Summary: Little glimpses into you and Harry’s relationships, navigating his fame and chaotic life.
Words: 1.5k
Warnings: fluff, mentions of sex (no descriptions), kind of sucks, oh well lol
/Time won’t wait for me/
Harry was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. London. Los Angeles. Berlin. Paris. Milan. He was constantly traveling, on tour, trying to visit friends and family, writing music. It felt like time was constantly against him. Like the world was spinning around him, months going by with no stationary. Though he had wanted one, he didn’t have time for a relationship.
Until, of course, he met you.
Then, it became both of you in motion. Good luck kisses backstage, late night car rides in new cities you had never been to (that he knew pretty well at this point), sleepless nights in the fanciest hotels. It's easy, in the honeymoon phase, to find the time, but as you get more settled into a long term relationship, and the world keeps spinning, it can be hard to keep up.
He was always present but, with the nature of his job, it felt like he was never fully there. These trips, although fun, were not a vacation with him. The goodluck kisses were interrupted by someone dragging him to the stage. The late night car rides were interrupted by work phone calls. The sleepless nights were ruined with early call times. It felt like if you stood still, he would pass right by.
“I’m so sorry, hun. I really wish I could stay here with you.” Harry leaned down, softly kissing you. He was fully dressed, having to catch an early studio session, while you were still in bed, naked from your escapades of the night before.
“Don’t worry about it.” you quietly replied, a sting of sadness piercing your heart, while you also knew it was not your place to be sad about your boyfriend doing his job. He kept kissing you, leaving the softest kisses all over your face with his flawless lips, an apology he didn’t need to make.
/Tokyo scene/
Tokyo slowed him down.
Not all at once. But the city demanded a different kind of presence from him. The noise was still there, the crowds, the lights, the movement, but somehow it didn’t reach him the same way. He was quieter here. Watching everything. Taking it in.
You saw him without the performance for the first time. Not Harry Styles, the brand, or Harry-on-stage or Harry-being-needed-by-everyone-all-at-once. Just Harry. Hands tucked into his coat pockets, smiling to himself like he was relieved no one expected anything from him, grabbing and embracing you, even in the most public of places.
Of course it wasn’t 100% quiet, his Japanese fans were still very adoring, but it wasn’t chaotic. It was simple.
There were no late-night parties. No chaotic after-hours plans. He stayed clean here, not just from drinking, but from disappearing into distraction. Mornings were slower. Meals were intentional. He ate like someone who wanted to remember the taste of things.
You started to fall into small rituals with him. Frequenting a vending machine outside your hotel that sold coffee in cans. Night walks where neither of you felt the need to fill the silence. Long conversations that didn’t go anywhere specific, just circled around thoughts he’d never said out loud before.
“I love you.” He blurted out at you, as you stopped for a moment on your morning walk.
You chuckled, he had said it before, but the randomness was amusing. “What was that for?” You asked, smiling up at him.
“I don’t know, I looked at you and…you’re just perfect.”
It felt unfamiliar. Almost fragile. Like if you named it, it might break. But this time, you didn’t feel like if you stood still he’d pass you by.
This time, he didn’t disappear.
/I wanna know what safe is / I won't stray from it/
Your love continued to manifest in different ways, very quickly in the shape of a shared space. For now, it was Harry’s home in London. You would leave notes on the counter for each other. Simple “I love you’s”, “Have a great day”. Shoes were kicked off by the door. Forgotten errands that somehow felt sweeter than big plans ever had.
Harry had learned, after years of traveling and work chaos, that stability didn’t need to mean boredom. Especially with you. You were both full of light and energy. This new stationary setting lit a fire in your relationship.
Stevie Nicks was playing softly from the speaker on the counter, something slow and warm, filling the kitchen with sound while you stood at the sink, rinsing vegetables, half-distracted, thinking about nothing at all. Harry hovered nearby, pretending to read something on his phone before suddenly setting it down.
“Come ‘ere” he said, already reaching for you.
You laughed, protesting weakly as he pulled you away from the counter, hands warm and sure as he tugged you into the middle of the kitchen. At first it was ridiculous…he spun you too fast, pulled you into a clumsy, exaggerated dance that made you snort with laughter. Your forehead bumped his chest. His feet stepped on yours. Neither of you cared.
Then he slowed it down. One hand settled at your waist, the other lacing his fingers through yours, your cheek resting gently against his chest. He swayed you back and forth like there was nowhere else he needed to be.
“I could stay in this moment forever.” he murmured, almost to himself.
/Aperture, let the light in/
There was no single moment where everything clicked into place, no grand decision that split his life into before and after. It came quietly, when you both slowed down. These mornings didn’t feel rushed. Waking up to you, in his bed, his arms wrapped around you, or yours wrapped around his, no alarm blaring in your ears.
Harry still wanted everything he’d always wanted, the tours, writing music. Music was still a hunger in him, still something he chased. But it no longer felt like something he had to outrun for the rest of his life.
He realized he didn’t want less, he just wanted it differently. Slower and with you.
He started choosing longer stays instead of quick turnarounds. Letting himself breathe instead of constricting himself to a tight schedule. Inviting you into the process, into the quiet parts of creation, into the spaces he used to keep separate. It wasn’t about giving anything up. It was about widening the aperture, letting more light in without fear of being exposed. You watched him learn how to live inside his own life instead of sprinting through it.
And standing there with you, it finally made sense. This was the balance he’d been looking for. This was how he wanted to live now.
/We belong together / It finally appears/
Love didn’t erase the chaos of his life, it learned how to live inside it.
Mornings started slow, even when the day ahead wasn’t. You’d wake up tangled together, his arm heavy around your waist, his face pressed into your shoulder like that was where it fit best. Sometimes his phone would buzz too early, schedules and calls and reminders pulling at him, and he’d groan softly into your skin.
“Five more minutes,” He’d mumble, voice thick with sleep.
“You said that ten minutes ago.” you’d Joke, fingers tracing the tattoos on his arm.
He’d hum, tightening his hold. “Still stands.”
On tour, life bent around the same rhythm. Backstage kisses before shows, you would watch from the wings sometimes, arms folded around yourself, pride blooming in your chest as the crowd screamed for him. Afterward, he always found you first…sweaty, breathless, eyes bright.
“There you are,” he’d say every time, like he hadn’t known exactly where you’d be.
Late nights meant hotel rooms and takeout eaten on white sheets, his legs stretched across your lap as you absentmindedly rubbed his calves. He talked about music the way other people talked about weather, constantly, instinctively. But with a passion of his own. You listened, always.
“Does it make sense?” he’d ask, suddenly unsure.
“It always does.” you’d say.
There were quiet days too. Grocery runs in baseball caps and sunglasses. You held the list while he pushed the cart, tossing in things you didn’t need.
“We already have pasta.” You’d say.
“Yeah, but not this pasta.” He’d reply seriously, earning an eye-roll and a laugh from you.
Sometimes you forgot who he was to everyone else. You remembered when strangers stared or whispered. He always reached for your hand then, grounding himself, and you.
One afternoon, weeks later, you were sprawled on the couch while he sat at the table pretending to check emails. You barely noticed when he paused, brow furrowing slightly.
“Hey, love?” He said casually.
“Mm?”
“What’re you doing Thursday?”
You shrugged. “Nothing, I think. Why?”
He smiled to himself, tapping something into his phone. “Just booked us an appointment.”
“For what?”
He looked up then, eyes soft, open, certain. “Thought it might be time we pick out some rings.”
Your breath caught. He stood, crossing the room in two strides, kneeling in front of you, not dramatic, not rehearsed. Just real.
“It’s only love,” He said gently, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “But I want it forever. With you. Everywhere.”
ꕤ｡˚⋆ ࣪Summary: The one where you fuck Harry at the afterparty.
♡A/N: Somewhat based on this⟶request, with my own spin on it.
♡ WANT MORE? All future Tumblr stories will be posted to Patreon for free:
♡Patreon Link: -> HERE <- ♡
ꕤ｡˚⋆Word Count: 5.5k
ꕤ｡˚⋆Warning: 18+ SMUT with a little plot!
You were bored, that’s what it was. You came here with your friend, hoping for a good time, but you knew as soon as she teased you with the word “Party” earlier that night, she meant networking. Really, you were proud of her, always on her grind. Good for her for knowing how to decipher the two. But you didn’t, nor had you come here planning to. Because as soon as you realized whose afterparty this was, you had one mission and one mission only. Because you told yourself the second you saw him from across the room, that you weren’t leaving this party without fucking Harry Styles.
Fuck he was hot, and the sight of him was enough to make it easy to commit to that sure decision. Even from a distance, your body sensed him before your brain was fully aware of its findings—his broad shoulders in whatever mouthwatering, sexy, tight shirt he was wearing. It was the way he was standing with one hand loose around his glass as if he had nowhere else to be that stole you. The low roll of his laugh reached you through the noise, making your stomach dip, heat pulling in a desperate ache of want between your ribs, and you had to press your thighs together just slightly, dulling the pulse thickening, before you schooled your expression into something bored and unbothered. Mission first, you thought.
So you sat back and waited, observing as everyone baited for his attention, seeming uninterested. Especially when the two of you were introduced. Your friend was already in work mode, giving you the perfect opportunity to silently sip your drink and scroll through your phone as if you wanted to be anywhere else but here. The thought made you horny, even if you were playing this game alone. Because just that idea itself was enough to feed that pulse between your thighs as you stood there, sucking the last bit of your drink through your straw.
That’s when you looked up from your phone, red painted lips still wrapped around your straw, and caught Harry’s gaze on you. His eyes were trained on your face, and as your straw fell from your mouth, they dropped to your lips as you smoothed them together, a small curve of a knowing smile turning at the corner. You knew exactly what that looked like—your mouth, wet and red, pulling slowly off a straw while he watched. And knowing he was watching, knowing what he might be thinking about your mouth right now, sent another wave of heat through your body, the type of heat that settled low and stayed. But you paid him no mind, because this was the mission and you were sticking to it no matter how fucking attractive he looked standing there.
“I’m going to get a drink,” you told your friend, leaning in, your pitch polite, trying not to interrupt the guy she was talking to about some kind of venture, something about pricing, blah, blah, blah…
Your gaze skimmed over the small group, landing on Harry long enough to know he was still looking, and you took that as your cue to give him the immaculate view of your ass walking away in a dress you knew was hugging the curve of your hips and ass perfectly. You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to. Because you knew he was looking, you could feel it. Could feel the attention on your body like a hand hovering just above your skin, and the attention of it hummed through you with each step, chills rising with the slow heat building between your legs that had you squeezing your thighs together as soon as you made it to the bar. Your mind was playing at foreplay, and he hadn’t even touched you yet.
You stood at the bar, phone in hand, not even pretending to look at anything on the screen—it was just a prop at this point, something to keep your hands busy while you waited. Because you knew he would follow. Felt it the second you walked away, that invisible cord of desire stretching between you, and sure enough, a shift in the air to your left told you he was there before you even looked.
And you didn’t—not fully. Just caught him in your periphery, the shape of him settling against the bar beside you, having every reason in the world to be there, while you kept your eyes down and slid your phone back into your purse.
“Two shots of your best tequila,” you told the bartender, calm, voice easy, like your pulse wasn’t about to fucking detonate beneath your skin.
After you watched him pour a hefty gulp into each glass, he placed them in front of you, then looked past you. “And for you?”
“Just water,” Harry said, and you smiled, pushing a breathy laugh through your nose. Water? At his own afterparty? You could feel him studying the side of your face, deciding how to play this, and you let him take his time, knowing you had nowhere else to be but here.
“Enjoying the party?” he asked casually, testing the climate. You were sure of it.
You tilted your head, eyes still forward. “I don’t know. It’s kind of loud… and everyone seems to be trying too hard.”
Your ear pricked up at the sound of his small chuckle, a low breath through his nose you could feel running over your skin, and when you glanced over, there it was, a smirk pulling at the edge of his heart-shaped lips, slow and curious.
“And what makes you different from the rest? What are you trying to do?”
This had another laugh rising, and your gaze dropped to your dress, and you pulled the hem down, being sure to draw attention to the tight silhouette.“I’m not trying to do anything.” You turned toward him then, letting your eyes settle on his face for the first time. “I think at the moment I’m waiting for you to find a chance to get away from all of this.”
You picked up the first shot, held it for a beat while holding his gaze, and tipped it back. The tequila burned clean down your throat, and you set the glass down and dragged your thumb across the corner of your mouth, trying not to grimace at the taste, watching him watch you do it.
The bartender returned with his water, and the silence stretched between you, filling with everything neither of you had said yet. You could see it working through him—the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the way his eyes searched yours like he was trying to figure out if you meant what he thought you meant. He hadn’t said no. He hadn’t walked away. He was standing there, glass of water untouched, processing the fact that someone at this party full of people clawing for his attention had just laid it out that simply.
He recovered well, though. Leaned into the bar a little, let that leisure smile come back like he was still in control of this. “Why don’t we have a drink first?”
You slid the second shot toward him, the glass catching the low light as it came to rest in front of his hand. Your eyes locked on his, steady and unflinching, as you leaned in, close enough that your lips nearly grazed the shell of his ear.
“Listen,” you said, your voice low enough that only he could hear it. “Everyone here wants a piece of you. But me? I only want this one night.”
Then you pulled back. Just enough to see his face. Just enough to watch the shift happen. To watch the subtle drop of his expression from charming to something more primal, something hungrier, his jaw feathering as the flirtation gave way to something tangible.
He looked over his shoulder.
Your eyes followed, gaze pushing past the clusters of people, past the noise, past all of it, to the glowing red of an exit sign at the far end of the room, and your heart kicked hard against your ribs.
Would it really be that easy, you wondered.
When he turned back, your gaze swept to his, and the look in his eyes made your breath hitch with a giddy anticipation in your chest.
“Do you see that exit?” he asked, voice dropping, picking up the shot. But he didn’t take it yet. Instead, he held it there, keeping you on that edge as the moment stretched, making you wait, and your mouth watered as you watched his long fingers wrap around that small glass. Then he tipped it back, throat working as he swallowed, and set it down with a quiet tap.
“There’s a private bathroom back there. For the special guest… just for me.” His eyes dropped to your mouth, then back up. “I want you to go there. Get yourself ready. And when I knock on that door—want you ass out, leaning over that sink… ready to take me.”
His words pummaled into your chest like a fist—a rush of heat so blunt it almost made you dizzy. He held your gaze for one more second, long enough for you to understand that this wasn’t a suggestion, and then he straightened up, flagged the bartender, and ordered another round like he hadn’t just set every nerve ending in your body a blaze. But you held your composure, and you knew that would count for something later.
When the shots came, he took his and walked back toward his group without looking at you, his demeanor smooth and easy. Like nothing had happened. You watched him go, heart hammering, pounding through your ears like a beating drum, then picked up yours and knocked it back, the burn barely registering over the adrenaline already flooding your system as you peered around the room to see if anyone was watching.
With shaky hands, you set the glass down. Grabbed your phone. And walked toward the exit sign, keeping your walk steady and sure, as you promised yourself that you could do this, that the hardest part was over. Because you knew this was a ‘Fake it till you make it’ kind of moment, and now you were going to have to see this through.
The hallway was quiet, only muffled bass, the distant hum of voices, and you found the door exactly where he said it would be. A single bathroom, clean and private, and you added to the list of rooms in your mind that existed specifically for moments that no one was supposed to know about. You locked the door behind you and stood there for a second, hands pressed flat against it, and exhaled a nervous breath.
Holy shit was all you could think.
Your hands were still shaking—a fine, visible tremor that you observed when you held them up in front of you, and a disbelieving laugh slipped out of your mouth before you pressed your fingers to your lips to stop it. You couldn’t believe that worked. You couldn’t believe any of this. Fifteen minutes ago, you were scrolling through your phone pretending to be bored, and now you were standing in Harry Styles’ private bathroom waiting for him to come fuck you, and fuck, your heart was pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat, your wrists, between your legs.
You set your purse on the edge of the sink, fingers fumbling slightly as you unzipped it. “Condom first,” you whispered to yourself as you fished it out and set it on the counter where he would see it. Then you reached under your dress, hooked your fingers into your panties, and shimmied them down your thighs, stepping out of them one heel at a time. You folded them and tucked them into your purse, feeling like you might actually know what you were doing.
You were already wet. Had been since the bar, honestly—since the straw, since the walk, since he leaned in and told you exactly what he wanted. The tension had been building for so long in your mind that it almost ached now, a heavy, restless throb that made you press your thighs together just to satiate your swollen clit, just to feel something.
You turned to the mirror, taking in your reflection, your flushed cheeks and parted lips, the dress that was giving you your money’s worth. Call it vain, but the sight of your own reflection, knowing what was about to happen, sent a fresh wave of heat rolling through you. You looked like someone about to get fucked. You looked fucking hot, and you weren’t afraid to think it. Because how else had you gotten here? It definitely wasn’t your personality this time.
Your hand moved dutifully, doing as you were told, and slid down your stomach, moving under the hem of your dress, fingers finding the slick warmth already waiting there. The second you found your clit, you exhaled a shaky breath of relief, and let your eyes fall half shut in the mirror as you touched yourself, moving in slow circles just to make sure everything was ready. Just enough to take the edge off. Enough so that you wouldn’t fall apart the second he put his hands on you.
But it felt good, so fucking good, your body so wound up that even your own touch had your breath hitching. Your free hand was gripping the edge of the sink, and your hips tilted forward into the pressure of your fingers as the filthy images of what this could be started playing behind your eyes—his hands gripping your hips, the stretch of him pushing inside you, the sound of skin against skin in this quiet room—
That’s when a knock sounded at the door, the first one jolting your eyes open, the next two quickly snapping you back to reality.
Your hand stilled. Your breath stopped as your eyes went wide in the mirror, and for one suspended second, the only sound was your own heartbeat roaring in your ears. You pulled your hand from between your legs, turned around, smoothed your dress down, and opened the door.
He slipped in fast—the muffled noise from the party swelling for just a second before the door clicked shut behind him, and then it was just the two of you in the small, silent room. He was close. Close enough that you could smell his warm skin, smell the drink on his breath, and his eyes moved over you slowly, taking in the blush on your chest, the rise and fall of your breathing, the fact that you were exactly where he told you to be.
“Good girl,” he rasped, and those two words dropped through you like a stone into water, making your knees go weak.
Without hesitation, you turned around without being asked and moved to the sink, placing both hands flat on the counter, fingers spread wide on either side of the ledge, and arched your back, letting your dress ride up over the curve of your ass as you bent forward. You heard him draw in a sharp breath, and just like that, his hands were on you, warm and wide, sliding up the back of your thigh and pushing your dress the rest of the way up.
“So fucking hot…” he breathed to himself, his hunger rising, his want making your pussy walls clench around nothing.
His fingers skimmed over your bare skin, trailing the curve of your ass, the tips of his fingers dipping inward just enough to feel how wet you were. The sound he made was like revving an engine, low and deep, bordering on a groan and a laugh of disbelief, the sound making you drop your head between your arms.
“You’ve been thinking about this,” he stated. No question about it.
“Since the second I saw you,” you admitted, and you didn’t even care how desperate it sounded because it was the truth, and pretending otherwise felt pointless when you were bent over a sink with his fingers sliding through the mess you had already made of yourself.
You reached for the condom on the edge of the sink and held it up over your shoulder, not looking back, just offering it between two fingers.
“Put it on.” You told him.
The sound of him tearing the foil wrapper open with his teeth sent a thrilling lurch of eagerness straight through you, and you watched as Harry’s hand started working at his pants in tandem, your fingers curling against the cool surface of the sink, listening to every sound echo through the bathroom. Behind you, you heard the rustle of his belt, the drag of his zipper, and then the loaded hush of silence that told you he was rolling it on, and your breath went shallow as you dropped your gaze, drawing in a long, silent breath to collect yourself.
Then his hand was back on your hip, and you flinched. Not from the fear, but from the electricity of it, the heat of his palm pressing into your skin, taking lead now, his grip possessive, and your body responded by arching your ass higher, already needy as you deepened the arch, your ass pushing into him on instinct.
“Easy now…” he rasped, and his thumb traced a slow line across the small of your back, the gentleness of it surprising you. It wasn’t what you expected from a man who had told you to bend over a sink and get yourself ready for him. But then you felt it, felt the thick, unrestrained head of his cock dragging through your folds, not pushing in, just feeling you, spreading the slick mess of your arousal over your entrance. He was big. Big enough that the first pass of him against your entrance had your fingers tightening on the basin of the sink, your hips tilting forward, half chasing as you braced for impact.
“Breathe,” he instructed, low and even, and you realized you had stopped. You sucked in a quick breath and let it out slowly, and then he pressed forward, just the tip sinking past your entrance, the stretch hitting you like a wall. And somewhere in the back of your mind, past the haze, a thought slipped through unsolicited—that the man who was easing his cock into you had a Wikipedia page, had performed at stadiums, had been someone you had watched through a screen for years—and now he was here, as real as the sink your fingers were digging into, and the absurdity of it made your fucking head spin in a way you would be reeling over for weeks when this was all said and done.
“Oh my fucking… god…” You breathed, your voice cracking, and your head dropped, chin to your chest, every muscle in your body pulling tight as your walls strained to adjust to him.
But Harry didn’t rush at first; he held still. His hand slid from your hip to the curve of your waist, thumb pressing and circling small, grounding caresses into your skin. He was restraining himself, holding back. You could hear it in the control of his breath, and that alone sent a fresh rush of wetness around him.
“Gotta tell me when,” he said, “Gotta tell me how you want me to fuck you…”
You nodded, eyes squeezed shut, forcing yourself to relax around his girth, and when the burn began to dull into something warmer, something your body was starting to recognize as good, you rolled your hips back, just enough to take another inch, and your eyes caught his parted lips in the mirror as a groan left his mouth.
“There you go… take what you need…” he breathed, his grip tightening, and he fed you more, inch by slow inch, letting your body swallow him at its own pace until his hips were flush against your ass, every thick inch of him buried inside you. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything except grip the sink and exist around the fullness of him pressing against all the places inside you that made your fucking vision blur.
“Fuck—That dick is so good.” You forced out, dropping your head again, the words punched from your lungs as your walls clenched around him involuntarily, and Harry hissed through his teeth, his hips jerking forward, pushing deeper, and you gasped, slamming a palm flat against the mirror.
That’s when you looked up again, reminded of the mirror as the chill seeped into the tips of your fingers—and there you were. Your cheeks were burning, ravaged already, lips parted, eyes glassy, your hands splayed against the glass, leaving a smudge of heat, and behind you, Harry, jaw clenched in concentration, chest heaving under that tight shirt, his hands seizing your hips like he was holding himself together. Your eyes met in the reflection, and that’s when something shifted between you that made this feel less like a game and more like a challenge neither of you could back down from.
He pulled back, slow, dragging himself almost all the way out, and you watched his face in the mirror as he did it, watched his brow furrow. Watched the parting of his mouth, and the way his abs clenched beneath the hem of his shirt riding up, one of his ferns peeking through, making your pussy spasm around his tip. Then he drove back in, harder this time, pushing a whimpered, broken moan from your mouth that bounced off the tile walls.
“Look at yourself,” he commanded, “Want you to watch me fuck you,” He told you, his voice gritty already, and you did, eyes trained on the mirror as you watched your body rock forward from the force of him. You were watching the way your tits bounced under the fabric of your dress, eyes catching the fever creep up your neck and chest like a rash, and it was filthy, watching yourself get fucked by a man you had known for less than an hour, and you fucking loved it. God, you loved every fucking second of it. For a split second, your brain processed the image in the mirror like it belonged to someone else—like a clip you had stumbled across online, the kind of thing you would screenshot and send to a friend with no context—and then his hips snapped forward and the thought shattered, replaced by the blunt, undeniable reality of Harry inside you, and you were back in your body so fast it gave you whiplash.
Before long, he was finding a rhythm, forcing deep, intentional strokes that started slow and built with every thrust. His grip had migrated from your hips to the curve of your waist, pulling you back onto him each time he needed you closer, like the space between your bodies was a nuisance he had to control with force. And you gave it back, rolling your hips to meet each stroke, angling yourself so that the head of his cock dragged against that spot inside you that made your thighs shake, because you hadn’t walked into this bathroom to be a passive participant. You came here to get what you wanted, and what you wanted was to come on his dick, and you were going to make damn sure that happened.
“Right there—don’t move—just like that,” you panted, adjusting the tilt of your pelvis, planting one hand on the sink, and bracing. Harry was a giver, you could tell by the way he listened. Could tell by the way his thrusts sharpened, his body holding the angle to give you what you wanted with each stroke. That’s when the pressure began to build inside you like a fist tightening, a hot, dense curl low in your belly that pulsed with every snap of his hips.
“God—you feel good…” he moaned as his hand slid up your spine, fingers spreading wide between your shoulder blades, pressing you down so your chest was nearly flat against the rim of the sink, your face buried near the faucet. He was forcing himself deeper, the new depth making your eyes roll back, drawing a ragged sound that tore from your throat like an animal.
“Harder,” you demanded of him, because whatever gentleness he was preserving had served its purpose, and now you wanted the rest of him, wanted what his voice at the bar had promised, and Harry obliged. Because the next thrust landed with a force that shoved your hips into the basin edge, knocking the air from your lungs, and you gasped, bracing both hands against the mirror, watching the glass fog around your fingers.
His pace was turning punishing, and the sound of the wet, rhythmic force of his body meeting yours filled the bathroom, mixing with the rasp of your breathing and the low, bitten-off grunts he made every time he bottomed out inside you. You could hear everything: the slick noise every time your bodies connected, the squeak of your sweaty palms sliding down the porcelain as you tried to hold on, the way his breath hitched just before each thrust, like he was savoring the pull before the push—and you were losing it.
Desperate, your hand dropped between your legs because you were close, right at that edge, your body trembling with it, and your fingers found your swollen, slippery clit, your cunt already begging for contact. The second you touched yourself, your walls seized around him, and Harry swore out something loud and lewd behind you, his grip bruising on your hips.
“You touching yourself?” he asked, breathless, voice ragged, and you nodded, too far gone for words, your fingers working your clit in tight, fast circles as he fucked into you, and you watched yourself in the mirror—watched the way your hand was moving between your legs, watched your mouth dropping open, watched Harry behind you, his head tipped back, tendons straining in his long beautiful neck, fully lost in the feel of you.
“I’m gonna come…I’m going to—fucking come—” you warned him, your voice sounding distant to your own ears, a whine thin and desperate, as that curl of pleasure coiled inside, growing tighter and tighter. With every thrust, the pressure bloomed white hot, each one feeling like it could break you, but you were ready for it.
“I like that—want you to come for me. I can feel you,” he said, and his hand fisted into the back of your dress, yanking you back onto him as he drove forward, and that was it.
Because there was nothing more glorious in that moment than the collision of his body against yours and the pressure of your own fingers as his commanding voice rang through the bathroom, snapping that building coil. In seconds, your orgasm tore through you so hard that your vision whited out completely at the edges, your walls clamping down around him in thick, uncontrollable waves as your tiding ecstasy crested through you, your moan ricocheting through the space. Your legs buckled as your forearm slammed into the mirror, your forehead falling into it with a soft thud, and you rode it out against the sink, shaking, hand still pressing to your clit, drawing out every last wave until you were gasping, spent, your body still twitching around him with every aftershock.
When Harry said he was close, you could already feel it in the way his thrusts turned erratic, becoming short, desperate spurts, his grip on your hips almost painful, his breathing shot, just as ragged and open-mouthed as yours. He was right at the edge. Now, there was only one thing left that you wanted to do.
So, without warning, you pulled forward, his cock sliding out of you, and you turned around on shaky legs, dropping to your knees on the cold tile floor, the look on Harry’s face pained, brows furrowed, like what the fuck are you doing? Your hands found his hips to steady yourself, keeping your gaze focused on him, and reached for the condom. And there it was again—that flicker of recognition of whose dick was about to be in your mouth. The face above you was one you had seen on album covers, on talk shows, on the side of a bus once in a city you couldn’t remember, and now it was flushed and desperate and looking down at you like you were about to deliver him of all his sins. There was triumph in that, of being the reason that face looked like that, and it hit you somewhere deep and greedy, somewhere you would hold forever.
“What are you—oh—fuck—” he started.
You didn’t answer, just kept with your task at hand. Quickly, you were rolling off the condom, your movements decisive and swift, tossing it toward the trash without looking, and you wrapped your hand around his bare cock. His dick was hot and throbbing in your grip, and Harry let out a strangled, helpless sound that filled your ears, sending a surge of power through you that rivaled the orgasm still echoing through your limbs.
You didn’t tease. You knew what you wanted. You opened your mouth and flattened your tongue, ready to take him in as your lips began to stretch around his thick head. It was a rush, the size and the taste of latex giving way to the salt of his skin and the faint, musky tang of your own arousal, and you groaned around him, the vibration making his hips jerk forward, inching him deeper.
One of his hand landed on the back of your head, resting there, fingers curling into your hair, and you opened your jaw, taking him further, relaxing the tight muscles fighting him, until he slid past the flat of your tongue and hit the back of your throat. You didn’t take your time. You pulled back, sucking hard on the head, and tonguing the sensitive ridge beneath, then dove back down, your hand working the base of his shaft in time with your mouth. Harry’s head fell back in surrender, his other hand joining the other on your head for stability, and you knew you had won.
“Fuck —fuck, I’m—” he choked, and his fingers tightened in your hair, his thighs tensing under your hands, and you felt his cock swell at the back of your throat, the pulse of it against your tongue, and you hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder, taking him as deep as you could. Just like that, he came with a guttural groan that sounded like it was ripped from an animal, as his cum shot hot and thick, hitting the back of your throat in waves, and you swallowed around him, your throat working, not pulling off until you had taken every last drop, and his hands went slack in your hair.
Satisfied, you sat back on your heels, wiped the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand as Harry stepped away, and you looked up at him just as his back was thudding against the wall. For a long moment, you sat there taking him in—Harry braced against the wall, chest heaving, eyes half-closed, looking thoroughly and completely destroyed.
When his fucked out gaze met yours, he smiled, and you smiled back, tongue dragging across your lower lip.
“Thanks for making the party interesting,” you told him, grabbing the ledge of the sink to pull yourself up.
He laughed, “No… I think I should be the one thanking you. This party was already getting redundant…” He told you, fumbling with his pants, working them back up, the belt buckle still attached, and clinking, “It’s the third one this week…”
“Bummer, I’m sure…” You retorted sarcastically with a smile while fixing your own clothes, then turning to the mirror to fix the mess of your lipstick, and catch the mascara about to run. Behind you, Harry was sharing the mirror with an amused smile, pulling himself together much quicker than you.
As you reapplied your lipstick, he leaned forward, resting his hand on your low back, crowding your space as he took one last good look in the mirror. “I guess I’ll see you out there…” he said casually, catching your gaze one last time in the mirror.
“Yeah… I guess I should go find my friend.” You answered, distracted by the smudge of lipstick you were trying to fix at the corner of your mouth.
When he pulled away, he made sure to clean any mess, throw out the condom and wrapper that had missed the trash. Just as he was about to leave, he stuck his hand under the automated hand sanitizer pump, and you laughed as the sound of the machinery filled the strangely comfortable silence. When you looked over your shoulder, he was smoothing it over his hands, and he grinned, dimples dipping, probably sensing your gaze on him.
“Gotta stay clean, you know.” He joked, “Thanks again… that was truly a treat.” Speechless for the first time, all you could do was smile, holding up a hand to wave goodbye.
And just as he was about to turn away, he added, “Oh—and tell your friend to call my team. I liked the pitch she was giving earlier. Very clever. I need more people on my team like that.”
Then he was letting himself out and closing the door behind him, and you rushed over to the door and locked it, needing a moment to lose your shit. Because HOLY FUCK, Harry Styles just fucked you, and now you were going to have to go back out there and act normal.
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hi!! i love your texting stories and was wondering if you could do something angsty with comfort? reader and harry are arguing over something stupid and then she stops replying so harry spams her thinking that it’s because she’s mad at him and done with the conversation but really she just got in a car accident. you could have her either be driving and using the text to speech on carplay or she’s with a friend who’s driving and she’s in the passenger seat! that way she’s not texting and driving cause that’s a big no!!! but basically harry is actually scary mad and is not playing around but then he finds out she was in an accident (whether that’s a medic letting him know or she just texts him that she just got hit but it’s no biggie even though it probably is cause she’s just in shock). i’d just love to see something angsty with a comfort ending please!! 💕💕
Hiii babes!! Sorry this took me way longer than it should to get this out but I hope you enjoy and I did it a little different I added a blurb at the end because it just felt like they needed some in person closure to their little fight! Thank you for being so patient and lovely!!!💖
Texting BF Harry Styles: Here
CW: this is dramatic so minor language, mentions of hospital, small accident, minor injury, angst, protective Harry, arguing and some fluff at the end
Word Count: 2.7K
A/N: I haven’t done this style text request before so tell me if you like having a little blurb at the end and honestly you should’ve known who you’d be in the car with so if it comes at a shock I’m sorry😂 enjoy💖
Summary: You and Harry have a little argument and he only sort of spirals when you stop replying in the middle of it✨
Harry isn’t exactly sure how fast he was driving or how many minutes it took for him to pull into the parking lot of the hospital after leaving the house, but he knows it couldn’t have been that long since the radio station he was listening to barley made it through their commercial break before he was putting the car in park. After turning the car off he sits there for a moment trying to clear his head so he doesn’t go in there and do exactly what you asked him not to and that would be cause a scene, he knows you’re okay for the most part so he tries to hold onto that knowledge as tightly as he can while getting out of the car and heading for the front doors that say “emergency” in bright red letters above them. There’s a tightness in his chest and a lump forming in his throat he knows will only begin to ease up once he gets to see you, because you’re good at making even the worst of situations seem like no big deal and Harry is working overtime to try not to let his mind get the better of him as he walks up to the front desk.
“Uhm good evening I’m looking for-”
“Mr. Horan and Mrs. Styles right?” Harry’s eyes widen at the sound of you being referred to as his wife but he quickly recovers and just nods making the lovely woman sitting behind the desk, whose name tag says Stephanie with a little heart sticker next to it give him a warm smile before pointing towards the hallway to his left. “Second door on the right.”
“Thank you.” She just gives Harry and nod but before he walks away he quietly clears his throat before he leans over the counter just a bit. “D—do you know uh if she’s—she’s okay?” Stephanie’s face softens as she reaches out and places her hand over his that’s resting on the counter near the clipboard for people to check in.
“She’s going to be just fine.” Her words bring Harry a small sense of relief as she gives his hand a pat, he gives her a smile before turning and heading off towards the hallway your room is on. He isn’t more than a few steps down the hall when he hears a very familiar Irish accent trickling out from a door that’s partially open that has a hospital security guard standing outside of it who is holding back what Harry can only assume is a laugh.
“M’not eatin that—not even on my worst day could you get me ta eat bugs and worms for a measly twenty five grand—ruinin’ a perfectly good mash.” Harry quirks a brow at the muffled words his bestfriend is saying as he approaches the door, giving the security guard a polite nod and tight lipped smile when the man recognizes Harry after a swift once over and moves to the side.
“That’s because you’re a ninny—I think the trick is don’t chew so it’s not all crunchy…just take small bites and swallow.” You explain as Harry pushes the door open just enough for him to fit through but just a he’s about to say something the door clicks closed behind him making Niall let out a small squeal and your hand to fly up to your chest as the two of you look over at him from where you’re cuddled up next to each other on the standard sized hospital bed while a rerun of some reality show plays on the tv hanging on the wall across from it.
“Jesus Harry ya bout gave me a fuckin’—owe what was that for?” Niall’s eyes narrow as he glares at you while rubbing the spot on his arm you just punched.
“Watch your language.” You tell him making him roll his eyes as he starts to get up from his spot on the bed, Harry watches Niall stand up and wince a little as he brings his left wrist that’s all wrapped up to his chest as he walks around the end of the bed.
“How bout you watch my perfectly toned arse as I walk out of here and leave you two fighting chickens alone for a bit—how’s that sound?” You flip him the bird as he turns to look at you over his shoulder making Niall laugh and stick his tongue out at you in response.
“Fighting chickens?” Harry asks with a raised brow as he looks Niall up and down, only finding a few scratches on his arm and a bruise above his knee that he can see thanks to the navy blue shorts he’s wearing.
“Yeah you two just peck at each other until one of ya walks away with a few less feathers and a whole lot of wounded pride.” Niall explains with a shrug as Harry moves to the side so Niall can open the door. “And for the record yer the one usually walkin away with no pride and no feathers.” He adds in a hushed tone as he pulls open the door making Harry give him a sideways glare that causes Niall to let out a laugh as he steps into the hallway. “Tootles.” Is all he says before he’s closing the door behind him leaving you and Harry alone in the small room.
“You’re still in your shorts.” The sound of your shaky voice has Harry’s heart twisting into a knot as he turns to face you making you look down at the blanket tossed over your lap not wanting to look at him just yet, he takes a slow step towards the side of the bed as his eyes roam over your face.
“I know.” He says softly as he looks over the small gash above your right eyebrow while taking another step closer to you, not wanting to crowd your space and accidentally upset you since he knows the last time the two of you were in the same room together this morning it didn’t go so well.
“You lied.” Harry knows you’re not just talking about the fact he made it seem as if he changed out of his gym clothes so he just nods as he stands just a single step away from being able to reach out and grab your hands that are folded together in your lap.
“I did and I’m sorry.” You turn your head to look away from him to hide the way your bottom lip is starting to quiver but it allows Harry to see the bruise on the side of your neck from your seatbelt, the sight of the red and purple mark has his heart plummeting to the pit of his stomach. “Baby.” You let out a sniffle as Harry closes the space between himself and the side of the bed so he can reach out and gently tuck his thumb under your chin. “Please look at me.” You let him turn your head so you’re looking at him and when your tear filled eyes find his Harry thinks he finally understands what the true meaning of the word regret is because he knows his behavior this morning mixed with his inability to try to see things your way and understand how you’re feeling is the reason you have tears threatening to spill over your lash line and stream down your face.
“I don’t—don’t want to be mad at you anymore.” You tell him as he moves his hand so it’s softly cupping the side of your face. “But I am—I’m so mad at you.” Your voice is watery as you let out a deep breath while Harry does his best to keep his own emotions at bay. “And I—I know you love me Harry and I love you too—but sometimes you forget that my life is my life and it doesn’t always revolve around you.” You wrap your hand around Harry’s wrist as a few tears roll down your cheeks.
“You don’t even ask me anymore if I want to go to events with you—I just get told the plans the day before or the day of and that’s not fair to me Harry because I always ask you before agreeing to something for the two of us and—and you always forget even when I write it down on the calendar you lied about checking every day and—you expect me to cancel the plans I made for us or myself and I do—I don’t ever hesitate I just do it and that’s—it’s my fault for letting you think it’s okay but it’s not—my plans are just as important as yours.”
Harry stands there, running his thumb up and down your cheekbone trying to soothe you in anyway he can as you tell him how you’re feeling. With every shaky breath and quiet sniffle that comes out of you he feels a tiny piece of his heart break off and crumble because he knows there’s been times he’s informed you the day of a dinner party or an event some head of the studio needs Harry to attend and he knows that’s not okay but what he didn’t realize was just how much of your own life you’ve been giving up so you can be a part of his. You’ve been a part of his life for so long he’s begun to take your love and support for granted, you knew how hectic his life could be and yet you chose to stick around, helping him control the chaos as much as possible and somewhere down the line Harry stopped checking in and making sure you’re still happy and this life with him is something you still want.
“You have to do better because-” Your words get stuck in your throat as you try to hold back a sob and Harry doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his chest, his hand moves to gently hold the back of your head while you press your cheek against the soft material of his t shirt.
“I’m going to do better.” He promises as your arms wrap around him while his other hand runs up and down your back. “I can’t live in a world where you’re not the one I get to come home to so—I’ll do whatever it takes.” He feels your body shake as you let out a quiet sob, your tears start to dampen his shirt as he tightens his hold on you just enough to let you know he’s not going anywhere. “I’m sorry—I’m so so sorry I’ve been taking your love for granted and—and making you feel like your plans don’t matter and your life should just revolve around mine—I never meant for you to feel that way and I’m so sorry that I let it happen.” Harry swallows down his emotions as he places his lips to the top of your head while your hands clutch onto the back of his shirt as if you’re afraid he’s going to slip away.
“We both let it happen.” You mumble into his chest as he places a few kisses against your hair. “I’m sorry I called you a jackass—and an asshole I didn’t mean it.” Harry lets out a breathy chuckle as he gives you a small squeeze.
“Yeah you did but that’s okay I deserved it.”
“Yeah…you did.”
“I’m going to start checking the calendar twice a day when I’m home.” He tells you as he feels you pull away from the comfort of his chest, his hands cup the sides of your face so he can wipe away the last of your tears with the pad of his thumbs as he looks down at you. “I’m going to ask you first before agreeing to things and I’m—I’m going to get better at showing you how much you mean to me because you—fuck baby you mean everything to me.” He doesn’t even realize a few tears have slipped past his waterline until your soft hands are wiping them away. “Please tell me you forgive me? Or—or just tell me what you need from me so you can because I don’t want-”
“I forgive you Harry.” Your words cause a wave of relief to wash over him as you pull his face down towards yours so you can press your lips against his in a sweet kiss.
“I told Mitch we couldn’t go to his dinner because we have an engagement party that night.” He tells you as you pull away from him but his hold on your face keeps you from getting too far away. “That is if you’ll still let me be your plus one.”
“You’ll have to fight Niall for that spot—know he loves a good engagement party.” Harry lets out a laugh as you gently bump your nose against his.
“I think I can take him now that he’s got a bad wrist and wonky knees.” The sound of your laughter gets cut off by Harry’s lips finding yours in a deep kiss that has your hands tangling in his hair as he leans over the side of the bed. “I love you.” He says as he tries to catch his breath after pulling away.
“I love you too.”
“Ready to go home or did you want to finish this episode of—what show is this?” Harry asks as his hands slide down to the tops of your shoulders as he stands up and looks over at the tv on the wall. You let out a laugh as you give his chest a playful pat.
“Yes I’m ready to go home and it’s survivor—it’s quite entertaining and—oh Niall needs a ride home as well.” Harry playfully rolls his eyes as he looks back over at you while your hands slide down his chest until they are resting back in your lap.
“Fine we can take the hobbit home that’s-” Harry forgets what he was about to say as you toss the covers off of your legs revealing a few bruises across the tops of your thighs.
“Don’t look at me like that—I’m fine I promise.” You tell him in an attempt to get the worried look off his face but it doesn’t seem to help as his hands reach out to help you sit up so you can slide down to the end of the bed. “Did you mean what you said? Will you really get me a new disco cup?” You ask as you grab one of Harry’s outstretched hands so he can help you stand up.
“Yes baby I’ll get you a new disco cup.” He answers with a smile as you let him help you walk towards the door after grabbing your purse off the little table next to the bed.
“God I can’t believe you came here dressed like that.”
“I was in a rush and I didn’t cause anyone any health issues on the way here or cause a scene.”
“But still—you’re showing so much leg in a hospital Harry.” You argue as he opens the door for you, the nice security guard gives the two of you a smile and follows behind you towards the front desk so Harry can sign you out.
“I’m sorry Mrs. Styles—next time I’ll come dressed more appropriately.” He teases making you roll your eyes when he shoots you a little wink. “Did you do that on purpose? Have them call you Mrs. Styles?”
“Yes—wanted to see how it sounded before I agree to being called that permanently.”
“Oh well how does it sound to you then?”
“It’s not bad—kinda like it.” You answer with a shrug making Harry fight off a grin as he just nods and adjusts the strap of your purse on his shoulder.
Summary: “Kissing and I hope they caught us, whether they like or not.” // As Harry’s girlfriend steps into the spotlight, Harry is cautious but unapologetic about his love for her.
CW: slight angst (negative fan reaction, implied hate, rumors/backlash) strong language used, nicknames (sweet girl, baby, babe, pretty girl, no y/n), fluff, kissing
Word Count: 3.5k
Pairing: Famous!Harry x girlfriend!fem reader
Location: UK / USA
POV: readers, third person
Harry pic from here!
💌 A/N: Hellooo gorgeous! This idea came to me while listening to Doja Cat’s “Agora Hill’s”! Fun fact — agora hill is hinted at the word ‘agoraphilia’—a psychological term and fetish for sexual arousal in public places or wide-open spaces. Hence the ‘show you off’ type of thing but this fanfic doesn’t dive into exclusively sexual content— Harry indeed wants to navigate his private relationship in the public eye! Even though it has to do with famous Harry/Harries, it’s all just fiction! Hope you like it! 💛
Relationships were never easy. Regular relationships were tough, full of ups and downs, sacrifices, complicated compromises, outside opinions and loads of effort. Even the best relationship had their problems and required quality time and care to sustain them.
Now, try multiplying that on a massive, global, public scale. Under the spotlight, opinions were made before they could even correct them. Harry gave her the rundown, explained how difficult and overwhelming the attention could be. Still, Harry’s girlfriend didn’t stray. She understood that his brand and the attention he got would always be a part of him but certainly not the only part. She began to date Harry late into his break and when he finished his fourth album, the conversation of whether they were serious or not came rather quickly.
“So, you’re 100% in?” Harry asked, giddy. “Because once we’re out there, it can get a bit mad.”
“I want you and this is a part of you. A very important part of you that I’m very excited to see and witness.” she explained gently. “I love you, all of you Harry.”
“I love you, sweet girl. So much.”
Being Harry’s partner came with perks — endless travel, so much love & care, an abundance of gifts — big and small, tons of yummy food from places they could only dream of. The thought of, “what the fans might think”, never occurred to her. Harry did his best to distance her from the spotlight for as long as he could. He created a bubble of security that he was able to maintain during his break. He would fill their time with private rose filled, bubble baths situated in a luxurious flat in Paris. With the warm evening sun decorated the walls, casting a perfect shadow of the Eiffel Tower against the limestone — it was protected.
He filled her days with so much positive energy, genuine amusement and joy that she was unaware of the quiet storm that followed.
No, she didn’t think about the endless scrutiny or backlash she faced after pictured with him. Never that, Harry maintained the bubble of protection well. And it worked for a while. He had one strict rule, not to have a look at Twitter or scroll through his comments on Instagram. He always said — “if something happens baby, I’ll be the first to tell you. Other than that, it’s just noise.”
That was at the beginning of their relationship after they were first spotted hand in hand. She still could remember the lecture Harry gave her a day before.
“When you’re out with me, strangers or fans might come up to us. No matter what, I’ll always protect you.” Harry explained, “most of the time, it’s harmless… a small interaction, a few minutes.”
As famous as he was, she wasn’t expecting anything less. Harry adored his fans and would make time for them whenever he could. It didn’t matter if he was running late to a meeting or stopped multiple times, he knew how important it was to them. Plus, it was equally as important to him, asking for their name, giving out a hug, it never bothered him. He handed his fanbase with so much love and care, it made sense why so many people adored him.
The first time they officially went out, a fan stopped Harry politely to talk. Harry’s girlfriend stepped to the side, watching the sweet interaction. The fan smiled and waved her hand, and she returned the gesture with a big smile. Just like anything else, Harry grabbed her hand before crossing the busy pavement — not much came of the three minute interaction, or so she had thought.
“You okay?” Harry checked in as they walked.
“Yeah, that was really sweet actually.” She grinned, “they just adore you.”
Later the same day Harry’s publicist, Hilary called. Harry excused himself but she could still hear the conversation faintly.
“Yeah, it’s personal. I mean, she’s my girlfriend but they don’t need all the nitty gritty details,” Harry explained into the phone. “Just keep it limited please,” Harry asked, politely.
Harry was desperate to keep his personal life private but he also made it clear — “I’ll never hide you baby, if you want to go out then we can go out. Whatever you're comfortable with,” he promised. What was tricky was the fine line between being seen with him and protecting their private moments.
Once Harry’s relationship news broke, everyone had a camera and was eager to get a shot of Harry, especially the paparazzi. Harry explained that they got paid extra for exclusive photos of him coupled up. Suddenly, it didn’t matter if it was a fan, the general public or paparazzi — if they were visible, they would be photographed. The bubble that Harry created for protection popped and the new dynamic created some unresolved tension.
The media conversation happened, then happened again once more photos were leaked. Public opinions on every little thing sparked like a wild fire on Harry’s social media — Twitter, TikTok and every other platform known to man.
“Just promise me you won’t look at it. They make up shit without even half about you or our relationship,” Harry firmly said one night in Berlin. The hotel was starting to feel suffocating, aware of all the watchful eyes as Harry geared up to promote his album. Their usual private, low profile dates were starting to feel like a public chastising, always found and photographed.
His girlfriend made sure to keep a straight face, not overly happily but not stone cold — just normal. Apparently that encouraged a great amount of backlash too.
“What are they saying now?” She dared to ask one night after Harry got news that more photos were leaked.
“Nothing,” Harry sniffled, tucking his phone away. “Nothing newsworthy,” he promised but curiosity sparked inside her again. ‘Don’t look at it, it’s best you don’t know’, the little voice in her head told her. She fought the urge by deleting most of her social media apps on her phone, a trick Harry taught her when the noise got too much.
When Harry’s tour started, Harry allowed her to choose her attendance level. He made it clear that he’d love to see her at his shows but understood if she needed a break. After the first show, it was like a drug — the thrill of watching him on stage was an addiction. It became easy to support Harry. She’d bond with his family and friends, invite her own, sing along to all of his lyrics and dance happily inside the private box far from the stage.
She thoroughly supported Harry, going to show after show. Away from the internet, she was curious about what fans were thinking or saying. It was only human nature but she didn’t dwell on it. For her, it wasn’t out of boredom or clinginess. She knew how grateful she was to be able to watch him perform each night.
“I’ll send a big wave up to you baby,” Harry promised, his sound assistant connecting his inner ears box to the back of his pants.
“Oh, actually Brad and I talked about going down to the pit after a few songs,” her voice came out confident as ever. Her eyes softened as Harry’s hard gaze landed on her. She could feel the protectiveness radiating off of him.
“The pit?” He questioned, a small concerned look flashed his features before he excused the sound assistant. He stepped closer, his hands reached out towards her, interlocking their fingers. “That might be a bit…” he was searching for words, not wanting to police her but give her a quiet warning. “Loud,” he said, figuratively and literally. When she offered him a small nod and reassuring smile, all he could say was — “have fun, stay hydrated and dance if you want,” before pecking her lips.
The pit was loud, louder than she ever expected. Fans screamed as Harry walked by and screamed again when he went away. Everyone shared a collective longing for her boyfriend, something that she admired deeply and never wanted to take away from him. She knew how hard he worked and deeply respected his talent. She deeply respected his fans and appreciated their dedication. They deserved to have so much fun, scream, cry, laugh and dance all together, if they wanted too. They made the experience enjoyable and entirely theirs.
For the first few songs, nobody really paid any mind. She danced alongside fans with Brad, having a great time. She sang all the lyrics to Harry’s songs and enjoyed watching him come alive on stage. It wasn’t until Harry took a small break, Brad was dragging her to a new spot when they got stopped.
“You’re Harry’s girlfriend!” A girl from a group of fans beamed excitedly with an outstretched finger.
“Yes, I am.” She smiled back, “Are you having fun?” She asked, wanting the conversation to stay light and directed away from her.
“So much fun!” The fans beamed together, “can we have a picture?” Another asked.
She thought about it for a second, looking at the small group of girls with their attention turned towards her. The outcome of a simple ‘yes’ versus a polite ‘no’ crossed her mind as she made her decision. “Oh, sure!” She settled, a smile spread across her face as someone snapped a quick photo of them with the stage shining bright in the background. “Have so much fun and enjoy the show!” She told them happily before Brad ushered her away.
“That’s went well,” was all Brad whispered in her ear before they started to dance again. The simple, pleasant interaction was forgotten as she watched her boyfriend perform.
Late that night Harry was fresh out of the shower, toweling his hair. The question came out light, curious and unaccusing at first.
“So, when you were in the pit did any fans interact with you?” He asked, a thoughtful look on his face.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you a group of girls asked for a photo,” she replied quickly, taking another bite of the fruity candy that sat on her lap.
Harry didn’t say much at first, just nodded.
“And they were nice?” He questioned, a cautious tone carried through the air.
“Yeah, baby. They didn’t say anything mean,” she thought back to the interaction, replaying it in her mind. “Why?” She drew out, giving him a look.
“Were you… polite?” Harry sounded like he didn’t want to ask but needed to confirm.
“When am I never not polite, Harry?” She frowned, sitting up against the fluffed pillows more. “Why would you ask that?” She deadpanned, a warmth rising through her.
Harry rounded their shared bed, a sigh escaping his mouth before he could stop it. He no longer seemed curious, just dreadful like some news was coming that he didn’t want to share.
“I ask because my publicist left me a voicemail while I was in the shower followed by some urgent texts.”
She frowned, her eyebrows closing in as her face grew worrisome. “About what?”
“Some fans said you were… unsavory, to put it lightly.”
“What do you mean? I was nothing but nice,” she frowned, shaking her head as the interaction rolled through her mind again. “I was polite, Harry. I took the photo and told them to enjoy the show, it all lasted a literal minute,” she defended.
“Was there anything else? Any point during the show that maybe you were looking… unhappy?” Harry questioned, carefully. “Or maybe you said something a bit too loud that was supposed to be private?”
“What? No, never!” Her heart began to race, feeling utterly confused and equally tense. “I enjoyed it like anything else,” she crossed her arms. “What are they saying?” She asked, pointed.
Harry let out a sigh, his hand running over his face as he sat quietly.
“Harry?” She questioned, “you promised to tell me if something happened.” She reminded him, not wanting to pick a fight but hold him accountable.
“You’re right baby, I just —,” he sighed again. “Some fans just said some things on twitter that kinda made you look bad,” he said carefully.
“Like what?”
“Like jus’…petty stuff, probably out of jealousy or envy.” His lips formed a thin line as if he was thinking about how much to say.
“Okay, but like… what? Give me an example.”
“They said, “she didn’t even want to take the photo,” and how you seemed a bit upset that the person asked.”
“That wasn’t the case at all, I was just going through the whole situation. You know how it goes, I didn’t know if I should say yes or not.”
“I know baby, I’m sorry. I just — ,” he let his head fall, looking into his lap as he played with the hem of the damp towel. “There’s a lot of unkind things going around right now about you, about us and I can’t always be there to protect you.”
“You don’t have to be, Harry. I can handle it,” she breathed out, “I know what this was when I agreed to be your partner.”
“I know baby but still, it’s… it’s overbearing at times and I don’t want it to overwhelm you. That’s exactly why ‘m so strict about social media.”
“I won’t look at it,” she half promised, feeling a tinge in her chest. “The comments, the tweets.”
“No baby, I mean… think no social media at all for a few days, okay? Please, for me?”
“It’s that bad?” She frowned, “I can’t even go on my personals?”
“No, I’ll tell you when you can go back on.” Harry offered as if it was some type of compromise.
She scoffed, she couldn’t help it. A part of her knew he was only protecting her but it felt restrictive and she hated that feeling. Harry hated that feeling so, it felt extra apprehensive when he demanded it.
“I’m sorry,” Harry extended, placing his hand on her head gently. His lips came down to press a reassuring kiss on her head.
“No, it’s… it was bound to happen, right?” Her eyes dropped to the mattress, feeling even more exhausted than ever. “Think I’m just gonna go to sleep,” she instantly wanted to close off, forget the situation for a few hours.
“You sure? We can talk about it,” Harry offered.
She simply shook her head, not knowing how to tell him that it was overwhelming her.
“Ok,” Harry didn’t press, he allowed her to place her head against her pillows — back turned towards him. “I love you,” he whispered into the air as his hand stroked her hair, a calm gesture to help her sleep.
“I love you.”
The morning came unforgiving and insistent. The bright light shined through the curtains, waking her from her sleep. Harry’s side of the bed was cold, left empty with the memory of their argument last night.
“Harry?” She called out, wondering where he went too.
Like clockwork, he rounded the corridor. His pointer finger signaled in the air as he held his yellow phone case to his ear, “just a second,” he mouthed. She was used to this but Harry's expression told her everything she needed to know, the conversation wasn’t a normal schedule change or rehearsal suggestion but something more pointed.
She waited in bed, letting her head run through the possibility as Harry spoke into the phone, pacing the corridor.
“Yeah, yeah.” He said, “yeah, I got it.” He mumbled into the phone speaker. “Yeah, no worries.” He listened for a few more seconds before saying, “yeah, I think that’s good.” He nodded in agreement. “Alright, take care,” he replied before ending the call. His expression softened as he walked towards her.
“Good morning, how’d you sleep?” He asked, towering over her. His palm caressed her back in a soothing motion.
“Like I needed it,” she sighed, “who was that on the phone?”
“Hilary,” he started, his publicist. “She just wanted to go over everything, see if we can shift the narrative or simply… ignore it.”
“Ignore it?” She asked. Harry nodded, shrugging. He was too calm but she forced herself to remember that this wasn’t his first go around. He had a whole team for situations as such and he trusted the professionals, so she had to too.
“You know how you acted and other people probably witnessed it too. A few fans that want to stir something up just for the sake of it, don’t deserve the attention,” he explained, firmly. “You just keep being you and we just keep being us, unapologetic.” He added.
“And what’s the alternative?” She questioned. Harry sat on the edge of the bed, close to her legs.
“The alternative? Well, we could just showcase how adorably nice you are to the point where it’s sickening but that wouldn’t really be as authentic or fair. We don’t have to prove anything since you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But they believe I did,” she reminded, playing devil's advocate.
“Only a few,” his fingers laced between hers. “Enough to rock the boat but we’re strong,” he shrugged. “I’ll just do something incredibly distracting like go for a run in some horrendously short, little shorts and the rumors will dissipate.”
“Harry, you shouldn’t have to do that.” She fronted, shaking her head. She hated how self aware and selfless he was, willing to do anything to direct the negative attention away from her.
“No, I shouldn’t but I will,” he smiled, “the world will continue to go on, darling and we can’t just stop for every minor misunderstanding or rumor.”
The icky feeling in her stomach started to settle, reassured by his gentle words and multiple kisses. The days flowed together, Harry was busy with rehearsal, sound check then custom fittings and a bunch of other things she was still working to understand. Still, she did her best to be the most supportive girlfriend as they traveled from city to city.
When they arrived in New York for his group of shows, Harry did what he usually did — went out without security, ran across Manhattan, bought her flowers in the upper east side and met with fans when he was stopped. When he returned to their rented home, he handed her the bouquet of sunflowers and mentioned plans of a late dinner for their quality time, weekly date.
Dinner went and gone, their bellies full of rich spices and sweet desserts. Harry tugged her along, set on walking through the city. “Midnight stroll through Central Park?”
“Will it be okay?”
“Of course,” Harry shrugged. “Remember be in th—,” he started his gentle reminder that he whispered to her more times than he could count.
“‘Be in the moment and stay present with me’, I know.” She was still adjusting to being Harry Styles' girlfriend versus just Harry’s.
They walked slowly, there was no sense of rushing. The city was awake but quiet. The park was still lit up by lights and the city that surrounded it. Harry's thumb steadily rubbed against her hand, pulling her gently along. The quiet spoke for the both of them, comfortable in each other's presence.
“How you keeping up with everything?” Harry checked in.
“It’s been… an adjustment, the time difference, crowds, culture is much different from London,” she explained. “Feels more lively, I can tell fans are so excited that you’re back in America.”
Harry nodded, “seems like it, huh?” He wasn’t boasting, his fans were truly dedicated and delighted that he was in the city. He was so publicly embraced.
“How about you?” She asked, looking up towards his side profile as they continued to walk along the path.
“I’m pleasantly surprised by how well you are taking it all,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.
“That doesn’t answer my questions!” His girlfriend rolled her eyes cheekily, shaking her head.
“I’m okay if you’re okay,” he replied simply, a private dimpled smile across his face. Harry suddenly stopped, closing the distance between them. His hands cupped her face, admiring her features. “my pretty girl,” he whispered in adoration. “You handle it all so well.” The little statement of praise made her belly flutter with butterflies. “You promise to tell me if it gets too much?”
“Promise,” and she did.
Before she could say anything else — they were kissing. Harry's eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his lips softly to her mouth. His kiss was tentative at first but deepened as she kissed him back, gripping onto the sides of his jacket. Harry opened his mouth, his tongue darting against hers as her skin flushed with desire. His palm ushered her closer, fitting her snug against his frame. She felt his face twist, deepening the angle as he moaned into her mouth. The sound brought her back to reality, worried their full blow makeout session in Central Park would end up on Deux Moi by the morning. Her brain was a bit more cautious now but Harry did his best to reassure her.
“Harry,” she pulled back, “wonder if someone sees?” She whispered quietly.
“Shhh,” he teased, his lips finding hers again. “I hope they caught us,” he muttered. His hand wrapped around the back of her neck as he whispered in her ear, his voice dropping an octave deeper.
“Whether they like it or not, I’ll show you off,” he smirked before sobering himself. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
Where Y/N’s chaotic energy clashes with her grumpy, tattooed neighbor, her mission to get on his good side turns into stolen glances, quiet moments, and a connection she never expected.
Au Harry
Word count: 13,395
Content warning: Cursing, smut, alcohol.
The warm glow of string lights illuminated Y/N’s cozy Los Angeles apartment as the sound of laughter filled the air. The small space was a mix of bohemian chic and personal touches—a gallery wall of polaroids, a cluttered coffee table covered with open bags of snacks, and a few empty wine bottles standing like trophies from their earlier indulgence.
Y/N flopped back onto the couch, a glass of red wine in hand, her cheeks flushed from both the alcohol and nonstop giggling. Her two best friends, Harper and Lila, sat cross-legged on the floor, snacking on popcorn and chips, fully embracing the childlike joy of their adult sleepover.
“This feels so right,” Y/N said, her voice slightly tipsy. “Why don’t we do this more often?”
“Because we’re responsible adults now, remember?” Harper teased, adjusting her oversized hoodie. “Nine-to-five, bills, and pretending we know what we’re doing.”
“Speak for yourself,” Lila quipped, popping a gummy bear into her mouth. “I’m thriving in my chaos era.”
Y/N snorted, and Harper rolled her eyes with an affectionate grin. Lila was the wild card of the group, always coming up with unpredictable ideas. And she didn’t disappoint tonight.
“You know what we should do?” Lila suddenly said, sitting up straighter. “Karaoke.”
“Yes!” Harper exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Oh my God, yes. Do you still have that mic we bought for New Year’s Eve?”
Y/N groaned dramatically, but her smile betrayed her fake reluctance. “You mean the mic that nearly got us evicted? Of course, I still have it.”
Lila grinned wickedly. “Perfect. Let’s wake up the entire building with our stunning renditions of 2000s throwbacks.”
Without waiting for further approval, Lila dashed to the hall closet and pulled out the karaoke mic, triumphantly waving it in the air. Harper grabbed her phone, already scrolling through a playlist.
“You’re starting,” Harper declared, pointing the mic at Y/N.
“What? No!” Y/N laughed, holding her hands up defensively. “I’m not ready!”
“Too bad,” Lila said, shoving the mic into Y/N’s hands. “You can’t escape destiny. Pick your song.”
Y/N sighed theatrically before smirking. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when your ears bleed.”
As Y/N queued up Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson, the room erupted in cheers. The first few notes played, and soon enough, Y/N was belting out the lyrics with unrestrained enthusiasm, her friends joining in for the chorus. It didn’t matter that they were slightly off-key; in that moment, they were superstars in their own private concert.
Wine glasses were forgotten, snacks spilled, and every lyric was sung at full volume. It was the kind of night they’d remember for years—a reminder that no matter how grown-up they pretended to be, some things never lost their magic.
The girls were in full swing, harmonizing (poorly) to “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys. Lila stood on the couch holding the mic as if she were performing at Madison Square Garden, while Harper played air guitar with a half-empty wine bottle. Y/N was doubled over in laughter, her cheeks aching from smiling so much.
Just as they hit the iconic, “Tell me why—” part, a loud knock echoed through the apartment, cutting through their drunken fun like a record scratch. The girls froze, their voices trailing off mid-note. Y/N straightened up, exchanging wide-eyed looks with Harper and Lila.
“Uh… did someone order pizza?” Lila whispered, her voice unsure.
“Nope,” Y/N said, setting her wine glass on the coffee table. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”
With a mix of nerves and annoyance, Y/N padded to the door. She peered through the peephole and groaned. It was her new neighbor, Harry. She’d only exchanged a polite “hello” with him in passing, but he’d already struck her as the brooding, grumpy type.
Bracing herself, she opened the door.
There he stood: tall, disheveled hair pushed back in a lazy attempt at taming it, wearing a faded gray hoodie and black joggers. His sharp green eyes narrowed as he took in her flushed face and the muffled chaos behind her.
“Good evening,” he started, his British accent dripping with sarcasm. “I just wanted to say how much I’ve been enjoying your concert tonight. It’s like living next door to a live music venue. Only… worse.”
Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned by his dry humor. “Oh. Uh, sorry about that. We didn’t realize how loud we were being.”
Harry crossed his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I figured. Thought I’d come over before I lost the ability to hear entirely.”
From behind her, Lila’s voice chimed in drunkenly. “Is it a noise complaint? Tell him to sing with us!”
Y/N turned and shot Lila a glare. Harper muffled a laugh.
Y/N sighed and looked back at Harry. “We’ll keep it down. Promise.”
He tilted his head, lips twitching into the faintest smirk, though his tone remained gruff. “Appreciated. Just… try not to turn it into a full-on festival.”
With that, he turned to leave, but Y/N couldn’t help herself. “You know, you could’ve just sent a passive-aggressive text or something.”
Harry glanced back over his shoulder, one brow arched. “I thought this had more impact.”
And then he was gone.
Y/N closed the door, leaning her forehead against it for a moment. When she turned around, Lila and Harper were staring at her like she’d just walked off the set of a rom-com.
“Um, who was that?” Lila asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Harry. My new neighbor,” Y/N replied, walking back to the couch.
“And Mr. Grumpy Pants is cute,” Harper added, grinning.
Y/N rolled her eyes, picking up her wine glass. “Yeah, yeah. He’s cute and cranky. Now can we please move on before you two start planning a love story?”
But the mischievous glint in her friends’ eyes told her they weren’t letting this go anytime soon.
The karaoke mic had been put away, and the girls now lounged in the cozy living room, passing a bottle of wine between them. The earlier buzz of excitement had mellowed, but the energy was still warm and lively. Lila was sprawled on the couch with her legs dangling over Harper’s lap, while Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping from her glass.
“I mean, let’s just talk about him for a second,” Lila began, her voice dramatic. “The mopey neighbor with the accent? And did you see those tattoos? They were peeking out, Y/N. He’s giving mysterious bad boy energy.”
Y/N groaned, her cheeks warming instantly. “Oh my God, Lila. He was literally just here to tell us to shut up.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s not hot,” Harper chimed in, grinning. “He has that whole ‘I’m grumpy but secretly charming’ vibe. Like, did you see the way he smirked when he made that little joke?”
Y/N tried to hide her flustered reaction by taking another sip of wine, but she couldn’t stop the blush creeping up her neck. She’d noticed too—his smirk, his sharp jawline, the tattoos curling up his forearm, just barely visible under his hoodie sleeves. She’d noticed everything.
“I mean, he’s okay, I guess,” Y/N mumbled, keeping her tone nonchalant.
“Okay?” Lila shot up, nearly spilling her wine. “You’re lying. You’re the worst liar ever.”
“Shut up,” Y/N said, laughing as she buried her face in her hands. “Fine, he’s cute. So what? He’s also my neighbor, and he’s probably annoyed with me forever now.”
“He’s not annoyed,” Harper said, nudging her with her foot. “If he were, he wouldn’t have made the effort to come over himself. He would’ve sent an email to management or something. He wanted an excuse to see you.”
“Right,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “Because nothing’s more attractive than a drunk girl singing Backstreet Boys at full volume.”
“Exactly!” Lila exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. “You’re memorable. He’ll never forget you now.”
Y/N shook her head, laughing despite herself. “You two are ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” Harper said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “But I bet he thinks you’re cute too.”
Y/N’s cheeks flushed deeper, and she quickly changed the subject. But as the night went on, she couldn’t shake the image of Harry standing in her doorway, his messy hair, his smirk, and those tattoos. Maybe her friends weren’t entirely wrong.
The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of Y/N’s apartment, illuminating the chaos left behind from the night before. Wine glasses, half-eaten snacks, and the abandoned karaoke mic were scattered around the living room. The girls were tangled up in blankets, sprawled across the couch and the floor like a scene from a sitcom.
Y/N was the first to stir, groaning as she rubbed her eyes and sat up. Harper was curled up on the couch with a throw pillow over her head, while Lila lay on the floor in a makeshift nest of cushions, one arm dramatically draped over her face.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Y/N teased, nudging Lila with her foot.
Lila groaned. “Why are you awake? It’s illegal to be this alive right now.”
Harper peeked out from under her pillow, her voice muffled. “What time is it? Do we even have the energy to exist today?”
“Barely,” Y/N replied, standing and stretching. “But I’m starving, so I’m making breakfast. Come help me.”
Harper and Lila grumbled but eventually dragged themselves up and into the kitchen, where Y/N was already cracking eggs into a bowl. Together, they whipped up a chaotic but delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and a mountain of coffee.
The girls sat around the small dining table, eating in comfortable silence at first. Then Lila broke the quiet with a wicked grin.
“So… Harry.”
“Oh my God,” Y/N groaned, covering her face. “Not again.”
“Listen, I was just thinking,” Lila said, smirking. “Next time we do this, we should make it even louder. Really make him come back over.”
Harper snorted into her coffee. “Yes! Like, full-blown karaoke night but with amps and disco lights.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips. “You two are the worst.”
“But you love us,” Harper said, nudging her with an elbow.
After breakfast, the girls cleaned up and packed their things before heading out. Harper hugged Y/N tightly. “We definitely need to do this again.”
Lila nodded enthusiastically. “Louder next time. You know, for research purposes.”
Y/N shook her head, laughing as she walked them to the door. “You’re both insane, but I love you. Drive safe.”
Once they were gone, Y/N flopped onto the couch and opened their group chat. Almost immediately, messages started flooding in.
Lila: Next sleepover, let’s bring a fog machine. If Harry shows up, we’ll just act like it’s a concert.
Harper: Or we could rent a spotlight. Make it an event
Y/N: You guys are unbelievable. No more wine for you next time.
Lila: Admit it, you want him to show up again.
Y/N: …maybe.
Harper: KNEW IT.
Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at her phone, her cheeks warming yet again. As ridiculous as her friends were, they weren’t entirely wrong.
The day passed in a blur of cleaning and tidying as Y/N tried to get her apartment back to its usual organized state. By the time the sun started to dip low in the sky, the chaos from the night before had been erased, leaving her apartment looking like a picture of calm domesticity. Feeling accomplished, Y/N decided to check her mailbox before settling in for a quiet evening.
She padded down to the mailroom in her building, dressed in a casual but presentable outfit—high-waisted jeans and a simple white top. As she rifled through the usual junk mail and a couple of bills, the sound of someone entering the room caught her attention.
Glancing to the side, she saw Harry walking in, his hoodie replaced by a fitted black t-shirt and dark jeans. His tattoos were on full display now—intricate designs that wound up his forearm and disappeared under the sleeve of his shirt. He barely glanced at her as he moved to his mailbox, unlocking it with practiced ease.
Y/N swallowed her nerves and decided to seize the moment. It was better to make a proper introduction now than to let the awkwardness from last night linger. Turning slightly toward him, she cleared her throat.
“Hey, neighbor,” she began, keeping her tone light. “Figured I should introduce myself officially now that I’m not, you know, half-drunk and screaming karaoke at midnight. I’m Y/N.”
Harry turned his head, his green eyes locking onto hers. His expression was neutral, almost unreadable, as he gave her a quick once-over. “Harry,” he said simply, his voice low and clipped.
Y/N bit back a grin, determined not to let his gruff demeanor throw her off. “Nice to meet you, Harry. Sorry again about last night. I promise we don’t usually host impromptu concerts. Unless, of course, you’re a fan of boy band throwbacks.”
Harry let out a soft exhale that could’ve been a laugh—or just a sigh. “I’ll survive.”
Encouraged by the hint of amusement, Y/N decided to keep the conversation going. “You know, if you’re ever feeling nostalgic, you’re welcome to join us. We could use a fourth member for our extremely off-key girl group.”
Harry’s lips twitched slightly, but his expression remained mostly stoic. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Y/N tilted her head, giving him a mock-serious look. “You’re really hard to read, you know that? Most people at least chuckle at my jokes.”
Harry glanced at her, his gaze steady and calm. “Maybe I’m just not most people.”
For a moment, Y/N didn’t know how to respond. There was something almost challenging in his tone, but it wasn’t harsh. If anything, it piqued her curiosity even more.
“Well, Harry,” she said finally, flashing him a bright smile. “Challenge accepted. I’ll make you laugh one of these days.”
He didn’t respond right away, instead closing his mailbox and tucking the letters under his arm. As he moved to leave, he paused, looking over his shoulder.
“We’ll see about that.”
And just like that, he was gone, leaving Y/N standing there with her stack of mail and a strange mix of frustration and intrigue swirling in her chest. One thing was for sure—Harry might be grumpy, but he was far from boring.
As soon as Y/N got back to her apartment, she tossed her mail onto the counter and grabbed her phone, already smirking to herself. She opened the group chat with Harper and Lila, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
Y/N:
Guess who I just ran into in the mailroom?
It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with replies.
Lila:
Was it… oh, I don’t know… Mr. Grumpy Hot Neighbor?
Harper:
Harry! Tell us everything right now.
Y/N rolled her eyes fondly, typing out her reply.
Y/N:
Yes, it was Harry. I introduced myself properly. You know, as a fully functional adult and not a drunken mess.
Lila:
And? Did he swoon? Did he drop all his mail and propose on the spot?
Harper:
Or at least crack a smile?
Y/N sighed and leaned back against the counter, smirking to herself as she typed.
Y/N:
Absolutely not. He was… well, Harry. Polite but distant. He might’ve almost smiled, but I can’t be sure.
Lila:
Ugh, he’s really sticking to the mysterious moody thing. It’s so hot. What did you say to him?
Y/N:
I told him he was hard to read and said I’d make him laugh one day.
Harper:
Bold move, I love it. What did he say?
Y/N:
He said, ‘We’ll see about that.’
Lila:
STOP. That’s basically flirting.
Harper:
Right? That’s flirty! Subtle, broody flirting.
Y/N:
You two are ridiculous. It wasn’t flirting. He’s just… like that.
Lila:
Y/N, this is your rom-com moment, and you’re living in denial. Grumpy guy + sunshine girl is literally a trope for a reason.
Harper:
Exactly. Next step: get him to join us for karaoke.
Y/N:
Oh, sure, because he definitely seems like the kind of guy who wants to sing ‘Toxic’ with us.
Lila:
You never know. Maybe he has a secret karaoke voice that’ll blow us all away.
Y/N laughed to herself, shaking her head. Her friends were relentless, but she couldn’t deny that their enthusiasm made her smile. As much as she tried to brush off the encounter, she couldn’t stop replaying it in her head—the way Harry’s green eyes lingered just a second too long, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips.
It had been a couple of weeks since Y/N’s encounter with Harry in the mailroom, and she’d managed to push him to the back of her mind. Between work, friends, and her usual routine, she hadn’t bumped into him in the halls or around the building. Life went on, and the memory of his grumpy smirk became just another amusing anecdote to share with Harper and Lila.
Until one night.
Y/N was jolted awake by the blaring sound of the fire alarm. Disoriented and groggy, she stumbled out of bed and grabbed a sweatshirt, pulling it over her pajama tank top. She shoved her feet into sneakers, grabbed her phone, and headed for the door. The hallway was chaotic, filled with neighbors in various states of sleepiness and confusion, all heading for the exits.
Once outside, Y/N joined the crowd of residents gathering on the sidewalk. The chilly night air bit at her skin, and she crossed her arms to keep warm. She craned her neck, scanning the crowd to see if there was anyone she knew—until her eyes landed on a familiar figure leaning against a lamppost.
It was Harry. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction, and he wore a hoodie over loose sweatpants. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, which, to be fair, he probably had. His expression was pure exhaustion, and he rubbed the back of his neck as he yawned.
Y/N didn’t hesitate. She made her way over, her footsteps crunching on the gravel. “Hey, neighbor,” she said, coming to a stop next to him.
Harry turned his head, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he registered her. “Y/N,” he said, his voice rough from sleep. “This is… unexpected.” He waved his hand around.
She grinned, shifting her weight to one foot. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. But hey, at least it’s the fire alarms being obnoxiously loud this time and not me.”
Harry’s lips twitched, and for a second, she thought she’d finally gotten him to crack a smile. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?” he asked dryly.
“Never,” Y/N replied, a teasing lilt in her voice. “It’s too good of a story.”
Harry exhaled softly, almost like a laugh, and shook his head. “Fair enough.”
They stood in silence for a moment, watching as a fire truck pulled up and a couple of firefighters headed inside to investigate. The air was crisp and carried a faint chill, but Y/N barely noticed. She glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye.
“Do you think it’s an actual fire?” she asked.
“Doubt it,” he said, crossing his arms. “Probably just someone burning their midnight snack.”
“Sounds like a riveting Saturday night,” Y/N joked, earning another small exhale from him.
“Tell me about it,” he muttered, glancing down at her. His gaze lingered for a moment, and Y/N could feel her cheeks warm, though she tried to play it cool.
“Well,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “If it turns out to be a drill, I’m demanding a formal apology from management for ruining my beauty sleep.”
Harry’s lips quirked, just enough for her to notice. “I’m sure they’ll get right on that.”
For the first time, standing outside in the middle of the night with Harry didn’t feel awkward or forced. It was easy, natural even, despite his perpetually tired and broody demeanor. Maybe it was the ridiculousness of the situation, or maybe her persistence was finally wearing him down.
Before either of them could say more, a firefighter emerged from the building, shouting to the crowd that it was a false alarm. People groaned, some laughing as they shuffled back toward the entrance.
Harry pushed off the lamppost and looked at Y/N. “Guess that’s our cue.”
“Looks like it,” she said. “Catch you later, Harry.”
He nodded, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Night, Y/N.”
As she headed back to her apartment, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a small spark of satisfaction. Sure, he was still grumpy, but she was getting closer to breaking through. And honestly, she didn’t mind the challenge.
By the time Y/N woke up the next morning, she had already drafted the text she knew Harper and Lila would demand. Still half-asleep, she grabbed her phone and opened their group chat, typing out the full story in detail.
Y/N:
So… guess who I bumped into at 3 a.m. when the fire alarm went off?
It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with rapid-fire responses.
Harper:
Oh my God. HARRY?
Lila:
Please tell me you were both standing there in your PJs like the meet-cute of the century.
Y/N:
No, it wasn’t a meet-cute. We just talked. Very normal. Nothing groundbreaking.
Harper:
What did you talk about?
Y/N:
I made a joke about how this time it wasn’t me being loud, it was the fire alarm.
Lila:
YES. Classic Y/N. What did he say?
Y/N:
He just… smirked. Or sighed. I’m honestly not sure anymore. He’s so hard to read.
Harper:
Smirking counts as flirting. I’m logging it.
Lila:
Definitely flirting. He wouldn’t have smirked if he wasn’t secretly interested. Men don’t waste smirks on people they don’t like.
Y/N:
Or he was just tired and didn’t care enough to argue.
Harper:
Nope. Not buying it. He’s interested. He’s just grumpy interested.
Lila:
Exactly! Brooding types like him don’t wear their feelings on their sleeves, but trust me, he’s intrigued. You just need to keep working on him.
Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile.
Y/N:
You two are absolutely ridiculous. We talked for five minutes, tops. Nothing more, nothing less.
Harper:
Sure, keep telling yourself that.
Lila:
Face it, Y/N. This is your slow-burn romance, and we are here for it. We’re already planning the playlist for your wedding.
Y/N:
Oh my God. I can’t with you two.
Despite her protests, Y/N couldn’t stop replaying the interaction in her mind—the way his eyes lingered on her, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Harper and Lila were reading too much into it… weren’t they?
Shaking her head, Y/N tossed her phone onto the couch. She had no intention of indulging their wild theories. But deep down, a small, stubborn part of her couldn’t help but wonder.
Y/N lay in bed, staring at the faint shadows cast by her bedside lamp on the ceiling. The city sounds outside her window were faint but constant—cars in the distance, the occasional murmur of voices. She’d been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, her brain refusing to shut off.
It didn’t help that every time she closed her eyes, all she could think about was Harry.
It wasn’t intentional, or at least that’s what she told herself. She’d been trying to push him out of her mind all day, but now, in the stillness of the night, his image seemed to surface unbidden. The way his messy hair stuck out when she’d seen him by the mailboxes. The tattoos peeking out from under his shirt sleeves, the intricate designs winding across his arms like a story she desperately wanted to read.
And then there was his face—sharp jawline, green eyes that seemed to pierce through her defenses, and that faint smirk he’d given her last night when she’d cracked her fire alarm joke. It wasn’t a full smile, but it had been enough to spark something in her. Something she couldn’t quite shake.
She groaned, rolling onto her side and burying her face in her pillow. “Get a grip,” she muttered to herself.
But it was no use. She kept thinking about the way his voice sounded—low, calm, almost soothing in its quiet confidence. The way he seemed perpetually unimpressed but not unkind, like he was holding back a part of himself from the world. And the way, despite all that grumpiness, she felt drawn to him.
The worst part was that she barely even knew him. A few brief encounters, a handful of words exchanged—it wasn’t enough to warrant this level of overthinking. And yet, here she was, wide awake at 2 a.m., her thoughts spinning in circles around a guy who probably wasn’t thinking about her at all.
She sighed, flipping onto her back again and staring at the ceiling. “You’re losing it, Y/N,” she whispered into the dark.
But no matter how hard she tried to distract herself—counting sheep, replaying her favorite movie in her head, anything—her mind kept drifting back to Harry. How frustratingly attractive he was. How much she wanted to figure him out. And how, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she kind of liked the challenge.
The next afternoon, Y/N tied her apron around her waist and stepped onto the floor of the bustling Italian restaurant where she worked. The warm scent of garlic, fresh basil, and baking bread filled the air as the sounds of clinking silverware and cheerful conversations hummed around her. It was her favorite kind of shift—steady but not overwhelming, just busy enough to keep her energized.
She loved being a server. There was something satisfying about knowing the menu by heart, from the way the chef perfectly folded the handmade ravioli to the rich, velvety tiramisu that always left customers raving. She enjoyed the rhythm of it all: taking orders, making guests laugh, weaving between tables like she was part of a well-rehearsed dance.
By the time her shift ended, the sun was low in the sky, casting a soft golden glow over the city streets. Y/N slipped her bag over her shoulder, said goodbye to her coworkers, and began her short walk home.
The evening was warm, the kind of weather that made her glad she’d chosen this neighborhood to live in. She liked the convenience of being close to work, the charm of the old brick buildings, and the occasional vendor selling flowers or roasted nuts on the sidewalk.
But as she rounded the last corner toward her apartment building, the sky darkened suddenly. Heavy clouds rolled in overhead, and before she could process what was happening, the first fat drops of rain began to fall.
“Seriously?” Y/N muttered, looking up at the sky as if it might offer her an explanation. Within seconds, the light drizzle turned into a full-on downpour. She didn’t have an umbrella, of course—it had been sunny when she left for work—and now she was too far from the restaurant to go back.
She quickened her pace, pulling her bag closer to her body to shield it from the rain. Her hair was already plastered to her forehead, and her clothes clung to her as the rain soaked through. She groaned in frustration but couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.
By the time her apartment building came into view, she was drenched. She jogged the last stretch, her sneakers splashing in puddles, and darted toward the lobby entrance. As she reached for the door, it opened from the inside—and there, standing in the doorway, was Harry.
Of course, it was Harry.
He was holding a takeout bag in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. His green eyes widened slightly when he saw her, taking in her rain-soaked appearance.
“Rough night?” he asked, his voice dry but laced with faint amusement.
Y/N brushed a wet strand of hair out of her face, shaking water from her arms. “You could say that. Apparently, the weather decided I needed a shower.”
Harry stepped back, holding the door open for her. “You’re dripping everywhere.”
“Thanks for the observation,” Y/N said with a wry smile as she stepped inside, water pooling around her feet. “I hadn’t noticed.”
He smirked, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary before he nodded toward the elevators. “You should probably get upstairs before you flood the lobby.”
“Wow, you’re so thoughtful,” she teased, her sarcasm barely masking the warmth in her voice.
Harry didn’t reply, but his lips twitched like he was holding back a comment. He stepped aside, letting her pass, and as Y/N headed toward the elevator, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder. He was still standing by the door, his attention now on the rain outside, but she could’ve sworn she caught him sneaking a glance at her as she walked away.
Y/N stepped into her apartment, water dripping onto the floor as she kicked off her soaked sneakers. She stripped off her rain-soaked clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket before heading straight to the bathroom. The hot water of the shower was bliss, washing away the chill of the rain and the lingering frustration of getting caught in it. By the time she stepped out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, her skin was warm and her mind was clearer.
Slipping into her favorite pair of soft pajamas—shorts and an oversized t-shirt—she towel-dried her hair and grabbed her phone from the counter. She hadn’t checked it since leaving work, and the screen lit up with a few notifications. Most were unimportant, but one text made her freeze.
Unknown Number:
Hey, it’s Harry. Got your number from the resident book. Hope that’s okay. I, uh, ordered way too much food. If you’re not busy and don’t mind eating with someone who’s terrible at small talk, you’re welcome to join me.
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry had texted her? She stared at the message, rereading it a couple of times, unsure what to make of it. The grumpy, brooding neighbor had gone out of his way to invite her over for dinner?
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she thought about what to say. She could easily come up with an excuse, blame the rain, or even politely decline. But something about his message—how he’d gone through the trouble of looking up her number and even made a self-deprecating joke—made her hesitate.
Finally, she started typing.
Y/N:
Hey! I’m surprised you didn’t mention how loud I was running through the lobby earlier. I’d love to join, but fair warning: I’m in my pajamas. I’ll bring wine to make up for it.
She hit send before she could second-guess herself and immediately got up to rummage through her small wine rack. She picked out a bottle of red, grabbed her favorite corkscrew, and texted him again.
Y/N:
Give me five minutes to make myself look less like a wet dog.
His response came almost instantly.
Harry:
I wouldn’t have said anything about the lobby, but now that you’ve brought it up… five minutes works. Apartment 4D.
Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. She quickly towel-dried her hair a little more, tossed it into a loose bun, and grabbed the wine. As she stood by her door, nerves fluttered in her stomach, but she pushed them aside.
Whatever this was—neighborly dinner, an olive branch, or something else—she was curious enough to find out.
Y/N stepped out of her apartment, the bottle of wine in hand, and made her way to the elevator. As she descended a floor, her nerves started to tingle, though she shook them off. It wasn’t a big deal. It was just dinner with her neighbor. Her very attractive, grumpy neighbor with tattoos and a British accent. Nothing to overthink at all.
When she reached Harry’s door, she raised her hand to knock—but before she could, the door swung open. Harry stood there, leaning casually against the frame, one eyebrow raised.
“I could hear you coming down the hall,” he said, his tone dry but his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, is it?”
Y/N let out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I’ll take that as your way of saying you’re happy to see me.”
“Something like that,” he replied, stepping aside to let her in.
Y/N walked in, glancing around as she entered. Harry’s apartment was similar in layout to hers but had an entirely different vibe. The walls were painted a deep, moody gray, with shelves lined with books, records, and a few small plants that looked suspiciously well cared for. A guitar rested in the corner by the window, and the faint smell of takeout wafted from the small kitchen.
“Nice place,” she said, setting the wine on the counter. “Very… broody chic. Fits you.”
Harry arched a brow as he closed the door. “Broody chic? Is that a compliment?”
“Depends how you take it,” Y/N shot back with a grin.
He shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he moved toward the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry. I may have overestimated how much I can eat on my own.”
She followed him, glancing at the spread on the counter. There were containers of what looked like Thai food—pad thai, green curry, fried rice, and spring rolls. Definitely enough for two, if not three.
“You weren’t kidding,” she said, grabbing a spring roll. “Planning on feeding the whole building?”
“Only the loudest resident,” he said, smirking again.
She gave him a playful glare before grabbing plates from the counter and handing him one. “Lucky for you, I came prepared,” she said, holding up the wine. “This should balance things out.”
As they settled at the small table, Y/N couldn’t help but notice how relaxed Harry seemed. He wasn’t smiling, not really, but there was something softer about him tonight. Less guarded. And as they started eating, trading sarcastic comments and occasional small talk, she realized she didn’t mind the challenge of cracking through his tough exterior one bit.
Harry handed Y/N two wine glasses, their fingers brushing briefly as she took them. He didn’t say anything, but his lips moved slightly as if he was trying not to smirk. Y/N poured the wine, filling each glass just enough before sliding one over to him.
Meanwhile, he plated the food, carefully dividing the dishes between two plates. His movements were deliberate, almost methodical, and Y/N found herself watching him for a moment before realizing what she was doing. Shaking herself out of it, she grabbed her glass and followed him to the bar counter.
They sat side by side, the warm glow of the pendant light above them casting a cozy atmosphere. Y/N took a sip of her wine, her gaze flicking to Harry as he started eating in silence.
For a while, she stayed quiet, enjoying the food and the unspoken rhythm of their shared meal. But her curiosity got the better of her. Setting her glass down, she turned toward him slightly, resting her elbow on the counter.
“So,” she began, her tone light but probing, “why are you always so grumpy?”
Harry paused mid-bite, his fork hovering over his plate as he looked at her. His green eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but as if he were trying to decide how serious she was.
“Grumpy?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, grumpy,” she said, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You know, the whole emo, barely-smiling, ‘I don’t have time for your nonsense’ vibe you’ve got going on. Is it like… your thing?”
Harry leaned back slightly, taking a slow sip of his wine as he considered her question. “Maybe I’m not grumpy,” he said finally, his voice calm. “Maybe you’re just too… cheerful.”
“Cheerful?” she echoed, laughing softly. “That’s your explanation? I’m cheerful, so that automatically makes you grumpy?”
“Something like that,” he said, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk.
Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling. “You’re deflecting.”
He raised his glass, meeting her gaze over the rim as he took another sip. “Maybe.”
“Come on,” she pressed, leaning in slightly. “There’s got to be a reason. I mean, you’re not actuallymiserable all the time, are you?”
Harry sighed, setting his glass down and leaning his forearms on the counter. For a moment, he seemed to be debating whether or not to answer. Finally, he shrugged.
“I’m not grumpy,” he said, his voice quieter. “I just… don’t see the point in pretending all the time. People put on this front like everything’s great, but most of the time, it’s not. I’m just… honest about it.”
Y/N tilted her head, studying him. There was something in his tone—something unspoken but heavy, like he was revealing more than he intended.
“Well,” she said softly, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think being happy is the same as pretending. And I’m not pretending.”
Harry glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “I noticed,” he said simply.
Her cheeks warmed, and for a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Then Y/N picked up her glass and raised it toward him.
“To being honest,” she said with a small smile.
Harry’s eyes flicked to her glass before he picked up his own, clinking it against hers. “To being honest,” he echoed.
And for the first time that evening, his smirk softened into something closer to a smile.
Harry swirled the wine in his glass, staring at the deep red liquid for a moment before setting it down and looking at Y/N. His expression was more open now, his usual guarded demeanor softened.
“You seem nice enough,” he said, his tone casual but sincere. “I could use a friend around here.”
Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the admission. For a moment, she wasn’t sure how to respond. Then a warm smile spread across her face.
“Well, that’s unexpected,” she said, her voice light with humor. “I thought for sure you hated me after the whole karaoke fiasco.”
Harry tilted his head slightly, his lips twitching in amusement. “Hated you? No. Annoyed, maybe. But hate’s a strong word.”
“Good to know,” Y/N said, laughing softly. “Because I was convinced you’d written me off as the world’s loudest neighbor.”
“I’ll admit,” Harry said, smirking now, “the karaoke was… a lot. But it’s hard to hate someone who sings ‘I Want It That Way’ with that much enthusiasm.”
Y/N covered her face with her hands, laughing harder. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember the song. That’s so embarrassing.”
“It’s unforgettable,” he said with mock seriousness, taking another sip of wine.
When her laughter died down, Y/N looked at him, her expression softening. “For what it’s worth, I’d be happy to be your friend. You don’t seem as scary as you pretend to be.”
“Scary?” Harry echoed, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, yeah,” she teased. “You’ve got the whole ‘grumpy lone wolf’ thing going on. It’s a little intimidating.”
Harry shook his head, but there was a faint smile on his face. “I’m not scary.”
He didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on her for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Finally, he nodded, his tone soft but certain. “Yeah. Just Harry.”
As they continued eating, the conversation grew lighter, the initial tension between them fading into something comfortable. By the time they finished their meal, Y/N realized that beneath Harry’s gruff exterior was someone she genuinely wanted to know better. And judging by the way his smirk had softened into something warmer, she suspected he felt the same.
After finishing their plates, Harry leaned back in his chair, resting his forearm on the bar counter as he glanced at Y/N. There was a comfortable silence between them, one she hadn’t expected when she first showed up at his door.
“Thanks for coming over,” he said finally, his tone quieter but sincere. “I don’t usually… do this.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow, swirling her wine in her glass. “What? Order too much food or invite people over?”
He smirked faintly, shaking his head. “The second one. I’m not exactly the ‘neighborly dinner’ type.”
“Well, I feel special then,” she teased, tilting her head at him. “Although, if you’re not usually this social, why’d you invite me? I mean, not that I’m complaining.”
Harry shrugged, glancing down at his glass. “You seemed… different. I don’t know. Most people I meet just seem fake, like they’re putting on a show. But you’re…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Real.”
Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty of his words. “Oh,” she said softly, a smile tugging at her lips. “Well, thanks. I think.”
“I mean it,” Harry added, looking at her directly now. “You’re… not what I expected when I moved here. In a good way.”
Her cheeks warmed at his words, and she tried to play it off with humor. “Careful, Harry. You’re starting to sound like you actually like me.”
“Don’t push it,” he said with a smirk, though his eyes were softer than usual.
They fell into another comfortable silence, sipping their wine and letting the moment stretch out. Y/N felt herself relax more with each passing second, realizing how easy it was to be around him now that some of his walls had come down.
After a moment, she broke the quiet. “You know, for someone who claims not to be social, you’re pretty good company.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is,” she said, her grin widening. “You should let yourself be social more often. You might surprise yourself.”
He scoffed softly, shaking his head. “One step at a time.”
They shared a small laugh, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel like this was a turning point. Whatever Harry had been holding back before, he was letting her in now, even if only a little. It felt… nice.
Eventually, she glanced at her phone and realized how late it had gotten. “I should probably head back,” she said, setting her empty wine glass down. “I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”
Harry stood as she got up, shaking his head. “You haven’t. But… thanks for coming. I mean it.”
She smiled, grabbing the bottle of wine. “Anytime, Harry.”
As she walked to the door, he followed her, leaning casually against the frame as she turned back to face him. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at her, a softness she wasn’t used to seeing from him.
“Goodnight,” she said, her voice lighter now.
“Night, Y/N,” he replied, his smirk returning.
She headed back to her apartment, her heart unexpectedly lighter. Maybe Harry wasn’t as grumpy as he seemed—or maybe she was just getting used to it. Either way, she found herself smiling as she closed her door behind her. And for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t overthinking anything.
The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sunlight filtering through her blinds and a faint smile lingering on her lips. The night before with Harry had been… unexpected, but not in a bad way. She stretched, grabbed her phone from the nightstand, and immediately opened her group chat with Harper and Lila.
Y/N:
So, guess what? Harry invited me over for dinner last night.
It didn’t take long for her phone to explode with notifications.
Lila:
WHAT. DETAILS NOW.
Harper:
DID YOU SLEEP WITH HIM?!
Y/N rolled her eyes, her cheeks warming despite being alone.
Y/N:
No, I didn’t sleep with him. Calm down.
Lila:
Boring. But continue.
Harper:
Okay, but like, did it feel like it was going there?
Y/N:
No! It wasn’t like that. He said he had too much food and could use a friend, so I brought wine, and we had dinner. That’s it.
Lila:
You brought wine. That’s a date move.
Harper:
Right? Totally a date.
Y/N:
It wasn’t a date. We ate at his bar counter, talked a little, and that’s all. But…
Lila:
BUT WHAT?!
Harper:
Spill, Y/N. Don’t make us beg.
Y/N sighed, biting her lip as she typed out her next message.
Y/N:
Okay, fine. I wouldn’t mind if something happened, but it’s not like I know much about him. I don’t even know what he does for work.
Lila:
Oh my God. You want to bang the mysterious, tattooed neighbor. I KNEW IT.
Harper:
This is your grumpy/sunshine romance, and we are living for it.
Y/N:
You two are ridiculous. I’m just saying he’s attractive, okay? That doesn’t mean anything’s going to happen.
Lila:
It’ll happen. The sexual tension alone is probably unbearable.
Harper:
Agreed. You just need to ask him questions about himself. What he does for work, what his favorite food is, if he’s single—
Lila:
Definitely ask the last one. For research purposes.
Y/N groaned, shaking her head but smiling despite herself.
Y/N:
You two are impossible. But fine, if the opportunity comes up, I’ll try to find out more about him. Happy?
Harper:
Ecstatic.
Lila:
Can’t wait to hear how this unfolds. We’re already planning the wedding playlist.
Y/N laughed, tossing her phone onto the bed. Her friends were relentless, but they weren’t wrong about one thing—she was curious about Harry. And as much as she tried to deny it, she wouldn’t mind getting to know him better… or seeing where this strange connection between them might lead.
Later that month Y/N walked into her apartment after a long day, expecting the usual cozy warmth to greet her. Instead, an icy chill hit her the moment she stepped inside. She frowned, rubbing her arms and heading straight for the thermostat. She fiddled with it for a minute, but no matter what she did, the heater refused to turn on.
“Great,” she muttered, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders. It wasn’t unbearably cold outside, but inside her apartment, it felt like a freezer.
With no other options, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She didn’t know many people in the building—just Harry, really. And as much as she hesitated, her fingers hovered over his name before she finally sent a text.
Y/N:
Hey, random question. Do you happen to have a small heater or something I can borrow? My heater’s broken, and it’s freezing in here.
A few minutes later, her phone buzzed.
Harry:
Why don’t you just stay here tonight? I’ve got heat, and I don’t own a portable heater.
Y/N stared at the message, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t expected that. Borrowing something was one thing, but staying at his place? She hesitated, her fingers tapping lightly against the screen. Before she could overthink it, she typed out a response.
Y/N:
Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.
His reply was quick.
Harry:
You’re not intruding. Besides, it’s better than you freezing to death in your apartment. Bring whatever you need.
She bit her lip, a mix of nerves and curiosity swirling in her chest. Finally, she grabbed a bag and threw in some essentials—pajamas, a toothbrush, and a few other things—before bundling up and heading out.
When she reached his door, she knocked softly. It opened almost immediately, and there was Harry, leaning against the frame with his usual calm demeanor.
“Figured you’d take me up on the offer,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.
“Yeah, well, hypothermia didn’t sound appealing,” Y/N replied with a small smile, brushing past him into the warmth of his apartment.
As she set her bag down by the couch, she glanced at him. “Thanks for this, by the way. I really appreciate it.”
He shrugged, closing the door. “No problem. It’s just one night.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Wow, Harry. That almost sounded like you’re happy to have me here.”
He gave her a dry look but didn’t respond, instead gesturing toward the couch. “You can take the couch if you want, or I can grab some extra blankets for the guest room.”
She looked at the couch, then back at him. “Guest room? You have a guest room?”
“Barely,” he said with a shrug. “It’s more of a storage room, but there’s a bed in there.”
“Well, as long as it’s warmer than my apartment, I’ll take it.”
Harry nodded, heading toward the hallway. “I’ll grab some blankets.”
As Harry disappeared down the hallway to grab blankets, Y/N called after him, her voice light and teasing. “By the way, I brought some wine as a thank-you! You know, for saving me from my frozen wasteland of an apartment.”
She heard him chuckle faintly, his voice drifting back from the other room. “Thoughtful of you. What kind?”
“Red. A classic, nothing too fancy,” she replied, smirking as she started to take the bottle out of her bag. “Figured you’d prefer something a little understated, given your whole ‘mysterious and broody’ vibe.”
Harry reappeared in the doorway, carrying a thick blanket over one shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I think you enjoy calling me broody a little too much.”
“Well, it fits,” she shot back, grinning. “Speaking of which, I realized something earlier—I don’t even know what you do for work. So, enlighten me, oh mysterious one. What is it that you do?”
Harry paused for a moment, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I own an art gallery,” he said simply, setting the blanket on the couch.
Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “You own an art gallery?”
“Yeah,” he said, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “Small place over in Silver Lake. Nothing flashy, just local artists and smaller exhibitions.”
She stared at him, her curiosity piqued. “I didn’t see that coming.”
“What did you see coming?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, laughing softly. “Something more… I don’t know, corporate? Like sitting at a desk all day and brooding at spreadsheets.”
Harry actually laughed at that, a low, warm sound that surprised her. “Sorry to disappoint. No spreadsheets involved.”
“No, it’s not disappointing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s just… unexpected. I mean, you own an art gallery. That’s cool. Artistic and grumpy? You’re full of surprises, Harry.”
He shook his head, but there was a faint warmth in his expression, like her enthusiasm had caught him off guard. “It’s just a business.”
“Just a business?” she repeated, tilting her head. “Don’t undersell yourself. That’s impressive.”
He looked at her for a moment, his gaze steady. “Thanks.”
They fell into a brief silence, and Y/N felt the air shift slightly. It wasn’t awkward—if anything, it felt… comfortable. She gestured to the wine. “So, should we open this or what?”
Harry nodded, stepping into the kitchen to grab two glasses. “Why not? You’re my guest, after all.”
As he poured the wine, Y/N couldn’t help but think that for someone who seemed so guarded at first, Harry was slowly becoming an open book—one she was eager to keep reading.
Y/N leaned against the counter, swirling her glass of wine as she watched Harry pour his own. “So, how did you end up owning an art gallery?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “I mean, that’s not exactly the most common career path.”
Harry took a sip of his wine, his gaze thoughtful as he set the glass down. “I’ve always loved art. Painting, sketching… that sort of thing. But it’s not exactly the easiest way to make a living.”
Y/N nodded, understanding the struggle. “So, the gallery was a way to stay involved in the art world?”
“Something like that,” he said, leaning his hip against the counter. “I came into some money after my mom passed a few years ago. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to make me think about what I really wanted to do. I didn’t want to sit in an office or work for someone else. I wanted something that felt… personal. The gallery felt like the right choice.”
“That’s incredible,” Y/N said, her voice soft. “I mean, turning something you love into a business? Not many people can say they’ve done that.”
Harry shrugged, a faint smile on his lips. “It has its challenges, but I don’t regret it.”
Y/N smiled at him, feeling a new layer of respect for her neighbor. After a moment, he tilted his head, his eyes flicking to her. “What about you? What do you do?”
She hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Oh, nothing nearly as impressive as you,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just a server. I work at an Italian restaurant a few blocks from here.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh. “Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what?” she asked, frowning.
“Like it’s nothing. You said you’re ‘just’ a server,” he said, taking another sip of his wine. “You’re in food service, right? That’s an art in itself. Just… a different kind.”
She blinked, caught off guard by his perspective. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”
He nodded, gesturing with his glass. “Think about it. You’re part of creating an experience for people. The way the food’s presented, the way you interact with customers—it’s all part of the artistry. Doesn’t matter if it’s a painting on a wall or a plate of pasta. It’s still something people connect with.”
Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a mix of surprise and gratitude washing over her. “That’s… actually really nice of you to say.”
“It’s true,” Harry said simply, his green eyes meeting hers. “Stop selling yourself short.”
She smiled, feeling unexpectedly lighter. “Thanks, Harry. I guess I’ll try to keep that in mind the next time someone complains about their breadsticks not being warm enough.”
He chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Breadsticks or not, it sounds like you’re good at what you do.”
Y/N sipped her wine, the corners of her lips curving up.
Y/N swirled the wine in her glass, glancing at Harry over the rim. She hesitated for a moment, then decided to push the conversation a little further. “You know,” she began, her voice softer now, “you have a really nice way of thinking about things. The way you look at art, even food… it’s kind of impressive.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with an amused expression. “Is that your way of saying I’m not just a grumpy neighbor?”
“Maybe,” she said with a small grin, her tone almost teasing. “But seriously, you’ve got a smart mind, Harry. You see things in a way most people don’t.”
He tilted his head slightly, his green eyes studying her as if trying to figure out her angle. “Are you flirting with me, Y/N?”
She laughed, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. “And if I was?”
Harry’s lips curved into a faint smirk, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving hers. “Then I’d say it’s about time you stopped pretending you find me intimidating.”
“I never said you intimidate me,” she shot back, her grin widening. “I said you have a grumpy vibe. Totally different.”
“Right,” he said, his tone dry but his smirk giving him away. “Good to know I’m not scaring you off.”
“Not even close,” Y/N replied, her voice confident now. She leaned her elbow on the counter, resting her chin in her hand as she looked at him. “You’re not as scary as you think, Harry. In fact, I think you’re kind of… interesting.”
Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”
“Right back at you,” she said, her gaze warm.
For a moment, the air between them shifted. The playful banter was still there, but beneath it was something quieter, something unspoken. Y/N didn’t know what exactly was happening, but she wasn’t in a hurry to break the moment.
Harry finally set his glass down, his expression softening just slightly. “Careful, Y/N,” he said, his voice low but with a hint of amusement. “You keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like having me around.”
“Maybe I do,” she said simply, holding his gaze.
The corners of his mouth twitched, and for the first time, he didn’t deflect her comment. Instead, he just looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his green eyes. Y/N felt her heartbeat quicken, but she didn’t look away.
The mood in the room shifted as Harry leaned forward, his green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine.
He tilted his head slightly, his voice low and teasing as he said, "You wouldn't be able to handle me."
Her breath caught, but she wasn't about to let him have the last word.
"Try me," she challenged, her voice steady but laced with anticipation.
Harry's eyes darkened, the playful smirk on his lips giving way to something deeper, something more raw. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and placed his hand lightly on her throat-not gripping, just resting, his thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. The warmth of his touch made her heart race, and she felt her breath hitch as he leaned in closer.
For a moment, the world around them seemed to disappear, the only sound her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Then, without another word, Harry closed the gap between them, capturing her lips in a deep, searing kiss.
It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't rushed either-it was deliberate, like he'd been holding himself back and was finally letting go. His lips moved against hers with a confidence that left no room for hesitation, and Y/N melted into the kiss, her hand instinctively reaching out to grip the edge of the counter for balance.
She kissed him back just as fervently, tilting her head to deepen the connection. His fingers slid from her throat to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as though he couldn't get enough of her. The heat between them was undeniable, and in that moment, nothing else mattered-not the chill of her broken heater, not the wine, not the playful banter that had led them here.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads nearly touching. Harry's green eyes searched hers, and for once, his usual guarded expression was nowhere to be found.
"Still think I can't handle you?" Y/N whispered, her voice a little breathless but tinged with humor.
Harry smirked, his hand still lingering at the nape of her neck.
"Guess I underestimated you," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "But l'm not done yet.”
Harry's hand slid down from Y/N's neck to her wrist, his grip firm but careful as he led her through his apartment toward his bedroom.
Her heart pounded in anticipation, her breath catching when he opened the door and gently but deliberately pushed her onto the bed.
Y/N gasped softly, propping herself up on her elbows as she looked up at him. The intensity in his green eyes made her pulse race, and the energy between them was electric, the room feeling heavier with every passing second.
Harry stepped closer, his movements slow and controlled, like he was savoring the moment.
He placed a hand on her throat again, this time with a gentle but deliberate squeeze that sent a shiver down her spine. His thumb brushed along her jawline as he leaned in, his voice low and commanding.
"Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he asked, his tone dripping with authority and heat.
Y/N's breath hitched as she nodded slowly, unable to look away from his piercing gaze.
Her voice was caught somewhere in her throat, so she let her actions speak for her, tilting her head slightly into his touch.
Harry smirked, leaning down until his lips were just a breath away from her ear. His voice dropped even lower, a whisper that made her skin prickle with anticipation.
"I knew you would be," he murmured, his tone both teasing and possessive.
The words sent a jolt through her, and she felt her body react instinctively, her cheeks flushing as she surrendered to the moment.
Harry's lips brushed against the corner of her jaw, trailing down her neck as his hand stayed firmly but gently in place. Every movement felt deliberate, like he wanted her to feel every second of his attention.
Whatever control Y/N thought she had going into this was slipping fast, and the way Harry's touch consumed her made it clear—he knew it, too.
Harry paused, his intense green eyes meeting Y/N’s as he leaned over her. His hand lingered on her throat, his grip light but enough to hold her attention completely. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, didn’t move any closer. He just looked at her, his gaze softening slightly, as if he were silently asking her a question.
It wasn’t just a look—it was a pause, a chance for her to stop him if she wanted to. His eyes, usually so guarded, were now open and searching, silently asking for her consent.
Y/N’s heart raced as she looked back at him, feeling the weight of his unspoken question. She swallowed, her breath shallow as she gave him the answer he was waiting for. Slowly, purposely, she nodded.
Harry’s lips curved into a faint smile, a mixture of relief and satisfaction crossing his face. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an edge of tenderness.
He leaned down again, his lips brushing hers as his hand on her throat tightened just slightly, enough to make her feel both safe and completely at his mercy. And as the space between them disappeared, Y/N felt herself giving in fully, her trust in him unwavering.
Harry's piercing gaze never left Y/N's face, his touch as light as a butterfly's wings. He slowly pulled her to the edge, his hands on her hips. The soft rustle of sheets filled the room as she sank into the bedding, eyes darting up to meet his.
Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him undoing his pants, revealing his hardness beneath. She gulped audibly as he climbed onto the bed with her, their bodies pressed together from chest to knees. His hand trailed down her side, stopping just above her thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. His touch sent shivers of anticipation up and down her spine.
"Tell me what you want," he whispered against her earlobe, his hot breath causing goosebumps to form on her skin.
She bit her lip, hesitating for only a moment before whispering back, "I want you to take control."
Harry's smirk was both predatory and reassuring as he nodded once in understanding. His hand slid underneath her shirt, tracing patterns across her stomach before moving higher till it reached its destination: her lacy black bra. He palmed one of her breasts through the fabric, eliciting a moan from deep within her throat that echoed around them. His thumb circled her nipple roughly, making it harden into a tight bud underneath his touch.
His lips followed suit, kissing along her jawline and trailing down towards that erect nipple. He flicked it with his tongue teasingly while simultaneously tug
His smile was wicked as he leaned back, a glint in his eye. "Is that so?" He trailed kisses down her neck, his stubble grazing against her sensitive skin, making her shudder with pleasure. His hand slid between their bodies and brushed against her center, indulging in the wetness there. She gasped at the sensation, arching into his touch.
"You're so ready for me," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He pushed her shorts aside and slid one finger inside her slowly, feeling the tightness surrounding him. Y/N moaned softly, her hips grinding against his hand in encouragement.
Harry removed his finger, teasing her as he lowered his head to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. He growled softly against her skin, sucking gently as he began to thrust two fingers inside her in short, quick motions that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. She cried out softly, gripping the sheets beneath her as he continued his ministrations. He quickly undressed her and stared at her body. Y/N felt hot under his eyes.
They quickly lost themselves in each other's touches. The squeak of the bedframe echoed in the room as Harry positioned himself at her entrance and pushed inside her slowly. She gasped at the fullness but welcomed it, urging him on with a nod of encouragement.
He slowed down, taking deep breaths to regain control as he braced himself above her. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked hoarsely, gaze locked onto hers.
Y/N nodded fiercely, signaling him to continue. With a low growl of approval, he began moving inside her slowly but steadily, their
bodies meeting in a dance of desire. Every thrust sent ripples of pleasure through them both, their skin slick with sweat under the dim light of the bedside lamp. The air was thick with an almost palpable tension as they moved together, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the room.
Harry's grip on her hips tightened, his rhythm becoming faster and harder, mirroring the desire that flared in his eyes. Y/N met him stroke for stroke, their eyes locked on each other as if they were the only two people in the room. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the silence beneath the duvet, broken only by their heavy breathing and soft moans.
Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she neared her climax, his name falling from her lips in a whispered plea. Without missing a beat, he quickened his pace, his cock driving into her with urgency. Their connection was intense, overwhelming, everything she could have asked for and more.
As she cried out in ecstasy beneath him, feeling her orgasm wash over her like a wave, Harry followed close behind. His body tensed as he groaned loudly, filling her with his warmth and love. Their hearts raced in unison as they finally collapsed onto each other, panting heavily but content.
He rolled off her slowly, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before rolling onto his back beside her.
Harry lay on his side, propped up on one elbow as he looked down at Y/N. His green eyes were softer now, a flicker of mischief dancing in them as he smirked.
"So," he said, his voice low and teasing, "are you going to text your little girl chat and tell them we fucked?" Y/N let out a surprised laugh, turning her head to look at him.
"What? No! They'd never let me live it down."
Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself.
"You should. Tell them the hot, mysterious guy was really grumpy the whole time."Y/N laughed even harder, covering her face with her hand.
"Oh, right. That'll really sell it. 'Hey, girls, just an FYl, my grumpy neighbor is not only hot but also excellent in bed. Highly recommend.'"
Harry chuckled, his grin widening. "Not bad. Make sure you add in the part about how I stayed in character the whole time-grumpy and all."
She rolled her eyes, still smiling as she nudged him playfully. "Fine. I'll throw in that your scowl is even sexier up close. Happy?"
"Ecstatic," he said dryly, though the amused glint in his eyes gave him away. YN shook her head, the laughter subsiding into a warm smile.
"You know," she said, her tone softening, "you might be mysterious and grumpy, but you're also a little cocky. Just saying."
Harry leaned down, his face inches from hers.
"Maybe," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "But I think you like it."
Her cheeks flushed as she looked up at him, biting back a grin. "Maybe I do."
"Good," he said simply, before capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss that made her forget about everything else-including her friends waiting for updates in the group chat.
The week passed in a blur of near-misses and brief encounters between Y/N and Harry. She saw him in the mailroom once, where he gave her a small nod and the faintest hint of a smirk before disappearing upstairs. Another time, they crossed paths in the hallway, exchanging quick hellos but nothing more.
Neither of them brought up the night they spent together, and while Y/N tried to brush it off as a casual hookup, part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he was deliberately avoiding the topic. She didn’t want to push, figuring Harry would open up if and when he was ready.
Then, one evening, as she was curled up on her couch with a glass of wine and her laptop, her phone buzzed with a text.
Harry:
Hey. Sorry I’ve been so distant this week. The gallery is getting ready for a new showing, and it’s been… a lot.
Y/N stared at the message for a moment, her stomach fluttering. She hadn’t expected him to reach out, let alone apologize.
Y/N:
Hey, no worries. I figured you were busy. New showing sounds exciting though!
A moment later, her phone buzzed again.
Harry:
It is. Stressful, but worth it. You should come by. It’s this Saturday night. Bring your friends if you want.
Y/N’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry inviting her to his gallery? That felt… significant.
Y/N:
I’d love to. Are you sure you want me to bring my friends? They’re a little… loud.
Harry:
If they’re anything like you, I’m already prepared for chaos.
She laughed softly, shaking her head.
Y/N:
Fair warning: chaos is guaranteed. But I’ll be there.
Harry:
Good. I’ll send you the details tomorrow.
Y/N set her phone down, a small smile tugging at her lips. For all of Harry’s grumpiness and guarded demeanor, this felt like his way of extending an olive branch—a step toward something more. And she couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing him in his element, at the gallery, intrigued her.
She grabbed her phone again and opened the group chat with Harper and Lila.
Y/N:
Ladies, clear your schedules for Saturday night. We’re going to an art gallery.
Predictably, her phone exploded with responses almost immediately.
Lila:
Wait, is this Harry’s gallery?
Harper:
The grumpy tattooed neighbor has an art gallery?
Y/N:
Yes. He invited me. And before you ask—no, we’re not talking about the other night.
Lila:
Boring. But fine, we’re in. Is there wine?
Harper:
And snacks?
Y/N:
I’ll ask. But behave yourselves. He already thinks I’m loud.
Lila:
Oh, honey, we’re just getting started.
Y/N laughed, already imagining the chaos her friends would inevitably bring. But deep down, she was looking forward to Saturday more than she cared to admit.
The week crawled by as Saturday approached, each day slower than the last. Y/N found herself obsessing over small details—whether Harry would be too busy to notice her, what kind of people attended art gallery showings, and most importantly, what to wear. She wanted to look effortlessly put-together, like someone who appreciated art but wasn’t trying too hard.
By Saturday afternoon, her room was a battlefield of discarded outfits. Finally, she settled on a sleek black jumpsuit paired with a cropped denim jacket and ankle boots—stylish but not over the top. She added a few gold accessories and a swipe of lipstick before grabbing her bag and heading out the door.
On the way to Silver Lake, she picked up Harper and Lila, who were already buzzing with excitement when they climbed into the car.
“You look hot,” Lila said, eyeing her outfit. “Very ‘I like art but I’m too cool to talk about it.’”
“Thanks,” Y/N said, laughing as she started the car. “I’m going for low-key, not intimidating.”
“Well, mission accomplished,” Harper chimed in, adjusting her blazer.
Y/N glanced at them in the rearview mirror, grinning. Harper wore a bold red jumpsuit, while Lila had opted for a metallic skirt and leather jacket.
By the time they pulled into Silver Lake, the sun had set, and the neighborhood was alive with energy. The gallery came into view, its windows glowing warmly against the evening sky. People were milling about on the sidewalk, chatting in small groups with glasses of wine in hand, while others filtered in and out of the bustling space.
“This is it,” Y/N said, parking the car and taking a deep breath.
“It’s so fancy,” Lila said, practically bouncing in her seat. “Look at all these people!”
Harper leaned forward, peering out the window. “I’m already picturing Harry brooding in a corner, glaring at anyone who talks too loud.”
“Probably,” Y/N muttered, her heart fluttering as she got out of the car. She grabbed her bag and adjusted her jacket before turning to her friends. “Okay, let’s not embarrass me too much, yeah?”
“No promises,” Harper said with a grin, looping her arm through Y/N’s as they headed toward the gallery entrance.
Inside, the space was even more vibrant. The walls were adorned with bold, eclectic pieces of art—paintings, sculptures, and mixed-media pieces that immediately drew attention. Soft music played in the background, and servers wove through the crowd with trays of wine and hors d’oeuvres. The hum of conversation filled the air, blending with the occasional burst of laughter.
Y/N’s eyes scanned the room, searching for Harry. She didn’t spot him right away, but she noticed how carefully curated the space felt—each piece arranged with intention. It was a reflection of him, she realized, meticulous and thoughtful.
“This is amazing,” Harper said, grabbing a glass of wine from a passing server. “He really knows what he’s doing.”
Lila nudged Y/N. “Speaking of, where is Mr. Grumpy Art Dealer? I want to see him in his element.”
“I don’t know,” Y/N said, glancing around again. “He’s probably—”
Before she could finish, her gaze landed on him. Harry stood near the back of the room, dressed in a crisp black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showcasing his tattoos. He was talking to a small group of people, but his eyes flicked toward her as if he could feel her presence.
Their gazes locked for a moment, and he gave her a subtle nod before turning back to his conversation. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt Lila squeeze her arm.
“Oh, he definitely saw you,” Lila said, grinning. “And I’m not imagining the way he looked at you.”
“Stop,” Y/N hissed, her cheeks flushing. But she couldn’t deny it—there was something in his gaze that felt personal, even in the middle of the crowd.
“Go say hi,” Harper urged, giving her a nudge.
“Not yet,” Y/N said, grabbing a glass of wine for herself. “I’ll wait until he’s free. Let’s just look around first.”
As they wandered through the gallery, admiring the artwork, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Harry’s eyes were on her—even when she wasn’t looking his way.
Y/N wandered through the gallery, sipping her wine as she admired the artwork. Each piece was so different—some abstract, others intricate and detailed—but all of them carried a sense of purpose. It was easy to see that Harry had a good eye for curating.
She glanced across the room and saw Harper and Lila chatting animatedly with a group of women, likely bonding over their outfits or the wine. Typical, she thought with a smile, shaking her head.
As she moved to the next painting—a striking piece of layered colors and textures—she felt someone step up beside her. There was a shift in the air, a quiet presence that made her turn her head.
It was Harry.
He stood with his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the painting. His black shirt, with the sleeves still rolled up, contrasted sharply against the warm tones of the art, and his tattoos seemed to blend seamlessly into the aesthetic of the space.
“It’s acrylic and resin,” he said, his voice low but steady. “The artist used palette knives for the texture and then poured resin over it to give it that shine. Took weeks to cure properly.”
Y/N blinked, caught off guard for a moment before she found her words. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly, turning her attention back to the piece. “I love the depth in it. It feels like you could reach in and get lost.”
Harry glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s the idea. The artist wanted it to feel immersive, like stepping into an emotional landscape.”
She looked at him, her curiosity piqued. “Do you know all the details of every piece in here?”
“Pretty much,” he admitted, his smirk growing. “Part of the job. I like to understand the process—it helps me connect with the artists and explain it to people who come through.”
Y/N smiled, sipping her wine. “It’s impressive. You’ve created something really special here.”
Harry looked at her again, his green eyes studying her for a moment. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “It means a lot, coming from you.”
She tilted her head, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “Why me?”
He shrugged slightly, his gaze flicking back to the painting. “Because you actually look at the art. Most people just see it, but you’re trying to understand it.”
Her cheeks warmed at the unexpected compliment, and she turned back to the painting to hide her flustered expression. “Well, you make it hard not to appreciate it. The way you talk about it… it’s obvious how much you care.”
He didn’t respond right away, and the silence between them felt comfortable, almost intimate. Finally, he leaned in just slightly, his voice softer now.
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
Y/N turned to look at him again, her heart skipping a beat at the closeness between them. “Me too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, the bustling crowd around them faded into the background, leaving just the two of them standing there, the art surrounding them as if it were part of their story.
Harry slipped his hand into Y/N’s, his fingers warm and steady as he gently tugged her through the gallery. She followed without question, her curiosity mounting as they weaved between groups of people. He didn’t say a word, just led her down a quieter section of the space where fewer people were lingering.
When they stopped, Y/N noticed the piece in front of them was a painting—bold yet delicate, with strokes that somehow conveyed both strength and softness. She tilted her head, studying it, drawn to the way the light and shadows played across the figure in the painting. There was something familiar about it, something that tugged at her memory.
She took a step closer, her heart beating faster as the realization slowly dawned on her. The painting wasn’t just beautiful—it was her.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned to Harry, her eyes wide. “Is this…?”
He nodded, his gaze steady but unreadable. “It’s you.”
Y/N stared at the painting again, her mind racing. The details were unmistakable—the way her hair fell, the soft curve of her face, the hint of a thoughtful expression she’d never realized she wore. But it wasn’t just her likeness; it was the way the he had captured something deeper, something vulnerable and raw.
“How?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Harry’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “I started it a few weeks after I moved in. I didn’t even know your name then. I just… saw you.”
Her chest tightened as she turned to him again. “You saw me?”
He nodded, his green eyes softer now. “In the mailroom. In the hallway. On your balcony once, drinking coffee. I didn’t know why, but there was something about you that I couldn’t get out of my head. So, I painted.”
Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a mix of emotions swirling inside her—flattery, disbelief, and something she couldn’t quite name. “Harry, this is… incredible. I don’t even know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I just thought you should see it. This is the first time I’ve shown it to anyone.”
Her heart thudded in her chest, and she took a step closer to him, her voice soft. “Why me?”
Harry’s gaze locked on hers, his expression open and sincere. “Because it’s you, Y/N. I couldn’t have painted this if it wasn’t.”
The noise of the gallery faded around them as she stood there, her hand still in his, staring up at the painting of herself. For the first time, she saw herself through someone else’s eyes—not as the loud, chaotic neighbor, but as something worthy of being captured in art.
And Harry, the grumpy, mysterious neighbor, was the one who had done it.
summary: lovey sunday morning in bed that ends with him buried inside her.
cw: smut18+ - penetration (p in v), unprotected sex, smidge of daddy kink, fluff, fem!reader, unedited. tried to be grammatically correct by using upper case if that makes u go wild
word count: approx 2.2k
| ladies forgive me this is like my 2nd time writing smut! building the skill brick by brick fr. mwah :*
not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.
masterlist
The morning light slipped through the curtains in soft streams, casting a gentle warmth over the room. The air was still, the kind of quiet that only existed in muted peace with a lover, when the world outside felt distant and time seemed to stretch endlessly. Harry lay on his back, his arm lazily draped around YN’s waist, nestled comfortably into his side like a bear seeking habitat for hibernation. His skin was warm and solid against her, a tingling heat that could have her melt in him.
She stirred first, not fully awake but aware of the weight of his arm holding her. The familiar scent of him - something faintly earthy and sweet - wrapped around her like a second blanket, and for a long moment, she didn’t want to move. His curls smelt like his lavender bergamot shampoo, locks disheveled from letting his hair dry in his sleep. The simplicity of waking up next to him was entrancing, before the world rushed in with all its noise.
He shifted beside her, his nose nuzzling into the crook of her neck, curls tickling her skin. He mumbled something incoherent, half-awake, and then murmured, “Morning, love.” His voice was low and raspy from sleep, the sound of it sending a current through her.
Her eyes fluttered open, but just barely. She didn’t need to see him to know the expression on his face - the soft, lazy smile that always greeted her in the mornings, the way his eyes crinkled at the edges, even when he was half asleep. His fingers trailed absentmindedly along her side, tracing little patterns that sent shivers up her spine. The scent of home and freshly washed sheets stuck to her skin like melted sugar, and Harry swore she was hypnotizing.
“Could stay like this all day.” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, then her cheek, his lips lingering just enough to make her want more. There was something about the way he held her, like she was the most precious thing in the world, and she could feel that tenderness in every touch, every kiss. His fingers grazed her arm, barely there, as if he was savoring every inch of her skin.
She smiled sleepily, her voice still thick with the dreams that lingered faintly in the back of her head. “You say that every morning.”
“Mean it every time.” Harry hums, his tone playful but full of affection. He shifted slightly, pulling her closer, as if he needed to feel her heart beat against his. There was a raw intimacy in the way he held her, not just the physical closeness, but the quiet comfort of knowing that this was where he belonged.
For a while, they stayed like that, wrapped in each other, neither of them willing to break the spell of the morning. Outside, the world moved on without them, but in here, time seemed to pause. Her head rested on his chest, rising and falling with his breath, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the soft fabric of his t-shirt. She felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm, a sound more comforting than any lullaby.
His gaze lingered on her face, his eyes tracing every detail, like he was memorizing the way she looked in the morning light. Her features were soft from sleep, cheeks flush and eyes a bit puffy. In that moment he wished he had the talent to paint, encapsulating her beauty in delicate watercolors. “Y’look so pretty when you sleep,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like an angel.”
She opened one eye, catching the adoring smile on his face, that lopsided grin he always gave her when he was in one of his affectionate moods. “You’re such a sap, Styles.” YN teased, though her voice held no real bite.
His smile widened, the dimples in his cheeks deepening as he laughed softly. “Maybe. But you love it.”
She tried to roll her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. There was something about him, the way he could make her feel completely at ease, completely loved, that always got to her. She parted her lips to speak, but in one fluid motion, Harry rolled her onto him, making her squeal in surprise. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her against him as he laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. His fingers traced along the curve of her waist from underneath his shirt that hung loosely around her frame, his eyes softening. They basked in the sounds of their breathing, the girl rising and falling atop him from every breath he took. He trailed his hand upward, combing his fingers through her hair. "She wasn't doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning against the balcony railing, holding the universe together." He smiled gently, his voice airy and dipped in honey.
Her giggle was breathy and melodic as her fingers reached for his cheek, pinching it ever so slightly with a delicate shake. The two had a thing for randomly quoting literature, and she couldn’t believe he beat her to it this Sunday morning. An excerpt that made her cheeks tinge a shade of pink, the love he felt toward her dripping from the borrowed words. “Shut up.” She smiled, poking his nose.
His expression didn’t change as he adjusted his large hands back under her shirt, brushing up her back, the pad of his index right along her spine. His heart fluttered with the sight upon him, every inch of her skin the tips of his fingers touched belonging to him. His movement slowed to a halt at the top of her waist, gently guiding her down to let his lips meet hers.
The kiss was slow, lingering, a quiet promise in the way his lips moved against hers. His hands continued their exploration over the familiar land as he deepened the kiss, savoring the taste of her. When they finally pulled apart, Harry rested his forehead against hers, his breath cool on her skin.
His lips grazed her neck, the softest of kisses, but enough to send a shiver through her body. He mingled there, his exhales ticking her skin, goosebumps cascading down her body, as his lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear - making her sigh softly. The weight of her body straddling his felt comforting, grounding, but there was something electric in the way his hands moved, slow and teasing.
Her own fingers responded instinctively, running her fingers along his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the tautness of the muscles under her touch. She could sense his heartbeat quickening, matching the growing pulse she felt in her core. She let her hand roam across his torso, her fingertips tracing the lines of his chest and abdomen, delighting in the way he shivered slightly under her touch.
Harry's breath hitched as her fingers brushed lower, and he let out a soft groan, pulling her down beside him. He gripped her waist, her leg tightly looping around his as their lips met again.
Everything about the moment felt slow, deliberate - like they had all the time in the world, yet neither of them wanted to wait any longer. His lips left hers to trail down her jaw, over the sensitive skin just below her ear again. His voice, soft and hoarse, whispered against her, "Turn around.” The sheets rustled with her compliance, the arm that lied beneath her head bending as he placed a light hand around her throat.
YN’s breath hitched, a heat pooling her inner thighs and drenching her sunshine yellow panties. His lips brushed against the crook of her neck, bunching the hem of her shirt up a bit as he pulled her underwear down to her knees. His sigh was heavy, the length of his cock slapping against the small of her back as he freed himself. He mumbled something under his breath, lips skimming along the space where her shoulder and neck met, his hand finding itself between her legs, pulling her thigh upward and hooking the bend of his elbow around her knee. He shifts his hips to line himself with her cunt, YN reaching down to keep him in place. A groan tumbles from his lips as he pushes past her wet folds, filling her completely. She gasps at the feeling of his cock stretching her, Harry tugging the hand on her neck roughly to force her between his head and shoulders, tightening his grip ever so slightly while he keeps his thrusts at a tauntingly slow pace. “Such a good girl.” He murmured absentmindedly, too lost in the pleasure of her walls enveloping him completely.
Her eyes fluttered shut, soft moans emitting from her as he moves his hips quicker. Her arousal doused his cock, wetting her inner thighs - allowing for the noise of wet skin slapping against one another to reverberate off the white walls of their bedroom. She turns her head, peppering sloppy kisses along his jaw as she reaches her arm back to tangle her fingers in his curls.
All their noises combined made a symphony of pleasure, the coil in YN’s core tightening with every push of his hips. Harry’s breath came and went in short gasps, a gleam of sweat slicking his skin. The grip that held her leg up slipped inward and past where he pounded into her, fingers stretching up to the spot where the head of his cock bulged the space beneath her bellybutton from inside, a moan escaping him at the feeling of it. “Daddy-“ She whimpered, tightening around his length while his chin dipped slightly, teeth sinking into the fleshier part of her shoulder. Her head pulled back further into him, his bite light enough to not break her skin, but harsh enough to leave an indent.
He removes his touch from her belly, slapping the bottom of her thigh harshly before holding it up again. She was unable to form anything coherent, her face becoming a shade of red from how much air she lost from her moans. He hummed, low and airy, “Y’pussy is so tight for daddy.”
He selfishly pushed deeper into her, not wanting any void of space left inside of her. He could feel her walls flutter around him, her back barely arching from his chest behind her. He lightened the grip on her throat, holding onto her chin as he forced her to look at him, her lips pouted from his grasp. “Baby-“ He groaned, eyes burrowing into hers. “Fuck- y’gonna come, hm?” He tried to coo through his grunts, his girl’s eyebrows in a furrow from the knot in her belly. She nodded into his hand, eyes wide in desperation. He pulled her chin upward a bit more, his nose brushing against her top lip as he gazed at her through his eyelashes. “Look at me, bunny, don’t move.”
She whimpered, her bum and thighs a flush of pink from the force of his thrusts. YN kept her eyes open, even if they fell half-lidded - knowing Harry would stop if she didn’t listen.
Her legs threatened to close from the pleasure, but Harry forced them to open wider - intentionally teetering her breaking point with a lazy smile spread across his lips. His eyes never left hers, watching every twist and scrunch of ecstasy dance upon her features. Her moans and whimpers were messy, his curls between her fingers tight as she jerked his head back. YN forced her eyes wide, lips parted and unable to close as her release built intensely. His smile turned into a smirk, gazing down at her pretty face through a half-lidded gaze. His cock twitched as she tightened around him once more, her orgasm evident in her expression as she came greedily over his length. He rode out her high, forehead falling against hers while guttural groans made his chest vibrate. His thrusts were sloppy and quick, a small whimper falling from his lips as he shot white ribbons of come inside her.
A beat of heavy synchronized heartbeats and rapid breaths befall them, Harry gently pulling her leg down to finally rest - his length slipping out, nestled between her thighs. She lets out a light sigh as the brunette draped his arm over the curve of her waist, pulling her closer as he presses delicate kisses against her temple.
YN hummed, eyes fluttering to a close as the rhythm of her boyfriend’s chest rising and falling abutting against her - lulled her to the brink of slumber. “For nothing, not the sun, not the rain-” She paused, voice raspy from her previous moans and the sleep that loomed over her. If she didn’t love this book so much, she would’ve forgotten the excerpt entirely. “not even the brightest star in the darkest sky, could begin to compare to the wonder of you.”
Harry was rested into the crook of her neck, and she could feel the way his lips spread into a smile. His thumbs rubbed circles along her hip bone, his breathing slowing. He let out an airy giggle before he parted his rosy lips, "I shoot hot bolts into you. I make your ovaries incandescent."
They both rippled with easy laughter, feeling his belly flutter against her back with every giggle. The sun rose higher as the morning continued to pass by them, birds chirping and cars rolling down their street. They lay intertwined, bodies melting into each other and moulding into one being, each breath in perfect harmony. And in that moment they both could swear this is what heaven must feel like.
Summary: A single photo exposes what was meant to stay hidden, throwing Y/N into a storm of scrutiny, speculation, and Harry’s growing distance. But just when the chaos seems to settle, something far worse lurks beneath the surface, waiting to destroy everything.
A/N: Me: Let’s add some angst.Also me: Accidentally ruins their lives in the process. 😇
This part has it all—smut, emotional damage, and the internet being a raging dumpster fire. If you think things can’t get worse… oh, sweet summer child. Buckle up. 😈
Alsooo!! i opened up commissions, find them here!
Word Count: 5k
Warnings:
Smut (NSFW, described sex scenes, not very explicit)
Angst (SO much angst)
Jealousy & possessiveness
Arguments, raised voices, and hurt feelings
Public exposure & media frenzy
Slut-shaming, cyberbullying & online hate
Emotional distress, panic attacks, & isolation
Sex tape leak & intense feelings of violation
Betrayal & trust issues
(If any of these are triggers for you, please read with caution or skip certain parts! 💜)
[part 1]
☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆
You barely make it through the door before the weight of the night crashes over you. Your heels dangle from your fingers, their straps digging into your skin, forgotten in the haze of exhaustion. The dress that once made you feel untouchable—cinched perfectly at the waist, shimmering under the ballroom lights, a second skin of confidence—is now nothing but a burden, suffocating and heavy against your body. The fabric clings to the sweat on your spine, a reminder of the hours spent dancing, smiling, pretending.
The air in your apartment is still. No distant chatter, no flashing cameras, no murmurs of speculation just out of earshot. Just silence. A stark contrast to the whirlwind of the gala, to the tension that still lingers in your chest, wound tight like a coil refusing to snap. You kick the door shut behind you, the sound echoing through the dimly lit space, grounding you.
Your hands tremble as you reach for your phone, the screen illuminating your face with a cold, blue glow. You refresh Twitter. Once. Twice. Again.
Nothing.
No blurry pictures hastily taken from the corner of the room. No speculative threads dissecting stolen glances or analyzing body language. Just the usual: best-dressed lists, articles debating the most jaw-dropping looks of the night, a few clips of drunken celebrities caught mid-slur.
You exhale, a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and sink onto the edge of your bed. Maybe you got lucky. Maybe the fan who recognized you in that moment—who raised their phone, eyes wide with realization—decided to keep the photo to themselves.
But relief is fleeting. It never lasts long when it comes to him.
Your fingers hover over his name in your messages, muscle memory betraying you.
Maybe you were just overreacting.
Maybe the fan won’t post it.
Maybe this was just a false alarm—a close call, but nothing more.
You type out a message to Harry but doesn’t send it.
(What would you even say?)
"That was close?"
"Thought we were caught?"
"I can still feel your hands on me?"
You don’t text him. You shouldn’t. You tell yourself you won’t. Instead, you lock your phone and toss it onto the duvet beside you, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes. As if that could stop the flood of thoughts, the relentless replay of the night unraveling in your mind.
The rooftop.
The cool night air brushing against your skin, a welcome contrast to the heat that had coiled low in your stomach the moment his hand found yours. The city stretched below you, lights blinking like stars scattered across concrete. The faint hum of music from the ballroom below, distant, as if the world had momentarily paused for the two of you.
You remember the way he looked at you—really looked at you. Like he was trying to memorize every detail, as if this moment, this stolen sliver of time, was all he’d ever have. His gaze had burned through you, unspoken words resting heavy between you both. You should have walked away. You should have ignored the way his voice curled around your name, like a secret only he was meant to keep.
But you didn’t.
You stayed.
You let him pull you in, let the night swallow you whole, let yourself forget—just for a second—that there were rules, consequences, a world beyond the rooftop’s edge waiting to come crashing back in.
And now, in the quiet of your apartment, with only the hum of your thoughts and the lingering scent of his cologne on your skin, you can’t escape the truth.
You crossed a line tonight.
And the whole world might find out.
But before the rooftop, before the gala, before the lies and the secrecy, there was a beginning. A first moment. A shift in the air so subtle and yet so undeniable that even now, as you sit in the dim glow of your apartment, you can still feel it humming beneath your skin.
The first time you saw Harry, the world around you dulled. Maybe it was the sheer force of his presence, the way he occupied a room so effortlessly, all slow movements and easy confidence. Maybe it was the sound of his laughter, rich and unhurried, cutting through the noise of a crowded space like he had all the time in the world.
Or maybe it was the way he looked at you—like he had already known you before you had the chance to introduce yourself.
You weren’t supposed to notice him. You weren’t supposed to feel anything when his gaze lingered just a second too long, when his lips curved into that lazy, knowing smile that made your pulse falter. But the second his eyes found yours across the room, something clicked into place. Something inevitable.
The attraction was instant. Palpable.
You remember the way your breath caught when he spoke your name for the first time, the syllables rolling off his tongue like he was testing them, savoring them. The way conversation with him felt different—like an undercurrent of something dangerous, something waiting to pull you under.
You told yourself it was nothing. A fleeting moment. A trick of the light.
But Harry Styles was not the kind of man you forgot.
It started as a game. A dance of words, teasing and laced with something unspoken. A battle of who would fold first.
And you did.
It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. The first time it happened, it was just that—an accident, a misstep, a single night that spiraled out of control before either of you could stop it. A party, too much champagne, the sharp edge of desire pressing into your ribs.
You remember the way his fingers grazed your wrist when he reached for your drink, the way his lips quirked when he caught you staring. You remember the heat in his eyes, the way his touch burned through fabric, the moment his mouth finally crashed against yours like he had been waiting for it, like you had been waiting for it.
It was reckless. Messy. Teeth against lips, hands fisting in fabric, breathless laughter swallowed by the dark. The press of his body against yours, the sheer force of wanting him making your head spin.
And then, morning came.
And you told yourself it was a mistake.
But then it happened again. And again.
Each time, you swore it was the last. Each time, you promised yourself it was just physical, just an outlet, just something to be ignored in the light of day.
But it never was.
Because Harry didn’t just touch you—he unraveled you. He kissed you like he was memorizing you, like he was terrified you’d slip through his fingers the moment he let go. And when the world wasn’t watching, when the cameras weren’t flashing, he looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.
So you made rules.
No feelings. No expectations. No one finds out.
And in the beginning, the rules worked. They made it easier to pretend. They turned stolen glances into nothing more than coincidence, turned fleeting touches into meaningless gestures. They allowed you to lie to yourself—convince yourself that whatever this was, it wasn’t real.
But rules mean nothing when he kisses you like he’s drowning.
When his fingers tangle in your hair like he can’t bear to let go.
When he pulls you into his arms after, as if holding you in the dark is the only thing keeping him together.
And now, with your heart still racing from the night you just had, with the taste of his name still lingering on your tongue, you know one thing for certain: This was never just a game.
But you pretend it is.
You have to.
Because if you let yourself believe anything else, if you admit that this thing between you and Harry has already bled past every line you swore you wouldn’t cross, then you’re left with something fragile. Something that could shatter with a single breath.
So you do what you do best. You compartmentalize.
You throw yourself into work, letting your schedule consume you. Early morning meetings, script read-throughs, press junkets, rehearsals. Your days are meticulously planned, a well-oiled machine running on caffeine and sheer force of will.
When people ask about the gala, you keep your answers light, practiced, as if the night hadn’t ended with you pressed against the wall in a dark corner, Harry’s breath hot against your neck.
You’re good at pretending. You always have been.
But at night, when the world quiets, when there’s nothing left to distract you, the truth finds you.
Or rather, he does.
It happens like clockwork.
The text usually comes first.
"Awake?"
If you don’t answer fast enough, your phone buzzes again.
"Liar. Open the door."
And sure enough, when you tiptoe to your front door and glance through the peephole, he’s there. Hood up, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, his frame half-hidden in the dim glow of the hallway light.
You hesitate for only a second before unlocking the door.
The second he steps inside, the air shifts. The easy charm, the teasing, the cocky smirk he wears in public—gone. Instead, there’s something raw in his eyes as he looks at you. Like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.
Neither of you speak as he toes off his boots, shedding layers as he follows you into your bedroom. You’re already crawling under the sheets when you feel the bed dip under his weight, his body warm and solid behind you.
A kiss to your bare shoulder. A whispered, “Missed you.”
You tell yourself this is enough. These quiet moments, these stolen nights.
That you don’t need more.
But that’s a lie.
Some nights, it’s reckless. Impulsive.
Your phone vibrates while you’re in the middle of a meeting, and when you glance down, the message on the screen makes your breath hitch.
"Wish I was there. On my knees. Bet I could make you come without making a sound."
You press your thighs together, biting back a smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Knows that for the rest of the meeting, you’ll be restless, distracted, replaying his words in your head.
And later that night, when you finally see him, he doesn’t even let you get a word in before his mouth is on yours, hands roaming, pushing you up against the nearest surface.
"Thought about you all day," he murmurs against your lips, and the moment you part them to respond, he swallows the words whole.
And then there’s the jealousy.
It’s subtle. Unspoken. But it lingers in the space between you.
Maybe it’s an event, a photo that surfaces of you and someone else—just friendly, nothing more. Maybe it’s work, a scene you had to film with a male co-star, your bodies too close, your laughter lingering a second too long.
He never says anything. Not really.
But later that night, his hands are rougher. His grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging into your skin. He fucks you deep, slow, deliberate. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, trying to erase anyone else’s touch.
"You’re mine," he breathes against your throat, and you don’t argue.
Because you are.
And then there are the mornings. The only time when the heat has burned itself out and there’s nothing left but softness.
The warmth of his fingers tracing patterns along your back. His lips skimming your temple, voice thick with sleep as he murmurs, “So perfect like this.”
Like this.
Like he already knows these moments aren’t meant to last.
And for a while, it’s easy to believe the secret is safe.
That the picture from the gala will never surface.
That no one will ever find out.
At one point, you even joke about it, stretching lazily against the sheets as you grin up at him. “Imagine if someone finds out? They’d probably think I kidnapped you.”
Harry smirks, fingers trailing down your thigh, amusement flickering in his gaze. “You kinda did.”
It feels like a game.
Until it isn’t.
You wake up to chaos.
The sharp, relentless vibration of your phone drags you from sleep, the screen lighting up with notification after notification, the soft glow casting eerie shadows across your bedroom. You blink against the brightness, still half-asleep, reaching blindly for your phone.
And then you see it.
Your name. His name.
Trending. Everywhere.
A cold weight settles in your stomach as you swipe to unlock your phone, your heart hammering against your ribs. Your vision blurs for a second as you take in the headlines, the sheer speed at which the world has latched onto something that—until now—had belonged only to the two of you.
Harry Styles’ Secret Romance EXPOSED!
Who Is the Mystery Girl Holding Hands with Harry Styles?
Fans Speculate: Harry’s Hidden Relationship REVEALED!
Your stomach twists painfully as you scroll, your hands trembling around your phone. And then—
The picture.
It’s unmistakable.
The two of you leaving the gala, his fingers laced through yours. The way he’s looking at you—not just a glance, not something casual, but something intense. The angle makes it painfully obvious, the intimacy written all over you.
Your breath catches in your throat.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
You were careful. You always were. Every stolen glance, every fleeting touch, every moment behind closed doors—it was yours. No cameras. No press. No speculation.
But now?
It’s out.
And the internet is on fire.
The comments are instant. Loud. Unforgiving.
Some are excited, supportive.
"He looks so happy! Whoever she is, she must be amazing.""I knew it! He’s been glowing lately!""As long as she treats him right, I’m happy for them."
But others—
"Who even is she??""She’s just using him for clout.""She’s not even famous. She’s NOTHING.""Homewrecker. Slut. Gold digger."
The words slice through you, sharp and merciless. They don’t even know you, but that doesn’t matter.
You were naïve to think they’d be kind.
You knew what happened to women in his orbit. You’d seen it before—the scrutiny, the invasiveness, the vitriol. You had just hoped… maybe, somehow, it would be different.
You were wrong.
And the worst part?
You don’t know how Harry is handling it.
You call him.
Straight to voicemail.
Your pulse pounds as you try again, fingers gripping the phone too tightly.
Still nothing.
Panic coils in your chest as you check your texts. No messages. No missed calls.
Just silence.
Meanwhile, your team is already reaching out.
Your phone buzzes with an incoming call from your manager. Your publicist. A flurry of texts asking how to handle the situation.
Do you deny it? Ignore it? Release a statement?
But you have no answers.
Because the only person who matters isn’t answering his damn phone.
Then, finally—
It rings.
You don’t even hesitate. You answer immediately, your voice breathless, frantic.
"Harry—"
But his voice—
It’s cold. Distant.
"We need to talk."
The words sit heavy in the air between you, weighted with something dark, something dangerous.
You hesitate for only a second before whispering, “Okay.”
--
The moment you see him, you know.
He’s waiting for you in his hotel room, standing near the window, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His posture is stiff, his shoulders drawn tight, tension radiating off him in waves.
His jaw is clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line.
He hasn’t even said a word yet, but your chest is already tight.
This is bad.
The door clicks shut behind you, and you take a step forward, arms crossed over your chest like they might shield you from whatever’s coming.
"Say something," you murmur.
Harry finally turns, his eyes locking onto yours. And for the first time since you met him, they’re unreadable.
"What do you want me to say?"
"I don’t know. Maybe that it’s not a big deal?" You shrug, trying to keep your voice steady. "It’s just a picture, Harry. People will talk for a few days, and then they’ll move on."
He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "You don’t get it. This isn’t just about us. This is my life."
"And what am I, then?" You step closer, heat rising in your chest. "Just someone you fuck in the dark?"
The silence that follows is deafening.
His throat bobs as he swallows, his jaw tightening further.
That’s the answer, isn’t it? The thing neither of you have ever said out loud.
"You keep me hidden like I’m your biggest mistake."
His head snaps up at that, something flickering behind his eyes. He shakes his head quickly, voice raw. "You’re not a mistake."
"Then why are you acting like I am?"
You’re too worked up to stop now, to soften the blow, to think before you speak.
"Jesus, Harry. Do you know what it feels like to be with someone who refuses to claim you? Who never reaches for your hand in public, who won’t even look at you too long when other people are around? Like I’m some dirty little secret you have to keep?"
"That’s not—" He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "That’s not what this is, and you fucking know it."
"Then what is it?" Your voice is hoarse now, the frustration bleeding into something more vulnerable. Something fragile. "Because to me, it feels like I’m always going to be the girl you love behind closed doors but pretend not to know when the lights come on."
That gets him.
His entire body stiffens, his fingers twitching at his sides.
Love.
You said love.
And you don’t take it back.
His breath is uneven when he finally speaks. "I just—fuck, I didn’t want this for you. I didn’t want you to go through this."
You stare at him, the fight temporarily knocked out of you.
"What?"
He exhales, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "The media. The rumors. The hate. The way they tear apart every woman I’ve ever been seen with. I didn’t want you to have to deal with that. You don’t deserve it."
"So you were protecting me?" The words taste bitter on your tongue. "By making me feel like I don’t exist?"
Harry’s eyes squeeze shut, and for a second, he looks wrecked.
"I didn’t mean for it to be like this."
"But it is."
It hangs between you, heavy and unmovable.
Neither of you speaks. Neither of you moves.
You don’t break up.
But something between you fractures.
The distance is immediate.
A coldness that lingers in the spaces where warmth used to be.
Harry doesn’t text as much. Calls grow infrequent. Conversations turn shallow, safe, as if you’re both terrified of touching the wound too soon, of reopening something that’s still bleeding beneath the surface.
You don’t reach out either. Maybe it’s better this way.
Maybe space will fix what words couldn’t.
But then—something shatters the fragile truce.
You’re sitting on your couch, scrolling mindlessly, when the clip appears.
A headline first.
HARRY STYLES BREAKS HIS SILENCE ON DATING RUMORS
Your stomach knots.
With shaking hands, you press play.
The video starts mid-interview, Harry perched on a plush chair, microphone in hand. He’s wearing one of his usual tailored suits, his hair messily tousled in that effortless way only he can pull off. The crowd laughs at something he just said, the interviewer leaning in with a conspiratorial grin.
And then, the dreaded question.
“So, Harry, there have been some rumors lately… A certain photo making the rounds. Any truth to it? Are you seeing someone?”
The air in your lungs turns solid.
Harry stills, just barely. It’s subtle; the faintest stiffening of his shoulders, the almost imperceptible tension in his jaw. But you see it. You know him.
And then he smiles. That easy, practiced grin, the kind that charms the world but makes your stomach twist.
He laughs, brushing the question off like it’s nothing.
“People love to speculate, don’t they?” he says lightly. “I’m just focused on my music right now.”
Your heart stumbles over itself.
No denial. No confirmation.
The interviewer doesn’t let it go.
“So, you’re saying you’re single?”
The silence lasts half a second too long.
And then—
“Yeah,” Harry says, smooth and effortless, not a single waver in his voice. “I’m single.”
The world stills.
You can’t breathe.
The clip ends. Your screen fades to black. But the words linger. The weight of them presses down on your chest, heavy and suffocating.
"I’m single."
Like you never happened.
Like the nights spent tangled together, the whispered confessions in the dark, the way he held you like he never wanted to let go—none of it meant anything.
Your hands tremble as you exit the video, but it’s too late. The internet is already burning.
#HarryIsSingle trends within minutes.
Fans take his words as gospel. Theories shift. Maybe you were just a hookup. Maybe you made the whole thing up. Maybe you’re obsessed with him.
The hate floods in fast.
Your DMs. Your mentions. A hurricane of strangers dissecting your life, your worth, your place in his world.
You’re a liar.
A desperate fangirl.
A delusional girl who thought she was special, who was using Harry for his fame.
And worst of all?
Harry doesn’t reach out.
Not even a text.
You don’t cry. Not at first.
You just sit there, numb, watching your phone vibrate with notifications you refuse to read.
Then the anger comes.
Slow, simmering, bubbling up from the depths of something raw and wounded until it erupts.
That night, when your phone finally lights up with his name—just a simple, “Hey”—you don’t respond.
But he doesn’t let it go.
An hour later, there’s a knock at your door.
You hesitate for only a second before pulling it open.
Harry stands on the other side, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes scanning your face. And the second he sees your expression, he knows.
“You saw it.”
Your laugh is sharp, bitter. “Saw what? You telling the whole fucking world you’re single?”
He exhales heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple.”
You scoff. “Isn’t it? Because from where I’m standing, it looked pretty fucking easy for you.”
“It wasn’t easy,” he snaps. “But what was I supposed to do? Announce to the world that we’re together? Let the media tear us apart?”
Your eyes flash. “Better to pretend I don’t exist, right?”
He takes a step forward, his voice tight with frustration. “You’re twisting this.”
You shake your head. “No, Harry. I’m finally seeing it for what it is.”
Silence.
A long, painful pause where neither of you know what to say.
And then, barely above a whisper—
“You don’t get to do this to me. Not again.”
His brows furrow. “Again?”
Your throat tightens. The truth sits heavy in your chest.
You swallow hard. “You did this before.” Your voice is hollow, empty. “Back then. When we started this. You acted like it didn’t mean anything. Like I didn’t mean anything. And I let you.”
Harry’s expression crumbles. Guilt flickers in his eyes, his lips parting like he wants to argue, to tell you you’re wrong.
But he doesn’t.
Because he knows.
“That’s not true.” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.
“Isn’t it?” Your voice breaks. “Because that’s how it fucking feels.”
For the first time, he has no defense.
And you don’t have the energy to fight anymore.
You take a step back. Your chest aches, your eyes sting, but your voice is steady when you say it—
“Just go, Harry.”
He hesitates.
But you don’t waver.
Finally, he nods. Turns. Leaves.
And this time—
You don’t think he’s coming back.
You didn’t think things could get worse.
You thought the storm had passed. That the damage had been done. That the worst of it was behind you.
But then—your phone rings.
It’s your manager. Their voice is clipped, urgent. “You need to see this.”
Your stomach drops.
There’s something in their tone. Something that makes your skin prickle with unease.
You pull your phone away from your ear, heart hammering as you open the link they sent.
And then—your world crumbles.
The screen loads. A video. Camera footage. Grainy but unmistakable.
You.
Harry.
The gala night.
The intimacy of it—the way he’s touching you, the way he’s whispering things only meant for you—it’s all out there, laid bare for the world to see.
You feel like you’re going to be sick.
Your vision tunnels, fingers tightening around your phone as the weight of it all crashes down on you.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
This was yours. His.
Something private. Something that was never meant for the world to see.
And now—it’s everywhere.
Your hands shake as you scroll.
Trending:
- “Harry Styles sex tape”
- “Who leaked Harry’s video?”
- “Y/N is ruining his life”
The internet is cruel. Ruthless.
The comments flood in, thousands of voices screaming over one another:
- “She probably leaked it herself for attention.”
- “Poor Harry. He deserves better than this mess.”
- “She’s disgusting. A clout chaser.”
- “She’s trying to trap him.”
- “Harry needs to leave her for good.”
They defend him. They attack you.
As if you planned this. As if you wanted this.
As if this isn’t your literal worst nightmare.
Your breath comes too fast, too shallow. You try to inhale, but your lungs won’t cooperate.
Your phone slips from your grasp, clattering onto the floor.
Harry is calling. Again and again.
You don’t answer.
Because what could he possibly say to fix this?
Nothing.
There is no fixing this.
But that doesn’t stop him from trying.
Within the hour, your phone won’t stop vibrating. Your manager. Your PR team. News outlets. Lawyers. And then Harry, over and over again.
Then: a knock at your door.
You freeze.
Your hands grip the edge of the counter, knuckles white.
You don’t want to see him. You don’t want to look him in the eyes, see whatever shattered version of him is waiting on the other side.
But you do.
The door creaks open.
And there he is.
Disheveled. Jaw clenched. Eyes burning.
A storm contained within flesh and bone.
He steps forward, into your space, into your orbit, like he’s drawn to you despite the wreckage between you.
His voice is raw, barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?”
You laugh. A sharp, bitter sound. “Am I okay?”
Your eyes burn as you shake your head. “Harry, the whole fucking world just watched us—watched me.” Your voice cracks, but you force yourself to keep going. “And they think it’s my fault.”
He exhales sharply, his hand raking through his hair. “I know. I know, and I’m going to fix this.”
“Fix it?” You step back, the words tasting like poison. “How the fuck do you fix something like this?”
He looks at you then—really looks at you—and there’s something in his eyes. Something wild, desperate. Guilt. Rage. Fear.
But before he can answer—before he can try to convince you that there’s a way out of this—
Your phone dings.
The sound cuts through the moment like a blade.
Your heart pounds as you glance at the screen.
Another notification. A new article.
And then—
Your breath catches in your throat.
Because it’s not just about the leaked tape anymore.
It’s worse. So much worse.
Your entire body goes cold as you read the headline:
“EXCLUSIVE: INSIDER REVEALS WHO LEAKED HARRY STYLES’ SEX TAPE.”
Your vision blurs, hands trembling as you click the link.
The page loads. Your stomach drops.
And then—
The name staring back at you makes your blood run cold.
You don’t realize you’ve spoken out loud until you hear your own voice, barely a whisper.
“No… No, that’s not possible.”
Harry’s eyes snap to you, his expression shifting instantly.
“What? What is it?” He reaches for the phone, but you yank it away, gripping it so tightly your knuckles turn white.
Your head shakes, disbelief crashing over you in violent waves.
Because the person who leaked it…
It wasn’t some hacker.
It wasn’t a random invasion of privacy.
It was someone close. Someone you trusted.
And now?
Now, the real betrayal begins.
☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆
[part 3]
Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️🔥
description: "being Mr. Azoff's assistant was y/ns dream job, it was just a bummer that his most beloved client seemed to hate her."
pairing: famous!harry x jeffsassistant!y/n
warnings: sexual content, swearing
love on tour - by @finelinevogue
description: "you join harry for love on tour"
pairing: famous!harry x y/n
warnings: sexual content, swearing
mint to be - by @moonlightsolo
description: (ask) "could you write something about harry flirting with y/n whose a fan during one of his shows. like maybe she had a sign that caught his attention (like a pick up line or a joke) and then for the rest of the concert he kept staring at her and making little jokes/comments to her."
pairing: famous!harry x fan!y/n
warnings: sexual content, swearing
clingy - by @atlafan
description: (ask) "clingy harry"
pairing: famous!harry x y/n
warnings: sexual content, swearing
unscripted - by @moonchildstyles
description: (ask) "this wasn't y/ns first time being a PA to a major star on a film set, but this was the first time she'd worked with someone like harry styles"
pairing: famous!harry x personalassistant!y/n
warnings: sexual content, swearing
love on tour - by @gucciwins
description: "Y/N Belmonte was getting her first break in a long time. There was no filming lined up and no new auditions to prepare for. You had decided to spend the next few weeks and maybe months with your best friend but after being surprised with a concert to love on tour and being recognized by the man himself, Harry Styles, well it led to an exciting meeting. Now Y/N has found herself joining Harry and crew for the rest of the tour; it seems like you are in for a ride. Love, friendship, and fame."
pairing: famous!harry x famous!y/n
warnings: sexual content, swearing
l'amoureux - by @moonchildstyles
description: "weddings are beautiful, especially in paris, but as the bride's personal assistant, y/n didn't expect to lose herself in the magic."
pairing: famous!harry x bridespersonalassistant!y/n
warnings: n/a
untitled - by @finelinevogue
description: (ask) "What if Jeff and reader get in an argument about something concerning Harry/touring and Jeff says something about how reader doesn’t even belong on tour and Harry steps up to defend her?"
pairing: famous!harry x y/n
warnings: swearing
bunny's love on tour, literally - by @misskathcake
description: n/a
pairing: famous!harry x wife
warnings: swearing
sherbert - by @moonchildstyles
description: "y/n's never been in a music video before, but she's sure there couldn't be anything better than singing with harry styles on the beach."
pairing: famous!harry x wmsmvextra!y/n
warnings: n/a
forever - by @moonlightsolo
description: (ask) "Hi so I'm hoping you get this request I'm obsessed with harry fanfics lately so I was wonder about a soulmate AU where u have the same tattoo mark as your soulmate and if u make eye contact with your soulmate it lights up and at a harry concert when you are dancing and he turns to you to make fun of you (in his way) it lights up that everyone can see in the stadium?"
pairing: famous!harry x reader
warnings: swearing
pleasing - by @moonchildstyles
description: "y/n is harry's best friend and she'd never received a valentine's gift like this one"
pairing: famous!harry x best friend!y/n
warnings: n/a
hey angel - by @watchmegetobsessed
description: n/a
pairing: famous!harry x personalassistant!y/n
warnings: sexual content, swearing
blush - by @moonchildstyles
description: "y/n is a makeup artist and she doesn't think she's ever had a better Halloween"
pairing: famous!harry x makeupartist!y/n
warnings: n/a
HSLOT verse - by @erodasfishtacos
description: n/a
pairing: famous!harry x longtimewife!y/n
warnings: swearing, sexual content
pearls - by @moonchildstyles
description: "y/n is a part of harry's band and he cant keep his mind off her"
