working on harry’s tour means seeing him every day—and ignoring his nonstop flirting every day. ur determined to stay professional, but harry, unfortunately, loves pushing your buttons almost as much as he loves watching you fight your feelings for him. after months of unresolved tension, jealousy tips everything over the edge backstage after a show.
based on -> this request
cw: unprofessional work dynamics, angst, tour harry, tour crew reader, oral (f), semi-public sex, light dirty talk, p in v (unprotected), recording, size kink, inspection kink, idk filth
wc: 10.1k
“Hold still,” you murmur, stepping between his knees where he sits in front of the mirror.
Harry tilts his head back easily while you adjust the wire of his in-ear monitor. The dressing room is loud around you, stylists moving around, someone steaming clothes in the corner, muffled bass from the stage vibrating through the walls. But Harry’s attention settles on you with uncomfortable intensity.
Not uncomfortable because you dislike it. Uncomfortable because you do. And will never admit that.
“You always smell nice,” he says casually.
You keep your eyes on the wire in your hands. “Battery pack’s loose.”
“That wasn’t related to what I said.”
You took a deep breath as your eyes shut instinctively for just a moment.
“I know.”
“Hm.” You can hear the smile in his voice, and if you lowered your gaze you knew you’d be staring right at a deep dimple and a cheeky twitch of his chin.
You clip the pack onto the back of his pants, fingers brushing the warm fabric of his shirt and leaving just as quick as they got there.
“All set,” you call, slapping your palms to your sides lightly as you back further away from his body.
And then he’s looking at you. In that way he always does before he goes on stage. A rudely passionate look of teasing that will leave you dizzy for the next 2 hours. He knows it, too. It’s why he does it.
“What?”
He doesn’t answer you for a minute. Just stares at you a bit longer. Over your jaw. The curve of your neck, exposed by your loose pony. All with a grin of his own deepening and his eyes squinting just a tinge.
And then he snaps back into casualness like nothing was on his mind at all.
“Nothing,” he shrugs, standing from his chair, “see you after the show.”
You nod.
“See you.”
He turns toward the door, shoulders brushing past one of the stylists waiting near the hallway, and for a second you think that’s it. Because it usually is.
You fix what you need to fix. You set him up. You say goodbye. And then he’s on stage and you have a brief intermission of peace before he’s back in front of you at the end of the night.
But then he glances back.
Just briefly, but enough for your stomach to tighten in that stupid familiar way that you worry will someday get you fired.
The hallway outside the green room still buzzes with movement and things you half understand. Stage managers calling cues, security talking into headsets, other crew members rushing past with last minute equipment. Harry looks entirely unbothered by any of it. Calm, even, like he has all the time in the world.
Your mouth moves before your brain catches up.
“Good luck.”
The words slip out softer than you intended. More personal, too. Less like a colleague hoping for the best and more like someone who cares too much about the other. Immediately, you regret them.
Because Harry stops dead in the doorway. And then slowly turns back toward you like if he's worried that it was someone else who said it. The grin spreading across his face is instant.
God.
That unbearably smug expression that only gets worse the second he realizes he’s gotten something genuine out of you. Then his smile widens even further, dimples pressing deep into his cheeks and eyes crinkling kindly.
“Thanks, y/n.”
Far too satisfied with himself.
A laugh slips quietly out of him as he starts backing into the hallway again, still looking directly at you with that same sly expression stretched across his face. Like he’s just won something.
Someone calls his name farther down the corridor.
So he finally tears his eyes off you, spinning around smoothly and continuing toward stage with an annoyingly confident bounce in his step.
Entirely too pleased with himself over two stupid words.
And even worse? You’re smiling a little before you can stop yourself.
It is endearing—his crush. It’s also incredibly obvious. The last few months of your life have been filled with flirts and teases and smirks that have your heart on the brink of exploding right there in your chest.
Champagne problems, right?
But it really was starting to become a problem. You were a professional. Apart of this industry for longer than you can count. And you were not about to start things up with your boss and destroy the reputation you’ve built for yourself for years. No matter how sexy his gaze got or how desperate his words became.
So you spend the entirety of his show in his open dressing room backstage, lounging upon a green velvet chair and scrolling mindlessly through your screen. You were grateful you had the night off tonight apart from backstage aid.
Baking recipes. Funny clips of animals. A new way to wear your hair. Skin care brands random people are trying to sell you.
Anything to get your mind off of him.
But it’s hard when his voice is echoing around the arena simultaneously. Whining through the microphone and screaming melodies that flow through him as if there’s no effort needed at all.
It was a sick routine you’ve been stuck in. Every show. Set him up, do your duties, listen to him against your will backstage or in the audio booth if that was your assignment, and then dissemble him before he goes home. You’ve been stuck with him every minute of all your days for the entire tour. Which would usually be great news; if he wasn’t nagging at you for a drop of attention too.
But you would stay professional. Calm. You knew you would.
So when the show ended and you both ended up back in his green room, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself to exercise your best rejection tactics.
The show leaves him glowing every time. Not literally, obviously, but close enough. So extra preparation was more than necessary. Especially considering there were about 6 other colleagues back here awaiting for his arrival as well.
By the time Harry pushes through the green room door, the adrenaline is still clinging to him—cheeks pink from exertion, curls damp at the edges, chest rising heavier beneath the half unbuttoned shirt clung lightly to his skin. The roar of the crowd still echoes faintly through the arena halls outside while people trail in after him offering congratulations, water bottles, notes about tomorrow’s schedule.
And somehow, within five seconds of entering the room, his eyes find you.
Of course they do. And you’re not totally sure if you want to die right there or enjoy it with a smile.
You’re crouched near the coffee table reorganizing equipment cases from the stage reset, pretending not to notice.
“You stayed,” he says immediately.
You don’t look up from the tangled wire in your hands. “I work here.”
“Mhm.” You can hear the grin in his voice already. “Still very professional as always.”
You ignore that completely.
Harry drops onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, legs spread comfortably while someone hands him a towel. He thanks them absently, attention never really leaving you.
“You work in the sound booth tonight?”
“Had the night off. Was just back here tonight.”
“Mm. Maybe that’s why it smells so nice back here.”
You finally glance up briefly. “Need something?”
His mouth twitches. There’s always this look he gets when you refuse to react properly to him. Half amused, half fascinated. Like he genuinely cannot understand how you keep resisting him after months of this.
“Need?” he repeats lazily. “No. Like hearing your voice, though.”
You bite down your smile as hard as you can. Fighting to stay within the boundaries of a work place and not further alarm your other colleagues around you.
You go back to untangling the cable immediately. “Sounds serious.”
“It is serious.”
“Thought you were exhausted.” You dead pan, looking over at him sprawled on the couch from your position on the floor.
“I was. Then you spoke to me.”
A nearby stylist snorts quietly before pretending not to listen. Your jaw tightens slightly.
Because that’s another thing Harry loves. Saying things in front of other people just to watch you try to stay composed. It was fucked up. And it was constant. Like, all the time.
You stand, carrying the equipment case toward the table near him. The second you step close enough, Harry tilts his head back against the couch cushion to look up at you.
Way too pretty after a two hour show.
Honestly rude.
It was all post-show warmth and lazy satisfaction. Sweat still clung faintly to his skin beneath the dim lights of the green room, curls damp and pushed messily away from his forehead where he’d run his hands through them a dozen times already. His cheeks were flushed pink from the stage heat, lips slightly parted while he caught his breath, and those marbled green eyes stayed fixed on you with a softness that felt entirely too intimate for a room still full of people.
And then he smiled. Slow at first. Sleepy almost. Until the corner of his mouth pulled higher and that deep dimple pressed into his cheek.
“You’re staring.”
And shit, you were.
You snap your gaze away quickly and trot across the room to gather the box for his in-ears with a shake of your head. “Wasn’t.”
“Was.”
You look back at him sharply, “Wasn’t.”
“Was too,” and his smile tells you all you need to know. This is fun for him. A game of sorts.
You just huff, opening the box in front of him and silently gesturing for him to put his monitors inside so you can, you know, get the fuck out of here.
He complies. Placing his in-ears in the box gently and staring up at you with a cocked grin while he does it. You kept your gaze down. Focused on the box and the work in front of you.
Once the box is closed and back on the audio cart, you grab your purse and take out your pony tail.
And also try to ignore the burning gaze that’s been following your every move while you do so.
“Alright, I’m heading out for the n—”
“I like your hair down like that. Looks nice.”
You stare at him like he cannot be serious right now.
“Thank you,” you say, clearing your throat and gripping tighter against the strap of your purse. “I’m heading out for the night.”
He grins. “Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight,” you nod, pattering out of the room as quick as you can.
“Goodnight.”
-
“Good morning!”
Someone was in a fantastic mood this morning.
You, were not.
“Morning,” you mumble, wobbling past him as you rub your eyes carelessly.
The venue halls were painfully bright at eight in the morning. Fluorescent lights reflected harshly off concrete floors, cases rolled loudly through corridors, and somewhere nearby someone was already doing mic checks loud enough to make your headache worse.
You were exhausted.
Not normal tired. Not fixable with coffee tired. Bone deep, eyes burning, don’t talk to me tired.
The kind that sat heavily behind your ribs after months on tour and too little sleep and too many late nights spent tearing down equipment after shows.
You threw your headset crooked over your hair while you leaned against one of the equipment tables at monitor world, staring blankly into the cup of coffee in your hands like it was useless. It kind of was.
And he was already trotting back behind you to continue to bother you.
Harry leaned against the edge of the table across from you, completely uninvited and entirely too comfortable there. His eyes moved slowly over your face, taking in the dark circles under your eyes and your obvious irritation with visible amusement.
“You look tired.”
You look back up at him plainly.
“Insightful.”
“You sleep at all?”
“A little.”
“Mhm.” His grin deepened knowingly. “You’re doing that thing where you answer questions like you hate me.”
“I do hate you right now.”
He could’ve laughed at your face right there.
“No, you don’t.”
You took another sip of coffee just to avoid responding. Harry stared at you over the rim of his own cup. Completely entertained, like this was his morning news and he needed to tune in.
“Y/n, the sound booth needs you in 5.”
You wince, shutting your eyes briefly before calling out an okay and shrugging off your purse.
“Bye y/n,” Harry smiles, tilting his head playfully like your exhaustion is only here for his entertainment.
“Bye Harry.”
You barely saw him for the rest of the day after that.
Every time you turned around, someone needed something. A frequency issue during rehearsals, a missing pack during load in, comms crackling endlessly in your ear while production schedules shifted by the minute.
By the afternoon, you were too busy to think about him much at all, which was probably a good thing considering the smile he’d walked away wearing that morning.
The show passed in a blur from the booth. You stood behind the glowing soundboards with your headset pressed tighter against one ear while the arena shook around you, lights flashing across thousands of screaming fans.
From back there, Harry looked different. Bigger somehow. Untouchable. All confidence and movement and effortless charm under the stage lights. Still, more than once, your stomach tightened when you caught his gaze flick briefly toward the booth like he was checking for you without meaning to.
Now the show was over, and you stood backstage in the green room with tired shoulders and aching feet while crew members rushed around tearing equipment down around you. The adrenaline of the concert had faded, leaving only exhaustion behind.
You leaned against the wall quietly, absentmindedly twisting your headset cord around your fingers while waiting for the post show chaos to settle.
Voices echoed down the hallway before the door even opened. You recognized Harry’s immediately, warm and animated in that post show way he always got, still riding the adrenaline high from stage.
But there was another voice with him this time.
A woman’s laugh floated down the corridor a second later, light and airy. Your stomach tightened instinctively before you could stop it. You didn’t want it to. But it happened.
Then the green room door swung open.
Harry walked in first, still glowing from the show, hair damp around his forehead and sleeves shoved messily to his elbows. Beside him was a brunette woman you vaguely recognized from the VIP tent earlier, pretty in an effortless kind of way, light eyes bright as she looked up at him while he talked.
And she was laughing. Like, a lot. At everything.
Harry said something you didn’t even catch properly while shrugging off his jacket, and she laughed immediately, hand brushing his arm like he’d said the funniest thing she’d ever heard in her life.
You looked back down at the audio sheet in your hands before your expression could betray you.
Absolutely ridiculous.
People laughed at Harry constantly. He was charming. Funny. Famous. None of this was unusual. You’d fallen victim to it more times than you’d like to mention too. It really wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, especially working so close to him.
Still, every time her laugh floated across the room again, your eyes flicked over before you could stop them.
And every single time, Harry caught you doing it.
Of course he did.
You could feel it almost instantly, the subtle shift in his attention whenever your gaze landed on them together. Like he became hyperaware of you the second you started pretending not to look.
Annoying.
You crouched beside the audio cart near the wall, reorganizing cables that were already organized just to keep your hands busy. It was sad, but you were this close to breaking something and you’d rather it be equipment instead of someone’s face.
Across the room, the brunette laughed again at something mildly amusing at best.
No offense to Harry.
Your eyes rolled automatically before you could stop them. And when you glanced up, Harry was already looking at you. His mouth twitched instantly, like he’d officially decided everything you were feeling now. His assumptions have been proven correct.
“Y/n,” Harry called casually from the couch area, too close to the mystery women for comfort.
Your response came flat without looking up. “What?”
“Did you switch comm packs after the encore?”
A stupid question.
“Mhm.”
“That one’s mine or Glen’s?”
“Yours.”
It came out colder than you meant it to, but it was honestly a stupid question and you were growing more and more irritated with every passing second.
You heard the tiny pause afterward, like Harry was reveling in this moment and couldn’t believe it was real.
“Thanks,” he said slowly, amusement already slipping into his voice.
You only hummed in response.
The brunette looked between the two of you curiously before turning back toward Harry when he said something quietly to her.
Then, to everyone’s surprise, she laughed again.
Good God.
Your jaw tightened slightly without meaning too, stuck between the frustration of these fucking wires layered between the echoing laughs of a spunky brunette.
“You alright over there?” Harry asked after a minute.
You clipped another cable into place. “Fine.”
“You seem grumpy.” He called, the second time he’s said the word today.
“I’m tired.”
“Mhm.” That sound alone irritated you.
You glanced up briefly to find him leaning back against the couch cushions now, one arm stretched along the back while he watched you with obvious interest. Like he was enjoying this. Actually enjoying it.
“Could you grab us two waters?” he asked suddenly.
You blinked at him once, like you couldn’t beleive this was a real question. Then looked toward the fully stocked fridge less than six feet from where he sat.
“There are plenty of other people here,” you said evenly. “I’m busy.”
Silence.
The brunette shifted awkwardly beside him while Harry stared at you for half a second. And then, a grin spread slowly across his face. Deep dimples. Bright eyes. Entirely too entertained.
Your stomach dropped immediately.
Because he knew.
“Oh my God,” he murmured softly, almost to himself.
You narrowed your eyes instantly, standing straight up against the cart now with your hands leveling you, “What?”
But Harry was already standing and looking much too pleased with himself.
“I’ll get them myself,” he said lightly to the brunette before starting across the room.
Toward you.
You immediately looked back down at the cables in your hands like they suddenly required your full concentration. Unfortunately, Harry didn’t stop until he was directly beside the audio cart. Close enough that you could smell the lingering mix of cologne and stage sweat still clinging to him after the show.
“You’re jealous,” he said quietly.
You scoffed immediately, “I’m not.”
“Y/n.” His voice was warm with amusement. “You practically rolled your eyes to the back of your skull every time she laughed.”
You dropped what you were working on and pulled closer to his face, “She laughed at things that weren’t funny.”
Harry bit back a grin.
“There she is.”
“Harry, what?” You weren’t in the mood for this. Not now. Not ever, really. And you had shit to take care of.
“You got mean.”
“I’m usually mean to you?”
“No,” His eyes dragged slowly over your face, “Usually you’re pretending not to like me. Tonight you looked like you wanted to kill somebody.”
Heat crawled violently up your neck before you could stop it, his words genuinely shocking you past your normal point of surprise. He was always bold with you. But this was honest. Too honest.
“I do not care who you bring backstage.”
You barely even believed yourself when those words fell out of you.
“Mhm.”
“I don’t.”
“You told me to get my own water,” he continues to whisper, trying to hide the conversation from the women on the couch. Who, by the way, has clearly been growing more antsy for his return with every passing second.
“There was a fridge right there,” you say like it’s an obvious reason for your denial.
“You’ve gotten me water before.”
You opened your mouth immediately, then stopped. Harry’s grin widened in triumph.
“Oh, that’s beautiful,” he laughed softly.
You don’t know why you started to feel genuinely angry, but you did. Maybe it was the way he was speaking, almost patronizing, like he had you all figured out before you had the chance to yourself.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that he was starting to pull the truth out of you which you’ve been so desperately avoiding.
“You are so full of yourself,” you said, and it came out more honest than you intended. Harsh, even.
“And you,” he said, stepping just slightly closer, “are jealous. And too fucking scared to ever admit it.”
Like your comment before didn’t phase him at all.
You just stare at him with heavy breaths, your face and neck heating up before you could stop them. You were furious over his attitude. His confidence. The way he spoke like he was the smartest person in the room and the way he was looking at you like he knew you’d fold soon.
“Enjoy your night. I hope your dick enjoys her as much as your head enjoys this bullshit.”
Way too mean. Absolutely past the point of professional boundaries.
You knew it the second you said it, and so did he. His face was genuinely shocked, like you’ve officially surprised him for the first time in his life. He didn’t seem angry, necessarily. Just…you don’t even know. Just shocked.
And silent.
You shoved through the backstage hallway doors before he could say another word to you.
The sound room was blissfully empty when you stormed inside, the muffled crowds from the arena now distant through thick walls while rows of glowing consoles blinked quietly in the dark.
Good. Because if another person looked at you right now, you might actually lose your mind.
You dropped a headset onto the table harder than necessary and immediately started yanking cords loose from the side rack with sharp, irritated movements. Stupid. This whole thing was so unbelievably stupid.
Your chest still burned from the look on his face back there, smug and amused while that girl sat beside him laughing at every breath he took. Like he enjoyed watching you unravel. Like this had all just been a game to him for months.
A cable slipped from your hands and smacked loudly against the table, echoing throughout the empty area.
“Careful,” Harry’s voice came from the doorway. “Those are expensive.”
You froze for a moment, breath hitched at his sudden presence, and then continued packing without turning around.
“Go away.”
The door shut behind him, closing the two of you inside of the empty room much too late in the night.
“No.”
Your jaw tightened, already frustrated at his quick denial as if your words were a suggestion. They weren’t. You heard his footsteps approach slowly across the room while you wrapped another cord aggressively around your hand.
“Seriously,” you snapped, “I’m working.”
“You’re furious.”
“I’m not furious.”
Harry laughed once under his breath. Wrong move. You spun around immediately.
“Do you seriously think this is funny?”
His expression shifted slightly at the volume in your voice, but he still looked more frustrated than apologetic now. Green eyes sharp beneath messy curls, chest still rising faintly from the remains of the show adrenaline.
There was no smiles anymore. From either of you. It was clear how frustrated you both were as you stood a small distance apart, breaths heavy and eyes low like you two were trying to figure out how to speak without screaming in each other's faces.
“I think,” he said carefully, “you’re finally reacting honestly for once.”
You stared at him in disbelief, as if he knew you at all.
“Honestly?” you repeated. “You bring some random girl backstage and spend the whole night looking at me like it’s the most entertain—”
“She wasn’t random.”
“I don’t care who she was.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I care that you’re sick in the head.”
Harry blinked at the one. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Your voice echoed sharply off the walls now. “You spend months messing with me and flirting with me and pushing me constantly, and then you parade another woman around in front of me like you’re trying to prove how easy this is for you.”
His eyebrows pulled together instantly, taking a step forward until there were only a couple of inches between you both.
The crease between his brows was loud. The flush on his cheeks was freshening, and the sharp glare of his eyes was the most telling of it all.
“Easy?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“That’s what you think this is?”
“I think you like attention.”
Harry scoffed sharply, taking another step closer. “You think I’ve spent months chasing after someone who acts like she hates me because it’s easy?”
“You flirt with everyone.”
“No,” he snapped back immediately, “I flirt with you.”
Silence cracked heavily between you. Your pulse pounded hard enough to hurt.
Harry dragged a hand through his curls roughly, frustration officially overtaking the amusement he’d been carrying all night.
“You know what your problem is?” he started, “You never admit anything. Ever.”
You laughed harshly, closing up another box and tossing it to the side, “Because there’s nothing to admit.”
“Bullshit.”
“Harry—”
“You feel something and immediately bury it under this professional act because God forbid anyone knows you actually care about something.”
Your stomach twisted angrily.
“You don’t get to psychoanalyze me because you sing songs and smile at people for a living.”
That wasn’t fair. You didn’t even really mean it.
But his jaw tightened anyway, swallowing the words and pushing back up with whatever felt right in his chest.
“And you don’t get to act like I’m manipulating you just because you’re too stubborn to admit this thing between us has been happening for months.”
You folded your arms tighter across your chest like that could somehow hold you together.
“There is no thing.”
Harry actually stared at you for a second like he couldn’t believe you’d said it. Then he laughed once. Not amused. It was more in disbelief. Because there was really no way you could genuinely beleive that.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re just fucking cruel.”
That landed worse than the line before. You saw it immediately in the way his expression shifted, dragging across your face with so much anger that you had to swallow to keep yourself grounded.
“Cruel?” he repeated quieter.
“Yes.” Your throat felt tight now, anger bleeding messily into something worse. “You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.”
Harry stepped impossibly closer again. “That girl was someone my mum wanted me to meet after the show.”
You paused, tilting your head as you catch your breath from frustration.
“What?”
“She’s a family friend’s daughter,” he said sharply, “And it had absolutely nothing to do with showing off for you.”
You looked away immediately, embarrassment and anger tangling together violently in your chest in a more obvious way than you would’ve liked.
Harry noticed.
“See?” he said, “You jumped straight to assuming I was trying to hurt you.”
“You were enjoying it,” you say, rolling you eyes as his point had no relevance to you.
“Because you were jealous.”
“I was not jealous.”
“You were glaring at her like she was, like, offending you.”
“She was laughing too hard.”
A completely incredulous laugh escaped him, “Oh my God.”
“Don’t ‘oh my God’ me.”
“How do you seriously not see that you were jealous? Just admit something for once in your fucking life!”
“I wasn’t jealous!”
“You were!”
“I am not jealous of every girl you drag backstage! Just leave me alone!”
The second the words left your mouth, the room went dead silent. Harry stared at you. Your own breathing sounded too loud suddenly. Because that last part had been a mistake.
His eyes flicked slowly over your face, something shifting there.
“You mean that?”
You take a breath, settling into yourself for a moment as your hands come to rub against your temples. It was late. You were both over tired. This whole thing was just a big fucking mess that you were deep into now to get out of.
Oh, and you both were half sure the entire crew was listening outside of the door.
But that was a problem for tomorrow.
“No,” you start, “I don’t mean that. But you don’t get to stand there and act like this is all my fault.”
“I’m not saying it is.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m exhausted!”
His voice cracked louder through the room than your yelling somehow.
“I flirt with you every day. I look for you every day. I walk into rooms looking for you first every day and you act like I’m insane for noticing you feel it too.”
Your chest tightened painfully, knowing in the back of your mind that he was right.
“And then tonight,” he continued, eyes locked on yours, “you looked at me like I’d betrayed you. You can’t do that. Not after pushing me to the floor like dog shit for months.”
You swallowed hard.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
Which only made you angrier.
“You don’t get to make me feel crazy for this,” you shot back.
“I’m not making you feel anything.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing to me!” The words ripped out louder than intended.
Harry went still at the burst, breaths racing quicker while he sat on what was next. What he should say. What he should do. If this was ruined for good and you’d be on the next flight home.
The silence afterward felt massive.
“It’s not fair, Harry,” you continue, “You don’t get to do this to me.”
Your voice was shaking now, words spilling faster the longer he stayed silent.
“You don’t get to stand there and act like I’m the one making this complicated when you’ve been doing this to me for months.”
Harry didn’t say anything, and it made your chest tighten harder.
“Every day it’s something,” you went on, pacing now, unable to stay still under the weight of it. “You flirt with me, you push me, you look at me like I’m the only person in the room and then you just expect me to function like it doesn’t affect me?”
Still nothing. Your frustration snapped sharper.
“You think I don’t notice it? You think I don’t feel it?” You shot another time, voice rising again. “Because I do. I feel it every single time you look at me like that and I hate that I do. And I have a life I’m trying to protect. I built something for myself here. I worked too hard to be taken seriously to just—throw it away because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
He swallowed thick at the last line, listening to your words helplessly and sinking in thoughts he can’t say. “And the worst part is I don’t even get a break from it. I have to choose. Every day. Between being good at my job and feeling whatever this is when I’m around you.”
Your eyes flicked up to his again, glossy with frustration now.
“Between my career and my happiness,” you said quieter, but more honest than anything you’d said all night. “And you just stand there like it’s nothing when it’s not nothing for me! It’s impossible and it’s—”
Harry crossed the space between you in a single step and crashed his mouth into yours, hands coming up to either side of your face, holding you there so quickly you didn’t even have time to react.
For a second, you didn’t move. Didn’t kiss back. Just froze completely against him, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat while everything in your brain tried to catch up.
But neither of you pulled away.
And then, slowly, when it finally registered, your hands slid up to the back of his head and your lips found their way against his. You pulled him in even closer than he already was, squeezing your hands against him like you jus couldn’t get close enough.
The breath you both released at the same time broke whatever line was left between arguing and something deeper.
The kiss shifted, still urgent, still overwhelming, but no longer just interruption. It turned into something heavier, driven by months of tension finally collapsing into contact neither of you had managed to stop.
“Harry—”
“Sh,” he shut you up through smashing lips before you could even finish the thought, “just let me kiss you for a bit.”
So you did.
It didn’t take much convincing, considering his tongue was minty and warm and his nose was nudging up into your face exactly how you dreamed it might. He was strong and confident and, in the least weird way, skilled. It was like he’d already learned exactly how you want it and rolled it out of him with no effort at all.
“Just tell me to stop,” he mutters through kiss, “just tell me.”
You just nod, quick and aggressive as he pulls you in even closer and inhales you like he needs you to breathe. Your heart was slamming and your mind was dizzy, fogged in the forbidden mesh of the two of you and the stupidity behind it all.
Because really, one crack of the door and you’d be fired on the spot. It was the most insane thing for you to ever do, especially after screaming in his face for all to hear from the hallway.
But you didn’t care. You couldn’t stop. You wanted him. You needed him. You wanted him to handle you and treat you like he’d been dreaming of—whatever that may be.
And as his tongue slid across the insides of your mouth for the thousandth time, you let your mind drift into what he might do. What he’s been begging to do. You knew he had to have something shoved up deep in sleeves, something he’d been putting off until this moment and thought of more times than he should.
His hands came tugging up at your top before you could slip too deep into that thought. The pass of the fabric through your faces broke the suction to each other for only a moment before he was crashing back down onto you, a kiss laced in so much hunger that you didn’t know what to do with yourself.
And once your chest was covered in nothing but the flimsy cotton of your black bra, his hands couldn’t land. He was everywhere. Up your ribs, across your tummy, pressed into the open curve of your lower back.
The pass over your clothed breasts was long. Like he was mapping out exactly how they sat without actually breaking the kiss to look at them.
And you were only thinking one thing—just take off the bra and fucking touch me.
As if reading your mind, his hands slipped underneath the top of the cup and grasped at your smooth skin tenderly, cupping around your full breasts until his thumb found the perk of your nipples and his palm found its place underneath the curve.
“Fuck,” he groaned, “so soft.”
It was mostly to himself, like he was marking the exact moment out loud to remember forever.
Now you really were jealous.
Your hands worked desperately at his damp button up, undoing every last one like a ravenous animal until it wore him more as a jacket of sorts instead of a shirt.
You let your eyes fall.
Of course you’ve seen him shirtless before. But this was different. This was vulnerable—the flap of his butterfly on his chest, mixed in nerves and anticipation and the feeling of something new yet forbidden. The subtle sheen of his sweat bouncing off of his pecs, still not fully recovered from his show.
Then there was the hair. Littered across his chest and more importantly, trailing thick down to a screaming bulge below.
You groaned before you could stop yourself, and his smirk was deep in response before pulling you tight to his lips again.
“Harry,” you start breathlessly, still in between sloppy kisses, “I have to go soon. I have to catch the last train.”
He shakes his head immediately, “I’ll drive you back.”
You consider telling him the truth. The humiliating truth. The truth that will probably turn that growing hard on down into a sad softie that’ll never come back up.
“No really,” you murmur again, kissing him harder, “I really do have to go soon.”
He backed up this time, hands placed somewhere between your waist and your shoulders lazily.
“Why? We can stop.”
You shake your head immediately, “No, I…I don’t want to stop. I just want us to…um…hurry?”
“Y/n…” he nagged with a smile, teasing you already, “don’t break your honesty streak now.”
You shake your head, “it’s embarassing.”
“Just say it.”
You roll your eyes, sucking in a deep breath and thinking of the vaguest way to say it.
“Fine,” you huff, “my mom calls me every night at exactly 12AM. Okay?”
His eyebrow cocks upward, “that’s not embarassing.”
“Right, so, let’s just keep going?” You clear your throat, nodding a placing your hands back behind his neck as if to prepare for another kiss.
He’s still staring at you with a small smirk that you hate.
“Not so fast,” he teases, “Something in me says you’re keeping out a very important detai—”
You unclasp your bra in the middle of his sentence, letting your tits fall loose in a desperate attempt to cut off his train of thought right there.
And it works, for a second.
His eyes fall, his words come to an abrupt halt, and his mouth goes dry in a state of total holy fucking shit this can’t be real life.
“That’s not fair, y/n,” he says, but he’s still looking down at your chest, “not at all.”
You just grin, looking down at him as he gawks at the sight in front of him and lets his hands drift upwards to cup them once again. This time it was different. This time he was looking at what he had in his palms. And they were even better than how he’d dreamed of them, perky and pink and so full.
And then he’s grabbing you by your ribs, hands wide and rough, lifting you until you’re sat on top of the counter behind you, covered with equipment that was far too expensive for this behavior. But neither of you really seemed to notice, let alone care.
His lips locked around nipples before you had the time to process the shift, sucking and nagging and groping the untouched one with his other hand.
But then he was back on subject.
God damn it.
“Tell me,” he cooed, still latched to your breasts, “tell me what you’re hiding.”
You sighed at the feeling of his lips on your bare skin, naked and exposed and more vulnerable than you’ve been in awhile. More time than you’d like to admit.
“Can’t.”
He stopped his kissing and looked back up at you.
“Y/n.”
You huff, rolling your eyes and sinking into the cabinet behind you. “My dog. My mom FaceTimes me every night at 12AM so I can talk to my dog before bed. Okay?”
He pushed his lips tight together through his smile, fighting to keep it in as to not embarrass you even further. But his crinkled eyes were telling and the raise of his brows said even more.
“Oh, well that’s adorable.”
You drop your head into your hands, searching for an escape from this moment forever.
“Harryyy.”
“Ok, listen,” he lets out a loose laugh now, bringing his hands up to your cheeks until your face reveals itself again. “It’s not embarrassing. You’re cute. I’ll get you home by 12.”
You peaked your eye open a bit and let your face sink into his palms. “Yeah?”
He nods, face pulling closer to yours again already, “promise.”
And then he was back on you, splitting your lips open softly and letting his tongue fall onto yours as if it was the most natural thing to ever happen.
Suddenly you understand why this has felt impossible to ignore for so long, because kissing him feels terrifyingly right. Soft in a way you never expected from someone who spends all day teasing you, but underneath it there’s still that same intensity he always looks at you with—as he’s been holding himself back for months and finally doesn’t have to anymore.
You can feel it in the way he pulls you closer. In the way his thumbs brush once beneath your ears. In the way he kisses you like this means something. Like it’s exactly what he needed.
Exactly what both of you needed.
He’s drifting his mouth back down to your chest as slips his fingers in your waist band, and suddenly everything feels very real. Harry Styles. Famous. Like, ridiculously famous. In the middle of his tour. In an empty sound room backstage. And, more importantly, your boss.
His hands feel your nerves before your mouth could vocalize them.
“Relax,” he coos, lips resting against your bare chest, “it’s just me.”
You take a breath, shutting your eyes and desperately searching for a place of peace.
It’s Harry. Harry who’s been yearning for you for months. This isn’t a one night stand. This isn’t an unintimate fuck after the adrenaline of a show. It’s raw, it’s real. It’s just Harry.
So this time, when his fingers tug harder on your pants and your full body starts to reveal itself, you don’t feel so suffocated.
He had your pants and thong pooled down to your ankles quicker than you expected, leaving you in nothing but your skin as you stayed perched atop the cool counter.
“Fuck,” he whispered to no one, dropping slowly to his knees as his palms rested atop your knees.
You were bare in front of him, legs half spread and core dripping onto the surface beneath you. You figured it had to leave a mark. His eyes turned inward as they locked onto where he needed most, what he’s been clawing at desperately for months, right in from of him and oh so beautiful.
His hands pushed your knees further apart slowly, revealing more of yourself to him until it was all on display. And right when you started to relax, his hands left your legs and fell to in between your thighs instead.
“Shit,” he breathed, fingers coming to toy with your folds, “so pretty. Fucking perfect.”
His finger tips pressed against either side of your wet hole, and slowly spread apart from each other until you were wide and gaping in front of him. Your breath hitched somewhere deep in your chest and your mind stilled, watching his eyes as he inspected what was before him closely.
“So tight,” he hummed, spreading you open even further, “beautiful, you know that?”
You just gulped, letting a hand fall on top of his head to play with his curls mindlessly. Anything to give you something to do.
His fingers drifted higher up to your clit now, pinching at either side of the swelling bud before spreading that apart too. The ball of your sensitivity came pushing outward at the movement, throbbing in front of him while you dripped helplessly just below.
And then, with eyes glossed up towards your gaze, he stuck his tongue out, skinny and pointed, before pressing the tip onto your overly exposed clit.
Your eyes shut before you could stop them, chest panting and brows turning inward. It was the most sensitive you’ve felt in awhile, so worked up from the arguing and the teasing and the kiss that was forever too short.
“Mm,” he hummed, circling once around your clit and watching for your reaction, “tastes so good. So sweet.”
You groaned, tugging at the hair on his scalp and letting your head roll back until stopped by the wood behind you.
His lips came to suck harsh against your swollen clit, suckling at your arousal and rolling the bead in his mouth as his palms came to grasp around your hips. He was nestled into you like he needed you to breathe, groaning against the taste and pulling closer to you.
His tongue flattened as it pressed against your dripping hole, lapping up your arousal and whispering at the sweet taste on his tongue. You were wet and so fucking pink in front of him, drenched in desperation and the need for something more than just his warm tongue against you.
“Harry,” you whine, “feel so good, but—”
“I know,” he cuts through you, already knowing just what you need instead, “me too. Just give me a couple more minutes, wanna remember this.”
And who were you to deny that?
So you let him feast at you for another five or so minutes, lapping you up and swallowing you with every new drip. It was his heaven. It was what he’d been fucking his fist to for the last couple of months, the thought of you on his tongue and mixed with the melodic sounds of your moans.
“Please, Harry,” you groan, fingers tightening against every strand of his hair and thighs clamping absentmindedly around his skull.
“Hm? What do you need?”
You roll your eyes again, “Harry.”
He detached from your swollen pussy, face wet in your juice as he rose back up to level with your face. His hands land on your bare open thighs, head tilted as he catches his breath in front of you.
“Y/n,” he repeats, challenging you, “tell me what you need.”
You tug your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes glassing up at him as your chest juts outward.
“You,” you breathe, “want you to fuck me, Harry.”
His eyes fall shut as if instinct.
“Fuck,” he breathes, head dropping for a moment, “wish I could’ve fucking recorded that. Listen to it forever.”
And then his lips are back on yours, harsh this time, splitting you open as his hands gripped tight against the meat of your outer thighs.
It happened quicker than you expected—his hands working his zipper, his lips turning sloppy as he breathed heavier inside of your open mouth. And at the sound of his button popping open and his zip hitting the base, your skin chilled at the noise, adrenaline rolling through you as a fuzz rolled down your spine.
His pants shoved down to his mid thigh, boxers following suit, and before you knew it, there it was. Your boss's cock. Thick and dripping in between your open thighs.
He was…big. Bigger than you’d ever been with before, for sure. He was swollen and girthy and just crying with a slow salty drip of precum. For a second you thought, maybe a big dick comes with being a world famous sex symbol.
And in a moment of total honesty, eyes locked on his erection, “I’m kind of nervous.”
He just grins, like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard, before shaking his head and kissing you another time. “Don’t be. Just me.”
It settles something in you. Your smile comes beaming right as your chest softens, nodding softly at him as you try your hardest to regulate your breathing and calm the warmth on your face.
You know, to act like you weren’t about to get fucked in the sound closet while a staff of a hundred was waiting for you both.
By your boss.
And global phenomenon.
Oh, and there was a cute brunette waiting for his return in the next room.
But you’d rather focus on the less life ending matters right now.
His hand comes to hold the base of his dick, taking a step closer to your open legs as he held you propped atop the counter still. Your head was racing, eyes flicking back and forth between the nearing head of his cock and his face like you were trying to actually decide if the two were here at the same time.
And just before pressing in, breathlessly, “you’re sure?”
You nod immediately. “I’m sure. Please.”
He pushed into so slow that it ached, stretching your tight hole gently as he filled you up inch by inch. He was…a lot. Pulling you apart without even trying to and sinking in deeper than what’s ever been reached before.
Once he bottomed out and his tip was kissing some place deep in your tummy, you both let out a simultaneous “Fuck.”
His forehead dropped against yours in a sweaty mess, pulling out of you until his tip reached your folds before pushing back in with a force stronger than the one before. More certain. Like he couldn’t be more sure now. And you couldn’t either.
To say it was heavenly wasn’t even doing it justice. He was filling you up just as you liked, big and profound and pumping in and out of you with careful precision. Knocking into that spongy spot inside of you that had your vision blurry and tear ducts jamming.
“Harry,” you moan out, desperately trying to keep your voice down, “it feel so good, you feel so good.”
His thrusts deepen, “yeah? Like that?”
“Mmm,” you weren’t totally aware of any noise you were making, your mind just sort of rolled out whatever it was feeling and expressed itself in sudden waves.
He felt it. The organic nature of it all. The way you clamped around him desperately and grabbed at the skin on his back like it’d somehow be able to keep you grounded through this.
But then it got rougher. Quicker. Sharp in your belly as he slammed into you over and over and over again.
“Ah!” Your head tossed back, “fuck, shit, it’s so good, Harry, so big.”
It only spurred him on faster.
“Like my cock?” He was pumping into you so fast that your back was smacking loud agaisnt the unstable cabinets, “how big is it. Tell me how good this dick is.”
Your walls tightened again around him at his filthy ask, finger nails scratching into his skin until inflamed and bleeding at the touch.
“So big, mmm,” your whine draws through the closed space, “so good inside of me, so deep, fuck!”
He fucked you like this for awhile, stealing quick kisses from you from time to time and pulling you as close to him as you could get.
And then he scooped you up and off of the counter effortlessly, cock still buried deep inside of you, before placing your back down flat on a lower standing table in the center of the room. Covered in expensive electronics and hazardous wires that neither of you knew the importance of. Or cared.
When he started fucking into you again, it was different. You were flat against the surface, legs locked around his waist and hair sprawled around you like a halo you just grew within the last half hour. Which, you honestly felt like you did.
But his tip was deeper this time, with the new position, and crawled up into your tummy until the skin of your lower stomach was tenting in the pressure of his cock. Thrusting up into it until it pulled upwards and created a pretty indent of his shape.
You’ve never experienced a thing like it.
He grabbed a hand and placed it over the space, brows sewing together and a whimper slipping out at the feeling of his cock showing through you. It was a fantasy come true.
Your tits flowed with his rhythm, bouncing up and down, flattened like pancakes, with every thrust. Your moans followed it too, a high pitched huff falling loose every time he slammed into with that same persistence.
“God, Harry,” your hands grab onto nothing, “don’t stop, please, gonna cum soon—”
And then his phone rang. Loud, in the back pocket of his half-off pants that hung right around his knees.
Just when you thought he would stop, pull out and answer the phone, or even silence it and continue to fuck you, he didn’t. He kept his thrusts steady, reached into his pocket, and fucking answered.
“Yeah?” He called through the line, half breathless as he slammed his hips into you beneath him.
You’d never held your voice so hard in your fucking life.
There was random mumbling through the other end, a deep voice, rambling about something you couldn’t quite decipher. His head tilted backwards as he listened, the grip on his phone a little lose as he shut his eyes in pure bliss.
“That’s fine,” he starts again, “I’ll take care of it.”
All while sliding his tip out of you and pressing himself back in fully until your arousal wettened his pubic hairs. And it continued like this until your stomach was bubbling and your face was hot and scrunched into itself.
“Mm, gonna cum,” you whisper, still trying to keep yourself hidden from wherever the hell was on the phone with him for this long.
Harry just smirked, phone still pressed up against his ear, as he quickened his strokes into you again. His free thumb came to rest atop your clit, rubbing slow circles onto the sensitive bud until you throat was strained in a sad attempt to keep every noise in.
“No, not home yet,” he spoke again, “taking care of a couple things.”
He fucked you harder. Faster. As if he was challenging you to see who could keep their composure best.
But you’d already lost. You knew you had. Your legs were vibrating violently around his waist, pulsing with every new swipe at your clit and every new slam of his hips.
And the second you finally reached your orgasm, a long, drawn out moan escaped up your chest before you got the chance to silence it.
His hand smacked hard over your mouth with so much force that you shut up immediately.
But he wasn’t upset. He didn’t even look phased. He was still grinning at you, in awe of your fucked state as he pounded himself in and out of you and shut you the hell up with his wide palm.
You came hard. Stuck in the trance he’s set you in and fading into the light as he rides you through it. Your limbs were numbing, your skin stuck between a mix of hot and cold and not quite landing on just one.
He pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment as the other man spoke to nothing. “Fuck, you’re so hot. Feel good?”
You hum lazily, eyes shut as a small smile crawls up to your face absentmindedly. It’d been awhile since you felt this fucked. Just laying there limp and useless and half awake.
Regardless, he wasn’t stopping.
“Mhm,” he said, back on the phone, a little too suspicious of a noise for an average discussion. “Ok. Mhm. Bye.”
“Who was tha—”
“Fuck, you feel so fucking good y/n,” he cut you off, letting his phone hang loose in his grip now as his eyes meld shut in reflex.
It was the furthest thing from calm anymore. He was slamming into you relentlessly until your tits smacked into themselves and your throat strained in purple veins and reddened skin.
“Oh my god,” you groan, cupping your own breast with a squeeze, “shit!”
“Yeah, let everyone hear you,” he spits, “just fucking scream, tell them how good your getting it.”
And you did.
There was no taming whatever was begging to come out of you. You were loud and rambling and just crying whatever filth came to mind without giving yourself a minute to process a thought.
“Shit, can’t fucking believe you,” his head dropped into itself, “gonna remember this, best pussy I’ve ever had y/n.”
You hum, loud, as you let your neck push out and your head rolls back harder onto some sort of sound board that definitely has a couple switches knocked off. His eyes were locked to the movement on your chest—the way your tits shook and belly shook and tented up with his tip.
You’re not really sure what made you think of it. Maybe the way he was staring, maybe the way he told you he wanted to remember, or maybe the way his phone was still hanging lose in his thick fingers from the call.
But you nudged your head towards his phone before you got a chance to think twice about it.
He looked down at where you gestured.
Then back at you.
Back to the phone.
And another time back at you.
Then, shakily, “…yeah?”
You nod through a bitten grin, pinching your nipples between your fingers as if to ask for that to be the focus.
Like any man who’s alive and breathing, the idea only sat with him for about a half a second before his phone was back out and the camera was faced down at you.
And then he was fucking you again, harder this time, so riled up from the devious act in the first place, as he slammed into you until his balls smacked against the bottom of your ass.
Your tits slapped into each other through the camera, clapping against themselves in the most erotic way he’d ever seen. You could see it on his face. The way his lips fell apart through broken groans and his eyes were so zoned into one place that you figured he’d forgotten about everything else surrounding.
“Harry,” you breathe out, “so good. Gonna make yourself cum to this later? Watch yourself fuck me where you shouldn’t?”
He brought his free hand to the small of your waist, gripping tight before using the grip to tug you down onto him harder. His cock was pressing so hard up into your belly that you thought it’d be bruised, so worked out from his thick cock in a way you’ve never gotten it before.
“Fuck, yes, fucking yes,” he groaned, gripping you tighter without trying, “M’so close.”
“Yeah? Gonna cum all over my tits, Harry?” You call, dramatized for his video and paired with an extra shake of your rolling breaths on top of you.
With that, he pulled out of you quick as his fist came to wrap around his length, pumping in sloppy motions with a twisted face and held breaths. His salty cum painted itself onto your tits beautifully, dripping down your smooth skin and coating itself over the peak of your nipples like it belonged there.
His head fell lazy as his breaths lengthened, grounding himself slowly through small touches and deep inhales. The video had stopped, now fallen to the edge of the table you laid on still.
“Fuck,” and then he was looking back up at you with a crooked smile, “did we just fuck?”
And, like usual, your eyes rolled as a grin curved up your mouth, “yeah. Now don’t torment me.”
He pulled out of you slowly, taking his time to not further stress your body before tugging his pants loosely back up to his waist.
“Y/n,” he starts again, grabbing a rag from the counter, “do you know you and I just had sex? You? And I? Y/n and Harry?”
“What part of don’t torment me do you not understand, hm?” You tease, sitting up on your elbows as he begins to wipe up your chest and whatever spilled to your stomach.
“But you’re cute when I torment you,” he shrugs, smirking down at you as he tosses the now dirty rag to the side.
“I don’t think I like you very much.”
His teeth show through his dimpled grin now, arms locked on the table by either side of your hips as he brings himself closer to your face.
And with a sweet kiss and a press to your forehead—
“I like you very much.”
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