You have hated Harry Lewis ever since he was rude to you at VidCon three years ago, so when the opportunity arises to mess with him (and get some content out of it) you take it. Will you change your mind about him in ten days?
contains: a revenge plot, harry being duped but falling in love with the crazy anyway, fluff, minor angst and a happy ending
no words mean something too - h. c. g. lewis MDNI
you and harry have a... certain connection. most of the time the connection is physical and in absolute secret.
pairing: harry x f!reader
genre: smut, and a bit, a hint of angsty stuff if you squint
warnings: multiple sex scenes, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, degradation (usage of words "whore", "slut", "fucktoy", "stupid", “useless“), lowkey dumbification, cum play, cum eating, masturbation (f), blowjobs, squirting, praise ("good girl"), dom!harry (even tho he isn't from the start and he breaks character once), sub!reader
wc: 2.1
a/n: ... this is the filthiest thing i have put on this blog. before you ask, i am pretty sure i'll write a part two. enjoy.... i dedicate this to my gal @pretendyoucantseeme as it is my first ever harry smut. ily wifey.
it’s becoming a thing with you and harry. somewhat a habit. a habit that makes your life more difficult and exhilarating at the same time.
the first time it happens is when everyone is asleep at a big shoot in a warehouse.
you feel him before you hear him.
“you still up?” he whispers. his hard cock is pressing against your ass and you almost feel offended by it.
“what the fuck, harry?” you whisper back, looking at him over your shoulder. it's dark in the room, only the faint moonlight outside serving as a light source. and conveniently it’s cloaking harry in the most beautiful way. eyes dark, but still so perfectly blue. hair a mess. skin glowing. you swallow.
“look, i don’t know what’s going on but like- i could need some assistance.”
assistance in a room full of all of your friends at a sidemen shoot?! he must be out of his god damn mind!
well, so are you apparently because not even three minutes later, his cock is stuffed inside your pussy, his hand on your mouth while he ruts his hips against you, his own mouth pressed shut.
fucking hell, he’s great at this.
it annoys you that harry is good at sex, it truly does. good at just fucking you like a maniac under sheets, the sound thankfully getting drowned out by the layers of blankets on top of you.
“god, you’re tight. so fuuuuucking good, fuck.”
his voice is a sultry whisper in your ear and for whatever reason your pussy spasms and your orgasm hits you like a truck - all with eyes rolling back and desperate moans getting suppressed by only his massive hand on your mouth. it’s like he put a bloody spell on you.
“oh shit, oh shit, did you just cum? fuck, that’s so hot, o-oh f-fucking bloody hell!” harry cums inside you for the first time right then.
it certainly wasn’t the last, though.
whatever is going on with you becomes something like a… blur after a while. any kind of event, a shoot, a party, a pub crawl or golf, no matter where you and harry get invited to separately, you somehow end up being together in at least… one way. it truly doesn’t matter, you and harry make it work every single time.
a cramped bathroom stall, a room in an abandoned hostel, behind a not so abandoned five-star hotel at night, in a hot tub when anyone could walk back down to the yard. no matter what - harry and you end up fucking.
and for some reason, no one has caught on yet.
hide and seek is supposed to be a children’s game. harry and you have officially changed it to an 18 rated film. at least it’s in a bedroom this time.
…
sure, in a closet inside a bedroom, but still a bedroom, right?
“fucking hell, how are you always this tight and wet for me, baby?”
your frontside is pressed against the cool wood of the narrow closet, your jeans and panties pooling at your ankles, harry’s cock outside his fly and briefs, buried inside your aching cunt.
“f-fuck me so good!” you cry pathetically.
see, this is a thing that happened. harry has somehow gotten you to a point of patheticness and stupidity. with all the fucking you’ve been doing, the man has fucked you utterly and entirely stupid. when you’re with him you are nothing but a dumb slut, meant to be fucked by him and nothing else. hungry for his cum, hungry to cum.
“yeah, you like how i fuck you, my perfect little fucktoy.” harry is relentless. whispers the naughtiest things into your ear in the softest voice, all while his cock pounds into you like a sledgehammer.
it’s quick and hard and everything you’ve ever wanted and a part of you fears you’ll never be able to have sex with anyone else ever again. harry fucks you exactly how you like it, treats you how you like it. the stupid seventh member of the sidemen had literally turned out to be the man of your wet dreams.
“mhmm, n-nothing but your f-fucktoy, harry!” your drool is dripping down your chin, hands pushed against the wood and your orgasm comes closer with every pain strikingly good thrust of harry’s hips.
“i know that’s right, baby. come on, cum for me, show me how good i make you feel.”
when harry lewis tells you to cum, you do. it’s a spell, it must be a spell. a spell that has you climaxing around his cock in no time, pathetically crying his name and telling him over and over again to pump you full.
and he delivers every time.
“good girl, such a good little whore for me, mhm, what’s that? want my cum in you? of course you do… stupid little slut, all you want is to be bred by me, isn’t that right?”
he fucks you through your orgasm and when you whimper that, yes, all you want is to be his little breedable whore, he finally gives you what you need.
and no one ever ends up finding you in the closet together.
you never really talk about it. what this is. he never questions it and so neither do you.
which makes it so strange when you get jealous over him flirting with some random girl you’ve never seen before.
you down your vodka lime and turn to pour yourself another one. not to drink it, though, no, no. that would be too much of a normal thing to do. and right now, you are anything but normal.
the contents of your cup end up on the girl’s shirt, your faux apology not fooling harry in the slightest.
when the girl runs away, all embarrassed, harry smirks knowingly.
“oh, someone’s jealous then?” he says. you scoff.
“in your dreams. this was obviously an accident.” you roll your eyes at him. harry’s eyes darken.
“did you just roll your eyes at me, sweetheart?”
your pressed against the wall and you gasp when you feel his hands on your hips, digging into your flesh.
“harry, wha-,”
“coming over here and spilling a drink on a girl i spoke to for five minutes like a jealous little brat, hm? and then rolling your eyes when i call you out? you wanna get in trouble, don’t you, baby?”
your thighs press together almost automatically.
the sink isn’t comfortable to bend over but it’ll do.
harry is drilling into you, cock hard and veiny, dragging along your walls. he’s hard and reckless and your hair is wrapped around his hand, holding you up and staring at yourself while he fucks you.
“look at you,” he spits, “look at this jealous useless whore, hm? scared i’ll find another cunt to pump full, baby?” he smirks wickedly and your pussy throbs around him, several whimpers escaping your throat.
“pl-please!” you don’t even know what you’re begging for.
“shut the fuck up,” his other arm is wrapped around your waist, pushing you even harder against himself. “i’m gonna show you what happens to misbehaved sluts like you, yeah?”
he fucks into you once, twice, cock vibrating with his nearing climax, only to pull out and spin you around, pushing you onto your knees and finally climaxing all over your face.
“fuuuuck, look at all that cum on your pretty face, shit, that’s so hot.” harry squirts another wave of cum onto your face, mouth hanging open. he kind of got lost in how much he enjoys seeing you full of his cum and forgot all about his role of the mean dominant man. adorable.
but now you’re covered in his seed and your own orgasm has never been further away. and harry isn’t moving.
“touch yourself.” he commands, back in his element and your eyes widen, cum dripping from your chin down to your cleavage. harry’s spent cock twitches at the sight.
“what?” you stare at him.
“you heard me, darling. touch yourself. make yourself cum.”
your hand moves down. you don’t even really know how or why. but harry is the puppet master and you do whatever he says. kind of a… difficult situation if you think about it. not that you do. no, not when your fingers sink into your pussy, your legs spread and the cum slowly drying on your face.
harry watches you in awe, how your fingers pump into your cunt over and over, how your hips chase the feeling, how his cum looks on your fucked out face.
harry realises then he needs to make sure everyone knows you’re his.
he just doesn’t know how to bring it up.
“go on, love. cum for me.”
there it is - the harry lewis spell.
his words make you tumble over the edge, coming hard on your own fingers, his name like a prayer on your lips as you fuck yourself through it.
he helps you get up and cleans your fingers by sucking them into his mouth hungrily.
then, he leaves the bathroom first.
and after you’ve cleaned yourself off his essence, you follow suit.
once again, no one knows a thing.
everyone knows harry hates driving.
but at one of the next sidemen shoots, he gets put in a duo with you and ends up driving.
the production crew drives ahead and you and harry are alone in the car.
he turns off the camera when you end up on a road in the middle of nowhere, the productions team car three cars ahead.
your mouth is on his cock as he drives, his hand in your hair.
“yeah, baby, take it all, come on, know you can.” his head is leaning against the headrest, teeth sinking into his bottom teeth as you bop your head on his cock quickly.
your mouth is perfect around his cock, so fucking perfect. not as perfect as your pussy though.
“gonna make me cum, darling. wanna swallow it all, don’t you?” he pushes your head down, concentrating on his surroundings to the best of his abilities all while thrusting up.
“take it- f-fucking take it, ch-choke on it, y-yeah like that…. f-fuck!”
after you swallow all of his load, you sit back up and turn the camera on again.
he parks the car at the side of the road thirty minutes later when a crazy thunderstorm breaks out. the production team is already far ahead and you are now on his lap in the driver’s seat, bouncing on his cock like a woman starved.
his head is in between your tits, sucking and licking on your skin while you fuck yourself on his cock at rapid speed.
“n-ngh, h-harry’s cock s-so big and go-good!” you are back to being a pathetic little slut and harry loves every second of it. his hands are on your ass, squeezing it tightly, smacking it every few seconds.
“yeah, baby, bounce on my cock, what a good girl.” he sucks your nipple into his mouth and you cry out, hands on his shoulders while you pick up the pace.
for whatever reason, harry’s cock is your actual perfect fit. dragging it along your walls, having it hit your sweet spot over and over, it feels like a dream. a perfect wet dream. your sounds are borderline pornographic and you wonder if maybe you’ve chosen the wrong career. but then again, no one has ever made you sound like that. only harry.
“pl-please c-can i cum?!” you cry out just as harry finishes a beautiful purple mark on your right tit.
“such a good slut asking for permission. yes, darling, cum for me.”
and that you do. you cum and you squirt all over his lap, his groans growing more worked up as he notices.
“fuck, i love it when you squirt, my own personal dirty little whore, fuck.” he grabs your waist with both hands now, holding you down as he fucks up into your, head thrown back. the wetness between your legs is absolute heaven. he fucks into you over and over, no control left whatsoever and finally climaxes, thick spurts of cum landing inside your spent pussy. you whine, nails digging into his shoulders, mouth hanging open and eyes are closed. he fucks you and him through your orgasms and you finally collapse on top of him, arms wrapped around his neck and head on his shoulder.
his hands caress your back softly.
your sweaty forehead leans against him, chest heaving. when you raise your head, your eyes and his meet.
and then he kisses you. not like he does before you fuck.
summary - This is Harry's story of his relationship with an abusive woman.
warnings - ABUSE AND ATTEMPTED MURDER, swearing, my terrible writing, mental health issues
Harry looked at his bruised chest and the new handprint on his face. He had quickly escaped from the rage of his drunk girlfriend in her bathroom. He sat in front of her bathroom mirror and tried to clean up any recent cuts and wounds.
Harry had arrived at her flat and seen her a few too many glasses in and decided to try and stop her. She wasn't having it though. Yelling how he had ruined her evening, that he wasn't funny, and that he didn't deserve his successful career. Harry believed her, he always believed her.
Harry knew she was going through a tough time, she has just lost her job and so Harry was paying for stuff for her. At first, she yelled at him because "you don't think I can handle myself!". Harry had stopped paying out for her until she had told him, "I can't believe you expect me to be able to behave for my food when I can't afford it!".
As punishment, she told Harry he had to sleep on the cold hardwood floor to prove he loved her. Harry did and only slept for an hour because it was the middle of winter and he couldn't sleep without shivering.
Harry stopped going to a night out with the boys after hearing her cry about how he could easily leave her for a more beautiful woman. Harry tried to convince her otherwise but she wouldn't listen, so Harry stayed at home with her.
Harry's friends and family noticed a change in him. From cancelling plans last minute to the slow descends to silence, something about Harry was changing. Harry wasn't himself anymore and no one knew why.
It wasn't until Harry had the police come over to his flat that shit truly hit the fan. Harry had the other Sidemen round to watch a game when the police knocked on the door. Harry immediately opened the door and welcomed them in bringing them both a cup of tea. Harry sat down with his mug as the police spoke.
"We're here because someone has reported your partner." The black-haired one spoke. Harry tensed slightly but nodded.
"We were shown a video of the two of you outside of a club a few nights ago and it appeared that she was punching you." The blonde-haired one said.
Harry felt his grip loosen, and the mug slipped from his hands. He flinched at the sound and started to use his hand to scoop up the pieces.
The black-haired police officer stopped him, telling him that he could harm himself picking glass up like that. Harry nodded obediently, quickly grabbing the cleaning supplies.
As he swept up the glass, Harry let out a shaky laugh, "sorry, it's not every day someone tells you, your girlfriend has been reported."
The officers frowned at Harry.
"Harry, is that video of you real?" The blonde-haired officer asked.
Harry stood for a few seconds, debating outcomes in his head before nodding.
"It's not like she's abusive." Harry jumped. "She just doesn't know how to show love."
"How does she show her love?" The black-haired one asked.
Harry looked down at his hands. "It's not her fault. She has trust issues and doesn't know how to handle affection. She loves me."
"Harry do you have any proof that she has physically harmed you?" The black-haired officer continued.
Harry swallowed thickly and played with the hem of his top.
"Harry, we would appreciate it if you come down to the station with us." Th blonde haired one whispered.
"I can't." Harry choked out. "She's not abusing me."
"Harry, would you like to report her?" The blonde officer asked.
Harry shook his head. "It's just me being overdramatic."
The officers frowned but left a card for Harry just in case before leaving. When Harry returned to his friends, they questioned him. Harry simply shrugged and told them bullshit lies about a neighbour.
Now, as Harry listened to her drunken screams about how he's a worthless sack of shit, he wished he had reported it that day. Harry pulled out his phone and dialled 999. He panicked as someone responded and hung up. He felt himself panic and quickly sent a text to the sidemen group chat.
H - someone calls the police and tell them to come to my girlfriend's flat.
V - Everything okay?
T - On the phone to them, what's going on
H - just tell them to get here quick.
J - Why can't you just call them???
H - if they hear me they'll do something
JJ - Harry what's going on, should we come over
S - Harry me and JJ are on our way over
E - so am I
Harry heard her banging increase on the door and he quickly put his phone away.
"Come out! I love you, Harry!" Her voice rang in Harry's ears. He clamped his hands over her ears to block her out.
Harry jumped up at the sound of a bang on the door. Her foot connected to the door as she tried to kick the door in. Harry pushed himself against the opposite wall. The door burst open and she stumbled in. She sat on Harry's lap and kissed his lips.
"You don't need to be scared of me." She whispered. "I love you."
Harry stared at her in disbelief. Suddenly her fist connected with his cheek.
"That's for being a dickhead!" She yelled at him, fist colliding with his other cheek. After four more punches, Harry slumped to the floor. A bruise was forming on his jaw and his nose was broken, blood pouring steadily out of his nostrils.
But she wasn't finished, she kicked at his head, heels still on. Her foot connected with his ear and all of a sudden he heard a constant ring in his ear as he lost consciousness.
All he knows was that when the police arrived, an ambulance was called and his girlfriend was taken to a holding cell. He knows that his friends showed up. JJ and Simon got there as the ambulance arrived and his other friends arrived at the same time as he was getting carried in by the paramedics.
Harry's family had flown in from Guernsey to support him after Ethan had called them with the news.
When Harry woke up in the hospital bed, he was two things. High on painkillers and embarrassed. He had never thought he'd be in a scenario where he'd end in the hospital. He didn't have a chance to tell anyone what happened because the police walked in and asked to talk to Harry.
"Harry, we know your partner did this to you." The male officer said. "You just need to tell us what happened and we can take her down."
Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "What if they don't believe me?" He asked.
"Harry, there is a small chance they don't. You have us as witnesses, injuries, and chances are she will just confess." The female officer said. "Take a few moments and you can tell us what happened when you're ready."
Harry sighed and looked at his hands. He let out a few tears and started to tell his story. He told the officers that the abuse had only started a few months into their relationship. He noted how it started with small things. "She took money from me because I told her I was going out with friends. She wasn't too happy and when I got home she was drunk and slapped me."
The male officer jotted down notes as the female officer passed him a cup of water. Harry took a sip and looked out the window.
"It started to increase. She shoved my head in the sink to try and drown me. She smashed my TV and my laptop. I left to go away for two nights for my job and she went ballistic. She ripped my clothes to pieces and told me she would cut me to pieces. She locked me in her bedroom with one glass of water for a day and a half. When she let me out, she said I could only eat if I cleaned the flat up. Every time I cleaned something up, she smashed glass to the floor and made me clean it up with my hands." Harry sobs as he shows the officers his hands. When the officers look, they see a large scar across his palm.
"You are doing so well, Harry." The female officer smiled.
Harry took a deep breath and let out another sob. "Can we stop, please? I can't do this anymore."
The officers nodded sympathetically and the male officer said, "Yes, we'll see you soon. Would you like anyone to come in specifically, or are you okay being by yourself?"
"Um, can you send in my friends please?" Harry asked. The officers nodded and walked out and within a few seconds, the Sidemen walked in. They all stood silently for a moment, not knowing how to act around the vulnerable friend.
Ethan eventually spoke first. "We would've bought your phone but they took it. You can borrow my phone though."
Harry huffed out a laugh as Ethan grinned.
Tobi sat on the chair next to Harry and smiled at him. "It was well boring whilst you were out," he said. "Had to listen to JJ."
"Aye!" JJ exclaimed. The men laughed softly.
"You could've told us," Simon whispered after a minute or two which caused Harry to suddenly take interest in his hands. Vik quickly scolded Simon who just continued.
"We would've helped and stopped it before it got too bad." He said. "We noticed something was up but we never talked to you about it."
Harry swallowed thickly as tears filled his eyes. "I'm sorry."
"No, you don't have to feel sorry. She abused you, not the other way round." Vik whispered. "You don't have to be afraid anymore. We're here."
Harry stayed quiet for a few minutes. "Did you see what my injuries were like?" He asked.
"Yeah," JJ stated. "She got a few good punches in man, she'd be a great competition!"
The men were about to scold him but were interrupted by Harry laughing. They smiled.
"She, um, she tried to kill me at one point." Harry sighed. "It was the day before the monopoly shoot and she put my head in the bath and held it down with her foot."
"Fuck Harry. And you came in as nothing had happened." Josh ran a hand through his hair. "You'll probably need to take a few days off and that is fine. We'll tell the audience you're busy whilst you recover."
"I don't want to stop filming." Harry pointed out. "If I stop filming, I'll fall apart."
"But would you want the viewers asking why your face has a fat bruise on it and why your nose is broken?" Vik asked.
"Well, we don't have to tell them." Harry shrugged.
"Harry, I think it's safer if we wait until your trial is over," Simon said softly.
"Trial?" Harry laughed disbelievingly. "I'm not going to trial."
"You might have to, mate," Ethan said. "If she pleads not guilty then you'll have to go to trial."
"I'm not going on trial."
"Mate, if you don't do this then someone else will get hurt by her because you didn't take that chance to lock her up," JJ said sternly.
Harry looked down at his hands. "Get out. Please. I want my mum."
The men wanted to protest but they knew it would distress Harry even more. They nodded and walked silently out the room except for Josh who stopped at the doorway. "We hope you get better soon. Just think about it, okay?" Harry nodded and Josh left the room.
When his family came in, his mum let out an "Oh, my beautiful boy! It's okay now. We're here for you. I never liked that girl." It was true when they had first met Harry's girlfriend, his mum openly told him she wasn't sure about the way she acted.
Harry enjoyed the embrace from his mum, he felt safe in her arms.
Soon enough, Harry was stood in court as she pleaded not guilty. Harry had his parents and friends come along. Harry couldn't help but feel embarrassed about the photos that came up of him laying on the bathroom floor surrounded by blood. The video of her punching him outside a club, and the picture he took of himself after she had attempted to kill him. At one point she laughed at the photo of Harry's injuries. Harry gulped and looked down.
She had got prosecuted for actual bodily harm, attempted murder through drowning, and domestic violence, which resulted in her getting life in prison. When Harry heard the charges he turned to his lawyer and hugged him and let out a sob of joy. Harry didn't feel one hundred per cent better but he felt free.
Of course, news spread quickly because, somehow, someone found out Harry was in court because he was involved in a domestic abuse situation. Word spread quickly and everyone believed Harry was the culprit and beat his girlfriend or some shit. He lost two million subscribers within two days and he crashed.
He told his friends and family not to speak about it until he had a statement out. He quickly took to Twitter to release screenshots of his full statements and the picture of his face after it was beaten.
'Sometimes, you think you know and love a person and then they show their full and evil self. I'm sure, based on the rumours going around, you guys think a similar thing with me. I thought the same about my girlfriend. Turns out she was not as kind and loving as I believed. She would physically, verbally, and financially abuse me. She even went as far as to try and take my life. Now, I won't go into too much detail over what happened. I won't ask for your sympathy or anything, just a small request that you leave my personal life and the people in it alone. Especially my ex-girlfriend's family. They were not the abusers. If you have any respect for me, then you should have even more respect for my friends and family. This may be the only time I speak about this situation and it may not, I just hope you guys can allow me to grow from this time in my life. My friends and family have been so supportive in this painful time and have given me a shoulder to cry on and someone to hold me up when I fall. I want to stress that my family and friends did not know of the abuse because my girlfriend and I were good at hiding it. I know for a fact that if it was a bit more obvious, they would not have hesitated to step in. Chances are, I will appear in Sidemen and other videos but I'll look like a mess so please comment on the video, not the way I look. I want to finish this statement by saying that no one is alone. If you feel like you are being abused, tell anyone. And if you think you are the abusive, help is out there. Violence is not the answer. I love you all and hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for this mess.'
Immediate support flooded in. His subscribers went up and supportive tweets were coming in telling him that he was strong. He trended on Twitter, the phrase 'We Love Harry' was top ten, and his family flooded him with support. Harry was slowly getting better. He had the support of thousands, if not millions, of people, he was finally getting inspiration to post on his channel, and he was talking to a therapist. His life was finally piecing together.
He had his moments. Nightmares plagued his sleep for months, there were days when he would physically harm himself because that's all he knew for the months of his relationship, and sometimes he would ask his friends to hurt him. They knew otherwise. They would come round and Harry would flinch at any sudden movements and he would wait for them to hit him. But instead, he was pulled into a hug and was comforted during his tough time. Shoots would need to be stopped for a couple of minutes when Harry got overwhelmed. And they stopped during physical punishments.
But overall, Harry was getting better. Especially with a group of loving friends and family surrounding him. Step by step, moment by moment, Harry was recovering from a trauma that changed his life. He wasn't suffering alone anymore.
One second, Harry’s forehead is pressed to yours, his thumb brushing slow, grounding circles over your knuckles as you squeeze his hand so tightly, he thinks you might break it.
The next-
A sharp, unfamiliar beep cuts through the room.
Then another.
Then several all at once.
Harry’s head snaps up. “What’s-?”
Someone moves past him. Then another. The room fills with people so quickly it makes his head spin. A nurse is suddenly adjusting something on the monitor; her voice sounds distant, like it’s underwater.
“Can we get a doctor in here, now?”
The word now lands like a gunshot.
Harry looks around, wildly, trying to find someone’s face – anyone’s – who isn’t tense. The beeping grows louder, sharper, wrong. Someone pulls a curtain partially closed. Another nurse is already moving toward you with purpose that borders on running.
“Hey- hey, what’s happening?” Harry asks, voice climbing, despite himself. “You said everything was okay.”
“We need space,” a nurse says, already reaching for his arm.
Harry doesn’t move. “No, I’m not- I’m staying with her.’
‘Dad,” she says firmly, and the word barely registers before she adds, “We need you to step outside.”
Dad.
The room feels like it tilts.
“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. “No. I’m not leaving her. She needs me.”
Another alarm sounds.
Louder this time.
A doctor says your name sharply.
Harry’s ears ring.
“I’m right here,” he says to you desperately, leaning closer, like proximity alone can keep you anchored.
“I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
Your eyes flicker to his, unfocused but trying. Your lips part like you want to say something.
He never hears it.
Hands are on him suddenly – gentle, but insistent – guiding him backwards.
“Harry, please.”
“Wait- wait, don’t”
His fingers slip from yours.
And the door closes behind him with a sound that feels far too final.
Harry stumbles into the corridor like he’s been shoved out into open air after drowning. He turns immediately, reaching for the handle-
Locked.
“No,” he breathes, knocking once, then harder. “No, no, no-”
A nurse intercepts him, palms up, calm in a way that feels cruel. “Sir, we need you to stay out here.”
“What’s wrong with her?” he demands. “You said she was okay. You said-”
“We’re just being cautious.”
“About what?” His voice cracks. “That’s my wife. That’s my-”
His words fail him.
The hallway is too bright. Too quiet. Every second stretches until it feels like his chest might tear itself open.
Then they bring the baby out.
Wrapped in a blanket. Tiny. Silent.
Harry’s stomach drops straight through the floor.
“Why isn’t she crying?” he asks hoarsely. “Why isn’t she crying?”
“She’s okay,” the nurse says quickly. “We’re just taking her to be monitored”
“Can I- can I come with you?”
“I’m sorry, no.”
And then she’s gone too.
Harry sinks into a chair he doesn’t remember choosing, elbows braced on his knees, head in his hands. His breathing comes out in jagged, uncontrollable gasps. He tried to count. In. Out. In. Out.
It doesn’t work.
His phone buzzes. He doesn’t check it. He can’t.
Time loses meaning.
Footsteps approach, hurried and familiar.
“Harry?”
He looks up and sees them: Josh and Ethan, faces pale and worried and already bracing for bad news at the sight of him sitting out in the hallway by himself. Josh opens his mouth to ask something, but stops when he sees Harry’s face.
“What’s happened?” Josh asks quietly.
Harry swallows. Tries to speak but fails.
His jaw trembled. His eyes burned. He shook his head once, like that might fix it, like if he just reset himself, he’d be able to explain calmly and normally what was happening. Ethan stepped closer instinctively.
“Mate,” Ethan said softly, “talk to us.”
Harry tried again. Voice cracking straight down the middle
“They-” He dragged in a shaky breath. “She had the baby. She was fine and then everything just- it went wrong so fast, and they started yelling, and I didn’t know what they were doing, and then they made me leave.”
Josh’s face drained of colour.
“They took the baby,” Harry continues, words spilling out now, messy and panicked. “They said it was for her safety, but no one will tell me anything, and I can’t- I can’t lose her. I can’t do this without her.”
He breaks completely then, folds in on himself, forehead dropping to Josh’s shoulder as a sob ripped out of him, raw and ugly and completely unfiltered. Josh’s arms came up immediately, solid and grounding, one hand cradling the back of Harry’s head like he was trying to hold him together.
“I’m scared,” Harry sobs. ‘I’m so fucking scared.”
“I know,” Josh says softly. “I know. You’re alright. You’re not on your own.”
Ethan hovered for half a second before stepping in too, hand rubbing circles into Harry’s back, his voice low and steady. “They’ve got her, mate. Best place she could be. Same with the baby. You’re doing everything right.”
Harry nodded into Josh’s shoulder, even though it didn’t feel like it. Even though he’d never felt more helpless.
They waited like that, time stretching and blurring together, until finally, a nurse appeared.
“Harry Lewis?”
His head snapped up so fast he nearly made himself dizzy.
“She’s okay.” The nurse said quickly, and the relief hit him so hard his knees nearly gave out. “There were some complications, but she’s stable now. Your daughter’s doing well, too. We’re just getting them settled.”
Daughter.
He laughed and cried at the same time.
When they finally let him in, the room was dim and quiet, machines humming softly like they were keeping a shared secret. You were propped up in bed, hair a mess, eyes tired but warm, and there, tucked against your chest, was the tiniest little person Harry had ever seen.
“Oh,” he breathed.
You looked up at him and smiled. “Hi.”
He crossed the room in three strides and carefully climbed onto the bed beside you, curling around you both like he was scared someone might try to take you away again. One arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other resting protectively over the baby’s back, fingers barely daring to move.
“I thought-” His voice wobbled. “I thought I’d lost you.”
You turned your head and pressed a kiss into his jaw, gentle and sure. “I’m still here.”
He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in like oxygen, tears soaking into the hospital pillow. The baby squirmed softly between you, and Harry let out a breathy laugh.
“She’s perfect,” he whispered.
“Our girl,” you said.
He nodded, pressing his forehead to yours. Outside the room, he knew his mates were still hovering somewhere nearby, probably pretending not to be emotional wrecks. But in here, curled up together in a too-small hospital bed, the world felt quiet again.
summary: you and your friends hatch a plan | Harry x fem!reader
notes: part 2 to how to lose a guy! sorry there's no actual harry in this fic its just the set-up for everything, but I hope you still like it!
content: 2.2k wc, influencer!reader, coming up with the plan, fluff
series masterlist!
Three years later…
“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got next,” you said to the camera, scrolling through your phone with ease. The ring light was casting a glow across your face, and you’d positioned yourself at the perfect angle – three years of content creation had taught you exactly how to work your set-up.
Your filming space wasn’t anything fancy – just the corner of your bedroom that you’d optimised for filming – but it was yours.
You were comfortable here. Confident.
Your channel had grown a lot since that disastrous VidCon trip. What started as ten thousand subscribers had bloomed into just over half a million, and your community was engaged, loyal, and genuinely lovely. You’d found your niche – lifestyle content, relationship commentary, and the occasional vlog that showed the messy, real parts of your life.
This Q&A video was your latest to be filmed.
“Okay, this one’s from Olivia: ‘What’s your go-to coffee order and why is it so good?’ You laughed, leaning back in your chair. “Olivia, I love this question. So it’s an oat milk latte with an extra shot and vanilla syrup. Yes, I’m basic. No, I don’t care. It’s delicious, and anyone who disagrees is lying to themselves.”
You glanced at the camera with a grin before scrolling to the next question.
“Next up from Jake: ‘if you could only listen to one album for the rest of your life, what would it be?’ Oh, Jake, you’re trying to start a fight in the comments, aren’t you?” You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “I’m going to say… ‘Rumours’ by Fleetwood Mac. It’s got everything – drama, incredible vocals, songs for every mood. Plus the backstory? Cinema.”
The questions kept coming, and you answered each one with the same easy confidence. What’s your skincare routine? Favourite book you’ve read this year? Most embarrassing moment caught on camera?
You were in your element.
Then you scrolled to the next question, and your smile faltered.
“From Sophie: ‘I don’t know what to do. I can’t seem to keep a man around longer than a few weeks. Please help? What am I doing wrong?’”
You stared at the question, your mind suddenly blank.
The thing was, you didn’t have an answer. Not a real one, anyway.
Your own relationship history was… well, “history” was a generous term for it. A few short-lived relationships, a handful of dates that went nowhere, and a lot of nights spent wondering if you were somehow fundamentally unlovable or just incredibly picky.
You couldn’t exactly tell Sophie that, though. Your audience looked to you for advice, for guidance, for the kind of confident wisdom that made them feel less alone in their struggles.
But this? This was out of your depth.
“Um,” you said, your voice losing some of its usual brightness. “Sophie, that’s… that’s a really good question.”
You paused, trying to formulate something helpful, something genuine. But everything that came to mind felt hollow. Just be yourself. Too cliché. The right person will come along. Too dismissive. Maybe you’re trying too hard. Too judgmental.
The silence stretched on for a beat too long.
“You know what?” you finally said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m going to come back to this one. I want to give you a proper answer, Sophie, not just some generic advice. So let me think on it, yeah?”
You scrolled quickly to the next question, but your heart wasn’t in it anymore. You stumbled through two more answers before finally stopping the recording.
“Fuck,” you muttered, turning off your ring light and slumping back in your chair.
The question sat heavily in your mind. I can’t seem to keep a man around.
You couldn’t help but relate to it – maybe more than you wanted to admit. And the fact that you had no idea how to answer it, no real wisdom to offer, made you feel like a fraud.
What kind of lifestyle creator couldn’t give basic relationship advice?
You needed a break. And possibly snacks.
Abandoning your filming setup, you padded out of your room and down the narrow hallway of your flat. The space was small but cosy – a three-bedroom in a decent part of London that you shared with your two best friends, Lauren and Mara. It was chaotic and loud and constantly messy, but it was home.
The kitchen was tiny, barely big enough for the three of you to stand in at once, but somehow you always ended up congregating there anyway.
Lauren was sitting at the small table wedged against the wall, laptop open in front of her, a half-eaten piece of toast balanced precariously on a stack of papers. She looked up when you entered, her dark curls piled on top of her head in a clip.
“Done filming already?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Not exactly,” you said, opening the fridge and staring blankly at its contents. “More like… temporarily stumped by a question.”
“Ooh, dramatic.” Mara appeared in the doorway, wearing an oversized jumper and fuzzy socks, her hair still damp from a shower. “What kind of question?”
You grabbed a yogurt you definitely didn’t want and closed the fridge. “Relationship advice, someone asked how to keep a man around, and I just… blanked. I have no idea what to tell her.”
Lauren snorted. “Join the club. I’ve been trying to figure that out for twenty-four years.”
“Same,” Mara said, hopping up to sit on the counter. “Men are a mystery. A deeply confusing, often disappointing mystery.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. This was why you loved living with them – they always knew how to make you feel less alone.
“The problem is,” you said, leaning against the counter next to Mara, “I can’t just tell her I don’t know. My audience expects me to have answers. That’s kind of my whole thing.”
“So make something up,” Lauren suggested, taking a bite of her toast. “Giver he some generic ‘communication is key’ bullshit and move on.”
“I can’t do that,” you protested. “It feels dishonest. If I’m going to give advice, I want it to actually be helpful.”
Mara tilted her head, considering. “What if you flipped it?”
“Flipped it?” you repeated.
“Yeah, like-” She gestured vaguely with her hands, the way she always did when she was working through an idea. “Instead of telling her what to do right, what if you showed her what not to do? Like a guide to all the things that drive men away?”
Lauren looked up from her laptop, interest sparking in her eyes. “Oh my god, that’s actually brilliant.”
“Right?” Mara said, warming to the concept. “Everyone’s always doing videos about ‘how to keep your man’ or whatever, but what about the opposite? What are the actual red flags and deal-breakers that make guys run for the hills?”
You frowned, turning the idea over in your mind. “So like… a ‘what not to do’ guide?”
“Exactly!” Mara said, getting more animated. “You could test it. Like, deliberately do all the things that are supposed to be relationship killers and document how fast it makes someone lose interest.”
“That’s kind of unhinged,” you said slowly.
“It’s perfect,” Lauren corrected, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. “Your audience would absolutely eat that up. It’s funny, it’s educational, and it’s something no one else is doing.”
Your mind started racing with possibilities. “I mean… there are definitely common things, right? Being too clingy, too jealous, moving too fast…”
“Saying the L word on day two,” Mara added.
“Talking about marriage and babies immediately,” Lauren said.
“Being completely irrational and starting fights over nothing,” you said, getting into it now.
“Yes!” Mara clapped her hands together. “You could have, like, a whole playbook of dating don’ts. All the psycho girlfriend behaviour that everyone warns you about.”
“Oh my god,” you said, a laugh bubbling up. “I could be absolutely mental. Just completely unhinged.”
“For science,” Lauren added solemnly.
“For educational purposes,” Mara agreed, trying to keep a straight face.
You bit your lip, but you were smiling now. The idea was ridiculous, but it was also kind of genius. “Okay, but how would I even do it? I’d need… I don’t know, a willing victim? Someone to actually test this stuff on?”
“Well,” Lauren said slowly, her grin widening. “There is that party tomorrow night.”
Your stomach did a little flip. The party. You’d almost forgotten about it.
It was some exclusive influencer event – the kind of thing you’d started getting invited to over the past year as your channel grew. Usually, you found them exhausting, full of people trying too hard to network and take the perfect Instagram story. But this one was supposed to be different. Smaller, more intimate.
“Oh my god,” Mara said, her eyes lighting up. “Lauren, you’re a genius.”
“I know,” Lauren said smugly.
“Wait, wait,” you said, holding up a hand. “Are you suggesting I find some random guy at a party and use him as a… what, a test subject for relationship sabotage?”
“Why not?” Mara asked. “It’s not like you’d actually be trying to hurt anyone. You’d just be doing all the annoying shit that drives people away. It’s research.”
“Unhinged research,” you said.
“The best kind,” Lauren added. “Your audience would absolutely lose their minds over this. Can you imagine? ‘How to Lose a Guy: A scientific study.’”
“A comprehensive guide to being the worst girlfriend ever,” Mara suggested.
“Ten days of dating disasters,” you said, laughing now.
You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it again. Because… they weren’t wrong. It would make for great content. Chaotic, entertaining, genuinely helpful content that could actually answer Sophie’s question by showing her exactly what not to do.
But still.
“Isn’t that kind of… manipulative?” you asked. “Using someone without them knowing?”
“You’re not using them,” Mara said. “You’re just… dating them badly. On purpose. It’s not like you’re breaking their heart – you’re literally trying to make them dump you.”
“Exactly,” Lauren added. “If anything, you’re doing them a favour. You’ll be so annoying that they’ll run for the hills, and then they can go find someone who’s actually normal. No harm, no foul.”
You bit your lip, but you could feel yourself warming to the idea. “I mean… it would be kind of fun.”
“That’s the spirit!” Mara said, grinning.
“I could be clingy,” you said. “Like, obsessively clingy. Texting constantly, showing up unannounced.”
“Perfect,” Lauren said, “You’ll drive him absolutely mental.”
You were fully smiling now, your mind racing with possibilities. “Okay, but what if I actually hurt someone’s feelings? Like what if they genuinely like me and I’m just… being awful to them.”
“Then they’ll break up with you,” Lauren said simply. “Which is literally the goal. You’re not trying to string anyone along – you’re actively trying to get dumped. The second they’ve had enough, they’ll end it, and you’ll have your content. Ten days max till your next upload.”
“And honestly,” Mara added, “any guy who can put up with this much psycho girlfriend behaviour for ten whole days probably has bigger issues anyway.”
“That feels worse,” you said.
“Okay, fine,” Mara said. “What if you just see how it goes? Go to the party, meet someone, and if there’s a connection, you can decide then whether to spring it on him. No pressure, no commitment. Just… keep your options open.”
You looked between your two best friends, both of them watching you with encouraging smiles.
“You’re both terrible influences,” you said.
“And yet you love us,” Lauren said.
“Unfortunately.”
Mara nudged you with her shoulder. “Come on. When’s the last time you took a risk? Did something spontaneous? This could be fun.”
Fun. Right.
Or it could be a complete disaster.
“Fine,” you said, surprising yourself. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Yes!” Mara pumped her fist in the air.
“But,” you added quickly, “I’m not promising anything. I’m just going to see what happens. No expectations.”
“No expectations,” Lauren agreed, though the grin on her face suggested she was already expecting quite a lot.
“This is either going to be brilliant or a complete shitshow,” you said.
“Probably both,” Mara said cheerfully. “That’s what makes it exciting.”
“Okay, so if I’m doing this,” you said, “I need to look incredible tomorrow night. Like unforgettable.”
“Obviously,” Lauren said. “We’re not letting you leave this flat looking anything less than stunning.”
“I call dibs on doing your makeup,” Mara said.
“I’ll handle the outfit,” Lauren added.
The three of you spent the next hour planning – debating outfit options, discussing makeup looks, and speculating about who might be at the party. The kitchen filled with laughter and the kind of easy banter that only came with years of friendship.
By the time you finally retreated back to your room to finish editing the Q&A video, you felt lighter. Hopeful, even.
Tomorrow night, you’d go to the party. You’d meet someone. And maybe you’d figure out how to answer Sophie’s question after all.
What you didn’t know yet was that the someone you’d meet would be the last person you ever wanted to see again.
And God help the poor sod with what was heading his way.
summary`: you're used to being second choice but harry proves to you where you sit in his priorities | Harry x fem!reader
notes: this was so cute but a tad angsty! based on this request!
content: 2k wc, slight angst, reader being used to being second choice in relationships so carries over expectations to relationship with harry, comforting harry, fluff
It starts in such an ordinary moment that you almost miss it entirely.
You’re curled up on Harry’s sofa, tucked into his side with your legs draped over is lap, the soft glow of the TV flickering over both of you. There’s something easy playing in the background – one of those shows neither of you is really paying attention to – but it fills the room with a kind of comfortable noise that makes everything feel settled, calm, safe.
His hand rests warm against your thigh, fingers moving absentmindedly as if he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, tracing slow, idle patterns into your skin. It’s grounding in a way you’ve come to recognise over the past few weeks, something small that makes being close to him feel natural rather than overwhelming, steady rather than uncertain.
You started talking about your days and how they went, and then Harry says it, “They want to film this thing on Thursday for my sidemen Sunday video in a few weeks,” he says, his voice casual, almost an afterthought as his eyes stay fixed on the screen.
The words shouldn’t land the way they do.
But they do.
Your stomach dips almost instantly, a quiet, involuntary reaction you can’t quite control, because Thursday had already been marked in your head. You’d made plans – not extravagant, not anything worth making a fuss over if they changed, but something simple and yours. Dinner, a film, and him staying over. Time that had felt… intentional.
You don’t let any of that show on your face.
“Oh,” you say lightly, careful to keep your tone even, unbothered. “Okay.”
He hums softly, still half-focused on whatever’s playing. “Yeah, it’s not fully confirmed yet, but it’s something we’ve been trying to sort for a while, so they’re saying it might have to be then.”
You nod, even though he isn’t looking at you.
There’s a familiar feeling settling in your chest now, something old and quiet but persistent, like a bruise you didn’t realise was still there until it was pressed again. Your mind fills in the gaps without waiting for him to say anything more.
We’ll just do another night.
Something’s come up.
I’ll make it up to you.
It’s almost automatic, the way you prepare for it.
But he doesn’t say any of those things.
Instead, his hand keeps moving against your leg, his body still warm and close to yours, completely at ease, like nothing about what he’s just said carried any weight at all.
You swallow, pushing the feeling down before it has any room to grow too big.
“Cool,” you murmur, softer this time, and let your head rest against his shoulder like everything is fine.
Over the next couple of days, nothing changes.
At least, not on his side.
He texts you like he always does, calls you when he says he will, and shows up when he promises to. There’s no distance, no shift in how he treats you, nothing that would suggest anything is wrong or even different.
But the thought lingers anyway.
It sits quietly in the back of your mind, threading through everything, because it isn’t really about him. Not entirely.
It’s about the pattern you’ve seen before, over and over again, in ways that were never loud enough to call out but always clear enough to feel.
Parents who cancelled plans because work came first, who promised time and then gave it away to something else without much thought. Friends who meant well but always seemed to find something better, something more exciting, something that pushed you just slightly down the list. Relationships where you were cared for, but never quite enough to be chosen when it actually mattered.
It was never dramatic.
Just quiet, repeated moments where you came second.
So now, even though Harry hasn’t said he’s cancelling, you find yourself preparing for it anyway. It feels easier to expect it than to be surprised by it, easier to soften the blow before it happens.
By the time Thursday arrives, you’re already braced.
You spent longer than usual getting ready, even though you try to pretend you’re not.
You tidy your flat, straighten things that don’t need straightening, change your outfit once, then again, settling on something simple but still nice enough that it feels like you made an effort. Your phone stays within reach the entire time, your attention drifting back to it more often than you’d like to admit.
There’s no message.
No cancellation.
Not yet.
The absence of it almost feels worse, stretching the uncertainty out longer than it needs to be. You keep expecting your phone to light up with it, keep preparing yourself for the moment it finally comes.
Something’s come up.
Can we do tomorrow?
You almost wish he would just say it already, just confirm what you’ve already decided in your head.
But instead, there’s a knock at your door.
The sound makes your heart stutter, confusion cutting through the quiet tension you’ve been holding onto all evening. For a moment, you just stand there, staring at the door like you’ve imagined it, before finally moving toward it and pulling it open.
And there he is.
Harry stands on your doorstep like this is exactly where he’s supposed to be, like nothing about tonight has ever been in question. He’s dressed simply, but there’s effort in it – his hair looks done up, his clothes chosen rather than thrown on, his presence warm and familiar in a wat that immediately unsettles everything you’d been preparing yourself for.
Hi,” he says, smiling softly when he sees you.
You blink at him, your brain struggling to catch up.
“Hi…”
There’s a brief pause where you just look at him, trying to reconcile the version of tonight you’d built in your head with the reality standing in front of you.
He notices.
His smile drops slightly, his head tilting as his brows draw together in quiet concern. “You okay?”
“I- yeah,” you say quickly, stepping aside to let him in. “Yeah, I just thought you had that thing tonight.”
“I did,” he replies easily as he walks past you, slipping into your space as if he belongs there.
Your stomach drops slightly at the past tense.
You close the door behind him, turning back slowly. “Right…”
He toes off his shoes, glancing over his shoulder at you like nothing about this needs explaining. “Yeah, we moved it.”
The words don’t land straight away.
“Moved it?” you repeat, your voice quieter now, edged with confusion.
“Yeah,” he says with a small shrug. “Wasn’t locked in, so we pushed it back.”
You stare at him.
Because in your head, there had only ever been one version of this situation.
He had something important.
You had plans.
He would choose the important thing.
That’s how it always goes.
“Harry,” you say slowly, trying to steady your voice, “that was important, wasn’t it?”
He shrugs again, but there’s no dismissal in it, just a kind of easy certainty. “Yeah, but we had plans.”
Like that answers everything.
Like that’s the obvious choice.
Your chest tightens, something fragile and unexpected cracking open beneath it.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you say, your voice softer now, almost uncertain.
He frowns slightly, stepping a little closer. “Why wouldn’t I?”
You shake your head, overwhelmed by how simple he’s making something that has never felt simple to you.
“I just thought…” You start, your words faltering as you try to explain something that feels too ingrained to put into one sentence. “You said it was important, so I assumed-”
“That I’d cancel on you?” he finishes gently.
You hesitate, then nod.
“…Yeah.”
There’s a brief pause, but it doesn’t feel tense.
If anything, it feels careful.
He studies you for a second, something soft shifting in his expression as he pieces it together.
“Why would I do that?” he asks.
You look down at the floor, because answering that honestly feels too exposing.
“I don’t know,” you admit, though it isn’t entirely true. “I just thought… that’s how it goes.”
“How what goes? “he presses, not harshly, just trying to understand.
Your throat tightens.
“When something more important comes up,” you say slowly, each word feeling heavier than the last, “you pick that.”
The silence that follows is gentle rather than sharp, filled with something more like concern than confusion now.
He steps closer, closing the space between you completely.
“You don’t think you’re important?” he asks softly.
The question hits deeper than you expect.
“That’s not what I-” you start, but the words don’t quite come out right.
“It sounds like it is,” he says, his tone still gentle, still patient. You shake your head quickly, but your eyes sting, tears building before you can stop them.
‘It’s not even about you,” you say, your voice unsteady now. “It’s just… before, with other people, it’s always been like that. So, I just assumed it would be the same.”
Your voice catches on the last word, breaking despite your effort to keep it steady. You look away, embarrassed by how quickly it’s hit you, by how much it clearly matters when you hadn’t even realised you were holding onto it.
But he notices immediately.
“Hey-” his voice softens even further as his hands come up to gently cup your face, thumbs brushing under your eyes as the first tear slips free “Baby, why are you crying? What’s wrong?”
You let out a small, shaky breath, something between a laugh and a sob catching in your throat.
“I didn’t even realise I was expecting it,” you admit, your voice trembling. “I just thought… eventually, it would happen again.”
His expression shifts instantly, something tender and almost protective settling in his features as he looks at you.
“It’s not,” he says quietly.
You blink up at him through blurred vision, trying to steady yourself.
“You had something important,” you say, still trying to understand it. “And you still came here?”
“Of course I did,” he replies, like it was never even a question.
You shake your head slightly, overwhelmed by how easy he’s making it sound.
“Most people wouldn’t.”
“I’m not most people,” he says softly.
Another tear slips down, and he wipes it away without hesitation, his touch gentle and careful, like he’s handling something fragile.
“You matter to me,” he continues, his voice steady but warm. “Spending time with you matters to me. Keeping my word to you matters to me.”
Your lip trembles as you try to take that in.
“I didn’t think that it would,” you whisper.
Something in his expression tightens at that, not in frustration, but in something closer to hurt on your behalf.
“Why wouldn’t it?”
You let out a quiet, broken laugh, shaking your head. “Because it never has before.”
That’s all it takes.
He pulls you into him without hesitation, arms wrapping around you firmly, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he presses you against his chest. The movement is instinctive, grounding, like he doesn’t even think about it before doing it.
“Hey,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low and steady. “That’s not how this is going to be. Not with me.”
You cling to him without meaning to, your hands gripping onto his jumper, holding on like you need the reassurance of him being solid and real.
“You didn’t even say anything,” you mumble against him. “I just assumed.”
“And you don’t have to do that anymore,” he replies gently.
You breathe him in, letting yourself settle into the warmth of him, the steadiness, the way he doesn’t pull away or rush the moment.
“I chose you,” he adds quietly. “Not because I had to. Because I wanted to.”
“You did,” you whisper.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, his hand smoothing over your hair before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “And I will. Every time.”
For the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe it.
Not because you’ve convinced yourself to.
But because he’s standing there, holding you, proving it without you having to ask. And it feels different.
summary: harry makes a bet and takes you to dinner | Harry x fem!reader
notes: part 4 to how to lose a guy! harry enters finally! the next one will be pretty long so look out for it soon!
content: making a bet, drinking, the first of the duping, fluff
series masterlist!
Harry was having a good night.
The party was better than he’d expected – good music, decent drinks, and enough familiar faces that he didn’t feel like he had to work too hard at being social. He’d been chatting with Ethan and Josh for the past twenty minutes, mostly taking the piss out of each other in the way they always did.
“I’m just saying,” Ethan said, gesturing with his beer, “you’re nearly thirty, mate. When’s the last time you were in an actual relationship?”
“I’ve been in relationships,” Harry said defensively.
“I said actual relationships,” Ethan clarified. “Not just shagging someone for a few weeks and then ghosting them.”
“I don’t ghost people,” Harry protested.
“You do,” Josh said, grinning.
“Name one time,” Harry challenged.
“Sarah,” Ethan said immediately.
“That was different-”
“Emma.”
“She ghosted me first-”
“That girl from the club last month whose name you can’t remember.”
“Okay, that’s fair,” Harry admitted.
The guys laughed, and Harry shook his head, taking a drink. He knew they were just winding him up, but there was a kernel of truth to it. He hadn’t been in a serious relationship in… god, years, probably. It wasn’t that he didn’t want one, exactly. It was just that he was busy, and dating was complicated, and most of the time it was easier to just not bother.
“I’m just saying,” Ethan continued. “you’re losing your touch, haz. Time was, you could pull anyone in this room. Now? I’m not so sure.”
“Fuck off,” Harry said, but he was smiling. “I could absolutely still pull anyone in this room.”
“Prove it,” Josh said.
“What?”
“Prove it,” Josh repeated, his grin widening. “We’ll pick someone. Anyone here. If you can get them to fall for you, we’ll… I don’t know, pay for the entire trip to the World Cup final?”
“Wait, really?” Harry said incredulously.
“Sure”, Ethan said. “Not like you’re going to win.”
Harry scoffed, “This is gonna be too easy, anyone would be crazy not to-”
“But,” Josh cut him off. “You have to get them to fall in love with you by that awards thing.”
“But that’s only ten days away,” Harry argued.
“Well, if you’re so good, then that won’t be a problem, will it?’
Harry considered it. It was a stupid bet, and he’d been backed into a corner. There was no way he could do it in ten days. But there was something appealing about it anyway – the challenge, the game of it.
“Alright,” he said. “You’re on.”
“Brilliant,” Josh said, already scanning the room. “Let’s see… what about her?”
He nodded toward a girl near the DJ booth. Pretty, but Harry wasn’t interested/
“Nah,” he said.
“Her?” Ethan suggested pointing to someone else.
“Too young,” Harry said.
“You’re so picky,” Josh said. “And anyway, we’re the ones picking for you, remember?”
“I’m selective,” Harry corrected.
“Okay. Her.” Ethan said, and something in his tone made Harry look up.
He followed Ethan’s gaze across the room, and-
Oh.
She was standing near the windows with two other girls, holding a drink and laughing at something one of them had said. She was wearing a black dress that was simple but somehow incredibly effective, and even from this distance, Harry could tell she was gorgeous.
“Her,” Ethan said definitively. “That’s your target.”
Harry watched her for a moment longer. She was looking around the room now, her expression thoughtful, like she was searching for something. Or someone.
And then for just a second, her eyes landed on him.
Harry felt something shift in his chest – a spark of interest, maybe, or just the thrill of the challenge.
“Alright,” he said. “Her.”
“Excellent choice,” Josh said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Go get her, tiger.”
“Don’t call me tiger,” Harry said, but he was already moving.
You were trying very hard to look like you weren’t watching Harry.
After agreeing to your friends’ insane plan, you’d positioned yourself near the bar, nursing your drink and doing your best to appear casual. Lauren and Mara had retreated to a nearby table, giving you space but staying close enough to watch the show.
Your heart was pounding. You couldn’t believe you were actually doing this.
Harry was across the room with his friends, but you could feel his attention shifting. You’d caught him looking at you a few times, and each time, you’d made sure to look away just quickly enough to seem uninterested but not so quickly it looked suspicious.
You were playing a game, and you were good at it.
“You look like you’re plotting something,” a voice said from beside you.
You turned, and there he was.
Harry Lewis. Up close. Smiling at you like you were the most interesting person in the room.
Your stomach did a complicated flip – part anger, part nerves, and something else you didn’t want to think about too much.
“Do I?” you said, keeping your voice light. “I was just thinking about getting another drink.”
“Allow me,” Harry said, signalling to the bartender. “What are you having?”
“Rum and Coke,” you said.
“Classic,” he said approvingly. He ordered your drink and another beer for himself, then turned back to you. “I’m Harry.”
“I know who you are,” you said, and then immediately wanted to kick yourself. Too eager. You were supposed to be playing it cool.
But Harry just grinned. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”
“Depends,” you said. “Do you want me to be a fan or a stalker?”
“Is there a third option?”
“Sure,” you said. “Vaguely aware of you but not particularly invested.”
Harry laughed, “I think I like that one best.”
The bartender set your drinks down, and Harry handed you yours. Your fingers brushed for just a second, and you felt a jolt of something you refused to acknowledge.
“So,” Harry said, leaning against the bar. “If you’re only vaguely aware of me, does that mean I need to work harder to make an impression?”
“That depends,” you said. “Are you trying to make an impression?’
“Maybe,” he said. His eyes were very blue, you noticed. Annoyingly blue. “Is it working?”
You took a sip of your drink, looking at him over the rim of your glass. He was charming, you’d give him that. Confident without being arrogant, funny without trying too hard. If you didn’t know better - if you didn’t remember VidCon, didn’t remember the way he’d made you feel – you might actually like him.
But you did know better.
And the fact that he clearly didn’t recognise you, didn’t remember dismissing you three years ago like you were nothing – that made your blood boil.
“You’re doing alright,” you said finally.
“Just alright?” Harry said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offence. “I’m wounded.”
“I’m sure you’ll recover,” you said.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I might need some encouragement. Maybe your name would help?”
You hesitated for just a second – long enough to let him think you were deciding whether he was worth it – then smiled.
“It’s Reader,” you said.
“Reader,” he repeated, like he was testing how it sounded. “I like it.”
“I’m glad I have your approval,” you said dryly.
“See, this is what I mean,” Harry said, grinning. “You’re funny. I like funny.”
“Good to know,” you said. “I’ll add it to my list of your preferences.”
“You’re making a list?”
“I’m a very organised person.”
“I’m learning so much about you already,” Harry said. “Organised, funny, vaguely aware of me/ What else should I know?”
You tilted your head, studying him. This was it – the moment where you could either shut him down or reel him in. And despite every instinct screaming at you to tell him to fuck off, despite the anger still simmering in your chest, you found yourself smiling.
“I guess you’ll have to stick around to find out,” you said.
Harry’s grin widened. “Is this an invitation?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll take it,” he said.
And just like that, he was hooked.
An hour later, you were sitting across from Harry at a small table in an upscale restaurant a few streets away from the party.
You weren’t entirely sure how it had happened. One minute you’d been trading banter at the bar, the next he was suggesting you get out of there and grab some food. You’d agreed before you get out of there and grab some food. You’d agreed before you could think better of it, and now here you were, reading a menu that didn’t list prices and trying to remember the plan.
But god, he was making it difficult.
“So,” Harry said, settling down his menu. “Tell me something real.”
“Real?” you repeated/
“Yeah,” he said. “Everyone at these parties always does the same small talk – what do you do, how many followers do you have, blah blah blah. I want to know something actually interesting.”
You considered him for a moment. He seemed genuine, his expression open and curious. It would be so easy to give him something real, to let your guard down just a little.
But you couldn’t afford to do that. Not yet.
“Alright,” you said, “Something real. I’m terrified of birds.”
Harry blinked. “Birds?”
“Birds,” you confirmed. “Especially pigeons. They’re basically flying rats.”
“That’s… not what I expected,” Harry said, but he was smiling.
“You said you wanted something real,” you said. “That’s real. Your turn.”
“Okay,” Harry said, thinking. “Something real. I’m scared of heights.”
“Really? Don’t you and your friends do crazy things involving heights sometimes for your videos?”
“Yes, and no one knows. It’s embarrassing. Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” you said.
The waiter came by to take your orders, and the conversation flowed easily after that. Harry told you about a disastrous video shoot from last week, and you told him about the time you accidentally posted a video on your account of you falling flat on your face. He made you laugh – really laugh, the kind that made your cheeks hurt – and you found yourself relaxing despite yourself.
“So what made you want to start YouTube?” Harry asked at one point.
You hesitated. The real answer was complicated – something about wanting to be heard, wanting to create something that mattered, wanitng to prove that you could. But that felt too vulnerable, too honest for someone you were supposed to be manipulating.
“I liked the idea of making something that was mine,” you said finally. “Something I had complete control over.”
“I get that,” Harry said. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Being your own boss.”
“Most of the time,” you said, “Sometimes it’s terrifying.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “It is.”
There was something in his voice – a note of understanding, of shared experience – that made your chest tighten. You looked at him across the table, really looked at him, and for just a second, you forgot why you were here. Forgot about your first interation, forgot about the video, forgot about the plan.
For just a second, he was just Harry. And you were just you.
Then your phone buzzed with a text from Mara.
How’s it going???
Reality came crashing back.
Right. The plan.
You were supposed to be reeling him in, making him fall for you so you could spend the next ten days miserable. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
“You alright?” Harry asked, noticing your expression.
“Yeah,” you said quickly, putting your phone away. “Sorry. Just my friends being nosy.”
“About me?” Harry said, grinning.
“Maybe.” You said.
“Should I be worried?”
“Probably,” you said, but you were smiling.
By the time you finished dinner, it was nearly midnight. Harry insisted on paying – “I asked you out, didn’t I?” – and then walked you outside to wait for your Uber.
“I had a really good time tonight,” he said.
“Yeah,” you said, and you were surprised to realise you meant it. “Me too.”
“Can I see you again?” Harry asked. “Like maybe tomorrow?”
This was it. The moment when you sealed the deal.
“I’d like that,” you said.
“Brilliant,” he said. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“Sounds good,” you said.
Your Uber pulled up, and you moved to get in, but Harry caught your hand.
“Hey,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad I talked to you tonight,” he said. “I almost didn’t but… I’m glad I did.”
Your heart did that flip again, and you hated it.
“Me too,” you said softly.
You got in the car and watched through the window as Harry waved, his smile still in place. As the car pulled away, you let out a long breath and pulled out your phone.
There were already a dozen texts from Lauren and Mara in your group chat.
Lauren: OMG HOW DID IT GO
Mara: did you get his number
Lauren: are you still with him
Lauren: omg did you go back to his place
Mara: omg you slut
Mara: ANSWER US
You typed out a quick response: mission accomplished. he’s officially hooked.
The replies came instantly.
Lauren: YES
Mara: I KNEW IT
Lauren: okay so when are you seeing him again
You stared at your phone, thinking about the way Harry had smiled at you, the way he’d listened when you talked, the way he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you.
Tomorrow, you’d start. Tomorrow, you’d become the nightmare girlfriend from hell. Tomorrow, you’d make him regret ever approaching you at that bar.
But tonight – just for tonight – you let yourself feel the smallest hint of guilt.
summary: you find the perfect target for your plan | Harry x fem!reader
notes: part 3! I'm gonna be super busy the next week, so I'm gonna try my hardest to keep updating the series! hope you enjoy!
content: 1.1k wc, at a party, drinking
series masterlist!
The party was exactly the kind of event you’d learned to navigate over the past few years – exclusive enough to feel important, casual enough not to be insufferable. It was being held at some trendy venue in SoHo, all exposed brick and Edison bulbs, with a DJ spinning something in the corner and bartenders mixing elaborate cocktails that probably cost more than your first camera.
You’d arrived with Lauren and Mara just after nine, fashionably late but not obnoxiously so. Lauren had made good on her promise – you were wearing a black slip dress that managed to be both elegant and effortless, paired with heeled boots that made you feel taller and more confident. Mara had done your makeup, a subtle smoky eye that made you look put-together without trying too hard.
“Alright,” Mara said, linking her arm through yours as you surveyed the room. “Operation find a test subject is officially underway.”
“Can we please not call it that?” you said, though you were smiling. “It makes me sound like a serial killer.
“You’re not killing anyone,” Lauren said from your other side. “You’re just… temporarily ruining their faith in relationships.”
“Much better,” you said dryly.
The three of you did a slow lap around the venue, drinks in hand, taking stock of the crowd. You recognised a few faces – other YouTubers you’d collaborated with, a couple of Instagram influencers you’d met at previous events, some TikTokers who looked barely old enough to drink.
“What about him?” Mara said, nodding subtly toward a guy near the bar. Tall, dark hair, decent jawline.
You considered it for a moment, then shook your head. “Too young, he looks like he’s still in uni.”
“Fair,” Mara said.
“Him?” Lauren suggested, gesturing toward a blond guy in an expensive-looking jacket.
“Too posh,” you said. “I’d feel bad.”
“That’s literally the opposite of the point,” Lauren said.
“I know, I know,” you said. “I just… I need someone who won’t make me feel guilty. Someone who probably deserves it a little bit.”
“So we’re looking for an attractive asshole,” Mara summarised.
“Exactly,” you said.
You continued your circuit, scanning faces, weighing options. The problem was that everyone here seemed either too nice, too young, or too boring. You needed someone with enough confidence to handle your chaos, but enough ego that you wouldn’t feel terrible about taking him down a peg.
“This is harder than I thought it would be,” you admitted after your second lap.
“We’ve got all night,” Lauren said. “The perfect victim will reveal himself.”
“Please stop calling him a victim,” you said.
“Test subject?” Mara offered.
“Worse.”
“Guinea pig?”
“Mara.”
She grinned. “Fine. Your future fake boyfriend who you’re going to psychologically torment for ten days. Better?”
“Marginally,” you said.
You were laughing, taking a sip of your drink, when Lauren suddenly grabbed your arm.
“Oh my god,” she said, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper.
“What?” you said, following her gaze across the room.
And then you saw him.
Harry Lewis.
He was standing near the bar with a group of guys you recognised – other Sidemen members. He was laughing at something one of them said, his head thrown back, completely at ease. He looked good, you had to admit. Better than he had at Vid Con, though that wasn’t saying much. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans, nothing fancy, but he wore it well. His hair was slightly messy in that deliberately careless wat, and even from across the room, you could see the easy confidence in the way he held himself.
Your stomach dropped.
“No,” you said immediately.
“Yes,” Lauren said, her eyes lighting up with glee.
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s perfect,” Mara said, catching on. “Oh my god, it’s actually perfect.”
“It’s not perfect,” you hissed. “It’s a terrible idea.”
“Why,” Lauren asked, though she was grinning like she already knew the answer.
“Because I hate him,” you said, “I’ve hated him for three years. I can’t- I can’t date him, even fake date him! I can’t even look at him without wanting to-”
“Exactly!” Mara interrupted. “That’s exactly why it’s perfect!”
You stared at your friends like they’d lost their minds.
“Are you serious right now?” you said.
“Completely serious,” Lauren said. “Think about it. You need someone you won’t feel guilty about sabotaging, right? Someone who deserves it?”
“He was rude to you,” Mara added. “He dismissed you when you were just trying to be nice. He made you feel like shit.”
“Which is why I don’t want to spend ten days with him. I can’t stand the guy!”
“But that’s the beauty of it,” Lauren said, her voice taking on that persuasive tone she used when she was trying to talk you into something ridiculous. “You won’t get attached. You won’t feel bad. You can be as unhinged as you want, and at the end of it, when he’s running for the hills, you’ll feel nothing but satisfaction.”
You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it again.
Because… she had a point.
“I don’t know,” you said slowly.
“Come on,” Mara said. “He’s perfect. He’s attractive, he’s successful. He’s got a massive following. Your audience will eat it up. And most importantly, you already hate him. There’s literally no downside.”
“The downside is that I have to spend ten days pretending to like someone I despise,” you said.
“That’s different,” you protested.
“How?”
You didn’t have a good answer for that.
“Look,” Mara said, her voice softening slightly. “I get it. He’s the last person you want to deal with. But think about the video. Think about how good this content is going be. You, taking down a Sidemen member? Your subscribers will lose their minds.”
“And he won’t even see it coming,” Lauren added. “He probably doesn’t even remember you.”
That thought sent a fresh wave of anger through you. He probably didn’t remember. To him, you were just another faceless fan he’d brushed off at a convention three years ago. Forgettable. Insignificant.
But you remembered. You remembered every detail of that interaction – the dismissive tone, the way he’d looked at you with displeasure, the humiliation that had burned in your chest as you walked away. That stuck with you for months after. Affected the way you interacted with people in the industry, afraid that everyone would brush you off or not want to talk to you.
“Fine,” you heard yourself say.
“Fine?” Mara repeated, her eyes widening.
“Fine,” you said again, more firmly this time. “You’re right. He’s perfect. I won’t feel bad at all.”
“That’s my girl,” Lauren said, squeezing your arm.
“But if this backfires-” you started.
“It won’t,” Mara said confidently. “Trust us. This is going to be brilliant.”
You took a long sip of your drink, your eyes still fixed on Harry across the room. He was still laughing with his friends, completely oblivious to the fact that his next ten days were about to become a nightmare.
