#hslot harry imagine

[ifancyharry]

what it is: YN is Harry’s personal assistant and she gets sick, but he’s playing Wembley

word count: 4k

The air is crisp and clean as YN steps out of her hotel into the streets of London, hurrying down the sidewalk as she scurries to the first pharmacy she can find. 

It’s 7.54 in the morning and she’s been awake for almost twenty-four hours. Not on purpose, obviously. And not on her boss’s orders either, despite having there been nights the team deemed important and she was required to pull an all nighter, but those were usually times of celebrations, either spent at an afterparty or waiting until midnight for Spotify to release the album everyone had been working hard on.

The air hurts her lungs as she stops to catch her breathing, the pounding behind her temples not dimming the slightest as she trespasses the sliding doors of the pharmacy, only intensifying with the bright artificial lights shining down on her from the ceiling.

She pulls her sunglasses out of the pocket of her sweatshirt and slides them over her eyes, relishing in the temporary relief washing over her sensitive eyes.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket and she pulls it out, grimacing at the name on the screen; it’s her boss, Harry, asking her what time she’s ready to leave for the venue. 

Once her turn comes, she quickly explains her symptoms to the pharmacist and just as quickly she pays for the medicine the pharmacist has taken out for her.

She walks out of the pharmacy and types back a short response to Harry, telling him she’s on her way to his room.

She hopes the medicine she has stuffed in her pocket will make her feel better, and she thinks as she’s making her way back to the hotel that she’ll ask Harry to stop along the way to grab a coffee, hoping it will soothe the tension behind her temples. There’s no way she can be sick when her boss is playing at Wembley for the first time.

…

Harry isn’t one to comment on other people’s appearances, his mum taught him that and it has stuck with him since he was a little kid, a sort of an unspoken rule out of kindness, and therefore he’s never asked if someone was sick because they weren’t wearing makeup or if someone had eaten a little more over the holidays.  He never considered other people’s looks something that concerned his range of business, but once he sees YN, he can’t help but wonder if she’s okay.

Her hair is tied in a messy braid, and there’s some strands falling out of it and in front of her eyes. She’s wearing a big love on tour sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants, but that isn’t particularly concerning, because he’s used to her comfy articles of clothing. 

What’s concerning is her face… and Harry already feels bad for thinking that, but she doesn’t look like herself. And Harry would know. Of course he would know, because he spends a lot of time looking at her face, especially when she’s not looking, most of the times when she’s reading a book next to him in a moment of rest or when she’s answering emails on Monday mornings. So… he knows her. He knows her skin looks paler than normal, and the circles under her eyes aren’t the same as that one time they partied all night after Harry won album of the year at the Grammys.

He wants to ask if she’s okay, because after a year of working together they have that kind of confidence, but he doesn’t want that to be the first thing he says to her, so he just smiles at her and welcomes her with a side hug and a good morning.

“Hi” she’s quick to greet back, and Harry notices even her voice sounds scruffier than usual.

“Are you ready to go?” She asks a second later.

“Yeah, yeah, the car’s down already?” He asks surprised. Sometimes it takes a while before the drivers find the hotel, and YN and Harry spend that time watching videos on youtube or talking about the day’s schedule.

YN shrugs but doesn’t say anything in response, which is weird to Harry because she’s usually really bright and energetic in the morning, and she’s really meticulous on top of everything: she never lets him wait without finding something to pass the time first.

“Let’s just stay until we don’t know for certain” he suggests.

She agrees with a nod of her head and she heads to his bed, sitting down on the end of it. It’s not uncommon for her, because she’s always in his space, and there have been times where they were forced to basically sleep in the same bed (one time YN fell asleep on his bed, and Harry was so in his song-writing-bubble he didn’t even realize until he was so tired he couldn’t keep his eyes open, so he slipped in next to her and literally passed out).

He still needs to tie his shoes, so he sits next to her and ties the laces of his ratted vans.

“How’d yeh sleep, pet?” He asks, because she’s freakishly quiet and it’s making him anxious. She’s never quiet, and with this being a stressful day already for Harry, every little thing that’s different from normal alerts him.

“Fine” she whispers, knuckling at her eyes, his question bringing back the awful memory of the night she spent tossing and turning in the scratchy hotel sheets, praying for a moment of solace every time she tried to breathe through her nose and failing.

“Me too…” he nods.

YN feels bad because she should be more engaging, but she really doesn’t have it in her to make small talk. 

Some time passes before the driver calls YN’s phone to tell her the van is here, shaking her awake. She remembers closing her eyes to rest them, and next thing she knows she’s sound asleep on her boss’s bed. She’d be a bit embarrassed if it wasn’t for how awful she feels already. 

“Crap! I fell asleep!” She exclaims once she hangs up the call. 

“Yeah” Harry says from next to her, still laying on his bed, “just fo’ like… fifteen minutes though” He’s playing on his phone, and YN pushes at his bicep, “we need to go, driver’s here”

She gets up from the bed and slips on her shoes, grabbing her work bag (it’s really a tote bag but she finds calling it work bag makes her waaaay more professional) from the floor next to the door.

“YN” she hears Harry clear his voice, and she turns around to look at him.

He’s still sitting on the bed, and he passes a hand through his hair before saying, “are yeh all right?” 

She closes her eyes in a furrow and tries not to wince when a sharp pain shoots behind her eyes with the movement, “yes, yes” she stresses, although not convinced.

“Are you sure? C’mon yeh can tell me!” 

“I’m fine, Harry” and despite her words, she sniffles, “maybe I have a cold or something…”

“You can take the day off if you need to, yeh know that” 

“No, there’s no way” she shakes her head swiftly, “no”. 

“YN…” he trails off.

“Harry, I told you I’m fine. I can work! Let’s just go, okay?” 

He sighs but does as she says, following her out of his room.

Harry isn’t a worrier. If someone from his team, or band whatsoever, says they can work, he at least presumes they’re mature enough to know the expanse of their limits. 

With YN, it’s different. He worries.

Not because he considers her immature, but she’s just… different. Ever since she started working for him as his assistant, he’s always looked out for her, despite being the one that didn’t want to hire her in the first place.

She’s young, she works a lot to prove herself to him, despite him telling her lots of times she doesn’t need to prove anything and she’s doing a great job as she is. 

She does unthinkable working hours, sometimes pulling all nighters, other times hurrying to his house in the middle of the night because he’s a little bit of a hypochondriac and she needs to check immediately what’s that new mole he has on his back (turns out it was a speck of dark chocolate that stuck onto his skin).

She’s soft and she always puts her job (him, actually) first, so he doesn’t really trust her to know her limits. If she’s sick she should rest. She should lay in bed and maybe eat a little soup and watch comfort movies tucked under the sheets, but he knows she won’t. And he knows he’s the reason behind that, because he’s playing at Wembley tonight, and she doesn’t want to cause trouble. Harry thinks she in no way could ever be described as trouble. 

And maybe, and he feels a little bit scared to admit this, he could postpone the show just by a couple hours, at least until he knows she’s resting at the hotel. but, she hurries into the van and pretends like she’s just got “a cold or something”, so Harry doesn’t question her further. 

He could just order her to take the day off, but he knows that would hurt her feelings, and he can imagine the look on her face, like a puppy being scolded, so he bites his tongue: there’s no way he could ever hurt her feelings.

…

YN has to stop a couple of times when she starts feeling dizzy on her feet. She shouldn’t run this much when she’s probably feverish, but there’s so much to do! She doesn’t trust to delegate, and not because she’s pretentious, but because she’s a control freak that needs to know how things are being handled, so she would only get much more frustrated and it would eventually just end up in her doing all the work anyway, increasing her fever undoubtedly. 

So, she chugs downs a lot of water and a lot of ibuprofen, taking deep breaths every time she starts feeling nauseous. She should probably inform Harry at least that she doesn’t feel good, so if anything were to happen he wouldn’t be too surprised, but she knows how he is; he would demand she stop immediately and go back to the hotel to rest, and she can’t allow that to happen. 

Wembley is the dream of a lifetime, and Harry sound checks every song two times before passing on to the next one. YN sits quietly in one of the seats, preparing Harry’s next instagram post on her phone. She handles all of his socials, because that’s what she was originally hired for. “A young set of eyes”, Jeff had defined her, and from then, her life had changed completely. 

Of course, she wasn’t aware she’d develop a crush on her boss at the time she was hired. She figured she’d be immune to his charm; she’s younger than him, much less experienced (in every aspect of her life), and hasn’t really seen anything yet, so she thought they’d just be too different to get along. Spending each second of the day together didn’t help, though, because it was then she got to know Harry for who he truly was, and with that, came the awareness of how many things he’d lived through and how many things he could teach her. How soft he was with her, how he would always drape a blanket over her when she accidentally fell asleep on his bed, and how he would tell her she looked pretty even after pulling an all nighter and probably looking like a raccoon. That’s just how he was.

And that’s why she values his dreams more than her health. She would never do anything that could harm him, so she shrugs off the dreadful feeling off her back and keeps working. 

…

“Hey” Harry plops down on the couch next to her, draping his arm on the backrest of the couch. If he’d stretched his fingers he could touch her shoulder, but he doesn’t just yet. He knows she still doesn’t feel good, he can see it in the way she’s hugging herself in the Love on tour hoodie she has on (probably one of his because their laundry always gets mixed up).

“Hi” she says softly, her voice much lower than it’d been the last time he saw her.

It’s closer to show time now, but he’s still not in his outfit. YN wonders if that’s the reason why he came in the dressing room in the first place.

“What are yeh doin’ hidin’ in here all alone?” 

“‘m not hiding!” She pouts, “jus’… resting” 

“Mh, yeah?” He hums, turning his head to look at her, “restin’ your ears? Are you tired of my music yet?” He jokes.

“Never!” She beams, swatting at his chest playfully.

He lets his arm fall down on her shoulder, and he tugs at her, squeezing her against his chest.

She breaths him in, and despite her stuffy nose, she can smell the faint scent of his fabric softener. Musk and lavender. It’s the same as hers.

 “I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of a pain lately…” he trails off, his mouth buried in her hair, “nothing to do with you… was jus’ nervous is all”

She squeezes his hoodie between her fingers to tug him closer, “I’m really proud of you. You’ll do great.”

“Thanks, pet” he grins, breaking away from the hug.

She sniffles and he looks between her eyes warily, “’s there anything you want to tell me before I go on stage?”

“Jus’ to kick ass” she giggles, aware that wasn’t what he was alluding at.

“Mmmh” he muses, getting up from the couch. He knew she’d be stubborn about this so he doesn’t pressure her.

“Hav’to start gettin’ ready” he clears his throat, heading towards the portable hanger YN set up in his dressing room.

He then proceeds to take off his hoodie and his tank top, leaving him shirtless before her.

She’s seen him in his underwear many times, but maybe it’s the fever, maybe it’s the crush on him that’s growing stronger everyday, but she feels her insides get warm at the sight. 

He tugs his sweats down his legs too, kicking them off his feet, and YN pretends to pick up her phone to respond to a message that definitely could have waited. 

He picks up the heart printed overalls he’d be wearing and tugs them over his legs, jumping a little in his place so they could fit over his bum.

Once he’s fully dressed, he looks over at YN and finds her looking at him already, her eyes a little droopy. He feels his heart tug in his chest at the sight. He wishes she’d let him help her. If he could he’d send her back to the hotel straight away, but he has to admit he’s selfishly relishing in the idea of having her here, looking at him perform. It makes him want to do even better than he always does. 

“All ready then” he smiles, dimples denting both his cheeks.

“Mmhh” she hums, getting up on her feet. She walks towards him and adjusts the neck of his shirt, petting it down.

“Good luck Harry” she smiles. He has to refrain himself from lowering his head down to kiss her, and he’s aware these thoughts are way too unprofessional of him, but he can’t help himself. Not when she’s looking at him like that.

“See ya after the show, pet”

…

“Harry!” Jeff pats down on his shoulders as soon as Harry runs backstage, “you just smashed it! Fuckin’ smashed it mate!”

Harry laughs with him out of politeness, but his mind is really on something else.

“Fuckin’ Wembley, Harry! Wembley’s Harry’s house!” Someone else shouts, and he thinks it’s Lloyd but he doesn’t really pay much attention to him. There’s someone missing from the crowd. YN. She’s nowhere to be found, and he’d really like to celebrate with her. She’s the one that should join in on the fun and get a little bit of praise too, because without her, harry doesn’t think he could’ve played Wembley.

Everything was going fine, and he saw her next to his mother standing in the private part of the pit, but then, when he came back after chatting with a couple of fans, she was gone. He wonders if she’s okay.

“Hey, Jeff” he clears his throat, hoping to be discreet with his tone of voice, “where’s YN?” 

“Oh…” he nods, “she wasn’t feeling proper good, so I sent her to your dressing room. I told her to get back to the hotel, but she refused to leave”

Harry nods and after a ‘thanks’ he hurries towards his dressing room, hoping to find her there.

Once he opens the door, the sight of YN sleeping on the couch crouched on herself makes his heart somersault in his chest.

“Hey, pet” he coos softly once he crouches down next to her.

He repeats the endearing greeting, and this time she stirs awake. YN brings one hand to knuckle at her eyes tiredly, and Harry frowns at the sight of her bloodshot eyes. He brings one hand to caress her cheek, but when he realizes how warm she is, he brings it up to her forehead. She’s burning hot. 

He immediately feels guilty. He should’ve sent her back to the hotel as soon as he realized she was sick, hell, he shouldn’t have let her leave his room that morning!

“Harry?” She asks timidly, her voice coming out scruffy. She gulps but flinches as the hurt in her throat doesn’t subside. 

“Yeah, ’s me” he whispers, moving the hair away from her face, “let’s go back to the hotel, okay?” 

“No Harry! The show! You can’t leave… the show! It’s wembley” she stresses, gripping his bicep tightly to refrain him from leaving her.

“Shh, shh” he shushes her, “calm down. ’s okay. The show was great. Everything was great” he coos, pressing his lips down her forehead and flinching from how hot it feels, “you did so great”.

She sniffles and: “great?” 

“Yeah” he nods, reassuring her, “let’s go now, okay?”

He helps her get up on her feet, and she stumbles a bit in her place. She grips the fabric of his overalls tightly between her fingers, and he lets her, hoping to be at least a little bit of comfort.

…

“How are you feelin’? What hurts?” He asks her once they reach his hotel room (he wanted to go back to hers, but couldn’t find her key and didn’t want to startle her too much).

“Everything” she pouts.

“I’m so sorry, darling” he sighs, ushering her inside his room.

She’s stable on her feet now, the little nap at the venue kind of helped a bit in soothing her, but still, everything hurts, and the thought of being in a hotel room and not at her own house bothers her.

She also doesn’t want Harry to look at her like this, all sweaty and red in the cheeks. She must look so embarrassing! 

“I’ll draw you a bath, how about that?” He proposes, not waiting for her response and heading directly towards the bathroom.

Now that he thinks about it, harry’s glad she’s in his room, because (being the Harry Styles) his room has a bathtub, whereas hers doesn’t. He also has lots of salt baths and bubbles to add to the water, courtesy of the hotel, and he adds everything he can to soothe her stuffed nose and make the bath as pleasing as possible.

She knocks on the door delicately, and he turns his head to look at her.

“Bath’s ready” he smiles gently, and he dips his index finger to test the temperature of the water, careful not to make it too hot to not aggravate her fever any more. 

Harry excuses himself from the bathroom, and tells her to give him a shout if she needs anything.

It’s a couple of minutes later when he hears her calling for him, her voice still lower than normal.

He knocks on the door and after he gets her consent he opens it, peeking his head inside. She’s laying in the bathtub, the water submerging her almost to her neck, and he’s aware she’s naked under, but the bubbles cover her body entirely.

“Are yeh all right?” He asks worriedly.

“Mhmh,” she hums, “jus… keep me company?” 

He’s happy she’s more responsive now, and he happily sits at her side, plopping down on the toilet seat next to the tub.

They sit in silence for a while, Harry’s aware he’s still in his fancy (and uncomfortable) show clothes, but he doesn’t care. He’s just happy to dote on her now as she’s been doing with him since she’s been hired.

“I can’t believe you played at wembley and I missed half of it” she says after a while, the water sloshing around her as she turns to look at him.

“There’s always next time” he grins at her playfully.

She throws a smile at him, “bet”.

His mouth opens in a sideway smile, his dimple indenting only one of his cheeks, and more seriously than he did before, he says “I wish you’d told me you weren’t feelin’ good”

“Didn’t want to spoil your day” she shrugs.

He wants to tell her she wouldn’t have spoiled it, that if she’d asked he would’ve postponed his show and crawled in bed with her, cuddling her until she felt better, even with the risk of getting himself sick too, he didn’t care. He would have done anything to make her feel good; but how can he tell her? How can he be honest about something like that without revealing another part of himself to her? He’s her boss. He’s older than her. And he doesn’t know if she feels the same way.

So, instead of making a complete fool out of himself, he ushers her out of the tub, passing her a towel without looking at her. He engulfs her in the bathrobe and ties it tight on her stomach, careful to have her bits covered completely by the fabric of the towel.

When he reaches his room, he takes out a t-shirt and a pair of boxers for her to sleep in, and he leave her to change in the bathroom.

While he waits for her to come out, he texts his mum if she could make that delicious soup she always prepared when he was sick, promising he wasn’t sick himself and that he’d explain in the morning. His mum answers a couple of minutes later with a thumbs up and a kissy face. 

He locks his phone and plugs it in the charger next to the bed, leaving it on the bedside table.

When YN comes out of the bathroom, she looks better already. Her cheeks aren’t as red and her eyes appear to be more rested, but, she still looks tired, and he smiles at her as he tugs the comforter down for her to slip in.

She curls up under the covers and waits for Harry to tuck her in, “comfortable?” He asks.

She nods with her cheek against the pillow, “just wish I was home” she whispers and the affirmation pains him.

“I’ve been overworking yah, haven’t I?” He sighs deeply, feeling extremely guilty. 

She’s quick to shake her head no, flinching when a sting of pain hits her temples with the movement. 

“Yes I have… you’ve been s’good” he smiles down at her.

“You’re a Wembley player now” she whispers, her eyes closing on her as she speaks, and Harry chuckles endeared at her. 

“Get some rest” he coos, but she’s already fallen in a deep sleep that will probably be tainted with a curly headed guy with green eyes and a pretty smile.

He fishes from inside her bag a tab of ibuprofen and, with a glass of water, he places them on the bedside table closer to her side, so, if she’d ever were to wake up in pain, she could take the medicine immediately. 

He takes the shortest shower he’s ever taken, quickly putting on his pajamas and brushing his teeth. Once he’s ready for bed, he slips in next to her, leaning down to press his lips on her forehead to check her temperature. She’s still warm, but the bath seemed to be of help, and probably the much needed sleep, too.

He thinks he’ll give her the rest of the month off. He owes it to her, so she can get back up on her feet and spend some time at home if she’d like. He takes a minute to wonder why hasn’t he ever given her more than a day of rest, and he doesn’t have to wonder too much, because he knows the answer already, one that is overbearing and too deep to even analyze after the day he’s had: he doesn’t want to be away from her that much time. It’s as simple as that. He’s fucked.

Read part 1 to their story here

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#assistant!yn #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harrystyles #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry concept #harry styles one direction #one direction #hslot #harrys house #harry styles love on tour #harry styles x you #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fic #harry styles writing

[justmystyles]

summary: a chance meeting at a diner turns your world upside-downand leads you on a whirlwind romance with one of the biggest pop stars in the world.

*back to my master list*

Chapter 1:

A work breakfast at a local diner leads to a meeting and unexpected invitation.

Chapter 2:

You attend your first Harry Styles show, but the most eventful part of the evening is afterwards.

Chapter 3:

Harry reaches out following your night together, and invites you to come visit him on tour.

Chapter 4:

Things heat up between you and Harry when you attend Harryween night 1.

Chapter 5:

It's Harryween night 2, and your last night in New York with Harry.

Chapter 6:

Harry invites himself to come spend some time with you while he's on break from tour.

Chapter 7 (NSFW):

Harry spoils you for your birthday.

Chapter 8 (NSFW):

It's the morning after your birthday, and it's finally time to have the talk you've been dreading.

Chapter 9:

Harry has dinner with your family.

Chapter 10:

You and Harry spend the rest of the week together, and have some conversations about your relationship.

Chapter 11 (NSFW):

Just as you settle into your long distance relationship, Harry returns for his New Year's visit.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x fem! reader #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles headcanon #harry styles meet cute #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry's house #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry edward styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #love on tour #hslot #hslot harry #harry styles fic

[bonesandchalamet]

Italy - h.styles

pairing: husband!harry styles x wife!reader

warnings: fluff

a/n: he looks so husband material in the latest Italy pictures!!! enjoy this lil blurb xx

you’d lay in the sun until you could become leather, or until the alcohol washed away and you were suddenly aware of the rays piercing down into your skin.

you’re laying at the head of the boat, towel underneath you collecting sweat and salty water droplets while you drift into sleep. you only wake the sound of a bottle squeezing out sunscreen and your husbands warm hands rubbing the cream into your skin.

“you’re going to get sun poisoning if you don’t wear this.” he mutters while furiously working his hands across your stomach to evenly distribute the SPF 30 to protect your skin.

“I’m fine, h.” you protest, but have no strength to push him off, just allowing him to help you.

“when you’re so red you can’t move tomorrow I’ll be the one to laugh.” he smiles, a chuckle escaping his lips before he places a gentle kiss to your Rudolph colored nose.

the rays of Italy were brutal. they were not kind like the sun in England that could give you just the perfect glow for the week or two. Italy’s sun loves to eat up pasty white skin and make anyone redder than a lobster.

he throws his leg over your waist and effortlessly pulls you closer to him, “you should drink some water or else you’ll get sick.” he reminds you with another kiss, this time into the crook of your neck. he burrows his nose into you, lips wrapped around your skin his teeth sink into the redness marking his territory.

“harry, stop.” you can’t fight the giggles or the gasps of air he has you in. you’re both so completely unaware of the passengers on board. he’s pulled you into a different universe with his tongue, lips, and teeth.

“alright, alright,” he pulls himself away finally. he swings his leg off of you sitting up right, “so water?”

“yes please.”

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x oc #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles x you #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles drabble #harry styles blurb #one direction blurb #1d fanfiction #harry x you #hslot

[cupid-styles]

lace (grumpy!h)

in which Harry is grumpy and mean to Y/N, who's just shy and trying to get through the day, and they're both teaching assistants for the same class.

word count: 4.9k

content warnings/author's notes: h being a dick, grumpy h x soft girl trope &lt;;3 part two will be posted a week from today!

masterlist | talk to me |

part two | part three

Y/N thinks Harry hates her. 

Which is kind of silly, really, because they didn't even know each other prior to being assigned as teaching assistants to the same literary seminar. They roam in two completely different circles and never would have crossed paths if not for the fact that Y/N is an English major and Harry got an A- in the course last year. 

Y/N's initially really excited that Professor Donnolly asked her to be one of her TAs. At their first one-on-one meeting together, she lets Y/N know that there will be one other TA this semester since it's such a large class, but this isn't concerning to her. She's quiet and introverted and an expert at keeping to herself, and she's far more focused on helping students in the seminar and building up her resume. 

So, she's generally pretty careless about the whole thing until Harry strolls in on the first day. He's dressed in all black, a tattered band tee decorating his torso, inky tattoos covering his arms, and a coffee in hand. He doesn't even have a backpack with him, which Y/N finds weird — she'd spent the previous night printing out worksheets and contact information for her batch of students, all of which were neatly filed in a folder in her bag. 

He plops down next to her at the front of the lecture hall and pulls his phone out. Y/N isn't typically very nosey, but she can't help that as she sits there, anxiously awaiting for the class to begin, she notices just about 20 missed texts lighting up his screen. She doesn't think she receives that many messages in a week. 

Because she's shy, she's hesitant to introduce herself, but maybe he doesn't realize there's another TA for the course despite sitting down right next to her. So she clears her throat and nervously picks at a loose string on her knitted cardigan before mustering up the courage to say something. 

"Hi," her voice is scratchy since it's the first time she's said anything all morning, aside from ordering an iced vanilla latte at the on-campus cafe, "I'm Y/N. Are you the other TA for this semester?"

Harry peers up at her with a glaring look. His eyes are so piercing that it almost makes her jump under his gaze. 

"Yeah, I'm Harry. Please don't continue this conversation, I'm hungover."

Y/N's jaw snaps closed at his bluntness, a warm blush encasing her entire body. She's so embarrassed that it physically hurts — and it's enough of a reason to stay quiet every time she sees Harry, twice a week at the seminar.

Weeks go by and nothing changes, the pair seemingly fine with their lack of verbal communication. Every now and then they'll have to physically interact, whether it be passing papers or the one time Harry held the door open for Y/N when they were leaving the lecture hall. She's surprised he didn't purposely slam it in her face.

She'll admit, it bothers her just a tad, but it's just another facet of her personality — an incessant need to people-please — that she scribbles down in her planner as a reminder to bring up in therapy sometime soon.

On Tuesday after class has ended, she's packing up her things, her back to Harry when Professor Donnolly strolls over to their table, the sound of her pumps clacking against the tiled floor. 

"Harry, Y/N, are you two available right now?"

In any other instance, Y/N would find a reason to be busy — her social battery is drained from today's workshopping class, where she went around discussing thesis statements with her assigned group of students — but this TA gig matters to her, especially after she did some online digging on Professor Donnolly and found out she has connections at multiple publishing firms Y/N could only dream of working at. So she sucks it up and bears herself for whatever her presence is needed for, even if it means being around Harry.

"I'm free," Y/N replies and Harry grunts out some form of affirmative answer. 

"Great!" Donnolly claps her hands together, "So listen, I'm seriously behind in going through these outlines and they need to be graded and handed back by Thursday's class. Do you guys think you could make a dent in the stack this afternoon? You could use my office while I teach this next lecture."

The thought of sitting in an office alone with Harry sounds absolutely humiliating, but to her surprise, he's the one that agrees to it before she even has a chance to run it through her brain. She zones out while Donnolly hands Harry the keys to her office, providing instructions on where the papers and rubric are, before he's turning on his heel and heading in the direction of the English department. Y/N scrambles and throws her bag over her shoulder, her chunky oxfords squeaking as she rushes to catch up to Harry. 

"You don't have to join me," Harry grumbles once she finally reaches him so they're walking side by side, "I'm perfectly capable of grading these outlines by myself." 

With a wrinkle in her brow, Y/N hugs her backpack strap closer to her body. "She asked both of us, so I'm helping."

"Yeah, but she doesn't have to know if you duck out to do whatever shit you do in your free time. Volunteering with the elderly or summat."

He mutters the last part under his breath, but Y/N hears it. Pain quickly zips through her stomach but it's gone just as quickly as it entered. 

"I don't volunteer with the elderly," is her final comeback, albeit mumbled as they reach Donnolly's office. Harry stuffs the key in the lock and twists the door open before flicking the lights on and zeroing in on the stack of papers on her desk. 

"Right, well, you act like a fuckin' church mouse, so apologies if my assumptions are a bit off." 

Y/N huffs and drops her bag on the cushiony couch. She doesn't even know Harry, so what gives him the right to talk about her like that?

"You're the one that told me not to talk to you on the first day," Y/N says pointedly, walking over to where he stands with the papers in hand, "I'm only doing what you asked of me. And don't call me a church mouse, you don't know anything about me."

She snatches the folder from him and halves the papers as he cackles from above. She can't help but notice that he towers over her, and it makes her swallow nervously. 

"You took that seriously? Jesus, you need to lighten up. Haven't you ever been hungover before?"

Y/N rolls her eyes as she sits down on the couch, folding her legs so her skirt doesn't ride up. She digs in her bag for her favorite red pen, fetching it from her pouch of writing utensils.

"Oh wait, you probably haven't. Because you're a church mouse." 

Y/N grits her teeth. She's never had someone care to provoke her this much and it's so annoying. Harry is so annoying!

"Can you please stop?" She says softly, removing the cap from her pen. "You don't have to be mean to me just because you don't like me." 

"How do you know whether I like you or not?" Harry scoffs as he sits down at Donnolly's desk, "I don't even know you." 

Y/N has to admit, that one hurts. So instead of responding, she swallows the lump forming in her throat and starts to read over Amanda Mai's outline. 

Harry doesn't bother her again that day. In fact, he doesn't even say goodbye when he's done. 

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The following weeks go similarly. 

Donnolly stops them both after class with some ask of grading papers or outlines or otherwise, claiming that she thinks they work well together, which Y/N thinks is some cruel joke from the universe. Every time her and Harry walk the familiar route to her office in silence, she wonders what she did wrong in her life and what bullshit karma she's on the receiving end of. 

At a certain point, she wonders if someone has made a voodoo doll of her just to torture her, especially when she thinks Harry's finally skipping one of their grading sessions together, only to find his tongue down some sorority girl's throat. He nearly pushes the girl off of him when he notices Y/N's unintentionally interrupted their makeout session. She holds back a snicker when she hears the girl ask what his problem is as she unlocks the door.

"Gotta go," Harry tells the girl lowly, brushing past her to follow Y/N into the office. The girl garbles out a surprised "what?" just as Harry's shutting the door and plopping down at Donnolly's desk chair. 

It's quiet for a moment and Y/N debates saying anything, knowing that however she chooses to approach the situation — whether she ignore the confused, pissed off girl outside or comment on Harry's apparent distaste for her — he'll dole out some rude response. 

She rolls her lips into her mouth as she passes him his half of the papers, eventually settling on, "You probably shouldn't bring your girlfriend to your job. It's unprofessional, I think, and you both could've gotten in trouble."

Harry chuckles dryly and Y/N immediately regrets her decision. 

"Mind your business, little mouse." he mutters, but not before he utters something out under his breath. "She's not my girlfriend either."

Y/N nods slowly and lowers her eyes to the assignment in front of her. Today, they're working on editing the first drafts of the class' papers, which is guaranteed to take hours. She grimaces as she reads over Ty Baker's introduction, realizing that she has a hefty load of grading ahead of her. 

When she pulls out her pencil case from her bag, she hears Harry scoff from across the room. Mentally, she hopes it's due to the poor writing he's reading, but she knows she's wrong.

"Do you always wear shit like that?" he sneers. A hot flush instantly pulverizes her body, making her feel embarrassed and self-conscious within seconds. 

She doesn't reply, but of course — of course — Harry continues. 

"I mean, seriously, how old are you? 23? 24? And you come to campus in little skirts and cardigans and those stupid Doc Martens. Are you trying to look half your age?" 

Y/N swallows harshly, attempting to focus on the words on the page. If she ignores him, he'll stop eventually. Harry thrives on her attempting to fight back. 

"Are you even gonna defend yourself?" Harry spits, leaning back in Donnolly's chair, "Kind of pathetic, really—"

Y/N's head snaps up, tears blurring her vision. She sniffles and looks at him, the embarrassment now overwhelming when his face falls, realizing that he's made her cry. 

"Please stop," Y/N says in a watery voice, "You're just being mean."

Harry stares her down with low eyes, his raspberry lips slighted parted. She can feel his intimidating gaze even as she tries to redirect her attention back to Ty's draft, attempting to blink the salty tears away. She thinks she's made it through until a shudder racks through her body, a sad and involuntary quiver sounding from her chest.

The room is dead silent so she knows Harry hears it, and she wants nothing more than to dig a hole in the ground and bury herself alive. It would be better than having to face the fact that Harry made her cry over rude comments. 

She braces herself for another tongue lashing but instead, he stands from the desk, grabs his things, and rushes out of the room, leaving Y/N sitting on the couch by herself with tear-stained cheeks. 

She wonders if she's ever been this embarrassed before in her life.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Y/N spends the weekend wondering if she can ask Donnolly to transfer her to another section.

As she cuddles with her kitten, Ginger, on the couch, binge-watching episode upon episode of Love Island, she contemplates how to approach the situation. 

"Ging, what do you think I should do?" she murmurs to the orange cat perched on her thighs, "He's kind of awful and he's so mean to me, I don't understand why. I never see him act that way with anyone else. I don't think I did anything to him."

Ginger meows.

"Okay, meow again if you think I should try to move to Donnolly's other seminar."

The kitten jumps off her legs and traipses to her food bowl. Y/N lets out a sigh and falls to the side face-first into a mess of throw pillows.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

On Tuesday morning, Harry is tired.

He stayed up way too late last night and Jenna wouldn't stop blowing up his phone, wondering where he was over the weekend and asking if he wanted to come over and hookup.

(It was a Monday for Christ's sake, and she clearly couldn't take a hint — if he hadn't replied to her last five texts, why on earth would he want to go and get his dick wet now?

He realizes that he's done worse, so he takes it back.)

He typically spends his weekends ambling through parties and bars with his mates. Jenna is just one of his current and most reliable hookups, and he clearly made a mistake by tonguing her in public last week while he waited for Y/N to unlock Donnolly's office. It had been a spur of the moment rendezvous — Jenna happened to be walking through the English department just as Harry was, and she surged towards him for a kiss that quickly grew to a heated makeout once she stuck her tongue in his mouth. 

Harry was weak and rarely one to turn down a midday hookup, but the second he heard Y/N's clunky footsteps (those Doc Marten oxfords she wore were a dead giveaway), he tore apart from Jenna. 

Because of their public snog session, he assumes that she thinks their arrangement is something more. And she couldn't be more wrong, because ever since Thursday afternoon, all he's been able to think about is Y/N.

He doesn't even know why. She's quiet and shy and the complete opposite of any girl he's ever been attracted to. She rarely even fights back when he tries to rile her up, which he thought would be fun, but then he went and made her fucking cry last week and now he feels like the worst person to walk the planet.

In hindsight, Harry knows he was a fucking dick to her on Thursday. He doesn't know what it is about her, but it annoys him that she's so shy. She's smart and pretty and sweet and he doesn't know why she doesn't see that, instead opting for quietness and soft smiles and a constant hope that no one will notice her. 

Harry very much notices her, and it makes him grumpy.

So on Tuesday morning, he decides that he's going to attempt to make it up to her. He can't promise that he won't be rude, but when he makes his daily stop at his favorite coffee shop, he orders his own drink and hers, an iced vanilla oat milk latte. He hopes that she also didn't grab one before class but figures that at the very least, the effort would be appreciated. Maybe.

And Harry is actually kind of... nervous as he strolls into the lecture hall. He usually arrives a minute or two before class starts but today he's a whopping 10 minutes early, giving tight smiles to the students that wave hello to him. He's surprised that Y/N isn't there yet though he's never been this early before — maybe she likes to get there with five minutes to spare, even if she strikes him as an obsessively early type of person.

His eyebrows furrow when Donnolly enters the room and greets Harry with a grin, setting her things up at the podium. Clearing his throat, he tries to seem as normal as possible as he glances at the clock at the back of the hall. 

"Where's Y/N?" he asks, turning to look at Donnolly. 

The professor glances down at Harry, who's sitting at the TA table, his leg bouncing. He's clutching his own coffee cup and Y/N's is next to him, but now the plastic cup is beading with condensation and sweating onto the wooden desk.

"She's not feeling well today," Donnolly replies casually, her eyes peering over to the extra coffee on the table, "She said she'll try to make it to grading this afternoon, but I told her that wouldn't be necessary if she needs time to rest."

Harry coughs awkwardly and nods, ignoring the pang of guilt zip through his heart.

Donnolly purses her lips before clearing her throat and typing something on her laptop. "You have her number, right? I haven't had a chance to check on her but I want to make sure she's doing alright. Would you mind?" 

"I don't have her number, no." 

She hums and nods, "I just emailed it to you." 

Harry goes to reply, but Donnolly is already clapping her hands to announce the start of class.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Harry can't stop staring at Y/N's phone number.

At this point, he knows he's being a total and utter weirdo. Donnolly gave it to him to check on her, but instead of texting her, he opens her email and stares at the 10 digits until they blur together. He types it in his phone twice but can't decide on what to say. He knows it doesn't have to be a big deal — he's never been this stressed over having a girl's number before! And besides the fact, this isn't even that kind of deal, it's Y/N. 

Silly, stupid Y/N, who he can't stop thinking about, who he feels bad for being mean to, who he wishes came to class today so he could give her her dumb iced latte but instead had to throw out the melted, watered down beverage.

He doesn't text her, but he does the next logical step of looking her up on social media. Of course, her Instagram profile is on private and she hasn't posted on Twitter in five years. He tries to find any public trace of her online only to come up empty, so he groans and leans back against his pillows, pulls up the empty text thread and pastes her number in. 

It takes him four rewrites and 10 minutes of agony to finally land on: Hey. Donnolly asked me to see how you're doing.

Harry wants to throw his phone across the room but he resists, instead clutching it tightly in his palm. It buzzes a moment later and he nearly yelps to see her number on his screen. 

who is this?

"Oh my god," he grunts, slapping a hand over his forehead, "I didn't even say it was me!"

Grumbling, he quickly types back. It's Harry. She said you weren't feeling well.

He keeps the text thread up and watches as the speech bubble appears, then fades away. It happens three times before she replies. 

yea I have a migraine. im fine thanks

Harry swallows. His mouth dries as he tries to figure out how he can continue the conversation but she's really not giving him anything to go off of. He can't say he blames her, though.

Do you need anything?

Again, the three dots pop up on his screen and disappear twice more. 

no thank you

This time, he replies quickly: Do you think you'll be able to attend class on Thursday? If not, I can bring you the papers you have left to grade so you don't fall too behind.

He figures that's a decent response — maybe one that warrants more than three words, and he even wonders if it portrays his attempt to patch things up. 

if i need anything im capable of doing it myself. 

Harry sighs and locks his phone. He definitely deserves this.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

On Thursday, Y/N doesn't show up to class again. 

And at this point, Harry is ready to call her up or text her, or even email her to demand some answers. He's not sure what answers he's looking for — she said she had a migraine on Tuesday, but how could she still be dealing with it two days later? — but he's annoyed that she's not here. 

When class is over, Donnolly wordlessly hands her keys to him. He flashes her a tight small, dumps the rest of his coffee, and walks the short distance to her office, stewing in his anger. Had he really been that mean? He didn't think so; he knew he was a dick and yeah, he still regrets making her cry, but was it worth missing two days of class? She'll be so behind in grading, what's the point in even being a teaching assistant if she's just going to—

Harry's face wrinkles in confusion when he approaches the small office space, noticing that the lamp is already on, radiating a warm glow from the corner. The door is unlocked, too, which Donnolly never does. 

"Go fuckin' figure," he mutters to himself, prepared to have to deal with some sort of English department break-in, when he pushes the door open to find Y/N inside, sprawled out across the blue velvet sofa with her pink cardigan bunched up over her eyes.

He's immediately perplexed, and he wouldn't know it's Y/N if not for those clunky Doc Martens on her feet. Instead of her usual Levi jeans or rotation of mini skirts, she's wearing leggings and a baggy t-shirt over her form, her hair tied up and flopped over her head.

He can't tell if she's awake or not, so he very quietly shuts the door behind him. Her lips part and she takes a deep breath, her hand flying up to her temples with a wince.

"Y/N?" Harry whispers, dropping Donnolly's keys on her desk. 

"Leave me alone," she croaks, "Everything hurts, just shut up. Please."

Harry smiles gently as she tacks on a please at the end of her request. Something about her delicate state is very sweet, but it's quickly replaced with concern as he kneels down next to the couch. 

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, fingers itching to move the cardigan covering her face.

"No."

"What's the matter?"

"Migraine."

"Why are you on campus, then?"

"Stop asking me questions." 

He does, allowing her to ruminate in the silence as he decides what he should do. It's but a minute or two more before she slowly moves the cardigan down her face, revealing tired, squinty eyes that stare up at Harry.

"I've missed two days of classes and I didn't want to miss anymore. I came to campus this morning and I couldn't even make it through my first one. Donnolly said I could rest in here."

"All from a migraine?" Harry presses, a bemused expression on his face.

"Yes. I get them from stress."

It's the most that she's spoken to him in days and he chalks it up to her disoriented nature. Her hair is a mess and her eyes are bleary, fatigue and pain apparent in her every move. 

"Do you want to go home?" he asks. He doesn't know much about migraines, but his sister gets them sometimes and she always complains about his voice being too loud. He tries to keep his questions at minimal volume, teetering just above a whisper.

"Yeah, but I don't have a car and it's too bright outside to walk." 

"I can drive you," Harry murmurs without a second thought, "My car is in the building lot." 

"Isn't that a faculty lot?"

He rolls his eyes, "Are you really gonna harp on that right now?"

Y/N doesn't reply to this, instead trying her best to sit up, only to be met with a painful recoil. Harry jumps to keep her stable, his hands stretching out to steady her arms and keep her upright. 

"Sorry," he quickly mutters, "Don't want you to pass out on me."

She nods, and that's how Harry knows she must be really sick. He scrambles up and digs his car keys out of his pocket, then grabs his sunglasses dangling from his tee-shirt. 

"Here, you can wear these." 

Y/N doesn't reply and his shoulders droop in concern, carefully reaching forward to place them over her eyes. 

"Don't tell me if I look dumb." she mumbles, making him laugh.

"You don't. You look quite sweet, actually." 

He ignores the compliment that seems to fall from his lips effortlessly, instead choosing to focus on getting her home safely. Harry grabs her backpack and swings it over his shoulder, "Do you need help getting up?"

With squinted eyes, Y/N looks up at him, nodding once. She looks so sad and it kills him, mumbling out an "alright" as he reaches his hands out to help her stand. Once she's on her feet, she's capable of moving on her own, clutching her soft cardigan in arms. He doesn't want to touch her any more without her permission, especially if she hates him as much as she acts. He may be a dick, but he'd never intentionally try to make her feel uncomfortable when she's in such a vulnerable state.

Together, they walk out of the building and to the parking lot, where Harry's navy sedan is parked. He wants to make a joke about her pointing out that yes, technically he left his car in the faculty lot, but she just looks so exhausted that he doesn't have it in him. Gently, he guides her to the passenger's side and unlocks the car, making sure that she gets in safely. When she does, he rushes around the vehicle, placing her bag in the backseat and starting the car. 

"Where do you live, Y/N?" Harry asks quietly. She looks over at him in his black Ray Bans and a small smile quirks at his lips. He knows she would never be caught dead in this style of sunglass, but for the time being, he wants to take a picture on his phone so he never forgets the way she looks.

"On Maple." she grunts out as she tucks her arms into her cardigan. It's the end of summer, slowly crawling towards fall, but the daily temperature is still quite warm. He frowns and lowers the air.

"Do you have a roommate that can take care of you?" 

"I live alone."

His frown deepens at this as he pulls out of the parking lot and down the road. Yes, they're in grad school, both fully capable adults, but she has to get lonely living by herself, didn't she? He's never seen her out at bars or parties, and if stress migraines are a persistent thing in her life, how does she typically get through them alone?

Harry lives a few streets over from Maple so he knows how to get there. She makes some grumbly noise to let him know that he's reached their destination, so he parks outside and turns the car off. 

"I'll walk you in, if that's alright," Harry says. She pauses as she undoes her seatbelt, taking a moment to glance at him through the dark sunglasses. 

"Okay. But only because I need you to carry my bag in and make sure I don't puke on the way to my bed."

"Sure," he murmurs, making quick work to follow her inside. He realizes he must look ridiculous, dressed in all black with her pastel pink bag looped over his shoulder.

Y/N's house is very... Y/N. He's not sure what he expected since he's never really wondered about her living conditions, but the one-bedroom apartment is small and cozy, filled with art and plants and candles. Her favorite colors — or what Harry assumes to be her favorites — are constant threads throughout the home, accents of light pink and forest green dancing through her kitchen on mugs and in her living room on throw blankets and pillows. She has a large vase of sunflowers on her coffee table and a sting forms somewhere in his body, wondering if someone — a romantic someone — gave them to her.

Harry notices a small cat toddle towards her, instantly pawing at her shoes as she kicks them off. 

"Not now, Ging," Y/N mumbles, "Love you bunches, but 'm still sick."

"Ging?" Harry asks as he gently places her bag on the velvet green armchair in her living room. He picks the tiny kitten up and strokes the white patch on its head.

"Short for Ginger," she replies, turning to look at him. Her eyebrows raise behind the sunglasses when she sees that Ginger is already in Harry's arms, purring away at his pets. If she wasn't in so much pain, she would roll her eyes at the little traitor. "Um... I'm just gonna go upstairs and change and go to bed."

Harry nods, "Do you need anything?"

If she's being honest, Y/N hates going through migraines alone. She can't do anything by herself and she feels far more isolated and lonely than usual. In college, her roommate, Kelsey, was helpful and understanding, but Kelsey moved across the country after graduation. Besides her parents, Y/N doesn't have anyone else to help her in times of need like this.

"Yeah," she finally sighs, much to both her and Harry's surprise, "Can you... just stick around for a little? It's fine if you have things to do, but migraines give me a lot of anxiety and I... it helps to have someone here. Also, Ginger is lonely."

"Well, if Ginger needs company, then I'm more than happy to stay."

It's the first time he's ever made Y/N smile.

Read part two here :) | Read part three here :)

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[pinkhoneydrop]

Please…Mr. Ghostface

[ A/n ] - please be warned this is 18+ but please enjoy : )

[ Pairing ] - Boyfriend!Harry x Reader!

[ Genre ] -  smut

Y/n comes home to a gift wrapped box from Harry and what’s inside might be worth a scream or two

[ Masterlist ]

“Don’t move another inch.” Harry sat at the edge of the bed with his hands resting between his spread knees. He stared at you through the mesh of the mask he wore. It was his idea. Role play was never your thing but if the masks had anything to do with it you could get into it.

“Get down, on your knees.” His voice was so strong. So deep like he was speaking with lust behind every word. You came into the bedroom after your shower thinking you were going to be getting ready for dinner. You we’re instead greeted with a pristine white box with a note written on top.

“Crawl for me.”

When you opened the box all you found was a brand-new lingerie set. The Lacey bra on the top. And the lacy bottoms on the second layer. And the mask sat underneath the last layer of parchment paper. You took in a sharp breath as you lifted it up and read the second note attached “I’ll be ready for you, and I want you to be ready for me.”

“Yes, Mr. Ghostface.”

You had to stop yourself from moaning audibly when you saw him sitting waiting for you to get ready. Dressed in all black clothes that you set out for him to wear to dinner.  A black button down that hugged his arms exactly right when he had the sleeves rolled up like you like. Exposing his tattoos that you were running your hands over right now as you sat panting at his feet. Black slacks held up by a glossy black belt that were tight around his thighs and of course we can’t forget the mask. His cherry on top that you couldn’t wait to pop. It took everything in him to keep composure as he watched you crawl across the floor for him. Your ass looks impeccable in the black lace and the bra fit your tits perfectly.

Harry almost let out a whine because of the look you were giving him. Your perfect little face perched on his thigh. Your fingers danced around his belt buckle. Your eyes looked at him like you were asking permission. He nodded up and down letting you know it was okay. A deep sigh left his lips as you unbuckled and unzipped his pants. His dick had been growing in his pants since he saw you dressed in the doorway.

Your hands were warm as they reached past the waist band of his boxer briefs. You were practically drooling when you took it out of the confines. He was pretty and his dick was nothing less. A long shaft and pink as his lips at the tip.

“Fuck.” He couldn’t keep it in the anticipation was too much. Harry let out a strangled moan as you kissed the tip. You smirked as you slicked a strip up from the base to the tip leaving another kiss at the tip. “Fuck, baby.” Harry said as you palmed him in your hands.

He groaned as you bobbed your head. You pull off with a soft popping sound. Tilting your head to the side you lick up the side of his member. As you reach the top you look up to meet Harry’s gaze. His eyes were hidden but that didn’t stop you from looking though. He was so handsome. You imagined how His eyelashes would dance across his cheeks as his pupils darted back and forth even when his eyes were closed. Even when his expression was impossible to see you could tell he was enjoying himself from the moaned he let sip freely from his lips. Feeling a little bold you took him in your mouth again. You bobbed your head again and you took him as far as you could.

“Fuck baby, just like that.”  Harry moved his hands down to your head. He wrapped his hand in to your hair as you lowered your mouth on to him. As he hit the back of your throat you gagged causing him to moan.

“Oh, that’s it. Keep going.”

You gagged around his cock once more and then lifted your head. You release your mouth around the tip with a pop. Looking up at Harry you tilt your head and kiss the wrist of the hand that was retreating from your hair. A smile briefly crosses his lips, and they bump against the mask. It took you no time at all to resume bobbing your head up and down his length. You lifted up to kiss the tip and then went down to suck on his balls. You gotta stop.

“Stop, Stop!” Harry put some feeling into his voice as he gripped your wrist to stop you from stroking his dick.

“I have so much more planned for you darling.” Harry stood and looked at you from the ground; he reached out and caressed your face with his fingers.

 “Over there, y/n” Harry nodded over to the dresser where he wanted to have you. He spoke like he was commanding you and all you wanted was to obey. You looked at him from your spot on the bedroom floor. You stood before him in nothing but your bra and underwear set.   When you moved, Harry moved as well. The two of you were in perfect sync. He stood close and his breath hit the edge of the mask making a menacing sound as he loomed over your face as if he was going to kiss you. You looked deep into the dark pits of the mask trying to see his eyes. His hand slipped around your neck. Your breath cut short, and a soft whine left your lips as you stared into the mask.

         “Who do you belong to?”

         His voice was unwavering as he spoke to you. You couldn’t help but smirk as he tightened his grip on you and squeezed your neck a bit harder. Your lips parted and your jaw loosened as his grip hardened.

         “Don’t make me ask twice, baby you know I hate that. A good slut uses her words.”

         The silence in the room built up and it scratched at Harry’s brain as he watched you. Tears welled up in your eyes and your hand reached up to rest on top of his. His hand fell from your neck, and you took a sharp breath. You had made a mistake. Looking away from him and leaving the smirk on your face pulled him back into the moment.

         A hard smack met your ass cheek, the flesh stung. With one hand on your hip and one on your shoulder he moved you, so you were bent over the dresser. His hands moved to grip your hands and hold them behind your back. That mask was something else. Transforming your loving man into a domination machine.  Harry huffed as he bent over to speak in your ear. He lifted his head and yours, so you were looking at each other. Your hair fell into your eyes a bit, but you focused enough to see the reflection.

         “Are you going to behave now?” He chuckled as you whined again.

         “Yes” your chest was pressed into the wood of the dresser as Harry pinned you down with his weight. Your deep breaths made your cleavage rise and fall dramatically. Harry tilted his masked face as he spoke again.

         “Yes what?” His voice was firm and rough as he pressed into your back. You moaned as he grinded himself against you.

         “Yes…Mr. Ghostface”

A smile etched its way across Harry’s lips under the mask after hearing you. With his own leg he kicked your legs apart. Sitting up harry laced his fingers under the fabric of your underwear. He tugged and pulled at the clothing until they fell down on your legs just enough to expose you.

“Please.” You cried out. Harry could see you were getting desperate, so he glided his fingers close to your clit without touching it. You squirmed trying to get him to touch you were you wanted but this wasn’t about you right now. He wanted to see how far he could push you. See how much you would put up with.

“Shh, just relax.” Harry spoke low as he lifted a hand and rubbed lightly against your back. You shivered as his fingers danced across the skin and then you felt two of his fingers slipping against you just past your nerves. They stretched into you, and you moaned so softly that Harry barely heard it.

You were heating up if you were being honest with yourself. A pit formed in your lower stomach and his teasing was doing nothing but making it ache. Something about the mask and how he was roughly handling you sent shockwaves through your body. You were bent over the dresser with your bra on and your underwear halfway down your legs and your boyfriends’ fingers inside of you. Moving his hand, Harry eased his middle finger inside you again. You felt him pump them in and out over and over. The slickness between your thighs spreading as the anticipation caught up to you.  You laid your face down on the cool wood of the dresser as you waited for what was to come next.

“Stand up for me.” You sighed as you felt his fingers leave you, but you obeyed. Standing up you looked at yourself in the mirror. Sweat began to form on your temples and on your chest but before you could say anything harry was whipping you around to face him. He stood so tall in front of you. You trembled with excitement as he lowered onto his knees in front of you and moved to grip your calf.  After removing your underwear Harry lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. It had to be a sin the way you almost melted at the sight of him in that position. Fingers glistening still from being inside you and your leg resting on his shoulder as he wore that black and white mask. Harry wasted no time in lifting your other leg to rest on his other shoulder as well. Did he know you would be able to stand once he was finished with you?

“Here let me help.” You reached down between your legs and lifted his mask so that his mouth was free. You were met with a menacing smile and a kiss to your wrist.

“The things that I am going to do to you, baby.” Harry breathed out against your navel.  His fingers gripped the flesh of your thighs, and they wandered lower until he got to the place you needed him. Your breaths were uneven as you anticipated what he would do. Harry pushed the mask out of the way giving him a nice view of you. He spread your lips apart with his middle and index finger. A moan escaped your perfectly shaped lips when you felt his slender fingers, he glided a finger over your clit working you up and you tilted your head back in pleasure. He poked his tongue out and licked at you causing you to take in a sharp breath. Harry took that a sign to keep going and began to suck you into his mouth and prod at you until you were a mess underneath him. Your eyes flutter closed when Harry sucked particularly hard.

“Oh god.” You moaned out. Your face flushing as Harry continued, licking from your entrance to your clit. He teased you like this until you couldn’t keep still. A knot formed in your belly. Harry finally gave in and sucked your clit into his mouth swiping his tongue over the sensitive spot till you were panting like you just ran a marathon. The warmth you felt as Harry’s tongue was on you was incredible. You bucked your hips into his face as he sucked your clit into his mouth once more. His lips pulsing around the nerves making you cry out.

“Please Mr. Ghostface.”

Your hands tugged mercilessly at his mask. Harry moved one hand and used two fingers to help bring you to your release as he hummed against your clit.  Harry thought that the two of you could stay like this forever. Pleasuring one another until all the time in the world was exhausted and nothing was left but the pair of you. Harry was everything to you and you would do anything for him but right now in this moment with your man between your thighs sending you to another dimension with his tongue you knew he would do anything for you.

“Mmm…” Harry let out a loud groan when you tugged on the exposed strands of his hair. A smirk shaped your face as you looked down to see two eyes staring back at you. He smirked and sucked your cum off his fingers. Harry’s eyes bared a challenging glance as he stood up. His hands returned to your thighs, and he held you close as you lowered the mask back down. You rested your hands behind his neck, and he pulled you away from the dresser.

Harry crossed the bedroom in just seconds. Long legs striding across the ground until the two of you reached his desired destination. The first thing that was remedied was your bra. After tossing you into the mattress he reached behind you with one hand and undid the clasp expertly. Harry to a second to appreciate how lucky he was to have you so gloriously naked in front of him.

“I need to fix this.” Harry spoke while you looked up at him from your spot on the bed. You weren’t sure what he meant until he moved you himself. His hands were rough has he flipped you over and pulled your hips up. You heard shuffling behind you and felt the mattress dip as Harry took the spot behind you. His slacks were pushed down just below his bottom and his shirt was unbuttoned allowing his skin to press directly into yours. A moan left both of in unison as he rubbed his tip along your slit and rubbed your clit with the end of his length. Your hips twisted as he kept rubbing against you. And then Harry thrusted in with no mercy. His hand was pressing to your back to deepen the arch.

         “Ohm shit, right there.” You whined. Harry grunted and shifted his hips. He would be damned if you were going to do this to him. He picked up the pace and began drilling into you. Felling your stomach get tight you reached back to find your clit, but Harry slapped it away with his. You felt his fingers find your clit and rub into it.

“Fuck Harry, I want to cum so bad.” Harry immediately stopped. His hips stilled and his finger froze.

“What did you just say?”

“Please…Mr. Ghostface.”

“that’s what I though.” It was as though he went into hyper drive. His fingers and hips resumed in double time and your body began slipping forward. Harry abandoned your clit to yank you hips back in place. You practically screamed as his pace didn’t slow. “Come for me baby.” He said in your ear and instantly your body shuddered as your orgasm hit you. Having not cum yet Harry continued to thrust into you.

“Please…it’s too much.” You whined. At this point Harry was just chasing his own orgasm. His hips kept ramming into yours as he sank in and out. One hand left your hip and snatched the mask off his head, and it landed on the pillow beside your head.

“I’m almost done princes.” Harry forced out. You moaned in response as his thrusts fell out of rhythm. A second orgasm close because of the over-stimulation. You tightened your core and Harry moaned at the feeling.

 His body slid down on top of you, and you tried turning to face him. Harry graciously leaned back and maneuvered your legs so he could see your face. There he was in all his glory leaning over you. Looking into your eyes he smirked and kissed your lips softly. You giggle as some of his hair fell in your face. His hands trailed up your body and he placed a Kiss to your nipple. You keen into Harry’s touch as he brushes his thumb across the other one grazing your nipple. You grind your hips into his to create friction between yourselves. Your actions elect a soft groan from Harry. Pulling him closer you moaned something incoherent into his ear.

“W-what?” Harry says as he slowed his pace down completely. Harry didn’t know what to think of what you said. You groaned as he dragged against you.

“I said, come inside. Please.” Your voice hoarse from screaming out before. Harry wasted no time after you said it again. His Hips resumed a steady rocking, and he was close to finishing. A grunt left his mouth before he thrusted back into you and released. The feeling sending you over the edge and another shudder runs through your body. Not even bothering to move out of the way you let Harry collapse on top of you.

“I think I’m going to keep that mask for next year.”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles x black!reader #hslot 2023 #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff

[butdaddyilovehim-hs]

Obsession - Part 1

Summary: Y/N meets her brother's girlfriend's dad for the first time... and they can't seem to stay away from each other. Warnings: older!H, age gap romance, smut to come, angst

Word Count - 4k

"Jake, they're going to be here soon, right? You need to come downstairs so you can introduce me when they get here."

"Calm down, Y/N. I'm coming. Is the food ready?" Jake calls from his room. Y/N nods as she pulls the tray out of the oven before realising that he can't see her and yells back an affirmative. This is big. Jake had never invited any of his girlfriend's families to meet her - it had simply never been that serious before. But he seems to really like Isla, and Y/N, being the protective big sister, made him organise something. From what Y/N knows, Isla's mom is out of the picture, and she lives with her dad.

As Y/N quickly sets the table, she can't help but think about how much has changed since their parents' tragic accident five years ago. She was just 19 at the time, thrust into a world of responsibilities she hadn't been prepared for. But she rose to the challenge, becoming not only Jake's guardian but also his closest confidante and friend.

Now, at 24, Y/N is balancing her own life as well. She's in her final year at university, pursuing a degree in literature. Her love for books and storytelling has always been a part of her, and it's no surprise to anyone who knows her that she has chosen this path. Her dream is to become a writer one day, like her mom had been, crafting novels that will transport readers to different worlds, if only for a little while.

Jake emerges from his room, his usually tousled hair neatly combed. He wears a crisp shirt and a slightly anxious expression. Y/N can't help but smile at her brother. He has grown into a responsible and kind-hearted young man, and she is proud of him for taking this step.

"You look great," Y/N says, offering a reassuring smile. "Just be yourself, and everything will go fine."

Jake nods, though his nervousness is still evident. Y/N knows how much he cares about Isla, and she is determined to make this dinner a pleasant experience for all of them.

As they hear the doorbell ring, Y/N takes a deep breath and prepares herself, sneaking a quick glance at her brother, who looks even more anxious.

"Remember," Y/N whispers to Jake, "just be genuine. Show him that you truly care about Isla, and he'll see the same good-hearted young man that I see."

Jake nods, and they both make their way to the front door. Y/N swings it open and it takes everything in her to keep her jaw from falling open. Isla and her father stand in the doorway, the latter carrying a large bouquet of flowers. But the flowers aren't what has Y/N so taken aback.

The first thing that strikes her is his striking handsomeness. He has a timeless charm about him, with a chiseled jawline, piercing green eyes, and salt-and-pepper hair that only seems to enhance his rugged appeal. His eyes scan her up and down before he offers her a smile, one that Y/N feels in her core. He couldn’t have been older than 45, and he carries himself well. He oozes wealth and success, and Y/N has to remind herself to maintain her composure.

"Hello, Mr. Styles," she manages to say, though her voice quivers slightly. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Y/N, Jake's sister."

Mr. Styles extends his hand with a warm smile. "Y/N, the pleasure is mine, but it's Harry. I insist,” he replies, his voice smooth and comforting.

As they shake hands, Y/N can't help but feel a subtle connection between them, beyond the initial surprise of his appearance. His hand is warm, and she revels in the touch before realizing she might have been holding on a bit too long. She quickly composes herself, dropping his grip as Isla introduces herself, and Y/N sends the young girl what she hopes is a welcoming smile.

As they all settle at the dinner table, Y/N tries to put her initial surprise behind her and focus on making the evening enjoyable for everyone. The conversation flows smoothly, with Jake and Isla sharing stories of their time together. Harry doesn't grill Jake like Y/N had been worried he would, but instead, he is polite and extremely well-spoken. The sleeve of his jacket slides up slightly while he speaks, gesturing with his hands, and Y/N's eyes almost roll off her head when she catches sight of the start of a sleeve of tattoos. He must have noticed her staring because Y/N suddenly feels his eyes on her, and she meets his gaze to find him wearing a slightly mischievous smirk.

"So, Y/N, we haven't heard much from you this evening. Tell me about yourself." He leans forward, taking a sip of his wine, staring at her over the top of his glass.

"Oh, um," Y/N begins, feeling the blush rise to her cheeks. She is mindful that Jake and Isla are also seated at the table, so she needs to control herself.

"I'm in my final year at university currently. I'm studying literature."

"Really? It's one of my interests as well. I used to teach it before I took over running my father's company."

"Oh, that's amazing. I'm the same way… Jake likes to joke that we're going to run out of space for all my books." Y/N laughs, and Harry joins in her laughter. Jake simply rolls his eyes, muttering to Isla about how Y/N is going to fill his room with books when he moves out.

"Y/N, I forgot to ask you about this, and Mr. Styles, I hope it's alright, but I actually managed to get Isla and me concert tickets for this evening. Would it be alright if we went? I promise we'll be back before midnight." Jake pipes up, rubbing his hands together nervously. Y/N shoots Harry a look, who simply shrugs and nods.

"As long as you're being safe, I think that should be okay. Have fun, you two. Y/N and I will clean up."

Jake and Isla quickly bid their goodbyes, with Y/N and Isla exchanging numbers, and Y/N making the younger girl promise to text her if she ever needs anything. When the door shuts behind them, Harry and Y/N are left alone, and the air in the room shifts considerably.

"So…"

"So…" Harry mimics, coaxing a small laugh from Y/N.

"You don't have to stay. I can clean up alone. I'm sure you'd rather get home." Y/N says as she starts taking the plates to the sink.

"No, I'd like to stay. Get to know you a bit more." Harry picks up the wine glasses and follows her into the kitchen. Her breath hitches as she feels him behind her, but he simply reaches over her to place the glasses in the sink before moving back to the table to grab more things.

"Are you sure? No one waiting for you at home?" The question slips out before Y/N can stop it, and she internally facepalms. Get it together, Y/N. He isn’t interested. He's older than her, by a lot. Even if he didn’t have a girlfriend, what he did have was a hell of a lot more experience.

Harry appears back in the doorway of the kitchen, holding more plates, his smirk back on his face.

"No… no one at home. Are you trying to kick me out? Got a boyfriend coming over?"

"No boyfriend. I… haven’t had much luck in that department." She turns away from him, facing the sink so he wouldn’t be able to see the blush on her cheeks.

"Really? Pretty girl like you? I would assume the boys would be falling at your feet."

She shakes her head in a silent laugh as she loads the dishwasher before pulling out two clean wine glasses, lifting one in offering.

"One more glass wouldn’t hurt. Then I’ll leave you to your evening." He takes it with a nod of thanks, opening the bottle, and Y/N moves to sit on the couch, bringing the glasses with her. He sits beside her, and Y/N forces herself to relax when she realises how close he is. She can smell his cologne now. It’s vanilla, intoxicating, and almost euphoric.

"It’s fine. I enjoy some new company once in a while. Jake is a great kid, but we do get tired of each other."

"He seems great. Isla really likes him."

"Isla’s really amazing. You’ve done a really great job with her."  At this, Harry looks proud.

"I appreciate that. Raising a kid alone has been a struggle, but we’ve managed this far. I can’t believe she’s going to be 18. So, I’m curious to know more about your thoughts on some classics.  I don’t know many people who take as much of an interest in books as I do. What are your favourites?

“I love this question. I've always been fascinated by the works of Russian authors. Dostoevsky, in particular, has this incredible ability to explore the depths of human psychology. 'Crime and Punishment' is a masterpiece in that regard.”

Harry nods, his gaze fixed on Y/N as if hanging on to her every word. 

"I couldn't agree more. Dostoevsky's exploration of guilt, morality, and the human condition is both thought-provoking and intense. 'The Brothers Karamazov' is another one of his works that left a profound impact on me.”

"And what about contemporary literature? Are there any recent books or authors that have caught your attention?”

Y/N pauses, considering her response, swirling what is left in her glass.

"Well, I've been quite taken by the works of Kazuo Ishiguro. His ability to craft emotionally resonant narratives is truly remarkable. 'Never Let Me Go' is a haunting exploration of identity and mortality."

Harry nods again in agreement. "Ishiguro's prose is beautifully understated, and his exploration of themes like memory and love is incredibly moving. 'The Remains of the Day' is another gem. I have a really great article on some of his work. What’s your number? I’ll send you the link.” He pulls out his phone and looks at her expectantly. 

Y/N rattles off the digits and her heart races when he phone dings on the table. She has his number. 

There’s silence for a moment as they both drink from their glasses. Y/N can tell they’re both well aware of the tension, but Harry is better at hiding how he’s affected compared to her. 

"Have you dated since Isla’s mother?" Y/N isn’t quite sure where the question comes from, but her wine glass is getting awfully low, and Harry’s presence is messing with her head. Every few seconds, her eyes wander to his lips, and Harry follows her gaze. They’re treading in dangerous waters, and they both know it, but for some reason, it’s even more exciting. Y/N shifts slightly on the couch, and her knee brushes his. Harry doesn’t flinch; he doesn’t move; he just keeps his leg where it is, maintaining the contact. She watches as he takes another sip of wine, his gaze fixed on her, his eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and desire.

"Dated is a strong term. I sleep with people when I feel the urge. I haven’t met anyone that I’ve wanted to start anything serious with. No one I wanted to… what is it your generation says? Wine and dine?" He raises his glass in Y/N’s direction, his eyes locked onto hers.

Y/N can't help but laugh at his playful tone, even as her heart races at the implications of his words.

"Yes, wine and dine. That's certainly an approach, Mr. Styles.” She hadn’t meant for the name to sound as suggestive as it did. Or maybe she did. He swallows thickly at the use of his last name, shifting in his seat. 

“Well maybe I just haven’t met the woman who’s made me want to change.”

“That’s a… possibility.” He’s slightly closer to her now and his scent is overwhelming her. Her gaze flicks from his eyes back down to his lips again and this time, he calls her out on it. 

“Do you need something Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked if you needed something. You seem rather fascinated… is there something on my face?”

“Oh! No! There’s nothing on your face it’s fine.” “Just fine?” He teases and Y/N covers her face with her hands, her head spinning slightly from the alcohol. She looks up at him again, meeting his eyes and trapping her bottom lip between her teeth. He groans, almost inaudibly. 

“Stop looking at me like that Y/N or I’m going to think-” He trails off, before shaking his head and running a hand over his face. He stands, picking up his wine glass and moves towards the kitchen.

“Think what Harry?” Y/N follows him, standing in the doorway, forcing him to look at her. 

“I- I think I should be going. It was lovely to meet you and Jake finally, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” 

Y/N decides to play dumb. She is fully aware of what’s behind his sudden change of mood, and she knows he’s cautious. Wary. Normally she would be too, but the wine has made her bold and he’s captivating. 

"Harry," Y/N says softly, taking a step closer to him."Is everything okay?” 

Harry lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he looks at her with a mixture of longing and frustration. "Y/N, you're making it really difficult for me to leave," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

“So don’t.” Her arms go up, around his neck and they’re close now. Close enough that Y/N can feel the warmth of his breath on her face. And then he’s leaning in. 

Their lips touch for the first time and it’s electric. Harry’s hands move up her body, tangling in her hair, pulling slightly and Y/N moans into his mouth. He quickly establishes dominance in the kiss, kissing her until she’s gasping for air. He walks with her, pushing her until her back is against the wall and he’s leaning into her. Harry pulls back for a moment to breathe and Y/N pulls him closer, wanting needing him in her orbit. He sinks into her touch for a second, two, three and then he’s pulling away from her, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck.” He mutters, almost to himself and his internal turmoil is more than evident on his face.

“Harry? What’s wrong?”

“Y/N I’m almost twice your age. And this?” He gestures between them. “Can’t happen.” 

“Why not? You feel it don’t you? The pull? There’s something here.” Y/N steps closer and Harry lets her. 

“Of course I feel it Y/N and that’s why I know that whatever it is, we need to ignore. You’re young, and I’m well…”

“Just because I’m young, it doesn’t mean I’m immature Harry. As an adult, I’m telling you that whatever this is, I’m ok with it.”

“I can’t- I don’t… Y/N, I have to go.” 

Y/N stands there speechless as Harry pushes away from her. He grabs his jacket off the couch and moves towards the door. 

“Harry, let’s talk about this.”

“Thanks for dinner.” And then he’s gone, shutting the door behind him, leaving Y/N alone, incredible confused and slightly turned on. 

It’s been two weeks since Y/N saw Harry at dinner and it’s been about two minutes since she last thought about him. Well to be more precise, since she last thought about the feeling of his lips on hers. If she closes her eyes, she can picture it. The warmth of his touch, the way he pushed her up against the wall…

“Y/N? Are you even listening to me?” Jake waves a hand in front of his sisters face, noting that it’s the 3rd time that she’s zoned out during the conversation.

“Oh. Sorry. What were you saying?” Y/N forces herself to pay attention. 

“Isla said she’d text you but she wanted to know if you’d be cool with going over to their place to help her with an assignment for her literature class.” 

“Umm… is her dad going to be there?”

“Mr Styles?” Jake raises a quizzical brow. “I don’t know… why?”

“Uh, no reason. When does she want me to come over? I’m working most of this week except tomorrow.”

“I told her that, she said tomorrow was fine. Thanks for helping her Y/N she’ll appreciate it.”

“No worries Jake.” Y/N offered a small smile but internally, she couldn’t be more stressed. The thought of seeing Harry again, especially after he left in such a rush, made her incredibly nervous. Maybe he wouldn’t be there. Hopefully he wouldn’t be home. 

(4:09pm) Isla Styles: Hi Y/N! Jake told me you were happy to come over and help me tomorrow! Thank you so much! I should be home around 6pm, usually I work till 8 but I’ll ask to finish early. Dad shouldn’t be home so I’ll leave a key under the mat for you. Let yourself in at 6 if I’m not home yet and I’ll meet you there.

(4:34pm) Y/N: Hey Isla! No worries, happy to help. See you tomorrow :)

6pm rolls around and Y/N finds herself standing in front of the house… well mansion Isla had given her the address for. There are no cars in the driveway so Y/N assumes Isla is running late. But just in case, she knocks. And she waits. There’s no sound from inside the house so Y/N fumbles under the mat for the key and slides it in the lock. She’s aware she’s alone in the house but she still tiptoes inside quietly. The ceilings are high, and there is a large statement staircase in the middle of the entrance. Floor to ceiling windows are in excess and Y/N stands quietly in awe for a few moments. It’s modern, and clean and everything Y/N would want in a house. She finds the living room easily, deciding to set up the few things she brought to help Isla with her assignment on the dining table. 

(6:09pm) Isla Styles: I’m on my way! 15 minutes, I swear! Make yourself at home x

Y/N is opening her laptop when she hears a noise. A noise that sounds a lot like a moan. And then it happens again. It’s faint, muffled due to where she is in the house, so she moves from the dining table to the bottom of the staircase. 

“Fuck Harry. Right there, oh my GOD!” The woman’s voice is high pitched, her moans increasing in volume as Harry, from what Y/N can gather, fucks the shit out of her. 

“You like that baby? Gonna come for me? You feel so good. Fuck Y/N.”

Y/N stills at the sound of her name, not waiting to hear the other woman’s response before scrambling back to the kitchen. Did he just…? Surely not.

10 minutes passes and Y/N hears heels click clacking down the stairs. From where she sits, she gets a glimpse of a woman in a short blue dress, who lets herself out without another sound. 

At least they’re done, Y/N thinks to herself. 

She’s scrolling mindlessly on her phone, willing Isla to appear, when she hears footsteps. She didn’t hear the front door open again which means…

Harry appears in front of her, with only a pair of boxers on, making his way to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. He hasn’t noticed her yet and Y/N doesn’t really know how to handle it. But as usual, her mouth speaks before her brain catches up.

“Do you usually call the women you’re hooking up with my name? Or is that just a more recent thing?” 

He jumps, spilling a bit of water down his chest, as he realises who is sitting at his dining room table.

“Y/N what the fuck are you doing in my house?”

“Hello to you too. Isla wanted help with an assignment. She’s late, so she told me to let myself in. She also told me you wouldn’t be home. But obviously you are… and someone else is too it seems.” She smirks at how uncomfortable he seems as she makes her way over to him. 

“Isla isn’t home till after 8 on Saturdays.” Is all he can think of to say. 

“Mmm. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m not discussing my sex life with you Y/N. I told you, nothing is going to happen between us.” But even so, he steps closer. 

“Ok, but if you’re calling other women my name, you must want it to. And I want it to. So that makes us two consenting adults. I don’t think I can stay away from you, Harry.” 

Harry’s eyes shut as he inhales the smell of Y/N’s perfume, the intoxicating scent taking him back to the night a few weeks before. This time Y/N is the one to lean in, attaching her lips to his. She’s mindful that he was fucking someone else just moments before but in the moment she can’t bring herself to care. She can feel the moment that Harry gives in, caging her in against the kitchen counter, devouring her mouth with his. Y/N runs her fingers down his chest, revelling in the chance she gets to touch and feel. His skin is smooth and his curls are soft. She finds the harder she pulls, the more insatiable he becomes. 

“Y/N? Are you here?” Isla’s voice rings out from the foyer and both Harry and Y/N freeze, pulling away from each other.  

“Get out of here… when she sees you without any fucking clothes on she’s going to ask questions.” Y/N pushes on his bare chest and Harry quickly moves up the back stairs up to his room, but not before pressing a small peck to her lips again. 

“I’m so sorry I’m a bit late! Are you ready to get started?” Isla chirps, completely oblivious as to what was happening just moments before. 

Y/N nods, and starts to show Isla some of the books she brought when her phone dings. Once, twice, then three times.

“Someone’s popular!” Isla jokes. Y/N offers her a small smile as she flips her phone over. 

(6:31pm) Harry: You’re right.

(6:31pm) Harry: I don’t think I can stay away from you either.

(6:31pm) Harry: Let me take you out for dinner. Let’s talk. 

Y/N glances nervously over at Isla, who seems engrossed in her reading material. 

(6:33pm) Y/N: Ok. We’ll talk.

A/N: Hi!!! Thank you for reading, I am SO excited for this series to begin. What do we think of our characters so far...? Reblogs and Feedback are always appreciated 💋

Tags:

@lukesaprince @harryspirate @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @lilyrmason12 @styleslover-1994 @stylesfever @kathb59 @indierockgirrl @bxbyysstuff @gills-lounge @lomlhstyles @opheliaofficial07 @behindmygreyeyes @gem1712 @stylesmoonlight12 @babyiamperfectforyou @velvetballaspark @harrys-flower @macy-tpwk @mema10 @intimacywithceline @jerseygirlinca @daphnesutton @rafaaoli

#harry styles #hslot #love on tour #harrystyles #harry styles au #harry styles fics #harry styles fic #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles ceo #harry styles smut #harry styles age gap #harry styles older #older!harry #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry edward styles

[poeghoul]

poeghoul’s masterlist

requests are open! ⋆｡°🕯️✩.˚₊

series

hard times (on going)

in which harry is somewhat scary and y/n is beyond infatuated.

one two three four

cw: mafia!harry, drug mentions, panic/anxiety attacks, angst

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles fiction #harry edward styles #hslot

[fruitmans]

Modelrry <3

#harry styles #harry imagine #harry styles imagine #harry styles icons #harry styles edit #hs #hs imagine #hs edit #hs icons #hslot #credit to owner #<3

[eveningepiphany]

welcome to the final show | H.S, part 3

my masterlist!

part one and part two!

summary: harry goes over to y/ns hotel for a good old room service dinner, also getting a little tipsy on wine, while starting to blur some lines. and it’s not long before things are no longer just between the two of them.

warnings: fluff, swearing, alcohol, getting a lil wine drunk, paparazzi, being confused on if you’re falling in love or just really good friends.

a/n: i’m so excited to finally have this written for you all! i’ve had some pretty bad writers block, hence the delay in getting it to you, but thank you so much again for your support and I hope you enjoy <3

———

There’s a certain type of attatchment that comes around once and a while. It’s rare.

It’s when things start to flourish. Maybe with a hobby, a passion, or a new found person. One your brain decides to put all its focus and interest on, to the point it’s all consuming.

This one gets stuck to you like glue. Hard to shake in the sense of no matter how hard you try to ignore it, it’s all you can think about.

Losing yourself in daydreams of something or someone without even realising, until you’re reaching for anything that will bring you closer to filling that need.

That’s exactly what’s leading you to be reaching for your phone at any given point of the day.

You imagine many perceive it to be a permanent growth on your person. But you can hardly help it. Texting is a simple way to reach someone. Feel connected.

So, safe to say you’ve messaged Harry more than your own family over the course of this trip.

You’ve become attached. To Harry Styles. Again…?

Of course, being a huge fan it’s easy to say you should probably already be accustomed to this, given your level of obsession.

But this is a whole other ball game. One that is becoming like an internal battle. Your already unhealthy and predisposed infatuation paired with now a real physical connection is enough to render you useless.

You reach for your phone. Text him, your brain begs. You consider. No, stop being clingy you loser, your brain rolls her metaphorical eyes. You place the phone down. Stare at a wall. Think about him. Rinse, repeat.

Not normal, you don’t think.

However, you search for some kind of justification. That you’re just good friends, and all that shit. It’s normal to miss someone you’re friends with.

If he considers you as that.

Which you would hope since you’ve been texting him enough it would be concerning if he saw you as just some mutual of his.

You’re also sitting in a cafe, unfortunately without him right now. Eating a croissant wishing that he were here. Allowing your gaze to linger on the chair across from yourself, imagining his solid frame filling up the empty space. What he would do if you stood up and ran a hand through his hair, maybe lent down a little so you could just—

The ring of the bell atop their entrance chimes and drags you out if your dangerous and spiralling thoughts. And for some reason get excited like you’ve somehow manifested this man to walk through the cafe door by thinking of him.

Feeling silly at the nag of disappointment in your stomach as you see an ordinary bloke saunter over to the till.

Maybe one you would check out, or emit some kind of interest in before you properly met Harry. You would feel disloyal now. Like the parasocial relationship has entered an entirely new level of psychotic.

If it’s still parasocial, that is. Or if now you’re just simply a girl with very cloudy and mixed feelings about a very beautiful man.

You audibly sigh out. Eating the final bite of your admittedly delicious croissant and picking up your phone.

You type out a message, sending it before you can even think it.

I’m in a cafe right now without you and you’ve honestly ruined them for me. I miss you and your free cups of tea.

Without me? Rude.

You laugh at his quip, watching as the little bubble pops back up indicating he’s typing.

I’m out right now, but if you’re not busy later we can do something? Go out or I can come over to yours.

You pluck mindlessly at your bottom lip with your teeth, how could you say no to that?

You stress over it either way.

well, you’re very welcome to come over to my hotel room. we can order room service if you want?

To this he texts back an agreement, seemingly keen. And you realise immediately you have to tidy your room before he comes over.

You swing him the location of where you’re staying, including your room and floor number.

Thank you love, ill be there in like 3 hours say? If that works for you.

At that, you stand, because who are you if not over-prepared. And it was time to go make sure your room didn’t like a war had been waged in it when he came over for the first time.

Cant be having a bad impression, you figured.

———

You did in fact rush back to your hotel complex. Not even stopping a crepe stall you passed by, which had to be a first for you. You clean the place until it appears well-kept at the least.

And once you’re finished, you easily fall back into overthinking the whole thing. So excited, yet getting those anxious jitters like a caffeine addict 12 hours no coffee.

Which is why you decide to busy yourself with an afternoon shower. And at the time you’d still had over an hour to go.

You take of course longer than you intended, and shortly after you come out there’s a knock at your door, easily making you jump as you tug a shirt over your head. Regretting the last minute decision for a shower since now you have wet hair and probably look like a right mess.

But it’s not like you can leave him out there while you go blow dry your hair, so you rush over to the door, and tug it open.

His brows shoot up, and a smile slowly blooms on his face as he takes in your appearance.

Your hair is still near dripping, and you stand in bike shorts and a loose tshirt. The most casual he’s ever seen you. Which he loved the look on you more than he admits to himself.

“Hi darling,” he smirks, a warm feeling settling over him as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Hey, Harry.” You stand for a few moments longer, finally shuflling out of his way to let him through the door. He is adorning a white shirt and has the cutest little bandana around his neck.

“I’m sorry,” You laugh, gesturing him inside, “I was drastically overestimating how long it would take me to shower… hence why im in this state.”

He pulls a hand from behind his back, a cup being presented to you.

“Don’t be silly, y’not in a state at all.”

“You’re joking—“ You gently take the cup from his ringed hands, “Harry!”

“M’sorry, m’sorry. I saw a coffee van on the way and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Did you get one for you?”

“No, but I did have a little sip of yours.” He confesses with a quiet laugh. But he quickly busies himself with your room, padding around and peeking out the balcony window.

You take a sip, watching him examine your space. Grateful you cleaned it.

He asks you a few questions about random things in your room, and you settle yourself on the foot of your bed, cross-legged.

You didn’t really think about the lack of seating in your one man room. But this hardly bothers Harry, since he’s scoped up the room service menu from wherever he found it, and sat next to you.

“Alright… what d’we have.” He talks to himself, opening up the menu and scanning over the foods.

You discuss the options, settling on a pizza and pasta to share, because, well, you’re in Italy.

The night progresses easily as time always seems to do when you’re together, and you fake fight over the best kind of pasta sauce. But he lets you have to last slice of pizza so peace is made shortly after.

“Should we order a wine or something? T’wash the pasta down.” He suggests as the sun begins setting.

“Why not, I won’t say no to some wine.”

That gets ordered to your door, and you go from the foot of the bed to lazing at the head of it. Sipping on wine and recounting old stories, or discussing stupid topics.

“Do you think the chicken or the egg came first?” You swirl your glass around, eyes shifting to look at his side profile as he gazes at your roof.

His cute nose outlined by the warm light off the lamp, which you flicked on in the corner after it got dark.

He bursts out into a laugh, “what kind of question is that?”

“I feel like it indicates the sort of person someone is.” You shrug, smiling.

“What like it gives you an intel on my personality?”

“Something like that.” You nod, “and decides if we have to stop being friends, if you answer the wrong one.”

He grins, “Well, maybe tell me which one to pick so we don’t have to do that.”

“Awh, so you don’t want to stop being friends?” You coo, still staring at him, watching as his eyes flick from the roof over to you.

“Of course not, who else am I meant to go on cafe dates with.” He laughs.

You’re both teetering on the edge of being tipsy, and it’s evident in the way you’re both talking to one another. Borderline flirting, probably a more fitting way to describe it.

“True, because I’d be very hard to replace.” You snort with sarcasm, taking the another sip of wine.

“You would be! I love our little dates.” He smiles, the second time he’s dropped the word date in the last minute.

You’ve scooted closer to one another somehow. Shoulder to shoulder as you steal glances of his beautiful face. Maybe this was subconscious, or on purpose. But you’re drawn to him like a magnet.

“So do I…” You flush.

“I’m a little tipsy.” You clarify, breaking the searing eye contact and looking at the near-empty glass in your hand. A fourth refill would easily tip you over the edge.

He lets out a quiet laugh, “Wine gone to y’head too?”

“Mhm, and I have a track record of poor decision making when I have too much of it.” You recall the plenty of times you did the stupidest shit just because you were wine drunk. Hoping that does not happen tonight.

“Might have to see it one day.”

“One day…” you agree, but you realise that you’re not really in Italy for much longer. You have about a week and a half left now.

“I… Harry,” you turn your body to face him, and he sits up a little, noticing the almost serious tone to your voice.

“I’m leaving soon.” You blurt it out, because it’s the only topic of conversation you’ve both been steering clear of. The thing neither of you want to address because eventually this won’t be easy to do. Who knows how many miles could get out between you.

And it almost hurts you to admit yourself because… where exactly does that leave you both?

Does your contact end when you leave Italy? Do you become people who occasionally text on a bi-monthly basis?

He draws a breath, “So am I.”

You let out your own tortured sigh, turning to pop your glass on the beside table and then lean your head onto his shoulder.

Your heart jumps at the contact, and somewhere in your brain, sober Y/N lets out a gasp, because she would never have the balls to do that.

So the wine maybe was a great idea…?

He wraps an arm around your back, “I go back to London after this.”

“Second week of August as well?” You pray it’s not earlier than the start of the month, since tomorrow is literally the 1st.

“Yea, the 13th.” He nods and it’s the only tiny shred of relief you’re getting from all this. That there’s still time left.

“I fly out on the 12th.” You say quietly.

But there’s a small silence that consumes you both for the first time since you met. Because you’re kind of exasperated for options right now. What do you say to someone who is going to inevitably slip from your grip.

You shake your head at nothing in particular, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, since words really weren’t going to cut it.

Somewhere in his muddled brain he notes this is the second time you’ve ever initiated a hug. And he leans into it, the arm he had around your back tugging you infinitely closer.

Your cheek is pressed to his neck, and you swear you feel his lips ghosting over the top of your head.

Slowly, you pull back. And he watches you with sharp green eyes. You hold that gaze, until he’s the one that breaks it. Stifling a groan with his hand, covering his face.

You look at him quizzically.

“I like this more than I probably should.” He gestures now between the two of you.

You chuckle, a tiny flutter in your stomach announcing it’s presence.

“So we’re making the most of the time left in Italy, then?” You put forward, ready to nearly wipe your schedule clean for the man.

Which, who could blame you?

“What are y’doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing, if you’re the one asking.” You laugh, and he smiles wide at your comment.

“Oh, is that so darling?”

You roll your eyes in attempt to be convincing, “of course, you always buy me tea so…”

“Well, that decides we’re going to another cafe I suppose.” His hand reaches for his phone strewn on the quilt somewhere, pulling up google maps to find some nearby cafes.

You perch your head back onto his shoulder to watch him scroll through the options. He stumbles on a beautiful looking one, less than a 10 minute walk away. He looks to see if you approve.

He peers down to where you rest on his frame, smiling unwillingly at the sight of you. Your own eyes trailing up to meet his.

And he swears they linger on his lips. Just for a fraction of a second.

“Mh, what d’ya think.” He gets out, voice suddenly several octaves lower. Almost gravelly.

You almost audibly gulp at the sound of him. Hyperaware of his existence right now, you could nearly zone out thinking about the strength of his arm muscle that’s right now pressed against you.

“Yea… yea that looks amazing. And tomorrow, what time?” Your hands fiddle with themselves in your lap.

“How about 1, since you’re probably gonna wanna sleep in a bit.” He suggests, free hand pushing his curls from his eyes.

The way he knows you’re probably going to want to sleep in. God.

“I’m down.” (Bad)

A smile erupts over your face, and you almost forget that the clock is still ticking. That you only have so long left here.

Which ‘almost forgetting’ isn’t enough to stifle the urge to use it as some kind of yolo shit. Because that is unbelievably strong. Like why not just invite him to stay the night?

Maybe another glass of wine and you can gaslight yourself into cuddling him and just falling asleep. He wouldnt leave unless he had to, so it’s an almost flawless plan.

———

The plan infact, was flawless.

To say the least, he slept at yours. In your bed.

I mean you don’t really remember it, since you talked into the early hours of the morning and drank some more alcohol to really top it all off.

You woke up under the covers, still clutching onto Harrys side.

He was already awake, scrolling on his phone, seemingly unbothered by the fact your head had taken residency on his chest.

You take the initiative to glance at the time in the upper-right corner of his phone, a little shocked when it reads 11:47am.

You do groan at the morning light streaming in the windows immediately after seeing the time though.

“G’morning. D’ya have a headache?” He asks with what you can only assume is the end of his morning voice. Which although just a taste, is enough to send you spiralling.

It’s also around now you realise he’s stripped down into boxers— still clad in his white shirt. What the fuck!

You struggle to form a coherent response.

“Morning. A little.” Your voice comes out as a hum.

Somehow, considering you’re cuddling him right now and you literally just slept in the same bed all night, both of you outwardly are quite relaxed about it.

Nothing is awkward. It feels lovely.

“I want a croissant so bad.” You huff, sitting up, stomach growling like as if you hadn’t eaten in a whole 24 hours.

“So, you’re the kind of person that’s hungry immediately after they wake up?” He laughs, hand coming to push the locks of your bed hair out of your face.

Outside of the sheer domesticity of that (which makes you literally have heart palpitations), your hair is a proper train wreck.

The humidity in Italy has made it horrific.

“I guess I am right now?” You reply to his previous ask, combing your fingers through the locks.

“Jesus Christ.” You curse at its uncooperativeness.

“Y’know that episode of friends where Monica complains about how the humidity fucks her hair, she was so right.”

“I love friends.” He immediately gasps, nearly jolting upright in excitement.

You laugh at his enthusiastic reaction, noting that you have to somehow find time over the next week to watch an episode or two with him.

“And if it’s any consolation, I think your hair looks great.”

“Yea well, it’s not like you’d really be able to relate to the frizzy hair. Since yours look so perfect all the time.” You joke.

This evokes a genuine flush on his face, “Alright, Y/N, calm it down.”

He’s laughing but you swear he actually looks a little flustered. Without the wine as a confidence booster, he seemed like suddenly he didn’t know how to take a compliment.

Unbelievable to you since he probably gets that many a day from strangers on the street.

“I, am going to get up and get ready then, so we can go out and eat.” You state, excited to be seemingly spending the majority of the day with him.

He holds back the urge to beg you to stay in bed with him, and says something nonchalant as if he doesn’t mind you getting up. But when you pad off to the bathroom he stares at your now empty space. And immediately shivers at the lack of your body warmth, despite the already warm humid weather.

After a few trips in and out of the bathroom you come out looking beautiful. And he has to get himself up and ready to go in attempt to not overthink it.

You craved his closeness the whole time it took you to prepare for the day. Every few minutes you’d get this almost overpowering urge to just go out there and throw yourself back into his arms.

It’s borderline pathetic. But now you’ve had him in your bed, his strong arms coddled around you, it’s very hard to not to be just that. His physical presence is perfect and comforting. You’re attached to that as much as any other aspect of him.

He puts on his pants, which were folded neatly on his own bedside table, plucking out the car keys in his pocket, “Im gonna nick down to my rental car, because I have an extra button up in there, so I’ll wear that out.”

He comes back and changes into said white button up, stripping his worn shirt off and leaving it somewhere.

Just like that, you’re ready to go, and you both decide to walk the short way there. It was too nice a morning to not.

The whole walk you’re chatting away as usual. But it’s paired with this newfound physical aspect. The way you so obviously want to be close it hurts.

Yet somehow you both act like it’s nothing. That the brushes of hands and shoulder as you’re in step beside each other is a simple coincidence.

And that when you get breakfast, the two croissants and shared cookie is just a friendly thing. In your head you’re even playing off the touching all throughout breakfast.

Which sounds dirty— but just the little conversational touches. Like a hand reaching out to touch a forearm in laughter, acting as if it adds something important to the moment being shared.

Or that somehow when you leave the cafe, with two takeaway cups of tea, the hands that end up interlinked softly between the two of you is just…

Well… who even knows anymore?

Because you’re walking through italy beside Harry— who is talking about his favourite kind of playground equipment, regardless of if he’s a near thirty year old man— all while holding your hand.

And to take a moment, because it’s important, his hands are everything they’re talked up to be. Littered with chunky rings and calloused fingertips from the years of guitar playing. Yet contrasted by his soft palms, which cups yours with this delicateness it almost brings a tear to your eye.

You also pray that your own hand isn’t sweating profusely in his grasp, because you wouldn’t put a clammy hand past yourself. The already humid weather paired with your anxiety surrounding this whole situation is quite literally the match made in hell.

Nothing about this can be passed off as casual to your brain anymore. You’re literally about to implode.

But you strive to hide it. So you solider on.

“I’m a seesaw girl okay. Hear me out—“

“No, I can totally see that!” He interjects, and you chuckle at his quick agreement to your statement.

“Right? They are so much fun. And even though I nearly took a tooth out playing on one when I was 7, I can still recognise they are superior.”

To that he laughs and bumps his shoulder into yours, “I mean I love that. I’m probably a swing person, I feel like no matter the age I will always be down for it.”

You can agree that a swing is a solid second favourite for you. And as you talk about that point with him, you don’t realise you’ve walked the whole ‘scenic’ route back to your hotel until you turn the corner and the entrance is around the corner ahead. And the way you went usually takes an extra 20 minutes.

It went so fast.

“Are you gonna head off or… come back up with me?” You ask gingerly, the hand not interlaced with his fiddling with the fabric of your clothing.

“Not sick of m’yet?”

“Never…” You shake your head, smiling as he gleams at your answer.

“M’flattered. The feelings mutual love,” he chuckles, “However I do have to go remind my family I’m alive. But it’ll only take about a day until they’re pleased for me to ditch them.”

Gently runs his thumb over your knuckles, whether it be subconsciously or not, “So tomorrow night ill come back over to yours for dinner if you y’want?”

You smile, a little sappy over the way he’s working a plan out like you’re both teenagers, “Yea, thats perfect, and we can try something else off the menu.”

“Maybe, if you want,” he begins carefully, “after that you can come over to where we’re staying. Meet my mum and sister. They’ll love you.”

Now you’re nearly bursting at the seems, “Oh, I would love that, H!”

“Okay, it’s a plan then.” He agrees, pulling his keys from his pocket.

You bid your farewells for the night, unlinking hands and being left with a tingling sensation in it, one that you wonder if he’s also getting.

You go to your hotel room and feel full with joy.

He is all too sweet for this world. And you’re a little obsessed.

———

Although Italy being in Italy feels like being in a bubble, and like you’re so far away from the real world, it is unfortunately a purely mental one.

And there’s one thing about a headspace like that, and it’s just how quickly it can be popped.

At midnight that night a notification pops up on your phone, one that when you open, you have to physically put your phone down.

harryflorals:

what do i even caption this post because is that who i think it is or am i officially delusional? “HARRY WITH A FAN FROM THE LAST SHOW, HOLDING HANDS IN ITALY!” correct me if I’m wrong YALL idek anymore.

And this time, there’s no grain saving your ass. Because this was taken on what, quality wise, looks like a digital camera.

Which has made it so painstakingly obvious that it’s you. And you don’t even remember it being taken?

It was when you were walking back from the cafe, holding hands probably talking about fucking seesaws.

And everyone has caught on fast, because in the comments it’s an all out frenzy.

So, cats officially out of the bag.

———

y’all can expect a part four considering i lowkey left this on a cliffhanger 😝 so its on its way my loves

update: next part, PART 4!

taglist:

@harrystylesgirlie @purple9950 @teamspideyman @rociolunaa21 @spiritofbuddha @lemonhrry @deamus-liv @Iquvlly @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @hsfanficsrecss @hsstylesrings @saturnheartz @victoriasigaard @lilfreakjez @mrsvxder @skxawngs @theekyliepage @hannah9921 @shiffpring @multifandomsw @roslastyles420 @slutforcoffein @kittenhere @stylesfever @butterfly-lover @daniizstyles @padf00ts-l0ver @sunflowervol18

+ all the anons who sent stuff to my submission box, thank you to you guys too, all my love

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #harry styles oneshot #hslot #love on tour #i just love finalshowrry #love u too #hopefully part four doesn’t take me also two weeks to write HAHA

[grapejuicestyless]

Our Last Dance

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: Y/n is Harry’s childhood best friend and the only person he’s been able to hang onto as his popularity grew. Y/n wasn’t as successful in life, but she wants to be able to do something nice for Harry one last time.(inspired by Aftersun…Warning: there is a lot of detail about vomit in this if that bothers you and depression/suicide.)

“It’s not much, but it’s right by the beach so I thought it might be nice.” I’ve known Harry for over two decades. He’s been my best friend since I was seven, I know everything there is to know about him. I know who he is, yet I still can’t help but feel ashamed when we stumble into the dusty hotel room, one large king sized bed sat in the center of the room and a balcony overlooking the blue oceans of Italy and an old handy cam from nineteen ninety something dangling from my wrist.

“No, no. It’s great.” Placing his suitcase on the tile flooring of the small bathroom, he flashes me a genuine smile before he peels back the bedsheets and checks the corners thoroughly for anything that could raise red flags.

“I could have sworn I paid for two beds, I don’t know how they mixed that up.” Running a hand through my hair, it only now hit me that there was only one place to sleep in the room. Usually, it would be no big deal seeing as Harry and I often spend our time together glued at the hip in his large bed or cramped together in my mid sized one. But I paid extra money to have the extra mattress, and money was tighter than usual and I just wanted everything to be perfect.

Harry simply shrugged it off, laying back against the headboard while dialing the front desks number with his right hand and welcoming me into his arms with his left one.

“I don’t have cooties, you know.” Shooting him a glare, I lay my head against his chest and take the phone in my hand that wasn’t wrapped underneath his waist. I feel one of his hands play around with the band on my wrist to grab the camera from me while he waits. The phone rings for some time before the monotone voice of the teenager working the front desk cracked through the shitty phone speakers.

Harry didn’t listen to much of the conversation, choosing to run his fingers through my hair and hum quietly under his breath, playing around with any buttons he could find on the camera.

“So thats the best you can do?” I asked, feeling my chest tighten like an elastic band. I raised from my spot on Harry’s chest, sitting on my knees and slouching in defeat, “No, I don’t need that. If I could get my money back though, for the extra bed?” Looking at Harry, I shook my head in question, sighing without making a sound.

“Yeah, that would be great. Thank you so much.” Before I could continue my passive aggressive approach to the situation, the line beeped dead and Harry began to crack a smile.

“’s not funny!” I slurred my words, feeling the ache between my bones hit me at that very moment. I let my body fall into Harry’s chest once again, sighing at the vanilla scent from his cologne that fills my nose and the warmth from his body despite the sweltering heat from the Italian summer making our joints extra sticky with sweat. A soft thud on the bedside table on Harry’s side tells me he’s done playing around on the camera and has turned his full attention to me.

“I don’t mind being stuck with you, y’know.” He tries to downplay the situation, diffusing my rising anxiety about expenses he recognizes in my mannerisms and my attitude. Huffing in response, I roll off of him and sprawl out like a starfish. My eyes find a home in the ceiling and I feel Harry take my right hand in his, “Why don’t we go to the pool? Why waste such a nice night pouting, yeah?” He tilts his head towards our bags that are still in the bathroom, and when our eyes meet, we both know someway or another he’s going to drag me down there.

“Race you?” I regret my words when I feel him scramble off the bed beside me, letting me get tangled in the sheets while he strips into his bright yellow swim trunks and dad-like flip flops. I laugh about it not being fair while I clasp my top in the back and desperately try and kick my sandals on but he’s already out the door, leaving it wide open as he runs down the slippery stairs and all but dives into the deep end of the teal waters.

“Come on in, the waters just fine!” He laughs, urging me to join him and I’ve never felt more alive as I full sprint off the edge of the cement and fall into the pool with my best friend.

“I call it a tie!” Water falls from my hairline as I break the water’s surface.

“What? No way, I smoked your ass!” Harry splashes me, hopping back when he sees me approaching him with a mischievous grin.

“You had a false start, I was not ready. So, as the officiator of this match, I have decided to add on penalty time meaning we tied.” The water creates a wave like pattern on our bodies, illuminating our sun kissed skin a hue of bluish-green and hiding any fading sunburns from the beginning of summer.

“You little minx!” He rushes towards me and I can feel my heart beating through my chest.

When he wraps his arms around my torso and threatens to dunk me, I can’t help the ugly giggles that bubble out of my mouth and shake my whole body. I can’t help the way my hands claw at his skin to keep me afloat even though I know he would never dunk me if I didn’t want him to or the way his laughter only makes my ribs tougher and my stomach ache worse.

“If I go down, I’m taking you with me!” Wrapping my hands around his shoulders, I somehow manage to maneuver myself in a way that has us both flipping into the six foot deep end.

I imagine the people who are sleeping just beside the pool are thankful for the brief silence when we are submerged, and I swear someone screams at us to shut the hell up when we start coughing and screaming again at the sudden chill of pool water soaking our drying skin.

“Best vacation ever!” Harry yells it in my ear, watching how I flinch away and cover my ears with my fingers and grimace, bearing all my teeth when I groan through them but also smiling while I do it.

I jump up onto his back, holding him like a koala bear and try my best not to slip off of his wet body.

“I know!” Somehow, we end up in the water again, and I don’t mind the sting of water in my nose or how I cough a large amount of it out over the edge of the pool when we break the surface again because Harry’s patting my back while I do it, and I do the same for him.

It’s funny and delirious and stupid, but the pool is occupied by us until our skin is pruned until there’s no more wrinkles to create and our lips are more blue than the water we swim in. And I swear, it feels like flying.

“One long island on the rocks!” He held up one finger but quickly held up another and corrected himself, “No, wait, two! Two on the rocks please!” He slurred, slapping a twenty down on the bar and handing one of the orangey-red drinks to me.

The glasses clinked together, sloshing the liquid within them and knocking my lime to the ground with a splat. Still, neither of us cared much, choosing to smile and laugh while we make our way back to the sandy shores of the nearby beach.

“This tastes so good! He knew what he was doing!” Pointing at my glass, I nod my head enthusiastically, feeling my cheeks start to hurt with how big I was smiling.

“No, you’re just drunk! I would know, I am too!” Harry stumbles all the way to the sand, downing the glass and setting it on the top of a nearby trashcan along with my half finished one.

“Heyyy, I wasn’t done!” Taking my hands in his, Harry begins pulling me to the waves that crashed down onto the sand, laughing at how my feet struggle to keep up with his in our drunken states.

“Come on, I’m hot!” The water hit our skin like a ton of bricks, tiny icicles hitting up to our hips and before we could turn back, a large wave knocked us over and fully submerged our goosebump covered bodies.

“Holy shit! Holy shit!” It didn’t necessarily hurt, being in the water and splashing around in it’s freezing temperatures, but it was shocking, especially with the extra heat of alcohol roasting us underneath the warmth of the summer sun.

Neither of us speak for a moment, choosing to hold our arms away from our bodies and look down at ourselves like we are trying to air dry our limbs after the accidental ice bath.

A puff of air leaves Harry’s mouth, followed by another and another. I look up to see him, and he’s already looking at me with a smile plastered on his face and giggles falling from his drunken lips. I’m only acutely aware of the heavy feelings in my limbs, but my own giggles falling from my lips mask the weird sensation and I don’t really care for it.

“You have seaweed on your…” Pointing to the top of his head, I look at the very small piece of the plant tangled in his curly brown hair, it almost looks like it’s part of it.

Harry picks it out, dangling in front of his face and smiling at it for a second. Then, he throws it at me.

“Ew! No-Harry!” Flinching away, I splash more water onto the both of us and feel the shock of it too, but I can’t stop moving, even after it’s fallen into the water in front of me, only barely touching my arm. Harry doesn’t seem to mind the water anymore though, sitting back and watching my overdramatic reaction to his antics. It’s only after I stop flailing about that he leans his too half into the water, scooping up a larger chunk of the plant and staring at me like a man with a plan.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare!” Running through the water feels impossible, each stride I take being slowed by the movement of the shallow waves and the uneven surface of the rocks and the sand underneath my feet. I can hear his breathing just behind my ears, and the sloshing of his feet breaking through the water makes my heart pound faster.

I’m not sure where the chase disperses, when he gets tired of chasing me and decides to call a truce, but Harry stops chasing me after a good long while, metallic taste in our mouths rising from our throats and breathing so heavy, I think for a second I’ll have to go running to find Harry’s inhaler.

“Are you okay?” His voice fades in and out of my ears, I’m too focused on the taste in my throat and the steady restriction of my throat. I feel it bubbling up, and the saliva in my mouth seems to multiply. I’m on the brink of sobriety, or something close to it, so when he calls after me as I fight my way out of the ocean, I keep steady on my path to the one open trashcan just down the shore.

My hands grip the edge of the hot black plastic rim, bending myself forward and popping my foot up to better submerge myself into the opening. A gag followed by another and another shakes my entire body before everything spews out of me in an orangey-lime colored mess. I can still taste the alcohol on my breath, and I can feel the tears behind my eyes.

Harry came to rub my back and hold my hair, rubbing circles and looking away so I won’t feel embarrassed after.

Rising from the trashcan, I notice he also looks a bit paler than before, his eyes carry a baggage I never noticed and his lips are chapped.

“Fuck.” Wiping anything that could have gotten on my lips away, Harry laughs at me in the same drunken way he did in the water.

“What? What?!” I catch myself laughing, holding my stomach and feeling it turn underneath my palms. He directs his head towards the ocean, leaning against the trashcan now and somehow ignoring the smell.

“Real amateur move, just threw up in the great big ocean like any other person.” He jokes, and I feel my face contort with disgust. I would have laughed harder if I were still completely hammered, but after physically ridding myself of most of what I have consumed within the past few hours, I’m beginning to feel the effects washing off and leaving behind an intense pounding in my head.

“You’re disgusting.” Looking behind me, I make sure Harry is still following me. The day isn’t even close to being over yet, but with us pouring down shots at ten in the morning like it’s water, it feels more like midnight rather than midday.

Weaving between dirt paths made from excessive use on grassy areas and sidewalks that lead us to where we need to be, Harry and I are complaining about how heavy our feet feel and how tired we are getting. The drunk highs have already passed and all we can focus on is the plushy bed waiting for us at the hotel.

“Y/n!” Harry’s hand pulls me back, his chest hitting my spine with the force he uses against me. My foot that had stepped off of the sidewalk to cross the road to get to our hotel is yanked back onto the higher ground, a bus honking as it speeds by. I can feel his heartbeat pounding into my body and the sweat gathering on his palms. He mumbles something under his breath, the but ringing of the horn is still overwhelming my eardrums and drowning out everything else.

Truly, I don’t care that much about the incident, it wouldn’t mean much anyway if I had kept going. I probably would have made it, or worse case scenario, the wheel nicks my foot. But it has Harry all up in arms, checking the road on both sides multiple times before he decides it’s safe to cross. I’ll blame it on my drunkenness or my tiredness, and Harry will scold me, if we don’t fall asleep first. Which we do.

Or rather, he does.

The softness of the bed is nice, something that I was able to sink into the night before when I reached a point of absolute exhaustion, but now it feels too soft on my back that is used to my hard mattress at home. The pillows are flat, or at least mine are, and the blankets are scratchy.

The tiles in the bathroom are cold, a deep blue color that compliments the boring grey walls nicely. The toilet creaks as I shift all my weight down onto it, a bottle that resembles aloe vera to my left and a bucket of water to my right.

The cap pops open quietly, and the gel pours out of it with a fight. It’s been left behind somehow, and nobody has come to collect it. It’s gooey and it smells odd, sticking together in clumps between my fingers and pulling at my arm hair when I try to spread it.

My eyes are too heavy and my fingers are lazy, I can’t even try to fight against the thick mess rubbing into my skin.

Sighing, I give up on the gel, not liking the tug, even though the cold feels good on my skin. It’s when I close the cap again, holding the previously discarded bottle in my hands I realize I’ve read it wrong in my sleepy haze. It’s only so gooey because it’s not aloe vera, but rather a hair gel with aloe vera in it.

“What the fuck?” It goes straight into the trash, right next to the water bucket which is swiftly slid over to sit right in front of me, propped between my ankles.

It doesn’t pull off easy, taking some hair with it. My skin feels slimy for a little, but no longer sticky. I think it’s probably because in a way, I’ve just waxed my arms because I’m too damn lazy to thoroughly read a bottle. Other than the horrible feeling of it, I don’t mind the inconvenience of it. It wasn’t like I was going to sleep anytime soon, and it distracted from the pounding in my head. I wonder silently if Harry packed anything for pain? I hadn’t, I’d barely remembered to pack enough shirts and he always has those kind of things.

Treading lightly along the carpeted floors and looking over my shoulder, I see Harry passed out on his stomach, a little wet spot collecting under his cheek which is firmly pressed against the comforter. The zipper to his bag is much louder than mine, it’s also ten times more expensive than mine and newer. But he has the money to spend, and I would do the same if I were him. I just wish with how much money it cost that they would have opted for a quieter zipper. I think back to when we were still in school, taking calculus and cheating off of each other and stealing notes. Harry was always a very heavy sleeper in his teen years, but it feels like the more well known he becomes, the more jumpy he is in his sleep. Maybe it’s because of the constant pressure of pleasing his fans or the rigorous schedule his team put him on in his early twenties, but it eases the aching in my chest to think it’s just because he’s getting older.

A tiny pack of aspirin catches my attention in the first pocket I open along side some deodorant and toothpaste. An odd combination, but very Harry.

Opening it with a struggle because of the damn child lock caps, I see there are only three left. All that struggle only to be able to take one. After all, it’s not mine and Harry would surely need more than me after the current coma he was inducing, his groaning and complaining is something I can already hear. I swallow it dry and drift over to the balcony.

The sun is still so high in the sky, it’s only just past one now. Children play and cars pass, the breeze is blowing my shirt against my body and cooling the sweat that is collecting on my upper lip.

Harry is passed out in bed and my body is more awake than ever. It’s funny because it’s usually him calling my phone late at night telling me he’s on the way over and to get myself ready because we’re going out. I smile to myself, all of our best memories happen just before we get drunk it seems like. The wine spilling on his carpet after his first grammy win, or the deep conversations curled up in the corner of some bar while we nurse some strong beverages and laugh about all of our shitty lovers and toxic exes.

“Harry.” Calling out to him from the balcony, I find it’s much more comfortable out here in the breeze, where it feels like flying if you stick out your arms and close your eyes, rather than laying like a dead man in a stuffy hotel room.

He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t even shift. He still has the redness in his cheeks that tequila stains him with and the sweat collecting on his hairline. He looks completely at peace with himself, unbothered by the broken air conditioning and the overworked fan humming away in the corner.

I decide that just because he isn’t up for an adventure, I shouldn’t sit around and wait for him to find one. Theres a crinkled up receipt on the floor just by the foot of the bed, it’s got his name on the top and a long list of drinks down the length of it. I flip it over and flatten out. There’s no good pens, only a half dead one on the dresser that makes loud scratching sounds every time it passes over the paper.

Gone out, couldn’t sleep. Be back in an hour. Love you always and forever! Xoxo, your best friend.

It sits stuck with an edge trapped beneath the phone on the bedside table, the rest of it blows softly every time the fan rotates in that direction. Harry scrunches his nose slightly every time the breeze hits him, it feels nice in the summer heat and even better with the extra warmth in our veins. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it, it makes a moment like this sweeter. A memory only I’ll remember and get to carry with me.

I hope no matter what happens my brain never fails me, so that when I die and go wherever I’m supposed to be in the afterlife, I can still have my memories to hold onto and I’ll be able to carry his smile with me as I roam the empty earth alone.

“These glasses are nice.” My fingers run over the rims, feeling the smoothness of the glossy finish over the tortoiseshell color. Harry has a very similar pair, only the temple tips of his have worn down and there are scratches on the lenses. He has plenty of sunglasses, but he those are his favorite. He insists on wearing them even when some of his have never been touched.

“How much are they?” Holding them up to my eyes, I move them back and forth to watch the darkened parts of the world shrink and expand within the round boarders.

“A hundred.” The man behind the counter smiles nicely at me, watching how delicately my hands hold the glasses between my fingers. I clear my throat and fold the temples in.

“Sorry, in pounds?” He lulls his head back, thinking and clicking his tongue while he counts.

“About eighty five pounds, one hundred seven US dollars.” I nod my head and place them on the counter. As soon as I do so, the man seems to be quick to swoop them up and clean away any marks left behind with a cloth. It almost makes me laugh.

“Uhm…” I dig through my wallet, looking at what I have left. I’ve emptied most of my account into my wallet for this extended weekend. My savings going into the tickets and the hotel room, which felt more like a motel, and some change going towards drinks and food. Still, I have nearly double what I need for it left in my wallet and motivation that makes me dig it out of the leathery pocket and hand it over to the man. “Eighty five, right there.” I smile up at him and he smiles back. He gives me the glasses back in a fancy case with a magnetic button that seals them away safely which is wrapped tightly in light blue wrapping paper. It crinkles in my hands, but I think it’s just lovely. Harry will love it.

“Thank you. Have a good day!” A bell chimes when I exit the store, and the stifling heat outside makes my already prominent eye bags feel ten times heavier than before. I feel the same sluggish feeling I did after the beach, only this time it’s accompanied by a real sense of tiredness only the overly soft bed can fix.

The sounds of the passing cars and the ticking of crosswalk signals all sort of blur into the distance the closer I get to the room. My key is stuffed in with the crinkled bills and old coupons that have expired long ago. I’m so focused on getting into the warm comforts of the room, I don’t hear the shuffling around inside of it or the angelic humming of my best friend just on the other side of the door.

“Y/n/n!” He looks like he’s been hit by a bus. A really beautiful, clean, expensive bus. Even hungover with dry drool on his cheek the man still manages to resemble one of those greek statues that proudly display their defined features and sharp jawlines.

He has the bottle of Advil in one hand and the handy cam presses in the palm of the other. He moves it close to my face until I swat it down, laughing at him like he wanted.

My thumb presses against his cheek, my palm cupping his chin. I wipe away the dry drool and make a mental note to wash my hands before I touch anything else.

“Have a nice sleep?” His tongue pokes out of his mouth to lick away my hand and for the second time today I grimace in disgust and back off, but not before wiping the wet patch down his arm.

“It was okay. Woke up a little after you left, I think. Thought you up and left me until I found the note.” He jokes.

“How’d you know I wasn’t just in the bathroom then if you didn’t see the note?” I see now that he’s moved it over to another table in the room and that the phone it was under is moved to the further side of the table.

“I didn’t hear snoring.” I hit his arm. “Ow!”

“Asshole!” He laughs at me and for a second I think about hitting him again, but this time over the top of his head.

“You love me.” I shake my head, walking to the bathroom to piss or vomit, I’m not really sure.

“Nope.” I pop the ‘p’, closing the door and locking it in his face.

“Yes you do, you liar! You wrote it right here! Love you always and forever, xoxo, your best friend! You put two different kinds of love in one note! You must really love me!” I open the door and throw a towel at him before slamming it shut again.

“Don’t love you enough to not debate tossing you over the balcony right now!” I hear him laugh at that and for a second, as we wind down from our fits of giggles it’s completely quiet.

“I do love you though.” I admit softly, hunched over the toilet and smiling.

“I knew it!” I can practically hear his gloating grin in his shouting and I wonder how no one has come knocking at our door to tell us to shut up yet.

I shush him aggressively, placing a finger to my lips even though he cant see it, “Quiet! Please, can’t a girl throw up in peace?” Harry groans, but his back doesn’t lift from the door and his shadow doesn’t move.

“Do you need me to hold your hair?” I don’t answer him, instead I unlock the door, holding back a gag as the familiar restrictive feeling comes back up my throat. I’m on my knees when he walks in and his hands are threading through my hair as gently as possible.

“Let it all out.” He tries to be comforting, finding that his hands are big enough to hold my hair and rub my back at the same time. I don’t find it aggravating, in fact I think it’s kind of sweet that he cares so much, that he doesn’t completely ignore me because it’s gross. But I can’t lie and say I didn’t roll my eyes a little bit when he says it, because it feels just a little condescending and my mouth tastes bitter.

“Oh my god, please stop talking.” My head is back in the toilet, gagging up a mix of medication, ocean water, alcohol and old water from Harry’s water bottle. Harry’s laughing and I can’t help but too, but it comes out more as a dry cough followed by a string of spit into the water which only makes us laugh harder.

After some time, I think I’ve gotten it all out. Instead of being hunched over the toilet, by back is pressed against the cool tiles of the bathroom floor and my arms are resting over Harry’s chest. The sound of our breathing fills the quiet room and we find that it’s very comfortable just sitting like this, in the company of the other.

“Harry,” He hums, turning his head to look at me even though mine is still facing the ceiling, “Did you turn off the camera?” He sits up quickly, huffing curses under his breath and looking to see how long he had been recording. My laughter echos throughout the room when he sees he’s captured the entire thing, shutting it off swiftly and storing it in an empty compartment in his bag.

He calls it stupid, a waste of space and useless, but I know he doesn’t think that. His sister gave it to me when she got her first phone and I’ve used it to record special trips ever since. He texted me to remind me to bring it, and I yell out to call him a dirty liar while he pouts around.

“Come on, we’ve been in bed all day. The weekend’s not passing any slower and we aren’t getting any younger!” He shook me vigorously, smiling that same toothy grin I remember from our childhood, and the same one that promised before he ever stepped foot onto a stage that he would never forget me, and would always be near. We’ve both changed, but it’s nice to know that some promises are forever.

I simply shrug Harry off, finding peace in the cocoon of our bedding that he had made for us in the middle of the night. Still, he’s persistent against my body, begging and pleading for me to just go with him and he hasn’t even said where he wants to go.

“We’ve only got two good nights left before we leave and this is one of them. Get up!” I don’t choose to listen to his whining, mumbling something about the cheep ass wine we found at the drug store around the block and the pounding in my head thats only gotten worse on this three day bender.

“You can’t still be hung over, get up. Come on, I planned something fun for us!” Again, he tries to take me with him. He knows that once I’m up, I’m up. I’ll easily follow him anywhere with anyone because with him, it’s just that simple.

“Harry.” I warn him, my voice airy and soft the first time and my eyes avoiding his playful expression. Still, he seems to find it all too entertaining that I’m so stubborn yet so easy to crack. He keeps pushing, literally, and begging and whining and talking.

“Harry, stop!” Sitting up from the blankets, for a second he thinks he’s won. I’m above the covers and facing him just like he wants but then he see’s the bags under my eyes and the haze hanging over my face. While I am up, no longer comforted by the security of the blankets, I am not able to leave the mattress. So, he backs away, scoffing under his breath and looking to the ceiling like I’ve just kicked him.

I can hear the faint sound of tapping by his side, the same sound I know to be of his thumb digging into his cuticles and picking away any fresh skin until he bleeds. Usually, I would at least tell him to stop, even if we were angry at each other, but today I find that I don’t really have the energy to do anything except slump into myself and hold my head in my hands.

“Jesus, Y/n.” He’s turned himself around so he’s looking out of the glass doors that lead to the small balcony. For a second it even looks like he’s tempted to slide them open and just be with the breeze, but he doesn’t do that. Instead, Harry has spun himself back around with the saddest look on his face and blotches of red produced from stress lining his neck.

“Harry, please. Maybe later, I just…I just don’t feel up to it right now.” I’m praying that he understands, he surely should. He better than anyone else would know the feeling of creeping aches in our joints and the heaviness of our mind.

“You’re never up to it.” Is what he says instead. He was never going to coddle me, that I understood. While he had in the past, we were never the over the top touchy people who survived solely off of the brush of a stray arm at a party or a compliment of a stranger at midnight.

His words have always been kind, but not this time it seems. Because they wobble a little when he says it and he doesn’t look very confident in how he’s standing. But I wouldn’t know because I can’t even look him in the eyes right now.

“We’ve spent the last couple days getting sick out of our minds in the bathroom, it smell’s like a bar in here and yet, you can’t even find it in you to push through for a few hours for your best friend?” He doesn’t really mean it that way, he’ll come back later tonight begging me to understand what he really meant, but just because Harry has always been kind does not mean he has always been smart. Sometimes, even the person who preaches kindness to everyone can be a foul man to the people he loves.

“You know that’s not what’s happening, stop being a jerk!” I scream but I don’t mean to. In fact, I don’t even know why I’m yelling because I’m not angry, or irritated or anything. It’s like I’ve been dragged through some slick mud, stuck in it with nothing to grab onto to pull me out, not even Harry. It keeps me here, in this bed, it’s paralysis through the brain. I can move but every cell in my body advises me to stay put.

Breathing heavily, Harry simply sticks his hands into his pockets, shoving his knuckles down so harshly that I can see the waist tug down just a little further on his stomach. His nose is flaring up and his lips moving with his tongue that swipes over his teeth.

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, I really don’t, but you need to fix it.” It’s low coming from his mouth, almost like he wants me to hear it, but he doesn’t want to say it. My throat has gone dry now, eyes looking at his forehead rather than his eyes because now I can’t even stand the sight of him anymore. I’m so much more than tired and he doesn’t get it, my best friend doesn’t get it.

The door closes, the handle rattling with the force he shuts it with, and yet even though we’ve just blown up at each other all I can worry about is if he’d hung the do not disturb sign on the door or not. My best friend, my life has just walked out on me, blind with rage and all I can worry about is if someone will come knocking or not?

I’ve always known there was something wrong with me, the sunny Saturday’s not hitting quite the same and the good things always draining my body of the little life I had left to give. The other kids were never that way, going from party to party in high school and laughing like they had no tomorrow to worry about.

Theres something royally fucked up about me and I don’t know how to help it. I know that theres nothing wrong with what I have, but I can’t help but feel ashamed when I find the most interest in rotting away in some lumpy bed when the whole world is just at my fingertips and I can explore it all with a hell of a good man and best friend by my side.

A soft knock at the door pulls me from my self pity, and for a second I almost let myself believe that it could be Harry coming back. But the voice of an older woman knocking to see if anyone will answer and tell her to go away changes the image of Harry on the other side of the door into a woman hunched over with a cleaning cart and reality sets in.

“Sorry, I’m in here!” I call out, and when she doesn’t answer, I let myself become pulled from the bed, sitting up to answer it if I have to. The wheels of the cart move on to the rest of the hallway, a faint knock followed by the jingle of room keys tell me that she’s left, and so has Harry.

A trip I planned for him, one that I worked so hard to make possible just in case I were to never be put in a position where I could ever again, ruined because of myself. A selfish monster is crawling under my skin, over my bones and it just doesn’t feel right, why can’t I feel alright?

Hot tears are pouring down my cheeks, falling into my lap as I now sit in nothing more than a damp swimsuit and Harry’s old grey shirt I stole from him back in high school. It still smells like him, even after I’ve washed it over and over. I try not to because once it’s gone, and I fear that all leftover from our youth will become washed away and the cloudy haze of simplicity that comes with it.

“Oh, god!” The words heave out of me in a deep breath, cracking with each syllable. I try to rub my hands up and down against my thighs, but my hands are shaking and I can’t see all that well through my teary vision, I find myself clawing at the fat of my thighs, pressing deeper and deeper until the ache becomes so intense that my fingers stutter and break free.

I don’t think I could speak if I tried. It’s hard to scream when it’s hard to breathe, and my lungs are giving out right in front of me while I wail like a tall child, rocking slightly with each deep breath and the tremble of my joints.

Its dark, orange hues sinking into pitch black lit up by splintered streetlights and yellowed overhead lights shining through windows. The moon casts a streak of light through the glass doors, the same that lead out onto the balcony, and I can see the crescent shapes of my nails tattooed into my skin and red with blood.

Harry’s out getting drunk, probably bent over a pool table or people watching at the outdoor bar on the other side of the resort, and I imagine his velvet laugh hanging in the air and the gentle sound of his hushed dirty jokes whispered in my ears.

I hope he knows that I do love him, I only ever want him around forever, and if I could fix myself in every way to be more fit for you, I would. I just hope that someday he’ll forget all about this, and I could act happy.

“Are you still mad at me?” My arms are tucked over the sheets, hands clasped together and eyes glued to the ceiling, Harry does nothing more than breathe heavily out through his nose beside me in the same position I lay in.

“Harry?” I call again, the shuffle of my head rubbing against the pillow case filling the silence in the room.

It’s nearly the same time as the night before, our last day together spent avoiding speaking to each other, but our longing gazes speak for us, and we both recognize that we miss the company of the other.

“Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to waste any of our time together, I just wasn’t feeling right.” I try to reason, and I don’t think it works until I see his head falling to the side to look at me, his hands unclasping so he can reach up and brush the flyaways out of my face.

“It’s okay.” He tells me with his palm pressed to my cheek, slowly moving to cradle my jawline with his pinky.

He wears a sad smile, one that tells me he’s still bothered. But, unfortunately for him, I’m a sick woman, not a nasty one.

“No, it’s not okay, it’s not and I’m sorry.” Shaking his shoulder with my hand, I find it in my sleep filled bones to pull the sheets off of both of us, slipping over his body to stand by the side of his bed where I start shaking him again.

“It’s not okay so let me make it up to you.” My hands find their way under his arms, trying my best to pull him from the mattress that has been dented with the shapes of our bodies.

He whines, closing his eyes and fighting a smile but doesn’t try to fight against my pull. He falls into my body with a grunt, eyelashes fluttering against my collar bone and the feeling of his lips curling into a secret smile against my shoulder, we both laugh silently, and my hands briefly rub at his back.

“Alright, come on idiot, get up because I’m taking you out. My treat!” Shoving him back into the bed, he bounces against the worn springs and settles back into place, hands folded over his stomach and a toothy grin on his face. I can see how his eyes shift, the same broken eyes from the night before mended into the same green ones I always knew, the same ones that were now subtly shifting around to observe my face, admiring my smile the way I do to him.

“We don’t have all night, come on!” And he’s up, feet padding behind mine with that same lopsided smile he’s worn since we started talking again and the same energy I’ve always known him to have.

We’re out the door within minutes, barely even put together when the door slams shut, just like before only now we’re both rushing down the steps, tripped over the gaps in the stairs and the weeds that grow within the cement.

“Come on, catch up!” I can’t stop laughing, no alcohol in my system and yet I’ve got the same rose colored haze covering my eyes and the same smile that bears all my teeth.

Harry is panting behind me, joking that without his trainer and daily routines he’s lost his touch, his feet slapping the ground with a loud thud every time they connect, breath heavy in my ears.

The moon hangs high in the sky, accompanied by millions of sparkling stars surrounding its welcoming glow and twinkling fairy lights hung from every nearby post to the next. You can yell and scream all you want and the music from the outdoor bar and the hum of the air conditioning will tune you out. It’s like free falling without the bone crush sprinting and weaving through these paths, it feels like living.

In the distance, from across the street just beyond the pools you can hear the music grow louder, my ears picking up on the strumming of a baseline and the tune of an old song that we used to sing not so long ago.

Freddie Mercury’s voice mixed with Bowie is something I believe to be heaven on earth, a mix that can never be over appreciated or overplayed. We’ve caught the beginning of the famous song and we both know it, and without a second glance, Harry smiles at me because he knows it better than anyone that I’ve set my heart on something tonight.

My palms are sweating in the humid summer night heat, but I grab onto Harry’s hand anyways and pull him along with me, only quickly checking both ways for cars as we sprint across the significantly newer cement and laugh. A car’s headlights appear just over the hill and a small blue car speeds past us once we’ve made it up the curb, but I don’t stop.

No, instead I’m turning my whole body to face him, only focused on the curly headed boy who’s held my heart in the palms of his hands since we were only kids running on the blacktop and through the muddy grass at school. I only hear his muffled laughter under the booming music and the crowd that takes up the makeshift dance floor at the bar.

His feet are planted on the floor and I can feel my hands slipping away from his, Freddie sings about the people on the streets, the snaps of the bridge quiet enough for my voice to begin reaching his ears.

“I don’t dance!” He shrugs his shoulders, letting his hands fall to his sides stubbornly as I back away towards the crowd even more, but I stick close by.

“Harry.” Tilting my head, I look at him knowingly. He does dance, within the tiling of my kitchen or the walls of his bedroom, on stage for his fans or at parties after a few too many shots. Harry does dance, he just wont.

“I never, ever dance.” He’s trying to convince me, trying to hide his smile that so desperately wants to break free.

Holding my arms out and moving my body back slowly, I smile at him fondly, “I’m dancing with or without you.” I’m getting farther away now, and he’s stuck in place, watching with his best poker face.

“I told you I love to dance!” Spinning around, I place my hands on my hips and do my worst dancing possible just to see the blush on his face rise into a peachy pink.

“Y/n/n, stop. This is embarrassing.” He tries to keep lying, but his words fade into a weak laugh at the end and his teeth show for just a second too long.

“This is embarrassing?” He knows I don’t believe him, I never did but still I find myself moving closer to the crowd, stepping to the beat and and swaying my hips and shoulders.

When I turn around, he’s looking at me in a way I’ve never seen before, like I’ve hung the sun and the stars all for him and spread them across the sky.

“What? Come on.” My arm slings around his shoulder, pulling him in and trapping him on the dance floor. He finds it funny, all this fight, but he’s breaking down and we both know it.

“Ready?” I tease, holding his biceps in my hands and trying to move in the same way I just was. He tries to tell me to stop, by I don’t pay him any attention as I tell him, “Let’s dance.”

“Stop!” He shoves me back playfully, but his smile is showing all his teeth and his laugh is filled with pure happiness, he doesn’t even try to fight when I pull him back onto the floor, dancing with him with no real rhythm or rules.

I feel his heartbeat against mine, our bodies pressed together tightly as he spins me in his arms like real friends do.

‘Cause loves such an old-fashioned word and love dares you to care for the people(people on the streets) on the edge of the night and love(people on the streets) dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves.

He spins me around and holds my head in his hands, I can smell the toothpaste on his lips and feel the scars from his guitar on his pointer and his thumb.

This is our last dance, this is our last dance

“Have I ever told you I love you?” I scream at him despite how close we are, and the smile he shows me is infectious.

“A few times, yeah!” He jokes, but the music is too good and the night is growing tired. I don’t want this night to end, I want to feel this way forever, I don’t want to have to always chase it.

“Well I mean it, and I’ve never felt this way about anyone else!” He spins for the thousandth time of the night, lifting my head above his just to hear my squeals.

“Consider myself lucky then, because I love you like I’ve loved no one else!” Harry says it, but he says it in a way that feels different than my confession. I hope I can hold onto him forever.

This is ourselves

The camera clicks to a stop, a collection of some stray videos from early high school and a storyline reflecting back on our final trip. The camera still has dents from her careless behavior when storing it away, and the quality of each video feels so much worse without her here to watch and laugh with me. It feels older, I am older.

A year since I’d last seen her, a year since we took separate planes home and promised to visit each other soon. A year since I got that damn letter in the mail taped to a small gift shaped in a crinkly mess from the blue wrapping paper just days after the news broke like some sort of sick joke.

I hate that I can only hear her voice through the salvaged videos, the wind covering the breathiness of her laugh and the calming sound of her voice. I hate the way I’ll never see the way her eyes sparkle under the night skies again, and most importantly I hate how I never saw it coming, even when she was showing me all of the signs.

I don’t think I’ll ever open that letter, not for a while at least, when the pain has settled. But how can it when I’ve just lost my whole life? The only person to ever make me feel alive in a way nobody else ever could, not even the screaming crowds of thousands of fans each night.

But I’ll reread the front of it like a prayer, her messy handwriting something I’ll miss forever, the little notes she’d pass or the drawings in sharpie that left stains behind on my coffee table.

The front of the letter, though crinkled from shipping and losing its stickiness reads, “To Harry, the love of my life, I love you always and forever. Love, y/n.” And just beside her name she leaves a little heart, something to try and lessen the blow of her absence.

And the glasses she sent along with the letter, the last thing she ever gave me. They still have a lingering smell of Italy, but more than that, I convince myself I can still smell her perfume on the plastic. Even when doing one last nice thing to me though, she leaves a little piece of paper taped to the lenses, “They were getting a little gross…try these.” And with snot running down my chin and red blotches of skin from my tears, I find myself laughing at her stupid little insult.

I know I’ll love these forever, and I’ll laugh whenever I put them on, because in my head I can see her taking them off of my head and trying them on, and we’ll both agree that they look better on her.

I hope they never loose her smell, and I hope that I never forget the sound of her voice or the colors in her eyes. She’ll never know about the plans I hoped we’d make, and she’ll never be back to try and embarrass me and dance with me in public.

But sometimes when I’m lucky I get to relive those moments in my sleep, and it’s almost like I can still feel her touch and see her smile even if it’s across some dark bar that never ends.

So I’ll live through her in pieces, telling all those willing to listen her story and how much I’ll always love her. And I’ll hang onto our last dance forever.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #yn x harry #yn x harrystyles #harry styles #harry styles angst #fine line harry styles #hslot harry #harry x reader #aftersun inspired #harrystyles

[ifancyharry]

Northern attitude (1)

in which YN moves to a small town in the Alps and Harry is her grumpy neighbor

word count: 8k

When YN got called to her boss’s office, that Friday morning, she was absentmindedly registering the data she’d gathered the day prior from the soil of a closed wildlife zoo. She had gotten so nervous, she accidentally tapped an extra zero on the computer and she had to do it all over again at home once she’d gotten an email from her supervisor telling her the numbers didn’t match. To say she was embarrassed was an understatement, and she’d gotten right at it, eager to correct it, despite her coworker telling her she could easily do it the following work day. 

As she had paved the short walk from her desk to her boss’s office she tried to think of something she’d done in the past days that would require such an odd behavior on her boss’s part. 

Of course her boss couldn’t possibly have known about the extra number error, unless Dante — her boss, who was a rather nice one and wanted his employers to call him by his first name, because it was such a unique name he couldn’t possibly answer to such a simple and common thing as ‘boss’ —  was some kind of supernatural being able to foresee the future. She frowned as she tossed the thought from her head. She likes to think she would’ve noticed if her boss was not human, but despite his uncommon name, he was a pretty normal guy, somewhat laid back and kind of understanding with his employees, so nothing stuck out in that sense.

There was another thing that came to mind when she tried to find a reason for his unpredicted call, probably much more possible than her starring in an episode of Supernatural with Dante, and that was, maybe, that her break up had finally caught up to her. She’d tried to keep it as low as possible, not that she had a lot of friends at work, but one coworker of hers was particularly noisy and would ask once in a while how her boyfriend, Aaron, was doing. So when said coworker had asked, she’d just shrug it off with a ‘he’s all right,' without mentioning how she’d found him in bed with her best friend only a week before. 

She’d kept her crying to a minimum, excusing herself to the bathroom every once in a while when the image of her boyfriend on top of her best friend crept inside her mind when she wasn’t busying herself with work. 

So she really can’t understand how Dante figured it out. Her work had been impeccable, and despite her many bathroom breaks, she swore nothing had changed in her demeanor.

YN doesn’t know why when something unexpected happens, she always thinks about the worst possible scenario. Her mind fogged with images of Dante firing her, Dante being a supernatural something, biting her head off because he predicted she’d type the wrong number and probably make his company go bankrupt, ruining a life’s work — of course YN didn’t have such responsibility (she was supervised in everything she did) and her job was rather dull, just a lot of bureaucracies and not as much research as expected. 

She certainly hadn’t imagined Dante’d called her in his office because he wanted to offer her a promotion. She honestly couldn’t believe her ears and she’d almost asked him to repeat himself had it not be for his endless monologue about the importance of team work and how she had to take one for the team, besides, moving to a small town in the Alps was nothing, and it was only for two years, so why would she decline? 

Wait. Moving? To the Alps? (She honestly doesn’t even know where the Alps are, but is too embarrassed to ask him, and promises herself she’ll google it once she gets back to her desk.)

Turns out, the position was vacant because her coworker Anais had just found out she was expecting a baby, so she couldn’t move anymore (especially to the Alps!, he’d said), and Dante had immediately thought of YN, because well, as he said, she was young and didn’t have anything holding her back. YN remembers she frowned at that, because she really didn’t have anything keeping her there, if not the possibility of running into her ex at the supermarket hand in hand with her friend.

With that in mind, she kind of accepted before really taking the time to think about it, desperate to get out of a place that felt suffocating all of a sudden. 

Dante had been ecstatic to hear that, going on and on about how they recently found out traces of a wild grizzly bear that had been thought extinct for many years, and how she’d love working in the field as opposed to her office job.

He explained how her living situation was already sorted out (and paid for by the company), she figured probably because Anais had done the house hunting prior to finding out she was pregnant and couldn’t go. Dante had told her she’d be leaving in two weeks, and the plane was non refundable so she couldn’t just change dates. Plus, he said, they were expecting her, so she better pack fast! (YN had felt ravish at that, because she never truly felt indispensable for her actual coworkers.)

She’d managed to pack all her and her dog’s — a one year old dachshund named Baguette —  stuff in ten days, making sure she had enough warm clothes to last her at least all winter, because as it turns out, she had googled where the Alps are, and they’re really, really, cold. Temperatures dropping below the zero in March cold.

YN, who, she’d like to think, wasn’t someone scared of changes and adapted to situations rather well, was kind of excited as she had gotten on the plane, ready to leave her life behind, because, really, how bad could it be?

. . .

Turns out, it was pretty bad. And when YN says bad, it means bad, because she isn’t one to use words lightheartedly. When she says bad, she means her suitcases got stalled at the airport because of custom checks bad. Gets dark at four in the afternoon bad. Had to walk in the freezing March weather (along a steep climb!), because there wasn’t any kind of public transportation kind of bad. 

So, yes, it was pretty bad. Not to completely drain her of her enthusiasm, but definitely enough to dim it. 

When she reached the gate of the house, she took her phone from her pocket and unlocked it, opening the mail’s app and looking for the one her landlord had sent her with all the details (he technically hadn’t sent it to her, but to Anais; Dante had forwarded it to her and assured her the landlord — a certain Mr. Styles, knew about her arrival and would greet her in his house — more like his garden — with open arms). 

She nodded to herself once she finished reading the instructions, opening the gate with the code Mr. Styles had written in the email. She repeated the combination of numbers a couple of times in her head, so she could remember it better in the future, and once she heard the gate had been unlocked, she pushed it open with one hand, looping her fingers around the embroidery on the metal.

“C’mon, Baguette!” She said, lowering to the ground and picking up her small dog. Baguette got extremely tired from walking and she certainly couldn’t blame her. She felt pretty tired too, almost enough to get already in bed at five in the afternoon and sleep though the night, and she let herself gleam in the cozy daydream while she paved the way to the small house she’d be staying in, annex to a much bigger one where she figured Mr. Styles (and probably his wife? His family? She didn’t know) lived in. She felt herself grimace once she realized she didn’t even have her pajamas, so before she could fulfill her little dream, she had to at least stop at a supermarket to get something to sleep in.

She prayed in her mind it was close, because really, she didn’t know how long she had before her feet would give up on her.

YN wasn’t one to pry on people’s personal spaces, never had been (not even when she passed her crush’s house in 8th grade and her mind begged her to take a quick peek inside to see if he was home) and she regarded houses as very personal, intimate, spaces, so she doesn’t know why, on her way to her own house, she stopped to get on her toes and look inside what seemed to be a kitchen window. The house seemed empty, the lights turned off expect for a small lamp in the corner, and she possibly couldn’t have known that Mr. Styles had just gotten out of his car and was walking towards her with a look that, had she seen it, probably would have scared her.

“What the hell are you doing?” He snapped, making her jump. She turned toward him right away, watching him shut the car door loudly, a stern look adorning his otherwise gentle features.

“Uhm… hello?” She questioned, furrowing her brows at him, “I’m YN, the — she cleared her voice and pointed with her thumb in the direction of the small house — the new tenant. Who are you?”

YN tried to rattle inside her brain if Dante had mentioned a flatmate she’d be sharing the house with, but nothing came to mind. So who was he? 

“YN?” He asked, the furrow in his brows only deepening. He had gotten incredibly close to her and YN felt unease at having her personal space involved like that, which is kind of ironic, must she say. 

She nodded, mumbling a small yes along with it.

“I thought Anais was supposed to come?” 

Did he know Anais? How did he know her? 

Oh! 

Oh. 

Could he be? 

He certainly couldn’t! 

He was much younger than she’d imagined!

She thought Mr. Styles would be an odd, off putting kind of elderly person, who maybe had a wife or an old dog Baguette could play with. She certainly couldn’t have imagined Mr. Styles was this handsome (yet scary), tall guy, with a mop of chocolate brown curly hair down to his shoulders, eyes as green as the deepest forest she dreamt about while reading fantasy books when she was younger, broad shoulders and… were those swallows she could see from the low collar of his white cotton shirt? And who wears only a shirt in this weather? He must be mad!   

“Oi!” He waved a hand in front of her face to catch her attention, “i’m talking to you.” 

She mumbled something incomprehensible and then she gulped before nodding her head, “sorry. Anais couldn’t come anymore, Dante told me you knew.”

She watched as Mr. Styles scoffed, muttering a ‘what a prick’ before shaking his head, a strand of curly hair falling in front of his eyes, which he pushed out of his face with a couple of gentle fingers. YN noticed the various rings adorning his hands, and she wondered for a brief moment wether they were a gift or if he’d buy them himself.

He looked over her briefly and YN shifted her weight from foot to foot, thinking he was probably wondering why she didn’t have any bags with her. She was getting ready to explain how the airport security had detained them, but the words haltered in her throat when she saw him raise a hand and letting the sleepy Baguette in her arms sniff it, before scratching his ear.

“What a cute doggy” he said, lowering himself to be face to face with the small dog, “what’s your name?” He asked directly to Baguette, and YN felt as if all of a sudden she was the dog and Baguette was her owner, and she blushed at that thought. 

“This is Baguette!” She chimed awkwardly.

“Ha” he snorted through his nose, “cute name. Baguette” he repeated, and the name rolled off his tongue so sweetly YN imagined what hers would sound like coming from his lips. Probably much more stern and less saccharine. 

 “Okay, I have to go.” He raised himself, making her jump a little in her place. He straightened his shirt and looked at her with a crossed look, “you know how to get in, right? Or do I have to explain that too?”

YN couldn’t possibly know what other things he had explained, but she wasn’t clueless and had realized Mr. Styles didn’t particularly like her, so she figured it was best to say she did and figure it out on her own. So, she nodded and he gave a short nod back, walking past her towards his own house. 

She watched him unlock the door with a set of keys and then disappear behind the front door, her gaze fixed on his broad shoulder covered only by the thin fabric of his shirt. She felt Baguette wiggle her tail from where she was holding her between her arms, and YN rolled her eyes at her dog, “of course you like him already! Traitor!”

. . . 

YN didn’t knock on Mr. Styles’s door with the intention of bothering him. 

She just wanted to ask him where she could buy something to sleep in and perhaps something to eat, an overpriced airport sandwich being the only thing she’d eaten all day. So, she thought, her intentions were pretty harmless, and it’s not like she was expecting an invite in for dinner or something like that! 

She truly didn’t mean to be a bother, but her stomach had started to grumble half an hour ago, and she dreamed of the hot shower she’d take after, which she couldn’t possibly take if she wasn’t certain she’d have something to sleep in comfortably. 

When a couple of minutes had passed and there was still no trace of Mr. Styles, she wondered whether he was even home. Her mind lingered just a second on the possibility that he was actually avoiding her, but YN was one of those people that always chose to see the good in others, so she got rid of the thought as quickly as it had come. 

She knocked on the door again, this time harder and firmer, and she waited patiently. She was almost about to give up, when the door opened before her with a swift movement that caught her off guard.

Mr. Styles looked displeased once he set his scrutinizing gaze on her figure, and YN could almost feel his eyes touch her. 

“What?” He asked, his brows furrowed on his forehead.

“I was just wondering if you knew a place where I could…like… it’s just that… I think you probably noticed, I don’t have my suitcases. And it’s honestly fine, the airport was packed so I don’t really blame them, and the hostess was so nice! She offered to refund me for the problem, but I didn’t want to go through all that… but now I really need my clothes so I don’t… ugh” she sighed frustratedly. YN tends to kind of talk really fast when she’s nervous. She’s always been like that, especially in front of boys, and her ex boyfriend always used to get mad at her for that — said it was embarrassing and made her look dumb; she’d tried many times to explain it wasn’t something she could control easily, but he’d suggested she’d fix it fast (especially if she wanted to meet his friends).

“Sorry” she exhaled, closing her blabbering mouth in a straight line. 

Harry waited for her to continue what she was saying, his face stoic and impossible to read, which didn’t help soothe her nerves. 

“Is there a place where I can get some clothes?”

“You moved across the country without clothes?” He asked, his brows closed in a furrow across his face that made YN even more nervous. She felt dumb. She wanted to explain what had happened without sounding silly.

“Ughhh, nooo. They kept my bag at check-in, so I don’t actually have any clothes, apart from these” she pointed towards her flimsy cotton sweatshirt that was definitely inappropriate for the cold weather. 

YN tried not to pay too much mind to the grimace of what seemed like disgust when Mr. Styles looked at her clothes, and she shifted uncomfortably on her feet while she waited for his response. 

“It’s almost six in the evening. Everything’s closed.” 

YN felt her heart fall into her stomach as her brain registered the words that came out of his mouth. 

Six. In the evening. 

Everything. Closed. 

“What?” 

Harry rolled his eyes at her surprise, “everything closes at five here. You didn’t know?”

YN felt hopeless because how could she have known! She’d literally been on a plane for ten hours! 

She looked at Mr. Styles with her big, widened eyes, and Harry didn’t have to wait for her to say it to know the answer.

YN felt like crying, right there in front of this man she didn’t even know the full name of. Her boyfriend had been right when he’d call her dumb. Because she was dumb. Who moves across the country this unorganized? 

“Look, I really need to go right now.” Mr. Styles broke the tense silence that had fallen upon them, and he watched as she nodded her head slowly, seeming lost in thought. 

“Okay.” She muttered, and it felt weird seeing her so quiet, but honestly, it wasn’t Harry’s problem. Her douchebag of a boss should’ve warn her, or at least she could’ve researched a bit on the place she was moving to!

He cleared his throat and YN woke up from her trance, she swiftly moved to the side to let him out. Harry closed the door behind him and locked it with his keys. 

He shivered as a gust of cold wind fell upon them, and he watched with the corner of his eye how YN tried to squeeze herself in the flimsy sweatshirt she was wearing. Ha. She didn’t even look up the weather first!

He kind of felt bad for her, in a remote part of himself, but he also judged her for her carelessness.

“Bye” she waved gently from beside him, and he nodded towards her in a form of greeting. 

He pretended to busy himself with his phone, not feeling like talking to her anymore, but when she started walking towards her own house, he looked up in her direction, his eyes on her back. 

Her shoulders were sagged and she displayed a very different demeanor than she did this morning. Harry shook the feeling of her sadness from his gut and walked towards his gate, ready to meet his friends.

. . .

YN was hungry. And she felt gross. And the combination wasn’t the best. 

She wanted to shower and lay down on her bed, that looked extremely comfortable and clean, but she was still wearing her airport clothes, and there was no way in hell she’d sleep in those.

She debated whether she could sleep naked, but it was way too cold for that, and she had work in the morning, so she didn’t want to call in sick her first day. 

She was hopeless.

For a minute, she was so hungry that she contemplated eating some of Baguette’s food, but then she felt so disgusted by the idea she felt like throwing up, so she decided it was probably better not to. She couldn’t afford to throw up the only meal she’d had all day. So, she waited. 

Her original plan was to stay up until 5 in the morning, go buy some pajamas and then nap for an hour until she had to wake up at 7.

But the combination of starvation and exhaustion didn’t really go well, because she was so tired she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She wondered for a moment if the ground was comfortable, and just as she was about to lay down and test it, she heard a knock on her door she almost believed she’d imagined at first.

She walked slowly to the door, her brows furrowed, and when she opened the door, she swears to god she was about to pass out. 

At her feet lay a tray with takeout boxes, she couldn’t see what was inside them, but she figured anything was better than eating Baguette’s food. Next to the tray was a grocery store bag, closed with the handles tied in a knot, and she picked it up curiously. 

She bent down to pick up the tray and she closed the door behind her with her foot. 

She opened the yellow grocery bag first, and she still remembers the sigh of relief she let out as she saw what was inside: a clean long sleeve t-shirt and a pair of blue plaid pajama pants. She could smell the sweet and clean smell of the fabric softener, and she inhaled the scent in deeply.

She put aside the clothes and opened the take out boxes, eager to eat something. She grabbed a fork from the pantry and opened the first box, which contained what seemed to be a homemade meal, some kind of pasta with tomato sauce and meat. She scooped up a big bite and she felt better already, her brain finally being fueled after a really tiring day. 

. . . 

When she lay in bed that night, fresh off the shower and her tummy full with the best pasta she’d ever eaten, she cuddled with Baguette next to her and her mind wandered off to Mr. Styles. Maybe, she hadn’t really bothered him that much after all.

. . . 

Harry hates people. And, therefore, he hates places full of people. Especially supermarkets. He hates supermarkets. 

All those people in line, carts crushing into each others because of the carelessness of their owners, the annoying, commercial music coming from the speakers insinuating itself into his ears, the loud echo of voices commuting in one big buzz. 

He hates supermarkets and most especially waiting in line. The self-check out was the best addiction to the small town’s supermarket, and ever since he’d found out how to scan his items by himself, he’d never, not once, gone back to the served check out. Apart from today, that is. Because the other registers appeared to be broken, and they couldn’t have picked a worse day to be, in his opinion. Rush hour, in a small town, is around 4 in the afternoon, and Harry knew that, and he had always tried to avoid the supermarket at that hour, but Niall had called, and he needed  some kind of special sausage they only had at that particular supermarket, and when Harry had groaned, he’d swat at his arm playfully and he’d said: “you should thank god I feed you!”, and that was true in all its entireness, so Harry couldn’t really find it in him to argue with that. So, that’s what he was doing, at 4 in the afternoon, rush hour, holding a pack of a dozen sausages because his friend needed it.  

He was lost in his thoughts when he heard her. That sweet voice that had taunted him the night before, so much he had asked Niall for some of the pasta he’d prepared “in case he got hungry later”, of course, that wasn’t entirely the reason. The reason being the cute and annoying girl standing in line a person before him, and the thought of her starving and with nothing but a cotton sweatshirt to shield her from the inevitable cold of the night. 

“I’m so sorry it’s taking me so long,” he heard her say, as she let out a nervous chuckle through her mouth, “I just can’t find my card”. 

“Only cash with this register, lady. There’s a sign right there” the cashier pointed towards the sign and YN felt herself get red with embarrassment. Eager to get it over with, she had run to the first opened register she could find, not paying much attention to her surrounding, which, she then realized, she probably should’ve.

“I just flew in last night, I still haven’t got time to…” she shook her head as she realized the cashier didn’t care. Of course she didn’t. Once again, she felt silly and alone. 

“Okay” she whispered to herself, “i’ll just leave it all here and come back later?” 

Harry, that was standing in line just a person from her, had listened to the exchanged quite attentively, and he’d rolled his eyes at her.

He cleared his throat and she snapped her head in his direction, and he didn’t miss the way her cheeks had turned pink once she’d recognized him. 

“I’ll pay for her things” he offered, and the person in front of him, a middle aged man, breathed out a sigh of relief and whispered a “thank god” that YN didn’t miss. She smiled apologetically at the man, who didn’t even as much as throw a glance at her, and she watched as he stepped to the side to let Harry pass before him.

YN started packing her bags and she refused to look at Mr. Styles as he paid for her groceries and his own, too embarrassed to acknowledge the encounter that had just happened. 

When he passed her, he grabbed one bag from the floor and started walking towards the exit of the supermarket, and YN watched as his bicep flexed under the weight of the bag. 

She hurried to pick up his pace, and once she found herself walking at his side, she opened her mouth to thank him: “thank you so much, Mr. Styles. I genuinely didn’t know, otherwise I never would’ve chosen that register! The sign was just so small and I never pay attention to my surroundings so it was an honest mistake, I swear!” 

Harry rolled his eyes for what seemed like the millionth time, “will yeh stop calling me Mr. Styles? ’s not like I’m bloody fifty years old!” 

“Sorry” YN blushed embarrassed, as she tried to walk quickly beside him. His legs were very much longer than hers, and he walked pretty fast despite the added weight of the groceries.

“What should I call you?” 

“Harry.” He groaned, rolling his eyes. 

“Ok. Harry.” She said, nodding her head, liking the way his name sounded rolling off her tongue. “I will send you the money right away, I’m so sorry you had to do that for me” 

“’s fine. Don’ worry ‘bout it.” 

YN cleared her throat and nodded, looking down at her shoes as she kept walking beside him. Every once in a while, she would lose her balance due to the weight on her hands, and her arm would brush against his, the contact not going unnoticed by her. She wondered if he noticed too and if he cared, she knew he probably didn’t, but it was nice.

“Oh!” She remembered as they walked their way back to his house, “thank you for the food, too. And of course the clothes!!! You didn’t have to, but thank you. I was so hungry you have no idea. And the food was so so so good! Did you make it?”

“No.” He answered briefly. 

“Well… it was really yummy. I’ll have to meet the chef!” She joked, and because she felt her arm get tired, she switched the bag to her other hand, trying to balance the weight, “are they from around here?”

“Yes.” 

YN nodded understandably, “You know, I was a little scared to come here because I’d be all alone. Well, not entirely alone because I have Baguette, but… I’m so happy you’re my neighbor! You’re so nice” 

Harry snorted through his nose at her words, “tha’s a first”, but YN, even if she heard him, didn’t say anything. 

When they finally reached the house, Harry walked her to the door and placed the bag on the ground, massaging his arm that had gone a little bit sore. 

“Thank you” she repeated, smiling warmly at him. 

Harry shrugged and was about to turn around, when he heard her say “wait! Do you want to see Baguette?” 

. . . 

Harry left her house about half an hour later, incredibly late and with his phone blowing up from Niall’s calls. 

He had looked around quickly once he’d walked inside, and he noticed some of her belongings scattered around the living room, some pillows that he didn’t recognize as his own lying on the couch. He wondered for a brief second what her room looked like, not regarding the furniture (that he had picked a long time ago with his mother), but what it looked like with her living in it. Did she change the sheets or did she keep the ones he chose? Was it tidy or messy? Did she sleep with Baguette? 

It was weird to him, thinking this way about her, because never would he have thought of her as more than an annoying girl. But, he could admit she was kind of cute. Annoying, but definitely cute. 

He had played with Baguette while YN put away the groceries, and they didn’t talk much because he didn’t feel like talking. He’d never given much confidence to people he didn’t know, and, despite YN calling him ‘nice’, he didn’t really know much about her.

He had excused himself after about twenty minutes of playing with Baguette, and after a quick rub on the dog’s belly, he left her house without muttering more than a ‘bye’.

He didn’t care if he came off as rude, he’d always been that way, and he certainly wasn’t about to change for this girl he met just the day before!

. . . 

YN loved her work. 

Since she was little, she’d always loved wild animals, and she’d dreamed one day of doing the job she’s supposed to do now: gather sources about this rare bear that had been sighted and write a report about it to send to Dante. If the report was good, she’d be published on Dante’s scientific magazine, which was a great opportunity for YN to get her name out there and be regarded in the scientific community. 

All this was, honestly, easier said than done, because since the moment she stepped foot inside her new office, she received nothing but glares from her coworkers. Apparently, everyone was gutted about Anais’ replacement, and she tried really hard to be kind and explain that “no, Anais isn’t coming! But it’s a beautiful thing because she’s pregnant!!!! Dante sent me, I’m no Anais but I can try”, but, despite her big efforts, she was met with the indifference of the others. 

She thought once on the field, the interviews would’ve gone a little better, because she was nice and she figured people loved nice, but as soon as she tried to talk to someone about this sighting, they recognized her immediately as a non-local (which apparently was a big deal) and refused to talk to her, feigning ignorance at her questions. 

She felt defeated. And she started questioning for a bit whether moving to this small town was even a good idea in the first place.

Of course, she’d escaped from her ex and from the possibility of ever meeting him again, but was it worth it? In that moment, she couldn’t say.

When she returned to her office that Thursday afternoon, she tried to gather the little information she had gotten, but it wasn’t even close enough to write the introduction!, so she closed her laptop with a heavy sigh, full of her disappointment, and she promised the day after she’d do better. 

The day after, YN decided to do what she did best back at her previous job, figuring maybe that the excessive responsibility had influenced her work. She decided she’d take a walk on the reserve and try and gather as many sources from the territory she could. 

The bear had been spotted inside a terrain one hour down a three hour long pathway, which, for a wildlife animal, was pretty dangerous. She couldn’t even imagine what would happen if someone stumbled across the bear, and she truly feared for the animal’s life, knowing all too well human’s cruel nature. 

The walk was tough, and the muscles in her legs were burning with fatigue. After about forty minutes of walking, she decided she’d stop at the first refuge she’d find, drink a little water and maybe even grab something hot to drink to warm up her freezing hands. 

She spotted a cabin after a couple of miles, and she felt her heart jump happily in her chest at the thought of finally resting for a bit. She tossed her backpack into the ground and put away the little journal and pen she’d kept in handy to scribble down things she observed along the pathway. 

Once inside the small cabin/cafe, she immediately felt her insides warming up. Everything was made out of wood, including the ceiling, and she observed how every chair had cute, fluffy blankets draped across the backrest. 

The place was just what she needed after a really long and tiring walk, and she regarded with contentment how she was the only customer. 

“Hello!” A shrilling voice called behind her, and she jumped in her place a little at the sound. She turned around immediately and she smiled at a blonde guy that was standing behind the counter. He was tying a blue apron behind his back and once he’d secured it, he cleaned his hands on its front, smiling warmly at her once their eyes met. 

“Hi” she said, shyly, “could I get some hot cocoa, please?” 

“Yes! Of course!!” He beamed, and YN wondered if she was maybe the first customer of the day or if he acted this way towards everyone that came in. 

“Here or to go?” 

“Here, thank you.” 

“Okay! Just take a seat and I’ll bring it to you in a moment”.

YN nodded her head at his words and took place at a small table near a big window that overlooked the entire valley. 

She’d been to the mountains just once with her family when she was very little, but she’d always dreamt of living in a slow-paced, small town, as opposed to the big city she left behind. 

She loved the green and the sun shining high in the sky warming her skin, and she loved drinking hot drinks in spring. She wasn’t really a fan of the snow, though, that had always seemed to scare her, and she was happy she had both spring and summer to get through before the winter, and she figured she’d probably be accustomed to the place once it’d start snowing, so she decided not to worry too much about that now.

She fished out of her backpack her journal and started reading through her notes to see if there was something remotely good to start with.

 unusual path for a bear 

 too many houses in proximity of the sighting

 not much food can be found on the trail 

    (…)

She figured it was not much but a start nonetheless. 

She was so engrossed by her notes she didn’t even hear the nice blonde guy approaching her, so when he placed the cup in front of her she jumped a little in her place.

“Woah, easy there! Yeh’re a jumpy thing, aren’t ya?” He giggled, pushing the cup in front of her as soon as she cast aside the journal.

She blushed immediately at his words, “sorry” she muttered. 

“’S fine, didn’t mean to embarrass you”

She threw him a quick smile before glancing down at her hot chocolate, and she noticed happily that he had topped it with a big amount of whipped cream. 

“Wait!” He chimed before she could take a sip of her drink, “forgot something.”

He ran back towards the kitchen and came out as quick as he went, holding a small, ceramic, plate in his hands. 

He put it on the table in front of YN and smiled warmly at her, “Freshly made ginger biscuits!” 

YN felt like crying. 

This was the first time someone was so nice to her, and after the fiasco she went through with her interviews, she really could use someone that at least acknowledged her. 

Of course, Harry had been nice, too, but in the days that had come, she’d seen less and less of him, and she’d started to wonder whether he was actually avoiding her. 

“This is so good!!! Thank you” she beamed, finally feeling relaxed after what seemed like a long time but was actually just less than a week.

“Do you want to sit? If you’re not… busy?” She gestured to the empty seat in front of her and watched as he sat immediately in the chair, placing his elbows on the table.

“Usually there’s more people around but… you know, ’s rush hour, so…” 

YN threw a glance at the clock on the wall, that ticked 3.58 pm. “Rush hour?” She asked, curiously. 

“Oh! Yeah. I don’t where you’re from, but here, rush hour is at around 4 because everything closes at 5.30” he shrugged, stealing a cookie from the plate on the table between them.

YN nodded and took a sip from her drink, “shouldn’t there be more people if it’s rush hour?”

He furrowed his brows and cleaned his mouth from the cookie’s crumbles with the back of his hand, “no”.

YN nodded understandingly once again, even if she didn’t truly understand his thought process. She figured in small towns people lived differently. 

“Are yeh here on vacation?” He asked her and she tried not to feel too disappointed that he understood right away that she wasn’t a local. 

“No” she shook her head, “I moved here last Monday. I’m here for that bear sighting” 

“Oh” she noticed his eyes widened, “nasty stuff that was! I hope that bear ’s long gone by now!” 

She frowned at his words; she really would have liked seeing a real-life bear.

She chatted with him — she’d found out his name was Niall — for what felt like minutes but was actually an hour, and once she’d realized how late it had gotten, the sky had turned dark and gloomy, and she’d hurriedly collected her things and payed for her order, saying bye to Niall with the promise of coming more often. The clock ticked 5.13 pm and she figured it wouldn’t really be that dangerous to walk back home. It wasn’t late in the night, and despite the dark sky, it was still mid afternoon. So, after saying goodbye to Niall, she threw her backpack across her shoulder and started walking back. 

Five minutes in her walk and she was already feeling uneasy. She hadn’t noticed at first but on the pathway there weren’t any lights, so she couldn’t see more than her own two feet; any little shadow or sound seemed to scare her, and it took her a lot of convincing to not just go back and ask Niall to take her home. The option had seemed tempting, but what could he really do? Close the cafe just because she was scared of the dark? and, despite talking his ear off all afternoon, who even was he? YN had a reputation for being easy going and able to make friends with pretty much everyone, but time had taught her that not everyone wanted to actually be her friend. 

That thought made her think about Harry, and how she hadn’t seen him in almost five days. After he had played with Baguette in her home, she thought she had found if not a friend at least someone to hang out with, now that she was in a new place completely alone, but maybe, she’d figured, it was Harry that didn’t want to hang out with her. He had seemed pretty grumpy, but she’d seen through his facade pretty quickly, and she had thought he was actually nice. Now, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was just a one time thing.   

She clutched the strap of her backpack extra tight as soon as she heard the sound of a car behind her, the headlights of the car illuminating her and the path before her. She shivered as the sudden thought of being alone on a street with no way of escaping came to her mind, and she picked up her pace to walk quicker. Beside her fear, there was also the question on how could someone drive in this particular pathway that, as she knew, was actually closed to cars. 

She was wondering if the driver had some kind of permit, when the car — that actually seemed more like a pick up — stopped beside her. She unintentionally turned her head to look inside, and before she could say anything to the guy inside, he beat her to it: “what the hell are yeh doin’ here alone?” 

She looked at Harry with wide eyes, her face half hidden behind the darkness of the sky, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it was him and not someone who wanted to hurt her. 

“I lost track of time” she said shyly, chewing on her bottom lip anxiously. 

“Get in.” He ordered, and she saw him unlock the car doors with a button on the steering wheel. 

“No, it’s okay! I can just walk, it’s not that far…” 

“Get in!” He stressed, but, “please” he added, once he realized his tone may have come out a little too sternly. 

“Okay” she whispered, wrapping her fingers around the handle of the car door and opening it. She threw her backpack on the car mat at the end of the seat and placed a hand on the car door to balance herself. The pick up was a little tall, so she had to literally climb inside the truck with her legs. She hoped she didn’t make too much of a fool out of herself. 

He grabbed her arm to help her, and once she was settled in the seat, he let it go quickly, almost as if he was uncomfortable with touching her. 

He didn’t say anything for a while, but YN noticed how he turned on the heat as soon as he saw her hugging herself against the cold. 

The pickup was big, but she could still smell his perfume — or cologne? She didn’t know — lingering in the air. 

YN stayed silent, not wanting to bother him, although it proved to be kind of difficult for her, because she wanted to ask him a lot of things. 

She remembers thinking he was mad at her. She still doesn’t know why, and why in the world could he possibly be mad at her, but, still. Aaron used to get angry over the most silliest things, so she figured every guy was the same. 

She almost caught herself asking him, but she remembered pretty quickly Aaron’s words: “not everyone wants to be your friend”.

She still had a little trouble understanding that. 

She heard Harry clear his throat, and she wondered if he was about to talk, so she patiently waited. He didn’t. He seemed antsy, and YN noticed how tightly he was gripping the wheel, so, she decided to ease the tension between them with the thing she did best: asking questions. 

“How are you allowed to drive here? Do you have some kind of permit? Because I researched the territory for my article and it strictly said ‘no cars allowed, must be on foot’, sooo… how can you? Are you some kind of… I don’t know — she shrugged, pouting her lips thoughtfully — are you some kind of boss, around here? That’s why people cook for you?”

Harry closed his brows in a furrow and brought his left hand up to massage his temple, “no” he simply said. 

“What does ‘no’ mean?” 

“It means no.” He said matter of factly. 

“Ugghh — she huffed — I know what ‘no’ means! I was asking figuratively. Are you always this grumpy?” 

“Thought yeh said I was nice” he grinned, a dimple denting his cheek. 

“Forget it” she mumbled, turning her head to look outside the window; there wasn’t much to see, with all the darkness, but anything was better than looking at him. 

“I’m not ‘some kind of boss’” he mocked her amused, glancing at her quickly before averting his gaze back on the road, “I own the terrain, so I can do whatever I want on it”.

YN turned her head to look back at him, wondering if he was making fun of her or if he was actually serious. He seemed serious. 

“You own it?” 

“Yeah” he nodded, amused by her reaction. 

“I can’t believe it”

“Why?” 

“This was were the bear was spotted! I could have asked you all along instead of interviewing people who closed the door in my face!” She pouted, crossing her arms in front of her chest. 

“They really closed the door in your face?” He asked, furrowing his brows, the smirk disappearing from his face quickly and his lips closing in a tight line. 

“Yeah” she huffed, “but it’s okay. I mean… I get it if they don’t want to talk to me but… I really need to do my job! I really wouldn’t bother them if it wasn’t necessary”

“They closed the door in your face. It’s not okay.” He said sternly, back to his old grumpy self, “who did you talk to?”

“Oh… that woman that lives in the first house right after the cafe. Wait. Do you know the cafe?”

Harry snickered at her question, “yeah, I heard of it”.

“Just her?” He added. 

“No” she shook her head, “I talked to Mr. Donovan too. I remember his name because Matt Donovan is a character in one of my favorite series! So… pretty easy to remember. He was actually nice before I told him I was writing an article for a magazine. He closed the door without even saying bye” she shrugged.

“That’s not okay” he repeated. 

“Well, it’s no problem at all now!!!! Because I can just ask you” she beamed, clapping her hands excitedly. 

“No. I wasn’t here that weekend” 

“What?” She asked, looking at him with big eyes. 

Harry refrained himself from laughing. “Yeah.” He nodded, “i wasn’t here. Sorry” 

“Great.” She groaned, tossing her arms in the air, her enthusiasm quickly dissolving. 

She heard him laugh through his nose, “i’m taking the piss out of yeh. I was here”

“Oh thank god!” she sighed relieved, finally seeing some ray of sunshine coming her way, “you’re cruel! don’t ever do that again!” She pointed her finger at his face and then swatted his arm when she heard him chuckle. 

thank you for reading!!!! i love you all, let me know if you'd like part 2 and what you want to see happen 💖

#northern attitude #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harrystyles #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one direction #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles concept #niall horan #harry styles love on tour #harrys house #love on tour #hslot

[goldencherryhazz]

I can’t deal with this today- 🥹 wrote the tiniest drabble for you, I couldn’t help myself!

Like you’d accidentally walk on the outside and he’d be like ‘erm excuse me!’

And you’d be like ‘what? What did I do?’

And then he’d literally grab you by the shoulders to stop you and then rotate the two of you so that he is on the outside, meanwhile a couple of bystanders are now watching the two of you.

‘That’s better’ he says continuing to walk, satisfied that he was now on the outside.

‘Why does it matter who’s walking on which side?’ You chuckle.

He turns around flabbergasted that you were even questioning his motives ‘it is literally the number 1 rule as a boyfriend’

‘What protect me at all costs?’

‘Yes of course, what if a car came hurtling towards us?

‘Then we’d both probably get horrific injuries or get squashed’

‘No wrong! I would protect you with my body so you wouldn’t get hurt’ he throws his hands as if he wasn’t the one thinking illogically.

‘Baby you’re soo fucking cute’ you pout.

‘And guess what so are you, too cute to get squished’ he reaches his hand to clasp with yours to carry on your venture into London, on the correct sides of the path.

#he’s so boyfriend #I need this in my life #harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #fine line #harry smut #love on tour #hslot #harry fluff

[thedarlingfawn]

via

#harry #harry styles #harry styles edit #harry styles edits #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #love on tour #fine line #hslot #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff

[justmystyles]

Series

Now You're In My Life

summary: a chance meeting at a diner turns your world upside-down and leads you on a whirlwind romance with one of the biggest pop stars in the world.

(More Than) One Shots

(One shots that got away from me, but aren't quite a series.)

Lost (2 Parts) Lose You to Love Me A run-in with your childhood sweetheart brings up old memories, and lingering feelings. Lost and Found You and Harry reconnected a month ago, and he insisted you come along for the final show. when your emotions start to get the better of you, you wonder if you and Harry could ever really just be friends.

End of the Road (2 Parts) Home Stretch As the tour comes to an end, the schedule starts to visibly take its toll on Harry, and you can't help but worry. Crossing the Finish Line It's the final show and Harry charms you into making good on a promise you made last time you were together.

Big Winners (3 Parts) Harry and Y/N have been friends for fifteen years, they finally work together on an album, and it leads them to a night that will change everything for them. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

One Shots

All I Ask*

You're finally starting to get over Harry, what happens when fate brings you back together?

Having Your Baby

You get some life changing news, and come up with the perfect way to tell your husband.

Wallflower

You're sitting alone at a wedding, can a handsome stranger help you come out of your shell?

Line of Fire

You and Harry have been keeping your relationship off the radar, but his concern for you overwhelms his need for privacy.

Coming Home To You*

Harry comes home early and catches you by surprise in the best way possible.

Scars

Can Harry be the comfort you need after falling back into old habits?

Ooh La La

After a revelation on movie night, you and Harry decide to reenact one of the scenes.

Love Don’t Cost A Thing

Harry loves to spoil you, but you're having a hard time adjusting to his lavish lifestyle.

The Battle in Barcelona

A crazy crowd at the airport comes between you and Harry.

Misplaced Emotion

As Harry prepares to jump back into the spotlight, he has a hard time re-adjusting to public life, and it manifests in the wrong way.

Good News All Around

You reach a big milestone in your life, but feel overshadowed when you call to tell Harry about it.

Perfect Harmony

You're in the final days of the tour, and Harry makes a suggestion that ends up changing everything.

Lights, Camera, Action

What was supposed to be just another job becomes the start of something new.

Business or Pleasure?

You return to Love on Tour after an extended break, but after your last interaction, you come back to an awkward situation with Harry.

Reigning it In

You're about to participate in your first horse show, but the nerves overwhelm you. Harry finds you just in time.

Family Portrait

Harry has a couple of heartfelt surprises for you while you're visiting him on tour.

All or Nothing*

You find a new way to tease Harry during a tour visit, which leads to a new way to drive him crazy.

With this Ring

Harry takes his commitment to you to a new level.

Veiled Insecurities

Harry has some insecurities about your relationship, but instead of talking to you about them, they end up coming out in the wrong way.

Heart Song

As a former member of the Love on Tour band, and current girlfriend of Harry, he asks you to reprise your spot for the final show.

Road to Recovery

After reading some negative comments about yourself, you nearly spiral back into old habits. you try to keep it from Harry, but he finds out and confronts you about it.

A Work of Art

After procrastinating for a few weeks, you finally make moves to finish your assignment, but run into an unexpected road block.

He's Not Me

You introduce Harry to the guy you're seeing, and you see a side of him you've never seen before and are shocked by his reasoning.

Sharing is Caring

You can't find your favorite handbag, Harry assures you he doesn't have it, but you see some photos tell a different story

Cantaloupe

In this one shot/flash forward from the Now You're In My Life storyline, you and Harry recap the big news from your family's Thanksgiving dinner.

Like Riding a Bike

Despite being on break, Harry manages to find his way back onstage.

Fa La La La Freakout

You will be meeting Harry's family for the first time over the holidays, and you are desperate for them to like you.

The Morning After

The morning after Harry's 30th birthday, you're hungover and Harry reminds you of your drunken actions from the night before, leading to a conversation you never expected.

Baby-Baby-Baby

Harry meets his niece for the first time, the joy and excitement are quickly replaced with a whole new set of feelings when his best friend, Y/N joins him at the hospital.

Smoke & Mirrors

Harry asks you to move to London with him, but a new opportunity for him makes things a little more complicated than you'd both expect.

(*) - NSFW

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x fem! reader #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles headcanon #harry styles meet cute #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry's house #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry edward styles #harry styes imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #love on tour #hslot #hslot harry #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

[strawnarrries]

because im sad about the last show, here's a little imagine about y/n and harry reminiscing the past two years the night before the last show :(

warnings: mentions of sex but nothing graphic

Your eyes fluttered open and you realized it was still dark outside, a sign that it was not quite morning just yet. You're not sure why you woke up. It was like your body knew something was off because when you turned over, the bed was empty beside you.

Rubbing your eyes to clear the sleepy haze, you noticed light coming from under the closed door of the bedroom in the villa you and Harry are staying in. Getting up out of bed, you opened the door and the sudden change in lighting burned your eyes. After getting used to it, you walked towards the kitchen and spotted your husband, leaning up against the counter, sipping on something inside of a mug.

“Harry?” you hummed, walking up to him.

“Oh hey, did I wake you up? I’m sorry," he looked up at you with doe eyes and messy hair sticking up in every direction.

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t sleep.”

You popped your bottom lip out and wrapped your arms around his bare waist, his instinctively wrapping around yours after setting his mug on the counter, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just can't believe the last show's tomorrow night.”

“Aw, I know. You wanna talk about it?” you hummed, looking up at him with tired eyes.

"I'm gonna miss it. A lot," he whispered, "but at the same time I'm excited for a long break."

"It's bittersweet."

"Yeah," he nodded.

"It's gonna be weird not getting to watch you on stage every night in your sparkly outfits."

He chuckled softly, "You don't get those outfits at home, do ya?"

"No, I get you either naked or in the one stupid shirt that you refuse to throw away even though it's practically in shreds."

"Thought you loved that shirt?" he teased.

You glared up at him before changing the subject, "What'dya think you'll miss the most? Just being on stage?"

"Yeah. Performing. It's one of my favorite things in the world to do. I just get such a rush from being out there and interacting with the fans and hearing them scream my lyrics."

"And hearing them bark at you," you added.

He giggled, "Yes, that too."

"You'll be back though. It's not the end."

“You're right. I feel like this tour was just special for some reason, I dunno. I fear I’m gonna get really emotional tomorrow on stage though. I was holding back tears at the show the other night," he chuckled.

“It’s okay to get emotional. You know me and your mom will be sobbing the entire night."

He smiled softly as he cupped your jaw and rubbed his thumb back and forth across your cheek, "I've been reflecting a lot recently. So much has happened in the last two years. It's wild."

“You've done, like what, 150 shows?”

“169 tomorrow."

“Holy shit, Harry. Most of them were completely sold out too. Do you realize how incredible that is?”

“It's mad. I think this has been the most successful tour I’ve ever been on.”

“Oh, by far.”

“Gonna miss seeing everyone every day. Gonna miss the fans and being up on stage. I've had some of the best shows of my life on this tour.”

“Harryween,” you giggled fondly at the memory that popped into your head.

“That was fun as fuck,” he giggled back.

“You’ve done more than just tour though. So many award shows, Coachella, music videos, you starred in two different movies, Harry.”

“I have,” he nodded, smiling proudly at himself, "Looking back, the amount of love and support that I've gotten from everyone, the fans, my team, my friends, and family, and from you is just - it's - it's so overwhelming like I can't even explain it to you. Like my mind can't comprehend that this is my life. Been 13 years and I still can't believe it."

"'cause you deserve it, baby. With the amount of love you give out and just the type of person you are in general, you deserve everything that's come your way. Have I ever told you how proud of you I am?" you teased, being the fact that those words leave your lips multiple times after every single one of his accomplishments.

"Never. Not once," he chuckled.

“Well, I am,” you hummed pressing a sweet kiss to his sternum, just under where his cross necklace lay, "It makes me feel so prideful that I get to call you my husband."

“Thank you, my love. You know I wouldn't be here without you.”

You rested your head on his warm chest, hugging him tighter, embracing the sweet silence before breaking it, "Can I be honest with you?”

He nodded as you looked back up at him.

“I know it's selfish but a big part of me is excited that it’s over because then I get you all to myself and don’t have to share you with the world.”

“Finally don’t have to hear you nagging for my attention all the time,” he chuckled.

“Heyyyyyy,” you whined.

“I’m joking, baby.”

You rolled your eyes teasingly.

“We have a lot to look forward to.”

“Like what?” he asked, although he knew exactly what you were referencing to, he just wanted to hear you say it.

“You becoming a daddy.”

“Really lookin forward to that. I can’t wait ‘till you have a cute little baby bump.”

“Gotta get me pregnant first.”

"You don't gotta worry 'bout that. We’re gonna be goin' at it all day every day when we’re on holiday next month,” he smirked.

“I can't even explain to you how excited I am for that. Vacation Harry is my favorite Harry."

He grinned, “I love you, Y/N."

“I love you too.”

He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours for a few sweet kisses before you hummed sleepily, “Will you come back to bed with me now?”

“Yeah, c’mon.”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry #harry imagine #harry fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #one direction fanfic #one direction fanfiction #one direction imagine #hslot #fluff #harry fluff #one direction fluff #harry styles fluff

[butdaddyilovehim-hs]

Spells of Fate

Summary: Y/N keeps having mysterious dizzy spells and Harry can't help but be increasingly worried

Based on this ask :)

Warnings: fluff, protective H

Word Count: 1.2k

The first time it happens, it catches Y/N off guard.

“H… babe can you slow down? I just need a minute.” Y/N breathes heavily, steading herself on a nearby bench as Harry quickly jogs back to her. 

“Love, you alright? You’re looking pretty pale.” He presses a cool palm against her forehead and notes how clammy she is, despite only having been jogging for a few minutes. 

“I don’t… I’m just feeling really dizzy. I think I need to sit down.”

“Ok, ok, I’ve got you. Have some water; Let’s rest for a bit and then we can start walking home. Good thing we didn’t make it far hey?” He jokes, attempting to pull a smile from his girlfriend. 

“I’m so sorry bubs, I know you wanted to run today. I’ll be ok, go on without me and I’ll meet you at home.” Y/N smiles weakly at him, urging him to keep going. Harry looks at her like she’s grown three heads.

“Not a chance, are you crazy? I’d never leave you, especially when you’re not feeling well. Can I take you to the hospital? Do I need to do something?” 

Y/N almost giggles at the sight of her boyfriend so anxious. He’s running his fingers through his hair, his hands twitching nervously as though he’s itching to do something. 

Come on, up. Do you need me to carry you or are you alright to walk?”

Y/N rolls her eyes at his overprotective nature.

“You really would carry me if I asked wouldn’t you.”

“Absolutely.” 

The second time, Y/N can feel it coming on.

This time she’s able to hide it better. Or so she thinks. 

It’s been a few days since the first incident and Harry’s about to go on stage. She’s laughing and chatting to Sarah when the wave of lightheadedness rushes through her again. Y/N grips onto the couch as subtly as she can, excusing herself quickly to grab some water. She thinks she’s managed to go unnoticed but it’s only a few moments later that Harry is by her side. 

“Y/N, my love. What’s the matter?”

“Harry you have a show to get to.”

“Not important darling, need to make sure you’re ok. You dizzy again?”

Y/N just nods, letting herself sink into Harry’s embrace. 

“I want you to stay back here tonight and look after yourself ok. Don’t come out for the show, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Harry of course I’m coming out for the show. Now you need to go, and I’ll be right behind you. Just need some more water and I’ll be good.”

“Y/N.” Harry looks at her sternly. He’s worried. She knows he is, but Y/N is determined to not let whatever is going on with her ruin his show. 

“Harry. Love. I’m ok. Go on.” She presses a soft kiss to his lips, pushing him gently out the door of the bathroom. He grumbles as he goes, muttering something about how stubborn she is because he “just wants to take care of her.”

The third time is the worst one. 

She’s in the friends and family section, dancing around with Anne, screaming the lyrics to Daylight with Gemma. Y/N doesn’t feel completely better but she’s ignoring it to have fun. Harry is on edge tonight and she can feel it by the way he keeps glancing over to her in concern. 

“I’m fine!” She mouths, offering him a thumbs up. He scans her face for any sign of distress before nodding and blowing a kiss, moving to the other side of the stage. The concert is loud, and Y/N can feel herself getting warmer. 

Harry is doing his speech before Matilda and suddenly there are little dark spots in her vision. She can faintly hear Anne calling her name before everything fades to black and she falls to the ground.

Harry watches her faint from his view on the stage and his heart sinks. He’s about to stop the show and rush into the crowd to check on Y/N, but out of the corner of his eye he sees Jeff organising a stretcher to move her backstage. 

“Stay on stage H. We’ll take care of her I promise. Finish the show.” Harry hears through his earpiece. 

So he does, not wanting to disappoint the fans who’ve travelled so far to watch him play. It’s the longest 25 minutes of his life, finishing Kiwi with a half hearted whale before absolutely legging it backstage.

“Where is she? Where’s my girlfriend? I need to know where she is.” He’s tense and on edge as he searches the rooms backstage, finding Y/N and his mum in a room adjacent to his dressing room. Anne sends a comforting smile to her son before leaving to give the couple some privacy. 

Y/N slowly regains consciousness, her head throbbing and her body aching. She blinks, trying to make sense of her surroundings. It takes a moment for the blurred shapes and colors to sharpen into focus.

"Y/N, you're awake," a comforting voice says, and she turns her head to see Harry sitting beside her, his worried eyes locked onto her.

"What happened?" Y/N croaks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You fainted during the show," Harry replies, his voice laced with concern. "They brought you back here.”

Y/N tries to sit up but immediately regrets it as dizziness washes over her. Harry gently pushes her back down.

"Easy there, love," he says softly. "We called a doctor. They're on their way.”

Y/N nods weakly, her heart pounding in her chest. She can't believe she let this happen again, especially during one of Harry's concerts.

"I'm so sorry," she murmurs, her eyes filling with tears.

Harry leans closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Hey, don't be sorry. This isn't your fault. We'll figure out what's going on.”

As they wait for the doctor, Harry keeps a protective arm around Y/N, soothing her with gentle words and reassuring touches. When the doctor arrives and begins to examine her, Harry never leaves her side.

“Well Miss Y/L/N, the mysterious cause of the fainting spells has been solved. You’re pregnant. Only about 8 weeks along but that would be the cause of the dizziness. Congratulations you two.”

Harry is silent and Y/N takes this as a bad sign. She’s consumed by her own shock but Harry’s reaction has her frightened. 

“Harry,” she starts weakly, “I know this isn’t what we planned and I totally understand if-”

Harry holds her face in her hands cutting her off.

"Darling, we're going to have a baby," he whispers, his voice filled with wonder.

“You… you’re ok with this?”

“Of course I’m ok with this. I mean I didn’t expect it to be this soon but I can’t wait to have a family with you my love. Fuck. I’m going to be a dad.” His voice is filled with excitement and slight nervousness and Y/N’s eyes fill with happy tears. 

Harry can't help but press a loving kiss to Y/N's forehead, his voice filled with affection as he murmurs, "You're going to be an amazing mum.”

Y/N looks up at him with teary eyes, her heart overflowing with love. "And you're going to be the best dad.”

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