someone made a request about reader accidentally being given harry's number, but i accidentally deleted it, so if you requested it, here it is!
(the text chain will be from harry's point of view)
italics: y/n (unknown number)
bold: harry
Part Two
Part Three
Unknown Number (UN): heyy. i had a really good time the other night. maybe we could do it again sometime? xx (click to download image)
Harry Styles (HS): How did you get this number?
UN: you gave it to me?
UN: last night at the pub? marcus, right?
HS: No. You have the wrong number.
UN: is this a joke? are you fucking with me right now?
HS: No.
UN: oh my god
UN: i feel like such an idiot
UN: one of the first times a guy gives me his number at a bar and he gives me the wrong number
UN: probably on purpose too
UN: i should've known when he left his OWN APARTMENT the next morning but i was actually hopeful
UN: and now i've made an ass of myself here too. sorry to bother you i'll leave you alone. sorry again
(one hour later)
HS: It's okay. Sorry about that guy. Sounds like a jerk.
(twenty minutes later)
UN: it's fine, i guess
UN: i wasn't in love with him or anything but he could've had the decency of expressing his disinterest himself instead of hiding behind a fake number.
HS: That is quite a dick move.
HS: I'm not gonna lie, I wasn't expecting that text. I didn't open the picture either by the way.
UN: thank you. for a moment i was worried i was messaging a creep, but hopefully you're not a creep
UN: i mean you could be still and i'd have no idea
UN: maybe i should stop texting you
(ten minutes later)
HS: I'm not a creep.
UN: that's exactly what a creep would say
HS: I don't really know how to prove it to you. You're the one who sent me a photo of yourself half naked. You could be the creep.
UN: you said you didn't open it!
HS: I was trying to be polite!
UN: great now some 40 year old living in his parents basement has one of my nudes
HS: I'm not 40! And I don't live in my parents basement
UN: you text like an old man
HS: wuld u rather i txt like ths???
UN: no but i'm just saying i don't know many people my age who use proper punctuation in text messages
HS: Well I might not be your age, but I'm certainly not 40
UN: "certainly not." you're right. you sound like my grandpa
HS: I suddenly regret restarting a conversation with you
UN: you know despite the fact that you might be catfishing me, i've enjoyed this. i feel like i'm doing what all the other teen girls did in high school at sleepovers
HS: So you're out of high school.
UN: creep!
HS: You outed yourself, that's not on me.
UN: you...might be right
UN: can you tell me something about yourself to make it even? there's always a possibility that you could be lying and i have no reason to trust you, but...idk i feel like i can
HS: Well that's stupid.
HS: But I suppose since I've already seen you partially naked...
UN: i'm blocking your number
HS: My first name is H, and I'm 20 years old.
UN: h? just the letter h?
HS: You could be a creep too for all I know
UN: fair enough. i'm june
HS: Full name? Wow, you really are a dummy.
UN: don't get your 60 year old panties in a twist. it's a nickname
HS: June is a nickname?
HS: And I'm not 60.
UN: june. june bug. that's what the folks call me
HS: Folks? Now who sounds old?
UN: whatever
(thirty minutes later)
HS: Well, it was nice talking to you, June. June bug.
UN: you too h
(three days later)
June (J): you're a guy right?
HS: I'm sorry?
J: well when i first texted you i thought you were a guy, but you weren't THAT guy, so i have no idea
J: i just assumed but i thought i would ask
J: plus i need solicited guy advice and if you're not a creep i would really appreciate it
HS: We're back to me being a creep?
J: it's a risk every time i text you
J: so? are you a dude?
HS: Yes.
J: great! can i ask you something?
HS: Um...I guess...
J: ok. would you ever get offended if a woman covered their drink during a conversation with you?
HS: I'm not following...
J: like say we're at a bar and we're talking and i turn my head away for some reason but i put my hand over my drink until i look back at you to prevent it from being spiked. would you be offended by that?
HS: No. Why?
J: see? i don't think that's unreasonable. some loser got mad at me for doing that. well EXCUSE ME for not immediately trusting the guy i matched with on tinder
J: who was not as cute in real life i might add
HS: You don't have the best taste in guys.
J: that is not advice!
HS: Okay, here's my advice: don't swipe right on guys who have mirror selfies in their profile.
J: ...
J: ok fair enough but it's not like prince charmings are falling from the sky. it's hard out here
HS: I'm sure.
J: what you don't have the same problem?
HS: I don't really date.
J: in like a douchey way? are you one of those guys who say they just fuck?
HS: I just don't have time for dating, I guess.
J: so no special someone?
HS: No.
(four hours later)
HS: If you asked for advice, does that mean I can too?
(one hour later)
J: sorry i was at work
J: and i don't see why not
HS: What do you think about guys who wear skinny jeans?
J: hm...i think styled right it could be nice
J: YSL is kind of pushing the whole skinny jeans and chelsea boots thing which might eventually trickle down to the losers i match with on tinder so...why not? i say dress how you want
J: any guy who has a good sense of style is sexy to me
J: sorry if that wasn't the answer you were looking for
HS: Yes and no. I've been experimenting with different styles. Sometimes I get a little in my head about it.
J: doesn't everyone?
HS: I guess you're right.
HS: Do you follow fashion shows and things like that?
HS: That's not too personal, is it?
J: no, but it's kind of embarrassing
HS: Not as embarrassing as sending a complete stranger a picture of yourself in your bra
J: harsh...but fair
J: fashion is kind of my religion
J: i'm trying to become a stylist. keyword trying
HS: That's cool!
J: tell that to my family
HS: they don't support you?
J: nope! but i'm gonna do it anyway!
HS: Do you have a favorite designer?
J: it kinda depends on the year and who was creative director at the time, but the first time i got my hands on vintage vivienne westwood i was hooked
J: you?
HS: I'm just starting to explore the fashion world I guess you could say.
J: well lucky for you i happen to be a bit of an encyclopedia when it comes to house codes
HS: House codes?
J: oh boy. i hope you're comfortable. we might be here a while
(two days later)
HS: Have you ever had rumors spread about you?
J: i don't think so
J: oh wait! in eighth grade this girl in my class told everyone i made out with a boy at the school dance which was NOT true
J: it was just a peck
HS: Naughty.
J: it was harmless. why do you ask?
HS: There's a rumor going around about me. It's just frustrating when people actually believe it. sometimes it gets to the point where i start to believe it myself.
J: i'm sorry. i won't pry or anything, but i know what it feels like to not be understood
HS: I just hate the feeling of being under a microscope. It's exhausting. I feel like my life isn't my own sometimes.
J: that sucks
J: sorry that was in no way helpful, but i don't really know what to say. is there someone you can talk to about this?
HS: ...
J: oh! i actually feel kind of honored
J: well, obviously i don't know the whole situation, but maybe try and surround yourself with people who don't scrutinize you so much?
HS: Easier said than done.
J: true but i think if you have a solid group of people who know you and understand you and like you for who you are, it's easier to deal with things like rumors and being under the proverbial microscope, you know?
J: and don't be afraid to get rid of the toxic people in your life! it's not easy but you'll be better off in the long run
HS: sometimes it's hard to tell who's toxic and who's not
J: start with the people who would never believe a rumor about you, or the ones who would never START one about you
HS: Well said, June Bug.
J: thanks! maybe i should entertain a career in counseling
(one month later)
HS: Why June Bug?
J: i was born in the summer. it was a nickname my grandparents gave me. been called that ever since
HS: That's sweet.
J: there are worse nicknames i suppose. i have a cousin that got stuck with chip because he used to stuff his face like a chipmunk when he was little
HS: Yikes.
J: you're telling me
(three weeks later)
J: have you ever danced alone in your bedroom to stevie nicks?
HS: Have you?
J: i have, and can i just say she does NOT get enough credit as a songwriter?
HS: Edge of Seventeen?
J: edge of seventeen
J: i went on a date last week with a guy who had the AUDACITY to call her music mediocre
HS: You didn't see him again did you?
J: ...
HS: June!
J: just once! and only because he had really nice hands
HS: I don't get how that would make you stay with a stevie hater...
J: REALLY nice hands ;)
HS: You disappoint me sometimes.
J: ;))))
(fifteen minutes later)
J: hey you never answered my question about dancing in your room!
HS: ...No comment...
(one week later)
J: you ever been in love, h?
HS: I can't say that I have. Have you?
J: no ://
J: i think i want it too much. i've always just been in love with the idea of falling in love, you know?
J: but the reality isn't what i thought it would be
HS: I'm sorry.
HS: It probably won't help but I'm sure you'll find someone. You seem like a great person. Anyone would be lucky to be with you.
J: aw h you're making me blush!
HS: But perhaps you should stop looking for love on a hookup app
J: annnd good feeling gone
(two weeks later)
HS: Guess who has two thumbs and got invited to Paris Fashion Week!
J: no fair!
J: and that joke doesn't work if i can't see you point to yourself. it doesn't work period
HS: I will let that slide because I know you're just jealous.
J: are you kidding me? OF COURSE i'm jealous! i can't believe you get to see Alessandro Michele's work up close
HS: Who?
J: don't think because we only communicate through text that i can't strangle you
HS: Relax. I'm only joking.
HS: Alessandro is a friend ;))
(ten minutes later)
J: sorry i just had to scream into my pillow
J: what exactly do you do again?
HS: I told you. I work in the industry.
J: but that could mean anything! the cosmetics industry, the movie industry, the meat packing industry...
HS: Meat packing?
J: you know what i mean!
HS: I do a lot of PR.
J: see. that wasn't so hard now was it?
HS: Can I go back to gloating?
J: only if you promise to give me a full report afterwards you go to all the shows
HS: Deal.
(four days later)
HS: Favorite movie?
J: that's hard...
J: it's probably cliche but the devil wears prada
HS: Good choice.
J: what about you?
HS: The Notebook.
J: really?
HS: Yes. Why?
J: do you say that to impress girls or because it's actually your favorite?
HS: Would you rather I have said a film with lots of car chases?
J: no
J: but i went out with a guy who was a film major once
HS: Is that a bad thing?
J: let's just say it won't be happening again
J: he thought he was superior for disliking popular movies. i hate that
HS: Well, I love The Notebook and I love Ryan Gosling
J: now THAT is something we can agree on!
(six weeks later)
J: BIG NEWS
J: LIKE HUGE
J: GROUNDBREAKING
HS: And here I was thinking you forgot about me.
J: i texted you yesterday
HS: You asked me if my dick could move on its own.
J: a legitimate question! i nearly had a heart attack when i saw it in person
J: but i was also weirdly fascinated. my question was purely scientific!
HS: You said you had news?
J: right!
(twenty minutes later)
HS: Are you making me wait to create anticipation?
J: no sorry i got a phone call.
J: i got my first real gig as a stylist
HS: That's great! Congratulations!
J: thanks
HS: You don't sound excited anymore. What happened to all caps?
J: my mother happened
HS: Still not on board, then?
J: she told me it was a waste of time and that i should get a real job
HS: You're still gonna take it though right?
J: i don't know. maybe she's right. the pay is less than ideal. more like i'm being paid in experience, and it's not the clientele i was imagining...
HS: But it's a foot in the door, right? That's something.
J: i guess
HS: Make connections. Get good references. And who knows, you might actually enjoy yourself.
J: you're right.
J: it's for some up and coming band that's going on tour. pretty sure i was what they could afford
HS: Don't sell yourself short. You're gonna do great.
J: thanks. i hardly even know you and you're currently my biggest supporter
HS: What happened to Bill?
J: ancient history
HS: What was wrong with him? He seemed nice.
J: yeah
J: his girlfriend thought so too.
HS: On behalf of all men: Sorry. We truly are the worst.
J: agreed. what about you? still single?
HS: Yes, though people keep trying to set me up on dates.
J: the horror!
HS: Ha ha
HS: I just want to meet someone on my own terms.
J: i get that
J: i just want to meet someone who's actually a decent human being
HS: I'll be on the lookout.
(three weeks later)
J: i think i've decided that tour life is not for me
HS: oh?
J: yeah. sitting on a bus for hours and hours with only myself to keep me company? no thanks
HS: it can't just be you on the bus can it?
J: no but i have a hard time making friends right away. and a lot of the crew for this tour are older than me
HS: are your clients nice at least?
J: yeah. one of them tried to hit on me, which i guess i should take as a compliment, but i am on the clock. no flirting for me
HS: a professional then. or are you not into the musician type?
J: not sure. i haven't dated one before
J: i told you that the other day
HS: right. must've slipped my mind
HS: but back to taste in men. is it all about looks for you or do you like funny guys?
HS: are you the type to sleep with someone on the first date? because i feel like that's very telling about a girl
J: who is this?
HS: what do you mean? it's me
J: it's not. you're not texting like a middle aged woman and you're acting like a total ass
HS: Sorry. I thought I'd try something new. And I was just curious. Can't blame a guy for asking right? You did send some guy you barely knew a picture of yourself
HS: It was very wholesome by the way. Maybe try a little more skin next time and you'll get the response you want. You can practice here if you'd like.
J: oh my god
HS: What?
J: this was a mistake. i'm such an IDIOT
J: was this some kind of prank?
J: whoever you are, you're sick
J: don't text me again
HS: June, I'm so sorry. That was my friend he was just being stupid.
HS: Last time I leave my phone anywhere.
HS: June?
HS: June please.
HS: That wasn't me I swear!
HS: I'm sorry.
(three weeks later)
HS: Day 21 of trying to get you to respond.
HS You probably blocked me which is fine. I don't blame you.
HS: But if you DO happen to read these and are just ignoring me...
HS: I'm sorry. Again. For like the millionth time.
J is typing...
HS: June?
J: i should've blocked you
HS: Why didn't you?
J: because as insane as it sounds, you've become a close friend
HS: I feel the same. I'm really sorry about before. I swear it was one of my mates. I would never say something like that.
J: that's what makes this whole thing crazy! i don't actually know you, so how do i know if i can trust you?
HS: I mean you even noticed that he wasn't texting like me. I would never ask you questions like that, June. I never have.
HS: And I do NOT text like a middle aged woman by the way
J: i guess that's true
J: i think it just doubled down the fact that we don't actually know each other. this whole thing is ridiculous if you think about it too long. it gives me a headache sometimes.
J: i know we've joked about it but...this could be potentially dangerous
HS is typing...
HS: I could send you a voice note.
J: you would do that?
HS: You're right. This whole thing is ridiculous but...I don't know, I trust you, and I consider you a friend.
J: a friend you say?
HS: That's all I'm willing to admit for one day
J: and what about tomorrow?
HS is typing...
HS (voice recording): Maybe tomorrow I'll admit a little more.
(one day later)
Y/n hated how much her stomach flipped every time her phone pinged with a new message.
It was so reckless and dangerous and utterly ridiculous. She didn't know who H was, she didn't even know what time zone he lived in, and yet she felt like she knew him.
And after hearing his deep voice—deep British voice—on the voice recording, Y/n determined that he wasn't some creep in his forties like she'd originally thought.
Since sending that voice recording, they'd sent each other messages like that all night. And by all night she meant all night. They stayed up late sending voice recordings back and forth. It was the longest conversation they'd held to date, which was surprising considering that they often missed each other during certain hours. Just based on what hours of the day they texted the most, Y/n figured H lived somewhere in Europe, which gave her peace of mind considering he couldn't exactly kidnap her if he was a whole ocean away. But the last couple weeks their schedules seemed to be lining up, though Y/n chalked it up to all the traveling she'd been doing lately.
One thing she was certain of was that she adored H's voice. It was soft and deep, but got raspier the longer they spoke. And at times he would whisper in his messages, like he had to keep his voice down. The hushed tones made her shiver.
Y/n didn't call H, and he never offered. But she wanted to, boy did she want to. No matter how terrifying that thought was. A full-fledged phone call seemed more...real to Y/n. With the messages, she and H were still in their little bubble. It was stupid, but she needed that bit of separation. She was becoming attached to someone she'd never met.
Walking through the halls of a stadium in Canada, Y/n pulled up past conversations with H. It was too embarrassing to admit to anyone out loud, but she felt like she really knew him. He was endearing, had a silly sense of humor, had good taste in music, and was honest. Well, as honest as either of them could be. Outside of the one slip up with H's friend, Y/n believed what he said to her over text. Maybe that made her naive, but their conversations were legit. He felt like a friend, and she knew he felt similarly.
Maybe tomorrow I'll admit a little more.
Y/n had no idea what that could mean. She of course knew what she wanted it to mean, but what she wanted rarely ever lined up with reality.
Y/n looked up from her phone to make sure she didn't pass the right door. The one in front of her read, Harry Styles in big bold lettering. She quickly hurried past and continued down the hall to where the dressing room for Five Seconds of Summer was.
Harry Styles was a bit of an enigma. Even though she was on the same tour as him and One Direction, Y/n hardly ever saw him. And when she did, his nose was always in his phone, completely closed off to the world around him. He just had this vibe that said, "don't talk to me," and Y/n received that message loud and clear. The Five Seconds of Summer boys seemed to get on with all the members of One Direction, but Y/n usually made herself scarce whenever they came by the dressing room, for no other reason than too much testosterone in one room.
"You want to come out after the show, Harry?" Y/n heard one of the boys ask. Michael.
"Um...No. I think I'll have to pass tonight, boys. Sorry."
"What? Big date tonight?"
"Something like that."
Y/n felt frozen to the linoleum floor. She knew that voice. She'd spent all night listening to that voice.
we all know harry is working on a documentary, so this is my take on how young dad!harry would approach it!
Young dad!Harry x Young mom!Reader universe
and now a little key:
bold and italics: camera directions, or what you would be seeing as a viewer of the documentary in person
just italics: interviewer questions, or people who are speaking off camera
Part 2
Part 3
Harry jogs off stage, his mask wrapped securely around his ears as he leaves the sounds of thousands of screams behind. Even so, his squinted eyes make it obvious that he’s smiling. He walks into his dressing room and shuts the door with a soft click and immediately starts to change out of his concert outfit. After shimmying into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, Harry grabs his phone and sits down on the couch.
“Hi, Mama.”
“Hi, baby. How was the show?”
"Amazing. I feel like we get better with each performance."
"Aw, H. I'm so happy for you!"
Harry grins at his phone while resting his chin on his hand. "Missed seeing you. Missed seeing all of you."
"We're so proud of you, baby. No matter how far away we are," the voice on the other side of Harry's phone says. "In other news, the bub has been quite active today."
"Yeah?" Harry says, and his demeanor immediately visibly brightens. "Hope she's not giving you too much trouble."
"We don't know if it's a she, H."
"I do. I have a sixth sense for these types of things."
Cut to Harry sitting in an empty room for his interview.
“So, why did you decide to talk about all of this now?”
Harry rubs his chin as he ponders the question. “I think…I think it’s hard not to. When I think back on my career, I think about how old Simone was or how Jules had just begun walking or sneaking to a courthouse to get married. My family is a part of my life and has been a part of most of my career. My kids, my wife...they mean everything to me, and I—I know it sounds kind of crazy, but I can’t imagine my life, my career any differently. I wouldn’t want to do this without my family.”
The camera cuts to a series of home videos—Y/n and Harry sharing a kiss in a courthouse, members of One Direction celebrating around them, a toddler in Harry’s lap as he plays the piano, Y/n on a tour bus with a small bundle in her arms, Harry catching a little girl as she jumps into a pool, a little girl with dark curls playing with all members of One Direction backstage at a concert venue, Harry asleep on a hotel bed with his face covered in play makeup, a three year old sleeping next to him.
“Should we start with when you met Y/n?”
His grin is immediate. “I was seventeen years old.”
Harry’s voice becomes a voice over as clips of him and the members of One Direction film their music video for What Makes You Beautiful.
“It sounds cheesy, but I’ve always thought it was fate that we met. Her friend was an extra in the video, and she happened to tag along. I was immediately taken with her. We got along really well and talked long after I left LA.”
The camera cuts back to Harry.
“Just talked?”
Harry blushes. “Obviously not, but I’m a gentleman. All I’ll say is, kids, understand the importance of practicing protected sex.”
A cut to a similar room where Y/n sits.
“He said that? My husband, everybody.”
Everyone behind the studio laughs with her.
“So you got pregnant.”
Y/n nods. “Oh yeah.”
“Was there ever a moment where you didn’t want to tell Harry?”
“It definitely crossed my mind. We were so young and we didn’t see each other very often in the grand scheme of things. No one ever expects something like this to happen to them, but it happened to us.”
Back to Harry.
“I was terrified. Mostly terrified to tell my mum, but it…it changed everything. Here I was thinking my life had already changed drastically with the band, and then Y/n is pregnant.”
The camera cuts to Anne’s interview.
“I mean, I think the possibility is in the back of parent’s mind,” she says, shaking her head a little. “But you raise your children to be smart and responsible and hope for the best.”
“How did that conversation go when Harry told you?”
“He was practically crying over the phone, which made me…less angry, which isn’t even the right word, I don’t think. Poor Harry was so scared, and all I kept thinking was, ‘I send my son to Hollywood and a few months later he gets some girl pregnant.’ I didn’t even know he was dating Y/n.”
“You didn’t?”
“No, so that made the whole thing even more surprising. But he kept saying, ‘Mum, she’s not just some girl. She’s really special.’ Things like that. But I won’t lie, it was a lot to digest.”
Back to Y/n.
“What was it like meeting Anne for the first time?”
“Oh God,” Y/n says. “Mortifying. I was already showing when we met, which made the whole thing that much worse. We couldn’t even pretend we were meeting under normal ‘meet your boyfriend’s mom for the first time’ circumstances. But she was really nice. She asked how I was feeling and helped me get set up with the right doctors. She made me feel welcome, which I appreciated.”
Back to Harry.
“Her parents weren’t as supportive as mine, and she was feeling kind of isolated and overwhelmed, so I convinced my mum to let Y/n live with her.”
Back to Y/n.
“You lived with Harry’s mother?”
Y/n nods and smiles at the camera. “It felt like the right thing to do at the time, and I stand by it. Things were really tense at home, and I just thought it would be a little easier going through everything with people who were completely on board.” Y/n shrugs. “I was young and scared and needed a maternal figure. I tried to think of it as going off to college.”
“But no one had a clue about any of this.”
Back to Harry.
Harry shakes his head. “My management at the time wanted to make this go away as quickly as possible. They tried to pay Y/n off so she wouldn’t contact me again or say anything about it.”
“Really?”
Back to Y/n.
“Yeah, but I told them to shove their offer up their asses. It wasn’t nearly as much as I would’ve gotten from child support, first of all.”
“Did you ever consider taking the offer?”
“Of course I did. I had to consider all my options.” Y/n is quiet for a moment and doesn’t look at the camera. “I eventually decided to stay with Harry and have the baby, but, you know, I had my whole life ahead of me. Both of us did.”
Back to Harry.
“Did you know about that?”
“The payoff? Yeah, she told me shortly after. As for the other stuff…I knew. And I would’ve respected whatever decision she made. But when she decided to keep the baby and keep me in her life, I told management they would have to figure something else out, and keeping her and the pregnancy was their solution.”
“What was it like to be in One Direction while having a baby at home?”
“Strange,” Harry says. “Like, some of the best moments of my life were in the band, but then I would get a text from Y/n and it would be a picture of Simone in the bathtub covered in bubbles, and I would want to be there all of a sudden.”
A series of videos and photographs of Harry and Y/n in 2012 appear. In hotel rooms, backstage at One Direction concerts, homes. With each image, Y/n’s baby bump grows.
(Voiceover) “It was this weird mix of having so much fun and feeling bad when I realized Y/n was at home by herself with a newborn. She’s never blamed me or never asked me to stop what I was doing, but this tiny seed of guilt was always in the back of my mind.
A video of a young Harry and Y/n appears. They seem to be in a dressing room. Y/n lays against Harry while his hand rests on her baby bump. Y/n looks up at Harry and smiles, and he smiles back before he looks up and realizes they’re being filmed. “Oi! Get out of here, Louis!” Louis laughs from behind the camera and says, “You’ll thank me later!”
“We were faced with a lot of decisions, none of them easy. And sneaking around had its drawbacks, especially when my management team wanted me to start doing all the fake dating and stuff.”
Harry stops talking, as if recalling a memory, but he doesn’t share it. “But one thing was easy at least. When we first met, we bonded over our love for Nina Simone. When Y/n suggested it, it just sounded right.”
Back to Harry in his dressing room.
“How is everyone?” he asks Y/n over the phone.
“I have four little monkeys that should be asleep, but they wanted to say goodnight first.”
Harry’s grin widens as a chorus of hellos echoes from his phone. From a different angle over his shoulder, four faces can be seen on his screen. “Hi, hi, hi, hi. Are you all being good for your mumma?”
“Dada!”
“Where are you?”
“How was the show?”
“Hi my loves. The show went really, really great. I miss you all so much,” Harry says.
“When are you coming home, Dada?”
“Soon, Maeve, I promise. Just a couple more nights and I’ll be home.”
“Can we get ice cream when you come home?”
Harry laughs. “Yes, peanut, we can get ice cream. Now go to sleep. It’s past your bedtime.”
There’s lots of protesting from the four children on the phone, but one voice pipes up above the rest. “Can you sing us a song?”
“Of course, JuJu. How could I forget? What would you like?”
Back to Harry’s interview.
“So, how many kids do you have now?”
“I am a proud father of six. Five girls, one boy, one set of twins.”
“Full house then.”
Harry nods and makes a mock-exasperated sigh. “Oh yeah.”
“What’s that like?”
“There’s never a dull moment, that’s for sure. Y/n’s the real marvel, though. I don’t know how she does it.”
Back to Y/n.
“I’m not gonna lie, there are times where I don’t even feel like a person, but Harry works just as hard to give our family the life we have. And he’s an incredible dad. He’ll come home from tour, clearly exhausted, and he’ll still be the first one out of bed to get the kids ready for school and make breakfast and change diapers. I mean, the man doesn’t stop.”
“You’re a team, then.”
Y/n smiles. “Yeah. We’re a team. All eight of us.”
“Did you see yourself ever having six kids?”
“I mean...technically we were supposed to stop at four.”
“So what happened?”
Y/n sighs and shakes her head exasperatedly. “The pandemic happened.”
A home video begins to play in the Styles’ living room. Harry is filming and Y/n is in front of it with her hands behind her back.
“Alright. Tell me why the camera’s out, Mama. Where are the kids?”
“They’re building a pillow fort for us in our room, but first…I have a surprise for you.”
Y/n leans past the camera to give him a small gift bag. Crinkling is heard as Harry pulls tissue paper out of the bag. “Are you serious?”
Y/n nods, a large grin on her face. “I’m about six weeks along.”
Harry laughs, and the camera wobbles as he rushes over to Y/n to pick her up. Their giggles and cheers of excitement can be heard offscreen.
“We’re having a baby!” Harry says.
Back to Harry.
“Are you gonna go for lucky number seven?”
Harry scratches the back of his head. “Currently up for debate. The missus is apprehensive, but I think I’m wearing her down.
Back to Y/n
Y/n scoffs and shakes her head. “He can keep on dreaming.”
“So you’ve had this discussion before?”
“It’s…been mentioned once or twice. But any time he brings it up I threaten him with no sex for two weeks. Am I allowed to say that?”
Back to Harry.
Harry opens his mouth to speak when a small hand tugs on his shirt. Looking down, he smiles. Harry bends down and picks up a little girl. For privacy reasons, her face is blurred. She wraps her arms around his neck so she’s in his lap and her back is facing the camera.
“I’m hungry,” the little girl says in what can only be described as a “monster voice.”
Matching her tone, Harry asks, “What would you like, GiGi?”
“Grilled cheese.”
Harry shakes his head and kisses GiGi’s temple. He covers the microphone clipped on his shirt so he can talk to his daughter privately. With another kiss, he lets go of the mic. “You got it.” Harry shrugs at the camera with a smile. To the camera, he says, “Can we finish this later? Duty calls.”
"Reading anything interesting?" Harry asked as he entered the den, your favorite place to read.
Holding your Kindle to your chest, you said, "Uh, I guess. I only just started it, so."
Harry raised a brow skeptically as he sat in the loveseat across from the bay window where you sat. "Really?" he asked. "You've been in here a while."
"I—I got stuck on my phone for a while," you said. "You know how it is."
"Hm."
Not saying anything else, Harry picked up his own book and opened it. You watched him for a moment, brows furrowed. As far as you were concerned, he was working all afternoon. You didn't typically mind, you took the quiet afternoons to run errands, tend to your garden outside, try out new recipes, and read.
Most of the time, you read. Harry had always known you to be a bookworm, the first time you met you had a novel in your hand and one in the bag over your shoulder. Books were how you communicated—gifts just because, as a form of apology, ones you thought you might enjoy together, which rarely ever happened. You left them in places for Harry to find like his guitar case or his carry on when he left for tour, and he put novels in different purses of yours or among the stacks on your bookshelf to see if you'd notice the new addition.
It was safe to say that both of you loved to read, but quiet afternoons like this were typically ones you enjoyed alone, specifically so Harry wouldn't see you blush or question what it was you were blushing at.
You glanced down at your Kindle, at the paragraph you left off on. "Jack shoved Delilah against the barn's door before ripping her blouse wide open to reveal her bare chest. Buttons scattered against the floor, but Delilah didn't care, not when Jack kissed a searing path toward her—"
"You know what? I think I'm gonna start on dinner," you said, clicking your Kindle shut before standing up.
Looking at your boyfriend was the wrong move. Harry lay stretched out on the loveseat, his shorts riding up on his thighs revealing more of his toned legs than you would've liked. That wasn't the first...steamy scene in your book, and let's just say looking at your very sexy boyfriend wasn't curbing the feeling of need coursing through your veins.
Harry definitely wouldn't have been opposed if you crawled into his lap right now, but he'd ask questions, questions that were too embarrassing to answer.
"Dinner?" he asked, setting his book down in his lap. His reading glasses, which had been perched high on the bridge of his nose, slid down, his hair adorably rumpled. If you hadn't known he'd been in his home studio all day today, you would've guessed he'd just rolled out of bed. "It's one o'clock, baby."
"Or nap," you said, hating how skittish you sounded. "Maybe take a nap. I don't know, I'm not really feeling like reading right now."
"Well, that's a first," Harry said, his voice slightly teasing. "What's going on with you?"
"Nothing!" you insisted, though you answered a little too hastily, and your voice might've been higher than usual. Scratching the back of your neck, you tried to quell your heartbeat. "Nothing. Why—Why would you ask that?"
"Because you're acting...strange," Harry concluded. A small smile flickered at the corner of his mouth as he looked you up and down. "It wouldn't have anything to do with the book you're reading on that thing, would it?"
He nodded toward the Kindle in your hands with a raised brow. It was a little too pointed, as if he knew exactly what you kept on it. You and Harry both enjoyed the feel of a physical book in your hands, but you had an e-reader too. For convenience, you told Harry. And it was convenient. Your Kindle was light, you could carry a library in your purse and it barely weighed a pound, and it conveniently hid your most scandalous book titles.
"N—No," you said, fighting the urge to hide your Kindle behind your back, or chuck it across the room until it broke and was unusable. "Like—Like I said, I'm just not in the mood to read."
"Okay, I'll join you then. I'm a little tired myself."
Harry stood up and stretched his arms high above his head, his t-shirt rising with him. Your eyes zeroed in on the sliver of skin that revealed itself. Tan, tattooed skin, taught with muscle, a light trail of hair that led into the waistband of his briefs. Your cheeks were already flaming red from the situation at hand, but seeing his skin, seeing Harry be...Harry without even trying was too much. You thought you might combust.
"Why?" It was a stupid question, one you knew Harry saw right through.
"Why are you so eager to not hang out with me?" he asked back, his eyes narrowing. "And what's got you so flustered today? Has Jack ravished Delilah again?"
"Wh—What?"
Harry smirked at you, his eyes filled with mischief as he nodded at the e-reader in your hands. "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I know what you keep on there."
What? "Since when? And how—how do you know about—"
"You fell asleep reading last night," Harry explained. "And the Kindle was still on. I mean, I've always had my suspicions because you're always blushing when you've got that thing in your hands, but I got curious."
"I—You—You snooped—"
"I'm sorry, baby. I wouldn't have looked if I knew you'd be upset about it," he said, stepping closer. "But you shouldn't be. Nothing to be embarrassed about here."
You looked down at the socks on your feet instead of Harry coming closer to you. He said there was nothing to be embarrassed about, but you couldn't help but feel it creeping along your skin. You didn't do anything wrong, but you felt dirty for some reason, like you'd gotten caught doing something you knew you shouldn't have.
Crossing your arms across your chest, you said, "So, are you going to tease me about it or what?"
"Nothing to tease about, baby. I already told you that. I just didn't realize you had a thing for cowboys, that's all."
You huffed. You knew you weren't getting off that easy. "Shut up."
"No really," Harry said. You weren't looking at him, but you could hear the grin in his voice. "I wish you'd told me sooner. I would've gotten a hat, gotten the right jeans. Is that why you're into that show now? The one with all the cowboys and horseback riding and—"
"Alright, alright. I get it," you said, finally looking at him. Looking up at him, more like. Harry was practically toe to toe with you, his hand tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You know what? I'm taking me and my Kindle upstairs and I'm going to finish reading Jack—what did you call it?—ravish Delilah."
Harry let you stomp away in a huff, chuckling at your back as you left the den. Going up to the bedroom you shared with Harry, you settled on the bed and turned your Kindle back on.
Your eyes flitted across the screen, tracking over each word but not really reading them. You wanted to lose yourself in the story, in the scene laid out before you, but you couldn't.
"So, is it the hats that do it for you? Or the accents?"
Rolling your eyes, you tossed your Kindle to the side. Harry leaned against the doorframe, his eyes still holding that mirth in them. Narrowing your eyes at him, you said, "The ruggedness, I think. There's something so...manly about a guy on a horse and doing honest work, manual labor. Know what I mean?"
His nose wrinkled as he laughed. "Ha ha. I think I'm gonna have to download some other kinds of novels on there. Ones about rockstars falling for their fans, maybe?"
Harry began crawling onto the bed toward you, only stopping when you pressed a foot to his chest. "Really?"
"Definitely more rooted in reality than your wrangler fantasies," he said, then turned his head to the side. Pushing back your yoga pants, Harr pressed a tiny kiss to your ankle, then worked his way up your leg, toward the back of your knee. "Take these off, baby. And pick up that book of yours too."
You didn't need to be told twice about ditching your pants, but the book part made you pause. "Why the book? You were teasing me about it not even a minute ago."
"I am going to make sure you enjoy it," Harry said, though it sounded more like a promise.
Excitement flipped in your belly, your cheeks flushed with anticipation. "Yeah? Maybe next time I'll get you a cowboy hat."
Harry raised his brows, a crooked smile inching up his face. "I could get behind that. Now don't make me ask you again, baby."
Harry tugged on your ankle until you lay flat against the mattress with a squeak. "I'm going, I'm going!" you cried with an excited giggle, shoving your yoga pants down and wriggling out of them. Harry's hands, which were calloused from years of playing the guitar were rough against your skin, but it sent a lick of curling heat down your spine.
"The book, baby. Go on."
Your lips pursed as you looked at Harry. His lips were wet from where he'd swiped his tongue over them, the pads of his fingers trailing up and down the skin of your inner thighs. The light stubble of his cheeks scratched your skin, but it didn't hurt, it felt thrilling as he looked up at you through his lashes, green eyes glinting with promise.
Keeping eye contact, you reached for the abandoned Kindle, clicking it on and looking down at where you left off. Harry continued to lean against your thigh, stroking his thumb up and down while you settled against the bed. Nothing for one page, then more nothing, then he began to prop your leg up, then the other.
"Jack flipped Delilah over, his hands splaying across her bare back until they found purchase in the tresses of her dark red hair. 'Come on,' Delilah panted, already breathless from the mere anticipation of him filling her. It hadn't been long since they last fucked, but it felt like an age. She needed it more than she cared to admit. Badly enough that she was willing to do it in a dusty old barn. 'What are you waiting for—' 'Maybe I should put it in your mouth instead. That'll shut you up—"
"Oh." You gasped, pleasure tingling through your whole body.
"Is that me or Jack?" Harry asked, his voice vibrating through you, nose nudging against you in a way that had your toes curling.
"Jack," you teased, then arced your back against the bed with a groan.
"Sounds like I've got my work cut out for me," he said before parting your legs further. "Keep going. Don't put it down until I tell you."
"But—Ow!"
Harry kissed the juncture of your thigh, right where he'd pinched it. "Keep going," he repeated.
"Rude," you muttered but picked the e-reader nonetheless.
When you continued, so did Harry. It was hard to keep focus. Not when teased with his nose, or when he expertly worked you over with his tongue, especially not when he thrust his fingers inside you relentlessly. Still, you waited, still you read, waiting for Harry to tell you you could stop.
You were two orgasms in when he finally looked up, chin glistening and evil smirk shining as he glanced up at you. "I think that was all me, don't you?"
"Shut up and fuck me," you said airily, breaths still falling heavily. Giggling, you continued. "That I got from Delilah."
Harry crept up the bed until his face was level with you. His nose against yours before kissing it. "Tell me more."
"I could tell you," you said with a grin that matched Harry's. Reaching for the waistband of his shorts and briefs, you began to tug. "But I think we'd both have more fun if I showed you."
Harry leaned onto his back and rested his arms above his head, settling back with a grin as you climbed on top of him. His eyes rolled back blissfully to a single roll of your hips before they settled back on you.
could you maybe do an angst where y/n and harry broke up and after they broke up y/n found out that she was pregnant so she was about to tell harry about it but when she went to harry she found out that she already has a new gf so she backtracked years/months later she bumped into anne n gemma
you ask for angst, i provide angst :)
part ii is up!!
part iii
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Y/n? Is that you?"
"Shit," you mumbled. You wanted to duck behind the rack of clothes you were standing behind, but it was clear you'd already been spotted.
Thanking your lucky stars that you were wearing a big enough sweater to hide your bump, you smiled hesitantly and waved at the two women. They took that as their cue to come over, and you swallowed the urge to high tail it back to your car. With feet planted firmly on the ground, you waited for them to reach you.
"Hi, sweetheart! How are you?" Anne said. She looked like she wanted to hug you, but you kept your shopping cart between you and her. You didn't want to be rude, but you couldn't risk her feeling your bump during a brief embrace.
"I'm well, thank you. And you?"
Anne was happy to fill you in on all the things she'd been up to since you'd last spoken, almost like nothing had changed. Did they not know? But one look at Gemma told you that they did. She mumbled a quick, "Sorry," to you, like she would've stopped her mother if she could have.
In theory, you wouldn't have minded a surprise run-in with your ex's mother. The two of you had been close, and that kind of close relationship didn't disappear overnight, even if you were no longer seeing her son. The problem was that you were the only one who knew you were pregnant, and you knew that if either Anne or Gemma found out, they would not hesitate to tell Harry, and you could not let that happen.
You were determined to have this baby on your own, without any kind of help from the baby's father, who as far as you were concerned was merely an untimely sperm donor. It was clear that he had moved on. He had a new life, and you or your unborn baby did not fit in it.
You tried to tell him when you found out, of course. You weren't a total monster. But a young woman's voice picked up Harry's phone, and as if that wasn't enough of a stab in the chest, you could hear him on the other side of the call. Could hear him calling her back to bed, hear the woman's giggles as she fended him off. He used to do the same to you, and you always pretended to hate it, but none of that mattered anymore. He had clearly moved on, so you would too.
"What are you doing in the baby section?" Gemma asked. An innocent enough question, but one that would cause suspicion if not answered carefully.
"Oh, my friend is having a baby shower. I was just picking out a gift," you said, hoping your voice was steady enough to be believable.
"How wonderful! Baby showers are just the best, aren't they? I remember pressing H about when you and he would finally settle down and—Oh, darling, I am so sorry. I didn't even think—"
"It's alright," you said, even though it really wasn't. You and Harry had been broken up for months now, five months to be exact, but being reminded of the past still stung. Especially when it seemed like you were the only one who mourned it.
There was an awkward silence, one that none of you knew how to fill. You were all well aware that Harry had moved on, so there was no point in dwelling on what could've been. And since your hormones were all over the place at the moment, you were suddenly overcome by the very strong urge to cry. You'd come to the store to look for a crib, but that would have to wait another day.
"I, um—It was nice seeing you both, but I should get going," you finally managed to say.
Anne looked like she wanted to say more, but Gemma rested a hand on her arm and shook her head, letting you turn your cart around and walk away from them. In your embarrassment and haste to get away, it didn't occur to you that your cart was full of baby items, not just one single gift.
A few days later and you were at home, lounging in your bathtub as you sipped sparkling cider and pretended it was champagne. The baby was quite active today, moving and kicking and making your life generally unfomfortable, so you decided to wind down with a bath. You still had a bunch of expensive oils and soap bubbles that Harry bought you, so you drenched your bathtub in it, got the water nice and hot, and carefully stepped in. The baby seemed to enjoy it as much as you, and you quietly mused that it already had expensive tastes like its father.
You stayed in the tub until your fingertips were all wrinkly, putting on the fluffy robe your friend bought you for your birthday last year. It had come in handy the last few months, as clothes sometimes felt too hot or too itchy to wear, so you often just lounged in a pair of granny panties and your robe. Life was good. It wasn't always going to be easy, but you took everything day by day, and today was good all things considered.
Half asleep on your couch as you watched TV, a knock pounded on your door. You got up with ease, silently dreading the day that that wouldn't be the case anymore. Looking through the peephole, your heart nearly stopped.
What the hell was he doing here?
Fixing the tie on your robe and smoothing out your hair, you answered the door, trying to ignore the skip in your heartbeat when your eyes landed on him.
"Harry, what are you—"
"Can I come in?" he asked, but didn't wait for you to respond. He pushed his way past you, pacing back and forth on your carpet.
"Sure, be my guest," you muttered to yourself, trying to keep your panic at bay. You feared he knew what you didn't want him to know, that Anne and Gemma were more perceptive than you wanted them to be.
As you got closer to Harry, you realized he was mumbling to himself. Maybe this was about something completely different. He looked more panicked than you did. "H, are you alright?"
He didn't seem to hear you, just kept pacing and muttering to himself, too quiet for you to make out.
"Harry, what's wrong?" you asked again, only this time you placed a hand on his arm to stop his jittery movements.
"Five months," he blurted. "Did you know at five months, the baby starts to grow hair and this greasy coating to protect their skin?"
You sighed. Your worst fears had come to light. "I did, yeah."
"I didn't," he said. "I didn't until my mum called me and left a message about how she saw you and asked me if I knew you were seeing anyone, and I called her back and told her that as far as I knew you weren't and why would she ask me that, and she said she saw you with a cart full of baby stuff and you had this glow about you and that you had to be pregnant, and for a moment I was devastated, but then I realized that we hadn't seen each other in five months.
"Five months, Y/n," Harry said. "You had five months to tell me you were pregnant, and you didn't."
Nodding, you said, "I know."
"Why? And why are you acting like it's some terrible thing if I did know? I'm the father, I have a right to—"
"You have a right to nothing," you said, angry all of a sudden. He was the one who broke up with you, who said he'd fallen out of love with you. He didn't get to judge you or your decisions. "We were broken up when I found out. I was terrified and alone, and I did try to tell you, but your girlfriend picked up. It was clear to me that only after a month of being broken up, you'd moved on. This is your past. We," you said, gesturing to your belly, "are your past."
"That's not fair," he said. "That's not fair and you know it."
"You need to go," was your reply. You walked towards the door to see him out, but he stayed put.
"Why? Because I caught you in a lie? You can't hide from me, Y/n. I want to be a part of my child's life, and you can't just—"
"I still want to be with you!" you shouted, your chest heaving up and down from your sudden outburst. Blinking back tears, you crossed your arms around yourself protectively. "You might've fallen out of love with me, Harry, but I—I'm still foolishly in love with you. I won't let you wanting to play house give me false hope. This is my life, and I need to learn how to live it without you. You want to help? Write a check, but I can't—I can't do this with you. Not right now."
It was a horrible thing to say. You regretted the words as soon as they flew out of your mouth, but you couldn't take them back, nor could you turn back time so you wouldn't see the way Harry's face fell. And you hated yourself for it, but a very small part of you vindictively felt good that you made him hurt as much as you'd been when he'd blindsided you with the breakup.
You thought he would fight, but he just hung his head in shame, which only made you feel worse. "I understand," he said, not looking you in the eye once. "Will you at least text me with updates? Or my mum or Gem? I don't want to be completely in the dark, and I—of course I'll help you if your having trouble financially."
"H, that's not—I shouldn't have said that. It was cruel and hurtful and—"
"You were honest about how you felt, that's all we ever can be, right?" he said, but he still wouldn't look at you. "I need to give you time to heal, and despite our situation, I'll try and let you do that. I'm sorry I didn't take your feelings into consideration."
"I'm sorry too," you said, your mouth feeling like it was covered in sandpaper. "Wait here."
You left him at the front of your home so you could go to your bedroom, pulling a picture frame off your desk.
"Here," you said, handing it to him. "A peace offering."
Harry held the framed sonogram photo like he was actually holding the baby. He wiped his eye as his finger brushed over the image, studying it closely. When he looked up, his eyes were lined with tears. He tried to hand it back to you, but you gently pushed his hand away.
"Keep it. I have an extra copy around here somewhere."
"Thank you." His voice was wobbly, but no tears fell. "Do you know if—"
"No, I want it to be a surprise," you said, assuming his train of thought.
You walked Harry to your door shortly after that, his eyes rarely leaving the picture you gave him. Seeing him so enamoured by the sonogram photo did things to you, made you believe in things that weren't going to ever happen. And that was why you needed your space. You could accept that Harry had moved on, but your heart hadn't yet. And with the baby and all the hormones, your feelings about him would make things worse. Seeing him as the father of your child, going to checkups and buying things and baby proofing your home, it would only confuse you more. You didn't deserve that, and quite frankly neither did his girlfriend, whoever she was.
"I didn't mean what I said before. I just—I just need time," you said as you opened the door.
"I understand. I'm sorry for the way things ended between us."
Shrugging, you said, "You can't control your feelings anymore than I can, H. If she makes you happy then be with her."
You meant every word. Because even though you were still in love with him, you wanted him to be happy. You knew you deserved to be happy too, and you would be, just not with him.
"Thank you, though I'm not sure how happy she'll be when she hears about this," he said, attempting humor.
"Then go. And be gentle."
Harry left soon after, and you pathetically watched him walk away, hoping he would turn back. He didn't, but you didn't expect him to, either.
When your door shut, you leaned against it and finally let the tears fall.
summary: harry shares his beauty secrets with vogue but he needs a little help
"Hi, I'm Harry, and today I'm going to be sharing my beauty secrets with all of you lovely, lovely people."
He was a bit nervous to be filming a video like this. Normally there were more people around, but now it was just him, his camera, and a bathroom mirror, and the long line of products you set up for him before you left the house. Harry didn't use to have much in terms of a routine, not enough to film this kind of video, anyway. But after a few months of just knowing you, he had enough products to fill up all the shelves in his bathroom.
"Um, so I start with this. I have dry skin from traveling all the time, and my girlfriend says it's good for dry skin, so," he said with a shrug, holding up his cleanser for the camera, pumping a little into his hand, and rubbing it into his skin.
Harry tried to talk while washing his face, but he got some of the cleansing foam in his mouth and immediately had to stop the recording so he could spit it out and rinse his mouth. Terribly embarrassed, he took a couple seconds to collect himself before turning the recording back on.
"Next I use a toner, also picked out for me by my girlfriend. It has, erm, salicylic acid and is an exfoliator. Whoa, try saying that five times fast."
He put it on, looking down at the small list of prompts he'd been given to talk as he filmed the video. Minus the cleanser mishap, things went pretty smooth. Harry went over all the things he used, and when he got to his Pleasing products, he talked in-depth about the brand—why he decided to create the brand in the first place, what the two different serums and the Pleasing Pen did, and why he came out with those first.
"All of this is supposed to give me a 'glow from within,' as promised by my missus, but I'll let you decide," Harry said, moving his face from side to side so the bathroom lights would catch on his cheekbones.
When he finished his skincare, it was time to move onto makeup, which made him pause. It technically wasn't a lot, and he could definitely do it himself, but he'd become so accustomed to you doing it, he didn't like it any other way.
"Excuse me one moment," he said, then pulled out his phone and dialed your number, putting it on speaker.
"Hi, baby. Finished already?" you asked, picking up after the first couple rings.
"Uh...No. I need your help," Harry admitted, turning slightly away from the camera when he felt his cheeks heat up.
"H, I told you I didn't—"
"I'll make it up to you, I promise. Pleaseee."
Harry kept saying please until you eventually relented. "Fine, I'll be back in ten minutes."
"Thank you. I love you so very much."
"Love you too. See you in a bit."
Stopping the recording, he waited for you to come back home. You'd stepped out to run some errands—re-stocking your personal and professional kit, getting groceries for dinner later tonight.
Instead of doing those things, you drove home. Walking up the stairs, you walked into yours and Harry's shared bedroom, knocking on the door of the bathroom before opening it. You found Harry leaning over and starting the recording up again.
"Just in time!" he said, grinning at you as he sat back down again.
He tugged on your hand to pull you over to where he was sitting, but you stayed just out of the camera frame. Still, he brought your hand up and kissed the top of it, grinning wide when he saw the corners of your lips turn up.
"Okay, where did you leave off?" you asked, going over to the sink to wash your hands.
"I just need moisturizer and sunscreen and I'm good to go."
You looked at him from behind the camera, but he just continued to smile at you. Harry was more than capable of applying that stuff himself, but he preferred when you did it for him. Making your way back over to him, you picked up his moisturizer and got started.
"So, I know most people like to use primer before makeup, but since H doesn't wear very much, I typically just use a good moisturizer. This one is the Embryolisse face cream, and I get a good amount on my fingertips and really work it in. I should mention that this is definitely a one person job, but he's a diva, so here we are."
Harry had been smiling faintly with his eyes closed as you massaged his face up until that point. "Hey."
Pretending like you heard nothing, you continued. "After that, I put on sunscreen, and I typically don't use anything under SPF 30. And once that's all rubbed in, he's ready for a little makeup."
You smoothed his hair back a little as you finished blending everything in, massaging around his temples the way you knew he liked a little extra attention, and almost as if on cue, he mumbled, "Feels nice."
You gave him a couple more seconds to enjoy the pads of your fingers against his temples, but you eventually had to move on, worried that this video could go on forever.
"Okay, so H has some small dark circles that he likes covered up when he's on stage, but they're usually not severe enough to warrant color corrector, so I just go in with a little bit of the Nars pot concealer right here," you said, tapping it under his eyes. "And if he's got a couple breakouts, I'll cover those up to, but I must say, you're looking quite flawless today."
The corner of his mouth tipped up into a crooked little grin. "It's all thanks to you."
Harry was a very charming person by nature, but there had to be something in the air, because he was being extra sweet with you today. It was too cute to make note of, though, so you just smiled at him and told him to blend in his concealer while you cleaned up a little.
When he was all done, you picked up the next item. "Sometimes if he's looking a little pale, I'll put on just the tiniest bit of cream bronzer. Nothing too intense, but just enough to bring some color to the face, and I put it on his cheeks here, his temples, and a little by his hairline. Anywhere the sun would normally hit the face, and I blend that in with a sponge."
You worked and explained, trying to ignore the dreamy look in Harry's eyes as he watched you so you could focus. "Like it so far?"
"Mmhm. Positively sunkissed."
"
Blending a little more with your sponge, you said, "He's pretty easy as far as clients go, very low maintenance. But he loves being taken care of. Face rollers and masks after a show are a must to help him wind down."
He said it so quietly, but the camera's microphone was just able to pick it up. "Best part of my night is getting ready for bed with you."
You held in the urge to kiss him, but it wasn't easy. Obviously, people knew Harry Styles had a girlfriend, but you kept a low profile and weren't often photographed with him in order to maintain a small modicum of anonymity. It had worked so far, though you wondered if after this video one of his fans would be able to track you down with just your voice and hands.
Shaking those thoughts away, you focused on the video again. "And then to wrap it up, he wears a lip balm, and since he's a bougie bitch, he goes for the Tatcha lip jelly, but I won't hold that against him because it's really great lip product."
"I feel as though I should point out that she's not usually this feisty. She's putting on a show for the camera," Harry said, a mocking frown on his face.
He let you put his lip balm on for him, puckering his lips so he could give you a tiny kiss on the tip of your finger, which made you very thankful that you couldn't be seen on camera because you were now a blushy mess. Once he was all set, you continued.
"I normally don't set H's face with any powders or anything because he doesn't really need it. The most I'll do is remind him to put this on throughout the day. It's a mineral powder with SPF in it, which should keep his skin from burning throughout the day. And...that's pretty much it. Pretty simple, but very effective."
"I look ready for date night," he said, looking at himself in the mirror.
"Yeah? I'd say you look quite handsome too. I'd definitely take you out on a date."
With the pads of your fingers, you gingerly tilted his chin from side to side so that the camera could see the finished result. Harry kept going after you let go, though, holding his chin in his hands and posing while you put some of his things away.
"It is quite minimal," he said, agreeing with your previous statement. "Should've asked her to do this instead. My girl's an artist."
You smiled to yourself, half listening to Harry as you cleaned up. "You know, I didn't know much about makeup until I met her. And then suddenly I knew everything. Like, there was this one time where she was watching this movie, and she freaked out because a guy took off a girl's fake eye lashes. Now I know never to touch a woman's false lashes lest I want my hand cut off."
You'd been letting your boyfriend ramble to the camera about this and that, clearly not as nervous about the whole thing as he had been when you left him earlier today. And while you'd been trying not to laugh too loud, you couldn't hold it in after his last anecdote. It wasn't so much the story itself, but the way he described his feelings about it at the end.
The story was true, of course. Harry had been downstairs on the phone while you watched a movie in his bed. You'd already written it off as a terrible film after the first ten minutes, but you decided to see it through, only to gasp in horror when you saw the leading man remove the leading lady's false lashes.
You came back over to him, still laughing but trying to get ahold of yourself. "That's true, you're definitely right about that, but...you know I don't use those right? I have eyelash extensions."
Harry, who had been laughing right along with you, sobered up pretty quickly. "You have what?"
Smiling at his utter confusion, you said, "Baby, how long have we been together? I've never taken them off. Their extensions. Like hair extensions...but for eyelashes."
You were not blessed in the long, voluminous lash department and had started getting lash extensions years ago, long before you met Harry. Granted, they were very natural looking, but he'd watched you put your makeup on hundreds of times, and not once had you stuck on a pair of fake lashes.
"This...This is madness. Come here." Harry stood up from his seat and held your face in his hands so he could get a better look. You were practically nose to nose, but he just kept looking at you very intensely. What he was trying to see, you weren't sure. You had a very excellent lash tech.
"Witchcraft," he mumbled. Moving so he was in front of the camera again, he said, "My girlfriend's a witch."
You shoved his shoulder playfully. "Shut up, you dork!"
You left him shortly after that, but not before he pulled you back over to him so he could kiss your cheek. "Love you!" he called.
"Love you too," you replied over your shoulder. And with that, you left him to finish the video.
Harry did the outro, eager to go now that he knew you were waiting for him. With a final wave he signed off. "Thank you for watching me share my beauty secrets, though it was really just me being pampered by my girlfriend. But what can I say, I'd be lost without her."
summary: harry shares his beauty secrets with vogue but he needs a little help
"Hi, I'm Harry, and today I'm going to be sharing my beauty secrets with all of you lovely, lovely people."
He was a bit nervous to be filming a video like this. Normally there were more people around, but now it was just him, his camera, and a bathroom mirror, and the long line of products you set up for him before you left the house. Harry didn't use to have much in terms of a routine, not enough to film this kind of video, anyway. But after a few months of just knowing you, he had enough products to fill up all the shelves in his bathroom.
"Um, so I start with this. I have dry skin from traveling all the time, and my girlfriend says it's good for dry skin, so," he said with a shrug, holding up his cleanser for the camera, pumping a little into his hand, and rubbing it into his skin.
Harry tried to talk while washing his face, but he got some of the cleansing foam in his mouth and immediately had to stop the recording so he could spit it out and rinse his mouth. Terribly embarrassed, he took a couple seconds to collect himself before turning the recording back on.
"Next I use a toner, also picked out for me by my girlfriend. It has, erm, salicylic acid and is an exfoliator. Whoa, try saying that five times fast."
He put it on, looking down at the small list of prompts he'd been given to talk as he filmed the video. Minus the cleanser mishap, things went pretty smooth. Harry went over all the things he used, and when he got to his Pleasing products, he talked in-depth about the brand—why he decided to create the brand in the first place, what the two different serums and the Pleasing Pen did, and why he came out with those first.
"All of this is supposed to give me a 'glow from within,' as promised by my missus, but I'll let you decide," Harry said, moving his face from side to side so the bathroom lights would catch on his cheekbones.
When he finished his skincare, it was time to move onto makeup, which made him pause. It technically wasn't a lot, and he could definitely do it himself, but he'd become so accustomed to you doing it, he didn't like it any other way.
"Excuse me one moment," he said, then pulled out his phone and dialed your number, putting it on speaker.
"Hi, baby. Finished already?" you asked, picking up after the first couple rings.
"Uh...No. I need your help," Harry admitted, turning slightly away from the camera when he felt his cheeks heat up.
"H, I told you I didn't—"
"I'll make it up to you, I promise. Pleaseee."
Harry kept saying please until you eventually relented. "Fine, I'll be back in ten minutes."
"Thank you. I love you so very much."
"Love you too. See you in a bit."
Stopping the recording, he waited for you to come back home. You'd stepped out to run some errands—re-stocking your personal and professional kit, getting groceries for dinner later tonight.
Instead of doing those things, you drove home. Walking up the stairs, you walked into yours and Harry's shared bedroom, knocking on the door of the bathroom before opening it. You found Harry leaning over and starting the recording up again.
"Just in time!" he said, grinning at you as he sat back down again.
He tugged on your hand to pull you over to where he was sitting, but you stayed just out of the camera frame. Still, he brought your hand up and kissed the top of it, grinning wide when he saw the corners of your lips turn up.
"Okay, where did you leave off?" you asked, going over to the sink to wash your hands.
"I just need moisturizer and sunscreen and I'm good to go."
You looked at him from behind the camera, but he just continued to smile at you. Harry was more than capable of applying that stuff himself, but he preferred when you did it for him. Making your way back over to him, you picked up his moisturizer and got started.
"So, I know most people like to use primer before makeup, but since H doesn't wear very much, I typically just use a good moisturizer. This one is the Embryolisse face cream, and I get a good amount on my fingertips and really work it in. I should mention that this is definitely a one person job, but he's a diva, so here we are."
Harry had been smiling faintly with his eyes closed as you massaged his face up until that point. "Hey."
Pretending like you heard nothing, you continued. "After that, I put on sunscreen, and I typically don't use anything under SPF 30. And once that's all rubbed in, he's ready for a little makeup."
You smoothed his hair back a little as you finished blending everything in, massaging around his temples the way you knew he liked a little extra attention, and almost as if on cue, he mumbled, "Feels nice."
You gave him a couple more seconds to enjoy the pads of your fingers against his temples, but you eventually had to move on, worried that this video could go on forever.
"Okay, so H has some small dark circles that he likes covered up when he's on stage, but they're usually not severe enough to warrant color corrector, so I just go in with a little bit of the Nars pot concealer right here," you said, tapping it under his eyes. "And if he's got a couple breakouts, I'll cover those up to, but I must say, you're looking quite flawless today."
The corner of his mouth tipped up into a crooked little grin. "It's all thanks to you."
Harry was a very charming person by nature, but there had to be something in the air, because he was being extra sweet with you today. It was too cute to make note of, though, so you just smiled at him and told him to blend in his concealer while you cleaned up a little.
When he was all done, you picked up the next item. "Sometimes if he's looking a little pale, I'll put on just the tiniest bit of cream bronzer. Nothing too intense, but just enough to bring some color to the face, and I put it on his cheeks here, his temples, and a little by his hairline. Anywhere the sun would normally hit the face, and I blend that in with a sponge."
You worked and explained, trying to ignore the dreamy look in Harry's eyes as he watched you so you could focus. "Like it so far?"
"Mmhm. Positively sunkissed."
"
Blending a little more with your sponge, you said, "He's pretty easy as far as clients go, very low maintenance. But he loves being taken care of. Face rollers and masks after a show are a must to help him wind down."
He said it so quietly, but the camera's microphone was just able to pick it up. "Best part of my night is getting ready for bed with you."
You held in the urge to kiss him, but it wasn't easy. Obviously, people knew Harry Styles had a girlfriend, but you kept a low profile and weren't often photographed with him in order to maintain a small modicum of anonymity. It had worked so far, though you wondered if after this video one of his fans would be able to track you down with just your voice and hands.
Shaking those thoughts away, you focused on the video again. "And then to wrap it up, he wears a lip balm, and since he's a bougie bitch, he goes for the Tatcha lip jelly, but I won't hold that against him because it's really great lip product."
"I feel as though I should point out that she's not usually this feisty. She's putting on a show for the camera," Harry said, a mocking frown on his face.
He let you put his lip balm on for him, puckering his lips so he could give you a tiny kiss on the tip of your finger, which made you very thankful that you couldn't be seen on camera because you were now a blushy mess. Once he was all set, you continued.
"I normally don't set H's face with any powders or anything because he doesn't really need it. The most I'll do is remind him to put this on throughout the day. It's a mineral powder with SPF in it, which should keep his skin from burning throughout the day. And...that's pretty much it. Pretty simple, but very effective."
"I look ready for date night," he said, looking at himself in the mirror.
"Yeah? I'd say you look quite handsome too. I'd definitely take you out on a date."
With the pads of your fingers, you gingerly tilted his chin from side to side so that the camera could see the finished result. Harry kept going after you let go, though, holding his chin in his hands and posing while you put some of his things away.
"It is quite minimal," he said, agreeing with your previous statement. "Should've asked her to do this instead. My girl's an artist."
You smiled to yourself, half listening to Harry as you cleaned up. "You know, I didn't know much about makeup until I met her. And then suddenly I knew everything. Like, there was this one time where she was watching this movie, and she freaked out because a guy took off a girl's fake eye lashes. Now I know never to touch a woman's false lashes lest I want my hand cut off."
You'd been letting your boyfriend ramble to the camera about this and that, clearly not as nervous about the whole thing as he had been when you left him earlier today. And while you'd been trying not to laugh too loud, you couldn't hold it in after his last anecdote. It wasn't so much the story itself, but the way he described his feelings about it at the end.
The story was true, of course. Harry had been downstairs on the phone while you watched a movie in his bed. You'd already written it off as a terrible film after the first ten minutes, but you decided to see it through, only to gasp in horror when you saw the leading man remove the leading lady's false lashes.
You came back over to him, still laughing but trying to get ahold of yourself. "That's true, you're definitely right about that, but...you know I don't use those right? I have eyelash extensions."
Harry, who had been laughing right along with you, sobered up pretty quickly. "You have what?"
Smiling at his utter confusion, you said, "Baby, how long have we been together? I've never taken them off. Their extensions. Like hair extensions...but for eyelashes."
You were not blessed in the long, voluminous lash department and had started getting lash extensions years ago, long before you met Harry. Granted, they were very natural looking, but he'd watched you put your makeup on hundreds of times, and not once had you stuck on a pair of fake lashes.
"This...This is madness. Come here." Harry stood up from his seat and held your face in his hands so he could get a better look. You were practically nose to nose, but he just kept looking at you very intensely. What he was trying to see, you weren't sure. You had a very excellent lash tech.
"Witchcraft," he mumbled. Moving so he was in front of the camera again, he said, "My girlfriend's a witch."
You shoved his shoulder playfully. "Shut up, you dork!"
You left him shortly after that, but not before he pulled you back over to him so he could kiss your cheek. "Love you!" he called.
"Love you too," you replied over your shoulder. And with that, you left him to finish the video.
Harry did the outro, eager to go now that he knew you were waiting for him. With a final wave he signed off. "Thank you for watching me share my beauty secrets, though it was really just me being pampered by my girlfriend. But what can I say, I'd be lost without her."
I have a requeeestt. Would you write something where ice skater y/n has her period and she has practice and it’s just NOT her day. And she doesn’t feel super comfortable telling Harry but he figures it out and just like pure fluff 🙊💗
Grumpy
part one, part two, bonus, bonus, bonus
Harry's girlfriend was a delight. An absolute ray of sunshine. The sweetest human on the plan—
"Fuck off, Niall. I bet your 'superior athleticism' wouldn't last you one ballet class."
Most of the time. She was a ray of sunshine most of the time.
Harry looked up from his phone and saw Y/n talking to a few of his teammates. They were all snickering and laughing as if what she said was funny, which only made her fists curl at her sides, and while he would've found it rather entertaining for her to take a swing at one of them, he would rather not have his friends and girlfriend be on bad terms.
"You ready to go?" Harry asked, sliding his hand over Y/n's and unfurling her fist.
Her face was set in a scowl as she looked over at the boys she'd been speaking to. For the most part they got along great, Niall specifically. They had a sibling-like relationship and often teased one another, but Niall must've said something about figure skating, and that was one thing that would make you public enemy number one in Y/n's eyes. And if she was already grumpy? Harry met his friend's gaze and tried to send a clear message with his eyes: Cut it out.
Because Y/n could throw a punch, and while she was significantly smaller than his teammates, she had a mean right hook.
Y/n gave Harry a nonverbal grunt that she was ready to leave the rink. But she did lean into the tiny kiss he placed on her cheek, which was something.
"Yeah, Harry, take your girl home. I think she's on her period or something."
"Excuse me?"
"Okay, time to go," Harry said quickly, pulling Y/n away from his teammates and sending one final look at Niall.
As they walked to the car, Y/n handed her keys to Harry unceremoniously and slipped her hand out of his to cross her arms over her chest. He could practically see the steam coming out of her ears, so he let her stew in her bad mood for a little while. She must've had a rough training session, which could mean she messed up a lot or hardly at all, but Y/n was an extremely tough critic, so it was hard to be sure of which one if he wasn't there to watch.
Y/n's arms stayed crossed as they drove back to his apartment. Harry was fine with it, knowing the grumpiness wouldn't last. It normally didn't with Harry, a fact that he was extremely proud of. Except when he rested his hand on her thigh—close to her knee, he wasn't trying to start anything—she shook it off and shifted so her body faced the window.
"What was that for?"
"For being friends with neanderthals," she muttered. "Especially that one."
"'That one' is your friend, bub," Harry said, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. "And wait—does that make me a neanderthal?"
"He was out of line. And no," she said, still facing the window, the last part almost an afterthought.
"I'll make sure he apologizes," he promised.
Harry leaned over at a stop light to kiss Y/n's temple. She didn't shrug him off or push him away, which was a good sign, though Harry now had a sneaking suspicion of what was going on. He didn't say anything the rest of the drive, happy to let his girlfriend be grumpy for the rest of the drive. As long as it wasn't directed at him, he was fine.
When they arrived, Harry shouldered both of their bags and handed her the keys to his apartment. "Go ahead and get in the shower. I'll meet you in there in a few minutes."
At that, he could practically see Y/n's grumpy facade start to crumble, but she nodded wordlessly and trudged up the stairs. Harry followed suit, setting their bags down and rustling through his small kitchen, trying to remember where he kept the emergency stash of her favorite snacks.
He realized that it was probably Y/n's time of the month. She became particularly moody around then, and it only took a couple minutes for Harry to put the pieces together. Should Niall have said anything? No, but the fact that he was right probably pissed Y/n off even more.
Harry grabbed a few things before heading down the hallway, the sound of water running growing louder as he got closer to the bathroom. He headed to his room first, setting Y/n's snacks and a couple other things down before kicking off his shoes and leaving to join Y/n like he promised.
"Need some help?"
Y/n was just standing beneath the spray coming from the shower head, not washing her hair or her face, the first steps in a detailed routine. She shrugged as he stepped into the shower, his hands smoothing over her shoulders before kissing the top of one gently.
"What's hurting?" he asked, continuing to snake his arms around her to hold her close.
"My boobs, my back, my ego, and I have the worst cramps," she huffed, but Harry detected the slight shift in her voice. Now that they were alone, she was trying not to cry. "He should try playing his precious sport while his uterine lining is shedding."
"I know," Harry said, reaching for the shampoo she used and squirting some in his hand. "Scalp only, right?"
Y/n nodded, some of the tension leaving her body when he started massaging the shampoo into her scalp. He worked slowly, trying to let the day wash off of her, murmuring to her and kissing parts of her body occasionally. When the actual bathing part of the shower was over, Harry turned Y/n around to face him, his kisses becoming more drawn out, sensual. His hands were soft, but firm, trying to knead away the soreness in her breasts and back.
Y/n sighed, eyes fluttering closed as she leaned into his touch. Both of them could feel him growing hard, it was hard not to give the circumstances, but neither of them said anything about it. Harry wasn't really focused on himself at the moment.
"Want me to use the shower head?" he asked.
Y/n shook her head. "I want you."
"Yeah?"
Peeking one eye open, she said, "Don't be so smug about it."
Harry chuckled softly and reached a hand up to hold one side of her face. "Me? Never."
For the first time all afternoon, Y/n grinned, but it quickly turned into a frown. "We can't."
"Baby, we're in the shower."
"Still, I think it's gross." But even as she said it, she moaned when he began to kiss her again.
They had this debate every time Y/n was on her period, but Harry always managed to find some way around it. For her sake, not his. He knew they both wanted to, but Y/n never believed him when he insisted he didn't mind if she was on her period. His solution was usually the detachable showerhead, but she didn't seem to want that this time.
"Here," Harry said, an idea sparking. He sat down, the tiles cold against his skin as he brought Y/n down with him. She didn't follow though, staying standing, her arms crossed over her body. "Would you get down here? I promise I won't even look. See?"
Harry covered his eyes with one hand, then raised them to show that his eyes were closed underneath.
"You promise you won't look?"
"Won't even watch you come, which is arguably my favorite part," Harry said, only half teasing.
He kept his promise to keep his eyes closed, so he couldn't tell if or when Y/n decided, though when he felt her settle over his lap, he had a pretty good idea. She draped herself over him, tucking herself close to him when he was fully settled inside her. Harry couldn't tell if she just wanted to sit like this or if she wanted more, but all he got was a contented sigh in his ear, which didn't really help.
"Okay, you can go now," Y/n said after a few minutes had passed, voice soft and a little slow as if she'd just woken up from a long nap.
Harry couldn't help but laugh a little. "I have to keep my eyes closed and do all the work?"
Y/n only nodded, not moving from where she was tightly hugging him. Harry was amused, but not all that surprised. She despised the term, but Y/n was without a doubt the textbook definition of a pillow princess. She had a pretty tough exterior, but once they were alone, she melted, becoming more needy and letting Harry take control. She liked being praised for taking all of him and behaving for him. His good girl, Harry once called her, and after she lit up from it, he called her that anytime they were intimate. He thrived off of it, Y/n's eagerness to please and the way she let him have his way with her.
Harry maneuvered himself a little, earning a few gasps and whimpers from Y/n. When he finally found a good enough position to hold her while not slipping on the slick tiles, he nudged the side of her cheek with his nose.
"I need at least a kiss first." He was keeping his word, so his eyes were still shut, but when Y/n slotted her lips over his and gripped the wet curls that were pressed to the nape of his neck, he grinned, focusing on the sensation of her kiss. With his eyes closed, Harry felt everything. Every shift of her hips, every clench she made around him, it was almost torturous, but he held off driving into her until he thought she was ready. "Thank you, bub. Be as loud as you want, okay?"
That only made her squeeze him tighter, and Harry took that as his signal to get started. It was slow as he tried to find the right rhythm, listening closely to how Y/n was reacting. Usually he was able to tell by the little faces she made, but he went off her sounds and how hard she squeezed her arms around his neck.
Harry murmured in Y/n's ear the whole time, letting her know how good she felt around him and to touch herself however she wanted. By the end of it, she was all molten limbs and tired, satisfied eyes, kissing all over his face as he smoothed back her hair. Harry gave her a couple minutes to come back down from her high before he helped her stand back up and let her get dressed while he showered properly.
Later that night, Y/n was sleeping in Harry's bed, a heating pad strapped to her back while she stayed tucked into his chest. They'd watched a couple movies and eaten her favorite snacks, and at one point Y/n crawled into his lap to ride his thigh when she claimed she needed another orgasm. Harry was happy to give her one, happy to let her use him how she liked, though he had to help her hips along after a couple minutes.
All the grumpiness from earlier was gone. She had nothing but kind words and sweet nothings and little jokes she mumbled to him as they continued watching a show they started together, which was when she promptly fell asleep. Harry was right behind her, he just had to send a text first.
Y/n's ballet training is at 8am on Wednesday. Be there.
Harry had promised Y/n Niall would apologize, and he couldn't think of a better way than his friend struggling to plié. He didn't need to add or else or any other kind of threat. It was unnecessary. Niall had pissed off Y/n, and he knew Harry would make him pay if he didn't make it right.
After sending the text he set his phone down and settled deeper into the pillows. Y/n shuffled around a little, then murmured, "Little spoon."
Harry understood immediately, turning over so she could wrap her arms around him and rest her cheek on his back. With that, Y/n fell back asleep, and Harry gave one last kiss to her knuckles before following suit.
"What do you think, then, peanut? Sweater with the pearls? You're right. Too warm."
Y/n furrowed her brows as she walked closer to the nursery. The house had been unusually quiet after breakfast. Harry said he would watch the girls while she freshened up, and Y/n assumed that meant playing with Simone outside or in the playroom—Harry and Simone's usual haunts.
But Harry, Simone, and little baby Colette were in neither of those places. Y/n was half convinced they'd gone out for a drive without her until she heard the faint sound of her husband's voice coming from Colette's nursery.
She crept toward the nursery, careful not to ruin the moment. When she saw what was happening, Y/n was quick to pull out her phone.
Harry knealt in front of Colette, who laid on her playmat, her little baby limbs kicking back and forth as he spoke. Simone sat beside the mat, bouncing up and down as she passed baby clothes from the small pile on the floor.
"Okay, flowers," Harry said, holding up a little romper to Simone, "or fruit?"
"What are you doing?" Y/n finally asked, her phone's camera still recording the scene in front of her.
"Getting our girls dressed," he said, holding his two current contenders in his hand. "Well, Simone pretty much dressed herself, didn't you, peanut?"
Simone nodded and showed Y/n what she picked out. Y/n smiled at her daughter as she beheld the outfit in question. It was only a colorful dress with little buttons going down the middle and—"Are those Gucci shoes? When did we buy those, my love?"
"Erm...I might've bought them last week," Harry admitted sheepishly as he held up another set of clothes for Colette. "Though, to be fair, Alessandro wanted to send them to me for free, but I insisted."
"Right," Y/n said. She decided to let the matter go for now, even when she and Harry promised not to shower their girls in luxurious clothing, even if it was super cute. Instead, she nodded to the onesie in his hands. "That's for sleeping, babe."
"A wha—Oh." Harry looked down at the onesie. "Can't have you in a sleeping one, can we? Even though she likes it. Look."
The last bit was said to the camera, to Y/n, as Colette squirmed around excitedly as Harry laid her on top of it. Harry moved to the closet filled with baby clothes both old and new, the pile on the floor clearly a bust. He flipped through the options a few times until he landed on something. "Perfect," he said, before pulling it off the hanger and holding it up to Y/n and the camera.
It was a pair of pink and red striped overalls, the words, "Daddy's Girl" written across the front in red stitching. Harry's grin was big over the top of the overalls, his eyes squinted as he presented them proudly to his wife.
"I had an inkling that's what you'd go with," she said as he grabbed something to put underneath the overalls. Finally turning off the camera, Y/n sat beside Simone before pulling the four-year-old into her lap. She squeezed her daughter tight and kissed her cheek, her curly hair tickling Y/n's nose. "You're Mommy's girl, right Simone? You certainly sound like Mommy."
"I'm working on that!" Harry said as he carefully buttoned Colette into her overalls. When he was done, he leaned down and kissed her cheek repeatedly, making Colette smile her gummy little smile and kick her feet. "Now come on."
Harry stood up, and Y/n followed curiously, picking Simone up into her arms as she did so. "So there was a point to this impromptu fashion show," she said, following Harry out of the nursery.
"We're having a picnic in the backyard," he announced.
Because of their desire to remain anonymous, Harry and Y/n elected to stay home rather than go out with the girls. It was easier to avoid prying eyes in the comfort of their own home, but keeping Simone entertained was sometimes a challenge. Since the hiatus, though, Harry went out of his way to make their home as fun as a theme park. He set up nets to kick a soccer ball around, he built a slide, they had campouts together in a tent shaped like a castle, and last week he, Y/n, and Simone planted a garden together. It was important to both Harry and Y/n that they raised their family as normally as possible despite the abnormal circumstances.
"Sounds like fun, huh Simone?"
Simone nodded her head excitedly. "Can we have a tea party too?"
"Absolutely," Y/n said, kissing her daughter's temple. "Why don't you go with Daddy to set up the picnic while I make the tea. Just how you like it."
When Y/n set her down, Simone skipped ahead down the stairs, calling after Harry to hurry up. Y/n took Colette from her husband, kissing him quickly and patting him on the butt. "You better go before she makes a mess," she murmured against his lips, pecking him one more time before pulling away. "The princess awaits."
"You're all my princesses," Harry said, his grin wide as he kissed Y/n's cheek.
"Hm. And I suppose you're a prince with all this hair of yours," she mused, toying with a strand of his hair, which had grown significantly since they'd met years ago. Harry hadn't cut it in a while, and Y/n would be lying if she said she didn't like it.
"All these jokes about my hair. What will you say if I decide to cut it, hm?"
Y/n opened her mouth to respond when Simone's voice echoed up the stairs. "I'm waiting!"
"Your princess awaits," Y/n said, ushering Harry down the stairs. Colette nuzzled her chest, her little fist gripping Y/n's hair. "And you, little miss, must be hungry. Let's do something about that too."
"Gonna be the best day ever," Harry said. He'd said that every day since he'd come home from his break. At first Y/n teased him for it, but she'd come to appreciate it.
Because he was right. Every day their family spent together was the best, and she loved every single minute of it.
sza deserves all the grammys this year i said what i said
Hockey Player! Harry x Figure Skater! Reader
*.*
"You're an idiot, Styles."
Harry tried to respond, but hissed as Y/n dabbed the cut near his eye. "Easy, there. I know you have gentler hands than that."
Y/n huffed, moving onto his split lip. Harry was sitting on top of her bathroom counter as she cleaned up his cuts from the fight he got into at his game an hour ago. She hadn't gone, and had been surprised when Harry showed up at her doorstep battered and bruised, a bag of frozen peas pressed to his cheek. They weren't supposed to see each other tonight, but Y/n didn't have time to think about the fact that Harry had come to her for help when they only had been sleeping together for two weeks now.
"Should've gone somewhere else if you wanted gentle," Y/n said, her words coming out icier than she'd intended. Perhaps she was overcompensating to cover up the fact that she didn't like seeing him hurt, but she quickly pushed that thought away until it was practically non-existent. "What the hell were you fighting about anyway?"
Harry had mentioned the fight was enough to get him thrown out of the game, but he didn't say what had pushed him to start it in the first place. Y/n had joined her friends at a handful of hockey games, and each time Harry was a cocky little shit on the ice, sometimes shoving an opponent around or getting in their face, but it was never anything serious. He was a lot of things, but Y/n never considered him to be the overly violent type. She didn't imagine any small thing would've caused him to lose it on someone, especially if it affected his team negatively.
Harry shrugged, but Y/n saw the dark look that crossed his face as he recalled the fight. "Some asshole on the other team was talking shit. I put a stop to it."
Definitely vague, but Y/n had no idea why. She didn't see any reason why he would have to hide his reason for getting in a fight during one of his games. "Well, I hope you got a few good hits in."
"Careful, Princess. You're starting to sound like you care about little old me."
Y/n blushed at Harry's sly grin. Something fluttered in her stomach, but she ignored it, opting to press just a little harder on the cut on his lip. "No. I just had it in my head that I was going to sit on your face tonight, and now I can't."
The look of pure disappointment on Harry's face left Y/n feeling perfectly pleased with herself. She couldn't help the way she swelled with pride at how much he wanted her. She wasn't really sure what that meant, but she didn't feel like putting much thought into it for now.
When Harry tried to lean in for a kiss, his hands, bruised knuckles and all, reaching out for her waist, Y/n stepped out of his grasp. She left the bathroom and headed for the kitchen, returning with an ice pack and tossing it to Harry. "You can crash here tonight if you want," she said. "You know, concussion protocol and everything."
The look Harry gave her was one Y/n couldn't read, but it made her squirm, so she disappeared out of the bathroom once again. Harry didn't follow, so she assumed he was just wrapping up or something. In the meantime, she went to her room, rustling through the stack of vinyls next to her desk before settling on one and and putting on her record player. It crackled for a moment, then music erupted from the speakers, filling Y/n's bedroom and putting her at ease a bit. The truth was, seeing Harry roughed up didn't sit well with her. She worried for him, felt bad that she wasn't there. And she didn't expect to feel that way, she didn't like it. Harry had joked earlier that she was starting to care about him, and that sent her nerves skittering too. That wasn't what this was.
Harry came in a few minutes later, setting his duffle bag in its usual place and picking his way through the dim glow of the twinkly lights. He slipped into bed next to Y/n, kissing up and down her neck and shoulders as he slipped his hands under her sleep shirt. Y/n tilted her head back to kiss him, not really thinking about the cut on his bottom lip. Harry winced a little, but didn't pull away. She did, though, brushing her thumb over his lip gently.
"Sorry," she mumbled. "Maybe we should—"
"No, it's okay. I like the pain," Harry said, and Y/n couldn't tell if he was joking or not. Honestly, it was probably both.
The record continued to play, the melody easing the tension out of both of their shoulders and relaxing Y/n in a way it always did. "No more split lips. I don't like tasting blood when I kiss you."
"I see," Harry said, but there was something in his tone that made her brow furrow. It was the same knowing look he'd given her in her bathroom, but she still couldn't quite make sense of it. It felt like he knew something she didn't, like he saw right through the walls around her heart and knew how she really felt.
Flicking her eyes away from that piercing gaze of his, she shuffled around on her bed, inching down Harry's body as her fingers traced his lithe frame as she went. Harry tried to question her actions, but his voice dissolved into a moan before he could do so. Y/n didn't want to think anymore, didn't want to worry, didn't want her thoughts to travel into territory she considered dangerous. She just wanted him.
Harry's hand found the back of her head, content in her plan to leave the events of the night behind them. He murmured words of encouragement, talking her through it all and guiding her head and caressing her cheek gently with his thumb. The longer she pleasured him, the more that swell of pride came back in full force. She preened at each little reaction he had to her touch, causing her to smile as best she could in her current position.
When it was all said and done, Harry rested his head against Y/n's chest, his breaths deep and slow as the record's first side fizzled to an end. Y/n tried not to think too much into the position they'd found themselves in, or the way lying together felt just as right as having sex did. Her heart flipped as Harry sleepily mumbled, "Thanks for taking care of me," his voice so slurred she wondered if he would remember saying it in the morning.
Y/n couldn't find sleep as she wondered if she wanted him to or not.
*.*
Harry hadn't been a relationship very long, but he thought it was safe to say that he knew when his newly minted girlfriend was positively seething.
Y/n had somehow managed to sit on top of the kitchen counter, and he could see her staring from the doorway that led to the main room of his apartment where he was involved in a particularly intense drinking game. He knew why she was stewing over there, why her fingers tightly gripped the drink he'd gotten for her earlier. They were together now, but it wasn't like they made a formal announcement to anyone, so sometimes a girl would try to flirt at a party or a guy would get a little too comfortable around Y/n.
Neither of them liked to share, but Y/n wasn't as up front about it as Harry tended to be; he preferred to quietly seethe and let her bad mood settle over her while he had no problem letting people know he was hers. He didn't like this girl pressing up against him more than Y/n did, but every time he tried to put distance between them around the table, she just kept inching back to him. Harry fancied himself a gentleman and didn't want to embarrass the freshman by telling her point blank he wasn't interested, but she hadn't taken the subtle hints he was throwing her way, and he wanted to go to sleep a happy boyfriend.
The game wrapped up quickly and Harry did his best to try to get away from the table and head toward Y/n, but a hand rested on his bicep, causing him to turn around to look down at the young woman who'd been flirting with him the entirety of the game. Before she could get a word out, Harry was quick to shut her down. "I have a girlfriend."
"I don't see her," she said, her thumb smoothing over his shirtsleeve, but he quickly shrugged out of her grip and nodded to where he knew Y/n was watching the exchange take place.
And Harry felt it was an important distinction that his girlfriend was staring down the girl, not him.
Y/n's legs were crossed, causing her mini skirt to ride up her legs a couple inches. She wore tights underneath, but Harry only found it hotter. Everything about her turned him on, even the amused raise of her brows as she stared down the freshman who was still standing a little too close for her liking.
A lot was said in that look, and Harry could practically feel the chill from it, even when it wasn't necessarily directed at him. But it did the trick. The girl stepped back, a deep blush staining her cheeks. "Sorry, I'll just..."
And then she was gone, swallowed up by the crowd in search of someone available. Shaking his head, Harry maneuvered his way through his apartment, avoiding the throngs of people who bumped into him and got in his way. He didn't often have parties at his apartment, but tonight was his roommate's birthday, so now there was a hoard of people milling around his living room. He was just glad he had a lock on his door.
That look of irritation thinly veiled by amusement still danced in Y/n's eyes when Harry finally reached her. He was quick to tap her chin with his knuckle, settling one arm on the counter space beside her. "Ease up, tiger. I'm all yours, you know that."
"These underclassmen are bold," was all she said. The base of an R&B song thumped through the apartment, but this close together, Harry could hear her just fine. It was one of Y/n's favorite, and he could tell by the gentle sway of her body that she wasn't as mad as she was letting on.
Very gently, but with enough purpose and a look in his eyes that had Y/n's frosty exterior melting a little, he uncrossed her legs and settled in between them. "You didn't want to come save me?"
Harry took a sip of Y/n's drink when she offered it to him, running a hand through his hair idly. Most days he wore one baseball cap or another on his head, but recently he'd been going without one, perhaps on the off chance that his girlfriend's hands would find their way to his hair and play with it. "What did you want me to do? Go over there and shove my tongue down your throat?"
"I mean...I wouldn't have been opposed."
Sometimes Y/n came off as cold or a little standoffish, at least to those who didn't know her. She was just guarded, but every time Harry managed to put a smile on her face was worth it, each one a mini victory. There was a side to her that only he really knew, and he valued that nearly above everything else in their budding relationship.
"Noted," she said, crossing her arms around his neck. This close, Harry couldn't really do much but breathe in the smell of her perfume and nudge the sensitive skin of her neck with his nose. He swore he could just get drunk on the feel of her alone. Y/n hummed and leaned into him a little more before saying, "I like this song."
"Yeah?" Harry already knew, but he thought it was cute that she felt the need to tell him. As if he wasn't constantly cataloging all the little details that made up who she was.
Y/n nodded, pulling his head up by his hair so his eyes could meet hers. They were practically nose to nose, and he couldn't help the ridiculous smile that spread across his face as he looked into her eyes.
"What's that look for?" she asked.
I'm in love with you. It was the first time the thought had ever occurred to him, but he realized it was true. Harry was in love with Y/n. He'd liked her for a long time, as more than someone he just slept with, but he could tell that Y/n was a little slower to warm up to the idea of Harry being more than just a fuck buddy, so he took what she was willing to give him and bided his time. Now that he knew her even more, that he was able to be more to her, his heart unfurled like a flower in bloom.
Jesus, my teammates would roast the shit out of me if they heard me talking like this, he thought. Then, he realized he never answered Y/n's question. Clearing his throat, he gave her a quick kiss. "Come to bed with me? We can get up early tomorrow and get a morning skate in."
That, above everything, made Y/n's smile widen, and Harry couldn't fight his own when she crossed her legs behind his back and practically leaped into his arms.
*.*
Y/n didn't realize how someone could be so...perfect.
Before Harry waltzed his way into her life, she'd never done the whole relationship thing. She was too focused on skating, on her desire to be the best, to get distracted by things like boys and dates and hand-holding, by things like love. But Harry was just...well, he was unexpected. Now, years later, he was everything to her.
It started out with the small things. In school, he met her early in the morning for training, where she would do laps or work on tricks she was still struggling to master while he watched and reminded her to get water, or he would do drills while she reminded him of the same. They sat in ice baths together or helped each other stretch out their sore muscles, helped each other meal prep or make dinners that were beneficial to both their needs.
And then he became just as important to her off the ice. Harry made a point of reminding Y/n of balance, of enjoying herself outside the rink. They went on dates, studied together in the library, and volunteered at the community center to teach younger kids how to skate. When they were in school, Y/n and Harry had become some sort of unit, and that fact had only made her smile, not run away and hide like she originally thought it would.
Harry used to make her blood boil, now she didn't want to know what life would look like without him.
Currently, Harry was in the kitchen making breakfast. His back was to her, bearing the harsh red marks she left on his skin from last night. The sight made her cheeks flush, though she knew if Harry were to spot the various hickeys on her skin, or the still healing red marks around her wrists, his usual charming grin would become more sly and smug.
Leaning against the counter, Y/n watched Harry do his thing in content. He moved around their kitchen like he'd been there for years when in reality they'd only just moved in a couple months ago. Their previous apartment post-graduation was little more than a closet with a bathroom and a stove. Being in the minor leagues, Harry was offered accommodations with the rest of his team, but he declined so he could live with Y/n, and his paychecks, in the beginning, weren't nearly enough to live comfortably in a metropolitan city.
In some ways, Y/n missed their old apartment. It was way too tiny, the heat barely worked, and the neighborhood wasn't the greatest, but it was theirs, a piece of their history. She liked having to snuggle up so close to Harry simply to keep warm, liked the sweet old man and his little dog that Y/n watched occasionally for extra cash. Now their apartment was perfectly insulated, and their bed was big enough that sometimes it felt like there was too much space, and she wasn't quite sure about her new neighbors yet.
It was good. With Harry, things were always good. It was just different, and Y/n had always had a hard time adjusting to change. She would get there eventually, she just needed to warm up to their new home a bit more.
The expansive kitchen space was a good start, though.
Harry was humming to himself, an R&B song they both loved. His voice was deep and gravelly, and not just because he'd just woken up. Judging by the to-go cups on the kitchen island, he'd been up for a while. No, that was just his natural singing voice, and Y/n would've been irked that her boyfriend just had to be good at everything if his voice didn't make her toes curl.
"You're chipper this morning," she said, finally announcing her presence.
Harry turned around and smiled before turning back to whatever needed his attention at the stove. Y/n took that as her cue to walk over to him, her arms slipping around his waist. She kissed the spot between his shoulder blades, his skin warm despite not having a shirt on. Harry felt solid beneath her touch, but soft enough that she comfortably rested her cheek against him.
He continued to hum, one hand covering Y/n's while the other tended to their breakfast. When he was almost done, she let go and helped Harry get plates and utensils, setting up shop at their dining table while he brought their food over. The table was also a new addition to their home. Before, they just ate at the tiny counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment, not having enough room for a proper table and chairs.
Harry pulled Y/n into his lap before she could even think about sitting in her own chair. She turned in her spot and looked down at him with raised eyebrows. "Why did we buy multiple chairs when we only ever use the one?"
It was a joke. Y/n didn't mind sitting on Harry's lap. His schedule was so hectic that sometimes it was weeks before he was able to come home and spend proper time with her. Being this close made up for lost time, and both of them were eager to be apart as little as possible during the off-season.
But Harry responded with an answer that made Y/n pause because she couldn't tell whether he was joking with her or being serious.
"For the kids, obviously."
She tried her hardest not to stiffen when he would be able to feel it. They'd never discussed kids. Ever. And Y/n couldn't tell if he was testing the waters or if he was genuinely being facetious.
"I don't know if sitting in your lap in front of our children would be very appropriate." Y/n managed to add a little sarcasm in her voice, unsure of where this conversation was going. Then, because she wasn't a woman scared of feelings and difficult conversations anymore, she said, "You've never talked about that before."
"About what?"
She leveled Harry with a flat look. "You know what."
Harry shrugged, clearly not as thrown off by this as Y/n was. "Is it a bad thing if I say I want to have your babies one day?"
Babies? As in plural? "Let's just focus on one for now," she said.
"Alright. One. I want a baby," Harry said plainly. "Not like now, or anything, but, like, in the future. I want that to be a step for us somewhere down the line."
Y/n knew Harry wasn't being pushy by being blunt. This was how they spoke when having serious conversations. No beating around the bush, no guessing at subtext or tones or anything like that. They just spoke in clear, declarative statements, though Y/n hadn't imagined having this particular conversation anytime soon.
She just didn't think Harry was there yet. She didn't know if she was there yet. They'd just moved into this apartment, and Harry was blowing up as a rookie in the NHL. Y/n was just getting her feet on the ground as a sports psychologist, with a little bit of coaching on the side because even with a full-time job she still couldn't live her life without skating multiple times a week. She just didn't think a baby fit into their lives right now, not with how they barely had time for each other as it was.
"Tell me what you're thinking," Harry said. He didn't seem put off by her lack of response to what he'd said, though that was probably because he was probably used to it by now.
"I'm not...opposed to the idea," Y/n said, because she really wasn't. If there was one person in this world that she wanted to raise a child with, it would be Harry. She could picture it if she allowed her mind to wander far enough—teaching them how to skate and bundling them up to watch Harry's home games, first Christmases and snow days and first steps at a hockey arena, skating recitals or hockey games where Harry would coach. It was a nice daydream.
"But?" Harry asked, his shoulders tensing, as if waiting for the blow.
"But nothing. I just think...I think I still want to be a little selfish and have you all to myself for a little while longer. I hardly get to see you as it is, you know? A baby would change our whole dynamic, and I feel like I'm finally settling into this new life here. Just the two of us."
Harry nodded. He didn't look disappointed, which filled Y/n with relief. She didn't want to upset him with her answer, but that was where she was at.
"I...agree," Harry finally said. "You made a good point there. I can't compete with a baby for your attention. That wouldn't be fair to the baby."
Y/n threw her head back and laughed. "No, it wouldn't. So we're in agreement then."
"Just you and me. For now."
"For now."
Harry leaned in to kiss her, and Y/n melted against him the second his lips were on hers. He groaned a little as she shifted in his lap before standing up and hauling her away from the breakfast he'd made and the table that started this whole conversation. Y/n didn't protest as he set her down on their bed, hands making quick work of the low slung sweatpants that rested on his hips. Harry brought his hand down between her legs, brows raising at how wet she was.
"Already?"
Y/n propped herself on her elbows and shrugged. "Your singing turned me on earlier."
"Really," Harry said, marveling at the revelation.
"Don't let it get to your head. I also think it's annoying how good you are at everything," she said.
Harry grinned before settling between her legs, his arms circling around her thighs to hold her in the exact way he wanted her. Y/n didn't want to talk anymore, but her boyfriend was a cocky little shit, and she knew she had to wait for him to finish basking in the compliment before they moved on.
"Hm. Maybe Harry Jr. will inherit my talents and become a singer."
"Harry Jr?"
"Or Harriet," Harry mused.
Y/n nudged his shoulder with her foot to bring him out of his reverie. "Look at me H. Not gonna happen."
Shrugging, Harry focused back on the task at hand. "Don't worry, Princess. I'll wear you down. I've got time to convince you."
*.*
Harry could hear the harsh, echoey footsteps of someone running through the halls of the arena, but he didn't open his eyes to see who it was. He didn't have to.
"Jesus, H," Y/n breathed when she skidded to a stop at his side. She sounded frantic, panicked. It was a voice he didn't hear often from his fiance.
To the athletic trainer on his other side, she asked, "Why is he just laying here? He needs to go to the hospital. Get off your ass and call an ambulance before—"
"Easy, Princess. We're waiting for the team doctor."
When Harry finally opened his eyes, just barely as the harsh light of the athletic trainer's office caused his head to throb, Y/n was already looking down at where he laid on the exam bed. There was a lot of raw emotion going through her all at once, Harry could see it on her face. He knew it wasn't long before she fell back on her default setting and shut down completely, hiding behind harsh words and a cold exterior.
"You—"
"I'm fine, bub, I promise," Harry said, though the nausea stirring in his gut at having his eyes open for too long wasn't a good sign. He probably had a concussion. He'd hit his head pretty hard when he fell on the ice, but he thought the sharp pain in his ribs was the major concern. Now he wasn't so sure.
"Don't be a hero," Y/n snapped, but he didn't take it personally. Then, she turned her steely gaze on the athletic trainer—a new hire who was on their own for the first time tonight—and said, "Call. An. Ambulance."
Harry shifted his focus to they young trainer, who looked like they were about to shit themselves under the weight of his fiance's stare. "I—I can't—We have to wait—"
Their gulp was audible as they struggled to string enough words together to form a sentence, which only set Y/n's eyes ablaze even more. Harry knew she was scared, he was sure that his fall looked a lot worse than it actually was. But she couldn't turn the new trainer into a puddle of tears. Not again.
"Y/n, look at me."
Harry watched as her eyes stayed trained on the athletic trainer for a few more seconds before sliding her gaze down to his. He could see the fear behind all that anger and toughness, and he carefully took her hand in his so he could kiss the diamond on her left ring finger. "I'm okay," he said again. "The team doctor is on his way, but we're probably looking at a minor concussion and some cracked ribs. That's all."
"That's all?"
Wrong choice of words. "I said minor, didn't I?"
The truth was the hit Harry took on the ice was one of the worst he'd experienced in his professional career. It was a total accident, just too much momentum between him and a player on the opposing team. But it sent Harry careening across the ice, punching the breath out of his lungs and knocking his helmet right off.
"Sit down and take some deep breaths while we wait for the doctor," Harry tried again. "You're gonna stress out the baby."
Y/n's hand instinctively went to her belly, resting their joined hands over the little bump there. In one of Harry's jerseys, it was hard to feel it through the thick material, but he could, and despite the pain he was in, his heart leaped in his chest at the notion of being close to his baby.
Pregnancy was a surprise to the both of them. They'd had one conversation two years ago about kids, but after that, Harry and Y/n never really brought the subject up again. They were just content to live their lives in the moment, not wanting to plan or stress about the future or what could be. But even if they hadn't anticipated Y/n being pregnant, both of them were excited at the prospect of raising a baby together. After that initial conversation, they decided to hold off on kids, and now, the moment felt just right.
Y/n did as Harry asked, taking a deep breath and easing into the chair beside the exam bed he was on. He watched as some of the initial fear and stress of watching him fall in real time wash away, her eyes fluttering closed as she breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. When she opened her eyes, her gaze found the athletic trainer's again.
"Remember to say please," Harry said before she opened her mouth.
Y/n cut him a glare before she looked back at the trainer. "Could you please find out when the doctor will be here?"
The athletic trainer didn't need to be asked twice. They scurried out of the room, and Harry could hear their frantic voice as they begged the team doctor over the phone to get to the arena faster.
"You know, you really gotta be careful, Princess. People might start to think you actually care about me."
It was his attempt at humor, easing the nerves he knew were swirling around inside her. Y/n's shoulders had yet to relax since she came in the room, and her eyes kept scanning his body as if a new affliction was magically going to appear in front of her. Unfortunately for Harry, his words did not have the desired effect. Y/n glared at him while most likely suppressing the urge to hit him.
"This isn't funny!"
"Never said it was."
"God, Harry," she said, her voice cracking beneath the steel she'd been hiding behind. Now that they were alone, her vulnerability started to make an appearance. "You—You scared me."
Harry's gaze softened. "I know, bub. I'm sorry."
Y/n ran a shaking hand through his hair, working through the knots in his tangled curls while her nails scratched his scalp. Harry leaned his head back with closed eyes, enjoying the familiar caress.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, neither of them saying anything as Y/n calmed herself—and Harry—down. Then, he squeezed her hand, peeking and eye open at her and giving her a knowing look. "You have to stop scaring the new hires. They know what they're doing."
"They looked like a child!" she huffed, pausing her ministrations. "We would already be at the hospital by now."
"I really don't think that's necessary," Harry insisted. "Let's just wait for the doctor, okay?"
Some might find Y/n's behavior overbearing, maybe even rude. But she lashed out when she was scared or angry, and even though Harry drove her insane when they first met years ago, she was fiercely protective of him now. And he couldn't really judge her for it, he was the same with her, especially now that she was pregnant. Y/n had chastised him a number of times already for not letting her carry groceries or assemble furniture for the nursery.
Y/n eventually nodded, begrudgingly agreeing to wait for the team doctor. She slumped in her chair beside Harry, exhaling a loud sigh. Harry grinned, slowly reaching for her chin and tilting her head to face him.
"Come give me a kiss. It'll make me feel better."
Under normal circumstances, Y/n would've scoffed. Harry had come home from a number of games and practices all banged up and begging for Y/n to kiss it better. But tonight she was shaken up at the severity of Harry's fall, and probably needed the kiss more than he did, which was why he said something in the first place.
Y/n pecked his lips before pulling away. She tried to, anyway, but Harry held her in place. "Now I know you can do better than that."
For the first time since she'd stormed in, Y/n grinned. It was small, but Harry counted the victory.
"You're trying to distract me," she said.
"Yes. Is it working?"
Y/n's smile grew a fraction. "Maybe."
Harry leaned in, and Y/n met him halfway, pressing their lips together. She tasted like vanilla, and Harry was inclined to taste as much as he could before the doctor arrived. Each kiss worked to melt Y/n, the hand resting on her cheek earning Harry a sweet little nuzzle in his palm when he eventually pulled away.
"I love you,"Harry said, kissing the tip of her nose.
"Love you too," she murmured, her hand reaching to hold the one he still had against her cheek as they waited for the doctor.
"Behave when the doctor gets here, please?"
"I always behave."
Now it was Harry's turn to scoff. He gave her one more kiss as he heard footsteps in the hallway drawing nearer to their door. "I'll remember you said that," he told her, pinching her cheek as a doctor and the same scared trainer entered the room.
"So, Harry. I heard you took a pretty nasty fall—"
"He needs to go to the hospital," Y/n cut in, that look of steel in her eyes once more.
Harry raised his eyes heavenward, bracing himself for a long night.
i saw this trend on tiktok where girlfriends flash their boyfriends to win an argument, and i thought that was genius, so...yeah! that's what this is. enjoyxx
"Baby, we've talked about this."
"I know, but I just think if you listened—"
"I have listened, and I just don't think now is the time to do this."
You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend, annoyed by both his tone and his words. "It'll never be the right time. You just don't want to commit to this relationship."
"Seriously? That's where we're going with this?" Harry asked, finally looking away from where he was chopping vegetables for dinner. "I say it's not the right time to get a dog and you think it's because I'm not committed? Really, Y/n."
He looked down pointedly at himself. Harry stood in the kitchen in an apron that said, Kiss the Cook! You got it for him as a gag gift on his birthday last year since he was always in the kitchen, but he ended up loving it. Naturally, he also demanded you kissed the cook whenever you helped him out with cooking.
You knew what he was trying to say without voicing it, that was committed to you no matter which way you tried to spin it to win the argument. And you knew that, you were just a little annoyed that you and Harry couldn't get on the same page like you normally were.
You and Harry continued to bicker back and forth about the pros and cons of getting a dog together. Harry insisted he wasn't against it, just not now, but you'd done too much research and you knew now was the time, or you would never get around to it.
"You always do this," you said.
"Do what?"
"Try and table a conversation only to never come back to it. Just have a backbone and say you don't want a dog instead of hiding and avoiding it."
Rolling his eyes Harry ran a tired hand over his face. "You know what? Fine, you're right. I don't want a dog."
"But why?"
"Y/n, we travel all the time. We can't train a puppy when we're—"
Harry paused, his eyes finally opening after removing his hand from his face, his eyes settled on you, a mix of emotions quickly running across his face.
"When we're what?" you asked innocently, trying not to smile.
Still not answering, your boyfriend opened and closed his mouth as if his brain was short-circuiting. "You—You just—That's cheating."
"What do you mean?" you said, no longer trying to hide your smirk as Harry stepped closer to you, his eyes not meeting yours at all. They were focused solely on your chest, where you'd conveniently lifted your shirt to expose your breasts.
Coming out of his stupor but still not meeting your gaze, he said, "You don't get to—to use your tits against me!"
"Why, is it working?"
Harry shook his head in utter disbelief, his eyes almost completely glazed over. Whether he liked it or not, you won this round.
"Yes—No—I mean...What were we arguing about again?"
Chuckling softly, you cupped his cheek with your hand. "We were deciding on whether or not we should get a dog."
"Oh. Right. Whatever you want, baby."
"Really?"
You thought this would soften your boyfriend, push him in the right direction, but you didn't think he'd cave so quickly. Harry was already leading you toward the stairs, clearly ready to leave the argument behind.
"Course. Come convince me some more upstairs."
*.*
"Seriously? You're still on that stupid thing?"
Harry barely glanced your way before looking back at the TV, his thumbs moving furiously over his game controller. He mumbled his greeting, too engrossed in his game to acknowledge your presence.
Your boyfriend wasn't typically the video game type, only ever using his gaming console occasionally. That was until a few weeks ago when one of his friends got him hooked on some new game and now he played it nonstop. You didn't really care if Harry played video games, but this had become a fixation. It had been ages since you and him went to bed together at the same time, or gone on a date,, or had sex.
You'd been thoroughly replaced by some game.
"H, have you even gotten up from the couch since I left?"
The response Harry gave you was abysmal, only sparking your irritation more. You'd left him in that exact position hours ago to run errands, and he was still there. You doubt he'd so much as gotten up to eat since you'd been gone.
"Are you even listening to me?"
"That sounds great, baby," Harry said, his eyes still glued to his game.
You narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend. "I will not be second to a video game," you muttered before inching closer to the TV. With a sigh, you reached for the bottom of your shirt and lifted it up, taking the bralette you wore with you.
Harry didn't notice at first, which was really going to piss you off, but his eyes snagged on your naked chest as he switched positions on the couch. His whole body stilled as he took you in, his rapidly moving thumbs coming to a halt on his controller.
"Are you done playing now?" you asked, your brows raising expectantly.
Not looking at his game once, Harry tossed the controller on the couch and stood up. As if in a trance, he walked toward you. As he got closer, you could hear shouts of protests from his friends coming from the headset still on his head. He took that off too, then lifted you up without warning. You quickly wrapped your legs around his waist as he led you to your bedroom. And when he laid you down on the bed, you grinned, satisfied that your boyfriend was still wrapped around your finger.
What if y/n was Harry's tour chef and harry has a huge ass crush on her so he would be like the first one seated for y/ns food and he would always compliment her
i was wondering if you could do one where the reader asked him to come over for comfort (maybe her bf cheated idk) and after she stops feeling so bad they have a moment and end up kissing and then their feelings get all confused??
"Make something that would make someone fall in love with you."
Your heart still thundered at the words, the soft request that felt like a demand caressing your thoughts and sending chills down your spine. Pastel anticipation stirred within your belly as you kept an eye on the saucepan in front of you.
The apartment was rich with the smell of spices. Harry had asked for a dish, but you were about to serve him a full-course meal, all teeming with flavor and color, the smell of everything fusing together in your kitchen and leaking throughout the rest of the apartment in a cuisine symphony. Even the pan full of molten chocolate permeated the room, the hint of chili you added to it cutting through the richness.
An arm snaked around your waist, the other reaching to sneak a taste of the chocolate sauce in front of you, a searing kiss to the back of your neck trying to act as a distraction. But when you were in the kitchen, you had laser-sharp focus. You smacked the hand away playfully, but not without intention.
"How much longer?" Harry asked, nipping at your jaw.
The breath on your neck, the lips on your skin, the hand on your waist sent you leaning into him, but not without the aftershock of surprise.
You were his tour caterer, his employee, and while the two of you had grown quite close since Live on Tour began, you were just friends. Harry was always first in line when dinner was being served and sometimes helped clean up when he could. He joined you on small excursions to farmer's markets to buy fresh ingredients and listened to you go on and on about the value of farm-fresh, locally sourced produce.
Food, cooking, creating, they were all things that cultivated your passion, one you could talk about for ages, if given the chance. Not many did, even your boyfriend's eyes glazed over if you talked about a new way to prepare cauliflower for too long. But Harry was always willing to listen and even peppered you with questions that you were more than happy to answer.
You became fast friends. You cooked for him during the day and talked and laughed over a bottle of wine and bread and cheese at night after his shows, riding out his adrenaline until he eventually walked you back to your hotel room or tour bus, depending on where you were traveling. Harry was a good friend, a great one even, one you knew you would cherish far beyond this tour.
Until tonight, where the jury was still out on the status of said friendship.
Because tonight something...changed.
Harry's show was in your hometown, and as such, you invited your boyfriend to come to the show. Being on the road for long months on end didn't make maintaining a relationship easy, and things had become strained, but tonight was meant to be an olive branch. You were excited to see your boyfriend after being away from him for so long, had gushed to Harry about how you were going to make his favorite meal and sleep soundly in your bed instead of a hotel room or bus bunk.
But before any of that could happen, your boyfriend admitted to having cheated on you while you were gone.
You were a wreck. You knew things between you and your boyfriend weren't great, but you never imagined that he would cheat. His confession swept the ground out from beneath you, blindsiding you in a way that manifested in calm confusion as you told him things were over between the two of you. But when he left and you were alone in the tour venue's kitchen, you could feel the breakdown coming. So instead of going to Harry's show, as you normally did, you went straight to the apartment you hadn't seen in months. Harry came shortly after the concert was over.
Having been in a relationship, and never considering yourself the cheating type, you never saw Harry as anything more than a friend. He was lovely, and oh so sweet, and very, very handsome. He was interested in your work and made you laugh and enjoyed talking to you as much as you liked talking to him. But he was your boss, and a celebrity, and you had a boyfriend. It was pretty cut and dry.
When he arrived on your doorstep, you were wrapped in a blanket, only the center of your face poking out of it. Harry cuddled up next to you on the couch and let you cry and rant and cry some more. He kissed the top of your head and wiped your nose with the sleeve of his tour sweatshirt. And despite your red, puffy eyes, despite the tears hanging off the tips of your lashes, Harry leaned in, nudged his nose against yours in a way that had you leaning in too, and you let him kiss you.
It was startling. Not that Harry was a good kisser, that seemed like a given. No, what was startling was how much you enjoyed it, how tender the slide of his mouth against yours was. He was gentle, like he was trying to be respectful of the fact that you'd broken up with your boyfriend mere hours ago. But the flash of your boyfriend's face behind your eyelids had you pulling away from him in an instant.
You were single technically, but it still didn't feel right; no matter how much you might've liked the kiss, no matter how much Harry seemed to enjoy it as well. You hid from Harry in your room. Not because you were hung up on your boyfriend, but because it felt so right to kiss Harry. And that thought filled you with panic and guilt.
Harry was still there when you eventually stepped out of your room, willing to listen as he always was, but you didn't say anything, just walked over to the kitchen and asked if he was hungry.
There were words left unsaid between the two of you, but both of you seemed content to ignore them for now, though when Harry murmured, "Make a dish that you would use to seduce someone. Make them fall in love with you," it was clear how he felt. He put himself out there, waiting to see if you would accept the advances or reject them.
And now he was wrapped around you, kissing you like he'd been doing it for years.
"Mmm. The peach and burrata salad is done, the fried duck wings just need a glaze, the rice should be done any minute now, the chocolate needs just a little more—"
"Okay, so you need more time. Can I help you set the table, at least?" he said, huffing out a laugh.
You could only manage a nod and a quick murmur of where he could find what he needed. Your eyes stayed on the food cooking in front of you, but you heard every noise Harry made as he moved through your kitchen.
Somehow you ended up on Harry's lap, a homemade churro doused in cinnamon and sugar and dipped in chocolate poised toward his mouth. His eyes were heavy-lidded as he took a bite, the crunch a harsh sound as he closed his eyes and moaned at the taste.
The sound had you blushing. You knew it was because of the food, and if you looked past the bashfulness, you would be proud that your cooking skills elicited such a reaction.
You could've made something fancy, something that would've shown off your culinary skills in a way that catering to everyone on tour didn't give you the opportunity to do. But when you began rooting around the kitchen, your hands automatically went for the rice cooker, and things just kind of went from there.
The appetizers were unique, you supposed. Fried duck wings with a lemon glaze and a mixed green salad with burrata cheese, peach slices, and a number of other colorful things that brought it to life. But the main course was fairly simple, still full of flavor, but simple. Chicken and rice and beans, almost the exact same recipe you'd grown up with. Harry asked for something that would make someone fall in love with you, and you figured there was no better way to do that than the root, the catalyst, for your love of the kitchen.
Harry marveled at all of it, listening as he normally did when you talked about knife techniques, and cooking times, and flavor profiles. You talked, perhaps to cover up your nerves, as you plated and served everything, and when you went to sit across from him, Harry gently grabbed you by the waist, and now here you were.
Harry's fingers grazed your arm in lazy circles, over the tattoos inked on your skin. They were all over your arms and abdomen, a passion you had that was almost as strong as your love for cooking. It was the first commonality you shared with Harry when you said hello after serving him and the rest of the crew the first meal of the tour. Both of you were busy at the time and couldn't discuss tattoos at length the way both of you seemed to want to, but Harry stopped by during lunch the next day, and the two of you talked over shrimp fried rice you'd whipped up.
"This...This shouldn't be this good," Harry finally managed to say.
It took a moment to find your voice, Harry's voice low in a way that made you suppress a shiver. But you said despite your dry mouth, "I'm glad you like it."
"And—And is it spicy? The chocolate? It's subtle, but I swear it's there."
"Chili powder. Just a little," you said with a nod.
"Oh. Well, don't let me eat all of it. Here," he said, offering the dessert in his hand to you.
You eyed the plate on the table that had three more churros on it and a bowl filled nearly to the brim with chocolate sauce, then back to him with raised eyebrows. Harry had the decency to blush, but he didn't back away or lower his hand. So, with a confidence that you didn't know you had or knew where it came from, you took a bite, just like he had.
You could feel Harry's eyes on you, which was alarming seeing as there wasn't really a sexy way to eat something so messy. Not that you were trying to be sexy, but Harry's gaze practically lit you on fire. You didn't want to be unappealing in front of him. He didn't seem to notice or care, though, just kept his eyes on you.
"You have something on your—"
He finished his sentence by reaching up to brush something away from the corner of your mouth. At least that's what you thought he was trying to do. But when his thumb grazed your skin, something warm, warmer than the heat of his skin, smeared over your lips. Chocolate.
Eyes widened, you opened your mouth to ask what he was doing, but he spoke first.
"I'll get it."
But instead of using his hand, he slid his mouth over yours.
You became as molten as the chocolate you made to dip the churros in, the kiss heating you from the inside. The first kiss you shared earlier in the evening had been tentative, curious. This one was pure heat as Harry licked over your bottom lip, sweeping up the chocolate on it that he'd placed there, and when you opened up for him, it lingered on his tongue along with the wine you picked out to go with dinner.
Harry barely gave you any time to gasp. He kissed you like he was starved, his kiss bruising in a way that had you pulling him tighter rather than pulling back, taking those curls that were just as soft as you thought they would be and gripping them tight between your fingers. His hands were warm beneath the thin material of your t-shirt, tracing the tattoo just above your belly button that spanned across your abdomen with the pads of his fingers. Angel, it read in big, bold script. Some people found it appalling, others intriguing or striking. You never really cared what people thought of your tattoos. Until you felt Harry's stare burning into your stomach every time your shirt rode up tonight to reveal bits and pieces of it tonight, that is.
"What—What are we doing?" you managed to breathe.
One of his hands had grazed your neck, leaving a trail of chocolate sauce in their wake, and Harry was now doing his best to clean it with his tongue. His other hand rose dangerously close to just below your breast, the anticipation of his touch making you shudder, but it also made a seed of hesitation take root in your mind.
Harry paused and faced you again, though his nose nearly touched yours. "I...I don't know," he said, and while that only made the seed grow, you appreciated his honesty. "I like how I feel when I'm around you. And I know it's messy with the tour and your—with your ex-boyfriend and everything, but...I don't know. I don't like shying away from a good feeling."
That's exactly what it was. Messy. What happened if things progressed from here and didn't work out? You had a job to do, you worked for Harry. You might have been able to acknowledge that good feeling Harry was talking about—a complete understatement, "good" didn't seem to do whatever was forming between the two of you justice—but you weren't sure it was worth possibly losing your job or compromising your raw emotions over. He might've been able to chase his feelings, but you couldn't.
"I—I would never fire you, or anything like that," he said, seeming to read your thoughts as they flitted through your mind. "And I'll respect your decision, whatever it is. I won't even bring it up again if you don't want me to."
The sincerity in his voice told you that Harry was telling the truth, and you knew him well enough that you believed him. You didn't know if it was just the heat of the moment for him, or if he'd secretly been harboring feelings, or if it was something else, and you couldn't even begin to untangle everything getting jumbled up in your heart.
But you could see the promise in Harry's eyes, the green in them clear as you had this conversation. The promise that he would make it worth your while, should you decide to go through with...whatever it was he was proposing.
Your apartment was so quiet, you swore you could hear his heartbeat thumping in time with yours. With shallow breath and shaking hands, you cupped his cheek. Your hand was rough with calluses, cuts, and scars from your time as a chef. Knife technique that developed over time and oil that bubbled a little too excitedly in the fryer; some of the pads of your fingers were even a little numb from touching hot food with your bare hands.
Harry didn't shy away from the roughness, though. Not as you caressed his cheekbone with your thumb and stood up from where you'd been perched on his lap. For a moment, his eyes left yours to gaze downward at what he thought was rejection, but when he heard the soft thud of you clothes hitting the floor, he looked up, drinking in every inch of skin you offered to him.
In just a pair of plain cotton underwear—the thick sheaths of your hair covering your chest and revealing only tiny glimpses of your skin and the tattoos inked on it—you picked up the bowl of melted chocolate off the table. Your eyes never once left his as you backed away toward your bedroom, an invitation held in them.
From the look on his face as he took in your near-nakedness, you thought Harry might've crawled. But, almost as if in a trance, he stood from his seat and followed you, taking your face in his hands and kissing you for all you were worth as he shut the door to your room with a definitive slam.
i couldn't figure out how to end this, so it kind of keeps going until i finally decided to just stop writing before this just kept going
tattoo artist!harry styles x ballerina!reader - prequel, first part
You could feel the stares the moment you stepped inside the gala. From the moment you handed your coat over to the gentleman at the coat check, you could feel them. The eyes, the cold, judgemental gazes of the other guests of the charity gala tonight.
Not on you. Well, not directly on you anyway.
The eyes were on the man standing beside you, whose hand rested gently on the small of your back as he led you into the ballroom where the gala was held. You didn't blame anyone for staring. To say your boyfriend was handsome was an understatement, and it had never been a secret to anyone, not even to you when you'd met him, when you'd been solely focused on your career].
Harry's smile was bright as he leaned down so his mouth brushed your ear, his cologne dizzying as he said, "Is it just me or is everyone staring at you?"
"They're definitely staring at you," you said, glancing pointedly at where his bare, tattooed chest peeking through his dress shirt. "I did mention this was a black tie event, didn't I?"
A part of you believed your boyfriend dressed this way out of spite for the whole evening. He'd scoffed at the invitation when he found out about it, and the messages from your some of your fellow dancers about color palettes for dresses that you'd shown him. It was a part of your life that was new to you, new to both of you, as you'd only just become a principal dancer of your ballet company. The whirlwind of struggling to make ends meet and making a five year plan with Harry to being invited to lavish parties and receiving messages about being sponsored by brands never ceased to surprise you. It was an entirely different world, one you weren't sure you wanted any part of, save for the dancing. The excess, the upturned noses, the judgment. It was too much, and you never felt as though you were enough, so you stayed away from it all as much as you could.
Not that anyone seemed to notice, you started out in the ensemble at the company and were rarely invited to charity galas and the like. Until now, of course, since you were prima ballerina in the most recent production. You were worth showing off.
Harry looked down at himself, at the half-buttoned dress shirt that he'd picked out for the night. He elected to not wear a tie—though you weren't sure Harry even owned a tie—which was the likely cause of all the staring. That and the piercings. And the tattoos, the ones that covered his chest and crept up his neck and covered his hands. You liked Harry's tattoos, loved them; you knew every single piece of art inked on his skin. From the roses to the portraits to the parts that filled in the gaps between pieces. You loved Harry's tattoos, and you loved him.
But tonight was going to be tense as it was, the only thing you asked of him was to wear a proper suit and tie.
"This is my best shirt, bunny. You love me in this shirt."
You tensed at the sound of his nickname for you. "H, I told you about the—"
"I know, I'm sorry," Harry said. "Was a slip of the tongue. Won't happen again tonight, I promise, bunny. Shit. That was the last time."
"Harry."
"I'm sorry, baby, but you're in that dress, and I can't think straight when all I want to do is—"
"Shh!" you hissed.
Harry's hands smoothed down your bare arms as an older couple walked by, the woman giving you and your boyfriend a disapproving look before moving on. After quietly apologizing, he steered you toward the open bar that made a square in the middle of everything. The string orchestra was already in full swing in the corner of the ballroom, and couples in their finest gowns and tailored suits swayed to the classical music they played. The music calmed you somewhat, relaxing your shoulders as you let the music soothe your nerves.
"Should we go dance? Or drinks first?" Harry murmured, his hand settling on your hips. He kissed your jaw, then your neck, his lips dragging along your skin until they grazed the delicate chain around your neck. "I love you, bunny. I'm sorry, I can't help it. You're my bunny. What am I supposed to do?"
You smiled, despite the flush that was no doubt creeping up your skin, visible for everyone to see. You wanted to blend into the background tonight, to draw as little attention to yourself and Harry as possible. But Harry was hard not to notice on a regular day, let alone at a charity gala filled with the city's wealthiest people.
Tilting your head back, you looked at him. Harry was smirking, his eyes alight with mischief as if he knew all eyes were on him and he enjoyed it. "Let's—Let's just go get drinks."
You could sense Harry's disappointment at your answer. Both of you loved to tease each other and make the other laugh to ease tension, but you were too hyper focused on where you were. You were too conscious of everyone around you, staring at you, at Harry, as if neither of you belonged.
Harry sighed through his nose deeply but still took your hand. "Alright," he said. "Drinks, then dancing."
It might've been your profession, but you weren't sure if you could dance in front of this audience tonight.
*.*
The evening went as they normally did whenever you attended them. The canapes were the same, the same scandals were gossiped about, and the older women huddled in the same corner to talk about everyone else in attendance. The only thing that was different was your boyfriend.
People stared and judged because of course they did—he was new, he was covered in tattoos, and he wasn't wearing a tux. No one tried to hide their disdain as they looked at him, then you. No one bothered to say more than three words to Harry when they came up to speak to you. It was degrading and cruel, and neither you nor Harry deserved that kind of treatment.
But perhaps what was most surprising—or maybe unsurprising—was Harry's behavior. While you felt like you weren't able to hide your anxiety as you were inspected under everyone's microscope, Harry hid everything under cool indifference. It started with clipped, borderline polite answers to questions he did receive, but as the drinks flowed, things took a turn.
"And what do you do, Harry?"
One of your dance teachers came and found you on the outskirts of the dance floor. Harry had been trying to convince you to dance with him, but you didn't want to. Didn't want the attention and scrutiny. That notion seemed to annoy him further.
"I'm a tattoo artist," Harry said casually.
"I see," your teacher said, glancing down at the naked mermaid tattoo on Harry's arm, then to the silver hoop pierced through his lip. "An 'artist' too, then. Like us."
"He owns his own studio," you felt obligated to mention. "It's doing pretty well, right, H?"
"We do alright. Haven't had to resort to a Walter White style of living to make ends meet. Yet."
Your eyes widened. You could tell he was joking, but only because you knew him so well. The line between sarcasm and seriousness was thin, and you could tell that your instructor believed what Harry said. You squeezed his hand, urging him to stop. It wasn't the first time he'd made a similar comment tonight, and it was enough already. But he was pissed, in more ways than one. He was also more than a few drinks deep and clearly fed up with tonight's guests.
"He's kidding," you felt obligated to say, chuckling weakly.
"Well," your teacher said as he cleared his throat, not finding Harry's "joke" remotely amusing. "You must be proud of Y/n. Now that her career will be taking off, she'll be able to provide for the both of you. I imagine being a...tattoo artist isn't all that lucrative."
"Seriously?"
Your teacher blanched. "Pardon? I didn't mean any offense—"
"Yeah, you did," Harry said, jaw clenched and green eyes narrowed and darkened. "You can look down at me all you want, you pompous fuck. All of you assholes act like you're so much better than—"
"Harry, maybe we should—"
"Yeah, pull me away and apologize for me like I'm the problem," he spat, shrugging out of your grasp as you reached for his arm. "I don't need to be handled, Y/n."
Harry didn't give you or your teacher time to respond before stalking off. You followed him, not stopping until you reached doors that led out to a balcony. You squeezed through after him, closing them behind you so that you and Harry could be alone.
For the first time all night, you saw real anger on your boyfriend's face. He'd masked it quite well, appearing as if he got a kick out of making guests of the gala uncomfortable by his mere presence. But you knew better. You could see the hollowness of his smile, the white-knuckle grip he had on his glass behind all the tattoos. He was just as miserable and annoyed as you were at this party, though why he kept making things exponentially difficult you had no idea.
"What is wrong with you?"
"Me? You're the one acting like...like—"
"Like what?"
"Like one of them!" Harry said, gesturing to the party still in full swing inside.
You took a step back as if Harry had hit you. He might as well have with how his words struck a chord in you. He knew how much you hated all the aristocratic nonsense that was suddenly part of your life. He knew all you really wanted was to dance.
"Do you really mean that?" you asked, wanting to give him a chance to take the words back.
"You've hidden me from these people all night. Apologizing for me as if you're ashamed of me!"
"I don't—I don't want to do this right now," was all you could say. He was hurting you, and you knew he was obviously hurt too, but you didn't lash out when you were upset. You crawled deeper inside yourself, locking everything and everyone else out.
"Why? Because it'll embarrass you? Because it's uncomfortable to be in the middle of conflict? Have some backbone, Y/n."
"Yes," you admitted, partly ashamed for admitting it. "You're embarrassing me, Harry."
You didn't have to look through the glass doors to know people were watching. You performed on a stage where hundreds of people gathered to watch, you knew what it felt like to be spectated.
"I am who I am, Y/n, and you've never had a problem with it until now," Harry said, his voice lowering just a little but no less pained. "I won't change for them, and I never thought you would either until tonight."
"Are you kidding?" you cried, utterly surprised that he didn't understand. Your boyfriend was a hothead tonight, but you didn't think he was this dense. "I'm at work, Harry. I may not be in costume, or on a stage, but this is my job. Those people out there are my bosses, my colleagues, and investors in the company. It's not a typical stage, but this is a performance. I have to act a certain way in front of these people to keep them invested and donating. And you...you're treating it all like a joke! But this isn't a joke to me. This is how I get to do what I love.
"You want backbone? Here's backbone," you said, ignoring the tears that began to line your eyes. "I think you should go."
Harry's face softened when he saw you were about to cry. "Bunny—"
"No," you said abruptly, stepping away from his outstretched hand. "I dislike these events just as much as you do, but I still have to come, and I just wanted—I needed a friend tonight, but you weren't."
Harry sighed, his face a mask a cool indifference. This was your first real fight, and things were not looking good. You could tell there was more he wanted to say. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then rubbed a hand over his face. Seeing his face so carefully blank, so unreadable nearly made those tears in your eyes spill over, but you stayed composed as he finally made his way to the glass doors.
"Fine," he said as he passed you. "But tux or no tux, I think you would've tried to hide me tonight. I wanted you to have my back too."
It was only after the doors opened and closed that you let loose a sob.
*.*
The rest of the party went by in a blur. You stayed seated at the bar for most of it, not interested in speaking to anyone in attendance. The only person you wanted to talk to was Harry. You wanted his corny jokes and whispered compliments and his little kisses on your bare shoulder. But you'd pretty much shot your relationship to hell, and while you should've gone home to your apartment to wallow, the open bar didn't seem like a bad idea at the moment.
"Where's your man?" the bartender asked as he slid you another flute of champagne. It had a little less wine in it this time, and you were pretty sure that was done purposely by the bartender.
"Might not be my man anymore, Mark," you said with a sigh, followed by a hiccup.
"Impossible."
"I told him he embarrassed me, after he's been nothing but supportive of me and my career. How selfish is that?" you said, watching the bubbles float to the top of your glass listlessly. "I had the most perfect man in the whole world, and I let him slip through my fingers because he wouldn't put on a suit. I don't even think he owns a suit."
"The no tie was a choice," Mark agreed as he polished a glass from behind the bar. "Especially with this crowd."
"That's what I'm—saying!" you said around another hiccup. "I—I know it might sound crazy considering my profession but I don't—I don't like attention. With things like this, Harry just...he's a magnet for attention, even when he is dressed appropriately. It's intimidating. But I—I never meant to make him feel small, or ashamed. I love him and his apartment and his studio. And now he probably hates me."
"Again," the bartender, Mark, said. "Impossible. You both messed up. That happens. Now you apologize, kiss, and makeup."
"Easier said then done," you sniffled. "We're both irritatingly stubborn."
You left the gala soon after that, deciding to take the pity party home. You had planned to stay at Harry's apartment tonight, but that seemed out of the question now. After thanking the gentleman at the coat check, you walked, stumbling only slightly, out into the cold air. You shivered a little before struggling to put on your coat, cursing its heaviness, your colleagues, and this entire night as you slipped into its warmth.
"Need some help?"
Your head whipped up, tear stains chilling against the cold wind. "H?"
"I couldn't leave," Harry admitted, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "Not after we fought. Not after knowing I made you cry."
"I'm sorry," you whimpered, guilt washing over you. "You were right. About everything. These people are all assholes and—and it shouldn't m—matter what you do or what you wear. Y—You're perfect. And I love you."
Harry opened his arms and you practically fell into them. You squeezed him tight, and he did the same, his hand cupping the back of your head. "I'm sorry too, bunny. I didn't take this night seriously. I should've known how much tonight meant to your career, and I didn't. I love you, bunny. I hate seeing you upset over something I did."
"Can we agree to never fight again?" you asked, looking up at him as you sniffled.
"That's a big ask," he said as he wiped tears away from your cheeks. "But I promise not to have such a big mouth if I'm ever invited back to one of these things."
"And maybe invest in a suit?"
Harry chuckled before kissing you, his lips a warm welcome in the cold. "Yeah, bunny. I'll even let you pick it out."
You smiled widely as Harry took your hand and began walking down the street toward home. It was quiet for a moment until the words tumbled out of your mouth. "I'm not embarrassed to be with you, or of your job. You know that right?"
Harry's hand squeezed yours. "I know. I know you're not, bunny."
More silence. Then, "Pompous fuck? Really?"
"Yeah, that was a bit much. Sorry about that," Harry sighed, only laughing when he saw you smiling. "How much groveling am I doing tonight, then?"
You giggled, stopping your walk so you could kiss your boyfriend. Tonight wasn't great. Actually, it was pretty much a dumpster fire. But you and Harry survived your first proper argument, and that had to count for something, especially when he was ready to beg and beg for your forgiveness.
"Mm... probably about as much as I am."
"Bunny, we can't both be on our knees."
You stuffed, playing with the material of his shirt. "We can take turns. I don't have rehearsals tomorrow."
Harry lifted you off the ground and you squealed as he spun you around. "Need you out of this dress immediately. Come on."
Your hand gripped his tight as you both practically ran down the sidewalk, your dress swirling and nearly getting caught around your ankles. Once you were close enough, Harry lifted you into his arms, hauling you the rest of the way to his apartment. "Home sweet home," he panted, nose pink from running through the bitter chill.
"I love our home," you said, cupping his cheek in your hand.
There wasn't much talking after that. Harry kissed you hard, walking you past the threshold and only setting you down until you were in the bedroom. He was gentle, just as he always was, giving you soft commands and praises, each word and shared breath in the bed a promise to be better to each other. Both of you were needy, desperate, trying to make up for the words exchanged at the party.
When it was all said and done, your muscles felt like jelly, a light sheen of sweat covering your skin as you molded yourself to Harry's side. "Pretty girl, my pretty bunny," he murmured as he kissed your head.
"Screw the tux," you said into his shoulder, your sigh content as you stretched your hand across his stomach. "I like you more with no clothes at all."
Humming, Harry traced his fingers up and down your back, making your eyes droopy with sleep. "I'm glad you think so, bunny, but maybe I'll keep just one in my closet for very special occasions."
You smiled before reaching up and kissing him. "We're really good at compromising, huh?"
Harry's eyes crinkled softly, his hand reaching to cup the back of your neck. "It's like we were made for each other, bunny. I love you."
"I love you too."
You kissed him. Then you kissed him again. And again a little bit longer. "We're supposed to be going to bed," you said, though you didn't stop Harry from sliding his leg between yours. "We made up already."
"So you want me to stop?" Harry was already half-hard and kissing your neck.
"No, I'm just surprised you're up for another round, old man."
Harry lifted his head. "Old? Did you just call me old? I'm not that much older than you."
Noticing the spark in his eyes, your stomach flipped despite being exhausted moments ago. Maintaining an innocent facade, you blinked up at him. "If you say so."
Taking the challenge, Harry shifted you onto your stomach before lining himself up with your entrance. He made it an inch before whispering in your ear, "If you wanted me to be rough with you, bunny, you should've just said so instead of pulling all these invisible strings."
Smiling, you arched your back further. "But it's so much more fun this way, daddy."
Harry's chuckle sent a delightful shiver down your spine. Then, you gripped the sheets in anticipation for the rest of the night.
Omg don‘t worry about not giving me a proper timeline of updates on the grief fic, i was just asking because frankly i‘m really bad at seeing new updates so i was just asking out of my stupidity. I wish you so much luck for moving and hope the new place is just perfect for you, i know moving can be stressful but the happiness is so worth it. Sending you all the helping hands♥️
I am fully sorry if that is a rude question or makes it seem like i don‘t care for your newer fanfics but have you ever written a follow up to the grief fanfic (i believe it is called that). When i read all the possible parts i wondered if you ever wrote more and i just missed it? Really sorry if that sounds ungrateful to your other work, this one stuck with me a lot which is why i‘m asking, i ofc love your others as well, just wanted to ask
not rude at all! i only have two parts for the grief fic. i really just haven't been writing much lately. i wish i could say if or when there will be a second part, but i just haven't been feeling very creative writing wise recently :/
probably not the response you were hoping for, but i'm moving in a couple months, and maybe the new environment will be good for me🙏🏼
just boyfriendrry and reader being disgustingly in love bc i love the new kacey musgraves album💕💕
Masterlist
"What are you looking at?"
"Who me? Nothing."
Your eyes fluttered back down to your book, but only for a moment, your gaze inexplicably transfixed on the man before you.
Harry wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. In fact, it was probably the most regular day you'd shared with him in a while. After lots of traveling, for both work and vacation, you and Harry were finally in the comfort of your own home. He was folding laundry while you enjoyed a lazy day in bed recovering from jet lag, humming to himself as he sorted his clothes into categories before putting them away.
"What?" he asked again, having caught you for the second time. The corner of his mouth tipped up, pleased that he'd caught you admiring him. "See something you like?"
Where do I start? you thought. It was no secret your boyfriend was attractive. Even in an old faded t-shirt, five o'clock shadow, and his hair unkempt as it dried from his shower, she was still the most handsome man you'd ever met. It was startling sometimes, his smile or dimples or green eyes making you do a double take, causing you to blush before he caught you ogling.
"No," you said, still holding onto the charade that you hadn't been admiring him. Harry raised his brows, not buying your cool act, which only made your cheeks burn, but you sighed in defeat nonetheless. "I just love you, that's all."
Harry's responding grin had your heart melting into a puddle at your feet. It was both satisfied and bashful at the same time, beautiful and adorable as his cheeks became dusted with pink. "Oh stop."
"No, really," you said, leaning forward as you set your book aside. "You're doing something as simple as pairing socks, and I just fell even more in love with you. Can you believe that?"
Looking down at his various piles of yours and his clothes, Harry shook his head before covering his face with his hands. When he removed them to look at you, his whole face was beet red.
"Now you're the one flustering me."
You shrugged, pushing onto your knees. Carefully, you moved the piles of clothes out of the way so you could be right in front of him to wrap your arms around his neck. This close to your boyfriend, you could see all the little things that made up the face you loved so much—the light dusting of freckles, the scar on his chin, the precise shade of green that made up his eye color, the perfect arch of his brows. Harry was a work of art, one you considered yourself lucky to be able to behold on a daily basis.
For a moment as you held his gaze, you could see it all. The present relationship you had with him hurtling into a bright future. One with tears of joy and sadness, of remarkable memories and feelings too great to comprehend. It was almost too daunting to think about, but you wanted it, you wanted it all with him.
"What are you thinking about?" you asked him, grazing your fingers over the tops of his cheekbones.
"How much I love that little twinkle in your eye when your mind wanders off somewhere," Harry replied.
"Thinking of you, baby," you murmured, before finally sliding your lips over his.
Harry's arms tightened around your waist as he hummed appreciatively, his hands roving all over your back as he brought you impossibly closer against his chest. You sighed at the familiar touch, never quite used to the feeling of butterflies or the electricity that zinged through your skin every time he touched you.
"In case it wasn't abundantly clear," Harry murmured, his lips smearing lazy kisses over your jaw and down your neck. "I love you."
Squeezing him tighter, you nudged your nose against his neck. "I love you too."
hii so i wanted to know if you could do a frat boy harry who’s a hockey player and reader who’s a figure skater. and it’s like enemies to lovers type of thing like rivals.
idk how to feel about this one...but here you go!
Part 2
You positioned your arms in the correct position, taking some deep breaths before the music began. The opening chords sounded—a lilting, breathy harp—and when you were ready, you bent down gracefully, and started the routine you'd been perfecting for months.
Your skates glided across the ice, your body letting the music move you through each trick. Nothing else existed for the next two and a half minutes. Drowning out every single distraction was the only way to achieve perfection, in your mind.
The music finally stopped as you skated back to the center to land in your final position. Your breathing was heavy, but you tried your hardest not to let it show. The routine needed to appear effortless, and panting like you'd just run a marathon would give the opposite effect.
There was light applause from some of the other girls you skated with after you left the center of the rink, but otherwise it was still fairly quiet. That is, until Harry showed up.
“Oh, come on, Princess, you can do better than that!”
“Suck my dick, Harry!”
“I’d rather suck on something else, love, you know that. But only if you let me.”
You rolled your eyes, but didn’t look over at him once, knowing that would only give him more satisfaction.
Harry Styles was the captain of your school’s hockey team. He was the best goalie in the state, had an excellent record, had his pick of any NHL team from coast to coast, could even be selected for the Olympic team next year. He was one of the most popular guys at your school, students and professors alike wrapped around his finger, but to you he was just a cocky, arrogant son of a bitch.
You skated at the same university, but instead of holding a stick and getting into fights and shoving opponents against plexiglass, you performed. Your competitions weren't so barbaric. You were a figure skater, an excellent one at that. Not that anyone at your school really cared. If it wasn’t aired on the a big sports network, it wasn't worth talking about. It didn't matter that you were a world class figure skater, or that you were mastering tricks that only the best skaters in the world merely considered putting in their routines. It didn't matter that you'd won competition after competition. You weren’t praised for your flawless technique or your effortless grace the way that Harry was praised for blocking an impossible shot. Statistically speaking, you technically had a better record than Harry did as far as victories went, but as history has shown, boys always got more recognition.
It didn’t bother you that Harry and his teammates were more popular than you, that wasn’t your issue. The problem was that it went straight to their heads. They lorded their talent over everyone like they were God’s gift to humankind. It drove you insane, and the fact that you all practiced and trained at the same rink made it that much worse.
You skated back to the center of the rink again, more laser focused than ever now that you knew Harry was watching. The only good thing that came out of his assholish ways was that it drove you to work ten times harder. When the music started, you could feel his eyes watching your every move, but you let it fuel you. You didn't just achieve perfection, you were perfection. And where you might have bobbled a landing last go around, this time you stuck it without a hitch.
“Yeah! That’s my girl!” Harry whistled, the sound of his hands clapping bouncing off the pretty much empty rink.
At that, you turned and glared at him, only to see him smiling and wiggling his eyebrows at you. Everything about him irritated you to the highest degree, from the self-satisfied smirk to the way his dark curly hair fanned out beneath his backward baseball cap, the one that rarely left his head unless he was wearing his goalie helmet. The most annoying thing about him was how cute he was. If he wasn’t such a dick you actually might be interested.
Before you could reply with a snide remark, your coach walked over to where Harry was pressed up against the rim of the rink. “Stop distracting my skaters, Styles!”
“Sorry, Coach,” Harry called, but he didn’t look apologetic in the slightest. Winking at you, he walked off, taking his hat off for a moment to run a hand through his hair before putting it back on again.
Shaking Harry off, you finished the rest of your training in peace. It went pretty quick, which was why Harry was there in the first place. Once you and your friends got out of your skates and changed into regular clothes in the locker room, you were all on your way to the parking lot.
“I swear he’s into you or something,” Kate, one of your best friend said when she saw Harry waiting by your car, a couple of his friends/teammates with him.
“As he should, but it’s never gonna happen,” you said.
Kate nudged you. “Why? I mean he’s annoying as fuck, but he’s the hottest guy at our school. And I’ve heard he’s, like, you know, good in bed.”
“Ugh, not you too, Kate,” you groaned, though you weren’t all that surprised she was playing devil’s advocate. She went to the dark side a few months ago when one of the other boys on the hockey team asked her to to some fraternity dance and had been together ever since. “And for the record, no one our age is actually ‘good.’ According to my sister, it takes years of practice.”
“If you’re worried I don’t have any experience, you shouldn't. I have plenty of it, Princess.”
You rolled your eyes. “Your hand doesn’t count as experience, Harry,” you said, walking past him and his friends to put your things in the trunk of your car.
His friends all laughed and pushed him around, but you ignored all of it, waiting for them all to leave. From your vantage point, you saw Kate walk over to Harry and her boyfriend Zayn. She went over and gave him a hug, but you stayed where you were, not looking Harry in the eye.
“There’s a party tonight,” Zayn said to you and Kate. “You guys should come.”
Before you could say no, Kate spoke first. “Yeah, we’ll definitely be there.” After telling you that she’d be at your house to pick you up later, she and Zayn walked off, leaving you and Harry alone.
“I’m assuming you’re sticking around because you need a ride?” you asked, slowly inching forward.
Harry nodded, reaching his hand out to you. You took it reluctantly, letting him pull you closer. Once you were close enough, though, you couldn’t help yourself. You surged forward and kissed him, pressing your body against his. Harry was more than receptive, letting you take his baseball cap off and run your hands through his hair. His kiss set you on fire, and you hated how much you loved it.
“You have to stop doing that,” you said once Harry’s lips attached to your neck. You almost couldn’t get the words out because he knew exactly which spots made your breath hitch, but you managed.
“I thought we were supposed to be keeping up appearances,” he panted, speaking the words into your skin. “You’re the one who doesn’t want anyone to know we’re dating.”
“We’re not dating.” Your response was immediate. You expected Harry to stop his attack on your neck, but he didn’t. In fact, you felt him grin against you.
“Sure, whatever you say.”
Screwing around with Harry was not something you expected. He was cocky and got on your nerves constantly. But he flirted with you just as often, and one day it just got to you. You dragged him into a closet at a party, and you’d been secretly doing whatever you were doing ever since.
“No one finds out, got it?” you whispered, unbuttoning his shirt.
“Whatever you want, Princess. We done talking now?”
So you were a thing. Friends with benefits. But not really friends because outside of closed doors Harry still pissed you off to no end. Rivals with benefits? No, that didn't have the same ring to it.
It didn't really matter, though. Even giving that much thought to the situation at hand was too much.
Harry slid into the passenger seat of your car after throwing his gear in the trunk. Giving him a ride wasn't something you foresaw after that first night you spent with him, but he didn't own a car and didn't live with his friends, and after he mentioned nearly getting jumped at a bus station, you offered to drive him home. Harry was a thorn in your side, but you weren't heartless.
His hand settled comfortably on your knee as you pulled out of the parking lot, his thumb moving back and forth along the soft material of your sweatpants.
“Don’t,” you warned.
“Don’t what?” Harry asked, though you didn't even have to look over to know he was smirking at you.
“Last time you tried something in the car we almost crashed”
“That’s because your eyes were closed. I'm completely innocent,” Harry reasoned.
“You had your fingers—”
“Now, now, Princess. Stay calm before you nearly kill us again.”
You groaned in sheer annoyance. At Harry's childishness, at yourself for letting his immaturity get to you. He knew just how to push your buttons, and you absolutely despised him for it.
“Tell her you’re sick,” Harry interrupted, kissing your bare shoulder. “You didn’t even want to go in the first place. Just stay here.”
You wouldn't lie, staying in Harry's bed sounded much more appealing than holding a plastic cup of stale beer and shouting over music to be heard. Parties were never really your thing, but it was something to do on the weekends, so you went. But now Harry was presenting another option, though it was one that wandered beyond the boundaries of your arrangement.
“Don’t you think people might get the wrong idea if both of us don't show up?” you asked. You felt like you needed a reason to say no, and this was the best one you could come up with.
“Everyone thinks we hate each other,” Harry replied. His voice was raspy and slow, the way it got when he was tired. You weren't sure when you started to recognize little details like that, but now you did. “Come on. My roommate is gone for the weekend. We'd have the whole place to ourselves.”
“We’d probably kill each other,” you mused, though the idea did spark something in you.
“Maybe.”
His voice was muffled as his lips dragged across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. One hand moved your hair to the side so he had better access to the spot just below your ear while the other traced lazy circles on your hip. You were tired, utterly spent really, but the sensation of Harry’s skin and the occasional nip of his teeth was hard to ignore. You leaned into his touch almost involuntarily, humming as his hands continued to dip and stroke apply pressure in the places he knew were your most sensitive.
“What were you gonna do at that party anyway?” he said. “Pretend to have a good time? Talk to guys who think they have a chance with you when they don't?”
“Who says they don't?” you asked, though it was mostly to egg Harry on. You didn't miss the glares pointed in your direction whenever you talked to other guys at parties. There weren't any kind of rules that the two of you abided by, but both of you were well aware of the fact that you weren't seeing anyone else. And Harry would always let you know how he felt about you flirting with other guys when he finally got you alone.
You'd hoped that your remark would set Harry's jealousy aflame and make him remind you how wrong you actually were. It was the kind of cat and mouse game you played often, but instead of responding the way he normally did, Harry did the oddest thing. He let go of you completely.
“Fine then. Go and have fun at your party.”
You were inexplicably cold as Harry's arms released their hold on you and he shuffled towards the edge of the bed so he wasn't touching you.
Totally and utterly surprised, you laid still, unsure of what was going on. Finally, you said, “Really?”
Harry shrugged as he pulled a book from his nightstand and opened it up, completely nonplussed. “If you think that anyone at that stupid party is going to measure up to me, then by all means,” he said, gesturing towards the bedroom door with his book.
Without another word, he went back to reading, leaving you virtually alone with your thoughts.
Something stirred in you. Guilt didn't feel like the right word, but you felt...kind of bad for making Harry feel that way, and even worse now that he wasn't paying attention to you. It was ludicrous, seeing as he drove you insane and you hated him, but at the moment, all you wanted to do was crawl over to him and have his attention again. At the very least to have him finish what he'd started.
So, perhaps against your better judgement, you did.
“I’m sorry,” you said, squishing your cheek against his shoulder and spreading your hand across his torso.
By now you didn't even have to look at him to know which tattoos you were tracing, so you kept your eyes on his face as your fingers traveled from the butterfly on his stomach down to the fern leaves on his hips. Up, down, lower, grazing until you got a reaction from him.
“You’re gonna have to do a lot better than that,” he mumbled. His eyes were still on his book, but he had yet to turn a page, so you knew progress was being made.
You added kisses to the mix. All across his chest you kissed him, sucking a hickey right where his heart was. You could feel Harry's heart beat faster, but he still wouldn't look at you, which made your brows furrow with mild annoyance.
“Hmm. Now we're getting somewhere,” he said, a satisfied grin on his face, when your hand finally stopped teasing and got to work.
Still, it took another couple minutes of you practically groveling for him to finally look at you. His chest was flushed, but his face still remained as calm as ever. He'd hardly reacted at all to what you were doing, which made you want to please him that much more.
Pouting at him, you took the book out of his hands and chucked it across his bedroom, then placed one of his hands on you.
With one brow raised, Harry looked down at you. “You ready to behave?”
The logical part of your brain was saying this was madness. You hated how smug he was acting, how sure of himself he was. You were stroking his ego, and he was eating it up, something you never thought you would do voluntarily. But you wanted to, and you hated how much you loved it, loved having to work for it.
You nodded, leaning towards him. He would most likely never let you live this moment down, and you would have to exact some kind of revenge on him in the future, but all of that was far from your mind. The only thing you cared about was Harry's lips meeting your own as he pushed you back against the mattress, finally ready to give you both what you wanted.
livin' in a daydream @avatar-anna - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
