HarrysPurpleLoofah

Fill up your own cup and let them fall in love with the overflow- Harry Edward Styles 🔮

[harryspurpleloofah]

On Air

Summary: Y/N hosts her own little radio show. It’s popular enough for her to feel like she’s actually doing something but niche enough that the average person might not know about it. She gives advice on love, lust and all things relationship. But one day a British caller with a gorgeous voice decides to grace her radio show and she realizes maybe she’s the one he’s asking for advice about.

Warnings: mostly fluff, other callers mention their sex lives, mention of positions, swift mention of handcuffs, blindfolds, etc. Some swearing

She looked in the mirror one more time to give herself that little rush of pride. There were days when her hair, outfit and makeup all decided to gracefully fall into place for maximum satisfaction and today was one of those days. She blinked at the mirror again, almost letting out a laugh from how giddy she felt at the fact her lashes had decided to cooperate today.

She knelt down to strap up her heels and then do one more quick look before she should probably get going. Her friend, Becca who acted as a producer with her on this little endeavor always asked her why she got so dressed up. All people would be hearing was her voice. No one could see her. That’s why Becca made the arguably more intelligent decision to just show up in her day job clothes to save time.

But not Y/N. Her favourite part of her life was when she got to leave her office job and make herself look just as pretty as she wanted that specific day without feeling silly because she had an occasion. She pulled on her coat and made sure to grab her purse before rushing out the apartment door and down the stairs.

Becca was lounged on her chair, pizza slice in one hand and phone in the other. “Hey.”

“Hi! I’m early today, see?” Y/N pointed out.

“And I’m early every day. You look great though.”

She felt herself light up as she took off her coat and sat in her chair. That chair. The one she’d learnt to associate with relaxation and happiness. Y/N had always been chatty. Chattier than Becca so their friendship usually operated in a way where Becca would listen as well as handle the behind the scenes and she would talk.

Both of them were quite pleased with that arrangement and saw no need to change it. The need was actually to enhance the experience for both of them and divide Y/N’s plethora of interesting thoughts to the whole population rather than just Becca’s ears.

That’s how they got here. Their own little radio show. She absolutely loved it. Becca would handle the production aspect of everything and she got to live her dream, multiple people ringing in each night just to talk to her! About their love lives. What could be better?

She got comfortable in the chair where she had heard hundreds and hundreds of love stories from strangers and cleared her throat giving Becca a signal that she was ready. Becca smiled and nodded at her.

The show started and she gave her usual introduction before giving people the opportunity to call in. Becca gave her a thumbs up and connected an anonymous caller to her. Y/N knew how to make her voice a little sultrier. Not for the people. Just for the radio. Like she was trying to impress her microphone. She enjoyed it so much, it was on the verge of putting on a sexy, fun character while still being herself.

“Welcome to Midnight Lines, I’m your host. What seems to be your love conundrum tonight?”

“Uh-hi. So I’m a woman. And I have this guy. He’s beautiful. Like a model. But he travels a lot so we agreed to keep it casual. Very on and off.”

“I see.” She replied, smiling and leaning forward on the desk as she listened for more.

“The sex is fine. Like not mind-blowing but it’s not bad. But he leaves so often.”

“Aw. So you wish he wouldn’t leave you so much?”

“Kind of. I just feel like there’s so much chemistry when he comes back from all his trips but then we start fighting and I just can’t wait for him to leave again.”

Y/N leans back in her chair, “well, there’s gonna be fights occasionally, that’s unavoidable.”

“Yeah…”

“But you know what? Some people just like to make dramatic entrances when they’ve got nothing to fill in the rest of the show with. And it sounded like the sexual aspects of your lover aren’t anything to write home about.”

Becca made a face saying, “I agree.” as she chewed on her pizza slice.

“And if he’s making you unhappy to the point you want him to leave every time he comes home then well I think we know where you stand, maybe he’s not the right one, hon.”

“Really? I just feel like I get used to him not being here and then just don’t like living with someone else.”

“Well then that’s where you are in life right now and you don’t have to be sorry about that. I still don’t think a guy who makes you wish he was gone when he’s there is worth it.”

“Maybe you’re right. Now that I think about it, the only thing that excites me about him is when I know he’s about to come home.”

“Ah because you build up a fantasy of the big, steamy and passionate reunion and it never happens?”

“…yeah.”

“Mm. Well why settle for a man who only fits the beginning of your desired love story? Go all the way and find one who can give you the rest of it.”

The woman on the other line is quiet for a bit before she agrees and wraps up the conversation. Y/N looks back at Becca for confirmation that the call is done then speaks again to her viewers. “The floor is open, loves.”

The next caller is a man. He sounds like he leads a miserable life, his voice is quiet and dreary.

“Hey, so I’m an accountant… have been since I was um… 21. I’ve got a girlfriend.”

“Okay.” She smiled, leaning forward and taking a little moment to appreciate her nails before her attention shifted back to the caller.

“I just feel like my life isn’t the most… adventurous so sometimes I wanna compensate in bed by trying new things.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah but I don’t know how to tell her the things I wanna do. Some of them are a bit out there and I don’t want her to stop liking me.”

“Well if she really likes you then she wouldn’t stop liking you just for asking if she wants to do something. Now if she says no and you keep pushing, that’s a different story. But there’s no harm in proposing something.”

“I-I’m not really the best at talking to people.”

“I know speaking about sex sounds really scary especially because you don’t want your partner to see you as weird or kink shame. But honestly, sitting someone down and gently talking about something usually does go well.”

“You think? Do girls like that stuff? Handcuffs, blindfolds and all that?”

“Are you asking if I do? Because that’s the only question I can give you a definitive answer to. All girls really aren’t the same. Some do and some don’t. But it’s not an extreme fantasy. Loads of people use handcuffs and blindfolds.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

“Okay. Thanks for helping me out there.”

“That’s why we run this show,” she said with a tone that allowed the listeners to hear the smile on her lips.

A few callers later, she was about to wrap up when someone called in. Becca looked at her, silently asking if she wanted to take one last one. Y/N shrugged. Why not? She nodded at Becca to put them through.

“Hi, how can we help your love life at Midnight Lines?”

The caller took a moment to answer. But when he did, oh she was glad he did. He had a deep, beautiful voice. The kind that’s low enough to cause vibrations through you if you heard it in person but soft enough that you felt comforted by it. The British accent surrounding it only made her happier she’d chosen to take the last call.

“Hello. I take the train every day. I always see a beautiful woman. She’s gorgeous. She stands in the same spot of the train every day, unless there’s a seat available. Then she… lights up as she sees it. I always hope no one sits there when I see it as I get on. Just to see her get on at the next stop and her eyes scan the train and widen slightly with happiness when she sees it.”

Y/N freezes. She doesn’t know if he meant to go on as much as he did. Usually people on here who would call about someone theyre not dating but like just go off of there appearance. Or things they find sexy about their personality, even. But never something so casual in such great detail.

“That-that’s lovely. So I assume you want to talk to this woman?”

“So much. I always try to give it a go but it’s so quiet because we take it really early so nobody’s in a chatty mood. So, if she were to say no or really not want to talk to me then everybody would hear. And it would just get really awkward.”

“Ah…okay yeah. I get that. It’s scary trying to talk to people you really like. Are you willing to give it a go? Or did you just want to rant a bit?”

“I think I would like to give it a go. I’m just not really sure how. She doesn’t know me and I don’t want to come across as creepy. I honestly just want a few moments of her time. Even if she’s not interested in me romantically, I’d love to just talk to her. Find out a little more about her.”

“That’s so sweet. I’d say if you’re stuck, go traditional. There’s a reason why so many people buy flowers and chocolates for people they love, it works. Nobody dislikes receiving a bouquet or something sweet to get them through the day. Then once you get to know them you can work on making it more personal.”

“So you think flowers won’t be too much right?”

“Yeah. Maybe not a bouquet of sultry red roses if you wanna be safe. But just a mix of a few flowers would be a lovely thing to do. Some peonies, baby’s breath… you know?”

“Right. That sounds nice. How would I give them to her? Just… hand them to her one day?”

“If you don’t want to do it on the train you could always get off at her stop and then walk the distance to yours if it’s not too far. Or wait for the next train. Just walk up to her and say hey I think you’re really pretty and I’d love to get to know you better. Offer her the flowers gently.”

“And that won’t come across as weird?”

Y/N chuckles, “hopefully not. It depends on the sort of person she is but I know I wouldn’t mind getting a bouquet first thing in the morning from a sweet guy on the train.”

“Thank you so much, I guess I was just looking for some confirmation of what works.”

“No problem. It’s what we set this up for. I hope you get the girl, call to check in if you want later!”

“Will do. Thanks again.”

While packing her stuff, Y/N turned to look at Becca, trying to see if the last man had the same effect on her. Becca seemed neutral enough.

“What’s wrong?” Becca asked.

“What did you think of the last caller?”

“The train guy? I don’t know. Sounded sexy right?”

“Mhm. But I mean. Did you hear what he was saying? Most of the people-men especially who call on here just wanna fuck a girl. I wasn’t expecting such a mellow request.”

“Yeah I guess you’re right. I mean he sounded sweet as hell. I hope the train woman likes the flowers.”

“Mm.”

The next morning hit her hard. The night had gone by so wonderfully after the conversation with that man. He sounded so… beautiful. Just by his voice she could tell he must be attractive. She just had a gut feeling. But as well as that, she didn’t find herself jealous that he liked another woman. Just happy that she was able to bring together this man and whoever he’s trying to get with.

She yawned as she pulled the heavy coat over her shoulders. It was the same one that she had put on last night but it seemed to have gotten drearier overnight. The consolation that she would get to do her show all over again soon was the only thing that gave her the strength to pick up her bag as she trudged out the door.

It was cold this time of year and right now considering everything about her work life, love life and everything in between, the dull sky and constant chill seemed to be pathetic fallacy. She bought her train ticket at the bureau and waited by the edge with her usual crowd.

A man who would always get off at the second stop then ride home with her as well. A woman who would get on the morning train but she wouldn’t see her again for the rest of the day. She saw new faces as well. A group of teenage friends probably going into the city for some shopping and a day out.

She got on the train and looked around to see if any seat was free. Nope. She sighed as she went over to stand in her regular spot, adjusting her scarf. She nodded and smiled politely at the man she saw every day. The tall one with the curly brown hair. He would always stand opposite her on the train but maintain a respectful distance.

She never saw him get off or on the train so she assumed his first stop was earlier than hers and his last, later. He was a calming prescence on the train. She’d seen him give up his seat multiple times to people who needed it more with nothing but a smile and a polite hand on his heart while reassuring them that it was no trouble.

Now that she thought about it his voice sounded familiar. Maybe somebody she’d seen on TV sounded similar. That wasn’t what she was thinking about right now, though. Right now the only thing that occupied her brain was the man from last night. Maybe he would be on a train right now, looking at the woman he likes, holding a bouquet in his hands, wondering if she should give it to her.

Coincidentally, when she looked down at her train man’s hand she saw something tucked so it was being covered by one of his legs but she could make out that it was suspiciously shaped like a bouquet and she knew it for a fact when she saw the baby’s breath peaking out.

How funny. Two men however many miles away from each other holding a bouquet on a train. Maybe for the same purpose. Maybe a different one. She knew the stop after her one was the one where there was a hospital a really short walk away so perhaps he had someone he knew who was unwell and wanted to bring some comfort.

Her stop began to approach and soon the thought of both the men was out of her mind as her thoughts drifted to the hell that was her office job. Maybe today her boss would decide he wasn’t going to be such a prick and just be normal just for one day. Unlikely.

Or maybe Tina from HR would talk about something other than her boyfriend in the, “political field”, who apparently knew everybody there was to know. Also highly unlikely.

All in all, she hoped a borough of unlikely things opened itself of the world today whether it was her caller’s crush falling head over heels for him when she properly noticed him for the first time or Tina gaining some sense. But she’d have to wait and see. She quickly looked around to make sure she hadn’t put anything down that she should take with her and then headed off the train.

But she felt a presence and an enveloping aroma of vanilla and sandalwood behind her as she saw the curly-haired man getting off with her, his trench coat billowing slightly giving him a gorgeous silhouette.

“Ma’am!” He said a little louder than he intended so he brought his volume back down.

“Yes?”

He held the flowers forward for her and spoke, “I’m sorry if I’m keeping you but I would love for you to have these.”

“Oh? They’re very beautiful thank you. But… I’m sorry do I know you from somewhere?”

“No no. You don’t know me. I just see you on the train every day and I-just think you’re very beautiful. I’d love to get to know you better.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m not even necessarily asking you on a date just… to get to know you a little better.”

She froze. The words he was saying were the exact ones she’d heard the man from last night say. Was she the train woman he was talking about? Now that she thought about it his voice sounded exactly the same too.

She slowly took the flowers, her face still frozen in thought of last night but he misunderstood and thought she was judging him.

“I’m really sorry if this came across as random or… out of the blue. I was never trying to make you uncomfortable and I can leave right now if you’d like. But I just thought it was worth a shot. If nothing more I’d love to be your friend.”

“No not at all this is lovely. I’m sorry I just had something else on my mind. Why don’t I give you my number? I need to get going right now but I’d love a chat later.”

“Yeah that’s amazing. Thanks so much.”

She watched him look back at the train, seeing if it was still there but then his shoulders deflated as he saw that it wasn’t, getting ready to just walk the way to his stop rather than wait for another. He started walking away, his boots making a satisfying click sound on the ground.

Was he really the guy from last night? And was she really the woman who had made him say such wonderful things about her?

She felt an uncontrollable, real smile creep up on her. She managed to suppress it a tiny bit with the help of thinking about her job but she still had a little sparkle of joy for the rest of the day.

When she got home that night she looked at his number and scrolled through the few messages they’d exchanged already. He was asking her out to dinner now. She didn’t know what to say. She wanted to go out with him but should she tell him that she was indeed the radio show host?

She texted back, “7 on Saturday is great. I’ll text you my address.”

“Sounds wonderful.” He texted back.

“Random question?”

“Yes?”

“Are you planning to talk about my dinner plan agreement on a certain radio show tomorrow night?”

He didn’t reply for a bit. Not like he went offline to avoid her but like he genuinely just sat there with his fingers frozen at the keyboard of his phone, poor guy probably relaxed and just about to go to sleep.

“Which show?”

“It’s called Midnight Lines I believe.” She texted back, smiling to herself.

“God. You listen to it?”

“I’m related to it.”

“What does that mean?”

“I might know the woman who runs it.”

“What??”

“Seriously.”

“Okay I mean yeah. I went on there. I didn’t know who else to ask. My friends are dicks, they don’t know the first thing about asking a woman out… politely.”

“So you went on a radio show where the most discussed topic is sex positions?”

“The woman who ran it seemed friendly. I feel like she’d give genuine advice. How’d you know her? Is she a friend?”

“She might just be me actually.”

“You joking?”

“Nope.”

He didn’t reply for a while. Then her screen lit up with the three dots again.

“So I managed to ask you how to ask yourself out?”

“At least you know there would be no one who gives better advice.”

“Should I keep calling then? If this goes further?”

“You could just… you know text me.”

“Yeah but where’s the fun?”

The night passed just like that and it seemed like many more did too. Too many to count it seems because when she least expected it one night her boyfriend called into the radio show again. Becca sat up as she recognized Harry’s voice too now from knowing him for quite a while.

Y/N didn’t know whether to acknowledge she knew him. “Yes? How can we help you today?”

“So I have this girlfriend. She’s gorgeous. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

She smiled but continued for the sake of playing it off like a regular call, “I see.”

“And I need to know whether my anniversary present for her would be a good one or not.”

“Mm. Okay. What did you get her?”

“I don’t know if I can say. She apparently tunes into this.”

“Does she?”

“Yeah. Related to the show very closely.”

Y/N looked at Becca who just chuckled to herself and went back on her phone. Harry spoke up again.

“So if she is listening, just know it’s on your bed when you get home, love. And I think I’ve gotten to know you well enough that it’s personal. And I can finally get you roses. I don’t need the safety blanket of platonic baby’s breath.”

[cloudyluun]

𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 | 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅!𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚

Summary: You and Harry only have a few minutes alone before friends return to the apartment. Instead of behaving like reasonable adults, you immediately start making reckless decisions in the kitchen.

A/N: I had so much fun writing this!! I've been trying to get out of my writing slump for so long. AND, finally, I've planned a month of content on tumblr and patreon in advance. SO i guess i can say I'M BACK bitches!

Word Count: 656

Warnings: 

SMUT, 18+ ONLY

not much foreplay

p in v (unprotected)

semi public, fear of getting caught

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The apartment door clicks shut behind us, and I’m instantly pushed against the cool hard surface. Harry’s mouth claiming mine in a searing kiss. Our friends are gone for mere minutes. We don’t have time for subtelty or foreplay. I can feel the urgency radiating off him, matching the pounding of my own heart.

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting all night to do this,” he growls, his hands already tugging at my dress, pulling it up to my waist. I gasp, my fingers fumbling with his belt. I’m desperate to feel him, all of him.

“Harry, we shouldn’t-“ I start, but my words are cut off as he lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist. His hardness presses against my core, and I can’t help but grind against him.

“We should,” he insists, carrying me to the kitchen, “We must.”

He sets me down on the counter, knocking over a vase of flowers in his haste. They crash to the floor, but we don’t stop.

He yanks my panties aside, his fingers finding me wet and ready. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groans, “You’re so fucking ready for me.” I moan, my head falling back as he pumps his fingers in and out of me, his thumb circling my clit.

“Harry, please,” I beg, my hands clawing at his back, “I need you inside me, now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. In one swift motion, he unzips his pants completely. He frees his cock and pushes into me, filing me completely. I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders, as he begins to move.

“Oh god, Harry,” I pant, my legs wrapping tighter around him, “You feel so good.”

He grunts, his hips slapping against mine. “You feel fucking amazing, Y/N.” His hands grip my hips, pulling me onto him.

I can hear the clock ticking, the minutes passing too quickly. I can’t focus on anything but Harry. His body moving against mine, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside me. I’m close, so close, and I can tell he is too.

“Come with me, Y/N,” he demands, “Come on my cock, now.”

His words send me over the edge. I cry out, waves of pleasure crash over me. Harry follows, his cock pulsing inside me, filling me with his hot release. He groans, his hands gripping my hips so tight I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he pants, his forehead resting against mine, “That was incredible.”

I not, my body still trembling. “It was,” I agree, “But we should clean up. They’ll be back any minute.”

He helps me down from the counter, his hands steadying me as I find my footing. We quickly adjust our clothes, trying to look presentable. We turn to face each other, and can’t help but laugh. We both know we look anything but innocent.

“Here,” he says, grabbing a dishtowel and wetting it under the faucet. He reaches between my legs, gently wiping away the evidence of our encounter. Gasp at the contact, my body is still so sensitive.

“Harry,” I warn, my voice barely a whisper, “we don’t have time for-“

“Shh,” he interrupts, his finger pressing against my lips, “I just want to take care of you. Let me do this, please.”

I nod, my eyes locked with his as he cleans me, his touch gentle, reverent. When he's finished, he presses a soft kiss to my forehead, his arms wrapping around me in a tight hug.

"Thank you," I murmur, my voice barely audible.

He smiles, "Anytime, Y/N. Anytime."

Just then, we hear the sound of keys in the lock, our friends returning. We quickly pull apart, trying to look casual, trying to look like we haven't just been fucking on the kitchen counter. But as our friends walk in, their eyes narrowing as they take in our disheveled appearance, we can't help but smile, our secret hanging in the air between us.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like and comment if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖

@oscahpastry @angelbabyyy99 @iloveharrystyles04 @cinemharry @drwho06 @donutsandpalmtrees @panini @mads3502 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @one-sweet-gubler @ciriceimpera @everyscarisahealingplace @hello-heyhi @lizsogolden @hannah9921 @chicabonitasblog @berrywoods1245 @jennovaaa @angeldavis777 @prettygurl-2009 @run-for-the-hills @maudie-duan @harrrrystylesslut @stylestarkey @watarmelon212 @hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east @bethiegurl19 @adoredeanna @secretisme4 @harry2121 @hopefullimaginer123 @fangirl509east @uncassettodiricordi @2601-london @zbaby @michellekstyles @girl-so-gay @taylorivylove

[harryspurpleloofah]

Welcome back!

[zclhes]

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

Word count: ~ 3.7k

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

POV: Harry, third person / Reader, second person

Setting: 2026, Together, Together Tour

Warnings: none

Summary: At a quiet Amsterdam café before night four, breakfast takes an unexpectedly awkward turn when the waitress focuses a little too much on Harry and not nearly enough on you.

Amsterdam, N4 — 22 May 2026

By Friday morning, both of you have officially become bored of the hotel breakfast menu. It's not that the food is bad, it is actually very good, which you have said several times over the last week, usually while eating the same thing for the third morning in a row. But there is only so much room service a person can have before every plate begins to feel like a polite variation of the day before.

Yesterday had been different. Yesterday had been soft, slow, and deliberately uneventful. After the anniversary show on Wednesday night, both of you had woken late, ordered breakfast to bed, and stayed there longer than either of you should have, tangled in sheets, sharing fruit from the same plate while Harry dramatically claimed that strawberries tasted better when stolen directly from your mouth. Later, you had rented out a quiet spa area in the hotel for a few hours. No schedules, no cameras, no ringing phones, no people watching you like hawks while pretending not to. Just warm water, massages, the smell of eucalyptus in the sauna, and Harry sitting beside you in the pool with his wet hair pushed back, looking more relaxed than he had all week. It had felt like the kind of day tour tries to steal from people, but you didn't let it win this time.

Today though, tour actually takes over again, night four, another show day ahead. But not quite yet. For now, there is only morning sun over the canals, the sound of bicycles passing over cobblestones, and Harry walking beside you with his sunglasses on, one hand loosely wrapped around yours. It's still early enough for the city to feel gentle. Busy, yes, but not frantic. Cafés are filling slowly, tables being wiped down, pastries arranged behind glass, tiny vases with tulips placed on outdoor tables as if the whole city believes breakfast needs decoration.

“We could just keep walking and call it breakfast,” Harry says after the third café you pass is deemed too full.

You glance over. “That’s not how breakfast works.”

“It could be. Very European. A thoughtful stroll.”

“You need actual food before soundcheck.”

“I had a mint.”

“A mint is not breakfast, Harry.”

“It’s refreshing.”

“It’s toothpaste-adjacent.”

He laughs, squeezing your hand gently. “Fine. Actual food. Somewhere small, though.”

You know what he means without him needing to explain. Harry loves people, and he is generous with fans when he can be, but food is one of the few things he tries to keep sacred. He doesn’t want to be photographed mid-bite or approached while you are trying to have a quiet conversation over coffee. More than that, he knows you still become shy when fans recognise you beside him, even when they are kind. So he keeps his head lowered a little as you turn down a quieter street, away from the bigger brunch spots with queues outside.

The café you eventually find is tucked between a flower shop and a narrow bookshop, its windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside. There are a few tables near the front, but most of them are occupied by locals reading newspapers or tourists planning their day over maps and croissants. In the back corner, half-hidden by a tall plant and a low wooden partition, there is a small table for two. Harry spots it at the same time you do. “That one,” he murmurs.

You smile. “Very stealthy.”

“I’m basically invisible.”

“You are wearing sunglasses indoors.”

“Exactly. Disguise.”

“Excellent work.”

He grins and follows you to the corner table, sliding into the seat across from you. The moment you sit, the whole morning settles into something easy. Outside, a cyclist rings a bell at someone crossing too slowly. Inside, coffee machines hiss, cups clink softly, and an old song plays from speakers somewhere near the counter. Harry takes off his sunglasses and folds them neatly beside his phone and you just watch him for a second.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“That’s my line.”

“I’m just happy.”

The answer makes his expression soften immediately. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Yesterday helped.”

“Spa Harry is a superior Harry.”

“Breakfast-in-bed Harry is also quite good.”

“He’s a bit of a thief, though.”

“You stole all my strawberries.”

“I told you, they tasted better that way.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He leans back, pleased. “So I’ve been told.”

Before you can answer, the waitress arrives. She is young, probably in her early twenties, with a notepad in one hand and the unmistakable expression of someone trying very hard to appear calm while absolutely not feeling calm at all. Her eyes go straight to Harry. Only Harry. “Good morning,” she says, voice bright and sugary. “Welcome. It’s really, really lovely to have you here.”

The way she says you makes it clear she is not talking to the table. Harry notices it immediately and his eyes flick to you for half a second before he smiles politely at her. “Morning. Thank you.”

The waitress blushes immediately, then hurries to hand him a menu with both hands, as if presenting a gift. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Harry says.

She gives you yours after that, but it is more of a transfer than a welcome. A quick glance, a thin smile, and then her attention snaps back to Harry as if pulled by a magnet. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asks him. “Coffee? Tea? Fresh juice? Anything you like.”

Harry sits with that for a second, not long enough to be rude, just long enough for you to see the tiny shift in his face, the polite disbelief behind his eyes. Then he turns to you, deliberately, giving you his full attention. “D’you want your usual, love? Or something different today?”

The waitress looks between you both and you clear your throat lightly, amused about the situation. “Usual sounds good.”

“Oat cappuccino?”

“Please.”

Harry looks back at the waitress. “A black coffee for me, and an oat cappuccino for her, please.”

The waitress writes it down while still looking at him. “Of course.”

She leaves with a smile aimed entirely at Harry. You lift an eyebrow the second she is gone and Harry watches her for one more beat, then turns back to you. “That was weird.”

“She knows who you are.”

“That doesn’t explain why she looked at you like you were a coat on the wrong chair.”

You laugh softly. “Maybe she’s having a rough morning.”

Harry gives you a look. “You’re very generous.”

“I try.”

“She didn’t even say hello to you.”

“She handed me a menu.”

“Barely.”

“Still counts.”

“It doesn’t.”

You hide a smile behind the menu. “Pick your breakfast, protective man.”

“I am picking while also judging.”

“You multitask beautifully, my love.”

He opens his menu with a small huff, but you can still feel him watching you over the top of it every few seconds, checking if you are actually okay. You are. Mostly, you find the whole thing a little absurd, and absurd is much easier to handle than hurtful. After a few minutes, you settle on a breakfast bowl with porridge, fruit, nuts, and honey. Harry, who had been considering eggs, changes his mind twice, then announces he might need “something clean” before show day, which makes you snort because the man ate half a basket of hotel fries at midnight after night three. Your coffees arrive almost immediately, and so does the waitress. She places Harry’s black coffee down with care, almost reverence. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” he says.

Then she sets your cappuccino down so quickly that a little foam trembles over the rim and lands on the saucer and Harry’s jaw shifts visibly. You reach for a napkin before he can say anything while the waitress turns back to him with her brightest smile. “Have you decided what you’d like for breakfast?”

Harry doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he looks at you. “We have,” he says. “What would you like, love?”

You keep your voice friendly when you turn to the waitress. “I’ll have the porridge bowl, please. With fruit and honey.”

The waitress barely angles her body towards you as her pen pauses against the notepad. “Of course,” she says, then adds under her breath, not quite quietly enough, “Very mainstream. Could probably use some carbs, but…”

Harry freezes, you see it happen in real time. The tiny delay, the way his eyes move from the waitress, to you, back to the waitress again. He looks genuinely stunned, as if she has just done something so socially outrageous that his brain needs a second to accept it. You shake your head slightly. Not here, not now, not worth it. Harry reads the gesture, but he's not happy about it. Then the waitress turns to him again, all sweetness restored. “And for you?”

Harry closes his menu. “I’ll have the same.”

The waitress brightens. “The porridge bowl?”

“Yes.”

“With fruit and honey?”

“Exactly the same.”

There is a particular kind of satisfaction in the way he says it. Calm, polite, very pointed. You press your lips together to keep from smiling and the waitress either misses the point completely or chooses to. “Of course. Great choice.”

When she leaves again, Harry stares after her in sheer disbelief.

“You ordered porridge out of spite,” you say.

“I ordered porridge out of loyalty.”

“That’s very noble of you.”

“I’m a noble man.”

“You wanted eggs.”

“I can want eggs and still stand for justice.”

You laugh into your cappuccino, after wiping the saucer with your napkin. “Careful, or I’ll put that on a t-shirt.”

“Please don’t. Fans’ll start asking what happened at breakfast.”

“They probably already know.”

Harry groans. “Bet someone’s gonna have photographed us through a tulip arrangement.”

“Very Dutch scandal.”

He finally looks away from the waitress and back at you, his expression softening. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to be fine.”

“I know, but I am.”

He studies you like he is trying to decide whether to believe that, and because you don't want the morning to become about a rude waitress, you tilt your head. “Have you decided on the surprise song for tonight?”

That gets him and his eyes brighten a little. “Think I might do Paint by Numbers.”

Your smile is immediate. “Really?”

“Yeah. Piano version.”

“Oh, they’re going to love that.”

“You think?”

“I know. They love that song.”

“You love that song.”

“I have excellent taste.”

He leans forward, forearms on the table. “You absolutely do. Dating me proves it.”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

His grin is quick, dimpled, and entirely too pleased with itself. “You wound me.”

“You’ll survive.”

“I might write a song about it.”

“As long as it’s not called Mainstream Porridge Bowl.”

Harry laughs loudly enough that the woman at the table near the window glances over with a smile.

For a while, the mood returns to what it was supposed to be: light and easy. You talk about the show, about which photos from the show before are safe to post without causing a complete internet collapse again. Harry makes fun of you for using the phrase “posting strategy”, and you remind him that his entire digital presence would be a ghost town without you. Then the waitress comes back with the food. She places Harry’s bowl down first, carefully centred, spoon set beside it with a little flourish. “Here you are.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, but his eyes are already on her hand as she turns towards your side of the table. She must notice the look he gives her, because this time she sets your bowl down gently. Almost comically gently, and Harry nods once. “Thank you.”

The waitress blushes again, her confidence returning the second his politeness lands on her. She smiles at him, leaning just slightly closer than necessary. “If there’s anything else you want,” she says, voice low and sweet, “anything at all, just let me know. I’d be very happy to take care of you.”

The silence that follows is tiny, but sharp. Harry stares at her, you lift your eyebrows, and the waitress just gives you a quick look then — dismissive, almost a little triumphant — before turning on her heel and walking away. For three full seconds, Harry doesn't move a muscle. You pick up your spoon. “Well,” you say after your first bite, “at least the food knows how to behave.”

Harry blinks, then looks at you. You take another spoonful. “It’s actually really good.”

He still looks caught between offence and disbelief. “Did she just—”

“Yes.”

“In front of you?”

“Yes.”

“While serving us breakfast?”

“Apparently breakfast comes with extras.”

Harry glances back towards the counter, then starts eating mostly because you are eating and because, despite everything, the porridge is good.

A few minutes pass with only the soft clink of spoons against bowls. Then he sets his spoon down. “How are you this calm?”

You look up. “She’s a fan.”

“That's not an answer.”

“It kind of is.”

“No, love, it really isn’t.”

You take a sip of your cappuccino and choose your words carefully, not because you are upset, but because this is one of those conversations that deserves more than a shrug. “You always say you try to treat fans with kindness,” you say. “Even when they’re awkward, or too excited, or they cross a line a little because they don’t know what to do with the moment.”

“This wasn't a little.”

“I know.”

“And you're not required to tolerate someone being rude to you because they like me.”

“I know that too.”

His expression eases slightly, but the irritation is still there. Not for himself, that's the part that makes you love him more. Harry is used to people flirting, used to being looked at, touched emotionally by strangers who feel like they know him. He handles it with more patience than most people would. But watching someone dismiss you beside him? That's harder for him to swallow.

“I just don’t want to spend energy on her,” you say. “She doesn’t know me. I don’t know her. We’ll probably never see her again after today. If I let her ruin my mood, she goes on with her day anyway, and I’m the one carrying it around.”

Harry listens, silent now.

“I’ve had to learn that,” you continue. “Not perfectly. I still get bothered by things. But sometimes protecting my peace means deciding that not every rude person deserves access to my feelings. Some people are just passing through. They can be unpleasant, and I can still leave them at the table when I walk away.”

He looks at you with such focused tenderness that you almost have to look back down at your breakfast.

“That makes sense,” he says after a moment.

“You do it too.”

“I try to.”

“You do. I've seen it.”

He gives a small shrug. “Had to learn. If I let every article, every comment, every nasty little post, every weird interaction get inside my head, I’d never see anything good again. And there’s too much good.” His eyes move over your face. “There’s you. There’s mornings like this. There are shows where people sing back so loud I can’t hear myself think. I don’t want the ugly bits to be louder than all that.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“I know.” He reaches across the table and brushes his fingers against yours. “I’m proud of you for that. For knowing where to put things down.”

You smile. “You make me sound very wise.”

“You are.”

“I ordered porridge.”

“Wise people eat porridge.”

“You only ate it out of loyalty.”

“Still counts.”

The conversation leaves something warm between you, a serious note tucked into an otherwise ridiculous breakfast. By the time the bowls are empty and the coffees are finished, both of you are relaxed again, the waitress reduced to more of a story than a problem. Harry asks for the bill when she passes close enough to notice. She arrives quickly, naturally directing herself to him. “Did you enjoy everything?”

“The food was good,” Harry says, polite but less warm than before.

“I’m glad.” She smiles as if the sentence is a private gift. “Can I get you anything else before you go?”

“No, thank you. Just the bill.”

“Of course.”

She brings the card machine, and Harry pays while you look out of the window at a man trying to convince his dog to walk in the opposite direction. The dog is winning. When the receipt prints, the waitress tears it off. Then, with a smile so bold it almost becomes impressive, she places a folded piece of paper beside Harry’s hand. “In case you ever want something not on the menu,” she says.

You stare at the paper. Harry stares at the paper. The waitress gives him one last smile and walks away. For a second, neither of you speaks. Then Harry unfolds it.

Emily♡

A phone number underneath.

His face is so immediately confused, horrified, and offended that you cannot help it, you snort. Not a delicate laugh, not subtle, a proper, surprised little burst that you try and fail to catch behind your hand. The waitress — Emily, apparently — glances back and shoots you a glare and that only makes it worse. Harry looks at you, then at the paper, then back at you. “Are you laughing at my harassment?”

“I’m laughing at your face.”

“My face is reacting appropriately.”

“It’s a very good face.”

“She gave me her number in front of you.”

“Yes, I was here.”

“I’m aware you were here. That’s the concerning bit.”

You stand, still laughing quietly as you gather your things. Harry leaves the paper exactly where it is, flat on the table beside the empty bowls and the receipt.

“You’re not taking Emily with you?” you ask.

Harry gives you a look. “Don’t.”

“She offered things off-menu.”

“I’m walking away now.”

“Very strong boundaries.”

“Proud of me?”

“Extremely.”

He places a hand lightly at your back as you leave the café, not possessive, just present. The moment you step outside, the cool Amsterdam air feels wonderful after the warmth inside and Harry exhales dramatically. “That was the strangest breakfast I’ve ever had.”

You slip your hand into his. “It was very educational.”

“About what?”

“Customer service. Porridge. Human confidence.”

“Human audacity.”

“That too.”

He shakes his head, but now he is laughing as well. The whole thing is already becoming funny in the way bizarre situations do once you are no longer sitting inside them. You walk back towards the canal, taking the quieter route back to the hotel. Harry keeps your hand in his, thumb moving absently over your knuckles. “You didn’t even get jealous,” he says after a few minutes.

You glance over. “No.”

“Not even a little?”

“No.”

“Interesting.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not disappointed.”

“You wanted me to throw a spoon?”

“No,” he says, though he's smiling. “Maybe not a spoon.”

“A napkin?”

“Subtle and elegant.”

You laugh. “I don’t really do jealousy.”

Harry looks at you, curious now. “How d’you mean?”

You think for a moment, watching sunlight catch on the water beside you. “I mean, I don’t see the point of it,” you say. “Jealousy doesn’t make anyone love you more. It doesn’t keep anyone faithful. It doesn’t stop someone from leaving if they want to leave. It only makes you feel terrible while you imagine things you can’t control.”

Harry’s smile fades into attention. You continue, calm and matter-of-fact. “I know you’re with me because you want to be. If one day you didn’t want that anymore, jealousy wouldn’t save me from it. Trying to own someone doesn’t make them stay. It just turns love into fear, and I don’t want to love you from fear.”

He is quiet for a few steps. You look at him then, softening. “Obviously, if you left me for a waitress named Emily after one bowl of porridge, I would be devastated.”

Harry makes a noise of protest. “That is never happening.”

“I know.”

“Not even for off-menu items.”

“Good to know.”

“I don’t want Emily. I want you.”

You smile. “That’s why I’m not jealous.”

He lets out a breath, half laugh, half wonder. “You’re much more evolved than I am.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I’m saying it. I’d be jealous.”

“I know.”

His eyebrows lift. “You know?”

“Harry, you once side-eyed a bartender in Rome for calling me darling.”

“He lingered on the darling.”

“He was seventy.”

“Experienced flirt.”

You laugh so hard you have to slow down. Harry grins, pleased with himself, but then his voice turns softer. “I do understand what you mean, though. I agree with it. In theory. I’m just not sure I’m always that… serene.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“No?”

“No. You just have to be honest with yourself when it happens. Jealousy is human. I don’t think feeling it makes you bad. I just don’t want it driving the car.”

Harry considers that, then nods slowly. “That’s a good way to put it.”

“I have my moments.”

“You have many.” He lifts your joined hands and kisses your knuckles as you walk. “I adore you, you know that?”

“I had a suspicion.”

“Good. Would hate for it to be subtle.”

“You dedicated a song to me in front of an arena two days ago. Subtle left the building.”

“Fair point.”

The hotel comes into view at the end of the street, and with it, the return of show day. Schedules, soundcheck, emails, clothes, stage lights, the whole bright machine waiting to begin again. But the morning stays light around you now. Harry looks sideways at you. “So, no jealousy at all?”

You sigh dramatically. “Fine. Maybe I was jealous of one thing.”

He perks up immediately. “What?”

“The way she centered your bowl perfectly and left mine fighting for its life.”

Harry throws his head back laughing and you smile, tightening your hand around his. “I expect loyalty porridge forever now.”

“You’ll have it.”

“And no off-menu adventures.”

“Only with you.”

“Careful, Styles. That sounded almost smooth.”

“Almost?”

“You’re improving.”

He pulls you a little closer as you walk, still laughing under his breath. “Best review I’ve had all week.”

You lean into his side, and together you keep walking through Amsterdam, back to the hotel, back to the show ahead, both of you lighter than when you left the café and perfectly content to leave Emily, her number, and her extremely questionable customer service behind with the empty bowls.

Taglist: @lizsogolden @avensgreenvans @maudie-duan @chocostyles @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @pops234 @lomlcamy

@taraijbharper @dove702 @fallingwillow @eleanohoran @alex-voiddome @wtvrevie @angeldavis777 @daphnesutton @cherrycherry444 @mattiessunflower @indierockgirrl @gem1712 @triski73 @emmie2308 @liltpwk @stylesfantasy @fangirl509east @maddwoman @sunflowersndpeaches @moonstoneandmoonlight @prettiegirlavenue @lolacocacolaa @kateluvshaz @hontpwk @makytka @cloverpinkxo @tpwk-keepdriving @prettyboyrry @irishone11 @avaoccasionally @emmyrry @louisbelongstome28 @martha-rwng @isobellejade @rach2699 @fkingstyles @satellitestompers23 @midnightmemories-1-d @fortniiteking69 @trixilove257 @raajali3 @allmyinterestsworld @rideeonstyles

[harryspurpleloofah]

I love this series so much 🥹🪩

[fkingstyles]

Please do write an angsty, make up sex oneshot (husband!H) where he’s busy promoting KATTDO era and the wife feels a bit neglected (she’s a strong woman and a professional also maybe a lawyer or a doctor or a marketing professional — but doesn’t work in show business) so she doesn’t really get the long hours !!! ANGSTY AND ROUUUUGH 🥵 and lots of dirty talking…. My soul needs it

💜 Quiet*

Summary: Harry and his fiancée hit a rough patch while he’s in NYC for his Together, Together Tour.

CW: Smut (MDNI — dirty talk (slight degrading, pet names), oral (f!rec), penetration (p in v), safe word system, soft!dom Harry, rough sex) Angst, long distance relationship, strong language use.

Word count: 5.1k

Pairing: Current!Harry x Fiancée fem!reader

Location: London/NYC

POV: fem!readers / Harry’s, third person

💌 A/N: This is SO long overdue! I am so sorry to the anon who requested this. I apologize for not getting it out sooner but I really hope you like it!! I did change a few things up since we're around tour time now! 🙂‍↕️💜 let me know what you think! Please share & comments because I love to hear your thoughts.

(Reader's POV)

It was quiet before the storm. Recently, it seemed like everything and everyone had been practicing to not make a sound, a notice, a movement even.

As if the world was full of quiet, cold rooms that lacked affection and warmth. The quiet was everywhere and it was overconsuming.

Quiet in the morning, only the hushed sound of the coffee machine calculated to make a single cup for one. Quiet in the evening when her food grew cold, left uneaten due to her lack of appetite. Quiet in their bed, only the soft rumble of sheets when she tossed and turned at night, missing the warm body she’d been longing for.

Everything had been too quiet, it seemed as if loneliness had occupied her whole existence. She told herself she wasn’t really lonely. She had friends, people who looked after her when Harry was away. She had her family around to help fill the void but the noise only lasted an hour or two. Then, it was back to quiet.

Even with Harry, he silently demanded quiet too. After making loads of noise on stage, listening and interacting with screaming fans — by the time he called, he grew quiet. He grew distant, maybe not by choice but by occupation. He simply couldn’t be his loud, affectionate, happy self when all his energy was drained by their early morning call (midnight for him).

She knew this.

She understood it.

It didn’t make the quiet any easier though.

It only caused her to want to make noise, an attention seeking, selfish noise that forced him to be loud. Not because she wanted to weather the storm and she certainly wasn’t prepared for it but she needed something other than quiet.

“Why’d y’go quiet on me?” Harry asked, his chin rested against his dark blue jumper. The light brown stubble on his face made him look a little older, wiser and properly spent. Through the screen, his green eyes still held the same intensity and questioning like he was curious. He had to know something was up. Probably just afraid to ask and not mess up their only few moments together.

“Just not much to say,” she shrugged, shifting her position to get more comfortable on their bed. Her body felt tired, not just from the time difference but from everything. The distance was weighing between them and time was just another current that pulled the wave higher against the shore.

Now, her favorite part of the day was failing her too. Her call with Harry usually perked up her spirits. He’d tell a funny joke or explain a silly fan story but she couldn’t fake it anymore. The awkward pauses were becoming too loud for her to handle.

Harry let the quiet flow between them, a sea-parting distance filled them in more ways than physical. She was counting down the days until she’d be visiting Harry in the States but worried filled her heart that their time would be just as quiet together as separate.

“Tell me about your day,” Harry asked softly, treading lightly on the parted sea that held their conversation.

“Not much to tell really,” she told him, the passive tone of her voice carried heavy through the call. She could tell by the way Harry straightened up on his mattress, focusing his attention.

“Nothing exciting happened, love?” She heard Harry pause, waiting for her to carry on. Instead the silence filled again. The tidal wave building.

“Not anything news worthy,” she sighed. “What about you?” She attempted to perk up, rubbing her tired eyes to focus.

“I saw a couple of girls dressed as tomatoes,” Harry chucked, attempting to lighten the mood. “Oh, and there was a whole frenzy when I played kiwi tonight,” he smirked through the screen but it fell quickly when he saw his fiancée’ face didn’t change. “But that’s the same as always,” he whispered into the air followed by a heavy sigh.

“Baby, talk to me… What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” He said after a few more minutes of silence.

“I don’t know, Harry.” She frowned, drowning in a sea of silence. After a few seconds, she spoke up again. “It’s just been really difficult lately,” she confessed. “It’s been so quiet here without you and I thought I’d be used to it by now,” she added, sounding more disappointed in herself for allowing the miles to spread between them.

Just as Harry was about to speak, she heard a knock coming from his end. His eyes flickered off the camera before he let out a sigh. His attention shifted back towards the door as another knock rang through.

“Just a second love,” Harry promised. Suddenly, her screen filled with the image of Harry’s high rental home ceiling as he fell into conversation with who she presumed was Jeff by the sound of his voice.

Tired and emotionally exhausted, she tuned out the chattering noise that filled the background as they talked schedules and whatnot. As her phone rested on her pajama top, a tension headache hit her hard. She attempted to soothe her pain with the tips of her fingers like Harry used to but it was no use.

When a couple minutes turned into a few, the same lonely feeling returned with Harry nowhere in sight. As she heard his familiar, comforting laugh crackle through the phone, she grew frustrated and envious that their precious time was being interrupted and his energy was carefully utilized elsewhere in conversation. Before she could stop herself, jealousy flooded her veins and she hung up then placed her phone on silent. It rested face down against her wooden nightstand, forgotten as she turned away in frustration.

There it was, the quiet filled the air once again.

Harry’s fiancé woke a few hours later, groggy but well rested. Her phone buzzed nonstop throughout the morning but her sleep was not interrupted. When she reached for her phone, the first thing she saw was a string of notifications from Harry.

Harry ❤️

I’m so sorry, baby. Jeff came to ask me about the schedule and we ended up sidetracked.

Missed Call

Harry ❤️

Harry ❤️

I tried to call you again but you must be asleep. We’ll talk tomorrow morning. I’m sorry it’s been tough on you. It’s been hard on me too.

Harry ❤️

I love you.

As much as she wanted to be upset, she couldn’t ignore him. She wasn’t necessarily upset at him but the situation was tough and he was having a hard time too. So, she sympathized and time went on. The quiet stayed, grew more eerie as their reunion day approached.

“You have everything packed?” Harry asked, double checking while on facetime.

“Yes, I packed two days ago. I already told you that, baby.” She exclaimed gently, a soft smile on her lips. “I won’t forget a thing.”

“Ok, just wanted to be sure,” Harry picked at his lips. A familiar nervous habit as he glanced off camera for a second. “I think… I uhm,” he began to say something but then stopped. “Jeff scheduled a private car to come pick you up from the airport. I have soundcheck when you land,” Harry explained as he packed something away.

“Okay,” she tried her best not to sound disappointed. She knew realistically that Harry would be busy during their in person time together too. He had 17 more shows to work through on his Madison Square Garden residency and that didn’t account for interviews, and television appearances. Harry kept a strict schedule and rarely made exceptions but she figured this time would be different.

As she sat in the quiet blacked out SUV that idled through the busy New York streets, she day dreamed about their time together getting reacquainted.

“Oh, lovie!” Harry beamed, delighted to see her, to touch her once again. He’d scooped her up in his arms, planting wet, sloppy kisses all over her face. “I missed you,” he’d breathe into her hair. Her body would automatically relax and sink into his calming scent of vanilla and sandalwood. Harry would dare to sneak her away into a private area, needing to feel every inch of his body pressed against her own. He’d be gentle, caring and never miss an inch of her skin to cover with his fingertips or lips.

But that perfectly painted picture came to a dying halt when she arrived to his soundcheck. Instead of an excited, cheerful greeting — she got very a stressed, checked out Harry.

“Hi,” his features softened as he saw her walk by the crew members and elongated wires with ease. Their reunion lasted a matter of seconds. Harry gave her a brief hug before getting whisked away with a whisper of a promise to “be back soon.”

As his partner, she knew Harry or at least she thought. Granted, this was their first tour of his during their relationship but she picked up on a few things during his European leg. There were six rules that he followed closely to keep his physique, mental health and focus in order.

1. No drinking or drugs.

2. No after parties or clubbing.

3. Train everyday except for “off days”.

4. Clean, wholesome diet only.

5. 8 hours of sleep per night.

6. No useless distractions — social media, excessive phone usage or anything that brings his attention too far away.

Harry’s fiancée was beginning to feel like she fell into the last category. It was well past soundcheck when a crew member from Harry’s team rushed her from backstage of the venue to her private car that dropped her off at Harry’s rental home. She figured he’d be back in under an hour but after two, it was cutting it close to Harry’s show time.

(Harry's POV)

Utter exhaustion clouded his head as he closed his eyes on the way back to his rental home. He only had about an hour to spare until he needed to be back at the venue for dress rehearsal, makeup and hair. Unfortunately Harry couldn’t give his fiancee the warm welcome she deserved due to an urgent meeting Jeff forgot to mention. It was some stupid miniscule topic that could’ve been an email. As soon as the meeting ended, Harry told his driver to send him back home so he could properly greet his partner before his stage appearance. As he walked through the secure area and into his home, he noticed how quiet it was.

“Hello?” He called out, placing his keys around the hook. “I’m back, love. I’m sorry that took so long,” Harry announced a little louder as he walked through the corridor. He saw his beautiful fiancee with her arms tucked around her, a defensive look on her face as he spoke up again. “I – I know it’s not an excuse but Jeff got the dates wrong for this urgent meeting and –,” her voice cut him off.

“Am I a distraction for you?” Her tone was harsh, her posture the same, playing defense.

Harry frowned, opening his mouth to respond before his phone buzzed persistently in his hand. He quickly clicked it off without glancing at the caller ID. He walked around his sofa and sat across from her, keeping his distance. “What are y’talking about, baby?” He asked, his voice gentle. “You’re never a distraction.” He wanted to say more but she began to argue, obviously frustrated and maybe even hurt.

“Then why do I get only two seconds of your time when I flew six hours to see you?” She snapped.

The question didn’t make sense to him. He knew that in the next coming days, he’d finally get a well deserved break and be able to spend time with her – quality time. He missed being with her or at least, he thought he did. He was beginning to second guess himself. Relationships while on tour weren't exactly his strongest connections but in the past, he successfully maintained them. So, he began to explain what he told his partners in the past —

“You are a priority of mine, that will never change,” but as he said it, the words fell out funny. “Work is just a lot right now, and it's important too. I have hundreds of thousands of fans demanding my attention and –,”

“No. I get you have to do your job, Harry.” She interrupted again, putting up a defensive hand to stop him. “You're busy but you could’ve told Jeff like… Five or ten minutes? Actually came to properly greet me? Instead, you just sent me here to be alone again!” Her voice slightly raised, anger that had been brewing finally spilled over.

Harry let out a breath, gathering his thoughts before he said anything rash. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a tension headache forming. “First of all, I didn’t send you here.” Harry spat out, shaking his head. “I don’t know why they didn’t just let you wait at the arena but I never gave that order.” His tone carried a slight dismissive edge as he spoke next, “I’ll be better next time.”

Harry was good at this, making empty promises. He didn’t necessarily not mean them but between his schedule demands and requirements - promises rarely followed through. It was a boundary issue on his end that he needed to work out fixing. Unluckily for him, his partner caught onto his half arse promise quickly.

“You’re just saying that,” she continued. “Ever since the tour started, the tour has been the priority, not us, not our relationship.”

Harry was hanging on by a thread now, completely sidetracked by her words. “Well, this is quite the warm welcome,” his tone was harsh as he stood up from his seat, reaching for a bottle of water to calm his nerves.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” He questioned, bringing the rim of the bottle to his lips.

“You’re always so dismissive when I voice a problem in our relationship.”

“Dismissive? Me?” Harry pointed at his chest, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. “That’s real rich coming from you.” He argued back, shaking his head as he guzzled some water down.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” She rose from her spot, brows pushed together as she held herself with her arms wrapped around her chest.

“It means that this whole time we’ve been long distance I’ve been trying to connect with you and you’re barely there! You don’t tell me about your day, you’re never happy on the call anymore, you barely even fucking crack a smile or laugh at my jokes.” Harry exclaimed, his green hues boring into her own.

“You’ve been trying to connect?” She laughed, a genuine laugh. “Sorry Harry, didn’t know I was only there for your entertainment!”

“No, no, no. You don’t get to do that.” he barked, stepping a bit closer into her space. “This isn’t about me, this is about our relationship.”

“Well, maybe we shouldn’t have a relationship if we can barely connect.”

There it was, the tidal wave washing over.

Harry stared at her for a few seconds, locking in every angry, hurt emotion that ran across her skin. “So, that’s it, huh? You’re breaking up with me because I didn’t have the chance to properly greet you, is that it?” Harry’s tone grew darker and harsher than he wanted but he continued.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she asked, a small pout crossed her face.

“Guess, I don’t.”

The silence fell between them as Harry shuffled around the room.

“Fine,” her tone matched his but broke at the tail end. When he glanced over at her as he passed by, he saw the tears begging to fall from her eyes. She mirrored his movements, grabbing her belongings along with her phone. “All I wanted was for you to give me a minute's worth of proper attention, hold me for more than a few seconds, actually seem overjoyed that I am here…” she clarified as she walked past him.

“I am overjoyed! Fucking hell,” Harry cursed. “There’s nothing I want more in this world than to… to be with you, don’t y’know that?”

“Knowing and feeling it are two different things, Harry.”

His shoulders dropped, giving in.

“Just stay for the concert and we can talk afte – ,” he tried, his voice filled with a whisper of hope.

“No! I can’t have another quiet conversation where we don’t say the things we really mean.”

“Then we don’t have to talk!” Harry whipped around, his body towering over her own.

“What do you mean by that?” He could practically hear the disgust in her voice.

“We can just…” He lets out a defeated sigh, invading her space. “Wonder if we just… filled the quiet with something else?” His voice was a lot less pensive and held a suggestive tone.

“Something else?” He watched her frown before a scoff filled the air. “You think sex will fix this?” She laughed, beginning to step around him. Harry gently reached out, placing his hand on her waist to halt her.

“Fix it? God, no. Only a proper talk will do that,” he said with certainty. “But I know you really miss me and I miss you too.”

“Okay, so?” He could tell some of her resolve was peaking through. The way her body inched towards his own as she shifted her weight was telling enough.

“I don’t want to argue and I don’t want you to lose you,” Harry told her deliberately. “It’s been a really long day for the both of us, and it’s going to be a really long night.” His fingers hooked under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “But I want to come back to you, my home, here in this space,” he gestured around the temporary home. “Can we please, start over?”

“How?” She asked, almost hesitantly.

“By me giving you what you want and what you need,” Harry's voice dipped an octave lower. He followed it up with a simple question, one burning in the back of his mind for ages – “Can I kiss you?” His fingers stilled on her chin, holding her in place. For a second, he was sure he’d either be slapped or rejected but a small smile curved on her lips. He could tell she was hesitant but desperate for his touch.

“Just one.”

“Just one?” Harry frowned, already pressing a soft, quick kiss to her lips.

Then seconds later, “See? Not nearly enough,” He said as he pulled back. “Can I have another? A proper kiss? I’m a greedy, sorry bastard.”

Their eyes locked as she contemplated.

“One proper kiss.”

Harry wasted no time, he kissed her with complete certainty. His lips covered her own, dominating at a slanted angle for a short millisecond before she began to kiss back. Her plump lips mushing together with his own — so perfectly, so needed. He felt his heart rate quicken as he naturally pulled her firm against his chest, his fingers spreading up her spine. One hand cupped the side of her flushed cheek and the other wrapped around her to keep her steady. His lips were wet, sloppy against her own, claiming her. The soft sound of their saliva mixing together echoed throughout the room as his tongue traced her bottom lip, asking. When she opened her mouth to accommodate, his composure fractured slightly. Harry kissed her harder, feral about the taste of her mouth on his. Her tongue met his in an instant - earning a soft moan from the contact. Harry’s grip on her back tightened as he pulled her square against him. He worked his tongue in her mouth, tasting all the corners he had been missing. Her tongue explored too, swallowing his involuntarily groans and escaped breaths. A shiver tingled down his back as he felt her claw at his cotton shirt, demanding him closer. For a second, he thought they would stay in this - lost in the quiet rejoining of their lips but the kiss broke.

Panting, his fiancee asked – “How much time do we have?”

“Enough,” Harry barked. His body naturally stumped back, pulling him with her. His lips fell to her neck, nipping and sucking to create a mark. At the same time, his hands fell to her waist. He pulled her body flush against his own as he felt her hands go to his hair. The sheer tug alone made him groan out in approval. He abruptly switched their position so her front was against the credenza. With his chest flush against her back, he whispered into her ear.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” His hands steadied on the hem of her skirt, letting his fingertips brush against the back of her bare thighs. He felt goosebumps running along her skin as he touched highly over the curve of her ass. “Beg for it.”

“Please, Harry. I need you to fuck me,” her voice whined as her palms rested against the old wooden surface.

“Needy thing you,” Harry tsked, hooking his fingers around the waist band of her underwear and yanking it down her thighs. “Always wanting attention,” he spat out as Harry gripped a hand full of her ass as the other wrapped around her front. “Fucks sakes,” he cursed as he felt her cunt absolutely soaked for him. “Gonna make a mess all over my cock, hm?

“Yes, please. Take me right here,” she begged.

Harry almost gave in, his trousers were strained and extremely uncomfortable but he wanted to keep the anticipation for a few minutes longer.

“But you’re not a very good girl f’me, always talking back.” Harry purred in her ear, massaging between the folds of her vulva slowly. He felt her jolt as a gasp echoed across the room, a sound he missed for far too long.

“I’ll be quiet, I’ll shut up, please.”

“Oh, will you?” Harry smirked, “keep that pretty mouth of yours shut.”

Harry dropped to his knees, his hands drawing her hips back. He positioned her just enough that he was eye level with her bare ass. With her skirt bunched around her hips, he practically was salivating at the looks of her.

“Look at you, filthy thing. So wet f’me, pussy begging to be eaten.”

“Harry, please.” He heard her whine out as he gently spread her from the back, getting a deliberate look at her precious vulva. His breath was warm against her as he spoke.

“Can I taste you?” He barely could process words but consent was extremely important to them both.

“Yes, please, Harry.” She begged, clearly desperate. Harry didn’t make her wait any longer, he couldn’t wait any longer. Her scent alone was drawing flashbacks and he could practically taste her on his tongue. He needed to taste her. So, he did.

His tongue swirled around her entrance before flicking her clit and giving the small but mighty bud a good suck. He could feel her squirming and hear her moan out but Harry stayed focused. As much as he was prepping her, he wanted to overestimate her as much as he possibly could. It didn’t take much, she was just as touch starved as him. He kept his head angled, munching on her clit with skilled precision. His lips wrapped around her clit as he sucked then soothed her with his flat tongue. The air became thick as he continued tasting her sweet, tangy arousal. When her legs began to shake, he finally pulled back, equally as breathless as her. He quickly stood, working his belt as he whispered, his hot breath against her ear.

“That was just a taste, not finished with you yet.” His hands worked fast, stripping himself of his trousers and briefs just enough to free himself. His cock bounced in the air, thick and hard, painfully red. His hand stroked twice to relieve a bit of pressure before he lined up with her entrance.

“Colour check?” A little system they had whenever they engaged in intercourse. “Green” was good to go, “Yellow” for a pause or check in, “Red” for an immediate stop. Harry particularly valued the colour system to keep his partner comfortable and safe during all types of sex.

“Green,” she said with enthusiasm.

“Good.” Harry buried himself inside her with one smooth thrust, halting once their hips were flush together. He gave her a small chance to adjust, savoring the feeling of her walls clenching around him.

“Oh God, I missed this, missed you,” his words were soft and gentle as he whispered against her hair.

“Y’know I respect you, right baby?” He asked, propping his head up to glance into her eyes. He watched as she nodded her head, a bit confused.

“For the next while, it may seem like I don’t, okay? But I do, I need you to remember that.”

“I’ll remember,” she whispered, biting down on her bottom lip.

He felt her relax a few seconds later as his hands pressed into her sides. He positioned her to arch her back, his chest flush against her spine. Harry a few seconds to collect himself, flipped a small switch in his brain.

“Move please,” she mumbled into the quiet air.

“So demanding,” he hissed, drawing his hips back to give her exactly what she needed. He wasn’t gentle when he began to move, he bucked forward causing the credenza to squeak against the floor. His partner gasped into the open air, gripping the wood with her hands.

“Fuck, baby.” His hands helped angled her body up, hands wrapping around her clothed chest. He continued to draw his hips back, plunging back into her at a steady speed. Her moans filled the air, ragged as the intoxicating, pleasure sensation filled her body. Harry’s breath was hot against her as he pounded into her.

“Silly girl, thinking I’d leave this pussy, hm? This perfect, pretty pussy.” He praised, breathing hitched as he pulled out of her completely just to drive back in. “Don’t ever fucking say that to me again, understood?”

“Y– Yes, fuck, yes.”

“Who’s pussy is this, hm?” Harry encouraged, increasing his pace. When she didn’t answer right away, only moaning louder, Harry continued on. “Don’t go quiet on me now. Go on, whose pussy is this?” he pulled out of her completely, breathless and leaving her walls clenching around nothing.

“Yours, Harry. Just yours.”

“Good. Don’t go dumb on me now.” Harry teased, fixing their position again as her legs were nearly giving out. “Hands, please.” Harry helped gently draw her palms back behind her, making her hands interlock to steady her.

“Just like that, perfect.” Harry whispered to himself, inspecting her position. He held his large palm over her interlocked fingers, suspending her chest in the air. He caught her looking back over her shoulder, desperate for relief and a quick glance his way. “Eye’s forward,” he demanded firmly before pushing the tip of his cock against her entrance once again.

When he pushed forward, he wasn’t so forgiving. Immediately his partner cried out, overwhelmed by his sheer force.

“Attagirl, just like that. Just feel.” He instructed her as he sent an intoxicating, thought stealing pleasure her way. He could feel her pulsating around him, nearing her peak after a few strokes. Harry’s free hand left her hip and snaked around her front. His fingertips added a gentle pressure against her clit, rubbing sure circles to urge her on.

“Harry! Har –, shit! I’m gonna…” she gasped, panting as he continued at a vigorous pace.

“I know, I know, baby. Ask permission first.” He grunted out, a bead of sweat rolling down the corner of his brow.

“Can I? Can I cum, please?” His fiancée whined out, moving back against him.

“Go on, darling. Cum f’me. Milk my cock,” Harry’s words surprised himself but he couldn’t help his filthy mouth.

His head fell back as his fiancée convulsed around him. He let out a deep groan, cursing under his breath as his grip tightened around her hands.

“Fuck, good girl, my good fucking girl,” his voice was full of rasp as he pumped his hips twice more and felt that burning, bubbly feeling deep in his stomach. “Agh, I’m gonna cum,” he pulled out the second he felt himself twitch inside her.

“Yeah? Cum for me, baby. I’m your little cum slut.”

Harry’s face broke into a wide smirk as he heard her words. She pleasantly surprised him.

“My little cum slut?” His voice cracked, giving in to the pleasure. His hand moved to his cock, pumping once before he released warm, milky white cum all over her ass and lower back, close to their joined hands.

“There you go, there you go baby,” he panted, breathless as he looked at the mess between them. “Fuck, we got a little messy.” Harry helped her stand properly before grabbing the shirt off his back and wiping the mess he created off of her. “You okay?” He asked, still panting hard as he pulled his trousers up.

“I’m okay,” she smiled softly, a warm flush rising to her cheeks, fixing her clothes. “It’s just — I wasn’t expecting that.” He watched as her eyes roamed his chest and lower abdomen.

“I wasn’t either, just happened…” he shrugged, “guess we just…needed it to release some frustration.”

“Yeah,” he noticed the little shift in her voice as she cleared her throat.

“Hey,” his tone flattened to something much more subtle. He reached out, cupping her face in his hands. “I’m sorry I was a prick earlier, I should’ve greeted you properly. I’ve been stressed but it’s not an excuse. I love you and I’m really, really happy you are here.”

“I love you too but I feel like we should talk about this properly, the whole… long distance thing isn’t working.”

On que, Harry’s phone vibrated on the table urgently but he didn’t move towards it.

“We will, I promise, we will. We’ll sort it out because you are my priority and I don’t want you to feel so… alone.”

“Promise? After the show?”

“Yes, I promise with all my heart. We’ll talk.”

The quiet filled the space once again as Harry pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled against her hair.

“It’s not okay but you stink so, I’m going to say it’s okay.” she teased, trying to break free from his embrace.

“Hey,” his voice dragged out, his dimples showing as he smirked. “I always smell good.”

“Absolutely not.” She teased back, a small laugh breaking the silence. He grinned at the sound, booping her nose with his finger.

“Alright, wee, shower then head out together?”

“Okay.”

“Come here,” he pulled her close, his arm wrapping around her shoulder as he led them through the corridor.

While in the shower, Harry washed his fiancée's hair with a pensive look on his face.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked, a small smile breaking through.

“Alone is a quiet place to be.” He said slowly, massaging her scalp.

“It is.” She confirmed, letting out a sigh.

“No more of that,” her eyes locked with his. “Promise.”

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[petrparkrslut]

after excusing yourself from harry’s runners world shoot, the raw takes come shooting through an email. and now all u want is him. also raw.

based on my filthy mind and the help of this request! +everyone who shared ideas! ty all!

CW: age gap, mean harry, bratty/subby!reader, begging, softdom!harry, thigh riding, rejection, p in v, HEAVY DEGRADING, (consensual), daddy kink, size kink, heavy dirty talk, spitting, idk this is filthy. and he’s mean.

likes/reblogs soo appreciated!

WC: 7.2k

“Right there, Harry, that’s great.”

He wasn’t even doing anything. Just propped against the hot pavement on one arm, lazy and unbothered like he was only half present.

And somewhere behind the scenes, there you were—legs trembling, pulse skidding, coming apart over absolutely nothing.

He was sprawled out beautifully—one leg up, one leg straight out. His thighs fat and the hairs that coated them a delicious dark brown. His body was oiled, shimmering in the set of the sun and glistening through his natural moisture.

And then there were the shorts.

Tiny. Barely there, really. A bright fabric that was pushed up to the tops of his quads and wedged between the line of his hips.

He looked transcendent. Genuinely. And you didn’t use such a word lightly. He looked absolutely out of this world and you were practically whining just at the sight of it.

“That’s perfect, Harry,” the photographer called from just beside you, “I want you to stretch out your left arm further backwards, lengthen you out a bit.”

He just nodded, complying easily and perfecting her request.

The second he shifted, you knew you had officially lost.

Thick muscles pressed outward on his back, curving over his rounded shoulders and flowing in a cohesive swarm to his pecs. He was swelling everywhere—big and curved and covered in a delicious layer of sweat.

You, on the other hand, were clamping your thighs so tight together that you swore it might just leave a rash.

He saw you do it, too. The way you would squirm and rub your nose or cough awkwardly to appear normal. He knew you weren’t. You were never good at hiding the filth that poisoned your pretty mind.

He got off to the way you worshipped him. You were younger than him, by a good bit, but it’s not like either of you minded. If anything, you both preferred it this way.

A man your age couldn’t dream of satisfying you the way Harry did. He spoiled you, physically and emotionally and through the luxuries in life as well. But it wasn’t just that.

He handled you—rough and raw and fucking dirty.

It really was a two way street. You were everything he could possibly want. A cute little thing who was sexy and shy and only showed yourself to him.

And you pried at him for his attention every minute of every day.

He was obsessed.

So, once the first session wrapped and he was strutting his way to his trailer, it didn’t take long for your legs to drag yourself to him.

“Harry,” you start, “hi.”

Not exactly what you were planning on saying, but the second you stepped within a 12 inch proximity of him, all logic went out the window.

The way he peered down at you. The towel hung around the back of his neck. The subtle smell of fresh sweat mixed with a deep vanilla musk. The look he always got on his face after a long day of shooting.

“Hey.”

He continued to walk his way towards his trailer, mountains following him as the sun snuck behind them.

“Harry,” you trot to keep up with his quick strides, “are you done?”

He coughed into his hand as he shook his head, maintaining his pace as his yellow sneakers crushed against the gravel.

“No, we’re doing a couple more. Then I’m done. Y’ok? Don’t have to stay.”

You practically laughed in his face. To say you wanted to leave seems somewhat criminal.

“No,” you say too immediately, “no, I wanna stay.”

He just nods, sniffing up the fresh air before grabbing onto either side of the towel around his neck.

You consider saying more as the two of you continue to walk along the path. You think about telling him how undeniably sexy he looked sprawled out for the camera like that. You even think about complimenting his little shorts, telling him how much you love them and maybe even hooking a finger into the waistband for just a second.

But your mind is mush.

And if your mouth can barely keep up with your mind even when it’s working properly.

“Harry, I need you now.”

Your voice was dropped to a whisper, eyes rounded and cheeks hot as you sped to keep up with his quick walk.

He paused, slowing his strides before coming to a full stop and turning to face you.

He looked completely unphased.

His hands continued to tug loosely against the soft cotton of the towel, his biceps pressing into his forearms from the bend of his elbows and his chest heaving softly in steady breaths.

“Why don’t you tell me what I’m doing right now, y/n.”

You swallowed, thick and heavy through a bite of your cheek. Your wide eyes peered across your surroundings, taking in the multiple trailers and the people in headsets and the constant chatter of people hard at work.

“You’re working…” you mumble, tugging at your bottom lip with your teeth and blinking up at him in a silent plea.

Nothing about the way you were looking at him was helping him stay stern.

“That’s right,” he nods, “now tell me, is Harry able to help you when he’s working?”

His tone was sickeningly patronizing, staring down at you like you were an idiot who couldn’t think for herself.

And, in total honesty, with the way he was speaking and the sweat that just dripped down his stomach, you sort of were.

“…No.” you shook your head, face flushed and panties soaked.

“So you can wait patiently until I’m done or you can wait for me at home if you can’t handle it.”

You were falling to pieces in front of him. His tone was sharp, but still suggestive in a way that had your head spinning.

He was toying with you. Spitting harsh words in your face until you squirmed some more and tensed tighter. He wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t been so blunt with him—but you were asking for it. He knew it’d get you riled up and he knew he’d get himself riled up just from watching it.

It was his perfect fantasy. You, dumb in front of him and whipped up by thoughts of his cock. On your tongue, in your hands, between your legs, you didn’t care. It was dizzying for him to watch you fall so pathetic for it all.

You nod, swallowing dirty thoughts and keeping your lips sealed for a moment. You actually almost let a smile fall through, delighted by his strict response, but force it down to fit your part.

“Ok,” you whisper, pressing your legs together and batting up at him.

And then there was this smirk. Low. Relaxed. Laced with pride like he knew he owned you. Like he knew you were a desperate thing that would claw at him until he gave you just a taste.

Satisfied with your understanding, he resumed his pace. Walking towards the trailer in slow and confident steps. You followed, as close as you could. No matter how thick your head felt or how unstable your legs performed.

Eventually, shooting resumed itself.

But his shorts seemed…shorter. And tighter. And thinner.

It wasn’t long after before his thighs suddenly grew. Thicker and stronger and you thought maybe even a couple extra hairs grew too.

Then it was his arms. They seemed to swell more than usual, bulging in a thick sphere and creating a smooth bend for every bead of sweat.

His face seemed to have changed too. His jaw was sharper. His nose was strong and his eyes seemed to keep changing colors.

Once you found yourself wet at the sight of his fingernails, you decided it was the right time to send yourself home. To do as he asked.

You really thought it’d be a good idea. You thought it’d solve all your problems and maybe even ease the constant ache between your legs.

You were cozied up on your couch, a thick knit blanket slung over your crossed legs and a bowl of cereal on your lap. You were calming over time—slowly.

But then there were the mockups.

Like, hundreds of them. Sent right to the laptop that you and Harry shared. You were watching a show when the notification popped to the top right of the screen, a glowing email that seemed to have come from the heavens itself.

RWM Raw Takes—HS 3.3.26 Issue. Review Pending.

You really shouldn’t have clicked on it. It was for Harry and his team to go over and carefully select what was right.

It wasn’t your fault that your fingers were moving without thought and just happened to click right on the email.

Totally accidental.

What lied on the other side of the small preview was…sickening.

Sweaty abs. Swollen biceps. Chunky thighs. Slutty little shorts with nothing but skin. Dunking in an ice bath. Stepping out of the ice bath. His shoulders. His pecs. His knees. The way his calves strained with every step.

It was fucking porn.

You don’t even realize you’ve stopped chewing at first.

Your eyes lock. Your jaw slows. Completely stalls. You’re just… frozen there, food forgotten, staring like if you blink it might disappear.

You swallow late, like an afterthought, and lean forward without meaning to.

Scroll.

Another one.

Your eyebrows lift, lips parting just slightly as a quiet, disbelieving laugh slips out. You zoom in to places you shouldn’t, drag the screen, take it in longer than necessary. There’s this buzzing feeling building in your chest—not overwhelming, but almost.

Scroll.

It gets better.

Fucking bike shorts. Leopard print. Tight around his quads and hugging his thick bulge beautifully.

You shift on the couch, tucking one leg under you, then the other, like you can’t quite get comfortable in your own skin anymore. Your bowl sits abandoned on the coffee table, fingers hovering near it but never quite making contact again.

You don’t even care. You’re too far in now.

Scroll.

“Oh my god…” you murmur, jaw slack and core dripping.

Because the next one loads, and your head drops back against the couch with a soft, breathy laugh. Your hand drags down your face, but you’re already peeking through your fingers, already leaning back in.

There it was. The pose that had you so riled up in the first place. His tanned body, long against the concrete with one thigh up and the other stretched out in front of him. His inked arm rugged with muscle, glistening in the orange glow of the sun.

And his face. Scrunched up and fucking angry. Exhausted. Tired of the shoot and watching himself as he shifts against their commands.

You shift again, restless, energized, like you’ve had too much caffeine or not enough sleep or something in between. Your heart’s not racing, not exactly—it’s just… heavy, present in a way that makes everything feel sharper.

Scroll.

You don’t even notice how long it’s been. Just that you can’t stop.

The door clicks open.

You barely register it at first—too zoned in, eyes glued to the screen, fingers hovering even though you’re not even scrolling anymore, just staring. There’s something hot under your skin, something restless and bright and impossible to shake, and you’re so deep in it you almost miss the sound of him coming in.

Almost.

A bag drops by the door with a heavy thud.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice so rich and exhausted that you nearly fainted right there. It was just getting all too much.

And then you realize what you’re doing.

Your entire body jolts like you’ve been caught doing something illegal, hands moving faster than your brain as you slam the laptop shut with a sharp clap. The sound echoes a little too loud in the room, but you’re already moving, pushing off the couch and abandoning everything, practically tripping over yourself as you hurry toward him.

“Hi,” you say, too quick, too bright, like you weren’t just completely consumed by something else two seconds ago.

He’s already halfway inside, shrugging off his jacket with slow, heavy movements, like the day’s been sitting on his shoulders for hours.

His hair’s a mess, slightly flattened in places, slightly curled in others. There's this faint crease between his brows that hasn’t quite smoothed out yet.

He barely looks up.

“Long day?” you ask, softer now, trying to level yourself out as you reach him.

“Mm.”

That’s all you get.

And instead of diminishing your spirits, his cold tone excites you. Because you know he’s revving up to treat you like you needed.

He nudges his shoes off, toeing them aside without much care, then drags a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose. There’s a kind of quiet exhaustion in the way he moves. Nothing dramatic, just… worn.

And hot. So hot that you were sure your arousal had made its way to the inner skin of your thighs.

It only got worse once you took a quick scan of his body in front of you. Nothing but a loose t-shirt and those tiny fucking shorts.

And suddenly all that jittery energy from before has a perfect place to go.

You hover for a second, then step in closer, hands brushing lightly against his arms, like you’re testing the waters, “You okay?”

That’s when his eyes meet yours. Dark and deliciously green and cold with intent.

“M’fine. Tired.”

You nod, taking a step closer as you bring a palm behind his neck and another against chest.

His eyes follow your hands as they move, watching slowly as he waits for your next move.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” you peer up at him, “missed you when you were gone. Couldn’t stop my thoughts.”

He pauses for a second, like he’s finding the right thing to say.

Because really, his mind is thinking, I missed you too, honey. What have you been up to?

But his dick had other plans.

“Wouldn’t have missed me if you could handle watching me on set,” he shrugged, pushing past you and running a hand through his hair.

You froze, staring at nothing before running to catch up with him and planting yourself right back in front of him.

His eyelids hung low as they glanced down at your return.

“But I couldn’t handle it,” you shake your head slowly, “I tried. It hurt.”

He squints his eyes at your quiet comment.

“Hurt?”

You nod your head immediately, “needed your help. My thighs only gave me so much.”

He tried to hide the subtle smirk that came after that confession, but he couldn’t.

So you took it as a sign, placing your hands back on him again and twirling a loose strand of hair on the back of his neck.

“I was busy. Other people needed me. For more important things.”

It was a bunch of bullshit. There was nothing in this world that was more important than your pleasure. Not to him. He’d make you cum morning noon and night if it was up to him.

“But, Harry,” you pull yourself closer into him, kissing at his neck as you mumble through his skin, “I still need you.”

He took a deep breath, a sly grin forming on his face before he could stop it as your tongue rolled around his skin.

“You don’t need anything. You’ve got yourself all worked up over nothing and I have shit to do.”

And then he walked away, further into the kitchen until he reached the door to the laundry room. Pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it into the empty machine.

He was sick for that one.

Your legs dragged you back towards him before your mind could consider it.

“I do need it,” you defend immediately, “I do, really. Please, Harry.”

He sighs, shutting the lid of the washing machine and spinning around to face you. You were a clingy little thing—following him around like this. It was intoxicating.

“Need what, y/n.”

You cling to him again, hands roaming his damp skin and face pressed close to his own.

“You. Your cock, I wanna cum. Please, baby, want your thighs,” you whine, embarrassingly desperate and not caring in the slightest.

“You wanna cum?” His voice was condescending, lowering his head in a small and patronizing nod.

“Mhm, yes, please.”

Then he let out another sigh, curving out of your grasp and walking out of the tight laundry room and back into the kitchen.

“You’ve been a brat today. Asking for me at work and now begging for me the second I walk in the door. If you wanna cum, you can do it yourself.”

You frown, scurrying back over to him in the kitchen and pawing at his shoulders until he turned to face you again.

“You won’t help?”

You played that one up a bit, just a little. Batted your eyes a smidge heavier, blinked until your eyes were glassed.

But he didn’t budge.

“No.”

He continued his stride, wearing nothing but those little shorts that may as well have been a string of thread.

It was fucked up.

You just continued to follow him like a lost puppy dog, pathetic and desperate and begging for an inch of his attention.

“Harry,” you tapped his shoulder again, but this time, he didn’t turn around. He kept walking, stepping into the living room and peering down at his phone screen.

You didn’t let up.

“Harry, please,” you tugged at his skin, “please, I want you. Just touch me, Daddy, please. I’ll come so fast, I promise.”

You knew the name would start the fold, but it was nowhere near enough.

He didn’t answer. He just kept walking, all the way up until his feet reached the soft carpet and he took a slow seat on the couch.

His phone was in his hand, so small in comparison to his thick fingers, and he scrolled mindlessly. His legs were spread out wide, little shorts hiking up even further at the stretch and tightening against his bulge. His free arm rested behind his head, a low sigh rolling through him at the feeling of sitting down.

You’ve never felt so hungry for something in your whole life.

“Harry,” you whine, dragging the name a bit, “I need to cum. I’ll let you fuck me however you want, please.”

He just shook his head, eyes still locked on his screen.

“No.”

Now you were stumped.

But you were never opposed to begging. You’d do it for hours. You didn’t care how ridiculous you sounded or how humiliating it was. You were going to get what you needed. Maybe he didn’t know it yet, but you did.

“Daddy, please, it’s no fair. Just fuck me…”

And then you had another thought.

“…let me fuck you. I won't say a word, just let me use your cock. Wanna fuck it into myself until I cum, please.”

He peered up from his phone, slow and teasing, to get a good look at the mess in front of him. You—whiny and loud and fucking annoying. All for his cock.

He considered it for a second, letting you bounce on top of him until you fell unstrung.

But he had other plans for you. Better plans.

“No.”

And then he was back in his screen, scrolling with his thumb but not really reading anything he saw.

You huffed, thinking for a second before losing yourself in the figure in front of you.

Thumb scrolling, face lit faintly by the screen, expression completely unreadable—neutral in that annoyingly calm way of his. No urgency, just him existing there like nothing else is happening in the world worth reacting to.

Which felt rude, since you were prying at him from the moment he walked inside.

But you couldn’t sit here and pretend like you didn’t like it this way.

He leans back further into the couch, head tipping slightly into the cushion, one knee shifting just enough to get more comfortable, still fully absorbed in whatever’s on his screen. Every now and then his thumb pauses, then keeps moving, slow and automatic.

And when you focused in on the subtle sways of his spread knees and the way his quads spread flat against the fabric, there was nothing he could say anymore that could stop you from getting your fix.

It started slow.

A cute little exhale to show him your frustrations. He didn’t react, he just sunk deeper into the cushions and let his knees fall further apart. Projecting the bulge that pressed against his little shorts carelessly.

You took slow steps forward, watching as Harry attempted to take sneaky glances—barely looking up from his screen in a sad try at keeping composure.

Once your toes hit the edge of the couch, legs stood between his open knees, you paused for a moment. Staring down at him and watching as his stomach took quicker breaths and his scrolling started to lose meaning.

And then you put your hands on his shoulders, rubbing softly against his bare skin and humming a gentle sigh. He was so smooth…poreless and moisturized and gorgeously tanned.

He continued to ignore you—no matter how hard it was getting—and kept his head faced down in a stubborn fit.

But you were stubborn too.

And worse than he was.

So you shifted closer to him and brought a knee onto the cushion, and then another one, until your legs were wrapped tight around his left thigh.

He still didn’t move.

The sigh that left your lips was inevitable, so lost in the feeling of his thigh pressed up against where you needed it most. So wet that you figured he probably even felt it. You shift your hips a bit as you settle, slowing your movements with every stab of pressure.

And even when you pressed your lips against his neck, he still didn’t break.

He tasted so sweaty, his skin damp on your cold lips and fresh on your tongue. It tastes like exertion—like overheated limbs and flushed cheeks and the lingering aftermath of his body being pushed too hard for too long.

You could barely hold it together when your knee pressed harder into his crotch, squishing against the warmth of his half soft cock and crying for a taste.

You’re not totally sure what it was, but you were fucking obsessed with watching him stiff up. Or, in this specific moment, feeling it. He was salty and twitchy and always firmed up fast.

Your mind drifted to thoughts of his cock slapped against your tongue—halfway erect and thickening up in your mouth. The moan that slipped through your lips was fully involuntary.

But the way your hips started to grind against his quads was fully voluntary.

It even pulled his focus for a moment, bringing him closer to the tipping point but never far enough. His eyes darted over to your rolling hips, pressing heavy against his skin in a plea for some relief.

But his gaze left just as quick as it got there, and he was back into his phone with a deep breath and a shake of his head.

“You’re pathetic.”

You whimper at the treat of his voice—landing over you like a gift that you didn’t even know you wanted.

“Daddy, please,” you whine, “give me your cock, I need it.”

Your lips continue to suck against his dewy skin as your hips rocked back and forth, moving with a mind of their own and too far gone to stop. His neck curved gently to the side, granting you the access you so badly craved.

“No,” he mutters, “if you need to cum so badly, you do it on my thigh.”

You groan, a mix of displeased yet still satisfied meshed through your tone. But, you still rearranged for a moment to shrug off your clothes, desperate for closer contact and reeling at the feeling of it.

You were separated only by thin black panties, the cotton drenched and chilling against his skin.

“Mmm,” you hum, lips finding their way back to his skin and licking up the remaining beads of sweat.

It was really only a couple of minutes before things got sloppy.

Your hips rocked against his thigh like muscle memory at this point, moving how they pleased and ignoring any cohesive thoughts. You were erratic—grinding up into him with a complete lack of respect for yourself.

The skin of his neck was soaked in your tongue and nagged at by your teeth, working as a blank canvas for you to use however you pleased.

And even when breathy moans started rolling through you, his face read nothing but fucking bored.

So bored that it was honestly erotic. Like you were just a little pet getting off on top of him and that he had ten things better to do. His face was still in his phone. His hands hadn’t touched you once.

But his hard cock nudged up against your knee told you all you needed to know.

“Look at yourself, y/n. You’re so fucking desperate. Haven’t even touched you and you already sound like you’re about to cum.”

You were just happy his attention was on you.

“Not good enough,” you whine into his neck, “still need your cock. Put it in me, please, I want it deep.”

Harry was convinced he’s never been so attracted to you in his life.

Sure, you’ve always been a bit of a brat when it comes to his cock and you’ve always been vocal with what you want. But this was different. This was something that could only be explained by hours of pent up sexual energy and a complete lack of relief.

“I’m not fucking you. If you wanna lose my thigh, keep complaining,” his voice was was low and exhausted, fighting to stay stern but you could tell he was stringing loose.

You just groaned at his words, frustrated to say the least. But when your clit kept knocking into the same sweet spot of his quad, there wasn’t much time for you to sit there and mope.

You couldn’t stop drifting to thoughts of the photos. Every reminder of his glistening skin and the fact that you were tasting it right now had you feral. Your pussy was sopping wet as it slid around the hairs of his thigh, your panties absentmindedly slipping to the side from all of your movement.

At the feeling of your wet folds, finally breaking through the cotton that got pushed aside, Harry cocked his leg up once in a teasing bounce.

The noise that followed was nothing short of bliss.

“Mm, please, felt good,” you groan, hips meshing harder against him, “give me something else, please.”

And the second he shut his phone off and tilted his head towards yours, you knew you had him.

“Hm?”

“Feels so good against your thighs, so strong, Daddy. Am I making a mess?”

His leg started to bounce up and down in a steady rhythm now, pressing harder into your clit with every subtle shift. He stared deep into your scrambled face as it struggled to stay against his neck, tightening his jaw in reflex.

“You’re fucking filthy, you know that? You like claiming me? So wet on top of me that your panties couldn’t even stay on,” his words are spitting at you as he shakes his leg quicker, watching your reactions and reading what he should do next.

“Mhm, wanna ride you all day, just give it to me,” you murmur, slowly falling deeper and deeper into the heat in your stomach.

It was building slowly, the grind of your hips and the bounce of his leg working cohesively to bring you to where you desperately needed. But it wasn’t enough. You were a needy thing, and if you were gonna cum you needed his dick.

“Give you what?”

“Your cock, Daddy, please. I need it! I’ll let you d—”

And before you could even finish the filthy thought, your stomach caved into itself and your legs clamped tighter around his thigh.

“—Fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

The smirk that found Harry’s face was sickening.

“Yeah? You gonna cum all over Daddy’s thigh? Feels good, doesn’t it?”

And god, it did.

Your mind was racing, stuck in a constant loop of the day and spiraling through never ending tension. You eyes would force themselves open every now and then just to get a peak at your throne—his clenching abs and his thick thighs and his little fucking shorts.

“Mm yes feels so good, so good, so good, so g—”

And right when you were about to cum, when you were finally about to release what’s been building deep inside of you all day, both of his hands came to grip at your sides and flip you off of his thigh and onto your back.

Your mind spun at the sudden change, mouth open and searching for the right words to say and falling completely short.

“Harry, what are you d—”

His lips smashed into yours before you could get it out, pressing your back deeper into the cushions and splitting your lips apart with his tongue.

His lips tasted as of sweat and an intense exercise, so salty and fresh and deliciously him. You were suffocated by his mouth, hands scrambling around his body as you tried to settle into the sudden change.

“Shut the fuck up,” he spit, “you’ll be quiet when I fuck you, ok?”

It was the best news you’d ever heard in your entire life.

Your nod was quick and aggressive as you kissed him harder, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling his core closer to yours. His cock was solid and twitching beneath his little shorts, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

His fingers hooked into your thong and tugged them down your ankles so quick that you barely processed it. Your top came next, his hands shoving it up and over your head before reconnecting his lips to yours in a winding hunger.

The pawing only got worse. Your hands were grabbing at his bulge and whining into his throat, squeezing his cock and crying for a real taste. He just let you touch him. Claw at him. You were humiliating yourself and he was fucking obsessed.

He was more than well hung. His cock was massive and throbbing at every pass of your nimble fingers. His tiny shorts barely held him in—pressing a tight tension in the fabric to the point where you thought they might even rip open.

“Give me your cock, Daddy, I want it. Put it in my mouth, wanna suck on it, please,” you whine, breaking the kiss and breaking Harry’s only rule. To stay quiet.

But he wouldn’t reprimand you for your misbehavior just yet. Not when the breach was as sweet as that was.

“You want it?”

“Mhm.”

“This? You want this cock?”

“Mmm,” you hum, nodding your head through a bitten lip and glassed eyes.

He lowers his face closer, nose nudging into yours and lips grazing against your own before—

“Be a big girl and go get it.”

You whimpered into his lips before tugging down on the tight waist band, shoving it off his thighs until it sprung up against tummy with a smack.

He was dripping at the tip, a dribble of clear liquid slipping down his shaft and coating his tip in a thin layer.

You would do anything to slap it against your tongue, to shove it down your throat until the salty drip reached the backs of your tastebuds and drowned into your belly.

“Quiet,” he spits in a reminder, grabbing his base and lining it up against your hole.

You shook just at the feeling of his tip against you, drawing up and down in teasing motions and passing a little harder on your clit.

And when he pressed in—slow, steady—your lips fell apart before your mind could settle.

He was so thick inside of you, spreading your little hole open and pushing through your tight walls. He was long and ridged and so dense.

“Oh, feels s—”

His hand slapped over your mouth before you could finish, hips bottoming out against you simultaneously in one quick motion.

“Sh. No talking till you cum.”

You nod furiously, knowing it’ll be soon anyway. And with the agreement of your nod, he slips himself half way out before slamming hard back into you.

And then again.

And again.

And again and again and again until you were locked in your pleasure and spinning with every new thrust.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, head falling down onto yours, “feel so good like this. So worked up for me. Did you like humiliating yourself? Making a fool of yourself?”

You nodded again, fast and sloppy and no real meaning.

“I know you did. Riding me like the filthy whore you are. And now shutting up to let me fuck you. S’it hard for you to stay quiet? You have something you wanna say?”

Your brows fall into each other as you nod again, lip bitten between your teeth and cheeks flushed a deep rose.

“Shame. You’re not gonna say it though, right? Gonna listen to Daddy? Stay quiet for him?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as he pushes in deeper, harder, quicker. Nodding again and pressing harsh into your lip until you taste the tinge of metallic blood.

The golden cross that hung around his neck was smacking into your chin with every jab, your tongue mindlessly searching for it to get a little taste.

“Mm.” He hums, satisfied with your compliance and thrusting into you harder.

His fingers come to pry at your mouth, thumb crawling around your bottom lip before pressing into the heat of your tongue. He tugs down until your jaw drops open, displaying your red mouth and the way your tongue twitched with every harsh thrust.

He fucked into you harder as he pressed his fingers into your mouth, lapping around until they were soaked and covered in your sweet saliva. Your tongue was following his fingers, searching for a hint of his skin and stopping yourself from sucking tight around them.

“Fucking love this mouth,” he grits, spreading your mouth open further, “is my baby hungry?”

You just not immediately, not sure what he was referring to but desperate for anything.

“Wider.”

You obey, spreading your jaw wide as his fingers tug down as an aid. His thrusts don’t slow. If anything, they pick up, slamming deep into your tummy until his tip kissed your insides.

And then, hovered over your open mouth, he spit, thick and quick and right on your tongue.

You hummed as you shut your mouth, letting the glob of saliva roll around in your mouth and over your tastebuds until you could taste all of him. It was delicious, fresh and sweet and thick.

“Fuck,” he groaned at your eagness, dropping his head and rolling into you deeper and deeper and deeper. Every passing second seemed to have made it all more intense, his cock stretching you out so wide just like you wanted.

The ache had been sitting in you for so long that your orgasm rose quickly, built up from too many hours of silent tension and constant prying.

The pressure intensified gradually, the kind that bordered on overwhelming for a second before tipping into relief. Your shoulders instinctively tensed into each other against the cushions, breath hitching and body stilling.

Then the knot released with a sudden pop.

The sensation spread instantly through your bloodstream, sharp for half a heartbeat before melting into warmth. Relief flooded every muscle so quickly it almost made you dizzy, like the tension you’d been carrying had unraveled all at once.

Your chest erupted in light moans and sudden yelps, clamping tight around his cock until his tip was swollen in pressure. He just watched as you rode through your peak, clawing at his back and tugging him closer into your body.

He followed soon after, stilling inside of you with one last stroke, settling deep into your belly and filling your insides with his cum. Groans and heavy breaths swarmed between you two, filling the quiet air and replacing the prior smacks of your sex.

Your body went heavy against the cushions at the fall, every inch of you sinking deeper into it as the tightness finally gave way.

The soreness lingered faintly beneath it, overwhelmed and tender, but underneath was that overwhelming loose, weightless feeling that made you want to close your eyes and stay there forever.

“Shit,” he breathed out, forehead against yours as he fell weightless above you.

“Mm,” was all you could get out.

You’re sprawled across the couch like your body physically gave up, flat on your back with one arm tossed over your stomach and the other dangling off the edge of the cushion. Your chest rises and falls in slow, heavy breaths that still haven’t quite evened out, lungs working hard to catch up after being pushed too far.

Heat clings to your skin, making you feel heavy and overheated and completely drained. Every muscle aches with that deep, overworked soreness that settles into your limbs after you’ve exhausted yourself past the point of caring.

Your legs feel useless, too tired to move properly, and even shifting against the couch cushions seems like more effort than it’s worth.

“Ok?”

You nod. “Mhm.”

“Good,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and brushing a strand of hair off of your forehead.

Your eyes stay half-lidded, blinking slowly up at him. There’s sweat cooling along the back of your neck, your body sinking deeper and deeper into the cushions with every passing second. The exhaustion sits on top of you like extra weight, pulling you down until you feel almost glued to the couch, too spent to do anything except breathe through it and let your body recover.

With another soft kiss to your lips, he pulls out, slow and steady as to not further exhaust you. You know you should probably get up. Get your clothes on. Pee. You know, all the things.

But you couldn’t. You were completely wiped and wanted nothing more than to be pampered by your man and lay there like you couldn’t hold your own head up.

He stayed buried deep inside of you until he was soft and warm and limp, resting within your hole until he snapped out of his trance.

Harry sinks back into the couch beside you with a long, exhausted huff, his head tipping against the cushion as his eyes fall shut for a moment. It all clings to both of you—warm skin, tired limbs, breathing only just beginning to steady again.

Your legs are draped lazily across his lap, too exhausted to hold yourself up properly anymore, and his hands settle around your ankles automatically like it’s instinct. His thumbs move slowly against the little bone there, absentminded and gentle, working small circles into smooth skin.

Neither of you says anything.

The room is quiet except for the soft sound of breathing and the occasional shift of the couch cushions beneath your weight. Your eyes stay heavy, body melted into the corner of the couch while his hands continue rubbing slow, steady warmth into your skin.

Every now and then his grip tightens slightly before melding back over the bone. His head stays leaned back, eyes still closed, looking just as worn out as you feel, but comfortable in it—comfortable with you.

The silence settles around both of you easily, soft and familiar, the kind that only happens when neither person feels the need to fill it.

But then he goes to grab his laptop.

And suddenly, you’re wide awake.

You sit up just enough to register the moment properly, voice already cautious, “Okay, Harry, don’t be mad.”

That makes him pause mid-open.

He glances at you, one brow lifting, “Mad?”

You don’t help your case by looking guilty. Already so fucked out of your mind and now desperately trying to piece together a way for this to make sense. Because really, you had no business opening his emails.

His hand hovers over the trackpad, a silly grin on his face as he watches you panic, “What did you do?”

It’s light—teasing already, like he’s assuming you’ve done something small and mildly inconvenient, not world ending. He knew you could never do anything too bad. He had nothing to worry too much about. Or at least he hoped.

You hesitate a beat too long.

“…Nothing,” you say, which is immediately suspicious. You also follow it by sinking deeper into your spot on the couch and hiding your face into the side of the pillow.

That gets a quiet huff of a laugh out of him, “That was a terrible answer.”

He opens the laptop anyway.

And the second the email loads, everything clicks into place.

His shoot. Raw selects. A grid of him looking unfairly good in that effortless, camera ready way that probably should’ve come with a warning label.

Harry leans back slightly, eyes scanning the screen, then slowly turns his head toward you.

“Ahhh,” he says, dragging it out, amusement spreading across his face. “Makes sense now.”

You groan as you sink deeper into the couch.

He gestures vaguely at the screen, “This is what you were doing while I was gone?”

You cover part of your face with your hand like it might erase the memory, “I wasn’t—I was just—scrolling.”

“Scrolling,” he repeats, with a nod, like he’s testing the word.

“It’s not funny,” you mutter, but it’s ruined immediately by how tired you sound and how much you’re already trying not to smile.

He leans forward again, still scrolling through the images, “No, it is a bit funny.”

You kick his tummy lightly with your foot—no real force behind it. He just chuckles, shaking his head as he continues to scroll through the shoot.

“Okay,” he says, catching your ankle loosely before you can pull away, still grinning. “Relax. I’m not mad.”

You peek at him through your fingers.

He tilts the laptop slightly toward youx “Actually,” he adds, softer now, “this just explains a lot about the last hour of your life.”

You groan, dropping your hand completely, “I was not losing it.”

“You were absolutely losing it,” he says, far too calmly for someone being accused of anything.

There’s a beat where you just stare at him.

Then he nudges your legs gently back into place across his lap like nothing happened.

“Come on,” he says, shifting the laptop so you can see it properly too, “Help me pick which ones I actually like.”

You blink, “You want my opinion?”

He glances at you like it’s obvious, “Yeah. ‘Course.”

Then, after a pause, a little more casually, “You’ve already got strong feelings about it anyway.”

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[monicaalexandraaa]

He knows what’s he’s doing

[harryspurpleloofah]

Something Worth Seeing

Author’s note: I have genuinely been gone for so long and I’m so sorry I have no clue where my writing ideas disappeared off to for a bit but I’m back with a little fluffy oneshot. This takes place in an art gallery. Y/N has her art displayed for the first time and no one really seems to be looking at it. Apart from Harry Styles.

TW: this is all fluff with a steamy make out at the end, slight talks of panic attacks and Harry’s struggles with the media.

“Yeah so it would be really great if you could make it. I mean if you can’t then you just can’t but um… yeah I’d really appreciate it.” She thought for a bit to make sure there was nothing else she needed to say then sent the voice audio. She didn’t know why she was kidding herself. Most of the people in her life didn’t even have time for themselves let alone her art show.

Besides, there was nothing about it that was so revolutionary. However, sometimes she did wonder if maybe she only thought that because of how many times it had been said to her. Revolutionary or not, she had decided that now was finally the time to take a bit of a risk. She had been given the opportunity to display her art at an event that wasn’t exactly unpopular so why would she not take the chance right? The worst thing that could happen was that fewer people would come to her display than some other artists and that was fine. At least she tried.

But now as she stood all alone watching people go over to basically everybody’s art apart from her own she wanted to cry. She never came here with the intention to go viral as an artist and have dozens of people instantly make an offer but she’d be lying if she said there wasn’t a little part of her that was kind of hoping at least a little crowd would gather.

The most she had gotten in the last hour was a lady who gave a quick glance to one of her pieces before something else caught her eye and she walked off. She stepped away for a bit to call her friend. She had promised she would try to come but… there was no sign of her so far.

As she finished her voice audio and returned, she froze. There, admiring her main piece was a man. A tall man. Brown curls sitting atop his head, green eyes focused on the canvas, scanning the brushstrokes intensely. Slight frown of concentration adorning his handsome features as he looked at it.

His hands were clasped tightly behind him. She could see a glint of the rings he was wearing and the color of the nail paint he had chosen that day. A dark brown to match his jumper. She walked back over to make sure he was real and wasn’t disappearing as she got closer and she was pleasantly surprised when the focus of his gaze went from the painting to her.

“Hello.” He said softly. “Is this yours?”

She nodded as she tried to find her voice again since it seemed to have wandered off somewhere. He gave her a second to try to talk but when nothing came out of her mouth he slowly turned back to the image.

“I think it’s very beautiful.”

The work he was looking at was something she had done quite a while ago. It was a figure being drowned in colossal waves of water but the expression on its face was so calm. Not happy, not sad. Just existing. Maybe even content. It was supposed to be a depiction of what it felt like to be fighting such a tumultuous battle inside of you while having to act fine in front of others. Not happy but not sad either. Just calm like nothing was happening to you.

“I’m glad you like it,” she sighed as her words finally came back, “it’s one of my favorite things I’ve painted.”

“Yeah I-feel like it makes a lot of sense to me.”

She looked up, curious. She always liked seeing how two people could see the same thing so differently. “How so?”

“I mean for me… it would be representative of how sometimes you’re forced to be a prisoner to gratitude. And sometimes the opportunities you’ve been given come down on you so harshly like the waves but..you can’t complain. Otherwise you’re being too ungrateful.”

That’s not really how she had imagined it but his perspective was interesting too. And it’s not like she had another option so she nodded. “I mean yeah, that’s really interesting. That’s definitely a way to look at it too.”

She didn’t want to keep watching him so he wouldn’t feel like she was pressuring him into buying or anything but she couldn’t help but look. He was the only person there and she wanted to appreciate the one person who’d taken an interest in her art.

However, before she could commit him to memory he looked and her and gave her a casual smile, causing his engraved dimples to deepen further and he walked away. That’s it, just like that the only person who had waited around to look at her art was gone without even inquiring about the price.

She knew she didn’t do this for the money. Hardly anyone she knew did. Though, it didn’t feel amazing to be completely ignored at an event designed for people to look at, and maybe buy some art. There wasn’t very much money involved in being in artist unless you made it super big and she definitely hadn’t. But the fact that he had stuck around for a bit must mean at least a few other people must be interested right?

Well… sort of. After he left a few other people stopped to quickly glance over her work so her section didn’t look as barren as it did before but no one really tried to talk to her about it.

She noticed a lot of people around her managing to sell some pieces and it just made her feel worse. She had been to events like this which were just low on people but this one wasn’t. So it was the fact that people were actively ignoring her piece while heading to others.

After giving it a good fifteen minutes, she started slowly taking down some of the smaller pieces when she felt a presence behind her. Same guy from before. She smiled at him, “can I help you?”

“Yeah. How much?”

“Sorry?”

“Uh—for the painting? The one with the waves.”

“For-you want to buy it?”

“Yes? The art here is… for sale correct?”

“Oh… yeah it is. That’s so nice of you.”

“Nice of me?” He chuckled, “no it’s nice of you. For painting such a beautiful image. I want it to be seen by other people. People who come over. It’s something worth seeing.”

Something worth seeing. This gorgeous man was calling her piece of work something that was worth seeing. She kept that calm smile on her face but inside she was panicking. Would he think her price was too high? No surely not. She knew friends who were also on her level and selling for much higher than what she was.

“Is 60 dollars ok for you?” She said.

And just like that she had sold her main piece. All of a sudden, it didn’t really matter whether her sister or Matt from work came to her art show. Because she felt for the first time in a while that she didn’t need them there to be spectators of her life. She could do plenty by herself. Like she just did.

Her stuff was all packed into her tote bag and all she needed to do now was get her coat before she could retire to an evening of sitcoms and snacks after giving herself that little ego boost today. It was raining, as always. She pulled out her umbrella and opened it up above her, looking back to make sure her bag wasn’t getting wet.

As she walked, she saw him then. Again. The curly haired man from before. He was standing under a little shelter provided from the top slab of a shop in a black trench coat, looking down at his phone with a scowl.

She didn’t know if she should approach him or not. He didn’t seem to be in trouble and she didn’t know him. Just because he had bought her art didn’t mean they were the bestest of pals now. Maybe she should just mind her business. It was something she had been working on recently anyway.

Thirty seconds later, her nosy side took center stage and walked her over to him. “Hi… are you ok?”

He looked up, squinting his eyes a little as if he was trying to recognize her before she saw a flicker of familiarity in his gaze. “Oh hello. Yes I’m okay thanks just uh—finding a ride to my hotel.”

“Hotel?”

“Yeah I don’t live here I’m traveling. And I guess I thought it would be easier to find taxis. Guess not.”

“Oh yeah not in this part of town no. You’d have more luck closer to the main city but not here I don’t think.”

“And Ubers keep canceling on me.” He looks down at his phone with frustration again, “or maybe my app is just acting up.”

She looked at him for a second. How was she supposed to end this conversation without helping him? Thanks for telling me you’re problem, I’ll be off now? That was so rude. She knew she lived quite close and his hotel couldnt be too far, right?

“Would you want a ride?”

“A ride?”

“Yeah. I live like five minutes away I can take you and still get home before it’s really late.”

“Oh no please don’t worry about it. It’s my own fault for not organizing something. I’m sure I’ll find a cab in a minute.”

Do you ask again? Would it seem too desperate? She’d be lying if she said one of the reasons she was willing to give him a ride wasn’t because he was one of the most attractive men she’d seen in a while. It would be nice if she could get to know him. But more than anything she knew this part of town and that it wasn’t exactly the safest place to roam freely in the rain super late.

She started taking a few steps back to show she wasn’t going to press after this if he was really alright by himself but she offered again, “it really wouldn’t be any trouble. Like I said, I live so close by it would just be a fun detour aside from my usual route.”

He pondered for a bit.

“Why don’t you tell me where your hotel is? Then we can see based on how far it is.”

He seemed to like that idea and smiled, exiting the uber app and entering his photos where he had screenshotted the address. He showed it to her. She knew the place. It was literally ten minutes absolute maximum. She’d have no problem dropping him off.

“That’s only like ten minutes from here. I can take you.”

He looked like he was thinking again, but she could tell it wasn’t in a way where he didn’t trust her or felt unsafe. More that he just felt really bad burdening her like that. But when his eyes looked to the darkening sky and rain threatening to get worse, he made a decision.

“Okay. Thank you so much, that’s so lovely of you.”

“It’s not problem.” She smiled, guiding him towards her car and unlocking it as he sat down. She got in with him and began driving.

Her thoughts flicked back to her plans for tomorrow for a second and she remembered she’d told herself she would top up on fuel tonight since she had a brunch with some important people tomorrow which she didn’t want to be late for and so, didn’t want to risk stopping.

She wondered if he would mind. It would be kind of awkward, offering him a ride but then running your own errands. However, he seemed reasonable enough. Hopefully he’d be okay with it.

“Hey, do you mind if I drop for gas real quick?”

“For a ten minute drive?” He chuckled.

“Sorry I just remembered I was running low earlier so…”

“Yeah it’s no worries.”

“Okay great.”

She drove quietly. They weren’t really close enough to fall into casual small talk yet.

The gas station was damp from the rain which had calmed down a bit now, little neon signs flickering, one or two other people filling up their tanks. As she got out to top up her own car, she saw Harry looking toward the little shop.

“Do you wanna get something?” She offered.

“Yeah if you don’t mind. I’ll be quick. But I don’t know if they’ll have what I’m looking for.”

“Well what are you looking for?”

“I kind of want some yogurt.”

She blinked, “what?”

“Yeah. Like the little ones they sell as snacks.”

“You wanna eat yogurt as a snack?”

“Well let’s not judge I’ve had nothing all day I can treat myself to something I like.”

She smiled a little, “I’m sure they’ll have some form of yogurt if you go and look.”

“Don’t you wanna get something too?”

“You know what, yeah sure. I’ll come too.”

In the gas station, they walked around picking up little things as they went along. She noticed Harry eyeing some cherry-cola Oreos and watched his gorgeous features go through the stages of confusion, intrigue and disgust as he made a face and distanced himself as if he was offended. She couldn’t help but laugh to herself.

It kind of made her think of how he was looking at her art in a really strange way. He was just a very attentive person who paid attention to things. His whole demeanor was slow-moving and careful. He face everything his full time and effort no matter how insignificant it may seem, almost as of he was afraid to offend inanimate objects.

She then saw his face light up as he picked up his desired yogurt cups and then thought for a second before also reaching to scoop up a Pringle’s can, slotting it between his arm and chest. He started walking down the aisle like he was beginning to make his way to the till but she noticed his green eyes still scanning the shelves to make sure he didn’t feel like anything else.

Harry paid for their items, firmly insisting it was to pay back for her offering to drive. She watched him tap his card and then they were back in the car with a giant bag of snacks. She let him enjoy his yogurt cups and then, not starting the car yet.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry said.

“Sure.”

“Earlier when I was looking at your art, you seemed kind of… shocked that I was there. Why was that?”

“Oh well I don’t know if you saw but… you were kind of the only person there.”

He furrowed his brows, “really? Your work was honestly outstanding. I could see a different story on each canvas. It wasn’t performative in any way. Each brush stroke seemed… authentic.”

“Thanks. That’s so nice.”

He shrugged, getting some more yogurt onto the plastic spoon he had bought in a pack and placing it in his mouth, swallowing before he continued, “I’m only saying what I saw. And it was something well worth seeing.”

She felt a gush of happiness run through her.

“Do you do commission pieces?” He asked, “I have a few friends who are into art, that seems like where most of them earn the most from and for some it’s what they enjoy the most.”

“Yeah I’ve thought about it before but… honestly it was already so scary today watching all those people walk by my stand. So I don’t think it would make me very happy if I started advertising myself everywhere only to get like no requests.”

His gaze bore into her, “I don’t think you’d get no requests.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely. I’d ask for something. Recommend you to friends who would too.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Besides, even if it wasn’t for me telling you that I would. You just need to have a little faith. There’s nothing wrong with failing. No one sees someone who isn’t getting much engagement and decides to laugh. Or well, if they do that’s their own problem. In a career in the arts you just cant be afraid to be embarrassed. Everyone’s too worried about how their own work is doing to care about anybody else’s. Expect for in a positive way, of course.”

He was saying all this so casually while eating yogurt. She was so confused how these words coming out of his mouth were making her feel so much better instantly it was like a form of hypnosis. Just the way he chose to address things.

Outside his hotel he turned to her in the car. “May I have your number?”

“Sorry?”

“Your number?”

“Oh—yeah sure.”

She gave it to him and went home that night with a new seed of hope blossoming within her. There was a part of her that felt he wouldn’t talk to her. Not often at least. They’d just met one random night. All she could think of was how lucky she was that she decided to participate in the art show on this specific day when he’d decided to come to one.

However, in the next few weeks Harry actually did talk to her. Over text mostly but it felt endless when he did. Like she would never feel as if she had to search for a way to end the conversation. Not even in the way you sometimes do with people you genuinely enjoy talking to. He was the one person she didn’t feel like she ever needed space from because it seemed like the way he would talk would already be as if he was keeping a respectful distance without putting up any walls and she loved it.

He would be such a sweetheart, texting her images he’d found on Pinterest with texts like, “hey, does this help with your artist’s block?”

She adored the effort he was putting in.

Soon the texts turned to calls and the calls into plans of meeting up. And those plans would come true at cafés whenever Harry would be in the area. He loved trying new places and she just loved any place where they’d serve her coffee so they both won.

This was one of the days where they were meeting outside the café first because they were arriving within minutes of each other. She ran up to Harry that day and hugged him.

“What’s up?” He said with a smile as he pulled away slightly.

“Your persuasion worked. I finally reached out to some people talking about commission. I really think I’m off to a great start with this, Harry.”

His green eyes shone with pride for her, “hey! That’s great!”

In the next moment, neither of them knew why, how or who initiated but they kissed… it almost seemed platonic because of how casually they both treated it, chuckling with each other and just walking inside to pick a table and Harry’s café of choice that week but in her mind, calling it platonic seemed wrong. The way he slightly pulled her waist closer even for a second if that’s how long it lasted… was not platonic. Not even slightly.

But she would have to ignore it for now. He clearly was. Maybe it was just normal. Spur of the moment thing. If he didn’t seem too bothered then it was probably okay.

That’s what she told herself until her next art show when she would be seeing him again. He had promised to bring some friends this time and she knew he hadn’t lied when she looked to the door and saw him walking in with two women and one man behind him.

They all introduced themselves but she noticed something else. The way Harry was looking on with hope like he really wanted her to get along with his friends. Of course that could also be because he saw her as a friend and wanted all his friends to get on but… maybe.

Aside from Harry and his friends, she was delighted to see that more people were coming over to appreciate her this time. She wouldn’t say crowds but it was definitely enough to put her in a good mood that night. Enough of a good mood to agree to going out drinking with Harry and his friends.

About halfway through the night, two of his friends went to find a cubicle for themselves in the bathrooms while the other woman excused herself to see if the pretty bartender who’d served them wanted to exchange numbers with her.

The shots she’d done had given her a little more spontaneity so before Harry could even get a word out she said it, “we kissed the other day.”

Harry blinked, then sipped his drink, “we did.”

“Was it a friend thing? Because I’ve been so confused ever since. It-is it just something friends do?”

“I mean—not in my experience, no.”

She went quiet. What was she supposed to say now? He’d answered her question, “so why’d you just not talk about it?”

“Did you?”

She didn’t know what to say. He was right, she couldn’t hold him accountable for brushing it off when she did the same. As well as the fact that it wasn’t just one of them who initiated it, more of a joint effort of leaning in just to feel closer in the celebratory vibe and ending up with both their lips deciding to take the leap of faith and go the full distance.

“Well now I am.”

“Great.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“So you kissed me. And you’re saying it wasn’t as friends.”

He sighed. “I mean that’s it really, isn’t it?”

“No it isn’t. I don’t get what you’re asking for.”

“I’m not asking for anything. We kissed, we probably shouldn’t have if we’re just friends.”

“Are we just friends?”

“If you want to be.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I-don’t really know what I want. I mean, from the very start I’ve… thought you were really beautiful.”

“I think you’re really beautiful too.”

He lets out an amused scoff.

She didn’t understand what he found funny. He’d confused her for days and was acting like it was so long ago that it didn’t even matter. They’d come to no conclusion.

“So you don’t want to be with me?” She said.

“Woah, when did I say that?”

“Well you didn’t… not say that.”

“Because you didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t offer.”

“Was I supposed to?”

“If you wanted to then yeah!”

“If I wanted to what?”

“Date me.”

“Date you?”

She didn’t say anything. He looked up like he was thinking, “you know what? Yeah, I wanna date you.”

She froze. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Well make up your mind because you can’t switch up again with a platonic kiss that I won’t know how to differentiate from a romantic one.”

“You still struggling with the difference, baby?”

“I-”

“I could always clear it up for you.” He said, his voice dropping to a deeper tone as he moved closer, giving her every opportunity to pull away. But she didn’t. If anything her body moved closer to his magnetic presence.

Their lips met again, but nothing like the half friends one. This time she knew exactly what he wanted as he wrapped one arm round her waist and another gently grazing her jawline as he kissed her deeper, tongue making its way into her mouth and sliding against her own.

She had no idea where to put her hands, he was doing a pretty good job steadying her so all she really had to do was find a comfortable place for them which she found on his chest, feeling his warm skin underneath the black button up.

It was a proper make out. The kind that left no fount in her mind of what he wanted from her. This was no, “maybe he sees me as a friend.”

When she was about to lean in a little more he softly pulled away. “I hope you don’t still see yourself as just my friend.”

She was about to say something when he stood up, “you need a ride home?”

“N-no my friend Amy’s picking me up.”

“Need me to wait?”

She looked around. The bar seemed to be thriving in good vibes. Everyone was minding their own business. She could see Harry’s friend in case she needed anything and Amy would be here in a matter of minutes. She shook her head.

He shrugged, pulling his jacket over those broad shoulders she’d felt just a few seconds ago, “just in case you still need solidification, we’ll have a proper date Saturday night, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Pick you up seven. Night darling.”

And just like that he was gone.

[guccifloralsuits]

I’m going to be so insufferable about this Ticketmaster scalpers thing because so many fuckers are about to come crawling back after bitching for months & dragging his name through the mud and for WHAT

[harryspurpleloofah]

Hii! What’s your favourite Harry era?

In actuality, either Harry right now or end of fineline to start of Harry’s house Harry. As a concept, LHH.

[harryspurpleloofah]

Do you take asks not based on writing like if we just wanna ask you your opinions on things? Since your ask box says requests so is it just for writing requests?

Hello! You’re right sorry if the “requests open” makes it sound solely writing related. I’m free to just talk, doesn’t only have to be requests. I actually haven’t been active in a while but I’ve gotten quite a few asks so I might just spend a bit going through those 💜

[harryspurpleloofah]

what’s your opinion on Kissco? Where does it rank for you in comparison with the other albums?

I really like kissco, I think it’s opened doors to a newer chunk of the fandom who aren’t as worried about his personal life and are just vibing with the music so that’s cool. In terms of with the other albums I’ve always loved fineline so it’s probably equal with fineline for my number one. I think it’s hard to compare them since they’re both so beautiful in different ways. Xx

[mr-styles]

southbankcentre The wait is over! Find out who Harry Styles has added to this year’s Meltdown festival line-up 🪩

[harryspurpleloofah]

I love that he’s always introducing people to new artists

[guccifloralsuits]

Honestly harry is the true role-model for not giving a single fuck™️ literally he just out here making exactly the type of music he’s always wanted to and wearing whatever the hell he feels like and making music videos based on what he wants to do without regard to Pop Norms or What The Industry Path Is and he does it while staying a loving and kind person who doesn’t have to put others down to lift himself up and yeah I respect the hell out of him

[guccifloralsuits]

Remains as true now as it did when I posted this about HS1 in 2017 😭 happy release day!!!!

[cherryskies-harry]

my favourite diva

[mr-styles]

nbcsnl @harrystyles double duty!!!

[harryworldwide]

southbankcentre: Harry Styles is this year's Meltdown festival curator! 11 – 21 June 2026

[guccifloralsuits]

People wondering why Harry styles is so private after tearing him to pieces when he finally does step out just because you don’t like how he did his hair that day 😑

YEP. THERE IT IS!!!!