Tumgik
#HSLOT
harry · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
harrystyles: To the most inspiring people I know. Goodbye for now. Love On Tour forever.
5K notes · View notes
butdaddyilovehim-hs · 8 months
Text
all of harry’s feature moments from the video.
love on tour forever.
@lukesaprince this is for you x
3K notes · View notes
ifancyharry · 6 months
Text
what it is: YN is Harry’s personal assistant and she gets sick, but he’s playing Wembley
word count: 4k
Tumblr media
The air is crisp and clean as YN steps out of her hotel into the streets of London, hurrying down the sidewalk as she scurries to the first pharmacy she can find. 
It’s 7.54 in the morning and she’s been awake for almost twenty-four hours. Not on purpose, obviously. And not on her boss’s orders either, despite having there been nights the team deemed important and she was required to pull an all nighter, but those were usually times of celebrations, either spent at an afterparty or waiting until midnight for Spotify to release the album everyone had been working hard on.
The air hurts her lungs as she stops to catch her breathing, the pounding behind her temples not dimming the slightest as she trespasses the sliding doors of the pharmacy, only intensifying with the bright artificial lights shining down on her from the ceiling.
She pulls her sunglasses out of the pocket of her sweatshirt and slides them over her eyes, relishing in the temporary relief washing over her sensitive eyes.
Her phone vibrates in her pocket and she pulls it out, grimacing at the name on the screen; it’s her boss, Harry, asking her what time she’s ready to leave for the venue. 
Once her turn comes, she quickly explains her symptoms to the pharmacist and just as quickly she pays for the medicine the pharmacist has taken out for her.
She walks out of the pharmacy and types back a short response to Harry, telling him she’s on her way to his room.
She hopes the medicine she has stuffed in her pocket will make her feel better, and she thinks as she’s making her way back to the hotel that she’ll ask Harry to stop along the way to grab a coffee, hoping it will soothe the tension behind her temples. There’s no way she can be sick when her boss is playing at Wembley for the first time.
Harry isn’t one to comment on other people’s appearances, his mum taught him that and it has stuck with him since he was a little kid, a sort of an unspoken rule out of kindness, and therefore he’s never asked if someone was sick because they weren’t wearing makeup or if someone had eaten a little more over the holidays.  He never considered other people’s looks something that concerned his range of business, but once he sees YN, he can’t help but wonder if she’s okay.
Her hair is tied in a messy braid, and there’s some strands falling out of it and in front of her eyes. She’s wearing a big love on tour sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants, but that isn’t particularly concerning, because he’s used to her comfy articles of clothing. 
What’s concerning is her face… and Harry already feels bad for thinking that, but she doesn’t look like herself. And Harry would know. Of course he would know, because he spends a lot of time looking at her face, especially when she’s not looking, most of the times when she’s reading a book next to him in a moment of rest or when she’s answering emails on Monday mornings. So… he knows her. He knows her skin looks paler than normal, and the circles under her eyes aren’t the same as that one time they partied all night after Harry won album of the year at the Grammys.
He wants to ask if she’s okay, because after a year of working together they have that kind of confidence, but he doesn’t want that to be the first thing he says to her, so he just smiles at her and welcomes her with a side hug and a good morning.
“Hi” she’s quick to greet back, and Harry notices even her voice sounds scruffier than usual.
“Are you ready to go?” She asks a second later.
“Yeah, yeah, the car’s down already?” He asks surprised. Sometimes it takes a while before the drivers find the hotel, and YN and Harry spend that time watching videos on youtube or talking about the day’s schedule.
YN shrugs but doesn’t say anything in response, which is weird to Harry because she’s usually really bright and energetic in the morning, and she’s really meticulous on top of everything: she never lets him wait without finding something to pass the time first.
“Let’s just stay until we don’t know for certain” he suggests.
She agrees with a nod of her head and she heads to his bed, sitting down on the end of it. It’s not uncommon for her, because she’s always in his space, and there have been times where they were forced to basically sleep in the same bed (one time YN fell asleep on his bed, and Harry was so in his song-writing-bubble he didn’t even realize until he was so tired he couldn’t keep his eyes open, so he slipped in next to her and literally passed out).
He still needs to tie his shoes, so he sits next to her and ties the laces of his ratted vans.
“How’d yeh sleep, pet?” He asks, because she’s freakishly quiet and it’s making him anxious. She’s never quiet, and with this being a stressful day already for Harry, every little thing that’s different from normal alerts him.
“Fine” she whispers, knuckling at her eyes, his question bringing back the awful memory of the night she spent tossing and turning in the scratchy hotel sheets, praying for a moment of solace every time she tried to breathe through her nose and failing.
“Me too…” he nods.
YN feels bad because she should be more engaging, but she really doesn’t have it in her to make small talk. 
Some time passes before the driver calls YN’s phone to tell her the van is here, shaking her awake. She remembers closing her eyes to rest them, and next thing she knows she’s sound asleep on her boss’s bed. She’d be a bit embarrassed if it wasn’t for how awful she feels already. 
“Crap! I fell asleep!” She exclaims once she hangs up the call. 
“Yeah” Harry says from next to her, still laying on his bed, “just fo’ like… fifteen minutes though” He’s playing on his phone, and YN pushes at his bicep, “we need to go, driver’s here”
She gets up from the bed and slips on her shoes, grabbing her work bag (it’s really a tote bag but she finds calling it work bag makes her waaaay more professional) from the floor next to the door.
“YN” she hears Harry clear his voice, and she turns around to look at him.
He’s still sitting on the bed, and he passes a hand through his hair before saying, “are yeh all right?” 
She closes her eyes in a furrow and tries not to wince when a sharp pain shoots behind her eyes with the movement, “yes, yes” she stresses, although not convinced.
“Are you sure? C’mon yeh can tell me!” 
“I’m fine, Harry” and despite her words, she sniffles, “maybe I have a cold or something…”
“You can take the day off if you need to, yeh know that” 
“No, there’s no way” she shakes her head swiftly, “no”. 
“YN…” he trails off.
“Harry, I told you I’m fine. I can work! Let’s just go, okay?” 
He sighs but does as she says, following her out of his room.
Harry isn’t a worrier. If someone from his team, or band whatsoever, says they can work, he at least presumes they’re mature enough to know the expanse of their limits. 
With YN, it’s different. He worries.
Not because he considers her immature, but she’s just… different. Ever since she started working for him as his assistant, he’s always looked out for her, despite being the one that didn’t want to hire her in the first place.
She’s young, she works a lot to prove herself to him, despite him telling her lots of times she doesn’t need to prove anything and she’s doing a great job as she is. 
She does unthinkable working hours, sometimes pulling all nighters, other times hurrying to his house in the middle of the night because he’s a little bit of a hypochondriac and she needs to check immediately what’s that new mole he has on his back (turns out it was a speck of dark chocolate that stuck onto his skin).
She’s soft and she always puts her job (him, actually) first, so he doesn’t really trust her to know her limits. If she’s sick she should rest. She should lay in bed and maybe eat a little soup and watch comfort movies tucked under the sheets, but he knows she won’t. And he knows he’s the reason behind that, because he’s playing at Wembley tonight, and she doesn’t want to cause trouble. Harry thinks she in no way could ever be described as trouble. 
And maybe, and he feels a little bit scared to admit this, he could postpone the show just by a couple hours, at least until he knows she’s resting at the hotel. but, she hurries into the van and pretends like she’s just got “a cold or something”, so Harry doesn’t question her further. 
He could just order her to take the day off, but he knows that would hurt her feelings, and he can imagine the look on her face, like a puppy being scolded, so he bites his tongue: there’s no way he could ever hurt her feelings.
YN has to stop a couple of times when she starts feeling dizzy on her feet. She shouldn’t run this much when she’s probably feverish, but there’s so much to do! She doesn’t trust to delegate, and not because she’s pretentious, but because she’s a control freak that needs to know how things are being handled, so she would only get much more frustrated and it would eventually just end up in her doing all the work anyway, increasing her fever undoubtedly. 
So, she chugs downs a lot of water and a lot of ibuprofen, taking deep breaths every time she starts feeling nauseous. She should probably inform Harry at least that she doesn’t feel good, so if anything were to happen he wouldn’t be too surprised, but she knows how he is; he would demand she stop immediately and go back to the hotel to rest, and she can’t allow that to happen. 
Wembley is the dream of a lifetime, and Harry sound checks every song two times before passing on to the next one. YN sits quietly in one of the seats, preparing Harry’s next instagram post on her phone. She handles all of his socials, because that’s what she was originally hired for. “A young set of eyes”, Jeff had defined her, and from then, her life had changed completely. 
Of course, she wasn’t aware she’d develop a crush on her boss at the time she was hired. She figured she’d be immune to his charm; she’s younger than him, much less experienced (in every aspect of her life), and hasn’t really seen anything yet, so she thought they’d just be too different to get along. Spending each second of the day together didn’t help, though, because it was then she got to know Harry for who he truly was, and with that, came the awareness of how many things he’d lived through and how many things he could teach her. How soft he was with her, how he would always drape a blanket over her when she accidentally fell asleep on his bed, and how he would tell her she looked pretty even after pulling an all nighter and probably looking like a raccoon. That’s just how he was.
And that’s why she values his dreams more than her health. She would never do anything that could harm him, so she shrugs off the dreadful feeling off her back and keeps working. 
“Hey” Harry plops down on the couch next to her, draping his arm on the backrest of the couch. If he’d stretched his fingers he could touch her shoulder, but he doesn’t just yet. He knows she still doesn’t feel good, he can see it in the way she’s hugging herself in the Love on tour hoodie she has on (probably one of his because their laundry always gets mixed up).
“Hi” she says softly, her voice much lower than it’d been the last time he saw her.
It’s closer to show time now, but he’s still not in his outfit. YN wonders if that’s the reason why he came in the dressing room in the first place.
“What are yeh doin’ hidin’ in here all alone?” 
“‘m not hiding!” She pouts, “jus’… resting” 
“Mh, yeah?” He hums, turning his head to look at her, “restin’ your ears? Are you tired of my music yet?” He jokes.
“Never!” She beams, swatting at his chest playfully.
He lets his arm fall down on her shoulder, and he tugs at her, squeezing her against his chest.
She breaths him in, and despite her stuffy nose, she can smell the faint scent of his fabric softener. Musk and lavender. It’s the same as hers.
 “I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of a pain lately…” he trails off, his mouth buried in her hair, “nothing to do with you… was jus’ nervous is all”
She squeezes his hoodie between her fingers to tug him closer, “I’m really proud of you. You’ll do great.”
“Thanks, pet” he grins, breaking away from the hug.
She sniffles and he looks between her eyes warily, “’s there anything you want to tell me before I go on stage?”
“Jus’ to kick ass” she giggles, aware that wasn’t what he was alluding at.
“Mmmh” he muses, getting up from the couch. He knew she’d be stubborn about this so he doesn’t pressure her.
“Hav’to start gettin’ ready” he clears his throat, heading towards the portable hanger YN set up in his dressing room.
He then proceeds to take off his hoodie and his tank top, leaving him shirtless before her.
She’s seen him in his underwear many times, but maybe it’s the fever, maybe it’s the crush on him that’s growing stronger everyday, but she feels her insides get warm at the sight. 
He tugs his sweats down his legs too, kicking them off his feet, and YN pretends to pick up her phone to respond to a message that definitely could have waited. 
He picks up the heart printed overalls he’d be wearing and tugs them over his legs, jumping a little in his place so they could fit over his bum.
Once he’s fully dressed, he looks over at YN and finds her looking at him already, her eyes a little droopy. He feels his heart tug in his chest at the sight. He wishes she’d let him help her. If he could he’d send her back to the hotel straight away, but he has to admit he’s selfishly relishing in the idea of having her here, looking at him perform. It makes him want to do even better than he always does. 
“All ready then” he smiles, dimples denting both his cheeks.
“Mmhh” she hums, getting up on her feet. She walks towards him and adjusts the neck of his shirt, petting it down.
“Good luck Harry” she smiles. He has to refrain himself from lowering his head down to kiss her, and he’s aware these thoughts are way too unprofessional of him, but he can’t help himself. Not when she’s looking at him like that.
“See ya after the show, pet”
“Harry!” Jeff pats down on his shoulders as soon as Harry runs backstage, “you just smashed it! Fuckin’ smashed it mate!”
Harry laughs with him out of politeness, but his mind is really on something else.
“Fuckin’ Wembley, Harry! Wembley’s Harry’s house!” Someone else shouts, and he thinks it’s Lloyd but he doesn’t really pay much attention to him. There’s someone missing from the crowd. YN. She’s nowhere to be found, and he’d really like to celebrate with her. She’s the one that should join in on the fun and get a little bit of praise too, because without her, harry doesn’t think he could’ve played Wembley.
Everything was going fine, and he saw her next to his mother standing in the private part of the pit, but then, when he came back after chatting with a couple of fans, she was gone. He wonders if she’s okay.
“Hey, Jeff” he clears his throat, hoping to be discreet with his tone of voice, “where’s YN?” 
“Oh…” he nods, “she wasn’t feeling proper good, so I sent her to your dressing room. I told her to get back to the hotel, but she refused to leave”
Harry nods and after a ‘thanks’ he hurries towards his dressing room, hoping to find her there.
Once he opens the door, the sight of YN sleeping on the couch crouched on herself makes his heart somersault in his chest.
“Hey, pet” he coos softly once he crouches down next to her.
He repeats the endearing greeting, and this time she stirs awake. YN brings one hand to knuckle at her eyes tiredly, and Harry frowns at the sight of her bloodshot eyes. He brings one hand to caress her cheek, but when he realizes how warm she is, he brings it up to her forehead. She’s burning hot. 
He immediately feels guilty. He should’ve sent her back to the hotel as soon as he realized she was sick, hell, he shouldn’t have let her leave his room that morning!
“Harry?” She asks timidly, her voice coming out scruffy. She gulps but flinches as the hurt in her throat doesn’t subside. 
“Yeah, ’s me” he whispers, moving the hair away from her face, “let’s go back to the hotel, okay?” 
“No Harry! The show! You can’t leave… the show! It’s wembley” she stresses, gripping his bicep tightly to refrain him from leaving her.
“Shh, shh” he shushes her, “calm down. ’s okay. The show was great. Everything was great” he coos, pressing his lips down her forehead and flinching from how hot it feels, “you did so great”.
She sniffles and: “great?” 
“Yeah” he nods, reassuring her, “let’s go now, okay?”
He helps her get up on her feet, and she stumbles a bit in her place. She grips the fabric of his overalls tightly between her fingers, and he lets her, hoping to be at least a little bit of comfort.
“How are you feelin’? What hurts?” He asks her once they reach his hotel room (he wanted to go back to hers, but couldn’t find her key and didn’t want to startle her too much).
“Everything” she pouts.
“I’m so sorry, darling” he sighs, ushering her inside his room.
She’s stable on her feet now, the little nap at the venue kind of helped a bit in soothing her, but still, everything hurts, and the thought of being in a hotel room and not at her own house bothers her.
She also doesn’t want Harry to look at her like this, all sweaty and red in the cheeks. She must look so embarrassing! 
“I’ll draw you a bath, how about that?” He proposes, not waiting for her response and heading directly towards the bathroom.
Now that he thinks about it, harry’s glad she’s in his room, because (being the Harry Styles) his room has a bathtub, whereas hers doesn’t. He also has lots of salt baths and bubbles to add to the water, courtesy of the hotel, and he adds everything he can to soothe her stuffed nose and make the bath as pleasing as possible.
She knocks on the door delicately, and he turns his head to look at her.
“Bath’s ready” he smiles gently, and he dips his index finger to test the temperature of the water, careful not to make it too hot to not aggravate her fever any more. 
Harry excuses himself from the bathroom, and tells her to give him a shout if she needs anything.
It’s a couple of minutes later when he hears her calling for him, her voice still lower than normal.
He knocks on the door and after he gets her consent he opens it, peeking his head inside. She’s laying in the bathtub, the water submerging her almost to her neck, and he’s aware she’s naked under, but the bubbles cover her body entirely.
“Are yeh all right?” He asks worriedly.
“Mhmh,” she hums, “jus… keep me company?” 
He’s happy she’s more responsive now, and he happily sits at her side, plopping down on the toilet seat next to the tub.
They sit in silence for a while, Harry’s aware he’s still in his fancy (and uncomfortable) show clothes, but he doesn’t care. He’s just happy to dote on her now as she’s been doing with him since she’s been hired.
“I can’t believe you played at wembley and I missed half of it” she says after a while, the water sloshing around her as she turns to look at him.
“There’s always next time” he grins at her playfully.
She throws a smile at him, “bet”.
His mouth opens in a sideway smile, his dimple indenting only one of his cheeks, and more seriously than he did before, he says “I wish you’d told me you weren’t feelin’ good”
“Didn’t want to spoil your day” she shrugs.
He wants to tell her she wouldn’t have spoiled it, that if she’d asked he would’ve postponed his show and crawled in bed with her, cuddling her until she felt better, even with the risk of getting himself sick too, he didn’t care. He would have done anything to make her feel good; but how can he tell her? How can he be honest about something like that without revealing another part of himself to her? He’s her boss. He’s older than her. And he doesn’t know if she feels the same way.
So, instead of making a complete fool out of himself, he ushers her out of the tub, passing her a towel without looking at her. He engulfs her in the bathrobe and ties it tight on her stomach, careful to have her bits covered completely by the fabric of the towel.
When he reaches his room, he takes out a t-shirt and a pair of boxers for her to sleep in, and he leave her to change in the bathroom.
While he waits for her to come out, he texts his mum if she could make that delicious soup she always prepared when he was sick, promising he wasn’t sick himself and that he’d explain in the morning. His mum answers a couple of minutes later with a thumbs up and a kissy face. 
He locks his phone and plugs it in the charger next to the bed, leaving it on the bedside table.
When YN comes out of the bathroom, she looks better already. Her cheeks aren’t as red and her eyes appear to be more rested, but, she still looks tired, and he smiles at her as he tugs the comforter down for her to slip in.
She curls up under the covers and waits for Harry to tuck her in, “comfortable?” He asks.
She nods with her cheek against the pillow, “just wish I was home” she whispers and the affirmation pains him.
“I’ve been overworking yah, haven’t I?” He sighs deeply, feeling extremely guilty. 
She’s quick to shake her head no, flinching when a sting of pain hits her temples with the movement. 
“Yes I have… you’ve been s’good” he smiles down at her.
“You’re a Wembley player now” she whispers, her eyes closing on her as she speaks, and Harry chuckles endeared at her. 
“Get some rest” he coos, but she’s already fallen in a deep sleep that will probably be tainted with a curly headed guy with green eyes and a pretty smile.
He fishes from inside her bag a tab of ibuprofen and, with a glass of water, he places them on the bedside table closer to her side, so, if she’d ever were to wake up in pain, she could take the medicine immediately. 
He takes the shortest shower he’s ever taken, quickly putting on his pajamas and brushing his teeth. Once he’s ready for bed, he slips in next to her, leaning down to press his lips on her forehead to check her temperature. She’s still warm, but the bath seemed to be of help, and probably the much needed sleep, too.
He thinks he’ll give her the rest of the month off. He owes it to her, so she can get back up on her feet and spend some time at home if she’d like. He takes a minute to wonder why hasn’t he ever given her more than a day of rest, and he doesn’t have to wonder too much, because he knows the answer already, one that is overbearing and too deep to even analyze after the day he’s had: he doesn’t want to be away from her that much time. It’s as simple as that. He’s fucked.
Read part 1 to their story here
hi! let me know if you liked this!!! this is my ko-fi if you'd like to support me and my writing, even a small donation is appreciated <3 love you all!
2K notes · View notes
poptocinema · 9 months
Text
i'm just realising now how louis' movements look like he's used to resting his chin on someone and Harry's look like he nuzzles his person's throat, neck or shoulder. i'm not strong enough for this
Tumblr media Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
justmystyles · 29 days
Text
Tumblr media
summary: a chance meeting at a diner turns your world upside-downand leads you on a whirlwind romance with one of the biggest pop stars in the world.
*back to my master list*
Chapter 1:
A work breakfast at a local diner leads to a meeting and unexpected invitation.
Chapter 2:
You attend your first Harry Styles show, but the most eventful part of the evening is afterwards.
Chapter 3:
Harry reaches out following your night together, and invites you to come visit him on tour.
Chapter 4:
Things heat up between you and Harry when you attend Harryween night 1.
Chapter 5:
It's Harryween night 2, and your last night in New York with Harry.
Chapter 6:
Harry invites himself to come spend some time with you while he's on break from tour.
Chapter 7 (NSFW):
Harry spoils you for your birthday.
Chapter 8 (NSFW):
It's the morning after your birthday, and it's finally time to have the talk you've been dreading.
Chapter 9:
Harry has dinner with your family.
Chapter 10:
You and Harry spend the rest of the week together, and have some conversations about your relationship.
Chapter 11 (NSFW):
Just as you settle into your long distance relationship, Harry returns for his New Year's visit.
558 notes · View notes
styleswithaseaview · 2 months
Text
sometimes babygirl is an (almost) 30 year old man
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
1K notes · View notes
bonesandchalamet · 8 months
Text
Italy - h.styles
pairing: husband!harry styles x wife!reader
warnings: fluff
a/n: he looks so husband material in the latest Italy pictures!!! enjoy this lil blurb xx
Tumblr media
you’d lay in the sun until you could become leather, or until the alcohol washed away and you were suddenly aware of the rays piercing down into your skin.
you’re laying at the head of the boat, towel underneath you collecting sweat and salty water droplets while you drift into sleep. you only wake the sound of a bottle squeezing out sunscreen and your husbands warm hands rubbing the cream into your skin.
“you’re going to get sun poisoning if you don’t wear this.” he mutters while furiously working his hands across your stomach to evenly distribute the SPF 30 to protect your skin.
“I’m fine, h.” you protest, but have no strength to push him off, just allowing him to help you.
“when you’re so red you can’t move tomorrow I’ll be the one to laugh.” he smiles, a chuckle escaping his lips before he places a gentle kiss to your Rudolph colored nose.
the rays of Italy were brutal. they were not kind like the sun in England that could give you just the perfect glow for the week or two. Italy’s sun loves to eat up pasty white skin and make anyone redder than a lobster.
he throws his leg over your waist and effortlessly pulls you closer to him, “you should drink some water or else you’ll get sick.” he reminds you with another kiss, this time into the crook of your neck. he burrows his nose into you, lips wrapped around your skin his teeth sink into the redness marking his territory.
“harry, stop.” you can’t fight the giggles or the gasps of air he has you in. you’re both so completely unaware of the passengers on board. he’s pulled you into a different universe with his tongue, lips, and teeth.
“alright, alright,” he pulls himself away finally. he swings his leg off of you sitting up right, “so water?”
“yes please.”
1K notes · View notes
watchmegetobsessed · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Harry Styles: Love On Tour (2021 - 2023)
1K notes · View notes
sweetestthang · 8 months
Text
“Styles is teddy bears on your teenage bed, perfect handwriting on thank you cards, picked flowers on Sunday morning, puppies running on fresh-cut grass, Grandma's favorite homemade cake.” ⚘️
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
1K notes · View notes
oksfranta · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
and we danced all night🎶
1K notes · View notes
braverytattoos · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Welcome to the Final Show in Reggio Emilia
1K notes · View notes
harry · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
x
2K notes · View notes
temptress-writes · 9 months
Text
📺 Sugar
Tumblr media
A/N: Welcome to The Tonight Show with Harry Styles. The year is 1964, and you are his assistant. He's a bit of a shit. So this is a fun one.
C.W: sexual content: kinda rough— choking, spanking, degradation, slapping, spitting, squirting.
18+ ONLY.
***
New York City, 1964.
"Red leather, yellow leather, red leather, yellow leather."
The bright lights heated him even from behind the curtain. A warmth that coasted alongside his adrenaline. He struggled to keep his body cool underneath his designer sweater, felt his feet tapping restlessly in his leather oxfords.
This was his favourite part.
The cheers, the introduction, the attention.
You ran the lint roller over his shoulders as he sipped steaming tea from a paper cup. You made sure the collar of his plaid shirt was straight as it peeked out from his red sweater.
Another sip of steaming tea, another tongue twister.
"She sells..." You coached.
He took in a deep breath, watching you as you made sure he appeared perfect, rearranging the groomed curls on his head. Your green dress stood brightly against the black of the stage, the white cuffs of it framing your wrists as you fussed over his hair.
"She sells seashells by the seashore."
"One minute till curtain!" The stage manager yelled as he breezed by. "How're you feeling, Mr. Styles?"
"Like a million bucks, Sal!"
"That's the spirit!" Sal chuckled, running towards the side of the stage, probably chasing after an intern who wasn't doing their job properly.
"Remember, you're meeting your parents for dinner after this." You reminded, ticking off the mental to-do list that was really his. It was clogging your mind but after all, it was your job.
"I haven't forgotten." He rolled his eyes. Yes, you were his assistant, but he found you controlling at times and he had little patience for women who tried to control him. He preferred to be the one in charge.
"But you'll still find a way to be late, anyway." You stepped back with a huff. He really did make your job a living hell.
"I'm taking a refreshment in my dressing room after the show."
You scrunched up your face in disgust. Refreshment. You hated that you knew it was code for a visit from a desperate groupie. You remember when he told you how he chose which girl he liked the best. You'd been watching the audience file in and he appeared behind you, chewing gum with a confident pop of his jaw.
"Let me scope it out."
"Why?"
"Like to see who's gonna join me for a post-show soirée. See those girls?" He pointed to a group of overdressed girls, all giggling and excited for the show to start. "Bingo."
"How do you know which one to pick?"
He shot you a look, clicking his tongue. "The tits, sugar. I always pick the girl with the biggest tits."
"Ugh." You rolled your eyes. "You're disgusting."
"I'm just messin'," He tilted his head. "I'm an ass man, too."
You shuddered at the recollection.
"Yes, Mr. Styles." Your voice was laced with a seething sarcasm that he raised a brow at.
He didn't seem to conceptualise that you talked that way because that's how he talked to you. He couldn't see past his blinding, misogynistic ego.
You were purely volleying it right back at him. In hindsight, it wasn't the smartest move because you really needed this job and he had a tendency to fire staff with a snap of his jeweled fingers. He'd made the past six months hard on you and he really made your blood boil.
Who knew becoming Harry Styles' assistant would be akin to babysitting a grumpy toddler?
The Tonight Show with Harry Styles.
Hilarious with guests, a major flirt, and entertaining — even when reading out news segments.
He was well-loved by everyone. For his fun fashion statements, for his guests, his charm, his whole fantasy world on his show. Worldwide, he was adored as the most entertaining and handsome talk show host.
But you knew what happened behind the scenes.
Poised and perfect on camera, but as soon as the director called cut, you had trouble convincing yourself it wasn't a joke. People of the television world had a different sort of ego and you struggled to breathe among it all. Harry hated mingling with guests before and after the show more than he had to, he hated when the crew bothered him, he hated being approached by fans for autographs because he had a headache — or whatever excuse he was offering that day.
Don't get it twisted — he loved the attention he got from being so famous. You were surprised his head wasn't bigger. The one thing he loved most about being so popular was the fact that he could have anyone on his knees for him, be between their legs, and have them at their disposal. And he treated them like that was their only use.
The charming and cheerful Harry Styles.
Purely a falsity of a man.
The crew fled from the stage as the band started playing the introduction theme music and you swept the cup from his hand. You replaced it with two certs breath mints that he chewed on routinely.
"Wish me good luck." He demanded as you gave him a once over.
You beamed. "Break a leg."
"Thanks, sugar."
"No, like trip and fall."
His smile dropped into an unamused glare. "Oh, bite me."
The music ensued, getting louder with an abundant cheer from the live crowd, the curtain preparing to lift to reveal him. You rushed off stage, your Mary Janes clicking on the floor before nodding to Sal who gave you two thumbs up.
"Filmed before a live studio audience..."
"...All the way from Holmes Chapel, Cheshire..."
Harry took a deep breath, already bathing in the adoration he garnered from simply existing.
"...Give it up for your host, the one, the only..."
You rolled your eyes as he mouthed along with the words as they were spoken.
"...Mr. Harry Styles!"
The curtain parted and he stepped forward, his hands waving to the crowd before clasping them together as he took a small bow. He blew kisses, thanking them for coming and welcoming them. He egged on the drummer of the band while the crowd cheered for him.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!"
More cheers that he absolutely cherished and bathed in, letting them fuel his ego.
"We've got a great show for you tonight, we have special guests The Everly Brothers joining us!"
Your job while Harry was doing his magic spiel on stage was to check in with him during commercial breaks, smooth his hair, offer him mints, refill his water. Also to make sure everything was perfect for him when he wrapped up. He was extremely demanding, and while you were warned of that when you first took the job, you were still so surprised just how needy he was.
He liked ham and tomato sandwiches exactly fifteen minutes before he was put into his hair and makeup chair. He liked a cup of hot tea right before air time, alongside a few tongue twisters. He went through packets of Certs breath mints faster than you thought humanly possible. He also wanted a cup of black coffee waiting for him directly after he got off stage.
He didn't like to talk to anyone on his way to his dressing room unless it was Sal congratulating him and inflaming his already huge ego. Or security telling him about a waiting groupie in his dressing room. Or you, running over his schedule or helping him memorise his script. Well, he didn't like talking to you. He more or less answered in grunts or irritated comments.
As Harry settled in for his show post the joke segment, you ran around backstage. Ordering his coffee and one for yourself because you couldn't keep up with his demands without your own shot of caffeine. You were due within minutes to refresh him during the breed.
It really was an exciting job, aside from being a woman in a man's world. You were treated as such but you were lucky enough to be given the job in the first place. At first, you were nervous around Harry. It took him a second to warm up to you.
The first time you met was when he found you in his dressing room before a show, bent over the vanity as you watered his flowers. He thought you were there for a completely different reason and had quickly started to unbuckle his belt.
"Alright, let's make this quick."
You then spotted him in the mirror and turned with a gasp. "What are you-"
And before it could have got any more awkward, before Harry could even fully unbuckle his belt, Sal stormed in with a shocked laugh.
"Oh!" His amused gaze flickered between the two of you. "Harry, I see you've met your new assistant."
"I don't need an assistant, Sal. We've been through this. Why do you think I got rid of the last one?"
"Well, of course, you do! She's just here to help you perform at your best, Styles. Try not to scare this one off."
And while he'd probably never admit it to you, you actually were very helpful to have around. Once you'd stopped being so awkward and nervous and jittery around him, you found a dynamic that worked. One where he could be a condescending male and you could be just as snappy right back to him.
Past assistants had stuck to him like a bad smell and only irritated him. You did what was expected of you. Nothing more, nothing less. You kept your little purse stocked with certs breath mints, lint rollers and kept that fact that he fucked fans in his dressing rooms after and sometimes before shows quiet.
But after all, everyone was well aware. They even congratulated him on his sexual success. Nothing grossed you out more.
Aside from Harry being a mildly misogynistic, cocky, well-dressed thorn in your side, you loved your job. You met exciting guests whom you only dreamed of meeting. Stars you had posters of in your apartment, musicians whose vinyls you span on your turntable.
In your first week on the job, you met Santo and Johnny. They'd just finished a performance of Sugar Song and they flirted with you until you were a blushing mess.
Harry had watched the interaction, grumbling about professionalism and waiting for them to leave so he could torment you about it.
"Got the hots do ya, little sugar?"
"Kiss off, Styles."
That was the most colourful thing you'd ever said to him. The shock of it raised his brows and sent a singeing pang of arousal directly to his crotch.
There was a part of Harry that wanted to hate you. Because you were a woman bossing him around and because you got on his nerves. But the more rational part of him knew he could never hate you. You were too helpful and he'd be lying if he said you weren't one of the prettiest girls he'd ever seen. And he'd seen a lot of girls.
But he knew you were disgusted by his habits, how he slept with so many people. In his own sick way, he used it to his advantage, to keep you at arm's length. That and endless comments he knew would rile you up. And boy, did he rile you up. He'd finessed the art of it.
The show ran smoothly tonight, but by no means were you any less busy. You raced around with your clipboard tucked under your arm and two cups of coffee in either hand. You sipped on yours, grateful for the kick it gave. Harry was saying his goodnight to the crowd, his cup steaming in your left hand as you rushed to meet him.
"Thank you for spending the night with me, New York!"
His classic closing catchphrase. Cheeky and risky, but it was him and he got away with everything.
Thunderous applause overpowered the sound of your heels clicking as you turned a corner, beelining towards the stage exit. You were late. He'd be off stage by now, demanding things and barking orders like the diva he was.
As if you weren't going to hear an earful from him as it was, an intern bumped into you. The crash caused your two cups of coffee to spill all down the front of your dress. You barely noticed the burn.
"Seriously?" You seethed, holding your now empty cups out in exasperation.
"I-I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching-"
"You don't say."
You could hear Harry asking where you were and you groaned, absolutely vexed. You turned in the exact opposite direction of him and back to grab more coffee. You knew he'd especially need it tonight if he was meeting with his parents.
"What happened to you?" Sal guffawed and you rolled your eyes.
"If you see Harry, tell him that his coffee is coming."
"Bit hard getting it to him when you're wearing it."
"Not funny."
A few minutes later, you held a single coffee cup. Steaming, black. You wrapped both your hands around it, holding it steady and keeping far away from anyone who could bump you. Your dress had seen better days and the stain was obvious and uncomfortably wet.
You found your way back to his dressing room, where he'd no doubt holed himself up in to freshen up. You knocked, hoping he was alone and waiting for you before continuing on with his post-show... rituals.
"Come in!" You heard from the other side and you slipped inside quickly.
"So sorry, Mr. Styles, I had an accid- oh, my god!"
You took in the scene before you. Harry. With a girl on his knees in front of him. His jeweled fingers clenching a fistful of the girl's hair as she sucked him off. His brows were turned down in the middle but his eyes... his eyes were on you. And he was enjoying it. Enjoying the girl, and enjoying you watching.
"Alright, sugar?"
"I-" You didn't know what to say, and the girl didn't stop. You didn't know if that was her doing or if Harry was holding her down. You turned, and idiotically turned back around, taking the few steps towards him, and handed him his cup of coffee. You didn't meet his eyes, like a bumbling idiot.
You left the room, but not before hearing Harry take a hefty sip of his coffee and letting out a soft moan, "Oh, that's so good."
Vexed by his antics, and the fact that he made it his mission to throw you off like that, you signed out and went home. It was as vulnerable as you'd ever seen him and you felt an odd sense of jealously wash over you. Maybe you were jealous of past you, because she hadn't witnessed it. Or maybe there was a bit of jealousy there because you wanted to be the one on your knees for him.
As delightful as the thought was for a margin of a second, you felt ill knowing you'd be another Harry Styles groupie. And it would make your job more difficult which you didn't think was even possible.
But you couldn't stop thinking about it for the rest of the night. His blissful expression, the way he directed it at you as opposed to the mouth wrapped around him. He had told you to enter his dressing room so that you could see it.
The next night, you planned on fully avoiding him and pretending the whole thing never happened. Which was hard considering, you know, you were to follow him around and listen to his demands. And especially hard because you just wished he'd command you onto your knees already.
Sure, you found him extremely attractive — everyone did. You may have even had a little crush when you first met him. But then you got to know him, and his habits and his ways. Last night grossed you out just as much as it turned you on. You felt so thrown off and now you weren't sure how to act around him.
You arrived at the studio not too long before showtime, Harry's cup of tea in hand. You were a little bit late today but you figured he could survive fifteen minutes without you. He was in hair and wardrobe, getting his curls perfected and his forehead powered.
He sat in the chair with his legs spread, a pair of black dress pants and a white singlet, his inked arms on display. You focused on staying professional and met his eyes for a brief moment as you greeted him and handed him his cup of tea. No milk, and don't be shy with the honey, he'd told you when you first started.
His eyes scanned your attire, a pink dress with long sleeves but a shorter hem than usual, he noticed. He didn't hate having to look at your legs, your plump thighs, and the intrigue of what was between them ran rampant in his thoughts.
You had a soft yellow ribbon in your hair, keeping it swept away from your face in a high ponytail. He clenched his jaw, wishing it was his hand fisting your hair. He'd tie your hands up with the ribbon so you'd have to behave for him.
"Thanks. Dig pink on ya." He took a sip, his eyes full with mischief as he watched you over the rim of his cup. "Enjoy the show last night?"
You knew he was referring to you seeing him get blown by some random groupie so you ignored him, looking at your clipboard. "So Sal wants to see you in five, and we're reconfiguring some set pieces before airtime. So be on stage straight after you've seen him, okay?"
The hairstylist finished up, and you were left alone with him in the room. You were a lot stiffer tonight, more reserved than usual and he picked up on it right away. You raised a brow, wondering if he'd heard a single word you said.
He smirked. "Why did you come in last night? You know I have post-show celebrations in my dressing room."
"I was bringing you coffee! You told me to come in!" This man was exasperating. He knew that he'd asked you for coffee and told you to enter his dressing room after you'd knocked. He wanted you to see and now he was just winding you up.
He raised a brow. "Did I?"
"Five minutes." You reaffirmed. You tried to hide the way that his tone crept down your spine in slow, hot trickles.
He sat up in the chair, his hand reaching to cup the back of your lower thigh. You stopped breathing at the sudden touch and he pulled you towards him. His gaze was searing on yours, his eyes wondering and daring.
"You wanted to stay, didn't you? Watch me get my dick sucked while I watched you."
"No, I didn't." You whispered, letting him pull you forward until you were standing between his spread legs.
"No?"
"No." Even you weren't convinced by your answer.
"Hmm... you wanted to be the one on your knees for me. Is that it?"
You took a deep, shaky breath. His question fired something off in your brain. A realisation perhaps. You did want to be on your knees for him, being the reason for his pleasure, be at his command, make him feel good, make him fucking fall apart because of you.
"So pretty in this tiny fuckin' dress." He cooed. His hand came up, cupping your cheek. Your eyeshadow was a pretty soft blue and he adored it. His fingers trailed down, tracing your lower lip. "You'd look so perfect with my cock in your mouth."
You couldn't even suppress the whimper that ensued. Did you thank him? Slap him? Get on your knees and prove his point?
He didn't seem fazed by the fact that you weren't saying much. You were responding to him in other ways. Leaning right into him with your eyes lulled, your hands resting on his broad shoulders. Your chest heaving beneath that fucking pink dress. You were driving him crazy with how badly he wanted you.
The night before had been his own sick little test. Either, you'd be game, or you'd pull away from him completely. Regardless, he'd know where you stood and accept all that accompanied him. He knew how fucked up it was but you really seemed to enjoy the game.
His other hand squeezed the back of your thigh, inching higher. "What colour are your panties?"
You gasped at the question, so turned on by him and how bold he was. It used to scare you, but now being on the receiving end was a completely different ballpark.
"Blue." You breathed out.
"What shade of blue?" He pressed on. "Like your eyeshadow?"
You twisted your lips in thought. "Do you want to see?"
Harry released a shocked laugh, but his mind was fucking reeling. Did you really just ask if he wanted to see your panties?
"A peek couldn't hurt."
He gripped your hips and lifted you up onto the vanity behind you. You were shocked that he could lift you so effortlessly and smoothly. You crossed your legs, more to tease him than anything else. Your expression was sultry, and he felt lightheaded at the sight of you. Slowly, you unfolded your legs but didn't open them.
"Don't be shy, sugar. Show me and I'll make it up to you."
You let out a slow exhale, mustering up all of your courage. You were shaking, but it wasn't nerves. He had you so worked up and he had barely done anything. He'd riled you up and talked to you, and you were already fucking saturated.
Your legs parted, feet resting on either side of his thighs on the chair. Harry's eyes stayed on yours, his hands reaching to slide up your thighs, pushing the hem of your pink press up so he could get a good view of you, finally looking down.
And what a fucking view it was. Your thighs were soft, and he let his hands squeeze at them. Sky blue lace covered the area he'd been dreaming about for six months. He let out a soft groan and let his fingertip brush over the skin where your abdomen met the panties.
"Lace? Did you wear these for me?"
"I had you in mind."
"Naughty girl." He smirked, shuffling forward. His thumb brushed over your clothed clit and you let out a whimper, biting your lip to quell anything louder than might to escape. "Can I taste you? Please? Been wantin' to for months."
You nodded, your mouth dry. You'd let this man do anything to you, and hearing him tell you he'd been wanting this for months left you in a frenzy.
"Words, sugar. Let's hear 'em."
"Please," You whispered. "taste me."
"Good girl, that's it." He pulled your panties to the side, desperate to see you and taste you. You were glistening, so wet and plump for him. He sighed, running his thumb along your clit before venturing between your folds to feel how wet you were. Your thighs jolted as he slipped his thumb to collect your excitement and spread it up to your clit.
"Why are you so wet, hm?" He wondered aloud, his eyes meeting yours again.
"Because of you, Harry."
"Me?" Cocky little shit.
"Mm."
"Are you always this wet for me, sugar?"
You hesitated, not sure if you wanted to give him this. He would never forget it, probably remind you that he knew every day. Probably slip his hand up your dress just to appease his own curiosity.
"Only when you're nice to me."
"But you like me mean, don't you?"
"You're an asshole."
"Gets you wet, though."
Abruptly, as if impatient, he lowered his head and attached his mouth to your clit. The scorching heat of it was intense, and you grabbed a fistful of his freshly tamed curls to hold him to you.
His tongue ran over your entirety. From your entrance right back up to your clit, tasting you fully as his mouth closed around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You threw your head back, rolling your cunt towards his face as he softly ate you with a passion that had you shaking.
Before anything more could occur, Sal knocked on the door, demanding that Harry meet with him. He knew better than to enter any room that was hidden behind a closed door when it came to Harry. But if he'd known it was you behind that door with him, that would be another issue entirely.
You shot up, pushing him out of the way and righting your dress. You were tingling and you could still feel his tongue between your legs. His eyes were dark as he watched you from his seat, amused by your fumbling.
"Go before Sal comes back." You were flustered, your body felt electric and all he'd given you was his mouth for what — ten seconds?
He was too relaxed, and it only pissed you off further. He stood, sauntering towards you to press you against the vanity. His hand cupped your jaw, his rings kissing your skin.
"Funny that you're making demands when I'm the boss."
You breathed heavily, unsure of how to reply so you just held eye contact with him. Your lips parted as his head tilted, inching closer. His hand loosened, melting to your cheek so he could rub it with his thumb.
"Who's in charge, hm?"
"You are."
"That's right." He crooned, his lips brushing yours. "And who's gonna give you his cock later?"
The air was stripped from your lungs, the depth behind his question clear. Would you submit to him? Venture into this connection you had with him? You got on each other's nerves but fuck if there wasn't the most incredible sexual tension between you.
"You are, Harry."
He hummed, gripping your hand and bringing it down to cup his cock. He was hard, and pulsed in your hand when you gave him a squeeze. You just about crumbled when he moaned, his eyes lulling as you did it again. Harder.
"There's my good girl."
Sal knocked again, clearly impatient tonight. Harry smirked and could feel his lips curl against yours before he pulled away. He left the room with a confident strut while you were left shaking. You took a second to catch your breath, willing the arousal between your legs to simmer down before heading back out towards the stage.
You grabbed your purse and kept busy doing your job while Harry caught up with Sal. He was doted over, like always, and Sal told him how his viewings were skyrocketing. After he'd finished up his tasks on stage, he was whisked back to wardrobe so he could be styled.
Because Harry was busy chatting with tonight's guest and getting ready, all you had to do was wait for him to come to you. You peeked through the curtains at the set. The audience was being brought in and you were watching the seats fill from the side of the stage.
A piercing whistle sounded out from behind you and you twirled on the spot. He looked phenomenal. His suit was a sky blue, not too dissimilar to the shade of your panties. His shirt was a crisp white, his chain peeking through where it was unbuttoned, sat between his pecs and the light dusting of hair.
His eyes looked greener when he was dressed in blue, his lips more raspberry. He approached you and your eyes flew down to his shiny black oxfords.
"Whaddya think huh?" He spun on his heels, showing off. "Matchin'."
"Blue suits you."
"Suits you, too." Harry winked, standing close to you before nodding towards the audience. "How's it looking out there?"
Was he... trying to make casual conversation? After his face was between your thighs and all the talk that proceeded it? "Full house, like always. Did you... was that on purpose?"
"What?"
"The blue suit."
"Why else would I ask what colour your panties were, hm?"
"Because you're nosy."
"You know... every time you insult me, I get hard."
"Good thing I have plenty of them, then."
"Come on," He pressed you tight against the wall. "Gimme another one."
"Prick."
He chuckled, amused by how freely you were cursing. "That all you got?"
"You're the cockiest son a bitch I've ever met." You breathed out. His hands pressed to the wall on either side of your head, caging you in.
"Alright." He was crowding your space, the spicy-sweet vanilla of his cologne clouding your senses. He checked to see if anyone was around before clicking his tongue. "Take your panties off."
"What?" You were well aware that any crew member could walk by, and you weren't about to be caught slipping your panties down your legs.
"You heard me. Just lemme hold onto 'em until the show's over."
"Are you bent? I'm not giving you my panties. I need them and someone could walk by at any moment."
"Mellow out, no one's gonna see."
You deliberated in your head, genuinely considering it. His head tilted to the side, gauging your thoughts. This was so... exhilarating. Exciting. You were so out of it for him, and glad that you finally both agreed on something. You were both attracted to each other physically and that was about it.
Fuck it. Your hands reached beneath your dress, and Harry took a step back to give you room, keeping a lookout. You stepped out of those pretty little panties and held them out to him on your index finger. He snatched them up, eyeing how delicate they looked in his hand.
"Far out." He laughed, in shock that you actually did it.
You were a bundle of surprises tonight. He was throwing stuff at you that was pretty out there and you were throwing it right back. Sweet little sugar had a little more spice than he had anticipated.
"Cheers, sugar." He twirled them around on his finger and you slapped his shoulder.
"Don't just wave them around!" You hissed, looking around to make sure no one had seen the whole interaction.
Harry shoved them in his pants pocket and you smoothed out the bump they left, always a perfectionist. The guest of the night turned the corner and almost bumped into the two of you. You jumped apart, letting Harry chat to the guest on his own. He rarely enjoyed it and you looked back to see the subtle hints of irritation on his face. You knew he'd flash that charming smile and those adorable dimples as soon as the cameras came on.
With only a few minutes until the show was due to start, you bumbled around and made sure everything was perfect for him. You were very aware of the fact that you didn't have your panties on, and with your dress being shorter than usual, you had to be careful.
Sal breezed past you, beelining towards Harry and the guest with a huge grin. He greeted them loudly and you did your part by waiting to the side for further instruction. The guest was led to their spot for showtime, one of the stage managers with them to keep them entertained and to give their cues. Harry shook Sal's hand, hearing Sal's usual encouraging words before making his way towards you.
"Feeling okay?" You checked in, handing him a couple of Certs breath mints. You walked side by side towards center stage, and he wasn't shy about his stare on you. It felt different — the air around you. Usually filled with annoyance, was something else. Hotter, dreamier, sensual.
"Snazzy." He nodded, chucking the mints into his mouth. "Little foreplay always gets me goin'."
You huffed out a breath at his response, resisting the urge to retort something cheeky as the stagehand came to run through the show one more time. You righted his outfit, his eyes not leaving you as you made sure he looked smooth and perfect.
As the stagehand left, you grabbed your round brush from your purse and went over his curls. You began adding a little volume while he hummed and oohed and aahed to exercise and prepare his voice.
"You know New York..." You guided.
"You know New York, you need New York, you know you need unique New York."
"Again."
He sighed, closing his eyes so he could focus. "You know New York, you need New York, you know you need unique New York."
"Lesser leather..." You hinted at another tongue twister. You ran the lint roller across the lapels of his suit jacket and over his shoulders, catching his eyes and not missing the glint in them. "...never weathered..."
"It's funny," He smirked. "you're a tongue twister master right now, but you won't be able to say your own name by the time I'm done with you later."
"Oh my-"
"Yeah, I'm gonna fuckin' ruin you."
"One minute till curtain, everyone!" Sal's voice boomed. "Look alive, look alive!"
The crowd was roaring with applause as the show began, but all you could hear was your pulse in your ears as your heart thudded in your chest. Harry, who usually thrived off of the cheers, was only focused on you. On your sweet voice asking if he wanted to see your panties, on your feisty insults.
"Filmed before a live studio audience..."
You called him a cocky son of a bitch and all he could think about was bending you over his knee and seeing how much shit you talked while his hand was marking your ass with its imprint.
Everyone fled the stage, but you were stood completely still in front of him. Frozen.
"Harry..."
His lips brushed yours again and your ears started ringing.
"...All the way from Holmes Chapel, Cheshire..."
"Look at you," He crooned. "Runnin' round with no panties with that pretty ribbon in your hair. Dirty little thing, aren't you, sugar?"
You could feel how slick you were between your thighs and your eyes fluttered as his hand ventured beneath your skirt from behind, cupping your ass cheek with a strong hand before venturing further. His fingertips found your cunt and you almost collapsed against him.
He hummed lowly, rumbling in his chest. He pulled his hand away, very aware that the curtain was close to pulling up. He held his index and middle fingers in front of you, glistening with your arousal, and ran them along your lower lip.
You didn't even hesitate to suck his fingers into your mouth, not losing eye contact. Harry's brows turned down, his mouth dropping as he drawled out a slow fuuuck. And then he kissed you. It was messy and wet and quick. His lips were so soft against your own before he sucked deftly on your tongue, tasting you and your cunt at the same time.
"...Give it up for your host, the one, the only..."
"Fuck, can we cancel the show?" He growled, holding you to him with a grip on the nape of your neck.
"N-No. I have to go."
"...Mr. Harry Styles!"
You fled from the stage, walking backwards, not wanting to take your eyes off him. His expression was one of longing, his eyes not leaving you either. The curtain lifted, igniting him in the warmth of the stage lighting and the eruption of cheers.
He turned and faced the crowd, waving and blowing kisses. His smile was dazzling, and his blue suit was celestial under the bright glow. He was wrapped in success and adoration. You could see it radiating off him as he found centre stage and bowed.
"Good evening, New York!" He waited for applaud to finish. "How are we?"
You rounded the backstage area, checking in with crew and chatting to the guest.
"Can I just say..." Harry continued, clasping his hands together. "you look ravishing tonight, New York." More praise from the audience. "It's true, you do."
You rolled your eyes at the excited yells and cheers from the crowd. You watched him in a totally new light tonight. He was on a level that no one could reach. He was born to be on stage, to entertain.
He introduced the guest and brought them onstage, talking about their upcoming music and chatting them up. During the commercial breaks you checked in with the guest, and made sure Harry's appearance was on point.
His eyes were on you the whole time, and you could see him fighting the urge to make some kind of questionable comment. His eyes veered south and stayed on where the hem of your dress brushed your thighs.
"Need anything else?" You asked him politely, aware of the audiences stare on your back.
"I won't need coffee tonight." He educated softly and you nodded.
"We're back in fifteen seconds." The cameraman alerted and you gathered your things and went to leave. The guest was busy fixing their hair with the stylist. Harry's hand on your wrist stopped you, pulling you back.
"Actually, there is one more thing." He back peddled, and you raised an expectant brow, leaning in close to hear him. "Stay right over there, okay? Wanna be able to see you."
He pointed to a spot off stage, where only guests and select members of crew like Sal or the director were allowed to stand during air time. And he wanted you there. So he could look over and see you and know you were watching.
"I- Yeah, okay."
You rushed off stage, standing exactly where he told you to. He watched you right until the advertisement break ended.
"And we're back in three... two... one..."
His eyes switched back to the camera, his expression slipping into the charm that came so naturally to him once he was live on air.
He was a star. Delightful and eccentric and unapologetic.
He exchanged more jokes with the guest, who as an up and coming musician, was gearing up for their performance. You stayed to watch the show exactly where Harry wanted you, and you were pleased that you didn't get any slack from Sal. You rarely got to actually enjoy the show like this, and in a way, it felt like Harry had done you a favour.
His eyes often flicked to you after he'd told a joke or said something cheeky. Like he was directed it at you, or maybe he was checking to see if you found him as funny as the crowd did. When you didn't laugh as hard as he thought the joke deserved, he'd try extra hard to get you to laugh at the following one.
It was odd that he was trying to seek validation from you when he had millions at his feet.
As the show wrapped up, you couldn't have applauded him louder. You were proud, you felt giddy and bubbly inside. He was born for this, there was no denying it.
And then there was the realisation of what was to come once the show had finished. You became nervous. And insanely wet. The anticipation rattled yet excited you and you weren't sure what to make of it.
You rounded towards his exit, a crowd of crew and groupies waiting for him. He came to you first, as you were closest. He shot polite smiles to everyone but his attention was on you.
"How'd I do?"
"Phenomenal."
"Did you like my jokes?"
You side-eyed a few people waiting for a shred of his attention and felt the need to rush this interaction between you along. You didn't want to raise suspicions and you also didn't want to take away any attention he could be giving to these people who were clearly waiting for him.
"My tummy laughs from hurting so much." You whispered. His grin was contagious, dimples and his bunny teeth on full display. His eyes were warm as he stared down at you.
"Really?"
"Mhm."
A throat cleared behind you and Harry looked up to shoot them a reassuring wink and then looked back at you. "Wait for me in my dressing room."
It was an order, even with the softness in his tone. You licked your lips, not missing when his eyes caught it. You backed away, slowly pulling your ribbon out of your hair. His jaw clenched as your hair fell free.
"Yes, Mr. Styles. Right away."
His dressing room felt alien to you as you slipped inside, a familiar place with such a different atmosphere now. How quickly the dynamic had changed between you was dizzying. You always knew you were attracted to him, but you never thought you'd act on it.
And you certainly never thought he'd have his mouth on your cunt minutes before a show.
How long were you meant to wait? You checked your appearance in the mirror, your cheeks flushed with excitement. Your dress was pristine, as was your makeup and you wondered how long that would last.
You were riffling through Harry's pile of books when he came in. Your spine straightened, every nerve tingling. He closed the door behind him, leaning back against it.
His gaze was one that had you clenching your thighs together. An intimidating hunger, a deep lust. His eyes were dark, void of the bright glint they usually offered. He didn't say anything and that only made the tension thicker.
And then he locked the door with a click.
He took one single step towards you and you inhaled a sharp breath at the slow, torturous pace of it. Like he was taunting and teasing you. He shoved one hand in his pocket, the other reaching up. He gripped his lower lip between his thumb and index finger, his eyes finding your feet in your Mary Janes and trailing up your legs.
He was slow with that as well as if to keep you on your toes. He had always been so rushed and spontaneous with a lot of what he did. But this.... this he'd been thinking about for a long time. He'd had months to plan this through.
Plan how he was going to play with you, make you beg for him, make you feel good.
He really enjoyed the secrecy of it. And all that would come after. He liked the idea of meeting your eyes at work, both of you exchanging knowing looks because you both knew what it took to pleasure each other.
Fuck. His sex life wasn't complicated. He fucked fans because the likelihood of seeing them ever again was slim. But you were close to home, dangerously so. He saw you all the time. And somehow that just made him want you even more.
He produced your panties from his pocket and came to stand in front of you.
"Now," He began, lowering his head to meet your eyes. "are you going to need help keeping quiet?"
He fucking knew he'd have you screaming for him. He was just being precautious, knowing that on the other side of the door, the studio was littered with crew members.
You shook your head. "No."
"Are you sure?"
"I don't think you're that good."
He rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek, huffing out a humourless laugh before pocketing your panties again. You were so snappy and cheeky with him and he'd be lying if he said it didn't make his dick so fucking hard in his pants. You were winding him up. Trying to poke at him and provoke him. Well, it was fucking working.
"Oh, you don't think so?"
"I think that's why your ego's as big as it is. Because you can't fuck."
He did what he wanted to do earlier that day; he grabbed your hair in his fist. You gasped through a surprised smile, and he brought you close until you were pressed against him.
"What did I tell you?" His voice was low, thick with arousal. You'd never heard his voice that deep and you felt it between your legs. "Hm?"
"That you won't need coffee tonight?"
He gripped your hair harder and his cock throbbed when you smiled.
"I told you," His eyes were burning. "that I'm going to ruin you."
The way he pronounced every word was electrifying. As if he was really trying to get his message across. How was this the same man that had asked if you laughed at his jokes after his show?
You flicked your tongue against his lower lip. "Do your worst."
His kiss was far harsher this time. Still just as messy, and you figured that was just how he liked it. He wasn't shy about it. He used his teeth, nibbling on your lower lip, biting on your tongue. He used his free hand to fist your dress at the small of your back.
You were pressed tight against him and fuck, he was so hard for you. Even through his pants, you were impressed with his size. You wanted to feel more, experience him fully. You didn't have all the time in the world, locked away in his dressing room. You were both painfully aware.
He pushed you back, landing you in the chair next to the vanity. He stripped off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. You watched as he pushed your dress out of the way, clearly annoyed that the fabric was disrupting him from his goal. Your center was still so wet for him and he couldn't even suppress the low grown at the sight.
"Pretty little pussy," He gripped your inner thighs, holding them apart. "still so fucking drenched for me. You enjoyed watching me onstage tonight, didn't you? Hearing everyone fawn over me but you know you're the one I want."
"I want you, too. So bad, please fuck me." You whined, your hips rocking up restlessly.
"I wanna have a play first."
"Fuck, please just-"
He spat directly between your legs, coating your pussy in his spit. His eyes flickered up to the clock on the wall before he attached his mouth to you with a deep moan. He licked along your entrance and then right up to the sensitive bundle of nerves, fully tasting you again.
He dipped his tongue inside you, fucking you with it before pulling away with a pop and sucking your clit back into his mouth. He trapped it between his teeth and flicked and twirled delicious patterns against it that had your muscles clenching.
He ate you as if he enjoyed it more than you did. He targeted your clit perfectly, able to read your body and its responses so well.
He held eye contact while had his mouth on your cunt, burying his face against you like he couldn't get close enough. Your legs shook on either side of his head, and he kept them spread with his wide hands. You could feel how cold his rings were against your skin.
Your hands reached down, tangling themselves into his curls. You held him against you, his mouth so scorching on you that you felt lightheaded with the tingling heat.
He pulled away momentarily, slipping his index and middle finger in his mouth, all the way until he drew back so teeth were peeling off his rings. He grabbed your hand, taking two of your fingers one by one and replacing the rings on them. They were huge on you but you admired how his jewelry looked on you, the ones he wore while he was on air. Glistening and extravagant.
Now he'd removed them so he could feel you properly.
Deciding that you were wet enough, he ran the pads of his fingers along your entrance. They veered up, circling your clit slowly before heading south again. You cried out softly as his fingers slipped inside you. It was an exquisite sensation and you stared down at him in wonder, mouth agape as you moaned out.
He curled them up, your spine melting as they pressed against a spot inside of you that had before now never been discovered. It was a blinding pressure, tight and full and so fucking good.
Harry smirked at the apparent shock on your face before he moved his fingers, curling them against your g-spot. As he found a rhythm, he brought his mouth back to your clit.
You arched your back, gasping for air as he worked you. He pumped his fingers hard, bringing you higher and higher to an elevation you'd never known. His mouth left your clit and before you could complain at the loss, he was spitting on it once more before giving it a mild slap with his free hand.
You screamed out, not expecting the harshness to feel that enticing. You were being far too loud for him to continue this comfortably. He didn't want anyone to interrupt and moreover, he didn't want you to get in trouble. He wanted to make you come over and over without a care in the world.
The same hand that slapped you retrieved your panties from his pocket before he shoved the lace into your mouth.
If you weren't so blissed out, you may have even be shocked by it. But at that moment, it was so hot and dirty. You trusted him to know best and look after you.
His fingers pulsed against your g-spot and you felt an intensity building in your abdomen and you rolled your hips towards his face. His mouth was relentless on your clit, desperate to get you zoned out with pleasure.
Your walls clenched and ballooned around his fingers and he pulled away, his eyes on you. They were full of lust and hunger, piercing right through you.
"Eyes on me sugar, don't look away." He wanted to watch you. To stare into your eyes, to see your orgasm shatter you.
He pumped his fingers, his pace blinding. He knew exactly what he was doing, knew exactly what to do to get you there. He grunted with the exertion, the tendons in his arm flexing and bulging with how hard he worked you.
And then he smirked, almost pleased with himself. "Have you ever squirted before?"
With your mouth full of lace, you weren't able to verbally answer. You shook your head and he thought the confused frown on your face was fucking adorable.
Before you could even think about what he was asking, the most euphoric explosion of bliss rocked through you. You cried out into the lace, your entire body shaking as you came harder than you ever had before. It was fucking annihilating. You did as you were told, your eyes not leaving his. It was hard, of course. You wanted to shut your eyes and bask in the hot sensation that was taking over every nerve in your body.
But he wanted to watch you. And he wanted you to see the burst of fluid that erupted from your cunt, past his fingers. "Thaaat's it. Good fucking girl, come all over my fingers. Just like that."
You writhed in the chair, grateful for his grip on you. You didn't stop shaking, tremors of pleasure rocking you. He helped you as you came down, your chest heaving and your body trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You didn't think it was possible for you to come that way, and you could feel yourself becoming addicted to him.
Harry stood, his hand running up and down your thighs, squeezing them. He removed your panties from your mouth, leaning down to kiss you deeply. You blushed as you tasted yourself on his tongue and curiously ran a hand between your legs to feel the aftermath of your orgasm.
He watched, thinking it was so hot to see your fingers venture between your folds and along your dripping thighs.
"Feel nice?" He hummed, chuckling at your curious expression.
"So nice, I've never... I didn't think I could do that."
"You got me all wet, messy girl." He smiled, kissing you again.
He stood and helped you out of your dress, peeling off your bra so he could play with your tits. He sucked and bit at your nipples, feeling the fullness of your breasts in his palm.
"You're delicious all over, sugar." He admired your fully naked body. "Can't wait to feel you properly. See what that tight little cunt feels like around my cock."
He palmed himself as he spoke, so desperate to feel you. His expression was one of lustful longing, and you could feel it resonate between your legs as if you hadn't just had an earth-shattering climax.
"Take your clothes off." You whined, going to sit up and pouting when he stopped you.
He started to unbutton his shirt, revealing the white singlet underneath. "Stay just like that. Wanna give you my cock while you're sitting in my chair."
The chair where he sat before every show. Reciting jokes in the mirror while his hair was fussed over. The vanity where he'd first seen you, bent over it watering his flowers.
He got rid of his shirt, clearly impatient. He peeled off the white singlet too and you could have drooled at the sight of him. His broad torso and shoulders, his toned tummy, his strong pecs. The ink decorating him. Fuck, you probably did drool.
He caught the leg of the chair on his foot and dragged you closer, undoing his pants at the same time. You shifted forward, your hand reaching out to boldly cup his cock. He groaned, lulling his head back on his neck. His hand came over yours and urged you to squeeze him harder.
"You're so hard." You mewled, humming as he watched you feel him. His jaw dropped as you moved your hand expertly.
"I've been hard for you all night."
He was hyper-aware of the position you were both in and that you were on limited time. The studio was due to lock up soon, left only to after-hours security and the cleaners.
You leaned closer, pulling his pants down with his help. You ran your lips along his length over his briefs, letting your tongue flick out. He could feel the heat of your mouth seep through the material and he was losing his mind over the fact that only his briefs separated your mouth from his cock.
You peered up at him through your lashes, grabbing the band of his underwear to pull them down. You'd always been so reserved and controlled but the look on your face when you finally saw his cock had him fucking spiraling. Intimidation, thirst, determination.
With his pants and briefs pooled at his ankles, he guided you to take a hold of him. You obeyed, wanting to please him just as much as he pleased you. You pumped him slowly in your hand, loving how he felt in your fist.
"Your cock is so..."
Harry laughed, cupping your cheek and staring down at you expectantly. "What?"
"Pretty." It wasn't the word you were going for, but it wasn't the wrong word, either. He had a gorgeous cock, so thick and long. It was silky and hot and pulsed in your hand. You were impressed and intrigued.
"Pretty?" His voice was so soft as he regarded you.
"Yeah."
Pretty. He could deal with pretty. His thumb trailed across your lips. "Mm, and how's it taste?"
You pulled away marginally, grabbing his free hand and urging him to grab your hair in his tight first once more. You laid out your tongue and licked the tip of his dick, glistening with precum. You hummed at his taste and took him deeper, using your hand to spread your spit down his shaft.
Harry moaned deeply, taking a solid step forward so that you took more of him past your lips.
"Swallow me."
"Make me."
He narrowed his eyes at you, watching as you opened wide and held still, waiting for him to make you take it. With his hold on your hair, he guided you to swallow his cock. You were able to take about half, your hand working what you couldn't yet fit.
But he was helping you, not pushing you too far but doing it inch by inch. Your eyes began to water and you gagged when he pushed in deep. Your other hand was pressed against his thigh to keep yourself steady.
"Good girl." He praised, his voice low. "Take my cock so fucking well, don't you?"
He couldn't wrap his head around what was happening. He'd imagined this day far too many times to count, and it was always blurred by the unpleasant dynamic you two shared. But here you were, sucking him off after he'd made you explode around his fingers.
You loved having him down your throat. You enjoyed the challenge. He was so big and when you were able to take all of him, it was a feeling of satisfaction. He held you down until you were choking and your nose was buried in the hair around the base of his cock.
He wiped a tiny bit of smudged mascara from under your eye, admiring the blue of your eyeshadow and the colour of your lips as they wrapped around his cock. Fuck, he needed to be inside you. He was desperate for it.
He slipped you back onto the chair, angling you so that you were open to him. It happened so quickly and your mind was reeling at the sudden change. He was in full control and had no issue putting you where he wanted you. And you trusted him. He was so arrogant and you wanted to see if his bite was just as harsh as his bite. Considering the wet mess you'd made, it definitely was.
"Fuck, can't wait to feel you properly." He sighed, grabbing his cock at the base and running his tip between your legs.
Your gripped his arms, absentmindedly smoothing your fingers over some of his tattoos. "Beg me."
"What?" He raised a brow, his tone perplexed.
"Beg me to let you fuck me. You're an asshole, tell me you're sorry and beg me. Then I'll let you fuck me."
You didn't miss the way his cock throbbed when you called him an asshole, the flex in his jaw as he took in your words. Beg? Apologise?
He scoffed. "That's cute. As if you don't get so fucking wet when I'm an asshole to you. Just like how hard I get when you call me shit like that with that filthy mouth of yours."
You rolled your hips up, gripping his hip to pull him closer to you. "Please, baby. I wanna hear you beg."
The very tip of him slipped inside of you and you both moaned at the sensation. You were so wet and tight and he knew he could step forward and be inside you fully. But the expectant look you were giving him stopped him.
He gripped your throat, leaning down so he could bend over you. He gritted his teeth, his eyes hard on yours. "Please let me fuck you, sugar. Get you gushing on my cock over and over, fuckin' drown in your wet little pussy."
"Are you going to be nice?"
"But it's better when I'm mean." He crooned. "I'll make you take my cock, fuck you so hard, and won't stop until you cry."
Your eyes fluttered as he inched forward a little, sliding himself in further. The head of his cock was so snug inside of you and the way he stretched you had your toes curling. You brought your legs higher, hitching them up to his sides.
"Please," You mewled.
"Tell me, sugar." He needed to hear you say it. "Tell me you want me to fuck this dreamy cunt."
"Fuck me, Harry. Please."
"Hard?"
"Hard."
His hand tightened around your throat as he rolled his hips forward. He stretched you, so fucking big that he had to take his time to push past your tightness. His gaze narrowed as he pressed in tight, his hips flush against you. As he became fully buried inside of you, your vision tunneled on him and him only. On how good he felt, how his eyes were trained on yours.
He'd thought about what you'd look like stuffed full of his cock but he could never have imagined you being this perfect. Whimpering and moaning so fucking sweet while his hand was wrapped around your throat.
"Please move." You begged, feeling so overwhelmed with him being so thick inside of you but not moving.
He slowly retracted his hips, your pussy trembling to keep him there. He slowly pushed his hips forward again, groaning lowly as you clenched around him. He started out slow as first, wanting to ease you into it, his hands holding onto your sides. But you were desperate.
"You call that hard, baby?"
He shook his head, smiling at the bite in your tone. "You sure you can handle it?"
"What did I tell you about that ego of yours-"
He growled, seeing that you were toying with him again. He didn't want you to have the upper hand. So he started fucking you. Hard and relentless and strong. You cried out at his strength, his cock pumping against your g-spot so perfectly.
"Fuck yes, take my cock. Good fucking girl."
It was electrical. You were saturated from your orgasm he'd given you, he hit so deep, pushing against your front wall. He gripped your breasts, admiring as they bounced while he fucked you. He spat on them, unashamed in his desires to be so fucking dirty with you.
"Love your tits." He grunted. "Let me fuck them one day, sugar. Wanna see them fuckin' dripping in my cum."
"Yes, take whatever you want." You gasped.
You'd let him. He was cheeky and an asshole but he fucked you far better than anyone else ever could and he was just getting started. And you could find ways to keep his mouth busy when it started spouting nonsense.
"Yeah?" He hung over you, his curls dangling down. "Will you let me have you again, hm? Let me fuck your throat, your tight cunt, fuck- make you my plaything?"
"I want to be your plaything." You sighed, his necklace swinging in your face, glistening silver.
"You do, don't you? I'll have this pussy on my tongue while I memorise my script. Carry your panties around in my pocket and give them back to you when you've earned them."
The pressure was blinding and he brought your legs up over his shoulders so he could take you even harder. The legs of the chair scraped obnoxiously against the ground as he fucked you into it. He was brutal, making you take his cock with each harsh thrust.
You cried out, sobbing his name. He was so deep and you knew you'd be feeling him for days after. He picked you up, sitting you on the vanity. You leaned back against the mirror, icy against your back. He hauled your hips towards him, wrapping your legs around his waist.
He took his cock in his hand and fisted your hair with the other, holding you still so he could slide inside of you again. You clenched around him mercilessly, and he had to flex his hips harder so he could take you properly.
The vanity jolted on its legs under the force of him. Your hand wraps around his neck, trying to stabilise yourself against the onslaught of his thrusts.
"Call me an asshole again."
"Harry-" You jolted underneath him. "Fuck, you're an asshole."
"Yeah? Wanna hit me?"
"W-What?"
"Fucking do it. Slap me like I know you've been wanting to for the past six months."
Your hands clutched at his curls. Hitting him was the last thing on your mind right now while he was inside you. Until he'd brought it up, that is. You'd wanted to slap him on a daily basis and you wondered if he'd been reading your mind.
Mustering up courage enough to do so, you raised your hand and slapped his cheek. Not as hard as you could have, but the groan he emitted told you that you weren't gentle, either.
"So good." He grinned, his cheek reddening from your hand. You gripped his jaw harshly, licking your handprint before kissing him.
Your kisses moved to his neck and he tilted his head to give you more access to the skin. He flicked his eyes to his reflection in the mirror, finding his lustful expression, his cheek red, His eyes were alight with danger and arousal, driving his hips into you as he stared at himself. You moaned loudly as he pounded into you, unrelenting. Wanting you so out of it so that you could never look at him the same way again.
He imagined you looking at him during rehearsals, looking down at your Mary Janes with flushed cheeks. Your soft cadence as you asked him when he would fuck you next. Your surprised gasp when he'd pull you into a supply closet to fuck you hard and quick before anyone noticed your absence.
Just as you grew accustomed to the position, he flipped you, brushes and hair products flying off the top as you found balance on it. Your eyes met his in the mirror and they blazed through yours as he pushed himself into your warmth again.
"Fuck," He hissed, throwing his head back as you gripped him tightly. He held onto your shoulder and fucked you, near on slamming you into the furniture. His hand crept up to cup your throat, the other doing the same as he found a rhythm.
"Right there, don't stop." You gasped.
"Gonna think of this every time I'm in this room." He grunted. "Sit in that chair before a show and think about your perfect cunt around me. How you smile when I wrap my hands around your throat, how much you love having my cock to choke on."
"I want you to fuck me on this vanity every day, Harry."
"Every day, Sugar." He was breathless. "So much I wanna do to you. Play with you, make your pussy cream for me. Fuck, how did we go so long without this?"
He started using his height to his advantage, screwing down into you. You struggled to grasp clarity, your senses clouding as pleasure took over. His hands tightened around your throat and he took you harder when a ghost of a smile touched your lips.
He slipped two of his fingers in your mouth, hooking them into your cheek and pulling. He hissed at how fucking submissive you were and how you were willing to be just as dirty as him.
Letting go of your neck entirely, one hand moved to your hip and the other to your hair. He pulled you up, forcing you to look into the mirror.
"I'm an asshole but I fuck you good, don't I?"
You wanted to slap the smirk off his face. He could sense your annoyance at how cocky he was. He took you harder and you eyed him in the reflection, not wanting to give him an answer. And that didn't work for him.
He gripped your hair tight, pulling you back until his lips met your ear.
"Don't I?" He spat.
"Yes,"
He spanked your ass. Hard. Twice. "Yes, what?"
"Yes, you fuck me good."
Pleased, Harry reached in front of you, getting you to wet his fingers with your tongue before rubbing fast circles on your clit. Your legs turned to jelly, your body melting against him as he took you hard and played with your clit.
You felt the rush of pleasure wrap around you and grow in every nerve ending. He watched you in the mirror, intent on seeing you come again. He held you up while you writhed in his arms, his hips unyielding as he split you in half with his cock.
Your hands flew out, pushing various things off the vanity top as your orgasm barrelled towards you. Harry gritted his teeth, bending his knees to follow you as you moved so he could keep fucking you.
"You gonna come? Hm? Dirty fucking girl. Running around the studio with no panties on. This cunt was so wet for me from the start, wasn't it? Tiny dress, bossy little heels, and that fucking clipboard."
This climax was more intense than the first, but no less wet. You exploded around his cock, crying out his name before his hand came over your mouth to keep you quiet.
"Shhh. Good girl. Keep coming on my cock, don't stop, don't stop." He was feral at how good you felt around him, rubbing your clit until you were trembling at the overstimulation. His hips slowed, faltering. He was losing composure the tighter your pussy clenched around him.
He picked you up, not wasting any time in settling back on the small couch in the room. He laid flat on his back, while you straddled his hips. Your hands ran over his chest, nails digging into the skin as he gripped your ass and moved your hips.
His cock sat snuggly between your folds and you shamelessly rolled yourself along his length. You felt empty without him inside you and you lifted up, grabbing his length with a shaking hand, and slid him back into your warmth.
You both moaned out softly, his cock throbbing inside you. He could feel how close he was, as could you. Your hot and wet and dreamy cunt wasn't helping him stave it off. His vision was trained on you sitting on top of him like a fucking angel. Your tits, red from his teeth, your full hips, and your blissed-out expression.
He rolled his hips up softly, encouraging you to move. "Ride me, sugar."
You found a rhythm that had you shaking, so sensitive from your orgasms His cock pressed deliciously tight against your g-spot with every roll forward. With your hands flat on his chest, you started to bounce on him. You were so wet and the sound of it was making him crumble. The wet slaps and the way your pussy was drenching him.
His gaze met yours and he just about came. Your eyes lulled, cheeks flushed and your mouth agape as you fucked him. The most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. He grabbed your tits, playing and pulling your nipples with deft fingers. He strained his neck, moaning as you picked up your pace.
You wanted him to finish. To feel the toe-curling euphoria he'd given you. The one given when a connection like the one you had was this electric.
"Ooh, shit. Just like that." He praised, squeezing your hips so hard you knew they'd bruise.
"Yeah? You love watching me bounce on your cock, don't you?"
You'd thrown his own tactic right back in his face. The sweet voice with the daring question. Of course, he loved it. He was addicted.
"Fuck yes."
Your hand trailed up, lightly wrapping around his throat. He could feel the rings he'd given you to wear against his skin and he snarled, holding your hips and screwing up into you, meeting your thrusts. Having you fuck him with your hand around his throat had him fucking spiraling into another dimension.
"You're close," You mewled, his cock throbbing hard inside you. "I can feel it."
"Yeah? Go on, make me cum. I'm gonna cum so fucking hard for you, sugar. Gonna fill you right up, fucking take it. Take all my cum- fuck."
He let you take him while his orgasm hit. It was white-hot intense, his grip on you not lessening as he moaned out your name. He pumped you full of his cum, the thick white ropes painting your walls. His brow turned down in the middle, his lips parted a little and you could see the whites of his teeth. The thick cords in his neck protruded under your hand.
He was stunning and animalistic and brazen, even in a time when one is most vulnerable.
The muscles and tendons in his arms flexed as he held you down on top of him, humming out lowly as the flames of his orgasm dimmed into embers.
And while neither of you was sure how it would feel post the explosion, you'd expected at the very least that it would be awkward. You didn't have the fondest attachment towards each other but fuck if you weren't addicted to each other's bodies now.
He sighed, reeling in his climax. His hands crawled up your sides, encasing you and encouraging you to come down to him. He hugged you, sighing in your neck before kissing the skin. You could hear a commotion in the hallway of the crew leaving and it suddenly sunk in that you'd just fucked your boss.
And neither of you could wait to do it again.
"Should we get out of here?" He asked after a few minutes.
"We?"
"Mm. Head back to mine if you want. Got the new Sam Cooke vinyl we can jam out to."
You grinned, trailing your finger along his lips. "Can we fuck again?"
His expression mirrored yours. "We are definitely fucking again. Don't have to be as quiet at mine, wanna hear how loud you get."
You rolled your hips, feeling his cock softening and his release beginning to trickle out of you. He hummed, squeezing you as if to warn you.
"Behave, sugar."
"But that's no fun."
He couldn't disagree with that. He checked the clock and knew there was only a slim window of time for you both to leave the studio without raising any brows.
"Come on." He slapped your ass. "Let's clean up and cut out."
You slipped into the bathroom, your legs shaky from how hard he'd taken you. You cleaned up, as he'd told you to. Your reflection in the mirror was a sight for sore eyes and you tried your best to look presentable and not freshly fucked.
As you entered the dressing room again and gathered your things. Harry had dressed in his more casual clothes, a pair of mint dress pants and a t-shirt, throwing his fur coat over his shoulders. He noticed the way you slipped on your dress and smoothed out your hair, touching up your lipstick. He approached you, wrapping his arms around you as you stood in front of the vanity.
"You know I'm just gonna get you all messy again, don't you?"
"I'm counting on it."
He smirked, kissing your neck and fisting the hem of that tiny dress. You pulled away, eyeing the time. You bent over, going to pick up your panties and frowning when he snatched them up before you could.
"Hey, I need those."
"What'd I say, hm? You'll get them back when you earn them." He slipped the blue lace in his pants pocket, straightening his fur coat and holding out his hand.
"Jerk." You walked towards him, nudging his hand away and leaving the dressing room. A showcase that the feisty dynamic between you was here to stay. The lights were off in the studio now, aside from a few dim ones high up on the walls. He scoffed, racing after you. He lagged behind a few steps, wanting to watch your legs as you walked. You turned, throwing him a dubious look and he smiled innocently as he was caught checking you out. "What are you-"
A gleam of a security guard's flashlight lit up the wall next to you. Harry swore, pulling you towards the exit before you were spotted. You wouldn't get in trouble per se, but being sneaky was so much more exciting than sticking around.
"Shit- let's haul ass, sugar. Wanna play with you all night."
The warmth and adoration he felt on stage, under those lights with every pair of eyes set on him. It was a dimmed sensation compared to how he felt with you. His sugar. Saccharine yet equally as fervent, gooey and thrilling and sticking to him as if magnetised to his cells. 
1K notes · View notes
cupid-styles · 7 months
Text
lace (grumpy!h)
Tumblr media
in which Harry is grumpy and mean to Y/N, who's just shy and trying to get through the day, and they're both teaching assistants for the same class.
word count: 4.9k
content warnings/author's notes: h being a dick, grumpy h x soft girl trope &lt;;3 part two will be posted a week from today!
masterlist | talk to me |
part two | part three
Y/N thinks Harry hates her. 
Which is kind of silly, really, because they didn't even know each other prior to being assigned as teaching assistants to the same literary seminar. They roam in two completely different circles and never would have crossed paths if not for the fact that Y/N is an English major and Harry got an A- in the course last year. 
Y/N's initially really excited that Professor Donnolly asked her to be one of her TAs. At their first one-on-one meeting together, she lets Y/N know that there will be one other TA this semester since it's such a large class, but this isn't concerning to her. She's quiet and introverted and an expert at keeping to herself, and she's far more focused on helping students in the seminar and building up her resume. 
So, she's generally pretty careless about the whole thing until Harry strolls in on the first day. He's dressed in all black, a tattered band tee decorating his torso, inky tattoos covering his arms, and a coffee in hand. He doesn't even have a backpack with him, which Y/N finds weird — she'd spent the previous night printing out worksheets and contact information for her batch of students, all of which were neatly filed in a folder in her bag. 
He plops down next to her at the front of the lecture hall and pulls his phone out. Y/N isn't typically very nosey, but she can't help that as she sits there, anxiously awaiting for the class to begin, she notices just about 20 missed texts lighting up his screen. She doesn't think she receives that many messages in a week. 
Because she's shy, she's hesitant to introduce herself, but maybe he doesn't realize there's another TA for the course despite sitting down right next to her. So she clears her throat and nervously picks at a loose string on her knitted cardigan before mustering up the courage to say something. 
"Hi," her voice is scratchy since it's the first time she's said anything all morning, aside from ordering an iced vanilla latte at the on-campus cafe, "I'm Y/N. Are you the other TA for this semester?"
Harry peers up at her with a glaring look. His eyes are so piercing that it almost makes her jump under his gaze. 
"Yeah, I'm Harry. Please don't continue this conversation, I'm hungover."
Y/N's jaw snaps closed at his bluntness, a warm blush encasing her entire body. She's so embarrassed that it physically hurts — and it's enough of a reason to stay quiet every time she sees Harry, twice a week at the seminar.
Weeks go by and nothing changes, the pair seemingly fine with their lack of verbal communication. Every now and then they'll have to physically interact, whether it be passing papers or the one time Harry held the door open for Y/N when they were leaving the lecture hall. She's surprised he didn't purposely slam it in her face.
She'll admit, it bothers her just a tad, but it's just another facet of her personality — an incessant need to people-please — that she scribbles down in her planner as a reminder to bring up in therapy sometime soon.
On Tuesday after class has ended, she's packing up her things, her back to Harry when Professor Donnolly strolls over to their table, the sound of her pumps clacking against the tiled floor. 
"Harry, Y/N, are you two available right now?"
In any other instance, Y/N would find a reason to be busy — her social battery is drained from today's workshopping class, where she went around discussing thesis statements with her assigned group of students — but this TA gig matters to her, especially after she did some online digging on Professor Donnolly and found out she has connections at multiple publishing firms Y/N could only dream of working at. So she sucks it up and bears herself for whatever her presence is needed for, even if it means being around Harry.
"I'm free," Y/N replies and Harry grunts out some form of affirmative answer. 
"Great!" Donnolly claps her hands together, "So listen, I'm seriously behind in going through these outlines and they need to be graded and handed back by Thursday's class. Do you guys think you could make a dent in the stack this afternoon? You could use my office while I teach this next lecture."
The thought of sitting in an office alone with Harry sounds absolutely humiliating, but to her surprise, he's the one that agrees to it before she even has a chance to run it through her brain. She zones out while Donnolly hands Harry the keys to her office, providing instructions on where the papers and rubric are, before he's turning on his heel and heading in the direction of the English department. Y/N scrambles and throws her bag over her shoulder, her chunky oxfords squeaking as she rushes to catch up to Harry. 
"You don't have to join me," Harry grumbles once she finally reaches him so they're walking side by side, "I'm perfectly capable of grading these outlines by myself." 
With a wrinkle in her brow, Y/N hugs her backpack strap closer to her body. "She asked both of us, so I'm helping."
"Yeah, but she doesn't have to know if you duck out to do whatever shit you do in your free time. Volunteering with the elderly or summat."
He mutters the last part under his breath, but Y/N hears it. Pain quickly zips through her stomach but it's gone just as quickly as it entered. 
"I don't volunteer with the elderly," is her final comeback, albeit mumbled as they reach Donnolly's office. Harry stuffs the key in the lock and twists the door open before flicking the lights on and zeroing in on the stack of papers on her desk. 
"Right, well, you act like a fuckin' church mouse, so apologies if my assumptions are a bit off." 
Y/N huffs and drops her bag on the cushiony couch. She doesn't even know Harry, so what gives him the right to talk about her like that?
"You're the one that told me not to talk to you on the first day," Y/N says pointedly, walking over to where he stands with the papers in hand, "I'm only doing what you asked of me. And don't call me a church mouse, you don't know anything about me."
She snatches the folder from him and halves the papers as he cackles from above. She can't help but notice that he towers over her, and it makes her swallow nervously. 
"You took that seriously? Jesus, you need to lighten up. Haven't you ever been hungover before?"
Y/N rolls her eyes as she sits down on the couch, folding her legs so her skirt doesn't ride up. She digs in her bag for her favorite red pen, fetching it from her pouch of writing utensils.
"Oh wait, you probably haven't. Because you're a church mouse." 
Y/N grits her teeth. She's never had someone care to provoke her this much and it's so annoying. Harry is so annoying!
"Can you please stop?" She says softly, removing the cap from her pen. "You don't have to be mean to me just because you don't like me." 
"How do you know whether I like you or not?" Harry scoffs as he sits down at Donnolly's desk, "I don't even know you." 
Y/N has to admit, that one hurts. So instead of responding, she swallows the lump forming in her throat and starts to read over Amanda Mai's outline. 
Harry doesn't bother her again that day. In fact, he doesn't even say goodbye when he's done. 
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
The following weeks go similarly. 
Donnolly stops them both after class with some ask of grading papers or outlines or otherwise, claiming that she thinks they work well together, which Y/N thinks is some cruel joke from the universe. Every time her and Harry walk the familiar route to her office in silence, she wonders what she did wrong in her life and what bullshit karma she's on the receiving end of. 
At a certain point, she wonders if someone has made a voodoo doll of her just to torture her, especially when she thinks Harry's finally skipping one of their grading sessions together, only to find his tongue down some sorority girl's throat. He nearly pushes the girl off of him when he notices Y/N's unintentionally interrupted their makeout session. She holds back a snicker when she hears the girl ask what his problem is as she unlocks the door.
"Gotta go," Harry tells the girl lowly, brushing past her to follow Y/N into the office. The girl garbles out a surprised "what?" just as Harry's shutting the door and plopping down at Donnolly's desk chair. 
It's quiet for a moment and Y/N debates saying anything, knowing that however she chooses to approach the situation — whether she ignore the confused, pissed off girl outside or comment on Harry's apparent distaste for her — he'll dole out some rude response. 
She rolls her lips into her mouth as she passes him his half of the papers, eventually settling on, "You probably shouldn't bring your girlfriend to your job. It's unprofessional, I think, and you both could've gotten in trouble."
Harry chuckles dryly and Y/N immediately regrets her decision. 
"Mind your business, little mouse." he mutters, but not before he utters something out under his breath. "She's not my girlfriend either."
Y/N nods slowly and lowers her eyes to the assignment in front of her. Today, they're working on editing the first drafts of the class' papers, which is guaranteed to take hours. She grimaces as she reads over Ty Baker's introduction, realizing that she has a hefty load of grading ahead of her. 
When she pulls out her pencil case from her bag, she hears Harry scoff from across the room. Mentally, she hopes it's due to the poor writing he's reading, but she knows she's wrong.
"Do you always wear shit like that?" he sneers. A hot flush instantly pulverizes her body, making her feel embarrassed and self-conscious within seconds. 
She doesn't reply, but of course — of course — Harry continues. 
"I mean, seriously, how old are you? 23? 24? And you come to campus in little skirts and cardigans and those stupid Doc Martens. Are you trying to look half your age?" 
Y/N swallows harshly, attempting to focus on the words on the page. If she ignores him, he'll stop eventually. Harry thrives on her attempting to fight back. 
"Are you even gonna defend yourself?" Harry spits, leaning back in Donnolly's chair, "Kind of pathetic, really—"
Y/N's head snaps up, tears blurring her vision. She sniffles and looks at him, the embarrassment now overwhelming when his face falls, realizing that he's made her cry. 
"Please stop," Y/N says in a watery voice, "You're just being mean."
Harry stares her down with low eyes, his raspberry lips slighted parted. She can feel his intimidating gaze even as she tries to redirect her attention back to Ty's draft, attempting to blink the salty tears away. She thinks she's made it through until a shudder racks through her body, a sad and involuntary quiver sounding from her chest.
The room is dead silent so she knows Harry hears it, and she wants nothing more than to dig a hole in the ground and bury herself alive. It would be better than having to face the fact that Harry made her cry over rude comments. 
She braces herself for another tongue lashing but instead, he stands from the desk, grabs his things, and rushes out of the room, leaving Y/N sitting on the couch by herself with tear-stained cheeks. 
She wonders if she's ever been this embarrassed before in her life.
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
Y/N spends the weekend wondering if she can ask Donnolly to transfer her to another section.
As she cuddles with her kitten, Ginger, on the couch, binge-watching episode upon episode of Love Island, she contemplates how to approach the situation. 
"Ging, what do you think I should do?" she murmurs to the orange cat perched on her thighs, "He's kind of awful and he's so mean to me, I don't understand why. I never see him act that way with anyone else. I don't think I did anything to him."
Ginger meows.
"Okay, meow again if you think I should try to move to Donnolly's other seminar."
The kitten jumps off her legs and traipses to her food bowl. Y/N lets out a sigh and falls to the side face-first into a mess of throw pillows.
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
On Tuesday morning, Harry is tired.
He stayed up way too late last night and Jenna wouldn't stop blowing up his phone, wondering where he was over the weekend and asking if he wanted to come over and hookup.
(It was a Monday for Christ's sake, and she clearly couldn't take a hint — if he hadn't replied to her last five texts, why on earth would he want to go and get his dick wet now?
He realizes that he's done worse, so he takes it back.)
He typically spends his weekends ambling through parties and bars with his mates. Jenna is just one of his current and most reliable hookups, and he clearly made a mistake by tonguing her in public last week while he waited for Y/N to unlock Donnolly's office. It had been a spur of the moment rendezvous — Jenna happened to be walking through the English department just as Harry was, and she surged towards him for a kiss that quickly grew to a heated makeout once she stuck her tongue in his mouth. 
Harry was weak and rarely one to turn down a midday hookup, but the second he heard Y/N's clunky footsteps (those Doc Marten oxfords she wore were a dead giveaway), he tore apart from Jenna. 
Because of their public snog session, he assumes that she thinks their arrangement is something more. And she couldn't be more wrong, because ever since Thursday afternoon, all he's been able to think about is Y/N.
He doesn't even know why. She's quiet and shy and the complete opposite of any girl he's ever been attracted to. She rarely even fights back when he tries to rile her up, which he thought would be fun, but then he went and made her fucking cry last week and now he feels like the worst person to walk the planet.
In hindsight, Harry knows he was a fucking dick to her on Thursday. He doesn't know what it is about her, but it annoys him that she's so shy. She's smart and pretty and sweet and he doesn't know why she doesn't see that, instead opting for quietness and soft smiles and a constant hope that no one will notice her. 
Harry very much notices her, and it makes him grumpy.
So on Tuesday morning, he decides that he's going to attempt to make it up to her. He can't promise that he won't be rude, but when he makes his daily stop at his favorite coffee shop, he orders his own drink and hers, an iced vanilla oat milk latte. He hopes that she also didn't grab one before class but figures that at the very least, the effort would be appreciated. Maybe.
And Harry is actually kind of... nervous as he strolls into the lecture hall. He usually arrives a minute or two before class starts but today he's a whopping 10 minutes early, giving tight smiles to the students that wave hello to him. He's surprised that Y/N isn't there yet though he's never been this early before — maybe she likes to get there with five minutes to spare, even if she strikes him as an obsessively early type of person.
His eyebrows furrow when Donnolly enters the room and greets Harry with a grin, setting her things up at the podium. Clearing his throat, he tries to seem as normal as possible as he glances at the clock at the back of the hall. 
"Where's Y/N?" he asks, turning to look at Donnolly. 
The professor glances down at Harry, who's sitting at the TA table, his leg bouncing. He's clutching his own coffee cup and Y/N's is next to him, but now the plastic cup is beading with condensation and sweating onto the wooden desk.
"She's not feeling well today," Donnolly replies casually, her eyes peering over to the extra coffee on the table, "She said she'll try to make it to grading this afternoon, but I told her that wouldn't be necessary if she needs time to rest."
Harry coughs awkwardly and nods, ignoring the pang of guilt zip through his heart.
Donnolly purses her lips before clearing her throat and typing something on her laptop. "You have her number, right? I haven't had a chance to check on her but I want to make sure she's doing alright. Would you mind?" 
"I don't have her number, no." 
She hums and nods, "I just emailed it to you." 
Harry goes to reply, but Donnolly is already clapping her hands to announce the start of class.
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
Harry can't stop staring at Y/N's phone number.
At this point, he knows he's being a total and utter weirdo. Donnolly gave it to him to check on her, but instead of texting her, he opens her email and stares at the 10 digits until they blur together. He types it in his phone twice but can't decide on what to say. He knows it doesn't have to be a big deal — he's never been this stressed over having a girl's number before! And besides the fact, this isn't even that kind of deal, it's Y/N. 
Silly, stupid Y/N, who he can't stop thinking about, who he feels bad for being mean to, who he wishes came to class today so he could give her her dumb iced latte but instead had to throw out the melted, watered down beverage.
He doesn't text her, but he does the next logical step of looking her up on social media. Of course, her Instagram profile is on private and she hasn't posted on Twitter in five years. He tries to find any public trace of her online only to come up empty, so he groans and leans back against his pillows, pulls up the empty text thread and pastes her number in. 
It takes him four rewrites and 10 minutes of agony to finally land on: Hey. Donnolly asked me to see how you're doing.
Harry wants to throw his phone across the room but he resists, instead clutching it tightly in his palm. It buzzes a moment later and he nearly yelps to see her number on his screen. 
who is this?
"Oh my god," he grunts, slapping a hand over his forehead, "I didn't even say it was me!"
Grumbling, he quickly types back. It's Harry. She said you weren't feeling well.
He keeps the text thread up and watches as the speech bubble appears, then fades away. It happens three times before she replies. 
yea I have a migraine. im fine thanks
Harry swallows. His mouth dries as he tries to figure out how he can continue the conversation but she's really not giving him anything to go off of. He can't say he blames her, though.
Do you need anything?
Again, the three dots pop up on his screen and disappear twice more. 
no thank you
This time, he replies quickly: Do you think you'll be able to attend class on Thursday? If not, I can bring you the papers you have left to grade so you don't fall too behind.
He figures that's a decent response — maybe one that warrants more than three words, and he even wonders if it portrays his attempt to patch things up. 
if i need anything im capable of doing it myself. 
Harry sighs and locks his phone. He definitely deserves this.
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
On Thursday, Y/N doesn't show up to class again. 
And at this point, Harry is ready to call her up or text her, or even email her to demand some answers. He's not sure what answers he's looking for — she said she had a migraine on Tuesday, but how could she still be dealing with it two days later? — but he's annoyed that she's not here. 
When class is over, Donnolly wordlessly hands her keys to him. He flashes her a tight small, dumps the rest of his coffee, and walks the short distance to her office, stewing in his anger. Had he really been that mean? He didn't think so; he knew he was a dick and yeah, he still regrets making her cry, but was it worth missing two days of class? She'll be so behind in grading, what's the point in even being a teaching assistant if she's just going to—
Harry's face wrinkles in confusion when he approaches the small office space, noticing that the lamp is already on, radiating a warm glow from the corner. The door is unlocked, too, which Donnolly never does. 
"Go fuckin' figure," he mutters to himself, prepared to have to deal with some sort of English department break-in, when he pushes the door open to find Y/N inside, sprawled out across the blue velvet sofa with her pink cardigan bunched up over her eyes.
He's immediately perplexed, and he wouldn't know it's Y/N if not for those clunky Doc Martens on her feet. Instead of her usual Levi jeans or rotation of mini skirts, she's wearing leggings and a baggy t-shirt over her form, her hair tied up and flopped over her head.
He can't tell if she's awake or not, so he very quietly shuts the door behind him. Her lips part and she takes a deep breath, her hand flying up to her temples with a wince.
"Y/N?" Harry whispers, dropping Donnolly's keys on her desk. 
"Leave me alone," she croaks, "Everything hurts, just shut up. Please."
Harry smiles gently as she tacks on a please at the end of her request. Something about her delicate state is very sweet, but it's quickly replaced with concern as he kneels down next to the couch. 
"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, fingers itching to move the cardigan covering her face.
"No."
"What's the matter?"
"Migraine."
"Why are you on campus, then?"
"Stop asking me questions." 
He does, allowing her to ruminate in the silence as he decides what he should do. It's but a minute or two more before she slowly moves the cardigan down her face, revealing tired, squinty eyes that stare up at Harry.
"I've missed two days of classes and I didn't want to miss anymore. I came to campus this morning and I couldn't even make it through my first one. Donnolly said I could rest in here."
"All from a migraine?" Harry presses, a bemused expression on his face.
"Yes. I get them from stress."
It's the most that she's spoken to him in days and he chalks it up to her disoriented nature. Her hair is a mess and her eyes are bleary, fatigue and pain apparent in her every move. 
"Do you want to go home?" he asks. He doesn't know much about migraines, but his sister gets them sometimes and she always complains about his voice being too loud. He tries to keep his questions at minimal volume, teetering just above a whisper.
"Yeah, but I don't have a car and it's too bright outside to walk." 
"I can drive you," Harry murmurs without a second thought, "My car is in the building lot." 
"Isn't that a faculty lot?"
He rolls his eyes, "Are you really gonna harp on that right now?"
Y/N doesn't reply to this, instead trying her best to sit up, only to be met with a painful recoil. Harry jumps to keep her stable, his hands stretching out to steady her arms and keep her upright. 
"Sorry," he quickly mutters, "Don't want you to pass out on me."
She nods, and that's how Harry knows she must be really sick. He scrambles up and digs his car keys out of his pocket, then grabs his sunglasses dangling from his tee-shirt. 
"Here, you can wear these." 
Y/N doesn't reply and his shoulders droop in concern, carefully reaching forward to place them over her eyes. 
"Don't tell me if I look dumb." she mumbles, making him laugh.
"You don't. You look quite sweet, actually." 
He ignores the compliment that seems to fall from his lips effortlessly, instead choosing to focus on getting her home safely. Harry grabs her backpack and swings it over his shoulder, "Do you need help getting up?"
With squinted eyes, Y/N looks up at him, nodding once. She looks so sad and it kills him, mumbling out an "alright" as he reaches his hands out to help her stand. Once she's on her feet, she's capable of moving on her own, clutching her soft cardigan in arms. He doesn't want to touch her any more without her permission, especially if she hates him as much as she acts. He may be a dick, but he'd never intentionally try to make her feel uncomfortable when she's in such a vulnerable state.
Together, they walk out of the building and to the parking lot, where Harry's navy sedan is parked. He wants to make a joke about her pointing out that yes, technically he left his car in the faculty lot, but she just looks so exhausted that he doesn't have it in him. Gently, he guides her to the passenger's side and unlocks the car, making sure that she gets in safely. When she does, he rushes around the vehicle, placing her bag in the backseat and starting the car. 
"Where do you live, Y/N?" Harry asks quietly. She looks over at him in his black Ray Bans and a small smile quirks at his lips. He knows she would never be caught dead in this style of sunglass, but for the time being, he wants to take a picture on his phone so he never forgets the way she looks.
"On Maple." she grunts out as she tucks her arms into her cardigan. It's the end of summer, slowly crawling towards fall, but the daily temperature is still quite warm. He frowns and lowers the air.
"Do you have a roommate that can take care of you?" 
"I live alone."
His frown deepens at this as he pulls out of the parking lot and down the road. Yes, they're in grad school, both fully capable adults, but she has to get lonely living by herself, didn't she? He's never seen her out at bars or parties, and if stress migraines are a persistent thing in her life, how does she typically get through them alone?
Harry lives a few streets over from Maple so he knows how to get there. She makes some grumbly noise to let him know that he's reached their destination, so he parks outside and turns the car off. 
"I'll walk you in, if that's alright," Harry says. She pauses as she undoes her seatbelt, taking a moment to glance at him through the dark sunglasses. 
"Okay. But only because I need you to carry my bag in and make sure I don't puke on the way to my bed."
"Sure," he murmurs, making quick work to follow her inside. He realizes he must look ridiculous, dressed in all black with her pastel pink bag looped over his shoulder.
Y/N's house is very... Y/N. He's not sure what he expected since he's never really wondered about her living conditions, but the one-bedroom apartment is small and cozy, filled with art and plants and candles. Her favorite colors — or what Harry assumes to be her favorites — are constant threads throughout the home, accents of light pink and forest green dancing through her kitchen on mugs and in her living room on throw blankets and pillows. She has a large vase of sunflowers on her coffee table and a sting forms somewhere in his body, wondering if someone — a romantic someone — gave them to her.
Harry notices a small cat toddle towards her, instantly pawing at her shoes as she kicks them off. 
"Not now, Ging," Y/N mumbles, "Love you bunches, but 'm still sick."
"Ging?" Harry asks as he gently places her bag on the velvet green armchair in her living room. He picks the tiny kitten up and strokes the white patch on its head.
"Short for Ginger," she replies, turning to look at him. Her eyebrows raise behind the sunglasses when she sees that Ginger is already in Harry's arms, purring away at his pets. If she wasn't in so much pain, she would roll her eyes at the little traitor. "Um... I'm just gonna go upstairs and change and go to bed."
Harry nods, "Do you need anything?"
If she's being honest, Y/N hates going through migraines alone. She can't do anything by herself and she feels far more isolated and lonely than usual. In college, her roommate, Kelsey, was helpful and understanding, but Kelsey moved across the country after graduation. Besides her parents, Y/N doesn't have anyone else to help her in times of need like this.
"Yeah," she finally sighs, much to both her and Harry's surprise, "Can you... just stick around for a little? It's fine if you have things to do, but migraines give me a lot of anxiety and I... it helps to have someone here. Also, Ginger is lonely."
"Well, if Ginger needs company, then I'm more than happy to stay."
It's the first time he's ever made Y/N smile.
Read part two here :) | Read part three here :)
913 notes · View notes
butdaddyilovehim-hs · 6 months
Text
Obsession - Part 1
Tumblr media
Summary: Y/N meets her brother's girlfriend's dad for the first time... and they can't seem to stay away from each other. Warnings: older!H, age gap romance, smut to come, angst
Word Count - 4k
"Jake, they're going to be here soon, right? You need to come downstairs so you can introduce me when they get here."
"Calm down, Y/N. I'm coming. Is the food ready?" Jake calls from his room. Y/N nods as she pulls the tray out of the oven before realising that he can't see her and yells back an affirmative. This is big. Jake had never invited any of his girlfriend's families to meet her - it had simply never been that serious before. But he seems to really like Isla, and Y/N, being the protective big sister, made him organise something. From what Y/N knows, Isla's mom is out of the picture, and she lives with her dad.
As Y/N quickly sets the table, she can't help but think about how much has changed since their parents' tragic accident five years ago. She was just 19 at the time, thrust into a world of responsibilities she hadn't been prepared for. But she rose to the challenge, becoming not only Jake's guardian but also his closest confidante and friend.
Now, at 24, Y/N is balancing her own life as well. She's in her final year at university, pursuing a degree in literature. Her love for books and storytelling has always been a part of her, and it's no surprise to anyone who knows her that she has chosen this path. Her dream is to become a writer one day, like her mom had been, crafting novels that will transport readers to different worlds, if only for a little while.
Jake emerges from his room, his usually tousled hair neatly combed. He wears a crisp shirt and a slightly anxious expression. Y/N can't help but smile at her brother. He has grown into a responsible and kind-hearted young man, and she is proud of him for taking this step.
"You look great," Y/N says, offering a reassuring smile. "Just be yourself, and everything will go fine."
Jake nods, though his nervousness is still evident. Y/N knows how much he cares about Isla, and she is determined to make this dinner a pleasant experience for all of them.
As they hear the doorbell ring, Y/N takes a deep breath and prepares herself, sneaking a quick glance at her brother, who looks even more anxious.
"Remember," Y/N whispers to Jake, "just be genuine. Show him that you truly care about Isla, and he'll see the same good-hearted young man that I see."
Jake nods, and they both make their way to the front door. Y/N swings it open and it takes everything in her to keep her jaw from falling open. Isla and her father stand in the doorway, the latter carrying a large bouquet of flowers. But the flowers aren't what has Y/N so taken aback.
The first thing that strikes her is his striking handsomeness. He has a timeless charm about him, with a chiseled jawline, piercing green eyes, and salt-and-pepper hair that only seems to enhance his rugged appeal. His eyes scan her up and down before he offers her a smile, one that Y/N feels in her core. He couldn’t have been older than 45, and he carries himself well. He oozes wealth and success, and Y/N has to remind herself to maintain her composure.
"Hello, Mr. Styles," she manages to say, though her voice quivers slightly. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Y/N, Jake's sister."
Mr. Styles extends his hand with a warm smile. "Y/N, the pleasure is mine, but it's Harry. I insist,” he replies, his voice smooth and comforting.
As they shake hands, Y/N can't help but feel a subtle connection between them, beyond the initial surprise of his appearance. His hand is warm, and she revels in the touch before realizing she might have been holding on a bit too long. She quickly composes herself, dropping his grip as Isla introduces herself, and Y/N sends the young girl what she hopes is a welcoming smile.
As they all settle at the dinner table, Y/N tries to put her initial surprise behind her and focus on making the evening enjoyable for everyone. The conversation flows smoothly, with Jake and Isla sharing stories of their time together. Harry doesn't grill Jake like Y/N had been worried he would, but instead, he is polite and extremely well-spoken. The sleeve of his jacket slides up slightly while he speaks, gesturing with his hands, and Y/N's eyes almost roll off her head when she catches sight of the start of a sleeve of tattoos. He must have noticed her staring because Y/N suddenly feels his eyes on her, and she meets his gaze to find him wearing a slightly mischievous smirk.
"So, Y/N, we haven't heard much from you this evening. Tell me about yourself." He leans forward, taking a sip of his wine, staring at her over the top of his glass.
"Oh, um," Y/N begins, feeling the blush rise to her cheeks. She is mindful that Jake and Isla are also seated at the table, so she needs to control herself.
"I'm in my final year at university currently. I'm studying literature."
"Really? It's one of my interests as well. I used to teach it before I took over running my father's company."
"Oh, that's amazing. I'm the same way… Jake likes to joke that we're going to run out of space for all my books." Y/N laughs, and Harry joins in her laughter. Jake simply rolls his eyes, muttering to Isla about how Y/N is going to fill his room with books when he moves out.
"Y/N, I forgot to ask you about this, and Mr. Styles, I hope it's alright, but I actually managed to get Isla and me concert tickets for this evening. Would it be alright if we went? I promise we'll be back before midnight." Jake pipes up, rubbing his hands together nervously. Y/N shoots Harry a look, who simply shrugs and nods.
"As long as you're being safe, I think that should be okay. Have fun, you two. Y/N and I will clean up."
Jake and Isla quickly bid their goodbyes, with Y/N and Isla exchanging numbers, and Y/N making the younger girl promise to text her if she ever needs anything. When the door shuts behind them, Harry and Y/N are left alone, and the air in the room shifts considerably.
"So…"
"So…" Harry mimics, coaxing a small laugh from Y/N.
"You don't have to stay. I can clean up alone. I'm sure you'd rather get home." Y/N says as she starts taking the plates to the sink.
"No, I'd like to stay. Get to know you a bit more." Harry picks up the wine glasses and follows her into the kitchen. Her breath hitches as she feels him behind her, but he simply reaches over her to place the glasses in the sink before moving back to the table to grab more things.
"Are you sure? No one waiting for you at home?" The question slips out before Y/N can stop it, and she internally facepalms. Get it together, Y/N. He isn’t interested. He's older than her, by a lot. Even if he didn’t have a girlfriend, what he did have was a hell of a lot more experience.
Harry appears back in the doorway of the kitchen, holding more plates, his smirk back on his face.
"No… no one at home. Are you trying to kick me out? Got a boyfriend coming over?"
"No boyfriend. I… haven’t had much luck in that department." She turns away from him, facing the sink so he wouldn’t be able to see the blush on her cheeks.
"Really? Pretty girl like you? I would assume the boys would be falling at your feet."
She shakes her head in a silent laugh as she loads the dishwasher before pulling out two clean wine glasses, lifting one in offering.
"One more glass wouldn’t hurt. Then I’ll leave you to your evening." He takes it with a nod of thanks, opening the bottle, and Y/N moves to sit on the couch, bringing the glasses with her. He sits beside her, and Y/N forces herself to relax when she realises how close he is. She can smell his cologne now. It’s vanilla, intoxicating, and almost euphoric.
"It’s fine. I enjoy some new company once in a while. Jake is a great kid, but we do get tired of each other."
"He seems great. Isla really likes him."
"Isla’s really amazing. You’ve done a really great job with her."  At this, Harry looks proud.
"I appreciate that. Raising a kid alone has been a struggle, but we’ve managed this far. I can’t believe she’s going to be 18. So, I’m curious to know more about your thoughts on some classics.  I don’t know many people who take as much of an interest in books as I do. What are your favourites?
“I love this question. I've always been fascinated by the works of Russian authors. Dostoevsky, in particular, has this incredible ability to explore the depths of human psychology. 'Crime and Punishment' is a masterpiece in that regard.”
Harry nods, his gaze fixed on Y/N as if hanging on to her every word. 
"I couldn't agree more. Dostoevsky's exploration of guilt, morality, and the human condition is both thought-provoking and intense. 'The Brothers Karamazov' is another one of his works that left a profound impact on me.”
"And what about contemporary literature? Are there any recent books or authors that have caught your attention?”
Y/N pauses, considering her response, swirling what is left in her glass.
"Well, I've been quite taken by the works of Kazuo Ishiguro. His ability to craft emotionally resonant narratives is truly remarkable. 'Never Let Me Go' is a haunting exploration of identity and mortality."
Harry nods again in agreement. "Ishiguro's prose is beautifully understated, and his exploration of themes like memory and love is incredibly moving. 'The Remains of the Day' is another gem. I have a really great article on some of his work. What’s your number? I’ll send you the link.” He pulls out his phone and looks at her expectantly. 
Y/N rattles off the digits and her heart races when he phone dings on the table. She has his number. 
There’s silence for a moment as they both drink from their glasses. Y/N can tell they’re both well aware of the tension, but Harry is better at hiding how he’s affected compared to her. 
"Have you dated since Isla’s mother?" Y/N isn’t quite sure where the question comes from, but her wine glass is getting awfully low, and Harry’s presence is messing with her head. Every few seconds, her eyes wander to his lips, and Harry follows her gaze. They’re treading in dangerous waters, and they both know it, but for some reason, it’s even more exciting. Y/N shifts slightly on the couch, and her knee brushes his. Harry doesn’t flinch; he doesn’t move; he just keeps his leg where it is, maintaining the contact. She watches as he takes another sip of wine, his gaze fixed on her, his eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and desire.
"Dated is a strong term. I sleep with people when I feel the urge. I haven’t met anyone that I’ve wanted to start anything serious with. No one I wanted to… what is it your generation says? Wine and dine?" He raises his glass in Y/N’s direction, his eyes locked onto hers.
Y/N can't help but laugh at his playful tone, even as her heart races at the implications of his words.
"Yes, wine and dine. That's certainly an approach, Mr. Styles.” She hadn’t meant for the name to sound as suggestive as it did. Or maybe she did. He swallows thickly at the use of his last name, shifting in his seat. 
“Well maybe I just haven’t met the woman who’s made me want to change.”
“That’s a… possibility.” He’s slightly closer to her now and his scent is overwhelming her. Her gaze flicks from his eyes back down to his lips again and this time, he calls her out on it. 
“Do you need something Y/N?”
“Hmm?”
“I asked if you needed something. You seem rather fascinated… is there something on my face?”
“Oh! No! There’s nothing on your face it’s fine.” “Just fine?” He teases and Y/N covers her face with her hands, her head spinning slightly from the alcohol. She looks up at him again, meeting his eyes and trapping her bottom lip between her teeth. He groans, almost inaudibly. 
“Stop looking at me like that Y/N or I’m going to think-” He trails off, before shaking his head and running a hand over his face. He stands, picking up his wine glass and moves towards the kitchen.
“Think what Harry?” Y/N follows him, standing in the doorway, forcing him to look at her. 
“I- I think I should be going. It was lovely to meet you and Jake finally, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” 
Y/N decides to play dumb. She is fully aware of what’s behind his sudden change of mood, and she knows he’s cautious. Wary. Normally she would be too, but the wine has made her bold and he’s captivating. 
"Harry," Y/N says softly, taking a step closer to him."Is everything okay?” 
Harry lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he looks at her with a mixture of longing and frustration. "Y/N, you're making it really difficult for me to leave," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.
“So don’t.” Her arms go up, around his neck and they’re close now. Close enough that Y/N can feel the warmth of his breath on her face. And then he’s leaning in. 
Their lips touch for the first time and it’s electric. Harry’s hands move up her body, tangling in her hair, pulling slightly and Y/N moans into his mouth. He quickly establishes dominance in the kiss, kissing her until she’s gasping for air. He walks with her, pushing her until her back is against the wall and he’s leaning into her. Harry pulls back for a moment to breathe and Y/N pulls him closer, wanting needing him in her orbit. He sinks into her touch for a second, two, three and then he’s pulling away from her, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Fuck.” He mutters, almost to himself and his internal turmoil is more than evident on his face.
“Harry? What’s wrong?”
“Y/N I’m almost twice your age. And this?” He gestures between them. “Can’t happen.” 
“Why not? You feel it don’t you? The pull? There’s something here.” Y/N steps closer and Harry lets her. 
“Of course I feel it Y/N and that’s why I know that whatever it is, we need to ignore. You’re young, and I’m well…”
“Just because I’m young, it doesn’t mean I’m immature Harry. As an adult, I’m telling you that whatever this is, I’m ok with it.”
“I can’t- I don’t… Y/N, I have to go.” 
Y/N stands there speechless as Harry pushes away from her. He grabs his jacket off the couch and moves towards the door. 
“Harry, let’s talk about this.”
“Thanks for dinner.” And then he’s gone, shutting the door behind him, leaving Y/N alone, incredible confused and slightly turned on. 
Tumblr media
It’s been two weeks since Y/N saw Harry at dinner and it’s been about two minutes since she last thought about him. Well to be more precise, since she last thought about the feeling of his lips on hers. If she closes her eyes, she can picture it. The warmth of his touch, the way he pushed her up against the wall…
“Y/N? Are you even listening to me?” Jake waves a hand in front of his sisters face, noting that it’s the 3rd time that she’s zoned out during the conversation.
“Oh. Sorry. What were you saying?” Y/N forces herself to pay attention. 
“Isla said she’d text you but she wanted to know if you’d be cool with going over to their place to help her with an assignment for her literature class.” 
“Umm… is her dad going to be there?”
“Mr Styles?” Jake raises a quizzical brow. “I don’t know… why?”
“Uh, no reason. When does she want me to come over? I’m working most of this week except tomorrow.”
“I told her that, she said tomorrow was fine. Thanks for helping her Y/N she’ll appreciate it.”
“No worries Jake.” Y/N offered a small smile but internally, she couldn’t be more stressed. The thought of seeing Harry again, especially after he left in such a rush, made her incredibly nervous. Maybe he wouldn’t be there. Hopefully he wouldn’t be home. 
(4:09pm) Isla Styles: Hi Y/N! Jake told me you were happy to come over and help me tomorrow! Thank you so much! I should be home around 6pm, usually I work till 8 but I’ll ask to finish early. Dad shouldn’t be home so I’ll leave a key under the mat for you. Let yourself in at 6 if I’m not home yet and I’ll meet you there.
(4:34pm) Y/N: Hey Isla! No worries, happy to help. See you tomorrow :)
Tumblr media
6pm rolls around and Y/N finds herself standing in front of the house… well mansion Isla had given her the address for. There are no cars in the driveway so Y/N assumes Isla is running late. But just in case, she knocks. And she waits. There’s no sound from inside the house so Y/N fumbles under the mat for the key and slides it in the lock. She’s aware she’s alone in the house but she still tiptoes inside quietly. The ceilings are high, and there is a large statement staircase in the middle of the entrance. Floor to ceiling windows are in excess and Y/N stands quietly in awe for a few moments. It’s modern, and clean and everything Y/N would want in a house. She finds the living room easily, deciding to set up the few things she brought to help Isla with her assignment on the dining table. 
(6:09pm) Isla Styles: I’m on my way! 15 minutes, I swear! Make yourself at home x
Y/N is opening her laptop when she hears a noise. A noise that sounds a lot like a moan. And then it happens again. It’s faint, muffled due to where she is in the house, so she moves from the dining table to the bottom of the staircase. 
“Fuck Harry. Right there, oh my GOD!” The woman’s voice is high pitched, her moans increasing in volume as Harry, from what Y/N can gather, fucks the shit out of her. 
“You like that baby? Gonna come for me? You feel so good. Fuck Y/N.”
Y/N stills at the sound of her name, not waiting to hear the other woman’s response before scrambling back to the kitchen. Did he just…? Surely not.
10 minutes passes and Y/N hears heels click clacking down the stairs. From where she sits, she gets a glimpse of a woman in a short blue dress, who lets herself out without another sound. 
At least they’re done, Y/N thinks to herself. 
She’s scrolling mindlessly on her phone, willing Isla to appear, when she hears footsteps. She didn’t hear the front door open again which means…
Harry appears in front of her, with only a pair of boxers on, making his way to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. He hasn’t noticed her yet and Y/N doesn’t really know how to handle it. But as usual, her mouth speaks before her brain catches up.
“Do you usually call the women you’re hooking up with my name? Or is that just a more recent thing?” 
He jumps, spilling a bit of water down his chest, as he realises who is sitting at his dining room table.
“Y/N what the fuck are you doing in my house?”
“Hello to you too. Isla wanted help with an assignment. She’s late, so she told me to let myself in. She also told me you wouldn’t be home. But obviously you are… and someone else is too it seems.” She smirks at how uncomfortable he seems as she makes her way over to him. 
“Isla isn’t home till after 8 on Saturdays.” Is all he can think of to say. 
“Mmm. You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m not discussing my sex life with you Y/N. I told you, nothing is going to happen between us.” But even so, he steps closer. 
“Ok, but if you’re calling other women my name, you must want it to. And I want it to. So that makes us two consenting adults. I don’t think I can stay away from you, Harry.” 
Harry’s eyes shut as he inhales the smell of Y/N’s perfume, the intoxicating scent taking him back to the night a few weeks before. This time Y/N is the one to lean in, attaching her lips to his. She’s mindful that he was fucking someone else just moments before but in the moment she can’t bring herself to care. She can feel the moment that Harry gives in, caging her in against the kitchen counter, devouring her mouth with his. Y/N runs her fingers down his chest, revelling in the chance she gets to touch and feel. His skin is smooth and his curls are soft. She finds the harder she pulls, the more insatiable he becomes. 
“Y/N? Are you here?” Isla’s voice rings out from the foyer and both Harry and Y/N freeze, pulling away from each other.  
“Get out of here… when she sees you without any fucking clothes on she’s going to ask questions.” Y/N pushes on his bare chest and Harry quickly moves up the back stairs up to his room, but not before pressing a small peck to her lips again. 
“I’m so sorry I’m a bit late! Are you ready to get started?” Isla chirps, completely oblivious as to what was happening just moments before. 
Y/N nods, and starts to show Isla some of the books she brought when her phone dings. Once, twice, then three times.
“Someone’s popular!” Isla jokes. Y/N offers her a small smile as she flips her phone over. 
(6:31pm) Harry: You’re right.
(6:31pm) Harry: I don’t think I can stay away from you either.
(6:31pm) Harry: Let me take you out for dinner. Let’s talk. 
Y/N glances nervously over at Isla, who seems engrossed in her reading material. 
(6:33pm) Y/N: Ok. We’ll talk.
A/N: Hi!!! Thank you for reading, I am SO excited for this series to begin. What do we think of our characters so far...? Reblogs and Feedback are always appreciated 💋
Tags:
@lukesaprince @harryspirate @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @lilyrmason12 @styleslover-1994 @stylesfever @kathb59 @indierockgirrl @bxbyysstuff @gills-lounge @lomlhstyles @opheliaofficial07 @behindmygreyeyes @gem1712 @stylesmoonlight12 @babyiamperfectforyou @velvetballaspark @harrys-flower @macy-tpwk @mema10 @intimacywithceline @jerseygirlinca @daphnesutton @rafaaoli
873 notes · View notes
finestyles28 · 3 months
Text
This is one of my truely favourite moments, it makes me tear up every time 💚
391 notes · View notes