hoeforharrystyles

[hoeforharrystyles]

Reese Wilkerson’s Guide to (Over)Reacting

Reese Wilkerson x fem!Reader

Sorry, guys—Reese is my new obsession, and there are barely any fics about him, so I guess I just have to write my own.

***

Reese Wilkerson wasn't the type to overthink things. He lived in the now—mostly because thinking ahead usually got him into trouble. But today, he felt something he wasn't used to: a slow, burning, unbearable ache in his chest. It was eating him alive.

Because there she was. His girlfriend. Laughing at some joke that another guy had told.

Reese had never been a genius, but even he could do the math: His girlfriend + some random guy = war.

His fists clenched, his vision narrowed, and his brain—well, it did its best.

Who was this guy?

Some tall, shaggy-haired nobody with a cocky grin. Too confident. Too charming. It was disgusting.

Reese took a slow, deliberate step forward, hands twitching at his sides. He'd fought a raccoon for a sandwich before. He could handle this.

Then he saw it—Y/n touching the guy's arm.

His heart stopped.

His soul left his body.

The air felt thick, suffocating, like he was drowning in his own rage. His blood boiled like the inside of a Hot Pocket left in the microwave too long.

She wasn't laughing anymore. She was just smiling at the guy, her eyes soft, too soft.

Reese saw red.

His breathing turned sharp and erratic. He had two options:

1. Walk away and handle this like a mature, rational boyfriend.

2. Destroy everything in a five-mile radius.

So obviously, he chose violence.

Reese stormed over, shoving past a freshman so hard the kid hit the lockers. "Move, worm. I have a relationship to save."

Y/n barely had time to register his presence before Reese threw himself dramatically between them, spreading his arms out like some unhinged bodyguard.

"WHAT. IS. THIS?" he demanded, eyes wild, chest heaving.

Y/n blinked. "Uh...what?"

"Oh, you know what. You were just giggling with some random guy, touching him like he's, I don't know, important. Like he's got stronger muscles than me or better hair."

Reese turned to the guy, eyes narrowing. "What's your deal, huh? You think you're funny? You think you can just come in here, steal my girlfriend, and—"

The guy blinked. "Uh... I just asked her about the homework?"

Reese scoffed. "Oh yeah? Homework? Sounds like code for please ruin Reese's entire life. Nice try, buddy. I see right through you."

Y/n groaned, rubbing her temples. "Reese, for the last time, you can't just declare war on random people."

"Oh, so now I'm the bad guy? I'M the bad guy?" Reese clutched his chest like he'd been stabbed. "Wow. Wow. You know, I thought we had something real. I thought we were like, I don't know, Romeo and Juliet, except without all the dying—unless you keep talking to him, then I might have to die."

Y/n took a deep breath, clearly trying to stay patient. "Reese. You're overreacting."

"Oh, I'M OVERREACTING? I'M OVERREACTING???" Reese threw his hands in the air. "Okay, cool, next you're gonna tell me I'm paranoid, or unhinged, or—"

Y/n sighed. "Reese, stop it. I love you, but you're being dramatic."

"Oh, I'm dramatic? I'm dramatic?" Reese let out a bitter, heartbroken laugh. "So what? Are you going to tell me that I'm not 'stable' or 'reasonable' or 'mentally fit to be in a healthy relationship.'”

Y/n just stared at him.

Reese gasped. "OH MY GOD. THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT YOU THINK."

The guy backed away slowly, clearly disturbed. "You know what? I'll just...leave."

Reese's head snapped toward him. "Oh, will you? WILL YOU?" He pointed aggressively. "Yeah, that's right. Run, coward. But just know—I'M WATCHING YOU."

The guy practically sprinted down the hall.

Reese smirked. "That's right. I win. As always."

His girlfriend sighed, crossing her arms. "Are you happy now?"

Reese turned to her, his entire body softening like a golden retriever who just remembered he's supposed to be mad. "No," he muttered, kicking at the floor. "I still feel like you like him more than me."

Y/n groaned, grabbing his face in both hands. "Reese."

"What?"

"Reese."

"WHAT."

"Reese."

"I SWEAR IF YOU SAY MY NAME ONE MORE TIME—"

She rolled her eyes, before kissing him fiercely.

Reese's brain short-circuited. His arms flailed for a second before grabbing onto her like he was afraid she'd disappear. His knees went weak.

When she pulled away, she raised an eyebrow. "Still think I like him more than you?"

Reese blinked. Then he grinned.

"Okay, maybe I overreacted a little."

She laughed. "A little?"

He shrugged. "I can't help it! You're mine, and I'll fight God himself to keep you."

She shook her head with a smirk. "You're impossible, Wilkerson."

Reese smirked back. "Yeah. But you love me for it."

And honestly? She kinda did.

[hoeforharrystyles]

The Rigged Bet

Reese Wilkerson x fem!Reader

Malcolm wasn't entirely sure how it happened. One second, Y/n was smugly shuffling a deck of cards, gloating about her guaranteed win over Reese and Malcolm, and the next, she was stuck as the designated servant for both Wilkerson brothers for the day, thanks to a completely rigged bet.

₊ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚Earlier‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚₊

"Okay, we need a plan," Reese muttered, leaning over the kitchen table as he and Malcolm stared at the deck of cards. "If Y/n wins, I'm screwed. She'll never let me live it down."

Malcolm sighed, rubbing his temples. "Why did you even make a bet with her? She's actually good at cards. You barely know how to count."

"Not true! I just choose not to count sometimes," Reese argued. "Now, are you gonna help me win or not?"

Malcolm groaned. "Fine. But it has to be subtle. If she catches on, we're both dead."

Reese smirked. "Relax. I've got a plan."

‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚Now‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚₊

"I don't get it," Y/n muttered, arms crossed as she stood next to Malcolm. "I had four queens."

Malcolm hesitated, shooting a quick glance at Reese, who was now lounging on the couch like royalty. "Yeah... and Reese had... um, a straight flush."

Reese stretched with a satisfied grin. "What can I say? Talent."

Y/n narrowed her eyes. "Oh, please. There's no way you won that fair and square."

"Are you accusing me of cheating?" Reese gasped, clutching his chest like she'd stabbed him. "Wow.  And here I thought we were friends."

Malcolm sighed. "Y/n, just let it go. A bet's a bet."

She scoffed. "Let it go? Malcolm, you hesitated when I mentioned four queens. What did you do?"

Reese clapped his hands together. "Alright, servant, we're wasting precious time. Get to work."

Y/n groaned. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Oh, you have no idea," Reese grinned. "Now, go fetch me a soda."

Y/n rolled her eyes and stomped into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge to grab a can. Without hesitation, she hurled it at Reese, who barely managed to catch it, frowning as it nearly hit him in the nose.

"A little respect for your master, please," he tsked.

Malcolm snorted. "Oh yeah, this is gonna be interesting."

Reese smirked, then leaned toward Y/n. "Now, since you're already up, how about a foot massage?"

Malcolm made a disgusted noise. "Oh my god."

Y/n looked horrified. "Oh my god."

"What? My feet hurt," Reese shrugged, wiggling his sock-covered toes. "It's part of the deal."

Y/n pretending to gag. "There is no way in hell I'm touching those."

Reese sighed dramatically. "Fine. But can you at least fluff my pillow? It's kind of lumpy."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? You're really milking this."

"Hey, the bet said she has to take care of us," Reese pointed out. "I'm just making sure I get the full experience."

Y/n begrudgingly fluffed the pillow, smacking it down on Reese's lap with extra force. "There. Happy?"

Reese grinned. "Getting there. Now, can you hand-feed me some chips? My hands are tired."

Malcolm narrowed his eyes. "Okay, this is weird."

"What? She's our servant," Reese said innocently. "She has to do these things."

Y/n grabbed a chip and threw it at his face. "Enjoy."

Reese blinked as the chip bounced off his forehead and landed on the table. He looked at her, feigning deep offense. "Wow. That was rude."

Y/n smirked. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I miss your mouth?"

"Yeah, actually. You have terrible aim," Reese said, crossing his arms. "Try again. But, you know, like a normal person this time."

Rolling her eyes, Y/n picked up another chip and held it up. "Open."

Reese grinned and leaned forward, opening his mouth expectantly. With a dramatic sigh, Y/n placed the chip between his teeth.

"There. Happy now?"

Reese crunched down on it with a smug look. "Much better. See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Y/n muttered, reaching for another chip. "Might as well finish the job now."

Reese perked up. "Oh, please do."

She fed him another one, then another. Reese chewed enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot. "You're a natural at this," he said between bites. "We should make this a regular thing."

Y/n scoffed. "In your dreams."

Reese smirked. "Oh, you have no idea."

Malcolm, who had been watching with increasing suspicion, leaned back in his chair, staring at the two of them. His brows furrowed. Then, slowly, his expression started to change.

His eyes flicked between Reese's ridiculous grin and the way he was practically basking in Y/n's attention.

Then it clicked.

Malcolm's mouth fell open slightly. He pointed a finger at Reese. "Wait a minute." His eyes widened. "Oh my god."

Reese froze mid-chew. "What?"

Malcolm grinned like he just solved a murder case. "You like her."

Reese nearly choked on his chip. "What?!"

"You totally like her," Malcolm said, his grin widening with triumph. "I can't believe I didn't see it sooner!"

Reese's entire body stiffened. "That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard in my life, and you have said some really dumb things, Malcolm."

Malcolm smirked. "Oh yeah? Then why are you acting so weird?"

"I'm not acting weird!" Reese snapped, his voice an octave higher. "You're acting weird! You're always acting weird! Maybe you like her!"

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Nice try, but this isn't about me."

Reese scoffed, throwing his hands up. "Oh, so now it's a crime to enjoy winning a bet?"

Malcolm leaned back, unimpressed. "Uh-huh. So making her fluff your pillow and feed you chips is just about the bet."

"YES! And you know what? You're just jealous." Reese jabbed a finger at Malcolm. "That's why you're making up this crap about me liking her!"

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "So you don't like her?"

"NO!"

"Not even a little?"

"NOT EVEN A MICROSCOPIC, ATOM-SIZED AMOUNT!"

Malcolm smirked. "Then why is your face red?"

"BECAUSE I'M MAD AT YOU, YOU IDIOT!"

Y/n watched them argue, amused. "I feel like I should leave you two alone to work this out."

Reese ignored her, seething. "Malcolm, you are so full of crap! You just love messing with me because your tiny little goblin brain gets off on it!"

Malcolm gasped mockingly. "Wow, that's a lot of emotions for someone who definitely doesn't like her."

Reese let out an incoherent noise of rage and grabbed the closest pillow, hurling it at Malcolm's head. "I HATE YOU!"

Malcolm dodged effortlessly. "Oh, yeah, super normal reaction."

Y/n smirked, crossing her arms. "So... you like me, huh?"

Reese turned to her, wild-eyed. "NO, I—" He groaned, gripping his hair. "GOD, WHY IS EVERYONE SO STUPID?!"

Malcolm grinned. "You mean everyone but you and Y/n? You know, like a couple?"

Reese nearly lunged at him. "I SWEAR TO GOD, MALCOLM—"

Y/n cut him off by grabbing his collar and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

Reese froze. Malcolm looked like he was about to explode.

"What the hell just happened?" Malcolm asked, voice cracking.

Reese stood completely still, like his brain had blue-screened. Then, he touched his cheek, looking shell-shocked. "Uh—"

Y/n grabbed her bag with a smirk. "That should shut you up for a while." She turned on her heel, pausing just long enough to glance over her shoulder and say, "Call me." Then, she walked out.

A long silence followed.

Then Malcolm squinted at Reese. "Are you—are you crying?"

Reese, still holding his cheek, growled through gritted teeth. "I'M NOT CRYING. AND IF YOU TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS, I WILL BREAK YOU."

Malcolm snorted. "Oh my god, you totally are."

Reese lunged at him. "COME HERE!"

Malcolm shrieked and bolted out of the room, cackling as Reese chased after him, yelling threats.

[hoeforharrystyles]

Velvet Jealousy

Harry Styles x fem!Reader

The air inside the Dolby Theatre was velvet-thick—gold lights glittering overhead like stars held hostage. Champagne flutes clinked, tuxedos gleamed under camera flashes, and laughter bloomed in corners like roses with too many thorns.

Y/n sat beside Harry, her hand tucked under the crook of his arm, the warmth of his skin leaking through the thin silk of her dress. He looked every bit like a rock god: hair curled to perfection, black suit tailored within an inch of his life, golden rings glinting like secrets on his fingers.

She could feel his knee bouncing slightly—maybe it was his nerves, or excitement, or both. He was up for three awards tonight. But instead of watching the stage, he was watching her. He was always watching her. His thumb rubbed slow circles over her knuckles like a spell he was trying to cast.

And then he arrived.

Somebody’s brother—Y/n couldn’t remember whose—but he was charming in that try-too-hard kind of way. Tall. Teeth like a toothpaste ad. Confident in the way guys who peaked in college always are. He’d been seated a few seats down but spotted Y/n and made a beeline during the commercial break.

“Y/n, right?” he asked, flashing a grin like he knew he was pretty. “I’ve seen you on Harry’s Insta. You look even better in person.”

Harry, who was taking a sip of his water, audibly choked.

Y/n gave him a polite smile as she nodded her head. “Thank you. And you are...?”

“Tyler,” he said smoothly. “I’m Jake’s brother. You know—Jake, from that HBO miniseries with the aliens and the nuns.”

“Right,” Y/n said, still polite, still poised, still kind. She had that soft magnetism that drew people in and made them feel special. Harry knew it well—he’d fallen for it instantly.

Tyler leaned in just slightly. “Anyway, just wanted to say hi. I’ve been trying to find someone who's not talking about themselves tonight.”

Harry’s hand, which had been resting calmly on Y/n’s thigh, tightened like a silent warning.

“Oh?” Y/n laughed softly. The breathy kind—the one that made Harry want to write song lyrics on napkins and tattoo her name behind his ribs. “Well, I’m happy to give you a break then.”

Tyler's grin widened.

That was it. Harry snapped.

“Hi,” he said, voice low and honeyed, laced with barbed sweetness. “M’Harry. Y/n's boyfriend. We kiss and stuff.”

Tyler blinked. “Right, yeah. I figured.”

“Cool,” Harry replied, already draping both arms around Y/n’s shoulders like a weighted blanket of pure need. “You good, babe? Want anything? Water? An escape plan?”

“I’m fine,” Y/n whispered, hiding her smile behind her glass.

“You sure? You seemed like you were dying for someone to explain alien-nun lore to you. Didn’t want to interrupt.”

Y/n let out a breathy laugh, trying not to encourage him, but Harry’s eyes narrowed like he was already drafting an official complaint to the Academy.

He looked past her to where Tyler was still lingering a little too comfortably, and something possessive flickered behind the faux charm in Harry’s gaze.

He turned back to her slowly, dramatically, like he was about to deliver the final line in a movie monologue.

Then Harry leaned in abruptly, wrapping an arm around Y/n's waist, tugging her closer until his face was nuzzled into her shoulder like a needy cat. “Baaaabe,” he whispered, dragging out the word like a sleepy whine. “Why is this man still here?”

Y/n tried not to laugh as she glanced at him. “He’s just saying hi.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” Harry whispered, moving his arms to wrap around her waist like he was worried she might get up and elope with Tyler during the next commercial break. “You were laughing. You never laugh like that with me anymore.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true. When I make jokes, you just give me that fake ‘you’re cute but not funny’ laugh.”

Y/n glanced at him, amused. “You are cute but not funny.”

“See?! That’s what I’m talking about!”

Tyler chuckled awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“Too late,” Harry mumbled dramatically, nose now buried in her shoulder like a sulking ghost. “You already interrupted my mental peace. I was having a calm night. There were snacks. I was happy. It was a great night.”

Y/n gave Harry’s thigh a light pat. “Harry…”

“No. No, it’s fine. Talk to him. Let him compliment you and have perfect teeth and not stutter every time you look at him. It’s whatever. I’m just going to go cry into my Dior jacket.” Harry hastily pulled the collar of his jacket up, almost as if he could disappear entirely into its fabric. His face was now hidden in the soft, overpriced material, leaving only the occasional muffled sound as he dramatically exhaled in mock despair.

Y/n watched as his shoulders shook with exaggerated emotion, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a playful attempt to hold back a grin.

“Harry, stop,” she said, trying to hide her smile.

But Harry just gave an over-the-top sniffle and buried his face deeper into the jacket, his voice muffled but unmistakably dramatic.

“Do you see how he’s just… standing there, all perfect and unbothered, while I’m literally crumbling on the inside? How could you do this to me?” Harry said, fake sobbing.

Tyler, clearly unsure what to do, just awkwardly walked away.

Harry's eyes peeked up from the fabric. “Is he gone?”

“Yes.”

Harry slumped against Y/n like his bones had melted. “Thank God. My heart literally cracked in half. I need emergency snuggles. Maybe even therapy.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, brushing a curl off his forehead. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being emotionally wounded,” he said, dead serious. “You’re the prettiest girl in this entire room and you smiled at another man. What do you expect me to do, not crumble?”

“You’re on camera, Harry. People can see you acting like this.”

“Good. Let them witness the downfall of an obsessed man in love. You were laughing with him,” he mumbled, nose brushing her jaw. “S'not fair.”

“It was a polite laugh.”

“It was the soft one. The one that crinkles your nose and makes me want to kiss you until the day I die.”

Y/n turned her head, eyebrows raised. “Are you seriously jealous right now?”

“I’m devastated,” he deadpanned. “I’m on the brink of an emotional collapse.”

She stifled a giggle, as Harry sat up suddenly, face pouty, bottom lip stuck out just enough to be adorable and ridiculous all at the same time.

“I’m serious. I've written break-up albums with less heartbreak than what just happened,” he continued dramatically. “He smiled at you like he had a chance. He doesn’t have a chance, right?”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Harry.”

“I need verbal confirmation.”

“Harry—”

Harry’s voice suddenly turned quiet, almost childlike. “Do you like him?”

“Harry. I don’t even know him.”

“But like… if we weren’t dating, would you…?”

“No.”

“Promise?”

“Harry.”

“I need a verbal vow that you only want me.”

Y/n rolled her eyes again but leaned in, kissing his pouting mouth. “I only want you, I promise.”

Harry's heart melted like butter on a stove. He wrapped himself around her, arms clinging, face buried in her neck again, his face beaming like a child given candy. “Thank you. God, I was spiraling. I was about to climb onto the stage mid-award and publicly declare you mine.”

“Please don’t do that.”

“I might anyway. Depends how many more Tyler lookalikes try to flirt with you.”

She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, a teasing smile playing at her lips. "You're adorable when you're jealous."

“I’m not jealous. I’m terrified. There’s a difference.”

“Terrified of what?”

“That someone else might notice how... perfect you are.” His voice dropped, soft and sincere now. “And what if one day you notice them back?”

Y/n's face softened instantly. Her hand reached up to brush through his curls, making him lean into her touch like a cat starved for affection.

“I only notice you,” she said gently.

Harry blinked once, twice. Then groaned dramatically. “Ugh. You're so good to me. It's sickening.”

She laughed again and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Deal with it.”

He wrapped both arms around her and buried his face in her neck. “I’m gonna hold you until they call my name or throw us out. Whichever comes first.”

“You’re being clingy.”

“I’m being in love. There's a difference.”

Harry suddenly shoved his face into Y/n's neck, burying himself there like he was trying to escape the world for just a moment. His breath was warm against her skin, and as he pulled away slightly, he murmured, “You smell so nice. You always smell so nice. It’s unfair. I’m gonna have to bite you to mark my territory or something.”

“Harry.”

“Just a small bite. On the collarbone. For safety.”

Later that night, when he won two awards, he went onstage, shiny and radiant, but still a little pouty, as he looked right into the camera and said: “This one’s for my girlfriend—Y/n. Who is mine forever, in case anyone forgot.”

Backstage, when you kissed him again, he whispered against your lips, “M'still mad at Tyler. But I’m more in love with you than I am mad at him. So I guess I’ll survive.”

You smiled, brushing his cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours,” he corrected softly. “And clingy. And kind of a brat. But I’m yours.”

Yeah. Tyler has no chance.

[hoeforharrystyles]

Cherry Cola Love

Greaser!Harry Styles x fem!Reader

“He looked like trouble. He kissed like salvation.”

The first time Y/n saw Harry Styles, he was leaning against the side of a gas station vending machine, cigarette between his teeth and a devil-may-care grin under the flickering neon sign that read OPEN 24 HOURS. She was there for a cherry cola. He was there for a fight.

But they ended up colliding somewhere in between.

“You know that’s not yours,” she said, watching him pocket a candy bar with the smoothness of someone who’s done it one too many times to feel bad anymore.

He smirked at her, green eyes glinting with mischief. “Then why’s it in my pocket, sweetheart?”

She shouldn’t have liked him. Her dad definitely wouldn’t have. Greasers were bad news, he always said—boys with too much grease in their hair and too little future in their hands.

But Harry didn’t feel like bad news. He felt like a good danger. Like cherry cola on sunburned lips. Like stolen kisses in alleyways. Like running barefoot through the rain just because he said trust me.

***

“He kissed me like summer was ending, like everything sweet was fleeting.”

It was a Thursday.

The kind of Thursday where the sun hangs low and heavy, casting golden light across empty roads and sticky gas station windows. The air was thick with the hum of cicadas and the smell of wet pavement—like the world had just remembered it could rain and then immediately forgot again.

Y/n was sitting on the hood of one of Harry’s beat-up cars—it was half rust and half charm, with fuzzy dice swinging from the mirror and a cigarette burn in every seat.

He was late. As usual.

But that was Harry. Beautiful and inconsistent, a little tragic, like an old movie you can’t stop rewatching even though it always ends the same way.

She took a sip from her cherry cola—icy, red, syrupy sweet—and let it sit on her tongue. It reminded her of the first time he kissed her. That same taste. That same buzz behind her eyes. That same feeling of: oh, this is gonna hurt one day.

The car finally pulled up, tires crunching over gravel like slow thunder. The door creaked open and there he was—Harry. Slouched in the driver’s seat, curls falling into his eyes, a crooked grin on his face like he’d just done something he shouldn’t.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, voice a low drawl. “Got caught up thinking about you.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but her heart stuttered anyway. He always said things like that. Half-joking. Half-serious. But dangerous nonetheless.

She slid into the passenger seat and handed him the other bottle of cherry cola she’d been keeping cold between her thighs.

“You remembered,” he said, grinning as he cracked the top.

“Course I did,” she murmured. “It’s our thing.”

They drove in silence for a while, windows down, the breeze knotting their fingers together where they met between the seats. The radio played a song from the ‘50s—something dreamy and sad—and the air was thick with it. With them.

No one knew about Harry and Y/n. Not really. They weren’t secret, just sacred. Too soft to shout about. Too fragile to be spoken out loud. They met in dark parking lots and old motels, kissed behind shelves at the library, slow and lingering, like they had all the time in the world.

But they didn’t.

Harry lived like a ghost. Drifting from place to place. Heart in one hand, lighter in the other. And Y/n was always afraid that one day, he’d vanish altogether.

But when he looked at her—really looked—he was there. Whole. Real. Like he wasn’t afraid of anything except losing her.

“You ever think about leaving?” he asked suddenly, eyes on the road.

“All the time,” she whispered. “You?”

He nodded, taking a slow sip of cola. “Only if you’re coming with me.”

The sun dipped lower. The world turned pink and orange and bruised.

They parked near the edge of town, where the trees stretched out like arms and the sky felt endless. Y/n climbed onto the roof of the car, cherry cola in one hand, the other reaching for him.

He followed. He always did.

They lay there, side by side, watching the stars blink to life. Crickets chirping. Air smelling like grass and cola and summer.

“Do you love me?” she asked quietly.

Harry turned his head. His eyes were soft and green and endless.

“I don’t know how to love anyone else,” he said. “It’s always been you. It’ll always be you. Even when I try not to.”

She smiled then. A soft, sad thing.

He leaned in, slow, gentle. Like if he moved too fast she’d vanish.

Their kiss was warm. Fizzy. Sweet like cherry cola and burning like the stars above them. And in that moment, with his hand cradling her cheek and her heart thudding like thunder, Y/n realized—

This wasn’t the kind of love people survived.

This was forever, whether it lasted or not.

Cherry Cola Love. Sticky. Sweet. Dangerous. And entirely unforgettable.

[hoeforharrystyles]

Loving You In Secret

Reese Wilkerson x fem!Reader

It always started with the creak of the bedroom window. A soft click of the lock popping back. The faint rustle of bushes just outside the house. The occasional whisper of denim scraping brick. Then, his voice—low, whispering, clumsy: "Babe? You better not be asleep, or I swear I'm gonna trip and fall and break my face."

And then there he'd be. Reese Wilkerson. Standing crooked in the frame of her window, hair tousled from running across yards, sneakers muddy from the neighbor's sprinklers, a grin on his face that made her heart stop and then start again all at once. The streetlight behind him gave him a silver outline, like some kind of delinquent angel. He'd shimmy in like a chaotic cat burglar, knock over a lamp or two, curse under his breath, and then—finally—collapse next to her on the bed.

"Ugh," he'd groan, breathless. "Your stupid rose bush stabbed me in the leg again. What do you even feed that thing? Human blood?"

Y/n would laugh, already pulling him under the covers, her hands cold from the window glass, finding warmth in the crook of his neck. His skin was always a little warm, like he'd been storing sunlight all day just for her.

"Shhh," she'd whisper, burying her face against his shoulder. "My dad's still awake downstairs."

That always made him stiffen for half a second—Mr. Y/l/n was no joke. A six-foot-tall retired marine with arms like battering rams and a face that looked like it had never smiled once. He hated Reese. Hated the way he dressed, the way he laughed too loud, the way he once tried to fix the sink and flooded the entire kitchen. Said Reese was a bad influence. Said he was reckless.

He wasn't wrong. But Y/n didn't care.

"I don't get why he hates me," Reese whispered dramatically. "I only set one small fire. And I put it out. Sort of."

She rolled her eyes. "He also caught you sneaking hot wings into church."

Reese grinned, smug. "Yeah. But in my defense... it was Sunday. And I was starving. Plus, God created buffalo sauce for a reason."

Every night was like this. A rush of adrenaline. A sweet secret. A little bit of danger wrapped in cotton sheets and whispered jokes. They lived in the space between shadows and lamplight, and in that space, everything was beautiful. Sometimes they just lay there, watching the ceiling fan turn lazily in the dark. Other times, Reese would hold her so tight she could barely breathe—but in the best way possible.

He was terrible at words, but perfect in feeling. He didn't write her poems (that she knew about) or say romantic things, but he'd bring her weird trinkets he found—half-melted army men, a broken music box he "liberated" from the school lost-and-found, a cherry ring pop that made her tongue red for hours.

"This is your engagement ring," he'd say proudly. "You're welcome."

When she giggled, he'd puff up like he just won an award.

"You know I'm, like, so good at this boyfriend thing, right?" he'd whisper, his voice a raspy hush in the dark. "I mean, I'm loyal, I sneak in quietly—except that one time with the trash cans—and I'd beat up, like, a hundred dudes for you. A hundred, babe."

"I know you would," she'd say, pressing her lips to his temple, the warm scent of his shampoo lingering—cheap drugstore apple stuff he'd never admit he used.

Sometimes they'd just kiss for what felt like hours, slow and sweet and quiet, like the world outside didn't exist. Like her dad wasn't downstairs, like the sun would never rise, like they weren't just two teenagers who had no idea what they were doing but were doing it anyway because it felt right.

He'd trace lazy circles on her back, call her "baby" in this exaggerated deep voice that made her laugh, then get all serious when she actually looked at him for too long. Like her eyes could undo him.

"You know," he said one night, voice softer than usual, "I think I'm, like... totally, completely obsessed with you."

She blinked. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Like. If I had to choose between you and free meatball subs for life... I'd hesitate for a second... but I'd pick you."

"You're so romantic," she said, pretending to swoon.

"I know," he whispered. "It's kind of a curse."

But then, sometimes, Reese would get quiet. Not often. Just once in a while, when he thought she was asleep. He'd stroke her hair and stare out the window like he was trying to figure out the world.

"You're the only thing that makes me feel like I'm not totally screwing up my life," he'd murmur. "Like... maybe I'm not just the dumb guy who punches vending machines and ruins everything. You make me feel like I could be more. Even if I don't know what the hell that is."

She'd open her eyes and pull him closer, kissing the hollow under his jaw where he was soft and human and real.

"You already are more," she'd whisper. "You just don't see it yet."

Outside, the crickets sang. The moon hung heavy over the neighborhood like a watchful eye.

The world felt paused, painted in navy and silver and secrets. Somewhere, a dog barked. A car passed. A dream began.

Inside, they stayed tangled in each other, like two kids who knew the world didn't want them to work, didn't want them to love. But they didn't care.

Because Reese Wilkerson might have been reckless, might have been a little dumb, might have been chaos wrapped in denim—but to her, he was everything.

And in the dark, with her head on his chest and his arm slung over her protectively like he was guarding a treasure, everything felt perfect.

Even if it couldn't last forever. Even if one day, her dad did find out and send Reese flying out that window headfirst.

Even then—it'd still be worth it.

Because this? This was love, Wilkerson-style.

[hoeforharrystyles]

Midnights In Manhattan

Timothée Chalamet x fem!Reader

Since he was the second most voted for in the poll, here’s a little story for those who wanted one about him.

***

It was almost midnight in Manhattan, and the city hummed like a lullaby. Cars whispered down 5th Avenue. Someone’s jazz record bled through the thin walls next door. In Y/n’s bedroom—four floors up in a crooked pre-war walk-up—her window was cracked open just enough to let in the June air and the scent of cigarettes from the alley below.

She heard the creaking of the fire escape. But she didn’t flinch, because she knew that sound like the thrum of her own heartbeat.

A second later, a shadow climbed into her window. Skinny jeans, hoodie, messy brown curls that clung to his forehead from the summer sweat and maybe something else—tears, maybe.

"Timothée?" she whispered, sitting up in her bed, her silk sheets slipping off one shoulder like a scene from a movie they weren’t allowed to be in.

He didn’t say anything.

Just let the screen door squeal as he pushed it open, stepping into her little bedroom like he lived there, and collapsing onto her bed. His arms wrapped around her waist without asking. As he buried his face in her stomach, curling into her like a small child, like her body was the only home he had left.

“Timmy…” she whispered, as she ran her fingers through his hair, soft and damp, the way he liked it. “What happened?”

He shook his head.

His breath was hot against her cotton tank top. He smelled like rain, subway metal, and mint gum. She didn’t ask again. Not yet.

He whined, just a little, a sound that cracked her chest. “I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You don’t need anywhere else,” she whispered. “You have me. You always have me.”

Outside, sirens screamed down the avenue like a warning. But inside, time stopped.

Timothée clung tighter. “I hate that I can’t be with you during the day. I hate your parents. I hate that they think I’m a joke.”

She kissed the top of his head. “They don’t know what love is. They forgot. That’s not our fault.”

“I got rejected again. From that callback I told you about.”

“Oh, baby…”

“I’m tired of wanting something so badly and being told I’m not enough.”

Y/n pulled him up gently so their faces were close, foreheads pressed together in the moonlight like a prayer. “You’re more than enough. You’re everything.”

His lips trembled. “Why do you believe in me so much?”

“Because I saw the way your hands shook when you held that script. Because you cry during sad movies and write poetry on napkins and recite Shakespeare on the L train like you’re in the Globe Theatre. Because you were born for this, Timothée. And because I love you.”

She felt him smile, just a little, against her cheek.

“I love you more,” he whispered, like it hurt.

Then, almost shyly, he climbed into her lap, curling against her like a cat seeking warmth. She let him. Held him. Let his weight crush the air out of her lungs and didn’t complain once.

Outside, the moon hung heavy over the city like it was watching them.

Inside, he fell asleep with his ear over her heart and her fingers tracing the map of his back.

And somewhere between the buzz of streetlights and the sound of sirens in the distance, the girl in love with a boy her parents didn’t approve of decided she’d marry him someday. On a rooftop. Barefoot. With wildflowers in her hair and the whole city below them like a fairytale.

The hours passed like melted sugar, slow and golden. By 3 a.m., the room was filled with soft shadows and his quiet breathing. The kind of stillness that only lives between lovers and secrets.

Y/n lay awake, watching the ceiling and brushing the backs of her fingers over Timothée’s spine like she was painting stars into his skin. He stirred occasionally, mumbling incoherent little things.

But she didn’t answer. She just kissed his temple and held him tighter.

Around 4:17, he woke up—barely—his lashes fluttering like moth wings, and whispered, “Will you still love me if I never make it?”

Y/n didn’t hesitate, she didn't have to. “I’ll love you if you’re just the guy who reads me plays in bed. I’ll love you if you become a legend. I’ll love you if you work at the record store forever and never leave the city.”

He looked up at her then, his eyes glassy and boyish, and smiled so small it nearly broke her.

“That’s the only kind of famous I wanna be,” he said. “The kind that matters to you.”

She laughed, soft and sleepy. “You’re already a star to me.”

They stayed like that—half-tangled in each other, half-awake and whole-hearted—until the sky outside her window began to blush pale pink.

Birds chirped on the fire escape.

Downstairs, the deli opened. A dog barked somewhere far away.

And Timothée reached for her hand beneath the covers like a child afraid of thunder.

“Let’s run away one day,” he whispered. “Just me and you. Let’s leave all the people who don’t understand and go somewhere with big skies and nobody asking what we’re going to be when we grow up.”

She smiled, and placed a kiss to his knuckles. “We’re already everything we need to be.”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled her close again and tucked his head into the curve of her neck, like he could crawl inside her ribs and sleep next to her heart.

And outside, the sun rose slowly over Manhattan, but inside, it was still midnight, and always would be—just for them. The hour of secret relationships, fire escapes, and a boy who dreamed too big, and the girl who dared to believe in him anyway.

[hoeforharrystyles]

Little Spoon

Harry Styles x fem!Reader

The bedroom is bathed in a soft golden light, the kind that makes everything look honeyed and surreal, like a memory you don’t ever want to forget. The window is cracked open just enough for the summer night breeze to slip through, carrying the scent of jasmine and the distant hum of passing cars. The sheets smell like vanilla and clean linen, and Harry—faint traces of cologne, whiskey, and something sweet from the fruity drinks he kept stealing from Y/n at the party.

Harry's sprawled across the bed, limbs tangled in the sheets, his dark curls a mess against the pillows. His cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy, and his smile—wide and lazy—hasn’t left his face since they got home. Harry giggles, out of nowhere, shaking his head against the pillow.

“What’s so funny?” Y/n asks, still standing by the bathroom sink, brushing her hair.

“You,” Harry sighs dramatically, turning on his side to face Y/n. “You’re so far away, and I dunno why. Why are you over there?”

“I’m just getting ready for bed.”

“Don’t care,” he pouts. “Need you here.”

Harry flops back onto his back, letting out an exaggerated sigh, as he throws an arm dramatically over his eyes. “It feels like it's been forever. You’re taking forever. I'm so lonely in this big, cold bed without you. I'm practically wasting away from loneliness.”

Y/n rolls her eyes with a smirk, setting her brush down. “It's been like five minutes.”

“Feels like hours,” he mumbles dramatically, rolling onto his stomach, his face half-buried in the pillow. “Missed you so much. ‘S not fair. I’m all alone. So cold, and so lonely. I might not make it.”

Y/n laughs softly, taking her time as she applies lotion to her legs. “You’re so dramatic.”

“M’not,” he whines. “You don’t even care about me.”

Y/n peeks at Harry through the mirror and finds him pouting, arms crossed over the pillow. He wiggles closer to her side of the bed, reaching a hand out, fingers stretching toward her. “Come back. Please? You’ve been gone for, like… like… years.”

“Have not.”

“You have.” Harry groans, flopping onto his back. “I could die. Right here. In this bed. Just… perish.”

Y/n laughs, shaking her head. “Wow. What a tragic ending.”

“Mmhm,” he hums, voice muffled against the pillow. Then he gasps dramatically, eyes wide. “Baby. Babe. What if I die and you can never kiss me again?”

“Oh my god,” she snorts.

“No, really! That would be so sad. Like, Romeo and Juliet sad. Like, the saddest thing ever.” His bottom lip trembles, but it’s exaggerated, too much to be real.

Y/n bites her lip, suppressing a smile. “I’m pretty sure you’re not dying.”

“Can’t be too sure,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut. “Only one way to save me.”

“And what’s that?”

“A kiss,” he whispers dramatically, peeking at her through his lashes. “Just one. To revive me.”

Y/n crosses her arms. “So you’re sleeping beauty now?”

Harry grins, goofy and wide. “Yeah. I'm the prince, and I need a kiss, princess.”

Y/n shakes her head, pretending to ignore him as she moves on to moisturizing her arms.

Harry gasps, offended. “Wow, you’re just heartless.”

“Am not.”

“You are.” He shifts, pulling the blankets up to his chin. “I’m just a poor boy. Cold and alone. With no kisses and no one to love.”

Y/n gives him a pointed look. “You are so drunk.”

“No, m’not,” he giggles. “I’m just wanting some love”

“That’s for sure.”

“I know you like it,” Harry says smugly, his voice slurring slightly.

Y/n doesn’t answer right away, just smirks and turns back to the mirror.

Harry lets out a groan. “Why are you still over there? What could possibly be more important than loving me?”

“My skincare.”

Harry gasps again. “Skincare over Harry?”

“Yes.”

“You wound me,” he mutters, pressing a hand to his chest like he’s been shot. “M'gonna cry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I might.”

Y/n rolls her eyes but takes her time finishing up. Harry watches her the entire time, big green eyes sleepy and lovesick, his smile dopey. When Y/n finally turns off the bathroom light and crawls into bed, Harry immediately latches onto her, pulling her into his arms.

But then, as quickly as he moves, he stops. Stiffens. Shies away.

Y/n raises a brow. “What's wrong?”

Harry buries his face in the pillow. “Nothin’.”

She leans in, brushing a hand through his curls. “What is it?”

Harry mumbles again, but it’s completely inaudible.

Y/n smirks, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “I didn’t catch that.”

Harry groans, dragging the pillow over his head. “S’Nothin’. Now leave me alone and go to sleep.”

“No, tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me, or I’ll go back to the bathroom.”

Harry gasps, horrified. “You wouldn’t.”

Y/n moves like she’s about to get up. Causing Harry to panic, grabbing onto her arm. “Wait! Wait, okay! Just—stay. Please.”

Y/n smirks, victorious. “Then tell me.”

Harry lets out a heavy sigh, and then, in the softest voice, he murmurs, “I wanna be the little spoon tonight.”

Y/n's heart clenches. She lets out a wide smile, tucking her arms around his waist and pressing a lingering kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re so cute.”

Harry groans, his face burning, but he still melts into her embrace, his fingers curling over hers, pulling her closer. “M’not cute.”

Y/n presses another kiss to his cheek, letting her lips linger. “The cutest.”

“No, take it back,” he whines, voice muffled as he buries his face deeper into the pillow.

“Nope.”

Harry groans again but doesn’t pull away. If anything, he pushes back against her body, fitting as perfectly into her arms as he could, causing the heat of his body to settle against hers, as if he were made for this. Harry exhales deeply and contently, as his fingers traced absentminded shapes against her forearm.

The city outside hums, as the breeze whispers through the curtains. Harry mumbles something that sounds like “I love you” but Y/n doesn’t ask him to repeat it. She just smiles, pressing one last kiss to his curls before they both drift into sleep, tangled together in the quiet hum of the night.

But then Harry wiggles again, turning in her arms just enough to face her, his eyes fluttering open with a drowsy smile. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hey,” she whispers back, brushing some of his curls out of his eyes.

“I’m so happy right now,” Harry murmurs, pressing his forehead against hers. “You’re so warm. And you smell so good, too.”

Y/n laughs softly. “You’re so drunk.”

“Mmm, maybe,” Harry giggles, tightening his arms around her. “But I still mean it. I love you. Like… so much. And I wanna stay like this forever.”

Y/n feels her heart swell, warmth spreading through her chest. She cups his face, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then his forehead, then his nose.

Harry giggles, scrunching it up. “That tickles.”

Y/n grins, pressing another kiss to his lips. “You’re adorable.”

“Stop,” Harry whines, hiding his face into her neck but still laughing. “I’m supposed to be, like, cool or whatever.”

Y/n runs her fingers through his curls, pressing one more kiss to his nose. “You’re perfect.”

He hums, his grip on her tightening, voice soft and dreamy. “M'gonna marry you someday.”

Y/n smiles against his skin, her own cheeks heating. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” he sighs. “Best idea I’ve ever had.”

She laughs, hugging him closer. “I think so too.”

And with that, Harry finally drifts off, the happiest, most content little spoon in the world.

[hoeforharrystyles]

Fragile

Timothée Chalamet x fem!Reader

Their New York City apartment was the kind of eerie quiet that only happens when there are too many unspoken things hanging in the air. Y/n sat at the kitchen table, her coffee forgotten in front of her, her fingers absently tracing the edge of the mug. The smell of the cinnamon vanilla-scented candles barely reached her. She felt lost under the weight of the silence.

She could hear Timothée in the living room. His footsteps were brisk, almost angry, and she could feel his frustration radiating off of him, even through the walls. It had been like this for days. Ever since work had started piling up and their demands seemed almost impossible to meet, Timothée had withdrawn into himself. Y/n tried to give him space, to let him process whatever was going on in his head, but it was starting to take a toll on her. The tension between them was suffocating.

She knew Timothée was under a lot of pressure. She always did her best to be supportive, to stay out of the way when he needed it. But lately, every time he looked at her, she saw the stress in his eyes, and when he spoke, his words were sharp, cutting through her like blades. She never asked for much—just a little tenderness, a little kindness. But it felt like she was just a ghost in his life.

Her phone buzzed softly on the table, snapping her out of her thoughts. It was a message from her friend. "Everything okay with you and Timothée?" Y/n stared at the screen for a moment, biting her lip. How could she explain? How could she tell her best friend that Timothée wasn’t the person she knew anymore, that he seemed to be a stranger now?

She quickly typed a response, "Yeah, just a lot going on." It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. She hated lying, especially to her best friend, but she didn’t know how to explain any of this.

The silence stretched on, making her heart beat louder.

Suddenly, the door to the living room slammed shut with a sharp crack, and Y/n jumped. Her heart skipped a beat. She glanced up quickly to see Timothée standing in the doorway, his face flushed with frustration, his eyes hard and distant. He didn’t acknowledge her as he made his way into the kitchen. He moved quickly, too quickly, like he was trying to get away from something, from her.

Y/n’s chest tightened, but she kept her gaze down, afraid to make it worse.

He grabbed a glass and filled it with water, his movements stiff, almost violent. The sound of the faucet turning off echoed in the room. When he turned to face her, his eyes briefly met hers, cold and unfeeling, and it made her heart ache. There was nothing left in him but anger, and she was the target.

"Timothée" she whispered softly, barely above a breath.

His lip curled slightly, his expression a mix of annoyance and exhaustion. "What?" he snapped, his voice harsher than she was used to. The words stung, but she didn’t flinch.

Y/n’s throat tightened, her heart sinking. She had tried so hard to be understanding, to be patient, but it felt like she was invisible to him now. "Do you want dinner in a bit?" she asked quietly, her voice soft and trembling. She didn’t even know why she bothered. He wasn’t listening anyway.

Timothée grunted in response, not even looking at her as he walked out of the kitchen, his jaw tight, the air heavy with unspoken words.

Y/n bit her lip, her stomach twisting. She set her mug down gently, then stood up, her legs trembling beneath her. She had to say something. She couldn’t just let it keep going on like this.

“Timothée,” she began, her voice so quiet it barely made it past her lips. "I don’t know what’s going on, but you’ve been so cold. So distant. I just don’t understand why. It feels like you’re mad at me all the time." She took a step toward him, but he turned away, his back to her.

He didn’t respond at first, and when he did, it was barely a murmur. "I’m not mad at you," he muttered. But his tone said otherwise, it felt cold and unfeeling.

Y/n’s chest tightened painfully. "But it feels like you are. And it hurts me. It hurts that I’m just a burden to you now."

Timothée finally turned to face her, his expression harsh, almost dismissive. "You’re not a burden," he said with a flick of his hand, his voice dripping with frustration. "I just don’t have the time for this right now."

The words struck her like a punch. She couldn’t breathe for a second. She was just too tired of trying to figure him out. She had always been there for him, always tried to be understanding, but right now it felt like she didn’t even know who he was anymore.

"Then stop being so mean to me," she whispered, her voice so soft it felt like it would shatter.

Timothée’s eyes narrowed at her words, but something shifted in them, a flicker of guilt. His hand dropped to his side, clenched into a fist, before he released a slow breath. "I’m not trying to be mean to you," he said, his tone quieter, more drained now. "I’m just... I’m just under a lot of pressure right now."

Y/n's lip quivered, a soft frown tugging at the corners of her mouth, her heart aching as she looked up at him. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much it hurt, how much it felt like he was slipping away from her. But instead, she just shook her head, her tears threatening to spill. "I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Timmy."

His eyes softened just a little, but his face was still lined with frustration. He took a step toward her, his hands reaching out, but Y/n instinctively stepped back.

"Y/n, I’m sorry," he said, his voice softer, almost a plea. "I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I’ve been—I’ve been a mess. But you don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve being mean to."

Y/n felt her heart tremble at his words, but she couldn’t let go of the sadness she felt . "I just want you to love me again. To care about me like you used to." Her voice cracked, the weight of everything in her heart pouring out in that one sentence.

Timothée’s face crumpled, guilt flooding his features. "I do care about you," he said, almost pleading. "I just—" His voice faltered, and he didn’t finish the thought.

Y/n sniffled, her eyes wide and searching his face. He was still so distant, but something in his eyes had softened. She wiped at the tears that slipped down her cheeks, unsure of what to say.

Timothée took a deep breath and gently cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing the soft skin of her cheeks. "I’m sorry," he whispered again. "I’ve been selfish. You don’t deserve this."

Y/n didn’t say anything. She just let the tears fall as she closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest. She didn’t want to fight anymore. She didn’t want to be angry. She just wanted him back, the Timothée she used to know.

He kissed the top of her head softly, holding her close, his arms wrapped around her like he never wanted to let her go. "I’m sorry, Y/n," he murmured again. "I’ll make it right. I promise."

Y/n closed her eyes, letting herself sink into him, the soft rhythm of his heartbeat grounding her. "I just want you back," she whispered, her voice fragile, full of need.

For the first time in days, Timothée’s voice was gentle, full of sincerity. "I’ll be better. I promise."

Y/n pulled away slightly, just enough to look up at him, her wide eyes and searching his face for any sign that he meant it, that things would really get better. She bit her lip nervously, her heart thumping in her chest. It felt like there were a thousand words unsaid between them, and she was terrified of breaking the fragile moment they’d just shared. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, a nervous habit she had whenever she felt vulnerable.

Without really thinking, she puckered her lips out, her cheeks flushed pink as she held her breath. The action was small and hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to want this, but she needed it more than anything. Her heart raced in her chest, and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of hope, the silence between them feeling almost unbearable now. She couldn’t bring herself to look away, her gaze soft and full of anticipation, she needed something to make it all feel real again, something to break through the silence that had weighed so heavily on them.

Timothée hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering from her lips to her eyes. Then, with a soft sigh, he closed the gap between them, his lips meeting hers in a tender kiss. It was slow at first, a quiet reassurance, a promise. And in that kiss, Y/n felt a flicker of something—maybe hope, maybe love—that she hadn’t felt in what felt like forever.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested against each other, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breaths mingling in the quiet apartment.

And in that moment, Y/n finally believed him.

[hoeforharrystyles]

Harry's Shirt

Harry Styles x fem!Reader

The morning sun crawls through the window in long, honey-colored ribbons, spilling across the hardwood floor and climbing up the walls. The air is thick with the scent of butter melting in a pan, the slow sizzle of something warm and golden browning to perfection.

Harry moves like a ghost through the hallway, socked feet silent against the stairs, his hair a tangled mess of curls, his hoodie sliding off one shoulder. Sleep still clings to him, heavy and syrupy, but there’s something else pulling him forward, something instinctual, magnetic.

And then he sees her.

Y/n stands at the stove, her back to him, bathed in the morning light, golden and soft. But it isn’t just the sight of her that stills him—it’s what she’s wearing. His shirt. The one he was looking for last night, the one that had disappeared from the laundry pile. And now it’s draped over her, hanging off her frame like a ghost of him, swallowing her whole. It’s old, washed a thousand times, soft and worn, and now it belongs to her. Just like he does.The sleeves slip past her fingertips, the hem brushing mid-thigh, revealing just enough skin to make his stomach do something traitorous.

Harry doesn’t move at first. He just stands there, watching, cataloging the way the fabric moves with her, how she sways slightly as she stirs something in a pan. It shouldn’t be this mesmerizing, this hypnotic. But it is.

Y/n hums as she moves, completely oblivious to the fact that Harry is standing in the doorway, watching her like she hung the damn stars. She’s focused, flipping pancakes, shifting eggs around the pan, completely unaware that he is about five seconds away from absolutely losing his mind.

Something warm blooms in his chest, creeping up his throat, and before he can stop himself, he’s moving forward, bare arms wrapping around her waist from behind, his chin finding a home in the crook of her neck.

Y/n startles, a quiet gasp escaping her lips before she relaxes, melting into him like sugar in tea. “Harry—”

“Morning,” he mumbles against her skin. His voice is rough with sleep, low and scratchy, but there’s something so sweet about it. So unbearably sweet.

“You scared me,” she breathes out, but Harry can still hear the smile in her voice.

“M’sorry, angel.” He coos, pressing a kiss her shoulder. Then another. Then another. He exhales, brushing his nose against her skin. “You smell so good, baby.”

Y/n huffs, tilting her head slightly. “It’s probably the food.”

“S’you,” Harry murmurs, lips trailing lazily up her neck. “Always you.”

She sighs, relaxing into him for a moment before shaking herself out of it, rolling her eyes with a small smile. “Harry, let me cook.”

“No,” he says simply, arms tightening around her. He noses at her jaw, causing his warm breath to fan across her skin. “I wanna be close to you.”

“But you’re too close.”

“Not possible.”

“Harry.”

“Y/n.” 

She sighs, trying to shake him off, but it’s useless. He’s all over her, his hands smoothing up and down her stomach, his lips pressing lazy kisses to the side of her neck, his chest warm against her back.

“Baby, you’re in the way,” she tries again, but fails.

“No, I’m not,” he argues, but when she tries to flip a pancake and nearly misses the pan, he grins against her skin, biting back a laugh.

She groans. “You’re impossible.”

“Mmm.” Harry’s grip tightens, as his nose nuzzles into her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her shampoo that still lingers in her hair from the previous morning, his detergent that clings to the cotton of his stolen shirt, just something distinctly her beneath it all. “You’re wearin’ my shirt, lovie.”

Y/n just hums, amused, as she flips the batter in the pan with practiced ease. “Mmmhmm.”

Harry’s arms snake lower, his hands spreading over her stomach, as his thumbs rubbed slow circles against the soft skin that was just beneath the fabric. “Looks better on you,” he mumbles sleepily, voice thick with morning. “S’too big, though.”

Y/n huffs a laugh, reaching for the salt. “That’s the point.”

Harry makes a small noise—something between a sigh and a whimper—and presses himself closer, hips flush against hers, as his chest molded with her back. Harry’s warm, really warm. And the weight of him was grounding and distracting all at once.

Harry’s fingers twitch, sliding under the hem, as his palms graze the bare skin of her thighs. “Harry,” she warns, though there’s no real heat behind it.

“What?” he murmurs innocently, lips brushing against her pulse. “Not doin’ anything.”

She lets out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Mmm.” His grip tightens. “Can’t help it.”

His nose trails along the curve of her jaw, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses against her skin, as if he’s trying to imprint himself there. His hands roam—never too much, just enough to distract, to remind her he’s there, that he’s obsessed with her in the kind of way that makes his bones ache.

Y/n attempts to push him off, but it’s weak at best, and he knows it. “You’re gonna make me burn breakfast.”

“Don’t care,” he breathes against her skin. “S’not my fault you look like that.”

“Like what?” she asks, flipping a pancake onto a plate, pretending she’s unaffected even as her pulse flutters beneath his lips.

Harry grins against her shoulder, fingers trailing up under the shirt, mapping out her ribs like he’s memorizing a poem. “Like my favorite thing in the whole world.”

Y/n pauses for a second, heart stuttering, then shakes her head, biting back a smile and shaking her head, but there’s a warmth blooming in her chest, spreading through her ribs like sunlight. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he quips, nudging her ear with his nose.

His fingers toy with the fabric, pushing it up slightly, exposing more of her thigh. “You need to wear my clothes more often.”

She huffs, shaking her head. “Harry, baby, I love you, but you really need to move.”

“No.”

“Harry—”

“Don’t wanna.”

She lets out a dramatic sigh. “You’re being a brat.”

“I am a brat,” he agrees, completely unbothered. His lips find her jaw, pressing slow, deliberate kisses across her skin. “A brat who loves you.”

Y/n swallows, breath hitching slightly. “That’s not gonna work on me.”

Harry gasps. “That’s cruel.”

She laughs. “I’m serious, babe, I need to finish breakfast.”

“But I missed you,” he whines, pressing his forehead against her shoulder. “You got up before me. Left me all alone and cold. S’not fair.”

“Harry, I was gone for like twenty minutes.”

“Too long.” He pouts against her skin, pressing a wet, dramatic kiss to her shoulder. “Missed you so much, thought I was gonna die.”

She sighs, exasperated, but she doesn’t push him away this time.

And Harry—well, Harry just holds her tighter, letting himself get lost in her warmth, in the scent of her, in the soft hum of her breathing.

Because if there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s this:

She stole his shirt.

She stole his heart.

And he’s never getting either of them back. And he doesn't want them back.

She exhales through her nose, long and slow, then turns in his arms, pressing a hand against his chest to keep some semblance of distance. “Can you let me finish cooking?”

Harry considers this, eyes flicking between her face and her lips. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he loosens his grip—but not before sneaking a quick kiss to her cheek, then her nose, then, finally, the corner of her lips. “Fine,” he mumbles, stepping back with the reluctance of a child being told to go to bed. “But I’m not done with you.”

Y/n laughs, turning back to the stove. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And he just stands there, watching her move in his shirt, waiting for breakfast and for the moment he can pull her back into his arms again, where she belongs.

[hoeforharrystyles]

Adorable

Harry Styles x fem!Reader

The soft glow of the television flickers in the darkened bedroom, casting a pale blue light that dances across the sheets, the walls, and the tousled curls strewn across the pillows. An old black-and-white classic that Y/n had insisted on plays quietly in the background, but Harry isn’t watching the television.

No, Harry's watching her.

She’s curled up beside him, back against the pillows, hair spilling over her shoulders, fingers lazily playing with the hem of her hoodie—his hoodie, of course, because at this point, half his wardrobe lives on her body. Her eyes are trained on the screen, her expression shifting with every scene, and Harry… well, Harry is in love with her.

And he’s also very, very bored.

With a slow, exaggerated sigh, he shifts, rolling onto his side, then over again, until he’s half on top of her. His arm drapes over her waist, face nuzzling into the crook of her neck.

Y/n immediately groans. “Harry.”

“Hmm?” His voice is gravely, half-asleep, muffled against her skin.

“You’re heavy.”

"M’not.”

She tries to push him away, but he only tightens his grip, clinging to her like a human koala bear. "Harry."

“Y/n.”

She groans, struggling beneath his weight. “Get. Off.”

“No.” His grip tightens, long limbs tangling with hers like ivy climbing a wall. “M’cold.”

“Then get under the blanket, you menace.”

“But I don’t wanna.” He burrows deeper, pressing a slow, sleepy kiss to her shoulder, voice dipping into a whimper. “I wanna be on you.”

Y/n rolls her eyes, pushing at his chest again, but Harry just flops, he's a dead weight refusing to budge. “You are so annoying.”

“No, I’m adorable.”

“You are not adorable.”

He gasps, feeling scandalized. He lifts his head just enough to glare at her. “Take that back.”

“No.”

“Take. It. Back.”

“Absolutely not.”

Harry narrows his eyes, then suddenly collapses onto her fully, knocking the breath out of her.

“Harry!”

“Mmm.” He nestles in, arms around her middle, his head resting just beneath her chin. “Warm.”

Y/n flails under him, smacking his arm, but he just grins against her skin, pressing slow, lazy kisses to her collarbone.

“You are like a giant toddler,” she mutters.

“No you're a giant toddler,” he corrects, pressing a kiss to the underside of her jaw.

She groans dramatically, slumping back against the pillows, accepting defeat. “I hate you.”

“Love you too, angel.”

They lie there for a moment, his weight heavy and warm, the scent of him—clean laundry, vanilla, something distinctively Harry—wrapping around her like a lullaby. His hand sneaks under the hem of her hoodie, fingertips grazing her stomach absentmindedly.

“I can’t breathe,” she mumbles after a moment.

Harry hums in consideration, then—without warning—flips them over, dragging her fully on top of him instead.

Y/n yelps, catching herself against his chest. “Harry!”

Harry grins up at her, his dimples poking out, as a look of mischief crosses his features. His curls wild against the pillow. “Better?”

She glares down at him, arms crossed. “You are the worst.”

“And yet, you continue to date me.”

“I'm full of bad life choices I guess.”

Harry gasps, clutching his chest. “You wound me.”

Y/n smirks, poking his ribs. “Good.”

He retaliates immediately, hands grabbing her waist, fingers digging into her sides until she squeals, writhing in his grasp. She smacks at his hands, but he just grins wider, eyes shining with victory.

“Say I’m adorable,” he demands, tickling relentlessly.

“Never,” she gasps between laughs.

Harry pouts. “Heartless.”

“You knew this going in.”

He huffs dramatically, letting his hands rest on her hips, eyes softening. “Lucky I love you, then.”

Y/n blinks, breath catching slightly.

He’s still grinning, but it’s different now—smaller, sweeter, laced with something deep and warm, something that turns her bones to honey.

She swallows, pretending to consider. “Mmm. I guess I love you too.”

“You guess?”

She just shrugs. “Jury’s still out.”

Harry squints, then flips them back over, trapping her beneath him once again.

“Okay, okay, I love you, I love you,” she laughs, shoving at his chest.

Harry beams, nose nudging hers. “Say I’m adorable.”

She rolls her eyes but gives in, tugging him down, lips brushing against his.

“You’re adorable.”

Harry grins against her mouth, “Damn right, I am.” He then shifts his weight so she’s entirely trapped beneath him again, resting his head on her chest.

“What are you doing now?” she sighs.

“Gettin’ comfy.” He yawns, curling up like a cat, fully on top of her. “You’re my pillow now.”

She stares at the ceiling. “I hate my life.”

Harry hums, already drifting off. “No, you don’t.”

Y/n sighs, threading her fingers through his curls despite herself.

No. She really doesn’t.

[hoeforharrystyles]

Little Spoon

Harry Styles x fem!Reader

The bedroom is bathed in a soft golden light, the kind that makes everything look honeyed and surreal, like a memory you don’t ever want to forget. The window is cracked open just enough for the summer night breeze to slip through, carrying the scent of jasmine and the distant hum of passing cars. The sheets smell like vanilla and clean linen, and Harry—faint traces of cologne, whiskey, and something sweet from the fruity drinks he kept stealing from Y/n at the party.

Harry's sprawled across the bed, limbs tangled in the sheets, his dark curls a mess against the pillows. His cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy, and his smile—wide and lazy—hasn’t left his face since they got home. Harry giggles, out of nowhere, shaking his head against the pillow.

“What’s so funny?” Y/n asks, still standing by the bathroom sink, brushing her hair.

“You,” Harry sighs dramatically, turning on his side to face Y/n. “You’re so far away, and I dunno why. Why are you over there?”

“I’m just getting ready for bed.”

“Don’t care,” he pouts. “Need you here.”

Harry flops back onto his back, letting out an exaggerated sigh, as he throws an arm dramatically over his eyes. “It feels like it's been forever. You’re taking forever. I'm so lonely in this big, cold bed without you. I'm wasting away from loneliness.”

Y/n rolls her eyes with a smirk, setting her brush down. “It's been like five minutes.”

“Feels like hours,” he mumbles dramatically, rolling onto his stomach, his face half-buried in the pillow. “Missed you so much. ‘S not fair. I’m all alone. Cold. So lonely. Might not make it.”

Y/n laughs softly, taking her time as she applies lotion to her legs. “You’re so dramatic.”

“M’not,” he whines. “You don’t even care about me.”

Y/n peeks at Harry through the mirror and finds him pouting, arms crossed over the pillow. He wiggles closer to her side of the bed, reaching a hand out, fingers stretching toward her. “Come back. Please? You’ve been gone for, like… like… years.”

“Have not.”

“You have.” Harry groans, flopping onto his back. “I could die. Right here. In this bed. Just… perish.”

Y/n laughs, shaking her head. “Wow. What a tragic ending.”

“Mmhm,” he hums, voice muffled against the pillow. Then he gasps dramatically, eyes wide. “Babe. Baby. What if I die and you can never kiss me again?”

“Oh my god,” she snorts.

“No, really! That would be so sad. Like, Romeo and Juliet sad. Like, the saddest thing ever.” His bottom lip trembles, but it’s exaggerated, too much to be real.

Y/n bites her lip, suppressing a smile. “I’m pretty sure you’re not dying.”

“Can’t be too sure,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut. “Only one way to save me.”

“And what’s that?”

“A kiss,” he says dramatically, peeking at her through his lashes. “Just one. To revive me.”

Y/n crosses her arms. “So you’re sleeping beauty now?”

Harry grins, goofy and wide. “Yeah. I'm prince, and I need a kiss princess.”

Y/n shakes her head, pretending to ignore him as she moves on to moisturizing her arms.

Harry gasps, offended. “Wow, you’re heartless.”

“Am not.”

“You are.” He shifts, pulling the blankets up to his chin. “I’m just a poor boy. Cold and alone. With no kisses and no one to love.”

Y/n gives him a pointed look. “You are so drunk.”

“No, m’not,” he giggles. “I’m just wanting some love”

“That’s for sure.”

“I know you like it,” Harry says smugly, his voice slurring slightly.

Y/n doesn’t answer right away, just smirks and turns back to the mirror.

Harry lets out a groan. “Why are you still over there? What could possibly be more important than loving me?”

“My skincare.”

Harry gasps again. “Skincare over me?”

“Yes.”

“You wound me,” he mutters, pressing a hand to his chest like he’s been shot. “M'gonna cry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I might.”

Y/n rolls her eyes but takes her time finishing up. Harry watches her the entire time, big green eyes sleepy and lovesick, his smile dopey. When Y/n finally turns off the bathroom light and crawls into bed, Harry immediately latches onto her, pulling her into his arms.

But then, as quickly as he moves, he stops. Stiffens. Shies away.

Y/n raises a brow. “What's wrong?”

Harry buries his face in the pillow. “Nothin’.”

She leans in, brushing a hand through his curls. “What is it?”

Another mumble, completely inaudible.

Y/n smirks. “I didn’t catch that.”

Harry groans, dragging the pillow over his head. “Nothin’. Leave me alone and go to sleep.”

“No, tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me, or I’ll go back to the bathroom.”

Harry gasps, horrified. “You wouldn’t.”

Y/n moves like she’s about to get up. Harry panics, grabbing her arm. “Wait! Wait, okay! Just—stay. Please.”

Y/n smirks, victorious. “Then tell me.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, and then, in the softest voice, he murmurs, “I wanna be the little spoon.”

Y/n's heart clenches. She grins, tucking her arms around his waist and pressing a lingering kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re so cute.”

Harry groans, face burning, but melts into her embrace, his fingers curling over hers, pulling her closer. “M’not cute.”

Y/n presses another kiss to his cheek, letting her lips linger. “The cutest.”

“No, take it back,” he whines, voice muffled as he buries his face deeper into the pillow.

“Nope.”

Harry groans again but doesn’t pull away. If anything, he pushes back against her body, fitting perfectly into her arms, the heat of his body settling against hers like he was made for this. Harry exhales deeply, content, fingers tracing absentminded shapes against her forearm.

The city hums outside. The breeze whispers through the curtains. He mumbles something that sounds like “I love you” but she doesn’t ask him to repeat it. She just smiles, pressing one last kiss to his curls before they both drift into sleep, tangled together in the quiet hum of the night.

But then Harry wiggles again, turning in her arms just enough to face her, eyes fluttering open with a drowsy smile. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hey,” she whispers back, brushing his curls out of his eyes.

“I’m so happy right now,” Harry murmurs, pressing his forehead against hers. “You’re so warm. And you smell good, too.”

Y/n laughs softly. “You’re so drunk.”

“Mmm, maybe,” Harry giggles, tightening his arms around her. “But I still mean it. I love you. Like… so much. Wanna stay like this forever.”

Y/n feels her heart swell, warmth spreading through her chest. She cups his face, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then his forehead, then his nose.

Harry giggles, scrunching it up. “That tickles.”

Y/n grins, pressing another kiss to his lips. “You’re adorable.”

“Stop,” Harry whines, hiding his face into her neck but still laughing. “I’m supposed to be, like, cool or whatever.”

Y/n runs her fingers through his curls, pressing one more lingering kiss to his nose. “You’re perfect.”

He hums, his grip on her tightening, voice soft and dreamy. “M'gonna marry you someday.”

Y/n smiles against his skin, her own cheeks heating. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” he sighs. “Best idea I’ve ever had.”

She laughs, hugging him closer. “I think so too.”

And with that, Harry finally drifts off, the happiest, most content little spoon in the world.

[hoeforharrystyles]

More Than Friends

Nerdrry x Cheerleader!Reader

Harry adjusted his glasses nervously as the football game carried on around him, the noise of the crowd buzzing in his ears. He wasn’t really paying attention to the scoreboard; his focus was fixed entirely on the sidelines where Y/n stood, pom-poms in hand, the brightest smile on her face as she cheered with the rest of the squad. She always looked happy during games, but tonight she looked radiant. The floodlights illuminated her like something out of a heavenly dream, and Harry found himself unable to look away.

He knew it wasn’t smart—falling for his best friend. Y/n was popular, the kind of girl everyone wanted to be around. And Harry? He was the nerdy kid who got shoved into lockers a little too often and spent more time in the library than he did talking to people. Still, somehow, Y/n had decided he was worth her time. They’d been inseparable for years, and every single day he reminded himself how lucky he was to have her as a friend. Just a friend.

But lately, being just her friend wasn’t enough anymore.

Harry sighed, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself as he forced his eyes away from Y/n. He didn’t stand a chance. Why would she ever look at him that way when she could have anyone else—like, say, the football player currently strolling over to her with a cocky grin plastered across his face?

Harry froze, his stomach twisting as he watched the interaction. The guy leaned in close, saying something that made Y/n laugh—a genuine, full laugh that Harry usually got to hear when they hung out. And now, here she was, sharing it with someone else.

The football player said something else, pointing toward the bleachers, and Y/n's eyes scanned the crowd. For a moment, they landed on Harry, and she smiled brightly, waving at him like she always did.

Harry waved back weakly before quickly looking down at his sneakers.

He felt sick.

***

Y/n found Harry sitting alone after the game, a half-empty bottle of soda in his hand as he stared at the ground. She sat down on the bench beside him with her usual enthusiasm, nudging his shoulder with her own.

“Hey, what’s up? You look like someone just shoved you into a locker.”

Harry managed a small, embarrassed laugh. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Y/n squinted at him skeptically. “You’re a terrible liar. You’ve been acting weird all night. Did something happen?”

Harry shook his head, unwilling to meet her eyes. “Nope. Everything’s great.”

Y/n huffed, crossing her arms. “Okay, spill it. I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Harry mumbled, fiddling with the label on his soda.

“Is this about that football player?” Y/n asked suddenly.

Harry flinched, and Y/n's eyebrows shot up. “It is, isn’t it? Harry, seriously, what is going on?”

“It’s nothing, Y/n/n,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “Can we just drop it?”

“No, we can’t drop it,” she shot back, her tone a mix of confusion and frustration. “You’re my best friend, H. If something’s bothering you, you can tell me. That’s kind of what I’m here for, you know?”

Harry looked up at her, and the concern in her eyes almost undid him. She was so kind to him, so effortlessly warm, and he didn’t deserve it—not when he’d been jealous all night like some moody, selfish kid. He ran a hand through his messy curls, finally meeting her gaze.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said with a weak smile. “I promise.”

“Harry,” she said softly, her voice laced with patience, “just tell me. Please?”

He hesitated, feeling his pulse quicken. She was so close, watching him with such kindness, and he felt like he might break apart under her gaze. He looked back down, his fingers fidgeting with the cap of his soda bottle. “I just… I don’t like seeing you with guys like that,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It… it makes me feel weird.”

Y/n blinked, her expression softening. “Weird how?”

Harry let out a shaky breath, his cheeks burning. “Because… I care about you. I mean, I really care about you. And seeing some guy like him flirting with you just… I don’t know. It makes me feel small.”

Y/n stared at him, her face unreadable. “H… are you saying you like me?”

Harry swallowed hard, every instinct telling him to backpedal, to laugh it off, to change the subject—but the words slipped out before he could stop them. “Yeah. I do. But it’s not a big deal, okay? I get it—you don’t feel the same way. You don’t have to say anything.”

“Why would you think that?” Y/n asked, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

Harry let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Come on, Y/n/n. Just look at you. You’re gorgeous, and funny, and confident, and… I’m just... well me. I’m a mess. I’m awkward, I’m not very good-looking, and I… I know you’re just trying to let me down easy. And I appreciate it. I really do.”

“Harry,” Y/n said sharply, “stop it.”

But he couldn’t stop now; the words kept tumbling out like a dam had burst. “It’s fine. Really. You’re too nice to tell me the truth, and that’s okay. I’m not mad. I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to pity me or something because I’m—”

Y/n grabbed his face and kissed him.

Harry froze completely, his thoughts screeching to a halt. When she pulled back, she fixed him with a firm stare, her face flushed. "Harry, stop it."

“You… you kissed me,” Harry stammered, his voice cracking. “Why… why did you—”

“Because I like you, you oblivious dork,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes with a fond smile. “And I don’t want to hear you say one more word about me pitying you, or you not being good-looking, or whatever nonsense you’ve convinced yourself of. Because I think that you’re really, really cute.”

Harry gawked at her, completely at a loss. “You… think I’m cute?”

Y/n laughed softly, nudging him playfully. “Yes, H. I think you’re cute. I’ve always thought you were cute.”

Harry's face turned bright red, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Y/n teased, grinning at his dumbfounded expression.

Then it hit him—really hit him. Y/n liked him.  Y/n liked him back. His face split into the biggest, most ecstatic smile she’d ever seen, like the sheer force of his joy might launch him into the stratosphere. “Oh my God,” he breathed, laughing giddily as he ran both hands through his hair. “You… you like me? You actually like me?!”

Y/n giggled, watching him in amusement as he practically bounced on the bench. “Yes, Harry! I just said that!”

“I can’t believe this,” Harry said, shaking his head with wide eyes. “This is—this is insane. I mean—you—you’re you! And I’m—oh my God, this is the best day of my life!”

Y/n laughed so hard she had to clutch her stomach. “You’re such a dork.”

Harry let out a joyous, breathless laugh, turning to look at her with hearts in his eyes. “Yeah. But now I’m your dork.”

Y/n leaned her head against his shoulder, smiling as her laughter softened into something warmer. “Yeah, you are.”

[hoeforharrystyles]

Just Pretending

Part three: Done

Nerdrry x Popular!Reader

The morning light streamed through Y/n's curtains, gently waking her up. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, her mind drifting to the events of the previous night. The memory of Harry's laughter and the way he'd explained physics concepts with such enthusiasm brought a small smile to her lips. It had been surprisingly nice. Different from what she was used to.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes and glancing at the clock. With a quiet sigh, she reached for her lip gloss on the dresser, before applying a light layer. She caught herself smiling and immediately shook her head, trying to dismiss the warmth rising in her chest.

When she opened her closet, Y/n found herself hesitating. Normally, she'd pick something that Luke liked—a cropped top or a skirt he'd once complimented. But, today, though, she felt an odd desire to just be comfortable. She pulled on a cozy sweater and her favorite pair of jeans, brushing her hair quickly before grabbing her bag.

Walking to school, Y/n's mind was a whirlwind. Why did he have to be so sweet? she thought, kicking a small stone on the sidewalk. Her friends' cruel plan felt heavier than ever. She paused at the crosswalk, gripping her bag strap tightly. "Maybe I can fix this," she whispered. But how?

***

At school, Y/n didn't get far before Luke found her. He was leaning against her locker, arms crossed, with a smirk plastered on his lips. "Morning, babe," he said, pulling her into a quick kiss. "So, how'd it go with Harry? Did he fall for it?"

Y/n felt her stomach twist. "Uh, yeah," she mumbled, avoiding his eyes as she opened her locker. "He was... helpful."

Luke chuckled. "Helpful? I bet he was thrilled you even talked to him. Nerds like him eat that stuff up."

"Luke," Y/n said softly, "maybe we should stop—"

"Don't even start," Luke interrupted, his tone sharp. "We've got this plan, remember? Don't mess it up now." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "I mean, you're not actually starting to like the guy, right?"

Y/n shook her head quickly, but the denial felt hollow even to her. "Of course not."

"Good," Luke said, his grip on her arm tightening briefly before he let go. "Because that would be pathetic."

Meanwhile, Harry was standing at his own locker, oblivious to the scrutiny he was under. The memory of the last night lingered with him, too. He couldn't help but smile as he remembered the way Y/n had lightly touched his arm, he knew it didn't mean anything to her but for him, it was monumental. His whole life he's gotten used to being a nobody, just someone for people to laugh at, but that simple touch had made him feel seen in a way he rarely experienced. For the first time, someone had looked to him for help—and genuinely seemed to appreciate it.

He shut his locker, his smile lingering as he adjusted his glasses. "Maybe, just maybe she's not like the others." he thought to himself, the words warming a part of him that had long been cold. The hope was fragile, but it was there.

***

By the time lunch rolled around, Y/n's nerves were frayed. She slid into her usual seat at the table, Luke beside her, as the rest of the group were already laughing.

"So," one of the girls said, smirking. "How's our favorite nerd doing? Did he write you a love letter yet?"

The group erupted in laughter, but Y/n forced a weak smile, staring at her tray. Luke, however, wasn't laughing. He leaned back in his chair, his arm draped over Y/n's shoulders.

"I mean, let's be real," Luke said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Even if he did, it's not like it would matter. He's so far beneath her it's embarrassing."

One of the girls raised an eyebrow. "Wow, Luke. You sound a little jealous don't you think?"

Luke's eyes narrowed, and he sat up straighter, his tone cutting. "Jealous? Of him?" He scoffed. "Please. Why would I ever be jealous of some loser who can't even make eye contact half the time?"

Y/n just nodded, not knowing what to say.

"Hey, Y/n," Taylor said, "You're awfully quiet today. Thinking about your new best friend?"

The group laughed, and Y/n forced a chuckle. "No, I'm just tired," she said, hoping that would be enough to change the subject. But of course, it wasn't.

Ally flicked her hair and smirked. "What did you guys even do? I can't even imagine having to spend that much time with him. He's just... ugh."

Y/n shrugged, fiddling with the edge of her tray. "Nothing really. We just went over some physics stuff."

"Physics stuff?" Taylor mimicked, her tone dripping with mock disbelief. "Come on, give us the details! What's he like? Was he totally drooling over you?"

Luke smirked, "Of course, he was. Kid's been obsessed with her since, like, kindergarten."

Y/n clenched her jaw, her hands gripping her fork so tightly that her knuckles turned white. But she couldn't say anything.

"He was nice. That's all."

"Nice," Ally repeated, rolling her eyes. "Of course, he was. He probably thinks you're, like, the best thing that's ever happened to him. Honestly, it's hilarious. He's so obvious about it."

"I bet he's already planning your wedding," Taylor chimed in, her laughter sharp and cutting

Y/n's face flushed, but she said nothing. Instead, she forced a tight smile, trying to keep her composure.

"What I'm wondering is if he'll ever be able to find a girlfriend, with those huge glasses. And those ridiculous clothes." Tabitha giggled, and Zoe joined in with a snicker.

The laughter at the table grew louder as they all mocked Harry's appearance. They were all too busy enjoying themselves to notice the way Y/n's face had fallen, as her stomach twisted uncomfortably.

She wanted to join in, to laugh along with them, but it felt hollow now. Each snide remark about Harry made her stomach drop. It wasn't that she didn't care about fitting in—she did. But Harry wasn't just some "loser" to her. Every cruel joke that was aimed at him seemed to tear at something inside of her, something she didn't want to acknowledge.

Was she really willing to keep going along with this? To pretend she wasn't starting to care about someone who made her feel more wanted than Luke ever did? She couldn't even be honest with herself anymore. Her feelings for Harry were complicating everything—her friendships, her life, even her sense of who she was. And yet, every time she remembered how Harry looked at her with that shy smile, she felt like he was the only one who truly saw her.

They just didn't get it. None of them understood how genuine Harry was, how he actually made her laugh, how comfortable she felt talking to him.

But she couldn't tell them that. She couldn't defend him without losing everything.

Luke leaned in, his voice low and possessive. "You're not getting too close to him, are you?" he asked, his tone sharp and demanding. "You know you're mine, right?" He said it like it was a reminder, like it was a fact.

Y/n's heart skipped a beat. She wanted to argue, to say that she didn't belong to anyone, but she swallowed the words. She didn't want to cause trouble. Not with Luke. Not with her friends. Not with anyone.

"I know," Y/n murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She tried to keep her tone light, but inside, her mind was racing.

"Good," Luke said, his hand resting possessively on her shoulder as he shot a look toward Harry's table. His eyes narrowed, and Y/n could feel the jealousy radiating off him. "Just remember, you're not some charity case. People like him, they don't fit in here. They never will. And you don't need to be wasting your time with him."

Y/n just nodded, barely hearing him. She noticed Harry stand up from his table and head toward the exit. As he passed by her table, he subtly placed a small folded note beside her tray. Her heart leapt in surprise, and she quickly hid the note under her plate, hoping no one saw.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Y/n gathered her things and followed the others to their next class—Physics. She felt a strange excitement building up inside her as she walked into the classroom, her eyes scanning the desks for Harry. When she saw him sitting at his usual spot behind her, her heart gave an unexpected jump.

She slid into her chair, and before she could stop herself, she turned around and waved at him, a smile spreading across her face. Harry froze for a moment, looking surprised by her gesture, his eyes wide. Y/n felt a brief moment of self-consciousness, wondering if she had overstepped, but then he smiled shyly and waved back. Her heart did a little flip when he smiled, like a butterfly trying to take flight inside her chest. It was small, but it meant everything to her.

"Hey," she said softly.

Harry looked up, a little startled that she would want to talk to him out in the open. "Hi," he replied, his voice shy but warm.

Y/n hesitated, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hey, um, about last night—thanks for, you know, trying to help me."

Harry's cheeks flushed. "Oh, yeah. Of course. I just... sorry if I wasn't much help."

She gave a soft laugh, shrugging. "No, it's not you. I'm just hopeless with physics."

"You're not hopeless," Harry said quickly, sincerity lacing his words. "You just learn differently. That's all."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "Learn differently? That's a very nice way of saying I'm terrible at it."

Harry chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "No, I mean it. You were starting to get it, I think. Maybe not all of it, but some of it."

She grinned. "Well, I'll take that as a win."

He smiled back, and for a moment, the awkwardness melted away. "I mean, if you ever want to try again, I'd be happy to—"

"Yes please," she interrupted, her tone sounding almost desperate. "I need all the help I can get."

Harry laughed softly. "You'll get It eventually. I promise."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the noise of the classroom seemed to fade into the background.

"Thanks again. Even if I didn't get it, it was... kind of fun."Y/n said, breaking the silence.

Harry's smile grew, and he pushed his glasses up nervously. "Yeah. It was."

Before the conversation could continue, the bell rang, and their teacher began the lesson. Harry was different from Luke in every way—kind, patient, and genuine. The thought both comforted and terrified her.

When she turned back around, Luke leaned in, lips brushing against her ear, as he whispered, "Good job, Y/n. You're doing great. But don't forget who your real friends are."

Y/n's smile faltered, and a wave of guilt crashed over her. The excitement from the exchange with Harry melted away, replaced by a sinking feeling in her chest. She tried to push it aside, but the words lingered, echoing in her mind. Luke had no idea what it was like to talk to Harry, to feel... real, for once. And yet, she still didn't know if she was ready to break free from the life she'd built with her friends.

As the teacher began to talk, Y/n forced herself to focus on the lesson, but she couldn't shake the weight of Luke's words. Harry had given her a glimpse of something more, but was it worth the price she would have to pay in the end?

As the class continued on, Y/n found herself looking back at Harry more than she should have. She could feel the magnetic pull of him, his quiet presence drawing her in. When he caught her gaze, she felt a little rush of heat in her cheeks, but it wasn't from embarrassment. It was something else. Something that made her want to smile every time their eyes met.

***

That evening, as Y/n lay in bed, she unfolded the note. It was a simple message: "Thanks for asking me for help. It meant a lot to me. If you need anything else, just let me know. – Harry."

Her chest ached as she stared at the words. He was trying to connect with her, genuinely and openly, and she was lying to him. 

Folding the note carefully, she tucked it into her pocket, before taking out her phone.

She stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Before, finally, she typed out a message to Harry: "Hey, sorry if I was a little awkward last night. Can we maybe study again sometime?"

His reply came almost instantly: "Of course! Anytime you need help."

"If you're free, could we maybe study tomorrow?"

"Of course! I'll see you tomorrow."

Y/n smiled at the screen, but the guilt in her chest didn't fade. If anything, it grew stronger. She liked spending time with Harry—more than she wanted to admit. But how could she ever make things right when she was the one who had set this terrible plan into motion?

***

Saturday arrived quicker than Y/n expected, and with it came a storm of emotions she wasn't entirely ready to face. She stood on Harry's front porch, nerves thrumming under her skin as she lightly knocked on the door. 

The door swung open moments later, revealing Harry's grandmother, still as warm and inviting as ever. She wore a soft cardigan under her floral apron, and her face lit up the moment she saw Y/n.

"Oh, it's you again!" She exclaimed with a delighted smile. "It's so nice to see you." She stepped aside, motioning for Y/n to come in. "I don't think I properly introduced myself last time, dear. I'm Mrs. Styles."

Y/n returned the smile, her voice a little shaky. "It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Styles."

"Harry told me you'd be coming by," She said, clasping her hands together. "I have to say, it's such a joy to see him spending time with someone. I can't tell you how much it means to me, seeing my Harry have a friend. He's never had one before, you know."

Y/n's heart stopped, like someone had thrown ice water in her chest.

She forced a smile, nodding. "Well, Harry's great company."

Mrs. Styles' expression softened, her eyes sparkling. "He is, isn't he? Such a sweet boy. He just needed someone to see it." She paused, looking almost wistful. Her voice dropped a little, almost like she was sharing a secret. "I've been waiting for this day for a long time."

Y/n almost stepped back, as if the air itself had become too thick to breathe. She swallowed hard, keeping her hands clenched to prevent them from trembling. "I'm glad I could be here," she said, the words coming out more hollow than she intended.

Mrs. Styles gestured toward the living room. "He's in the living room, all set up and ready for your study session. You two have fun!"

"Thanks," Y/n murmured, stepping inside. The smell of cinnamon lingered in the air, and she tried to shake the weight pressing down on her chest as she made her way into the cozy living room.

Harry was seated on the couch, textbooks, notes, and a calculator spread out on the coffee table in front of him.

When he saw her, he froze for a moment, as if he hadn't expected her to show up at all. Then, just as quickly, his face broke into a shy smile. He adjusted his glasses, his fingers brushing against them a little too nervously. "Hey," he said, his voice a little shaky, the sound of it almost too soft, too eager. "Ready to tackle physics?"

Y/n hesitated before shaking her head. "Actually... I was thinking maybe we could skip studying today. I just kind of... want to hang out."

Harry blinked at her, his lips parting slightly, as his fingers clenched around the edge of a notebook, like he was trying to hold himself together. "Really?" His voice cracked slightly, and she saw him flinch, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to hope for that.

Y/n nodded slowly, the guilt squeezing tighter in her chest, but she ignored it, forcing herself to smile. "Yeah, if that's okay with you." She said, sitting down beside him.

"Of course," Harry said, almost too quickly, like he feared she would change her mind. He chuckled nervously, "I mean, yeah, sure, I just... uh, didn't expect that." He cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up. "What do you want to do?"

Y/n shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I don't know, talk. Get to know each other."

Harry blinked again, clearly caught off guard by the simplicity of the request. "Okay, um, talk. Right, um, yeah, sounds good." He cleared his throat again, trying to calm his nerves. "What, uh... what do you want to talk about?"

"Well," she said, voice a little too light, "let's start simple. What's your favorite movie?"

Harry's face lit up, his hands twitching as he clasped them together in his lap, almost too eager. "Uh... movies! Right, um, well, I guess... I like The Hobbit a lot. I've watched it so many times, I can practically quote it."

Y/n's eyes lit up with interest. "The Hobbit? So it's your favorite movie and book?"

Harry's eyes widened, genuinely shocked. "You... you remember that?" he asked, his voice soft with disbelief. He glanced down, as if unsure of what to say next.

She gave him a small smile, looking down, "Of course, I remembered. So, what do you like about it?"

Harry's face brightened, and for a moment, the nervousness seemed to vanish. "Well, it's like... it makes you feel like you're part of something bigger, like, um, like you could go on an adventure yourself. I don't know, I just, I really like how, like, even the smallest people can do big things. And the dwarves, they're really cool. They stick together, you know?"

Y/n smiled, listening intently. Her mind wandered, a sharp, uncomfortable thought creeping in: I'm making him think this is real. He's so kind, so happy. She clenched her jaw, trying to push the thought away, but it kept surfacing, gnawing at her. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was only doing this because of the stupid joke her friends had set up. She never even wanted to lead him on.

But as Harry went on, his excitement clear, she couldn't help but admire the way his eyes sparkled. And Y/n felt her stomach twist with guilt.

You've gone too far, she thought, her hands clenching in her lap. He's not just some joke to laugh at. He's a person. A good person.

She shook her head slightly, trying to clear the internal conflict. "That's really sweet," she said, her voice softer than before. "I love that you're so into it. I think it's cute."

But before Harry could respond, Mrs. Styles walked in, holding a plate of freshly baked cookies. "I thought you two might like a little snack," she said with a bright smile. "I made some of your favorites, Harry."

Harry's face lit up, and he quickly whispered, "Thanks, Grandma," as she placed the plate in front of them. He reached for one but hesitated, glancing at Y/n. "Do you want one?"

Y/n smiled at his nervousness, nodding. "Sure, I'll try one."

Mrs. Styles beamed at them both. "It's just so wonderful to see Harry with a friend," she said, her voice practically sparkling. "I can't tell you how happy it makes me. He's such a good boy, and I'm just so proud of him for finding someone like you. You're really special to him, Y/n. I can see it."

Harry immediately went red, his eyes widening as he fumbled with the cookie in his hand. "Grandma, stop, please. It's—uh, it's not a big deal," he stammered, trying to brush it off.

But she wasn't having it. "Oh, but it is, Harry! It's a huge deal! You deserve to have good friends." She looked back at Y/n, her eyes full of warmth. "And you, dear, you're just the sweetest thing. I'm so happy to have you here."

Y/n forced a smile, her stomach in knots. "Thanks, Mrs. Styles. Really, it's nothing. He's a good guy." Her words felt like ash in her mouth. The truth was too big to hide now, and she knew that with every word she said, she wasn't lying. "And I think Harry's really lucky to have such a nice family."

Mrs. Styles' face lit up even more, and she patted Harry on the shoulder. "Well, you both enjoy the cookies! I'll let you two get back to your, uh, studies... or whatever else you're doing," she added with a wink, before leaving the room.

The moment she was gone, Harry sighed, rubbing his face. "Sorry about that... She gets a little excited. I didn't mean to, like... embarrass you."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, turning toward him. "Harry stop. Remember what I said last time?"

Harry blinked, clearly confused. "What?"

"You don't need to apologize for her," she said gently, smiling. "She's really sweet. I think it's nice she's so supportive of you."

Harry's face softened, and his shoulders relaxed. "You really think so?"

"Yeah," Y/n said, nodding. "I think it's really sweet that she's so proud of you. And it's kind of nice to see how much she cares."

Harry smiled shyly, a soft glow on his face. "I'm glad you think that. It just... sometimes feels a little too much, you know? But I'm really happy you like her. I was worried you'd think it was weird or something."

Y/n shook her head. "It's not weird at all. I think it's really sweet." She gave him a playful nudge. "And hey, I wouldn't want to miss out on homemade cookies just because your grandma gets excited."

Harry laughed, his eyes lighting up with genuine happiness. "Okay, I'll try not to apologize again. But, um... thanks, Y/n. It really means a lot."

As she watched Harry smile, something inside her shifted, a quiet realization settling in her chest. The guilt that had been weighing on her for so long suddenly became too much to bear. Seeing him so genuine, so unaware of the game she had been playing, broke something open in her. She had crossed a line, and she realized that, in that moment, she couldn't keep pretending. She wasn't just Harry's friend to make him to make him a joke.

She liked him—more than she had ever intended to—and that made the whole thing feel unbearably wrong. In that moment, Y/n knew she couldn't keep pretending, couldn't keep going along with the plan. She wasn't just his friend to amuse herself or anyone else. She cared about him—more than she'd let herself admit.

She wasn't going to let anyone, especially her friends, push her into hurting him again. Harry deserved better than that, and for the first time in a long while, so did she. No more pretending. No more games. This was real. And in that moment, she knew that nothing—nothing—was worth giving that up.

[hoeforharrystyles]

Clingy

Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Y/n was lying in her bed, the soft blankets draped over her like a warm embrace. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air from the fabric softener, mixing with the cool, crisp hint of the evening breeze that slipped through the cracked window. Outside, the moonlight streamed through the thin curtains, casting a silvery glow that bathed the room in a serene, dreamlike quality.

It had been a long day, and all she wanted was to relax and unwind. But the moment she closed her eyes, she felt the weight of someone climbing onto the bed next to her.

"Y/n," Harry whined as he slipped under the covers, his chilled fingers grazing her waist as he wrapped himself around her, resting his head on her chest. His body was cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the blankets.

"Harry," she said gently, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "What’s going on?"

"I’m just so cold," he whined, burying his face deeper into her chest. "And I don’t want to be cold anymore."

"Baby, you’re always cold," she laughed softly, tightening her arms around him. The sound of the sheets rustling filled the room. "And you’re literally wrapped up in a blanket right now."

He sighed dramatically, tightening his grip around her. "But I’m still cold, Y/n. And you have to warm me up."

"Okay, okay, I’ll keep you warm," she said, her tone tinged with amusement as she pulled him closer. Harry nuzzled into her neck, his cheek soft against her skin, his lips making the cutest pout, as she caught a faint trace of his cologne.

"I don’t ever want to let go of you," Harry mumbled. "You’re so warm and comfy."

"Well, you don't have to," she whispered, pressing a kiss on the top of his head.

Harry hummed contentedly, but his grip didn’t relax. If anything, it only tightened as he pressed himself against her side even more, like he was trying to melt into her completely. She could feel the warmth of his body against hers and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

"Y/n…" he whispered, his voice filled with a soft desperation. "Please just hold me."

"I am holding you," she replied, squeezing him back, trying to comfort him.

"No," Harry whined, "I mean, really hold me."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." Y/n assured him, pulling him closer, as her hands traced soothing patterns across his back. "Is this better?"

"Mhm."

"You're a big baby, you know that?"

"I’m not a baby," Harry argued, though his voice was muffled by the way his face was pressed into her hair. "I’m just very affectionate. That’s all."

"Uh-huh, sure," Y/n said with a teasing smile. "You’re just a little clingy, that’s all."

Harry tilted his head up to look at her, his eyes wide and innocent. "Clingy? Me?" he gasped dramatically. "How could you say such a thing?"

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh. "Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you won’t let me breathe without you being attached to me?"

"Well," Harry said with a little grin, "I’m not going to let you breathe without me attached. I like being attached to you." He punctuated his sentence by wrapping his arms tighter around her, as if to prove a point that didn't really make sense.

"You’re impossible," Y/n chuckled, letting him pull her in tighter. She could feel his warmth against her, and despite the teasing, it felt nice to be this close to him.

"Stop it. I just want to be near you," he mumbled, his voice soft and a little drowsy now. "What if you go somewhere? What if you leave me?"

"Harry," she said gently, "I’m not going anywhere."

"But what if you do?" he whined again, his hand clutching her shirt like he was never going to let her go. "I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay here. Forever."

Y/n’s heart melted at how vulnerable he was being. She brushed a strand of his messy hair away from his face before placing a kiss on his forehead. "I’m right here, Harry. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

He gave a satisfied sigh and rested his head against her chest, still clinging to her like she was his lifeline. "Okay," he said softly, "but if you ever try to leave, I’m going with you."

She laughed lightly, running her fingers through his hair. "I’m not going anywhere, so you can relax."

"But what if you go to the kitchen for a snack?" he asked with a pout. "What if you don’t come back?"

"Harry, I’m not going anywhere," she repeated, amused by his ridiculous worries. "You’re stuck with me, alright?"

He responded with a dramatic groan, still holding onto her as if his life depended on it. "Good. Because I want you all to myself, right here, forever."

Y/n smiled warmly, hugging him back. " I like having you all to myself, too."

A soft, contented hum escaped Harry as he snuggled even closer, pressing his cheek against her chest. "Good," he muttered, already half-asleep. "Because I’m never letting go."

Y/n couldn’t help but smile as she felt his grip around her tighten again, and she realized that despite his clinginess, she didn’t mind one bit. In fact, she kind of loved it.

"You’re ridiculous," she whispered, running a hand gently over his back. "But I’m glad you’re here."

"I’m glad I’m here too," Harry mumbled, his voice fading as he drifted off to sleep, still holding onto her like she was his favorite thing in the world.

And as Y/n lay there, listening to his soft breathing and feeling the warmth of his body against hers, she realized just how perfect these quiet moments were. Even if he was clingy, Harry was exactly where he needed to be—right beside her.

[hoeforharrystyles]

Lucky in Love

Supersticiousrry x fem!Reader

Harry Styles was, without a doubt, the king of superstitions. He didn’t just follow them; he lived by them. From knocking on wood to avoiding cracks in the sidewalk, Harry was all in. He’d learned all of his rituals from his grandmother, who told him they were essential for living a happy life. And Harry? Well, he was more than willing to believe her, especially now that he had Y/n in his life.

At first, she thought Harry’s obsession with luck was... cute? But then it began to spiral into something else entirely.

It started one morning when Harry rushed into the kitchen, wide-eyed, holding a single sunflower in one hand and a bag of salt in the other. Y/n was sipping her coffee, still half asleep, trying to process why her boyfriend was holding a plant and a bag of salt like they were some kind of holy relics.

“Okay, baby, I need you to listen to me very carefully. This is crucial,” Harry said, dead serious.

“Harry, it’s 7 AM,” Y/n mumbled, raising an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

“I forgot to throw salt over my shoulder yesterday, and now our relationship might be at risk.” Harry’s face was so sincere it was almost impressive.

Y/n blinked at him, trying to keep a straight face. “Wait, what?”

“The salt!” Harry said, shaking the bag for emphasis. “It’s like, it’s the ultimate protection spell, okay? I can’t—we can’t—be in a good relationship without salt being thrown at least once a day.”

Y/n stared at him, slowly lowering her mug. “So... you're telling me that we could be doomed if you don’t throw some salt over your shoulder?”

“Yes, exactly! It’s tradition,” Harry said with a nod. “But that’s not all. I need to water this sunflower exactlytwelve times before sunset or it’ll jinx our love life.”

“I—uh... What?” Y/n was now holding back her laughter at this point.

“Oh! And if we don’t both say ‘bless you’ three times when one of us sneezes, we could have seven years of bad luck! Seven years Y/n!” Harry added, his eyes growing wide with concern.

Y/n laughed so hard she almost snorted. “Okay, okay! I’ll throw some salt over my shoulder and water the sunflower. But only if you promise not to go around tapping every single corner in the house with your knuckles again.”

Harry froze, his eyes widening in absolute horror. “Wait—what?” He stared at her like she’d just suggested they give up breathing. “You mean... you don’t knock on every corner for good luck? But... but that’s— that’s like the most important part! ”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a grin. “You can’t actually be serious right now.”

“No, I’m not serious, but this is!” Harry’s face was full of concern as he placed his hands on his hips. “If I don’t knock on every corner, Y/n, it’s like inviting disaster into our lives. It’s the doorway to misfortune, it’s a rule of the universe!”

Y/n bit her lip, holding back laughter. “A doorway to misfortune... right, sure, I get it now.”

Harry, his face pale and on the verge of a meltdown, shook his head in disbelief. “I... I don’t think I can handle that kind of risk. You’re asking me to toss our luck aside." He paused, his gaze sweeping the room as if searching for answers, his expression growing even more dramatic. “How... how is this relationship still standing without you knocking on corners? What kind of dark magic have you unleashed?”

Y/n burst into laughter. "I swear, no magic involved."

Harry exhaled in relief. "Good. Because that's bad luck too. But just to be safe... we're definitely knocking a few corners today. For good measure."

Y/n couldn’t take it anymore. She burst out laughing, rolling her eyes. “Okay, okay! Fine. We'll knock the corners. But only because I love you and don’t want to risk misfortune.”

Harry, his eyes still wide, sighed in relief. “Oh, thank you baby. You really had me there for a second. We can’t mess with the balance of the universe like that!”

Y/n shook her head with a fond smile. “You’re absolutely ridiculous. But I’ll do anything to keep the luck on our side... even if that means I have to go corner-knocking today.”

***

The next day, things got even crazier. Y/n was sitting on the couch in the living room when Harry appeared wearing a very oversized red sock on his left hand. “Baby, what are you doing?” she asked, stifling a laugh.

“I’m wearing my lucky hand-sock,” he explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You just don’t get it. If I wear a sock on my left hand, it brings good fortune. I got a promotion at work yesterday because I did this. So, naturally, I'm going to be doing this every day now.”

“Every day? With a sock on your hand?” Y/n couldn’t contain her giggles any longer.

“Yes,” Harry said solemnly, wiggling his fingers inside the sock. “And you have to do it, too.”

“Wait, what? I don’t even have a sock for my hand!” Y/n protested.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll get you one. We need both hands covered, or else the balance will be off,” Harry said, clearly dead serious.

Y/n’s heart melted at his ridiculousness. He was the dorkiest person she’d ever met, but it was something she couldn’t resist. She nodded and sighed. “Alright, Harry. I’ll wear your sock. But only because you’re way too cute for me to argue with.”

Harry beamed at her like she’d just agreed to marry him. “Perfect! Now we’re both lucky. And don’t forget, we also need to eat pancakes for breakfast every Sunday. Pancakes are the ultimate guide to good luck.”

“Okay, pancakes on Sunday. Got it,” Y/n said with a grin. “What next, Harry?”

“Well, it’s Wednesday, so we can’t eat tomatoes,” Harry said, his tone firm, as if it were the most serious thing in the world.

Y/n blinked, baffled. “What? Why not?”

Harry began pacing around the room dramatically, his expression deadly serious. “Tomatoes on Wednesdays?! Y/n, come on! That’s like asking for the universe to smack you upside the head with bad luck. They’re a gateway to disaster! You really want to risk it?”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Wait, so eating tomatoes on a Wednesday is like... what? A curse or something?”

Harry stopped pacing, looked her dead in the eye, and shook his head, a mix of exasperation and disbelief in his voice. “Exactly. It’s not just any old bad luck, it’s Wednesday bad luck. You’re tempting fate, and fate? Not a fan of tomatoes on Wednesdays. Trust me.”

Y/n stared at him, her mouth agape . “You’re actually serious right now, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Harry said, his eyes narrowing. “Do you really want to test the tomato gods? Because I’m telling you, we’re better off with a different vegetable. Preferably, one that doesn’t cause, you know, catastrophic consequences!"

Y/n burst into laughter. “So you're telling me I can’t have my tomato sandwich for lunch today because of some ancient curse?”

“Exactly!” Harry said, waving his arms dramatically. “Tomatoes on Wednesdays bring nothing but bad vibes. We can’t risk it, Y/n. We just can't. I care too much about us.”

She couldn’t help but giggle, shaking her head. “Okay, okay, no tomatoes on Wednesdays. Got it. But what happens if we accidentally break this rule?”

Harry looked at her seriously. “Don’t even joke about that. If you eat a tomato on a Wednesday, you might accidentally summon bad luck, and we might end up with spilled coffee, broken dishes," he then let out a gasp, putting his right hand over his mouth, "or worse—”

“Or worse?” Y/n interrupted, trying not to laugh.

“Or worse.” Harry said, nodding gravely.

“Alright, no tomatoes for me today then,” Y/n said, standing up from the couch and making her way over to Harry. She leaned in and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. “But only because I don’t want to anger the tomato gods.”

“It's better to be safe than sorry.” Harry smiled, then did a dramatic twirl and pointed to the door. “Now, we leave, but remember—always step on the right side of the doorframe. That’s the lucky side.”

“Of course.” Y/n rolled her eyes in amusement but followed his lead.

***

A week later, Y/n found herself following Harry around the apartment as he went through his superstitious checklist.

“Alright, now we need to make sure the door’s closed before we go out. It’s bad luck to leave it ajar.” He went around checking every door and window as if the house was an ancient temple that needed to be guarded.

Y/n was trying not to laugh. “And this is all for good luck?”

Harry nodded seriously. “Yes. Trust the process.”

“Okay,” she said, playing along. “Then what do we do if we step on a crack?”

Harry looked at her like she had just asked about summoning a demon. “You don’t step on a crack. That’s like a whole other level of bad luck. You just—don’t.”

Y/n burst into laughter. “What is happening? This is so weird, but also kind of... fun?”

Harry smiled, pulling her close and holding her tightly. “We’re making our own luck, Y/n. It’s not just about superstition—it’s about believing in each other and in the magic we create together.”

Y/n couldn’t stop smiling as she wrapped her arms around him. “Well, whatever it is, I’m starting to think you might be onto something.”

Harry looked at her, his expression full of pride. “See? I told you. The rituals are part of the magic. They work for everything—even our relationship.”

Y/n blinked. “Wait, our relationship?”

Harry nodded, his eyes serious now. “Especially our relationship. I have a whole system in place to make sure our love is always lucky. You know, so nothing can break us apart.”

“Wait, what?” Y/n laughed, though a part of her felt a little skeptical. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.” Harry crossed his arms, and smiled. “I’ve got a lot of superstitions about relationships. Like, if we both don’t get enough sleep, it’s bad luck for our bond. And we can never—never—fight on a Wednesday. It’s a curse. Oh, and if we’re ever separated for more than three days, we have to write each other a letter. It’s good luck. It keeps us connected.”

Y/n stared at him, half in awe, half in disbelief. “Okay, I’m not going to lie—that is a lot of pressure for a Wednesday.”

Harry’s face softened, and he took her hand. “I just want to make sure nothing ever comes between us. All these superstitions are like little rituals that makes sure we stay happy together.”

Y/n looked at him for a moment, and then, a sudden warmth filled her chest. She knew it was a bit wild, and way over the top, but the way Harry cared so deeply about making their relationship work made her heart swell.

“Alright, alright,” she said with a grin. “I’ll follow your superstitions. But only if we add a new one—like, ‘No bad vibes in the apartment on Mondays.’”

Harry laughed, clearly delighted, his eyes sparkling, “Deal! See? I knew you’d come around. Lucky socks, salt, lucky charms—soon you’ll be asking for a rabbit’s foot to hang on our door.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far, but maybe we should invest in some lucky socks for real. For next time.”

“Deal!” Harry said, holding out his hand. “Lucky socks it is. But only if you wear them with the green striped ones.”

She shook his hand, grinning. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

As they walked out the door, Y/n couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through her. It wasn’t just about Harry’s superstitions, but how much effort he put into making sure their relationship stayed strong. His belief in these little rituals, no matter how silly, made her smile every time. It wasn’t about magic or luck—it was about the care he showed in wanting to hold onto them. And as absurd as it all seemed, she realized she wouldn't trade it for anything. 

[hoeforharrystyles]

Feeling Diva

Louis Tomlinson x fem!Reader

The dim light of the afternoon slanted through the blinds, casting golden stripes on the couch where Louis lay curled up, he was a tragic sight, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie two sizes too big. His hair stuck up at odd angles, and his nose was a faint shade of pink from all the tissues he’d gone through. Next to him, a box of tissues teetered precariously on the armrest, and an empty mug of tea sat abandoned on the coffee table.

Y/n emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of steaming soup, her hair pulled into a messy bun and her sweater slipping off one shoulder.

“Before you say anything,” Louis drawled from his fortress of pillows, his voice raspy but still sharp, while one of his hands draped over his forehead. “Just know I’m feeling diva today.”

Y/n stopped mid-step, her brow arching in curiosity. “You’re always a diva Lou” she asked, fighting a smirk.

He turned his head slowly, deliberately, to fix her with a look so sharp it could’ve sliced through steel. “Excuse me?” His voice dripped with disbelief, thick with the indignation only he could muster. “I am not always a diva. I am a man of refinement. There’s a difference.”

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh as she crossed the room, placing the bowl gently on the coffee table, before disappearing back into the kitchen. “Oh, of course, my bad. How could I forget?” She called out, voice slightly echoey, “Man of refinement. Got it.”

Louis sniffed, sitting up just enough to prop himself on one elbow, his other hand clutching the blanket to his chest, calling out to her. “Don’t patronize me, Y/n. I’m fragile right now. My fragility demands respect.”

Y/n came back into the room, stifling a laugh as she held out a cup of tea. “Whatever you say Lou. Now Drink this before it gets cold.”

He eyed the mug suspiciously, then looked back at her with the kind of skepticism that was usually reserved for used car salesmen. “What’s in it?”

“Tea. Honey. Lemon. Love and affection,” she said with a smile.

He squinted his eyes at her. “Hm, I don’t know if I trust the ‘love and affection’ part. Sounds toxic.”

“Lou.”

“Fine,” he said, sighing as though she were asking too much of him. He took the mug with a dramatic flair, pinky out, and sipped. “Too much lemon.”

“No, it’s perfect,” she said, stealing the mug back and setting it down.

“Well I disagree,” he muttered, sinking back into the couch.

Y/n rolled her eyes, pointing to the bowl on the table in front of him. “Well eat this before your attitude gives me a headache too.”

He stared at the soup as if it had personally offended him. “I can’t. I’m weak. My arms feel like noodles. Limp noodles, Y/n.”

She bit back a laugh, picking up the bowl. “I can feed it to you, if that’s what you’re angling for.”

Louis' eyes widened, and he leaned back, clutching the blankets back to his chest. “Oh, no. We’re not at that stage of desperation just yet.”

Y/n smirked. “But you just said—”

“Forget what I said. I’m a mystery. An enigma. Stop trying to solve me.”

She set the soup down with a sigh, leaning back against the couch. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you,” he said, turning to her with a weak but pointed look, “are underappreciative of my brilliance.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Your brilliance?”

“Yes, my brilliance. It’s hard being this charming all while sick. You should be thanking me for gracing you with my presence in such a vulnerable state.”

Y/n leaned in, brushing a hand against his messy hair. “You’re right. I don’t deserve you.”

Louis closed his eyes and sighed, tilting his head into her touch. “Finally. Some recognition around here.”

Y/n let out a sigh before pointing to the bowl of soup. “Eat.” 

Louis let out an exaggerated groan, leaning forward as if the mere act of moving was an unbearable burden. With a dramatic groan, he grabbed the bowl of soup, sighing as though the effort had physically wounded him, and began to stir the contents lazily with his spoon. “What even is this supposed to be? It looks like you’re trying to finish me off for good.”

Y/n crossed her arms, staring him down. “You’re lucky I didn’t just bring you a can of chicken noodle and call it a day.”

He gasped, clutching his chest like she’d just stabbed him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I might,” she teased, nudging his legs with hers.

“You’re a monster,” he muttered, eyeing the soup with a disgusted look. “Is this even seasoned properly?”

“You’re welcome to get up and cook your own soup,” she shot back.

“Babe, please.” He held up a hand as if to stop her. “I’m ailing. On the brink of death. You wouldn’t ask a dying man to fend for himself, now would you?”

She reached for the spoon, scooping some broth and holding it out. “Eat. Or I swear I’ll let you wither away just to get some peace and quiet.”

Louis pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing. “Rude.”

Y/n groaned, shoving the spoon closer to his mouth. “Just. Eat. The. Damn. Soup.”

He sighed dramatically, accepting the spoon but glaring at her as he swallowed the bite. Immediately, his face twisted in over-the-top disgust. “Too much pepper,” he declared, shaking his head like a disappointed food critic.

“I didn't even put pepper in this. You're insufferable,” she muttered, putting the spoon back in the bowl.

“And yet,” he said, placing the bowl back on the table before reclining further into the pillows, “you love me.”

“Do I, though?” she quipped, raising an eyebrow.

Louis' mouth dropped open in mock offense. “Y/n, if you don’t love me at my worst then you don’t deserve me in my prime.”

“Oh, please,” she said, laughing despite herself. “You don’t have a ‘prime.’”

He tilted his head, his lips curling into a sly smile. “You didn’t seem to think that last week when I wore that tight black shirt that you like.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked away. “Don’t start.”

“Too late,” he said, his grin widening. “I saw that blush. You’re so predictable.”

Y/n shoved a pillow at his face. “Shut up and eat your soup.”

Louis batted the pillow away, laughing weakly before groaning and clutching his head. “Ugh. You’re giving me a migraine now.”

“Love, you’ve had a headache all day,” she pointed out, her voice softening.

“Well, now it’s even worse,” he said, throwing her a pitiful look. “Congratulations babe. You broke me.”

She sighed, reaching out to brush his messy hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to. Do you want another cold compress?”

Louis blinked up at her, his expression suspicious. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch, Lou. I just want you to feel better.”

He squinted at her, leaning back slightly. “Hm. This feels like a trap.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, standing up to fetch the compress.

“I saw that,” Louis called after her.

“Saw what?”

“The eye roll. So disrespectful.” He said, with a shake of his head, before flipping her off, although she couldn't see it.

When she returned with the cold compress, she carefully placed it on his forehead. Louis winced dramatically, flinging his arm over his eyes. “It's too cold!”

“It’s supposed to be cold.”

“Well, it’s doing its job a little too well.” He gave her another sharp glare.

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re such a diva.”

He turned his head just enough to fix her with a glare. “If by ‘diva,’ you mean ‘icon,’ then yes, I am.” He said, with a proud smile.

Y/n leaned in close, her lips quirking into a smile. “You know, for someone who claims to be on the brink of death, you’re awfully energetic.”

Louis huffed, flipping her off again, but holding it up a little longer than before. “For someone who loves me, you’re awfully annoying.”

She rolled her eyes again, this time deliberately. “Lucky for you, I don’t mind annoying you.”

“Lucky for you, I’m too sick to retaliate properly,” he muttered, closing his eyes.

“Go to sleep, Lou,” Y/n said, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

His eyes popped open, and he smirked. “Fine. But if I wake up cranky, just know that it will be all your fault.”

Y/n laughed, shaking her head. “Go to sleep, you diva.”

He stuck his tongue out at her—a small, childish act of rebellion that made her roll her eyes so hard she was sure they’d get stuck. But instead of snapping back, Y/n just sat beside him, arms crossed, daring him to make the next move.

“Don’t sit there and judge me,” Louis said, his voice muffled as he sank deeper into the nest of blankets. “I’m not judging,” she said, though her grin betrayed her.

“Oh, you absolutely are,” he replied, popping his head out to glare at her. “I can feel it in the air. The judgment. The disgust.” 

Y/n crossed her arms, her grin widening. “You’re so dramatic.”

Louis' eyes narrowed. He sniffled loudly for effect, making it sound like the universe itself had wronged him. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to be gracious right now? Because my ‘unsupportive girlfriend’”—he made air quotes with exaggerated disdain—“is out here bullying me in my time of need.”

She laughed, sitting down on the coffee table across from him. “I’m not bullying you, Babe. I’m literally just trying to take care of you.”

He sighed deeply, like a tragic hero staring down the cruelty of fate. “Taking care of me? By mocking me? By rolling your eyes like I’m some kind of burden?” His hand shot up again from the depths of his blanket cocoon, middle finger raised.

Y/n swatted his hand lightly, still laughing. “I’m just trying to help you, you big baby.”

“Baby?” he echoed, gasping like she’d just slapped him. “Wow. I pour my heart out, and I get called a baby. Do you even love me anymore?”

Y/n leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I'm not so sure right now.”

Louis threw the blankets off his chest, sitting up abruptly with a gasp of betrayal. “You did not just say that.” His expression shifted into a look so exaggeratedly wounded that Y/n had to bite her lip to keep from laughing again. “I have been out here, dying, and you—you—have the audacity to question your love for me?”

He flipped her off again, both hands this time, his fingers wobbling slightly like even they were tired of his nonsense.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said through giggles, reaching to tuck him back into the blankets.

“And you’re mean,” he shot back, letting her fuss over him but glaring daggers the entire time. “But fine. If you’re going to be cruel, I’ll just... suffer in silence.”

“Finally,” Y/n muttered, smirking as she adjusted the blanket over his chest.

“Oh, don’t finally me!” Louis barked, trying to sit up again, but she pushed him back down with ease. “This is abuse. This is oppression. I will not be silenced.”

She kissed the top of his head to silence him, and for a moment, he went still. Then, his lips curled into the faintest pout. “You think that’s going to fix it?”

“Fix what?” she asked, sitting back down.

“My broken heart,” he said, clutching his chest dramatically. “But sure, just kiss me like that solves everything. So lazy you are.”

Y/n groaned, leaning back. “Louis, if I wasn’t madly in love with you, I’d have left you hours ago.”

“And yet, here you are,” he quipped, smirking through his raspy voice. “I must be pretty incredible for you to put up with all this.”

“‘Incredible’ isn’t the word I’d use,” she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Oh, I know what word you’d use.” He pulled the blanket up to his chin, narrowing his eyes. “Diva.”

Y/n grinned. “If the crown fits...”

Louis raised a hand, flipped her off again—this time with such deliberate slowness it felt almost ceremonial.

“You know what? I’m done. You’re done. We’re all done. I can’t even look at you right now,” he muttered, pulling the blanket over his head.  “You’ve hurt me too much.”

Y/n shook her head, pulling the blanket back slightly to peek at him. “So dramatic.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he replied, although it came out slightly muffled. “Which, frankly, says a lot about you.”

She sat there, watching as he huffed and wiggled to get comfortable, his grumbles growing quieter with each passing moment.

“Goodnight, my little diva,” she said softly, taking the blanket fully off of his head before leaning down to kiss his temple one last time, before brushing a hand against his messy hair.

“Yeah whatever. Goodnight,” he mumbled back.

She laughed softly, her fingers lingering for a moment before pulling back. “You’re lucky I love you.”

His eyes opened, just a sliver, and his lips curved into a small, tired smile. “I know,” he said, before pulling the blanket back over his head, finally being quiet.

[hoeforharrystyles]

Pathetic

Summary: Harry is pathetic, whipped, and an asshole.

Word Count: 2k+

(SMUT so beware.)

"Just give me one more chance."

"I gave you about twenty chances, Harry," You argue. You both have been broken up for about two months now. Harry has a bad habit of breaking up with you when he feels it gets too serious and then begging his way back into your heart at some lame frat party a few weeks later. You finally became exhausted of the cycle and realized you didn't want to be in a relationship with someone like that. Harry didn't take your final break-up well at all because he finally understood you were done with his antics. He's been in a constant state of panic ever since.

"Please, Y/N. I won't- I won't dick around again. I'm a fucking idiot. Just- baby, please," He's spluttering as he corners you into a wall of his dingy frat house. The music is blaring, and people are dancing everywhere you look.

"Yeah, you've said that every time, and I'm not buying it," you say with a mundane tone. You love Harry more than anything, but you can't give him the satisfaction in knowing that. He practically whines and cages you against the wall, his hands on either side of your head, his face resting against your shoulder. You roll your eyes at his pathetic behavior.

"Please, please, please," He begs, his arms wrapping around your waist tightly. You huff in annoyance.

"I hope you know you're acting pathetic right now," you tell him, and he whimpers in your shoulder, nodding his head against you. "Harry, look at me," you say, and he drags his head up. His eyes are clouded over, and his hands rest on your hips, lips in an eternal pout. "I'm not going to date you again because you're an awful boyfriend." His jaw slightly drops, and you swear you see tears well in his eyes. "But-" you begin, reaching up to caress his cheek and wipe a fallen tear, "I'll let you fuck me one more time since that's all you wanted from me anyway, huh?" You ask condescendingly.

"No- No, Y/N, please. You have to know that's not true-" His spluttering is cut off by your lips on his.

"This isn't going to happen if you keep talking," You whisper against his lips. His mouth slips open, and he dips his tongue into your mouth, massaging his against yours. The make out is sloppy and wet, and by the time you pull away, you're both panting and have red cheeks. You take his hand in yours and pull him to the closest bathroom. You lock the door behind you and pop yourself up on the counter.

"We can't go to my room?" Harry asks in a small voice.

"Fuck no. I don't know who you've had in there since me," you say, your voice heavy with disgust as you pull him between your legs and start kissing at his neck. His hands rest against your thighs, squeezing and pawing at them as he shakes his head.

"I swear there hasn't been anyone since you," He promises and moans when you start sucking at his skin.

"As much as I want to believe that we both know the slut you've been in the past," you say and pat his chest. He glares at you before smashing his lips against yours and yanking down your top, so your breasts spill out. He grips and pinches your tits, making you moan into his mouth. His disconnects his mouth from yours to suck at your nipples. Your hand comes to cradle the back of his head as your other hand rubs at your clit through your underwear.

"Let me," he says and goes to put his hands on your pussy, but you stop him.

"No, you can just fuck me," you say breathlessly. "You don't deserve anything else." He nods his head in pitiful agreement and begins to unzip his jeans and pull himself out of his boxers. Your eyes shine at the big dick you've been missing, and you bite your lip to hold back your smile. You spit into your hand before reaching down to jerk him off a bit. His hips stutter into your hand and his jaw drops as a guttural moan spills out. "Geez, you're sensitive," you laugh.

"Wanna fuck you," He whines and thrusts into your hand.

"Alright, c'mon, big boy," you tell him and part your legs further, scooting farther down the counter, so your pussy is perfectly lined up with his dick. He slides himself over your pussy to get himself wet, his face twisting in pleasure at the subtle contact, and you can't not laugh at his piteous behavior.

As soon as he's about to stick his tip in, you stop him.

"Wait," you say and shove at his hip. He pouts but stills himself. "Get a condom," you tell him, and his jaw drops in betrayal.

"But- we never used a condom- ever!" He complains, his eyebrows sewn together in annoyance.

"Well, we are now. I don't trust where your dick has been," you tell him, and his jaw drops.

"This isn't fair! C'mon, Y/N, I've gone along with your games all night, and baby, please, I love you so much. I haven't been with anyone else. You're the only one for me-"

"Harry, it's a condom or nothing," you command, and he basically whimpers at your unwavering attitude.

"Okay," he agrees meekly and reaches into his pocket to pull out a condom. Your jaw drops, and a laugh falls from your mouth. His eyes question you.

"So, you want me to believe you haven't been with anyone when you had a condom ready in your pocket?" You can't control the laugh that escapes you.

"No! It was Niall, I swear! He- He's been making fun of me because I haven't fucked anyone since you, so right before the party started, he jammed one of these in my pocket, and I forgot to take it out. I swear, Y/N," his eyes are serious, and it does sound like something Niall would do, but the irony is too perfect.

"Yeah, okay, just put it on, Harry," you say with humor lingering in your voice.

"Are you fucking- Here, I'll call Niall right now, and he can tell you," he says and begins to reach for his phone.

"No, Harry, that's so unnecessary!" You laugh and try to grab his phone, but he's already ringing Niall.

"Obviously it's not," he counters, puts the phone on speaker and waits for his friend to pick up.

"Hello?" The familiar Irish accent speaks into the phone.

"Hi, Ni. Have I been with anyone since Y/N?" Harry asks.

"No- what the fuck is going on right now- are you with Y/N?" Niall's confusion is evident through the phone.

"Yeah, hi Niall," you say awkwardly.

"Oh, fucking finally. Y/N, you've got to give my boy Harry another chance. He doesn't stop fucking whining about you, and it's annoying as hell-" Harry hangs up the phone before he could say anything else.

"Well, you see now," Harry says and positions himself at your entrance.

"Just the tip," you tell him, and his brows furrow in confusion.

"Huh?" he asks.

"I don't want you to fuck me all the way," you explain. His jaw ticks, and he slaps his dick against your clit, making you twitch. "Careful," You warn between gritted teeth. He spends some time just rubbing himself in between your pussy lips and catching his head on your tight hole. "C'mon, Harry. I want to get back out to the party."

"You're being so mean," He pouts but pushes his head in, his jaw dropping in pleasure. You push at his hip when his hips thrust a bit farther in.

"You were mean first- fucking remember that," you spit.

"I'm sorry," he whines as he fucks you with the tip of his cock. He reaches down to rub at your clit, and your legs lightly shake at the sensation. Harry knows exactly where every good spot is on your body and where exactly will bring you the most pleasure. "So sorry, baby. I'll be anything for you, I swear," he says all pussy-drunk.

"Too little, t-too late, Harry," you breathe and gasp when he pushes in a bit farther. "Watch it," you warn.

"Please, Y/N," He cries, his hips stalling in an attempt to not cum.

"Oh, you better not be about to fucking cum. We haven't even been going for two minutes, and I didn't even think you'd be able to cum from just the tip," You laugh evilly, and he groans in response.

"Shut up, shut up," he says and presses at your stomach when you try to wiggle on him.

"Fucking loser," You spit and clench down on him.

"You're still letting this loser fuck you, s-so what does that say about you?"

"Shut the fuck up," You moan and shove at his hip, but he barely budges. He fucks his tip in and out of you while lightly slapping your pussy.

"If you want me t-to be a loser, I will, sweetheart. I'll be anything you fucking want. Just- just don't leave me again," He begs and leans down to suck on your tits again. "Mama, please." Harry only uses that nickname for you when he's in a certain headspace, so you understand you need to be softer with him for the time being. He does genuinely seem sorry for his behavior, and he's just so hot he's hard to say no to.

"C'mon, Harry. You can cum," You encourage him, and he shakes his head.

"You- You're gonna leave," He whispers and grasps your hips tightly, stilling the both of you once again. You can't take it this time and instead wrap your legs around his hips and push him into you, so you're pressed tightly together. He practically sobs as he cums, and you fear he's too loud, so you press a hand to his mouth. His arms wrap around your waist to hold you to his body, and you swear his orgasm lasts forever. The sensation brings you close, yourself. Your hand that's not on his mouth comes up to play with his hair.

"Calm down," you say gently into his ear as he breathes heavily. His head sags to your shoulder where he sucks at your neck in a soothing manor. The hand that isn't in his hair now rubs at his back. He tries his best to keep his hips still, but they animalistically shove himself as far in as he can possibly go to lock your bodies together.

"I love you- love your soul and your body and everything about you," he breathes and kisses your cheek, letting his forehead rest against your temple. "I love you- I'm so sorry, my love." You can't help the tears that fall at his sentiment. He kisses your cheek again and begins to kiss his way down your body, gently removing himself from you in the process, though when he sees your mixed cum start to drip from your pussy, he quickly gets on his knees and starts to lick you clean. "We taste the best when we're together," he moans and shoves his tongue inside you as far as he can.

"Harry!" You squeal and fist a hand into his hair.

"Fuck- moan my name, baby while I eat your sweet cunt," he pants and sucks at your clit with ferocity. His head shakes side-to-side like a feral animal, and your legs begin to shake again. His hands come up to grip your legs and pin them to the side to spread you open for him. "Cum for me, please, baby." His begging sends you over, and you swore you would've slipped off the counter if he hadn't been gripping you tightly. As you begin to come down, two fingers are being shoved into your pussy and practically shaking you up, hitting repeatedly at that sweet spot inside of you, and you begin to spurt everywhere as you squirt, Harry's tongue flicking against your clit the entire time. He removes his fingers once you finish but then again move his head down to your entrance to lap you up. You have to push his head away and quickly close your legs to stop him.

"Give me a break, Harry," you sigh, a laugh breaking through your lips as you see him pout. He rises off the floor and kisses the corner of your mouth as your panting decreases. "Thank you," you breathe.

There's a moment of intensity where your eyes lock, and you swear you completely understand each other.

"Can I kiss you?" Harry asks.

"Please."

-

This turned out sappier than I thought, so sorry if you don't like that... Also, thank you for all the love!