@gurugirl: Bestie Guru has the best Patreon hands down !!!!!!!!!! The quality of content we get every single week is out of this world !!!!! I cannot stress enough how much I recommend it👏We got a lovely Christmas check-in with Uncle Harry this week🥹🥹and part 4 of The Widow and the Outlaw with a final part coming this week too eeeeee!!!! AND COMING VERY SOON ON PATREON IS THE FIRST CHAPTER OF VIKING!HARRY !!!!!! I’M SO EXCITED !!!🤩🤩🤩
@1d1195: WE WERE SO BACK THIS MONTH🤩🤩!!!! We got a sextra with HOV - Extra l 😍Then the fluffiest Christmas fluff in Chances - Extra l 🥰AND THEN SHE RIPPED MY HEART OUT AND PUT IT BACK TOGETHER IN Merry Christmas, I Miss You 🥺🥹😭!!!! Here is your monthly reminder to read more of Sam’s work🤩 Masterlist🤩
@harrywavycurly: Sarah’s Festive Fics!!!!🎄☃️ She really made my month👏!! We got to meet Snowmanrry in Wish Upon a Snowflake, a check-in with everyone’s favorite killer Loving a Killer, a swampy baby check-in Bright and Cozy, naughty lister Harry in Checking it Twice, soulmate action in The Secret Ingredient, and a lovely Sunday Softy !!!! I really appreciate you, Sarah🥰🥰
@maudie-duan: STRANGERS!!! We got Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 and Part 6 completing the series!! Such a beautiful and powerful story. Some of the best writing on here👏👏👏👏
@this-is-tiny-mia: My dear friend gave us Part 3 and Part 4 of The Luminary✨✨✨!!!!! I highlyyyy recommend !!!!🤩
@maladaptivescorpio: MY QUICKIES ICON😍😍!!!!!! Some of the smuttiest smut this month with Morning Ride and Home Video 🫠😵💫😮💨🤤
@jarofstyles: Lots of lovely blurbs this month (most are festive!). blurb, blurb, blurb, blurb, blurb. I also LOVED this one shot so much The Best Gift 🥹😍And of course we have The Teacher that has been updated weekly! This is such a captivating story!!😍👀
@ellewritesx: I love her !!!!!! We got focus on me which is a really beautiful piece of work. AND THEN PART 2 TO VELVET & VICE !!!!😍😍I LOVE ME SOME MAFIARRY!!!!😍😍
@grapejuicenharry: Ahhhhhh!!!! They gave us this fun and smutty one shot !!!!🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️
@narrycherries: We got Part 2 and Part 3 of Stained !!!! And loving her Patreon as always !!! Hoping to read part 4 on Patreon today🤭🤭
@harrysbabycherry: Eeeeee!! We got the last part to lovesick and this story is a must read !!!!😍😭🤩👏
@ghstyles: YAY for Scrub in part 4 🙂↕️🙂↔️🙂↕️🙂↔️🙂↕️
@swiftmendeshoran: Some fun Christmas smut😍😍
@watchmegetobsessed: In the same room. In the same bed. Enough said !!!!! HEARTEYES was sooooo good !!!😍😍😍
@harryngtonkiwi: If you’re in the mood for yearning you must read rock, paper, scissors !!!!! Also my latest obsession tutor 🤭🤭
@cloudyluun: A very sweet blurb A Quarter Before Nine !!!!😌
@purplecoffee13: PART 8 OF NFWMB AHHHHHH BOXER!HARRY MY BELOVED !!!!😍😍😮💨😮💨
Here’s a list of fics I’ve read in the past but want to give them a shout out:
@fkinavocado: Wattpad needs to find a new hobby instead of removing fics from their site !!!!! So here is everyone's reminder to read Daddy Issues and if you’ve already read it, READ IT AGAIN !!!😍🤩
@heartateasee: TELL ME WHY I JUST REALIZED I’VE NEVER REBLOGGED Attention BUT I HAVE READ IT NO JOKE 75 TIMES? LIKE ONCE A MONTH AT LEAST ! Oh my god. A must read.😍🤭🫠
@erodasfishtacos: Another classic for me is Cheating!Harry !! One Shots and Concepts !! I reread this regularly😊😊😊
@ifancyharry: I love Bad Habit, part 2 and part 3 !!! Love me some dadrry😌🥰
@finelinefae: I love this Tattoo artist!Harry Part 1, Part 2 and blurb masterlist !!!!🤭🤭🤭
Summary: When you challenge Harry to a game of pool at a dimly lit bar after hours, you don’t expect him to be this competitive. Or this handsy. One minute he’s teasing you for your lousy aim, and the next your skirt is hitched up on the felt and he's showing you exactly how to use your hips for leverage. Turns out, Harry plays dirty, and he plays to win.
A/N: okAYYYY so this might be the filthiest thing i’ve ever written??? idk who i thought i was giving harry a praise kink AND a competition kink AND a bar he can rent out apparently lmao but here we are 😌 i hope this fic gives “inappropriate behavior on public furniture” in the best way possible.
also: i would never recover if harry actually said “let me show you how good i am with a stick,” i’m just saying.
Word Count: 5,1k
Warnings:
NSFW / explicit smut
Semi-public setting (bar after hours)
Pool table sex (penetration + fingering)
Light dom!Harry (control, possessiveness)
Degrading praise (e.g., “my filthy girl”)
Hair-pulling, spanking, rough sex
Praise kink
Creampie (no protection)
Reader wears a skirt (easy access 👀)
Dirty talk (filthy, detailed)
Slight breathplay (hand on throat optional)
No mention of aftercare protection or consent conversations
☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆
The door clicked shut behind you, the weight of it sealing off the rest of the world with a soft thud. The bar was dimly lit and quiet, music low and slow in the background. Every bottle behind the counter caught the light like a wink. You took in the empty room, brows raised. “You rented the whole place?” you asked, turning to Harry.
He leaned against the wall near the jukebox, hands tucked in the pockets of his black slacks, shirt sleeves pushed up just enough to show off the tattoos on his forearms. His grin was lazy, smug. “Course I did. Wanted you all to myself. Can’t have some random bloke distracting you with his mediocre flirting while I’m busy being charming.”
You snorted, walking deeper into the room. “You? Charming? That’s generous.” He shrugged like he didn’t mind the jab. “Figured you’d say that. But you’re here, aren’t you?”
“Free drinks and a private bar?” you said, glancing over your shoulder. “You could’ve been a little less cocky about it and I still would’ve said yes.” He sauntered over, the sound of his boots low against the wood floors. “C’mon. You like the cocky.” You let your eyes rake over him slowly, pretending to think. “I like knowing you think you’re in control.” Harry’s smirk twitched wider, a spark behind his eyes. “Sounds like someone’s asking to be humbled.”
He stopped beside the pool table, tapping the felt. “What do you say we make this interesting?”
You tilted your head. “Interesting how?”
“We play. Loser owes the winner a favor. No questions asked.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You really banking on me being bad at pool?”
“I’m banking on you being a little competitive,” he said, reaching for a cue and handing it to you. “And a lot of fun when you lose.”
You took it with a scoff. “Confidence’s cute on you.”
“So’s that little eye-roll you just did.”
The banter buzzed between you like a live wire, easy and sharp. The kind of rhythm that only came with tension right under the surface. You leaned over the table to break, feeling his eyes on you the second your ass tilted up. You made the shot clean, balls scattering with a satisfying crack. One striped ball sunk into the corner pocket.
You grinned, straightening up. “Guess I’m stripes.”
Harry stepped closer, cue in hand. “Might let you have the first one. Keep it fair.”
You stepped aside with an exaggerated bow. “How noble.”
His shot missed by a hair, and you didn’t hide your grin.
“Slipping already?”
He rested the cue against his shoulder and gave you a look that was all teeth. “Just warming up.”
Your next shot missed, and before you could reposition, Harry moved in behind you.
“Hold up. You’re gripping it too tight,” he said, his voice low beside your ear. He reached around, one hand sliding over yours on the cue, the other resting lightly on your hip. “Loosen your hands a little.”
You froze for a second at how close he was. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back, the soft brush of his breath.
“This part’s important,” he murmured. “You want control, not tension.”
His fingers adjusted your grip, slow and deliberate. You glanced down, catching the way his pinky grazed along yours before it dropped back to your hip.
“Sure this isn’t just your excuse to grope me?”
His laugh was quiet, rich. “I don’t need an excuse. But thanks for pretending I do.”
You leaned forward, deliberately slow, letting your ass push back just a little against him. His hand tightened on your hip, subtle but noticeable.
“Oops,” you said, over your shoulder. “Was that too much tension?”
Harry’s smile was practically audible. “Starting to think you like playing dirty.”
“I like winning.”
You made your shot, this one clean again. Another stripe dropped into a side pocket.
He watched the ball disappear, eyes narrowing.
“You’re not terrible at this,” he said.
You leaned the cue against the table, crossing your arms. “You were expecting me to be?”
“No. Just hoping. Watching you bend over the table’s doing something to me.”
You tried not to smile. “Wow. So original.”
“I didn’t say I was trying to be original. Just honest.”
He circled the table for his next shot, clearly aiming just to make a show of it. His shirt pulled tight across his back as he bent forward, shooting with flair. The ball sunk effortlessly.
You clapped slowly. “Very dramatic.”
He straightened up, cue spinning in his fingers. “You liked it.”
You didn’t answer, just walked around to size up your next shot. The heat between you simmered, thick and heavy. He was close again before you even noticed, his hand grazing yours when you reached for your cue.
“Need another lesson?” he asked.
“I think I’m good.”
Harry stepped back, palms up. “Didn’t want to overstep.”
“Too late for that.”
He laughed, eyes dropping to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “You saying I’m getting to you?”
“I’m saying if you keep talking, you might lose on purpose.”
“That a threat or a promise?”
“Try me.”
He watched you shoot, then leaned down to whisper as you lined up the ball.
“If I win, I’m cashing in on that bet immediately.”
You didn’t even look at him. “That so?”
“Yeah. Gonna ask for something real specific.”
You turned slowly, keeping your cue pressed against the table, chin up.
“What makes you so sure you’re gonna win?”
Harry stepped in again, close enough to make your skin buzz.
“Because,” he said, voice low, “I always win when I really want to.”
The air between you felt electric. His hand brushed your waist again, fingers pressing lightly as he walked past to take his turn.
You watched him move around the table with that same easy confidence, that barely restrained smirk like he already knew how this was going to end. He lined up a shot, took his time with it, and missed by a mile.
You blinked. “You seriously just whiffed that?”
Harry stepped back like it didn’t bother him in the slightest. “Guess I got distracted.”
You raised a brow. “By what, your own reflection?”
He tilted his head, eyes sweeping slowly down your body like he was mentally undressing you right there. “By you, sweetheart. Didn’t exactly account for the view when I planned on winning.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother hiding the smile that tugged at your lips. Picking up your cue, you sauntered around the table, letting your hips sway just enough. He noticed. Of course he noticed.
As you bent over to line up your shot, his voice followed you.
“God, that ass should be illegal.”
You paused, cue still in hand. “You always this poetic?”
“Only when inspired.”
You sank the ball with a soft thud, feeling his stare heat up your skin. When you stood, he was already closer again. Too close to be innocent, not close enough to be obvious. His fingers ghosted over the back of your thigh when he reached past you for his drink.
“You’re letting me win,” you said, turning to face him.
He raised his glass. “Would I do that?”
“You missed a shot you could’ve made blindfolded.”
Harry licked his bottom lip, eyes dropping to your chest before flicking back up. “Maybe I just like watching you gloat.”
You stepped in until your body almost touched his, cue resting casually against your shoulder. “Maybe you’re trying to get me cocky so you can knock me down later.”
He leaned forward just enough that his breath tickled your cheek. “Wouldn’t dream of knocking you down. I’d lay you out nice and slow.”
Your pulse kicked up at that, but you held your ground, chin tilted.
“Big words for someone who just scratched.”
Harry’s grin was wolfish as he backed off, letting you take the next shot. This one needed a bit more aim, so you leaned over the table again. His gaze burned into you like a spotlight.
“Bend a little lower for me,” he said, voice rougher now. “That’s it.”
You ignored him. Mostly. You lined up the cue, focused on the angle, but couldn’t pretend you didn’t feel the heat of his stare. Or the way he stepped closer, just enough for his hand to slide along the back of your thigh again.
“Gotta say,” he murmured, “this might be my new favorite angle.”
“Getting bolder, huh?”
“Can’t help it when you keep tempting me.”
You made the shot, one ball clicking neatly into the corner pocket. You were halfway to standing when his hand slid higher this time, just above your knee. Just enough to make you forget whatever clever comeback you were about to throw at him.
“Seriously?” you said, but it came out breathier than you meant.
He didn’t even flinch. “Just helping you keep your form.”
“You touching me is not part of the rules.”
Harry stepped in again, sliding his hand along your hip, that cocky smirk fully intact.
“Didn’t realize you were such a stickler for rules.”
You opened your mouth to answer, but he was already behind you, reaching for the cue with you still holding it. His chest brushed your back as he leaned down, guiding your hands again. This time, his knuckles skimmed right over the swell of your cleavage, slow and deliberate.
“Arms a little wider,” he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Helps with stability.”
You froze, cue nearly slipping from your grip.
“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though you didn’t move away.
His hands moved lower, adjusting your grip again, thumbs brushing along the insides of your wrists like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like this was part of the game.
When you leaned down again, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your spine, his hips pressed against you from behind. No more pretending. He didn’t move right away, just let the weight of him settle against you. The hard press of him through his slacks sent a jolt straight through your core.
Your breath caught. “Harry.”
He hummed like he didn’t hear you, hands still on your hips. He rolled his hips once, slow, lazy, like he had all the time in the world.
“Just correcting your stance,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You were a little off.”
You straightened, cue forgotten, eyes narrowing.
“You do that again, I swear to God…”
He arched a brow, tilting his head. “You’ll what?”
You turned to face him, chest rising fast, your body already buzzing. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
Harry leaned in, nose brushing yours. “Yeah? Feels like we’re both playing.”
He didn’t kiss you. Not yet. Just lingered there, breathing you in like he wanted to memorize the moment before things tipped too far.
The table sat between you and the rest of the empty bar, but it felt like the only thing grounding you. He looked at you like he already owned the outcome, and maybe you were starting to believe it too.
You picked up the cue again just to have something to do with your hands, but he stopped you, palm over yours.
“No more pool,” he said, voice low and sure. “Unless I get to play you instead.”
Your breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a moan, and Harry saw it. His thumb brushed your wrist like he hadn’t just said the filthiest thing imaginable. He was close enough that your knees bumped his legs, close enough that your senses were full of him. His cologne, the heat coming off his skin, the way his eyes never dipped from yours. You didn’t move, didn’t speak, just waited.
He didn’t make you wait long.
You barely finished inhaling before he spun you gently, guiding you back until the edge of the table hit behind your thighs. The cue slipped from your grip and clattered to the floor, forgotten. His hands were already on your hips, his mouth grazing your neck.
“You made a good shot,” he said against your skin.
Your fingers curled into his shirt, trying to keep some sense of balance. “Yeah, I noticed.”
He smiled into your throat, then nipped just below your jaw. “Let me show you how good I am with a stick, sweetheart.”
The words hit you low, rough and velvet all at once. You didn’t even have time to respond before he crashed his mouth against yours. It wasn’t slow or sweet or tentative. His mouth moved like he’d been dying to do it all night. Tongue sliding past your lips, hands gripping your waist so tight you felt it in your spine.
You kissed him back with every ounce of bite in your body, tugging at his shirt, nails dragging up his arms. He groaned into your mouth, low and filthy, and it only spurred you on. You grabbed the back of his neck, yanking him closer as your hips rolled against his. He was already hard, thick and pulsing against your stomach, and the friction lit something under your skin.
His hand slid into your hair, fingers curling just enough to make you gasp. He used that opening to suck your bottom lip into his mouth, biting it before letting it go.
“Been dying to shut you up like that,” he muttered.
You smirked against his mouth. “Gonna take more than that.”
“Oh, I plan to.”
Harry’s hands found the hem of your dress, sliding up your thighs like he had every right to. You hopped up onto the edge of the table without breaking the kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist. His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs tracing circles into your skin. The sound of your breaths tangled with the quiet thump of music still playing somewhere behind the bar.
Your legs spread, knees falling open around him, and you tilted your hips forward just enough.
“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes dropping like he couldn’t help it. “You’re not wearing tights, are you?”
“Do I look like someone who wears tights to a private bar?”
He didn’t answer. His hand was already sliding between your thighs, up the inside of one, slow like he wanted to memorize every inch. When he reached the edge of your panties, he paused, rubbing his thumb over the damp fabric with maddening laziness.
“God,” he muttered. “You’re soaked. Sitting here like this, all smug, acting like you’re in control when you’re dripping for me.”
You tried not to whimper. Failed.
“I bet you’ve been like this since the second I stood behind you,” he went on, voice low and rough. “Since I touched your hips. Since I whispered in your ear.”
Your back arched involuntarily, grinding into his hand, and he growled in approval. He pushed the thin lace to the side, exposing you just enough for the air to hit your slick skin.
“Jesus,” he said, fingers barely brushing your folds. “Look at you.”
You tried to pull him closer, but he stayed right where he was. One hand on your thigh, the other teasing the edge of you, slipping just the tip of his finger in before pulling back.
“Say it,” he said.
You blinked. “Say what?”
“Say you want me.”
“I want you.”
“Say you need me to touch you.”
“Harry,” you warned, breath shaking. “Touch me.”
That smirk returned, dark and satisfied, and his fingers finally pushed in. One at first, deep and slow, curling just right. You let out a broken sound and his whole body shuddered like he felt it too.
“Yeah,” he said, voice thick. “That’s it. Just like that.”
His mouth dropped to your neck again, sucking a bruise into your skin while his fingers worked in and out of you, pace picking up with every moan you gave him. He whispered things between kisses. What he was going to do to you. How you looked with your legs spread on the felt. How you were the prettiest thing he’d ever had in his hands.
You didn’t feel like teasing anymore. Not when every word from him made your body tighten. Not when his fingers dragged against just the right spot and had your hips bucking forward.
He pulled back slightly to watch, eyes heavy-lidded. “Look at you. Fucking dripping for me all over this table.”
Your thighs trembled. His mouth brushed yours again, soft this time, almost reverent.
“I’m not stopping till you come,” he said. “Not even close.”
Your response was a gasp, the kind you couldn’t help. His fingers were still deep inside you, moving with a rhythm that was getting more deliberate, more hungry. Every curl of them hit something inside you that made your toes curl against the edge of the table. He watched your face, not blinking, like he was reading every twitch and breath and moan to fine-tune exactly how to ruin you.
You tried to close your legs around his hand out of sheer instinct, overwhelmed by the pressure building in your gut. He didn’t let you. His free hand gripped your thigh, keeping you wide open for him, letting the air hit you every time his fingers slid out, slick and shameless.
“Look at me,” he said.
Your head dropped forward against his shoulder, but he tipped your chin up with his thumb. His eyes pinned you in place. His fingers didn’t stop, didn’t slow.
“Look at me while I make you come.”
You did, eyes glassy, lip caught between your teeth.
He smiled, slow and crooked. “That’s my girl.”
Your body clenched around him, everything inside you tightening with every thrust of his fingers. Your hands gripped the edge of the table behind you, knuckles white.
“You’re fucking soaked,” he said, voice thick. “I could make you come like this all night. You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”
You tried to answer but it just came out as a whimper, thighs trembling harder now, breath catching.
His thumb brushed over your clit just once and you broke.
It started low in your belly and ripped through you like a wave. Your legs shook, mouth falling open in a soundless cry before the moans caught up. Harry didn’t stop moving, kept curling his fingers through the aftershocks, watching your face like it was his favorite movie.
When you finally exhaled, limp and buzzing, he pulled his fingers from you slow, wet, dripping.
“Holy shit,” you breathed, blinking hard like you needed to come back to earth.
Harry brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, groaning like he’d just tasted dessert after a week of starving.
“Fuck, you taste like winning.”
You laughed, breathless and wrecked. “That’s disgusting.”
He grinned, wiping his hand on your thigh. “You love it.”
You didn’t argue.
He stepped back just long enough to undo his pants, pulling them down just enough to free himself. You caught a glimpse of him, thick and hard, already leaking at the tip. It made your mouth go dry.
“You sure?” he asked, voice quieter now, but not unsure. He knew your answer. Just wanted to hear you say it.
You nodded, legs spreading again, dress bunched up around your waist. “Get in me.”
Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped between your thighs, one hand wrapping around himself to guide in. The moment the head of his cock pressed against your entrance, both of you exhaled like it had been building all night. Because it had.
He slid in slow, letting you feel every inch, watching your face the whole time. Your hands flew to his shoulders, digging in as he stretched you open. He groaned, forehead dropping to yours.
“Jesus. So fucking tight.”
You held onto him, panting. “You’re big.”
His smirk came back. “Say it again.”
You rolled your eyes but your voice was already thinner, needier. “You’re big, Harry.”
“Yeah?” He started thrusting, hips snapping forward in slow, deep rolls. “Is that why you’re gripping me like this?”
You moaned, digging your nails into his arms as he fucked into you. The edge of the table dug into your ass, but you didn’t care. All you could think about was the way he filled you, the stretch and drag of him hitting that perfect spot.
“Ride me,” he said, pulling back just enough to sit on the edge of the bar stool behind him. “Come on, pretty girl. Show me how bad you want it.”
You climbed on without hesitation, straddling his lap, hands braced on his chest. He slid back in with a low groan, hands gripping your hips.
You rocked against him, the angle deeper now, friction sharp and hot. His head fell back as you moved, watching you like you were the only thing that mattered.
“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured. “Bouncing on my cock like you were made for it.”
You kissed him again, messy and hungry, hips working faster now. Every thrust rubbed your clit just right, had your body singing. He met you stroke for stroke, hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat so he could kiss down it, bite it.
You clenched around him and he groaned like it hurt.
“That’s it. Just like that. My good girl.”
His praise hit you harder than it should have. Your moans got louder, pace picking up. You were right there again, closer than you thought you’d be this fast.
Before you could tip over, Harry gripped your waist and flipped you, bending you over the table without warning. Your cheek hit the cool felt, hands splayed in front of you.
You barely had time to breathe before he pushed back inside, fucking you from behind with a force that made the table creak.
“God, look at you,” he growled. “Dripping for me all over this fucking table.”
He reached forward, grabbed your hair, yanked your head up just enough to turn it. There was a mirror behind the bar, angled just right. You saw yourself reflected, face flushed, lips parted, body arched with Harry pounding into you.
Your eyes locked with his in the mirror.
“Watch yourself,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “Look how fucking ruined you are.”
His hand landed on your ass with a loud smack, the sting sharp and addictive. You gasped, hips pushing back into him.
“Say my name.”
“Harry.”
“Louder.”
“Harry, fuck.”
He growled again, thrusts rougher now, every stroke hitting deeper.
“You’re taking me so good,” he said, voice rough. “Such a good girl for me.”
You came hard, legs shaking, face pressed into the table as your orgasm ripped through you. He fucked you through it, groaning your name, grip tight on your hips.
“I’m close,” he warned. “Gonna fill you up, yeah? Take it all like the good little slut you are.”
You moaned, nodding, too far gone to care about anything but the way he made you feel.
Harry buried himself deep one last time and came with a low, broken sound, holding you tight against him while he spilled inside. You felt every pulse, every twitch.
Neither of you moved right away. The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the low hum of music.
You were completely wrecked, and he hadn’t even taken his shirt off.
Your body was limp, every nerve buzzing, but he didn’t slow down. He stayed deep, steady, breath hot against your shoulder as he leaned in closer, chest against your back. The weight of him, the sound of his ragged breathing in your ear, the wet slap of skin meeting skin—it was all so much, too much, not enough.
You barely had time to catch your breath before he pulled out and turned you around, his hands strong and sure as he guided you to the edge again. Your legs fell open without thinking, still trembling. You were already oversensitive, twitching with every touch, but when he slid back inside, you let out a sharp gasp and grabbed at his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.
“Still so tight,” he muttered, teeth dragging along your jaw. “Still so fucking wet.”
You were soaked. Your thighs, the felt beneath you, his cock. Everything slick and hot. You wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging him into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, messy and desperate. He didn’t flinch when you bit his lip. He groaned, fucked you harder.
Your hips met his, your body rocking forward with each brutal thrust. You felt every inch of him, every snap of his hips, every filthy thing he whispered against your lips.
“You can come again for me,” he said, voice thick. “I know you can.”
You didn’t think you could. You were spent, raw, barely holding it together. Then he shifted his angle, lifted one of your legs up over his arm, and hit something that made your eyes roll back.
Your moan broke into something high and wrecked.
“Right there?” he asked. “That’s the spot, huh?”
You nodded, head falling back, mouth open. His hand gripped your jaw, pulling your face back to his.
“Say it.”
“Right there,” you choked out. “Fuck, right there.”
“You’re so pretty like this,” he growled. “Mouth open, pussy gripping me like you were made for it.”
The words sent another wave through you. It started as pressure in your belly, built fast, and snapped hard. Your second orgasm hit quicker than the first, more violent. You cried out his name, clawed at his shoulders, shaking through it while he held you down and fucked you deeper.
He didn’t give you time to recover. He pulled you forward, turned you over again, bent you back onto your hands and knees. Your cheek hit the table as he slammed back into you from behind, pace rough and relentless.
The sound of your bodies, the slap of him against you, filled the room. He gripped your hips like he was trying to mold your shape into his hands.
“Look at this pussy,” he panted. “Taking every inch. So greedy for me.”
You whimpered, everything inside you unraveling. He reached forward, grabbed your hair again, pulled your head up so you could see yourself in the mirror. Your reflection looked ruined. Hair messy, mouth parted, eyes barely able to focus.
“Look at you,” he said, voice like gravel. “Dripping for me. Getting fucked like this on a goddamn pool table.”
You could barely hold yourself up, but he wasn’t letting you fall. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his cock driving into you from below now with rough, deep thrusts.
“You’re gonna come again,” he growled in your ear. “Give it to me.”
You didn’t even fight it. Your body was on fire, every part of you shaking, the overstimulation tipping you right into your third orgasm. You came with a broken sob, your legs giving out as your body locked up around him.
Harry swore under his breath, still moving through your release, chasing his own. He was getting close. You felt the way he twitched inside you, how his thrusts lost their rhythm, how his grip on your hips turned punishing.
He buried himself deep one final time, groaning into your shoulder, holding you tight as he came. Hot and thick, spilling into you in slow pulses, filling you up while his breath stuttered against your skin.
He stayed there for a moment, both of you too spent to move, bodies tangled, breath ragged. You felt the mess dripping between your legs and didn’t care. The only thing that existed was him and the table and the way your heart was still racing.
Finally, he pulled out slowly, with a groan that sounded like regret. You winced, your thighs trembling, completely boneless now. He leaned forward, pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder.
“You alright?” he asked, voice softer now, hand stroking your side.
“Barely,” you muttered into the felt.
He chuckled, warm and low, and disappeared for a second. You heard the rustle of fabric, the soft clink of a bar towel being pulled down, then felt it against your thighs as he cleaned you up, careful and quiet.
“I should be offended at how much of a mess I made,” he said. “But I’m kinda proud.”
You turned your head to look at him, hair stuck to your cheek. “Kinda?”
“Alright, very proud.”
You let him wipe you down, let him ease you off the table and into his lap when he sat back on the barstool. His hands never stopped moving, one stroking your thigh, the other brushing sweaty strands from your face.
“That was,” you started, but trailed off.
He raised an eyebrow. “Earth-shattering? Life-altering?”
“Absolutely unnecessary,” you said, trying to keep a straight face.
He smirked. “Come on, admit it. Best game of pool you’ve ever played.”
You snorted. “Technically, I won.”
Harry shifted, reached behind you, and grabbed the black 8 ball off the table. He twirled it between his fingers, kissed your temple, and slid it into his pocket.
“Souvenir,” he said, winking. “Told you I play to win.”
You shook your head, completely wrecked and somehow still smiling. You leaned into him, breathing him in, still catching your breath.
“Next time,” you said, lips against his throat, “we’re doing this on the bar.”
He laughed, arms wrapping tighter around you.
“Game on.”
☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆
Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖
You're sitting cross-legged on Harry's massive bed, surrounded by printouts of campgrounds and equipment lists. The juxtaposition is almost comical. You with your bright enthusiasm against the stark luxury of his penthouse bedroom with its minimalist design and security features. Harry is standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms crossed over his chest. The city lights spread out beneath him, a kingdom he controls from the shadows.
"No," he says flatly, the single syllable carrying the weight of a man unused to repeating himself.
You clutch a brochure for Pine Ridge Campground, undeterred by his refusal. "Harry, pleaaaaseee. It'll be fun! Just two nights. Fresh air, stars, campfire..."
"Y/N," he cuts you off, your name a warning on his lips. His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath the stubble.
"Harry," you counter, matching his tone with mock seriousness. You hold up a photo of a picturesque lake surrounded by pine trees. "Look at this! It's beautiful and only three hours away."
He moves from the window, approaching the bed in a way that makes your heart skip despite your determination to stand your ground. His eyes flick over the campground materials with thinly veiled disdain.
"You want me to sleep on the ground," he states, voice dangerously low, "in the middle of nowhere, with no security, no connectivity, and no control over who might wander by."
You open your mouth to argue, but he continues.
"You want me to go 'camping.'" He says the word like it's a particularly distasteful form of torture.
"Yes!" You beam up at him, deliberately ignoring the dangerous edge in his voice. "That's exactly what I want. Just you and me, away from..." you gesture vaguely around the room "...all this."
Though Harry’s face remains a mask of indifference, a brief glint of vulnerability touches his eyes before being swiftly replaced by a look of sheer annoyance. "All this," he repeats slowly, "is what keeps you safe. Keeps us both safe."
He sits on the edge of the bed, close enough that you can smell his expensive cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body. "Angel, do you have any idea how many people would pay good money to know my location for even an hour? How many would see you alone with me and isolated as the perfect leverage?"
His hand reaches out, fingers grazing your cheek in a touch that's tender but possessive at the same time. "The answer is no," he says, his voice softening just slightly. "But I'll make you a deal."
At that, you perk up, sensing a potential compromise.
"Me. You. Private island in Caribbean. All the nature you could want, but with security I trust and a proper bed." His thumb traces your lower lip. "Take it or leave it, angel.”
You sigh, “that’s not the same and you know it” you pout. “How about somewhere you own? I’m sure you own a piece of wood somewhere. You own like…everything”
Harry watches your pout with that intense focus, like he's cataloging every detail of your disappointment. His expression remains impassive, but there's a slight softening around his eyes that only you would recognize. "A piece of wood," he repeats, amusement barely detectable in his voice. "Yes, angel, I own several 'pieces of wood.' Buildings, docks, warehouses—" he stops himself, clearly deciding those details aren't meant for your ears.
He leans forward, brushing a strand of hair from your face with gentleness, his rings cold against your skin. "What is it about sleeping on the ground surrounded by insects that appeals to you so much?" His question isn't mocking, but genuinely curious, as if trying to understand an alien concept.
You maintain your pout, knowing it's one of the few weapons in your arsenal that occasionally works on him. Harry lets out a sigh. It was a subtle admission that he is actually weighing your request. He picks up one of your brochures and examines it with thinly veiled disdain.
"I could buy this entire campground," he says matter-of-factly. "Close it to the public for a weekend. Bring in my security team and sweep for threats." His eyes meet yours. "Would that satisfy your sudden urge to commune with nature?"
It's not exactly the authentic camping experience you wanted. It seems to be morphing into another display of Harry's wealth and control but it's more of a compromise than you expected. "You'd still have to sleep in a tent," you press, testing how far this concession extends.
The corner of Harry's mouth twitches with not quite a smile, but it was close. "Don't push your luck, Angel." He drops the brochure and reaches for you instead, strong hands effortlessly pulling you into his lap. His voice drops to that dangerous velvety register that makes your stomach flip.
"I'll sleep wherever you are," he says against your ear. "But I draw the line at mosquitoes and public toilets."
· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·
The SUV pulls up to Pine Ridge Campground, or what was Pine Ridge Campground before Harry bought exclusive access for the weekend. The autumn afternoon sun filters through the trees, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. You're practically bouncing in your seat as the vehicle comes to a stop, pressing your face against the window to take in the scenery. Harry, by contrast, looks like he's being driven to his own execution.
He sits beside you in his designer outdoor wear that's never seen actual wilderness. His jaw is set, his expression thunderous as he surveys the forest through narrowed eyes like it might attack at any moment.
"This is it!" you exclaim, turning to him with unrestrained excitement. "Look how beautiful it is!"
Harry's scowl deepens. "It is just trees," he states flatly. "And dirt."
Steve opens the door from outside, his expression carefully neutral though you catch the slight twitch of his lips, clearly amused by his boss's predicament. Behind your vehicle, two more SUVs have pulled up, discreetly positioned but obviously filled with Harry's security team.
You climb out, inhaling the smell of pine and earth. It was such a contrast from the city. Harry follows with considerably less enthusiasm, his boots hitting the ground in a way that suggests he's already regretting every decision that led to this moment.
"Mr. Styles," Steve says, gesturing toward a clearing about fifty yards away. "We've secured the perimeter. The nearest occupied site is two miles out. Cell signal is weak but we have satellite phones. The—"
"Where's the tent?" Harry interrupts, his tone suggesting he hopes the answer is 'we forgot it.'
Steve points to a large bag near the picnic table. "Right there, sir. Along with the other supplies Miss Y/N requested."
As you head toward the site, you take it all in: the rustic fire pit, the wooden picnic table, and the stunning lake shimmering through the tree line. Harry follows several paces behind, moving like a man walking to the gallows.
"This is perfect," you say, spinning around to face him with a grin. "Absolutely perfect."
Harry stops beside the picnic table, arms crossed over his chest. You can see him surveying the area with the same intensity he'd use to scope out a business acquisition…or even a crime scene.
"There's no bathroom," he observes.
"There's an outhouse," you counter cheerfully, pointing toward a small wooden structure barely visible through the trees.
The look Harry gives you could freeze hell itself. "An outhouse," he repeats slowly. "You want me to use an outhouse."
"It's part of the experience!"
"The experience," Harry says, his voice dangerously quiet, "is going to end with me buying this entire forest and burning it down."
Despite his words, he hasn't moved to leave. He's still standing there, scowling at the wilderness like it's personally offended him, but he's staying. His jaw clenches as he watches his security team efficiently assembling what looks less like a camping tent and more like a luxury suite that happens to be made of canvas. Steve is already hammering stakes into the ground while another team member unrolls sleeping bags.
You step forward, hands on your hips. "Wait, stop," you say, causing the entire team to freeze mid-task. They look uncertainly between you and Harry, clearly unsure whose authority supersedes whose in this unprecedented situation.
"Shouldn't we be building our own tent?" you ask, turning to Harry with an expression of innocent determination. "It's part of the experience."
The look Harry gives you could wilt flowers. "Build our own tent," he repeats, each word carefully enunciated as if speaking to someone who's lost their mind. "You want me to manually construct shelter."
"Yes, Harry," you insist, your tone brooking no argument. "That's what camping actually is. You do things yourself. Build the tent, gather firewood, cook over an open fire—"
"I agreed to sleep outside," Harry interrupts, his voice dropping to that low, controlled tone that is usually followed by someone having a very bad day. "I did not agree to become a fucking Boy Scout."
Steve, still holding the tent stakes, makes a sound that might be a suppressed laugh. Harry's eyes cut to him with lethal precision.
"Something funny, Steve?"
"No sir," Steve responds immediately, though his shoulders are shaking slightly.
You step closer to Harry, refusing to back down despite the warning signs in his expression. "Come on. When's the last time you actually built something with your own hands?"
You see a flash of what might be offense at the implication he can't do this. "Fine," he says abruptly, turning to his team. "Everyone out. Maintain a five-hundred-meter perimeter. Radio check every thirty minutes."
The security team exchanges glances, clearly uncertain about leaving their boss alone to face the apparently insurmountable challenge of tent assembly.
"Now," Harry adds, the single word carrying enough authority that they immediately begin packing up and retreating toward the vehicles.
Once they're gone, Harry turns to the pile of camping equipment with an expression usually reserved for rival mob bosses who've crossed him. He picks up the instruction manual, flipping it open. "This was written by someone who failed basic English," he mutters, squinting at the diagrams.
You bite back a smile. "It's pretty straightforward. You just connect the poles and—"
"I can read," Harry snaps, though he's holding the manual upside down.
· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·
Twenty minutes later and the situation has deteriorated spectacularly. Harry stands in the middle of what can only be described as a textile nightmare. The tent poles are assembled but somehow form a shape that defies both geometry and common sense. The canvas is half-draped over this structure, one corner staked firmly into the ground while the rest billows in the breeze like a dejected flag. And Harry himself has somehow gotten tangled in the guy lines, one cord wrapped around his wrist while another has caught on his belt.
His hair, usually styled with careful precision, falls across his forehead in disarray. There's actual dirt on his designer outdoor wear, and a leaf has somehow lodged itself in his collar.
"This is fucking ridiculous," he announces, trying to free his wrist without making the entire structure collapse further. "This is designed to fail. It's a conspiracy against people with working brain cells."
You're sitting on the picnic table, tears streaming down your face from laughter, your phone out and recording every moment of Harry Styles' descent into camping chaos.
"Are you—" you can barely speak through your giggles, "are you losing a fight to a tent?"
Harry's eyes cut to you, dark and dangerous despite his compromised position.
"Delete that video."
"Absolutely not," you manage between laughs. "This is going in my personal collection of 'Harry Doing Normal People Things.'"
"Y/N," he warns, finally extracting himself from the guy line only to have another section of tent collapse entirely. "I swear to god—"
But his threat is interrupted by the tent pole he's holding suddenly disconnecting, the elastic cord snapping it back and nearly taking out his eye. He drops it with a string of profanity so creative it would make his criminal associates blush.
"The person who designed this should be shot," he declares, glaring at the tent components like they've personally betrayed him. "Slowly. After being forced to assemble one hundred of these fucking things."
You hop down from the table, still grinning, and approach the disaster zone. "Okay, okay," you say, trying to compose yourself. "Let me help before you declare war on the entire camping industry."
Harry runs a hand through his disheveled hair, leaving it sticking up at odd angles. "I've orchestrated complex operations across three continents," he says, his voice tight with frustration. "I've negotiated deals worth millions. I've outmaneuvered federal investigations. And I'm being defeated by canvas and aluminum poles."
"It's kind of humbling, isn't it?" you tease, picking up the instruction manual he'd thrown aside in frustration.
Harry's expression suggests he finds nothing humble about this experience.
· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·
Forty-five minutes and considerable joint effort later, something resembling a functional tent stands before you. It's not pretty. One side sags slightly, and you're both fairly certain the rain fly is on backwards but it's standing, and it looks like it might actually provide shelter.
Harry stands back, hands on his hips, surveying the structure. "That's not going to collapse on us in the middle of the night, is it?" he asks, genuine concern in his voice.
"Not if you secured the stakes properly."
His eyes narrow at you. "Are you doubting my ability to secure things?"
There's an edge of wounded pride from a man who's built his entire life on being competent, controlled, and unshakeable. The idea that he might fail at something, even something as trivial as tent assembly, clearly bothers him more than he'd like to admit.
You step closer, reaching up to pluck the leaf from his collar. "I think you did great," you say, only partially mocking. "For someone who's never done this before."
Harry catches your wrist, his grip gentle but firm, his eyes searching yours. "You're enjoying this far too much."
"I really am," you agree cheerfully. "Next, we gather firewood."
The look of pure horror that crosses Harry's face makes you burst into laughter all over again. "You're joking," he says flatly, though he knows you well enough to recognize you're entirely serious.
When you continue walking toward the tree line, he curses under his breath before following, long strides quickly catching up to you. "Let me get this straight," he says, falling into step beside you, voice dangerously low. "We finally get the fucking tent up, and instead of breaking it in properly, you want to collect sticks."
The way he says it makes "collecting sticks" sound like the most absurd activity imaginable. You reach out, taking his hand and tugging him deeper into the woods. "It's part of the experience, Harry. We need a fire to cook dinner, to stay warm, to roast marshmallows..."
"I could have my men bring in a chef," he mutters, but he doesn't pull away, allowing himself to be led further into the forest. "Or better yet, a portable heater. Hell, a generator and microwave would be more efficient than playing caveman."
Despite his complaints, you notice how his eyes constantly scan the surroundings and not just for threats, as is his habit, but also assessing potential firewood. Even in his reluctance, he can't help but approach the task with tactical precision.
"Look for dry wood," you instruct, bending to pick up a fallen branch. "Nothing green or rotting."
Harry watches you for a moment, then sighs heavily before reaching down to grab a thick branch nearby. He examines it with the same critical eye he might use to evaluate a weapon. "I've burned buildings to the ground," he remarks casually, testing the dryness of the wood. "Never thought I'd be collecting kindling by hand."
You bite back a laugh at his comment, choosing not to ask for clarification on the building-burning statement. With Harry, plausible deniability is sometimes the wisest choice.
"Well, there's a first time for everything," you say cheerfully, gathering several more branches and tucking them under your arm. "Even for the infamous Harry Styles."
Harry moves through the forest with efficiency now that he's committed to the task, his natural competitiveness kicking in. He's not content to just collect wood. No, he needs to collect the best wood, the most wood, and prove that even at this he can excel.
"This is absurd," he mutters, but his arms are already full of carefully selected branches. "I have people who could do this."
"But then you'd miss out on the satisfaction of doing it yourself."
He gives you a look that clearly says he'd happily trade that satisfaction for his penthouse and a proper meal.
You venture a bit deeper into the woods, the late afternoon sun filtering through the canopy in golden shafts. It's peaceful in a way the city never is. No sirens, no traffic, no constant undercurrent of danger that seems to follow Harry everywhere.
He's quieter now, and when you glance back, you find him watching you with an unreadable expression. Not the scowl from earlier, but something softer, though he'd probably deny it if asked.
"What?" you ask, pausing in your wood gathering.
Harry shifts his armload of branches, jaw working like he's considering his words carefully. He’s always calculating, even in moments like this. "You're happy," he states simply. "Out here. With sticks and dirt and no running water."
It's not quite a question, but there's genuine curiosity mixed with perhaps a hint of incomprehension underneath it. Harry's world is one of luxury and excess, where problems are solved with money or force. The idea that happiness could be found in simplicity seems foreign to him.
"I am," you confirm, walking back to him. "Aren't you having even a little bit of fun?"
"I'm standing in a forest collecting firewood," he deadpans. "My definition of fun typically involves significantly less manual labor and considerably more—" his eyes travel down your body with clear intent "—indoor activities."
You roll your eyes, but can't suppress your smile. As you follow him through the trees, arms full of firewood, you can't help but notice that despite all his complaining, Harry hasn't once suggested actually leaving. He's here, doing this ridiculous thing that's so far outside his comfort zone it might as well be on another planet. For you.
Back at the campsite, Harry dumps his collection of wood near the fire pit with more force than strictly necessary, brushing dirt off his hands with distaste.
"Now what?" he asks, eyeing the fire pit like it might attack him.
“Now,” You turn to him, “go find two rocks so you can start the fire”
Harry stares at you, the pile of wood now neatly stacked between you, his expression shifting from disbelief to something approaching outrage.
"Two rocks," he repeats, voice dangerously quiet. "You want me to start a fire by hitting rocks together." He stands perfectly still, the muscles in his jaw working as he processes this latest request. The afternoon sunlight filters through the trees, highlighting the tension in his shoulders and the absolute incredulity in his green eyes.
"Y/N," he says with forced patience, "I have a lighter in my pocket. I have matches in the supply kit. Hell, I'm fairly certain Zayn packed a fucking flamethrower somewhere in that security gear."
He takes a step toward you, closing the distance with that predatory grace that always makes your heart beat faster. "But you want me—" he gestures to himself, the dangerous mob boss currently stranded in the wilderness at your whim, "—to rub stones together like we're in the Stone Age."
His hand reaches out, fingers gently but firmly gripping your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. There's frustration there, but also that spark of challenge he can never resist.
"You're testing my limits," he murmurs, thumb tracing your lower lip in that possessive gesture you've come to associate with him. "Pushing to see how far I'll go to please you." He releases your chin, reaching into his pocket to pull out an expensive silver lighter, engraved with his initials.
"Compromise," he says, holding it up between you. "I'll build your fire. I'll cook whatever wilderness meal you've planned. I'll even toast those marshmallows you mentioned."
He leans closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, "But I draw the line at rubbing rocks together when I have perfectly good fire at my fingertips. And in return for my cooperation, you'll make tonight in that tent worth all this...nature.”
You smile innocently, suddenly turning your head and kissing him. That effectively distracts him for a moment. Distracts, him enough for you to take the lighter from his hand, turn around, and throw it as far as you can into the trees. “I already compromised when I let you clear the area” you whisper against his lips, “now chop chop” you say, patting his shoulder and pulling back. “It’s getting dark”
For a long, dangerous moment, Harry doesn't move. He stands perfectly still, his eyes tracking the arc of his lighter as it disappears into the underbrush somewhere in the distance. The only sign of his reaction is the slight tick in his jaw and the way his hands curl into fists at his sides.
When his gaze returns to you, there's something dark and promising in his expression—not anger exactly, but the look of a man who's just been issued a challenge he fully intends to collect on later.
"You just threw my lighter," he says slowly, each word measured and deliberate, "into the woods."
You maintain your innocent smile, though your heart is racing. You've just crossed a line with Harry and you both know it.
"I did," you confirm cheerfully, taking a step back. "And like I said, it's getting dark. Better get started on those rocks."
Harry's tongue runs along the inside of his cheek. A gesture you've learned means he's calculating exactly how he's going to make you pay for this later. But then, unexpectedly, he laughs. It's a low, rough sound that sends shivers down your spine.
"You're going to regret that, angel," he promises, voice like velvet over steel. "Tonight, when we're in that tent, you're going to remember this moment."
He turns away, scanning the ground with the same intensity he brings to everything, now focused entirely on proving he can do this ridiculous task. Because Harry can't stand to lose, even at something as mundane as primitive fire-starting.
He crouches down, selecting two rocks with surprising care, testing their weight and texture. His expensive clothes are now rumpled and dirty, his hair a mess, and there's a smudge of dirt across his sharp cheekbone.
"I want it on record," he says, striking the rocks together experimentally, "that I've killed men for less than what you just did."
The rocks produce exactly nothing. No spark and no friction, just the dull sound of stone hitting stone.
"These are the wrong kind," he mutters, tossing them aside and searching for others. "Need something with iron content. Flint, ideally."
You watch in amazement as he actually seems to know what he's doing, his criminal mind apparently having absorbed random survival information at some point.
"How do you even know that?"
Harry doesn't look up from his search, selecting two new stones with dark striations running through them. "I know a lot of things, Angel. Like how to dispose of bodies in remote locations. Wilderness survival occasionally overlaps with that particular skill set."
He says it so casually, as if discussing the weather rather than murder, and you decide, again, not to ask for details. For the next twenty minutes, Harry works with single-minded determination, striking stones together over a small pile of dry grass and kindling you've prepared. His movements become more controlled and precise, as he figures out the angle and force required.
"Fucking hell," he growls when the first few sparks appear but fail to catch. "This is medieval."
"You're almost there," you encourage, crouching beside him.
Harry shoots you a look that promises retribution, but continues striking the rocks. More sparks fly, landing in the tinder. He leans closer, blowing gently on the smoking grass with surprising patience.
"If this doesn't work," he says quietly, his breath coaxing the ember to life, "I'm calling Zayn, having him retrieve my lighter, and then I'm going to tie you to that picnic table and—"
A small flame suddenly flares to life, cutting off his threat. Harry stares at it for a moment, something like triumph crossing his features. He carefully feeds it with smaller twigs, building it up with the focused attention he usually reserves for business deals.
"There," he announces, sitting back on his heels as the fire grows. "Fire made with rocks like a fucking caveman."
Despite his complaints, there's satisfaction in his voice. He's conquered this task and added it to his list of things he can do. He stands, brushing off his hands, and turns to you with that dangerous smile you know all too well.
"Now," he says, advancing on you with clear intent, "about that lighter..."
You back up instinctively, but he's faster, catching you around the waist and pulling you against him. His lips find your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.
"You're lucky I love you," he murmurs against your pulse point, the words so quiet you almost miss them "Otherwise, angel, you'd be in serious trouble." His hands slide lower, gripping possessively. "Actually," he amends, his voice dropping to that dark register that makes your knees weak, "you're still in serious trouble. I'm just going to enjoy delivering the consequences."
· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·
The lake is calm in the early evening light, the surface reflecting the orange and pink sky like glass. You're sitting on the wooden dock with your legs dangling over the edge and a borrowed fishing rod in your hands. Harry sits beside you with his own rod though his expression suggests he's still processing the fact that he's actually doing this.
"This is boring," he announces after five minutes of silence.
"It's peaceful," you correct, bumping your shoulder against his.
"Boring and peaceful aren't mutually exclusive," Harry mutters, but he doesn't move to leave. His eyes scan the water's surface, looking for any sign of fish with the same intensity he'd use to read a contract.
Fifteen minutes later, your line tugs sharply. "Harry! I got something!"
He's immediately alert, setting his own rod aside and moving behind you, his hands covering yours on the reel.
"Don't pull too hard," he instructs, his voice low near your ear. "Let it tire itself out first. Feel the tension."
His hands guide yours, and together you reel in a decent-sized bass. When it breaks the surface, you squeal with excitement, and Harry actually smirks a real, genuine expression of satisfaction.
"Not bad, angel," he says, helping you land the fish. "Though I could have shot it. Would've been faster."
"That's not—that defeats the entire purpose—"
"I'm aware," he interrupts, that smirk still playing on his lips. "I'm fucking with you."
· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·
Back at the campsite, Harry handles the fish, cleaning it with a knife he produced from somewhere on his person. You probably don't want to know why he carries that particular blade or what it's been used for before.
"Where did you learn to do that?" you ask, watching him work.
"You pick things up," he says vaguely, which is Harry-speak for 'don't ask questions you don't want answered.'
The fish cooks over the fire on a makeshift grill, seasoned with supplies from the kit. The smell is incredibly smoky and savory. Harry tends it carefully, turning it at precise intervals, his perfectionism extending even to campfire cooking.
"I can't believe this," you say, accepting the plate he hands you. "Harry Styles, cooking fish over an open fire."
"Take a picture," he deadpans. "It's never happening again."
But he's relaxed in a way you rarely see. The rigid tension in his shoulders has eased, and when he sits beside you on the log, his thigh presses against yours in comfortable contact
You eat in comfortable silence, the fire crackling between you and the woods. The sun has fully set now, stars beginning to emerge in the darkening sky.
"Okay," you admit, "this is actually really good."
"Don't sound so surprised," Harry says, though there's satisfaction in his voice. "I'm good at everything I do."
"Except building tents."
His eyes cut to you with mock severity. "We don't speak of the that"
· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·
After dinner, Harry produces the marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate from the supplies "Alright," he says, spearing a marshmallow on a stick with more aggression than necessary. "Show me how this works."
You demonstrate, holding your marshmallow at the perfect distance from the flames, rotating it slowly until it's golden brown. Harry watches intently, then attempts his own.
His first marshmallow catches fire immediately. "Shit," he curses, pulling it back and blowing it out. The marshmallow is completely black, smoking sadly on the end of the stick.
"You have to keep it away from the actual flames," you explain, trying not to laugh.
"I can see that now," Harry says dryly, flicking the ruined marshmallow into the fire and starting over.
His second attempt is better with a perfectly golden outside and melted on the inside. He assembles the s'more carefully, then hands it to you before making his own. When you bite into it, chocolate and marshmallow oozing out the sides, you can't help the satisfied sound you make. Harry's eyes darken slightly at the noise, tracking the way you lick chocolate from your thumb.
"Good?" he asks, voice lower than necessary.
"Amazing," you confirm, then watch as he takes a bite of his own. His expression shifts; surprise, then approval.
"Okay," he concedes. "I understand the appeal of this one."
You make three more each, sitting close to the fire as the night grows cooler. Harry's arm eventually finds its way around your shoulders, pulling you against his side. The woods are alive with night sounds of crickets, the rustle of leaves, and the occasional call of an owl.
"Thank you," you say quietly, setting aside your empty plate and turning to look at him. "For doing this. I know it's not your thing."
Harry's jaw works for a moment, that muscle ticking like it does when he's feeling something he doesn't quite know how to express. "You're my thing," he finally says, the words rough but sincere. "So if this makes you happy..."
He trails off, but the implication is clear. He'd do considerably more than camp in the woods if it meant seeing that smile on your face.
Something warm blooms in your chest and not just affection, but deep, overwhelming love for this complicated, dangerous, but surprisingly tender man. You climb into his lap, straddling his thighs on the log, and begin pressing kisses all over his face. His forehead, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw, the corners of his mouth.
"Thank you," kiss, "for the tent building," kiss, "for the firewood gathering," kiss, "for the rock-fire-starting," kiss, "for fishing and cooking and s'mores and—"
Harry catches your face between his hands, stopping your assault of affection to look at you properly. His eyes are soft in the firelight, that careful guard he maintains with everyone else completely absent.
"Angel," he murmurs, thumbs stroking your cheeks, "you don't have to thank me for every little thing."
"They're not little things," you insist. "Not for you. You did all of this, put up with all of it, just because I asked. Because it made me happy."
His hands slide down to your waist, gripping firmly as he stands, taking you with him. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries you away from the fire.
"Where are we going?" you ask, though you already know.
"Tent," Harry says simply, his voice taking on that edge of command. "I've been patient all day."
He pushes through the tent flap, the interior lit by a battery-powered lantern someone must have set up earlier. The sleeping bags have been zipped together into one large bed, pillows arranged with more care than Harry would ever admit to.
"Now," he continues, laying you down on the makeshift bed with surprising gentleness, "it's my turn."
He follows you down, his weight settling over you in that way that makes you feel both trapped and completely safe. He’d just settled his weight over you, mouth a breath from yours, when your palm pressed flat to his chest. “Wait,” you whisper, and he freezes, instantly alert, eyes searching your face in the lantern glow.
“I know I've said thank you but I also want to say I’m sorry,” you say, breath hitching. “For dragging you out here basically against your will.”
His brow lifts a fraction. “You didn’t drag me,” he says evenly. “You asked. I said yes.”
“I know but I’ve wanted to go camping since I was ten.” Your voice thins, that stubborn brightness wobbling. “My parents were always too busy with work. There was always some emergency, some meeting, some reason we had to postpone.” You stare at the tent seam over his shoulder, hazel eyes wet in the soft light. “But the second I’m away at college, suddenly they have all the time in the world. Weekend trips to the lake with my siblings, camping in the backyard, all the things I begged for.” You let out a shaky breath and shake your head, golden-brown hair slipping across your cheek. “God, listen to me. Twenty-something and still whining about my parents playing favorites.” The little laugh you attempt goes nowhere. “Guess I just needed to scratch this particular childhood itch, even if I had to drag you along for it.”
Harry’s jaw flexes once. He doesn’t look away. His hands come up, thumbs warm against your damp lashes as he wipes under your eyes like handling something precious. “Angel,” he says quietly, voice a low thread in the hush of the tent, “don’t apologize to me for wanting something you should’ve had.” A beat. “They should’ve shown up, but they didn’t and that’s on them.”
You swallow, blinking. “I know. It just…still stings.”
“I understand stinging,” he answers, the corner of his mouth not quite a smile. “When I was ten, I learned to sleep with one eye open. No tents, no s’mores, just a door I’d wedge shut and a ceiling that leaked.” He exhales through his nose, gaze steady, unblinking. “So don’t call it whining. You wanted a memory so you made one. And I’m here for it.”
Your lips part, soft. “Thank you.”
His hand slides to cradle the back of your neck, grounding. “Listen to me,” he murmurs. “You want lakes, we’ll do lakes. Mountains, desert, I don’t give a damn. We’ll pitch a tent wrong in every national park if that’s what it takes.” A faint, dangerous warmth edges his words. “And if anyone tries to make you feel second choice again, they can answer to me.”
You huff a wet little laugh, thumbing his cheekbone where a smear of dirt still clings. “You’ll threaten my parents over marshmallows?”
He leans in, brushing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “I’ll protect you over anything,” he says simply. “That’s the point.”
You breathe out, shoulders unclenching, the confession finally settling. “I really did have fun today,” you whisper. “With you.”
“I know,” he says, softer than soft. “Me too”
“And I'm sorry about your lighter. I realized afterwards it was the fancy engraved one” You apologize, suddenly feeling really shitty for doing that. You push yourself off the floor, I’ll go get it. I feel terrible for throwing it”
Harry's hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist and pulling you back down before you can even get to your knees. His grip is firm but gentle, tugging you back against the sleeping bags.
"The fuck you will," he says flatly, his other hand coming up to cup your jaw. "It's pitch black out there, and you're not wandering around the woods alone at night."
"But it was expensive, and it had your initials—"
"It's a lighter, Ange;," he interrupts, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. "I can buy twenty more. What I can't replace is you breaking your ankle tripping over a log in the dark, or getting lost, or—" his jaw tightens "—worse."
You bite your lip, guilt still gnawing at you. "I shouldn't have thrown it. That was childish."
"It was," he agrees. "And I'm going to make you pay for it." His hand slides down your neck possessively. "But not by sending you into the woods at night like some kind of offering to whatever the hell lives out there."
"Harry—"
"No," he says, the single word carrying absolute authority. "Tomorrow, when there's actual sunlight, we'll look for it. With Steve and the team doing a perimeter sweep because I'm not taking chances with wildlife."
He pulls you fully back down, rolling so you're tucked against his side, his arm a steel band around your waist.
"The lighter doesn't matter," he murmurs against your hair. "You matter. Everything else is just things, Angel. Things can be replaced."
His hand splays across your lower back, holding you close. "Now stop trying to run off into the darkness," he continues, voice dropping lower. “Or else I'm going to forget I was trying to be romantic and just pin you to this sleeping bag."
Despite the threat, or perhaps because of it, you relax against him, your fingers curling into his shirt.
"Good girl," he murmurs when he sees you comply, and the praise sends warmth pooling low in your belly. "See how easy that was? You listen to me, I don't have to tie you up." A pause. "Unless you want me to.”
You grin, “yeah? Hypothetically, what would you tie me up with?”
Harry goes very still, and when you tilt your head up to look at him, his eyes have gone dark, pupils blown wide in the lantern light. His hand on your lower back flexes, fingers pressing in possessively.
"Hypothetically?" he repeats, voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes your pulse quicken. "Angel, there's nothing hypothetical about what I'd do to you."
His other hand comes up, fingers wrapping loosely around your throat. "I've got rope in the security kit," he continues, thumb stroking along your pulse point. "Good quality, won't leave marks unless you struggle too hard. Could tie those pretty wrists to the tent poles, spread you out so I could take my time."
His lips brush your ear as he speaks, each word deliberate. "Or I could use my belt," he murmurs. "Leather looks good on you. Would look even better wrapped around your wrists while you're begging me to let you come."
You feel his mouth curve against your skin. "Then there's the option of just using my hands," he says, shifting so he's partially over you again, his weight pinning you down. "Hold you exactly where I want you, feel you try to move and fail because I'm stronger."His knee slides between your thighs, pressing up.
"So which appeals to you more? The rope? The belt?" His hand tightens fractionally on your throat. "Or just me?"
“How about I tie you up?” You tease, trailing a finger down his chest.
Harry catches your finger before it reaches his stomach, wrapping his hand around yours completely. He looks down at you with an expression that sits somewhere between amusement and absolute refusal.
"No," he says simply.
"No?" you echo, raising an eyebrow.
"No," he repeats
"Why not?" you press, tilting your head with feigned innocence, hair splaying across the pillow.
His eyes track the movement, jaw working slowly. "Because I don't hand over control," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "To anyone. Ever."
"I'm not anyone," you point out.
A beat of silence as his thumb traces circles on the back of your hand. "No," he agrees quietly, and the word carries considerably more weight than the previous two times he said it. "You're not."
"So then—"
"Still no," he cuts you off, dipping his head to press his mouth to your throat. His teeth graze lightly and your train of thought dissolves. "Nice try though, angel. Points for audacity."
You laugh despite yourself, your free hand threading into his dark hair. "Coward," you whisper.
Harry pulls back just enough to look at you, one brow arched. "Say that again."
“You heard me” you grin, getting the kick out of riling him up, “Co-ward” you enunciate clearly.
Harry stares at you for exactly three seconds then he moves. You're suddenly on your stomach before you can draw another breath, both wrists pinned above your head in one of his hands, his body a solid wall of weight over yours, going nowhere.
"Coward," he repeats slowly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice dangerously quiet. "That's what you said."
You can't move. His hand has both your wrists locked above your head with no real effort, and the casual ease of it is somehow more unnerving than if he'd struggled.
"I—" you start.
"Careful," he murmurs. "Choose your next words very thoughtfully."
You can feel him grinning against the back of your neck, even as his free hand slides to your hip, gripping firmly.
"You think this is funny," he says, not a question. His lips drag down the side of your neck, teeth catching lightly. "You deliberately push me just to see what happens."
"Maybe," you manage, breathless despite yourself.
"No maybe about it," he says. "You've been doing it all day. Throwing my lighter, the rocks, calling me a coward—" his hand squeezes your hip "—you're testing me."
You laugh into the pillow, muffled but unmistakable. Harry goes completely still above you.
"Are you laughing right now?"
"Absolutely not," you lie.
He flips you back over, pinning your wrists again, his face inches from yours, green eyes dark. "You," he says slowly, dragging the word out, "are a serious problem."
“Well, what are you going to do about it?”
Harry looks at you for a long moment, his weight settled over you, both wrists still locked above your head. The lantern casts warm gold across his face, highlighting the deliberate patience in his expression.
"What am I going to do about it," he repeats, like he's tasting the question.
He leans down, mouth finding the soft spot beneath your ear, and stays there just long enough to feel your pulse jump under his lips.
"I'm going to fuck you," he says simply, against your skin. "Until you can't remember how to be a smartass."
His free hand slides up your side, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. "And when you're completely wrecked," he continues, pulling back to look at you, green eyes holding yours, "and you're looking up at me with that dazed look you get—" his thumb hooks under the hem of your shirt "—I'm going to ask you to repeat what you called me."
You swallow. His mouth curves, slow and certain.
"And you won't be able to," he finishes quietly. "That's what I'm going to do about it."
His grip on your wrists tightens fractionally.
"Any more questions?"
“No” you whisper, voice shaking with anticipation.
"No?" he echoes softly, satisfaction curling through his voice. "Thats what I thought."
He releases your wrists just long enough to sit back on his heels, eyes never leaving yours as his hands move to his belt. The slow drag of leather through the loops is deliberate, unhurried, each second stretched out with calculated patience. You watch his hands work and say absolutely nothing. He folds the belt once, running his thumb along the leather, then looks down at you with an expression that makes your breath catch.
"Hands up," he says quietly. You recognize that ots not a request as you raise them above your head. A ghost of approval crosses his face as he leans forward, looping the belt around your wrists with practiced efficiency. Not painfully tight, but enough that when you test it instinctively, there's no give whatsoever.
"Harry—"
"Shh," he says simply, checking the slack with two fingers slipped beneath the leather. Satisfied, he looks down at you, pinned and wide eyed beneath him. He tilts his head slightly, studying you the way he studies everything he considers his.
"There," he murmurs, one hand smoothing your golden brown hair away from your face with devastating gentleness. "Now we're having a proper conversation."
His mouth drops to your collarbone. "Still want to call me a coward?"
You lift your chin with what little dignity you had left in this position, “I stand uncorrected”
Harry stills against your collarbone. Then he laughs, his forehead dropping to your shoulder like you've genuinely undone him.
"Un-corrected," he repeats, the word muffled against your skin. "Your wrists are tied in a tent in the middle of the woods and you're—" he laughs again, shorter this time, shaking his head.
He pulls back to look at you properly, and the expression on his face is one you've catalogued carefully over months. The one he doesn't know he makes. "You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met in my entire life," he says, with genuine reverence.
"Thank you," you say pleasantly.
His jaw tightens, but his eyes are bright. "That wasn't a compliment."
You shrug "I took it as one.”
Harry stares down at you for one long moment, belt-bound wrists above your head, chin lifted in complete defiance, eyes sparkling up at him in the warm lantern light.
He shakes his head once, slowly. "Of course you did," he murmurs. He reaches up and clicks off the lantern.
· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·
a/n: Sorry y’all had this in my drafts for sooo long just because I couldnt get the smut down 😭 I just felt like it was meh so I just took it out. I’m getting smut rusty ya’ll
summary: in which, harry styles, one of your closest friends wants to take you out. but unfortunately for him, you’re not into the whole “relationship” thing. so, he’ll do whatever he has to do to win you over. but little does he know, it won’t be long until you give in, much to your dissatisfaction
a/n: wooo first story! i’m at my families weekend house and have allll the time in the world! so! i thought id write a little something🫰first time writing dialogue, or anything like this, so feel free to tell me if it sucks lmao! also if anyone likes this ill def do a part 2 since i have some of it done but im lowk js testing the waters rn
love ya!
uni is uni. like it always is. you party here and there when the opportunity presents itself, but in all honesty, your main focus has been, friends, work, and school. sure guys have hit on you and asked you out, considering who your friends are, the classes you take, and how beautiful you are, but you just don’t have time for a boyfriend. nor do you want one. while you’re not against the occasional hookup,
because cmon, who isnt hooking up in uni?
boyfriends just aren’t for you. and you haven’t had a serious boyfriend since secondary school anyways. so even if you wanted a boyfriend, your dating skills are pretty rusty. you love your freedom too much, and see having a boyfriend as more of a chore than anything else. you don’t like the idea of someone constantly texting you, wanting to hang out with you, and wanting to be serious with you. there much better things you could be doing with your time. all of your friends in your close circle know this, but that doesn’t stop harry styles from flirting with you any chance he gets
while harry is known to get a lover, he’s also very persistent and usually always gets what he wants.
(maybe it’s because he’s the youngest sibling).
you know this about harry. you’ve seen him pine for girls before, buy them flowers before going on dates, and even let him whine to you when they rarely don’t let him take them out.
however, in the last couple of months harry hasn’t been pining over anyone. but recently, when you and your friend group hang out, harry always sits closer to you. or offers to buy you lunch when you guys are all out. or sticks by your side. or always find a way to keep talking to you. really anything to try and get you to feel differently about him.
and boy have your friends caught on.
(mainly because harry made an entire group chat without you in it to bitch and moan to them about how much he wants to date you)
while you’ve definitely noticed, you don’t want to believe it. you love your friendship with harry and don’t want anything other than that. he was one of the first friends you made at school, and for the first semester, you two were inseparable. you just want to preserve what you guys have built.
thursday evenings meant one of your six friends would host a small get together at their room. nothing big at all. just a way for all of you guys to catch up after a week of classes, activities, and other life stuff.
so, for this thursday, you decided you’d host everyone. you set out a few snacks, nothing crazy because hello you’re in uni, but enough to keep everyone comfortable. some chips, fruit, mixers, just things for people to snack on
once everyone arrives, with drinks of course, you all find yourselves falling into easy conversations. you guys make jokes, update each other on everything, and even share gossip the 6 of you have heard. it’s fun being with them, and this is honestly the highlight of your guys weeks.
you guys make dumb jokes, and as it gets a little later, you walk into your small kitchen to refill your drink. but still making sure to continue following along with the story being animatedly shared by two of your friends that are standing in the middle of your living room
“guys im telling you, dr. c looks like a strong breeze could blow her over! she was standing in front of everyone…”
when you refill your ice and fill your cup, laughing softly as the story gets more and more animated, you notice harry silently following you into the kitchen though his cup is perfectly full. you don’t mind it though. he’s been making an effort to be closer to you recently, so you’ve gotten used to it. and plus, why would you mind it? and even if you did, what would you say? “hey harry, don’t follow me into my kitchen?” harry’s always been sweet, no matter how hard he tries to come off as rough and mean.
“someone’s thirsty” he mumbles, smiling softly into his cup
yes, your cup is pretty full, but who cares? you don’t have any morning classes and you’re in a good mood.
“someone’s nosey” you say back, a small smirk on your face as you cap the bottle while making sure not to look at him, trying to hide your small smirk he doesn’t know you find him even remotely funny
“touché”
you hum softly, grabbing a couple of chips out of the large glass bowl you set out earlier
another dish to wash you think to yourself
but before you can walk back to your living room where all your friends are, invested in the story, harry’s gently grabbing your elbow
“honey, wait” he says softly
honey
the nickname he gave you that first semester when he saw you eating toast with honey on it almost every morning which he found so odd
“you don’t get sick of the same thing every morning?”
he asked you that almost everyday that semester.
you glance back at him, a small smile on your face that asks, “hmm?”
the way he calls you honey and the way he hasn’t let go of your elbow makes you hyper aware of the condensation from the cup that’s now wet in your hand.
“i..uhm. i know this might be a little random, but could i maybe, possibly, if you’re free, take you out to dinner this weekend?” he word vomits out, as he runs his hand through his hair almost every other word making it very messy, in a good way
though, it’s not random
you knew this was coming eventually. you just didn’t want to believe it. you’d be blind not to see just how bad harry was crushing on you
that’s why it breaks your heart to say no
“harry…you know i’m not looking for a relationship right now, and i don’t want-“
you start to explain before harry cuts you off quickly
“no, honey, i know. trust me i do. but i just thought that maybe i could change your mind?” he says softly, finally taking his hand off your elbow
“i know it’s unlikely, but honey you gotta listen to me when i say i really want to take you out. please? cmon we’ll have fun”
he sounds so sincere when he says it. almost like there’s something at stake. though there kind of is. you. you’re at stake. a relationship with you. hell- a night out with you.
“i don’t know…”
“just…just let me know?”
“sure” you say with a soft nod, before walking with your watered down drink back to your living room carpet.
your friends definitely heard. but they are not about to comment on it.
of course not.
they’ll all text each other privately when they all go home and will then text you in the group chat without harry
it happens every time something happens with harry
| no girl like, the way he looked at you was crazy
(being woken up from a nap just to read that was not fun.)
when you sit back down, your friends resume their conversations. making sure to include you and harry as they pick up where they left off.
but as you glance up from your cup you catch harry’s eye.
he nods softly at you, and nod softly back.
you’re definitely going on that “date”, you just don’t know it yet
working on harry’s tour means seeing him every day—and ignoring his nonstop flirting every day. ur determined to stay professional, but harry, unfortunately, loves pushing your buttons almost as much as he loves watching you fight your feelings for him. after months of unresolved tension, jealousy tips everything over the edge backstage after a show.
based on -> this request
cw: unprofessional work dynamics, angst, tour harry, tour crew reader, oral (f), semi-public sex, light dirty talk, p in v (unprotected), recording, idk filth
wc: 10.1k
“Hold still,” you murmur, stepping between his knees where he sits in front of the mirror.
Harry tilts his head back easily while you adjust the wire of his in-ear monitor. The dressing room is loud around you, stylists moving around, someone steaming clothes in the corner, muffled bass from the stage vibrating through the walls. But Harry’s attention settles on you with uncomfortable intensity.
Not uncomfortable because you dislike it. Uncomfortable because you do. And will never admit that.
“You always smell nice,” he says casually.
You keep your eyes on the wire in your hands. “Battery pack’s loose.”
“That wasn’t related to what I said.”
You took a deep breath as your eyes shut instinctively for just a moment.
“I know.”
“Hm.” You can hear the smile in his voice, and if you lowered your gaze you knew you’d be staring right at a deep dimple and a cheeky twitch of his chin.
You clip the pack onto the back of his pants, fingers brushing the warm fabric of his shirt and leaving just as quick as they got there.
“All set,” you call, slapping your palms to your sides lightly as you back further away from his body.
And then he’s looking at you. In that way he always does before he goes on stage. A rudely passionate look of teasing that will leave you dizzy for the next 2 hours. He knows it, too. It’s why he does it.
“What?”
He doesn’t answer you for a minute. Just stares at you a bit longer. Over your jaw. The curve of your neck, exposed by your loose pony. All with a grin of his own deepening and his eyes squinting just a tinge.
And then he snaps back into casualness like nothing was on his mind at all.
“Nothing,” he shrugs, standing from his chair, “see you after the show.”
You nod.
“See you.”
He turns toward the door, shoulders brushing past one of the stylists waiting near the hallway, and for a second you think that’s it. Because it usually is.
You fix what you need to fix. You set him up. You say goodbye. And then he’s on stage and you have a brief intermission of peace before he’s back in front of you at the end of the night.
But then he glances back.
Just briefly, but enough for your stomach to tighten in that stupid familiar way that you worry will someday get you fired.
The hallway outside the green room still buzzes with movement and things you half understand. Stage managers calling cues, security talking into headsets, other crew members rushing past with last minute equipment. Harry looks entirely unbothered by any of it. Calm, even, like he has all the time in the world.
Your mouth moves before your brain catches up.
“Good luck.”
The words slip out softer than you intended. More personal, too. Less like a colleague hoping for the best and more like someone who cares too much about the other. Immediately, you regret them.
Because Harry stops dead in the doorway. And then slowly turns back toward you like if he's worried that it was someone else who said it. The grin spreading across his face is instant.
God.
That unbearably smug expression that only gets worse the second he realizes he’s gotten something genuine out of you. Then his smile widens even further, dimples pressing deep into his cheeks and eyes crinkling kindly.
“Thanks, y/n.”
Far too satisfied with himself.
A laugh slips quietly out of him as he starts backing into the hallway again, still looking directly at you with that same sly expression stretched across his face. Like he’s just won something.
Someone calls his name farther down the corridor.
So he finally tears his eyes off you, spinning around smoothly and continuing toward stage with an annoyingly confident bounce in his step.
Entirely too pleased with himself over two stupid words.
And even worse? You’re smiling a little before you can stop yourself.
It is endearing—his crush. It’s also incredibly obvious. The last few months of your life have been filled with flirts and teases and smirks that have your heart on the brink of exploding right there in your chest.
Champagne problems, right?
But it really was starting to become a problem. You were a professional. Apart of this industry for longer than you can count. And you were not about to start things up with your boss and destroy the reputation you’ve built for yourself for years. No matter how sexy his gaze got or how desperate his words became.
So you spend the entirety of his show in his open dressing room backstage, lounging upon a green velvet chair and scrolling mindlessly through your screen. You were grateful you had the night off tonight apart from backstage aid.
Baking recipes. Funny clips of animals. A new way to wear your hair. Skin care brands random people are trying to sell you.
Anything to get your mind off of him.
But it’s hard when his voice is echoing around the arena simultaneously. Whining through the microphone and screaming melodies that flow through him as if there’s no effort needed at all.
It was a sick routine you’ve been stuck in. Every show. Set him up, do your duties, listen to him against your will backstage or in the audio booth if that was your assignment, and then dissemble him before he goes home. You’ve been stuck with him every minute of all your days for the entire tour. Which would usually be great news; if he wasn’t nagging at you for a drop of attention too.
But you would stay professional. Calm. You knew you would.
So when the show ended and you both ended up back in his green room, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself to exercise your best rejection tactics.
The show leaves him glowing every time. Not literally, obviously, but close enough. So extra preparation was more than necessary. Especially considering there were about 6 other colleagues back here awaiting for his arrival as well.
By the time Harry pushes through the green room door, the adrenaline is still clinging to him—cheeks pink from exertion, curls damp at the edges, chest rising heavier beneath the half unbuttoned shirt clung lightly to his skin. The roar of the crowd still echoes faintly through the arena halls outside while people trail in after him offering congratulations, water bottles, notes about tomorrow’s schedule.
And somehow, within five seconds of entering the room, his eyes find you.
Of course they do. And you’re not totally sure if you want to die right there or enjoy it with a smile.
You’re crouched near the coffee table reorganizing equipment cases from the stage reset, pretending not to notice.
“You stayed,” he says immediately.
You don’t look up from the tangled wire in your hands. “I work here.”
“Mhm.” You can hear the grin in his voice already. “Still very professional as always.”
You ignore that completely.
Harry drops onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, legs spread comfortably while someone hands him a towel. He thanks them absently, attention never really leaving you.
“You work in the sound booth tonight?”
“Had the night off. Was just back here tonight.”
“Mm. Maybe that’s why it smells so nice back here.”
You finally glance up briefly. “Need something?”
His mouth twitches. There’s always this look he gets when you refuse to react properly to him. Half amused, half fascinated. Like he genuinely cannot understand how you keep resisting him after months of this.
“Need?” he repeats lazily. “No. Like hearing your voice, though.”
You bite down your smile as hard as you can. Fighting to stay within the boundaries of a work place and not further alarm your other colleagues around you.
You go back to untangling the cable immediately. “Sounds serious.”
“It is serious.”
“Thought you were exhausted.” You dead pan, looking over at him sprawled on the couch from your position on the floor.
“I was. Then you spoke to me.”
A nearby stylist snorts quietly before pretending not to listen. Your jaw tightens slightly.
Because that’s another thing Harry loves. Saying things in front of other people just to watch you try to stay composed. It was fucked up. And it was constant. Like, all the time.
You stand, carrying the equipment case toward the table near him. The second you step close enough, Harry tilts his head back against the couch cushion to look up at you.
Way too pretty after a two hour show.
Honestly rude.
It was all post-show warmth and lazy satisfaction. Sweat still clung faintly to his skin beneath the dim lights of the green room, curls damp and pushed messily away from his forehead where he’d run his hands through them a dozen times already. His cheeks were flushed pink from the stage heat, lips slightly parted while he caught his breath, and those marbled green eyes stayed fixed on you with a softness that felt entirely too intimate for a room still full of people.
And then he smiled. Slow at first. Sleepy almost. Until the corner of his mouth pulled higher and that deep dimple pressed into his cheek.
“You’re staring.”
And shit, you were.
You snap your gaze away quickly and trot across the room to gather the box for his in-ears with a shake of your head. “Wasn’t.”
“Was.”
You look back at him sharply, “Wasn’t.”
“Was too,” and his smile tells you all you need to know. This is fun for him. A game of sorts.
You just huff, opening the box in front of him and silently gesturing for him to put his monitors inside so you can, you know, get the fuck out of here.
He complies. Placing his in-ears in the box gently and staring up at you with a cocked grin while he does it. You kept your gaze down. Focused on the box and the work in front of you.
Once the box is closed and back on the audio cart, you grab your purse and take out your pony tail.
And also try to ignore the burning gaze that’s been following your every move while you do so.
“Alright, I’m heading out for the n—”
“I like your hair down like that. Looks nice.”
You stare at him like he cannot be serious right now.
“Thank you,” you say, clearing your throat and gripping tighter against the strap of your purse. “I’m heading out for the night.”
He grins. “Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight,” you nod, pattering out of the room as quick as you can.
“Goodnight.”
-
“Good morning!”
Someone was in a fantastic mood this morning.
You, were not.
“Morning,” you mumble, wobbling past him as you rub your eyes carelessly.
The venue halls were painfully bright at eight in the morning. Fluorescent lights reflected harshly off concrete floors, cases rolled loudly through corridors, and somewhere nearby someone was already doing mic checks loud enough to make your headache worse.
You were exhausted.
Not normal tired. Not fixable with coffee tired. Bone deep, eyes burning, don’t talk to me tired.
The kind that sat heavily behind your ribs after months on tour and too little sleep and too many late nights spent tearing down equipment after shows.
You threw your headset crooked over your hair while you leaned against one of the equipment tables at monitor world, staring blankly into the cup of coffee in your hands like it was useless. It kind of was.
And he was already trotting back behind you to continue to bother you.
Harry leaned against the edge of the table across from you, completely uninvited and entirely too comfortable there. His eyes moved slowly over your face, taking in the dark circles under your eyes and your obvious irritation with visible amusement.
“You look tired.”
You look back up at him plainly.
“Insightful.”
“You sleep at all?”
“A little.”
“Mhm.” His grin deepened knowingly. “You’re doing that thing where you answer questions like you hate me.”
“I do hate you right now.”
He could’ve laughed at your face right there.
“No, you don’t.”
You took another sip of coffee just to avoid responding. Harry stared at you over the rim of his own cup. Completely entertained, like this was his morning news and he needed to tune in.
“Y/n, the sound booth needs you in 5.”
You wince, shutting your eyes briefly before calling out an okay and shrugging off your purse.
“Bye y/n,” Harry smiles, tilting his head playfully like your exhaustion is only here for his entertainment.
“Bye Harry.”
You barely saw him for the rest of the day after that.
Every time you turned around, someone needed something. A frequency issue during rehearsals, a missing pack during load in, comms crackling endlessly in your ear while production schedules shifted by the minute.
By the afternoon, you were too busy to think about him much at all, which was probably a good thing considering the smile he’d walked away wearing that morning.
The show passed in a blur from the booth. You stood behind the glowing soundboards with your headset pressed tighter against one ear while the arena shook around you, lights flashing across thousands of screaming fans.
From back there, Harry looked different. Bigger somehow. Untouchable. All confidence and movement and effortless charm under the stage lights. Still, more than once, your stomach tightened when you caught his gaze flick briefly toward the booth like he was checking for you without meaning to.
Now the show was over, and you stood backstage in the green room with tired shoulders and aching feet while crew members rushed around tearing equipment down around you. The adrenaline of the concert had faded, leaving only exhaustion behind.
You leaned against the wall quietly, absentmindedly twisting your headset cord around your fingers while waiting for the post show chaos to settle.
Voices echoed down the hallway before the door even opened. You recognized Harry’s immediately, warm and animated in that post show way he always got, still riding the adrenaline high from stage.
But there was another voice with him this time.
A woman’s laugh floated down the corridor a second later, light and airy. Your stomach tightened instinctively before you could stop it. You didn’t want it to. But it happened.
Then the green room door swung open.
Harry walked in first, still glowing from the show, hair damp around his forehead and sleeves shoved messily to his elbows. Beside him was a brunette woman you vaguely recognized from the VIP tent earlier, pretty in an effortless kind of way, light eyes bright as she looked up at him while he talked.
And she was laughing. Like, a lot. At everything.
Harry said something you didn’t even catch properly while shrugging off his jacket, and she laughed immediately, hand brushing his arm like he’d said the funniest thing she’d ever heard in her life.
You looked back down at the audio sheet in your hands before your expression could betray you.
Absolutely ridiculous.
People laughed at Harry constantly. He was charming. Funny. Famous. None of this was unusual. You’d fallen victim to it more times than you’d like to mention too. It really wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, especially working so close to him.
Still, every time her laugh floated across the room again, your eyes flicked over before you could stop them.
And every single time, Harry caught you doing it.
Of course he did.
You could feel it almost instantly, the subtle shift in his attention whenever your gaze landed on them together. Like he became hyperaware of you the second you started pretending not to look.
Annoying.
You crouched beside the audio cart near the wall, reorganizing cables that were already organized just to keep your hands busy. It was sad, but you were this close to breaking something and you’d rather it be equipment instead of someone’s face.
Across the room, the brunette laughed again at something mildly amusing at best.
No offense to Harry.
Your eyes rolled automatically before you could stop them. And when you glanced up, Harry was already looking at you. His mouth twitched instantly, like he’d officially decided everything you were feeling now. His assumptions have been proven correct.
“Y/n,” Harry called casually from the couch area, too close to the mystery women for comfort.
Your response came flat without looking up. “What?”
“Did you switch comm packs after the encore?”
A stupid question.
“Mhm.”
“That one’s mine or Glen’s?”
“Yours.”
It came out colder than you meant it to, but it was honestly a stupid question and you were growing more and more irritated with every passing second.
You heard the tiny pause afterward, like Harry was reveling in this moment and couldn’t believe it was real.
“Thanks,” he said slowly, amusement already slipping into his voice.
You only hummed in response.
The brunette looked between the two of you curiously before turning back toward Harry when he said something quietly to her.
Then, to everyone’s surprise, she laughed again.
Good God.
Your jaw tightened slightly without meaning too, stuck between the frustration of these fucking wires layered between the echoing laughs of a spunky brunette.
“You alright over there?” Harry asked after a minute.
You clipped another cable into place. “Fine.”
“You seem grumpy.” He called, the second time he’s said the word today.
“I’m tired.”
“Mhm.” That sound alone irritated you.
You glanced up briefly to find him leaning back against the couch cushions now, one arm stretched along the back while he watched you with obvious interest. Like he was enjoying this. Actually enjoying it.
“Could you grab us two waters?” he asked suddenly.
You blinked at him once, like you couldn’t beleive this was a real question. Then looked toward the fully stocked fridge less than six feet from where he sat.
“There are plenty of other people here,” you said evenly. “I’m busy.”
Silence.
The brunette shifted awkwardly beside him while Harry stared at you for half a second. And then, a grin spread slowly across his face. Deep dimples. Bright eyes. Entirely too entertained.
Your stomach dropped immediately.
Because he knew.
“Oh my God,” he murmured softly, almost to himself.
You narrowed your eyes instantly, standing straight up against the cart now with your hands leveling you, “What?”
But Harry was already standing and looking much too pleased with himself.
“I’ll get them myself,” he said lightly to the brunette before starting across the room.
Toward you.
You immediately looked back down at the cables in your hands like they suddenly required your full concentration. Unfortunately, Harry didn’t stop until he was directly beside the audio cart. Close enough that you could smell the lingering mix of cologne and stage sweat still clinging to him after the show.
“You’re jealous,” he said quietly.
You scoffed immediately, “I’m not.”
“Y/n.” His voice was warm with amusement. “You practically rolled your eyes to the back of your skull every time she laughed.”
You dropped what you were working on and pulled closer to his face, “She laughed at things that weren’t funny.”
Harry bit back a grin.
“There she is.”
“Harry, what?” You weren’t in the mood for this. Not now. Not ever, really. And you had shit to take care of.
“You got mean.”
“I’m usually mean to you?”
“No,” His eyes dragged slowly over your face, “Usually you’re pretending not to like me. Tonight you looked like you wanted to kill somebody.”
Heat crawled violently up your neck before you could stop it, his words genuinely shocking you past your normal point of surprise. He was always bold with you. But this was honest. Too honest.
“I do not care who you bring backstage.”
You barely even believed yourself when those words fell out of you.
“Mhm.”
“I don’t.”
“You told me to get my own water,” he continues to whisper, trying to hide the conversation from the women on the couch. Who, by the way, has clearly been growing more antsy for his return with every passing second.
“There was a fridge right there,” you say like it’s an obvious reason for your denial.
“You’ve gotten me water before.”
You opened your mouth immediately, then stopped. Harry’s grin widened in triumph.
“Oh, that’s beautiful,” he laughed softly.
You don’t know why you started to feel genuinely angry, but you did. Maybe it was the way he was speaking, almost patronizing, like he had you all figured out before you had the chance to yourself.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that he was starting to pull the truth out of you which you’ve been so desperately avoiding.
“You are so full of yourself,” you said, and it came out more honest than you intended. Harsh, even.
“And you,” he said, stepping just slightly closer, “are jealous. And too fucking scared to ever admit it.”
Like your comment before didn’t phase him at all.
You just stare at him with heavy breaths, your face and neck heating up before you could stop them. You were furious over his attitude. His confidence. The way he spoke like he was the smartest person in the room and the way he was looking at you like he knew you’d fold soon.
“Enjoy your night. I hope your dick enjoys her as much as your head enjoys this bullshit.”
Way too mean. Absolutely past the point of professional boundaries.
You knew it the second you said it, and so did he. His face was genuinely shocked, like you’ve officially surprised him for the first time in his life. He didn’t seem angry, necessarily. Just…you don’t even know. Just shocked.
And silent.
You shoved through the backstage hallway doors before he could say another word to you.
The sound room was blissfully empty when you stormed inside, the muffled crowds from the arena now distant through thick walls while rows of glowing consoles blinked quietly in the dark.
Good. Because if another person looked at you right now, you might actually lose your mind.
You dropped a headset onto the table harder than necessary and immediately started yanking cords loose from the side rack with sharp, irritated movements. Stupid. This whole thing was so unbelievably stupid.
Your chest still burned from the look on his face back there, smug and amused while that girl sat beside him laughing at every breath he took. Like he enjoyed watching you unravel. Like this had all just been a game to him for months.
A cable slipped from your hands and smacked loudly against the table, echoing throughout the empty area.
“Careful,” Harry’s voice came from the doorway. “Those are expensive.”
You froze for a moment, breath hitched at his sudden presence, and then continued packing without turning around.
“Go away.”
The door shut behind him, closing the two of you inside of the empty room much too late in the night.
“No.”
Your jaw tightened, already frustrated at his quick denial as if your words were a suggestion. They weren’t. You heard his footsteps approach slowly across the room while you wrapped another cord aggressively around your hand.
“Seriously,” you snapped, “I’m working.”
“You’re furious.”
“I’m not furious.”
Harry laughed once under his breath. Wrong move. You spun around immediately.
“Do you seriously think this is funny?”
His expression shifted slightly at the volume in your voice, but he still looked more frustrated than apologetic now. Green eyes sharp beneath messy curls, chest still rising faintly from the remains of the show adrenaline.
There was no smiles anymore. From either of you. It was clear how frustrated you both were as you stood a small distance apart, breaths heavy and eyes low like you two were trying to figure out how to speak without screaming in each other's faces.
“I think,” he said carefully, “you’re finally reacting honestly for once.”
You stared at him in disbelief, as if he knew you at all.
“Honestly?” you repeated. “You bring some random girl backstage and spend the whole night looking at me like it’s the most entertain—”
“She wasn’t random.”
“I don’t care who she was.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I care that you’re sick in the head.”
Harry blinked at the one. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Your voice echoed sharply off the walls now. “You spend months messing with me and flirting with me and pushing me constantly, and then you parade another woman around in front of me like you’re trying to prove how easy this is for you.”
His eyebrows pulled together instantly, taking a step forward until there were only a couple of inches between you both.
The crease between his brows was loud. The flush on his cheeks was freshening, and the sharp glare of his eyes was the most telling of it all.
“Easy?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“That’s what you think this is?”
“I think you like attention.”
Harry scoffed sharply, taking another step closer. “You think I’ve spent months chasing after someone who acts like she hates me because it’s easy?”
“You flirt with everyone.”
“No,” he snapped back immediately, “I flirt with you.”
Silence cracked heavily between you. Your pulse pounded hard enough to hurt.
Harry dragged a hand through his curls roughly, frustration officially overtaking the amusement he’d been carrying all night.
“You know what your problem is?” he started, “You never admit anything. Ever.”
You laughed harshly, closing up another box and tossing it to the side, “Because there’s nothing to admit.”
“Bullshit.”
“Harry—”
“You feel something and immediately bury it under this professional act because God forbid anyone knows you actually care about something.”
Your stomach twisted angrily.
“You don’t get to psychoanalyze me because you sing songs and smile at people for a living.”
That wasn’t fair. You didn’t even really mean it.
But his jaw tightened anyway, swallowing the words and pushing back up with whatever felt right in his chest.
“And you don’t get to act like I’m manipulating you just because you’re too stubborn to admit this thing between us has been happening for months.”
You folded your arms tighter across your chest like that could somehow hold you together.
“There is no thing.”
Harry actually stared at you for a second like he couldn’t believe you’d said it. Then he laughed once. Not amused. It was more in disbelief. Because there was really no way you could genuinely beleive that.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re just fucking cruel.”
That landed worse than the line before. You saw it immediately in the way his expression shifted, dragging across your face with so much anger that you had to swallow to keep yourself grounded.
“Cruel?” he repeated quieter.
“Yes.” Your throat felt tight now, anger bleeding messily into something worse. “You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.”
Harry stepped impossibly closer again. “That girl was someone my mum wanted me to meet after the show.”
You paused, tilting your head as you catch your breath from frustration.
“What?”
“She’s a family friend’s daughter,” he said sharply, “And it had absolutely nothing to do with showing off for you.”
You looked away immediately, embarrassment and anger tangling together violently in your chest in a more obvious way than you would’ve liked.
Harry noticed.
“See?” he said, “You jumped straight to assuming I was trying to hurt you.”
“You were enjoying it,” you say, rolling you eyes as his point had no relevance to you.
“Because you were jealous.”
“I was not jealous.”
“You were glaring at her like she was, like, offending you.”
“She was laughing too hard.”
A completely incredulous laugh escaped him, “Oh my God.”
“Don’t ‘oh my God’ me.”
“How do you seriously not see that you were jealous? Just admit something for once in your fucking life!”
“I wasn’t jealous!”
“You were!”
“I am not jealous of every girl you drag backstage! Just leave me alone!”
The second the words left your mouth, the room went dead silent. Harry stared at you. Your own breathing sounded too loud suddenly. Because that last part had been a mistake.
His eyes flicked slowly over your face, something shifting there.
“You mean that?”
You take a breath, settling into yourself for a moment as your hands come to rub against your temples. It was late. You were both over tired. This whole thing was just a big fucking mess that you were deep into now to get out of.
Oh, and you both were half sure the entire crew was listening outside of the door.
But that was a problem for tomorrow.
“No,” you start, “I don’t mean that. But you don’t get to stand there and act like this is all my fault.”
“I’m not saying it is.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m exhausted!”
His voice cracked louder through the room than your yelling somehow.
“I flirt with you every day. I look for you every day. I walk into rooms looking for you first every day and you act like I’m insane for noticing you feel it too.”
Your chest tightened painfully, knowing in the back of your mind that he was right.
“And then tonight,” he continued, eyes locked on yours, “you looked at me like I’d betrayed you. You can’t do that. Not after pushing me to the floor like dog shit for months.”
You swallowed hard.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
Which only made you angrier.
“You don’t get to make me feel crazy for this,” you shot back.
“I’m not making you feel anything.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing to me!” The words ripped out louder than intended.
Harry went still at the burst, breaths racing quicker while he sat on what was next. What he should say. What he should do. If this was ruined for good and you’d be on the next flight home.
The silence afterward felt massive.
“It’s not fair, Harry,” you continue, “You don’t get to do this to me.”
Your voice was shaking now, words spilling faster the longer he stayed silent.
“You don’t get to stand there and act like I’m the one making this complicated when you’ve been doing this to me for months.”
Harry didn’t say anything, and it made your chest tighten harder.
“Every day it’s something,” you went on, pacing now, unable to stay still under the weight of it. “You flirt with me, you push me, you look at me like I’m the only person in the room and then you just expect me to function like it doesn’t affect me?”
Still nothing. Your frustration snapped sharper.
“You think I don’t notice it? You think I don’t feel it?” You shot another time, voice rising again. “Because I do. I feel it every single time you look at me like that and I hate that I do. And I have a life I’m trying to protect. I built something for myself here. I worked too hard to be taken seriously to just—throw it away because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
He swallowed thick at the last line, listening to your words helplessly and sinking in thoughts he can’t say. “And the worst part is I don’t even get a break from it. I have to choose. Every day. Between being good at my job and feeling whatever this is when I’m around you.”
Your eyes flicked up to his again, glossy with frustration now.
“Between my career and my happiness,” you said quieter, but more honest than anything you’d said all night. “And you just stand there like it’s nothing when it’s not nothing for me! It’s impossible and it’s—”
Harry crossed the space between you in a single step and crashed his mouth into yours, hands coming up to either side of your face, holding you there so quickly you didn’t even have time to react.
For a second, you didn’t move. Didn’t kiss back. Just froze completely against him, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat while everything in your brain tried to catch up.
But neither of you pulled away.
And then, slowly, when it finally registered, your hands slid up to the back of his head and your lips found their way against his. You pulled him in even closer than he already was, squeezing your hands against him like you jus couldn’t get close enough.
The breath you both released at the same time broke whatever line was left between arguing and something deeper.
The kiss shifted, still urgent, still overwhelming, but no longer just interruption. It turned into something heavier, driven by months of tension finally collapsing into contact neither of you had managed to stop.
“Harry—”
“Sh,” he shut you up through smashing lips before you could even finish the thought, “just let me kiss you for a bit.”
So you did.
It didn’t take much convincing, considering his tongue was minty and warm and his nose was nudging up into your face exactly how you dreamed it might. He was strong and confident and, in the least weird way, skilled. It was like he’d already learned exactly how you want it and rolled it out of him with no effort at all.
“Just tell me to stop,” he mutters through kiss, “just tell me.”
You just nod, quick and aggressive as he pulls you in even closer and inhales you like he needs you to breathe. Your heart was slamming and your mind was dizzy, fogged in the forbidden mesh of the two of you and the stupidity behind it all.
Because really, one crack of the door and you’d be fired on the spot. It was the most insane thing for you to ever do, especially after screaming in his face for all to hear from the hallway.
But you didn’t care. You couldn’t stop. You wanted him. You needed him. You wanted him to handle you and treat you like he’d been dreaming of—whatever that may be.
And as his tongue slid across the insides of your mouth for the thousandth time, you let your mind drift into what he might do. What he’s been begging to do. You knew he had to have something shoved up deep in sleeves, something he’d been putting off until this moment and thought of more times than he should.
His hands came tugging up at your top before you could slip too deep into that thought. The pass of the fabric through your faces broke the suction to each other for only a moment before he was crashing back down onto you, a kiss laced in so much hunger that you didn’t know what to do with yourself.
And once your chest was covered in nothing but the flimsy cotton of your black bra, his hands couldn’t land. He was everywhere. Up your ribs, across your tummy, pressed into the open curve of your lower back.
The pass over your clothed breasts was long. Like he was mapping out exactly how they sat without actually breaking the kiss to look at them.
And you were only thinking one thing—just take off the bra and fucking touch me.
As if reading your mind, his hands slipped underneath the top of the cup and grasped at your smooth skin tenderly, cupping around your full breasts until his thumb found the perk of your nipples and his palm found its place underneath the curve.
“Fuck,” he groaned, “so soft.”
It was mostly to himself, like he was marking the exact moment out loud to remember forever.
Now you really were jealous.
Your hands worked desperately at his damp button up, undoing every last one like a ravenous animal until it wore him more as a jacket of sorts instead of a shirt.
You let your eyes fall.
Of course you’ve seen him shirtless before. But this was different. This was vulnerable—the flap of his butterfly on his chest, mixed in nerves and anticipation and the feeling of something new yet forbidden. The subtle sheen of his sweat bouncing off of his pecs, still not fully recovered from his show.
Then there was the hair. Littered across his chest and more importantly, trailing thick down to a screaming bulge below.
You groaned before you could stop yourself, and his smirk was deep in response before pulling you tight to his lips again.
“Harry,” you start breathlessly, still in between sloppy kisses, “I have to go soon. I have to catch the last train.”
He shakes his head immediately, “I’ll drive you back.”
You consider telling him the truth. The humiliating truth. The truth that will probably turn that growing hard on down into a sad softie that’ll never come back up.
“No really,” you murmur again, kissing him harder, “I really do have to go soon.”
He backed up this time, hands placed somewhere between your waist and your shoulders lazily.
“Why? We can stop.”
You shake your head immediately, “No, I…I don’t want to stop. I just want us to…um…hurry?”
“Y/n…” he nagged with a smile, teasing you already, “don’t break your honesty streak now.”
You shake your head, “it’s embarassing.”
“Just say it.”
You roll your eyes, sucking in a deep breath and thinking of the vaguest way to say it.
“Fine,” you huff, “my mom calls me every night at exactly 12AM. Okay?”
His eyebrow cocks upward, “that’s not embarassing.”
“Right, so, let’s just keep going?” You clear your throat, nodding a placing your hands back behind his neck as if to prepare for another kiss.
He’s still staring at you with a small smirk that you hate.
“Not so fast,” he teases, “Something in me says you’re keeping out a very important detai—”
You unclasp your bra in the middle of his sentence, letting your tits fall loose in a desperate attempt to cut off his train of thought right there.
And it works, for a second.
His eyes fall, his words come to an abrupt halt, and his mouth goes dry in a state of total holy fucking shit this can’t be real life.
“That’s not fair, y/n,” he says, but he’s still looking down at your chest, “not at all.”
You just grin, looking down at him as he gawks at the sight in front of him and lets his hands drift upwards to cup them once again. This time it was different. This time he was looking at what he had in his palms. And they were even better than how he’d dreamed of them, perky and pink and so full.
And then he’s grabbing you by your ribs, hands wide and rough, lifting you until you’re sat on top of the counter behind you, covered with equipment that was far too expensive for this behavior. But neither of you really seemed to notice, let alone care.
His lips locked around nipples before you had the time to process the shift, sucking and nagging and groping the untouched one with his other hand.
But then he was back on subject.
God damn it.
“Tell me,” he cooed, still latched to your breasts, “tell me what you’re hiding.”
You sighed at the feeling of his lips on your bare skin, naked and exposed and more vulnerable than you’ve been in awhile. More time than you’d like to admit.
“Can’t.”
He stopped his kissing and looked back up at you.
“Y/n.”
You huff, rolling your eyes and sinking into the cabinet behind you. “My dog. My mom FaceTimes me every night at 12AM so I can talk to my dog before bed. Okay?”
He pushed his lips tight together through his smile, fighting to keep it in as to not embarrass you even further. But his crinkled eyes were telling and the raise of his brows said even more.
“Oh, well that’s adorable.”
You drop your head into your hands, searching for an escape from this moment forever.
“Harryyy.”
“Ok, listen,” he lets out a loose laugh now, bringing his hands up to your cheeks until your face reveals itself again. “It’s not embarrassing. You’re cute. I’ll get you home by 12.”
You peaked your eye open a bit and let your face sink into his palms. “Yeah?”
He nods, face pulling closer to yours again already, “promise.”
And then he was back on you, splitting your lips open softly and letting his tongue fall onto yours as if it was the most natural thing to ever happen.
Suddenly you understand why this has felt impossible to ignore for so long, because kissing him feels terrifyingly right. Soft in a way you never expected from someone who spends all day teasing you, but underneath it there’s still that same intensity he always looks at you with—as he’s been holding himself back for months and finally doesn’t have to anymore.
You can feel it in the way he pulls you closer. In the way his thumbs brush once beneath your ears. In the way he kisses you like this means something. Like it’s exactly what he needed.
Exactly what both of you needed.
He’s drifting his mouth back down to your chest as slips his fingers in your waist band, and suddenly everything feels very real. Harry Styles. Famous. Like, ridiculously famous. In the middle of his tour. In an empty sound room backstage. And, more importantly, your boss.
His hands feel your nerves before your mouth could vocalize them.
“Relax,” he coos, lips resting against your bare chest, “it’s just me.”
You take a breath, shutting your eyes and desperately searching for a place of peace.
It’s Harry. Harry who’s been yearning for you for months. This isn’t a one night stand. This isn’t an unintimate fuck after the adrenaline of a show. It’s raw, it’s real. It’s just Harry.
So this time, when his fingers tug harder on your pants and your full body starts to reveal itself, you don’t feel so suffocated.
He had your pants and thong pooled down to your ankles quicker than you expected, leaving you in nothing but your skin as you stayed perched atop the cool counter.
“Fuck,” he whispered to no one, dropping slowly to his knees as his palms rested atop your knees.
You were bare in front of him, legs half spread and core dripping onto the surface beneath you. You figured it had to leave a mark. His eyes turned inward as they locked onto where he needed most, what he’s been clawing at desperately for months, right in from of him and oh so beautiful.
His hands pushed your knees further apart slowly, revealing more of yourself to him until it was all on display. And right when you started to relax, his hands left your legs and fell to in between your thighs instead.
“Shit,” he breathed, fingers coming to toy with your folds, “so pretty. Fucking perfect.”
His finger tips pressed against either side of your wet hole, and slowly spread apart from each other until you were wide and gaping in front of him. Your breath hitched somewhere deep in your chest and your mind stilled, watching his eyes as he inspected what was before him closely.
“So tight,” he hummed, spreading you open even further, “beautiful, you know that?”
You just gulped, letting a hand fall on top of his head to play with his curls mindlessly. Anything to give you something to do.
His fingers drifted higher up to your clit now, pinching at either side of the swelling bud before spreading that apart too. The ball of your sensitivity came pushing outward at the movement, throbbing in front of him while you dripped helplessly just below.
And then, with eyes glossed up towards your gaze, he stuck his tongue out, skinny and pointed, before pressing the tip onto your overly exposed clit.
Your eyes shut before you could stop them, chest panting and brows turning inward. It was the most sensitive you’ve felt in awhile, so worked up from the arguing and the teasing and the kiss that was forever too short.
“Mm,” he hummed, circling once around your clit and watching for your reaction, “tastes so good. So sweet.”
You groaned, tugging at the hair on his scalp and letting your head roll back until stopped by the wood behind you.
His lips came to suck harsh against your swollen clit, suckling at your arousal and rolling the bead in his mouth as his palms came to grasp around your hips. He was nestled into you like he needed you to breathe, groaning against the taste and pulling closer to you.
His tongue flattened as it pressed against your dripping hole, lapping up your arousal and whispering at the sweet taste on his tongue. You were wet and so fucking pink in front of him, drenched in desperation and the need for something more than just his warm tongue against you.
“Harry,” you whine, “feel so good, but—”
“I know,” he cuts through you, already knowing just what you need instead, “me too. Just give me a couple more minutes, wanna remember this.”
And who were you to deny that?
So you let him feast at you for another five or so minutes, lapping you up and swallowing you with every new drip. It was his heaven. It was what he’d been fucking his fist to for the last couple of months, the thought of you on his tongue and mixed with the melodic sounds of your moans.
“Please, Harry,” you groan, fingers tightening against every strand of his hair and thighs clamping absentmindedly around his skull.
“Hm? What do you need?”
You roll your eyes again, “Harry.”
He detached from your swollen pussy, face wet in your juice as he rose back up to level with your face. His hands land on your bare open thighs, head tilted as he catches his breath in front of you.
“Y/n,” he repeats, challenging you, “tell me what you need.”
You tug your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes glassing up at him as your chest juts outward.
“You,” you breathe, “want you to fuck me, Harry.”
His eyes fall shut as if instinct.
“Fuck,” he breathes, head dropping for a moment, “wish I could’ve fucking recorded that. Listen to it forever.”
And then his lips are back on yours, harsh this time, splitting you open as his hands gripped tight against the meat of your outer thighs.
It happened quicker than you expected—his hands working his zipper, his lips turning sloppy as he breathed heavier inside of your open mouth. And at the sound of his button popping open and his zip hitting the base, your skin chilled at the noise, adrenaline rolling through you as a fuzz rolled down your spine.
His pants shoved down to his mid thigh, boxers following suit, and before you knew it, there it was. Your boss's cock. Thick and dripping in between your open thighs.
He was…big. Bigger than you’d ever been with before, for sure. He was swollen and girthy and just crying with a slow salty drip of precum. For a second you thought, maybe a big dick comes with being a world famous sex symbol.
And in a moment of total honesty, eyes locked on his erection, “I’m kind of nervous.”
He just grins, like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard, before shaking his head and kissing you another time. “Don’t be. Just me.”
It settles something in you. Your smile comes beaming right as your chest softens, nodding softly at him as you try your hardest to regulate your breathing and calm the warmth on your face.
You know, to act like you weren’t about to get fucked in the sound closet while a staff of a hundred was waiting for you both.
By your boss.
And global phenomenon.
Oh, and there was a cute brunette waiting for his return in the next room.
But you’d rather focus on the less life ending matters right now.
His hand comes to hold the base of his dick, taking a step closer to your open legs as he held you propped atop the counter still. Your head was racing, eyes flicking back and forth between the nearing head of his cock and his face like you were trying to actually decide if the two were here at the same time.
And just before pressing in, breathlessly, “you’re sure?”
You nod immediately. “I’m sure. Please.”
He pushed into so slow that it ached, stretching your tight hole gently as he filled you up inch by inch. He was…a lot. Pulling you apart without even trying to and sinking in deeper than what’s ever been reached before.
Once he bottomed out and his tip was kissing some place deep in your tummy, you both let out a simultaneous “Fuck.”
His forehead dropped against yours in a sweaty mess, pulling out of you until his tip reached your folds before pushing back in with a force stronger than the one before. More certain. Like he couldn’t be more sure now. And you couldn’t either.
To say it was heavenly wasn’t even doing it justice. He was filling you up just as you liked, big and profound and pumping in and out of you with careful precision. Knocking into that spongy spot inside of you that had your vision blurry and tear ducts jamming.
“Harry,” you moan out, desperately trying to keep your voice down, “it feel so good, you feel so good.”
His thrusts deepen, “yeah? Like that?”
“Mmm,” you weren’t totally aware of any noise you were making, your mind just sort of rolled out whatever it was feeling and expressed itself in sudden waves.
He felt it. The organic nature of it all. The way you clamped around him desperately and grabbed at the skin on his back like it’d somehow be able to keep you grounded through this.
But then it got rougher. Quicker. Sharp in your belly as he slammed into you over and over and over again.
“Ah!” Your head tossed back, “fuck, shit, it’s so good, Harry, so big.”
It only spurred him on faster.
“Like my cock?” He was pumping into you so fast that your back was smacking loud agaisnt the unstable cabinets, “how big is it. Tell me how good this dick is.”
Your walls tightened again around him at his filthy ask, finger nails scratching into his skin until inflamed and bleeding at the touch.
“So big, mmm,” your whine draws through the closed space, “so good inside of me, so deep, fuck!”
He fucked you like this for awhile, stealing quick kisses from you from time to time and pulling you as close to him as you could get.
And then he scooped you up and off of the counter effortlessly, cock still buried deep inside of you, before placing your back down flat on a lower standing table in the center of the room. Covered in expensive electronics and hazardous wires that neither of you knew the importance of. Or cared.
When he started fucking into you again, it was different. You were flat against the surface, legs locked around his waist and hair sprawled around you like a halo you just grew within the last half hour. Which, you honestly felt like you did.
But his tip was deeper this time, with the new position, and crawled up into your tummy until the skin of your lower stomach was tenting in the pressure of his cock. Thrusting up into it until it pulled upwards and created a pretty indent of his shape.
You’ve never experienced a thing like it.
He grabbed a hand and placed it over the space, brows sewing together and a whimper slipping out at the feeling of his cock showing through you. It was a fantasy come true.
Your tits flowed with his rhythm, bouncing up and down, flattened like pancakes, with every thrust. Your moans followed it too, a high pitched huff falling loose every time he slammed into with that same persistence.
“God, Harry,” your hands grab onto nothing, “don’t stop, please, gonna cum soon—”
And then his phone rang. Loud, in the back pocket of his half-off pants that hung right around his knees.
Just when you thought he would stop, pull out and answer the phone, or even silence it and continue to fuck you, he didn’t. He kept his thrusts steady, reached into his pocket, and fucking answered.
“Yeah?” He called through the line, half breathless as he slammed his hips into you beneath him.
You’d never held your voice so hard in your fucking life.
There was random mumbling through the other end, a deep voice, rambling about something you couldn’t quite decipher. His head tilted backwards as he listened, the grip on his phone a little lose as he shut his eyes in pure bliss.
“That’s fine,” he starts again, “I’ll take care of it.”
All while sliding his tip out of you and pressing himself back in fully until your arousal wettened his pubic hairs. And it continued like this until your stomach was bubbling and your face was hot and scrunched into itself.
“Mm, gonna cum,” you whisper, still trying to keep yourself hidden from wherever the hell was on the phone with him for this long.
Harry just smirked, phone still pressed up against his ear, as he quickened his strokes into you again. His free thumb came to rest atop your clit, rubbing slow circles onto the sensitive bud until you throat was strained in a sad attempt to keep every noise in.
“No, not home yet,” he spoke again, “taking care of a couple things.”
He fucked you harder. Faster. As if he was challenging you to see who could keep their composure best.
But you’d already lost. You knew you had. Your legs were vibrating violently around his waist, pulsing with every new swipe at your clit and every new slam of his hips.
And the second you finally reached your orgasm, a long, drawn out moan escaped up your chest before you got the chance to silence it.
His hand smacked hard over your mouth with so much force that you shut up immediately.
But he wasn’t upset. He didn’t even look phased. He was still grinning at you, in awe of your fucked state as he pounded himself in and out of you and shut you the hell up with his wide palm.
You came hard. Stuck in the trance he’s set you in and fading into the light as he rides you through it. Your limbs were numbing, your skin stuck between a mix of hot and cold and not quite landing on just one.
He pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment as the other man spoke to nothing. “Fuck, you’re so hot. Feel good?”
You hum lazily, eyes shut as a small smile crawls up to your face absentmindedly. It’d been awhile since you felt this fucked. Just laying there limp and useless and half awake.
Regardless, he wasn’t stopping.
“Mhm,” he said, back on the phone, a little too suspicious of a noise for an average discussion. “Ok. Mhm. Bye.”
“Who was tha—”
“Fuck, you feel so fucking good y/n,” he cut you off, letting his phone hang loose in his grip now as his eyes meld shut in reflex.
It was the furthest thing from calm anymore. He was slamming into you relentlessly until your tits smacked into themselves and your throat strained in purple veins and reddened skin.
“Oh my god,” you groan, cupping your own breast with a squeeze, “shit!”
“Yeah, let everyone hear you,” he spits, “just fucking scream, tell them how good your getting it.”
And you did.
There was no taming whatever was begging to come out of you. You were loud and rambling and just crying whatever filth came to mind without giving yourself a minute to process a thought.
“Shit, can’t fucking believe you,” his head dropped into itself, “gonna remember this, best pussy I’ve ever had y/n.”
You hum, loud, as you let your neck push out and your head rolls back harder onto some sort of sound board that definitely has a couple switches knocked off. His eyes were locked to the movement on your chest—the way your tits shook and belly shook and tented up with his tip.
You’re not really sure what made you think of it. Maybe the way he was staring, maybe the way he told you he wanted to remember, or maybe the way his phone was still hanging lose in his thick fingers from the call.
But you nudged your head towards his phone before you got a chance to think twice about it.
He looked down at where you gestured.
Then back at you.
Back to the phone.
And another time back at you.
Then, shakily, “…yeah?”
You nod through a bitten grin, pinching your nipples between your fingers as if to ask for that to be the focus.
Like any man who’s alive and breathing, the idea only sat with him for about a half a second before his phone was back out and the camera was faced down at you.
And then he was fucking you again, harder this time, so riled up from the devious act in the first place, as he slammed into you until his balls smacked against the bottom of your ass.
Your tits slapped into each other through the camera, clapping against themselves in the most erotic way he’d ever seen. You could see it on his face. The way his lips fell apart through broken groans and his eyes were so zoned into one place that you figured he’d forgotten about everything else surrounding.
“Harry,” you breathe out, “so good. Gonna make yourself cum to this later? Watch yourself fuck me where you shouldn’t?”
He brought his free hand to the small of your waist, gripping tight before using the grip to tug you down onto him harder. His cock was pressing so hard up into your belly that you thought it’d be bruised, so worked out from his thick cock in a way you’ve never gotten it before.
“Fuck, yes, fucking yes,” he groaned, gripping you tighter without trying, “M’so close.”
“Yeah? Gonna cum all over my tits, Harry?” You call, dramatized for his video and paired with an extra shake of your rolling breaths on top of you.
With that, he pulled out of you quick as his fist came to wrap around his length, pumping in sloppy motions with a twisted face and held breaths. His salty cum painted itself onto your tits beautifully, dripping down your smooth skin and coating itself over the peak of your nipples like it belonged there.
His head fell lazy as his breaths lengthened, grounding himself slowly through small touches and deep inhales. The video had stopped, now fallen to the edge of the table you laid on still.
“Fuck,” and then he was looking back up at you with a crooked smile, “did we just fuck?”
And, like usual, your eyes rolled as a grin curved up your mouth, “yeah. Now don’t torment me.”
He pulled out of you slowly, taking his time to not further stress your body before tugging his pants loosely back up to his waist.
“Y/n,” he starts again, grabbing a rag from the counter, “do you know you and I just had sex? You? And I? Y/n and Harry?”
“What part of don’t torment me do you not understand, hm?” You tease, sitting up on your elbows as he begins to wipe up your chest and whatever spilled to your stomach.
“But you’re cute when I torment you,” he shrugs, smirking down at you as he tosses the now dirty rag to the side.
“I don’t think I like you very much.”
His teeth show through his dimpled grin now, arms locked on the table by either side of your hips as he brings himself closer to your face.
And with a sweet kiss and a press to your forehead—
summary: in which, harry styles, one of your closest friends wants to take you out. but unfortunately for him, you’re not into the whole “relationship” thing. so, he’ll do whatever he has to do to win you over. but little does he know, it won’t be long until you give in, much to your dissatisfaction
a/n: wooo first story! i’m at my families weekend house and have allll the time in the world! so! i thought id write a little something🫰first time writing dialogue, or anything like this, so feel free to tell me if it sucks lmao! also if anyone likes this ill def do a part 2 since i have some of it done but im lowk js testing the waters rn
love ya!
uni is uni. like it always is. you party here and there when the opportunity presents itself, but in all honesty, your main focus has been, friends, work, and school. sure guys have hit on you and asked you out, considering who your friends are, the classes you take, and how beautiful you are, but you just don’t have time for a boyfriend. nor do you want one. while you’re not against the occasional hookup,
because cmon, who isnt hooking up in uni?
boyfriends just aren’t for you. and you haven’t had a serious boyfriend since secondary school anyways. so even if you wanted a boyfriend, your dating skills are pretty rusty. you love your freedom too much, and see having a boyfriend as more of a chore than anything else. you don’t like the idea of someone constantly texting you, wanting to hang out with you, and wanting to be serious with you. there much better things you could be doing with your time. all of your friends in your close circle know this, but that doesn’t stop harry styles from flirting with you any chance he gets
while harry is known to get a lover, he’s also very persistent and usually always gets what he wants.
(maybe it’s because he’s the youngest sibling).
you know this about harry. you’ve seen him pine for girls before, buy them flowers before going on dates, and even let him whine to you when they rarely don’t let him take them out.
however, in the last couple of months harry hasn’t been pining over anyone. but recently, when you and your friend group hang out, harry always sits closer to you. or offers to buy you lunch when you guys are all out. or sticks by your side. or always find a way to keep talking to you. really anything to try and get you to feel differently about him.
and boy have your friends caught on.
(mainly because harry made an entire group chat without you in it to bitch and moan to them about how much he wants to date you)
while you’ve definitely noticed, you don’t want to believe it. you love your friendship with harry and don’t want anything other than that. he was one of the first friends you made at school, and for the first semester, you two were inseparable. you just want to preserve what you guys have built.
thursday evenings meant one of your six friends would host a small get together at their room. nothing big at all. just a way for all of you guys to catch up after a week of classes, activities, and other life stuff.
so, for this thursday, you decided you’d host everyone. you set out a few snacks, nothing crazy because hello you’re in uni, but enough to keep everyone comfortable. some chips, fruit, mixers, just things for people to snack on
once everyone arrives, with drinks of course, you all find yourselves falling into easy conversations. you guys make jokes, update each other on everything, and even share gossip the 6 of you have heard. it’s fun being with them, and this is honestly the highlight of your guys weeks.
you guys make dumb jokes, and as it gets a little later, you walk into your small kitchen to refill your drink. but still making sure to continue following along with the story being animatedly shared by two of your friends that are standing in the middle of your living room
“guys im telling you, dr. c looks like a strong breeze could blow her over! she was standing in front of everyone…”
when you refill your ice and fill your cup, laughing softly as the story gets more and more animated, you notice harry silently following you into the kitchen though his cup is perfectly full. you don’t mind it though. he’s been making an effort to be closer to you recently, so you’ve gotten used to it. and plus, why would you mind it? and even if you did, what would you say? “hey harry, don’t follow me into my kitchen?” harry’s always been sweet, no matter how hard he tries to come off as rough and mean.
“someone’s thirsty” he mumbles, smiling softly into his cup
yes, your cup is pretty full, but who cares? you don’t have any morning classes and you’re in a good mood.
“someone’s nosey” you say back, a small smirk on your face as you cap the bottle while making sure not to look at him, trying to hide your small smirk he doesn’t know you find him even remotely funny
“touché”
you hum softly, grabbing a couple of chips out of the large glass bowl you set out earlier
another dish to wash you think to yourself
but before you can walk back to your living room where all your friends are, invested in the story, harry’s gently grabbing your elbow
“honey, wait” he says softly
honey
the nickname he gave you that first semester when he saw you eating toast with honey on it almost every morning which he found so odd
“you don’t get sick of the same thing every morning?”
he asked you that almost everyday that semester.
you glance back at him, a small smile on your face that asks, “hmm?”
the way he calls you honey and the way he hasn’t let go of your elbow makes you hyper aware of the condensation from the cup that’s now wet in your hand.
“i..uhm. i know this might be a little random, but could i maybe, possibly, if you’re free, take you out to dinner this weekend?” he word vomits out, as he runs his hand through his hair almost every other word making it very messy, in a good way
though, it’s not random
you knew this was coming eventually. you just didn’t want to believe it. you’d be blind not to see just how bad harry was crushing on you
that’s why it breaks your heart to say no
“harry…you know i’m not looking for a relationship right now, and i don’t want-“
you start to explain before harry cuts you off quickly
“no, honey, i know. trust me i do. but i just thought that maybe i could change your mind?” he says softly, finally taking his hand off your elbow
“i know it’s unlikely, but honey you gotta listen to me when i say i really want to take you out. please? cmon we’ll have fun”
he sounds so sincere when he says it. almost like there’s something at stake. though there kind of is. you. you’re at stake. a relationship with you. hell- a night out with you.
“i don’t know…”
“just…just let me know?”
“sure” you say with a soft nod, before walking with your watered down drink back to your living room carpet.
your friends definitely heard. but they are not about to comment on it.
of course not.
they’ll all text each other privately when they all go home and will then text you in the group chat without harry
it happens every time something happens with harry
| no girl like, the way he looked at you was crazy
(being woken up from a nap just to read that was not fun.)
when you sit back down, your friends resume their conversations. making sure to include you and harry as they pick up where they left off.
but as you glance up from your cup you catch harry’s eye.
he nods softly at you, and nod softly back.
you’re definitely going on that “date”, you just don’t know it yet
Welcome to my blurbs Masterlist. Here you'll find all the blurbs I've wrote and they will be organized by the type of Harry (boyfriend, husband, dad, or any) and genre of fic (smut, sickfic, or fluff). Also my definition of a blurb will be a piece of writing that's over 600 words but are less detailed and shorter than a one shot.
Find all my other Masterlists here >>> My Masterlist Masterpost
last updated: (5/19/26)
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SMUT:
Boyfriend Harry-
You Wake Harry Up by Riding His Cock (SMUT) /blurb/ (edited)
(You wake up naked and horny in the night and decide to straddle Harry and ride his cock until he awakes.)
How Harry Uses Vibrators on You (SMUT)
(Scenario situations of how, when, and where, Harry uses vibrators on you. Includes photos for visuals)
How Harry Eats Your Pussy (SMUT) (edited)
(How Harry goes about normally eating your pussy)
Recalling Your First Time Dry Humping Harry (SMUT) /blurb/
(Reading from your diary, you recall your first time dry humping with your then boyfriend Harry and now husband Harry.)
Filmed Mirror Sex (SMUT) /blurb/
(Harry films himself slowly fucking your pussy in front of a mirror.)
Guided Female Masturbation Over The Phone (SMUT)
(just a phone call conversation of Harry guiding you through masturbation)
Making Love by the Fireplace (SMUT)
(After being in the cold snow all day, you and Harry go inside your cabin to warm up and by warm up, I mean cuddle and make love by the fireplace.)
Shyly Asking to Suck on Harry's Boobs During Sex (SMUT) /blurb/
(While riding Harry's cock, you're forced to tell Harry how you want to suck on his tits when Harry notices you staring at them and has you confess your desire to have them in your mouth.)
Driving Blowjob (SMUT) /blurb/
(On the way to a friends birthday party, you give Harry a blowjob while he drives.)
You Dry Hump Harry on His Couch Because You're a Virgin (SMUT) /blurb/
(You make Harry hard while making out and because you aren't ready for sex, have him show you how to dry hump and you both end up coming in your pants.)
I Love Your Dick Cake Surprise (SMUT) /blurb/
(You surprise Harry with a cake that says I love your dick on it for his birthday and then make love to him.)
Sub Harry was in an Abusive Relationship in His Past /blurb/
(Harry's ex girlfriend and dom mistreated him and until he got into a relationship with y/n, Harry didn't realize how wrong he'd been treated in the past.)
You Hold Back Harry's Long Hair as He Eats Your Pussy (SMUT) /blurb/
(You hold Harry's long hair back out of his face as he eats your pussy.)
You Get Cramps During Sex /blurb/ (SMUT/FLUFF)
(After already having three orgasms, Harry tries to give you a forth but ends up stopping abruptly when he realizes your discomfort.)
Itty Bitty Titty Committee (SMUTish) /blurb/
(While making out on the couch, Harry tries to touch your boobs and you stop him to explain your insecure reason as to why you were hesitant, but then end up allowing him to grope your breasts after he makes your insecurities about your small chest go away.)
The Bathroom Rim Job (SMUT) /blurb/
(You come into the bathroom as Harry is brushing his teeth and remove the towel from around his waist, kneeling down behind him, and give him a rim job as he eventually jerks his cock off per your request.)
Subrry Cockwarms Your Strap-On and Accidently Comes (SMUT) /blurb/
(Harry cockwarms your strap-on during a nap and accidently comes, leading to him getting upset and you comforting him.)
Your First Time Using a Vibrator (SMUT) /blurb/
(Harry bought you a vibrator when he learned you’d never used one before and uses it on you, making you come harder than you ever have before.)
“M’ Scared You’re Gonna Leave Me” /blurb/
(Harry has been acting more clingy towards you as well as his sudden boost in sex drive and when you finally ask him why the sudden behavior, he admits the heartbreaking truth.)
Plus Size Facesitting (SMUT) /blurb/
(After countless times of Harry begging you, you finally agree to sit on his face and let him eat you out.)
Masturbation and a Full Bladder (SMUT) /blurb/
(Harry pleasures you with the shower head after he came too quickly during sex but towards the end you end up having to pee really bad, resulting in him telling you to just pee in the shower.)
Lovin' (SMUT) /blurb/
(After your nightly shower, you get into bed with your fiance Harry and make some sweet ole lovin'.)
A Really Wet Mess (SMUT) /blurb/
(As you're having sex, you realize you should have warned Harry you're a squirter because you get him and everything around you soaked.)
Husband Harry-
Harry Fingers His Wife with a Vibrating Ring (SMUT) /blurb/
(Harry buys a ring that vibrates to use on his wife, but the catch is that it looks like a normal ring and he wears it on stage each night of tour.)
You Accidentally Come During Foreplay (SMUT) /blurb/
(You accidentally come during foreplay and get embarrassed but Harry knocks the embarrassment right out of you with his gentle words.)
(You sneak behind Harry while he's swaying his hips in the kitchen making breakfast and use the hitachi vibrating wand he bought for you on Christmas on his clothed cock, making him come super hard.)
Gentle Face Fucking (SMUT) /blurb/
(Harry face fucks you for the first time and then brings you tea to help your sore throat afterwards.)
Needy Sub Harry Dry Humps You & You Play with His Hole (SMUT) /blurb/
(Harry starts feeling subby and climbs in your lap while you're reading and begins to rub himself on you and then shyly asks you to touch his tight hole.)
It’s Just a Movie, Love /blurb/
(After watching the trailer for Don’t Worry Darling, you get a bit upset that Harry has never ate you out on a table before but his character Jack ate his movie wife out on a table in the film.)
Boob Sucking 🍒and Pussy Fingering 😺SMUT) /blurb/
(Harry wakes you up early one morning with kisses to your face and neck and then after asking to make you feel good, ends up sucking your breasts and fingering your pussy until your come.)
The Massage Gun (SMUT) /blurb/
(While Harry is using a massage gun on your achy back, you decide that you have another ache that the massage gun could be very helpful for.)
Studio Riding /blurb/ (SMUT)
(When you arrive back to the studio with your lunches, you see Harry lying on the floor listening to his music and think his lap looks a bit too empty to ignore.)
Dad Harry-
Cock Warming in a Tent (Barely SMUT/Mostly FLUFF) /blurb/
(While camping, you get cold & get into Harry's sleeping bag to cuddle. Then he ends up slipping his erect penis into you without any sexual intentions.)
Harry Eats Your Pussy in the Back of the Car (SMUT) /blurb/
(On the way home from a date night, Harry pulls over in a empty parking lot and eats your pussy in the back seat.)
Dry as a Desert (SMUT) /blurb/
(During foreplay Harry discovers your cunt being dry and after questioning you on it, comes to realize its from your new medication and decides its best to use some lube.)
The Infamous Backstage After Sex Photo (SMUT/FLUFF) /blurb/
(Harry fucks you after his pre show shower in his dressing room in Munich and right after gets called out into the hall by his photographer Anthony to take a picture before he can get fully changed, leaving him looking freshly fucked in the photo.)
Harry’s All Natural Sleep Aid 👅🐱 /blurb/ (SMUT)
(Harry performs his all natural sleep aid to help you get sleepy after a bout of your insomnia.)
Medicine (SMUT) /blurb/
(Harry does something rather cheeky in bed one night and when you're at his Wembley Night 3 concert, you recognize him recreating that cheeky move in front of thousands.)
Any Harry (boyfriend, husband or dad)-
Subrry Asks You to Make Love to Him /blurb/
(Harry starts to feel subby and comes to cuddle you on the couch where he shyly asks you to make love to him.)
Harry's in a Teasing Mood (SMUT) /blurb/
(Harry's in playful mood after the shower you shared, and you're not, demanding that he touches you.)
Obsessed with Harry's Facial Hair (SMUT) /blurb/
(You refuse to sit on Harry's face until he grows back his facial hair.)
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SICKFICS:
Husband Harry-
You Accidentally Puke in Harry's Car Pt. 1
(Dodgy fish makes you sick on your way home from a dinner date)
You Accidently Puke in Harry's Car Pt. 2 (helps you wash off & puts you to bed)
(Your loving husband cares for you after you've been sick in his car)
You Help Calm Harry's Nervous Belly Before His Concert /blurb/ {HSLOT}
(Harry gets a tummy ache due to pre-show nerves and you help him feel better.)
Migraine Boob Sucking (not sexual)
(Harry comes home late from the studio with a migraine and after doing his nightly routine with a struggle, he gets into bed where you’re sleeping and ends up sucking one of your breasts as a way to lull him to a comfortable sleep.)
Dad Harry-
Daughter Gets Period Unexpectedly in the Night /blurb/
(Y/n and Harry's daughter accidentally leaks blood in her bed during the night when her period comes unexpectedly.)
------------------------------
FLUFF:
Boyfriend Harry-
Periods = No Sex After Date Night /blurb/
(When you arrive home from a dinner date, you have to break a steamy kiss before Harry gets too worked up, and tell him the unfortunate news that you have you period and no sex can occur.)
🎇New Years Eve Gone Wrong🎇/blurb/
(Your anxiety spikes at a New Years Eve party due to the alcohol and Harry takes you home.)
Harry Confesses His Love to You for the First Time /blurb/
(After falling asleep in Harry's arms during a movie, he carries you to bed and that's where he finally expresses his love to you, in words and actions.)
"M' Scared You're Gonna Leave Me" /blurb/
(Harry has been acting more clingy towards you as well as his sudden boost in sex drive and when you finally ask him why the sudden behavior, he admits the heartbreaking truth.)
Harry in Big Brother Mode /blurb/
(Harry’s twin brother and sister, Oliver and Alice, spend the night at yours and Harry’s house for a sleepover and Alice wakes up scared in the night which leads her to end up sleeping in yours and Harry’s bed.)
The Period Incident /blurb/
(When you arrive back to Harry’s house from a date night, things start to get heated quickly but as he goes to pull your panties off, that’s when he realizes you aren’t wet from arousal but are wet from aunt flo.)
💖💜💙
(What it's like being with Harry as a bisexual women.)
Leaked Nudes /blurb/
(You wake up to find out your ex boyfriend has leaked your nudes all over twitter and Harry comforts you.)
Makeup💄/blurb/
(As Harry watches you do your makeup for a night out, he finally shares his desire to wear makeup too when you gently coax it out of him.)
Husband Harry-
Period On Tour {HSLOT} /blurb/
(You get your period on tour with your husband Harry)
Sub Reader Feeling Anxious /blurb/
(You interrupt Harry's nightly reading by crawling into his lap and end up falling asleep from his soothing reading voice.)
It’s Just a Movie, Love /blurb/
(After watching the trailer for Don’t Worry Darling, you get a bit upset that Harry has never ate you out on a table before but his character Jack ate his movie wife out on a table in the film.)
Wet Panties in Italy /blurb/
(When Harry meets you in a coffee shop after his morning jog around Italy, the sight of him gets you turned on and your panties become wet in public)
The Late Night Flight (pt. 1) /blurb/
(Harry leaves MSG and gets on his private jet to join his wife on their overnight flight from New York to Italy where the film festive occurs.)
Drunk Insecurities /blurb/
(As Harry tries to bathe you in the shower after a night at the bar with some friends, you have a drunk meltdown with the thought that he thinks negatively about how your vagina looks.)
"Y/n, I really want a baby!" /blurb/
(After the pregnancy announcement of Harry's older sister Gemma, Harry has become sick with the case of baby fever and tries to convince you over and over to start having children now rather then later.)
TikTok Prank on Harry /blurb/
(You decide to do the viral tiktok trend on Harry where you tell him you got your tampon stuck and need his help removing it to see his reaction.)
Dad Harry-
Cuddly Night with a Family of Three
(On his way from carry you to bed, Harry picks up his awoken son and allows him to sleep with you both. Then you all cuddle together and fall happily asleep.)
The Flying Pacifier /blurb/ {HSLOT}
(While on stage, Harry's daughter Posie throws her binky to her daddy and he catches it and continues to hold it for her until after the show.)
Your Daughter Finds Your Vibrators /blurb/
(When your daughter wonders into your room while you're at the store and Harry is on the sofa holding a sleeping baby, she finds your vibrators and goes to ask her daddy what the colorful items were.)
Your Daughter Gets Scared at a Halloween Party /blurb/
(At a friends Halloween party, your three year old daughter gets scared when an older kid puts on a scary movie.)
A Hairy Situation /blurb/
(While you're taking a relaxing bath, your daughter runs into the bathroom and decides to point out the fact you have pubic hair.)
Nutcracker /blurb/ (ficmas)
(While opening presents on Christmas morning, your youngest son accidentally steps on Harry’s balls and he cries out in pain, leading you to go in the bathroom with him and examine his nut sack.)
Breastfeeding at a Restaurant /blurb/
(At a restaurant having dinner with Harry’s band mates and work partners, your baby girl starts whining due to being hungry and Harry takes you to the family restroom so you can breastfeed her in private.)
Late Night Tummy Rubs /blurb/
(While y/n is on a business trip, Harry and their daughter Maise are home alone when Maise gets a tummy ache in the night and goes to her dad for tummy rubs.)
“You Are Beautiful” /blurb/
(After one of the other moms at brunch mentions how she’s getting plastic surgery and asks if you’re getting any, you start to get insecure over your body and later that night Harry finds you crying in the shower and proceeds to comfort you.)
"I Just Felt Like Cryin" /blurb/
(Harry comes home from the studio and just feels like crying for whatever reason.)
The Birds and the Bees /blurb/
(While you announce your pregnancy to your two daughters, your oldest decides to blurt out the word sex in regards to how babies are made and that leads to your curious five year old asking a million questions.)
A Chilly Nights Sleep ❄🛌 /blurb/
(Your daughter Maise wakes up to her room being cold and decides she wants to finish her night of sleep in-between her parents so they can keep her warm.)
The Potty Incident /blurb/
(While at the grocery store with just his daughter Rosie, she suddenly tells her daddy she has to potty and that leads to Harry running across the store with her to take her to the bathroom so no accidents occur.)
Any Harry (boyfriend, husband, or dad)
You Receive Aftercare for the First Time /blurb/
(You get confused when Harry begins aftercare on you due to never having had any and cry at the thoughtful action to which Harry comforts you.)
