practistyles

main blog: @shelfinthedark

[practistyles]

MASTERLIST

hello, thank you so much for being here and wanting to read my stories! I am a uni student with a challenging (for me, at least) degree so i will probably post really slow! sorry about that but i hope u like these stories hehe

smut is marked with a *

divider credits: @cafekitsune

SERIES:

everyone wants him

in which Harry is obsessed with Y/N but she doesn't want anyone to know about them and for good reason; college au, fratrry vibes

if your love is in trouble

in which Y/N and Harry are coworkers in a cafe and Harry can't seem to figure out why Y/N is always so sad; angsty, fluffy fic with a really quite whipped harry :)

ONE SHOTS:

party 4 u*

Y/N and Harry are exes but she only threw this party for him.

sick

In which Y/N thinks Harry is cheating on her...

...more to come soon!

feel free to send ideas and asks, and let me know in the comments or asks to be added in a tag list.

[ghstyles]

Trouble | Window Facing

Windows Facing Masterlist | Main Masterlist | WC: 6K

Summary: Harry would do anything for his psychology girl, that also inculdes getting his knuckles bloody.

a/n: I want to start getting more plot heavy for this series so expect things to actually change between them now ;)

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The Saturday morning weather was perfect for the fraternity's annual "Sexy Suds" car wash fundraiser. Excessive by Y/N’s standard considering she’s already been terrorized by Harry and a hose a few weeks ago (He has yet to return her blender).

By ten AM, the street between the fraternity house and Y/N's apartment building is transformed into an impromptu festival. The music was fully blasting from massive speakers as cars lined up around the block, and dozens of college girls clustered on the sidewalk, ostensibly waiting for their vehicles but primarily there to watch the spectacle.

The spectacle being twenty shirtless fraternity brothers, soaked and soapy, dancing between cars with washcloths and hoses, putting on a show that has little to do with automotive cleanliness and everything to do with flexing.

In her second-floor apartment, Y/N groans and pulls her pillow over her head as the bass from "Pour Some Sugar On Me" vibrates through her walls. After a late night finishing a research paper, she'd been hoping to sleep until at least noon. The combination of Def Leppard, squealing girls, and car horns makes that impossible.

After fifteen minutes of futile attempts to fall back asleep, she throws off her covers with a frustrated sigh. Her hair is a tangled mess, she's wearing an oversized t-shirt that reads "Psychologists Do It With Perception" (a gag gift from Maya), and her face still bears the creased imprint of her pillow.

Stumbling to her window that directly faces the Sigma house, she yanks it open, fully intending to yell at whoever is controlling the music. The blast of sound and sunshine makes her wince as she leans out.

"Can you PLEASE turn it down? Some of us are trying to sleep!" she calls out, her voice still raspy from sleep.

Across the narrow gap between buildings, Harry Styles looks up from the sports car he's soaping down, water streaming down his bare chest. His hair is pushed back with a bandana, and his low-slung jeans are soaked through, clinging to his legs. At the sound of Y/N's voice, his face lights up with delighted surprise.

"Well, good morning, sunshine!" he calls back, abandoning his sponge and moving closer to her window. "Thought you might sleep through all the fun!"

Y/N narrows her eyes, suddenly very aware of her disheveled appearance. "That was the plan until your little wet t-shirt contest woke up the entire neighborhood."

Harry grins, looking her over with obvious appreciation despite, or perhaps because of, her rumpled state. "No shirts involved in my case, as you can see." He gestures to his bare torso with a theatrical flourish. "Care to join us? We could use more volunteers."

"I'd rather eat glass," Y/N replies, fighting the urge to close the window and hide under her covers. "Just turn the music down a bit, okay? Some of us were up all night working."

Harry's eyebrows shoot up. "All night, eh? Should've invited me over. I'm excellent company during all-nighters."

"I was writing a paper on cognitive dissonance," she clarifies dryly. "Somehow I doubt you'd have been helpful."

"I'm wounded," Harry places a hand over his heart, water dripping down his arm. "I'll have you know I'm very familiar with cognitive whatever-it-is. It's when your brain can't decide between two things, right? Like how you can't decide whether you want to yell at me or invite me up."

Y/N rolls her eyes, ignoring the flutter in her stomach. "That's not what—never mind. Just please, the music?"

Harry glances over his shoulder at the festivities, then back at Y/N, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Tell you what, I'll ask Louis to turn it down a notch if..."

"If what?" Y/N asks suspiciously.

"If you admit you're enjoying the view," he challenges, spreading his arms wide to display his wet torso.

Y/N scoffs, though her eyes do involuntarily dip to his chest before darting back up. "In your dreams, Styles."

"Regularly," he confirms with a wink.

Before Y/N can retort, Harry reaches down and grabs the hose lying at his feet. With a devilish grin, he aims it directly at her window.

"Don't you dare—" she starts, but it's too late.

A stream of cold water hits her window with surprising force, some of it spraying through the open gap and splashing her face and shirt.

"HARRY!" she shrieks, jumping back but not quite fast enough to avoid getting wet.

Harry doubles over laughing, the hose still spraying her window. "Oops! Looks like you might need to join us after all. You're halfway to the dress code already!"

Y/N wipes water from her face, her t-shirt now clinging to her in a way that makes her acutely self-conscious. "You are such a—"

"Charming, handsome philanthropist?" Harry suggests, finally lowering the hose. "We've raised over three hundred dollars already this morning. All for the children's hospital."

Despite her irritation, Y/N feels her anger softening slightly at the mention of charity. "That doesn't give you permission to spray people's windows."

"Not people's windows," Harry corrects, his voice dropping to something more genuine. "Your window. Special treatment, psychology girl."

"Lucky me," she says sarcastically, though without real bite.

Harry takes a step closer, now standing directly beneath her window, looking up with water dripping from his hair. "Come down," he suggests suddenly. "I'll buy you breakfast from the food truck that's coming at noon. Make up for interrupting your beauty sleep."

Y/N hesitates, torn between the temptation of his offer and her pride. "I look like a disaster," she admits.

"You look gorgeous," Harry counters immediately, no trace of teasing in his voice. "Always do."

The compliment catches her off guard, warming her cheeks despite the cool water still dripping down her neck.

"I need to shower and change," she hedges.

"I'll wait," Harry promises, then gestures to the line of cars. "Got about twenty more vehicles to wash anyway. Take your time."

Before Y/N can answer, a voice calls out from behind Harry. "Styles! Stop flirting and get back to work!" Louis shouts, tossing a sponge that hits Harry squarely in the back.

Harry picks up the sponge without looking at it, his eyes still fixed on Y/N. "So? Breakfast? Or are you going to leave me heartbroken and hungry?"

Y/N knows she should say no. She has reading to do, laundry to finish, a dozen reasons to decline. But there's something about the hopeful look on his face, water glistening on his skin in the morning sun, that makes her hesitate. "One condition," she calls down.

"Name it," Harry replies instantly.

"Turn the music down. At least until I get down there."

Harry grins, saluting her with the sponge. "Consider it done, psychology girl. Anything for you."

As Harry jogs back to the car wash, Y/N notices several girls watching him with undisguised interest. He pays them no attention, instead turning back to give Y/N one more smile before lowering the music and returning to work.

She closes her window slowly, surprised to find herself smiling too. Maybe getting woken up wasn't the worst thing after all. As she heads to the shower, Y/N tries to ignore the flutter of anticipation in her stomach. It's just breakfast, she tells herself. Nothing more.

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The car wash is in full swing by the time Y/N makes her way downstairs. She's changed into denim shorts and a simple white tank top, her damp hair pulled back in a messy bun. Despite having showered and dressed, she maintains her trademark scowl as she approaches the chaos of the fundraiser.

Shirtless boys dart between vehicles and the music pumps at a slightly reduced volume (true to Harry's promise). Several cars gleam in the "finished" section, though their owners seem in no hurry to drive away from the show.

Harry spots her immediately, abandoning the minivan he was rinsing to jog over, water droplets flying from his hair as he moves. He's still shirtless, his jeans riding low on his hips, and he's somehow managed to get soap suds in his hair.

"You came!" he exclaims, his face lighting up with genuine surprise and pleasure.

Y/N crosses her arms, trying to maintain her annoyed facade despite the warmth that spreads through her at his obvious delight. "You promised food. I'm starving."

"Food truck's not here for another hour," Harry says, glancing at his watch before returning his gaze to her face. "But worth the wait, I promise. Best breakfast burritos on campus."

"An hour?" Y/N's frown deepens. "You said noon."

"Did I?" Harry asks innocently. "Must have lost track of time. Easy to do when you're raising money for sick children."

He emphasizes the last part with an exaggerated halo gesture above his head.

"You're manipulative," Y/N accuses, though without heat.

Harry just grins, "Now, are you going to stand there looking like someone stole your favorite psychology textbook, or are you going to smile and enjoy this beautiful day?"

Y/N intensifies her scowl deliberately. "I'll stand here however I want, thanks."

Harry sighs dramatically, then glances meaningfully at the hose in his hand. "Remember what happened last time you gave me attitude?"

Y/N's eyes widen as she follows his gaze to the hose. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" Harry challenges, his finger hovering over the nozzle trigger. "One smile. That's all I'm asking for. One tiny smile to brighten this already sunny day."

"I'm not performing on command like some trained seal," Y/N protests, taking a cautious step backward.

Harry takes a corresponding step forward, the hose now pointed directly at her. "Three seconds. Three...two..."

"This is extortion," Y/N says, trying to maintain her stern expression even as the corners of her mouth twitch.

"One..." Harry continues, his own smile widening.

Just as he squeezes the trigger, Y/N breaks into a reluctant smile but it's too late. A stream of cold water hits her squarely in the chest, making her gasp in shock.

"HARRY!" she shrieks, the smile instantly replaced by genuine outrage as water soaks through her tank top.

Harry drops the hose, laughing but looking slightly panicked at her reaction. "You smiled too late! The rules were clear!"

"There were no rules!" Y/N sputters, looking down at her now transparent top with horror. "You just made that up!"

Before Harry can respond, Y/N spots a bucket of soapy water on the ground beside her. In one fluid motion, she scoops it up and flings the entire contents at him.

Harry stands frozen in shock as sudsy water cascades over him, drenching him from head to toe. For a moment, there's complete silence as everyone nearby stops to stare.

Then Harry shakes his head like a dog, sending water flying everywhere. "Oh, it's on now, psychology girl."

What follows can only be described as chaos. Harry lunges for the hose while Y/N darts between cars, grabbing sponges and buckets to use as ammunition. The other fraternity brothers quickly join in, turning their car wash into an all-out water fight.

Y/N finds herself laughing despite her initial anger, ducking behind a sedan as Harry stalks her with the hose, his movements exaggeratedly menacing.

"You can't hide forever!" he calls out, scanning the cars.

She peeks over the hood, armed with a sopping wet sponge. "Watch me!"

Y/N makes a break for it, sprinting between vehicles while Harry gives chase. She's faster than he expected, easily outmaneuvering him until she slips on a patch of soap and stumbles. Harry catches her before she falls, his arm wrapping around her waist. They're both breathing hard, dripping wet, and suddenly very close. "Gotcha," he murmurs, his voice softer than she's used to hearing it.

Y/N becomes acutely aware of his bare chest pressed against her soaked tank top, the heat of his skin contrasting with the cold water clinging to them both.

"Temporary tactical advantage," she manages to say, her voice not quite steady. "I'm still winning."

Harry's eyes drop briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. "Are you?"

The moment stretches between them, charged with something neither is quite ready to name.

"Yo, Harry!" Zayn’s voice breaks the spell. "Stop hogging the pretty girl and help us finish these cars!"

Harry reluctantly releases her, though his eyes linger on her face. "Duty calls."

"Go raise money" Y/N says, stepping back and pushing wet hair from her face.

As Harry returns to work, Y/N becomes uncomfortably aware of her appearance. Her white tank top clings to her like a second skin, and her hair is plastered to her neck. Several of the fraternity brothers are stealing glances her way, but one in particular, a tall senior she recognizes from her statistics class, isn't even trying to be subtle about his appreciation.

"Need a towel?" Zayn offers, approaching with a relatively clean one.

"Thanks," Y/N says gratefully, wrapping it around her shoulders.

"Don't mind Jake," Zayn says quietly, nodding toward the staring brother. "He's harmless, just lacks social graces."

"I've noticed," Y/N replies dryly.

Zayn hesitates, then adds, "Harry's a good guy, you know. Beneath all the...Harry-ness."

Y/N raises an eyebrow. "Is this the part where you tell me he doesn't usually act this way with girls, and I'm somehow special?"

Zayn laughs. "Nah, he's always been a flirt. But he doesn't usually spray them with hoses and then chase them around a car wash. That's new."

Before Y/N can respond, Harry reappears, carrying two bottles of water. "Hydration," he explains, handing one to Y/N. "Important after vigorous physical activity."

"Is that what we're calling it?" she asks, accepting the bottle.

"I have other names for it, but they might scandalize poor Zayn here," Harry replies with a wink.

Zayn rolls his eyes. "And that's my cue to leave. Cars to wash, money to raise." He nods at Y/N. "Keep the towel."

As Zayn walks away, Harry studies Y/N's face. "You're having fun," he accuses. "Admit it."

Y/N takes a sip of water, considering her response. "It's not the worst Saturday morning I've ever had."

"High praise indeed," Harry says, placing a hand over his heart. "I'm touched."

Y/N laughs despite herself. "You're soaked is what you are."

"Worth it," Harry says simply, his eyes warm as they meet hers.

A comfortable silence falls between them, broken only by the sounds of the car wash continuing around them. Y/N finds herself relaxing, the annoyance of being woken up early fading in the face of unexpected enjoyment.

"So," Harry says eventually, "still want that breakfast burrito? I can probably convince the food truck to come early if I promise them a free car wash."

Y/N pretends to consider it. "I suppose I could stay. For the children, of course."

"Of course," Harry agrees solemnly, though his eyes dance with amusement. "Nothing to do with my charming company."

"Nothing whatsoever," Y/N confirms, fighting a smile.

Harry grins, clearly not believing her for a second. "One condition."

"What's that?" Y/N asks warily.

"Help me wash cars until the food arrives," he challenges. "Show these amateurs how it's done."

Y/N glances at her wet clothes and shrugs. "Can't get any more soaked than I already am."

"That sounds like a yes," Harry says, already reaching for her hand.

As he leads her toward a waiting car, his fingers intertwined with hers, Y/N finds herself wondering how a morning that began with such irritation has somehow turned into...this. Whatever this is.

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The afternoon car wash transitions into cleanup as the fraternity brothers count their earnings. Over two thousand dollars for the children's hospital which was a record for their annual event. As cars drive away and hoses are coiled, talk quickly turns to the inevitable afterparty.

Y/N helps Harry wipe down the last vehicle, a professor's Prius that looks cleaner than when it was purchased.

"So," Harry says casually, wringing out his cloth, "we're celebrating tonight. Proper party, starting around ten."

Y/N hangs her borrowed towel on a nearby fence. "That's nice. I hope you have fun."

Harry gives her a look of exaggerated disbelief. "You're coming, obviously."

"Am I?" Y/N raises an eyebrow. "I don't recall being invited."

"Consider this your formal invitation," Harry says, making a show of straightening his posture and adopting a posh accent. "Miss Y/N, your presence is requested at the Sigma residence this evening for festivities commemorating our charitable achievements."

Y/N laughs despite herself. "Very fancy. But I have plans tonight."

"What plans?" Harry challenges.

"Important plans," she replies vaguely. "With books. And Netflix."

Harry shakes his head solemnly. "Books and Netflix will understand. They're very forgiving that way."

"Unlike certain fraternity boys who wake people up with Def Leppard at ungodly hours," Y/N counters.

Harry grins, unrepentant. "You had fun today. Admit it."

Y/N hesitates, then offers a small smile. "Maybe a little."

"Then imagine how much fun you'll have tonight," Harry says, stepping closer. "With actual clothes on. Well, until the drinking games start, anyway."

Y/N rolls her eyes. "And there it is."

"I'm kidding," Harry says quickly. “Look, your roommate's coming. Maya’s already told Louis she'd be there."

This gives Y/N pause. "Maya’s going?"

"Absolutely. Around ten. So you won't even have to walk over alone."

Y/N considers this new information. "I'll think about it."

"That means no," Harry sighs dramatically. "Fine. Stay home. I'll just have to dedicate all my karaoke songs to the beautiful girl who broke my heart by choosing Netflix over me."

"You do karaoke at frat parties?" Y/N asks skeptically.

"We do whatever I want at frat parties," Harry replies with a wink. "Perks of being in the house band."

Before Y/N can respond, Niall calls out that the food truck has arrived. Harry gives her one more hopeful look before they head over for their well-earned breakfast burritos.

---

Hours later, Y/N sits at her desk trying to focus on her cognitive psychology textbook. The words blur together as bass-heavy music begins thumping from the fraternity house across the narrow gap between buildings. Multicolored lights flash in windows, and the sounds of laughter and conversation drift up to her second-floor apartment. She glances at her phone. No messages from Harry, which is strange considering his persistence earlier. Perhaps he'd given up on convincing her to attend. That thought is oddly disappointing.

Maya bursts into their shared apartment in a whirlwind of energy, already dressed for the party in ripped jeans and a crop top that shows off her tattoos.

"You're not ready?" she asks, surveying Y/N's sweatpants and reading glasses.

"I'm not going," Y/N replies, turning back to her textbook.

"Come on, Y! Louis says it's going to be epic. The whole team is there, plus half the campus after their car wash success."

"I'm familiar with their car wash," Y/N mutters.

"Harry asked about you," Maya mentions casually, applying lipstick in their hallway mirror.

Y/N tries to appear uninterested. "Did he?"

"Mmhmm. Three times in the last hour, according to Louis's texts."

Before Y/N can respond, something hits her window with a soft thud. Then another. And another. "What the hell?" she mutters, getting up to investigate.

Opening her curtains, she sees Harry leaning out his window across the gap, a Nerf gun in hand, taking aim at her window once more. When he spots her, his face breaks into a triumphant grin.

Y/N slides her window open. "Are you serious right now?"

"She appears!" Harry calls out, lowering his weapon. "I was beginning to think you'd fallen asleep on your books again."

"I was studying, which normal people do on Saturday nights," she replies, trying to sound annoyed despite the smile tugging at her lips.

"Normal is boring," Harry declares. "The party's missing you."

"The party doesn't know me," Y/N points out.

"I know you," Harry counters. "And I'm missing you."

The simple statement catches Y/N off guard. "Stop shooting things at my window," she says, reaching for a stress ball on her desk and throwing it at him in retaliation.

Harry ducks, laughing as the ball sails past him into his room. "Nice arm! You should join our intramural softball team."

"I'm not joining anything. I'm trying to study."

Harry aims his Nerf gun again. "Study tomorrow. Live tonight." He fires another dart that sticks to her window with a satisfying plop.

"Stop that!" Y/N exclaims, fighting laughter.

"Make me," Harry challenges, firing again.

From inside Y/N's apartment, Maya calls out, "Just go to the party so he'll stop harassing our windows! I don't want to lose another security deposit!"

Harry perks up at this. "Listen to your wise roommate, Y/N!"

Y/N hesitates, looking back at her open textbook, then at Harry's hopeful expression. "One hour," she says finally. "I'll come for one hour."

Harry's face lights up. "I'll take it! I'll meet you at the door."

"I'm not dressed for a party," Y/N protests.

"You look perfect," Harry insists, his eyes warm even across the distance between their windows. "But if you want to change, I'll wait. Just don't climb back into those sweatpants and pretend you're not home."

Y/N narrows her eyes. "How did you know I was considering that?"

"Because I know you, psychology girl," Harry says with a grin. "Better than you think."

With that cryptic statement, he disappears back into his room, leaving Y/N staring at his empty window. Behind her, Maya claps her hands. "Yes! Party time! Wear that green top that makes your eyes pop."

Thirty minutes later, Y/N finds herself walking across the street with Maya, wearing the suggested green top paired with black jeans. She's put minimal effort into her appearance, telling herself repeatedly that she's only going to make Harry stop shooting Nerf darts at her window and not because she actually wants to see him.

The fraternity house thrums with energy, music pouring from every open window. Students spill onto the front lawn, red cups in hand, laughing and dancing under strings of lights that have been hastily hung from trees. True to his word, Harry is waiting by the front door. He's changed into black jeans and a partially unbuttoned floral shirt that shouldn't work but somehow does. His hair is artfully tousled, and his eyes light up when he spots Y/N approaching.

"You came," he says, as if he hadn't essentially harassed her into attending.

"You left me little choice," Y/N replies, trying to sound put-upon.

Harry grins, unrepentant. "I'm persistent when something matters." The implication that she matters hangs in the air between them. Maya glances between them, a knowing smile on her face. "I'm going to find Louis. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Y."

"That leaves a disturbing amount of options open," Y/N calls after her retreating roommate.

Harry laughs, then offers his hand to Y/N. "Can I get you a drink? We have a proper bar set up in the kitchen. Not just keg beer though we have that too."

Y/N hesitates, then takes his offered hand. "One drink. Then I'm going back to my cognitive psychology date with my textbook."

"Challenge accepted," Harry says, leading her into the house. "One drink, and if you're still determined to leave, I'll personally escort you back to your apartment. But I bet I can change your mind."

"You seem very confident," Y/N observes as they navigate through the crowded living room.

Harry looks back at her, his expression suddenly serious despite the chaos around them. "Only about things I'm sure of."

Something in his tone makes Y/N's heart skip a beat. She follows him into the kitchen, wondering exactly what she's gotten herself into

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One hour stretches into two as Y/N finds herself enjoying the party despite her initial reluctance. The fraternity house pulses with energy, music thumping through speakers while clusters of students talk, dance, and play various drinking games throughout the sprawling first floor. Y/N, Harry, Louis, and Niall have commandeered the dart board in the game room, turning a simple game into an increasingly competitive tournament with elaborate rules that seem to evolve with each round. Maya watches from a nearby couch, cheering loudly whenever Louis or Y/N scores.

"Last dart," Niall announces dramatically, handing it to Y/N. "Hit the bullseye and you win. Miss it and Harry gets bragging rights for a week."

Y/N narrows her eyes, focusing on the board despite the pleasant buzz of alcohol in her system. "No pressure or anything."

"Absolutely none," Harry agrees, his breath warm against her ear as he leans close. "Just the crushing weight of potential failure and my inevitable gloating."

She elbows him playfully. "Not helping."

"Who said I was trying to help?" Harry grins, stepping back to give her space. "I'm very invested in your defeat."

Y/N takes a deep breath, lines up her shot, and throws. The dart flies true, landing with a satisfying thunk directly in the center of the bullseye.

"Yes!" she shouts, jumping up with both arms raised in victory. "In your face, Styles!"

Louis and Niall erupt in cheers while Harry clutches his chest in mock devastation. "Betrayed by the dart gods," he laments, before breaking into a proud smile. "That was actually incredible."

Y/N turns to him, face flushed with triumph and alcohol, her eyes bright with excitement. "I told you I was good at darts. You never listen."

Without warning, Harry steps forward, wraps his arms around her waist, and lifts her off her feet in a celebratory spin. Y/N lets out a surprised laugh, her hands automatically moving to his shoulders for balance as the room whirls around them.

"I'm listening now," he says, his voice warm with admiration as he sets her down but doesn't release her.

Before Y/N can respond, Harry leans in and presses a quick, soft kiss to her cheek. It's brief with barely a moment of contact but it sends a jolt through her entire body. He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching hers with a question in them. Y/N finds herself speechless, caught in the intensity of his gaze.

"Alright, lovebirds," Louis interrupts, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Some of us need another drink after witnessing that display of dart mastery."

The moment breaks, and Harry steps back, clearing his throat. "Drinks. Right. What's everyone having?"

"Whatever the lady champion wants," Niall declares, giving Y/N a little bow.

Y/N laughs, trying to regain her composure. "Surprise me. Something not too strong, though. I still need to function tomorrow."

"One 'surprise but responsible' drink coming up," Harry says with a grin. "Don't let these two challenge you to anything else while I'm gone. They're terrible losers."

As Harry disappears toward the kitchen, Louis immediately turns to Y/N. "So, you and Harry, huh?"

"There's no 'me and Harry,'" Y/N protests automatically.

"Right," Maya chimes in from the couch. "That's why he's been shooting Nerf darts at your window like a twelve-year-old with his first crush."

"And why you're blushing right now," Niall adds helpfully.

"I'm not—" Y/N starts, then stops as she feels the warmth in her cheeks. "It's just warm in here." Louis and Maya exchange knowing looks but mercifully change the subject to their plans for the upcoming campus festival.

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In the kitchen, Harry navigates through clusters of partygoers to reach the makeshift bar. Jake, the fraternity brother who had been eyeing Y/N at the car wash, leans against the counter mixing a drink. His eyes narrow slightly when he spots Harry.

"Nice moves out there, Styles," Jake comments, his tone just shy of sneering. "The British charm working overtime tonight?"

Harry ignores him, reaching for a clean cup and the bottle of vodka.

"Seriously though," Jake continues, stepping closer, "let me know when you're done with her. I want a turn."

Harry  freezes, the cup halfway to the ice bucket, as Jake's implication sinks in. Something in Harry simply snaps. Without conscious thought, he drops the cup and whirls around, his fist connecting with Jake's nose with a sickening crunch. Pain shoots through his knuckles but Harry barely notices as Jake stumbles backward, blood streaming down his face.

"You fucking piece of shit!" Harry snarls, advancing on Jake as he stumbles against the counter. 

Before Jake can recover, Harry grabs him by the collar, slamming him back against the refrigerator with enough force to rattle bottles inside.

"Don't you ever talk about her like that again," Harry hisses, face inches from Jake's bloodied one. "Don't even fucking look at her. You understand me?"

Jake tries to shove him off, which only fuels Harry's rage. He draws back his fist again, landing another solid punch to Jake's jaw.

"I'll do more than break your fucking nose next time," Harry promises, voice low and dangerous.

Jake spits blood onto the floor. "Fuck you, Styles. She's just some—"

Harry doesn't let him finish, driving another punch into his ribs that makes Jake wheeze and crumple.

By now, the commotion has drawn attention. Several partygoers rush into the kitchen, including Zayn and Liam who immediately launch themselves at Harry, grabbing him from behind and physically restraining him as he struggles against their grip.

"Harry, stop! STOP!" Liam shouts, wrapping his arms around Harry's chest and pulling him backward.

"Let me go!" Harry snarls, still trying to break free as Zayn positions himself between Harry and the bleeding Jake. "You didn't hear what he said about her!"

"We heard enough," Zayn says firmly, hands on Harry's shoulders. "He's not worth getting expelled over, man."

Jake wipes blood from his mouth, glaring at Harry. "You're fucking insane."

"Say another word about her," Harry challenges, still straining against his friends' restraint. "I dare you. One more fucking word."

The kitchen has fallen silent, partygoers frozen in shock at the sudden violence. Through the crowd, Y/N pushes forward, stopping short at the scene before her: Jake bleeding against the counter, Harry being physically restrained by both Liam and Zayn, tension crackling in the air.

Her mouth falls open in shock. In all her interactions with Harry, she's never seen him genuinely angry, let alone violent. "Harry?" she says, her voice small against the sudden silence.

Harry's eyes snap to hers, and for a moment, he continues struggling against Liam and Zayn. Then, seeing her expression, he stills, though the tension doesn't leave his body.

"What happened?" she asks, looking between the bleeding Jake and Harry's bloodied knuckles.

Before anyone can answer, Jake spits more blood onto the floor. "Your boyfriend's completely lost it, that's what happened."

"I told you to shut your mouth," Harry warns, jerking forward again only to be hauled back by Liam and Zayn.

Y/N steps closer despite the charged atmosphere. "Harry, what's going on?"

Harry's jaw clenches as he stares at Jake with undisguised hatred. "Nothing. Nothing worth repeating."

Louis appears behind Y/N, quickly assessing the situation. "Alright, show's over, everyone. Jake, go clean yourself up. Upstairs bathroom. Now."

Jake hesitates, then stalks out of the kitchen, shooting one last venomous look at Harry.

"If you ever come near her again—" Harry starts, but Zayn cuts him off with a firm hand on his chest.

"Enough, man. He's gone."

The crowd begins to disperse, conversation resuming in hushed tones. Liam and Zayn cautiously release Harry, who immediately flexes his hand, wincing slightly as the adrenaline begins to fade and pain sets in.

"You good?" Liam asks quietly.

"Fine," Harry says tersely, still not meeting Y/N's concerned gaze.

Zayn glances between Harry and Y/N. "We'll, uh, give you two a minute."

As Liam, Zayn, and Louis tactfully retreat, Y/N steps forward, gently taking Harry's injured hand in hers. His knuckles are already swelling, skin split across two of them. "This needs ice," she says softly, reaching for a clean cloth from the counter and wrapping it around a handful of ice cubes.

Harry allows her to press the makeshift ice pack to his hand, his breathing still uneven, anger radiating from him in almost palpable waves.

"Are you going to tell me what that was about?" Y/N asks after a moment of silence.

Harry's jaw tightens. "He said something. About you. Something I wouldn't repeat to anyone, especially not you."

"So you attacked him?"

"Yes," Harry says simply, no hint of regret in his voice. "And I'd do it again."

Y/N sighs, adjusting the ice on his knuckles. "Violence isn't the answer, Harry."

"Sometimes it's the only language certain people understand," he mutters, then winces as she presses the ice against a tender spot.

"You could get in serious trouble," she points out. "With the university, with your fraternity..."

"I don't care," Harry says, finally meeting her eyes. "Some things are worth getting in trouble for."

Y/N shakes her head, but can't quite suppress her small smile. "I don't know what to do with you sometimes."

"Most people don't," Harry replies, his posture finally relaxing slightly. "You're doing better than most."

They stand in silence for a moment, Y/N still holding the ice to his hand, standing closer than strictly necessary in the now-emptied kitchen.

"I should probably go," She says eventually. "It's late, and this party seems to have reached its dramatic climax."

Harry looks down at their hands, then back to her face. "I'll walk you home."

"Your hand—"

"Is fine," he interrupts gently. "Besides, your apartment is literally next door. I think I can manage."

Y/N hesitates, then nods. "Okay. Let me just tell Maya I'm leaving."

As they make their way through the party, Y/N is acutely aware of the looks they receive. Word of the altercation has clearly spread. She finds Maya curled up with Louis on the couch, deep in conversation.

"I'm heading back," Y/N tells her roommate. "Harry's walking me."

Maya gives her a meaningful look. "I'll probably stay here tonight. Text me when you get in?"

"It's right there," Y/N points out.

"Text me anyway," Maya insists.

Outside, the night air is cool against Y/N's flushed skin. The street is quiet compared to the pulsing noise of the party, just a few students making their way between buildings. Harry walks beside her, his injured hand occasionally brushing against hers.

"I'm sorry," he says suddenly.

Y/N looks at him in surprise. "For what?"

"For ruining the night. For losing my temper and not even getting you that drink I promised."

Y/N considers this, then shrugs. "The night wasn't ruined. Just...eventful."

They reach the entrance to her apartment building, and Y/N turns to face him. "Thank you for walking me home," she says, suddenly feeling awkward. "And for...defending my honor, I guess? Though I still think punching people is not the solution."

Harry looks down, then back up at her through his lashes. "Would it help if I said I won't make a habit of it?"

"Slightly," Y/N concedes with a small smile.

They stand there for a moment, neither quite ready to say goodnight. "So," Harry finally breaks the silence, "about that study date with your cognitive psychology textbook..."

Y/N laughs. "Are you jealous of my textbook now?"

"Desperately," Harry admits with a grin. "It gets to spend hours with you while I have to resort to Nerf warfare just to get your attention."

The reminder of his ridiculous window-shooting antics makes Y/N shake her head fondly. "You could text like a normal person."

"Where's the fun in that?" Harry challenges.

Another silence falls between them, this one charged with unspoken possibilities.

"I should go up," Y/N says finally, gesturing vaguely toward her apartment.

Harry nods, but makes no move to leave. "Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you came tonight. Even if it ended with me assaulting one of my fraternity brothers."

Y/N can't help but laugh at his blunt summary. "I'm glad I came too. Even with the assault portion."

Harry takes a step closer, his expression growing serious again. "Can I see you tomorrow? Properly, I mean. Not through windows or at parties with a hundred other people."

Y/N feels her heart skip a beat at the sincerity in his voice. "Are you asking me on a date, Harry Styles?"

"I am," he confirms, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "Though I should warn you, my right hook might be compromised for a few days."

Y/N pretends to consider this drawback. "I suppose I can overlook that. Yes, I'll go on a date with you."

Harry's face lights up with genuine delight. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Y/N confirms, smiling at his reaction.

Harry leans forward slowly, giving her plenty of time to step back if she wants to. When she doesn't move, he presses a gentle kiss to her cheek, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

"Goodnight, psychology girl," he murmurs against her skin before pulling away.

Y/N feels warmth spreading from where his lips touched her cheek. "Goodnight, Harry."

With a small wave, she disappears into the building, already thinking about tomorrow.

«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«–«

Taglist: @hisparentsgallery @toosarcastic03 @practistyles @sstyleszzz @sassamanda77 @wheredidmyeyesgo @pbandnutella @triski73 @angeldavis777 @ivegotthecinema @bethiegurl19 @spinninc @aileen1237 @drewrry @pari-1 @sstylezzz @spinnic @fruity-harry @silastylesswift @readingrockstar23 @cowboylikelivie @angelbunny222 @berrycherry28

[becauseheartsgetbroken-hs]

these shorts belong in a museum tbh.

[afterdarkwrites]

Those new pictures will be the death of me!!!! 😭

Anne you pushed out a fyyynn asss Mann thank you!!!

🥹

[practistyles]

very in the mood to write an extra for everyone wants him but no idea whatt send prompts and asks if you have any ideas pls pls

[gurugirl]

[10] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST | It's Good to Be King Masterlist

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

A/N: Thank you for being so patient with me! It's been an especially busy past few months for me. I love you all so much for sticking with me and this story! xoxo

Ch. 10 Word Count: 7.1k

Ch. 10 Warning: Smut, mentions of pregnancy and symptoms, implied threats, light emotional distress

. .

Harry’s hand rested warm over the swell of Y/n's hip, the two of them turned toward one another, face to face on the pillows as if the past days had not stood between them at all. They had made amends the night before in the most ancient fashion… with their bodies entwined, apologies and forgiveness spoken in sighs and shudders. Y/n could still feel the way he'd apologized when he lay between her legs, and his whiskers tickled and scratched at her inner thighs.

The chamber lay quiet as the grey winter light barely slipping through the curtains. The fire in the grate was all but ash, and the king had instructed Fred to hold his appointments until noon. He had no intention of sharing her yet, not after so many days without the warmth of her skin, the feel of her thighs parting beneath him, her lips breathless against his ear.

He was already halfway to that hunger again. His mouth found her breast, warm and bare, and he suckled her with the languid contentment of a man who had no need to rush. His tongue rolled gently over the peak, then suckled harder, lips closing firmly around it until her back arched and her fingers pulled at his hair.

She giggled when he nipped softly. "You are the devil," she said with a gasp.

"The devil you love, little mouse," he replied, voice muffled against her skin, and then sucked harder, drawing a soft moan from her lips.

"Mmm… The king has grown terribly wanton since last night. What would your ministers say if they knew you’d deferred council to bed your wife?"

"I have missed you," he said, his nose brushing lightly over hers when he lifted his face up, breath warm and steady. It sounded less like a confession and more like something torn from him at last. "They will wait."

Y/n closed her eyes as he pressed his mouth to hers. She felt the rough edge of his beard against her chin and cheeks as he kissed her again. She loved the feel of him, even so. Between her thighs, her mouth, her tummy, her breasts… all sensitive to the rough brush of his beard from the way he'd devoured her the evening prior.

His fingers shifted at her waist, stroking the bare skin down to her thigh, then tracing upward again, along the plush of her bottom. She opened to him, the parting of her lips a subtle invitation. It was all he required. The restraint he’d worn gave way in a single breath, as if her acquiescence had unlatched something deep in him. The control he’d been clinging to gave way to his deeper urges.

He slid his hand from her hip to the small of her back to draw her closer until there was no room for air between them. She smoothed her fingers up from his chest to his shoulder, then into the warm hair at his nape, feeling the little shiver that went through him when she did.

"You are so beautiful," he breathed, kisses turning heated and rough. "I don't know that I'll ever have enough of you."

She gave a quiet moan and rolled her hips against him. His member, already fully risen, throbbed against the curve of her abdomen. It pleased her beyond words to know that he still desired her, that he still found her worth this kind of admiration, despite everything she'd done. There was no greater relief than to be taken by him, a man who craved her. However, part of her doubted she could reach that trembling peak again so soon. He had already coaxed two sobbing climaxes from her the night prior. It wouldn't be possible again, would it?

And yet, as the king's hand wandered downward and slipped between her thighs, she felt the unmistakable heat of readiness. His fingers found her slick and wanting, the wetness gathering on his knuckles. She gasped aloud, half in disbelief, her eyes lowering to witness it. Her body, it seemed, had made up its own mind.

She had been told such things were impossible. That the marital act was for the husband’s need and not the wife’s pleasure. She had been warned it would be painful, distasteful, that she would learn to lie still and let her husband have what he needed. That it shouldn't take very long and that she should endure if she wanted God to bless her with a child.

But none of that had been true. At least not for her. Not with Harry. For every time he touched her, she found herself slick and open, her quim aching for him, her heart thudding like a trapped bird. Her legs parted when he approached her. Her mouth watered for his kiss. When his body pressed against hers, she did not resist. She yielded because it always felt so good… from the first time he touched her before they were married, to right then.

She still had to come to terms with what she'd been led to believe. Because now, with a little bit of experience behind her, she found that she enjoyed the act more than almost anything else in the world.

He smoothed a hand up her back, over the line of her spine, and then down again, lingering at the curve of her waist as he smirked at her. "It seems the queen is also quite wanton."

He pressed two fingers inside of her, and she arched her back, breasts pressing his chest as she panted. "The court would lose their minds if they knew the way the Queen wetted her King's fingers. So ready for me, mouse. So soft and warm."

"Oh, Harry…"

He groaned at the sound of her. "Yes," he whispered, pressing his mouth to her breast as she gasped. "The court would faint dead away if they knew how their queen takes her king. If they heard the sounds you make when I’m inside you, filling you to the hilt."

He drew his fingers from her dripping entrance and brought them to his mouth, licking them clean with a sound of approval. Then, bracing himself, he rolled her gently onto her back and followed her down, his body covering hers, the mattress dipping beneath their joined weight.

"I need more of you," he said, voice low and roughened as he raked his gaze over her bare body underneath him. "I cannot resist the way you feel, the way you sound…" he dipped and kissed her chin and then her neck. "The way you taste."

He guided his thick cockhead to her opening, and her legs fell open wider, thighs parting to cradle his hips. She felt the broad, aching length of him press against her entrance, nudging, seeking. Then, with a slow thrust, he entered her.

Her eyes fluttered shut at the stretch, the deep, aching fullness. He pushed in until the whole of him was buried inside her, his hips flush against hers. Her body adjusted around him, snug and wet, muscles fluttering.

"Heaven above," he groaned, head tipping forward briefly, closing his eyes to savour the way her insides squeezed snugly around the whole length of him.

Her heart was filled to the brim by his praises as he pushed harder, the tip of his member carving through her end sharply until she hissed. The corner of his mouth twitched, the shadow of a smile there and then gone. His lips followed the line of her jaw, the hinge beneath her ear, the fragile, racing beat in her throat.

Her palms slid over the breadth of his back. He shivered, and the sound he made into the hollow of her throat was unguarded, almost boyish. She smiled at the way he reacted to just her touch, to the feel of his length encased by her.

"You undo me," he said.

"And you me," she answered, fingers tracing the scars and sinew.

She whimpered when he drew back and shoved forward, grasping at his back, nails pressing into his skin as he began to move. He withdrew, then thrust forward again, the rhythm careful but with purpose.

The friction sent sparks of pleasure darting through her spine. Her legs locked around his hips, keeping him close, deeper. He grunted softly at the feel of her tightening around him.

She opened her eyes to look up at him. His gaze already held hers, dark and intense as he drove into her.

"You are my heart, mouse," he whispered, lips brushing hers. "Do you know that?"

"Yes," she breathed.

The thrusts grew bolder. He found a rhythm with deep, rolling strokes that made her moan aloud, her back arching, hips rising to meet his. Each movement stoked the fire low in her belly. Their joined flesh was slick now, the sounds of it unholy, shameless, damp.

He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers above her head, pinning it gently to the pillow. With his free hand, he cupped her breast, thumb circling the peaked nipple, teasing it until she writhed beneath him. His mouth found her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder, lavishing kisses between gasps.

The wood that held the bed together groaned under the movement. The sheets twisted beneath them as Y/n's limbs began to tremble, her breath coming in uneven, pleading gasps. His thrusts were steady, deep, each one seeming to reach further inside her, rubbing against a spot that sent bright, helpless shocks up her spine.

Harry felt the tremor in her thighs and growled low in his throat. "That’s it… let me feel you melt for me."

He shifted his weight subtly, angling his hips until she gasped, her nails dragging down his back. The sensation only spurred him on. He pressed closer, chest flush with hers, his breath hot against her cheek as he drove into her with slow, merciless strokes.

Her breasts brushed his chest with each movement, then he pushed up, eyes lidded as he looked down at her, heavy cock stuffed into her deep before he dipped down, his mouth sought a nipple, lips closing greedily around the rise of it as he thrust. She curved into him, offering more, her fingers tangling in his hair to hold him there.

"Harry—oh—Harry, please—"

Her plea dissolved into a soft sob as he suckled harder, tongue circling the peak, pulling at her until her back bowed. Her hips lifted to meet him, the wet slide of their bodies distinct in the quiet room. Every stroke filled the air with soft, sinful sounds… his low grunts, her breathy cries, the slick joining of their flesh.

He lifted his head, beard scraping gently over the curve of her breast as he kissed upward, slow and indulgent, still driving into her in languid, thick motions, until he reached her throat. He mouthed at the racing pulse there, teeth grazing lightly.

"I want you undone beneath me," he murmured against her skin. "I want your legs shaking again… your voice gone hoarse… I want all of you, mouse."

He lifted and sat back, throbbing member still buried, spreading her insides as he pulled her thighs over his. He slid his hand over her breast downward to her trembling stomach, until his thumb found the tender, aching bud nestled between her folds. He circled it gently at first, drawing a startled cry from her lips. Then he pressed more firmly, stroking in time with his thrusts, every movement deliberate and devastating.

Her body jolted beneath him, hips jerking in helpless response. She was almost embarrassed by how quickly he could work her to her end that way. She reached for his hand, panting as her body began to uncoil under him. "N-no, I cannot—Harry, it is too soon—"

"Yes," he whispered, voice rough as he rocked in deep. "You can. As many times as your body wants. Open for me, my love, come for me."

Her head fell back, fingers gripping his hand with near-desperation as he rubbed her faster, the pleasure rising inside her so swiftly she could scarcely breathe. Each thrust drove the sensation higher, sharper, until she could do nothing but cling to him, legs shaking around his waist as the pressure built unbearably.

As good as he felt, what really had her unable to control her body was the way he looked above her, his hips thrusting, abs flexing, the line of sweat that dripped between the sparse hair on his pecs. Broad, thick chest, strong arms, soft pink lips held open as he trailed his jeweled green eyes from her face to her breasts, and down to the space he was filling her. He truly was every bit the vision of a king she could worship.

He moaned her name softly, the gushy sound of his girth sliding through her arousal only more noticeable with every stroke. He pulled at her hand and pressed it down to the bed as he leaned back over her, his pelvis hitting her clit. He kissed her open mouth, his tongue stroked hers languidly, contrasting the relentless rhythm of his hips.

Her thighs quivered violently around him, breath fractured, vision blurred. "Harry, oh! God, please—"

"That’s it," he groaned, mouth kissing at the edges of her lips as he circled his hips into her faster, firmer. "Let go for me. Let your king have you."

Her belly tightened, and her breath caught, then everything broke open inside her.

And when her climax came, it rushed through her like wildfire… an uncontrollable tide that tore her apart. She cried out beneath him, body clenching around his member, hips jerking. He grunted, hoarse and near wild, and thrust hard as his own release followed.

He spilled into her with a shudder, mouth pressed to hers, eyes shut as if the very sensation of it might undo him. His whole frame quaked, and for a long moment, he could do nothing but breathe and hold as he emptied himself inside of her in orgasmic throbs.

She could feel his hand still holding tight to hers, feel the way his arms shook, the way his heart pounded rapidly against her chest. He moaned a relieved sound against her cheek as he caught his breath.

He rolled them gently onto their sides, her leg draped over his hip, his twitching length still cradled inside her. The moisture between their legs was overwhelming. Just as it had been the night before. She was sure they were due for a bath.

They lay there, quiet, her fingers tangled in the damp curls at his nape. He kissed her brow, then her cheek, then the top of her head.

"That wasn't too much now, was it?" he asked softly.

She blinked at him and lifted her head to look at him. "I fear I've grown greedy for you. For the way it feels when we are together."

He smiled. "What is there to fear when the greed is born of love?"

She hummed, a hand sliding up to his shoulder. "I fear I will not have enough. That I will not be able to quell my urges for it. Like a boozer enslaved to his drink."

Running his nose along her cheek, he cradled the back of her head. "That does not sound like a bad predicament to me."

"But surely ignoring moderation is perilous. Covetous."

Harry puffed out the softest laugh, tracing a fingertip over her jaw. "Covetous... It is not abhorrent when it is your husband you are greedy for, mouse. I welcome my wife's gluttonous appetite."

She sighed and leaned in toward him, pressing her cheek to his clavicle. "I have never been so fulfilled in all my life. Clothing, food, comfort, warmth… It almost feels wrong."

Running a hand up her spine, he kissed the top of her head. "And you shall be fulfilled always. You are the queen of Thornekeep. You are my queen."

She lifted her head to kiss him, slow and sweet, then lay her head back upon his chest. His arm drew tight around her waist. It would take some getting used to, being called Queen. In moments like these, they were simply man and wife, tangled together in the aftermath of pleasure and reconciliation.

. .

The cold had settled in earnest by the time a week had passed, the kind of crisp winter cold that turned the breath visible and made teeth ache. Y/n drew her fur-lined cloak tighter as she stepped into the castle yard, Phoebe at her side, both of them bundled enough that the tips of their noses froze.

Behind them, Niall and another guard followed at the regulated distance. But Niall’s eyes kept darting toward Phoebe in that unmistakable way of a man trying not to be obvious. Y/n and Phoebe both noticed it.

She didn’t dignify it with so much as a glance. "He keeps looking at me," she muttered under her breath, cheeks warming despite the cold. The soft smile on Phoebe's lips told Y/n she liked that the guard kept letting his gaze drift over her.

"Because you keep kissing him," Y/n said, nudging at her friend playfully.

Phoebe exhaled a scandalized little laugh and then whispered, "Do not say it out loud!"

"Do not worry. No one can hear us, and your secret is safe with me."

Phoebe groaned and kept her sight tilted toward the hedges as she spoke quietly. "He is quite good at it."

Y/n’s laugh burst bright into the air. No one knew what she and her lady-in-waiting were on about but as Phoebe caught Niall's gaze briefly, and she watched his cheeks pink, there was a momentary look of knowing about him.

Phoebe tugged her arm. "Come, tell me everything about your nights with the king. It seems you have been quite occupied by him since you reconciled."

The queen smiled. "He's gentle and loving."

"What else?" Phoebe pushed.

"There's nothing else to say that wouldn't have you fainting in shock," she said with a laugh.

Phoebe let out a defeated breath. "You promised. I have been waiting the entire week while you’ve been floating about the castle like a love-struck lady in a poem."

Y/n pressed her gloved fingers to her warming cheek. "I am not floating."

"You are fluttering," Phoebe corrected. "Positively fluttering."

Y/n bit her lip, trying to smother the smile, but it pressed through anyway. "He has been… very generous and kind in bed."

"Kind," Phoebe repeated. "That is the word you choose?"

Y/n fixed her with a look. "We are not discussing particulars right here."

"Too bad. Look at you." Phoebe tugged her arm again. "You are glowing."

"And you’re being absurd."

Phoebe hummed. "Absurder things have happened than a Queen glowing after forgiveness and eight days of being thoroughly—"

"Phoebe!" Y/n laughed.

Phoebe only smirked, then leaned closer, voice lowering to something more thoughtful. "Truly… you do seem well again. Happier. I am glad of it."

Y/n’s breath misted in front of her. She looked out over the small orchard at the far end of the yard, bare branches scratching at the pale sky. "I am," she admitted softly. "It is much better to be on his good side."

Phoebe nudged her shoulder affectionately. "Then all is well."

They walked a little farther, letting the cold nip at their cheeks and the wind tug at their hoods. The silence between them was companionable until Phoebe’s voice broke it, light but sly.

"Have you had your courses yet this month?"

Y/n blinked. "My courses?"

Phoebe gave her a look. "I only ask because this month you have not yet summoned for any articles to help with it."

"Well…" Y/n frowned slightly. "I… think not."

Phoebe nodded solemnly. "And your last bleed was early last month?"

"I don’t know," Y/n insisted. "I lost my courses often before the wedding. Stress does that. And now, with everything that has happened—"

"Oh, heavens," Phoebe breathed, seizing her arm. "What if you are with child?"

Y/n felt her stomach swoop. "No, that is not certain—"

Phoebe laughed. "Maybe not, but you have been in that bed near every night since your wedding, save for the few when Harry was not speaking to you. Do not tell me you’re surprised."

Y/n went stiff. "We cannot think that."

"Well, what am I to think?" Phoebe teased. "I see you at breakfast looking half-dazed, hair undone, and the King walking about the castle with the air of a man who has been… greatly restored."

Y/n covered her face with her gloved hands. "This is mortifying."

"And wonderful if true," Phoebe corrected.

Y/n lowered her hands and exhaled, breath clouding in the air. "I do not know yet. Truly. It could be nothing."

Phoebe softened, looping her arm through Y/n’s. "Then we shall wait and see. But if you are…"

Y/n’s heart gave a hard, quiet pound. If she was… She pressed a hand to her middle without thinking. Phoebe noticed and smiled.

"Whatever comes, my Queen… you will not face it alone."

Y/n swallowed, eyes drifting toward the tallest tower where Harry’s study window looked out over the courtyard.

"No," she whispered. "I will not."

.

The warmth Y/n felt after the walk did not leave her, but it changed its structure as the day went on. By the time she returned to her chambers, there was a tight, humming awareness inside her that she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Phoebe helped her out of her cloak and set it over the chair. "You’re quiet," she murmured.

Y/n brushed it off. "Just cold. And… perhaps I'm thinking too much."

But even as she said it, her hand drifted lightly toward her stomach again. She didn't know anything just yet, but the suggestion from Pheobe had wormed into her so deeply that she felt as though she could almost make out the stirring of something inside her.

The rest of the afternoon ticked by as slowly as time ever had. She tried to read but couldn’t. Tried to write down her thoughts, but forgot halfway through the first paragraph what she wanted to say.

Finally, Phoebe, ever astute, stepped closer.

"Ma’am," she said softly, "shall I send for the physician? Not to say anything for certain, only to… inquire."

Y/n hesitated. So many consequences hinged on her body now. On a clock she could not see. On a life she could not yet feel.

"Yes," she said. "Send for him. Quietly."

.

The old castle doctor, Dr. Holder, had recently been replaced by Dr. Alderton. He was an older man, mild of manner and much kinder than Dr. Holder, who'd kept insisting Y/n be checked for virginity before she wed the king. But Dr. Alderton had the air of someone who had seen every kind of worry a woman might have.

"Majesty," he greeted with a bow when he arrived. "How may I be of service?"

Phoebe stood by the door, hands clasped, silent but watchful. Hopeful.

Y/n kept her voice soft. "It is only that I have… missed a course. And I wish to know whether it signifies anything."

The physician nodded as if this was a question posed to him a hundred times a year, which it likely was. "May I ask when your last monthly bleeding occurred?" He stepped in closer, his examination bag still in his hand.

"The early days of last month," Y/n answered. "And before that, I was irregular. Often."

"Have you felt sickness upon waking? Lightness in the head? An ache in the lower back? Changes to appetite?"

Y/n bit the inside of her cheek. "No sickness," she said. "But I have felt… very tired the last few days."

"That is as common a sign of strain as it is of childbearing," he said gently. "And your recent ordeal in the square may have taxed your constitution."

She lowered her eyes. "Then there is no way to know yet? No exam to do?"

He shook his head. "No exam for now. There are signs I may watch for," he said. "But at this early stage, one cannot say with certainty. The body keeps its secrets until it no longer can. I would advise rest. Avoid undue exertion. And…" His voice softened. "Tell His Majesty. Should you be with child, caution is warranted."

Y/n nodded, folding her hands tightly together. "Thank you, Doctor."

He bowed and withdrew, leaving Phoebe and Y/n alone again.

Phoebe came closer, her face bright with soft hope. "Then we will wait and see. We shall not act prematurely. But I have a feeling, ma'am."

"No one knows. It is too soon," Y/n countered. "I might not be with child."

"But you might," Phoebe whispered.

Y/n’s stomach fluttered. She wasn't sure if it was from excitement or fear. "Yes," she admitted. "I… I might."

.

That evening, Harry entered as he always did. Like a man with the weight of work and duty on his mind, focused, composed. He removed his gloves and set them aside, loosening his collar, hanging his coat. Even still, he noticed her. He watched closely as he moved about.

"You’re quiet," he said as he approached. "All day, you’ve carried some thought. I could tell after supper. What is it?"

She stood near the fire, warming her hands as she looked at him while he wrestled his boots off his feet.

"I do not know how to say it… and there may be nothing to say," she answered.

"Y/n." His voice gentled. "Tell me."

She turned to him slowly. "I may be with child."

Harry went very still. Not a breath nor a blink. Only the soft flicker of concern in his expression, the slight parting of his lips as though he’d forgotten how to draw air.

He stepped across to her and took her hand in his. "May," he repeated, voice low. "May be?"

She nodded. "The physician cannot say yet. But I have missed a course. And I am… more tired than usual. And we have been—" She didn't let herself finish that sentence, but they were both more than aware of what she meant.

Harry lifted a hand to her cheek. "Are you unwell? Any pain? Any dizziness?"

"No," she whispered. "Nothing of concern."

Relief flashed through his eyes, and then worry. He pressed his palm over her cheek and traced her temple with his thumb. "If it is true… You must be careful. You must not walk alone. You must not—"

"Harry," she said softly, placing a hand on his chest. "We do not yet know."

"I know enough," he said quietly. "I know what losing you would do to me."

Her heart clenched. "You will not lose me."

He cupped her face fully now, warm palms framing her cheeks. "Tell me the moment you feel anything unusual. Any sickness, any weakness, any pain."

"If I do, I will," she promised.

He kept his gaze on hers. "And promise me you will be very careful. Even if you may not be, we cannot chance it."

"Yes. Of course. I know. I will not be sneaking into a crowd to stop anymore hangings if that is your worry."

He huffed. "If there is a child…" He swallowed hard. "It would be a great blessing."

Y/n felt her eyes warm. "I am unsettled but… excited. If it is true."

He kissed her forehead. Then her cheek. Then the soft corner of her mouth.

"And I will be both as well," he whispered. "Until we know."

. .

Two weeks later, things were starting to feel different around her. It wasn’t drastic at first. Just a shift in how her mornings began. She'd become very aware of her body and every little thing that she felt, to the point that she was nearly convinced now that she was carrying the king's baby.

Y/n woke each day, for the past three, with the same subtle queasiness pooling low in her stomach, a shallow wave that rose and then ebbed. Not enough to bring her to her knees, but enough to make her press a hand to the mattress and breathe steady until the feeling passed.

Harry noticed before she'd even said a word. He sat down beside her on the bed, shirt open at the collar as he fastened his cufflinks. "Again?" he asked, voice gentle in the half-light.

"Only a little," she whispered.

He brushed his knuckles along her cheek, the gesture so tender it might've been the cure to the way her stomach turned. "Sit a moment longer. I’ll have Phoebe bring a little bread."

"You fuss," she teased softly.

"I have cause to fuss." He looked her over with the concern of a loving husband, but then his expression lifted… a quiet brightening.

This was something new in his demeanor that she had never seen in him before. Not the heavy protectiveness he’d shown in the days after the scaffold, nor the restrained warmth of their reconciliation. This was something lighter. She might even describe him as spry as of late. A new kind of spark that she was learning to understand as him being hopeful for what was to come.

He tried to hide it behind a composed air, but it slipped through anyway. She saw it in the way he lingered at the door before leaving each morning, in the quiet little smile he fought whenever she touched her stomach absentmindedly, in the way he handled her differently.

"It is the third day of sickness, mouse. I will call for Dr. Alderton again."

She laid her hand on his knee and nodded. "Okay. We will see if he can say with certainty, but I have a feeling it is still too early."

"Your courses still have not come, you wake sick in the mornings, and last night you were faint after tea. Even if it's too early, I will insist."

Harry kissed her forehead and made his leave. Not long after he'd gone, Phoebe arrived with bread and hot tea that both soothed and filled Y/n's insides warmly. But more than the tea and the bread, her friend's presence comforted her thoroughly.

Before midday, the physician arrived with his satchel and a respectful bow as Phoebe let him in the room. "Majesty. You look well," he said.

"Do I?" Y/n said as she moved across the room toward the doctor.

He gestured politely. "If you would sit, I shall ask you a few questions."

Phoebe stood nearby, trying not to beam but failing. She kept her hands clutched at her back and her mouth sealed, but Y/n could see the strain it took for her to keep her composure. It was almost as if Phoebe were more excited about the prospect of Y/n's disposition than even she was.

The examination was modest and brief. He checked her pulse. Asked about her appetite. Felt lightly along the low curve of her abdomen with no more pressure than a butterfly’s touch. Questioned her about her courses, her sleep, her morning spells.

When he finished, he stepped back with a small, warm smile. "It is early, Majesty," he said. "But all signs are consistent with childbearing."

Y/n felt her breath leave her, even though she already felt the delicate changes in her body and was certain of it by then. Still, to hear of it from the doctor felt very final. As exciting as the news was, it was equally scary.

The physician continued, gentle but firm. "You must rest often. Avoid sudden exertion, but take a bit of fresh air daily if you can manage it. Light but frequent meals are best. Steeped ginger for nausea and warm compresses if discomfort grows."

Y/n nodded, dazed. "Thank you."

When he left, Phoebe threw her arms around her with a giddy little squeak. This was something a lady-in-waiting should not do, but friendship outranked etiquette in the privacy of those chambers. Y/n welcomed her friend's cheer and love openly.

"Oh, ma’am," Phoebe breathed, "a child. You will give the king an heir."

Y/n held her, blinking against sudden hot tears. Her heart felt full and wild and terrified all at once.

"I suppose I will."

"Wait until His Majesty hears," Phoebe whispered. "He will be beside himself."

.

When the news found Harry, thanks to Phoebe, he felt faint in the head but overwhelmed with something deeper and more severe. He was excited yes, but this meant that he would have to ensure his Queen's protection even more now than ever. Not only was childbearing already a very dangerous thing to endure, if she was not given the proper care she could succumb and his chances of losing her were greater now than they ever had been.

Harry returned early that evening, which was a rare thing. He entered the room with a pace too swift to be casual and crossed to her where she sat.

"Phoebe sent word," he said. "Tell me."

Y/n rose from the settee slowly. "He believes I am with child."

For a moment, Harry stared at her like a man whose entire world had shifted at once. Her husband, the king of Thornekeep, was visibly shaken.

Then he cupped her face in both hands and kissed her mouth so softly and breathlessly that Y/n could feel every emotion he held inside.

He pulled back only enough to look into her eyes. "Are you well? Any pain now? Any dizziness?"

"No," she whispered. "Just… a little tired and sick in the mornings, as you know."

He exhaled deeply and rested his brow against hers. "I have never prayed for anything," he murmured, voice breaking quietly. "But I pray that you are kept well and healthy. I will do everything I can to ensure it."

Her heart pulled tight in her chest.

"Hush," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "Once again you fuss. Everything is okay right now."

"We will make it well," he said fiercely, quietly, as though vowing it against the entire world. "I will double the guard again. No stranger comes within ten paces of you. You do not walk alone, not even in the garden. I will have Niall stay with you as well as the—"

"Harry—"

He shook his head. "I will not risk you. Not now. Not ever."

She let him hold her, feeling his joy radiate through the tension and fear that lived side by side in him. He rested a hand over her stomach and smiled at her.

"We will endure this together," he whispered.

Then he swallowed and his shoulders loosened just slightly before he continued. "I am so very happy, my love. This news changes our course forever, but I am ready for it."

Her eyes stung as she nodded at him and then wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her cheek to his chest. She felt the same. The news was joyous, but unsettling at once. She closed her eyes and said a quiet prayer of thanks to God.

.

The castle did not know, not officially. But rumors had a tendency to spread all on their own in Thornekeep. Maids and servants were always watching, listening, paying too much attention to things they shouldn't when their days grew long and boring.

By the week following, whispers moved through the corridors like drafts. She heard bits and pieces. Some were happy of the news, others were not.

Doctor Alderton was with her near an hour… If she gives him a child, the realm is lost. What joyful news!

And that afternoon, Y/n did not mean to overhear the men when she neared the upper-floor chamber with Niall at her back. Normally the doors were closed for privacy in the old solar when anyone gathered inside, but right then, the doors were open when she caught the tail end of a hushed conversation that came from the room.

"…and if she gives him an heir, the king will be undone."

Y/n paused, not turning to look back at Niall as she listened closer.

"There are those who won’t allow it."

She took a breath and then continued toward the keep to view the kingdom from the topmost floor, as had been her intention before she heard them. The men fell silent as she passed, unaware she’d heard a word. But ice slid from her spine to her ribs.

Niall noticed her falter. "Majesty, are you okay?"

She straightened at once. "It is nothing."

But it was not nothing. The words had her rattled. She'd barely fallen pregnant, and men were already plotting her unborn child's demise.

She kept walking, every step echoing with the words she could not unhear.

If she gives him a child, the realm is lost… There are those who won’t allow it.

.

It had become the new routine for the king to retire to his chambers early every night, no matter how much work he had to attend to . There was no question to his men why he insisted on making his leave like that, and to Harry it was the only thing that made sense. While he trusted the guards he'd placed at the door to protect her, he preferred to see to it himself, with his own eyes, that she was okay.

And like every evening since he'd learned of the doctor's report, he had been doting with gentle hands at the small of her back, asking her more than once how she was feeling, offering to bring her fruit, and arranging extra pillows without being asked. But now, as she sat on the edge of the bed smoothing her nightgown over her knees, he watched her with a careful look.

"You’re quiet," he said at last. His voice held only concern threaded with exhaustion. "More than before. Something sits upon you."

"It is nothing," she said, drawing the covers back.

Harry exhaled a soft breath at the idea of her suffering alone. He crossed the room, extinguished the last lamp, and climbed into bed beside her. The feather mattress dipped under his weight, and then his hand found hers beneath the blankets.

"Mouse," he said quietly. "I know when you keep something from me. Please tell me."

She shook her head. "It will only trouble you. It is not a matter of urgency."

He shifted, pressing closer. "Then you must speak it all the more. Trouble me, if that is what truth requires."

His insistence dissolved the last of her resistance. She couldn't hide things from him, especially when worry was written all over her face like that. Truly, she hadn't wanted to repeat the words she'd heard earlier in the day, mostly because she didn't want to think of it. But she couldn't get the voices out of her head no matter how hard she tried to push them away.

"I heard something today," she said. "Voices in the old solar. Men speaking about me."

Harry's brows pulled together as he shifted, eyes focused on her face as she spoke.

She continued. "They said… if I give you an heir, the realm will be lost. And that there are people who won’t allow it."

Harry was silent for a long moment as he let her words sink in. His hand tightened around hers in a bristling, controlled fury she could feel in the tremor of his breath. He worked his jaw and his breaths slowly grew more rapid.

"Who?" he asked, voice low and angry.

"I don’t know," she said quickly. "But Niall was with me and he should know who stood in that chamber."

Harry sat up, only a little, but the movement was taut. He dragged a hand through his hair, jaw hardening, grinding, the undaunted king rising in him like heat from a flame that'd been freshly stoked.

Y/n reached for him at once, pressing her palm to his chest. "Harry," she said, "do not let fear take you. I am protected. I am safe."

He looked down at her. His eyes were fierce, shadowed, and aching with something almost violent. And then, with solemn slowness, he lifted the edge of her nightgown. His hand slipped beneath the linen and rested warm and secure over her lower belly where their baby would soon grow.

Harry bowed his head, lips brushing her temple as he murmured, "You and this child—" He paused and swallowed, tracing a thumb over her skin as he spoke. "I will guard you myself if I must. I will not allow any hand, any threat, any whisper to come near either of you."

"You are acting as if these men could reach me. All these guards, Phoebe, you… It is not possible for harm to come." Even as the words left her, she didn't know that she truly believed it herself, but she needed to calm her husband so that he didn't work himself into a dither.

"No." His tone was quiet and absolute. "Listen to me. There is no one in this world… no crown, no realm, no council more important to me than you. And now this small life we may have made." His fingers stroked lightly over her skin. "If anyone wishes you harm, they will not leave these walls alive. I swear that upon my name."

She felt tears sting her eyes. "You are frightening when you speak so."

"You are everything I fear losing," he answered simply.

She pressed her hand over his, fingers threading with his own over the gentle curve of her abdomen. "We will be cautious. We will be careful. But do not become consumed by this because I need peace, husband. Promise me that much."

His breath eased and after a long moment, he nodded and settled back beside her, gathering her into his arms without releasing her stomach from beneath his palm. She curled into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek.

They lay quietly, entwined, held safe against the dark as snow began to whisper at the windowpanes. Neither could predict the future, but Harry would see to it that his wife remained unharmed.

Harry kissed the top of her head. "Sleep, my mouse," he whispered softly. "I have you."

"And I you," she whispered back, eyes closing as she brushed her palm over his chest, adoring how warm and solid he was. She'd never felt so safe and loved as she did when she was in his arms that way.

His hand stayed over her womb as their breathing steadied into the same rhythm, their bodies pressed close, their fears and their joy folded into one shared warmth. And as the fire sank to embers, Y/n let herself rest against him, despite the realm outside their chamber doors already whispering of the heir who might change everything.

. .

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. .

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[harrytheehottie]

Harries are so protective of Harry and it's moments like this where i'm reminded that he thinks this suit of armor his fans wear to protect him from unnecessary discourse and just harmful rhetoric will be there when he fucks up and its just not going to happen this time around. we are in one of the worst economic crisis of our lifetime and instead of trying to find ways to make touring accessible, he only picks 1 city in the entire United States, makes the base price $50-$1k and to make matters worse turns ON dynamic pricing.

Spending an entire day in your living room doing radio interviews saying this album is about "human connection" and how being in the crowd at shows made you "understand" your audience and how you want to make that feeling tangible and fun again holds no water when you then turn around and try to sell the most expensive tickets to date.

I'll be shocked if he even addresses this or if he just slaps on another 5-10 shows and calls it a day. I'm sure we can all bet what will happen.

[practistyles]

might fuck around and actually finish if your love is in trouble heheheee

[practistyles]

I’d loveeeee more from the everyone wants him series

oooh of courseee I’d love to do more of them…. if u have any specific request let me know, but they’ll be back soon 🫶

[practistyles]

guys what do we think about the new taylor swift songs??

[practistyles]

i got some requests so here we go

do we want a part 2 to the cheating one shot?

yes

no

umm

Voting ended onOct 7, 2025

[practistyles]

sneak peek

hey guys so sorry about the inactivity😭 i have got some messages about pt 4 of my ongoing series and i am so sorry about not uploading it aaah. it's half written i just really am procrastinating writing the smut. i promise i'll finish it though.

here's a little part of a completely different story about cheating that i am yet to complete and post, but this part is all happy :))

****

Their life in London was wonderful. He showed her around with the enthusiasm of a little child, and they kissed outside each time they could, even with Harry's eyes perpetually skeptic of cameras around. Y/N loved it, and while Harry was at work in the studio he never let her feel like she was alone in the city.

Every afternoon, just as she was leaving her desk to get lunch, her phone would chime with a text from him. A picture; a lyric; his face. I miss you. I hate being away. Come and steal me, please.

Y/N would say something like: stop being a whiny baby, or work hard and I'll kiss you good.

Then he would come home, lunge for her on the couch and scoop her up in his arms, her face pressed into his shoulder. Y/N was quite literally being smothered by his love. It was everywhere. It was Mitch nudging Harry in the shoulder one night at drinks, saying "Can you drop the stare? She's already yours," helping her realise that he was making yearning, soft eyes at her the entire time she was talking. It was him buying raspberry flavoured everything and eating it with her even though she knew he wasn't the biggest fan.

She believed it started like this: a message from him that he would be home in two hours, Y/N reading on the couch after dinner, thinking she would wait up for him.

But the sweetness of sleep took her over, and before she knew it she was dozed off on the couch with her book lying open on her stomach. She didn't know how long it had been, but the next time she was aware Y/N opened her eyes to find herself lying in her bed, covers drawn over her, book on her table by the side. Softly she heard Harry's voice from somewhere outside. He was on the phone, because his words were soft and whispered. Y/N sat up, excited to see him, but then she comprehended his words.

"Oh, baby girl," he said in a sort of hushed, fond tone, which made Y/N's heart almost stop. It was exactly how he sometimes spoke to her. "So beautiful."

[practistyles]

this fic is now posted. read here :))

[practistyles]

sick (one shot)

in which Y/N thinks Harry is cheating on her...

In this part: lovesick harry, he's lowkey obsessed with her, he gets sick lol and y/n helps him through, classic ending miscommunication sorting out scene. fluff and angst.

note: this story is a kind of exploration of the cheating trope but specifically when one person in a relationship is suspicious of the other. It's not the typical fluffy/angsty fic and is mostly about Y/N working through her thoughts about Harry's supposed infidelity, and how when you doubt something you can sometimes craft narratives in your head that might not be true. It's a story about insecurity and loneliness, how your dynamics in a relationship can change, mixed in with bits of Harry and Y/N being in love.

Inspirations: the main character of Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, own experiences with being sus of people cheating lol

word count: 5.6k

Y/N couldn't say how the notion had really come into her head. In all the stories she knew of other people, it mostly started with finding texts in his phone to someone else. Someone suspicious, maybe saved with the name of an old friend who she knew for a fact he had fallen out with. The deleted chat - mysterious because none of the other text channels were ever cleared.

But for Y/N, the texts were definitely not the beginning. She thought it was simply paranoia of moving to a new city. Harry had bought them both to London, which is where he wanted to record most of his work for a bit, and Y/N worked in a magazine remotely so it wasn't an issue for her. She'd been reluctant but Harry had been reduced to begging. And she gave in - not because she couldn't make her own decisions - but simply because she loved him, and he loved her just as much, if not more.

Their life in London was wonderful. He showed her around with the enthusiasm of a little child, and they kissed outside each time they could, even with Harry's eyes perpetually skeptic of cameras around. Y/N loved it, and while Harry was at work in the studio he never let her feel like she was alone in the city.

Every afternoon, just as she was leaving her desk to get lunch, her phone would chime with a text from him. A picture; a lyric; his face. I miss you. I hate being away. Come and steal me, please.

Y/N would say something like: stop being a whiny baby, or work hard and I'll kiss you good.

Then he would come home, lunge for her on the couch and scoop her up in his arms, her face pressed into his shoulder. Y/N was quite literally being smothered by his love. It was everywhere. It was Mitch nudging Harry in the shoulder one night at drinks, saying "Can you drop the stare? She's already yours," helping her realise that he was making yearning, soft eyes at her the entire time she was talking. It was him buying raspberry flavoured everything and eating it with her even though she knew he wasn't the biggest fan.

She believed it started like this: a message from him that he would be home in two hours, Y/N reading on the couch after dinner, thinking she would wait up for him.

But the sweetness of sleep took her over, and before she knew it she was dozed off on the couch with her book lying open on her stomach. She didn't know how long it had been, but the next time she was aware Y/N opened her eyes to find herself lying in her bed, covers drawn over her, book on her table by the side. Softly she heard Harry's voice from somewhere outside. He was on the phone, because his words were soft and whispered. Y/N sat up, excited to see him, but then she comprehended his words.

"Oh, baby girl," he said in a sort of hushed, fond tone, which made Y/N's heart almost stop. It was exactly how he sometimes spoke to her. "So beautiful."

Y/N didn't let her mind wander elsewhere, didn't let it think of the hundreds of possibilities. She was just being delusional. It was just... maybe he was looking at some pictures. He could be talking to his sister. Some friend of his. Sometimes guys spoke to their friends in a flirty way, right? Just like how Y/N was always calling her friends sexy. Maybe he had some women friends in his studio. And Y/N told herself she would never be the girlfriend who didn't let her man have any friends who were not, well, men. Also Harry had never proven her wrong. He had plenty of friends who were women making big names for themselves in the music industry. Y/N knew that Harry regarded them with admiration and respect, and had never had reason to be jealous.

Harry made a soft sound as he walked around the house, making his way to her room. Y/N immediately lay down again and closed her eyes. Everything would make sense in the morning. She was simply being paranoid.

She felt him close to her, his body hovering over hers, and then his lips on her hot skin. Y/N almost sighed. Nobody would come and kiss their sleeping girlfriend on her forehead after speaking to their... she didn't even want to think it.

Soon she felt Harry turn her around and curl up around her, pressing his face into her neck and inhaling. Y/N really did feel like he was breathing in all the insecurity from her. She blocked it completely from her mind and didn't think of it again.

*****

A week passed, and then two, and then a month. Sometimes, Y/N would feel stupid for ever thinking that her wonderful Harry could do anything but love and dote on her. For example, all the times when he was practically lovesick, gazing at her while she talked as if she'd hung the moon, and then someone would have to nudge him to bring him back to reality.

But there were moments of doubt too. Like when he started spending entire days at the studio, saying that he was feeling super inspired. Y/N really had no way of knowing if he was actually there. She could ask Mitch or Sarah, but just imagining their faces when telling them she thought Harry was cheating on her made her feel sick.

He was on his phone a lot too. And always texting. The issue was: Y/N knew if she asked him to let her go through his phone he wouldn't say no. Or well, the Harry who wasn't cheating on her wouldn't. They had built a sort of intrinsic trust that Y/N felt very guilty about breaking, but she needed to know. She needed to know otherwise she would go insane.

But he literally never left his phone alone. There were no more phone calls that she knew of, but she was simply itching to go to his messages.

One day, one of those weeks when things were in a weird state with Harry, Y/N had just gotten back from a rare, in-person meeting of colleagues who were in the city. The rain had started pelting down heavily, and she ran home. A stupid mistake, really, to not have carried an umbrella. She really didn't think anyone would be home, because that's how it had become for the last two weeks, really. Harry would come and go as he pleased, and would catch hold of her in midst of leaving or having just come back, placing kisses along her neck and jaw, and no matter how much Y/N planned to confront him, she always melted in that moment. So she started avoiding him too. Leaving for her morning jog just before he had to leave, or staying out with friends and coming back only when she knew he was asleep.

Y/N removed her heels near the door, and shook open her hair as she stepped inside, throwing open her drenched coat and hanging it by the door. Suddenly, a low whimper came from inside.

Y/N froze. It didn't sound immediately sexual, or even female. She followed along the hallway, footsteps silent, until she could see the edge of the door to the room they practically shared. Surprisingly, it was fully open. No visible signs of anyone else other than, well, him. His shoes lay haphazardly at the entrance. Y/N noticed the dampness on them, and then a surge of panic ran through her.

She inched forward until she had a clear view of the insides of the room. All she could really see was a big lump on the bed. Y/N frowned and went inside the room. She could see the top of his hair peeking out from under the covers, but otherwise he was fully burrowed into them. His breathing made the stack of duvets he'd piled on himself move up and down.

"Harry?" Y/N asked gently, concern lacing her voice.

Harry stirred. Another whine. It was like a dam of worry broke inside her. Y/N immediately rushed to his side and knelt beside him. His face was partially covered, but she could see his eyes clenched shut, forehead furrowed. He was slightly trembling. His hair was wet, and Y/N connected the dots.

"God, Harry, did you get caught in the rain?"

His eyes opened, and Y/N's heart pained. He nodded slightly. "So cold," he stuttered.

Y/N reached out a hand out to check his temperature, and sure as hell, he had a fever. How long had he been lying here shivering? Y/N winced. He was always very sensitive to the rain. Just a bit of it and he always got sick.

"Did you even change your clothes?" Y/N asked.

Harry didn't respond. he simply raised his head slightly and motioned downwards. "Will you get in with me? Please?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Baby," Y/n replied. She put her face closer to his and ran a hand through his hair. "Can we please get you into dry clothes?"

His curls stuck to his forehead as he wiggled his head slightly out of the cover of the duvets, leaning into her touch. "I don't want to move," he groaned.

"I know," she cooed. "But if you change into warm clothes, I'll come in with you. Does that sound good?"

Harry perked up, like a dog who had just seen its owner. He nodded, and Y/N's hand slipped down from his hair to his cheek, stroking gently. He turned his face sideways, cheeks flushed, and kissed her palm. Even his lips were burning.

Y/N coaxed him out, even though he shivered all the while. She put him in nice, warm clothes and put socks on his feet. Harry groaned and whined through most of it, but Y/N huffed out a laugh. "Whiny, little baby," she said to him, as she piled the duvet's back over him, his hair nice and dry.

She leaned to kiss his cheek, and Harry hummed. He was so tired, half asleep, almost. Y/N turned to get some fever medicine, but Harry caught her hand.

"No," he groaned. "Won't you stay with me?"

Y/N looked at his pouting face, and smiled gently. "If you'll have your medicine. Then we can sleep." The thought of sleep must have sounded good to him, because he let her go.

They kept medicine in the room that had Y/N's stuff, on the other end of the hallway. As Y/N passed the hall, she saw Harry's phone on the table, and stopped in her tracks.

God, how pathetic was she? He was currently burning up with a fever and she wanted to snoop. Y/N really couldn't stop herself. She picked his phone up. The first sting to the heart was his wallpaper, which was a photo of her from their first year of dating. The second was the number of messages he had from someone called G. Y/N unlocked his phone, opening his messaging app.

Who the hell was G?

The app opened to a lock screen. Enter password to access messages.

Y/N frowned. What the fuck? He'd never password-protected his apps. She'd seem him open his messages multiple times. Y/N's heart sank and sank until she was sure it wasn't in her anymore. She wracked her brain for explanations, but she could simply not think past his face, flushed red and hair damp, looking up expectantly and full of love at her.

Y/N made her way back to him in a haze. He was waiting steadily, and obediently took what she gave him. He couldn't seem to stop touching her, always holding her fingers and playing with them. He pulled her in, and as promised, Y/N made her way into the little cave he'd created. She was boiling, but she said nothing, only let Harry wrap his arms around her and press his hot skin to hers.

"Miss you so much," he mumbled. "Always taking care of me." Y/N suddenly found herself blinking tears away from her eyes. The tenderness, the care, his words, his neediness - it was too much. She looked at his sleeping face, slightly frowning, and wondered. Harry, are you cheating on me?

As if to answer, Harry's face turned into a grimace, and he pressed himself closer to her, burrowing himself into the crevice of her body.

******

Harry recovered quick, and so did the little lonely spell they were having in their relationship. He was back in the studio, but he would come back to her, and she would be there for him. He started calling her his 'muse', but how much ever she begged he wouldn't show her the songs he was writing. All Y/N did was try not to think about the texts on his phone.

"Why do you need to hear them? Is it not enough to know they are about you?" he huffed. They were sprawled out on the couch, her head on his lap.

Y/N gazed up at him. "That's exactly why I want to know. What if you..."

Harry raised his brows. "Go on," he said.

It was risky. It was really risky. But Y/N said it anyway, her heart racing. "What if you have another woman and you're just singing about how much you hate me and want to be with her instead?"

She closely scrutinised his face for any hints, for any sign. Harry's eyes went very wide, but then he composed himself.

"You think I'd cheat on you?" he said.

Y/N shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. Harry looked at her a second, and then bent down, nudging her nose. "Over my dead body," he grinned. "You are everything."

****

They went back and forth like that. Y/N was almost scared to be alone with him. She'd twisted things up in her head so much that every single thing Harry did, she would read as some kind of signal. He would do something as simple as buying a new shirt, and Y/N would wonder if G picked it out for him.

The only person with a G in their name could be Gemma, his sister, but Y/N knew for a fact that she was first of all, pregnant with her first baby, and also saved in Harry's phone as 'Gem'. Just the thought of Gemma made another thread of guilt run through her. She hadn't seen Harry's family in a long, long time. Even with how intense her relationship was with Harry, she'd only met his family a couple of times, but they were all just the most lovely people she had ever met.

Y/N considered talking to Gemma. Maybe she would know who this mystery person was. But it was really quite stupid, wasn't it? No one would believe her. On the outside, it did seem like Harry worshipped her. Just a few days ago, Sarah had texted her saying that Harry was seriously considering naming his album 'Y/N'.

But didn't people get like that when they wanted to hide something? Maybe he was simply doubling down on his affection to make sure his affair remained what it was - hidden.

Y/N was seriously going insane. She needed a break. She needed to focus on the parts of her life that didn't involve Harry. She needed to be out of this house, this lovely house, in which everywhere she looked there was a part of Harry.

Y/N stood in the silence in the doorway of their home, feeling more lonely than she had ever felt in her life. And then, with a sigh, she left the house.

She had no plan, really. She just wandered where her feet took her, trying to reason through her thoughts in her head. She found herself in a very familiar neighbourhood. It was one of the first places Harry had ever showed her in this city. A smile came upon her face immediately. She remembered the day very clearly. Them, in a cafe, Y/N full of hope and love and joy, and Harry, his face absolutely radiating with love for her, for their life ahead. They had walked past the studio that he would be working in for this album, and Y/N had been wonderstruck. She was coming up on that exact cafe, and Y/N decided to go in, just for old times sake.

The atmosphere was exactly the same, and Y/N’s heart suddenly ached with a longing for Harry. She instinctively turned around to look at where they had been sitting all those months ago, and it really felt like he was right there.

Y/N blinked. He actually was right there. She couldn’t believe it. He had his grey coat on, and he sat with his side to Y/N, chin rested on his folded up hands, staring intently at the person sitting across from him.

The person across from him… Y/N almost fell to the ground. It was a beautiful woman with flowing black hair, who had never seen before. They both sat hunched forward, intently discussing something apparently very funny.

Y/N’s eyes teared up. She was right. She knew it, she knew she shouldn’t have doubted her intuition. She loved Harry so much, of course she would know that he was hiding something from her.

Harry leaned forward, touching the woman’s hand gently. Y/N couldn’t take it. Her hands curled to fists at her side. He laughed, his dimple deep in his cheek. Y/N could see his mouth moving softly, whispering words to this woman who was simply eating it up. Y/N was burning in her own world, while this woman here got to have Harry to herself.

Maybe Y/N imagined it, maybe she was reading too deep, but they both sat together with a kind of casual intimacy that Y/N had struggled with all her life, and had only found with Harry.

There was a tap at her shoulder, and she turned around miserably. A man motioned to the counter behind them “You gonna order?” he asked.

Y/N took a moment to shake her head, and then walked out of the cafe door. She couldn’t even hold it in until she had turned the corner. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and once she was out of the way of the pedestrians, she leaned against the wall and heaved out pathetic sobs.

What did I do? Y/N thought. What could I have possibly done more to keep him? His face flashed in her mind, his sleeping, sick face, flushed red, and Y/N was overcome with a desire to run to him and fling herself against him. I’m your problem. Fix this.

She had been wanting to talk about this for so long but the only person she wanted to talk about Harry cheating on her was with Harry himself. And it hurt. It hurt like hell.  

She made herself go home. She made herself stop crying, and walk into her room and bring a bag pack out. She ignored all the pieces of their relationship that were scattered across their house. She packed a couple of clothes, and then, still sniffling, she called Sarah.

“Hello?” her voice came from the other end, warm and familiar and comforting. Y/N wished, for the first time, that she hadn’t met Sarah through Harry.

“Could I please come and stay with you for a bit?” she hiccuped through her words.

There was a pause, some shuffling, and then: “Of course, Y/N. Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I’m…  I just don’t want to be alone,” she spat out.

“Is H there?” Sarah asked, genuine concern sounding out in her tone.

And of course. Of course, that’s what she would ask, but Y/N felt angry at it. She didn’t need Harry. The rage was settling in.

“I’m asking you as Y/N, not as Harry’s girlfriend, can I stay with you or not?”

“Yes, of course. Y/N, I -”

“Be there in fifteen,” Y/N cut her off, and then ended the call. As she stepped out the door, she ran into a hard body, and Y/N righted herself as a hand grasped her elbow to steady her.

Y/N was about to apologise, but swallowed it as soon as she saw Harry’s face, slightly amused, looking down at her.

“In a hurry, are we?” he smirked. Y/N’s eyes hardened and she roughly shook herself free from his grip.

“Fuck yourself,” she said, but it sounded weaker than she meant it. Harry’s brows furrowed and he leaned in, trapping her.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Did I -”

Y/N shoved him hard. He stumbled back, hurt flashing across his face, but Y/N didn’t care.

“I saw you, you fucking prick. Don’t act oblivious. I never want to see your face again.”

Harry’s face completely crumbled. “Y/N, what’s going on? I don’t understand -”

Y/N saw her Uber pull up behind them. She didn’t spare a glance at Harry, speed walking towards the car. She felt Harry grab her hand from behind her.

She whirled around. "Don't touch me!" she screamed.

"Y/N, my love, please, can we talk? I don't understand what happened. Please just -"

Y/N got into the car and slammed the door shut. Harry's hands were on the window, knocking, begging her not to go, but Y/N was done. It was over. The car took off, and soon she was at Sarah and Mitch’s house.

When the door opened she was greeted by Mitch, who smiled at her softly. All it did was make Y/N crumble again, but Mitch was there: a solid, steady presence. He immediately understood that something was inherently wrong, and gathered Y/N in a tight hug.

“Hey, Y/N,” he whispered against her cheek, and she sniffled into his shoulder. “You good?”

She shook her head sideways, and Sarah appeared from behind Mitch.

“Darling,” she said, taking Y/N’s hand. “You’re worrying us. Come in, and we’ll talk, okay?”

Y/N nodded. Her motions were slow and lethargic, as if she had been physically hurt somehow, and it made her feel even more like a burden. What was she even doing, showing up to Mitch and Sarah’s house after one of their closest’s friend cheated on her?

“Sorry,” Y/N muttered. “I… I hope it’s not too much trouble. I honestly don’t even need to stay, I can just -”

“Y/N,” Mitch interrupted. He led her to the couch. “Sit down, please.”

All three of them settled into their seats, and Y/N rubbed her hands in nervousness. “Do you… I mean, do you guys know where Harry is?” she asked.

Mitch and Sarah shared a look. Oh no, she thought. They know?

“He was at the studio about an hour and a half ago, and he said he’d be heading home soon.”

Y/N let out a laugh. It was cruel, and bitter, and she didn’t know she had it in her, honestly.

“I need you both to be honest with me, right now,” she said sternly. “Did you know he is cheating on me?”

Mitch and Sarah gaped at her.

“Y/N, respectfully, I don’t think -” Mitch started, but Sarah held up a hand.

“Why do you think that?” Sarah asked, and then, through tear-filled eyes Y/N recounted everything.

By the time Y/N finished talking, her throat was raw and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Sarah slid a tissue into her palm, and Mitch sat forward, frowning deeply.

“That’s a lot,” he said carefully. “But none of it really sounds like proof. You know Harry, he’s clueless and blunt sometimes, but...”

“He’s not clueless,” Y/N cut in. "How could anyone be clueless about some thing like this?"

Sarah wrapped an arm around her. “Hey. You don’t have to explain anything. You need space, stay here as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” Y/N whispered.

Mitch sighed. “You're welcome for as long as you want, Y/N. But you need to speak to him once. I think, things could really be just mixed up."

Before Y/N could respond, Mitch’s phone started ringing. The phone lit up with a goofy photo of Harry, and Y/N choked on a sob. Her stomach twisted.

“No,” she said.

“Y/N…” Mitch said softly. “He’s probably worried sick.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” she said angrily, shaking her head. “Please, Mitch. Not right now. I need... I need you.” It was maybe, one of the hardest things she had said to them yet.

Sarah flipped the phone face down. "We're here, Y/N. Always."

Mitch stood up and moved to pat Y/N's hair. "Alright, Y/N. I'm going to go make you some tea and then we'll put some TV on, okay?"

Y/N nodded, grateful. She slumped against the couch, the emotions making her feel wrecked. Damn Harry. Damn her, for thinking that he was the one, for imaging them married and with children going on family vacations with Gemma.

After she'd had some warm tea, Sarah showed her to the guest room, and Y/N quite happily tried to melt into the sweet embrace of sleep. But it simply wouldn't come. She couldn't stop thinking of what Mitch said earlier.

He’s probably worried sick.

Good, Y/N thought bitterly. He should be. From outside, she could hear Sarah and Mitch shuffling around. Then Mitch's voice, clear as water, "H, mate, calm down, alright?"

Traitor, Y/N thought, but bolted out of bed all the same. She hurried into the room, her heart pounding, and caught Harry’s frantic voice bleeding through the phone in Mitch’s hand. Her head told her to not listen to him anymore, but her heart was still there - with him - and Y/N ran to stand next to Mitch. He looked up at her, frown etching his face, and Y/N resisted the urge to grab the phone from him.

"No," Mitch said firmly. "Harry, of course she is -" Mitch kept getting interrupted by Harry, and winced at Y/N.

"She's safe. I promise. You... you really fucked up, H," Mitch said and he ended the call.

"Y/N, sorry I woke you," Mitch murmured, clearly tensed.

"Is he..." Y/N asked, hating herself for it.

"No," Mitch sighed. "He looked for you everywhere. I had to tell him that we had you. I'm so sorry, but he sounded so broken, and he's also my friend, after all."

Y/N swallowed, feeling sick. They all stood there for a few minutes, unsure of what to say or do.

The knock came out of nowhere, rattling the door. And then, his muffled voice, raw and scratchy. "Y/N!” He pounded his fist on the door. "Y/N, baby, please!" Her stomach dropped and Y/N trembled with the need she had to reach him.

"Open the fuck up, Mitch! I need to speak to her!" Harry shouted.

Sarah stood from where she was perched on the couch and nodded at Y/N. "I'll deal with him."

Y/N couldn't see him, but Harry didn't try and push past Sarah, which was possibly the reason she went to the door instead of Mitch.

"Get her please, Sarah," Y/N heard him say. Then he yelled her name and Sarah shushed him. She whispered something, and then Harry's voice sounded again. "I can't calm down! She just left me, and I don't -"

Y/N stepped forward until he was in her view. His hair was dishevelled and his face twisted painfully at the sight of her. His eyes drooped as if he was pleading with her. He leaned forward, wide-eyed, as if he was about to fall down on his knees, begging. "Y/N, baby..."

"No," she snapped. "Don't call me that. I know everything, Harry. I saw you today."

"Saw me where?"

"With her!" Y/N spat. "In our cafe!"

A certain kind of understanding dawned on Harry's face. "Amy? Are you talking about Amy?"

"Oh," Sarah exclaimed. "Do you not know about Amy?" Sarah turned to Y/N.

"Who the fuck is Amy? And why were you... " Y/N choked on her words, but held up a finger out to Harry. "Why were you so cosied up with her? In our fucking seat?"

Harry looked pained. He stumbled backwards, as if her words had been a physical blow to him. Sarah still stood between them like a divider.

"You think, I... you think I would betray you? You think I'm cheating on you?" He looked disgusted to say the words.

Y/N’s lip trembled, but she stood her ground. “I saw you, Harry. Don’t make me feel insane. You're always on your fucking phone, you were never home!"

“Jesus Christ,” Harry swore. He paced about a bit, hands in his hair, and then back to Y/N.

"Amy is a colleague. She's not a permanent employee of the studio, she's just come in to help us plan some stuff, but fuck, I didn’t think...” He stopped, dragging both hands down his face. "I didn't think about how it would look to you. I didn't think about the cafe. I'm so sorry. "

"Plan what? You always tell me this stuff. You always told me everything."

"I still do, Y/N. I can't do a fucking thing without not telling you about it, that's why this has been so fucking hard..."

Y/N crossed her arms. "So you have been hiding something."

"Harry," Sarah interrupted softly. "Maybe you should come in."

"He's not stepping a foot in here until we clear this up," Y/N glared at him. Harry's face morphed into one of defiance.

“God, this is a fucking nightmare,” he mumbled.

"Oh, is it now?" Y/N yelled, advancing towards him. "You know what was really a nightmare? That night, when you came home late and I was half asleep on the couch, you were on the phone and I heard you."

Harry frowned.

"I heard you. Baby girl, you'd said. In that voice you use with me. So don’t you dare stand there and act like I’m imagining things."

Harry stared at her for a moment until recognition dawned on his face. “You… you heard me say that?” His voice cracked.

Y/N heart dropped all the way to her feet. Tears sprung free from her eyes, and at the sight of them Harry's entire body spasmed. He groaned, a bit dramatically, and then blew out a deep breath.

“Oh, fuck me. Oh, fuck. This is... this is so messed up.” Harry paced a step, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You think I was calling another woman? Christ, no wonder you’ve... you've been so... distant.”

“Then who was it?” Y/N demanded, her throat tight.

Harry looked at her, completely undone. His eyes shone. “It was my niece, Y/N. Gemma had the baby early. A little girl. My niece. I’d just gotten pictures."

Harry groaned again, as if to say this all hurt him. "I wanted to surprise you, make it special. That’s what I’ve been planning."

Y/N had a huge lump in her throat. Gemma had a daughter. She felt a surge of emotion. Gemma had a daughter!

Harry let out a short, bitter laugh. "Christ, Y/N, I fucking worship you. I can’t believe you thought..." He trailed off.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Y/N sobbed, her voice low, all the fight drained out of her.

“Because I wanted it to be a surprise!” Harry said, exasperated. “I thought it’d make you happy. I didn’t know it would... fuck, I didn’t know it would look like this.”

Y/N swayed a bit on the spot, and she felt Mitch come up behind her. She folded in on herself, guilt squeezing her in from all sides. "Oh God," she mumbled. The tears were escaping freely now, and Y/n squeezed her eyes shut.

Stupid stupid stupid, she chanted in her head. How could she be so fucking stupid?

"I... I don't... Oh god, I can't believe I -" and then she broke down, falling to the floor. "I'm sorry," she sobbed to no one in particular.

And then warm arms enveloped her. She breathed in his familiar scent as he gathered her up and positioned her on his lap.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered brokenly, almost to himself. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I do realise how it looked to you. I was distant, and I was unknowingly ignoring you a bit, but only because I was just so happy..."

Y/N shook her head. "As you should be," she said. "You're an uncle. You have a niece, Harry. She... she must be so pretty."

Harry smiled. Y/N lifted her face to look at him, and noticed that he had been crying too. "She is the most beautiful girl, second only to our future daughter," he said softly, and in one sentence Y/N felt her whole world come back to life.

Her eyes widened, and she looked up at him in shock.

“I love you so much," Harry said, palming her cheek. "I can’t lose you over something like this. I'm so sorry. I can’t believe this is what had been eating you alive.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You’re it for me, you always have been. I’d rather die than call someone else the things I call you.”

Y/N sniffled harder. How could she ever have doubted this man?

He pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I was going to take you today, to see her. If you still wanted to, we could go and meet our niece."

"Our?" Y/N asked.

Harry nodded. "Our," he repeated. Y/N smiled at him, relieved more than anything, grateful, and even a bit ashamed. She buried her face into his neck.

They stayed like that for a bit, until Mitch broke the silence. "Well, I better be the best fucking man at your wedding, H," he grumbled, and everyone broke into laughter.

******

fuckk this was such a ride. thanks for reading!!!! initially i wanted Harry to ask her to marry him at the end but then my tsitp trauma kicked in lol.

hope you liked this heheh.

[practistyles]

sick (one shot)

in which Y/N thinks Harry is cheating on her...

In this part: lovesick harry, he's lowkey obsessed with her, he gets sick lol and y/n helps him through, classic ending miscommunication sorting out scene. fluff and angst.

note: this story is a kind of exploration of the cheating trope but specifically when one person in a relationship is suspicious of the other. It's not the typical fluffy/angsty fic and is mostly about Y/N working through her thoughts about Harry's supposed infidelity, and how when you doubt something you can sometimes craft narratives in your head that might not be true. It's a story about insecurity and loneliness, how your dynamics in a relationship can change, mixed in with bits of Harry and Y/N being in love.

Inspirations: the main character of Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, own experiences with being sus of people cheating lol

word count: 5.6k

Y/N couldn't say how the notion had really come into her head. In all the stories she knew of other people, it mostly started with finding texts in his phone to someone else. Someone suspicious, maybe saved with the name of an old friend who she knew for a fact he had fallen out with. The deleted chat - mysterious because none of the other text channels were ever cleared.

But for Y/N, the texts were definitely not the beginning. She thought it was simply paranoia of moving to a new city. Harry had bought them both to London, which is where he wanted to record most of his work for a bit, and Y/N worked in a magazine remotely so it wasn't an issue for her. She'd been reluctant but Harry had been reduced to begging. And she gave in - not because she couldn't make her own decisions - but simply because she loved him, and he loved her just as much, if not more.

Their life in London was wonderful. He showed her around with the enthusiasm of a little child, and they kissed outside each time they could, even with Harry's eyes perpetually skeptic of cameras around. Y/N loved it, and while Harry was at work in the studio he never let her feel like she was alone in the city.

Every afternoon, just as she was leaving her desk to get lunch, her phone would chime with a text from him. A picture; a lyric; his face. I miss you. I hate being away. Come and steal me, please.

Y/N would say something like: stop being a whiny baby, or work hard and I'll kiss you good.

Then he would come home, lunge for her on the couch and scoop her up in his arms, her face pressed into his shoulder. Y/N was quite literally being smothered by his love. It was everywhere. It was Mitch nudging Harry in the shoulder one night at drinks, saying "Can you drop the stare? She's already yours," helping her realise that he was making yearning, soft eyes at her the entire time she was talking. It was him buying raspberry flavoured everything and eating it with her even though she knew he wasn't the biggest fan.

She believed it started like this: a message from him that he would be home in two hours, Y/N reading on the couch after dinner, thinking she would wait up for him.

But the sweetness of sleep took her over, and before she knew it she was dozed off on the couch with her book lying open on her stomach. She didn't know how long it had been, but the next time she was aware Y/N opened her eyes to find herself lying in her bed, covers drawn over her, book on her table by the side. Softly she heard Harry's voice from somewhere outside. He was on the phone, because his words were soft and whispered. Y/N sat up, excited to see him, but then she comprehended his words.

"Oh, baby girl," he said in a sort of hushed, fond tone, which made Y/N's heart almost stop. It was exactly how he sometimes spoke to her. "So beautiful."

Y/N didn't let her mind wander elsewhere, didn't let it think of the hundreds of possibilities. She was just being delusional. It was just... maybe he was looking at some pictures. He could be talking to his sister. Some friend of his. Sometimes guys spoke to their friends in a flirty way, right? Just like how Y/N was always calling her friends sexy. Maybe he had some women friends in his studio. And Y/N told herself she would never be the girlfriend who didn't let her man have any friends who were not, well, men. Also Harry had never proven her wrong. He had plenty of friends who were women making big names for themselves in the music industry. Y/N knew that Harry regarded them with admiration and respect, and had never had reason to be jealous.

Harry made a soft sound as he walked around the house, making his way to her room. Y/N immediately lay down again and closed her eyes. Everything would make sense in the morning. She was simply being paranoid.

She felt him close to her, his body hovering over hers, and then his lips on her hot skin. Y/N almost sighed. Nobody would come and kiss their sleeping girlfriend on her forehead after speaking to their... she didn't even want to think it.

Soon she felt Harry turn her around and curl up around her, pressing his face into her neck and inhaling. Y/N really did feel like he was breathing in all the insecurity from her. She blocked it completely from her mind and didn't think of it again.

*****

A week passed, and then two, and then a month. Sometimes, Y/N would feel stupid for ever thinking that her wonderful Harry could do anything but love and dote on her. For example, all the times when he was practically lovesick, gazing at her while she talked as if she'd hung the moon, and then someone would have to nudge him to bring him back to reality.

But there were moments of doubt too. Like when he started spending entire days at the studio, saying that he was feeling super inspired. Y/N really had no way of knowing if he was actually there. She could ask Mitch or Sarah, but just imagining their faces when telling them she thought Harry was cheating on her made her feel sick.

He was on his phone a lot too. And always texting. The issue was: Y/N knew if she asked him to let her go through his phone he wouldn't say no. Or well, the Harry who wasn't cheating on her wouldn't. They had built a sort of intrinsic trust that Y/N felt very guilty about breaking, but she needed to know. She needed to know otherwise she would go insane.

But he literally never left his phone alone. There were no more phone calls that she knew of, but she was simply itching to go to his messages.

One day, one of those weeks when things were in a weird state with Harry, Y/N had just gotten back from a rare, in-person meeting of colleagues who were in the city. The rain had started pelting down heavily, and she ran home. A stupid mistake, really, to not have carried an umbrella. She really didn't think anyone would be home, because that's how it had become for the last two weeks, really. Harry would come and go as he pleased, and would catch hold of her in midst of leaving or having just come back, placing kisses along her neck and jaw, and no matter how much Y/N planned to confront him, she always melted in that moment. So she started avoiding him too. Leaving for her morning jog just before he had to leave, or staying out with friends and coming back only when she knew he was asleep.

Y/N removed her heels near the door, and shook open her hair as she stepped inside, throwing open her drenched coat and hanging it by the door. Suddenly, a low whimper came from inside.

Y/N froze. It didn't sound immediately sexual, or even female. She followed along the hallway, footsteps silent, until she could see the edge of the door to the room they practically shared. Surprisingly, it was fully open. No visible signs of anyone else other than, well, him. His shoes lay haphazardly at the entrance. Y/N noticed the dampness on them, and then a surge of panic ran through her.

She inched forward until she had a clear view of the insides of the room. All she could really see was a big lump on the bed. Y/N frowned and went inside the room. She could see the top of his hair peeking out from under the covers, but otherwise he was fully burrowed into them. His breathing made the stack of duvets he'd piled on himself move up and down.

"Harry?" Y/N asked gently, concern lacing her voice.

Harry stirred. Another whine. It was like a dam of worry broke inside her. Y/N immediately rushed to his side and knelt beside him. His face was partially covered, but she could see his eyes clenched shut, forehead furrowed. He was slightly trembling. His hair was wet, and Y/N connected the dots.

"God, Harry, did you get caught in the rain?"

His eyes opened, and Y/N's heart pained. He nodded slightly. "So cold," he stuttered.

Y/N reached out a hand out to check his temperature, and sure as hell, he had a fever. How long had he been lying here shivering? Y/N winced. He was always very sensitive to the rain. Just a bit of it and he always got sick.

"Did you even change your clothes?" Y/N asked.

Harry didn't respond. he simply raised his head slightly and motioned downwards. "Will you get in with me? Please?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Baby," Y/n replied. She put her face closer to his and ran a hand through his hair. "Can we please get you into dry clothes?"

His curls stuck to his forehead as he wiggled his head slightly out of the cover of the duvets, leaning into her touch. "I don't want to move," he groaned.

"I know," she cooed. "But if you change into warm clothes, I'll come in with you. Does that sound good?"

Harry perked up, like a dog who had just seen its owner. He nodded, and Y/N's hand slipped down from his hair to his cheek, stroking gently. He turned his face sideways, cheeks flushed, and kissed her palm. Even his lips were burning.

Y/N coaxed him out, even though he shivered all the while. She put him in nice, warm clothes and put socks on his feet. Harry groaned and whined through most of it, but Y/N huffed out a laugh. "Whiny, little baby," she said to him, as she piled the duvet's back over him, his hair nice and dry.

She leaned to kiss his cheek, and Harry hummed. He was so tired, half asleep, almost. Y/N turned to get some fever medicine, but Harry caught her hand.

"No," he groaned. "Won't you stay with me?"

Y/N looked at his pouting face, and smiled gently. "If you'll have your medicine. Then we can sleep." The thought of sleep must have sounded good to him, because he let her go.

They kept medicine in the room that had Y/N's stuff, on the other end of the hallway. As Y/N passed the hall, she saw Harry's phone on the table, and stopped in her tracks.

God, how pathetic was she? He was currently burning up with a fever and she wanted to snoop. Y/N really couldn't stop herself. She picked his phone up. The first sting to the heart was his wallpaper, which was a photo of her from their first year of dating. The second was the number of messages he had from someone called G. Y/N unlocked his phone, opening his messaging app.

Who the hell was G?

The app opened to a lock screen. Enter password to access messages.

Y/N frowned. What the fuck? He'd never password-protected his apps. She'd seem him open his messages multiple times. Y/N's heart sank and sank until she was sure it wasn't in her anymore. She wracked her brain for explanations, but she could simply not think past his face, flushed red and hair damp, looking up expectantly and full of love at her.

Y/N made her way back to him in a haze. He was waiting steadily, and obediently took what she gave him. He couldn't seem to stop touching her, always holding her fingers and playing with them. He pulled her in, and as promised, Y/N made her way into the little cave he'd created. She was boiling, but she said nothing, only let Harry wrap his arms around her and press his hot skin to hers.

"Miss you so much," he mumbled. "Always taking care of me." Y/N suddenly found herself blinking tears away from her eyes. The tenderness, the care, his words, his neediness - it was too much. She looked at his sleeping face, slightly frowning, and wondered. Harry, are you cheating on me?

As if to answer, Harry's face turned into a grimace, and he pressed himself closer to her, burrowing himself into the crevice of her body.

******

Harry recovered quick, and so did the little lonely spell they were having in their relationship. He was back in the studio, but he would come back to her, and she would be there for him. He started calling her his 'muse', but how much ever she begged he wouldn't show her the songs he was writing. All Y/N did was try not to think about the texts on his phone.

"Why do you need to hear them? Is it not enough to know they are about you?" he huffed. They were sprawled out on the couch, her head on his lap.

Y/N gazed up at him. "That's exactly why I want to know. What if you..."

Harry raised his brows. "Go on," he said.

It was risky. It was really risky. But Y/N said it anyway, her heart racing. "What if you have another woman and you're just singing about how much you hate me and want to be with her instead?"

She closely scrutinised his face for any hints, for any sign. Harry's eyes went very wide, but then he composed himself.

"You think I'd cheat on you?" he said.

Y/N shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. Harry looked at her a second, and then bent down, nudging her nose. "Over my dead body," he grinned. "You are everything."

****

They went back and forth like that. Y/N was almost scared to be alone with him. She'd twisted things up in her head so much that every single thing Harry did, she would read as some kind of signal. He would do something as simple as buying a new shirt, and Y/N would wonder if G picked it out for him.

The only person with a G in their name could be Gemma, his sister, but Y/N knew for a fact that she was first of all, pregnant with her first baby, and also saved in Harry's phone as 'Gem'. Just the thought of Gemma made another thread of guilt run through her. She hadn't seen Harry's family in a long, long time. Even with how intense her relationship was with Harry, she'd only met his family a couple of times, but they were all just the most lovely people she had ever met.

Y/N considered talking to Gemma. Maybe she would know who this mystery person was. But it was really quite stupid, wasn't it? No one would believe her. On the outside, it did seem like Harry worshipped her. Just a few days ago, Sarah had texted her saying that Harry was seriously considering naming his album 'Y/N'.

But didn't people get like that when they wanted to hide something? Maybe he was simply doubling down on his affection to make sure his affair remained what it was - hidden.

Y/N was seriously going insane. She needed a break. She needed to focus on the parts of her life that didn't involve Harry. She needed to be out of this house, this lovely house, in which everywhere she looked there was a part of Harry.

Y/N stood in the silence in the doorway of their home, feeling more lonely than she had ever felt in her life. And then, with a sigh, she left the house.

She had no plan, really. She just wandered where her feet took her, trying to reason through her thoughts in her head. She found herself in a very familiar neighbourhood. It was one of the first places Harry had ever showed her in this city. A smile came upon her face immediately. She remembered the day very clearly. Them, in a cafe, Y/N full of hope and love and joy, and Harry, his face absolutely radiating with love for her, for their life ahead. They had walked past the studio that he would be working in for this album, and Y/N had been wonderstruck. She was coming up on that exact cafe, and Y/N decided to go in, just for old times sake.

The atmosphere was exactly the same, and Y/N’s heart suddenly ached with a longing for Harry. She instinctively turned around to look at where they had been sitting all those months ago, and it really felt like he was right there.

Y/N blinked. He actually was right there. She couldn’t believe it. He had his grey coat on, and he sat with his side to Y/N, chin rested on his folded up hands, staring intently at the person sitting across from him.

The person across from him… Y/N almost fell to the ground. It was a beautiful woman with flowing black hair, who had never seen before. They both sat hunched forward, intently discussing something apparently very funny.

Y/N’s eyes teared up. She was right. She knew it, she knew she shouldn’t have doubted her intuition. She loved Harry so much, of course she would know that he was hiding something from her.

Harry leaned forward, touching the woman’s hand gently. Y/N couldn’t take it. Her hands curled to fists at her side. He laughed, his dimple deep in his cheek. Y/N could see his mouth moving softly, whispering words to this woman who was simply eating it up. Y/N was burning in her own world, while this woman here got to have Harry to herself.

Maybe Y/N imagined it, maybe she was reading too deep, but they both sat together with a kind of casual intimacy that Y/N had struggled with all her life, and had only found with Harry.

There was a tap at her shoulder, and she turned around miserably. A man motioned to the counter behind them “You gonna order?” he asked.

Y/N took a moment to shake her head, and then walked out of the cafe door. She couldn’t even hold it in until she had turned the corner. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and once she was out of the way of the pedestrians, she leaned against the wall and heaved out pathetic sobs.

What did I do? Y/N thought. What could I have possibly done more to keep him? His face flashed in her mind, his sleeping, sick face, flushed red, and Y/N was overcome with a desire to run to him and fling herself against him. I’m your problem. Fix this.

She had been wanting to talk about this for so long but the only person she wanted to talk about Harry cheating on her was with Harry himself. And it hurt. It hurt like hell.  

She made herself go home. She made herself stop crying, and walk into her room and bring a bag pack out. She ignored all the pieces of their relationship that were scattered across their house. She packed a couple of clothes, and then, still sniffling, she called Sarah.

“Hello?” her voice came from the other end, warm and familiar and comforting. Y/N wished, for the first time, that she hadn’t met Sarah through Harry.

“Could I please come and stay with you for a bit?” she hiccuped through her words.

There was a pause, some shuffling, and then: “Of course, Y/N. Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I’m…  I just don’t want to be alone,” she spat out.

“Is H there?” Sarah asked, genuine concern sounding out in her tone.

And of course. Of course, that’s what she would ask, but Y/N felt angry at it. She didn’t need Harry. The rage was settling in.

“I’m asking you as Y/N, not as Harry’s girlfriend, can I stay with you or not?”

“Yes, of course. Y/N, I -”

“Be there in fifteen,” Y/N cut her off, and then ended the call. As she stepped out the door, she ran into a hard body, and Y/N righted herself as a hand grasped her elbow to steady her.

Y/N was about to apologise, but swallowed it as soon as she saw Harry’s face, slightly amused, looking down at her.

“In a hurry, are we?” he smirked. Y/N’s eyes hardened and she roughly shook herself free from his grip.

“Fuck yourself,” she said, but it sounded weaker than she meant it. Harry’s brows furrowed and he leaned in, trapping her.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Did I -”

Y/N shoved him hard. He stumbled back, hurt flashing across his face, but Y/N didn’t care.

“I saw you, you fucking prick. Don’t act oblivious. I never want to see your face again.”

Harry’s face completely crumbled. “Y/N, what’s going on? I don’t understand -”

Y/N saw her Uber pull up behind them. She didn’t spare a glance at Harry, speed walking towards the car. She felt Harry grab her hand from behind her.

She whirled around. "Don't touch me!" she screamed.

"Y/N, my love, please, can we talk? I don't understand what happened. Please just -"

Y/N got into the car and slammed the door shut. Harry's hands were on the window, knocking, begging her not to go, but Y/N was done. It was over. The car took off, and soon she was at Sarah and Mitch’s house.

When the door opened she was greeted by Mitch, who smiled at her softly. All it did was make Y/N crumble again, but Mitch was there: a solid, steady presence. He immediately understood that something was inherently wrong, and gathered Y/N in a tight hug.

“Hey, Y/N,” he whispered against her cheek, and she sniffled into his shoulder. “You good?”

She shook her head sideways, and Sarah appeared from behind Mitch.

“Darling,” she said, taking Y/N’s hand. “You’re worrying us. Come in, and we’ll talk, okay?”

Y/N nodded. Her motions were slow and lethargic, as if she had been physically hurt somehow, and it made her feel even more like a burden. What was she even doing, showing up to Mitch and Sarah’s house after one of their closest’s friend cheated on her?

“Sorry,” Y/N muttered. “I… I hope it’s not too much trouble. I honestly don’t even need to stay, I can just -”

“Y/N,” Mitch interrupted. He led her to the couch. “Sit down, please.”

All three of them settled into their seats, and Y/N rubbed her hands in nervousness. “Do you… I mean, do you guys know where Harry is?” she asked.

Mitch and Sarah shared a look. Oh no, she thought. They know?

“He was at the studio about an hour and a half ago, and he said he’d be heading home soon.”

Y/N let out a laugh. It was cruel, and bitter, and she didn’t know she had it in her, honestly.

“I need you both to be honest with me, right now,” she said sternly. “Did you know he is cheating on me?”

Mitch and Sarah gaped at her.

“Y/N, respectfully, I don’t think -” Mitch started, but Sarah held up a hand.

“Why do you think that?” Sarah asked, and then, through tear-filled eyes Y/N recounted everything.

By the time Y/N finished talking, her throat was raw and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Sarah slid a tissue into her palm, and Mitch sat forward, frowning deeply.

“That’s a lot,” he said carefully. “But none of it really sounds like proof. You know Harry, he’s clueless and blunt sometimes, but...”

“He’s not clueless,” Y/N cut in. "How could anyone be clueless about some thing like this?"

Sarah wrapped an arm around her. “Hey. You don’t have to explain anything. You need space, stay here as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” Y/N whispered.

Mitch sighed. “You're welcome for as long as you want, Y/N. But you need to speak to him once. I think, things could really be just mixed up."

Before Y/N could respond, Mitch’s phone started ringing. The phone lit up with a goofy photo of Harry, and Y/N choked on a sob. Her stomach twisted.

“No,” she said.

“Y/N…” Mitch said softly. “He’s probably worried sick.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” she said angrily, shaking her head. “Please, Mitch. Not right now. I need... I need you.” It was maybe, one of the hardest things she had said to them yet.

Sarah flipped the phone face down. "We're here, Y/N. Always."

Mitch stood up and moved to pat Y/N's hair. "Alright, Y/N. I'm going to go make you some tea and then we'll put some TV on, okay?"

Y/N nodded, grateful. She slumped against the couch, the emotions making her feel wrecked. Damn Harry. Damn her, for thinking that he was the one, for imaging them married and with children going on family vacations with Gemma.

After she'd had some warm tea, Sarah showed her to the guest room, and Y/N quite happily tried to melt into the sweet embrace of sleep. But it simply wouldn't come. She couldn't stop thinking of what Mitch said earlier.

He’s probably worried sick.

Good, Y/N thought bitterly. He should be. From outside, she could hear Sarah and Mitch shuffling around. Then Mitch's voice, clear as water, "H, mate, calm down, alright?"

Traitor, Y/N thought, but bolted out of bed all the same. She hurried into the room, her heart pounding, and caught Harry’s frantic voice bleeding through the phone in Mitch’s hand. Her head told her to not listen to him anymore, but her heart was still there - with him - and Y/N ran to stand next to Mitch. He looked up at her, frown etching his face, and Y/N resisted the urge to grab the phone from him.

"No," Mitch said firmly. "Harry, of course she is -" Mitch kept getting interrupted by Harry, and winced at Y/N.

"She's safe. I promise. You... you really fucked up, H," Mitch said and he ended the call.

"Y/N, sorry I woke you," Mitch murmured, clearly tensed.

"Is he..." Y/N asked, hating herself for it.

"No," Mitch sighed. "He looked for you everywhere. I had to tell him that we had you. I'm so sorry, but he sounded so broken, and he's also my friend, after all."

Y/N swallowed, feeling sick. They all stood there for a few minutes, unsure of what to say or do.

The knock came out of nowhere, rattling the door. And then, his muffled voice, raw and scratchy. "Y/N!” He pounded his fist on the door. "Y/N, baby, please!" Her stomach dropped and Y/N trembled with the need she had to reach him.

"Open the fuck up, Mitch! I need to speak to her!" Harry shouted.

Sarah stood from where she was perched on the couch and nodded at Y/N. "I'll deal with him."

Y/N couldn't see him, but Harry didn't try and push past Sarah, which was possibly the reason she went to the door instead of Mitch.

"Get her please, Sarah," Y/N heard him say. Then he yelled her name and Sarah shushed him. She whispered something, and then Harry's voice sounded again. "I can't calm down! She just left me, and I don't -"

Y/N stepped forward until he was in her view. His hair was dishevelled and his face twisted painfully at the sight of her. His eyes drooped as if he was pleading with her. He leaned forward, wide-eyed, as if he was about to fall down on his knees, begging. "Y/N, baby..."

"No," she snapped. "Don't call me that. I know everything, Harry. I saw you today."

"Saw me where?"

"With her!" Y/N spat. "In our cafe!"

A certain kind of understanding dawned on Harry's face. "Amy? Are you talking about Amy?"

"Oh," Sarah exclaimed. "Do you not know about Amy?" Sarah turned to Y/N.

"Who the fuck is Amy? And why were you... " Y/N choked on her words, but held up a finger out to Harry. "Why were you so cosied up with her? In our fucking seat?"

Harry looked pained. He stumbled backwards, as if her words had been a physical blow to him. Sarah still stood between them like a divider.

"You think, I... you think I would betray you? You think I'm cheating on you?" He looked disgusted to say the words.

Y/N’s lip trembled, but she stood her ground. “I saw you, Harry. Don’t make me feel insane. You're always on your fucking phone, you were never home!"

“Jesus Christ,” Harry swore. He paced about a bit, hands in his hair, and then back to Y/N.

"Amy is a colleague. She's not a permanent employee of the studio, she's just come in to help us plan some stuff, but fuck, I didn’t think...” He stopped, dragging both hands down his face. "I didn't think about how it would look to you. I didn't think about the cafe. I'm so sorry. "

"Plan what? You always tell me this stuff. You always told me everything."

"I still do, Y/N. I can't do a fucking thing without not telling you about it, that's why this has been so fucking hard..."

Y/N crossed her arms. "So you have been hiding something."

"Harry," Sarah interrupted softly. "Maybe you should come in."

"He's not stepping a foot in here until we clear this up," Y/N glared at him. Harry's face morphed into one of defiance.

“God, this is a fucking nightmare,” he mumbled.

"Oh, is it now?" Y/N yelled, advancing towards him. "You know what was really a nightmare? That night, when you came home late and I was half asleep on the couch, you were on the phone and I heard you."

Harry frowned.

"I heard you. Baby girl, you'd said. In that voice you use with me. So don’t you dare stand there and act like I’m imagining things."

Harry stared at her for a moment until recognition dawned on his face. “You… you heard me say that?” His voice cracked.

Y/N heart dropped all the way to her feet. Tears sprung free from her eyes, and at the sight of them Harry's entire body spasmed. He groaned, a bit dramatically, and then blew out a deep breath.

“Oh, fuck me. Oh, fuck. This is... this is so messed up.” Harry paced a step, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You think I was calling another woman? Christ, no wonder you’ve... you've been so... distant.”

“Then who was it?” Y/N demanded, her throat tight.

Harry looked at her, completely undone. His eyes shone. “It was my niece, Y/N. Gemma had the baby early. A little girl. My niece. I’d just gotten pictures."

Harry groaned again, as if to say this all hurt him. "I wanted to surprise you, make it special. That’s what I’ve been planning."

Y/N had a huge lump in her throat. Gemma had a daughter. She felt a surge of emotion. Gemma had a daughter!

Harry let out a short, bitter laugh. "Christ, Y/N, I fucking worship you. I can’t believe you thought..." He trailed off.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Y/N sobbed, her voice low, all the fight drained out of her.

“Because I wanted it to be a surprise!” Harry said, exasperated. “I thought it’d make you happy. I didn’t know it would... fuck, I didn’t know it would look like this.”

Y/N swayed a bit on the spot, and she felt Mitch come up behind her. She folded in on herself, guilt squeezing her in from all sides. "Oh God," she mumbled. The tears were escaping freely now, and Y/n squeezed her eyes shut.

Stupid stupid stupid, she chanted in her head. How could she be so fucking stupid?

"I... I don't... Oh god, I can't believe I -" and then she broke down, falling to the floor. "I'm sorry," she sobbed to no one in particular.

And then warm arms enveloped her. She breathed in his familiar scent as he gathered her up and positioned her on his lap.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered brokenly, almost to himself. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I do realise how it looked to you. I was distant, and I was unknowingly ignoring you a bit, but only because I was just so happy..."

Y/N shook her head. "As you should be," she said. "You're an uncle. You have a niece, Harry. She... she must be so pretty."

Harry smiled. Y/N lifted her face to look at him, and noticed that he had been crying too. "She is the most beautiful girl, second only to our future daughter," he said softly, and in one sentence Y/N felt her whole world come back to life.

Her eyes widened, and she looked up at him in shock.

“I love you so much," Harry said, palming her cheek. "I can’t lose you over something like this. I'm so sorry. I can’t believe this is what had been eating you alive.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You’re it for me, you always have been. I’d rather die than call someone else the things I call you.”

Y/N sniffled harder. How could she ever have doubted this man?

He pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I was going to take you today, to see her. If you still wanted to, we could go and meet our niece."

"Our?" Y/N asked.

Harry nodded. "Our," he repeated. Y/N smiled at him, relieved more than anything, grateful, and even a bit ashamed. She buried her face into his neck.

They stayed like that for a bit, until Mitch broke the silence. "Well, I better be the best fucking man at your wedding, H," he grumbled, and everyone broke into laughter.

******

fuckk this was such a ride. thanks for reading!!!! initially i wanted Harry to ask her to marry him at the end but then my tsitp trauma kicked in lol.

hope you liked this heheh.

[gurugirl]

F★ck You [1] | enemies to lovers | college au

| MAIN MASTERLIST |

Summary: You hate Harry, and he hates you. One fight turns into hot, reckless sex, and you both swear it’s only going to happen once.

A/n: This was first posted on Patreon in April of last year. It's a 3 part mini series. I'll upload one part each Monday. -- This is rewritten from the original (for any Patreon subscribers who want to reread it, it's the same idea, but reworked slightly). I hope y'all enjoy it! xoxo

Word Count: 5.6k

Warning: smut, size kink, degradation, a palm slap to the face, hurt and angry feelings, accidental exhibitionism, size kink, college au, mentions of marijuana and alcohol use

★★★

Of all the people in the world, it had to be Harry Styles that you were paired up with for the class project. A team of two. Who’d ever heard of two-person team anyway? Maybe if you had another person to be your buffer it wouldn’t have been so bad. So much easier to deal with his menacing eyes and that annoying, cocky attitude.

You hated him but he hated you just the same.

Harry, your ex’s best friend. The bastard who’d helped tear everything apart. Stan had dumped you almost a year ago, but the wound was still fresh because of how it had happened. You’d been blamed for cheating, which was obviously not true. They said you’d been sneaking around with Tommy. Harry was the one who handed Stan the “proof.” Screenshots, clipped and out-of-context texts, a neat little package tied up to make you look bad.

The truth? Tommy had been the one buzzing around you like an annoying fly that wouldn’t stop. It was a constant drip of sleazy jokes, suggestive messages that vanished after a day because he knew how to cover his tracks, cornering you when no one was around just to see if he could push you into giving in to him. He wasn’t even Stan’s close friend. He was just some hanger-on in their circle, but you’d never fed into his bullshit, never gave him what he wanted. 

Toward the end, when you caught on to what Tommy was doing, you left the texts unanswered, scrolled past them, pretended they didn’t exist, thinking silence was safer than stirring up drama. But at first? You did respond to a few of his texts. You didn’t know that those responses would somehow be damning proof of anything because you thought you were just being nice.

Your mistake. You hadn’t saved the messages, hadn’t warned Stan, hadn’t done anything but hope Tommy would finally get bored and move on. Instead, Harry twisted the whole story. By the time you realized what was happening, you weren’t the victim, you were the villain. The liar. The cheater. And Stan, hurt and furious, believed every word Harry put in front of him.

Harry raised his long, tattooed arm and sighed in annoyance as Mrs. Caldwell called him, “Yes, Harry.”

“Yeah. Sorry, but I’m not working with her. Switch me out. I’d rather tank this project than be forced to talk to her.”

You rolled your eyes as the teacher balked. “Mr. Styles, with all due respect, this is not negotiable. Teams are set. You will not be switching. If you choose to not work on this project, you’ll fail the class. This isn’t just a grade for a project. This is your capstone, your final. I suggest you swallow your pride and act like the adult you claim to be. You’re about to graduate from university, not kindergarten.”

Something that felt like vindication spread warm in your chest as you ducked your head, stifling a laugh. Served him right. The arrogant prick finally got put in his place.

★★★

Harry’s number was already in your phone, a leftover relic from the Stan days. Every time you pulled it up, thumb hovering over the message box, your stomach turned. He wasn’t going to reach out first, of course he wasn’t. He’d just sit there, smug, waiting for you to cave. Which you hated.

And you did cave. Because you weren’t the type to coast. You liked being ahead of the curve, projects drafted, a direction, something on paper... Harry was the opposite. He was the kind of student who thought “last minute”, as long as it got done, was just fine.

We need to figure out a topic so we have some idea of direction. Thoughts?

Delivered. Read. Ignored. All day. Then the next.

By the time you realized he wasn’t going to bother, you were already outlining the project yourself, typing notes, sketching a framework. Fine. If he wanted to rot, let him. After his tantrum in class, Mrs. Caldwell would believe you over him without a second thought.

A week crawled by and his silence was loud. No texts, no eye contact, nothing but a wall of deliberate indifference. So you sent him one last message. A final olive branch (because you were nice) before you washed your hands of him and let him choke on the consequences. Summer classes, delayed graduation, all of it. Fuck him.

And it came as no surprise when he left you on read. Once again. But it was no sweat off your back. You gave him a couple of chances and you were more than capable of doing the work on your own. So you buckled down, carved hours out of your free time, and built the whole damn project yourself piece by piece, determined that if anyone was failing, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be you.

.

Saturday night you found yourself relaxed on a couch at Ro’s off-campus house, the place that had become your unofficial second home. Her place was always buzzing with something going on. It was a hangout spot and a “halfway house” for lost students. It was warm, a little cluttered, and of course, weed and beer were always within reach. Exactly what you needed after a week of grinding and, more importantly, celebrating the fact that the project was done.

There were usually some faces you didn’t recognize, drifting in and out of the kitchen, sprawled on the floor, laughing too loud. That was normal because Ro and her roommates treated their house like a soft-landing spot for anyone who wanted to crash, smoke, and just chill.

You had just taken a long drag, the joint burning hot in your lungs, when it vanished. One blink and it was gone, plucked clean from your fingers. You straightened, startled, and followed the thief with your eyes.

And there he was.

Harry fucking Styles. Sliding into the sofa across from where you sat, like he owned the place, inked arm draped lazy across the backrest, joint poised between his fingers as if it had always belonged to him. He inhaled slow, lips wrapping around the paper, green eyes fixed on you. 

Why the hell was he at Ro’s house?

“What the fuck?” You looked around the living room and back to Harry. No one seemed to notice what had just happened.

“S’my weed. I brought it to share with everyone. But for you? That’ll be $20.”

Now heads turned and conversations quieted. The people who sat watching had no idea there was bad blood between you two. Only Ro knew to some extent, and of course she was nowhere to be found.

You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest as you settled your angry gaze on Harry. “Fine. Keep it. I don’t want your weed anyway. I’ll grab a beer.” You pushed up from the couch, ready to disappear into the kitchen.

But Harry wasn’t done. “No. I meant you owe me twenty. You’ve already smoked half this joint.” He brought it to his lips again, eyes glinting as he took another long drag.

Heat flared through you. “Fuck you.” Your finger stabbed the air toward him like a knife. “You know what? Enjoy that high, because you’re about to fail Caldwell’s class. I finished the project last night, every word of it, and tomorrow she’s going to hear exactly how much you did. Which is nothing. Zero. Which means you don’t graduate.”

A ripple of whispers rose up from your nosy audience now. You couldn’t believe you were arguing with Harry in front of half a dozen near-strangers, airing your dirty laundry like it was printed in a scandal magazine. But so be it.

Harry laughed, a low, mocking sound of disbelief as he shook his head. He leaned forward to stub out the joint in the ashtray, tattoos flexing as he moved. “You wouldn’t. Assignment’s not due for another two and a half weeks. That’s not fair.”

You shrugged and walked away toward the kitchen to grab a beer but Harry was right behind you, slamming the refrigerator door closed just as you’d pulled it open an inch. You turned, Harry’s chest inches from yours, green eyes burning down at you. “You’re not gonna really try and fuck me over me like that, are you?”

You tilted your chin up, lips pulling up in a smirk. “Oh, you fucked yourself over. I’m turning it in Monday. I gave you two chances, Harry. Two. That was more than you deserved.”

Something dark flashed behind his eyes and his mouth tipped in an annoying smirk. “You’re such a fucking brat. Good thing Stan figured you out before he got in too deep. His new girl? So much nicer.” He leaned in just enough for his breath to ghost your ear. “Definitely not like you.”

The jab sliced through you just like he intended it too. But you didn’t flinch, instead, you leaned in closer to him, eyes not wavering from him. “You were jealous. You didn’t like how close Stan and I were. And you know damn well I didn’t cheat. You were probably in on the whole scheme to get us to break up. You couldn’t stand that I had what you wanted.”

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing, then dipped for a fraction of a second to your mouth. “What I wanted? Jealous?” He let out a humorless chuckle. “You’re delusional.”

You yanked the door open, the force of it making him step back and you grabbed a cold can, cracking it open without breaking eye contact. “You always wanted to believe I cheated. Because hating me is easier than admitting how much I get under your skin.”

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move as you brushed past him. His stare burned into your back as you walked away, shoulders tight, mouth bitter. When you dropped back onto the couch beside Ro, who wordlessly handed you a fresh joint, your pulse was still hammering.

“It’s not Harry’s weed is it?” You asked her just as he walked back toward his spot on the couch, his eyes shooting daggers at you.

“No. This is from last week. The stuff Jerry brought over.”

You smiled smugly and took the joint between your pointer and middle finger and inhaled as you stared at him. You liked that he was so angry because of you.

 “Why is Harry here anyway?” You asked her quietly after you passed the joint to someone else.

“I don’t know. Maybe Karl invited him? He’s been hanging out with Harry a bit.” Ro didn’t know the whole story about how much you hated Harry. She only knew you just didn’t like him after you’d broken up with Stan. She heard bits and pieces. Enough to know you two didn’t get along.

When Harry shifted, the couch groaned under his weight as he stood and strode out of the living room wordlessly. You weren’t sure where he’d gone off to but you hoped that maybe he’d finally left. But, of course, you weren’t that lucky because not long after, when you and Ro went to the basement there he was with a dart in one hand, and a beer in the other. He wore a kind of tipsy confidence that left his eyes bloodshot, hazy, and stoned… maybe a mirror of your own. Then he glanced in your direction and cursed under his breath, jaw tightening.

“You know you could just leave if it’s that bad seeing me,” you called out to him, everyone’s attention suddenly on you. 

Eyes shot between you and Harry. A modern day duel was about to take place and no one wanted to miss a thing. You hadn’t meant to draw the room into it, but Harry had been grinding at your nerves all night and the words slipped free before you could stop them.

“Or you could just pay me the twenty you owe me and leave yourself.”

You put your hands on your hips and walked up to him, everyone watching you both, “And if I don’t pay you?”

Harry’s jaw clenched as he stared down at you, “Then it wouldn’t shock me. You’ve always had a way of twisting things to suit yourself.” His voice dropped lower, sharp and rough-edged. “Now get out of my space. I don’t wanna even look at you.”

“Then stop staring.” you scoffed, chin tilted up in defiance.

“Hey… you two?” Karl spoke up, “Can you chill out? Kinda fucking up the vibe here.”

You softened your stance and moved away toward a stool next to Ro. The last thing you wanted was to make anyone else uncomfortable. You didn’t care if Harry fumed, he deserved it, but the others didn’t.

Harry pointed at you as he took a dart in hand when it was his turn, “She doesn’t get any of my weed. Make sure she keeps her hands off my shit.”

When he aimed at the board you cackled loudly and he missed the target, dart thunking wide on the board. He turned, eyes sharp on you. As if his bad aim was your fault.

“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna touch your weed asshole.”

His nostrils flared as he stepped toward you, every muscle tight. “For fuck’s sake, will you just shut up?”

You stood, meeting his advance with a scowl, nearly chest to chest now, the air between you practically buzzing. “What? You gonna hit me?”

Karl wedged himself between you two, palms on Harry’s chest as he pushed him back. “Enough. Either take this upstairs and sort it out, or leave. Both of you. No one here signed up for World War Three. Jesus, you’re both insufferable.”

Harry didn’t drag his angry gaze from you as he grabbed his stash of weed and stomped away upstairs. You followed behind him silently as you tried to remember where you’d put your purse. You figured you’d just go. There was no point in staying around any longer. You and Harry weren’t built to exist in the same space.

“The fuck is wrong with you? You really think I'd actually hit you?” he barked as you passed. You ignored him and kept walking. Engaging felt pointless.

“What? You can’t hear me now?” His voice grew louder.

You rolled your eyes as you yanked your purse over your shoulder and then dug around for your keys but before you could find them Harry had his hand closed around your upper arm and he pulled you to the small laundry room at the front of the house. The door clicked behind you.

“You’re gonna talk to me now.” He shoved you against the cold metal of the washing machine, his breath close enough that you could feel it on your skin. ”I don’t like you acting like you didn't do anything wrong. All innocent when you know you're not.”

You wrenched your arm free, your purse thudding to the floor as you leaned back, planting both palms on the machine and sneered up at him. “You're a dick who made up a lie about me. You’ll get what’s coming to you when you can’t graduate this semester.”

Harry’s nostrils flared and he stood over you, a palm on the cold surface of the metal washing machine behind you “Fuck. You. You cheated. You lied. I’m glad Stan isn’t with you anymore.”

Something snapped in you. You slapped him, flat palm, hard… and he staggered back, a surprised, involuntary groan ripping from his throat as he pressed a hand to his cheek. For half a beat he stared at you like you were insane. Maybe you were.

“Did that hurt, pretty boy?” you said, grinning viciously as his hand still hovered where you’d hit him. “I hope it bruises and you have to walk around with a mark on your stupid face knowing that it was me who did it.”

“You put another fucking finger on me and I’ll make you regret it.”

A short laugh escaped you, breath hot, pulse thrumming against your throat. You sized him up… the way his shirt clung, the set of his jaw, and the reckless heat in his gaze. “Then back the fuck off,” you shot back. “Why are you standing over me like you’re gonna fight? I’m half your size, you moron.”

He didn’t move for a second, just watched you as his chest rose and fell. Then he removed his palm from his cheek and caged you in fully, your bottom pressed into the washing machine. Outside of the laundry room you could hear muffled music and laughter. But there was nothing funny about whatever was happening in that room between you and Harry right then. It seared, had your heart racing.

His gaze coasted down your frame and back up to your eyes. “You are half my size. So, if I were you, I’d be careful.”

“Why, cause you’re gonna hurt me? Gonna show me who’s boss?” You called him on his bluff.

“I fucking should. You’re acting like a child.”

“Well, you’ve got me cornered.” You spat, shoving at his chest. Hard muscle resisted under your palms, solid and immovable. “I have no choice but to defend myself. And I’ll do it again if I have to.” You shoved harder this time, both hands braced against him, but before you could get momentum, his hand shot up.

His fingers locked around your jaw, tilting your face toward his. His other hand clamped over your wrists, trapping them against the hard bulk of his chest. The warmth of his skin burned through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Last warning. Don’t touch me again.”

“But your hands are all over me,” your words were smushed from your mouth as he kept his fingers pressed into your face.

That earned you a short laugh, hot breath spilling over your cheek. “All over you? Please. In your fucking dreams.”

“Oh fuck you…” you spat. His face was so close to yours that you could smell the beer on his breath and see the specks of gold in his pretty green eyes. Stupid pretty green eyes.

His gaze dropped to your mouth and lingered. “No. Fuck you.” His voice came out deep, guttural, pulsing with something that wasn’t just rage anymore. It was molten, dangerous, red-hot.

“Fuck you, Harry.”

You didn’t know what had shifted but something happened and the tension between you two in that dark laundry room crackled and sparked until everything around you was aflame. His mouth crashed into yours, teeth clashing, lips bruising. He hauled you up onto the washer, metal groaning beneath your weight. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, pulling, as his hips wedged between your thighs. 

You bit his lip, hard, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. His hands roamed, one sliding up, wrapping around the front of your throat, holding you there like you belonged to him.

Everything was fury and molten lava. You grabbed his belt and yanked at it, unfastening, hungry as you felt him slide a hand under your dress and roughly push your thighs further apart.

“What would Stan think,” you gasped against his mouth, “about his best friend doing this to his ex?”

Harry’s laugh came out rough, low in his throat, as he shoved his jeans down just enough to free briefs. “He doesn’t give a fuck about you. No one does.” His words burned, but his body told a different story.

Your eyes dropped, throat tightening when you caught the sizeable lump straining under his briefs. “No one?” you shot back, voice sharp though your pulse was fluttering. “That hard-on says otherwise. Looks pretty damn happy to see me.”

His jaw clenched, but you saw the edge of a smirk on his face, betraying him. He pressed his palm to your mouth, eyes hot. “You don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

You ran your tongue against his palm, smirking under his hand, words muffled nonsense as his fingers slid under the lace of your panties where he learned you were wet. A wicked, menacing grin pulled at his mouth as he stuffed two fingers through your opening.

“Look at you… Hate me all you want, but you're soaked for me.”

A sharp breath shuddered through you as your walls clenched around his thrusting fingers. His touch was rough, invasive, but every drag of his fingers had your hips shifting helplessly.

And then he shoved his briefs down past his hips, cock springing free, thick and heavy, making your eyes widen before you could stop yourself. You’d wanted something to mock, something to cut him down with, but there was nothing laughable about him.

He caught your stare, smirk quirking up. Pulling his hand from your mouth, he gripped your hip hard enough to bruise. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Doesn’t mean you know what the fuck you’re doing. Bet you don't know how to get a woman off.”

There was a flash of wicked satisfaction across his face as he pulled his fingers free, snagging your panties to the side. “Oh yeah?” he snarled a laugh, rough in his throat. “I’ll make you come, and you’ll have to live with it. That the guy you hate most made you lose it harder than anyone else ever has. So you better enjoy it ‘cause this is all you’ll ever get.”

You reached down, fingers wrapping tight around the root of him, giving him a slow, taunting pull. “Enjoy it? You sure talk a big game for someone with such a tiny brain.”

His gaze dropped, dark and hungry, to where your hand gripped his shaft. He let you guide him, fingers tight around him, sliding the tip against your pussy, painting it through your folds before angling him back against your hole.

You bit down on your lip hard the moment he pressed his cockhead through your wet opening, your muscle stretching and straining wide for him. It was a lot.

He hissed through his teeth as he watched your pussy struggle to swallow him. “You can’t even take me. Figures you act all tough but now here you are whining because it’s too much.”

You grit your teeth, rolling your eyes, defiant even as your body trembled around him. Planting your feet on the washer’s edge, you forced yourself down onto him, inch by inch, jaw tight. “Idiot. You’re not that big.”

But it was a lie, and you both knew it. Every push was a struggle, your cunt clenching, spreading to fit him, sweat dampening your hairline. Harry stood still, smirk painted across his face, drinking in the sight of you fucking yourself down on him.

“Desperate, too,” he groaned, voice a low rasp. “Can hardly get it in, but you’re so needy you’ll wreck yourself trying. If you’d just let me do it we could already be nearly done here.”

“You’re such a dick.” You reached a hand up to his shoulder for leverage, fingernails digging crescents into his skin.

His lips twitched, amused as his tongue swept over them slow. “I am. Big one, too.”

It almost made you laugh. Almost. But you kept a look of disdain on your face as you worked yourself over him. Until he had had enough of your antics and dug his fingers into your hips to hold you still and drove himself in until he was buried inside you, hips flush with yours.

The strangled cry that ripped from you, betrayed your tough act, high and guttural, your nails scraping down his arm.

“That’s more like it. Now let’s finish what you started.”

Your mouth was wide open as you set your eyes on his and he began to fuck into you. At first, he was doing you a favor by slowly stretching you open. His length split you apart with every inch he pressed in until he reared back to his tip, only to fuck himself back into the hilt making you inhale sharply through your teeth.

The sound was slick and wet as he grunted with every thrust, your own gasps breathy and involuntarily pitched up a notch too high. He kept his eyes pinned to yours and you tried your hardest not to show any sign of pleasure on your face but it was impossible when you kept parting your lips to let out a moan. You clung to his arms, muscle and ink under your grip, desperate not to topple backward as each stroke rocked through you.

But his composure was just as thin. He tried to play it cool, jaw set, but the urgent guttural noises he made, and his aching hard cock twitching deep inside you, gave him away.

“Jesus that’s weak. Is that all you got?” You taunted.

Harry swallowed thickly, stilling his hips with his cock seated deep inside you. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He shoved at your shoulder until you leaned back, propping on your elbows, body bared open for him. Grabbing your left leg, he pressed your foot against his chest, his palm locking around your thigh. Then, without hesitation, he drove into you in one brutal thrust, his cockhead slamming against your cervix.

The gasp that ripped from your lungs was raw, punched out of you before you could bite it back.

He did it again and again until he’d gotten momentum and he was pounding into you, his cock coated thick in your arousal. His hips snapped against yours, cock sliding slick and heavy through your walls, each stroke wetter, filthier, your body betraying how much you wanted it.

Your face scrunched, torn between pleasure and pain, every nerve alight. He wasn’t gentle, not with his fat shaft splitting you apart, not with the way his tip bullied past resistance over and over.

With the way he was gripping your right hip and keeping hold of your left thigh you weren’t able to wiggle much as he drilled into you. He was panting, pink lips falling open, gaze dropping to where his cock disappeared inside you, glistening with your arousal.

“Fuck…” he grunted and shot his gaze up to your eyes and then back down to the dirty scene where his bare cock was destroying the pretty pussy of the girl he hated more than anyone.

The truth was that he’d always thought you were way hotter than you deserved to be.  A brat. A liar. He’d convinced himself you were trash. Snobby, fake, guilty of screwing around on his best friend. He’d believed the screenshots because he wanted to believe them. Wanted an excuse to hate the way your laugh pulled attention, the way your lashes batted when Tommy leaned too close at parties.

And now, with you clenched tight around him, the lie and the hate blurred until all that was left was raw, consuming lust. 

Harry snapped his hips harder, faster, making the washer slam against the wall with every thrust. His heavy balls slapped against you, the sound dirty and brutal, and the cry that tore out of your throat was nothing like disdain, rather, it was desperate, broken, aching.

“Oh my god… oh fuck...” you tried to swallow the sounds, biting them back, but Harry’s cock drove through you mercilessly, punishing, deep, every thrust stealing another ragged moan. His muscles were tight and he kept going, unrelenting, until his own groan cracked loose from his throat.

You drew your fingers down, slid them over your clit, and circled fast, your head tipping back. The rush of it was dizzying. Letting him split you open in the laundry room of your friend’s house, of all places. You hated him for this. Hated him for ruining Stan, for turning friends against you, for branding you a liar. For humiliating you. And now here you were, whimpering for him, body betraying the truth you’d never give him out loud.

“That’s it,” he rasped, eyes locked on you as his hips slammed forward. “Knew you’d like it. Gonna hate yourself after this for how much you love this cock.” His words came out shaky, something between tight and breathy. The man was enjoying it too.

His words vibrated through you, and you snapped back, breath catching between thrusts. “Just like you’re gonna hate… yourself for fucking me. For…” a moan tore free, “…your dick getting hard because you couldn’t resist… fuck!” You moaned and continued as you brought your gaze back up to his, “Dragged me in here… so you could finally feel me… bet you’ve been… gagging for it all this time.”

His precise, brutal pounding turned into sloppy, deep thrusts as he dropped his head down and kept his eyes on yours, pupils blown out, pink lips parted, “Fuck you, Y/n.”

“Fuck you, Harry.”

You felt that slippery tingle wind over your limbs, over your thighs, and through your belly as you circled your clit, your fingertips grazing his thick cock as he dragged in and out, strings of slick sticking to his base and your cunt every time he parted his hips from yours just before plunging back in.

He let go of your hip, hand coming up to grab your jaw, and forced your mouth open as his cock drove deeper. His stare burned into yours, before he spit straight into your mouth.

You groaned, shocked, instinct screaming to spit it back, but his lips crashed into yours, tongue shoving in, sealing it. You had no choice but to swallow as he kissed you like a man starved, and the humiliation twisted into pure heat. And that was it for you. Your orgasm hit hard, tearing through you, your cunt clenching around him in desperate, pulsing waves.

Your moans poured into his mouth as he kissed you hard, fucking you through it, hips never slowing, cock dragging every tremor from your body. His own voice broke, moaning into you, raw and guttural, as he felt you clamp down around him.

Harry fucked you through every second of it, long messy strokes, leaving you wrecked, branded, exactly like he promised. He was making sure you’d have something to remember him by.

The minute your body stopped fluttering around him and your tremors eased, Harry dragged himself out of you, fist clamping around his slick cock. Before you could even register the loss he pulled you off the washer and guided you down onto your knees. He grabbed the back of your head, fist furiously pumping himself, cockhead slipping against your lips, and then, held you still, and pressed himself past your lips. The heavy weight of him filled your throat as hot spurts of release hit your tongue. 

You sputtered, swallowing around him as he groaned above you, a sound that was all relief and ruin, cock throbbing against the back of your mouth while his heartbeat thundered under his skin.

Harry drew away from you silently when he’d emptied himself down your throat and put himself back into his underwear, fixing his pants up. But you could see that his chest was heaving, his face was flushed, his eyes glistening.

You used the washer to pull yourself upright on shaky legs, wiping your mouth and tugging your ruined panties back into place. One shoe was gone, maybe he’d pulled it off, or maybe it had just fallen, you couldn’t even remember.

He gave you a quick once over before he spoke. “That was worth about twenty bucks,” he said hoarsely. “No need to pay me for the weed. Call it even.” And just like that he opened the laundry room door and walked out.

You scoffed but your throat was too scratchy to talk back. 

A few deep breaths later you hobbled to grab your purse and you saw Ro standing at the door with her arms over her chest, “Really? Was that necessary?”

“What? Could you… did you guys…” Your stomach dropped.

“Yes. We heard everything. Every word, every noise. The laundry room has a big open vent that leads down to the basement. Jesus, Y/n.”

You were stunned as you covered your face and blinked down toward the floor, “I’m so sorry…”

“Well, at least this means you don’t hate each other anymore.”

If only. She hadn’t heard everything. Not the spit, not the way his words still cut, or the things you'd said back to him. You still hated him. Hated him more, in a way, because now you knew you’d be thinking about him long after tonight… about his hands at your throat, his body against yours, his cock splitting you open. A man you’d tried to forget now burned into your memory.

But at least you knew that it was probably the same for him. He was probably kicking himself for letting it get that far. Probably wishing his cock hadn’t gotten so hard at the sight of you, wishing he hadn’t shown you that you were a weakness he couldn’t control.

You could walk away from it knowing you were both on the same page. That it had been unforgettable but that you’d rather gouge your eyes out than breathe the same air as one another ever again.

And at least you had one final blow, something that gave you the upper hand in the end. That he’d fail the class when you turned in the final project. That he’d be unable to graduate with you and that felt like the kind of vengeance that was justified for someone like him.

With that in mind, you removed your hands from your face to look at Ro, “No. I still hate him. Fuck Harry Styles.”

.

part 2 coming Oct. 6

★★★

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★★★

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[daylightmidnights]

Fics I Read This Month | September

September 1st - Harry is a demon and Y/N is cute by @jawllines (miss jaws WHERE IS THE PART 2, why why why... I know this is really really old but I need a second part because wth this was so cute made me all warm and mushy, noooo i need more of this!!!) || Says Who? by @gurugirl (demonrry, filthy smut like really filthy and yeah I read another demonrry the same day. I know!!! I'm having a demonrry moment okay? Is that so wrong?!)

2nd - Teenage Dirtbag by @freedomfireflies (frat harry, secret relationship, smut) || Everyone Wants Him @practistyles (frat harry, secret relationship, angst and fluff)

3rd - Harry is known as the mean professor, but at home, he’s far from that with his wife Y/N. by @missluckycharms (this is a sub harry fic, ik it's not for everyone but it's nice) || Face Down by @ghstyles (boyfriend harry, light dom/sub dynamic, smut, fluff) ||Newlyweds picture blurb by @jarofstyles (soooo cute I wanna cry)

4th - Harry is the bad boy cliche of Y/N’s dreams, she just doesn’t know it yet, check-in @jawllines || Mr. And Mrs. Styles by @maladaptivescorpio (spy au, both of them are spies, working together for a mission, their dynamic is so fun, kinda enemies to lovers, because she has one sided beef with harry which I think is justified given her past experiences with male co workers, and the characters are written sooo good, the plot and the details everything is so so good, can't wait for more)

5th - Little Secret by @harrywavycurly (professor harry, secret wife, fluff and smut, loveeeee it)

7th - Thirty Minutes by @harrywavycurly (part 2 of this)

8th - 12th - Harry is Y/N’s new bodyguard and Y/N’s sure they’ve met before, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 by @jawllines (bodyguard harry, childhood friends, crimes and stuff, slow burn, smut eventually, really really good story btw)

14th - Sunday Softies Series: Little Reminders, Peace And Quiet, Loved You Better by @harrywavycurly || Scrub In by @ghstyles (doctor harry, he's very arrogant and insufferable at first, lots of tension, well written, very detailed, really really fun to read)

16th - MeanKing!Harry Part 8 by @gurugirl (feeling too many complicated feelings after reading this chapter, I hope they'll be okay and our sweet stupidly kind Queen would actually be safe from now on)

19th - Scrub In 1.5 by @ghstyles (another little part of doctor harry fic from harry's pov, really good)

23rd - The Massage Gun by @watermelonlovershigh (this is a tiny husbandrry smut piece) || Mr And Mrs Styles: Dinner Party by @maladaptivescorpio (I am so glad this "blurb" is not actually a blurb, things are getting more interesting aahhhh I love them)

26th - Boredom & Blind Dates by @erodasfishtacos (doctor harry, this is so good and the plot is so interesting, I'd like to read more but this is a patreon exclusive series, still absolutely worth reading this 1st part though)

27th - Right On Time and Stubborn @ghstyles (I love my His Angel babies so much I could cry, I did get teary eyed while reading stubborn ughh I just love them)

28th - Harry owns a candle business, Part 2 by @jawllines || All For Me? by @gettingyourselfwetforme (hot smut, gentle aftercare)

30th - Temper by @harryhitties (possessive, jealous and kinda rough husband harry, smut)

[practistyles]

Omg please tell me the cheating is a misunderstanding😭 if not I hope Harry suffers SO BAD!!!

ahahahaa yes it kind of is a misunderstanding! i dont want to give too much away but its a happy ending.

im really struggling to find any time for writing but things are coming soon!!!!