content: chaotic couple energy, pda, teasing, public mischief, soft!harry behind it all
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The thing about dating Harry Styles was that people expected charm. Grace. Mystery, maybe. Something refined and a little poetic.
What they didn’t expect? You.
You—his loud-mouthed, snort-laughing, lip-gloss-wearing girlfriend with an attitude and a complete disregard for appropriate public behavior. And, somehow, the absolute love of his life.
It starts with you dragging him into a photo booth at a random LA diner at 11pm, both of you tipsy on milkshakes and fries. He tries to behave, poses with a shy little smirk for the first photo—but then you lick his neck in the second one, and he’s gone. There’s no recovery from that. The third frame is a mess of teeth and hands and your laughter echoing way too loud for the sleepy place you’re in.
He has the strip of photos in his wallet to this day.
Then there’s the incident at Whole Foods.
Harry’s just trying to get oat milk. That’s all he wanted. Oat milk.
But you’re pushing the cart and suddenly you’re leaning in, whispering in his ear, “If you bend over like that again in those pants, I will climb you like a tree in aisle seven.”
He chokes on air. Knocks over a box of granola bars. An old lady gasps. You grin like the devil.
Later that day, you’re walking down Melrose hand in hand, and you keep pulling him into alleys to “make out like teenagers.” You make him hold your leg up against a brick wall. Harry can’t stop giggling, hiding behind his sunglasses as if they make you both less obvious. The paparazzi photos are wild. You’re labeled “the menace.” Harry’s grinning in every single one.
At a dinner party, you slide your hand under the table and trace your name on his thigh while maintaining a perfectly polite conversation with Olivia Wilde. Harry nearly knocks over his wine glass when your fingers go a little too high. “Can’t take you anywhere,” he hisses, cheeks red, eyes dark.
“Then stop taking me,” you shrug, licking dessert off your spoon like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.
But the truth? He lives for it. For you.
You with your shameless affection and chaotic flirting and your need to pull him into dressing rooms just to "check how the lighting looks on your outfit while he's inside."
You are a menace.
And Harry Styles is happily your accomplice.
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✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work.
based on this request!! thank you for asking i hope you enjoy :)) 🫶 i really took this places. its low-key also based on a dream lmao
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Backstage* - Harry Styles
Harry doesn’t take it well after his girlfriend gets back at him for teasing her in an unfortunate circumstance that past weekend. Especially since it resulted in him getting hard on stage.
Pairings: Harry Styles x Girlfriend!Reader
Content Warning: Dom!Harry, Sub!Reader, Light exhibitionism (hidden sex toy), Nicknames (sir), Spanking, Fingering (fem!receiving) Masterbation (fem), Oral (male!receiving), Overstimulation (fem!receiving), Unprotected p in v sex, Rough sex, Choking, Light face slapping, Light breeding kink, Creampie
Word Count: 3.8k
MDNI!!! 18+
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I know it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I couldn’t help myself. Not after last weekend when Harry decided it would be fun to tease me under the table, during a dinner with his band and some crew members, of all places. They didn’t notice, but they might as well have. I had to use the first excuse that came to my mind when I let out a louder-than-expected ‘yelp’.
“Oh my god! I think something just ran by my foot!”
The combination of the others freaking out and trying to get a worker, and Harry’s eyes watering from holding back his laughter. There’s nothing quite like that. I just hope I didn’t accidentally ruin that perfectly good restaurant’s reputation.
Which leads me to tonight.
As Harry was in his dressing room getting last minute checkup’s done, I sat down on the couch a few feet away, and my plan was already in motion. I couldn’t help but shift around. All I need to do is wait till he’s alone to tell him.
A door shutting brought me back to reality, now that it was just us. “What d’you think?” He gave a little spin with a subtle smile.
He looked really good. There’s something about Harry in denim that completely takes your breath away. Too bad I can’t say anything yet. I didn’t want to throw him off, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“Hmm, I like it…”
He furrowed his eyebrows slightly as I smirked up at him. He parted his lips to say something, but nothing came out. Seems like he needed a second. My plan is working.
“But…”
I stood up off the couch to start adjusting his hair a little bit before I spoke out. His hands went to hold my hips softly as he expected an explanation.
I chuckled at the confused look that appeared on his face. This poor man. He has no clue. I placed my hands on his chest and leaned in closer, lips mere inches apart.
“Remember last weekend?” I smiled with a faux-humorous undertone.
He let out a breathy chuckle against me.
“Hard to forget.” He smirked. I hummed sweetly, although it was anything but that.
“I hope that was fun for you...One other thing that you might find interesting…” I started rubbing my hands up and down his chest. He let out a sigh from my touch.
“I have a vibrator inside me right now.” I whispered with a sensual tone. He clenched his jaw and darted his eyes down to my crotch.
As he opened his mouth to speak, a knock on the door interrupted whatever he was going to say.
“Harry man, we need you out here now!”
I smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek and wished him luck. He clenched his jaw and walked to the door, rubbing his hands down his face before opening it and leaving.
I haven’t turned it on yet. I figured it’d be best to wait till the show started. After checking my appearance quickly, I left to go to one of the openings where I can see him from backstage. Luckily, nobody was standing with me at the particular one.
Once the intro to Daydreaming started, I pulled out the remote in anticipation of Harry. I plan to turn it on once he sees me. It’s a bit of an awkward area to look at, I know he’ll put in the effort though, especially after what I told him.
He started doing his thing, moving around while looking absolutely stunning, with a gleaming smile.
“Living in a Daydream…” Harry’s voice beamed through the speakers beautifully.
He was making his way around the stage, letting everyone get their first close-up glimpse of him. Once he got closer to where I was, he finally made eye contact with me, and they darted down to the remote in my hand as it pressed down on a button.
He let out a line unintentionally deeper than any other line he’s sung so far. Harry made a weak attempt to cover that up by looking at a sign and shaking his head.
Seeing the first breath leave my lips was killing him.
I knew the truth, and it seems like so will the packed venue. In the midst of Harry moving around in his jeans, they began to get increasingly tighter.
My legs started to feel heavy as my whole body felt light at the same time. It was not easy standing on my own for this. I subtly used my hand to press the vibrator into me harder, eyes briefly firming shut at the feeling. My hips began a slow grind as the show continued.
I could only focus on two things: this feeling, and Harry’s angry eyes beaming at me whenever he could, struggling to not give anything away.
The adrenaline coursing through me only heightens the heat building up in my core. It normally takes longer for me to reach this part but I can’t help it.
“Hello! I’m Harry!” He introduced himself to the crowd who paid their life savings to attend, how humble. It couldn't be more obvious that he was hard. Maybe fans will think it’s the jeans? Who am I kidding?
When he started thanking the fans, he looked at me, and his voice wavered. That’s when it hit me.
As my breath hitched, the tight coil exploded in a sudden, deep wave of pleasure. I felt the need to bite my lip, so nobody heard, now that it was just Harry’s voice.
He looked so pissed off. I was going to continue, but I figured it’d be best to let him cool down. I also don’t want to risk my privacy ending at a time that would make me stop going out in public.
I ungracefully walked back to Harry’s dressing room, legs slowly regaining their balance. Once I arrived, the first thing I needed to do was go to the bathroom. I removed the toy, cleaned it up, actually used the facilities, then went back out to put the now clean toy away.
I was now aimlessly spinning around in Harry’s vanity chair, waiting patiently. On top of the concert still having an hour and a half left, he always chats up and thanks everybody on his way over. Him being the world’s slowest talker, it tends to take a minute.
After mindlessly watching him perform from the tv in the room, Harry eventually made his way inside, locking the door without speaking a word or looking at me. He stood right next to me and looked into the mirror as he took off his stage gear, then opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water.
“Hi…” I spoke out softly.
I got nothing but silence as he sat down on the couch, unscrewed the lid, and took a sip of water. That’s when he decided it was time to respond.
“Hey.” He was eerily calm, like he was waiting for one more reason to snap. His hands fiddled with the label on the water bottle. I huffed out a breath.
“You were great tonight, as always…” I reflected quietly, unsure of his mood. He chuckled in disbelief.
“Strip and bend over my lap.” He placed the water on the coffee table and leaned back expectantly, arms rested on the back of the couch. I scoffed at him. Does he really think he has the right to be upset with me? I did this because of him!
“Was I not speaking English? You had your little get back, so take off your fucking clothes-" He gestured his finger at me up and down without moving his hand. "and bend over my lap. Now.” He continued assertively.
I squinted my eyes and stood up slowly. Knowing his mood, I probably shouldn’t do anything to make it worse. However, it’s fun to see how far it’ll go.
I began to strip, starting with my boots, then my top, and jeans. Harry typically likes to take off my bra and underwear on his own, so I looked at him for guidance in case he didn’t want that right now. When he nodded his head towards me, I knew I had made the right call.
He kept both arms on the back of the couch as he waited for me to get into the position he wanted. I sauntered over in my hot pink lacy set I wore just for Harry. Once I reached him, I bent over his lap, with my arms behind my back.
I thought he would touch me as soon as I laid down, but he didn't. He took his time. Harry needed me not to know when to expect whatever he was going to give me. I could feel his eyes burning into me like he had heat vision, my whole body warming at the feeling.
Just when I was about to say something, Harry spoke up after placing a hand over mine to softly trace his fingers along my palms
"You know why I'm doing this, don't you, baby? He interrogated with a low tone.
My body shifted slightly at the drop of his voice. Harry doesn't always get like this, but when he does...shit.
"No, I was getting you back for last weekend. Why are you the only one who gets to win?" I argued.
He grunted out of frustration - slap! I gasped as his hand met my ass for the first time. Hopefully, nobody heard that.
"Did you ask me if you could touch yourself? No.” He hissed, tone dripping with irritation. “Did you ask me if you could cum? Definitely not.” He laughed bitterly.
Slap!
"Did fifteen thousand people see you dripping down your thighs in that restaurant?” He slapped again. I had no choice but to start grinding due to the lack of touch. The action reminds me of how sensitive I had gotten when my underwear moved against my clit. I let out an uncontrollable whimper.
“Does that sound like me winning?” Harry questioned with no room for lies.
I chewed my lip. “No…”
He hummed menacingly and slowly began teasing his fingers over my covered crotch. Another sound escaped softly. “You’re fucking sensitive…Does my greedy girl have anything to say for herself?” Harry challenged with confidence.
He spanked me once more with his free hand, making sure I heard him.
“I’m sorry, sir…I shouldn’t have-” A sharp, airy moan cut me off when he started circling my clit. His fingers accelerated, and I squirmed out of reflex.
The overwhelming pleasure is biting at me in the best way possible. “Shouldn’t have what?” He questioned sternly.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus on answering him and not on what he’s doing.
“I shouldn’t have touched myself without your permission.” I admitted in defeat.
With his right hand, he pulled my underwear to the side. The other one touching me now has access to finger me at the same time.
“Why?” Harry inquired further.
His free hand moved to my throat, choking me as he pulled my head up to lean over me from the side. The dark look in his eyes kept me locked on him as his face got inches away from mine.
“I’m not allowed to...” I attempted to speak, but it proved to be difficult with my restricted breathing and Harry’s continued movements inside me. He pouted at me with fake sincerity, as it sounded a bit pathetic.
Suddenly, he stopped his hand and let go of my neck.
“Get up.” Harry demanded hotly.
Completely dumbfounded, I stood up as best as I could. My legs are now light and shaky. I wasn’t sure what he wanted besides this, now standing to face him while he looked up at me.
“Ask.” He repeated as I blinked in confusion. What is he talking about? Am I having a stroke? My lack of knowledge only fuelled his frustration.
“Grab that fucking toy, get on your fucking knees, and ask properly like a good girl.”
The blush rose to my cheeks. His stare intimidated me into moving without thinking about it. I unzipped my bag and grabbed the silk drawstring sack the toy came in, pulling it out gently, along with the remote.
I took a few steps back to Harry, then plopped down to my knees. A taunting smirk formed on his face when he looked down on me. His head tilted expectantly.
“Can I please touch myself, sir?” I obediently asked him.
Harry nodded his head. He shrugged off his vest before he placed his left hand behind his head, as the other rested lazily on his hardened cock.
“Go ahead. Do it.” He encouraged me.
I bit my lip and moved my underwear over to insert the toy inside me, the clit stimulator now pressing into me at the perfect angle. I let out a gasp from the insertion, then reached down to pick up the remote that I blindly tossed onto the floor.
I pressed the on button and it was over for me. I shivered out a moan, squeezing my thighs together, and leaning forward to hold onto Harry’s calves, eyes on the object in between my legs.
"Don't look away. You wanted this, right? My reaction? I'm giving it to you." He rasped out dominantly as he began unbuttoning his jeans in what looked like...slow-motion.
Everything happening all at once was hard for me to process, my body needing it all but also needing to stop. I don’t want it to ever stop. Not with Harry.
"I'm gonna-I'm close please, sir can I please...cum" I whimpered shakily while he stared me down.
"Sweetheart, you're not gonna stop cuming till I say so. Though I appreciate you finally using your manners." My stomach twitched at his statement.
My hands squeezed him tightly as my orgasm started to approach quicker than I could process it. The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was Harry's cock slapping against his abdomen as he pulled it out completely, before he gripped my hair to yank my head back.
I grinded feverishly as pained whines left my lips. He then reached his hand that was behind his head down to me, taking my right hand off his leg and bringing it down to my pussy.
"Get your hand wet and suck my cock-" Harry started, vision never leaving mine. "Then maybe I'll forget that you closed your eyes." He continued as he grunted against my lips, still not kissing me. I need to earn that. He straightened back up and placed both of his hands on the back of his head.
I maneuvered my hand around the toy to get my hand wet without moving it to another spot, then brought it up to Harry’s cock and started moving my hand up and down. He scooted closer to me, but it was still a bit hard to reach due to the fact that I couldn't stand on my knees, at least not that easily.
I had to try or Harry would've gotten mad, squeezing my thighs together, I lifted up. My underwear helped a bit. The change of positions did not. Now the toy is hitting an even deeper angle since I had to lean over slightly. My eyes rolled slightly as I moaned uncontrollably, a bit of drool fleeing my mouth and onto him.
My hand gripped him harder as I twitched. Harry brought down his right hand, slapping my face to get my attention, before putting his hand back. I whimpered at the action and immediately began working my mouth on him.
"Yeah, just like that, baby. What a good little slut..." He moaned out roughly. The noises I'm making are vibrating against him.
He moved both his hands to the back of my head to guide himself further down my throat. I choked when he thrusted forward till my nose met his skin. He roughly pulled me off, spit dripping down my chin.
“Go on, make me feel good.” Harry commanded.
Determined, I went back to sucking him into my mouth at a faster pace.
“Shit…” He murmured.
Harry reached down to grab the remote, turning it off. I gasped a little at the missing feeling, although I definitely needed a break. I released my mouth from his cock with a ‘pop’ sound, continuing to stroke him till he said otherwise.
"Cmon, stand up for me." He uttered rather quickly. I got up as quickly as I could, clearly not doing great.
Luckily, he held onto my hips as I struggled to stay on my feet.
Harry lifted one hand to move aside my underwear so he could remove the toy carefully. He sighed heavily at the state I'm currently in because of him.
"Fuck, baby...turn around" Harry whispered deeply, tossing the toy somewhere on the floor as I turned. Harry let out a groan as he began pulling down my underwear, it sticking to me before he got them off.
Next he unclipped my bra, running his hands up my shoulders to remove the straps, and then the entire bra. Harry moved his hands to my waist to guide me back till I landed on his lap, straddling him in reverse.
“I want you to ride me like this…just lean back and use it.” Harry instructed. Goosebumps covered my body from his words. He always knows how to make me feel everything all over.
“Yes, sir.” I spoke softly before grabbing his cock and guiding it into my entrance, he slipped in easily due to how wet I am. The stretch was still so intense. I don’t think I’ll ever really get used to it.
I shuddered out a moan as my back pressed against his chest. My head is now resting on his shoulder. He then grabbed my arms to fold them in between us. His other hand moved to pinch my nipple.
“Fuck…” I whimpered while rolling my hips back and forth in a slow grind to get comfortable. Harry turned his head to face the side of mine. His teeth latched onto my ear, then released it, before keeping his mouth hovered over it. I can feel his hot breath fanning down my neck.
“You like that? I can see how deep I am through your fucking skin.” Harry’s voice is deep, low, and hot. I began to bounce my hips after hearing his words, needing that spark inside me to grow.
“I love it so much.” I replied.
He released my arms to grab my waist with both hands so he could guide me at a quick, rough pace. My arms moved to grab the back of Harry’s neck for support as I screamed out loudly, causing Harry to move a hand to cover my mouth. His fingers practically covered my entire face.
“I can tell, god…you’re so loud…and wet…I bet everyone walking by can hear your pussy getting fucked…” He taunted me with a breathy smile.
My hips couldn’t stay still which caused Harry to squeeze my waist tighter. I can already feel the bruises forming, but I couldn’t care less. I’m so sensitive right now, I can barely think. He’s so hot, I feel so good, blah blah blah…thoughts gone…
I tightened around him uncontrollably and he grunted out, his hands slowing down on me slightly. The anticipation of everything, the tension of waiting, and being on stage, had him closer than he normally would be.
“I know you’re close…You gonna cum on my cock like a pretty slut?”
I nodded quickly since I couldn’t speak and he moved his hand down to grip my neck, then he finally leaned in to kiss me. I swear the whole world slowed down at this moment. I moaned into the kiss and he swallowed it down to hide it from anyone else.
“What do you have to say?” Harry mumbled into my mouth.
I could barely think at this point, but through the waves of pleasure overtaking my body, I managed to let out a weak “Thank you, sir…”
Harry bit my lip and moaned out. All of a sudden, I was spun around till my back hit the couch, now laying down with my legs loosely draped around Harry’s waist. His hips started a rapid pace that made my head spin.
“Harry I can’t-” All the attention on me is hard to handle, but there’s nobody else I’d want to handle it for besides him.
“You can and you will. Right here, right now, all over me and this fucking couch” I started to thrash uncontrollably, my brain has officially stopped functioning.
Harry just pinned me down harder.
My legs shook around him as I came harder than I have in a long time, my vision blurred. All I could see was the silhouette of a fucked out pop star shivering in pleasure above me. “God, I’m gonna cum..” His movement became rough and slow as he reached his peak.
“I need it please…” I whined out, barely above a whisper. Harry reached to grab my neck with both of his hands, both of mine now gripping his wrist.
“How bad?” Harry asked with a scolding glare. He brought his face down to mine, barely an inch away.
“Please cum in me, sir! I need so bad…wanna feel you inside me” My voice barely rasped out, as my breath was restricted and how weak I felt overall.
He looked into my eyes then down between us. “Yeah I bet-” Harry tried to keep it up, but he couldn’t. The rush was too intense.
“Fuck…” He mumbled under his breath as he felt me clenching, he came immediately after. I felt the hot release inside me as he watched it leak out of me. I watched his jaw clench when he began to fuck it back in. You’d think he was ready to have a second round.
All that was left to hear was our quick breaths trying to calm down. I could barely keep my eyes open with how spent I felt.
“Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?” Harry was the first to break the silence. He decided on bringing up my little plot.
“I don’t know…I enjoyed the consequences.” I smirked tiredly at him.
He smiled and shook his head “I love you.”
“I love you too…” I smiled back at him and he pecked my lips. As I watched him stand up and walk over to the bathroom, grabbing a cloth before beginning to wet it. I yawned as he made his way back over to me, grinning softly, admiration filling his eyes.
“Think you can manage the trip to the car sleepyhead?”
I glared at his cocky look as he hovered above me once more so he could start cleaning me up.
“Focus!” My hand swatted out at him lazily and he caught it, then kissed my hand.
pairing: uni!harry x fem!reader
warnings: smut (p in v, nipple play, fingering), drinking, swearing, mentions of drugs and smoking, use of y/n
summary: harry finally shoots his shot after months of pining over you
word count: ~3.8k
a/n: just realized this actually has nothing to do with the song but anyways, i wrote it as a kind of flashback to this shot. also, keep in mind that english isn't my first language and this is the first smut i've written, so please be nice:)
taglist | masterlist
The moment Harry saw you, he was completely enthralled by you. Not only because of your looks, but also because of your personality. The way you moved around campus, the way you treated everyone there —helping them without expecting anything in exchange, no matter if you knew them or not.
He’d seen you for the first time in his psychology class, taking notes and mumbling to yourself the answers whenever the teacher asked something. Always the right answers, but you never said them out loud, as if you just wanted to go unnoticed.
That drew him in more.
He started watching you, trying to work up the courage to talk to you while also noticing little things. Like the way you played with your necklace right before an exam, or how your lips puckered a little when you studied.
Harry had never had any problems when asking a girl out, but when he was with you, it was like his brain shut down and all he could think about was how long your eyelashes looked up close or how good your vanilla perfume smelled.
When he finally had the guts to start a conversation with you, he asked you to be his tutor. He said he needed help in psychology, that if he failed another exam, he’d be benched for the rest of the season.
That was a complete lie. He’d never failed a psychology exam. But that was the only excuse he could think of and he didn’t share any other classes with you. What was he supposed to do?
That same afternoon you had your first class with him, and you noticed that he gave the correct answer to almost everything you asked him (he started failing his answers after you mentioned it), and that he’d taken all the notes from that day’s class. You decided not to say anything else about it, thinking that maybe it was just your imagination, and kept tutoring him.
Almost two months passed after that, and he’d learned more things about you. He now knew that you had a cat named Tiger back home, that you loved old songs —one time you both talked about music for an hour instead of actually studying—, and that you wanted to be a lawyer, like your dad.
Even though he knew things about you, he also knew he couldn’t really call you his friend. You never hung out outside the library, you’d never seen each other’s dorm, and you didn’t even know each other’s friends.
He wanted to change that. He wanted to know more about you before asking you out. His friends thought it was ridiculous, but they couldn’t deny that they were surprised. They’d never seen Harry so interested in a girl and making that much effort —any effort, to be honest— to get to know her. It was like you’d changed him completely without even knowing it.
“So, is y/n coming?” Niall asked as he opened Harry’s room door.
“Uh, I don’t know,” Harry shrugged casually and his friend snorted, not buying his act.
“But you invited her, right? Or did you chicken out like last time?”
“I didn’t chicken out,” Harry lied weakly, looking at the blonde with a light scowl. “I just had to go somewhere else and couldn’t ask her.”
“Sure. Did you invite her or not?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know if she’s coming,” Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She said she had to work and didn’t know if she could make it.”
“Jesus, you’re whipped,” Niall laughed as he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.
“I’m not.”
“You nearly start drooling every time you see her, mate. Why don’t you just ask her out?”
“I barely know her.”
“You’ve never had a problem with that.”
“Well, now I do,” Harry retorted frustrated, looking at his friend. “I really like her, I don’t want to fuck this up.”
“And you don’t think you fucked it a bit when you said you needed a tutor?” Harry stayed quiet at Niall’s question. He hadn’t even thought about that. “Just get ready, people will come any minute,” the blonde stepped into Harry’s room and gave him a light slap on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You’re gonna get drunk tonight and grow the balls to ask her out.”
“I don’t even know if…” Harry’s words died as he saw Niall ignoring him while getting out of his room. “...she’s coming,” he mumbled.
He let out a frustrated huff and ran his hand down his face before standing up from his bed. As he walked towards his closet, he remembered the time you’d complimented his shirt. He rummaged through his clothes, a small smile tugging at his lips when he found the blue buttoned shirt, and decided to leave the two top buttons undone.
As he entered the kitchen, some of his friends started whistling jokingly at him and others just laughed.
“What?” Harry raised an eyebrow at them.
“Trying to impress someone?” Louis teased with a smirk.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” The second those words left his mouth, everyone in the room started laughing and mocking what he’d said. “Fuck off.”
By the time people arrived at the house, Harry was sitting on the couch with Zayn, drinks in hand, while Zayn smoked a joint. Even during their conversation, Harry’s eyes kept drifting towards the front door, waiting for you to arrive.
He’d even sent Liam to watch the door for a while while he went to the back patio to smoke.
After almost an hour since the party had started, Harry started to think you weren’t going to show up. But that thought left his mind as quickly as it had come when he caught a glimpse of you entering the house, the corners of his mouth lifting up without his own permission.
“Where are you-” Zayn asked as he saw Harry quickly standing up, his words dying as he followed his friend’s gaze, and let out a chuckle as he shook his head.
When he was near you, he suddenly stopped, his mind racing with doubts as he stared at your back. What was he going to say to you? What if he acted desperate? What if he tripped in front of you and you laughed at him?
“Hey!” Harry’s thoughts were interrupted when he felt Niall pat his back. “Juliet has arrived, Romeo.”
“Shut up,” Harry muttered, shaking his head.
“What, you’re not gonna go say hi?”
“I don’t think I should,” He fidgeted with the ring on his middle finger nervously. Niall raised an eyebrow at his response.
“What? Mate, you’ve been after her like a lapdog for months, and now that you have the perfect chance to ask her out, you’re not gonna take it?” Niall asked, his tone tinged with mild annoyance and disbelief. Almost immediately, his lips curled up into a small smirk. “Good luck.”
“Wha-” Before he could say anything else, Harry felt his friend pushing him in your direction. He stumbled forward, colliding with your back, and his hands instinctively went to your waist to keep you from falling. “Y/n, hi! I’m sorry, are you okay?”
“Hi,” you smiled at him, making his heart thump rapidly against his ribcage. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
“You, uh… You made it,” he mumbled. His eyes dropped to his hands, still holding your waist, and he quickly withdrew them. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
“Yeah, sorry. I got out of work later than expected and I had some things to do.”
“I’m glad you came,” he said, trying his best to not let his gaze roam down your body. “You want something to drink?”
He walked by your side towards the kitchen, his fingers itching to rest on your lower back, which was on display thanks to your backless top, but he stopped himself. Once there, you both lost track of time as you just stood there, talking and laughing. Well, technically as you talked and Harry just stared at you like you were telling the most interesting story he’d ever heard.
“I love this song!” you interrupted your own story as you registered the song coming through the speakers. Without thinking twice, you left your cup on the counter and took Harry’s hand. His mouth going dry at the feeling of your fingers intertwining with his.
You started dancing when you got to the living room, and Harry couldn’t help but look at the way you moved like there was no one else in the room, almost hypnotized.
“Are you gonna move or just stare at me?” you teased over the music.
Harry chuckled softly, his cheeks warming up slightly. “I’m not really good at dancing.”
“So?” you raised an eyebrow with a small smile. “No one here’s trying to dance well, they’re just having fun,” your hand found his again, tugging him closer until his chest was against yours. “You should too.”
He let out a small breath when your chests touched, his eyes roaming over your face. He could feel your breath hitting his face, your perfume filling his lungs, and it took all his willpower to stay where he was instead of just crashing his lips against yours.
“C’mon, you throw a party and you don’t dance?”
“Okay,” he huffed out a quiet laugh. “I can try.”
You smiled, pleased with his response, and laughed when he used his grip on your hand to make you twirl. The sight of your head thrown back slightly and your eyes crinkling as you laughed made a smile spread across his lips.
At some point, his hands somehow ended up on your hips, your bodies pressed together as you both danced. He eventually stopped moving and you did too, both of you staring at each other with small smiles on your faces. Harry thought about what Niall had told him earlier, about having the perfect chance to ask you out, and he knew that was the right moment to make a move on you.
His earlier doubts and insecurities faded as he gathered the courage to lean in. He brought his face closer to yours slowly, giving you enough time to realize what he was doing and to pull away if you wanted. You didn’t. Instead, you closed the distance between your lips, and he instantly melted into the kiss.
His hands stayed on your hips, gripping slightly firmer now, as your fingers slid to his nape and tangled in the short hair. He couldn’t help the small sound that escaped his lips at the feeling, almost like a groan, and you smirked smugly against his mouth.
After a few seconds, when he felt his lungs starting to beg for oxygen, he reluctantly pulled away in shallow pants. He kept his face close enough for your lips to graze as he breathed out, “Wanna go to my room?”
You nodded, and he wasted no time taking your hand and leading you to the stairs. He spotted Niall giving him a thumbs-up with a wide grin, to which Harry responded with an eye roll and a middle finger as you made your way upstairs.
Once you reached his room, he was quick to open the door as his hands went back to your waist. He pulled you against him to kiss you again as he closed the door behind him with his foot. He walked you back towards his bed and carefully laid you on your back. You spread your legs so he could settle between them, resting on his forearms to not put all his weight on you.
His hand moved to the hem of your skirt and he pulled back to look down at you, his pupils dilating at the sight of your swollen lips. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, giving him a small smile.
He mirrored your smile before moving his hand, his fingers sliding up your bare thigh and skimming over the dampening fabric of your underwear while keeping his eyes on yours. Your breath hitched, hips jerking up slightly when you felt him graze your clothed clit. He lowered his head to kiss your neck, his tongue and teeth tracing greedy patterns across your skin as he rubbed firmer circles against you with his middle and ring fingers.
Your hips rocked against his fingers as you gasped, and he couldn’t suppress a soft groan against your neck, his lips sucking a small hickey onto your skin. You tilted your head to the side to give him more access, and let out a soft moan as the sudden feeling of his fingers on your bare skin. You hadn’t even noticed that he’d moved your panties to the side.
He felt his jeans grow tighter, the sounds you made and the slickness between your legs making his head spin. “You like that?” He murmured, unable to suppress a smug smile when you nodded. His fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance before sliding his middle finger in.
“Fuck,” you whispered as he pushed a second finger inside and pressed his thumb against your clit. You threw back your head against the pillow as he pumped his fingers into you, curling them up just right to make you shiver and grip his bicep.
Harry swore he could’ve finished just from looking at you —your closed eyes, parted lips and your nails digging into his bicep were making him lose his mind. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he slowly pulled his fingers out. He didn’t hesitate to bring his fingers to his mouth and lick them clean of your arousal, a low sound escaping him at the taste of you.
He took his fingers out of his mouth and moved his hand to your nape, where the knot of your top was tied. His gaze dropped to your chest for a moment before going back to your face. “Can I?”
A faint smile tugged at your lips at his almost shy question, as if he hadn’t nearly made you come on his fingers thirty seconds ago. You didn’t say anything, just raised your arms, and he took the hint. He untied the knot and slid his hands to the hem of your shirt. His eyes were fixed on every inch of newly exposed skin as he slowly lifted it.
“Fuck,” he breathed out shakily as your chest was laid bare, his pupils blown wide. He tried to compose himself and pulled your top off completely.
“I’m half naked and you’re still dressed,” you said teasingly, moving your hands to the button of his jeans. His breath hitched when your fingers brushed the obvious bulge in his pants. “Feels unfair.”
Harry chuckled softly, the sound catching in his throat as he felt your hand slide under the zipper and palm him through his boxers. He cursed under his breath, his hips bucking against your touch and his hands tightening on your hips.
“You like that?” you mocked his previous words with a smirk, and all he could do was groan.
You removed your hand suddenly, making him bite his tongue to stifle a whine, and moved to the buttons of his shirt. “I like this shirt,” you murmured as your fingers worked on his shirt, almost eagerly.
Harry smiled faintly. “I know.”
He didn’t need to say anything else —you understood he’d worn it for you. A smile ghosted over your face at the indirect confession.
He quickly slipped the fabric off his arms when you undid the last button, and your eyes raked over his chest and arms without your permission, taking in his tattoos and muscles. That made him grin, but he didn’t say anything.
Your hands went to the waistband of his jeans to pull them down along with his underwear, a quiet sigh of relief leaving his lips as his erection sprang free. He reached into his nightstand drawer and pulled out a condom. His fingers fidgeted with the foil packet as he tried to open it, and you gently took it in your hand to open it yourself.
Once opened, you slid the condom down his cock, making him take a sharp inhale as his head fell back slightly at your touch. A gasp slipped past his lips as he felt you squeeze him gently. “Tease,” he brought his hands to the waistband of your skirt and pulled it down your legs, a shiver running down your spine as his knuckles grazed your bare thighs.
Harry looked down at you for a moment —your hair was already messy, your cheeks flushed, and your chest heaving with every breath you took. His heart skipped a beat. You’d been on his mind for months, but this was far from what he’d imagined. He’d pictured himself talking to you, asking you out, maybe even kissing you. But this, having you naked in his bed, felt like something out of a dream.
“My god, you’re gorgeous,” he whispered almost in awe.
He composed himself, moving his hand to grip his base. He kept his eyes on your face as he ran the head of his cock through your folds, teasing you. Your hips twitched involuntarily, a small whimper escaping your lips. “Please.”
He wanted to tease you more; he really did. But the moment your breathy plea reached his ears, he couldn’t help but slide into you slowly, trying his best to not just slam inside you. His hand found your hip as you both moaned, gripping tightly as your tight heat enveloped him. He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to the stretch.
“You can move,” you murmured, and he didn’t waste a second to start thrusting into you. His pace wasn’t too fast or rough, he didn’t want to accidentally hurt you. And he also knew that if he went faster, he’d probably cum embarrassingly soon.
One of his hands slid up your side to your breast. He cupped it, giving a light squeeze before taking your nipple between his thumb and index finger. Your back arched into his touch, and that made him quicken his pace slightly without him even realizing. He twisted and pinched your nipple between his fingers; the sounds you made drew a quiet curse from him.
“Faster,” your head fell back against the pillow when he complied. Your leg hooked itself onto his hip, the new angle making him go deeper and hit that sweet spot inside you with every thrust.
“Shit,” Harry’s eyes trained on your lower stomach, where the outline of his cock was noticeable, the sight alone pushing him closer to the edge. His hand moved to your thigh, gripping the flesh tightly as he started going faster, the cool metal of his rings a sharp contrast against your hot skin. “You feel so good.”
The hand on your breast gave a final squeeze before sliding down your stomach. His thumb found your clit once again, and you moaned louder when he started circling it, the knot in your lower stomach growing tighter.
“Oh god,” you whimpered, your eyes falling closed. You had one hand on his back and the other on his bicep, your long nails digging into his skin. Harry lowered his head, crashing his lips against yours in a heated kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips before slipping into your mouth. “I’m so close.”
He moaned into your mouth at your words, his thumb moving on your clit with more precision. “Let go,” he murmured against your lips, his own orgasm approaching. “Come for me.”
His name left your lips in a moan as you came, and that was enough to send him over the edge too. His hips stuttered against yours and he gripped your thigh so tight he was sure he would leave a mark. He kept tracing small circles on your clit and thrusting, his movements slower and more languid this time, to ride you both out of your orgasms.
He stopped eventually, his head dropping to your shoulder with a heavy breath. “Fuck,” he whispered against your skin. “That was… wow,” You both let out a breathy chuckle.
“Yeah,” you whispered back, trying to even out your breathing.
He pulled out of you carefully, making you wince and shiver slightly at the sudden emptiness. “Sorry,” he said immediately, his thumb unconsciously stroking your thigh. He stood up slowly to take off the condom and toss it into the trash before lying back down beside you.
“Uh, the bathroom’s there, if you wanna clean up,” he spoke after a moment, gesturing towards the door by his closet. “Or I- I can do it, if you don’t want to get up. And I’ve got water there if you want,” He pointed to a mini fridge near the bed.
“I’ll do it,” you laughed softly, already standing up. Harry propped himself on his elbows and let his eyes follow you as you headed to the bathroom.
As soon as you closed the door behind you, he flopped back onto the bed with a grin, draping an arm over his eyes. “Holy shit,” he whispered with a chuckle, almost in disbelief.
When you stepped out of the bathroom, Harry was already putting on his jeans. A bottle of water sat on his nightstand, on the side where you had been lying down earlier. “You didn’t say if you wanted water, so I grabbed one just in case.”
“Thanks,” you smiled at him, reaching out to take the bottle. He couldn’t help the way his eyes lingered on you as you drank. He cleared his throat and decided to put his shirt back on as you started getting dressed again. “Can you help me tie this?”
He looked up and saw you with your back turned to him, your fingers holding the halter tie at your nape. “Yeah, of course,” He nodded as if you could see him, moving towards you. He took it gently between his fingers, a shiver running through him as he grazed yours, and tied it slowly. “Is it tight enough?”
“Yeah, thanks,” you turned around with a smile. “We should go back downstairs, probably.”
“Yeah, probably,” he nodded, but neither of you moved an inch as you stared at each other. “You, uh, you go first. I have to do something first.”
“Okay,” you murmured, heading towards the door. You opened it and turned around before stepping into the hallway. “See you tomorrow at tutoring,” you said, knowing that once downstairs, you’d be with your own friends and he’d be with his.
“Yeah,” he gave a quick nod. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
You both smiled at each other before you left the room, closing the door behind you. He stared at it for a moment before a grin took over his face. “Holy shit,” he laughed again, throwing his head back.
He’d never been so eager for your tutoring to come, and that was saying something.
CW: angst, friends with benefits, breakup, miscommunication, situationship
Summary: Y/N meets Harry at a coffee shop to discuss their relationship after Harry went ghost.
Thank you so much @jarofstyles for including me in this wonderful writing challenge! It’s been a long time since I’ve consistently written but it’s given me so much joy already! I am happy to be apart of this challenge and appreciate all the constructive criticism and feedback! I hope to continue to improve my writing skills 🤍 I hope you can feel the heartbreak as you read.
Her hands trembled as she pushed the door open to the café. Her eyes immediately scanned the room and landed on his short, chestnut colored hair. It was different than when she had seen him last. For a second, she wondered if that was Harry. On cue, Harry turned his front towards her, offered a tight smile and a small wave. She walked over to the quiet corner, making her way through the crowded breakfast establishment. The scent of coffee beans and sweet pastries filled quiet space. Soft jazz music echoed through the room.
He wants this to be over, I can feel it.
Her mind began to race once her body sat down in the wooden chair, directly across from Harry.
“Harry, hi,” she said gently, offered a polite smile. “You cut your hair,” surprise filled her voice.
“S’not much really. Just needed a bit of a change,” he said simply. His accent was more pronounced in the morning air. She watched as he shifted in his seat, ran his fingers through his hair. For a split second, the memory of them tangled in bed together resurfaced. Even now, she could feel the weight of him against her and the euphoria that followed shortly after.
“Do—would you like to order? I got you some coffee but wasn’t sure what you were thinking for food.” His voice was calm and steady, as if this was a normal date.
“Uhm, think I’ll just stick with coffee for now.” She watched as he put the menu back into the metal holder with quiet urgency. Her stomach began to turn, anxiety ripped through her as she met his jade colored, careful gaze. Both of them just looked at each other for a few seconds before Harry spoke up.
“I—I wanted to reach out before but...” He trailed off as the waiter delivered their mugs. He quietly thanked them and directed his attention back to her.
“But you’ve been busy?” Her voice was weak as she spoke, her fingers nervously traced the rim of the steaming mug. A small chuckle, devoid of any humor, escaped her. “You could’ve called, Harry,” she pleaded.
A beat of silence fell between them. “I should’ve called. It’s not that I don’t care. I care... maybe too much,” he whispered, letting out an audible sigh that seemed to deflate his shoulders even more.
“And you thought that meant you needed to go across the world and vanish for five weeks after we spent every waking second together, completely obsessed with each other?” The words came out bitter.
“Just needed a bit of space to think...” he said, his voice hoarse as he stared down at the table.
“And you couldn’t communicate that with me before?”
“I’m shit at this. At being in... this.”
He couldn’t even name it. What were they? Friends once, sure. Then lovers in private, and now? Just two strangers.
She watched as he began to drift away, already distancing himself from the conversation. His bright gaze seem to darken slightly as his face scrunched up in disapproval. The guilt began to eat away at him she continued to confront his distance.
“Why didn’t you just —,” Y/N started but got cut off by his own voice.
Harry ran his fingers through his hair again, more frustrated. “I need air.” He stood abruptly, moving past the morning coffee rush to the entrance door.
She followed him a few seconds later, weaved through the coffee shop and pushed the heavy door open. Her eyes dropped to Harry sitting on a bench out front. He had his head in his hands, looked as if he’d lost someone important.
“You’ve been a really good friend,” he started, his voice was clear and firm as if he read from a script as he stood.
“Is that really all I am to you?” The hurt was obvious in her voice, the bob of her throat visible as she swallowed the lump that tried to choke her. It felt hard to breathe seeing him look at her, hands fisted at his side. “Is that what you’ve reduced our time together to?”
“That’s all you’re letting this be.” His response was quiet, hesitant as he stood across from her. The sidewalk was empty, the breeze cold, but not cold enough for her to be shivering the way she was. “You said this was all it could be, and I’ve been trying not to get my hopes up. But if you...” The pause was followed by a quiet sigh, a hand carding through his hair. Thinking. Harry was always thinking. For a man who was so quiet, she had never met someone who thought so loudly. “If you wanted more, I want to know. I want to know everything you think about.”
“‘Course I do. I want more! It’s a bit... complicated right now. The album, press releases, and other priorities...”
“Oh, so I’m not a priority to you?” She nodded her head in confirmation, sitting with the admission.
“That’s not what I said,” he told her quickly. “Just— Y/N, you deserve a proper relationship and I can’t give you that right now.”
“Probably should’ve said that before we had sex,” she whispered, arms crossed as her body began distancing itself from him. Felt incredibly more vulnerable now than when they shared a bed together.
“You're right. I should've just been transparent from the start. It’s not always easy though, is it? We had something…” He said in reflection. His words seemed to contradict themselves. Torn between wanting more with her and being aware of how much he could handle while the noise got loud.
“Guess not.” The conversation felt final. After a beat of silence, some people passing by on the pavement pulled her back to reality.
“I hope it goes well for you—the album and all that,” she said, meeting his emerald-green eyes.
"Thank you. Take care of yourself, will you?" His voice offered the same warmth she had been familiar with, nodded back in response. A wave of guilt passed over him, but Harry gave a brief, tight smile before walking away.
As she watched him go, she couldn’t help but wonder if his heart just broke as much as hers did.
Summary: As Harry’s girlfriend, you’re often asked to test Pleasing products before they hit the store. The newest product you’re asked to test is a bit different than the others.
CW: sex toys, vibrator, smut
Word Count: 1.8K
AN: Obviously had to write a story about the newest Pleasing drop. I’m sure there are others out there but I haven’t had a chance to read any yet, so if this is similar to another one I promise it isn’t on purpose
Being Harry Styles’ girlfriend came with a fair number of responsibilities. There was plenty of traveling, supporting him at shows and movie premiers, helping behind the scenes when needed.
Ever since the start of Pleasing, you’d gained another role. Product tester.
Harry respected your feedback, and always asked your opinion on everything they were working on. He’d spend hours in meetings with the development team and still come home and talk about it more with you.
You might not have an official title in the business, but Pleasing wouldn’t be the same without you.
He never let you go easy on him either. He wanted honest feedback. If you didn’t like a nail color, if a perfume smelled off, if you thought a product wasn’t up to a high enough standard, he wanted to hear it. He asked you to be his harshest critic.
But for some reason, Harry is being quite secretive about the latest meeting. He won’t tell you what they talked about, or what products they’re hoping to drop next.
“You’ll see!” He’d said. “I promise the wait will be worth it.”
After that, he’d taken you to bed. The two of you spent the following hours having a very enjoyable evening, one in which Harry brought out the fun bag of toys hidden away in the closet. By the end, you’d completely forgotten about his earlier secrecy.
But you now realize that you should have put some clues together. Because it’s a couple of weeks later, and Harry just surprised you with a prototype of the newest Pleasing product.
A sex toy. Specifically a vibrator. More specifically, a double ended vibrator.
“Finally giving the people what they expected, huh?” You quip as you begin to look at it.
“I mean, we all knew this would happen eventually,” he replies.
“Yea, a former boy band member turned solo pop sensation was bound to release a sex toy sooner or later. It’s the logical progression.”
“Hey, if Gwyneth Paltrow can release these things so can I,” he defends.
“Oh of course. But I have to admit, her brand name really pulls the customers in.”
“Goop? You think Goop is more attractive to consumers than Pleasing?"
You can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the current conversation. Finally you both pull yourselves together again and Harry hands you the prototype.
“Judge it harshly, okay? This thing needs to be perfect,” he says.
“You want me to use this? Test this out?” You ask incredulously.
“I mean, you are our product tester. And I can’t exactly test it out myself so I could really use your feedback. More important now than ever,” he explains.
“Ah yes, the pleasure of your fans is now in my hands,” you joke.
“Literally,” he replies, smirking and pointing at the vibe.
“Are we doing this right now?”
He gives you a suggestive look but then says, "Only if you want to. Don’t feel pressured.”
It’s that, the fact that his top priority is your comfort, that has you wanting to help him.
“I want to,” you reply.
He smiles and leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. He soon deepens it, his arms going to your waist to pull you flush against him. In doing so the box gets squished between you, reminding you both the true objective here.
“Let’s go get comfy,” he says, taking your hand and leading you to the bedroom.
You climb into your bed, laying back against the pillows. Harry lays on top of you, kissing along your neck, his hand teasing your thigh, slipping below the hem of your shorts.
He’s effectively warming you up. Getting you ready.
Soon you’re eager to test the new product, and you pick it up from where you’d left it on the bed. Getting the hint, Harry moves to help you slip out of your shorts.
“You’re excited huh?” He teases when he sees the unmistakable damp spot on your underwear.
“Let’s see what that can do,” you invite.
“It’s double sided,” he says.
“You thought of everything,” you reply.
“Ready?”
“Mhmm.”
He presses a button and you hear a telltale buzz. It’s a bit loud, and you make a mental note to ask him if that can be fixed.
And then it presses to your core. It’s nice. But not the best you’ve had. He presses the button a few more times, showing you the four different modes. The first two are okay. The third is better, and gets you close. The fourth is almost a little too much, and you know it would overstimulate you if you used it too long.
After giving you time to test out all of the modes, he switches back to the one you liked best. Now it’s no longer about product testing, it’s about getting you off. He leans in to meet your mouth in a messy kiss and uses the vibe the way he knows you’ll like. Soon, you’re falling apart, panting and moaning, your nails digging into Harry’s skin.
You catch your breath, and after a few minutes Harry says, “So, what did you think?”
“Well, I really liked that one setting,” you reply with a smile.
“What else?”
So you explain your thoughts, what you liked and what you would change if you could. He takes out his phone and writes down notes, promising to work on fixing the problems.
A few weeks later, Harry comes home with another version of the product. As always, the two of you test it out together. This is better than the first, and you even get to test the other end. Which ends up needing some adjusting. You once again give Harry your feedback, and he listens intently.
The pattern continues, two more versions are tried, and each time you enjoy it more and more.
Finally, he comes home one evening, a large grin on his face and a bag in his hands.
“It’s ready,” he says, causing you to look at him in confusion. That feeling only lasts a moment because a second later he pulls out a box. And right away you know what’s inside.
You excitedly open it, and gasp saying, “I love the color!”
“I know,” he replies, his voice smug. There had been many colors brought up, and you’d really loved the pink and burgundy combination. It’s another choice by Harry that makes you feel special. Like your opinion is what really matters to him.
“Wanna try?” He asks suggestively.
“Yeah,” you say, your voice coming out breathless. You lean in to kiss him, and unlike the fire and lust Harry was expecting, this kiss is full of love and admiration. When you pull back you say, “Thank you, for including me, for listening to me. You don’t have to do that, but it makes me feel like I matter.”
“Of course you matter baby! I could never do this without you. Your support and your feedback with this, with music, with everything, it means more to me than you could ever know.”
You kiss him again, and the two of you stand in the room making out. Things grow heated, and Harry leads you upstairs, making sure the box is still in your hand.
As always, the foreplay is amazing. Harry is attentive, worshipping your body. And then comes the toy. He turns on the top part and brings it down to your core, teasingly running it everywhere but where you need it the most. Finally, he places it against your clit, and your entire body arches off the bed at the jolt of pleasure it brings. He slowly works you up, and soon you’re coming, stars dancing in your vision and moans spilling out of your mouth.
He doesn’t pull away, but instead turns the toy up another notch. As he does that, he begins sliding his fingers inside of you, simultaneously adding to the pleasure while also opening you up. Just minutes later you’re tipping over that edge again, your nails digging into Harry’s arm as waves of your orgasm roll through you. He turns the toy off and pulls it away.
“Good?” he asks.
“Amazing,” you reply.
“Ready for another round?”
“Too sensitive,” you answer. You want more, but both you and Harry know that your clit gets over sensitive after a couple of orgasms.
“Well, I was thinking we use the other end,” he informs you.
Your head pops up to look at him, smiles spreading across both your faces. Because that puts you back in the game. You nod, and Harry brings the other end to your entrance.
“You sure?” He asks.
“Yes, please, want it!”
Harry slides the tip inside, watching your reactions, happy to see the way your eyes roll is pleasure. He pushes more inside, and can tell by your moan the exact second he finds the right place. Knowing the bulbed end is nestled against your g-spot, he turns on the vibration.
“Fuck!” You explain as your back once again arches off the bed. Harry places a hand on your lower stomach to press you back onto the bed, and the added weight makes it even more intense.
He can’t wait any longer, and turns the other end on as well, lining himself up to get some much needed friction on his now weeping cock. He thrusts gently, and his hips against the toy push it in and out of you, giving you the friction needed as well.
The angle adjusts slightly, and your orgasm hits you suddenly. You shout out, and your hips move instinctively to chase the pleasure. After you come down, you gently push Harry’s hand, letting him know to slide out.
He does, and his one hand moves to grip his shaft, quickly moving up and down to chase his own orgasm. His other hand holds the vibe to the crown, and you sit up to take it from him, holding it just right to help him reach his peak. When he comes, it’s with a series of quiet moans, and his cum landing in the wet spot you’d already created.
You turn the toy off, and the only sound in the room is the labored breathing from both of you. Harry pulls you into him, and you readjust to lay together, away from the wet spot.
“So, think people will like it?” He eventually asks, causing you to laugh.
“Oh for sure. It’ll sell out in minutes,” you reply.
The two of you then head to the bathroom to clean up, and Harry meticulously washes the toy, just as he always does. And when this new box joins the others in the closet, you know it will be taken out and used quite frequently.
Afterall, how many people have boyfriends who custom design a sex toy with their girlfriends in mind?
SUMMARY: There were always signs, you just need to pick them up.
NOTE: I don't know if at this point in life, 2025, anyone will still be looking for Zayn fics, but yesterday I started listening to his entire album again and I just love him so much.(Khai here it’s a lil bit grown but still a kid) xoxo
Zayn’s country house was tucked in a quiet fold of the English countryside, hidden away from the world in the most beautiful, stubborn kind of way. The long dirt road leading to it was lined with wild hedges and crooked fences, and the house itself—warm brick and low windows—sat in the middle of a green field that rolled gently toward the horizon. It felt like another world here, like time slowed down just for him.
You loved it more than anywhere else. Even more than your own mansion back in L.A. with its glass walls and sharp, cold views of the Hollywood Hills. This place… this was peace.
You had been here for three days now. The guest room practically had your name on it at this point, and Zayn never made a big deal about it. You didn’t need to text before showing up. Sometimes, he’d just glance up from the kitchen with a smile when he saw you walking in with a duffle bag, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Because, well, it was.
You’d met almost ten years ago, back when you were just a scrappy 19-year-old with a voice and some half-finished lyrics, standing in a London recording booth, trying not to freak out because One Direction had just walked in.
Zayn was the one who caught your eye first. Not because he was trying to — he wasn’t like that. But there was something about the quiet way he moved, how he kept glancing at your notebook while pretending not to, and the way he finally leaned over during a break and said, “Those lyrics… they’re actually really good.”
That was it.
That was the start.
Now here you were — both older, more famous, a little more worn out by the industry — yet still exactly like that first day: sitting side by side, talking about music like it was your shared language.
Zayn had set out an old patchwork blanket across the backyard grass while Khai danced around it, twirling with one of her little dolls in hand. His daughter was sunshine personified. She had his eyes, his cheekbones, and somehow, his calm spirit too. She didn’t need to be the loudest kid in the room. She just was, and everyone noticed.
Zayn was sitting with one leg stretched out, his arm lazily propped against a pillow. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off the tattoos that still made your heart stutter sometimes, even though you’d seen them a thousand times.
“She’s obsessed with those daisies,” he murmured, watching Khai pick another one with serious concentration.
“She’s got good taste,” you replied with a soft smile, tucking your knees to your chest.
For a moment, it was just the sound of the wind moving through the trees and Khai’s tiny voice humming something under her breath. You reached over to grab your water bottle, and that’s when he said it — casually, but with a glint of something more in his voice.
“I’ve been thinking we should make a song together.”
Your head turned to him, brow raised. “Really?”
Zayn’s eyes were on you now, steady and warm, the kind of gaze that always made you feel like the rest of the world had gone quiet.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “It’s been a while since we sat down and wrote something.”
You leaned your head on your shoulder, smiling. “It has.”
He shifted a little closer, letting the sun catch the edges of his jawline, that slight scruff making your stomach flutter for no good reason.
“That’s true,” he said slowly, like he was piecing the thought together out loud. “But for the album I’m working on, I want that. A song… ours.”
You blinked, feeling the weight of the word settle between you. Ours.
Not just a song with you. A song belonging to both of you.
Zayn always had a way of making even the smallest words feel like poetry.
Your mouth curved into something soft. “Then let’s do it,” you said, voice low and warm. “Let’s make it something real.”
He nodded again, but didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to.
You both looked out over the backyard, where Khai had now plopped herself onto the grass, muttering to her flowers like they were in on a secret.
You stood and brushed off your jeans, padding barefoot across the lawn. The grass was still warm under your feet, and the air smelled like earth and lavender and a little bit like the cinnamon candle Zayn had left burning on the windowsill earlier.
“Hey, Khai,” you called gently.
She looked up, squinting in the sunlight, and her face lit up the way it always did when she saw you. “Aunty!”
You laughed and dropped beside her onto the grass, landing with an exaggerated oof that made her giggle. She immediately climbed onto your lap, tucking her legs under her like a baby bird settling into a nest.
“What’ve we got here?” you asked, picking up a handful of daisies.
“Bouquet for Daddy,” she said proudly, clutching one in each hand. “But he can’t see yet. It’s a secret.”
“Ohhh,” you whispered dramatically. “Got it. Operation Secret Flowers.”
She giggled again, then leaned her head on your chest, and the peace of the moment wrapped around you like a silk scarf — weightless and delicate.
From a few feet away, Zayn sat back on his elbows, watching the two of you with something unreadable in his eyes. You weren’t looking at him, but you could feel it. That gaze. The one he saved for his most vulnerable thoughts.
He reached for his phone quietly and snapped a picture.
In it, you and Khai are laughing like nothing else exists except this exact second in time.
Zayn stared at it for a long moment, thumb hovering just above the screen. He did something he rarely did, post it.
The way Khai won’t let you go, holding you as you were the most incredible thing ever, he was melting.
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Then he locked the phone again and looked back up at you, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small, private smile.
And then, his phone buzzed again.
He glanced down.
From: Management
Subject: INTERVIEW CONFIRMED – FRIDAY, 12 PM
Podcast format. In-studio. We need you on this. You know why.
His jaw tensed subtly. The warmth of the moment dimmed just slightly, the edges curling in like paper near a flame. He locked the screen and tossed the phone beside him on the grass.
You didn’t notice right away — you were still on the ground with Khai, your laughter floating up into the trees — but something in his face had changed. His expression wasn’t cold exactly, just… far away.
You sat up slowly, brushing grass from your arms. “Z?”
He blinked and looked up, as if pulled from somewhere distant. “Yeah?”
“You good?”
He gave you a quick nod, too quick. “Yeah, just… label stuff.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What kind of label stuff?”
He hesitated. “Interview.”
“Oh.” Your voice dropped slightly. “One of those.”
“Yeah.”
You watched him for a beat. “Do you have to go?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned forward to pluck a daisy from Khai’s pile and twirled it between his fingers. “Apparently. It’s time I… I talk about some things.”
You knew what he meant. The last few months hadn’t been easy. Headlines. Assumptions. Long silences and constant pressure. Zayn had never been the kind of person to speak just to speak. But when he did open up… he meant every word.
You looked at him, really looked — the shaved head, the tired eyes, the shadows under his cheekbones that somehow made him look even more beautiful, in that tragic artist kind of way.
“Well,” you said softly, “if you go, just remember what you said earlier.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“That the next song will be ours.”
A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Right.”
You turned back to Khai, who had just tried to fit six daisies into your hair and declared you a “flower monster princess.”
Zayn sat there a moment longer, watching the two girls he loved most — one his daughter, the other something he hadn’t named yet — and knew, deep in his gut, that whatever he said at that interview… wouldn’t matter half as much as the song the three of you had already written together just by being.
The recording studio was nothing too flashy—clean-cut, brick walls, cozy lighting, vintage rugs under the chairs and cables, and the soft hum of a city afternoon outside the windows. A quiet kind of intimacy filled the room, the kind that invited honesty even when it wasn’t planned. It smelled like fresh coffee and worn leather, and the podcast host’s smile was warm and inviting, but Zayn still had his guard up in that low-key way he always did.
He adjusted his mic once, then twice, leaning forward a little, eyes focused on the foam cover like it might bite him. But his shoulders weren’t tense. His hands, ringed and tattooed, stayed folded loosely in his lap. There was a certain calmness in him lately—earned, not faked.
“All right,” the host said, pressing a button with a satisfying click. “We’re live.”
Zayn nodded once.
“Zayn Malik,” she started, with that signature smooth-radio voice, “you’re back with new music. And fans are losing it over this album. Can you tell us what it’s about?”
Zayn exhaled softly, smiling without showing too much. “I can’t say too much just yet…” he paused, glancing sideways like he always did when his mind wandered, “but it’s definitely one of my most personal projects.”
The host leaned in, intrigued. “More personal than Mind of Mine?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Each song reflects something real, y’know? Parts of my life. Things I’ve gone through. Some dark… some really beautiful. It’s weird to say, but after everything, I actually feel proud of where I’m at. And I hope… I hope people connect with it. That’s really all I want.”
There was something in his voice when he said that—like he meant it more than anything.
The host smiled. “That’s beautiful to hear. Now…” she clicked her pen like she was switching lanes, “We’ve seen a lot of photos of you and a certain pop star lately. One of the biggest in the world right now, actually. Can you tell us something about that?”
Zayn laughed—head tilted back, that soft, rough sound escaping his throat as if it genuinely caught him off guard. “She’s my best friend,” he said, brushing his shaved head with one hand, “my greatest support. We spend a lot of time together, yeah. But it’s more than just that.”
He paused for a second, as if weighing the next words carefully, and then met the host’s eyes again. “She’s helped me through a lot. Like… a lot. Everyone knows I’ve had my dark moments. She never left. Not even at my worst.”
The host put a hand over her chest, visibly moved. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Zayn just smiled.
“And the photo you posted,” the host continued, clicking again, “of her and your daughter… those girls looked so close. So warm.”
Zayn’s face softened. His voice did too. “That’s what makes me happiest, honestly. She always made it a priority to make sure I was being a good dad. She encouraged me to be better. She’d show up on days I didn’t even realize I needed someone. She’s been more than emotional support… she’s been like a lighthouse, y’know?”
“You’re saying you wouldn’t be who you are today without her.”
He nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. I mean that.”
There was a short, thoughtful silence in the room—like even the mic was soaking it in.
“She’s a huge part of your life,” the host said softly, “and fans are wondering… will she be on the album?”
“Of course,” Zayn said, smiling. “Again, this album is like… a piece of my heart. And she’s one of the most important things in my life. So yeah, she’s in it. Her presence is all over it.”
The host leaned forward again, clearly catching the subtle weight in his tone. “Sounds like a beautiful friendship. She was truly a lifeline for you.”
Zayn nodded, this time slower. “She is. Especially during the lowest points. Times when I couldn’t see a way out. She was always there. Even when I was pushing people away. Even when I didn’t want help… she was just there. Didn’t let go of my hand.”
The host blinked, visibly emotional. “That’s rare.”
Zayn’s smile returned, lopsided and private. “She’s rare.”
There was a small pause before the host switched gears again, flipping through her notes with quiet fingers. “And now she’s featured on your new album, which, for fans, is going to be a huge deal.”
“Super significant,” Zayn agreed. He leaned back a little, shoulders relaxing more. “Also… I mean, it’s kind of mind-blowing when you think about it. We’re both artists. Music’s always been our thing. And that creates something special between us.”
The host tilted her head, eyes glinting. “A special connection?”
Zayn looked up and met her gaze. “It’s a special connection,” he echoed, almost reverently. “Yeah. Actually, we met through her collab with the band I was in. That was the start of everything.”
“And now?”
“Now… we sit together at the piano. We don’t even have to talk sometimes. We just write. We hear things in each other’s lyrics, in the notes. It’s like… we understand each other without needing to explain. That’s rare too.”
Zayn’s eyes lit up as he spoke—really lit up, like a kid describing their favorite storybook.
“She’s really important to me,” he said, quietly, but firmly.
There was a beat of silence, the kind that fills a room with its own heartbeat.
The host chuckled suddenly, breaking the moment. “It sounds like the connection is deeper than I thought,” she teased lightly, though her eyebrows said romantic tension alert.
Zayn felt the shift instantly. He ducked his head, his laughter lower this time—quiet, a little shy. He stared at the floor with that familiar smile tugging at his lips.
He didn’t deny it.
Didn’t say anything at all.
And somehow… that silence said everything.
The world outside had dimmed into stillness, the last light of the countryside sun slipping beneath the fields like it didn’t want to intrude. Zayn’s house was quiet in the way that let you hear the small things: the creak of the wood when someone shifted their weight, the soft ticking of the vintage wall clock in the hallway, the low hum of the refrigerator in the next room. No paparazzi. No producers. No demands. Just the two of you and the simple comfort of being where you didn’t have to pretend.
It was Friday night.
Somewhere out there, people were popping champagne bottles and posing for the flash. Your phone buzzed hours ago with invites to industry parties in the city—ones you’d never respond to. Because here, in the cozy little studio of Zayn’s country house, barefoot and wrapped in the hoodie he’d tossed you earlier, was exactly where you wanted to be.
The space itself wasn’t glamorous. It didn’t have the sleek walls of your L.A. label’s studio or the soundproof velvet panels of Zayn’s London one. But it was warm. It was full of him. Guitar stands leaned gently in corners, unused strings coiled on tabletops, and handwritten lyrics stuck to the wall with old tape. There was a small upright piano in the corner, a little scratched but beloved, with a mug of cold chamomile tea resting on top.
You were curled sideways on one of the overstuffed sofas, knees drawn to your chest, a pencil tucked behind your ear. Zayn sat cross-legged on the floor, one of his notebooks balanced on his thigh. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, tattoos soft and inked against the glow of the warm studio light. The silence between you wasn’t heavy—it was alive. It crackled with unspoken understanding, laced with comfort that only came from years of friendship.
You watched him for a moment. He had that look again—brows drawn in soft concentration, lip caught between his teeth, pencil tapping against the corner of the page. Every so often, he glanced up at you. You tried not to smile when you caught him, but you always did. And each time, Zayn just smiled back like it wasn’t even something to be embarrassed about.
That’s when you said it. Barely louder than a whisper.
“You’re the lullaby the universe wrote to silence every ache I ever carried.”
He didn’t look up right away. But when he did, his eyes were already warm, already smiling. It was one of those smiles that started in his eyes, slow and soft, like it took its time reaching his lips.
“That’s beautiful,” he said, his voice low and full of something gentle. “Seriously. That’s a lyric I’d tattoo on my arm.”
You shrugged a little, looking down at your notebook like it didn’t matter. “Maybe we could slow it down,” you murmured. “Like... take it down a couple notches. I think a slow song would really breathe on this album. Something stripped.”
“I was thinking the exact same thing,” he said. “R&B, maybe. Something quiet, like... like two people talking in the dark.”
You looked at him again. He was already looking at you. Neither of you looked away.
Then he stood, brushing his palms on his joggers. “Come here,” he said, motioning toward the piano.
You blinked. “You sure?”
He didn’t answer with words. Just walked to the piano, lifted the lid, and slid across the bench with an inviting tilt of his head. You padded across the studio, your socked feet making no sound, and sat beside him, your legs folding neatly under the bench, shoulders brushing just faintly.
The space on the bench wasn’t exactly generous, but neither of you made a fuss about it. Your thighs touched, just barely, and his arm brushed yours as he adjusted himself to find the right key. You didn’t pull away. Neither did he.
He started first, letting his fingers trail softly over the keys, finding chords like muscle memory. It was a slow, dreamy progression, like rain tapping on windows at midnight. You watched his hands, fascinated by how natural it looked—the way he knew just where to go, just how long to hold.
After a moment, you placed your fingers on the keys too, joining in. A higher melody, floating softly above his chords.
You felt his eyes flick over to you, not in a way that interrupted the moment. Just... noticing. Appreciating.
“This is nice,” you said softly, barely louder than the piano.
He nodded. “Feels like a conversation.”
You smiled. “A musical one?”
“Yeah. Like the lyrics haven’t come yet but... the feelings already know what they want to say.”
You both laughed gently at that, but the truth hung in the air between you.
A few minutes passed in that peaceful, fluttery stillness. No pressure. No studio heads watching from behind the glass. Just four hands, two hearts, one quiet night. He started humming under his breath, a soft little melody that hadn’t found its words yet, and without thinking, you matched it, your voices blending softly in the glow of the old table lamp.
You turned slightly, looking at him. “What if that’s the chorus?” you said. “We layer both our voices? Like... overlapping harmonies.”
He looked at you like you’d just solved the universe’s riddle. “That’s exactly what I want,” he said. “Like a dream and a memory singing to each other.”
Your heart squeezed a little.
Then he nudged you with his shoulder. “Play the chorus again. I’ll follow.”
You laughed, cheeks warming, and played the melody a little louder this time. He caught on quickly, joining with a low harmony that gave you goosebumps. Your hands bumped once on the keys and you both froze—then looked at each other and broke into quiet giggles.
“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t move his hand.
“No, that was my fault,” you murmured, smiling down at the keys.
He glanced sideways at you, his voice even softer now. “I like this. Being close like this.”
You didn’t say anything right away. Just nodded, still smiling, still playing.
“Me too,” you said after a beat. “Feels like we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”
Zayn looked at you like he wanted to say something else—something maybe bigger than the moment allowed—but instead, he just bumped your shoulder again, and said, “Alright then, let’s write something that'll make the world cry.”
You both laughed, and the music kept flowing. The notes between you melted into lyrics. His hand stayed close to yours on the keys. Your head dipped toward his shoulder more than once. There was no tension. No awkwardness.
Just music. Just closeness. Just two hearts quietly, unknowingly leaning into something far deeper than friendship.
And neither of you had to say a word.
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You had never thought you’d actually say yes to a movie role, but there you were—starring in a full-blown, romantic drama with an emotional arc that dug deep, just like the classics. It was the kind of film that gave people goosebumps, that made strangers fall in love all over again just by watching the characters breathe around each other. And tonight? Tonight was the big premiere.
Outside the theater, the evening air was brisk but gentle, carrying with it the scent of perfume, pavement, and red carpet anticipation. Flashbulbs sparked in every direction, music thrummed quietly under the noise of gathered voices, and every movement felt ten times more important under the lenses of dozens of paparazzi.
You stood at the edge of it all, wrapped in a creamy, oversized faux-fur coat that spilled elegance and warmth around your body like a blanket of snow. Underneath it, your dress glowed like candlelight—silky, backless, hugging your figure like it was made just for you. A soft golden sheen shimmered every time you turned, and your hair was pulled up in a graceful twist, a few tendrils loose around your face.
Zayn had agreed to come with you.
That alone had already made your heart flip three times before you even stepped out of the car. He wasn’t one for crowds, and certainly not for red carpets. But when you’d asked him—quietly, with a small smile and hopefulness in your voice—he didn’t hesitate. He had simply said, “Yeah, of course I’ll go. Just tell me what time to pick you up.”
And he had. He’d shown up, clean-shaven, hair buzzed short the way he wore it lately, dressed in an all-black tailored suit that clung to him like it had been stitched to his bones. His sharp jawline was even more prominent beneath the warm lights, and his tattoos peeked out from under his cuffs and collar like little secrets he wasn’t hiding, just not showing off. He looked—well, he looked breathtaking. But you didn’t tell him that. Not yet.
Now you stood smiling for photos, your co-star beside you, tall and broad and dripping with charisma. He leaned in every now and then to whisper something cheeky—maybe about the way you almost tripped, maybe about the woman in the third row flashing too many teeth. Whatever it was, it made you laugh, and you didn’t notice it, but Zayn had.
He was watching you from a few feet away, hands in his pockets, brows subtly furrowed.
He didn’t know what the feeling was exactly. It wasn’t rage, not at all. Just… tightness in his chest. Like a string had been tugged. A quiet alarm in his ribs that he couldn’t ignore. Maybe it was protective instinct. Or maybe it was the way your eyes lit up when you laughed with someone else. Either way, before he could second guess it, he moved toward you.
You were just turning to face another camera when you felt it—Zayn’s hand brushing yours, then gently taking it. You blinked in surprise, your co-star pausing mid-smile.
Then Zayn brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles.
Soft. Simple. But the message behind it? Crystal clear.
Your co-star laughed nervously and took a step back, suddenly remembering he had more photos to take elsewhere.
And Zayn stepped in beside you, his palm sliding with natural ease around your waist, fitting there like it belonged. Like it had always belonged. You barely had time to process it, but your body leaned toward him instinctively, your shoulder brushing his chest.
He looked down at you, eyes warm beneath his lashes.
"You look beautiful,” he said, low enough that it didn’t make the cameras click. “You always do, but... wow.”
You couldn’t help the way your breath hitched just slightly, or the way your heart fluttered inside your chest like a wild thing trying to break free. His gaze was soft but intent, like he meant it, like he saw you in this sea of glitz and wanted to pull you out and into his world.
“Thank you,” you whispered, cheeks warm despite the breeze. “It means a lot to me that you’re here. Even more so knowing you're not a very public person.”
He smiled, lips curving slow and familiar. “I’d do anything for you.”
You wanted to say something back, but the cameras flashed again, and the moment was frozen in time—your arm around Zayn’s, your laugh half-caught in the air, his hand settled protectively at your back.
“Guess I’m stealing all your press tonight,” he murmured teasingly in your ear, drawing out another soft laugh from you.
“I don’t mind,” you replied. “Let them write whatever they want.”
Zayn pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “Let them.”
For the rest of the night, he stayed by your side—through interviews, through press lines, even during the screening when you cried a little watching your own movie and he subtly slid his pinky against yours in the dark. And the whole time, his arm returned to your waist again and again, like he needed the confirmation that you were still there, and that you were his to hold—if not completely yet, then maybe someday soon.
And you? You let him. Because whatever that feeling was blooming in your chest—it didn’t feel like acting anymore.
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The afterparty lights blurred behind the tinted windows of the black car as it pulled away from the theater, tires humming softly against the pavement. You didn’t go. You’d smiled and thanked everyone, posed for a few more pictures, waved politely to co-stars and directors, but once you saw Zayn waiting quietly by the car—with one hand on the open door and that look in his eyes like he didn’t care for crowds or cameras or flashing lights unless they were dancing across your skin—you knew you weren’t staying another second.
The moment the door closed behind you, the silence wrapped around you both like a blanket, and you let out a long breath. You didn’t even realize how tense your shoulders were until they dropped, and the quiet hum of the car made everything feel slower, softer.
Zayn sat beside you in the back seat, one leg crossed over the other, his fingers toying absently with a ring on his hand. His jacket was open now, and he smelled like cologne and something warm and clean—like cedarwood and coffee and maybe the lavender laundry detergent you told him to start using months ago and he never admitted he liked.
You looked down at your heels, unstrapping them slowly and tossing them gently to the floor of the car. Your bare feet curled against the leather seats.
“God,” you exhaled, leaning your head back. “Why do I always forget how exhausting red carpets are?”
Zayn chuckled under his breath, turning slightly to face you. “Because you make it look easy.”
You smirked at him without lifting your head. “Flatterer.”
He shrugged. “Just saying facts.”
The city lights flickered through the window, dancing on his face as he looked at you. You felt his gaze but didn’t look yet. Not just yet.
You could feel the static between you both. That soft buzz. The one that always came after long days or intense moments. Like your souls had synced up again without words, without effort. It had always been like that. Since the very first time you met. You’d chalked it up to creative chemistry. But lately, it felt like something deeper. Quieter. And stronger.
“You were amazing tonight,” he said, voice low, almost hesitant. “In the movie.”
You turned your head slowly, eyes meeting his.
“Really?” you asked, voice soft. “You liked it?”
He nodded, his expression gentle. “It felt… real. Like you weren’t acting. Like you were just… feeling.”
“I was,” you admitted. “It was harder than I thought it would be. That kind of love story—it’s rare. You want to do it justice, you know?”
He nodded, his gaze lingering. “You did.”
There was a pause. A long, easy one. The kind that only happened between two people who didn’t need to fill the silence. You reached over and took his hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His fingers curled around yours immediately.
“You looked good tonight,” you murmured without looking at him. “Really good.”
You felt his thumb brush softly across your knuckles. “I felt like a bodyguard in a suit.”
You laughed, tilting your head toward him. “You were more like a prince.”
Zayn’s mouth twitched. “A prince who nearly elbowed a photographer for getting too close.”
“I saw that,” you said with a knowing smile. “You really didn’t like my co-star, huh?”
He looked out the window, playing it cool. “He was fine.”
“Zayn.”
His jaw twitched. Then finally, he turned back toward you. “Okay, maybe I didn’t love the whispering and the leaning in and the smirking.”
You tried to hold back your smile, but it crept in anyway. “You jealous?”
He looked at you for a long beat, then shrugged with an honesty so simple it cracked something open in your chest. “Yeah. I think I was.”
Your smile faded, replaced by something softer. Something slower.
“Why?” you asked gently, still holding his hand.
He didn’t look away this time. “I don’t know. Maybe because you’re the most important person in my life and watching someone else make you laugh like that made me want to…” he trailed off, lips curving faintly. “Be closer.”
You blinked, heartbeat stuttering. “You’re already close.”
Zayn leaned in then, not enough to scare you, not enough to blur any lines you weren’t ready to blur, but just enough to feel his warmth move closer, enough to smell the sweet hint of mint gum and whatever soft cologne clung to his shirt collar.
“Yeah,” he said, voice lower now, intimate in the dimness of the car, “but sometimes I wonder if I could be closer.”
You didn’t respond right away. You weren’t sure your voice would come out steady. So instead, you slid your hand up, tracing the line of his wrist, the smooth skin just under the cuff of his sleeve. His pulse beat strong and steady under your fingertips.
“I don’t want to ruin what we have,” you whispered.
“Me neither,” he said. “But I don’t think we would.”
You looked at him then. Fully. The way you did when you were writing music together and you were on the edge of a breakthrough. The way you did when he was speaking about something important and you wanted to catch every word.
His eyes were the same ones you’d seen in a hundred different moods. But tonight, there was something in them you hadn’t let yourself name until now.
“I’m not saying anything has to change,” he added quickly, the pad of his thumb brushing over your hand again. “Just… I’m here. However you want me. I’m here.”
Your lips parted, the words trapped just behind them. And then—
The car pulled to a gentle stop in front of his countryside house, the porch light glowing in the distance like a lighthouse calling you both home. The driver didn't turn around, just nodded once through the mirror and stepped out to open the door.
But neither of you moved.
Zayn looked at you again. “Want to stay over?”
You looked down, smiling faintly.
“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, I do.”
He helped you out of the car, his hand steady in yours. The night air wrapped around you both as you walked up the steps. And somewhere behind you, the last of the city lights flickered and faded.
But in front of you, something new was beginning. Quiet. Gentle. But real.
And this time, neither of you was afraid of it.
When you walked in, you let out a slow breath. His house was warm, quiet, still holding onto the smell of sage from earlier in the week. A faint trail of incense. Everything familiar. Comfortable. Like home, but not yours — his. Still, your shoes came off by the door like instinct. Zayn did the same. You slipped your coat off and hung it over the arm of the couch.
You caught him looking.
“What?”
His voice was soft. “You just looked so good tonight. And now you’re here like this… it’s just kind of messing with my head.”
You smiled and stepped closer. “You looked good tonight too. All serious and handsome and broody for the cameras.”
He rolled his eyes and took a step toward you too. “I was brooding.”
“And then you kissed my hand like we were in a black and white movie,” you teased, your voice light, but your heart beating just a little harder as he stepped even closer.
“I saw that guy whispering in your ear,” he admitted, voice low now.
Your lips twitched. “He was telling me he couldn’t believe how good my highlighter looked.”
Zayn grinned, eyes dropping to your cheeks. “He wasn’t wrong.”
You were standing inches apart now, in the soft light of his hallway. Neither of you moved. Not really. You just looked at each other for a long second. The buzz of the premiere still clung to you, but it was muted now, replaced by something far more real. Quiet. Intimate. Unspoken.
“You want to change?” he asked. “Get more comfortable?”
You nodded slowly, eyes not leaving his. “Can I steal one of your shirts?”
Zayn’s smile deepened, like it was something private he didn’t want to show the world — only you. “You don’t have to ask.”
You made your way to his room, and he followed. In his closet, he pulled out a t-shirt — worn, soft, smelling like him — and handed it to you without a word. You changed in the bathroom, carefully folding your dress and setting it on the counter. When you came back out, barefoot in just his shirt, the sleeves grazing your fingers, he looked at you like he might forget how to breathe for a second.
“Better?” you asked.
“Dangerously better,” he murmured.
You walked past him, pretending not to hear the way his voice had dropped, and made your way to the kitchen. He followed again, this time slower, his eyes lingering on your back. You opened the fridge. “Do we have tea? Or are we doing the rebellious, post-premiere glass of wine?”
“I have wine,” he said, stepping around you. “But I also have those sleepytime tea bags you like.”
You smiled. “You remember.”
“Of course I do.”
He put the kettle on while you sat on the counter, your legs swinging slightly. You watched him move — slow, familiar, so domestic in a way that was dizzying when paired with the memory of him on the red carpet just hours earlier, dressed in all black, jaw clenched, hand around your waist like it belonged there.
“You were jealous tonight,” you said after a beat.
He didn’t turn. “Was I?”
You bit back a smile. “You kissed my hand like you were challenging someone.”
He finally glanced back at you, his voice softer now. “I don’t like sharing your light with people who don’t know how to treat it.”
Your chest tightened, and for a second, you didn’t know what to say.
Zayn stepped toward you, his hands slipping into the space on either side of your legs as he leaned against the counter. He was close again. Close enough that you could smell the remnants of his cologne and something earthy — the fabric of his hoodie from earlier, maybe, or the warmth of his skin.
“I don’t know what this is becoming,” he said, voice lower now, more uncertain. “But I know I’m not ready to let go of it. Of you.”
You looked at him, really looked — at the tired around his eyes, the vulnerability sitting on his lips. Then you reached up, slowly, and cupped his jaw, your thumb brushing just beneath his cheekbone.
“You don’t have to let go,” you whispered. “You don’t even have to figure it out tonight. Just… stay close.”
He leaned into your hand. “I can do that.”
You shared tea on the couch after that, your legs tucked under you and his arm slung over the back, fingertips playing with the edge of your sleeve like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. The TV played something quiet neither of you really watched. Your head eventually rested on his shoulder. And after a while, he kissed the top of it — just once.
It was nearly 2 a.m. again, and the world outside Zayn’s house had gone completely quiet. No car sounds, no wind, not even the distant bark of a neighborhood dog. It felt like the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you inside the softly lit studio — that familiar, sacred space that had grown to feel more like home than anywhere else lately.
The session hadn’t started with the intention of recording anything deep.
Zayn had texted you earlier:
“Got something stuck in my head. Can’t sleep. You up?”
You were already halfway through brushing your teeth when your phone buzzed, and by the time you’d slipped into sweatpants and thrown on a hoodie, you were already at his door, your hair still slightly damp from a shower. He looked like he hadn’t even attempted sleep — messy curls pulled back in a bun, long sleeves half-pushed up, and a mug of tea in his hand that had clearly gone cold.
Now, almost an hour into the session, the lights were low again — not for the aesthetic, but because neither of you had the energy for brightness. Only the small amber bulb in the corner glowed, casting long shadows on the walls and a warm sheen on the keys of the piano.
Zayn was sitting on the bench, legs spread slightly, barefoot, his phone on the floor beside him. You were right beside him — too close for just friends, if anyone had walked in. Your thighs brushed. Your knees leaned in together as you shared the piano.
He was playing something slow. Something soft, unresolved, delicate. You rested your chin lightly on your hand, elbow on the piano as you watched his fingers move.
“You keep writing about someone,” you said quietly, voice barely above the music. “Is it always me?”
His hands faltered just slightly on the keys, then kept going.
“Most of the time,” he admitted, not looking at you. “Even when I’m trying not to.”
You turned your eyes down to the keys.
Zayn leaned back just a little, shoulder brushing yours. “Is that… weird?” he asked, softer now, like he was scared you’d pull away.
“No,” you said. “It makes me feel something I don’t think I know how to explain.”
He tilted his head, finally meeting your eyes. “Try me.”
You sighed. “It’s like… it’s like being seen and undressed at the same time. Like I didn’t know someone was watching me love them quietly until I heard you sing it.”
Zayn didn’t respond at first. His hands had gone still on the keys, and his jaw shifted a little, like he was holding something back. Then, slowly, he reached forward and played a single, long chord — one hand resting gently across the low keys. The kind of chord that hangs heavy in the air, then dissolves, leaving only silence.
Then he said, “Can I show you something?”
You nodded.
He stood, walked over to the soundboard, and pulled up an unfinished track you hadn’t heard yet. He motioned for you to sit near the booth mic. You obeyed, sliding into the chair inside the small glass room. He adjusted the headphones on your ears himself, letting his fingers brush against your jaw when he tilted them into place.
When the track started, you were stunned.
It was soft — a minimal, heartbeat-like beat under warm, layered strings. His voice came in first, fragile and almost raspy, like he’d been holding back tears when he recorded it:
“You’ve seen every part of me,
Every shade, every fracture.
But you never once looked away.
You never asked for less…”
Then, almost immediately after, your own voice — sampled from old takes, harmonizing behind his like a ghost, like a memory.
Your lips parted slightly.
You looked up, and he was already watching you through the glass.
He pressed a button, his voice coming into your headphones.
“I made this the night after the premiere. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Zayn…” you whispered.
“I keep trying to say it in conversation, but I get scared you’ll leave if I make it too real.”
His hand found yours, gently covering it. His forehead grazed yours first, like a question.
And you answered it by closing the last inch yourself.
His lips met yours, slow and warm, like something that had been waiting to happen for years. There was no urgency, no rush — just the quiet realization of something that had always been there. You kissed him like he was a secret you’d known forever, and he kissed you like you were the chorus he never wanted to end.
When you pulled apart — barely — your hands stayed locked together, your noses brushing. And then you leaned in again — not just for another kiss, but because you were finally falling into the thing you’d both written into your lives for so long.
You’d helped Zayn tuck Khai in, both of you brushing her hair away from her eyes, laughing quietly at the way she’d insisted on wearing her sparkly skirt to bed. She was asleep in minutes, one hand still clinging to her pink ukulele like a shield.
Now, the hallway lights were dim. The moonlight poured through the windows in slivers, streaking silver across the wooden floor. The breeze had cooled just enough to be felt on your bare arms as you padded back downstairs in socks, one of Zayn’s long-sleeved shirts now draped over your frame. The same gray one from earlier — still loose, still warm, still him.
You heard the soft clink of glass as you reached the bottom of the stairs. In the kitchen, Zayn was rinsing two glasses under low light, the warm glow of the under-cabinet bulbs catching the angles of his jaw and casting long shadows down his neck. His sleeves were pushed up, tattoos like ink bleeding through candlelight.
He looked over his shoulder when he heard you. And smiled.
“There you are,” he said quietly.
“I didn’t want to leave her room yet,” you murmured, stepping barefoot onto the tile. “She was holding my hand in her sleep.”
His eyes softened, and you watched something flicker across his face — affection, admiration, maybe even awe. He handed you one of the glasses, something fizzy and citrusy, the ice clinking softly. His fingers lingered against yours as you took it.
“She adores you.”
You smiled gently. “I adore her.”
He leaned against the counter, one hand wrapped around his glass, the other tucked into the pocket of his joggers. His eyes traced over your face, resting on your mouth longer than they should’ve. Neither of you moved.
“What?” you asked softly, almost breathless from nothing but the weight of his gaze.
“You look like you belong here,” he said, voice like velvet, low and too sincere.
You blinked, caught off guard.
“Like this house missed you when you’re not in it,” he added. “Like… I do.”
Your throat tightened.
You walked toward him slowly, the glass still in your hand, unsure if you were moving because you wanted to or because something stronger than you needed to close the distance.
“You’re saying dangerous things, Malik.”
He didn’t smile this time. He just set his drink down and straightened slightly, closing the distance between your bodies, not quite touching, but so close you could feel his breath.
“I mean every word,” he whispered.
Your chest rose, your breath shallow. You set your glass beside his. The tile felt cool beneath your feet, but your skin was hot — your entire body hyper-aware of how close he was.
“Zayn…”
“Don’t say my name like that,” he murmured, his hand finally brushing your hip.
“Like what?”
“Like you don’t know what it does to me.”
You swallowed, trying to smile, but your lips parted instead, your eyes searching his face for something solid to grab onto — and finding nothing but that same depth, that same gentle pull you’d been falling into for weeks now. Maybe longer.
“I’m scared,” you whispered honestly.
He stepped closer, his hand resting flat against the small of your back now. “Of what?”
“That this doesn’t stop. That I won’t be able to leave.”
His hand tightened slightly.
“Good,” he said, barely audible.
“Zayn…”
His name again — this time not soft. This time you gasped it because his mouth was finally on yours.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t urgent.
It was the kind of kiss you give someone when you’ve wanted it for too long — slow, steady, overwhelming. His lips moved gently against yours, like he was still unsure if you’d change your mind, like he was tasting the truth of it before it could disappear. His hands slid up your sides, pulling you in, your chest flush to his now, and when you melted into him — because you did — you felt his exhale shake.
You pulled back barely an inch, noses brushing, hearts racing.
It was late afternoon by the time the golden hour rolled into Zayn’s countryside home, bathing everything in honey-colored light. The house felt like a warm cocoon, quiet except for Khai’s giggles floating faintly from upstairs, where she was playing music and dancing in her room. Zayn had just checked on her—she was in princess pajamas, spinning in circles, making up choreography to a song from Encanto, absolutely in her own world.
Downstairs, you sat curled up on the L-shaped sofa in the open living space, barefoot, legs tucked beneath you, a half-read poetry book resting on your stomach. The big windows were open wide, and the scent of grass, lemon trees, and sun-heated wood floated in. The breeze fluttered the edge of the gauzy curtains. Outside, the last light filtered through the fields behind the house, and inside, it caught in the gold specks of dust suspended in the air.
You glanced up when you heard him descend the stairs slowly, barefoot, a little flushed from running around with Khai.
“She’s in her own concert up there,” he said, his voice low and warm as he made his way toward you.
You smiled. “She’s got better moves than I ever will.”
Zayn grinned, walking past the couch to the open kitchen area, grabbing a glass of water. You watched the way his tattoos caught the light on his forearm, the casual way his oversized grey t-shirt slid off one shoulder, hanging loosely off his frame. He leaned against the counter and looked at you, soft and unreadable.
“You’re always looking at me like that,” you murmured.
“Like what?”
“Like you know something I don’t.”
Zayn’s gaze didn’t move from yours. “Maybe I do.”
You tilted your head. “Yeah?”
He walked slowly back toward the couch, glass still in hand. “Yeah. I’ve known it for a while now.”
Zayn sat beside you, but close this time—close in that way that made your heart thunder a little in your chest. His arm brushed against your knee, and he set the glass down on the coffee table without breaking eye contact. You felt the way the air shifted between you. It wasn’t just the heat outside.
“You ever get the feeling,” he said quietly, “that something’s been happening for a long time, and maybe you were both pretending it wasn’t?”
You swallowed, the softness of his voice curling around your chest like silk. “Yeah… I know that feeling.”
There was a long pause. The kind of pause that speaks louder than words. The room held its breath with you.
Zayn reached forward slowly, gently pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered at your jaw.
“I don’t wanna pretend anymore,” he said. His voice was lower now, like he was afraid to break the spell. “Not when you’re sitting here, looking like that, in my house, in my life, every day, and I keep stopping myself from…”
Your breath hitched. “From what?”
He smiled faintly. “From touching you like this.”
His hand cupped your cheek then, so careful, so tender, and the pad of his thumb swept along your skin as he leaned in. Your eyes fluttered shut just before his lips brushed yours—not rushed, not hesitant, just warm, deep, and unguarded. His mouth moved with a kind of reverence, a soft hunger, like he was savoring something he’d imagined a thousand times but never dared to take.
You shifted toward him, your hand on his chest, his heart hammering beneath it.
The kiss deepened, slow but intense. His hands slid along your waist, pulling you gently into his lap, your knees bracketing his hips. The hem of your soft loungewear shirt rose slightly as your bodies pressed together.
“You okay?” he whispered against your lips, his hand splayed along your back, grounding you.
You nodded, already breathless. “Yeah… I just didn’t think you’d ever actually do something like this.”
Zayn exhaled a quiet laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “I didn’t think I had the right to.”
“But you do,” you whispered, tracing his jaw with your fingers. “You always have.”
He kissed you again, harder this time, more certain. There was something unspoken between you, something that had been growing for years but had only just now bloomed fully in the golden light of his living room. You both moved in sync—his hands exploring, yours tangled in his neck, your hips slowly shifting against his lap, heat and want tangled with every breath.
Still, it never felt rushed. It never felt anything less than meaningful.
Zayn pulled back slightly, catching your face in his hands again. His eyes searched yours, open, vulnerable.
“I’m in love with you,” he said, quietly, like a truth that had lived inside him for years.
You didn’t hesitate.
“I love you too.”
From upstairs, faint music played on, a child’s voice singing. And in that moment, surrounded by warmth, sunlight, and the deepest, rawest affection you’d ever known, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.
You hadn’t meant for it to happen like this. Not tonight. But maybe that’s exactly why it did — because there was no performance, no expectation, no carefully crafted script. Just you in his hoodie, your bare legs tucked under you, the wine half-forgotten on the coffee table, and Zayn sitting so close that his warmth soaked into your skin.
The kiss had already happened. And the second. And now you were breathing him in with a hunger that surprised even you, clinging to his shirt as your back met the couch cushions again.
Zayn kissed you like he needed to, like it had been sitting under his skin for years. There was no hesitation in him now. Just quiet confidence, a gentle hunger. His body pressed against yours — not too heavy, not too fast. He still kissed you like he was trying to memorize it. Trying to figure out if this was real.
Khai was spending the weekend with her grandmother, and the house, usually pulsing with her little footsteps and laughter, felt oddly still — but not empty.
You and Zayn had cooked together earlier. Nothing fancy — just some pasta, a bottle of wine, and a playlist of old R&B songs playing low in the background. You wore one of his hoodies, oversized and soft, the sleeves falling over your hands, and Zayn hadn’t taken his eyes off you all night. Not really. He was subtle, careful — but you felt it. That gaze. That heat. Something unspoken had been stirring between the two of you for a while now, and tonight… it hummed louder.
The windows were wide open, letting in the warm air of late spring. The kitchen lights were off, just the warm lamp in the living room casting amber light across the hardwood floor.
You tilted your head back and let out a soft sound when his mouth traveled to your neck, slow and reverent, like he had all night and no intention of rushing it.
“Zayn…” you whispered, your fingers curling into the hem of his t-shirt. “Tell me this isn’t a dream.”
He laughed quietly, lips brushing just beneath your jaw. “It’s real. And if it’s not, I don’t ever want to wake up.”
You felt him smile against your skin as his hand slid beneath the hoodie again, resting over your ribs — the warmth of his palm grounding, protective. Your body reacted instantly, arching into him. The fabric was thin between you. Too thin. Not enough.
“Can I?” he asked softly, his voice rasped, eyes flicking down to your thighs — the hoodie bunched just above them now, your breath shallow and lips kiss-swollen.
You nodded, heart pounding. “Please.”
That single word undid him.
Zayn kissed you again, slower, deeper, and this time his hands moved with more certainty, sliding the hoodie over your head and tossing it somewhere behind the couch. You were bare beneath it — no bra, nothing but soft skin and want — and he stared at you like he’d never seen anything more perfect.
“Fuck,” he whispered, like it physically hurt to hold back. “You’re driving me insane.”
You reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head, and the moment your hands touched his skin — warm and sculpted and already familiar from all those platonic touches that suddenly weren’t — you sighed, like it was exactly where you were meant to be.
He kissed you again, one hand slipping behind your neck to tilt your head up to him, and the other tracing the edge of your waist, just above your underwear. His touch was maddening — slow, teasing, hot — and every time he moved closer, it still didn’t feel like close enough.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you like this?” he murmured, mouth against your collarbone. “The way you look at me… how you always sit too close... how you know me better than anyone.”
You could barely breathe, barely think. “Then show me.”
That was it.
He stood, lifted you with such ease it made you gasp and laugh all at once, and carried you upstairs — your arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist, his mouth never leaving yours. You didn’t know which room he brought you into — his or the guest one — but the bed was soft, and the windows were still cracked open, and the breeze made the curtains flutter like you were inside a movie.
Zayn laid you down with such care it made your chest ache. His body followed yours, his hips slotting between your legs as he leaned over you, his hands framing your face like you were something sacred.
“I’m not just your friend anymore,” he whispered. “I can’t be.”
You reached up and pulled him down to kiss you, breathless and needy and full of that silent finally that had lived in your chest for far too long.
He made love to you like he’d been waiting years — like this wasn’t just a night, but a shift in your entire story. His hands roamed your body with reverence. His mouth whispered your name like a vow. There was laughter too, in between the panting and the kissing — because it was Zayn, and it was you, and somehow it felt like the most natural thing in the world to kiss him breathless one moment and giggle when he muttered something about you being “unfairly hot” the next.
But then it shifted again — deeper. He slowed down. His fingers threaded through yours, pinning your hand beside your head as he moved inside you, and suddenly it wasn’t just physical.
You stared at him, eyes glassy, heart too full.
He leaned down and kissed your lips, soft as a secret. “You okay?” he asked, brushing your hair back.
You nodded, overwhelmed in the best way. “Better than okay.”
When it was over, he didn’t let go of you. You stayed tangled, skin warm and damp, his arm tight around your waist, his lips moving lazily against your shoulder.
“You ruined me,” you murmured.
He smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “We just started”.
summary: you and harry just got stuck up on the tower bridge in london and it’s clear sometimes feelings are just too hard to ignore
warnings: smut! bandmate harry, fluff, heights, unplanned confession, making out, trying to hide it from everyone, REALLY CUTE CAR SCENE, tension, fingering, dirty talk, vague reference to choking, protected p in v sec, talk of unprotected sex, frat boy harry just being too hot.
a/n: this is a longer smutshot with a bit of plot, took me MONTHS of coming back and forth from this draft, but it’s so so cute I think you’re gonna love these two!
not heavily edited, may be some typos, just want to post it so bad and its 2am HAHA
———
A deep, almost shaky exhale passes through your lungs and out past your lips. Your own numb hands coming to your waist underneath the thick knitted sweater that hung baggy over your frame, meeting the tight harness fitted over your jeans. It was so cold outside that with each breath out, there was a pale cloud that got puffed out with it. The kind you’d see on a crisp morning while walking to school as a kid, and pretend you were exhaling a long drag of a cigarette.
It’s weird to see something such as the air from deep in your lungs in a way you never normally do. Something that is typically invisible, in the exact right conditions, can be suddenly tangible. The air you exhale always there, regardless of whether you can see it or not. But on a night like tonight it’s no longer able to be ignored.
How one individual might perceive it can be starkly different to another. What is perhaps an annoying reminder of the cold to one person— is a thrilling reminder of their state of aliveness to another.
You believe in the latter. Despite it highlighting how freezing cold you feel, it makes your heart sing. Right now, you’re alive, living in this very moment. Your breath is the very proof that you’re here, experiencing something few other people understand.
The mosaic of London city lights can be seen all around you, reflecting on the swell of water that consumes the far drop below your feet.
Gratitude floats through your mind at the tight harness wrapped around your middle, attaching to the safety line behind you. Otherwise just looking down would make you loose your balance, and that's not a fall you want to experience.
Filming music videos, you’ve learnt, is no joke. Considering you’re 200 feet in the sky above the river Thames on London’s most famous bridge.
“M’pretty sure I’ve just frozen my balls off.” Louis shivers out, earning a snort from Liam who has his hands shoved under his arms— in attempt to warm them up— beside him.
The camera crew have filmed the shots planned, and a few extras for behind the scenes footage, but everything that needed to be taken has now been ticked off, and the rest of the team are beginning to get ready for the band to come back down.
“And here i was just thinking how surreal it is to be up here,” You sigh out with sarcastic whimsy, “Louis sure knows how to put it into words…”
Niall pipes in, “Best view in the whole city and Louis is talking about his junk.”
Everyone up there let’s out a belly laugh at Niall’s quip. It’s an oddly touching moment. Just the six of you feeling like you’re on top of the world, laughing at a joke about Louis dick.
A very fitting theme for a bunch of still-teenagers, you think to yourself. Heartwarming in its own odd way that makes you smile. Eyes flitting from the skyline in front of you back to the band, attempting to take in every small detail that’s painting the wondrous view ahead of you.
You’re glad you went up first, it means you can see all their faces at once when you look to the left. The toothy grins, lit up eyes, and red, wind kissed cheeks.
Especially Harry, who beside you, looks absolutely elated to be up there. The glimmer in his eye's is possessing an emotion in your chest that's admittedly different tonight in comparison to any other.
Maybe it was just your surroundings, but you’re convinced this is the most beautiful he’s ever looked. His brown curls were tousled back from the breeze, lips flushed from the cold. The big khaki jacket cast over his broad shoulders is bundling him up, yet he was still shivering slightly.
Somehow now— even in London's coldest months—his skin still appears tan. Like if you reached out and touched it, it would thrum with the warmth of his blood. A heat you want to settle into with your entire body and soul.
Forcibly, you have to tear your gaze away from him. Reminding yourself that he is your bandmate, and one of your best friends. Not someone for you to be staring at as if there was something to be entertained.
Besides, you’ve spent months gaslighting yourself into the belief it’s simply because you work together so closely. Of course your brain is trying to tell you that there’s something there!
Hell, you’ve heard the horror stories from your girls back home. Problematic shit almost always happens when they fuck around with male colleagues at their jobs. You’ve even said to them, “Is he hot, or is it just because he’s a guy at your work?”
And while your relationship with Harry is arguably a lot more personal than just two colleagues, surely the theory still applies— you’re only so attracted to him because you both work together. That’s it…
Not at all the fact he is definitely the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen.
Shaking your head— as if the physical movement will stop the internal battle between the voices in your head, you focus your eyes back to the city. Trying to memorise this beautiful sight instead, and commit each red set of break lights, and every yellow glow of someone’s window to the mental picture you’ve taken.
You wish you could know how many people are looking at the Tower bridge right now. If they have any idea that there’s 6 idiots up the top of it. It casts a familiar, deep set of wonder over you.
Are they cooking dinner, watching tv, or staring out at the world just like you? who are they with, why are they with them?
Just the notion that all the people in that city are out there, living a life as shockingly intricate, and beautiful as your own makes your heart clench. It’s a feeling you want to hold forever.
Harry notices from next to you the look on your face. He sees this look often, he knows how deep of a thinker you are. When your lips part in the slightest bit, displaying that sense of earnest shock— and your big eyes search the scene in front of them as if it might disappear on the very next blink.
You do it at airports, in every new city you visit, and onstage too— you do it almost everywhere, come to think of it.
His own mouth slants into a warm smile, even Niall has glanced over and shared a quiet chuckle at your ability to just slip into your mind every time something unreal happens to the six of you.
“Alright— we’re gonna get you guys down one by one!” A crew member's call pulls you out of your trance. Harry is almost sad to see the captivation on your face get snapped away in an instant, making him divert his attention away from you so he doesn’t get caught staring.
Given that you were the first of them to go up, you’d be the last to be lowered down. Zayn however was the last to go up, and arguably the hardest of everyone to convince to get up here.
Despite looking like he could conquer anything, and any challenge, he is scared easily of new things. Like going on a plane for the first time, or being lifted to the top of tower bridge and held by only a harness.
“Thank god—“ he sighs a chuckle, running an anxious hand through his hair as he slowly starts to shuffle along the narrow edge you’re all standing on.
“People pay good money t'do stuff like this, is the real kicker.” Liam nudges him, earning a playful eye roll from Zayn at his dig.
“Don’ get me wrong, s’beautiful, but im out of here. Back to solid ground where I belong.” He points to the mechanism that will lower him back down to the platform underneath where the crew is, hand then coming back to cling to the X shaped beams behind you all.
From what you were all told, it’s actually for maintenance… a large steel cage of sorts. One that’s clunky on the way up and down, and can’t carry more than two bodies a time— at best.
You hear the sigh of relief Zayn lets out as he steps onto the solid metal— sliding the carabiner out of the cable holding you all to the bridge. Waving a hand down to the crew to lower the lift, shouting down to them, “good to go, thank you lads!”
Once it’s back up, Liam goes down next, smiling pridefully as he gets onto the platform. Everyone knows this is a night you’ll all never forget.
Next is Louis, who does a salute to you all, “see you all on the other side,” leaving with a wink as he unclips himself once he’s in the cage.
Niall cleared his throat to shout, “Goodnight London, I bloody love ya!”
However, this is where things start to go awry. Because the platform doesn’t come back up as you and Harry had both been anticipating… causing you to both share a confused look as the final two up on the bridge.
“What the fuck…?” The two of you hear a worker cuss in annoyance, clear to you a slight commotion is going on below. It’s a very faint murmur of concerned, and also annoyed voices, that you’re straining to hear over the wind.
But suddenly Niall can be heard, loud and clear. Whatever it is can’t be that serious, because Niall is giggling? You and Harry both are leaning your heads to try and hear properly. Eventually he sounds like he’s having a full laughing fit, followed by a loud bellow of his amused tone that echoes all the way up to the two of you, “…So they’re stuck up there?”
Your heads snap to one another, locking eyes as you realise why the platform hasn’t come back up yet. Your cold hand comes over your mouth in shock trying to cover up your dropped jaw, warm breath ghosting over the red tips of your fingers.
“Fuckin— there’s no way…” Harry frowns, shaking his head, “He has to be tryin’ t’pull one over on us.”
"Gave the team 10 bucks t'act like its broken..." He murmurs to himself, pursing his lips as his head shakes in disbelief.
A part of you wishes that was the case, but your gut is telling you that its not. That sensation confirmed when your phone starts ringing in your back pocket.
Carefully, you pull it out of your pocket and glance to the screen, gesturing it over to Harry. Georgie, a part of your management team was calling you. He was a short, wiry red-haired man in his late thirties, who had a really lovely husband that would bake the band cookies with their son, Thomas.
With a sigh, you answer the call— putting it on speaker and shuffling closer to Harry so he can hear what he says.
Shoulder to shoulder, he leans his head down to listen, curls brushing the top of your head.
“Hello?” You say as you hear shuffling behind the phone, biting your bottom lip with your teeth as you wait for Georgie to actually talk to you.
Finally you hear him clear his throat with a short apology, “Okay— Y/N, Harry?”
He asks this as if it weren't abundantly obvious you were the only two people up there for him to be speaking to. It makes Harry palm his forward with a slight roll of his green eyes, “Georgie, what’s goin’ on?”
Annoyed look good on him, you thought. The way his brows pinched together and his lips formed a harsh line, jaw clenching tightly.
“Don’t panic but—“
“Oh, fucks sake, we’re gonna die up here, aren’t we?” You immediately interrupted, free hand coming up to your mouth as you take the nail of your thumb between your teeth.
“No, No!” He repeats, and you know he’s down there tapping his foot on the ground like he always does in conversations.
He’s either genuinely confident, or doing a really good job at faking it as he states, “All is well— just a minor inconvenience, is all…”
Harry and you say nothing though, waiting for him to fill the silence with an explanation of what exactly is happening down there.
“The cage lift has… uh,” his tone falters as he tries to find a way to explain the situation, “It’s had a bit of an issue. It’s not going up— we’ve got people on the way to fix it, so don’t worry.”
“They think it’s a combination of the cold night and the fact it’s not been used in a few weeks… but I promise we’re doing everything we can to get you guys down.”
Niall and Louis can be heard laughing in the back, and you feel at ease knowing the bridge isn’t about to collapse under your feet. You’re safe, just stuck up there for a little longer than planned.
“Wait till the media gets a hold of this,” Harry shakes his head, but a tiny relieved smile cracks now he also knows what’s going on— and likely at the boys cackling through the line.
“For now, just hold tight. I know it’s cold but atleast there’s two of you up there—“ you both shoot each other a confused look, “And I’ll call you when the blokes with their big tools are here to fix the lift and send it up…”
“Right… so in the meantime we just stay up here. On the top of a 200ft ledge?” You clarify, stupefied at the situation you've landed yourself in.
“Uhm, yep… I’ll call you guys back when I know more.” He replied curtly, before bidding a quick goodbye and hanging up.
Given the height you’re situated at, you don’t waste any time tucking your phone safely back into the pocket of your jeans. Glancing over to Harry who is smiling out at the city, “At least you’ve got a bit more time to try and memorise all this, hey?”
“Or we’re living our last hours up here before we die of hypothermia…”
A chuckle comes from him, where he nudges your shoulder with his, “C’mon Y/N, I think they’d airlift us off the bridge before it came to that point.”
"Now that would be a news story about us," you slant your gaze to him, his hands stuffed into the pocket of his jacket, “And that's at least true, I'm just being dramatic considering the situation.”
His lips curve into a smile, shaking his head with amusement, “We’re gonna get the biggest I told you so from Zayn.”
The wind blows your hair in all directions as it randomly pushes a strong gust against you, making you reach up to try and tame it back down.
“Whose fucking idea was it to leave my hair down,” you complain, despite it actually being your own. Harrys own hand comes to try and brush it out of your squinted eyes, quietly humming, “y’shivering, love.”
The way he is so gently pushing the hair from your face, paired with the hushed pet name makes you look up to him, “And so are you…”
Internally, you are cursing. Cursing right now whatever greater force has planted your ass in this set of circumstances. Stuck up here, in arguably the most romantic spot you could be put into. Together. Right at the time the resolve you've tried so hard to maintain that Harry is 'just a friend', is starting to crash and burn.
“C’mere.” He says, the lilt in his accent is deep from the crisp air, casually wrapping an arm around your middle, pulling you towards him. Just the action alone makes your whole body heat up, and your praying your cheeks are already red enough to hide the blush that's creeping hot up your neck…
Your cheek meets his shoulder, nose bumping his collarbone as he tucks you in the space between his arm and his side, the hand around your waist splaying over the knit of your sweater. He smells so good, masculine… the scent woodsy, but with an undertone of warm spices. You try not to draw in an obvious inhale against the collar of his shirt.
You adored how close a connection two of you shared, but you also hated it. Hated it because there’s no hesitancy in the way his hand curls around your side and lets your body lean into his. The this is just what friends do mentality. Especially in a situation like this, where the action can simply be justified by that, and that alone. It kills you feeling him like this, warm and gentle against your cold body, and trying to pretend like it isn't currently making your insides squirm.
“If this ledge weren’t so bloody thin, I’d wrap you up with m’jacket.” He admits, looking down at you.
He cant help but unknowingly make it worse for you.
Lips forming a thin line, you try to bite back the smile that's forcing it's way onto your face. The image playing off in your mind no matter how hard you try to wipe it. Stood here, arms slid around his toned middle, meeting together at the small of his back. oh god...
Your own hands have unconsciously braced themselves on the outer edge of his jacket, gripping it for dear life as you try to calm your racing heart.
Eyes veering outwards as you look at the scene in front of you, “it’s okay... its cold, but at least its beautiful.”
His own eyes are trailing the profile of your face, heart thrumming underneath his chest as an almost welcome heat spreads through him. He’s made a mistake pulling you into him, he should’ve known he’d bitten off more than he could chew. That he’d want more, to feel more of you than he already is.
When suddenly nothing is more appealing than leaning down and nudging your nose with his, to let your head tilt for him, so he can press a warm kiss against your mouth.
“So beautiful,” he quietly parrots, but he’s not thinking about the view.
Forcing his eyes away from you, he clears his throat carefully. A tiny chuckle escaping in the silence that had enveloped the two of you as you stared out at the city.
“Only this would happen to us.” He suddenly says, and you feel him draw in a deep inhale. Confused in what context he means it, you turn your head to look up at him with a puzzled smile, “What do you mean?”
“I can almost bet a thousand bucks we are probably the first and only people t'ever have this happen t'them. Somehow I find it fitting.”
“Pretty special... if you think of it like that.” You mutter, nodding slowly.
“No one can even see us, and there's a whole city out there—“ he gestures out with his finger, “that doesn’t know we’re up here.”
A morbid laugh bubbles from your throat, "I know were not gonna die up here, but if we were, I can't really imagine what the last thing I would want to do would be." You feel his chest rumble with a chuckle, and he's shaking his head at you.
His voice is completely normal as he ponders the thought, "Well... we’re kind of limited with what we can do because of these." His hand finds the hem of his white t-shirt, peeling the material above his belly button. It's intention to gesture to the harness flush around his middle. Your eyes however... they veer to the tan skin of his stomach, and the dark tattooed ferns that adorn his hips and bracket the dusting of hair that trails up from the band of his Calvin Klein briefs. Only graced with the sight for a few fleeting seconds before it disappears behind the white fabric once again.
You almost about choke on nothing. Having to force your throat to swallow before a bout of laughter rattles out of you without you able to stop it, "The harnesses?'
Your obviously answered question makes his brows furrow, and mouth quirk into a confused sort of smile. It only makes you laugh more, hand coming up to scrape down your face as a desperate attempt to ground your brain.
But, fuck— what he just said, you're banking it was an entirely innocent comment, and that's exactly what is causing the confusion at your disheveled reaction. But he quite literally doesn't realise what insinuation you thought he was making. And that you are imagining all kinds of depraved scenes without ability to stop.
A parallel of you only a minute earlier, he begins, "What do you—"
The pang of realisation hits him.
"...oh."
His words die where they were in his voice box, stomach churning the second he clocks onto your almost guilty laugh. The sound drips with warmth as it enters his ears.
He rolls his eyes, but suddenly his cheeks feel hot as a blush spreads across them no matter how hard he tries to will it away, "That is not what I meant! Of course you would think that."
Your jaw drops in feigned offense, knocking your elbow against the side of his ribs, "What are you trying to say about me?"
You've taken a small step back from him, hand coming to your chest as a mimic of your fake shock. You know how dangerous this is getting, and quickly at that. Breaching into uncharted territory.
"That your head is stuck in the gutter." He mumbles, blinking fast as he avoids meeting eyes with you as if you'd be able to simply see the thoughts plagued in his head now.
"It is not, you're the one that worded it weird!" You tease, arms crossing. It is truly like the rest of the world has fallen away, and like you are the only two people alive right now.
"Is so," he argues passionately back, "So far in the gutter, in fact, tell pennywise i say hi."
You burst out with a laugh, trying to tuck your cold hands between your upper arm and ribcage, "Gross, Harry. I fucking hate clowns."
"And mind you, I said nothing! You came to this conclusion on your own."
"Okay Y/N, What conclusion is it tha’ I'm coming to, if y'would be so gracious to enlighten me." Checkmate.
He's smiling now, you are red, embarrassed or worked up, or perhaps a heated mixture of both.
The ball is back in your court, and you struggle to get your mouth to move properly, "I— You cant— Don't turn this back on me!"
Suddenly, he tumbles his own inner thoughts out of his lips before he can halt them, they sound with a rasp, "Darling, you're the one having deluded n’dirty thoughts 200ft up n'the sky."
God. Does this count as foreplay to the mile high club? And fucking hell, his voice sounds too deep right now. The way his thick accent rolls the words out. Its making your head hurt.
Your earlier resolve is officially gone. It's thrown itself off the ledge of this bridge and is falling the very far drop to the bottom. And you know what, pretty sure your self respect is going with it. Between the two of them, it will be loud enough to probably hear the impact they make when they hit the water at full force.
"Probably the first person to be doing that up here, too." The words are gritted out of you as your heart pounds in your chest.
You hear the inhale he takes, deep— as if he's trying to ground himself, hold back whatever is transpiring right here, right now.
"Do have even half the idea of how badly I want t'kiss you right now?"
Your head snaps from where it was, tearing your eyes from where they'd locked onto the city skyline in attempt to distract yourself from the trouble you're about to get into. A part of you deep down realises how bad this could get quickly, how absolutely irreversible this conversation is.
And that regardless if something or nothing comes of it, you are never going to function the same. Laying in bed staring at the celling you'll see his face, next time you're on stage you'll feel your stomach drop when he looks at you, when you're in a room with him you'll cease to be able to function.
His green eyes have literally pinned you where you stand, wind toying with your hair as your lips are parted in shock.
"You don't mean that..." you stare at him, shaking your head slowly. Trying to back out of this, attempting to give him a moment to throw the blanket back over what he was uncovering.
He frowns, almost offended, as if doubting him is the worst thing there is in the world. Taking a brief step forward to fully face you, "Y/N, I would have you backed up against these beams if I wasn't literally restrained from doing so."
"What— Harry, what about—" At this rate, you're mustering up any excuse to rationalise what is happening right now, "I'm pretty sure there's strict rules against this in our contracts— you know?"
"Fuck the contracts." He immediately replies, disregarding that as a point entirely. His hand coming up to brush the brown curls that have been blown in front of his intense gaze, "Could care less 'bout them, not like we haven't broken a million other things in them."
True. You can think of several things between you and the band. You're still employed, if that says anything.
"The things I would do to you if I knew no one would interrupt" He takes another step closer to you, close enough you can reach out and touch him, "then well see about me not meaning any of this."
His voice, the absoluteness in his tone makes your head spin. Resolve slipping, cracking, completely dissipating from where it was being grappled in your palms two seconds prior to this conversation starting.
You feel like you're floating outside of your own body as your hands find the bottom of his white shirt, lifting it until you can wrap your fingers around the black harness taut around his middle. Slowly, you pull it until he is forced to step closer to you.
His heart stutters at the action... it's arguably the hottest thing a girl has ever done to him— beating a tug of belt loops or a belt by a mile. This was personal.
"This is still a problem, as you said earlier." You drawl quietly. Tone void of any indicative of emotion, the only thing he gets any intel from being the blush that's deepened on your cheeks.
There's a few ticks of silence when his chin dips to follow the action that's led your cold hands underneath his shirt, the way he stares the only point of physical contact between the two of you. But god, when your stare flickers up to him and he meets it with his own— his stomach jolts. Eyes squeezing shut as his forehead drops down, hesitating before pressing ever so slightly against your own, "Y'are too much, love."
His hands sliding up to meet your jaw, your low voice echoes out a plea, "Well, it would be a waste if we didn't."
Referring to the kiss of course, it does feel like it would be a missed opportunity to surpass right now. As, in all fairness you'll never be able to have a first kiss with Harry in a more memorable place. So even if the idea is stupid, It could be justified by that alone...
You feel his chest rumble with a deep chuckle, his lips pulling into a smile, "We'd regret it... if we didn't."
"We’d always wonder.” You nod, tone bearing on certainty as the two of you knowingly come to the biggest reach of a justification you could.
His fingers coil around your jawline, and you can feel his warm breath gently panning across your skin. It makes your eyes flutter closed, feeling his thumb ghost over your bottom lip. Eliciting a shudder that runs straight up your spine, making him smile with pride.
Tipping your chin up, he brushes his mouth over the corner of your lips. Catching them just slightly, “I’d always be thinking about what your mouth would feel like against mine,”
“And then you’d just end up kissing me anyway,” you chuckle quietly, “just in a probably less cool place.”
“Mhmm,” the low hum of agreement rumbles from his throat as finally he bears his mouth down against your own. The press of warm lips against yours making your whole body sing.
Cold was no longer a feeling in you, there was only a hot tingling sensation that’s shot through your limbs as his mouth lingers in hesitation for a moment before moving to kiss lightly against the fullness of your bottom lip.
He nearly groans when you regain enough control over yourself to actively kiss him back, leaning into his touch.
The excitement spreads through you both like wildfire— you’re kissing each other on the top of a world famous bridge. Cars below, and mentionably the crew members also underneath, have no idea. No idea the fact your hands are skating up his white shirt further until you’re palming the hard slabs of muscle over his abdomen. Not even a clue that one of his hands has taking sanctuary on your hip bone, tugging your body into his.
Your mouths work against each other, tongues suddenly getting involved when he squeezes a hand along your ribs making your lips part. His warm tongue gliding into your mouth just enough for you to taste him slightly.
“Harry,” his name is whined against his mouth, nails clawing over the skin of his chest.
“Fuck—“ he bites out, tongue lulling against your bottom lip, greedily trying to taste more of you.
The action alone is enough to make your knees nearly give out, “I need—“
Your desperate words are cut off, the sound of your phone ringing bringing you both to an instant halt.
There’s a shared look, both taking in what you’ve done to one another. Left standing here with eyes half lidded and lips swollen— looking entirely, wholeheartedly, fucked.
A tortured sigh comes from you as he promptly leans back down and kisses your mouth. If it had anything to do with you, you'd let the call ring out just to have more of this. He is more sensible than that, clearly. As his hand comes to the back pocket of your jeans, sliding your buzzing phone out into his palm.
Wanting to whine when he pulls away, a part of you is battling all your logic and is begging to stay up here with him. For how long? You don’t care, forever as far as you’re concerned. Fighting the urge to just grab your phone and throw it off the ledge, purely so his hands can busy themselves on your skin again.
Harry clears his throat before tapping the accept button, hoping to god he can muster a normal sounding voice.
Georgie’s voice comes through first, less shuffling on his end of the phone this time— indicating some higher level of organisation in comparison to earlier, you assume.
“Harry, Y/N! Platforms on its way up you two, everything okay?”
“Yep, Georgie,” he nods, pursing his lips as his eyes find your to pin you with a stare, “things are good.”
A small laugh and he replies, “Well— I can’t really tell if you’re bein’ sarcastic but I’ll take it.”
“Anyway, once it’s up there we’ve been told strictly to keep it one at a time to come down just to be on the safe side so it doesn’t malfunction again.”
“Very reassuring…” Harry drawls with slight grimace, glancing over to where the metal cage is rising up.
“Don’t be so pessimistic,” he scolds playfully over the speakers, making Harry roll his eyes— but a playful smile falls on his lips.
“See you soon, thanks for saving us Georgie, I owe ya one.”
You finally lean towards the phone, “I second this, thank you.”
“Not a worry, didn’t want that much paperwork on a Friday night.” He teases, before ending the call with a quick ‘see you soon.’
Harry’s eyes return to you. Your lips part and draw in a hushed gasp as he leans back into your space. Hands slowly sliding around your middle. Making that same breath catch in the middle of your throat as he pulls you in, slowly, almost sensually as his eyes drop to your lips.
He lingers against you, a tease, you already know it.
Proving you right, he deposits your phone back safely into your back pocket, applying a few gentle taps to the swell of your ass as he leans back again.
"H." is all you can say, and at this point it comes from you as almost a whine. But it saying exactly what you want without having to even tell him.
A grin is plastered on his handsome face at the blush that’s already torn its way back through you. His bashful smirk mirroring that of two teenagers that have sneaked a kiss before going back to their friends or family.
Which is exactly what he does, struggling not to smile against your mouth as he presses warmly, firmly against you. Giving you exactly what you wanted.
Allowing you both as much time as reasonably possible to soak in the feeling before he starts to pull away, your body almost instinctually following his movement— leaning further, pecking against his mouth until he steadies your shoulders with his hands.
A soft chuckle breathily escaped him, heart nearly melting inside his chest as your wide, wild eyes stare up at him. A tiny, smile on your own mouth now, one he reaches up to thumb delicately over.
The touch is earnest and makes you nearly sink into yourself— or better yet, sink into him.
A light hum of pleasure, and then he pulls away, turning to start walking along the ledge.
Carefully, you both shuffle to where the platform is now fully stationary. As he takes a step onto it, feet planting solidly onto the metal, you see a sense of relief on his face. Hands working to unbuckle the carabiner, and his eyes flitting back to yours.
You’re staring at his hands… the way they seamlessly open the clasp. You’ve always been drawn to them, the firm tendons that run into his fingers. He catches you doing this, and whether or not he knows you’re ogling the stature of his hands, the smirk on his face is all consuming.
You roll your eyes bashfully at him, pursing your lips and crossing your arms all in an attempt to be normal about this. But struggling to come across to him as unaffected by this whole ordeal.
He is having none of it.
“M’not done with you, love. Not even close.”
And that’s the last thing he said before the platform started the trip back down. Suddenly you are alone up here once again. The moment of solitude very sobering in a situation as such.
Unbelievable to consider that if you told yourself two hours ago that by the end of the night, you had made out with Harry up here, you would’ve believed sooner that you were having hallucinations than actually thought it were true.
Your brain is going over it and over it, like a flashbulb memory, all you can think about is him, and what you’d just done.
“Fuck sakes.” You cursed, hand coming up over your eyes in attempt to quell the thoughts.
It was closest to a face palm. Your palm immediately clapped over your eyes. It’s to no use though, as even behind the darkness of shut and covered eyelids you could still see him, still feel him. The sensation of his fingers softly grazing over the skin of your ribcage, slipped tentatively underneath the knit of your sweater. The heat of his tongue lulling gently into your mouth.
M’not done with you, love. Not even close…
The sound of his voice, even if it’s simply the imagination of it in your own head, it reignited the heat in your stomach— if it ever truly went away— making it churn with heavy desire. Almost worse than earlier, now that you had to stand here and suffer through it stationary.
Dragging your heavy hand up to take place in your hair, you push the loose strands out of your face, and tug at its roots.
With now open eyes, the city stared back at you. Supplying you with a mocking silence. As if to imply, I saw what you just did. Watched you kiss someone you shouldn’t, and not even just once by any means. You went back for more even after it stopped. Got your hands and feelings involved.
You attempted to smooth your hair down, annoyed that your guilt has conjured into the city of London taking over your internal monologue. It was messy as you combed your fingers through it, but whether it was Harry or the wind, you’re hoping that— and the rest of your disheveled appearance— can be attributed to the cold and wind entirely.
Which suddenly, that cold felt so much harsher now Harry was no longer up there with you. Either it was his body heat pressed against you that heated you up, or kissing him had that much of an affect on you. Tragically, you’re ball parking that it’s a torturously attractive combination of them both.
When the platform thankfully returns up, you steal a final glance out at the Thames and London. Definitely a sight you’ll have burned into your mind for the rest of your life.
Stepping onto the platform, you felt equal parts relief and anxiety. God forbid people can sense something is different between you two… and this is not a situation you’ve ever been in before. Who knows your own capacity to hold a convincing lie about something like this.
The second you’re down all the way and the platform meets the ground, you’re greeted with a flurry of workers and people from the crew. All chorusing questions of ‘are you okay?’ to you as if you’d been up there for days without food or water.
Tamara, one of the women on the styling teams, rushed up to you with a thick black coat, shawling it over you and rubbing your shoulders, “here lovie, y'shaking like a leaf you poor thing... this’ll warm you up.”
Her lower lip pouted out in sympathy for you, her dark curls of hair casting over her eyes as she spoke “Gosh, you look so cold, the wind up there must’ve been so chilly… your cheeks are all red— and your hair's all over the place."
At least she was attributing it all to the cold wind, and wasn't immediately aware you'd just snogged with your bandmate up there. Either way the slight shake to your hands was the last of your worries, and your gaze has landed on Harry— but he was already looking at you.
His stare said it all really, the look of we have unfinished business all over his face. The tiny curve to the corner of his mouth that may go unnoticed to everyone else but you. Possibly because you had his tongue in your mouth less than half an hour ago, but still— you pick up on it all the same.
Georgie is fussing over him currently, and Harry takes a second to break the eye contact the two of you held, pausing to let out a breathy laugh as he turns to Georgie, “And surely after all this excitement we get to go back to the hotel room— no more crazy behind the scenes to film?”
Tamara’s ears perk and she overhears him, nodding as she rubs your shoulder, “we’ve already got a car down there to get you back to the hotel."
You thank god for the bridge being closed to traffic, entirely unable to imagine trying to trudge through hordes of tourists and potentially fans just to get back to a car.
Several people escort you and harry down the stairs to where a black car is parked opposite to the exit.
Tamara opens the door for you both, and you share a look before scooting into the backseats. Georgie gets into the front passenger seat, greeting the driver politely. Already clued in on the mishap on the bridge, they waste no time having a relieved laugh about you both getting down in one piece.
The heater is already cranking in the black car, heating your skin. Harry pats the middle seat with his hand, giving you a look. It lingered like an unspoken sentence in the glimmer of his green eyes, and the tiny upwards tilt to the corner of his mouth.
Next to me, it said.
Like it was less question, and more that he needed you next to him more than anything else in the world right now.
And as you’re coming to realise, this look on his face can pretty much get you to do anything. It’s only telling how far that alone could take you. So you silently settle into the middle seat, pulling the seatbelt across yourself. Buckling it in, feeling Harry’s thigh gently press against your own.
There are so many unspoken words floating in the air between you two. Things you want to say, things you want to do, all suspended above you. Making you wonder if Georgie— who is rugged up in the front seat and is apparently accompanying you both on the ride back to the hotel— can sense it too.
However, he seems oblivious despite your expectation for him to be the opposite. He pays no additional mind to you both, other her than the slight dart of his eyes to your body taking up the middle seat instead of the window seat behind him.
Your teeth are working over the skin on the corner of your lower lip as you’re driving back towards central London. Delmar, the driver whose name you’ve overheard in passing as Georgie and him acquainted, is weaving back into the thick of the cities traffic as you’re off the closed bridge.
Harry’s eyes are cast outside the window, but his hands are deciding to play a dangerous game. Simply at the fact he cannot help himself. He’s aware that Georgie is distracted, and is taking the opportunity to innocently flex his knuckles against your knee. Breaching the gap from where his hand rests atop his own. The warm city lights are cutting a deep shadow across his jaw, outlining the smirk on his side profile.
It conveys his need to touch you, that your body filling up the space next to him is not enough. Although you have to hold back an exasperated sigh at his actions, and how he is only making this worse for you, you end up sliding your hand down your thigh, slowly and carefully.
It's likely that you're just as bad as him, because you brush your hand against his— Nothing but your pinky stretched out, grazing his. Both of your eyes shifting upwards to lock with each other, then back to Georgie. A silent acknowledgment at how careful the two of you have to be right now.
Slowly, you link your pinky around his own, catching his ring finger too as he curls them against you. The delicate touch is somehow a head-spinning mix of sincere and beautiful, but also so insanely attractive.
He's smiling, a wide grin that his free hand attempts to cover as his elbow rests on the car door. Covering the dimples you wanted to take in, allowing you only the sight of slightly crinkled eyes from how hard he's smiling underneath the palm of his hand.
To put it simply, right now he looks like an art piece. His chocolate curls over his forehead, and the smile on his face you know that you're the cause of. Hands brushing together, hidden between the both of you— all in the back of a car, trying to hide it like true teenagers.
It's sudden when you realise you are in the exact same state, struggling to disguise the curve of your mouth from not only Harry, but the other two people in the vehicle. Trying to press your lips together as he plays with your fingers. Hands soft and warm against yours, your eyes casting down to where they're joint together between the two of your knees. Just barely. Small enough a move to ensure you're the only two that know about it, but also enough to make your stomach churn with need.
I want his mouth on mine again, your brain chimes.
Before your brain can send you spiraling back into the memory of you two kissing, the sound of your name from the front seat cuts through it.
"Y/N, You were up there, tell Delmar what it was like!"
Snapping your gaze back to Georgie, he serves a unintentional reality check for you.
"Oh, uhm—" Shaking your head as if to clear your thoughts, you endeavor to form a coherent sentence. Harry's hand gently, and as discretely as possible, slides out of yours, taking its place back on his own thigh. If you were to look, you'd see that the smile on his face has somehow gotten wider, as if the aspect of being nearly caught out in the backseat of the car is the most amusing thing in the world.
Amplified by him listening to you stumble over your words, that too is endearingly hilarious. A true gentlemen.
However, you're now unable to find the words for what happened up there that don't relate to having someone kissing you over and over again.
"Well, you can imagine it was beautiful," A tiny, pained chuckle comes out of you, "London is... massive— from up there, y'know?"
God. You sound like such an idiot, you already know that.
The driver laughs and nods at your attempt to tell the story, voice warm and sincere as he replies, "Some things can be hard to put into words, I understand."
You take a moment to realign your thoughts, come up with anything better than 'London is... massive'.
Finally smiling back at him, you draw in a breath, trying to articulate the feeling prior to getting distracted up there with your bandmates mouth, "Well, the city lights are kind of like a warm sky of stars... Hard to believe that there's so many people in London when you look at it from that high up."
He hums at your much better description of the sight, and of course— just as anyone would, he curiously asks a few more questions.
Such as 'how long were you up there? were you scared?' All of which Georgie unfortunately does not swoop in on to steer the conversation again, as he too wants to hear the experience from you.
Delmar does eventually cast his attention to Harry's broad frame in the rear view mirror, quizzing him on his own outlook on the event, making you thankful to have a second to breath and not be skirting around the fact you made out with the person sitting currently right next to you.
He handles the questions with tragic ease— or at the very least it comes off that way— but you can hear how he is still trying not to laugh. And the way he's knocking your thigh with his every chance he gets when the eyes in the front of the car aren't on either of you.
The streets and the traffic within them get busier as the hotel the band is staying at draws close. Delmar weaving into the back lot so you can both get inside discreetly, not forgetting to thank you for the pleasurable chat. His kind words you both smile, and Harry isn't shy to also gives his gracious appreciation, "Drive was a dream, thank you mate, 'ave a lovely rest of your night."
His hand comes to open the car door, allowing him to slide out— But once he's standing, he gestured out his palm for you to take as your feet come to the asphalt below. The smirk on his face as you take it is enough to make you roll your eyes, trying to downplay the effect it has on you.
He leans discretely down to your ear, speaking only loud enough for you both to hear, "I know I will."
A wink to you, and it feels like your knees are going to give out simply where you stand. He gives it a squeeze before breaking off to shut the car door, and walk over to where Georgie is standing.
“Tamara told me they’ve got hot chocolates prepared in the foyer for you two.” Georgie informs you both, typing quickly back to Tamara on his phone before leading you both in through the back entrance of the hotel. Harry’s hands are tucked into the pockets of his jacket as you walk beside him, likely to stop himself from caving and trying to grab your hand or arm in his as you walk behind Georgie.
The air is contrastingly cold compared to the warm car, which brings another bout of relief when you to get back into the heated hotel lobby.
Surely enough, a short, older lady comes out from a kitchen area upon you all entering. Promptly walking up to Georgie with a tray with 3 large cups filled with the sweet beverage. He gasps in excitement as she approaches, remarking sweetly that "Tam even got me one, what a sweetheart!"
"Bet thats the real reason y'came back with us." Harry teases, then nods in greeting to the lady holding the tray of drinks, "Thanks for these, love."
Even she looks up at him with a big grin. Reminding you of the way the elderly ladies talked about the boys when you were filming earlier for this music video. Harry— and all the others— just have that charm about them. Clearly it lacks a generational age limit. And you know what, you cant even blame her. She gets it.
"Not a worry darling's, buzz us if you all need anything else,” You give her a smile as she reaches to pat your arm, “it should warm everyone up.”
“Thank you so much.” You affirm as you clasp the hot cup from the tray.
Heading towards the posh elevator, Georgie presses the up button and is talking to Harry about tomorrow, how he has a fitting for a suit. Something about an awards show. You're struggling to pay attention, as you know all three of you are headed to the same floor. Not only does Georgie have to think you're going back to your respective rooms for the night, but if any of the other boys waited up for you two, there is no way you're going to get to be alone tonight.
Harry is busy entertaining Georgie's itinerary as you step into the elevator, his hand reaching for the '32' button on the control panel. The descent up each floor feels like it drags on forever, anticipation for how this is going to play out genuinely killing you.
When the large silver doors open to the 32nd floor, all of you walk out in tandem onto the tiled hallway. Your rooms are all pooled together at the start of the hall, meaning there’s hardly any further to walk once you’re out of the elevator.
Your own keycard for your room is in your phone case, so you reach to pop the case off and slide it out as you come to a stop outside the large white doors of your room.
"Well," You clear your throat, eyes darting between Harry and Georgie, "Glad we all survived that ordeal, I’ll see you all bright and early tomorrow."
A small buzz sounds from the sensor as you hold the card over it, a small green light flashing.
“Mhm, tomorrow.” Harry affirms casually, casting a sly nod your way from where he stands on the opposite side of the hallway. Standing outside his own room, fishing out a keycard from deep in the pocket of his jeans.
Georgie, who is happily and unknowingly pushing open his own door, chuckles at your comment, "Definitely glad, see you two in the morning."
With a small smile, he makes sure to squeeze in a a final reminder to Harry, "H, half ten tomorrow, don't forget."
The two of you have both slid inside your respective hotel rooms as Harry laughs quietly, replying to him, "Wouldn't dare."
Waiting, your free hand clutches the door. Admiring his face in the warm glow of the hall lights, and the way he keeps his eyes trained on the room Georgie was disappearing into. As you watch, you’re taking a sip of your hot chocolate when his gaze finally darts to yours as the click of a door sounds up the hall.
Now you’re just looking at each other, tension in the air thick and warm. He’s smiling as he mimics your behaviour, taking a leisurely drink from his own cup without breaking eye contact.
Given the few seconds of silence, you are certain that no one is going to disturb you, and a sense of relief washes over you. Finally. Other than the pounding of your heart in your chest, everything around you is quiet. You peak your head around the smooth rim of the doorframe, all the doors were shut, and the rooms were hushed.
By some grace of god, not only has one of your managers gone to bed without any hunch as to what’s going on, but the rest of your bandmates too. And it really is just the two of you.
Harry’s gaze is burning into with an equal grin when you look back to him. Revelling in the privilege he feels watching you step quietly back into the hall, turning your body to very gingerly tug your door closed again.
You cannot be closing the gap between you both fast enough, you’re practically running across the hall, shoes lightly clacking against the tiles to reach him before this perfect opportunity could be interrupted by a single soul. Pursing your lips as you step across the threshold of his door and the hallway, forcing back a laugh that’s bubbling in your chest at the situation.
Not wasting a second more, you invade his space. Leaning into the curve of his body where his arm is braced against the door he’s holding open.
“Hi…” Your hand reaches up to meet the back of his neck, where it cranes to look down to meet your eyes.
“Hey, baby,” he rasps, eyes fluttering as he takes you in. The black of his pupils have blown out over the mosaic of emerald green surrounding them, dilated in what can only be described as sheer anticipation. Conveying the want and need he feels without having to speak more than a word. That alone is something you can’t handle for half a moment longer, because suddenly your hand sinks into the soft curls at his nape, and you’re pulling to tug his head further down. Moulding your lips together in a single, rushed movement.
There’s no words that can do justice the feeling that explodes in your chest. Little buds of heat bloom and flower in there faster than you can keep up with, kicking your lungs into a pant as his tongue can’t help but get involved immediately— lulling over the fullness of your bottom lip. The firm press of a single kiss had promptly melted into a plethora, one after the other as your lips show no mercy against one another.
You have to physically focus to keep the cup from slipping from your grip. A nearly impossible feat when his tongue is invading the gap between your top and bottom lip, gliding into your mouth with a hum from his throat at the taste of you. Warm and chocolatey, a flavour he wants to sink in.
Harry too tastes of the warm drink, a sweet contrast to earlier— when your tongue tingled from the spearmint on his breath. Your body leans into his. More, more, more, your brain is practically begging. Naturally it causes him to stumble back as your chest is arching to press against his own. The softness of your body makes him want to groan, and his hand almost instinctually leaves its hold on the doorframe to meet the dip of your waist. Supporting your stature as he pulls you to follow each step back he takes.
With a loud slam, the door falls shut, eliciting a slight flinch and laugh from you both. Like you didn’t expect it. As if natural consequences don’t exist right now, and the world around you is falling away with every press of lips against skin. There is no actions causing reactions, except the ones happening solely between the two of your bodies.
“Oh god—“ You sputter a strained laugh, hand stroking along his jawline as your eyes dart to the now shut door. It’s thrown the room into darkness, except for the faint glow London’s city lights have provide from his window on the opposite side of the room. “So much for being discrete… and quiet.”
This lighting bought the sharp shadows back onto his face, but this time you can finally touch them— revel in them.
“You’ll be more worried about quiet later, darling.” His voice comes low against your cheek, hand on your hip. Guiding you backward until the small of your back meets the cool countertop of the kitchenette.
His words bring that familiar, pleasure-filled roll into your stomach. Drawing out a tiny whine from your throat as he smirks against your flushed skin. Placing a peck against your cheekbone, he lingers for a few seconds. Letting the warmth of his lips burn a mark into the very nerves they touch, before pulling back to take a swig of the hot chocolate between his hands. Using his free one to now guide your own cup towards your mouth.
As your big eyes look up to him, he breaks his lips from the lid to speak, “drink s’more, it’ll be a cold chocolate by the time we come back to it.”
Chuckling around the edge of the cup, you press your mouth to it and let the sweet and warm liquid trail down your throat. He watches intently, the way you swallow it down— knuckles coming to run from the base of your throat upwards, tracing along the hook of your jaw.
He has to stifle a groan at the sight of you, the way your throat bobs with your red cheeks and messy hair. It translates instead through the clench of his jaw, and fluttering shut of his green eyes. The expression makes your stomach flip, not only warm from the hot chocolate, but from the arousal that’s sparking heat in every part of your body it can tangibly reach.
“Fuck— H,” you say, turning to push the takeaway cup on the counter behind you, “You’re so fucking beautiful, look at you.”
Finally, that groan escapes him simply at your words. Furthering into something more as now both of your hands run up his white shirt. No longer stopped by the barrier of a body harness, you skate along the taut, firm muscles of his abdomen in one long stroke.
“Fuckin’ Hell…” he curses, eyes darting down to meet where your hands have slid up his shirt— again, for the second time tonight.
It’s a much more heated parallel of earlier, one he takes no hesitancy to act on. Leaning into your touch, he turns briefly to place his cup adjacent to yours on the bench top. Feeling your nails scratch along his abs, he is quick to move so he’s facing you again, planting his lips back on your own and reigniting the fiery kiss.
With two free hands now, he runs them up your hips, firmly pulling you against him as he walks you away from the kitchenette. Your feet stumble along with his long strides, brain struggling to pay attention to anything other than the drag of his hot kiss against you.
It’s clear all resolve is lost to you both, and when the backs of your knees hit the edge of the cool comforter… “Im gonna wreck you, love… if you’ll let me.” The depraved words are whispered against your lips.
His body presses you down, you have to sit now, thighs meeting the bed and your lips disconnecting. The sudden distance causes you to whine, “Harry—“
“You’re going to have to tell m’too stop.” He rasps, the heat of his palms travelling up under your sweater. However this time, they traverse higher than just your ribcage— ghosting over the sides of your breasts.
The sight is obscene on its own, despite all articles of clothing still being on. The tension around you both is crowding the air to the point your lungs are heaving to bring any oxygen left into them.
Finally, your brain manages to string a sentence together, “I won’t. I wouldn’t. I don’t think you realise what you’ve done to me.”
The urgency held in your words starkly highlights how fast your need for him has snowballed. You’ve gone from wanting just his lips, to wanting every inch of him. Needing his body pressed against yours, pressed into you. You grasp his hips and tug him to stand between your parted legs.
Once you’d done that, if that hadn’t thrown your last handful of caution to the wind, your fingers now reach for the hem of your sweater.
This was a greenlight. It was a go ahead to cross a line that you both knew shouldn’t be crossed. As it was no longer just words. Not just strung up whispers that imply a want, it was an action that affirmed it. One that drags a growl from him once your hands have shucked the knit from your body, leaving you in just bra and jeans, “pretty little thing y’are.”
“We’re making a mistake, probably,” you pant out, reaching your arms up to his shoulders, grabbing the collar of his jacket to slowly slide it off him. The thick fabric hitting the floor with a gentle thump, “but I don’t fucking care.”
“Mistake is already long done baby, we made that hours ago when we first did this.” He finally cranes down again, pressing a wet kiss against you, making you almost moan.
“Fuck it,” I rasp, “I need you Harry, I wanna do this. Don’t care how stupid we are for it.”
Breaking away from the kiss, his eyes bore down at you as his jaw forms a hard line, “You want this? Need y’to say it…”
His sentence trails off, allowing you a moment to verbalise a yes. A seek for certain consent turns you on even more.
“If it’s not already obvious,” your response comes out in a breathy, almost tortured chuckle, “I do, H.”
It’s like his expression flips. As if his gaze darkens, and now all he wants is to make you feel everything he possibly can, “Right, darling— gonna have to be quiet tonight, though.”
Tonight. God— in your head this implied a want for this to go on for more than just one night. That it’s not just a one and done situation. Your body reels at the imagery it creates in your head.
The picture that shows more than tonight, the two of you sneaking around all over again. Fucking him in his dressing room before soundchecks, in dark hotel rooms, climbing into his bunk on the bus…
And right now, somehow that’s all you want for your future.
“I can…” you nod, “I’ll be quiet if it means I get you, please.”
Your own voice sounds foreign to your ears, the plea so desperate that it comes from you in a tone you’ve simply never heard before. In response, his hands make quick work of your bra as they skate up the skin of your back to meet the clasp— shedding it off your body with a gentle groan.
He lowers you down with his arms, letting your back meet the mattress as he closely follows with his mouth on your neck.
“Already being so good for me,” he rumbles, voice so deep it has you nearly seeing stars, “will y’let me turn the lamp on baby? Want to see you, properly.”
Your heart jumps in your chest, eyes fluttering shut as you nod. He wants to revel in your body, see every reaction it has to offer— and that’s enough to have goosebumps rattle up your skin.
However, your nod alone doesn’t satisfy him.
His hands run up your waist, skirting up your ribcage as his lips instead move down. Mouthing over your clavicle, “Words, love…” making you whine out when his sucks lightly over the skin.
“Need to hear you say it.”
“Yes… yes turn the lamp on…” The words almost shudder out your chest, evoking a smirk from him against your collarbone.
“Good girl.”
His words are foreplay enough on their own with the way his sweet accent twists them out. They replay over and over again as some part of your brain registers the sound of his feet walking across the floor, and the lamp flicking on. Casting a warm glow across the room.
“Want to see you too...”
The sentence comes out of you airy, as if you’re floating. When turns around to come back to you, he audibly groans just at the sight of you. The way your skin is peppered with goosebumps and nipples perked from the cool air of the hotel room.
His steps take him quickly back to you, your eyes big as they stare up at him, hair fanned across the duvet. He reaches a hand to run lightly over your hip, “God, you are fucking divine.”
Shyly, you smile. A part feeling so out of place as you watch him looking at you. Knowing Harry is perceiving you right now— your body from the chest up entirely naked— seeing you in a way he never has before. In attempt to even the playing field slightly, you reach for the white tee that’s fitted across his chest, tugging the hem of it so he gets the hint.
As he peels it off his torso and you want to cry. The abs on his chest are in front of you, along with every inch of tan skin that’s littered in the dark ink. Secretly, his tattoos have always been something you’ve wanted to trace your tongue over. An urge you’ve been denying since he got the first one, and it’s only grown since… the idea of re-carving the lines of the butterfly that sits in the middle of his abdomen with the heat of your mouth… or perhaps lower over the laurels that bloom from the band of his jeans.
“You look so good… so beautiful, H.” Is all you manage to groan out. Your legs part instinctively as you spew out compliments, letting him step between your thighs again. Filling the space like the piece of a puzzle, he slots perfectly between them.
Wasting no time before taking his lips to your breast, kissing over you and making your back arch. Hands coming back to the dark curls on his head, lacing into them as his mouth works delicately over you.
The whimpers that are echoed around the room are enough to drive him insane. Tiny whines and pleas of his name coming from you as your hands tangle further into his hair— pulling at the soft roots. Your body is reacting to his touch like it’s lighting a fire inside of you.
“Harry— fuck—“ when he looks up to you, he sees your flushed cheeks and screwed shut eyes. That paired with the slight upturn of your brows as your hips suddenly— and desperately— grind into him is enough to make him nearly loose it. He’s unable to take it anymore, and seeing you like this is utterly corrupting him.
His kisses work a trail back up your neck and jaw, meeting your eager lips before muttering with hot breath against you, “Y’are unbelievable, love. Gonna completely ruin myself in you…”
His hands are nearly shaking as he presses his hips flush to your core.
“Ohh—“ your voice croons out as you feel him, the hardness snug between your legs. It’s incomparable to anything you’ve ever felt. Your whole body practically gives out just from that simple action alone.
He is truly going to ruin you and himself in the process.
And happily, you’ll let him.
His fingers ghost down your stomach, over your naval to pop the button of your jeans open with a single hand. Watching his plump bottom lip come between his teeth as your hips instinctively rise upwards to help him slide the tight fabric down your frame.
“That’s m’girl,” he murmurs, patting your exposed hipbone as he slips yours jeans off you. The way his pupils have blown out as he peels them below your core, eyes meeting the fabric of your panties.
“What’s all this?” Once your pants are stripped from your legs, his fingers take place gently to press between your parted thighs. Delicately drifting over the wetness that’s seeped through your already thin pair of underwear.
“T-the panties, or the state that they’re in?” You manage to croak out in amusement, tone tight as he touches over the most sensitive parts of you.
“Because arguably, both are for you.”
“For me…” He hums, “Skimpy pair of panties, and the fact y’ve wet them all the way through… both of those things are all f’me, love?”
His finger plucks underneath the seam of your underwear, yanking the lacy material forwards before letting it snap back into place. Only making you moan aloud, “Fuck—“
“It’s been—“ his thumb runs against you, firmer this time, breaking your voice, “it’s been a long night—“
To your admission he only smirks, unbuttoning his own jeans— again, all with the talent of a single hand. As his other is busy with the ministrations it’s working over your clothed core.
“Mm, wouldn’t want to drag it out any longer, hey baby?” His playful voice making you practically clench… “or should I make you come a couple of time first…”
Suddenly, he’s shucked his own jeans off and kicked them over into the haphazardly made pile of other clothes on the floor. And the simple but absolutely mouth watering pair of CK briefs is all he’s left in. His hard cock filling up the space in them, making it abundantly clear he’s working with a lot tonight.
He leans back into your ear, feeling your legs wrap around the backs of his thighs like you’re trying to mould the two of you together, “Could work over your pretty pussy with m’fingers, get it nice and wet.”
The filth from his mouth only makes you moan, tightening your legs and finally feeling the length of his cock back against your cunt.
There’s few layers between you now, and his hands meet your hips to hold you in place flush with himself, “fuck—“
“Could play with you using my mouth for a bit—“ he bites out, already struggling to regulate his breath, “reckon you’d loose it the second I got m’lips around your clit.”
Jesus Christ.
“H— please—“ your words are desperate, voice growing louder.
“Or does my pretty girl just want my cock? Is it too much for you to wait before y’have me— y’just need to be filled up now?”
You rub firmly up against him, a long drag that has him muffling a groan into your neck— teeth grazing the skin of your ear as he revels in the feeling entirely.
“Want it now,” you conclude, “can’t stop thinking about you just stretching me out.”
“God— you are such a fucking tease, y’don’t even realise it,” he growls, kicking back into action as his rough hands travel down your side to hook into your panties.
“Laying here, begging for my cock like a good girl.” The rasp in your voice only makes you more turned on… and the pet name— that in itself is enough to keep you here all night. All things he’s about to witness first hand as he steps back so he can work your underwear off your body.
“Lift y’hips up, dove, let me see your pretty cunt.”
He moans at the sight.
Your panties aren’t even off you and he’s moaning like he’s a starved man.
“Fuck, baby.” There’s a desperate sound to him as he sees your swollen cunt, green eyes raking over the wetness that’s pooled between your legs. Unblinking, scared as if you might disappear.
His own moans kick you off too, making you whine out your own plea, “God— Harry, please…”
He manages to get the panties off you, and now he’s able to spread your legs and really look at you. Hands coming between your knees to part them.
You’re a mess.
A complete and utter mess.
“Hiding this gorgeous cunt from me for so long, never knew you’d get this wet f’me.” He groans, fingers coming to your cunt and spreading you open, “puffy clit looks like it’s been wanting attention for hours, darling.”
The sensation ripples through you body, washing up your spine with a chill that he can almost see, “I— shit…” your voice shudders, “feels like it.”
“Kills me thinking you were this ready for me when we were in the car, or god— on that fucking bridge.”
He swirls his thumb over your clit, your arousal glistening on the pad of his finger. You’re begging before you can stop yourself, backs of your legs tightening around his as you groan, “Harry, please, don’t tease me.”
This pulls a chuckle from his chest, rumbling as he flicking over you gently, “M’not teasing y’baby, just enjoying you.”
His finger slowly dips inside of you, “S’this better, this what my girl wanted?”
“Fuckk…” you roll against his hand, feeling him work a second one into you at your reaction. Relishing the feeling of you around his fingers, the wetness he can’t believe he’s managed to be the cause of.
Never in a million years did he imagine the two of you would be in a situation like this, yet here you are. Breath panting out of lungs as he smirks down at you, watching your brows knit together with every slow curl of his long fingers.
Suddenly, he verbalises this, “Never thought I’d get you under me like this, that I’d get to see you all worked up for me.”
“I—“ you bite your lip as his thumb comes back to gently stroke your clit while his other fingers ease in and out of you. The pace excruciatingly slow, considering you just wanted him to flip you over and fuck you senseless— but is causing a deep winding in the pit of your stomach.
It’s another moment where your mouth and brain struggle to match up, but finally, you push out a reply, “I’ve always been denying that I’ve wanted this… but fuck.”
“Mm?” He hums, cocking a brow and urging you to keep talking with a quicker thrust of his fingers, “Care to tell me more, love, about these thoughts of yours?”
“Always pretended I didn’t, but fuck I’ve wanted to have you—“ he hooks his fingers, “B-but— fuck, Harry— I’ve wanted your cock for so long…”
His mouth is suddenly on yours, a rough and messy exchange— tongues running over lips, teeth grazing already kiss swollen mouths. It’s a kiss that you’re both groaning into, yours perpetuated as his fingers slide out from between your core.
An unwelcome emptiness to your body, especially given the pleasure it was slowly building up for you.
However, this is no longer an issue when he leans to your ear, “I have condoms, baby— just say the words.”
“Yes, yes, please—“ you croak out, hands running up his bare back before he doesn’t waste any time breaking away from you.
Trying to make it quick as you lie there awaiting his return, a hand running between your own legs in the meantime.
He comes back with a small square packet, stopping dead in his tracks as he sees the sight of you. When he thinks there’s no way his cock could get harder, he’s proved wrong when he catches glimpse of your own fingers pushed into you.
“So desperate,” he almost growls as he walks over, pushing boxers down his thighs without a second thought. A moan escaping you at the sight of his thick cock springing up, lust driving the both of you now— its deep hooks sunk into you in their entirety.
“They don’t feel the same though, do they?” He asks, eyes dark as his hand runs down the middle of his stomach to come wrap around his length and slowly stroke over it, “don’t hear you moaning like you were five minutes ago.”
“Fucking hell,” your hips feel like they’re on fire, another roll against your own hand but he’s right, “no, nothing is as good…”
“I have a feeling we’re going to fuck ourselves up here,” he pauses, taking the wrapper of the condom between his teeth and tearing it. Hand rolling it over his length— his teeth sucking his bottom lip between them at the sensitivity. His nose sighs out a breath after a moment, glancing back over to you, continuing on from what he was saying a moment prior, “tha’ no matter how hard we try we’re always gonna want this.”
His hands gesture between the two of you, and despite how many problems that idea alone could spell you, you nod feverishly, “I’ll have it… I’ll take it that way if it means I get to have you.”
With that, he’s stepping forward and taking the space between your thighs, “guess the damage is already done, anyway.”
His breath is laboured as he pulls your ass forward, cock pressed against your core.
“You tell me baby,” Harry sighs out, leaning his body over yours again from where he stands at the edge of the bed, lips grazing your cheek in a soft but heated movement, “tell me just how you want it.”
There’s an element of tenderness and care in the way the hushed words fan warmly across your face. Intimate with the way the two of you are pressed together… almost as close as you can get. One step away from being two halves that form some kind of messy, beautiful whole.
Your hands embrace the moment, sliding between your chests to cradle his jaw. A tiny laugh coming from you as his gaze flickers down to your breasts, and how they’ve pushed together from your arms. As a silent acknowledgment of your giggling at him, he rolls his eyes in faux annoyance.
And oh god, he is beautiful.
Nothing could’ve prepared you for this.
Plain and simple, the words come from your hushed voice, “Want you just like this, H.”
His lips part, looking at you.
“Want you close, just want you to fuck me.”
And how could he ever say no to that.
A hand wrapping around his cock, he carefully lines himself up with you, leaning back to kiss you as he slowly, so very slowly, pushes into you.
There’s a gasp that immediately comes from you, and a moan that rumbles from him. Shared between the fraction of space between your lips, opened both in shock and pleasure.
“Fucking hell—“ his voice is so deep as he leans his forehead to yours, hair messily cascading over it, “so tight ‘round me.”
“Harry— f— shit…” you can’t even complete a sentence, even with the litany of profanities that are echoing in the chambers of your head.
“That feel good?” He asks, hand coming to your waist as he slides further into you, finally reaching the thick middle of his cock.
“Mmm…” only able to nod, your hips are rolling on their own accord now. The slight pinch of him stretching you out, paired with that pleasurable fullness that neither of your fingers could come close to.
His body straightens up at the buck of your cunt against him, “D—fuck—dontfuckingmove—“
It feels like all the blood in his body has deviated in two directions. Firstly, into his head, making him feel so lightheaded the room is nearly slanted. And secondly, straight to his cock, pulsing inside of you so hard you can feel it.
You moan at the sensation, and at the rough clamp of his fingers around your hips— attempting to still them, “baby, don’t… just— just need a moment, or I’m gonna come before I can even ruin you…”
“Already ruined,” you pant, eyes coming to his as sweat starts to dampen your skin— a light sheen over your glowy complexion.
“So fucking filthy.” He mutters, looking down between the two of you.
His cock half pushed inside you he’s certain is the best view he’s ever seen. Better than any view from the top of a bridge, a mountain, or any other landmark in the world.
Your swollen, glistening cunt wrapped around him, already leaking arousal more arousal now he’s got his cock in you. Reacting as you’ve never been touched before.
Slowly, he manages to get himself fully inside of you, and is starting to make small thrusts— hips gently hitting against yours as he draws in and out of you. A low, intense groan escaping him with each movement. And it’s good to know it feels just as insane for him as it does for you, because right now— even with just his length rutting at such a gradual pace inside of you, you’re already melting.
Every inch of your body is tingling as his name comes from your lips in the form of a desperate moan, “Harry….”
A harder thrust, and your hands are wringing the white comforter as you legs wrap tighter around his middle.
He wants to imprint the shape of your body on this duvet, and frame the scrunches from your curled fists like art pieces. Just to know that what he did to you, and how it made you feel was entirely real. Not something he dreamed up. That the words leaving your lips are no figment of depraved imagination.
“I'm so fucking wet… I’m sorry— I'm making a mess.” You whine, body shaking. You feel out of control, every reaction coming from your body that of a primal instinct you can't wrap any element of authority over.
The sweet cadence of your voice as you shift beneath him... that in itself makes him feel like if he blinks, he’s suddenly going to wake up. Alone in a hotel room, in need of a cold, cold shower. Making his head spin, and it effortlessly swindles his sense of reality from him.
His hands splay on your hips, the hint of possessive nature in him you felt as they coil and tighten around the skin there. Anchoring where you lay as he cements himself in reality.
“No baby—“ he scolds at your apology, “y'dont 'ave to apologise. Being such a good girl f’me… feel you clenching me so hard already.”
An unbridled moan tears from your chest as he takes it upon himself to pull almost all the way out of your cunt, and then swiftly drive back into you.
“Fuckkk!” It’s a high pitched moan, the exact thing he wants to hear more of, even though the two of you should be trying a lot harder to be quiet. It still manages drags out a groan of him in response.
“Have to— shittt… have to be quiet darling…” he reminds, head tossing back as he suddenly picks up the pace between your legs.
“Feels so good, H… your cock is filling me up feels so fucking good—“
“N’ya takin’ it so bloody well,” he slaps lightly at your ass, suddenly grabbing it to cant your hips upward, “never been fucked this good, have you?”
In truth, you haven't. Never has it felt like every nerve-ending on your body is tingling, and like any more from him and you would simply break.
“N-no, Harry.” your head physically shakes, arms using any strength you have left to come behind you, and prop yourself up onto your elbows. Desperately, you want to see him inside of you, and what he's done to you.
He smirks at this, watching your eyes meet where he's stretching you out between your legs. The way your eyes flutter shut and roll back just at the sight. A visual accompanying the feeling is almost too much for you to process.
"Tha's it baby, take a look... see what I'm doing, how my cock is making y'feel so good."
A clench around his cock, and he grunts with another deeper thrust into you. Its sudden and abundantly clear that he’s starting to loose himself in you, unable to stop his mouth from spewing every dirty thing his brain produces, “C'mon, love. Beg me for it.”
“Tell me you don’t want me to stop.”
Your core is fluttering around him now, succinctly timed to each press of his cock, “Harry—“
The words however don’t come, only whines and moans as his cock pushes deeper into you with each stroke.
“Don’t make me get rough.” His tone is a sweet contradiction to his words, and he only juxtaposes them further with the feather-like touch of his fingers against your breast, "Or is that what my girl wants, wants me to get rough? Use you a little. Let me be selfish with this pussy and take it how I want.”
Curling his fingers around your breast, he squeezes gently, making you bite down on your lip to stifle the cry that was threatening to come out.
“Rough, be rough… can take it.” You pant out, arms giving out again as your back hits the mattress. Unable to support your weight, but still managing to reach up and tug his face to yours. He folds his body over yours to comply with the pull of your hands. Chest to chest, his cock is starting to slam harder into you, deeper— hitting places you were unaware of as his pelvis stimulates your clit from this new angle.
Turning to mush, the moans are bubbling out faster than you’re able to hold them back, your mouth resting parted against his cheekbone. His ears hearing each and every sound with complete pleasure.
“Shh, such a loud girl.” He says, but its hardly a scold or instruction to quieten down. It speaks more like an invitation, to let him hear more of you, no matter the consequences it could bring after the fact.
Infact, his own voice is beginning to sound strained, like another rough clench of your cunt and he's would to come straight into the condom wrapped around his cock.
You want him to come desperately. Your body perhaps wants it even more— doing things to tip him closer and closer to the edge you're both teetering on without even consciously noticing it.
Legs tightening around his waist, arms holding him as close as physically possible, nails clawing at the firm muscles of his back. As if there were a way to fuse the two of your frames together.
“God… it’s so fucking good… I feel so good.”
“Pretty girl, about to come all over my cock." He grinds out, feeling you pulse around his length, "About to wake the whole floor up, aren't you?"
The sound of him fucking you is enough— each slide of himself into your slick arousal that’s soaked both your cunt and his cock is louder than the next. But god, oh god, its hand that slowly wraps around the column of your neck that completely undoes you.
He doesn't press down, the touch is actually quite tender. But even the semblance of control it represents in your mind rips a moan from you as your core tightens, a hot budding sensation in the pit of your stomach. His slender fingers gliding up slowly— a stark contrast to the pace he's taking between your legs— thumb stroking the hook of your jaw with just a tad more pressure behind it.
Your impending orgasm feels like a pot that is just about to boil over the edge. It's making your whole body shake, "Sh— Shit! Harryyy, im gonna—"
"Mhm, baby, it's okay, i know," He whispers hoarsly into your ear, "Dont worry, y'can come, let it all go around my cock."
"Ohh— Oh god!" Your syllables draw out as you moan, eyes screwing shut as suddenly all the pressure between your hips explodes, "come with me."
The plea spills from your lips as your body clenches around him, making him moan with you. In an instant response to your words, you feel his thrusts turn messy and harsh inside you. Your name a loud drawn out whine that echoes around the room as he gives into your ask without a single question.
The two of your moan completely in sync as a shared blanket of ecstasy and euphoria casts over you both. The moment maybe lasted a minute, or really no more than two. But it felt endless, as if time and reality ceased to exist when you both finished with each other. His cock released into the condom, but his thighs stuttered against yours either way, as if he were filling your cunt with his orgasm. A groan rattling from him when your legs wrapped tighter around him, pulling him flush to you. You know he knows that's exactly what you were wishing were happening right now. Playing along with it to satiate the sick craving for it within you as you still pulsated around his length.
Expletive's are the only things coming from your mouths other than whines. Your orgasms gradually subsiding from the heated high that was all consuming to a low hum that lingers in your bones. Still, you're holding his hips to yours as if to keep him inside of you.
Logistically, a condom was the appropriate thing to do for first and very unplanned time together, but of course right now you wish otherwise.
"Fuckkk, dirty girl," He growls out finally, pressing a hot kiss to your smiling mouth, "Acting like im filling you up?"
Hand sliding up to your cup your jaw fully now, he cranes his thumb out and is pulling on your lip, waiting for your brain to slowly start working enough to generate a sensical reply.
"Is that wrong?"
"Fuck, no. it's so hot." His voice is low as he kisses you again, letting your mouths work against each other again in a sensual kiss.
"Can't help it, H," You try to justify anyways, "cock feels so good inside me, was wishing I got your come..."
“Didn’t know you wanted it angel,” he whispers in a pant.
“Mhm, neither,” you hum against his mouth, “till I just realised how good it made me feel imagining your finishing inside of me.”
"Gonna make me hard again..." He sighs out with a shake of his head, "'Nother night baby, can fill you up anywhere y'like."
Anywhere. God.
Images of his cock filling your mouth makes you shudder with need. A thing you are keenly interested in trying… and since clearly he’s insinuating this could happen again…
"Want this again?" You ask, a slightly serious tone taking over your voice as he slowly peels off you, feeling your legs loosen from around him as his cock softens.
A smile blossoms on his lips at the way your big eyes gaze up to him, "Again, and again."
"If it wasn't obvious already, love."
A blush was conjuring on your cheeks out of nowhere, "I— Okay... good. Because I do too."
"Who knows—" He begins, pausing with a slight wince as he slides out of you. There’s a lull in what he was saying for a moment, when he leans down to kiss your cheek, walking over to a bin to dispose of the used condom that was just wrapped over him.
He also goes and grabs the two take away cups from the counter, wasting no more time before coming back to you. Finally resuming his prior conversation, “Drink this and then maybe we can squeeze another round in before we have t'sneak you back to your room."
"Think we woke anyone?" You giggle, sitting up to take the cup from his hand thats gestured out to you.
"Wouldn't rule it out." He snorts, "we can worry about what lie we'll tell later, if anyone asks."
"But," he takes a small sip from his cup, still staring at you, "either way, right now, i dont care."
"I want you." His voice is certain, "So, rest of tha' is irrelevant to me."
"C'mere," Hand wrapping around his bicep, pulling him onto the bed with you. The mattress sinks with his weight on top of it, his firm frame that was only just on top of you moments before... You lean forward and peck his mouth with yours. One he doesn't want to end as soon as it does, his mouth chasing yours as you pull back far too soon for his liking. Clearly, you're in the same boat as him, unable to find it in yourself to care about anything other than him. That in this very moment as you have him, real and in front of you, he is yours. "Fuck, then. Lets just do it."
"Think we already did, love." He chuckles, letting the innuendo come out with a rasp. Unbelievable, he is.
You can only shake your head, suppressing a grin as you bring the once-hot hot chocolate to your lips. The liquid is lukewarm at best, but somehow nothing has ever tasted better— except maybe his mouth.
———
a/n: hope you guys enjoyed, this has been in the works in my drafts for SO long. pls let me know what you think! ily, thank you for your support and hopefully will post some more writing soon lovelies🤍
