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#Harry styles
stylesnews · 22 hours ago
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Love On Tour 2021: Harry’s instagram posts.
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mr-styles · 23 hours ago
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LOVE ON TOUR 2021. Harry, Mitch, Sarah, Ny-Oh, Pauli, Niji, Elin 
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guccistyles · 18 hours ago
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Harry Styles: Love On Tour 2021 - Long Island, NY - November 28
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londonharry · 22 hours ago
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i am looking
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harryisart · 4 hours ago
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LOVE ON TOUR: Las Vegas / LA night 3 / Long Island
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satanhalsey · 18 hours ago
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Summary: The first look at Harry and Y/N's relationship was in This Is Us, the One Direction movie.
W/N: In honor of today being the last day of this is us on netflix latin america, here are small moments of Y/N in the movie.
"The final contestant who's made it through is..." Simon speaks. "Tom Richards."
Harry sighs in disappointment and grabs his beanie in frustration, he doesn't even listen to what the judges have to say and just walks angrily off stage.
He cries without caring about the cameras, and among the contestants, he looks for her. He takes off his beanie and wipes his tears with it, ignoring the camera in front of his face. He just wanted to go home.
"And then as I was, like, about to leave and they just called all five of our names out." Zayn says to the camera.
When he finds her, he throws himself into her arms and cries.
"Harry didn't have a clue, I remember he was just crying in Y/N's arms and him saying, like: 'Yeah, you kept us back because you wanna try and make us cry. We're young boys and we're all gonna be crying.'"
"Make a bit of good TV."
"It's okay, H. I know you'll make it one day, I promise you will." She whispers in his ear, stroking his back and the curls that escaped from the beanie. "Now go, they're calling your name."
"Your turn!" Johannah, Louis' mom, passes the marker to Y/N, and she takes it to write in the phone booth.
"I want a Louis one, and then at night, I can just go and say goodnight." Johannah points to Louis' cardboard and squeezes Y/N into her arms, who snuggles up against her. "At least I have one more daughter." She says.
The girl laughs, her heart full of love for her friend's mother, and hopes that scene has remained in the movie.
Luckily, it does.
"I am their dad on the road, we have a very good working relationship." Paul says. "The only issue I have is they're all a pain in the ass. Y/N included."
"Speed ​​it up, Louis. They're gonna catch us!" Y/N yells from the back of the cart and her friend listens to her, accelerating as fast as he can.
"Nothing to see here, sir!" He screams and they both burst into laughter
"Love, this way!" Harry grabs her hand and they run from the staff.
They both come to a gate, and he tries to go under it.
"Harry, really?" She sighs, unable to believe it.
Suddenly someone grabs her and she screams when Preston throws her over his shoulder, the same goes for Harry when someone else grabs him.
"Noooo!!" She says, dropping onto Preston's shoulder, who laughs.
She looks at her boyfriend, who has a pout on his lips. "Sorry, my fault."
"Back to the dressing room." The man says, and the young couple sighs.
Y/N is excited for this part of the movie.
They were able to go home and Harry's going to record bits of the movie there.
Now, they walk through one of the many places in the city of Holmes Chapel that they know well. Harry has an arm around his love's shoulders, not caring about the camera that records them.
"I like Holmes Chapel." He says, and she looks at him silently, listening intently. "Pretty much every other part of my life has changed, apart from coming down here. It's just exactly the same."
Y/N smiles, in love with him.
Recently, she began to notice the changes in him, as he stopped being a boy to be a man, as he changed his hairstyle, his physique, and the tattoos just continue to add to his body.
But she knows that he will always be the same with her.
"My first kiss was down there. I kissed a girl, like, a bit further down. We were, like, against a tree. It was pretty steamy." He points to the area in front of them. "I wish my first kiss would have been with someone else, though."
He pushes her playing, and she does it back laughing.
They both had their first kiss with someone else, but it didn't bother them. How were they going to know that one day they would meet the person they'd spend the rest of their life with?
"Don't worry my love, I promise you'll be my last."
She would never forget the name of W. Mandeville.
"I worked at the bakery, for about two and a half years."
"I remember... the years of leaving school and visiting Harry at the bakery is something that was a daily routine for both of us. Me in the school uniform helping him clean, take inventory, and more." Y/N says to the camera, having flashbacks.
"One seventy-six and your receipt."
He hands the money to a client, and his girlfriend smiles looking at him.
"He looks the same." She turns around and tells the camera, then continues sweeping. "Just a little bit older."
"And more handsome?" He asks, and the old ladies laugh.
"If it helps you sleep."
Y/N walks past Niall and her boyfriend, seriously thinking about how good he looks today.
She had to keep her hands to herself, because this was going to be in the movie.
They are in a forest in Sweden to camp, and she wanted to give the boys some time alone, but they threw tantrums like little children for her to go.
"It's not the same without you." Zayn had told her.
"Y/N and I are on pine cone duty." Louis said, and the two of them started kicking things off the ground.
"To be fair, when we make tents, we're normally the ones who just pretends to be busy the whole time." Y/N says, and her best friend laughs with her.
"Baby, come here, i'm cold." Harry snuggles up against Y/N in a small chair for the two of them.
It's already night, and they managed to set up the tents and the campfire.
"'Kay, bub." She answers him, and hugs him tighter.
"Do you think if one of us, wasn't in the band, though, the band would be this big?" Liam says, with a marshmallow in hand.
They all deny it, because it's the truth. They wouldn't be that big.
"I think when we look back at this, no matter what we do after this, we'll never, ever beat this." It's Niall's turn to speak.
"Yeah, but isn't that scary? If the best times of your life are now... that's crazy."
"Of a Benjamin Button thing, though? that we get to do it backwards, do you know what I mean?" Payne speaks again. "We get to go after this and then have a proper, normal life. Just have, like, a wife and kids. Do you know what I mean? don't you think that's quite nice? that's what I look forward to, if I look forward to anything."
Harry and Y/N get even closer to each other at the mention of marriage and children.
"So do you think, like, we're still gonna be mates?" Zayn asks, and Y/N sighs a bit sad, of course they'll still be friends.
"Of course, Z." She answers, and he smiles at her.
The boys also agree with her.
They talk more, and Harry joins the conversation, resting his chin on his girlfriend's shoulder to get a better view.
"Do you know what? It'd just be amazing to be remembered, like, even as a mum telling her daughter: 'The boy band at my time, One Direction, they just had fun.' Do you know what I mean? 'They were just normal guys but terrible, terrible dancers.'"
Everyone laughs at Louis' words, and Y/N caresses the arms that are wrapped around her waist that keep her still on Harry's lap.
She doesn't want this to end, she wants to continue having these moments with the five boys and to know that wherever she goes, she will always have them.
She just begs this doesn't end.
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mxlti-lover · 17 hours ago
Silent Treatment II
Summary: After coming home, Harry tries to talk to you and make amends with everything that happened, but you’re not having it.
Warning: Language, angst.
Word Count: 1.3k
Note: Again, this kind of sucks, so sorry. Here she is though!!🤍
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Your eyes stung at his words, 'clingy bitch'. You blinked away the tears shaking your head storming out of the arena. You had enough of his attitude and didn't want to see him until he was over this fucking mood swing. You called a taxi and headed back to yours and Harry's little home. Once you got their you headed straight upstairs to your room changing out of your clothes wearing nothing but a long T-shirt and your panties.
You laid in bed cuddled into the sheets thinking about everything that happened today, how supportive and helpful you were trying to be and he calls you a fucking clingy bitch?! You shook your head as you let the tears fall, you weren't necessarily sad, just really frustrated to the point where you just didn't want to deal with it anymore. But you loved Harry and you couldn't leave him over something so stupid and pathetic like this.                    
You slowly fall asleep as your body was really tired after such a stressful day with Harry.
• • •
You awoke as you hear the front door slam shut. You glance over at your alarm clock on your bed side table as it read 2:30 am. You rub your eyes and slowly get out of bed. You walk downstairs seeing Harry leaned against the counter drinking a glass of water. He looks up at you smiling softly.
'Why the hell is he smiling at me?' You thought to yourself. 'Does he not remember calling me a clingy ass bitch and being oh so mad at me earlier for trying to take care of him?'
"'M sorry it took so long for me to come home. The lads and I decided to stop and get snack before we went home." He says, his voice rough from singing. He walks over to you wrapping his arms around your waist.
You roll your eyes as you slip out of his grip, leaving him confused.
"It's fine." You mumble heading towards the kitchen to grab yourself something to eat.
"Is everything okay love?" He asks very confused as to why your all of a sudden being so distant with him.
You turn around glaring at him crossing your arms. "Is everything okay? Is everything okay?! Do you not remember what you said to me just a few hours ago? 'I don't need you're fucking help! So stop acting like a clingy bitch and just leave me the fuck alone,'" You repeat the words he said to you earlier, his face becoming pale.
"Now, You tell me if everything's fine!" You snap shaking your head at him.
"I didn't mean it baby. 'M sorry it was just in the heat of the moment. I-" He started to protest, but you stopped him.
"I don't want to hear it Harry. I get it I'm a "clingy bitch" for trying to be a good girlfriend and take care of you. I also don't care if it was in the heat of the moment, you still shouldn't have said that." You said shaking your head, your back still facing him.
You hold back your tears as you make yourself some toast. You were surprised when he didn't say anything, but you were also hurt that he didn't say anything else.
You turn around to glance at him, but you only got a glimpse of him walking up the stairs. You shake your head looking down at your feet as you let the tears flow down your cheeks again.
It wasn't fair the way he was treating you and he usually protests when you say bad things about yourself, like when you always say your thighs are to fat, or boobs and ass are to small, how you wished you had an hour glass figure and perfect body like every model you on television or in magazines. But he didn't do that after calling you a clingy bitch, after you admitting that you think you are one at times. He just walked away like nothing mattered.
You shake your head wiping your tears as you plate the now finished toast throwing it away as you lost your appetite. You sigh walking over to your home phone calling your best friend, Lia. You knew it was late and you felt bad, but you didn't want to stay here tonight.
After the first 5 rings she finally picked up...
"Hello?" She answers in a groggy, tired voice.
" can I stay at your place tonight?" You say in a quiet voice, your voice cracking slightly from all the crying and screaming.
"Of course you can girl, but what happened? Is everything okay?!" She asked as you could hear how concerned she was for you.
"I'll explain when I get there." You say sighing looking at your feet.
"Okay, bye girl. Love you." She says.
"Love you too." You say back as you hear her make a "muah" sound like she always does.
You smile weakly hanging up the phone sighing putting it down. You knew you had to go upstairs now and get the basic essentials as you know Lia will let you borrow some clothes, but you didn't want to face Harry, or hear his lame excuses.
You sighed as you woke over quietly heading upstairs. You walk into the room seeing Harry sitting at the edge of the bed, with his elbows rested on his knees, his hands tangled into his beautiful brown curls. He glances up at you when he hears your soft footsteps.
"Y/N I-" He started to say, but you just shook your head looking down walking into your guys' shared bathroom closing and locking the door behind you.
You grabbed your overnight bag and packed your bathroom supplies, toothbrush, hairbrush, makeup etc. You also grabbed your shampoo and conditioner as you honestly didn't know how long you would be gone
Once you had everything you walked out of the bathroom walking over to your drawers grabbing sweatpants to wear since you were only in your panties.
"Where are you going?" You bear Harry's quiet voice as you know he's watching you.
"Lia's.." You mumbled quietly as you grabbed some clothes and your phone and wallet.
"Y/N you cant just leave!" Harry tried to protest as his fastened saddened.
You turn to look at him shaking your head crossing your arms.
"Why shouldn't I Harry? So you can just keep calling me a clingy bitch? So you won't just let me help you when you're sick?! I'm done with this Harry! You didn't even try to talk to me about it! You didn't even try to protest against it! You just left me in the kitchen to ponder my thoughts! You know I always think about if I'm being to clingy, or if I'm not giving you enough of my love, if I'm a bad girlfriend, if I'm just like what everyone comments...a horrible girlfriend who doesn't even try to take care of you. To make sure you're happy. I'm scared to death that all of these are right or one of them is, and I don't want to lose you because of it. And clearly stated how you matter if you were dazed from being sick or if it was in the heat of the moment, it obviously had to be true if that's what was on your mind. Until I get my old caring boyfriend back, and until you can clear your mind of all the stress you have...that's when I'll come back. But for now...I just need to go Harry..." You express to him as your eyes burned from the tears you were holding back.
Before he could say anything to you, you grabbed the rest of your things and left him. Your heart broke when he didn't even try to chase after you or to stop you from leaving him, but at the same time you were glad he was letting you be. To let you think about everything along with leaving him to think everything through.
• • •
{taglist: @sophiaedits @britney-sunflower @queenmadi2 @blindedbythelightt @comatosedheart }
Thanks for reading! Sorry again that it sucks, I promise they will get better…plus i wrote this like 3 years ago😅
Feedback is wanted, like, reblog!
I hope you enjoyed!
I love you all!🤍
~ Paige
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thestylesindependent · 12 hours ago
Harry was mentioned in a clue on Jeopardy today!
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awideworldoffanfics · 4 hours ago
Milking the Grip
Pairing: Golf Dad!Harry Styles x Babysitter/Cart Girl!Y/N
Summary: “In golf, ‘milking the grip’ means to lighten and then tighten your grip on the club before beginning your swing in order to have the correct pressure to ensure a solid stroke”. In which, Harry Styles is a single father who plays golf every Tuesday and Y/N is his daughter’s babysitter who also happens to work at the golf course. 
Warning: SMUT. This is mostly smut, barely any plot; language, (legal) age gap; public indecency
A/N: This is a one-off fic based off some recent pics of Harry golfing. 
Once a week, on Tuesdays, self-control becomes absolutely necessary for Y/N.
The routine is normal and she’s been following it for about six months. Wake up at six, shower, get dressed, make coffee, gather her things for the day, drive the twenty-one minutes outside of the city to the house of one Mr. Harry Styles.
Yes. That Harry Styles. 
By word of mouth and mutual friends, Y/N wound up employed under the former singer’s payroll as a babysitter for his now two-year-old daughter. She only watches little Georgia every Tuesday. 7:30am to 7:30pm. It’s not a bad gig. Mr. Styles pays her plenty and never forgets to leave his card in case they want to go out to do something or get food. He always refers to it as the ‘Georgie and Y/N card’ because it only ever gets used on Tuesdays.
Every Tuesday, he goes golfing. One round, eighteen holes. Every single Tuesday for six months. It’s the only weekday he takes off, weekends spent doing absolutely whatever his daughter says. He golfs alone, or she assumes he does because he never mentions playing with anyone else. He’s got a premium membership at Valhalla Springs.
Which just so happens to be the golf course Y/N works at Thursday-Sunday. Those are the busy times, especially during the summer months.
They’ve never had to cross paths at the course, thank God, because she doesn’t think she’d be able to handle the mortification of her boss knowing her whole other job was to drive around the golf course selling beer to guys while wearing a skimpy skirt and low cut top so they’d tip her more. 
Jesus, she really doesn’t think she’d be able to handle him seeing her in anything other than bike shorts and a hoodie from Goodwill. 
“We play?” 
The red-cheeked toddler offers Y/N one of her baby dolls. She always looks as if she’s gotten a bit rosy from the sun or just laughed for ten minutes. 
“Of course.” Y/N takes the doll from her and slides down into the floor from the rocking chair.
Georgia is on a pretty routine schedule, especially in the evenings. Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday she attends an early-age Montessori preschool. On Tuesdays, she gets a break and gets to be at home all day with Y/N, where she wakes up at 8 to see her dad off for his golf day, gets French toast for breakfast, and then the day goes from there. But always, always, she eats dinner at 6, play time til 7 when she gets a bath, and then bed at 8. 
Georgia’s got a pretty active imagination and bright personality, which Y/N is sure she got from Mr. Styles. She doesn’t know anything at all about her mom and it seems like a ‘don’t ask-don’t tell’ sort of situation.
The little girl’s favorite doll is a rag doll with bright yellow yarn hair and oozes of Sharpie doodles all over her cloth skin. All the drawings are in black ink and all are placed in suspiciously the same spots as the tattoos her father sports.
Y/N has never seen a father and daughter so connected. Or so wildly in love with each other. Mr. Styles pretty much lived for the toddler and was righteously wrapped around her finger. Eagerly, he sought out advice on things single fathers needed to know about raising a daughter. He’s even asked Y/N to show him different ways to do Georgia’s hair so he can branch off from the little ponytail she’s almost always sporting. On the flip side, Georgia was thoroughly obsessed with her dad. She could consistently be found toddling along after him around the house, heartily singing his songs back to him. She could spend hours with washable markers, coloring in his tattoos. Playing hair salon and brushing his hair. 
They were each other’s whole world.
Downstairs, the front door opens and then swings closed. Georgia immediately drops her doll and jumps up to her feet. “Daddy!” Her legs are going at one speed, her mind another. Before an accident can happen, Y/N sweeps her up into her arms.
“C’mon, let’s go show Daddy what we made for dinner.”
Georgia is squealing with excitement the whole way down to the kitchen. Her chubby little arms flailing and two pigtails whipping around and nearly smacking Y/N in the face. By the time they get down to the kitchen, Mr. Styles is poking around the covered casserole dish. 
His whole face lights up the second he looks at his daughter. “Georgie! C’mere, little love.” He takes her from Y/N’s arms and snuggles her to his chest. “Missed you! Did you two have a good day?” The last bit he asks to Y/N as Georgia is half-strangling him with a hug. 
Y/N nods resolutely. It never fails that she has to prep herself a few seconds before speaking actual words to him. Not only is he a great boss and an even better father to his daughter, Mr. Styles is wicked hot and viciously sweet. Almost gives her a toothache. 
Slowly, with much precedented ease, she recounts their day. The usual French toast breakfast, followed by a playtime at the park, fish and chips for lunch near the pond and feeding the ducks, a few hours at the zoo and then home for dinner and playtime. 
Now, here they stood. 
“It’s tortellini.” She gestures to the press-and-seal covered dish. 
“Huh?” He’s just sat Georgie down and now the little girl is toddling off for a few more stolen minutes of playtime before her inevitable bath. 
“The casserole,” Y/N leans against the counter, “it’s baked tortellini.” 
So what if she made his favorite dish? Well, perhaps not his favorite, but it’s the one he always showers with twelve dozen compliments and sometimes even requests. It’s not as if she’s trying to seem more domestic than she is. God, she is rather domestic, though, isn’t she? At home all day- well, every Tuesday but who’s asking- with a toddler and cooking all his favorite homemade meals for when he finally returns from a long day of golfing. 
There’s a certain shine in his eyes when he looks back at her after glancing at the casserole. “You’re a damn angel, know that? Did you eat?” 
She wants to lie and say yes, because sometimes he gets onto her a bit sternly if she forgoes a meal. But Georgie was being a touch obstinate at dinner, which meant Y/N never even touched her plate. It’s still sitting covered up in the microwave.
He doesn’t miss her indiscreet glance at the microwave. 
“Stay and eat with me.” He doesn’t give it as a suggestion and she doesn’t take it as one. “I’ll go give Georgie her bath, put her to bed, and we can eat.”
He clicks his tongue. “Not takin’ no for an answer, love. Heat mine up with yours?”
For twenty minutes, she fidgets around the kitchen. It’s a lot of mindless, haphazard nonsense. Obsessively, she checks the time on her phone between scrubbing already spotless countertops, rearranging the inner contents of the fridge, making sure the dishwasher is loaded fully and neatly. She plays with the little ceramic figurines that sit in the kitchen window, poking the oversized head of a mid-2010s-boyband-era Harry. 
When she hears him singing the last bit of a lullaby, she pops both plates into the microwave so that they’re coming out hot as he’s coming back downstairs. He’s sliding into a barstool at the counter as she’s sliding him a plate and they’re both wondering when they got in this synchronous pattern with one another.
Handing him a fork and decided to bite the bullet and sit down next to him, her stomach rumbles with something that isn’t quite an appetite for food. 
There’s a reason she likes to leave as soon as possible whenever he returns home. 
“Saw you got ‘Employee of the Month’ for this month.” He doesn’t speak with his mouth full of food. Rather, he waits til he’s swallowed twice after, and still keeps his mouth covered. “Must be a helluva waitress.”
So...maybe she told a baby teeny tiny lie and said she worked in the club restaurant. So what? It wasn’t as if they’d ever run into each other there. He only golfed on Tuesdays and she was always watching his kid on Tuesdays.
Her ass was covered. 
Not at the golf course, but.
“Uh huh.” She nods slowly. “I mean...I try? It’s not like it’s hard.” 
The hardest part was trying not to sock creeps in the face when they tried to get too handsy. Other than that, it was pretty cut and dry. Except...except he thinks she’s a waitress and not a beer girl. And those are two wildly different jobs. 
“Georgie and I will have to come see you sometime. Maybe we could schedule it near your break and you could have lunch with us?”
Well, fuck her. 
As he pulls a half-empty bottle of white wine from the fridge and pours it into two glasses, she numbly agrees to his idea. If he’s serious, she’s going to need a concrete date so she can dress the least amount of promiscuous possible. The last thing she wants is for him to show up with her whole chest spilling out of an undone golf zip up and her ass cheeks breezing from under a size-too-small tennis skirt and effectively lose her Tuesday babysitting gig.
“You work weekends, yeah? Every weekend?” He watches her take a sip of her wine.
“Yup. Thursdays through Sundays.”
He nods thoughtfully and off-handedly but ever so sincerely mentions how stellar the casserole is. As always, he adds.
“Well,” she smiles goofily, “I only make it so often because you like it so well.” She doesn’t realize just how goofy the words make her sound, how childish, until she’s meeting his gaze and her cheeks are growing warm.
Contrary to what she thinks, he doesn’t seem upset or uncomfortable, fazed at all, hell, or even surprised by her admission. Fuck, he looks almost...happy.
Maybe she imagines it or maybe she doesn’t, but his stool seems a bit closer to hers. 
“You’re too good to me.” He says softly, hooking his foot under one of the bars of her stool. “Should find a way to make it up to you.” With a satisfying lurch, he exerts a force with his leg that pulls her stool closer to him so that their knees are touching. 
“I, uh...” Is it just her or did the room just heat up twenty-six degrees? Her eyes dart around the room. She can’t say this isn’t a scenario she’s imagined happening ever since she started working for him. It’s encompassed most of her daydreams and all of her most sordid nighttime dreamscapes. 
Okay, not this scenario exactly, but the end result is always the same. The idea is always the same.
His hands, on her. Feeling, touching, pleasuring. Gripping, grasping. Blunt fingernails digging, anchoring for a hold.
His mouth, bubblegum pink lips and tongue to match. Perfect white teeth nipping at her lips, her throat, any piece of skin available, manageable. Lips canvassing and ravishing the entire scape of her body. God, she’s looking at his mouth now and wondering just what it feels like to have his tongue in her-.
“M’gonna tell you somethin’.” His voice breaks the salacious train of thoughts headed nowhere but south, south, south. “Actually,” he murmurs, “better I just show you.”
One second she’s staring blankly at him and the next his hand is wrapped around her neck and his mouth is on hers. 
Holy fuck. Somehow, it’s everything and nothing she thought it would be. His lips are velvet soft, yes, as imagined, and he tastes like expensive wine and cheese alfredo sauce. But there’s a lingering morsel of cinnamon, or peppermint. And his tongue...she didn’t know tongues could move inside another person’s mouth like that.
And then her mind takes the L-Train back to its worst thoughts and how exactly his tongue would move if the situation escalated and he was on his knees below her, looking up with blown pupils and a slick mouth.
His other hand squeezes her upper thigh, pulling her closer. She sees no fluke, no accident. He meant this. He means this. It’s only logical...right? Yes, it’s only logical that she card her own fingers into his hair and take a fistful of his polo into her grasp.
“Fuck,” happens to be the word he moans into her mouth as his hand dips up under her sweatshirt, “don’t know how long I’ve wanted to-.”
Upstairs, there is a considerable thump, following by the distinct solemn and sleepy cry of a two-year-old girl. 
Y/N rockets back from him- her boss- and finds that his own chest is heaving, same as hers, as if they are two teens caught feeling each other up in the back row of a movie. His eyes rove over her face but he doesn’t remove his hands. She doesn’t displace hers either.
“Stay,” his voice is hoarse, crackling and sparse, “just...a minute. I’ll be right back. Don’t...” he’s already sliding off the stool, “please wait.”
It’s a heart-crunching and soul-splintering eleven minutes. She watches the minutes tick by on the stove clock. Her heart begins to slow down when minutes three and four ebb away. By minute six, she’s cursing herself as rational thought makes its grand reappearance. 
Her boss. She was just making out with her boss. Her boss, who is a solid eight years older than her. Her boss, who has a kid! Her boss, who was once so famous, even a face mask, sunglasses, and a baseball cap couldn’t hide him. Her boss, who doesn’t even know what her real actual job is. 
She knows the difference between like and lust. She’s been at the crossroads plenty enough times to know one from the other, and when they intersect. So, she is fairly certain this is not a crossroads, it is not a perpendicular line. They are parallel from each other. 
She likes. He lusts.
It’s a bad, bad combination considering she works for him. Only if they were on the same page...But they aren’t.
When minute ten comes, she’s on her feet. By the time minute eleven is over, she’s out the door.
It’s 10:52 on a Saturday when all hell breaks loose.
There are four cart girls scheduled to work the 9-9 shift: Y/N, Vylet, Desi, and Harlowe. Normally, there are two. They alternate the first nine holes and the last nine for the shift, having a crack at the different guys. But four...? No way in hell.
Not to mention, three of the caddies are out ‘sick’. Y/N has a pretty profound assumption that Belmont and Corinne are actually playing hooky and getting it on, since he’s out and she was scheduled to work with Y/N but without warning, Desi showed up in her place at 8:50. 
Now Hessman...Y/N knows he’s sick. Doesn’t doubt it for a minute. He never misses. He’s the best caddy, high demand. And he’s special. Because, he, like her, is a hand-picked person chosen to provide a service to Harry Styles. The babysitter and the caddy.
He’s never had a different babysitter. Or a different caddy. 
“Oh. My. God.” Harlowe’s fruity scented bubblegum pops loudly. “Hey, hey,” she sharply nudges Y/N in the ribcage, “getta look at Mr. Sex-On-Legs.”
For the past fifty-two minutes, Y/N has been holed up at the little shop stand inside the club, Harlowe at her side. Not really listening at all, she’s left her ears deft to whatever unimportant prattles Harlowe deems significant enough to provide. All the while, she’s really been keeping herself entertained by replaying vivid recollections of Tuesday night. Over and over. And over. And over.
Mr. Styles. Her boss. Her boss that she made out with. Her boss she was probably two seconds away from fucking on his kitchen counter. 
She’s been fielding his calls the past few days. She doesn’t know what she would say. Worse, she doesn’t know what he will say. She’d rather just wait until Tuesday to find out, after the wound has festered for a week.
Absently flipping to the next page of Golf Digest, Y/N looks up from the magazine so her eyes can land on whoever Harlowe has cornered with her vixen gaze. 
The man, Mr. Sex-On-Legs, is just that. Listening to Coates, the course manager, with a stoic and stern face half-shadowed by stubble and a bubblegum pink set of lips. His emerald green polo is one she picked up from the dry-cleaners two weeks ago and numerous times she’s fingered over the Gucci belt now secured around khaki pants. The heavily tattooed arms and broad-shoulders fill out the polo a bit too well. Chocolate brown curls are held back by a pair of caramel shaded Gucci sunglasses she’s picked up off the kitchen counter a dozen times over. He has no clubs, only a set of cart keys in his grasp.
“Fuck me.” She breathes, dropping the magazine.
Tuesdays. He golfs on Tuesdays. Only Tuesdays. Always Tuesdays. And in case he hasn’t noticed, it’s not goddamn Tuesday! It is fucking Saturday!
She spares a glance at the clock. Not eleven. She has no escape. Fuck, and her clothes...Damn her ego for slipping into the crowd favorite outfit this morning. A low-cut white halter that’s probably a size too little, tucked into a tiny and clad black skirt that definitely should have been a skort. And her hair, Jesus, she’d really overdone it with the French braided pigtails.
He frowns at something Coates says and then nods dispassionately. His eyes glance around the room, skirting over her and she thinks she’s saved until he does a double-take and zeroes in on her. 
The corner of his mouth irks up in a way that makes her head spin and her stomach cinch in an all too familiar sense.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
There’s nowhere to hide. She is made. Had. Caught red-handed in her lie. Now he will know she is not a waitress. 
He beelines, plastering a wicked smile on his face when he reaches the counter and leans across it. 
Coates is looking at her. Harlowe is looking at her. Mr. Styles is looking at her. And she is getting hot.
“Mr. Styles.” It’s her most polite voice. Reserved only for golfers under 21, or women. “It’s not Tuesday.”
“My mum’s got Georgia for the day. Figured I’d seize a great golf day while I had it but-.”
“Hessman’s not here.” She says softly. 
The caddies talk about it all the time. He wants Hessman, only Hessman. No one else will do. Apparently, he paid five hundred dollars to pull Hessman from another player once. 
Yes, he’s just that good a caddy. Not to mention dead funny and killer at strip poker after he’s had a few Modelos. 
“As I was saying,” Coates continues, “we have plenty of exceptional young men who would be just as great to you as Jesse is.”
Harry shakes his head. “No, no. I can’t golf without him. I’ll just...It’s fine.”
Coates’ face, and Harlowe’s for that matter, falls exponentially. Coates grimaces and then seems to really see Y/N. He glances down at the forgotten magazine at her feet and instructs her to pick it up.
Hastily, she swoops down and swipes it up, not realizing the full display of her tits she’s just given both her bosses. At least Coates seems to ignore it. But Mr. Styles...he’s watching her, dark green eyes ravenous and dark. 
“Actually, Mr. Coates, I think I will golf today.” He says brightly, twirling the cart keys between his fingers. “A caddy, I think, and I’m all set to go.”
Coates grins at him. “Of course, Mr. Styles! Let’s see...We have...” He gives Y/N a pointed look. Buffoon doesn’t even know who’s on the schedule. No wonder they wound up with four cart girls. 
At least she does. 
She recites everyone available, “Jamison, Kollings, Frehly, and Diamond.”
Coates nods thoughtfully. He’s halfway to suggesting Mr. Styles take Frehly, when Harry cuts him off.
“How ‘bout you?”
And he’s looking right at Y/N.
Her skin burns white-hot under his stare and she shifts her weight. 
“Y/N is a beverage cart girl, she’s not a caddy.” Coates tells him.
Simply, and rather sternly, Harry says either she caddies for him or he doesn’t golf. The decision is made because there’s no way in hell Coates is going to argue with one of their most prolific members. She swipes a white visor from the shelf and situates it on her head. Coates gives her a warning look, don’t-mess-this-up. 
Silently, she follows Harry to his cart and slides in next to him.
“You and I,” he says in a low voice, “have very different ideas of waitressing.” The cart lurches to a start and he puts the pedal to the metal to head to Hole One. Except, he doesn’t turn down the right path. Or a path at all. He veers the cart to the left, quite literally off the beaten path, and drives a few minutes to safe seclusion among thick, tall trees. 
“Harry, Y/N. We’ve had our tongues down each other’s throats so I believe you can call me by the first name.”
Surely he wouldn’t allow this if he was about to fire her. Right? 
She gnaws gently on her bottom lip, steadying her stare to a tree behind him. “Are you going to fire me, Harry?” The words come out as soon as her eyes are back on him.
He cocks an eyebrow, turning off the cart. “Why would I fire you?” He asks just as quick.
All it takes is a simple gesture to her outfit, the ever symbol of her actual job at the golf course. You know, the one she lied to his face about for several months. 
Not for the first time, he gives her choice of clothing an appreciative once-over. This one takes longer, no longer in the company of Coates and Harlowe. Harry goes so far as to take the end of her braid between his fingers before carefully letting go. 
“So,” he leans back against the seat, “what is it, then? You ashamed of the job or was it just me who wasn’t allowed to know?” 
She shrugs. Delicately, she explains that she likes her job at the course. She sees nothing wrong with what she does, and really, it’s more innocent- well, harmless than it appears. Harry, almost bitterly, says it sounds like she just didn’t want him to know. 
His tone placates her into silence. Further, when he says, “I wish you hadn’t left the other night.” He doesn’t give her another chance to speak before he’s turning the cart back on and heading towards the path. 
Harry, for whatever it’s worth, probably should not be staring at his babysitter’s ass. 
He’s never done it before. Okay, rewind. He’s never done it before so blatantly. Sure, he’s snuck a peak every now and again when she’s at the house and he’s always been thoroughly repentant after doing so. But this...This is different. 
His mum had offered to take Georgia for the day. The two of them and his sister were going to have some sort of at-home girls’ spa day. Suddenly with a rare free day, he decided to seize a chance he wasn’t sure he’d get again. It wasn’t by want of golfing that he wound up at Valhalla Springs. It was want of seeing Y/N.
She’s been avoiding him the past few days and it’s left a stone in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed her? No, no. Perhaps he should’ve asked? And, maybe he should have made it abundantly and crystal clear that he did not want to only fuck her.
Not to say he didn’t because he did- he does, in fact. Just, in retrospect, he should have explained things on his end a bit further. Once a week was slowly becoming not enough to see her. She was invading his thoughts and always, he thought he smelled rose oil shampoo. 
Most people would probably say it wasn’t decent, how he was beginning to feel about a woman who was a solid eight years younger than him. But Harry for the life of him can’t remember the last time he gave a fuck about what other people thought was decent. Or thought at all.
Her legs tense and the muscles expose themselves when she gets on her tiptoes to slide his 3-iron back into the bag. His head tilts, craning over for a not-so-guilty view of her ass. 
“Which do you want?” She spins back around to face him and he loses the time to recover himself. There’s no time to make up a story or to act like he wasn’t just trying to use x-ray vision to see underneath the material of that teeny black skirt.
Her mouth quirks up but she doesn’t say anything. 
Honest to fucking God, he’s never been so wound up. His clothes feel uncomfortable everywhere and he’s constantly having to hide the fact that he’s got a rock-hard boner. It’s been nothing but nine holes of her tits threatening to spill out the top of her shirt, peeks of her asscheeks from beneath her skirt, and he can’t count the amount of times they’ve brushed against one another at his club bag. 
He’s never seen her in a skirt so stupid short before and he’s half tempted to ask if it’s maybe a skort but based on the amount of times he’s seen a piece of flesh, he’s teetering towards a no. No way that’s a skort.
“Don’t know your clubs?” He shakes his head. He’s sure fucking glad Hessman is out sick- not that he’s sick, of course- but he does miss having a caddy who actually knows his shit. Not that he’d trade this extra time with her for anything. 
“Well, I’ve never played before so. No.” 
It’s hard for him to hide the incredulous shock that sits in. She’s never even played golf? “How are you gonna work at a golf course and you’ve never bloody played golf?”
Almost like she knows what she’s doing, or at least has the confidence to pretend she does, she takes a 3-wood from the bag and places the head on the grass, leaning on it. “I sell beer, Harry.” A rush of blood jolts straight to his cock every time she says his name. Fuck him, honestly. “Knowing how to play golf wasn’t exactly a pre-requisite.”
He can’t put into words how much he adores her quick-witted and fiery nature. She’s never been like this with him before. He should’ve started golfing on Saturdays a long time ago. 
“No,” he smiles, “guess not. Just great tits and a bum that looks good in a skirt?” 
One of her eyebrows arches up. She swings the club back up and hands it to him head first. “It’s hot as shit out here and you’ve still got nine holes to go. Let’s wrap it up, Mr. Styles.”
Two holes later, he can’t count on his fingers the amount of times she’s made a point to bend over, stretch her arms, brush her ass against him. If she’s playing a long game, he’s far too impatient for that. 
Worse, he really does not give a damn about this round of golf any longer. All he wants is to bend her over that cart and fuck the shit out of her.
“Wanna try?” 
She looks up from her cuticles. “Try what?”
He motions to the fairway. “Golf.” He raises his club. “Hitting a ball.”
She shakes her head, laughing loudly. “No way in hell.” She tosses a braided pigtail over her shoulder. “I’d probably strain a muscle or something. Not to mention embarrass the hell outta myself.”
He promises not to laugh if she does. “C’mon, Y/N. I’m not gonna last much longer out in this heat and if you’re gonna caddy for me, you gotta hit once.”
Briefly, he wonders if she’s allowed to do that. Hessman’s done a few shots near every time, but maybe the rules are different for caddies and cart girls. After all, caddies actually have to know the game and per her saying, cart girls only need to know beer brands.
She eyes the club clutched in his right hand. “You ever make Hessman play with you?”
He shrugs, says it’s never really a round of golf if his caddy doesn’t pull a few shots down the green. With a dramatic, over-exerted sigh, she relents. She stretches her hand to take his club and he examines the length of her arm. Maybe not the 5 wood...If she managed to hit it, he wanted the distance to be pretty decent. 
“Hold on.” He motions.
Doing her job for her, he swaps out the 5 wood for the 3. He nods approvingly before handing it to her. 
“You know,” she swings it nonchalantly back and forth, “I don’t even know how to hold one of these.” She kicks her foot out and stops the head of the club with it. Her sneakers are in pristine condition, sparkling white with not a scuff to tarnish. Even her crew socks are impeccably white. 
“All right. I’ll help. Just the once and then it’s all you, ‘kay?” 
He aims his pointer finger for the far-off Hole 11 flag in the distance, reminding her where to aim her shot. Clearing his throat, he saddles up behind her. Like always, she smells of rose oil shampoo and a faint sheen of sweat. Baby hairs stuck to the back of her neck, either having escaped or never made it into the twin French braids. 
It takes everything in him not to bury his nose in the nape of her neck.
She drops the head of the club to the ground, right hand on top of left at the grip of the club. Completely wrong. 
“M’gonna touch you now.” He mumbles. “To, um, to reposition...” She doesn’t say anything. Wrapping his arms around her from behind, he pushes her hands closer together. “Your right pinky and left forefinger, they intertwine. Yeah,” he nods as she gets the hang of it, “like that.” His cheek brushes against her temple as he leans forward. “Tighten that left arm up good and straight, love. Right arm needs to be loose, keep the elbow bent.”
“But I’m right handed.” The words are spoken directly into his ear and it’s only then that he realizes her lips are grazing his earlobe.
“Uh-huh.” He stiffens, dick hardening in his trousers. “Your opposite arm’s gonna be your powerhouse. All the force of your swing’s gonna come from that left arm. Here,” he puts his hands on her shoulders and forces the right one down, “keep this on dropped a bit...yeah, there ya go.” She keeps her shoulder low. 
He glances down at her feet. They should be a shoulder’s width apart, but they aren’t. They’re too close together. Wrapping one arm around her tummy to keep her steady, he kicks his foot between hers to separate them further. 
“Perfect stance.” He murmurs, nose not so accidentally bumping behind her ear. 
Her hands tighten and relax on the grip of the club over and over. As if she’s not really prepared to actually swing it. 
“Milking the grip an awful lot there, love.”
“What?” She spins her head around so fast their noses knock together. 
He doesn’t remove his hand from around her waist. His other is resting ever so close to her bare thigh. If he moved, just a fraction...
“Milking the grip...” his words are failing him, “readjusting your grip before you swing. You’re doing it a lot.”
“Oh.” She wavers the club a little, slacking her grip once again and removing her left hand. “What kinda club is this? Wood, right?” She bats her eyelashes innocently, with a demure smile and shining eyes to match. 
And for a moment, just a brief, fleeting moment, he feels caught. Trapped. She’s done this before. And he’s been an idiot to not realize until now. Honestly, he applauds her for the sheer cheek and brass of it. Saddling up to complete strangers and using fake innocence and short skirts and close proximity to charm them out of their wallets. 
He really doesn’t care enough to feel that bad about his situation. He’d played right into it and wasn’t that what he wanted anyway? To be here, like this, with her? It just so happened she was a lot better at this than he’d given her credit for. 
Harry lets his hand fall against her thigh. The tips of his fingers run up the warm, soft skin until he meets the edge of her skirt. “Good girl,” he breathes into her ear, “pretty and smart.” As if an accident, as if she hadn’t meant to, her left hand bumps against the crotch of his pants. “S’good for distance. But lighter than an iron, so you gotta swing...hard.” He chokes out the last word when she intentionally lets out a quiet moan. 
Speaking of woods and things that are hard...He swears he’s never been this turned on in his fucking life. His cock is throbbing, painfully, and his whole body is sensitive to touch and covered in clammy sweat. One move from her and he’ll be cumming in his khakis. 
His name, from her lips, almost does the job.
“That a club you’re holding between us or-?”
He can’t even stop himself from saying it, “M’hard as a goddamn rock, Y/N.”
“Oh. Okay.” She unwinds herself from his grasp and steps away two feet. “So,” she bounces on the balls of her feet twice before planting them firmly on the ground, shoulder width apart with her right foot slightly behind her left, “how do you feel about betting?”
“Betting?” He croaks out as she readjusts her grip on the club. Holding her hands the way he told her to, right shoulder dropped, elbow bent, and her left arm firm and straight.
“Yeah.” She nods succinctly. “Say...Say I swing, get a hole in one. What would you give me for it?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Me. I’ll fuck the shit out of you.” 
A satisfied smile places itself on her face. “And if I don’t? Make a hole in one, anyway.”
“I’ll fuck the shit out of you. But not right now.”
She clarifies the terms. If she makes a hole in one shot, they have sex. If she does not make a hole in one shot, they have sex. At a later date. He agrees, no hesitation.
Y/N doesn’t ask for luck. In this scenario, she doesn’t need it. No matter what, they’re both getting what they want. 
She eagle-eyes the Hole 11 flag and then drops her head to keep an eye on the ball he placed on a tee so long ago. She bends her knees, just so, arched a little and yes, he does check out her ass.
And then she swings.
The shot is perfect. Undeniably so. Everything about it. The backswing, the force, the actual clink of metal to ball, the arc. Everything. It soars and soars across the green and he sees it disappear near the flag. 
Without a word, she spins around and puts the club in the bag. She slides into the cart and shoots him an expectant look.
The drive to the hole is quiet and tense. They don’t touch but he still feels electric. Once they reach the hole, she hops out of the cart. He doesn’t see the ball until he actually looks in the hole.
There’s no way in-.
“I was a state champion in golf three years in a row. Collegiate level and everything.” She says simply. 
He was in a deeper trap than he ever imagined. 
The last seven holes on the course don’t matter. One thing matters now.
Wordlessly, they get back into the cart. This time, it’s all hands on skin, dipping up under her skirt, in his pants, as he veers the cart once again off the beaten path and into the seclusion of the trees. He drives far enough in that no one will see, no one will hear.
The second he turns the car off, she’s scooting over and placing herself in his lap. With unprecedented ease, she tugs his shirt off and tosses it in the back, letting it land on his club bag. He wastes no time, jerking forward and slotting their mouths together. 
“Touch me. Please.” She moans into his mouth.
He’s happy to oblige. Harry removes her own shirt and doesn’t care to see where it goes. He’s less than gentle running his hands over bra-clad tits before removing the obstruction totally. 
She rolls her crotch against his when he takes one of her nipples in his mouth and nips at it. Unthinking, he ruts his hips upward. His hand finds its way back under her skirt, navigating under her panties and, without warning, two fingers push into her pussy. 
Y/N lets out a hitched breath, dropping her forehead against his. “Oh.” His thumb presses circles against her clit. Her fingers claw into his shoulders. “Fuck-fuck me.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. 
It wasn’t as difficult as he imagined it might be, holding onto her, kissing her, getting out of the cart and then laying her across the hood of it. 
“I don’t have-.” Protection. He doesn’t have a condom. He hadn’t exactly arrived at the golf course with the intent of fucking his babysitter. Yes, he had shown up to see her, maybe get lunch and after her shift, go back to his place. But, no, his trip to play golf today was not centered around being balls deep inside her, right off the cart path of the course.
It was just a very happy bonus.
“Implant.” She motions to her arm.
That’s the go-ahead he needs.
She shimmies out of her skirt and panties all in one move. The jingle of his Gucci belt rings in his ears as he undoes his pants and pushes them and his boxers down to his knees. One look is all she needs to confirm her months long suspicion. He’s packing.
Hand wrapped around her knee, he jerks her forward to the edge of the cart hood before leaning down. He seals his mouth to hers and, at the same moment, pushes into her.
“Oh, my God.”
She writhes, arching up, as he slowly pulls out and then quickly pushes back in. Sweat pools between their chests. His thumb has not neglected to continue ministrations to her clit. All the while, his other hand is wrapped around her neck, squeezing lightly and keeping her mouth on his.
“Fuck,” he groans against her jaw, “ than I’d ever...Jesus H. Christ.”
The large butterfly tattoo that spans across his upper abdomen ripples as his hips snap against hers repeatedly. In the moment, she regrets nothing but not staying when he asked Tuesday night.
Her stomach cinches up. His fingernails are blunt against the column of her throat and she’s losing feeling in her toes, maybe. 
She’s not exactly new to the act of sex, but she’s not exactly wildly experienced either. But of all her times, it’s never felt like this. Y/N didn’t even know it was supposed to feel this good. 
She’s been so lost in the revelation of her own pleasure that she’s missed whatever he just said. “Huh?”
His smile is brilliant, revealing pearly white teeth and he lets out a shuddering laugh. Harry removes his hand from her throat and uses it to push her upper body so that she’s leaned up towards him. He sweeps a sweat-dampened braid off her to her back and burrows his face in the place where her neck and shoulder meet. 
His teeth nip adoringly into her skin. His nose brushes up the side of her neck, forcing a chill down her spine. Teeth graze against her earlobe. “Go on a date with me tonight.”
Was that what he said?
A date? He wanted...he wanted a date?
“A date.” 
The motions of his hips slow into a residual but no less impactful roll. “Yeah.” He huffs out. “Lemme take you out.” Regretfully, she informs him that she doesn’t get off work ‘til 9. “I can wait. Or tomorrow?”
He means, she knows now, an actual date. Not explicitly her going to his house so that...this can happen again. Not that she would mind because holy fuck, she thinks she might actually have an orgasm. And that is definitely something that she’s never gotten from a guy before.
It could be a bad idea. But it could be a good idea. She won’t know until it happens.
“Yeah, yes. Whenever. Tonight?”
His grin, and hers for that matter, is giddy. He jolts forward and pecks his mouth against hers. Once, twice, four times before he deepens the kiss and once again, his tongue is in her mouth. 
The pace of his thrusts quicken back up, his hand at her back pushing her closer and closer to him as if there’s still room to even slide a piece of paper between them. His fingers anchor into her back, breath quickening along with the speed of his hips pushing against hers. 
Harry’s thumb and forefinger pinch at her clit and the action sends an electrifying spark up her nervous system. 
“Yes.” She breathes, gripping her hand onto the back of his neck. “Fuck-that-do it again.”
It’s without hesitation. This time, her muscles seize up. She recognizes this feeling from hidden moments with her favorite vibrator. She can’t help but laugh at the thought that she’s masturbated to the idea of Harry Styles so many times and here he is about to give her an orgasm.
Her teeth clamp into his shoulder and she squeezes her eyes shut as sparkling white-hot waves crash through her system. 
His own happens just moments later, preceded by fitful and jerking thrusts, his tongue slicking a line over her jaw, a shaking moan. 
She’s never let anyone do that. She’s never let a guy cum inside her before. She guesses it’s only right he be the first to do that since he’s also the first to make her orgasm. 
His head hangs on her shoulder. Their chests, damp with intermingled sweat, heave together. His curls are wet tendrils that stick to his face and she’s sure her hair doesn’t look much better. He kisses a place on her shoulder, and then her neck. He kisses a slow and sloppy line up until he gets to her mouth. His lips barely brush hers before he’s pulling away.
Harry wipes sticky pieces of hair from her face, letting his fingers trail down her features after. “Tonight?” He asks quietly. She nods once. He smiles again, and it reminds her of Valentine’s Day in high school. “I’ll be here, 9 sharp. I’m thinking Italian, so you can get that cannoli you like for dessert.”
“What are you gonna get? I’m not getting dessert if you don’t.” 
His grin is wicked. “You eat your cannoli. I’ll eat you. Sound good?”
100 notes · View notes
thatsidewayssmile-blog · 23 hours ago
Lead Me Straight Back Home
Harry Styles has been waiting forever to get back on tour. He’s been best friends with his social media manager, Grace, for even longer. When Grace joins the Love on Tour band and crew for their America shows, their friendship is put to the test, as they start realise the extent of their feelings for each other - with the help of their friends, a whole load of sarcasm, and a few tequilas.
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Part 1 
Part 2 
Part 3 
Part 4 - Up now! 
Graciegram Instagram Concepts - Part 1 
Grace face claim 
Emery face claim 
99 notes · View notes
harrysdimples · 23 hours ago
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Harry Styles, Love on Tour, 2021.
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heyyyharry · 6 hours ago
Red (All Too Well inspired / Harry Styles fanfic) which we got lost in translation and I asked for too much.
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I got drunk, fell asleep, and woke up at 4 in the morning, then I couldn't fall back to sleep so I stayed up and wrote this.
Warning: smut.
Word count: 2.5k
She’d got that text at 3AM. She’d been in bed with a guy she’d met on a dating app. They’d been on a few dates, and he’d said all the right things and matched her energy and efforts. She’d never had to wonder if he’d liked her or not. She’d been doing great. But then that got damn text had lit up her phone, and she’d been sucked right back into that rabbit hole.
Hey, how have you been?
That had been the blandest opening line she had ever seen.
She had sat in her bed, eyes squinted, grimacing at the bright screen. They hadn’t spoken in months, and out of anything, he’d chosen that. The audacity.
She had rolled her eyes and turned the screen off, told herself to just ignore him and go back to sleep. Her date had reached out to pull her back in. She’d turned her back to his bare chest, letting him spoon her. But right as she’d closed her eyes, her phone had lit up once again with another text. It had seemed like the read receipt had terrified him for a second.
I’m sorry I disappeared. I lost my phone on vacation, but I’m home now. If you haven’t found someone already, I’d like to make it up to you.
‘If you haven’t found someone already…’
As if he’d cared.
She’d sucked in a breath as her date had tightened his arm around her waist and buried his face into her neck from behind. He’d seemed so comfortable, and she had been too before the text.
She could have put her phone aside and gone back to sleep. But she had known if she didn’t wake up to a third text from him in the morning, she would overthink. With him, she’d keep going round and round in circles like a carousel.
She had thought for a moment and decided to reply.
I’m sorry about your phone.
You can make it up to me next week.
He had read the messages in a second.
Red flag is typing…
Or right now.
Come over, Y/N.
And now she was on the night bus to see him. She’d told her date that her friend had called, and it’d been an emergency. He’d been so understanding and concerned, which had made her feel so guilty. But here she was, retracing her own mistakes.
He was waiting at the bus stop when she arrived. When you saw someone you hadn’t seen in a while, it felt easier to breathe. He stood with his hands in his puffer coat. It was three degrees outside. She wondered how long he had been waiting out here in the cold, and that tiny part in her that hadn’t guarded up against him shuddered at the thought that he might have waited in the cold for her.
Maybe she had overinterpreted this whole thing, but his eyes seemed to light up when she stepped off the bus. He took a step forward and put his arms around her. She buried her face into his neck and closed her eyes. She’d missed his scent. Not his expensive cologne but the smell of him, which had made her do double-takes on strangers too many times before.
“How have you been, love?” he’d asked, pulling away, his green eyes glowing in the dim streetlight.
She tried to ignore his hand which was resting on her lower back, but goosebumps had pimpled her skin under three layers of clothing.
“I’ve been good. You?”
“Great,” he said, dimples sinking deep into his cheeks. “Been cold, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said, breathing out smoke.
“Let’s go.” He took her hand as they started walking, and a grin spread on his lips when he found that she was wearing gloves.
“Weakling,” he joked.
“I’m not. It’s three fucking degrees!”
“Nah, you’re just weak,” he said, lacing his fingers with hers. “But it’s okay. I’m here to keep you warm.”
Her thoughts faltered for a second at those words. He’d said them so casually as if they’d held no weight. She wondered if, for at least once, he’d meant these things he’d said. But she knew if they were out together during the day, which rarely happened, and this pavement was packed with people, he wouldn’t even be walking so close let alone hold her hand so tight. Then, as they walked and she gazed upon the side of his face, she couldn’t help but imagine him with another girl strolling down the empty street of Europe, and her stomach turned with anxiety.
The walk wasn’t short, but it could’ve been longer. She couldn’t bear the cold, but she hated when he let go of her hand on his doorsteps. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door.
“My flatmate’s asleep,” he said in a whisper, as if his flatmate waking up and seeing her here would have been the end of the world.
She shook off the troubling thoughts and her coat and jacket, then followed him to his room. She had been here too many times that she could tell the slightest change he’d made.
“Did you get new sheets?”
“Yes.” He smiled and put on music as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “Do you like them?”
She stuck out her bottom lip and turned to look at the violet floral sheets. “Very pretty.”
“Like me.”
His comment made her giggle. “No, like me.”
“Like us,” he said then came to sit down next to her.
She’d seen him naked so many times yet him sitting so close to her still made her heart pound. She took in a sharp breath and smiled as he brushed a hair out of her face.
“I’m sorry I made you travel here,” he said. She’d never seen his eyes so green. “I would have come to you if I hadn’t been so tired from all the trains.”
“Did you just get back?”
“How was vacation?”
“It was good.” He grabbed her hand from her lap, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. Her heart shuddered at the simple gesture. “Food good. People good. Missed you though.”
“Really?” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he chuckled. “I meant it.” Then, as proof, he pulled out his new phone. “See? Lost my phone on vacation.”
“I didn’t say you lied about it.”
He shrugged, put his phone on the nightstand and his hand on her hip. “Come here.”
She got up and moved to sit on his lap, resting her forehead against his. He shut his eyes, his lashes fluttering as he brushed his nose against hers. She wanted to ask him to tell her he missed her again. She liked hearing that. Because if he hadn’t said it, she would never have been able to tell.
His hand resting on her knees slowly made its way up to her thigh. He let out a satisfied groan as he pressed his nose to her neck. She leaned back, eyes shut, her hand in his hair. He caressed her thigh for a moment before sliding his hand up to her breast. Her body burned and ached for him. A hand on his shoulder, she turned to straddle his hips. He started kissing her neck, careful not to leave evident. She knew they weren’t teenagers, but she wished he’d leave a mark. So that she could walk out of here the next morning knowing it’d been real. And that he didn’t mean it like that when he hugged her like a friend at the bus stop and said, “Thanks for coming. It was nice seeing you.”
He pulled back for a moment, a hand at the back of her head, just looking at her.
“What?” she giggled.
“You’re so pretty,” he murmured.
She rolled her eyes again as he pulled her back in, pressing his mouth to hers. He kissed her tender, then he kissed her hard. They fell back on the bed, and she pulled off her sweater and shuffled down to sit on his thighs as he undid his trousers. She wished they could take it slow, but right now she didn’t want to. She needed to feel him inside her, to make him cum, to hear him say her name, to pretend that he hadn’t said all those sweet things just for this, that he wouldn’t shut off his feelings the second he pulled out of her.
“Condom. Have you got condoms?”
“Y/N, calm down.” He laughed and stopped her as she reached for his top drawer. He cupped her face, kissing her again with tongue. Her mouth fell open with a gasp as he unzipped her jeans and slipped his hand in. He looked her straight in the eyes as he started rubbing her there. She knew how much he liked her reactions to him. Her core clenched as he slipped one finger inside her. “Fuck, you’re so tight for me, baby.”
“Yes,” she panted, eyes closed, head tossed back so he could kiss her neck. Panting, he grabbed her hand and put it into her trousers. Then, as she rubbed her clit, trying to hold eye contact, he watched and worked his fingers inside her.
She had never come so hard. She sobbed out his name and rode out her orgasm until she collapsed onto him. He patted her hair as she breathed into his chest. Once she’d calmed down, he flipped them over, got undressed, then helped her get out of her clothes and grabbed a condom from the drawer.
When he slipped in, they both moaned. This feeling that she would never get used to made her feel belonged. It was never the same with other people. Just him.
He rolled his hips as she pushed back, allowing him to go deeper, hitting the right spot. She trembled under his touch and kisses. If only this moment could last forever.
When he came, he came hard, crying out her name. She felt ecstasy as she put her arms around him, holding him close. Their sweaty bodies moved together, slowing down and going limp.
The room was so quiet. She had never heard silence quite this loud.
The butterflies in her stomach made her feel sick. He pulled out of her and dropped onto his back beside her. She waited for him to pull her in and cuddle her, but he stayed there, staring at the ceiling with an arm over his forehead. Butterflies burst into flames, her heart now a lump of coal.
“That was amazing,” he said quietly, turned to her and smiled. “You were amazing.”
“I was with someone when you called,” she blurted, not knowing why she’d said it. Maybe she just wanted to get a reaction from him.
He looked stunned for a second, then his smile destroyed her. “You’ve been seeing someone? That’s great, Y/N.”
She forced a smile back. “Is it?”
Harry pushed himself up on his elbow and gazed down at her. She tried to look for a hint of jealousy on his calm expression, but there was none. Because he wasn’t jealous. He didn’t care enough to be.
“But why did you come?”
She averted her eyes and shrugged, hugging her naked self. “He got sick, so he went home. And I came here.”
“Oh,” he said, thoughtfully. “How long have you been seeing him?”
“For a few weeks.”
“Are you serious with him?”
“I guess. Don’t know.”
It finally dawned on him. His face turned cold. “So I won’t see you again if you start dating this guy.”
She shrugged, trying to ignore that spark of hope. “I don’t have to date him, Harry.”
“Have to?” Harry laughed. “What do you mean?”
Frustrated, Y/N sat up and looked him in the eyes. “Are you not jealous?”
“Y/N, what’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up as well. He seemed quite appalled, and she could not blame him. They had never had this kind of conversation before. “Is me not being jealous bothering you?”
“Why?” He chuckled. “You’re not jealous of the girls I sleep with.”
So he had been sleeping with other girls. Of course he had. She knew him. Why was she surprised?
Maybe it just hurt to hear him say it.
“I am, though,” she murmured, pulling the duvet up to cover her body.
He was quiet for a moment.
“I’m sorry I asked you to come. It…it probably wasn’t a good idea.”
Stunned, Y/N stared at him. Her stomach churned as if she was about to throw up. She felt a burning sensation at the bridge of her nose.
“Have you,” she stuttered, “Have you ever thought about us?”
“Thought about us?” he asked.
“Like…” She wetted her lips and swallowed dryly. “Will we ever be something?”
Harry froze for a second.
Then, he said, “You know I can’t commit.”
“I do. I just don’t know why,” she said, her voice shaking. “Is it because your ex cheated?” He said nothing. “Harry.” She grabbed his wrist. “Not every girl is gonna be like her. Not all relationships are the same.”
For a moment, he didn’t speak, and she felt herself melting into a puddle on his violet sheets. Tears stung her eyes, but she fought them back.
“I’m really sorry, Y/N,” he said at last, and she let out a breath of defeat. A tear rolled down her cheek. She wondered if he could see her cry since the room was so dark and blue. Probably not. Or he chose not to see it.
She didn’t believe him when he said that, but she believed it when he pulled his hand from her grip and scooted back. “I wish I could be that for you. But you deserve to be happy. I want you to be happy.”
She did not say a word, got up and started putting on her clothes. He did, too, but with every move, she felt his eyes on her. She waited for him to say something. She would have stayed if he’d asked. She would have stayed forever.
“Want me to drive you home? I could borrow my flatmate’s car.”
“No, thanks,” she said, facing the wall as she slipped her trousers back on.
“I’ll walk you to the bus stop. It’s cold outside.”
It was colder in here, she thought but did not say.
Silently, they walked back to the bus stop. This time, they kept a distance as if someone was watching. He had his hands in his pockets and her gloved hands were holding herself. The cold pierced through her brain. She would probably have a permanent headache after tonight.
The bus arrived right as they got to the bus stop. Part of her was glad that she didn’t have to wait in the cold with him; another part of her was sad that she didn’t have to wait in the cold with him.
“Thank you for coming,” he said what he always said and gave her an awkward smile.
She just looked at him, sucked in a breath, and stepped on the bus.
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0oolookitsme · 11 hours ago
A Little ‘You’ Wannabe
Genre- One Shot Pairing- Ceo!Y/n x Singer!Harry Word count- 2.4k (2,434) Warnings- A scared Andre and scared Y/n, y/n being 'mean' with her employees, A/n- From where this was supposed to be a blurb till it being a full one-shot, Missing Piece by Vance Joy was there with me xD Happy 1st of December!! Enjoy reading this, lovelies! <3 
- - -
Harry Styles, a man who would go to his wife’s office to tell her about the meeting he had with his manager.
Amore Styles, a daughter who would follow her dad everywhere and would be more than happy to take a chocolate bar with her for her mummy.
Andre Styles, a son who would do anything to be right beside his mummy and would definitely follow his dad around if he tells him, ‘I’m going to see your mummy’.
“I’m here to meet Ms. Y/n Y/l/n Styles, I’m her husband,” Harry politely informed the receptionist as soon as he entered in, the patience to tell her everything about the meeting running off. 
Amore and Andre stood still, holding their daddy’s hands as told but their eyes were wandering everywhere and Andre’s ended their research as soon as they caught a pink, purple and blue coloured bracelet on the woman’s wrist. 
Hanging out, thinking if she should say what’s on her mind, out loud or not, her mummy’s words rang in her head, ‘Don’t hesitate from sharing what’s on your mind. If you aren’t sure about it, tell either me or daddy first, okay?’. 
“Amore? C’mon, baby,” Harry called for her, holding his spare hand out for her to hold while the other one rested on Andre’s shoulder as he was previously talking to him about how Amore was looking so concentrated on a plant pot.
Blinking out of her trance, the little one walked towards Harry and reckoned for him to bend down, cupping a hand beside her mouth to show that she has to talk, only to him. 
Frowning, Harry obliged and held his son’s hand before crouching down so he was on his daughter’s height level. 
“I like her bracelet, daddy, should I tell her that?” Amore whispered, allowing her twin brother to listen in too. Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink when Harry looked at her with a wide smile, able to see the dimple which and her brother inherited.  
“Go ahead,” Harry bobbed his head towards the desk behind which the receptionist was seemingly trying to focus on her computer screen. 
The girl flashed him a toothy smile and walked where she was standing earlier. 
“Excuse me, miss?” She sweetly asked for attention, standing on her tip-toes so the woman would be able to look at her by just looking over her desk.
“Yes sweetie?” The receptionist, Belle, according to her name tag, chirped, quickly recognizing more than a few features as her boss’. 
Sheepishly smiling at the pet-name, Amore confessed, “I love your bracelet!”.
Belle glanced towards Harry, nodding in confirmation when he nodded towards her and looked back down at the little girl. “Thank you very much, are any of these your favourite colours?” She questioned while hanging her hand down so her wrist with the bracelet would be in a better line of Amore’s view.  
Harry and Andre had taken a seat nearby, looking at the scene in front of them unroll; Harry with an proud expression and Andre with a frown, not appreciating his sister for delaying their little meet-up with their mummy. 
“Yeah! I love purple colour! It’s because it looks lovely and Lavender flowers are also of the same colour! And my mummy also love’s Lavenders very much!” Amore babbled, enjoying this conversation very much. She looked back at her daddy and ran to him, not giving Belle any time to say anything and continued from there, “my brother also loves that flower,” she giggled. 
“I see why, sweet cheeks, they do look and smell good,” Belle smiled and waved goodbye in Amore’s direction. 
If she had known that her boss loves Lavenders, she would’ve bought those for her instead of roses, for her win on a big deal. 
“You talk very much,” Andre giggled, earning a pout followed by laughter by his sister.  
Y/n could recognize that laugh from miles away, no matter if the room’s walls are sound proof, her heart just knows when her little happy family is somewhere near her.
So her meeting room isn’t really anything, specially when the deafening silence had settled just when one of them saw that they brought the wrong file with them.    
“Daddy, mummy’s not here!” Andre complained, coming out of his mum’s office, sad because he had gone in there alone to surprise and probably be settled on her hip and receive multiple kisses as she would walk out with him to meet his daddy and sister.
Harry frowned as he stood up to check in once himself, incase she’s in the bathroom or somewhere else but the files she had arranged last night weren’t on her table. 
Files, Missing. Chair, Empty.
“Oh! I forgot she had a meeting today, my love,” Harry stated, feeling a pang of hurt when he saw his son’s face fall a little. Switching on his dad mode he walked forwards till his feet were touching Andre’s. 
He passed Amore a wink, at which she muffled her giggle, before he started copying the boy’s fidgeting. 
Andre squeaked in surprise when his daddy suddenly picked him up and held him up, high in the air, as he hadn’t caught any action other than his dad being a copycat. 
“We can wait for her! It’ll probably be over in a few anyways!” Harry exclaimed, grinning when Andre’s eyes lit up and Amore also started giggling seeing her brother’s face get all smiley.  
- - -
“I haven’t got all day for you, spit it out,” Y/n said as she recovered from her smile which had pulled up when she felt their presence.  
“Y-yes I thin- I think tha-,” the man stuttered, trying his best to not piss under his boss’ intimidating and cold gaze which was focused on him and only him. 
All in the middle of that, Harry hadn’t though that Andre would run in the meeting room while running here and there in only his and Amore’s presence, well physically because Harry is busy playing rock-paper-scissors with his girl. 
And no one in the meeting room realized the little guy’s presence, either. And y/n would’ve ..if she wasn’t busy in cursing out the knob heads. 
Rolling her eyes, she stood up firmly and slammed her hands on the top of her files. “Didn’t know we were hiring a fuckin’ 6 months old, even they speak better than you fucking do,” Y/n hissed, anger boiling when no one was making eye contact. 
Andre, on the other side, was sweating with tears brimming up in his eyes. He clutched his green t-shirt in his fists and stood still beside the flower vase.
“I- I’m so sor-,” the guy tried to save but he knew he lost his chance when Y/n spat, “fired, leave now and deny the offer, Freya,” she ordered with a sharp voice before wrapping her hand around her hot coffee which has gotten cold and walked her way straight out. Dumping the files others submitted in the bin on the way. 
Just as the door closed everyone heard shoes squeaking and before their eye could catch his little frame, he slipped through before the door could close. 
Walking around in a bad mood, she entered in her cabin with closed eyes. 
She shut the door completely from inside but as soon as she turned around, Harry swears her face lit up just like Andre’s had, earlier. 
Andre. Where is he??
Harry’s eyes started scanning the room and then turned to Amore who was looking just as lost as her mummy was. 
“Have you seen Andre, Amore?” He asked and the girl’s brows rose up, about to tell him something when there was a soft knock heard from, along with whimpers and hiccups.    
Y/n’s eyebrows knotted into a frown and she, as quick as a lightening bolt, opened the door and saw him. Face all red from crying with snot running down from his irritated nose, clearly he had been wiping it with his handkerchief. 
She scurried out and picked him up. Her heart dropped and broke in multiple pieces when he wailed louder and motioned for Harry to hold him, instead. 
Both, Harry and Amore, looked lost but Harry’s look changed to sympathetic when Y/n, without saying anything handed their son to him.
She wants to give him time to calm down and Harry knows that, so with one look, he takes him out with him, rocking him in his arms.  
“What happened to him mummy?” Amore frowned, walking over from the couch and went in Y/n’s arms. She placed her warm and little hands on her mum’s cheeks, kissing each one. 
“I don’t know, baby, maybe he will tell daddy or me, hmm,” Y/n quietly said, leaning into her hands and kissed her palms in return. 
She started walking around inside the room itself, kissing Amore’s cheek every once in a while. And when she placed her down, Harry entered and the heart which was in her stomach dropped lower when she saw the look on his face. Andre was calm and went straight to his sister, as Harry had told him, ‘Go to Amore, I’ll talk to mummy and then you can too!’. 
Y/n moved towards Harry and obliged when he motioned to talk outside. “Stay here, kay?” She told them and closed the door. 
“Is he hurt? Did I do something?” Y/n asked him, overwhelmed. 
“No baby, he isn’t hurt, don’t worry. He just walked in on you acting mean with the people,” he said, using his son’s words and wishing he could absorb in the hurt and fright his wife is feeling right now.
The colours drained from her face, tears burning her eyes as she tried to get some or any word out but nothing seemed to form even a sentence. “What do I do now, Harry? He hates me doesn’t he? Is he- is he scared of me, baby?” She questioned, the tears now trailing down her cheek and neck. 
When Harry felt her hand starting to tremble, he instantly stood in front of her and held both of her hands after wiping away her ears. “He has never seen you like that, he’s just slightly scared because of it. And are joking? He doesn’t hate you, at all! He loves you so fucking much, he could never hate you, my heart. Just talk with him, maybe take him on a surprise date, yeah? sounds good?” Copying her nodding, he continued. “Let me see that smile then”.
Y/n buried her face in his chest, hugging him and wiped her face. She followed Harry in, still scared to face her son but was caught off guard when Andre himself wrapped himself around her leg, head resting on her thigh. 
“Amore? Did you see the new plants?” Harry asked her. 
“No daddy,” she answered and next thing she knows is that she’s walking uout with him. 
“Smile for mummy, Andre!” She yelled on her way, making Harry scoop her up in his arms and shower her little face on kisses. 
- - - 
Y/n bent down to pick Andre up and settled him on her hip, pressing feather-like kisses all over his face; just like he had imagined. “I’m sorry, my love,” she whispered as she sat down on the sofa, shifting his frame so he was on her torso and face-to-face with her. 
“Why sorry, mummy?” He questioned as he cupped her face and looked her in the eyes with his own green ones which were filled with confusion. 
“Because I scared you, I was mean with others,” she told him, leaning lovingly in his hands, liking his warm hands now on her on her neck. 
“S’ okay, they deserved it, didn’t they? You wouldn’t do it for no reason,” Andre mumbled, laying his head on her chest. He knows his mummy ‘better that daddy does’, as he likes to say.
Y/n swears her heart busted with love, fluttering around in her ribcage. She clutched him slightly tighter and took deep breathes as the smell of his Lavender shampoo filled her nostrils, calming her down. 
Soon enough little puffs of breath started tickling her neck and that’s when she knew that he had dozed off. 
She gently stood up and grabbed her coat, covering Andre’s back with it and very lightly padded out of the room. 
- - -
“He’s good?” Harry asked as they sipped on their warm tea. 
“Yeah, he said ‘they deserved it didn’t they? You wouldn’t do it for no reason,” Y/n said, sipping again before leaning in, asking for kiss. 
He gladly obliged and pecked her lips, not once, not twice but five times. “Hmm, I told you he wouldn’t ever hate you,” Harry said as rolled his eyes, laughing when Y/n faux grumbled, playing along with him.
“I was so scared for once,” she continued after a while, earning a light rubbing on her arm by him as to provide comfort. 
“He’ll always love you, just like me and Amore,” he giggled, setting his cup down as he wrapped his other arm too around her shoulders. Planting a few kisses here and there.  
“Did I tell you about what Andre was playing in his room this afternoon?”.
“No, old man”.
It was now Harry’s turn to grumble. He shifted so he could look her in the eyes and yelled in a voice not louder then a whisper. “He was trying to copy you, in his room!”.
Y/n raised her brows in surprise, also moving so she was looking better at him. “Seriously? What was he doing, exactly,” she questioned and Harry was sitting with his legs crossed in a minute.
“Car? Speak fast! I don’t have all afternoon for you!” Harry frowned while saying the ditto words their son had said. “Amore? Cancel the deal,” he continued.
Cackling, Y/n laid her head back down on his shoulder, grabbing Harry’s hand and interweaved their hands. “I can only hope he doesn’t go around copying my behaviour in school,” she sighed after calming down.
“He’s a little ‘you’ wannabe.. huh, what? oh, trust me, he won’t, if you will tell him not to,” Harry laughed, earning a light slap on his arm from her.
“Amore was laughing so hard while being ordered around”.
“She isn’t the one to be controlled, huh? Well we’ll let them sleep  in for longer tomorrow as they slept late.. Shall we sleep too, old man?” Y/n asked, getting down from the kitchen slab as she moved to rinse her cup.
“M’ not old.”
“Even if you are, you are a dilf.”
- - -
A/N- I swear I’ll go on a hiatus if this doesn’t get the reblogs and replies it deserves..
Happy December, once again! <333
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londonharry · 22 hours ago
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Long Island (11/28)
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daaydreamy · 23 hours ago
I’m craving a smut where Harry’s trying to write a song but Y/N is horny and won’t stop nagging him, so he fingers her while writing his song.
impatient - harry styles x reader
⌗ summary : y/n’s needy and gets harry to touch her.
⌗ warnings : smut, fingering (f receiving), degradation
Harry was trying to write a song, a couple words already written down on the page of his journal. He held his pen in his hand, twisting it around his fingertips as he tried to think of other lyrics for the song.
Meanwhile, y/n was beside him, begging for his touch. She was throbbing and she wanted him to touch her. She was getting impatient and frustrated, feeling an ache in her lower area that wouldn’t go away. She didn’t want to touch herself because she knew that his touch will always be better, and so she begged and pleaded for him to make her feel good.
“Strip.” He put his pen down and turned his chair to watch her, his elbow resting on the armchair with his chin resting on his palm.
She grinned and sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. He pecked her lips and softly ran his finger over her slit, collecting her wetness. She gasped and her hips bucked, getting more desperate for his touch because she wanted it, needed it.
“So wet. Always begging for me to touch you. How pathetic.” He scoffed and pinched her clit, causing a soft whimper to spill from her lips. He bit his lip softly and slowly started to push a finger into her, easing it in gently. She moaned softly from the feeling and shut her eyes, gulping quietly.
“P-please. More.” And he gave her more, now thrusting two fingers into her. She was feeling bliss, her head getting fuzzy from how it felt. He kissed her head, listening to her soft whimpers as he fingered her.
“Be good and be quiet. Need to concentrate.”
taglist : @harry-is-my-little-spoon, @ally5sos, @purplekiwis, @coochiesteak, @rainbowsandnightsky, @chalametrry (couldn’t tag you!!), @buckymydarlingangel, @shadowscomefromthepain, @kissingintherainrry
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thedevilinmybrain · 17 hours ago
Pleasing Nail Polish Set - An Honest Review
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Guess what arrived in the mail today? It’s early for Christmas but I am so glad I was able to afford this product for one of my best friends. Check under the cut for an honest review/unboxing.
To start off, I’ll be honest. For the price point, I was expecting more interesting packaging. It arrived in a small, white box with little fanfare on it. I was impressed with the constant email updates from Pleasing, letting me know when the package was shipped, out for delivery, and when it arrived. Considering how many packages get stolen this time of year, I was happy I could track it so carefully.
One thing of note, I found it interesting that this was the return address on the packing:
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I’m sure my fellow internet sleuths will dig up on more information on it. Just a thing of note.
Now onto the polish itself.
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Granny’s Pink Pearls is pink. Think Barbie, bubble gum, pink. It’s so fun and looks so feminine. You can kind of see in the picture that the Inky Pearl actually has a navy, almost royal blue sheen/shimmer to it. It’s very subtle and reminds me a lot of a galaxy design.
Pearly Top is completely sheer but it leaves a nice, subtle shine to your nails. It definitely could turn any color into a pearl top coat. Upon looking at Perfect Pearl, it almost looks just plain white, but upon closer inspection, it really is pearl. It has that purple/blue/cream shine to it. 
I personally have acrylics, but I roped my sister into being my hand model. This is one coat coverage on plain nails.
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As you can see, the coverage is pretty good - especially the black! Definitely would be a two coat polish but the formula is very smooth and glides on. AThe pearl caps on the bottles makes gripping really easy, but they can be removed for a closer fit. I was amazed at that detail as it lends itself to being more accessible for people with disabilities and who have a hard time gripping small things. Plus, they’re cute as hell bottles. Like, I could display them.
For $65 dollars, this is all that was included in the kit:
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Under the form that holds the polish in place, there was this note on the packaging that I thought was very cool too. It seems that their packaging is minimal to be more eco-friendly, which considering how things are packaged for other brands, I find this detail important. Also, vegan and cruelty-free beauty products are a MUST for me, so I’m glad I can back a brand that’s promoting it.
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Final review: I think the polish is definitely of great quality and I can see Harry’s personality in the choices. I think it has a good range, though I would have loved to see him do like a lilac or maybe a baby blue polish too. Here’s to the next launch though.
Considering the longevity of how much product is in the bottles (they’re all the way to the top full) and the coverage, I can see myself getting my money’s worth out of them. My only caveat to that is that I wish there were more interesting decals, not just letters.
Overall, very satisfied. I hope my bestie loves it!
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