instinctively leaning into his.

Before you can speak again, his lips find your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive skin just below your ear. You try to swallow back a breathy gasp, biting your lip to keep quiet.

“Harry…” you whisper, your voice breaking as he nips at your skin.

“Hmmm?” He hums against your neck, his lips moving lower, brushing just below your jaw. His hand slides down, fingers lightly tracing your side, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

You can’t stop the soft hitch in your breath, and you quickly bite your lip harder to stop yourself from making noise. But it’s impossible to ignore the way his touch ignites something deep inside you, the heat between you two building with each soft caress.

“Harry, we can’t,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, trying to pull back slightly. But his hand moves to your waist, pulling you in even closer.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips trailing to the curve of your shoulder, the sound of his breath warming your neck. His fingers slide under the waistband of your shorts, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of your hip, making you shiver.

Just as your mind is completely consumed with him, you hear footsteps in the hallway.

You freeze, your body going rigid against him as the footsteps draw closer.

“Where the bloody hell is my charger?” Niall’s voice rings out, groggy but loud enough that you can hear every word clearly.

You glance up at Harry, and his lips are still hovering near your neck, his eyes flashing with mischief and something darker. He doesn’t pull back. Instead, his lips press softly to the sensitive spot below your ear, his hands running up your side, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin just beneath your ribs.

You bite your lip hard to keep from making a sound, heart hammering in your chest as Niall’s footsteps come closer. You can hear him mumbling to himself as he shuffles toward the back of the bus, then opening a drawer.

“Check by the table!” Niall mutters, clearly distracted.

You press your forehead to Harry’s, barely able to breathe as your hands clutch onto his shirt. You’re too afraid to move, afraid that the tiniest sound will betray you.

There’s a faint sound of Niall rummaging through the kitchen area, followed by the dull clink of a cup. You wait, your pulse racing, and when the footsteps start to fade, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Harry’s hand slowly slides back down your side, and he pulls back slightly, his face inches from yours, his breath hot on your lips. “Told you they wouldn’t catch us,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement.

You can’t help the small, breathy laugh that escapes your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he teases, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin.

You shake your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite everything. He presses another soft kiss to your lips, and you can’t help but kiss him back, your body relaxing just a little, even though you know the danger isn’t over yet.

...

The concert venue is a maze of hallways and hidden nooks, and Louis has, unsurprisingly, decided to turn it into his playground.

“Hide and seek! Thirty seconds to hide, and I’m coming for you!” he declares, hands covering his face as he starts to count.

Everyone scatters, laughter and hurried footsteps echoing through the backstage area. You find yourself heading down a narrow hallway, your pulse already racing—not just from the game, but from the thought of Harry finding a way to be alone with you.

You turn a corner and nearly collide with him, his green eyes lighting up with amusement.

“Lost, are we?” he whispers, his voice low and teasing.

“Looking for a spot,” you reply, trying to sound calm despite the butterflies swarming in your chest.

Harry grabs your hand before you can take another step. “This way.”

Before you can argue, he pulls you toward a door marked Storage. He pushes it open, and the two of you slip inside. The small room smells faintly of cardboard and cleaning supplies, shelves stacked high with boxes and equipment. Harry closes the door softly, plunging you both into shadows, with only a faint glow of light from the crack under the door.

“Harry, this is—”

“Perfect,” he whispers, cutting you off as he turns to face you. His hands find your waist, pulling you against him.

“Not perfect,” you start to protest, but the words die on your lips as he leans in, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that’s anything but innocent.

You respond instinctively, your arms looping around his neck as his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss deepens quickly, his lips moving with an urgency that sends your pulse racing.

“Harry,” you murmur against his mouth, but he doesn’t stop. His lips trail down to your jaw, then your neck, finding the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. You tilt your head, biting your lip to suppress a sound when his teeth graze your skin.

“Shhh,” he whispers, his breath hot against your neck. “They’ll hear us.”

His hands slide lower, one settling firmly on your hip while the other sneaks beneath your shirt, his fingertips brushing against your bare skin. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to his touch despite the danger of being caught.

“Harry,” you try again, your voice barely a whisper, but he’s already moving. His hand slips lower, over the waistband of your leggings, and then beneath.

You gasp softly, your head falling back against the wall as his fingers find you, his touch deliberate and maddeningly slow.

“Quiet,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours again. He kisses you deeply, his free hand tangling in your hair to keep you anchored to him.

Your hands clutch at his shirt, your body arching into his as his fingers work their magic. The rhythm he sets is enough to make your knees weak, and you have to bite down on his shoulder to keep from making a sound.

“Harry,” you whisper, the word barely audible, but it’s enough to make him grin against your lips.

“You’ve got to be quiet,” he says, his voice low and filled with amusement.

You’re about to retort, but he presses his mouth to yours again, swallowing any sound you might’ve made. His fingers move faster, his precision making it nearly impossible to stay silent.

When you feel a moan threaten to escape, Harry’s hand comes up, covering your mouth gently. His eyes meet yours, his gaze dark and filled with both heat and a silent warning.

“Not a sound,” he whispers, leaning in to press kisses along your jaw.

You nod weakly, your body trembling as the pressure builds, his movements relentless. His free hand trails down your arm, anchoring you to him as his lips find the sensitive spot on your neck again.

Your breathing quickens, your grip on his shirt tightening as you come undone beneath his touch. He swallows your muffled cries with his kisses, his hand never faltering until you’re left breathless and boneless against the wall.

Just as you’re catching your breath, you hear footsteps in the hallway.

“Where are you lot hiding?” Louis’ voice echoes, followed by Niall’s laughter.

Your heart leaps into your throat, but Harry doesn’t pull away. Instead, he grins, his forehead pressing against yours as you both listen intently.

The footsteps pause outside the door, and you hold your breath, praying that Louis won’t check inside. After what feels like an eternity, the footsteps continue down the hall, and you exhale in relief.

“That was close,” you whisper, your voice still shaky.

Harry chuckles softly, brushing his lips against yours one more time before stepping back. “Close, but worth it.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” he teases, grabbing your hand and giving it a quick squeeze.

As the two of you quietly slip back into the game, your cheeks still flushed and your heart racing, you can’t help but feel a little thrill at what just happened. But one thing’s for sure—this game of hide and seek has never been so memorable.

...

The concert had been electric, the adrenaline of the crowd still coursing through your veins as the five of you spill backstage. The boys are buzzing with post-show energy, laughing and recounting moments from the performance as they head toward the tour bus parked outside the venue.

You and Harry, however, hang back, exchanging lingering glances that spark something hotter than just the high of the show.

As the others disappear into the bus, Harry gives you a knowing smirk. “You coming?”

“Not yet,” you reply, your voice low and teasing, tilting your head toward the quiet corner of the lot.

His brows lift in mock surprise, but he doesn’t need convincing. Within seconds, he’s following you into the shadowed side of the bus, away from the bright floodlights and prying eyes.

The cool night air brushes your skin, but it does nothing to temper the heat building between you as Harry steps closer. His hands are on your waist before you can say another word, his mouth finding yours with a desperation that makes your heart race.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and thick with amusement.

“Maybe I like the heat,” you reply, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him back into another kiss.

The kiss quickly deepens, his hands roaming over your back and slipping under the hem of your shirt. The rough pads of his fingers against your bare skin make you shiver, and you press closer, your body molding against his.

“You’re going to drive me mad,” he says, his lips brushing against your jaw as he trails kisses down your neck. His teeth graze your skin, and you bite your lip to keep from moaning, the memory of the storage closet still fresh in your mind.

“Good,” you whisper, your voice breathy as your hands slide under his shirt, your nails lightly scraping along his abdomen.

His breath hitches, and he retaliates by pinning you gently against the side of the bus, his thigh pressing between yours as his lips return to yours, hungrier this time. The faint smell of engine oil and the distant hum of voices inside the bus fade into the background, your entire focus consumed by the way his body feels against yours, the way his hands know exactly where to touch.

“Payback,” you murmur against his lips, your fingers toying with the waistband of his jeans.

“For what?” he asks, his voice rasping as he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“The closet,” you reply, tugging him closer.

He chuckles, low and deep. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

Before you can respond, the sound of a door swinging open makes you both freeze.

“Oi, where are you two—” Louis’ voice rings out, sharp and teasing, but it cuts off abruptly.

You turn your head just enough to see him standing there, his mouth agape. Behind him, Liam, Niall, and Zayn appear, each one registering the scene with varying degrees of shock, amusement, and disbelief.

“Oh, my God,” Niall mutters, a laugh bubbling out as he covers his mouth.

Harry steps back, his hands still lingering on your waist as he turns to face the boys, his expression a mix of guilt and defiance. “Uh, hey, lads.”

“You have got to be joking,” Louis says, a grin breaking across his face. “How long has this been going on?”

Liam crosses his arms, his brows furrowed. “So this is why you’ve been sneaking around?”

Zayn, ever the calm one, just smirks. “Well, that explains the looks.”

You feel your face flush, but Harry tightens his grip on your waist, grounding you. “Alright, fine,” he says, his tone firm despite the slight flush on his cheeks. “We’ve been seeing each other.”

“Secretly,” you add, your voice quieter.

“Obviously,” Louis quips, gesturing at the two of you. “What, you thought we wouldn’t notice the stolen glances and the disappearing acts?”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep his cool. “We just… didn’t want to make things complicated.”

“Too late for that, mate,” Niall says, grinning. “You’re both rubbish at hiding it, anyway.”

“Listen,” you interject, your voice more serious now. “You can’t tell anyone. Not yet.”

“Management,” Harry explains, his voice hardening slightly. “They’ll lose it if they find out. You know how they are.”

The boys exchange looks, their teasing expressions softening.

Liam nods first. “Alright. If it’s about management, we’ll keep it quiet—for now.”

“But,” Louis interjects, pointing a finger at both of you, “you owe us. Big time.”

“Agreed,” Niall says, still grinning. “This is prime blackmail material, and you’ve just handed it to us on a silver platter.”

Zayn shrugs, his smirk turning into a small smile. “As long as you’re happy, I’m not saying anything. But don’t think we won’t give you hell about it.”

“Fair enough,” Harry replies, his lips twitching into a grin.

“Seriously, though,” Liam adds, his tone softer. “You know we’ve got your backs. Just… try not to get caught like this again, yeah? We can’t cover for you forever.”

You nod, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. “Thank you.”

Louis claps his hands together, his mischievous grin returning. “Now, get on the bus before someone else catches you. And try not to make out too much in front of us. We don’t need the trauma.”

As the boys retreat back into the bus, still laughing and throwing jabs, you turn to Harry, your shoulders relaxing.

“Well, that could’ve been worse,” you murmur.

Harry chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Worth it,” he says, his green eyes sparkling with amusement and something softer as he looks at you.

The moment you and Harry step onto the bus, the teasing begins.

“Well, well, look who decided to grace us with their presence!” Louis exclaims, sprawling on one of the couches with a smug grin. “Our very own Bonnie and Clyde.”

“You guys done snogging, or do we need to give you more time?” Niall quips, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he munches on a bag of crisps.

You groan, your face heating up as you slip into the nearest seat, hoping the cushions will somehow swallow you whole. “Can we not make a big deal out of this?” you mumble, avoiding their gazes.

“Not a big deal?” Zayn drawls, raising an eyebrow as he leans casually against the wall. “You were practically glued together out there. Pretty sure the bus driver heard you.”

Liam sighs, though you can see the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, guys, ease up. Let’s not traumatize them too much.”

“Oh, come on, Liam,” Louis says, grinning wickedly. “This is the highlight of my week. I mean, think about it—Harry Styles caught red-handed. And with our very own Y/N, no less!”

“Shocking,” Zayn deadpans.

Harry, to your surprise—and slight annoyance—takes it all in stride. He sprawls lazily beside you, draping an arm over the back of your seat with an infuriatingly smug grin. “Jealous, are you?” he drawls, shooting Louis a pointed look.

Louis clutches his chest dramatically. “Oh, absolutely gutted, mate. I thought we had something special.”

Harry laughs, his dimples flashing as he leans back. “Sorry to break it to you, Lou. My heart belongs to someone else.”

You swat at his arm, mortified. “Harry!”

“What?” he asks innocently, turning to you with a playful smirk. “It’s true.”

Niall lets out a low whistle, his grin widening. “Look at him. Not even embarrassed. Meanwhile, she looks like she wants to sink through the floor.”

“She’s not used to your incessant chatter,” Harry retorts, giving Niall a pointed look. “Give her a break, yeah?”

“Oi, don’t act all protective now,” Louis cuts in, his grin wicked. “You didn’t seem to mind showing off out there.”

“Showing off?” Harry repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Pretty sure you lot interrupted what was shaping up to be a very good time for me.”

The boys erupt into laughter, and your embarrassment deepens as you bury your face in your hands. “I hate all of you,” you groan, though there’s no real malice in your voice.

“Aw, she loves us really,” Niall says, his voice sing-song as he throws a crisp at you.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Zayn teases, smirking as he sits across from you.

Harry leans closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “They’ll let it go eventually. Maybe in a year or two.”

You glare at him, but his soft laugh and the sparkle in his eyes make it impossible to stay mad. “You’re not helping,” you mutter.

“Not trying to,” he replies, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

“Alright, enough,” Liam says, trying to restore some semblance of order. “Let’s at least agree not to bring it up in front of management, yeah? We promised we’d keep this quiet.”

“Fine, fine,” Louis says, waving a hand dismissively. “But you can’t stop me from enjoying the fact that you two got busted.”

“Enjoy it all you want,” Harry says, his smirk returning. “Just remember, I know all your secrets too.”

The boys exchange amused glances, and the teasing finally begins to die down as the conversation shifts to lighter topics. But you can still feel the occasional glance their way, and every now and then, a sly comment slips through.

Despite the endless ribbing, Harry’s calm confidence keeps you grounded. He doesn’t seem fazed by any of it, his hand casually resting on your thigh under the table where no one else can see. And when you catch his eye, the warmth in his smile reminds you why the chaos is worth it.

As the bus rolls into the night, the teasing fades into the background, and you find yourself leaning into Harry’s side, a small smile tugging at your lips. Because no matter what, you know you’ll face it together.

[pinkboaclub]

Playboy Brother

Summery: A peaceful spring break at your best friends vacation house was supposed to be a quiet escape, just swimming, sunbathing, and relaxation. But when her older brother, Harry, unexpectedly shows up, the trip takes an unexpected turn when Sofia’s out for the night.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: smut, sleeping with friends brother, dom!Harry, zero protection, mention of alcohol, fem!reader

"You know what, Y/N?" Sofia turned towards you as you hung out in her dorm. "Let's ditch the party scene and do something actually fun for spring break."

You raised an eyebrow, though you weren't stoked about it, you both had agreed to go to Florida with your friend group for spring break. "What do you mean?"

Sofia's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I'm talking about my family's vacation house. We can swim, read books, maybe even go hiking. And it will just be us...very peaceful and relaxing"

You thought for a moment, the thought of crowded beaches and noisy parties fading away. The vacation house sounded like a breath of fresh air. "Alright, let's do it," you said, a smile spreading across your face.

As it was not near your University, Sofia's parents' vacation house felt like it was out of a dream, completely different from your concrete dorms. As you pulled into the driveway, the serene beauty of the surroundings captured you. The house itself was a cozy mansion that sat among tall, beautiful trees, with a beautiful pool. The moment you stepped out of the car, the sweet scent of the warm spring air hit you.

Inside, the house was exactly how you imagined a vacation house should be, with wooden floors, large windows looking out at the pool. The kitchen was stocked with all sorts of goodies, courtesy of Sofia's mom.

With the sun peeking through the windows, the temperature outside was perfect for a swim. You followed Sofia's lead and headed to the guest room where your bags where you placed your bag on your bed. You threw open her suitcase and pulled out a bikini.

You both immediately jumped in the pool after running down the stairs, letting the water cool you down.

"This is heaven, I haven't been in a pool in so long." you sighed as you floated on your back, your eyes closed.

A sudden ding from Sofia’s phone broke the moment. She climbed out, swiping at the screen. “Oh, my brother’s stopping by.”

You cracked an eye open. “Your brother?”

“Yeah, Harry. He’s just going to drop something off to store in the garage.” She tossed her phone onto a pool chair. You nodded, but a small part of you suddenly wished you’d packed a swimsuit with a little more coverage. Not that it mattered.

You and Sofia continued to lounge by the pool, letting the sun dry your skin, the warmth making you lazy. The sound of the backyard sliding door caught your attention, and instinctively, you lifted your sunglasses, eyes locking onto the man who stepped through.

He was tall, his broad shoulders were tanned from the sun, a sleeve of tattoos trailed down his muscular arm. Brown hair that was just messy enough to look effortless, and when his green eyes flicked to you, a jolt of something sharp and sudden shot through your chest.

“Sof,” he called, his voice deep and easy. “I’m just moving some stuff into the garage.”

"Okay, that's fine." She nonchalantly replied. Harry's eyes continued to glance at you. You caught his eyes wandering up and down your body multiple times. "Oh, Harry, this is Y/N."

Harry smiled and walked from the door over to where you were lounging. "Pleasure to meet you." He said, charisma shining through his words and smirk. He stuck out his hand and gave you a firm handshake. "I'm Harry."

You felt your cheeks warm up a little. "Nice to meet you too," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"So you two are gonna be here all week?" Harry asked, his eyes never leaving yours.

Sofia nodded. "Yep, just us and the great outdoors. You're not staying, are you?" she said, hopefulness in her tone.

"Nah, I've got my own plans," Harry replied with a wink. "But I might drop by again if you don't mind."

As Harry disappeared into the garage, you couldn't help but steal glances as he left. His shorts were short enough to see the couple tattoos he had on his legs, his t-shirt was snug enough to reveal the outline of his abs. You quickly turned your gaze away, not wanting to be caught staring at him or Sofia.

“Sorry about that…he’s such a play boy. He flirts with anyone and everyone.”

You chuckled, suddenly feeling less special. “No worries.”

The next few days at the house were full of relaxation. You and Sofia swam in the pool, watched movies, and would only leave to go shopping. Harry did drop by a couple more times, mostly to grab or drop off stuff, but each time his visits grew longer. You found yourself looking forward to his visits, and he always made a point to sit and chat with you whenever he could.

Though, as Sofia made sure to remind you, you knew he was being as friendly and flirting as he would with any girl Sofia could have brought with her.

One evening, as the sun began to set, Sofia suggested a night out in the nearby town. "We should hit up the local bar," she said with excitement. "A couple of my friends from here want to meet up."

"I'm not sure, I'm pretty tired," you admitted, your voice a bit weak. "Don't let me stop you though."

"Are you sure? It's just going to be a casual hang out."

You nodded. "Yeah, I think I'll just chill here and catch up on some reading." You picked up the novel you had brought along. "You go have fun, I'll be fine."

"Alright, if you're sure," she said, squeezing your shoulder. "Text me if you need anything."

As the door closed behind her, you settled back into the plush sofa with your book. The lake house was so peaceful, and the thought of the noisy bar was less than appealing.

You had been reading for a few hours when your phone buzzed with a text from Sofia.

Hey, sorry to bother you but Harry's on his way again. He's got some more stuff to grab. I can come back if you want.

‘No worries! I don't mind.’ You replied, your mind wandering to Harry, and him being here with you...alone. You shook your head, trying to get rid of any inappropriate thoughts, that's your best friend's brother.

A few minutes later, you heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Harry's footsteps echoed through the house, and soon he was standing in the doorway of the living room. "Hey," he said, his eyes lit up immediately after finding you. "I didn't know you'd still be up."

"Couldn't resist the peace and quiet," you said, setting your book aside. "How's your night going?"

"It's been good," Harry replied, stepping into the room. He was dressed casually in a band tee and jeans that fit just right. "But I figured I'd come by and grab a couple more things before the weekend gets hectic."

You nodded, trying to ignore the way his voice made your heart flutter.

"How has your spring break been?" Harry asked, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. "It's been pretty good, just relaxing mostly."

"That's the way to do it," Harry said, his eyes scanning the room before returning to you. "You know, it's funny, I'm surprised we haven't met before."

You felt your cheeks heat up. "I've met your parents...Sofia and I only met this year though." You shifted in your seat, your stomach turning in a knot. "I guess it was bound to happen eventually."

Harry chuckled, his eyes lingering on you. "I guess it was." He leaned closer, his gaze intense. "So, you're all alone here?"

You nodded, swallowing hard. "Sofia went out with some friends from around here."

"Ah, so it's just us then," Harry said, his voice dropping a notch. The air between you felt thick with something unspoken, and the room seemed to shrink with each passing second.

You nodded, feeling your pulse quicken. "Looks like it," you managed to murmur, your eyes flicking over to him.

The silence between you grew heavier, until Harry broke it with a smirk. "You know," he began, his eyes not leaving yours, "I've heard a lot about you."

Your heart raced as he moved closer, his arm brushing against yours. "Oh? Good things I hope." you asked, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice. You couldn’t tell if he was flirting with you, or if that was his natural tone.

"Very good things," Harry said, his eyes never leaving yours.

You felt your heart flutter again, and a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Well, I hope I can live up to the hype."

Harry leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "I'm sure you can." His hand reached over and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You know, I've been wanting to get to know you better for a while now."

Your cheeks grew hotter and you swallowed, trying to find the right words. The chemistry between you was palpable, and it was getting harder to ignore. "Yeah? Did you have something in mind?" You replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a mischievous grin, Harry leaned in closer. His eyes dropped to your lips.

"I have a few ideas," he murmured, his hand resting gently on the sofa beside you. His thumb brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, Harry leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss. His lips were firm and insistent, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he pulled you closer. You smelled his strong cologne, which caused you to melt into him. You felt your body react instinctively, leaning into him as his other arm wrapped around your waist.

The kiss grew deeper, his tongue slipping between your lips to explore yours. He stood, pulling you to your feet, and you wrapped your arms around his neck as the kiss grew more intense.

"Come with me," Harry murmured against your mouth, his hand sliding down to grip yours. He led you through the house and up the stairs to a room you hadn't been in before. "This is my old room," he said, pushing it open.

The room was like a time capsule of Harry's youth, with posters of old rock bands on the walls and a queen bed covered in a plaid comforter. When you turned back to him, you picked up right where you left off.

Without breaking the kiss, his other hand slid down to the small of your back, pressing you closer to his body. His dominance was surprising but thrilling, making your legs feel like jelly. You stumbled backward slightly, and he took it as an invitation, walking you backwards until the back of your legs hit the bed. He leaned over you, his weight pressing you into the soft mattress.

You felt the heat of him, his chest against yours, his thighs between your own. His hand trailed up your side, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin under your arm, sending goosebumps across your body. Harry's kiss grew more demanding, his tongue exploring yours with a passion that made you gasp for air. He took advantage of the moment, deepening the kiss even further.

With a gentle yet firm touch, Harry's hand began to travel upwards under your shirt, his fingers tracing the line of your ribs. You felt a thrill as he reached the clasp of your bra, flicking it open with surprising ease. His hand cupped your breast, his thumb circling your nipple, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. His kiss grew more insistent, his tongue dancing with yours as he explored your body.

You felt his body shift and before you knew it, your shirt was being pulled over your head. Harry's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of your bare chest. He leaned down and kissed your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You felt his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck, and you gasped, arching your back to give him better access.

His hands slid over your body, sure and confident, as if he had done this a hundred times before. You couldn't deny that his experience was a turn on, and your body responded eagerly to his touch.

With a wicked smile, Harry kissed down your body, his mouth tracing a path from your neck to your navel, making you squirm with anticipation. You felt his hands slip down to the waistband of your shorts, his thumbs hooking into the fabric. He paused, his eyes searching yours for permission. You nodded immediately.

He kissed the skin just above the band of your shorts, his breath warm and teasing. His hands began to tug at the fabric, sliding it down over your hips, revealing your underwear. His eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you. "God, you're gorgeous," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Without wasting a moment, Harry pushed your legs up to your chest, his strong arms holding you in place as he leaned in. His mouth found the damp fabric between your legs, and he bit down lightly, making you gasp. You felt his tongue slip beneath the material, tasting you for the first time. The sensation was intense, and you squirmed, trying to get closer to him. His grip tightened, keeping you in place as his mouth moved in a rough, insistent rhythm. You felt a buildup of pleasure, your muscles tensing as he worked his magic.

He hooked his thumbs into the sides of your panties and tugged them aside, revealing your wetness to the cool air. Harry groaned, the sound vibrating against your skin, making your hips lift off the bed. He didn't hold back, his tongue plunging into you, stroking and teasing until you were writhing beneath him. You could feel his strong hands gripping your thighs, keeping you open to him as he feasted on you. You were lost in the feeling, your moans filling the room, your nails digging into the bed sheets.

Your body arched off the bed, but Harry's grip on your legs was firm, keeping you in place as he ate you out. His teeth grazed your sensitive skin, making you squirm and gasp. He seemed to take delight in your reactions, his tongue becoming more demanding as he lapped at your clit, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thighs to keep you still. Your hand fell to his hair, tugging on it as he tongue continued to masterfully work over you. He groaned out at the harsh pull.

"Do you like that?" he murmured against you, his breath hot and his tongue continuing to dance against your sensitive flesh.

You could only nod, unable to form coherent words as his mouth worked its magic. His grip on your legs tightened, his thumbs digging into your inner thighs as he pushed them further apart. Harry's tongue grew rougher, his teeth grazing your skin as he devoured you with an animalistic hunger. You felt your body responding, your hips rocking up to meet his mouth.

He took two fingers, slowly sliding them into you before immediately pushing into your g-spot at a lightening fast pace.

Your moans grew louder, and you felt your body tightening around his digits. Harry's eyes watched you with a mix of pleasure and hunger, his strokes becoming more aggressive. He was in complete control, and the feeling was intoxicating. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

But just as you were about to climax, Harry pulled away, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Not yet," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. You whimpered in protest, your body begging for release.

"Patience," he said, his fingers tracing patterns on your thighs as he sat up and pulled off his shirt. His abs were defined, a sprinkling of hair leading down to his shorts, which were now tented with his arousal. You bit your lip, trying to control the desperate need pulsing through you

Harry noticed your gaze and smirked, unbuckling his belt.

"You wanna suck my cock, slutty girl?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You blinked, the vulgarity of his words a stark contrast to the sweetness of the moment. But the heat in his eyes and the hardness pressing against his shorts told you that he was dead serious. Your heart raced as you nodded, his dominance a surprising turn on. Harry smirked, his hand reaching down to unbuckle his belt and pull his shorts down.

As he revealed himself, you took a deep breath, your eyes widening at the sight of his large, thick cock. You slid off the bed, dropping to your knees and leaning in.. You wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft, feeling his pulse against your palm.

"That's it," Harry said, his voice a low growl of approval. "Suck it like you mean it."

You leaned in, taking him in your mouth, feeling the weight of his cock on your tongue. Harry's hand found your hair, his grip tightening as he guided your movements. He was not gentle, pushing deeper into your mouth with every thrust. You felt a mix of fear and excitement, his dominance making you wetter than you had ever been. You took a deep breath, focusing on pleasing him, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat with every bob of your head.

"That's right," Harry groaned, his hand tightening in your hair. "Take it all." You could feel his muscles tensing, his thighs trembling with the effort to hold back. His eyes stared into yours, his gaze never leaving you as he watched you suck him off. You moaned around his cock, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through his body. He began to move his hips in a steady rhythm, fucking your mouth with increasing force.

You felt your jaw ache, but the desperate need to please him overrode any discomfort. Harry's grip grew tighter, his hips moving faster as he approached climax. "I'm gonna cum," he warned, his voice strained. You nodded, eager to taste him, to feel him come in your mouth. With a final thrust, Harry's body stiffened and he released into your mouth. You swallowed, feeling the warmth of his cum slide down your throat.

Pulling away, you sat back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Harry leaned back, a smug smile on his face. "I want to see you on your hands and knees, on the bed, facing away from me," he said, his voice still rough with passion. He stood and stripped off the rest of his clothes, revealing his still fully erect cock.

You scurried to the bed, doing as he said. The mattress dipped as Harry climbed onto it behind you. Running a couple fingers up your slit, causing your whole body to shudder. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You liked sucking my cock, didn't you?"

"Uh, huh," you breathed, the only thing you were able to choke out, barely audible.

"Good," Harry said, his voice thick with desire. He positioned his cock at your entrance.

With a firm grip on your hips, Harry pushed into you, his size making you gasp. He didn't hold back, thrusting deep and hard, his cock filling you completely. Each stroke sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making your toes curl and your nails dig into the bed. His dominance was like a drug, and you found yourself craving more.

"Is this what you wanted?" Harry asked, his voice a low growl as he fucked you. "You want my cock deep inside, don't you?" You could only nod, your eyes screwed shut as you tried to process the intense feeling of fullness. He was so deep, his cock hitting places that no one else had ever reached.

"I could tell from the moment I first saw you the other day...your pretty eyes staring at me."

You felt his hand on the back of your neck, he kept fucking into you, relentlessly. The power play was something new, something that sent a thrill through you that you hadn't felt before.

"Show me how much you've been waiting for this," he murmured as he pulled out of you and lay against the headboard.

With trembling hands, you climbed onto him and reached between your legs, gripping his cock and guiding it to your entrance. You felt the tip brush against you, and he groaned.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, his thick length filling you up, stretching you wider than you'd ever been. You threw your head back, a guttural moan escaping your lips as you took all of him.

But as soon as you were fully seated, Harry's hands were on your hips, his grip tightening. He didn't let you set the pace, instead pulling you back down onto him before pushing you back up again. His strokes were powerful, his cock sliding up into you with a force that had you seeing stars. You tried to keep your eyes on his, but the pleasure was too intense, and they slammed shut as you threw your head back. He didn't even last one minute not being the one in control.

"Fuck, you're tight," he grunted, his eyes locked onto the place where your bodies connected. You could feel the tension in his muscles as he held onto your hips, his thrusts becoming more erratic. You grabbed his arms to keep yourself steady, feeling his hard biceps.

Without warning, Harry's grip tightened, his hands moving to your waist. He lifted you slightly before slamming you back down onto him. His eyes never left yours, watching as your mouth formed a silent 'o' of pleasure with every impact. You could feel him swell even more inside you, his cock pulsing with every thrust.

"You're so fucking perfect," Harry murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Riding me like a good little slut." He leaned forward, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "You like it when I use you like this, huh?"

You nodded, unable to form words as he continued to fill you completely with every stroke. The dirty talk was something you never knew you liked, but with Harry, it just felt right. You felt your cheeks flush with both pleasure and embarrassment, but you couldn't help but crave more.

But just as Harry's pace grew even more aggressive, he abruptly stopped, his hand coming up to cup your face, gently tilting it to look at him. His eyes searched yours, concern flashing across his features. "You okay?" he asked, his voice softer now. "Is this too much?"

You took a moment to catch your breath, the intensity of the moment making your heart race. "No, no" you panted, nodding. "It's just...I've never...it's great." Harry chuckled with a smirk on his lips.

"I’m corrupting you ," Harry groaned, his eyes never leaving yours. "I can't help it," he murmured, his voice strained.

"I need to see your face when I fuck your slutty pussy." He pushed you down onto the bed on your back, his hands moving to grip your thighs and roughly pull you to the end of your bed. The change in angle was intense, his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust.

You couldn't help but whimper, your body reacting to his words and actions. You felt so exposed, so used, but in the best way possible. His strokes grew deeper, his cock hitting a spot inside you that made your toes curl. Harry's eyes searched yours, watching your reactions with a hunger that only grew with every moan that left your lips.

Your inner muscles started to pulse, your stomach started to churn, your orgasm was very close, and Harry's quick pace wasn't going to delay it.

"H–Harry." You stuttered quietly in an attempt to warn him of your nearing climax.

"Mm, I know," he murmured, his eyes dark with need. "I can feel you getting tighter around me." His thumb found your clit, circling it with the perfect amount of pressure to push you over the edge. "'Gonna scream my name? Let the neighbors know whose fucking you good?"

You screamed out his name over and over again, begging him not to stop. A smirk was painted on his face, his name continuously leaving your mouth inflating his ego.

You bit your lip to stifle the cry that wanted to escape as your orgasm washed over you, your body shaking with the intensity of it. Harry's eyes never left yours, watching you fall apart beneath him with a mix of satisfaction and hunger.

As the final waves of pleasure subsided, Harry leaned down, his body pressing you into the bed. His cock was still hard, still deep inside you, and he began to move again, slower now, savoring the feel of you around him. His kisses grew more gentle, his hands caressing your body as he whispered into your ear.

"Where can I cum, baby? Your tits? Your pretty face?"

"Inside me." Without thinking the words left your mouth, you froze in shock...you had just met this man days ago. For whatever reason his dominance made you think before speaking. "If-if you want to...I'm on birth control...you don't have to..."

He looked at you for a moment before a smug smirk grew on his face. "Here I was thinking you were a little innocent girl."

Without giving you time to process his words, Harry started to pick up his pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with renewed vigor. You felt your body respond, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. The feeling of his bare cock inside of you was something new and thrilling, and you found yourself getting lost in the moment.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "You want it all, don't you? You want to feel me fill you up."

Your body responded with a desperate nod, your legs tightening around his waist. Harry chuckled darkly, his grip on your ankles never wavering. "Good girl," he murmured, his thumbs pressing into your hips. He began to move faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. The pleasure was almost unbearable, the friction of his bare cock against your sensitive walls making you scream his name.

With each stroke, Harry's eyes grew darker, his breaths more ragged. You could feel his muscles tensing, his body preparing for his release. The anticipation was exhilarating, and you found yourself giving him the sweet submissive look he was looking for, urging him to his release.

"Fuck," Harry groaned, his hips moving faster, his cock sliding in and out of you with a wet, slapping sound. "You're gonna make me cum, baby."

You felt your walls tighten around him, the sensation of him getting closer to climax making you even wetter. You nodded eagerly, your voice breathy and needy. "Fuck, Harry," you encouraged, the words coming out in a rush. "Cum inside me."

Harry thrust one last time, his cock swelling and pulsing as he emptied himself into you. You felt the warmth of his release fill you up, the sensation of his hot cum sending another wave of pleasure crashing through your body. He collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he rode out the last of his orgasm.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breaths mingling in the quiet room. The air was thick with the scent of sex, your bodies damp with sweat. Harry's heart pounded against your chest, and you could feel his breath against your neck as he kissed you softly.

He pulled out of you, his eyes searching yours, and you could see the gentle concern in them. "You okay?" he murmured, his voice tender. But even as he asked, there was a hint of the playboy in his tone...you could tell that was something he had asked plenty of girls before, a reminder of who he was and what this was.

"Yeah," there was an awkward silence between you. "We should get cleaned up...before Sofia gets home."

You felt Harry's weight shift as he stood up, leaving you feeling empty and cold without his warmth. He offered you a hand, helping you to your feet. His gentleness was surprising after the raw passion you had just shared, and it left you feeling a little off-balance. You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts.

He grabbed a towel from the floor, handing it to you before grabbing one for himself. Harry's gaze was still intense, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush hair from your face. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you again, but instead, he leaned in and whispered, "You're something else."

The words hung in the air, leaving you feeling both flattered and a little unsure. He was still Harry, the playboy, but for a brief moment, you had seen a glimpse of something more vulnerable beneath the surface. He stepped back, the mask of nonchalance slipping back into place.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs jolted you back to reality. "Shit," you hissed, your eyes widening. "Sofia's home."

"Fuck," you whispered, your eyes darting around the room. You grabbed you clothes off the floor and began to quickly get dressed. "I better get back to my room." Before Harry could say anything, you left, peeking behind the door, before racing to your room when you saw the coast was clear.

You barely had time to sit down on the bed, your heart racing when you heard Harry's footsteps descending the stairs. His voice grew clearer as he approached the living room where you knew Sofia was waiting. "Hey," he called out, the sound of his voice so casual it was almost jarring after what had just happened. "Just dropping off some stuff in my old room."

Sofia's voice followed, a mix of curiosity and annoyance. "Okay, where's Y/N?"

You could hear Harry's footsteps stop, the beat of his heart echoing in the silence. He took a moment before responding, "Oh, she went to bed like an hour ago."

You had just had sex with your best friend's brother, in the house where you both would be staying for the weekend. The gravity of the situation settled heavily in the pit of your stomach, making you feel sick.

The sound of their conversation grew muffled as you lay back on the bed, trying to catch your breath. You had to play it cool, act like nothing had happened. You couldn't let this ruin your friendship with Sofia, or Harry's relationship with his sister.

tag list:

@mema10 @lizsogolden @harrrrystylesslut @tulips4harry @cloudyluun @dipmeinhoneyh @tchlamqtsgf

[merrybloomwrites]

When You're Lost, Just Look For Me

Summary: You’re not always good at asking for what you need. Luckily your bandmates know when you need a little extra love and are there to support you.

Word Count: 2.5K

CW: mentions of: neglectful family, periods, little bit of online hate

This story is set in the 1D days, and therefore Liam is a main character just like the other boys. Wanted to give a heads up in case anyone wants to avoid stories with him in it.

AN: When the news broke last week I wasn’t sure if I was going to continue writing, and really didn’t know what I would write about if I did. But then Passing Contact doubled in notes so I took that as a hint that it’s what people might want to read right now. So I decided to write a part 2 in hopes that it can help people in any way.

I have a couple other ideas for stories of reader x one direction that would also take place back when they were touring, but if you have any requests please let me know

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It’s a day off in a random hotel room in a random city in the United States. Of that you’re sure. But you're not sure of much else at the moment. 

You’re thinking back to the past few days. You’d messed up your backing vocals on stage, and had to re-record your parts for the next album because you just could not get it right. Numerous rumors were being spread about you being spotted with random boys, leading to renewed comments calling you all kinds of nasty things. 

You’re still in your pajamas, which you realize somehow consist of a pair of Louis’ sweatpants, one of Zayn's t-shirts, and a sweatshirt Liam had given you a week ago that you have yet to return. You think about texting one of them to come hang out, but you don’t want your glum mood to bring them down. Instead you turn on the TV and wrap yourself in all your blankets. 

It’s what you always did as a child when you were sad. Your family was never open with their emotions, and affection made them uncomfortable. From a young age you knew that going to your parents for comfort would end with rejection. So you’d learned how to comfort yourself. 

The blanket nest barely does its job today, and you’re still lost in your thoughts of self doubt when a knock at the door startles you. 

For a second you think about ignoring it, but odds are the person knocking wouldn’t just go away. So you pull yourself up and open the door, seeing Niall there waiting for you. 

“Hey, haven’t heard from you today, wanted to see what you’re up to,” he says. 

You’re hit with a wave of embarrassment, not wanting to admit that you've been wallowing all day. 

“Just taking it easy,” you reply, “Catching up on sleep.” It’s believable enough, none of you sleep too well on the bus and this is your first hotel bed in over a week. 

“I hear ya, think I slept twelve hours straight,” Niall says with a laugh. 

Knowing that he’s hoping for an invitation you step aside and motion your arm, silently asking him to join you in your room. You glance around quickly, glad to see everything is neat except the bed. You hope that he doesn’t judge the mess of blankets, and considering he just kicks off his shoes and climbs into your bed, you assume he’s fine with it. 

“What are we watching?” Is his next question so you sit on the other side of the bed and pass him the remote, allowing him to scroll through the channels until he finds some nature show that looks mildly interesting. 

You stare at the screen but you’re not focusing on it. You’re more focused on Niall just a couple feet away from you. 

During a celebration after the first tour, where you’d all indulged a bit with some drinks, you’d let slip about your family and your reluctance when it comes to physical affection. They listened and then made it a goal to help you be more comfortable with hugs, and hand holding, and all kinds of friendly contact. 

And it was nice. You’d always known that babies could be touch deprived, but you’d learned that adults can be starved for human touch as well. There was no doubt that you fell into this category, so getting random bouts of touch and affection from your band members had been healing in a way.

But lately things have been so crazy that everyone has been focusing on themselves. Plus you’re older now, not the teens that you were when you started the band. As people in your early twenties, the casual physical affection has dwindled. 

The boys seem to be coping with this, as though they haven’t even realized that the group hugs and cuddle piles have stopped. But you’ve noticed. And you’ll be the first to admit that you miss it. 

Now especially, with all this stress and disappointment weighing you down, you can’t help but desire a hug, one so tight that you can just burrow into one of the boys for a little while and feel safe and loved. 

But even though Niall is right there, you can’t bring yourself to ask. You can’t even move closer and get rid of the space between you. Because it was always the boys initiating the contact. You’re nervous to try, terrified that you might get rejected. 

Niall can tell something is going on with you, but he’s not sure what. He’s never been the best at navigating other people’s emotions so he calls in backup by sending a text to Harry who arrives a little bit later. He brings lunch with him, and you’re grateful for that since you’ve barely eaten all day. 

The three of you sit together at the table to eat. The food is good, and you’re grateful that Niall and Harry are talking to each other because you don’t have much to add right now. You don’t realize the way they’re watching you, communicating their worry through pointed looks. 

When lunch is done you all head back to the bed and put on a movie. You’re sitting against the headboard, Niall on your left and Harry on your right. And somehow, they’re still not touching you. At this point you’d take a brush of their arm against yours. Anything to help you feel less alone. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to lean closer to either of them. It’s maddening. 

“Y/N,” Harry says, catching your attention.

“Yea?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, not even sure why you’re lying to him.

“We know something is bothering you,” Niall adds. 

You take a breath before spilling everything that’s been going on. They listen and reassure you and while you do feel better after talking with them, there’s still that part of you that’s so on edge.

“What do you need?” Harry asks.

You think about it for a moment and say, “What I need is for people to stop judging me.”

“That’s a fair point. But I want to know what you need right now. From us.” Harry says.

The thing is, he knows the answer. He’s already aware of what would make you feel better. But he wants you to say it. He wants you to be comfortable to voice your needs with him and the other boys. 

Finally you blurt out, “I just need a hug.”

“That’s not it,” Harry says.

Now you’re confused. It’s what you want. You tapped into all your bravery to even say that. And now he’s telling you that’s not right?

“You want something more than that. Need something more than that,” he adds. 

You think about it for a moment and you realize that he’s right. A little hug isn’t going to cut it.

“I need someone to hold me,” you say quietly. “I need to be held.”

Neither boy hesitates now, and you end up tucking into Harry's side with Niall wrapping around you. They hold you tight, hands gently rubbing your back or arms to soothe you. 

It’s not often that you allow yourself to cry, but you do now. You heave out a sob and feel their arms tighten around you. They stay like that until your sobs turn into tears before finally drying up. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly once you’ve calmed down fully. 

“Of course, YN,” Niall says. “We’re always here for you. Whatever you need.”

“We’re in this together,” Harry adds. “And we take care of each other. Always.”

Their kindness, and comfort has you feeling so much better, but you remain in their hold just a bit longer. It feels so nice to have this type of physical contact after so long without it. 

The three of you eventually get cleaned up and join the rest of the boys for dinner. You end the day feeling so much better than you did at the start, and you know it’s thanks to these boys you call family. 

But despite how nice it felt to be held, thoughts of doubt and embarrassment fill your mind in the weeks that follow. When you look back at that afternoon you first think about how good it felt. And then you begin to feel weak that you even needed to be babied in the first place. 

You vow to be stronger in the future and not ask for that again. They have their own things, they don’t need to be taking care of you too. At least, that’s what your parents had always said. 

Tour continues, and one night you all have to stay at the venue for a while after the show. Security said something about it being unsafe to travel just yet, but you were too tired to listen to the details. 

After more than an hour of hanging out backstage you finally get the all clear to head out. But in that time you’d practically fallen asleep on the sofa. You have zero desire to get up so you sleepily raise your arms and look at Liam who’s standing before you and say, “Carry me.”

He chuckles, and a sweet smile appears on his face. Without even saying a word he leans down and slides an arm behind your back, the other under your knees to scoop you up bridal style. You sling one arm around his neck and hold on as he adjusts his grip to make sure you are secure. 

Once back on the bus he tucks you in, straightening your extra blanket and placing your stuffed cat in your arms. He runs a gentle hand through your hair until you fall asleep, once again feeling so safe and loved. 

A couple weeks later your period hits, and for some reason this month is especially bad. It’s day two of non stop cramps, and as much as you try to keep this a secret from the boys, they always know when you’re feeling particularly bad. 

Louis is the one to find you curled up on the couch. He brings chocolate, pain relievers, and some tea that’s supposed to help. You’d never heard of it before, but apparently his sisters swear by it. 

When nothing helps right away he lays down with you. His hand goes to your stomach and begins to rub, somehow soothing more than just the pain. Once your cramps finally go away you turn so that you're facing Louis. You tuck your head under his chin and he puts his arm around your waist to keep you close. 

It should be strange, being so close to him. But it just feels right, just like it does with the other boys. You let yourself enjoy the comfort as Louis’ hand rubs gentle circles on your back. 

Not only are your cramps gone, but the feelings of sadness and anxiety that usually come with your period are gone too, all thanks to Louis’ compassion and gentleness. 

A few days later you're sleeping in your bunk when a nightmare hits. It’s one that you used to get all the time, but now only comes when you’re extra exhausted or stressed. And with it being the last couple weeks of tour, you’re both of those things. 

You wake up gasping, adrenaline coursing through your body. You hoped that you were quiet and didn’t wake anyone else, but a moment later Zayn appears and asks if you’re alright. 

“I’m fine,” you reply. “Just a dream. I’m good now.”

But of course these boys can read you like a book. And Zayn immediately knows you’re not fine. 

“Scooch over,” he says, and you listen. As soon as there’s room he climbs in the bunk with you. He lays on his back and pulls you so your head is resting on his chest. 

You get comfy but you can’t help but feel bad. These bunks are small, uncomfortable for just one person. Definitely cramped with two.  

“You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine,” you say. 

“Nonsense. No one should be alone when they don’t have to,” he replies. 

You can't argue with that. The two of you hold each other close and fall into a peaceful sleep. He’s still there when you wake up in the morning and you snuggle closer, taking advantage of his comforting touch. 

When tour ends you’re a weird mixture of relieved and sad. It had been exhausting, but so wonderful. 

And you have to admit to yourself that you’re going to miss the boys. It’s only a couple of weeks apart before you come back together, but you’ll be back home with your family during that time. 

And you’re realizing that they’re not really family to you. 

Zayn, Niall, Louis, Liam, and Harry are your family. They care for you in ways your own parents never did. And you’re going to miss that while you’re all back home. 

The boys know how you feel about going to stay with your family. That’s why they plan a night in rather than going out to party. You have some drinks and pizza, and spend the evening reminiscing about the past months you had together. 

The later it gets, the more glum you feel. You know the goodbyes are coming soon, and that puts a damper on your mood. 

Liam’s the first to notice how quiet you’ve gotten. He sits next to you on the couch and gently nudges you with his shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks. 

You don’t want to bring down the party, but you can’t ignore his pleading eyes so you reply, “I’m just going to miss you guys.”

He nods but continues to look at you, knowing there’s more to it. Sighing you add, “And you guys are so happy and so warm. At home everyone’s cold and distant.”

“What can we do to help?” He asks. A memory pops into your head. Another hotel room when you were feeling down. You know exactly what you need. And you’re no longer scared or embarrassed to ask for it. 

“I need to be held,” you say. 

“I think we can do that,” Liam says before once again picking you up and announcing, “Cuddle party on the bed!”

He gently tosses you onto the plush king bed and in no time you’re surrounded by your boys. That’s how the six of you sleep that night, all snuggled together in one big pile. 

You’ve never before felt so safe, so loved. And you’ll forever be grateful for the opportunity you received that brought you close to these boys. Because they are the ones who taught you what love truly feels like.

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AN: While I was working on this a butterfly landed next to me and stuck around for a while. Brought me a bit of peace.

To my readers, I hope you’re all doing okay, and if you need someone to talk to know that I’m here and willing to talk!

[thelovehypothesis]

Promises and Patterns

Pieces of us - masterlist

Harry Styles x fem!reader

+2k words

warnings: hurt!

Summary: You meet Harry sparking the beginning of an unexpected relationship amidst his rising career.

The Beginning of Everything

February 2017 

It was the first time you met Harry Styles. It was his birthday, and the air was crisp, the London streets alive with celebration as Harry’s 23rd birthday party unfolded in a cozy venue tucked away from prying eyes. You were invited to this party, one that would mark the beginning of what you never expected to become a whirlwind of a relationship by a mutual friend, someone who thought you’d get along with the man of the hour. The room was filled with his closest friends, industry people, and a handful of others he considered important. But amidst the chaos, the laughter, and the clinking of glasses, it was in the quiet moments between the crowd that you first locked eyes with him.

You'd heard the whispers, the stories of his charm, his wit, and the way he made everyone feel seen. What you didn’t know, however, was just how quickly you’d fall into his orbit.

He wasted no time introducing himself, his charm as effortless as the curls framing his face. “Hi,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Harry. And you must be the most beautiful person in the room.” You laughed, brushing off the compliment with a playful roll of your eyes. “You’re too kind. Happy birthday.”

That night, Harry stuck close, asking questions about your life, your interests, your dreams. He listened intently, hanging on to every word as if you were the most fascinating person he’d ever met.  He was magnetic, and there was something about the way he spoke to you—like he actually wanted to know you, not just the person he saw across the room. 

You remembered that first flash of doubt you had—when he looked into your eyes and said, “So, what if I just asked you on a date? Would you say yes then?” You’d laughed it off, turned him down…gently. 

“I don’t think you’re ready for someone like me,” you teased, half-joking, half-serious. You had your own career and life that needed attention. And honestly, you knew how demanding Harry’s would be. You couldn’t help but friend-zone him. It was safer that way. “I’m not someone who does long distance,” you’d told him. 

He looked genuinely crestfallen, but he didn’t give up. Instead, Harry persisted, patiently settling for friendship, texting you the next day and every day after that.  Slowly but surely,  you became close—so close that he started calling you his best friend.

April 2017

There was the time he flew back to London after weeks of promoting his first solo single. He’d barely touched down when he called you, asking if you could meet him for coffee. You agreed, only to find him sitting nervously at the corner table, his heart practically on his sleeve.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, his voice soft.

“I’ve missed you too,” you replied, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. But when he leaned in and said, “I think we should give this a shot,” you shook your head.

“Harry, I can’t. You’re about to release an album. Your life is about to get even crazier. And I… I can’t do long-distance. I can’t be in a relationship where I barely see the person I’m with.”

He’d tried to argue, but you’d stayed firm. He deserved someone who could match his energy and keep up with his whirlwind lifestyle, and you didn’t think you were that person.

Harry Styles wasn’t someone who took rejection easily, and yet, you knew that he respected your boundaries. By June, however, Harry had proven you wrong. Despite the chaos surrounding his debut album release, he made time for you. Late-night phone calls, surprise visits, and little notes reminding you that he hadn’t forgotten about you. Slowly, he wore down all your defenses. So when he asked you out again, you said yes.

The first date was magical—a quiet dinner in a tucked-away restaurant, where he made you laugh until your belly hurt.  You didn’t want to admit it, but your heart was beginning to soften, and the idea of being with him, despite all the chaos his life came with, started to appeal to you.

By July, you were officially a couple. But as you both knew, your relationship had to remain private. The media would never let you live it down; you'd both seen what fame could do to relationships, and neither of you wanted the scrutiny, and Harry wasn’t ready to make such a big commitment public, given how intense the press could be. You understood. For once, your relationship felt like it was just between the two of you, something sacred. You were happy, and Harry was happy. It didn’t matter if anyone else knew; it felt right, and that was all that mattered.

For a while, it was perfect. Harry balanced his burgeoning solo career with his newfound relationship, always making you feel like a priority. You’d supported him wholeheartedly, cheering him on from the sidelines, even when it meant late nights and long stretches apart.

2018, the first cracks in your perfect world began to show. You started to feel the growing distance between you two. At first, it was small—Harry being an hour late to a date because of studio sessions. It wasn’t his fault; he’d warned you, texted you beforehand, apologizing profusely, and when he arrived, he brought flowers and your favorite dessert. You’d brushed it off, understanding the demands of his career.  

But as time went on, it started happening more often, the delays became longer, and the dates were cancelled altogether in favor of studio sessions, filming or  last-minute interviews. Then it upscaled, postponed weekend plans because of unexpected flights to LA. Each time, Harry would apologize, and for a while, he’d try harder—planning elaborate dates, sending thoughtful gifts. But the pattern always repeated. You tried to understand, you really did. But the pattern always repeated. “He was living his dream”, and you never wanted to be someone who held him back. Still, it stung when you realized you were no longer a priority.

A breaking point came in July, when he booked a last minute second date Madison Square Garden show on your birthday. He’d promised to spend the day with you, but when his team convinced him to add another date to the tour, he couldn’t say no. You’d spent the day alone, trying to convince yourself it didn’t matter. But it did. When he called that night, his voice full of apologies, you’d let the doubts spill out. 

“I feel like I’m always second, Harry. Like I’m just something you fit in when it’s convenient.” 

He tried to make up for it in small ways, with heartfelt messages and plans for a private celebration later on, but deep down, you felt hurt. You’d always been supportive, but it felt like you were constantly at the back of the line, always waiting for his attention, always trying to make him see your point of view.

From that point forward, whenever you tried to talk to him about it, his response was always the same: 

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” “I’ll do better. I promise.”

 He’d be extra sweet for a week, making plans, giving you more of his time. But soon enough, it would all return to the same old rhythm—studio, tour, press. It was the life he chose, and though he never once tried to hide that, you couldn’t help but feel like you were never truly the center of it.

March 2020

When the pandemic hit, everything changed. Suddenly, there were no tours, no press junkets, no studio sessions. For the first time in a long time, Harry was home. The schedule that had kept him running non-stop, chasing deadlines, planes, and more deadlines, had evaporated.The world had come to a halt, and in a way, you finally got Harry back. The quiet moments you’d been craving—the long talks into the night, lazy weekends with no interruptions—suddenly became your reality.

The feeling of him being with you, without distractions, without the weight of his career hanging over him, was nothing short of blissful.

You had time to talk. Really talk. No more rushed dinners or quick check-ins between rehearsals. It was late-night conversations that stretched for hours, discovering new things about each other, about your dreams, your fears, your goals. It was time spent on the couch, watching movies in silence, content simply to exist in the same space. And it was as though all the doubts you had about your relationship, the moments when you felt like his career had overshadowed everything, simply melted away. You knew Harry had always meant well, but the pandemic gave him the chance to prove it.

You began to talk about the future in ways you never had before. You talked about the future you wanted to build together getting married one day, he’d asked you about your thoughts on having children, Harry even began to mention settling down somewhere quieter, somewhere he could escape the media frenzy that came with his fame, truthful the idea of a quiet life outside of the constant spotlight was all you craved for. It felt like everything was falling into place. Harry was there. He was there, in ways he hadn't in a long time. The love you had for him, and the love you saw in his eyes, was real. It was during this time that you began to imagine a life with him, where music and fame didn’t take priority over the simple moments you two could share. It felt like a dream. You’d always known Harry had the ability to be incredibly thoughtful and loving, but seeing it in action, hearing him talk about wanting a family with you, made everything feel possible. For those few months, there was a sense of peace, an understanding between the two of you that no matter what the future held, you'd be able to face it together.

2021

But as the world slowly reopened, so did Harry’s desire to get back to his music, you saw the familiar gleam in his eye. He wasn’t the same man he had been during the pandemic. He still loved you, you could see it in his eyes, but his work, his love for his music, the very thing that brought him so much joy and fulfilment was calling for him again . The tours started up once more, and the press interviews were back in full force. The late-night studio sessions, the time away, the missed dinners—they all came flooding back. You watched the man you had fallen for slip back into the rhythm that had once made you feel like a distant memory . The promises made during the quarantine seemed like distant echoes. Harry tried to reassure you that things were different this time, that he’d be better, that you were still his priority. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all too familiar. 

The Final Straws

By the end of 2021, Love on Tour was in full swing, and Harry had promised you that once the tour wrapped in 2022, things would finally slow down. You both dreamed of 2023 being a year where you could truly reconnect, free from the endless cycle of travel and late-night texts. The idea of Harry being home more often, of finally having the time you’d both been craving, filled you with hope. You envisioned quiet dinners, lazy weekends, and slow mornings without the distraction of tour schedules or constant rehearsals. It was a vision of life outside the chaos—a dream of what could be when his career didn’t come first.

But when Harry announced Harry’s House in early 2022, he also revealed that he would be extending Love on Tour into 2023. Your heart sank. You tried to keep a brave face as he explained the plans, but inside, a knot of dread started to form. It wasn’t the music you minded. You had always supported his career, always admired his passion and dedication. But the truth had never been clearer: no matter how much Harry loved you, no matter how many promises he made, his career would always come first. What you’d thought would be the end of the grueling schedule was now just another chapter in an endless cycle. You came to understand that no matter how much he wanted things to be different, his career would always come first

The realization broke something in you. No matter how much you loved Harry, you couldn’t keep putting yourself last. And as you sat alone on another canceled date night, the doubts that had once crept in now felt impossible to ignore.

And that realization stung in a way you hadn’t expected. Every time he promised things would be different, every time he said, "This time will be different," you’d hoped for a change. But deep down, you knew the pattern. Harry had always been honest about his love for his career, but you’d started to see it for what it was—a love that overshadowed everything else in his life. Even you.

The dream of a quiet life together, of weekends away, of holidays without work looming on the horizon, felt like it was slipping further and further away. And no matter how much you loved him, no matter how much you wished for a life beyond the headlines and the tours, you couldn’t ignore the reality anymore. Harry’s world would always come first, and you had to face that truth, even if it meant letting go of the hope you’d been holding on to for so long.

———The End———

a/n’s: Sorry for the loooong wait! Kind of got unmotivated but this is a timeline of the begging of their love story, I will be wring shorter blurbs of them during this era, but of now that all!

-Lots of love, Em.

[cloudyluun]

Sunburnt & Smitten (p2)

Summary: Harry wakes up knowing he majorly fucked up. He has one goal today: make sure you forgive him (and, preferably, forget all about the book he sacrificed to the sea). His tactics start with sweet bribery, escalate to shameless sabotage, and ultimately end with him pleading his case in bed, where he’s much better at holding your attention anyway.

A/N: OMG, besties. I cannot even BEGIN to tell you how much FUN this was to write. Like, truly, who gave Harry the right to be this cocky and hot and impossible to resist?? (Oh, wait. That were @harrywavycurly & me. My bad 😌✨.)

Hope you all enjoyed this absolute masterpiece of unhinged horny behavior. Please like, repost, scream in the comments, and remember: if he’s not buying you books after mind-blowing sex, what is he even doing?

Word Count: 5,5k

Warnings: 

Smut (obviously, babes)

Teasing & power shifts (we love a battle of wills)

Filthy, filthy desperation (you're welcome)

Harry being cocky AF (but also absolutely wrecked)

Bribery via books & vacations (the ultimate love language)

Emotional vulnerability disguised as pillow talk (cry about it)

[part 1]

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Harry wakes up first. And for a brief, beautiful moment, he forgets about his crimes.

The morning sun is already warming the room, spilling golden light through the open balcony doors. The waves are soft, the air smells of salt and citrus, and most importantly you’re still here, tucked beside him in bed. His heart swells at the sight.

But then he notices it.

Your arms are crossed, even in sleep. Lips slightly pursed.

A knot of dread forms in his stomach.

Oh. Right.

He threw your book into the ocean.

Harry grimaces, replaying the crime scene in his head. It had been impulsive. Driven by jealousy and a complete lack of self-preservation. And now, here he is, lying beside you like a man on death row, waiting for the verdict.

Carefully, he shifts onto his side, resting on his elbow as he watches you stir awake.

He needs to fix this. Immediately.

“Morning, angel,” he murmurs, brushing a featherlight kiss to your shoulder. His lips linger, soft and sweet, an offering of peace.

You hum in response. But don’t move closer.

Oh, fuck.

His chest tightens. He’s in real trouble.

Time for damage control: “Operation: Bribe your girlfriend with breakfast.”

Harry moves fast. One second, he’s in bed with you, the next, he’s bolting down the stairs, determined to bribe his way back into your good graces.

Ten minutes later, he returns with a perfectly curated breakfast tray.

Fresh coffee, made exactly how you like it.

Flaky, buttery croissants.

A little bowl of berries, because he knows you like something light in the morning.

And—his pièce de résistance—a single flower he nicked from the villa’s garden.

He softens his footsteps, placing the tray on the bedside table before climbing back into bed.

You’re fully awake now, blinking at him suspiciously as he pulls the covers up, tucking you into the warmth of his chest.

“For you, my love,” he says dramatically, presenting the tray as if offering you the world itself.

He leans in, nuzzling your jaw, voice a syrupy sweet murmur.

“My muse. My heart. The only person I have ever loved.”

Your eyes narrow. “The person whose book you MURDERED?”

He flinches. “Right. That too.”

The Phone Snatching Incident

You exhale sharply, sitting up to grab your coffee. You don’t push him away, but you don’t cuddle into him either. That’s a bad sign.

Still, he waits. Watches. Hopes.

You sip your coffee. Take a bite of the croissant. Even pluck the little flower from the tray, twirling it between your fingers.

Harry holds his breath.

Just as he starts thinking maybe, just maybe, he’s done enough—

You reach for your phone.

His stomach drops.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice calm but internally panicking.

“Checking if I can get a digital copy of the book you sent to a watery grave,” you reply flatly, eyes on the screen.

Oh, hell no.

Before you can so much as type in the title, Harry snatches your phone away.

“Harry—!”

“Just hear me out, love—”

He rolls onto his back, holding the phone high above his head like a petty, overgrown child. You scramble onto your knees, reaching for it, but he’s got longer arms and zero shame.

“Harry, give it back!” you huff, straddling his waist now, fully prepared to fight him for it.

He smirks. Oh, he likes this position.

“Can’t,” he says, tossing your phone onto the other side of the bed. Far away from your reach.

Your glare could set him on fire.

“Why the fuck not?”

He grins. "Because, angel… I’m much more fun than a book."

Harry may have successfully delayed your vengeful book shopping spree, but you’re persistent and still mad.

So, when he eventually gets up to shower, you stealthily retrieve your phone & ereader, curling up on a lounge chair outside. The private deck overlooks the sparkling blue ocean, but you barely notice it as you quickly download the digital copy of your book.

Victory.

With a smug little smile, you settle in. Sunglasses on. Drink beside you.

Finally.

Peace.

You barely make it two pages before your peace is shattered.

A shadow falls over your screen.

A large, wet, obnoxious shadow.

You glance up.

Harry stands before you, dripping wet, curls plastered to his forehead, wearing only his swim trunks.

Your jaw clenches.

He smirks. “Can’t believe you’re really choosing a book over me, love.”

You sigh heavily, shifting your sunglasses down your nose to glare at him. “I wouldn’t have to if someone hadn’t THROWN MY FIRST COPY INTO THE OCEAN.”

Harry winces theatrically, placing a hand over his heart as if you’ve just stabbed him.

“Oof. Still sore about that, huh?”

Your deadpan stare could strip paint from walls.

He licks his lips, eyes flicking toward your screen. “What’re you reading now?”

“My replacement copy,” you say pointedly, lifting the e-reader so he can see.

Harry snorts. “Oh, so you’re serious about this, then.”

“Dead serious.”

His grin widens.

And suddenly, before you can react, he scoops you up.

You yelp, e-reader slipping from your grasp as he lifts you effortlessly from the lounge chair, one arm under your back, the other beneath your thighs.

“Harry, DON’T YOU DARE—”

Too late.

He tosses you into the pool.

SPLASH.

The water is cool and shocking, knocking the breath from your lungs as you resurface, gasping.

Dripping. Spluttering. FURIOUS.

"YOU MENACE."

Harry, the actual devil, is leaning lazily against the pool’s edge, grinning like he just won an award for Best Boyfriend Ever.

“Had to make sure you were paying attention to me, didn’t I?”

You stare at him. Unblinking. Seething.

You lift a hand and splash a huge wave of water right into his smug fucking face.

He laughs, shaking his head like a wet dog, flinging water everywhere.

You cross your arms. “Buy me the whole fucking series, and I might consider forgiving you.”

Harry tilts his head, pretending to think.

Then he lunges, gripping your waist beneath the water, yanking you into him. Chest to chest. Nose to nose.

"How about I buy you the series," he murmurs, voice low and persuasive, "and you promise to read it to me?"

Your lips part slightly, breath catching at the way his fingers trace slow, teasing circles on your waist.

"Read it to you?"

He nods, lips ghosting against your jaw, trailing wet kisses down your neck.

“Every single word.”

For a brief, fleeting moment, he has you.

His voice is low, warm breath fanning across your damp skin, fingertips tracing slow circles on your waist beneath the water. You feel yourself leaning in, your resolve cracking, just a little.

And then—

Your e-reader, floating pitifully a few feet away, bumps against your arm.

You blink.

Your anger resurfaces instantly.

“Nice try, Styles.” You push a hand against his chest, untangling yourself from his grasp and wading away.

He groans, tipping his head back dramatically. “Oh, come on, angel—”

“Nope.” You snatch the e-reader, wiping water from the screen. “You don’t get to seduce your way out of this. You committed a crime.”

“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

You shoot him a glare over your shoulder as you climb out of the pool. “You murdered my book in cold blood.”

Harry grins as he watches you grab a towel, wrapping it around your waist before flopping back onto a lounge chair. “I did you a favor, really. Now you don’t have to waste time on it.”

“Oh, trust me,” you say, lifting your e-reader again, scrolling through your downloaded pages. “I’ll be making up for lost time.”

And just like that—you’re back to reading.

Game. Set. Match.

Or so you think.

Because Harry fucking Styles is nothing if not persistent.

Less than five minutes pass before you hear it.

The long, drawn-out sigh of a man who is deeply, deeply suffering.

You ignore it.

Then, another. Louder.

You shift your sunglasses up, peering over the rim.

Harry is flopped dramatically onto the deck, arms sprawled out, sunglasses perched on his nose, looking for all the world like a tragic poet wasting away on the sands of time.

You blink.

He sighs again.

Louder. More pained.

You press your lips together, willing yourself not to react.

Another sigh.

A groan.

A soft, tortured whimper.

You snap your book shut. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Harry immediately perks up, but quickly rearranges his face into an expression of pure, unfiltered melancholy.

"It’s just… hard, y’know?" he murmurs, voice thick with existential despair.

You roll your eyes. “What is, exactly?”

He exhales deeply, shifting onto his side, propping his head up on one hand.

“Knowing I’m not enough for you.”

You stare at him.

He sighs again, this time with even more dramatic weight, and throws an arm over his forehead.

Your eyebrow twitches. “Harry.”

“Don’t.” He holds up a hand, eyes still closed behind his sunglasses. “No, really, don’t. Nothing you say can fix this.”

“Oh, for the love of—”

“I’ll just be here.” He gestures weakly to the deck, as if it’s his grave. “Alone. Forgotten. Wishing I was a paperback novel.”

Your jaw drops.

“Harry, are you fucking serious?”

“Shh.” He presses a finger to his lips, as if shushing the wind. “No words. Just let me… waste away.”

You gape at him.

Before you can stop it, a laugh bubbles up.

Because this man is absolutely ridiculous.

He’s pouting beneath his sunglasses, sprawled out like he’s auditioning for a tragic French film, sighing dramatically every few seconds just to make sure you know how deeply, deeply unloved he is.

And it’s so absurd, so childish, so Harry, that you can’t even pretend to be mad anymore.

You set your book down with a sigh, shaking your head.

“Alright, Mr. Clingy. What do you want?”

Instantly, Harry moves.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you effortlessly onto him, your legs tangling as he buries his face in your neck.

"Want you to pay attention to me.”

His voice is warm, pleading, lips brushing against your skin.

You huff, but your fingers are already sneaking into his curls, combing through the damp strands.

He hums in satisfaction.

You sigh. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

He grins against your shoulder.

And just like that, he wins.

Or at least, he thinks he does.

But you’re still clutching your half-drowned e-reader, your mind half-focused on the chapters you were about to dive into before he decided to ruin your entire day.

And Harry sees it.

The way your gaze flickers, the way your fingers twitch, the way—despite the fact that he is literally wrapped around you—you’re still thinking about that bloody book.

He needs to up his game.

So, he pulls back, just enough to study you, lips pursing.

Then, with a dramatic sigh, he peels himself off you and trudges away.

You blink. “What—”

Without a word, he comes to a halt at the very edge of the deck, standing stiffly with his arms crossed.

He just stands there.

You frown.

He sighs again.

Louder.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

No response.

You sit up, eyeing him. “Harry.”

He shifts his weight, staring out at the ocean, deep in thought.

A slight breeze tousles his curls, his profile bathed in golden light, jaw set, lips pressed together like he’s contemplating the meaning of life.

You narrow your eyes.

Something isn’t right.

He doesn’t look like he’s scheming anymore.

He looks…

Genuinely sad.

“…Harry?”

His shoulders rise, then fall.

And then, he speaks.

"D’you even love me anymore?"

Your mouth falls open.

“What?”

His chin tilts up, sunglasses slipping down his nose as he turns to face you, brows drawn together.

“I mean,” he shrugs, lips pursing, “you barely even looked at me today.”

You stare at him.

He continues, voice quiet now.

“And, I dunno… I just—” He licks his lips, tilting his head. “I just can’t help but think… maybe you love the book more than you love me.”

Your eye twitches.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Am I?” His brows arch, eyes scanning your face.

And for the first time all day, there’s no trace of teasing.

No grin hiding behind his words, no sly amusement in his expression.

He looks…

Heartbroken.

Like a sun-kissed, brokenhearted rockstar who just got his heart trampled on.

Your chest tightens.

Because fuck—Harry might be a menace, and he might be a walking, talking distraction, but…

He’s also yours.

And despite all his ridiculous antics today, despite the drama, the sabotage, the destruction of personal property…

You do love him.

You sigh.

Then, slowly, you set your book aside.

Harry watches you carefully, his expression unreadable as you push yourself up to your feet.

You take a single step toward him.

Then another.

His lips part, but he doesn’t say a word.

And then—

You’re right in front of him.

You cross your arms, tilting your head. “Alright, Mr. Clingy. What do you want?”

For a moment, he just stares.

In an instant, he lunges.

His arms lock around your waist, pulling you in, your feet barely touching the deck as he buries his face in your neck.

You yelp, hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself.

His voice is warm, muffled against your skin.

“Want you to pay attention to me.”

You exhale, a soft, breathy laugh spilling from your lips.

He tightens his grip, nose nudging against your jaw.

You roll your eyes, but your fingers are already slipping into his curls again, tugging lightly.

And just like that—

He wins. Again.

But this time…

You let him.

You tilt his chin up, brushing your lips against his pout.

Soft. Lingering.

He sighs into it, melting.

And when you pull back, he chases after you, lips grazing yours once more, arms still locked around you.

You laugh, pressing another kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Alright, rockstar.” You smile. “You win.”

His eyes flicker, bright with mischief again.

“Good.”

Then, with zero hesitation—

He picks you up.

You barely have time to gasp before his arms tighten around you, one beneath your thighs, the other braced against your back, his grip possessive, effortless. He doesn’t just carry you inside, he owns every step, moving with the kind of confidence that sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. His body is warm, radiating with that sun-kissed heat, his skin smelling of salt, faded cologne, and the lingering remnants of sunscreen.

"Harry—"

He doesn't let you finish.

The villa is quiet, save for the sound of his footsteps against the wooden floorboards. Outside, the ocean crashes against the shore, the rhythm of the waves almost in sync with your pulse—fast, pounding, uneven. He walks like a man with purpose, a man who knows exactly what he wants and has no problem taking it.

The moment you cross the threshold of the bedroom, something shifts.

Your back barely brushes the mattress before Harry follows, taking you down with him in one smooth, fluid motion.

You land on top of him, thighs bracketing his waist, hands catching yourself against the firm planes of his chest. His body is all lean muscle and warmth beneath you, the faint sheen of saltwater drying against his skin, the slow, teasing press of his hands sliding down your back to your hips.

There’s no rush to it—not yet.

Just slow, drawn-out anticipation, a game neither of you are quite willing to lose.

Harry watches you, gaze heavy-lidded, a smirk tugging at his lips. His hands flex against your skin, like he’s resisting the urge to flip you over and take control. You can see it in the way his jaw clenches, the way his Adam’s apple bobs when you shift slightly, just to test him.

You lean in, letting your lips ghost over his jaw, the scent of him—salt and warmth and something inherently Harry—filling your senses.

"You know, H," you murmur, voice slow, syrupy, dragging each syllable like honey. "If you wanted my attention that badly, all you had to do was ask."

His smirk doesn’t waver.

If anything, it deepens.

"I think I’ve done more than ask, love."

His voice is husky, rough with amusement and something heavier underneath. His hands slide up your sides, the heat of his palms searing against your bare skin. He doesn’t push—just holds, just lingers, waiting.

Waiting for you to make the next move.

You tilt your head, pretending to consider it, even as you shift in his lap, the slow drag of your body against his drawing the faintest hiss from between his teeth. His fingers twitch, grip tightening, but he doesn’t move.

Not yet.

"Mm," you hum, tilting your head. "And you think you deserve a reward for that?"

Harry swallows, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

"Maybe?"

You let the silence stretch between you like a taut thread, watching as the tension builds in his body. It’s delicious—the way his muscles twitch beneath your fingers, how his breath comes just a little quicker, how his fingers flex as if resisting the overwhelming urge to grab at you.

His wrists are still pinned beneath your hands, right where you left them. He could move if he wanted to, if he really wanted to—Harry is stronger than you, faster, more than capable of flipping you over and taking control. But he doesn’t.

He stays still.

Obedient.

Because despite the cocky smirk lingering at the corner of his mouth, despite the teasing spark still faintly flickering behind his darkening green eyes—he knows exactly what you’re doing. He knows he fucked up. He knows you’re going to make him work for it. And worst (or best) of all?

He likes it.

"Maybe."

You whisper the word like a promise, drawing your nails down the center of his chest—not hard enough to scratch, just enough to make him feel it, to make him shiver beneath you. His breath hitches at the sensation, his muscles tensing before relaxing again, like he's trying to keep himself in check.

You drag your fingertips lower, following the trail of fine hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his swim shorts. You don’t dip beneath, not yet, just rest your hands there, feeling the warmth of his skin, the way his abs tighten with anticipation.

His jaw ticks.

You smile.

You shift slightly, just enough to press your weight down where he’s already hard against you, and he exhales sharply through his nose. His fingers twitch against the sheets, grip tightening, and you know—know—he's barely holding onto his self-control.

Good.

Leaning in, you ghost your lips over his jaw, not quite kissing, just enough to tease. He turns his head slightly, chasing the touch, but you pull back. His lips part in frustration, his brows pulling together as he lets out a quiet, ragged sound.

"Eager, aren’t you?" you murmur.

His throat bobs as he swallows. "Bit hard not to be, love," he admits, voice thick. "Sittin’ on me like this, teasin’ me—kinda cruel, don’t you think?"

You hum, pretending to think about it.

Then, just to be extra cruel, you shift again, rolling your hips ever so slightly against him, feeling the way he strains beneath you. The deep, guttural groan he lets out sends a shiver down your spine, pooling heat low in your stomach—but you don't let it show. Not yet.

His hands twitch again, rising instinctively, palms brushing over your thighs—only for you to catch them, pushing them back down onto the mattress.

"Ah ah," you tsk, shaking your head. "I don’t think you’ve earned that yet."

His eyes darken. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

"Yeah?" he rasps, testing you. "And what do I need to do to earn it, angel?"

You smirk, letting your fingers trail up his chest again, featherlight.

"Oh, I don’t know." You lean down, lips hovering just over his, close enough that you can feel his breath against your mouth. "Begging might be a good start."

Harry exhales sharply, his brows furrowing just slightly, like he’s debating whether or not to fight this, to push back. But you know he won’t. Not really.

Because this is exactly what he wants.

You can feel it in the way his body tightens beneath you, in the way his breath comes faster, in the way his hands stay right where you left them.

Still. Waiting.

Obedient.

You grin against his jaw, pressing a soft, teasing kiss just below his ear.

"Good boy."

The noise he makes is sinful.

It’s not just a groan—it’s something deeper, something visceral, something wrecked. You feel it in the way his whole body reacts, the way he tilts his head ever so slightly, exposing more of his throat to you.

Oh.

That’s interesting.

You tuck that reaction away for later, storing it deep in the back of your mind as you continue your slow, torturous descent.

Kissing. Biting. Licking.

Dragging your lips over the ridge of his collarbone, over the firm planes of his chest, trailing heat in your wake.

When you shift again, pressing down exactly where he needs it most, his hips buck up automatically—only for you to lift up just in time, denying him.

A choked-off noise escapes his lips, something between a groan and a curse. His hands fist in the sheets, the muscles in his arms flexing as he fights the instinct to grab you.

"Need something, H?" you ask, voice as sweet as honey.

His head tips back, eyes squeezing shut for a brief second before he looks at you again.

"Don’t be cruel, angel," he grits out. His voice is rough now, thick with frustration, a deep rasp that shoots straight between your legs.

You pretend to consider it, tilting your head.

Then, with an innocent smile, you say, "You threw my book in the ocean, remember?"

His reaction is immediate—a groan, deep and frustrated, his head dropping back against the pillow.

"Fuck, love, I know," he groans, dragging a hand down his face. "I’ll buy you the whole goddamn series—just—fuck, please—"

You bite back a grin.

He’s close.

So close to breaking.

But not yet.

Not yet.

You can see it—can feel it in the way his whole body is wired tight beneath you, in the way his fingers dig into the sheets, in the way his chest rises and falls with every ragged breath. His lips are parted, swollen from how often he’s bitten down on them in frustration, his curls a wild mess against the pillow.

His eyes—God, his eyes—are pure desperation now, pupils blown wide, swallowing every trace of teasing mischief that had been there before.

You’ve reduced him to this.

The thought sends a thrill down your spine, makes your own breath come a little quicker, your skin prickling with heat.

But you’re not done.

Not until he’s completely wrecked.

Not until he breaks for you.

You shift again, rolling your hips ever so slightly, and the groan that rips from his throat is obscene. He’s trembling beneath you now, his fingers twitching like they physically ache to grab at you, to flip you over, to take control.

But he doesn’t.

He waits.

Obeys.

"You’re taking this so well," you murmur, trailing your fingers down his stomach, watching how his muscles tense beneath your touch. "Maybe I should reward you after all."

His breath hitches.

And then—finally—you sink onto him.

His reaction is immediate.

A sharp, choked-off curse tears from his lips, his hands flying to your hips like he physically can’t stop himself. His fingers dig into your skin, hard enough that you’re sure there will be marks tomorrow, but you don’t mind. You want the reminder.

His head tips back, exposing the long, elegant line of his throat, and you take advantage—leaning in, pressing your lips against his pulse point, feeling the frantic beat of his heart against your mouth.

"Fuck," he groans, voice hoarse. "Fuck—angel—"

You giggle at his reaction, at the way he’s coming apart so quickly.

"That good, huh?" you tease, pressing another kiss just below his ear.

His grip on your hips tightens. "You fuckin’ know it is," he pants.

But you don’t let him set the pace.

No—this is still your game.

Your punishment.

So even though you’re desperate too, aching for more, you keep it slow.

You rock against him, agonizingly deliberate, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his brows pull together, the way his whole body is coiled tight with restraint.

"You’re so mean," he grits out, his breath coming in short, shallow pants. "So fuckin’ mean."

You laugh softly, dragging your nails up his chest. "Mean?" you echo, tilting your head. "I think I’m being generous, considering your crimes."

His hips jerk up instinctively, chasing more friction, but you deny him, lifting just enough to keep him wanting.

He nearly whimpers.

And when you clench around him—just once, just to make him feel it—his whole body shudders beneath you.

"Fuck—" he chokes out, his voice wrecked.

You smirk.

Now he’s the one breaking.

It’s cruel, really.

The way you keep just enough control.

The way you deny him just enough to make him ache, to keep him on that razor-thin edge between pleasure and madness.

You can feel it in every shudder that wracks his body beneath you, in the way his hands—normally so sure, so confident—are now trembling where they grip your thighs. You can see it in the way his face twists with pure, agonized need every time you slow down, in the way his lips part around half-formed pleas he can’t quite voice.

And then, of course, there’s the sounds he’s making.

The low, wrecked groans that scrape up from deep in his chest. The ragged, desperate panting as he fights to keep himself from snapping. The murmured curses, gasped into your skin like a prayer.

Your name—over and over again—a reverent, pleading litany on his lips.

It’s intoxicating.

It makes heat bloom low in your stomach, makes your own thighs shake just a little, makes your breath catch as your own pleasure coils tighter and tighter.

But you’re not done with him yet.

Not until he completely unravels.

So you pick up the pace.

You roll your hips faster, move against him with just enough force to make him lose that last thread of control.

And oh, God, does he fall apart.

His fingers dig into your skin, hard, needy. His grip tightens, almost bruising, as his body shudders beneath you, all restraint shattering at once.

"Fuck—"

The sound of his voice—wrecked, desperate, almost pained—sends a sharp jolt of pleasure straight through you.

You can feel the exact moment he breaks.

He surges up suddenly, gripping your waist and flipping you before you can even gasp.

Your back hits the mattress.

And then—before you can even catch your breath—he’s on you.

Over you.

Inside you.

And this time, he’s the one in control.

The first thrust is deep—so deep you arch up instinctively, gasping, clutching at his shoulders.

The second is just as devastating.

And the third—fuck.

He pins you down, his forearm bracing beside your head, his free hand gripping your thigh, hooking it around his waist to hold you open for him.

There’s nothing slow about it now.

Nothing teasing.

It’s needy, raw, consuming.

He fucks into you with purpose.

Like he’s staking a claim.

Like he’s making sure you never think about anything else ever again.

Like he’s rewriting your fucking soul.

And God, it’s working.

Your nails rake down his back, dragging hard enough to leave marks.

His jaw is clenched, his brows furrowed in pure focus, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Say it," he growls suddenly, his voice low, rough, demanding.

Your mind is spinning. "Say what?"

His fingers tighten on your thigh. "Say I’m better than your book."

A breathless, half-delirious laugh spills from your lips.

"You’re better than my book."

His lips crash against yours, hot, desperate.

"Say you forgive me."

"I forgive you—"

His next thrust knocks the breath from your lungs. "Oh, fuck, Harry—"

You’re so close.

And from the way his grip tightens, from the way his rhythm starts to falter, so is he.

His name rips from your throat, high and breathless, as he drives into you again, and again, and again.

It’s overwhelming—the heat of him, the weight of him, the sheer intensity in his gaze as he watches you fall apart beneath him.

And God, you are falling apart.

Your whole body is on fire, burning from the inside out, aching with every deep, deliberate thrust.

Harry can feel it—the way you’re unraveling, how close you are.

His hand slips between you, fingers brushing down your stomach, finding exactly where you need him most.

And then—fuck.

He presses down, moves his fingers in slow, firm circles, his pace never faltering, never relenting.

Your whole body shakes.

Your grip on him tightens—nails digging into his biceps, legs locking around his waist, pulling him deeper, keeping him exactly where you need him.

His rhythm is messy now, frantic, desperate, every movement a plea, a promise, a demand.

"Give it to me," he groans, his forehead pressed against yours. "C’mon, angel. Let me feel it."

It’s too much.

The heat, the pressure, the way he’s watching you—

Like you’re the only thing that exists. Like he’d burn the whole world down for you. Like you already own him.

And then you shatter.

It hits you like a tidal wave, a wildfire, an earthquake.

Your whole body tenses, pleasure crashing over you in heavy, shuddering waves, your back arching, your breath catching, your lips parting on a broken moan of his name.

And he follows.

His jaw clenches, his grip tightens, his body stiffens above you.

And then—a ragged, wrecked groan—

His face buries in your neck as he falls apart, spilling into you, gasping against your skin, his body shaking with the force of it.

For a long moment, neither of you move.

The only sounds in the room are harsh, uneven breaths, the pounding of your hearts, the distant crash of waves outside.

Then—slowly, like he’s afraid to lose the moment—Harry pulls back just enough to look at you.

His hair is a mess, damp and sticking to his forehead. His lips are red and swollen, parted on soft, uneven breaths.

But it’s his eyes that make your chest tighten.

Because for the first time tonight, they’re completely, devastatingly open.

And the way he’s looking at you—like you just rewrote his entire world—

It’s dangerous.

Because you know you’re looking at him the same way.

Harry doesn’t let you go.

Even now, with both of you sticky, sweaty, and utterly spent, his arms stay wrapped around you—one draped lazily across your waist, the other tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your back.

His chest rises and falls against yours, his breaths still a little uneven, his face buried in the crook of your neck like he never wants to move again.

For a moment, neither of you say anything.

You just exist there, tangled up together, skin pressed to skin, hearts still beating in sync.

His lips brush against your shoulder, soft and lazy and unbearably sweet.

Another.

Then another.

"So… d’you really forgive me?"

You smirk, eyes still closed. "Mm. Maybe."

His mouth stills against your skin.

A pause.

"Maybe?" His head lifts, green eyes narrowing in playful outrage.

You crack an eye open, smirking at his expression.

"Buy me the whole series and book us a few extra days here, and I might."

His lips twitch.

Then he grins, wide and victorious.

"Done." He nuzzles closer, arms tightening around you. "But only if you read them to me. Naked."

You laugh, soft and sleepy and so incredibly full.

Then, just because you can, you kiss him.

Slow, sweet, lingering.

"Deal."

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖

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