Brother’s Best Friend:
Harry Lewis x Reader
In which: Harry has a thing for Simon’s little sister…
The flat is quiet for once.
Not the kind of quiet that feels peaceful, more like something missing. Like the walls are waiting for noise that hasn’t come back yet. No music leaking from JJ’s speakers, no shouting from Simon down the hall, no controllers hitting the floor or laughter cutting through everything else.
Just the low hum of the city outside the window, and the soft, repetitive scroll of her thumb across her phone screen.
She’s curled into her bed, half-distracted, not really reading anything. Just passing time.
When the knock comes, it cuts through the silence too sharply. Quick, impatient, wrong.
It’s not Simon, he doesn’t knock. Not JJ either, his rhythm is different, more deliberate, more annoying.
This is something else.
She pauses, listening for a second longer, like the sound might explain itself. It doesn’t.
So she gets up.
The hallway feels colder than her room, the floor quiet beneath her bare feet as she makes her way to the door. When she pulls it open, she’s not entirely surprised, but something in her still shifts slightly at the sight of him.
Harry.
Standing there like he belongs and doesn’t, all at once.
He looks the same as always, oversized Chelsea hoodie, grey joggers, hair a mess like he hasn’t bothered fixing it. Hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders relaxed in that careless way he wears so easily.
But his eyes...
they flick over her in a way that doesn’t feel accidental.
“Simon in?” he asks, like this is normal. Like this is nothing.
She shakes her head, brushing her hair back over her shoulder, suddenly aware of the way her clothes sit on her skin. “No. He’s out with JJ. Did you need something?”
He shifts slightly on the door mat, trainers scraping softly against the floor. For a second, it almost looks like he might leave.
Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a USB.
“Just meant to drop this off,” he says, holding it between his fingers. “Edit from the last video. Forgot earlier.”
It’s a simple excuse, too simple.
Because he doesn’t hand it to her.
Doesn’t move to.
Just stands there, looking at her.
The hallway behind him is empty, quiet in that same strange way the flat is. No movement. No interruptions.
She steps back slightly, opening the door wider. “You can wait, if you want.”
There’s a pause, small, but deliberate. Like he’s deciding something, then he shrugs.
“Yeah. Alright.”
He moves past her easily, like he’s done it a hundred times before, and he has. Trainers off by the door without being asked. Familiar. Comfortable. Too comfortable.
The scent of his cologne lingers briefly as he passes, something clean, understated, but it sticks in the air longer than it should.
By the time she turns back, he’s already in the living room. Settling into the sofa like he belongs there. Like this isn’t new, the space feels different with him in it, smaller.
He stretches out, long legs taking up space, one arm thrown lazily along the back of the couch. The USB is dropped onto the table without a second thought. already forgotten.
His eyes drift around the room, taking things in, but they don’t stay there long. They come back to her. They always do.
“Comfy,” he says, nodding slightly toward her clothes, the corner of his mouth pulling into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Day off?”
There’s something in his tone, light, but not harmless.
She feels it anyway.
“I guess,” she mutters, a faint heat rising under her skin. “Do you want tea? I was just about to make some.”
His grin sharpens slightly, like he’s amused by something she hasn’t said.
“Yeah. Go on then.”
The kitchen gives her space to breathe, but not enough, because she can still feel him. Not physically, just the awareness of him, sitting in the next room, waiting, watching. Even when he’s not.
The kettle fills. Clicks. Starts to hum.
She doesn’t realise she’s fiddling with her rings until they catch against each other.
“Simon gonna be long?” his voice calls from the living room.
It’s quieter now, lower, more personal.
She glances back over her shoulder. “Probably an hour. Why? Got somewhere to be?”
There’s a pause.
Then,
“Nah.”
A beat.
“Just wondering if I’m drinking this alone.”
When she comes back with the tea, he hasn’t moved much, just enough to face her more directly, just enough to close the space without making it obvious.
She hands him the mug, and his fingers brush hers, it lingers. Not long enough to call out. Long enough to notice.
Conversation comes easier than it should, too easy.
He asks what she’s been doing, but not really listening for the answer. More like he’s filling the silence, keeping something alive between them.
He talks more.
About filming. About Simon. About nothing that actually matters.
And she listens, because it feels like something. Even if it isn’t.
The quiet stretches. Thickens.
Settles into something heavier than it should be.
He leans back, arm still stretched behind her now, not touching, but close enough that she can feel the heat of him there. Too close.
She doesn’t move away.
“So what’ve you actually been doing all day?” he asks, glancing at her again.
His voice has softened slightly, less teasing, more focused.
And then,
The door bursts open.
Noise floods the flat instantly.
Simon’s voice first, loud, complaining, filling every inch of space like it always does. JJ right behind him, laughing, keys jangling, energy spilling in through the doorway.
Everything shifts.
Harry straightens immediately.
The ease disappears.
Distance snaps back into place like it was never gone.
“Oh, sick, you’re here,” Simon says, spotting him instantly, already distracted, already moving on.
JJ lingers.
Of course he does.
His eyes flick between them once, quick but sharp.
And he sees it, whatever it was. He doesn’t say anything, but the look is there.
Harry stands too quickly, too casually.
“Yeah, just dropped the USB,” he mutters, already reaching for the door.
He doesn’t look at her, not properly.
“Cheers for the tea.”
And then he’s gone.
The flat is loud again, normal again. But something doesn’t sit right anymore.
Later, in her room, the quiet feels different. Not empty. Just… unfinished.
She tries to read, doesn’t take in a word.
Tries to watch something, doesn’t follow it.
Everything keeps slipping back to the same moment, his hand brushing hers, the way he looked at her, the way he didn’t leave straight away.
A knock comes at her door.
Softer this time.
JJ. He leans against the frame, phone in hand, something amused sitting behind his expression.
“Your boy’s asking if you’re alright.”
She stills slightly. “What?”
JJ tilts his phone toward her just enough to show the message.
Is she pissed at me?
There’s something almost embarrassing about it, something too honest.
JJ watches her reaction carefully, then exhales, shaking his head slightly.
“I’m not getting involved,” he mutters. “But… he’s been like this for months. It’s obvious.”
There’s a pause, then, quieter, “Just be careful, yeah?”
He leaves her with that.
And the silence comes back again.
The idea comes slowly, then all at once. JJ’s phone, left on the counter. Unlocked, it feels stupid, it feels reckless, it feels inevitable.
By the time she’s back in her room, the message is already sent.
Harry, text me - (her number)
The reply doesn’t take long.
didn’t think you’d actually text.
Another one follows.
jj playing wingman is mad though.
Something settles in her chest, not calm, something else.
The conversation builds quickly after that, maybe too quickly. Like it was already there, waiting.
He apologises for leaving, says it got awkward.
Mentions Simon. JJ.
Everything except the actual reason.
She tells him it’s fine, says maybe next time he could stay longer.
There’s a pause.
Then,
next time yeah. might hold you to that.
It shifts after that, subtly.
The messages get quieter, more personal, less guarded.
you hiding in your room too?
She smiles at that, even though she shouldn’t.
By the time JJ leaves for the shop, conveniently, deliberately, it doesn’t feel accidental anymore, nothing does.
The second message she sends is bolder, more dangerous.
You’re a pleasant distraction at least.
There’s a longer pause this time. Then,
distraction’s mutual.
And just like that, there’s no going back.
The message sits there longer than it should.
distraction’s mutual.
It’s not a big statement, not dramatic. But it lands heavier than anything else he’s said.
She stares at it for a while, thumb hovering over the screen, like there’s something more hidden inside the words if she looks long enough.
There isn’t. That’s the problem.
The flat is quieter now.
JJ still hasn’t come back, and Simon’s somewhere else entirely, out, distracted, living in a world that doesn’t include this.
Doesn’t include her, not really, not like this.
Her phone buzzes again.
what you doing?
She exhales slowly through her nose before replying.
Nothing.
A pause.
Then, before she can stop herself,
You?
The typing bubble appears almost instantly. Disappears. Comes back.
at mine.
Another pause.
Then,
quiet for once.
Something tightens slightly in her chest, the wording feels deliberate. Like an invitation that isn’t being called one.
She leans back against her pillows, staring at the ceiling now instead of the screen, like distance might help her think clearer.
It doesn’t.
Her phone buzzes again.
you could come round if you wanted.
There it is.
Not dressed up, not hidden.
Just… said.
Her stomach drops slightly, not in fear, something sharper, more electric.
She doesn’t answer straight away. She knows she shouldn’t.
Knows exactly where this goes if she does.
But then,
or don’t. probably better if you don’t.
That does it.
Her reply is quicker than she expects.
Send me your address.
The three dots don’t appear this time. No hesitation, no pause.
The message comes through immediately.
And just like that, it’s real.
The walk there feels longer than it should. Every step too loud, every thought too clear.
She notices everything, the chill in the air biting at her skin, the way her hands won’t stay still, the way her heart doesn’t quite settle into a steady rhythm. It doesn’t feel like excitement, not fully, not cleanly. It feels like stepping into something she already knows doesn’t end well and going anyway.
His building is quieter than she expects.
Dim lighting. Soft echoes in the stairwell. The kind of place where everything feels slightly removed from the outside world. Like it exists separately, she hesitates outside his door, only for a second, then she knocks.
It opens almost immediately.
Harry doesn’t look surprised, not even a little.
He’s wearing the same hoodie, a different shirt underneath.
Hair still a mess, like he’s run his hands through it one too many times.
His eyes flick over her once. Slow. Taking everything in.
“You actually came.”
It’s not disbelief, it’s something else, something closer to satisfaction.
She shrugs, like this is casual. Like this isn’t something she thought about for too long.
“You said it was quiet.”
His mouth pulls slightly at that. Not quite a smile.
“Yeah,” he says, stepping back to let her in. “It is.”
The door closes behind her with a soft click, and the sound feels final. His flat is different from Simon’s, less chaotic, everything in its place. But it doesn’t feel warmer.
She stands there for a second too long, taking it in, unsure what to do with her hands, where to look, he notices. Of course he does.
“Relax,” he says quietly, moving past her toward the kitchen. “You want a drink or something?”
She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”
He glances back at her, leaning lightly against the counter now.
Watching.
“You don’t look fine.”
There’s no accusation in it, just observation.
She exhales softly, crossing her arms like it might ground her slightly.
“I just, this is…”
She trails off.
“Yeah,” he finishes for her.
Not helping, not clarifying.
There’s a pause, long enough to feel.
Then he pushes himself off the counter, stepping closer, not all the way, barely toe-to-toe. Just enough.
“You didn’t have to come,” he says, voice lower now. “No one made you.”
“I know.”
“Simon definitely wouldn’t like it.”
“I know that too.”
Another step closer.
“Still here though.”
She looks at him properly now, really looks.
“I am.”
Something shifts in his expression at that, subtle, but real.
“Right, Fuck it” he mutters, almost to himself.
And then, he closes the distance.
his lips meeting hers in a kiss that starts soft, questioning, but deepens almost instantly. It's not hesitant anymore. One hand stays cupping her face, his thumb stroking her cheek, while his other hand found her waist, pulling her gently closer until she was pressed against the side of his body.
Harry breaks the kiss only for a breath, his forehead resting against hers, eyes still closed. “Been wanting to do that for ages.”
Before she could respond, he kissed her again, this time with more confidence, more hunger. It's slower, deeper, his hand sliding from her waist to the small of her back, holding her firmly against him. The distant sounds of the city faded away, leaving only the soft sound of her breathing and the feel of his mouth on hers.
A wave of confidence ran through her, she deepened the kiss, biting his lip softly, threading her fingers through his hair, tugging on it lightly.
A low groan rumbled in his chest, his hands grip her tighter, one gliding back to her waist. He responded by tilting his head, deepening the kiss further, his tongue sweeping against hers. The hand on her back slid lower, pulling her flush against him until she was practically in his lap, the warmth of his body seeping through her clothes.
Harry breathed heavily against her mouth, his voice husky, “You have no idea... how long I've thought about this.”
He broke the kiss to trail his mouth along her jaw, down the side of her neck, his stubble a rough, delicious friction against her skin. His free hand slid under the edge of her sweater, his thumb stroking the bare skin of her stomach.
Harry muttered into her neck, his breath hot against her skin. “You're so fucking fit, drives me mental.”
The faint sound of a door slamming shut made him freeze for a split second, his body tensing. But when no other sound followed, he relaxed again, nuzzling back into the curve of her neck, leaving a trail of kisses is his wake.
Harry pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark and serious, “We should probably... talk about this. Or something. Before I completely lose my head.”
But he didn't move away, his gaze dropped to her lips again as if drawn there.
She lent forward, whispering against his lips, “Lose it then…”
The whispered challenge hung in the air between them, a final spark to the tinderbox. His eyes darken, the last vestige of restraint snapping. He doesn't say another word.
His mouth crashes back onto hers, this kiss hungry and desperate. His hands move from her back to her hair, one tangled in the curls at her nape to tilt her head back, the other slid down to grip at her hip, as he pulled her fully onto his lap.
She could feel the hard line of his body beneath her, the frantic beat of his heart against her chest. The kiss was all consuming, a build-up of tension exploding at once. He tasted of mint and something uniquely him.
Harry broke the kiss, breathing ragged, his forehead pressed against hers. “Fuck. Okay.” He shifted, his hands sliding under her thighs, and in one smooth motion, he stood, lifting her with him.
He carried her the short distance to his bedroom, without breaking contact, his mouth found hers again as he pushed the door open with his shoulder. The room was dim, the blinds down, a large, unmade bed sat against the right wall. Harry placed her down gently amidst the soft chaos of his duvet, he followed her down without hesitation, his body caging hers.
“You're sure? Last chance to... talk.”
His hands trembled slightly where they framed her face, his entire focus on you, waiting for her answer. The air was thick with the scent of his cologne and the charged silence.
She slid her cold hands beneath his hoodie, their eyes met as she whispered, “I’m sure, Harry…”
A shiver ran through him at the touch, followed by a sharp intake of breath, his muscles tensed under her palms. He looked down at her, his blue eyes wide, pupils blown, any last shred of hesitation now gone.
Harry’s voice was gravely, laced with a desperate kind of relief as he spoke, “Thank Fuck.”
He lowered his head, capturing her mouth in another deep, kiss that seared. His hands slide from her face, one moving to the hem of her tight black sweater, fingers slipping underneath to find the warm skin of your stomach. The other hand tangled in her hair, holding her steady as he kissed her like he was starving for it.
Harry muttered against her lips between kisses, “Wanted this, wanted you… for so long.”
His hoodie was the first thing to go, pulled over his head and discarded to the floor with a frustrated grunt. The room was warm, the air thick with the sound of ragged breathing and the soft rustle of fabric. He looked down at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his gaze hot and intent.
Harry’s hands slid up and down her sides before her tugged at the bottom of her sweater, “Let’s get this off, yeah?”
All it took was a slight nod, then he was pulling up the sweater, bringing it over her head, before dropping it to the floor. His gaze swept over her with an awes hunger. A low sound escaping his throat, something between a groan and a sigh. “Oh, Christ.”
He kisses her deeply, his body settled against hers, the heat of him a solid, comforting weight. She dragged her nails down his back, and he pressed closer instinctively, his hips beginning to rock against hers in a slow, deliberate grind.
His mouth trailed lower, leaving a path of hot, open-mouthed kisses down her chest. His hands slid up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts over her bra, his touch both hesitant and desperate.
Harry looked up at her, his face flushed, hair a complete mess, eyes dark with want. “Tell me to stop. If you want me to stop.”
But his hands were still moving, one cupping her breast, thumb stroking over the peak of her nipple through the lace of her bra, while the other hand slipped lower, fingers tracing the waistband of her pants. He was giving her an out, but every inch of his body was pleading for her not to take it.
“Don’t stop… please”
The soft plea was all the permission he needed. Any remaining tension in his body melted away, replaced by a single-minded focus. His gaze sharpened, last vestige of doubt vanishing from his blue eyes.
He kissed her again, deeper, more possessive now. His hands became more deliberate, one working at the clasp of her bra with a surprising deftness, the other slid down to the waistband of her pants. He hooked his fingers into the fabric, his knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of her lower stomach.
Harry broke the kiss, his breath hot against her ear, “Lift your hips for me.”
As she lifted her hips, he slid the soft fabric down her legs in one smooth motion, tossing them aside. He filled the path with his mouth, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of her thighs, the scratch of his stubble a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips.
Harry stood at the end of his bed, kicking off his own joggers, along with his boxers, before covering her body with his own. He settled between her thighs, his weight a comfortable kind of pressure.
Harry braced himself on one elbow, his breath fanned across her face. His other hand trailed down, between her legs. She gasped in response, before he covered her mouth with his own.
He started light, circling her clit gently, teasing, before his fingers moved down to dip into her entrance, then back up again.
Eventually Harry stopped his teasing, sliding a finger in to test the waters, she gasped into his mouth, he swallowed her sounds with a groan of his own.
His long finger pumped in and out slowly to start, then he slid in another alongside it, picking up his pace.
Right before her release, Harry pulled his fingers out, She whined at the loss of his touch. Kneeling between her legs, Harry started running his dick along her slick folds, before lining himself up with her entrance. “Ready?”
He didn't wait for a verbal answer, seeing the confirmation in her eyes. He pushed inside her with a slow, deliberate thrust that made them both gasp. He stilled for a moment, his forehead dropping against hers, his breathing ragged. “Oh… fuck.”
Then he began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that quickly built in intensity. His hips set a punishing pace, each thrust drove her deeper into the softness of his mattress. The room filled with the sounds of their combined breathing, the soft creak of the bed, and the slick, wet sounds of their bodies moving together.
Harry spoke, his words broken, gasped against her skin between thrusts. “So good… you feel, so fucking good.”
One of his hands slid down to grip her hip, holding her steady, while the settled along her jaw. He captures her mouth in a messy, desperate kiss, his tongue sliding against her own. The pleasure built, coiling tight low in her stomach, amplified by the sheer intensity in his gaze, the raw need that was written all over his face.
The hand on her hip slipped down further, back between her legs. As his thrusts grew harder, and slightly faster, he applied pressure to her clit, circling it quicker until she was moaning loudly beneath him.
Harry groans, his voice ragged and strained. “I’m not… I’m not gonna last. Come for me. Please.”
His thrusts became faster, more frantic, losing their rhythm as he chased his own release. His entire body was tense, trembling with the effort of holding back. His eyes were screwed shut, his jaw clenched tight.
Chasing her own release, she arched up into him, meeting his thrusts, her head thrown back further between his pillows in pleasure. Her nails clawed at his back, pulling him closer, drawing him down till she could whisper in his ear, “Harry… please.”
The sound of his name on her pretty lips was the last straw. A broken sound tore from his throat, half-groan, half-wince, as he drove into her one last, deep time. His body went rigid above her, every muscle locking as his release crashed over him. He collapsed onto her, his full weight a heavy, welcomed warmth, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
He didn’t move for a long moment, just lied there, his heart hammered against her chest, slowly returning to a normal rhythm. Eventually, he shifted his weight to the side, pulling her with him so you were curled together amidst the tangled sheets. He brushed the hair back from her forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle.
Harry let out a long, shaky exhale, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Well. That was… fucking hell.”
He leant in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, much softer than any that came before. It was tender, almost reverent. Outside, the distant sound of a siren wailed, a reminder of the world beyond the dim, warm cocoon of his bedroom.
Harry tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb stroking her cheek. “You alright?”
His phone buzzed violently on the floor where his joggers landed, the screen lighting up with a cascade of notifications from the Sidemen group chat. He glanced at it, then back at you, his expression shifting to something more cautious, more real.
Her soft smile drew his attention back, for a moment at least. “I’m more than alright… I mean… Jesus, Harry,” A laugh was laced between her words, and she flowed with a light sheen of sweat across her skin.
He let out a breathy laugh of his own, shaking his head as he looked down at her, his expression a mix of awe and sheer relief. The frantic buzzing of his phone continued, ignored.
Harry, brushed a thumb over her damp hairline, his grin widening. “Jesus, Harry, huh? I'll take that as a compliment.” He leant in, kissing her again, slow and deep, before pulling back just enough to speak, his voice still husky. “Fucking hell, that was...”
He didn’t finish the sentence, just shook his head again, his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. He shifted, pulling the duvet up over the both of you as a slight chill settled in the room. The phone on the floor finally falls silent.
Harry’s expression sobers slightly, though the soft smile remained. “We should probably... figure out what this means.” He gestured vaguely towards the door, towards the world outside. “With... you know. Everything.”
Before you could answer, his phone started buzzing again, this time with an insistent, repetitive pattern that signals a call. He sighed, rolling onto his back and running a hand through his already disheveled hair.
Harry Peered at the screen, It's Simon. He looked at her, a flicker of genuine worry in his eyes. “He's probably just complaining about the edit or something. Should I...?”
The phone continued to vibrate on the floor, a persistent, anxious hum in the quiet room.
He shifted, rolling onto his side to face you properly, his head propped up on one hand. The duvet slipped down to his waist, revealing the lean lines of his torso. His other hand came up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb stroking her cheekbone.
Her phone buzzed this time, somewhere from the living room.
Harry’s voice dropped , losing its usual playful edge, becoming more serious. “This... us... it's real, yeah? Not just...” He gestures vaguely at the rumpled bed. “This.”
His phone buzzed again, this time with a single text notification. He glanced at it but didn’t move to pick it up, his gaze fixed on her, waiting for her answer. The screen lit up briefly from the floor once more.
She shook her head, sighing with a smile, “Of course it’s real Harry, I don’t know what you think but I’m not one for… flings…”
The simple, direct answer seemed to hit him like a physical blow. His eyes softened, the last traces of uncertainty melting away into something warm and solid. He let out a breath he didn't seem to realize he was holding, his shoulders relaxing fully against the pillows.
“Good.” He said it quietly, firmly, “Me neither. Not with you, couldn’t if I tried.”
He leant in and kissed you, not with the desperate hunger from before, but with a deep, lingering tenderness that spoke volumes. It was slow and thorough, a silent promise. When he pulled back, his expression was open, vulnerable in a way you'd rarely seen.
Harry huffed a frustrated sigh, “Simon's gonna lose his shit.”