Hiii I was wondering if you could do something where reader is taking Harry to a family party for the first time and Harry is just really nervous to meet everyone hoping they’ll like him and wanting to make his own impressions rather than what they might have seen online about him
I loved this concept! So cute 🥹
Her Mom Calls Me Love...
Pairing: Harry x Reader
Warnings: None, just fluff. Also, not proofread.
Word count: 2k
A/N: Still recovering from the writer's block but this was such a cute concept I had to write it. Please lmk if you liked it, I need some motivation to write. And sorry for the 1d references, the opportunities presented themselves and I had to!
Harry Styles had performed for millions of fans, he had headlined music festivals, campaigned for big brands. But nothing terrified him the way meeting his girlfriend’s family for the first time did. The first thing he said when Y/N told him it was her grandmother’s birthday party was, “Be honest. On a scale of one to terrifying, how terrifying are your aunts and uncles?”
She laughed from where she was sitting cross-legged on her bed, watching him pace. “What are you getting so worked up for, babe? It's just my family!”
“Exactly, and I'm gonna be meeting them for the first time,” he said, running a hand through his hair.
Y/N stood and crossed the room, catching his wrist before he could spiral any further. “You have already met my parents, haven't you? And it went really well, remember?”
“It did,” he sighed.
“And now my mum calls you love and my dad calls you son, alright?”
He shook his head, smiling, “Did you seriously just quote Steal My Girl right now?”
“What? It was right there. And as a former fangirl, I would use every opportunity to quote a lyric that I love,” she shrugged, smiling.
He groaned. “I guess I walked right into that one. But let us focus on the matter at hand. Yes, your parents already know me. But, your cousins, your aunts and uncles… they only know the internet version of me.”
She stepped closer, pressing her hands against his chest. “Okay H, stop panicking. They don't know the actual you, big deal. But you know what that means? It means that they get to meet the real you. The one who helps me be a better person; the one who cries watching romcoms with me, the one who—”
“Heyyy, I do not cry.”
“You do.”
He huffed, but he was smiling now. “I just… I want them to like me, you know? They're your family and they're important to you. So they're important to me too.”
“Aww baby, don't worry, I know they will. They are going to absolutely adore you,” she said firmly, letting him tug her closer and into his chest. “Just be yourself.”
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The house was already loud when they arrived. Harry could hear the mayhem in the house. He could hear voices overlapping in the hallway. There was laughter spilling out of the living room, whereas the kitchen was loud with the clatter of dishes. He looked at her nervously,
“Baby, what if—”
She cut him off, “H, nothing bad is gonna happen, do you trust me?”
“No,” he quickly said, and saw her jaw dropping,
“Heyyy,” she swatted him away, like she was offended.
“Okay okay I'm sorry,” a smile played at his lips as he tugged her closer, “Kiss? For good luck?”
She smiled and leaned into him, pressing a kiss onto his waiting lips, “you're gonna do well, yeah? Let's not panic”
Taking a deep breath he tightened his hold on her hand, “Okay, let's do this.”
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The smell of food wrapped around them the second the door opened. Her mum greeted them first. “You’re here!” She pulled Y/N into a hug before turning to him. “And you, come here.”
He laughed as she hugged him too. “Hi, Mum.” Her dad appeared behind them, wiping his hands on a towel. “Son,” he said warmly, clapping him on the shoulder, “How are you?”
“Excuse me? I'm here too!” she said, feigning offence. Her dad laughed, hugging her and pressing a kiss on her head, before turning to him again.
“Ready to survive?”
“I’ve trained for this,” he replied solemnly.
“Good,” her dad said. “There are at least three uncles who will try to interrogate you.”
“Dad!”
“What? I’m just preparing him for the worst in case your uncle—”
Before he could respond, a smaller body barreled into Y/N. “You’re late!” her little cousin declared, arms wrapping tightly around her waist.
“I am not,” Y/N protested, hugging her back. “I’m fashionably on time.”
The cousin leaned back, eyes already flicking to him. “Hi.”
She raised a brow. “Good things?”
“Hi,” he said gently, offering his hand, smiling at the girl.
“Agnes, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Only the best. Apparently, you’re the reigning charades champion.”
Her eyes widened. “She told you that?”
“Oh, she did.”
The girl beamed at him, clearly delighted. “Okay, we're playing charades later. You better be on my team then.”
Y/N scoffed. “Excuse me? I’m your team.”
“We’ll see,” her cousin said mysteriously, then darted off.
“She's so cute,” Harry smiled,
“Wait till she bosses you around,” Y/N warned him, walking inside.
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Her grandmother was seated in the living room like royalty, wrapped in a soft shawl. It was evident that she was enjoying the party the way she was smiling at the chaos around her.
Her grandmother cupped her face in her palms. “My girl.”
“Grandma,” Y/N said, kneeling beside her and giving her a kiss on the cheek,
“Happy birthday.”
“And this,” Y/N continued, “is Harry, my boyfriend.”
He stepped forward, suddenly very aware of his heartbeat. “Happy birthday. It’s really nice to finally meet you.”
She studied him for a moment, eyes sharp despite her age.
“So this is the one.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said softly.
She smiled. “Come closer. I can't see you properly.”
He leaned down so she could examine his face clearly.
“You look cuter in person,” she decided.
He let out a breathy laugh. “Thank you.”
Harry handed her the neatly wrapped gift. “I wasn’t sure what to get you, but Y/N mentioned you love old records, so here's a little gift from us”
She opened the gift box only to find a first pressing of her favorite artist. Her grandmother’s eyes widened. “You did not.”
“I did.”
Her fingers trembled slightly as she unwrapped it. When she saw it, she looked up at him with something close to awe.
“You paid attention.”
“Well, Y/N had mentioned that you liked her music.”
She patted his cheek. “Come here, sit with me.” And he did. Within ten minutes, they were deep in conversation about music from her youth, about how she grew up. She talked to him about anything and everything. And Harry listened. He was asking questions, and laughing at her stories. And as Y/N watched them from across the room, warmth bloomed in her chest.
Her grandmother tapped his arm. “You must come over more often.”
He glanced at Y/N. “I’d like that.”
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Though meeting Y/N’s grandma went well, meeting her extended family felt like a whirlwind to Harry. Aunts hugged him politely but curiously. Uncles on the other hand, shook his hand a second too long, sizing him up with playful scrutiny, as cousins whispered and tried not to stare.
“So you’re the boyfriend,” one uncle said, tilting his head.
“Yes, sir.”
“No need for sir,” the uncle chuckled. “You nervous?”
“A little.”
“ A little nervousness is good, it means you care about her.”
Y/N squeezed his hand under the table.
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Later, he found himself in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, helping her dad carry trays.
“You don’t have to,” Y/N murmured, leaning against the counter.
“I know. I want to.”
Her mum handed him a stack of plates. “Careful with those.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her aunt laughed. “This one's a keeper.”
Y/N leaned close to his ear. “You’re really trying.”
“Of course I am. This is your world.” he whispered.
“And you’re doing great, baby.”
He hesitated. “Do they seem… okay with me?”
She looked around at the laughter, at her grandmother animatedly retelling a story he had clearly sparked.
“They’re more than okay.”
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After dinner came games. Charades was non-negotiable as it was a family tradition.
“I call him!” her twelve-year-old cousin shouted, grabbing his arm.
Y/N gasped dramatically. “You betrayed me!”
Her cousin grinned. “He’s funny. And he knows movies.”
“Excuse me? So do I!”
“But he does the voices.”
“I used to be your best friend!”
“You'll get over it.”
He looked between them, amused and slightly alarmed. “I feel like I’m in the middle of something.”
“You are. And you chose wrong.”
“Heyy, I didn’t choose!” he protested.
“You’re on my team,” her cousin insisted, dragging him to her side.
Y/N pointed at her. “This is treason.”
“Deal with it.”
The game began, and chaos followed. Harry threw himself into it with his dramatic gestures and exaggerated expressions. He was fully committed to the role. When he acted out a dramatic scene, complete with fake fainting, the entire room erupted in laughter. Her aunts were doubling over with laughter.
“You’re so extra!” Y/N called out, rolling her eyes.
“You love it,” he shot back from the floor.
Her cousin clutched his arm. “We’re winning this oh my God.”
At one point, he lifted one of the children onto his back to act out a scene, both of them giggling uncontrollably.
By the end of the game, her cousin was leaning into him like they had been friends for years.
“You have to come to my school play next month,” she declared.
He blinked. “I’d be honoured.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Y/N crossed her arms, pretending to sulk at her cousin. “You replaced me.”
The little girl stuck out her tongue. “Upgrade.”
He looked at Y/N, feigning offense. “Wow.”
“You’re not helping,” she muttered.
But she was smiling.
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As the evening wound down, the change was visible in Y/N’s family. Her uncles were clapping him on the back without hesitation and her aunts were including him in inside jokes. Harry found himself helping stack chairs, walking older relatives to their cars, waving goodbye like he had done it his whole life.
“Drive safe!” he said, as the last of the relatives got into their car.
One aunt squeezed his hand. “You fit right in, you know.”
He smiled, slightly shy. “Thank you.”
Another uncle said, “Family dinner next month. You’re coming.”
He glanced at Y/N instinctively.
“She decides,” he said.
“Oh, he’s coming,” her aunt replied firmly.
Her grandmother waved him over. “Don’t wait too long to visit.”
“I won’t.”
She squeezed his hand. “Good boy.”
When the door finally closed and the house fell quiet, he stood in the living room, looking almost dazed.
“Well, it looks like you survived,” Y/N said softly, a sweet smile grazing her lips.
He turned to her, eyes bright. “They… they were so nice.”
“They loved you.”
“And I loved them.”
Her dad passed by, patting his shoulder. “Get some rest, son.”
Y/N grinned at him. “You were so nervous, and for no reason.”
“I was terrified,” he admitted. “But then your grandma started talking about vinyl records and your cousin declared me her teammate and your mom told me to taste the sauce and—” He stopped, emotion catching in his throat. “It just felt… so… warm.”
She softened. “That’s my family.”
He reached for her hands. “I wanted to make my own impression.”
“You did.”
He looked at her seriously. “Tell me honestly. Did I?”
“Of course, baby.You didn’t perform. You just were you… and they loved it, they loved you.”
He exhaled slowly, relief washing over him.
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“Come on,” she said, tugging him toward her room. “You need sleep.”
They changed into comfortable clothes and collapsed onto her bed, limbs tangled. He was almost asleep when his phone buzzed.
He frowned. “What is.. ”
His eyes widened.
“What?” she asked.
He turned the screen toward her. Family Group Chat. He was added to her family group chat! Her entire extended family’s names filled the screen. Her aunt had added him. A new message popped up:
Welcome officially. Xx
Messages started pouring in as each family member posted something for him. He stared at the phone like it was something fragile.
“They added me,” he said quietly, eyes glistening.
“Yeah.”
He swallowed. “That feels big.”
“It is.”
He set the phone down slowly, then pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair.
“I was so scared they’d only see the headlines,” he murmured.
“They saw you, Harry. The real you.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“Thank you for being here.”
He smiled against her skin. “Her mom calls me love,” he whispered.
She snorted.
“Her dad calls me son,” he continued.
He pulled back just enough to look at her. “And her whole family calls me theirs now.”
Thank you for reading, lovelies. Feedback is appreciated! And if you have any requests, feel free to send them in! And please lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!
better late than never, right? this is a short piece for my dear friend’s @harry-on-broadway fic challenge (the prompts used are in bold)! It is basically an extended version of this concept I wrote back in 2021... We’ve had such great latam content lately that I feel like I should have adjusted the setting of this, but I hope you enjoy anyways! As always, please let me know what you think. xx shan
———
Was this heaven?
You were certain that you’d never felt more relaxed as you bathed in the Tuscan sunlight. Lounging beside your love, you let your eyes close, the book you were reading abandoned in the sand next to your chair ages ago. Every worry, every stressor, every bit of tension in your muscles that you carried with you drifted away in the winds of the ocean breeze.
This was the private getaway with Harry you’d been longing for. It seemed like forever since the two of you were able to spend an extended amount of time alone together.
“Mum just posted this photo. Look. Thea’s getting so big.” Your boyfriend interrupted your daze when he reached out from beside you to shove his phone in your face.
You opened your eyes slowly and lowered your sunglasses so you could take a proper look. Using your hand to shield the glare of the Italian sun, you saw on his screen an Instagram story his mother had posted of his cousin’s baby.
“She’s adorable, H.” You responded, adjusting your sunglasses back to cover your eyes. “We should give Ella a call later, maybe we can FaceTime.” All you heard in response was a short grunt as he laid back in his chair, eyes still fixed on his screen.
He was grumpy and you could tell.
One thing about your boyfriend of three years, which you found incredibly endearing, was that he loved his family more than anything. Unfortunately, when his family was gathered and he couldn’t be there, he’d tend to get a bit pouty. You’d find him glued to the group chat or Instagram to get updates on what they were up to. Sometimes you would catch him ‘liking’ or ‘reacting’ to their posts and stories (on his private account of course) in an attempt to make himself feel more included.
Birthdays. Weddings. Babies. There was a long list of family events he often had to miss because of his job, and you knew it weighed heavily on his heart.
A small part of you was slightly annoyed that he wished he were somewhere else. But another part of you, perhaps the more compassionate part, understood that multiple truths could exist at once: 1) He was happy to be spending time with you, 2) he was grateful for his job that took him to beautiful countries and allowed him to live a lavish life, and 3) he missed his family dearly.
But sometimes you didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just go home and visit them whenever he felt like it. He certainly could afford it, and he had the power in all of his business relationships to take a vacation whenever he felt like it. Sometimes you wished he had more of a ‘diva’ type attitude when it came to certain things, like allowing himself to take breaks from work. However, another thing about your boyfriend was that he was a chronic overachiever and people pleaser with a tendency to overcommit to new projects. And you figured it wasn’t so bad to have a partner in life who was considerate of other peoples’ time and feelings.
Plus, you couldn’t complain much because his commitment to a new project was how you found yourself at the beautiful, private, Il Pellicano in Tuscany.
The two of you were finally spending some much needed quality time together. Coordinating your schedules had been an absolute nightmare and it was a miracle that you were able to take some time away from work to join him on this trip. He was technically here on business, preparing for the launch of his Gucci collection with Alessandro. But you had spent the majority of the trip together, watching him model his clothing, sitting side-by-side on the small private beach of your villa, and wrapped around one another in the bedroom.
At the moment though, Harry’s frustration, guilt, and longing to be with his family was threatening to penetrate the bubble of relaxation surrounding you. You could feel the restless energy emanating off of him. Without opening your eyes you heard the way he moved around in his chair and sighed under his breath as he scrolled through his phone and typed away messages in his family group chat. When you finally did open your eyes you found him on his stomach, his head at the other end of the chair near your feet, and his phone two inches from his face. And while this position afforded you a great view of his tanned back and taut muscles glistening in the Italian heat, clad only in a small pair of black swimming shorts, you could feel the tension radiating from him and you couldn’t ignore it any longer.
You reached across and placed your hand on the back of his calf, rubbing your thumb back and forth against his warm, sun-kissed skin, as if to soothe him.
“Hey baby?”
“Hmmm?” He responded mindlessly, not bothering to look up from his phone.
“Hey, look at me.” You urged, squeezing his calf to gain his attention.
“Sorry” he murmured, putting his phone down. He twisted in the lounge chair to face you, sitting up to give you his full attention. You reached for his hand and intertwined your fingers with his.
“I was thinking… I know we’re supposed to head back to London on Sunday, but what if we took a few days in Holmes Chapel?” He raised an eyebrow at you curiously, wordlessly asking where this had come from. You continued, “It’s been so long since we’ve seen Anne and I miss her… Plus, we’ve only seen Thea once since she’s been born. I think I can extend my vacation by a few days.”
He sat there for a moment silently, teasing at his bottom lip.
“I have a meeting with Lambert and Molly on Monday in London.” He winced, remembering his prior commitment.
“Surely you can do it over Zoom. Or just push it a couple days. You are the boss, aren’t you?”
Something flickered in his eyes and a slight smirk crept his lips at your mention of him being the boss.
His gears were turning and you knew him well enough to know the battle going on inside his brain. He probably didn’t love the idea of moving a meeting to go see his mum, but since it was technically your idea it was like a free pass. He could feel less guilty about it because he was doing it for you.
(Obviously you both knew this was entirely for him… But you needn’t say it)
You thought he might pass on the opportunity, and were startled when he removed his hand from yours and scrambled up from his lounge chair. He quickly moved onto your chair, straddling you with his entire body weight pinning you down. With his forearms rested on either side of your head, he placed quick kisses all over your face. Almost reflexively, you wrapped your hands around his biceps. His hot, sinewy arms flexed in your grip.
“Yeah,” is all he said before placing a long, slightly wet, kiss on your forehead. “I AM the boss. And I would like that very much. Thank you for suggesting it.” Unable to wipe the smile from his face, he placed one more tender kiss on your lips.
You reached for the sunglasses that sat atop his head and removed them, freeing space for you to run your fingers through his soft brown curls. “You’re welcome, H.” He lowered into your touch, eager for a cuddle. “But you have to get up. You’re squishing me.”
“Right, sorry.” He removed himself from on top of you and took a seat by your feet at the end of the chair. It was his turn to soothe you now, grazing his palm along your calf and up to your knee, which he gave a squeeze before dragging his hand back down.
“I think it’s time we get out of the sun, yeah?” The sly look on his face was all too familiar as his gaze trailed down your bikini-clad body. “You’re lookin’ a little sunburnt.”
“Am I?” You teased.
“I’ve got something I can rub on it back in our room.”
You rolled your eyes at him, feigning annoyance at his flirtation. Nonetheless, you knew where this was headed.
Gathering your belongings hastily, you were both eager to make your way back to the air conditioned room that held your luxurious king bed. You trailed behind Harry, climbing the stone steps up to the private entrance of your villa hand in hand.
Once inside your room, you dropped your tote bag and walked over to the balcony, sliding open the curtains and the door to let the sunshine and salt air filter through the room. Looking out at the scene below, you could see the private beach where you and Harry had spent your morning and admired the way the Tuscan sun illuminated the sapphire blue ocean ahead. You took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly as you felt Harry come to stand closely behind you.
“Thank you for bringing me here.” You said quietly. Harry wrapped his arms around you from behind, allowing you to rest your chin on his forearms. He nuzzled his face into your neck where he left a delicate touch of his lips.
“Thank you for being here with me.” He responded.
Any annoyance you previously felt toward your boyfriend’s proclivity for FOMO melted away when you realized how grateful you were to be here with him. In the chaos of his busy life, while he missed his family deeply, he chose to be here with you, together in paradise.
You turned yourself in his arms, your body flush against his, to find his soft, yet intense, gaze on your lips.
Harry held lightly onto your hips. Leaning in, his lips parted, and you could feel his warm breath against yours. You placed your hands on his chest, his skin burning under your fingers. With every shallow intake of breath he edged closer, until finally catching your top lip between his.
His hands trailed up your sides as your kiss became deeper, fuller. You felt like you might melt against him, heat racing down to every part of your body that was touching his. He roamed your curves and the expanse of your back, pressing you even closer to him, before finding the strings that held together your bikini. With two gentle tugs, the piece of fabric fell to the ground.
He broke away from your kiss only briefly to study the sight of you, topless, in front of him. “Bellissima,” he whispered, his voice deep and slow. You saw the muscles in his jaw tick as his gaze burned holes through you. It was your turn, this time, to grab onto him and press him closer against you, feeling his hardness.
It wasn’t long before Harry’s mouth started to move down your body. Your neck, your collarbone, your chest. His tongue dragged over your nipple before sucking it into his mouth and an intoxicating heat rippled through you.
“Bed, please” was all you could muster under your breath. Harry reluctantly pulled himself off you and started walking you back, stopping when the back of your legs hit the bed. He gently lowered you onto the bed and resumed his work dragging his mouth down your body, finishing off with a chaste kiss to your hip bone.
He stood up straight at the edge of the bed, towering over you. Eager for him, you removed your bikini bottoms and tossed them to the floor.
“A bit impatient?” He chuckled, looking down hungrily at your naked body. You didn’t bother to respond, leaning back on your forearms, you kicked your leg out and toed at the tent in his black swimming shorts, encouraging him to take them off. “Tell me” he said sternly.
“I want them off.”
He pulled his shorts down and discarded them on the floor before climbing on to the bed. You admired the way he wrapped his hand around his cock and began slowly stroking himself, a small sense of relief evident on his face. He lowered himself over you and pressed his lips to yours. While your tongues met, the pads of his fingertips began to explore, trailing delicately down your stomach. Your body responded to his familiar touch, goosebumps racing over you and a fire simmering in your belly.
You were desperate for him, your body begging for him to touch you as his fingers made their way down to your heat. A heavy moan left your lips when he began running circles over your clit. At that moment, you were completely overwhelmed by him. The way his lips felt against yours, the taste of his tongue, the scent of his cologne, the soft pads of his fingers on your most sensitive spot.
“I want you,” you whined.
“You have me,” he answered teasingly, his mouth only a fraction of an inch away from yours. He dragged his finger down and dipped into your entrance. “Fuck - you’re so wet.”
“Please…”
At your begging he positioned himself between your legs, removed his fingers, and replaced them with a press of his hips against yours, the tip of his cock firm against your slit.
Your hands grappled to hold on to any part of him you could, eventually landing on his shoulders. Gripping tightly, your fingertips dug into his skin. You wrapped your ankles around his calves and felt the way his body fit perfectly against yours.
The first thrust inside you was slow. Every inch of your body pulled tight around him as he sank deeper. Your breath hitched as a wave of pleasure raced through you.
“Fuck,” Harry rasped as he rocked into you. The sound of his voice sent a tingle down your spine. “I love you so much,” he whispered into your skin, brushing a kiss across your jaw.
You said it back to him as the two of you moved against each other, getting lost in the feelings of love and undulating pleasure between you.
———
You and Harry spent the rest of the day immersed in one another in your private villa.
The last go around, you unraveled together with his face buried in your neck while you were clutched tight around him.
He pulled out and collapsed beside you, trying to catch his breath.
You turned on your side to look at him, flooded with warmth and giddiness as you acknowledged how handsome he was. You used the tip of your finger to trace the lines of his face. The sharp cut of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the full of his lips. As you were about to trace your thumb over his eyebrow he grabbed your hand, bringing it to his lips.
“Thank you again for suggesting we go to Holmes Chapel after this,” he said against your hand, still pressed to his lips.
“Of course,” You moved closer to him and he let go of your hand in order to wrap his arms around you. “You can go home whenever you want, you know.”
He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. “I know. It’s easier to go when I know you’re coming with me.”
You hummed in understanding and pressed your lips against his chest.
“I should give Jeffrey a call and ask him to make the travel arrangements for us… And postpone my meetings.”
As if on cue, his phone’s ringtone chimed from his tote bag on the floor by the door. He was reluctant to let go of you, but you gave him a look of approval that had him scrambling out of the bed to retrieve it. You took the opportunity to admire his naked body, silently thanking the Italian sun and his morning cardio routine for the glorious sight of him.
You felt a warmth in your chest, though, at the smile that grew on his face when he looked down at his phone to see who was calling.
“Hey mum, yeah….guess what…I’m coming home.”
———
Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think.
in which you have an affliction for candles and Harry hears wedding bells.
“Y’gonna burn the whole house down.”
When you groan in response, taking the pillow behind your head and pretending to smother his face in your lap, he digresses. Or maybe you were so quick to give up because he started pinching the dips of your waist with the tips of his fingers - you can never last long when he does that.
“It’s two candles,” you tsk sarcastically, “hopefully we can survive that.”
He’s watching you through heavy eyelids, zealously gawking at how good the poorly lit candlelight is at capturing all the best features of your face. It’s likely what’s gotten the scent of Jo Malone sandalwood to grow on him so rapidly.
There's an almost surreal sense of tranquility completely swallowing the room; the rain tapping the living room windows, the ever-so-faint purrs of the cat at the bottom of the couch. There’s no lights on aside from the black and white film on the TV and the five wick candle on the coffee table, just a few feet away. And he’s back home now, finally, head in your lap while your fingers brutishly comb through the front pieces of his hair.
“Smells like,” and he puts a goofy emphasis on his sniffing to lull a giggle out of you, “smells like a Sephora in ‘ere.”
Maybe it's you who brings that sober, pastoral element. He never felt like this back in the boisterous environment of New York, and he had lit plenty of candles in the confines of Madison Square Garden and hotel suites. There seems to be a quality to you, or a certain component to your presence, that brought him to this particular abyss. It almost feels dreamy- kind of like he’s floating. And it’s certainly a state of mind he wants to say in forever.
“Y’missed me?” he asks, eyes rolling upwards so he can look at you from below, “while I was gone, missed ‘avin me around?”
When you look down, it’s almost in complete bewilder. Your hand keeps moving through his mane, tousling with it and giving it an innocent tug- as if you were reprimanding him for such a ridiculous question. He mewls a joking ‘ow’ before you roll your eyes at him. Maybe it was silly, but he missed you, and he made sure to tell you everyday as much as he possibly could. And he wanted to affirm you felt just the same.
“Of course I did,” there goes that candlelight again, accentuating your smile even from this ungodly angle he’s gazing from, “I wanna be around you alllllll the time.”
The clinginess in him absolutely drowns in that response, basking in that concept and compartmentalizing it for safekeeping. The idea of being around you all the time, all day in every place, it’s truly a thought he could savor eternally. And what an all consuming thought it was, as it’s now glued to his frontal lobe and aching in his chest.
You’ve probably already gone and forgotten about it. Now your heads leaned back on a few propped up pillows, eyes glued to the TV so you don’t miss your favorite part of the movie. One hand of yours is still lost in his hair, the other resting flatly atop his chest. Your engrossed in the television, but he’s engrossed with you.
You, and the thought of a ring on your finger. A big one, so big that all your friends were ridden with envy and consumed with jealousy. Strangers would stop you on the street and others would stare in awe from afar. You in a wedding gown, oh, the thought is almost too much. White from head to toe, like a virgin, even though he’s very very sure you’re far from it. He likes the way Mrs. Styles sounds, and he’s looping it so much on a highlight reel in his mind he can almost physically hear it.
His eyes are fully glued to you- have been for the better part on an hour by now. Just admiring what’s in front of him; the idea of never being away from you, having you forever and after that, exchanging vows and listening to his kids call you mummy. He’s so wrapped up in idealizations that he doesn’t care you've caught him gawking.
His stomach flutters when you cup his face, scrunching your nose at him, “What's got you all starey?”
“You,” he mewls, “I wanna marry y’right now.”
He frowns when you laugh, like you don’t believe how deadly serious he is and how that wasn’t some sort of delirious joke. Your hands are still cupping his face, the pad of your thumb rubbing circles on the apple of his cheek. You’re literally making his case right now, in front of your cat and that overbearing sandalwood candle. His frown lines deepens and that’s when your post-chuckle grimace evaporates, so now he knows you’re finally starting to catch on.
“Harry you’re being-”
But he’s quick to interject, “hope y’wanted to finish that with serious, ‘cos I am.”
“I know you are” you soft laugh, like you’re encouraging him to think logically, “but we should talk about this a little more, right?”
To him, it sounds like you don’t truly need heaps of convincing and begging. A little coaxing seemed like it’d be enough to get the job done. This wasn’t an impulsive or spontaneous decision, this is a commitment he wants to make as soon as possible. Not that he would abandon that next step if need be, because the convincing and begging was plan B. He was certainly not beneath that.
“Y’love me?” and now he’s sat upright, his hands on your now crossed legs as he leans his face in closer to yours.
“Very much,” you smile, “Yes, I love you.”
“Ok!,” he exclaims, “Nothin’ t’talk about then. Can pack a bag, drive t’Vegas and we-”
“You just got home from New York,” you chuckle, brushing a freelancing strand of hair from his face, “don’t you wanna relax? Just.. I dunno.. hang for a bit? Do nothing?”
Honestly, as he sits there and innocently mocks you while he pretends to rack his brain, he can't think of a better way to spend his newfound free time. Even in playful spirits, he can't drum up a better way to commence his return home. He wants this, you, always. And he wants it right now.
But he’s nervous you’re being too rash, too logic and too ‘adult’. He doesn’t wanna be argued off the ledge right now, he really just wants to jump head first. He wishes, and God is he hoping, that for once you’d just take a deep breath and take the plunge with him. If you reasoned him out of this he’s sure it’d be enough to make him cry.
His eyes are frantically studying the expression on your face, waiting for it to emit some kind of clue for him to catch on to what you’re thinking.
“Well what would I wear?”
“(Y/N),” and he’s practically leaping off the couch in excitement, “Anything! Jeans, that white linen set y’just got. Y’fucking orange pajama pants y’still wear that’re from wha’, like, 2011? Anything y’want, anything.”
He swears he might start jumping up and down like a little kid, his whole body is just that electrified at the fact you haven’t shut him down yet. And when you stand up, he definitely has to swallow that squeal of excitement cooking in his throat. All he needs is to hear you say it; just agree with him so he can go absolutely bananas and go grab one of the bags he hasn’t unpacked yet.
“Ok,” you exhale, the corner of your mouth starting to pull a grin, “let’s get married.”
And now he’s squealing, wrapping his arms at your waist to give you a proper twirl before he’s hounding you with peppery kisses over every inch of your face he can get to.
“But I’m not wearing those orange pajamas,” you insist, “they have a huge hole in the crotch”
Concept: you and Harry are exes and have to attend a wedding together (my song inspo is I Almost Do, but ofc you can take it anywhere you want!!)
Harry knew they would see each other again. It was inevitable, wasn't it?
Harry knew from the moment they decided to part ways that dreaded night that he would see her again, that this wouldn't be the end. He assumed that they would keep in contact, that she would reach out to him to let her know of the promotion that she received at her company, or maybe to congratulate him on the new single.
Harry did reach out, sort of, through their mutual friend, the one that’s getting married, the wedding that they’ll both be in attendance of. They kind of have to be, as part of the bridal party. Harry asked how she was doing over brunch, and their mutual friend – Molly is her name – said that she was doing well. This made Harry quiet, unsure of where to go. It’s not that he was expecting her to be doing poorly, he didn’t want that for her, especially not because he was still in love with her, but there was a part of him that was hoping she was even the tiniest bit as miserable as he was. That’s the selfish part of him, the one part she always complained about. That’s the reason they split, in the end. Harry was a bit selfish, is a bit selfish, and she wasn’t willing to give up her life for the touring and the music and the craziness that surrounded him.
YN’s whole life, all she wanted was to be an engineer.
YN used to tell her mother and father, “I want to build bridges and skyscrapers and all the things!” and when she was old enough to go to school and pursue her passions, that’s exactly what she was doing. Little did she know that she would start building stages for some of the biggest recording acts known to the music industry. Her career took her across the world, from Sydney to Tokyo to London, and she fell in love with what she was doing, even if she started at it by mistake. Her best friends were met through the industry, people that she fell in love with, people she grew to care for deeply and never wished to be parted from in her life.
Harry Styles is one of those people.
Immediately, Harry and YN hit it off, talking about their experiences in the music industry, the concerts they’ve seen, the stages they’ve loved and hated. They bonded over their love for artists and the way that music is unique to everyone, and how everyone’s muse is a little bit different. YN wasn’t nosey or prying into his personal life, and to be honest, she couldn’t care less. Harry was simply Harry in those moments in the office, not Harry Styles, the pop sensation. That’s how she saw him. That’s how she always saw him, even at the end of everything.
YN knew what she wanted and demanded it gets done. Harry liked that. He made that much very clear. She was pretty much expecting it when Harry asked her out for the first time. Harry asked her on their first date the night she visited the O2 Arena for their first construction of the stage, her first time seeing it live and in action. Harry had asked her on a date a bit before he was about to go on stage when he was dressed and ready and his band was making their way and she was mingling with other techs. It was quick, caught her off guard if she was honest. “Would you get drinks with me after the show?”
And before YN could properly understand what was happening in her life, she and Harry were exchanging keys to each other’s houses and staying the night and moving in clothing and going to weddings together. Their friends called it a whirlwind romance, and many of them admittedly said it was something that couldn’t see lasting past a few months – great friends they had back then – but if she was being honest with herself, which often she was, she loved every minute of it. YN loved Harry, more than she loved anyone before him, and she wanted to spend her life loving him and loving her career.
YN enjoyed going to the studio and hearing him record the songs that would never get heard past her ears. Harry loved watching her sketch out new stage plans for artists that he adored. They loved going to concerts together, seeing her work portrayed to thousands and thousands. Mutually, they respected each other’s crafts and their dedication, and it was something that bonded them more than it separated them.
Until the dreaded tour conversation came about.
Harry wanted her to come with him, to take a year remotely and travel the world with him, with her significant other, her partner. YN wanted Harry to understand that her career came first, just like his. That he didn’t like. In Harry’s eyes, YN came first, that he would’ve dropped everything for her and she wouldn’t do the same. Harry wouldn’t listen after that, and it led to a dreaded conversation in her kitchen with their keys on the table and two glasses of wine, saying that maybe in another life this was meant to be.
Eight months later, Harry is trying to prepare himself for what it’ll be like to see her again. Harry’s never stopped loving her. Hell, he’s written an entire album of songs that no one will ever hear because they’re lyrics he only wants her to hear. He nearly sent it to her, last month, all the recordings, simply to see if she would have something to say.
Always an almost. That’s how everything has been with YN, lately. Almost called. Almost sent the recordings. Almost reached out. Harry can never do the damn thing. He can never just say it. It’s always on the tip of his tongue, one step away. Harry’s always just one step away from her.
He can see her from across the room. It’s easy to notice her. YN is so fucking beautiful. He’s always said that, that her beauty is unlike anything he’s ever seen before. He notices her before he’s even made his way to the room where all the groomsmen are getting ready. Her voice travels through the tiny hallway in the hotel and Harry stops dead in his tracks, aching at the sound. He hasn’t heard her voice in so long. Way too long. He doesn’t want to disturb her, to take her away from her friends that she’s talking to, but more than anything he wants to steal her away and talk, just talk about anything, to simply hear her voice.
YN sees Harry almost as easily as he sees her – he certainly spotted her first – and walks right to him with her signature smile printed on her lips, leaving her friends behind and waving them off when they mention waiting for her. He swallows thickly and nearly extends his arm to shake her hand – now what would she have done with that – but she is too quick for him, always has been, and hugs him tightly, whispering, “Hey, H.” Harry nearly melts at the name. “It’s good to see you.”
Hugging feels intimate in the quiet hallway, and Harry stops himself a few times from breathing her in, the scent of her perfume that he knows too well bringing back memories that existed only in the furthest depths of his memory. He smiles warmly when she loosens her grip and steps away, saying something about seeing him at the aisle and saving a dance for her, something along those lines. He was too in awe of her to be paying all that much attention, in all honesty.
Harry watched as she walked away, and silently beat himself up for not saying more.
Harry’s hand was shaking against his side when YN walked towards him at the base of the aisle. He silently told his brain to ‘quit fucking around’ but it didn’t do all that much. She slinked her arm through his and smiled, nodding towards where the other bridesmaids were already walking and waiting for them. He didn’t notice that he was keeping them behind.
Green eyes are on her the entire ceremony, and she surely notices. Everyone does. Nearly to the point where one of the groomsmen nudge his arm and make him stare at the bride for even a nanosecond. Harry shrugs it off, saying that it’s nothing and that’s he’s fine, but everyone knows that he’s swimming with regret and unanswered questions.
He is fine. Harry’s fine. He’s fine until YN walks over and says, “I think you owe me a dance.”
Harry smiles his signature smile and stands, leaving his whiskey on the table and scooting his chair against the hardwood floor, taking her hand that’s stretched out for him and bravely kissing her knuckles. YN smiles, and he knows that wherever this is going, it’s nowhere near what the worst-case scenario he created in his head might have been.
“God, I love this song,” she says as soon as they make their way to the dance floor. “I’m working on their stage, right now. They have a tour coming up, this year.”
Harry circles his arms around her waist, exactly like he used to, and brings her into his chest, their faces mere inches from each other. Her hands lay on his shoulders, inching towards his neck, and the way their eyes are staring into each other’s make him know that there is still something there, even in the slightest capacity. “Busy bee, as always.”
“Have to do something with my time,” she giggles, shrugging her shoulders and licking her lips. Harry remembers that she does this when she’s nervous, and for the first time that night, it feels like his nerves begin to ease. “How are you? How’s everything?”
“Eh, well, I’m okay, I guess,” Harry says, and he believes that to be true. He is okay. He knows better than to lie to her, too. YN has a radar for bullshit. “I wrote two albums, this year.”
“Two?” YN blinks, waiting for confirmation. When Harry doesn’t say anything in return, she continues, “That’s amazing, H. I’m really proud of you.”
Harry doesn’t know how to react to that sentiment, because, although it feels painfully good to hear, it is still painful, nonetheless. “That means a lot coming from you.”
“It’s been a while since we talked,” she says softly, sliding her arms further around his shoulders and clasping her hands together behind his neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out sooner. I, there were things I wanted to tell you, and I wanted to share with you, but I just couldn’t. Things felt too raw. I wanted to talk, but every time I would go to dial your number, it was like, a mental block.”
Harry nods sadly, almost like he’s agreeing with her. “I know. I almost called, I almost texted. Good amount of almost things. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
“H, we said we’d stay friends.”
“Am I not your friend, YN?” Harry chuckles, but she knows that there is pain behind it, an aching question that is dying to be answered unless the answer is something neither of them wants to admit. “Honestly, I just thought you’d moved on or hated me. I resigned to either of those reasons. I was okay with either, as long as you’re happy. That’s all I wanted to know.”
“Harry,” she says, shaking her head adamantly and meeting his glassy stare, “that’s the last thing from the truth.”
Harry doesn’t say anything for a minute or two, maybe more, and YN is beginning to wonder if this conversation was a mistake. His silence is deafening and there’s a moment where she thinks she’ll slip out of his grasp, only to feel his palms widen on her back and one hand slip away to take her hand and spin her around. Harry smiles softly and listens to her laugh, and soaks in the sound, very unaware of where the conversation will go afterwards.
Music still plays behind them, and couples come and go from the dance floor. Harry and YN mind their business, dancing quietly and leaning into each other and soaking at the moment that feels like it could last a lifetime. His hand is holding hers, his other splayed across her lower back, and her cheek is resting on his shoulder when he whispers, “I still love you.”
Her hair falls down her back and across her face when she turns her head on his shoulder, and Harry reaches forward with their interlocked hands and brushes it away from her cheek. His expression is neutral, calm, and she can barely tell if she was meant to hear the confession or not. “Harry.”
How would best friend h react to walking in on you touching yourself?
He’d definitely walk right back out but then you’re acting brave, you’ve had feelings for him since forever and tbh it’s now or never so you call him back in. He’d walk in slowly, looking at your eyes only. “You can look down here too Harry, I don’t mind” you’d say, biting your lip as you spread your legs wider so Harry could see the pooling wetness down there, he could see your thighs drenched and he’d lick his lips, sinful thoughts making their way into his head as his dick starts to harden under his tight pants. “Fuck, that’s hot. What’s gotten you so riled up love?” He’d ask as he takes slow steps towards the bed, where you were sprawled out, fingers dipping into your pussy as your thumb rubbed tight circles on your clit making you moan. His eyes are trailing up and down your body, seeing just how hard you were trying to reach your sweet pleasurable release. All you’d say well whimper is a “you” and Harry’s onto you, climbing the bed and doing something about the wetness in between your legs.
