𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫...
Paring: Harry Styles x fem!reader
Summary: when harry films an intimate scene with florence pugh on the set of “don’t worry darling”, you get a bit jealous.
Warnings: swearing, kissing/making out, sappiness, a little bit of hurt but it's not that much tbh, harry just being a cute lil bf, pretending holivia never happened, reader has hair.
Author’s note: i’m so sorry this took so long!! i lost motivation for a bit but i got rlly motivated today and finished this finally. i don’t want to have a strict schedule, but i’m going to try to be releasing a piece of writing every one or two weeks!! i hope you all enjoy this 😋 please do not copy, this is all my original work!!
Word count: ~1k
Fucking terrific.
Florence’s lips are on his. Harry’s. Your boyfriend’s. It’s fast and sloppy, all tongue and teeth. Their hands are everywhere; her hands gently tugging at his curls, messing up what you had carefully brushed this morning. The domesticity of what you and Harry had been doing earlier causing an even tighter knot in your stomach to form, challenging your peace. Grasping at each other’s hair, clothes, whatever the director tells them to do is what goes. Pants escape their lips and it suddenly feels as though you're intruding on them. As if Harry’s not your boyfriend.
The scene currently unfolding in front of you has your eyes narrowing in… jealousy? The twisting sensation in your stomach and warmth creeping up the back of your neck has never really occurred before now.
Sure, you’ve been slightly off put by the amount of stares Harry gets on a regular basis, but that was just something that you got used to. It’s what comes when you date Harry Styles, and you knew that going into your relationship with him. It’s not like you have to worry much though, Harry’s completely soft when it comes to you. He’s constantly following you around and murmuring compliments in your ear, which is what happens generally on most mornings. Like today, when Harry kissed your neck and genuinely whispered, “You smell good, angel”— it’s just his nature. This is somehow different, though. The passion makes this scene feel more real. Too real. All you can think about is Does Harry really like you? Are you good enough? Is Harry still acting out his feelings? Or are they real? Are you too young?
But this just stirs something inside of you. You know it’s wrong to feel jealous, it’s only a movie, but part of you can’t help it. Seeing your boyfriend with his hands on another woman’s waist, in the same place they were settled on yours just an hour ago, makes you shift uncomfortably in Harry's chair– which you obviously decided to sit in while he’s busy filming. Busy with her.
“More energy!” The director, Olivia Wilde, commands.
Your head snaps in her direction before immediately turning to look back at Harry– your eyes are burning holes into the side of Florence’s head. Harry’s definitely put more energy into acting, especially with the way he fakes a groan. Or so you hope. He’s practically on top of her now, tongue shoved down her throat and swallowing her whole. You bite the inside of your cheek, feet swinging anxiously back and forth while you sit in the chair. Your nimble fingers idly pick at a loose thread on your boyfriend’s sweater that you’re wearing. It’s one of your favorites, the black colored cotton laced with Harry’s lingering cologne gives you a sense of comfort, even as you watch him with his hands on another.
You don’t realize how much this is affecting you until Olivia yells, “Cut!”
Your eyes are glossed over, even as Harry and Florence quickly untangle themselves from each other. In a few seconds flat, his eyes are already finding yours, softening eyes scanning over your face from afar. You just manage a small, wavering smile, the feeling of jealousy almost flooding you entirely to the brim.
Harry’s feet are already carrying him over to you before anyone can give him further directions; it makes you feel the slightest bit better.
“Love,” He murmurs, tone already packed with worry, “You alright?”
The question makes you feel so utterly stupid, because it’s obvious that the wall of jealousy you’ve built up brick by brick is still very much up.
You swallow with a quick shake of your head, “Yeah, m’fine.”
Your boyfriend’s hands slide up your arms, landing on your shoulders. It’s a weighted sense of comfort, the physical kind you crave. He rubs his thumbs reassuringly along your collarbones, the lie that had left your lips hanging dryly in the tension filled air.
“You’re not though, are you?” Harry softly asks, though it’s more like a statement as eyes gaze into yours, “But that’s alright. We can talk about it, yeah?”
You nod your head slowly, biting your cheek harder than before. The sheer panic in his eyes makes you feel less shameful, at least enough for you to stand up to face him. Harry gives you a small but warm smile, moving to sit in his chair and gently tug you down to sit on his lap.
Your boyfriend reaches a hand, guitar string calloused fingers running through your hair, “Tell me how you feel, pet.”
You melt into Harry, head resting gently on his shoulder. It’s hard to get the words out of your mouth, struggling to even open your mouth, before you let out the quietest:
“I’m jealous.”
The words seep into the air, making you shift closer to Harry. He uses his hand that isn’t running through your tresses and places it comfortingly on your back.
“You’re allowed to feel that way,” He quietly says, his tone delicate and warm, “I’d feel the same way if I were in your position.”
You peer up to look at Harry, but find him already looking at you. He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, a small light laugh leaving his lips.
“But I want you to know that I only love you, angel. There’s no feelings between me n’ Florence.”
A slight smile twitches at the corner of your lips, a content sigh leaving your lips at the confirmation, “I know, s’just that it’s hard to watch. I dunno…”
Harry just shakes his head, moving his hand from your hair and cupping your face instead. His thumb gently brushes over your cheekbone, a gesture that brings a familiar billow of solace. You lean into his touch naturally, cheeks heating up at his continuing stare.
“I love you, my sweet girl,” Harry murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear affectionately.
A shy laugh escapes your lips, cheeks tinting pink as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and mumble, “I love you too.”
And so you stay there, just you and your boyfriend sitting in his chair. Camera operators and grips are bustling around you two, managing all the equipment. Florence is standing by Olivia in her director’s chair, probably getting notes about her acting, and the producer is nodding along approvingly.
Instinctively, you move even closer to Harry, which makes him rumble out a relaxed chuckle.
“M’not going anywhere, love. S’just me and you.”
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
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