#One Direction

[trashraccoongirl]

forever. ❤️

[jaywriteshome]

Everyone say “thank you, Ed!”

[hexsdexs]

By the way one direction inspired an entire generation of young teens to become artists, readers, writers, musicians, animators. 14 year olds were hacking into security cameras. Do you genuinely understand how hard that is? I literally have a tech degree and i still view hacking as too complicated. 14 year olds were in literal stem to watch one direction buy a bottle of shampoo. They have genuinely altered the courses of so many people's lives in terms of careers and long term hobbies. It was never just the music. I literally started reading by reading fanfiction. I am now a very active reader of many genres. I got a fucking tech degree because i wanted to see how it was done. Like its so unbelievably crazy. And they were massively bullied by the media and the rest of the world. They were ridiculed by the music industry. They were the biggest boyband on the planet and the only one that went as global as they did and they had them parody their own song 3 seperate times. They were never nominated for grammys as a group. They were genuinely never taken seriously and they changed the courses of young womens lives.

[gurugirl]

[3] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 3 Word Count: 8,749

Ch. 3 Warning: Harsh physical treatment, descriptions of extreme poverty, discrimination, humiliation, some light petting, inspection kink (light), corruption kink, mention of parental death (let me know if I missed any!)

It's Good to Be King Masterlist

. .

Y/n had learned that the king had been called away to tend to a minor land ownership dispute in a village that was a day's ride away. He'd be gone for five days as long as there were no unexpected postponements.

When Phoebe told her, Y/n couldn't pinpoint exactly why she felt so wistful. She knew he was a cold, bad-mannered person, so she shouldn't have expected him to speak to her about his departure beforehand. But to feel the tight stretch in her chest that he didn't tell her himself… that was perplexing.

Their interactions over the last few weeks she'd been at the castle had been not more than fleeting. They'd had dinner together a few times, and one evening he went to her room with a gift for her. He didn't let her open it while he was present, but before he left, he placed his hand on her hip when she was wearing only her chemise and said, "This, I much prefer. I shall have another fig tart sent to you this evening."

He squeezed at her skin, his fingers indenting into her newly very slightly softer hip. She understood him to mean the small bit of weight she'd put on was what he preferred.

The gift he left her was a beautiful gold brooch bearing the kingdom's royal coat of arms carved into the center, adorned with sparkling purple, red, and amber jewels. On the back, it was engraved with the name of Harry's deceased mother, the late Queen.

She forced a smile as Phoebe poured hot, fragrant Ceylon into her teacup. "He'll be gone five days? The wedding ceremony is in two weeks. Let's hope nothing delays their return."

"Two weeks already is it?" Phoebe said, lifting the porcelain lid from her breakfast platter. "Are you scared?"

She nodded. "Yes. But I've no choice. My family finally has everything they've ever wanted here. My sister, Dell, cried last week when she tasted the citrus soufflé we all had for dessert. I can't do anything to ruin this. Even if he is the devil."

A dashing devil.

"I believe he's fond of you. He's a cad, but I've seen him look at you when you're not paying attention. Everyone has."

Y/n smiled down at her plate. She only pretended not to be paying attention, but she knew his gaze on the curve of her neck and brushing at her lips when she'd look the other direction. Crude, maybe, but he did show her something about her body she'd not soon forget.

In fact, it had come quite in handy once her bedroom was quiet and she was settled into her down blankets with a book full of wanton stories in her lap. The guilt she'd felt the first few times she'd reenacted what he'd shown her soon turned into a craving she daydreamed of at the most inappropriate times.

Just as then, while Phoebe stood by watching as she ate her breakfast.

"Have you eaten?" Y/n asked.

"Not yet."

"Would you like a biscuit with butter?" Y/n placed a biscuit on a small dish and gestured at the chair across from her for Phoebe to sit.

"It's meant for you, Y/n."

"Of course it's meant for me, but I'd like you to have some. You're my friend. Please, sit with me."

Phoebe offered a gentle smile and pulled the chair out to sit. "Thank you."

Y/n had begun offering some of her food to Phoebe during the mornings when no one else was around. Her friend always denied the initial offer but eventually wound up giving in. In fact, it seemed to be easier to get her to sit with Y/n by the day.

She'd also begun taking etiquette classes twice each week in preparation for the wedding and being seen in public with the king. The council advised that she needed the extra work. Harry left it up to Y/n whether or not she'd like to go. She decided to take the classes but quickly regretted that choice. The governess was harsh and easily angered.

Y/n had the feeling that her teacher didn't like her one bit, despite her best efforts to charm her. In fact, she got the idea that not many appreciated her presence in the castle at all. So she often preferred to stay in her room or her sisters'.

"Have you ever kissed a boy before?" Phoebe asked as she dotted the edge of her lip with her napkin.

"I have. But it was just with a friend because I was curious. And only once."

"Was it Lane? The one you told me about who likes his drink?"

She nodded. "Yes. But I'm sure he liked it more than I did. What about you?"

Phoebe smiled shyly and looked behind herself toward the door, as if anyone could hear them through the heavy, solid wood. "I might have last night…"

Y/n sat her fork down and leaned forward. "What do you mean? With whom?"

"You swear to not tell anyone?"

"Phoebe, you know I would never tell anyone your secrets. Was it Niall? It was Niall, wasn't it?"

The look on her friend's face when she spoke the name of the guard told Y/n everything she needed to know. She'd had a suspicion about the pair a couple of weeks prior when she spotted Niall winking at the girl, and the way her face shaded in pink was a clue as to how she felt about it.

A sudden knock on the door had both girls looking at one another in surprise. Phoebe quickly stood and walked toward the door with Y/n right behind. When she pulled the door open, there, standing in her doorway, was the Lord Mayor, and two men with him.

"Miss Y/n Y/l/n, you will come with us at once," he said, looking behind Phoebe at the queen-to-be.

"What is this about? Is the king okay?" Y/n asked, placing her hand over the broach he'd given her.

"You and your family are not welcome here in the castle any longer."

"What? I don't understand! Is there not—"

One of the men stepped in, pushing Phoebe to the side, and grabbed Y/n roughly by her arm. "Come!"

As she was pulled away from her room, the new guard, Niall, stopped the procession before they got too far. "Halt!"

"Move out of my way at once, guard!"

"My loyalty lies with the king and his orders. Unhand Her Majesty at once!"

"The King's duties fall on me when he's away. This is my command. Move to the side."

"Then you leave me no choice but to send word to King Styles to notify him of your trespass."

Y/n felt her arm yanked as she was dragged down the stairs. She screamed when another set of hands was on her middle, pushing, and then she spotted her sisters, parents, and grandmother already near the entrance, surrounded by men.

"Let me go! You needn't grab at me!" The men didn't listen. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, she was pushed until her knees and hands hit the stone floor just off the carpet. But she had barely a moment to take a breath when she was again being grabbed and hauled upward until she was standing next to her mother.

The Lord Mayor stepped in front of her and reached forward. Y/n gasped when she felt him yank at her dress and then realized he'd pulled the brooch off. "Take them away."

Niall called out before Y/n and her family were directed to load into the horse cart that had been waiting for them at the front of the castle. "King Styles will receive word tomorrow. Do not fear, madam."

Two guards hung on the sides of the cart, and a driver at the front controlled the two horses pulling it, as Y/n and her family clung to the wooden benches inside so they didn't fall. People stood and watched as the cart was pulled out of the castle gates and toward the slums of their overcrowded rookery.

"What's happened, Y/n? What did you do?" Her mother bellowed dramatically.

"I don't know what happened. This wasn't the king's orders."

"Those men were atrocious. Grabbed my toast right from my hand!"

The townsfolk were staring, laughing, and some spat as they passed them by. She was far less worried about her family's reputation than she was about the rude behavior of the middle and noble classes. Y/n may never hold influence or power, but she was a human, and she deserved fundamental decency. She'd always believed everyone did.

Until then. Those people mocking her were the lowest of the low.

Being carted out of the castle in a buggy meant for livestock had been done on purpose. It was meant to be a spectacle. It was meant to humiliate. But it only made her angry. For the first time since she'd met the king, she understood him, in part. Understood his need to cause a stir and disrupt the comfortably spoiled bourgeoisie. Now she understood why he didn't like any of them.

. .

"Your Majesty, I have an urgent message from the main castle guard. Y/n Y/l/n and her family have been removed from the castle without your permission. The Lord Mayor took it upon himself to act as regent in your stead and made the decision to banish them from the castle grounds. Your presence is requested at once to deal with the matter."

Harry had never been so furious in all his life. He'd led an army in war and dealt with enemy soldiers who spat in his face, and had never been treated with such a lack of respect as this. He'd only been gone for two days, and already he had his own men conspiring behind his back. It was in direct defiance of Harry, and that just would not do.

He had no choice but to abandon his purpose and return right away. The land dispute matter could wait. Taking care of the Lord Mayor and everyone involved could not. He bid farewell to his company and left the moment he mounted his steed with his men in tow.

A day's ride across the expanse of Thornekeep and the surrounding villages was tiresome. Harry had been looking forward to more rest before he was to return, but now he had to forgo the gin and the hearty meal that was being prepared for him so he could deal with the unruly cast of characters he'd left in charge of the castle in his stead.

If he'd been a hair more cruel than he was, he would have forced the horses to push through until exhaustion. But he relied on the steeds to safely give him transport, and rest was necessary for the animals, just as it was for him and his men.

And as upset as he was about being disrespected, he was more concerned about Y/n than anything. She was his responsibility, and it was no secret that she and her family were not happily welcomed into their new roles. But he certainly hadn't expected this.

The following day, when he arrived to town just outside the castle, it felt as though everyone suddenly retreated back into their homes. As if even the townspeople knew they'd done something wrong. The vendors and workers averted their gazes.

Pointing in the direction of the town square near where the Lord Mayor lived, Harry looked at two of his men who were riding with him. "The Lord Mayor, go and collect him. Bring him to the private chambers closet off the long gallery. Make him stay there and wait for me. You," he said as he looked at Fred, "Get the covered stagecoach and have Alfred drive it directly to Y/n's home. We will be bringing them back to the castle at once."

Harry and the guard traveling with him rode deeper into the town, where the slums sprawled with wet, muddy roads, buckets filled with slop, decrepit living quarters, and street drunkards. There, the people stared intently. They stopped in their tracks and watched as the king rode by on his healthy, strong steed, with his armoured guard behind him. It was the first time he'd ever gone into the rookeries, where the poor lived and worked (if they could find work).

"You, sir!" Harry shouted at a man carrying what looked to be a heavy sack over his shoulder. The man stopped and narrowed his eyes at the king. "Can you tell me in which direction Y/n Y/l/n lives?"

"Oy…" The man dropped the sack at his feet and looked around himself. "I know 'o no such name."

"She's a woman of 20. Has a father called Peter and her mother Lettice."

"Peter and Lettice… Peter Y/l/n…" He rubbed at his chin and chewed the inside of his cheek. "I might know it."

Harry sighed. He knew the spiel. The man was expecting some kind of payment for information. Directing his horse to step closer to the man, Harry looked down at him with a frown and could smell the stench coming from him. "If you know it, tell me then. If you do, I'll let you continue on your journey unharmed."

The man shrugged. It was worth a shot. "Across from the mill. There's a graveyard at the top o'the lane. Four or five tenements down. B'be careful o'the pigs. They've not eaten."

The smell, as Harry traveled deeper into the overcrowded and filthy streets, was almost unbearable. Every five or ten yards was a bucket overflowing with excrement. He'd always known these places existed, but to see it with his own eyes (and to smell it)… he was appalled. The kind of squalor the destitutes lived in was barbarous.

When they arrived at the rundown tenement across from the mill, Harry jumped from the horse and gave the lead to his guard before sloshing through the filth to step up onto the rotted boards of the platform. He knocked on the door with the loose frame and stepped back as someone opened it up right away.

"Who's that?" The old woman stumbled back a couple of steps and clutched her hand over her heart. "The king! The king is here!"

"M'lady, I'm looking for the Y/l/n family. Are they here in this tenement?" Harry held the door open and stepped inside. The main room was dingy and damp and smelled of stale food and unwashed bodies.

"By god!" The woman sat down on the benchtop and inhaled deeply like she'd been given the scare of her life. "The king is here!"

A young man came down the stairs and looked from Harry to the old woman. "We can 'ear ya! Enough!" The man removed his floppy hat and lowered his head. "Your Highness. To what do we owen'ya th'honor?"

"I'm looking for the Y/l/n family. I've heard they live here."

"Right y'are. Lemme find 'em."

Harry scraped his eyes around the space, and while it wasn't as filthy as things appeared from outside, it was unfit for any human. The woman gasped as she pushed herself to stand and mumbled something he couldn't hear, nor did he care much. She seemed to be half out of it, gin drunk perhaps.

The ceiling was caved in at the side of the common area, where it appeared there was some kind of unworking, rusted stove. The wooden floors were soft under his feet, and the walls stained with moisture.

"King Harry?"

He turned quickly when he heard Y/n's voice. She made her way down the stairs, followed by her three younger sisters. "Y/n. I've come for you and your family. I received word about the situation and came as quickly as I could."

She clasped her hands behind her back and nodded. "Yes. It was humiliating. But we're used to being treated as such."

"You and your family are to gather your things quickly. A carriage will be around soon to bring you back to the castle."

"We were told we were not welcome there."

"The Lord Mayor will be dealt with forthwith. But what he says is irrelevant. My word is final. You will come back to the castle, and we are to proceed as before."

Y/n nodded slowly and motioned for her sisters to go back up to their quarters. "That is fine. Would you like to come up?"

She could see it in his posture and the expression on his face that he was not well in that room. The stench could get to anyone, but at least in the small space where they lived, it was tidy and much less foul. So he followed behind her up to their floor, and she let him into their room.

And it was indeed just a room. Pallets of cloth and feather, and straw were strewn over the floor where he assumed they slept. In the corner was a bench piled with random things: cups, bowls, sacks, a couple of books, a lantern, a tin of fish. In another corner, there was a tin bucket full of charred things, the wall behind it black from soot. He imagined it was their source of heat, like a fireplace.

Lettice and Peter were already standing in wait, their faces like those of young children awaiting permission to play with their new things. They bowed their heads. "Your Majesty," Peter said.

"Nan," Y/n said softly as she bent down to put her hand on her grandmother's shoulder. She'd been sitting in a chair, asleep. The old woman startled and looked at Y/n like she was some kind of horrible intruder.

"Nan, look…" Y/n motioned toward Harry, and the old woman blinked her eyes slowly.

"We're saved? He's come for us. Thank heavens!"

There weren't many things to gather. Harry hadn't imagined their living space as such. He figured a multi-room flat, nothing extravagant, but at least a home with space to cook and use the WC. But there was none of that. No running water, no private space, and no comfortable things to lie upon at night. How could anyone live like that? And that there were seven people all crammed into that room? He couldn't imagine it.

There was a double knock on the door before it was opened. Everyone turned to look as a young man stepped inside. "What's this then? It's true!" He grinned at Y/n and then lowered his head. "Your Majesty."

Y/n stepped in next to the man and put her hand on his arm. "This is my good friend Lane. He was there with me, the day you came to me."

Harry looked the dirty fellow up and down. "Yes, I remember Lane."

He watched his wife-to-be whisper something to the young man, and then Lane turned to look at her with a brief nod as he ran his hand over her wrist. There was no time to challenge what had just happened or to ask what was said and why someone else was touching her like that when Alfred had finally arrived with the covered carriage.

Once Y/n and her family were loaded into the carriage, Harry and his guard led the way back to the castle. He'd seen a lot of things in his life, but he had not been prepared to see the rookeries up close like that. He'd seen the outskirts of impoverished neighborhoods in other kingdoms and towns and but never in his own. Shock might be too heavy of a word for the way it made him feel, but it was close.

He ordered three footmen to take Y/n's family to their quarters and give them whatever they would like to eat (as well as draw each of them a bath) while he went with Y/n and Phoebe to bring her to his chambers. "You'll stay in my room from here on. Your room will still be open for you, but I'm not satisfied for you to be there all night alone."

Y/n was still struggling to wrap her mind around the events of the last few days. Niall had told her to expect the king to come and get her, but she doubted that he really would. She imagined it was easier for the king to take a more suitable wife. A woman used to that life with a higher status. Someone the proletariat would prefer.

She was thankful that he did, though. She'd gotten used to some of the small luxuries (and big) that the royal castle afforded them all. Mostly, she missed her privacy and the comfy bed.

"Have her wardrobe brought over, a warm bath drawn, and whatever she'd like to eat," Harry said to Phoebe, who quickly got to work.

Y/n kept quiet as she watched the king open up his balcony and drape the lace curtains to the side before he poured two glasses of gin and handed her one.

He gulped his portion in one go as she sniffed her glass. "Go on. Drink it. You need it more than I do. Feel free to have as much as you like."

"Thank you."

"You should not have to thank me. This should never have happened. I will deal with the Lord Mayor and see what kind of punishment the council allows. I just ask that if you leave this room, have Phoebe and Niall with you."

She nodded. "Of course."

"I've made arrangements for a formal announcement of our engagement. Day after tomorrow, we will have a public appearance to announce to the whole of the kingdom that you will be the Queen Consort. No one can then deny that I've selected my wife, as it seems they've all done."

He paced toward the open balcony and put his hands on his hips. "I will be gone til late. I have much to do. Please use my room as if it were your own."

Y/n eyed the bed and then shifted her gaze back to the king as he stepped toward his door. "I'm grateful that you came to get us. I'm indebted to you, My Lord."

He sniffed and looked down at his feet, hand on the knob the door. "Yes. You are."

. .

Y/n woke up to the sound of pouring water. Slowly opening her eyes, she found Harry sitting next to the fire, sipping hot tea and reading something intently as a man stood over the large tub in the king's room. She couldn't remember when she'd fallen asleep, but it wasn't long after her warm bath and the big meal she'd eaten.

She wasn't sure what to think exactly. The last few days had been quite dramatic and unusual, then with the king barging into their meager home to bring them back to the castle... He'd returned for her when he didn't need to. He had no allegiance to her or her family, so it was a bit of a surprise that he seemed so insistent that she come back with him.

"My Lord. Your bath is ready."

The king looked toward the man and pushed himself up from his chair. "You are dismissed."

Y/n blinked and watched as the man left the room, and Harry stepped toward the bath to touch the water. He looked tired. She wondered what time he'd returned to the room. When he began to remove his clothes, she thought to look away, imagining he didn't realize she was already awake.

But she remained still and kept her eyes on his frame until he was stark naked, despite her internal scolding to look away. The urge to keep watching was much stronger than her polite reasoning to avert her eyes. His body appeared to be that of a hard worker, with solid muscle and a sturdy build. It had never been a doubt in her mind that he was well-formed, and now she had proof as she watched flexing, dense muscles as he stepped into his tub.

"You may join me, if you like."

His voice startled her. She hadn't realized he was aware that she was awake, watching him. Pushing herself to sit up, she pulled the blanket to cover her state of undress. He'd seen her before in just a chemise, but she still had the sense that it was wrong to bare herself to any man like that.

"Don't be shy with me. I've already tasted and smelled the juice of your quim and you've just seen me naked. Come."

Y/n gulped at the memory of Harry's hands on her body as she let out uncontrollable noises when he'd touched her. Then the aftermath of the forbidden shame as she watched him taste her offering. The lingering thought of the way he'd jutted his pink tongue out to lick at his fingers had her surging with heat.

"My King… It's improper—"

"Now don't start with that again. I say what's proper and what's not, and you disobeying me is improper."

Slowly, she moved the cover from herself and slid her legs to the edge of the bed. Harry had not yet looked in her direction, which she was thankful for as she wrapped her arms over the thin material that clung to her breasts and stepped closer until she was just next to the tub.

He looked up at her. His eyes were bloodshot, and the fatigue in them was evident. "Well, if you're not going to join me, at least sit." He patted the wide stone ledge of the tub as he kept his eyes on her.

Trying her best not to stare into the water, she shifted her gaze toward the fire and sat down where the king had told her. His broad chest rose and fell tiredly as he stretched his strong arms along the top of the tub. She looked down at his fingers, the distance of only 7 or 8 barleycorns away from her thigh. So close he could touch if he stretched his middle finger toward her.

"I didn't foresee the kind of difficulty I'd encounter in keeping you. I knew some would disagree with my choice, but to have been interrupted in my work and so blatantly disrespected… We will not be making that mistake again."

"I'm sorry, it was—"

"Stop." He spoke loudly, his voice carrying a harsh edge. "Do not apologize for concerns you did not create. I have chosen you, and that's final. The Lord Mayor will have to come to terms with his punishment, just as I will have to come to terms with my lapse in judgment. I take responsibility for that egregious failure. But I'm not happy about it."

Y/n kept quiet. She'd seen the king raging mad the moment he stepped into the castle the evening prior, and while that anger had not been directed at her, she felt it as if it were. So part of her still felt like she'd done something wrong. And it was becoming clear to her now that her place as queen was not going to be an easy one. She was not beloved by the kingdom. She was a disgrace to the monarch and tradition.

"Next time I have to take leave, you'll come with me. I don't believe we have any choice in the matter. You're my responsibility."

She gently placed her palm down on the cool stone and watched as he dragged a cloth over his chest. "When do you leave next?"

"Not until after we're wed. And once you become pregnant, all of my duties away from the castle must be delegated to someone I trust. We can't risk anyone trying to hurt you again."

As he wetted his skin and wrung out the damp cloth, she glanced over his shoulder and up his neck to his structured jawline. She imagined his babies would be very pretty. The out-of-place thought surprised her.

"I wish I weren't such a burden, My King."

He dipped the rag into the water and looked up at her as he leaned forward. "You're my burden. I chose it. I bear it. It's what I want. I could very well pick another who's more suitable. Easier. More docile. But I don't want that. I want you."

It wasn't romantic. Not at all. So why did her heart skip a beat when he'd said it? He'd admitted she was a burden. She was not easy, and she was not docile.

"I'm trying to be more docile. I'll learn."

He waved his arm as water dripped from his skin. "No. My mother tried to be compliant and docile, and look where it got her. The moment she surrendered her will was the moment she was sentenced to death."

Shaking her head in confusion, Y/n leaned forward and dipped a finger into the warm water. "What do you mean? The queen died from consumption. That was what we were all told."

"And she would still be alive today if she had kept a grip on her spirit. But she allowed my father to take it from her. He took her charm, her wit, and her will. Consumption took her because she allowed herself to surrender. It was her death sentence."

She had wanted to run her hand over his back in a soothing gesture, but she thought better of it. It was possible he was no longer mourning the loss of his mother and that he wouldn't want her touch even if he was. The queen had been gone for many years.

"I loathe to bring this up right now, but I feel it's important to say. I'm worried that the brooch you gave me, the one that belonged to the queen, is gone. The Lord Mayor took it from me when he removed me from the castle."

Harry's face darkened as he turned to look toward the door. "Did he now? If it's gone, he will pay a heavy price in the form of losing his title. That's theft and punishable by law. But I have a feeling it's still in his possession. I will have it back to you by tomorrow, and if not, I will buy you a new one."

"I'm very grateful to you, My King. You returned so quickly. My sisters are very happy here."

He looked at her face, and his irises burned a trail down the front of her chemise. "And you? Are you happy here?"

She looked down at her lack of clothes and shifted forward so that her breasts were less visible under the thin fabric. "I am. We all are. My family and I."

"Here…" He held his hand toward her, the wet cloth in his palm. She took the rag from him, and he repositioned himself so his back was facing her. Y/n understood that he was requesting her to take the cloth to his back to help him wash.

She hesitantly moved her hand toward his back, as if touching him would set her to flame. But once the damp rag was pressed into his shoulder, he sighed, and she realized that touching him wouldn't hurt her at all. It had been silly to think it would. Running it across his back, she noted the smooth skin and firm muscle that defined his sturdy figure. Plunging the cloth down into the water along his spine, she allowed herself to take him in. The backs of his arms and neck, the curve of his shoulder, and the breadth of his frame…

"If you joined me in the tub, this would be much easier."

It was true. If she were sitting behind him in the water, she'd have easier access to him, but that would require her to remove her garment. When she didn't answer, Harry turned to look at her as he leaned back into the tub until his shoulder was pressed into her thigh. "Keep going."

"Your back is hidden. I can't reach—"

"Then here." He took her hand with the cloth and pulled it over his chest. The new angle of him, his back to her as she leaned forward and slowly ran the rag along the solid muscle of his pectorals, felt quite salacious. But she continued wiping and cleaning him. When he leaned his head back against her thigh, she gasped and paused her motions.

He laughed, his eyes closed. "Oh, mouse… Calm yourself."

She slowly began to rub over the skin of his chest as she looked down at his face. His features were tranquil as he moaned, the lower she dipped the rag. She had no intentions of dragging it too low, but he seemed to be enjoying it as she ran it over his stomach.

Glancing down further, she could make out something dark between his legs, and then the member attached to him as it swayed with the water's movement. It was indecent of her to be looking, but her curiosity was acute. And besides, she'd seen it before already. She knew what he looked like, and right then, it seemed so harmless as it was distorted beneath the surface of the water.

"Lower."

Y/n blinked, casting her sight back to his face. She hesitated to bring the cloth lower against him, but figured she didn't need to go that low. There were other areas she could clean, other spots she could run the rag against. So she leaned in further and wiped down to his hip and the top of his thigh.

He let out a breathy groan and spread his legs the slightest. "Good."

She smiled at the praise. She was doing something right for once. Trailing the cloth to his other hip and down to the top of his thigh, he rocked his hips upward and moaned. When he turned his head, rolling it over her thigh, she felt his warm breath sneaking under the cloth of her chemise.

The moment was entirely too intimate. Harry was quite amenable in that moment, and the way he had used her thigh as a pillow felt sweet. Something about how tired he seemed and the way his eyelids were closed as he puffed out shallow breaths made her body heat. She didn't understand why she was responding to him that way.

But then he lifted an arm out of the water and reached behind himself, his hand pressed over her thigh, and then he squeezed as he moved his palm up to her hip. Her light colored chemise wetted under his touch, and she could see her skin coming through the damp material. She watched as his thumb gently ran along the bend of her thigh.

"My Lord…" She didn't know what she was to say, but she knew she had to say something. Anything… "You're getting my clothes wet."

"Then take them off."

She swallowed and lifted the rag away from him. "That's—"

"Improper? Is that what you were going to say?" Harry pushed himself from his spot in the tub and turned to look at her directly.

He pulled at her hip and grinned as she dropped the rag into the tub and gasped. She loved how it felt to have his hands on her, but she was too embarrassed to admit it as she writhed away from him and stood from the tub to step away.

The King leaned forward against the tub, his elbows on the spot she'd been sitting. "Where are you going?"

"I'm… You're the devil!" She said as her body thrummed with wanton heat.

He let out a loud laugh and felt something slick under his palm. Looking down to the stone, he stitched his brows together and drew a finger through the moisture before he brought it up to sniff. He dropped his mouth open in surprise as he looked at her. "Little mouse… This is not water. Come here at once and let me see."

"No." She looked away from him as she clutched the back of her chemise. She knew very well what it was, she just hadn't expected it to seep through the linen down to the stone. She'd only recently begun to understand the mechanics of how her body reacted to being aroused ever since Harry showed her the way she could make herself feel.

"Yes." He spoke firmly, his green eyes boring into her body as her chest heaved. "Come here and we'll take care of this for you. Now I see why you're so pent up. You need a release, don't you? It's been a hard few days for you."

She shook her head and looked down at her bare feet. She was doing everything she could to be a good girl, to do the right thing by God. But the king, whom she was certain was the devil himself, tempting her, made it unimaginably hard to keep righteous.

"Have you been taking good care of your little leaky spout like I showed you?"

She let out a wobbly noise and closed her eyes to pretend that question had never been uttered.

"I think you have. You very much enjoyed it when I showed you how to touch your little coo. Has it been good? I'm sure you were unable to whilst back at your tenement, but certainly you know well the kind of joy it brings when you have privacy."

She swallowed, the sound clicking loudly in the room. "No."

"Yes. Come here."

Opening her eyes, she let her sight trail over his arms and his face as he leaned into the tub so casually. Like what he was saying wasn't unscrupulous. He was so well-favored in looks that it almost wasn't fair. How was she to remain a proper lady?

"Was it me you thought of when you touched yourself?"

Shaking her head, she quickly glanced away. It was hard to maintain eye contact when she was lying.

"No? Then Lane? Your friend? You thought of him?"

Setting her eyes back on his, she shook her head. "No! Of course not!"

He smiled. "You don't fancy him then?"

"Never. Not like that."

"What about me? Do you fancy me, Y/n? Be honest. I can already tell when you're not being forthright. You can't even look me in the eye when you answer falsely."

Her skin felt like she'd fallen into a patch of stinging nettles as he kept his eyes on her. He'd figured out her little signal. She was no good at lying. But she didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing how he made her feel deep down.

"I want you here now. Come sit or I'll get out and force you to."

Still clutching the back of her chemise, she stepped forward slowly until she was next to the tub. Harry reached up for her hip and pulled. "Sit."

Y/n placed her hands down on the ledge and sat, but Harry pulled at her again until her legs were in the water and the bottom of her chemise was wet. Her heart was galloping in her chest as he placed his hands on her thighs. "You're going to be my wife. Yes?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"That's right. You're mine. So when I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it for me. I don't ask much of you, Y/n," he spoke as he ran his hands up and down her thighs, then hooked his thumbs under the hem of the material and brought it upward to her mid-thigh. "You needn't worry much about anyone else asking you to do something. Just me. Yes?"

She nodded again and watched as his thumbs pushed upward under the chemise over her skin and she thought she would faint.

"What did you eat last night?"

"Uhh… roasted potatoes and cream, salted fish, bread and butter, apples."

He smiled at her as he paused his hands at the top of her thigh, and she felt her whole body flush in embarrassment. If he lowered his sight and peeked, he'd see her full quim she was sure.

"Good. You're eating well. And you slept well too, I presume?"

She nodded, trying to keep still so he didn't conclude how much she was affected by his hands on her.

"You like this."

Blinking, she turned her sight to the table with the water pitcher without answering.

He laughed softly and ran his thumbs along the curve of her thigh where it met her hip. "That's a yes. And what about this?"

She felt his fingers press into the flesh at the inside of her thigh as he pulled and spread her legs. She looked down quickly and sucked in a sharp inhale at the sight. It was lewd for him to see her like that. And yet… She was curious.

"Keep going?" He looked up at her, an eyebrow raised.

"I don't know…" She gulped.

"You don't know? Then, how about I just keep going until you say stop? Yes?"

She nodded. "Okay."

He shifted his gaze further down to her privy parts, and she closed her eyes when she felt his thumb slide against her crease. He hissed, gripping her thigh harshly as he inspected her bits and moved in closer to get a better look.

"Very pretty, little mouse." She felt his thumb slip down further and softly massage until there was a little intrusion. She opened her eyes and watched as the tip of his thumb disappeared into her hole.

Snapping her thighs closed, Harry shot his eyes back up to her and removed his fingers. "Stop?"

It hadn't hurt her, but it was the embarrassment that had her shying from his touch. "I… I don't know. It's… not right."

"What's not right? The way a man and woman enjoy one another? Is that what's not right? Why would God go through the trouble of making humans with parts that can find pleasure in touch?"

"I think it's just meant for the sacrament of marriage."

"So, stop, then?"

She looked down at her legs dangling into the water and wished she were more bold like the girls she'd read about in her stories. The ones who'd found their lovers before they were wed and allowed themselves the indulgence of pleasure.

Harry gently wrapped his fingers around the space just above her ankle. "Look at me, mouse."

She looked into his green eyes and felt like she was being torn apart by her conscience. She'd never wanted to give in to her carnal pleasure as much as she did with Harry. And she never imagined that a man like him would defend her honor more than once. He was crude and undisciplined, but there was something tender, just for her, underneath the cold and pompous performance.

"Do you know why your little coo gets all wet like this, if not for the enjoyment of the act? It's human nature. It's how we were made. You do not need to be shy with me. If you want it, you can have it. As you've seen before, God will not smite you for such a thing as this."

The skin on her ankle where his hand was gripped felt warm, and it sent a wave of wicked craving through her insides. She wanted to reach toward him and push the curl from his forehead and slide her finger down his prominent nose over his plush pink lips just to see what he'd feel like under her fingertips. She wished she were brave enough to slip into the tub with him and fall into the temptuous ways of a dauntless woman.

He released her ankle and stood from the water, his strong, denuded body wet and dripping before her. She glanced only briefly at the organ hung heavy at her eye level before tilting her head back to look up at him. He bent as he took her chin in his hand. "What is it that you want? Tell me now."

She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm confused."

He puffed out a laugh and let go of her chin before he stepped from the tub. "Aren't we all, Y/n? No one really has the answers. Everyone is confused. You just have to learn to speak up for what you want most and hope that it wasn't the bad choice. No one can guide you but yourself."

She turned to watch as he pulled a robe over his body and walked toward his balcony. What did she want most? What if it was the bad choice?

Pulling her legs from the water, she stepped from the tub and guardedly followed behind him, the bottom half of her chemise soaked, which sent a chill over her heated skin. She stopped at the balcony door and coasted her eyes over the view of the castle garden with its fountains and tall trees. In the late spring, it would be a lovely place to stroll through, she thought. Harry was leaned into the stone railing, the tips of his curls in his damp hair already drying from the cool air whisping through it.

He was the sort of man who women whispered about. Both because he had such a rakishly handsome face (and form) and because he had the most brutish devil-may-care attitude. It made him quite a fascinating attraction. But the current of care he had for her underneath his thoughtless exterior was what drew Y/n's curiosity the most.

"You may do with me as you please. Make the decision for me. I won't say no." It took everything in her to spit the words out.

He turned and placed an elbow over the stone to lean into as he looked at her, his head cocked to the side as if she were a peculiar creature. "That does not please me. Indeed, I do not like being told no, but even worse is when I'm told yes and it's a lie."

"Then yes. I want to know. I may as well learn. Not just to please you but to discover my own pleasure."

Pushing himself from the stone, he blinked in surprise, a ghost of a smile turning the edge of his lip upward. "Then tell me what it is you want. Speak plainly."

She glanced behind her at the bed and then back at the king. "I'll… I could lie on the bed, and you could touch me again. Maybe…" She looked down and felt every atom of her being light up with scorching embers. "I'd like to feel your kiss."

She hadn't even noticed that he'd stepped in front of her until she saw his bare feet standing before her. Lifting her head upward to meet his gaze, she could have melted from the warmth on his face. "I haven't kissed you yet, have I?"

Harry placed his wide palm on her frozen cheek, and she closed her eyes. He hadn't kissed her, but the tender touch had her skin sizzling and her heart racing. "You haven't yet kissed me. No."

Blinking her eyes open to look at him again, she watched his irises smooth across her features and drag over her lips slowly as his thumb slid down her cheekbone. "Then we must remedy that mistake."

She'd been kissed before. Lane had been drunk, and she gave in to his persistent bickering to shut him up and to sate her own curiosity. It was hard and dry and smelled of gin and ale and sweat. It hadn't been what she imagined a kiss should be.

So, when Harry nudged his nose against hers, and she felt his hand soft on her hip, she knew it before he'd even closed the gap between their lips, that this would be the kind of kiss she'd always daydreamed of.

She felt his breath over her lips, and his fingers squeezed her skin as his thumb dragged gently at her temple before he pressed his smooth mouth to hers, and the noise of her doubt was silenced. She hadn't even realized that her hands were clutched over the fabric of his robe at his chest, like he would drift away as if in a dream if she didn't hang on tight.

He opened and closed his lips around hers in soft, careful motions, and she stepped closer, beckoned by the pull of his hand at her side. She parted her lips to mimic how he was kissing her, and he moaned into her mouth. She had no time to be startled by the moan and that it signified his delectation, when she felt the wet tip of his tongue lave over her bottom lip before he pulled it into his mouth gently.

Oh god! She was wrong about everything! He didn't need to confess an undying love or obsession that was not there. He only needed to kiss her for her body and her mind to relent to him. It was delicate and confident, prurient and genteel… it was bewitching.

Did one truly not need the magical bounds of love to bloom in rapture from a kiss? Her skin and her blood and the nails on her fingers and toes were all vibrating with the kind of sensation that she always assumed only happened when a soul had found the one it was predestined to.

His hand slowly pushed away from her face and wound to the back of her head as his other reached across her lower back until she was flush against his chest. Her heart fluttered so rapidly at her brazen reach, her hands moving upward of their own accord until she'd pushed her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

Even with the chilled wind whipping over her thinly clothed frame, her blood burned hot. If he took her then and laid her in his bed and claimed her virginity, she thought she'd not say no. Because what was this? Why was the subtle unanchoring of her morals and her posture on right and wrong suddenly categorized as a lie and a truth? The thick veil of deception was quickly trampled by just a kiss. What else would she soon uncover?

When he parted from her, he did not remove his hands, but he set his gaze against hers with a soft wonder that carried over to his features. Slowly, she pulled her fingers from his hair and placed her palms on his shoulders, all in silence. Was he in awe just as she was? Surely not.

But his delicate touch at the back of her neck was an homage to something profoundly affectionate. It had all been unexpected. Perhaps even for him.

"I have much to do today, else I'd remain here with you. It's nearly ten, breakfast will be served promptly. We'll call for Phoebe to help you dress and begin your day."

He stepped away, and it was then that Y/n could feel the harsh wind cutting through the linen to her flesh. She stood, confounded, as she watched the king walk back into his room to dress himself. Frozen in her spot, she let her mind wander to her childhood when she used to play pretend that her prince had found her. He'd sweep her up, take her away, and they'd fall madly in love and rule the kingdom together. Was it something she'd somehow foreseen, or was it just the silly imagination of every young girl who wished for something better?

Confounded, maybe, but Y/n was armed with a new awareness, a definite truth that she hadn't been privy to before. That even those who mean well can tell a lie, and truth can be found in the most unexpected ways. It was an awakening for her to see the way her heart could soar, as if God himself had elicited it. And right then, her heart was in flight like a bird that knew the way it must go with an instinct that directed its path. It was not God that guided the way. It was her.

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[tardytotheparty1114]

DONATE IF YOU CAN AND REBLOG

You Can Help Hammad Save His Family🍉‼️🫶🏻

VETTED BY ASSOCIATION; Hammad was referred to me through Safaa and her campaign (vetted by 90-ghost)

This campaign is created on behalf of a very valuable and dear friend of mine, Hammad A., who is dealing with devastating tragedy and loss that none of us in the empirical core could possibly begin to imagine.

Hammad is one of the most thoughtful, considerate, and hard-working people I know -- and while he has tried his best to provide for his family under these immensely difficult circumstances, he now needs our help to keep him and his family alive.

Picture this: Your life has been turned upside down instantly; everything you have worked your whole life for -- gone in an instant. Everything you once knew turned to rubble and destruction. Your home, where you grew up and created childhood memories with -- gone. Your job, where you dedicated your energy and effort into building a career you loved -- gone. The most basic necessities we take for granted -- warmth, fresh air, the ability to move around freely and safely -- ripped away from you.

These are only a few of the difficulties that Hammad and his family have been facing for over 464 days. 

As you understand by now, there is only so much resilience the human body can endure, and the urgent need to do anything you can to save your family is the exact reason Hammad has allowed us the opportunity to help him and his family be freed from the immense suffering and stress they currently face.

His tent was recently flooded, damaging the little items that he had after losing everything, and destroying the little shelter he and his family had to protect them against the harsh elements.

Hammad needs your help NOW.

Even the smallest amount is so highly valuable in lifting a margin of stress from the weight of this tragedy off the shoulders of Hammad and his family. Your contributions to these lifesaving funds are invaluable. 

Chuffed has a waiting period for processing and transferring funds. If you want your donation to IMMEDIATELY be sent to Hammad, paypal is linked below.

[halo-stylinson]

does it ever drive you crazy

just how fast the night changes

[zayns-beer-can-gainz]

our boys now have the golden opportunity to do the most damaging thing in the history of ever and release hs4, lt3 and nh4 ALL on the same day.

[leodette]

When it suddenly crashes on you that it is real and not just a nightmare, and the dam of tears breaks 💔

[sweet-but-vicious]

The whole song is basically Louis declaring the fact that he belongs to Harry, of course little miss possessive loves it!

Harry going off to No Control will forever be the best part of OTRA.

[erodasfishtacos]

Is It Casual? || FWB!H ||

prompt: it's casual, right? but god, it really doesn't feel that way

word count: 6k

warnings: subspace, lack of aftercare, angst, lack of communication

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

There are other parts of this up and will be updated this month

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (2-5kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 375 + pieces available to read

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+

The bar was clearing out, trivia night had come to a conclusion, and everything was winding down.

The big chalkboard in the corner still displayed the final scores, a lopsided tally where “Team Niall” had tragically lost by two points.

It was Tuesday night and everyone had work the next day which meant that there was a rush through the door and left them as the last ones to filter out because they always tended to lollygag even though most of them had early mornings.

The group of friends were all saying their goodbyes.

YN stood with Georgia near the AC vent, arm linked through hers for warmth because the cold blast from above made her huddle in closer.

Hailee and Jessa were a few feet away, still laughing about the last round of questions, and how the boys were such sore losers at every turn.

Someone always tended to leave Trivia night with their feelings hurt.

Niall, Harry, and Mitch were all arguing about the question that had them lose the game.

“Why the fuck would you say Delaware?” Harry scolds as he runs his hand through his hair, a scowl that was saved for Niall and Niall alone, “It's not even a fucking city. It's a state.”

“I got confused! Delaware is the smallest state!” Niall defends putting his hands up, pinks cheek from the beer he's had.

“No, it's really fucking not. It's Rhode Island!” Harry shouts back at him with exasperation, hands thrown up in annoyance, “Come on!”

“You're off the team,” Mitch adds in, monotone and bored as he tugged his keys out from his jean pocket - slowly but obviously trying to see himself out of the argument.

“That's bullshit! We're literally named Team Niall,” He argues with wide disbelieving eyes.

“It's not hard to change the name,” Harry adds in, agreeing with Mitch, and an annoyed roll of his eyes because even though the two have been friends since diapers - they fought more than middle school girls and made up just as quickly.

“Okay, well we work tomorrow morning and have seen enough of this cat fight,” Hailee announces as she wraps her hand around Mitch’s wrist, guiding her boyfriend towards the door.

Jessa trailed behind, waving goodnight to everyone with an amused smile tugging at her lips.

Niall is mumbling about unfair treatment as they all start heading towards the door.

“You did good,” Harry manages to slip next to YN, bumping her hip and then glancing over at Georgia, “You too. I didn't know about Montana's state flower.”

“Better do some studying before next Tuesday,” Georgia quips as she throws her arm around YN, who just laughs softly.

“You did a good job too, Harry,” YN compliments as she leads Georgia towards where they parked next to each other.

“Thanks,” He replies with a slight smile, he pauses as he realizes his car is next to Niall’s on the other side of the lot, “I'll see you guys next Tuesday, yeah?”

“Yeah,” YN said, both she and Georgia giving a small wave as he headed off.

��You two should totally date,” Georgia says as soon as Harry is out of earshot, glancing back quickly to double check, “You'd be so cute together.”

YN shakes her head with an annoyed scowl towards her friend, “We both just got out of long-term relationships. I don't think that would be a good idea.”

Georgia made a dismissive sound, clicking her tongue, “Harry’s been broken up with Lauren for, what, four months? You and Ben ended things at least three ago.”

YN bit the inside of her cheek, the familiar tightness crawling up her chest, “You literally just think we should date because we’re both single.”

“And you guys would look hot together,” Georgia doesn't disagree with her accusation, “I mean…look at him. He's insanely fit. He carried four drinks with one hand!”

YN had noticed. 

She wasn’t blind. 

She remembered the way his hand had dwarfed the copper mug as he slid the Moscow Mule in front of her before passing out three other beer bottles.

And the size of his hands… yeah, she noticed that too.

“No, I'm not looking for a relationship and I doubt he is either,” YN reiterates as they get to their cars, “He's nice but I'm not ready to commit again.”

Georgia scoffed, pressing the button on her key fob - her car chirped and blinked to life, “Who said anything about commitment? I said a date, not a full ass wedding.”

“Goodnight, George,” YN sighed, her tone exasperated but affectionate, she unlocked her own car with a quiet beep,“I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Georgia groaned, slumping dramatically with a frown coating her features, “I’ve got that god-awful presentation. You better pretend to care.”

“Always do,” YN said with a laugh as she slipped into the driver’s seat, glad the conversation had moved on. 

Her head was already too full, her thoughts spiraling the moment Harry came up.

Ben.

Just the name made her temples throb, an implosion that she was trying to avoid because it made her head hurt at least once a day, sometimes more if she thought about him for too long.

It's been three months and it's been amazing to be out of a relationship with an immature man child who got insecure when she went to trivia night so he always tagged along, needed to be included when he hated trivia and rarely ever answered correctly.

So yeah, it had been a relief. 

Being single was better than babysitting a grown man’s ego.

Georgia blew her a kiss before backing out of the parking spot with a little screech of tires. 

YN gave her the middle finger with a smirk before starting her own engine.

It seems like every week now she was bringing it up, trying to play matchmaker for two people who were healing from heartbreaks.

YN only knows a little about the break-up.

Lauren rarely came to trivia. 

When she did, she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. 

YN knew that Harry had ended it, even though it was hard—he’d said once, in a rare vulnerable moment, that he wanted someone he could build a life with. 

Lauren didn’t want that.

She hadn’t gone easily either. 

She’d shown up at trivia twice post-breakup, trying to win him back. 

Each time, the group acted like they weren’t watching as Harry gently pulled her aside, voice low and kind, guiding her to the other side of the bar before walking her out to her car.

Ben had shown up a few times too, clumsy and bitter, trying to stake some kind of claim.

That hadn’t ended as well as with Lauren.

It didn’t end quietly because Niall and Mitch had to guide him out of the bar while Harry stood between them to make sure that Ben didn’t approach her again - acting as her makeshift bodyguard.

So now Georgia was rooting for two broken people to get together—not necessarily out of romance, but maybe just because the group missed their spark.

Missed the way YN used to laugh, the way Harry used to be sharper, quicker.

+ few minutes later +

“Hips up, come on. You’ve been teasing all night,” Harry grunts, voice low and rough the moment the backseat door thuds closed behind them.

There’s no hesitation—he’s already on her.

His hands at the waist of her skirt, fumbling big hands trying to find the zipper as he bullies her further into the space until her back hits the opposite door.

YN has to remind herself that she's just romanticizing this whole situation because it's her first time having a sexual relationship with someone she's not dating.

She convinces herself the excitement is what makes their chemistry so magnetic and nothing else but she knows she never felt like this with Ben or any other partner.

“Wasn't teasing,” YN manages to get out but she was already breathless, eager in a way she's never been with sex, her thighs dampening was a new sensation.

“No?” His tone is almost mocking, but laced with something darker—something feral, his fingers finally land on the zipper at her side, tugging it slowly down with infuriating precision, “Then your cunt isn’t needy? Am I reading the signs wrong?”

Her breath hitches.

God, she should be annoyed. 

She should be offended.

 But the filth coming from his mouth only fuels the heat already pooling low in her belly. 

The way he says it—so confident, so cocky lights her up in a way she didn’t know words could.

“What signs?” YN pushes back because their back and forth only build up her arousal even further, searching for more dirty words out of his mouth.

Harry leans in, his mouth a breath away from her ear. 

His words send a full-body shiver down her spine.

“The way you watched my mouth all night,” Harry murmurs, voice thick and gravelly. 

His fingers press insistently into the soft, plush flesh just above the waistband of her tight skirt, “Saw you clench your thighs when I took off my coat.”

“You’re full of yourself,” YN manages, but the protest comes out barely above a whisper. 

Her fingers curl into the fabric of his jacketat his shoulder, grounding herself in him because it still doesn't feel real—being able to touch him like this, have him this close. 

There’s something that happens when she’s with Harry—this overwhelming impatience, a hunger that feels heavier, more intense than lust.

Like if she doesn’t get his hands on her, in her, she might actually combust. 

“So you didn't want this? Haven't been looking forward to Trivia night for this?” Harry has this cocky smile on his face, his fingers haven't move at all from her waist and it was making her tick.

“Didn’t cross my mind once,” YN bites out, teeth clenched, her toes curling inside her boots, heels digging into the expensive leather of the car seat. 

Her body is aching to be touched—every inch of her buzzing with restless need but she’s trying to keep control of the dynamic. 

Barely.

Harry narrows his eyes slightly, amusement and heat flickering behind them as he begins to pull back.

 The shift is subtle, but she feels the loss instantly—his weight, his warmth. 

And that just won’t do.

Before he can move another inch, her other hand snaps up to grab at his jacket, fisting the fabric roughly and yanking him back toward her. 

Their lips collide in a kiss so heated it steals the breath from her lungs.

His hand flies up to cup the side of her face, fingers splayed against her cheek and jaw, holding her in place like he’s claiming her. 

The way he kisses her—hungry and messy and unrelenting, it feels like he’s trying to devour her, like he earned her mouth, like he owns it.

“Admit it,” Harry’s mouth is still against hers, barely separating to speak before he's dipping his tongue back into her mouth like he can't help himself.

“No,” YN chases after his tongue as he pulls back, trying to follow his lips because they were addictive and she wanted more.

Harry doesn’t let her take.

He sits back just enough, his body still caging her in, but now his eyes are on fire. 

That same molten look she’s only ever seen when he’s like this—turned on and completely focused.

“Why are you being difficult, honey?” Harry hums as he moves to cup her knees where they're bent around him, ghosting down her right, and dancing along the hem of her skirt, “I know what you want. Don't need to be ashamed of it.”

YN feels a swoop on her stomach, the way he spoke never managed to not get her even more turned on for him, and the whole dynamic of feeling this aroused and playful was new.

“Then give it to me,” YN huffs out as she hitches her hips impatiently,  blinking down at him - she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

He reaches up and captures one of her wrists, the same one curled tight into his jacket. 

Gently but deliberately, he pries it free and guides it downward. 

With his other hand, he hikes her skirt up, bunching the fabric at her hips until she’s fully exposed, her thighs spread, her breath trembling in her throat.

Then he moves her hand between her legs.

It takes her breath away—literally. 

Her gasp cuts sharply through the close air of the backseat, a startled, needy sound as her own fingertips brush the soaked heat of her thong.

Harry doesn’t look away from her, not for a second. 

She can’t help the shudder that racks through her when her fingers press more firmly to her clit.

It’s not the same as when it’s his hands on her, his mouth. 

But it still eases the throbbing, even if just a little.

“Feel nice, sweet girl?”  Harry nearly croons, it sounds fonder than it should for what they're doing, what they are, and aren't to each other, “You're filthy, touching yourself like this in front of me.”

There’s something unbearably hot about the way he guides her, how he’s using her fingers to pleasure herself the way he wants.

She opens her mouth to throw the insult back at him, to call him filthy, but all that escapes is a whimper as he withdraws her hand suddenly.

He holds it between them, his grip gentle but commanding. 

Her slick glistens on her fingertips under the dim lights filtering through the foggy windows.

“Not wet for me?” Harry asks, cocking a brow with mock innocence.

“No,” she replies with a bratty edge, her chin lifting in defiance. 

She’s proud of the attitude—but it doesn’t last long.

Because without missing a beat, Harry brings her hand up to her face, rubbing her soaked fingertips across her lips until her own arousal glosses them.

He doesn’t stop there.

Harry leans in and presses his mouth to hers again, tongue sweeping over the same place he’d just marked with her slick. 

It’s possessive, greedy.

He licks into her mouth like he’s starving, and the kiss nearly sends her reeling.

“Please, I was wet for you all night,” YN finally gives in, “Was thinking about this.”

There’s no point in pretending anymore. 

She knows how patient he can be.

Harry doesn’t rush. 

He waits, teases, stretches her thin until she’s begging—and she always breaks first.

“About what? Getting your needy cunt touched?” Harry laughs meanly , albeit pleased that she relented because then he can really start being a menace, “Do you think about it all week? Do you think about me all week?”

She should say no. 

She should lie. 

Because she does think about him, not just the sex. 

His laugh, his stupid jokes, the way he looks when he’s concentrating on a trivia question.

But she doesn’t tell him that. 

She can’t.

“I want to come,” YN says instead because it seems safer than telling him the truth, she bucks her hips upwards towards his center but doesn't make contact.

“And I want you to behave,” Harry grunts with annoyance in his tone, hands coming to press her hips back down with a harshness that she hadn't had from previous partners.

She loved it.

She lets out a soft moan at the contact, even as frustration builds. 

She wishes they weren’t crammed into the backseat of his car. 

Wishes she could be stretched out on his bed, bare and unhurried, with his full weight pressing her into the mattress.

“I’ll be good,” YN says, her voice gone kitten-soft and breathy. 

It surprises even her, the way it sounds—submissive and sweet. 

Not like her at all.

“Show me what I want to see then. Be a good girl,” Harry sits back, his eyes tracing over her body, and resting down on the thick of her thigh - squeezing.

YN briefly wonders if this is how Harry had been with Lauren - dominant but attentive, and that's a twist of jealousy in her stomach that she'd rather not consider right now.

The skirt is already bunched at her waist, fabric wrinkled and forgotten. 

Her hand trembles slightly as she dips back down to her center, hooking the gusset of her thong around her fingers and tugging it aside.

It was nerve-wracking to expose the most private part of herself to the man she was crushing on so deeply, had been for so long, and even though he's seen her like this before - it still hadn't become any less intimidating.

“Fuck,” Harry curses when she does so, his hand coming down to almost curiously roll her swollen, hard bud until his thumb, “So puffy f’me. Never seen a prettier pussy.”

And it's probably just a line, he has said those words to the girls that came before her but it still boosted her ego quite a bit.

Emboldened, YN arches her hips into his touch, a pretty moan slipping out as her head tilts back, exposing the soft, pale column of her throat.

“Desperate for my touch, huh?” Harry rasps, ghosting down to tease around her entrance, not dipping in but gathering the wetness there.

“If you don't make me come soon, i'll go back in that bar and get Will,” YN threans with her own smile because she knew he wouldn't like that, “He would get me off.”

Will was one of the DJ’s who ran trivia and he had taken quite a liking to YN, had made it known, and had asked her out a few times.

Harry didn't outwardly admit jealousy but would make snarky comments about how pathetic Will was, how annoying he was, and how he just needed to do his job.

His expression hardens instantly, brows furrowing, top lip curling. 

“You think Will could get you off?” He snaps, glancing up from where his fingers still hover just shy of her cunt, “That fucker doesn’t even know where the clit is. You’d be getting licked out until next year.”

“It’d still be quicker than how long it takes you to get me off,” YN shoots back, chin tilted.

Her pulse is thundering in her ears—because she’s poking the bear, and she knows it.

Harry’s easy to rile when it comes to showing off.

He never backs down when his pride is challenged.

His jaw ticks once, eyes narrowing. 

Then, in a flash, he's had enough.

“Stop fuckin’ running your mouth,” Harry hisses finally hitting his breaking point, it was impressive because he rarely got to that point this quickly.

Before she can fire off another comeback, Harry grips her hips and yanks her down the seat, until she’s lying flat, skirt bunched at her waist, legs parted. 

The leather squeaks under her, echoing in the silence of the car.

His hands grips her ass, firm and rough, pulling her pelvis up until she arches toward him—and then he’s there, his mouth crashing onto her with no warning.

YN cries out as his lips close around her clit, tugging it into his mouth with punishing accuracy. 

Her body jolts, trying to flinch back from the intense pressure, but his grip tightens—keeping her locked in place and leaving her no room to wriggle away.

Harry’s nose nudges against her mound, his lips and tongue relentless, like a man feral.

He barely comes up for air, working her over with deep, rhythmic licks and suction that feel like they’re pulling the pleasure straight from the source.

YN reaches down to grab at him, fingers tangled in his curls as she pushes into his mouth before trying to shy away.

He moves one hand from her ass, thumbing over her seam before he's nudging two fingers in until he can pet at the front of her inner walls, scissoring them to make her feel the light, welcome stretch.

“Ye-yeah,” YN can only gasp as the stimulation grows more quickly than she's used to, his fingers and mouth are so knowledgeable , know exactly what their doing, “Oh, I'm clo-close, H.”

His eyes flick up to her, barely visible from this angle, but the glint in them is unmistakable—dark, electric.

His mouth never lets up, tongue lapping at her, lips sealing around her clit again in a rhythm that has her thighs trembling.

His fingers pump into her at a steady, sure pace, and he knows she’s right at the edge.

And then he stops.

Just like that.

He lets her drop back to the leather seat, slick and desperate, the cool air hitting her exposed skin. 

She blinks in disbelief, mouth open in shock, hips twitching in search of the sensation that vanished too fast, and watches as he rubs his face against the calf that was hooked over his shoulder.

Harry’s the filthy one, really, because he runs his tongue over where he'd just wiped off her arousal without any shame.

“No, no,” YN complains desperately, she had been so fucking close, tryin to hold it at that delicious almost there bliss for as long as possible and it was starting to fizzle, “No, I didn't come- Harry, I didn't-”

Harry comes to cup her jaw, effectively shutting her up with a thumb pressed roughly against her lip.

“If only our friends knew what a mouthy, greedy lil’ thing you are,” Harry admonishes as he tugs down her bottom lip, his nose nearly brushing hers, “I know you didn’t come, silly girl. I didn’t want you to.”

“But why?” YN snaps at him, the sensitivity was continuing to fizzle out like a sparkler come to the end of it’s life, and it left this unsettled, uncomfortable ache that she was never used to feeling because if a partner was getting her that close - she didn’t have the luxury to edge or she wouldn’t get it back then she just wouldn’t come that time when they had sex.

Harry doesn’t answer with words at first.

His hand drops sharply to her inner thigh, a slap of dominance that makes her yelp—not from pain exactly, but the sting of surprise, of being handled like that.

“Because I said so,” Harry retorts lowly, teeth clenched as his brow draw further together, “I don’t think you’ve earned it. Not sweet ‘nough for me yet.”

“I’m sweet, I’m sweet,” YN knows she sounds like a begging puppy but he was the only person who brought of this desperation in her, this unhinged beahvior where she had no shame because she wanted him so much more than she wanted to keep her dignity. 

Harry’s face softens—just a little. 

His gaze travels over her flushed face, her trembling body, her wide, needy eyes. 

Something fond flickers in his expression, just for a beat, and it makes her chest ache.

“Are you?” He murmurs, voice gone almost gentle in contrast. “How are you gonna show me?”

YN nudges forward to steal a kiss, relieved when he allows it but only for a moment before he’s biting down on her lip as punishment.

Her hand comes down to his center, gripping at him through the tight denim of his jeans, and it made her confidence skyrocket when she felt how rock hard he was for her, twitching underneath her palm at the unexpected touch.

“I’ll suck you,” YN tells him, it’s nowhere near the filth that he spills out but it still felt so foreign rolling off of her tongue, “Please, I want you in my mouth.”

“You’re already getting sweeter,” Harry croons as he bats her hand away, moving to unbutton his jeans, and shove them as well as his briefs down his thighs - he was intimidating, the size - the length and girth of him was enough to stretch the corner of her lips and make them ache, she remembers how it felt last week when she had swallowed him down and made her eyes water.

They’d only been doing this for a few weeks, with a break in between during the holidays when there was no trivia, and she still wasn’t use to handle someone as well endowed as him, her eyes had gone wide the first time she’d seen how pretty he was and he had given her this sleazy, proud smile at the time.

Harry wraps a hand around the base of his cock, thumb brushing the slick head. 

Her breath hitches. 

She’d promised herself she wouldn’t ask. 

That she’d wait for him to initiate.

But they hadn’t had penetrative sex yet, sure they’d only hooked up in his car a total of three times now but it hadn’t come up, he hadn’t mentioned even one word of it yet, and she realizes just how much she has been craving him, having him fill her up in a way she’d never felt before.

“C’mon, darling. You’re been so good for me now,” Harry hums as he thumbs over the ruddy, wet tip, it was welcoming, tempting.

“No, I -” YN cuts off because she wants to stop herself, she told herself she wouldn’t, “Want you to fuck me.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, his composed facial expression fades momentarily with the surprise of her words, and his hand stops on his length, “Fuck you?”

“Yes,” YN tries to sound sure of herself but it’s faltering, because she’s not.

“And you’ve earned that?” Harry prompts, his cool demeanor right back in place, the shock disappearing just as fast as it had happened, “Or are you being selfish and trying to get out of sucking cock now that you’ve gotten your own?”

YN’s brow furrow, “I didn’t come though.”

Harry snickers, boyishly because he’s getting off of this, “I forgot, your mouthiness has me distracted.”

And looking back, YN thinks this is what people talk about when they use the term subspace.

She’s never felt like this—never felt safe enough to let go.

Because she’d never experienced it before this point but something in her just breaks, she feels floaty and unashamed - there’s no insecurity, no worries about how desperate she’s acting because all she can thinking about is Harry.

It’s an arousal that clouds anything logical and it feels like she’s in the clouds, drifting and weightless, and that’s she’s fully relying on him to take control.

Tears prickle in the corners of her eyes, not from sadness, but from sheer overwhelm.

“Want it,” she whispers, voice cracking, “Please. I’ll s—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Harry hushes softly, his tone is more like his normal cadence and not that deep, horny rasp that he gets, “Honey, are you alright?”

YN swallows, her fingers dug into his arms, “Just want t’come.”

Harry laughs quietly, it’s one of the nicest sounds that she’s ever heard, and right now it seems like the most beautiful music to her ears.

“Okay, pretty,” Harry simpers, his demeanor shifts into something more careful, more cautious as he helps pull her up, “Not many ways to do it comfortably in here.”

Invite me back, please.

Is her needy thought, she wants to be spread out on his bed.

But his next words shut down that hope.

“Will you ride me?”

It’s not really a question. 

He’s already guiding her, and she follows without fussing. 

She doesn’t have time to mourn—he’s sitting back, pulling her into his lap, and her thighs bracket his hips as she lowers down, the thick, flushed head of him brushing against her folds.

The sight of it is obscene.

She wishes she could take a picture, frame it, live inside this moment where he’s so hard and she’s so desperate, spread open and slick with need.

YN’s impatient, she’s never felt so needy in her life, and she couldn’t believe they were actually about to have sex because even when she was with Ben - she fantasized about this more than she’d ever willingly admit to anyone, especially him.

YN goes to grip at him, to guide him but he bumps her out of the way to do it himself, his other hand comes up to cup her cheek, “Tell me what you want.”

“You, want you,” YN babbles, willing to say just about anything if that means that he’ll stop drawing this out.

Harry shakes his head, his expression suddenly serious, and voice more firm, “No, YN. What do you want me to do?”

“Fuck me, I want you to fuck me - oh,” YN cuts out with a high-pitched moan because he’s painting himself down towards to press into her folds, thumping against her clit once before he’s tucking himself inside, and once his tip has breached his hands move to her hips to start moving her to sit down on him.

And it stretches, more intense than it’s ever felt with her partners in the past but it wasn’t painful, it was just a new sensation of accommodating, and he was bringing her down slowly, pushing her skirt higher up so he could grip her bare hips.

“Jesus,” Harry grunts out, it’s louder than he’s been since they had piled into his car, startling in the otherwise quiet space apart from their heavy breathing.

YN’s eyes widen, glancing up at him, and she’s knows she must just be moony-eyed, looking at him like he was the best thing in the world, her hair was falling into her eyes, startening to dampen as it got hotter, more humid in the confined area.

Harry lets out a low chuckle, his hand come to pet the hair back and behind her eye, voice hushed and sweet as maple syrup, “I’m sorry, sorry honey, didn’t mean to startle you. You just feel so good.”

“Yeah?” YN blinks at him, it was hard to keep anything straight but he was filling her up so fucking well that she didn’t feel like she was about to rip at the seams anymore.

Harry laughs again, happy and private as he bumps his forehead against hers, “Yeah.”

YN doesn’t do much of the work, her limbs are jello and the way Harry utilizes his grip on her hips has him doing the heavy lifting, hitting her spot dead on every single time, and his rhytmn isn’t fast but it’s steady, consistent, and hard.

There’s tears trickling down her cheeks as her orgasm starts to build again, faster than expected, and she actually feels a swoop of disappointment because it she doesn’t want it to be over when it feels like it really just began.

Her clit brushes up against his pubic bone, smearing her slick there as it gives her the perfect friction, and her fingertips are digging into the skin of his clothed shoulder because he was still fully dressed and that didn’t feel quite right but it was too late now.

“Can feel you squeezin’ on me,” Harry hums as he brings her down and sits her there, stops her hips from moving as he plants his feet and starts to thrust up into her, “Are you close, sweetheart? Do you need help?”

YN shakes her head, sniffling slightly as she rolls her hips into his thrusts, “Don’t wan’na.”

Harry doesn’t stop all together but he slows his rhythm, “Don’t want to what, honey? Talk to me.”

“Don’t want to come, don’t want it to be over,” YN admits as she blinks through the film at him and the look he has on his face, well it’s one that she’s never seen before but her brain isn’t in the place to be able to decipher that right now.

“I’ll give you another,” Harry promises, his hands slipping down to grip her bum and pull her even fruther into his lap until their chests are pressing together, tilting his head up to bite at the underside of her jaw, “I’ve earned a squeeze though, haven’t I? Get me wet, darling.”

And YN wishes those words didn’t get to her as easily as they did but it works, her hilts jittling to a stop as she grinds harshly into him, head falling backwards, and he starts sucking a mark right at the center of her throat that she can’t even start to be mad about.

“You’re so pretty, never seen anything prettier on my cock,” Harry groans as he picks up his thrusts, she was sensitive, it didn’t feel as pleasant but she still wanted it, wanted to feel how much he wanted her, and he was throbbing, “Fuck, where do you -”

“In me,” YN’s hand cups the nape of his neck, it felt like there was no other thoughts in her mind.

“Fuckin’ christ,” Harry responds as he squeezes her backside hard enough that she feels pinpricks of pain, knowing it was going to leave marks, and being happy about that, a memento from the best sex of her life, “How’d I get so lucky to get you on me?”

YN doesn’t have time to respond, wasn’t going to anyways when she feels him start to pulse, twitch as he starts to come, his hips slowing to a sluggish pace as he starts to come down from it, panting as sweat beads on his forehead - it was hot, sticky in the car now after all the physical activity.

Harry moves quicker than she can keep up with, plopping her back onto the seat and pinning her against the door as he wedges himself between her thighs.

It’s filthy, it’s something she’s never had anyone do but he swipes at her entrance, tasting himself before he’s wrapping his lips around her bud, and starting that tortuous pulsing that he’d done prior, only this time it doesn’t take more than a minute because she’s already hypersensitive from the first orgasm and he doesn’t tease.

No, instead he rides her through it, chasing after her like a starving man when she rears her hips away, and whines after she’s rode it out, “Too much.”

She was still floating, still teary as Harry wipes her up with a clean gym towel he had in his duffel, hands her an unopened bottle water before helping hero ut of the backseat, and walking her towards her car with a hand on her lower back.

He gives her a hug that seems far to platonic for what they just did, things suddenly awkward like they have been after every single time they’ve done this, and then he’s opening her car door and waving ‘bye’ before he’s heading back to his own.

YN doesn’t know why she starts crying as soon as she pulls out of the lot, why she has to park on a side road because her brain isn’t cooperating, and the pit of emptiness in her chest that wasn’t there prior was now gnawing away at her.

[flickerava]

he found out benson boone passed him in monthly listeners

[hldailyupdate]

Ed Sheeran has been posting some throwbacks of the 1D boys on Instagram to promote his new single! (30 April 2025)

x/x/x/x

[finelinemia]

[thelovehypothesis]

Promises and Patterns

Pieces of us - masterlist

Harry Styles x fem!reader

+2k words

warnings: hurt!

Summary: You meet Harry sparking the beginning of an unexpected relationship amidst his rising career.

The Beginning of Everything

February 2017 

It was the first time you met Harry Styles. It was his birthday, and the air was crisp, the London streets alive with celebration as Harry’s 23rd birthday party unfolded in a cozy venue tucked away from prying eyes. You were invited to this party, one that would mark the beginning of what you never expected to become a whirlwind of a relationship by a mutual friend, someone who thought you’d get along with the man of the hour. The room was filled with his closest friends, industry people, and a handful of others he considered important. But amidst the chaos, the laughter, and the clinking of glasses, it was in the quiet moments between the crowd that you first locked eyes with him.

You'd heard the whispers, the stories of his charm, his wit, and the way he made everyone feel seen. What you didn’t know, however, was just how quickly you’d fall into his orbit.

He wasted no time introducing himself, his charm as effortless as the curls framing his face. “Hi,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Harry. And you must be the most beautiful person in the room.” You laughed, brushing off the compliment with a playful roll of your eyes. “You’re too kind. Happy birthday.”

That night, Harry stuck close, asking questions about your life, your interests, your dreams. He listened intently, hanging on to every word as if you were the most fascinating person he’d ever met.  He was magnetic, and there was something about the way he spoke to you—like he actually wanted to know you, not just the person he saw across the room. 

You remembered that first flash of doubt you had—when he looked into your eyes and said, “So, what if I just asked you on a date? Would you say yes then?” You’d laughed it off, turned him down…gently. 

“I don’t think you’re ready for someone like me,” you teased, half-joking, half-serious. You had your own career and life that needed attention. And honestly, you knew how demanding Harry’s would be. You couldn’t help but friend-zone him. It was safer that way. “I’m not someone who does long distance,” you’d told him. 

He looked genuinely crestfallen, but he didn’t give up. Instead, Harry persisted, patiently settling for friendship, texting you the next day and every day after that.  Slowly but surely,  you became close—so close that he started calling you his best friend.

April 2017

There was the time he flew back to London after weeks of promoting his first solo single. He’d barely touched down when he called you, asking if you could meet him for coffee. You agreed, only to find him sitting nervously at the corner table, his heart practically on his sleeve.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, his voice soft.

“I’ve missed you too,” you replied, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. But when he leaned in and said, “I think we should give this a shot,” you shook your head.

“Harry, I can’t. You’re about to release an album. Your life is about to get even crazier. And I… I can’t do long-distance. I can’t be in a relationship where I barely see the person I’m with.”

He’d tried to argue, but you’d stayed firm. He deserved someone who could match his energy and keep up with his whirlwind lifestyle, and you didn’t think you were that person.

Harry Styles wasn’t someone who took rejection easily, and yet, you knew that he respected your boundaries. By June, however, Harry had proven you wrong. Despite the chaos surrounding his debut album release, he made time for you. Late-night phone calls, surprise visits, and little notes reminding you that he hadn’t forgotten about you. Slowly, he wore down all your defenses. So when he asked you out again, you said yes.

The first date was magical—a quiet dinner in a tucked-away restaurant, where he made you laugh until your belly hurt.  You didn’t want to admit it, but your heart was beginning to soften, and the idea of being with him, despite all the chaos his life came with, started to appeal to you.

By July, you were officially a couple. But as you both knew, your relationship had to remain private. The media would never let you live it down; you'd both seen what fame could do to relationships, and neither of you wanted the scrutiny, and Harry wasn’t ready to make such a big commitment public, given how intense the press could be. You understood. For once, your relationship felt like it was just between the two of you, something sacred. You were happy, and Harry was happy. It didn’t matter if anyone else knew; it felt right, and that was all that mattered.

For a while, it was perfect. Harry balanced his burgeoning solo career with his newfound relationship, always making you feel like a priority. You’d supported him wholeheartedly, cheering him on from the sidelines, even when it meant late nights and long stretches apart.

2018, the first cracks in your perfect world began to show. You started to feel the growing distance between you two. At first, it was small—Harry being an hour late to a date because of studio sessions. It wasn’t his fault; he’d warned you, texted you beforehand, apologizing profusely, and when he arrived, he brought flowers and your favorite dessert. You’d brushed it off, understanding the demands of his career.  

But as time went on, it started happening more often, the delays became longer, and the dates were cancelled altogether in favor of studio sessions, filming or  last-minute interviews. Then it upscaled, postponed weekend plans because of unexpected flights to LA. Each time, Harry would apologize, and for a while, he’d try harder—planning elaborate dates, sending thoughtful gifts. But the pattern always repeated. You tried to understand, you really did. But the pattern always repeated. “He was living his dream”, and you never wanted to be someone who held him back. Still, it stung when you realized you were no longer a priority.

A breaking point came in July, when he booked a last minute second date Madison Square Garden show on your birthday. He’d promised to spend the day with you, but when his team convinced him to add another date to the tour, he couldn’t say no. You’d spent the day alone, trying to convince yourself it didn’t matter. But it did. When he called that night, his voice full of apologies, you’d let the doubts spill out. 

“I feel like I’m always second, Harry. Like I’m just something you fit in when it’s convenient.” 

He tried to make up for it in small ways, with heartfelt messages and plans for a private celebration later on, but deep down, you felt hurt. You’d always been supportive, but it felt like you were constantly at the back of the line, always waiting for his attention, always trying to make him see your point of view.

From that point forward, whenever you tried to talk to him about it, his response was always the same: 

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” “I’ll do better. I promise.”

 He’d be extra sweet for a week, making plans, giving you more of his time. But soon enough, it would all return to the same old rhythm—studio, tour, press. It was the life he chose, and though he never once tried to hide that, you couldn’t help but feel like you were never truly the center of it.

March 2020

When the pandemic hit, everything changed. Suddenly, there were no tours, no press junkets, no studio sessions. For the first time in a long time, Harry was home. The schedule that had kept him running non-stop, chasing deadlines, planes, and more deadlines, had evaporated.The world had come to a halt, and in a way, you finally got Harry back. The quiet moments you’d been craving—the long talks into the night, lazy weekends with no interruptions—suddenly became your reality.

The feeling of him being with you, without distractions, without the weight of his career hanging over him, was nothing short of blissful.

You had time to talk. Really talk. No more rushed dinners or quick check-ins between rehearsals. It was late-night conversations that stretched for hours, discovering new things about each other, about your dreams, your fears, your goals. It was time spent on the couch, watching movies in silence, content simply to exist in the same space. And it was as though all the doubts you had about your relationship, the moments when you felt like his career had overshadowed everything, simply melted away. You knew Harry had always meant well, but the pandemic gave him the chance to prove it.

You began to talk about the future in ways you never had before. You talked about the future you wanted to build together getting married one day, he’d asked you about your thoughts on having children, Harry even began to mention settling down somewhere quieter, somewhere he could escape the media frenzy that came with his fame, truthful the idea of a quiet life outside of the constant spotlight was all you craved for. It felt like everything was falling into place. Harry was there. He was there, in ways he hadn't in a long time. The love you had for him, and the love you saw in his eyes, was real. It was during this time that you began to imagine a life with him, where music and fame didn’t take priority over the simple moments you two could share. It felt like a dream. You’d always known Harry had the ability to be incredibly thoughtful and loving, but seeing it in action, hearing him talk about wanting a family with you, made everything feel possible. For those few months, there was a sense of peace, an understanding between the two of you that no matter what the future held, you'd be able to face it together.

2021

But as the world slowly reopened, so did Harry’s desire to get back to his music, you saw the familiar gleam in his eye. He wasn’t the same man he had been during the pandemic. He still loved you, you could see it in his eyes, but his work, his love for his music, the very thing that brought him so much joy and fulfilment was calling for him again . The tours started up once more, and the press interviews were back in full force. The late-night studio sessions, the time away, the missed dinners—they all came flooding back. You watched the man you had fallen for slip back into the rhythm that had once made you feel like a distant memory . The promises made during the quarantine seemed like distant echoes. Harry tried to reassure you that things were different this time, that he’d be better, that you were still his priority. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all too familiar. 

The Final Straws

By the end of 2021, Love on Tour was in full swing, and Harry had promised you that once the tour wrapped in 2022, things would finally slow down. You both dreamed of 2023 being a year where you could truly reconnect, free from the endless cycle of travel and late-night texts. The idea of Harry being home more often, of finally having the time you’d both been craving, filled you with hope. You envisioned quiet dinners, lazy weekends, and slow mornings without the distraction of tour schedules or constant rehearsals. It was a vision of life outside the chaos—a dream of what could be when his career didn’t come first.

But when Harry announced Harry’s House in early 2022, he also revealed that he would be extending Love on Tour into 2023. Your heart sank. You tried to keep a brave face as he explained the plans, but inside, a knot of dread started to form. It wasn’t the music you minded. You had always supported his career, always admired his passion and dedication. But the truth had never been clearer: no matter how much Harry loved you, no matter how many promises he made, his career would always come first. What you’d thought would be the end of the grueling schedule was now just another chapter in an endless cycle. You came to understand that no matter how much he wanted things to be different, his career would always come first

The realization broke something in you. No matter how much you loved Harry, you couldn’t keep putting yourself last. And as you sat alone on another canceled date night, the doubts that had once crept in now felt impossible to ignore.

And that realization stung in a way you hadn’t expected. Every time he promised things would be different, every time he said, "This time will be different," you’d hoped for a change. But deep down, you knew the pattern. Harry had always been honest about his love for his career, but you’d started to see it for what it was—a love that overshadowed everything else in his life. Even you.

The dream of a quiet life together, of weekends away, of holidays without work looming on the horizon, felt like it was slipping further and further away. And no matter how much you loved him, no matter how much you wished for a life beyond the headlines and the tours, you couldn’t ignore the reality anymore. Harry’s world would always come first, and you had to face that truth, even if it meant letting go of the hope you’d been holding on to for so long.

———The End———

a/n’s: Sorry for the loooong wait! Kind of got unmotivated but this is a timeline of the begging of their love story, I will be wring shorter blurbs of them during this era, but of now that all!

-Lots of love, Em.

[selliqxrt]

I was looking for a photo for the «Cowboy Harry» request and found two ideal options hahaha