#harry styles haha

[eveningepiphany]

welcome to the final show | H.S, part 3

my masterlist!

part one and part two!

summary: harry goes over to y/ns hotel for a good old room service dinner, also getting a little tipsy on wine, while starting to blur some lines. and it’s not long before things are no longer just between the two of them.

warnings: fluff, swearing, alcohol, getting a lil wine drunk, paparazzi, being confused on if you’re falling in love or just really good friends.

a/n: i’m so excited to finally have this written for you all! i’ve had some pretty bad writers block, hence the delay in getting it to you, but thank you so much again for your support and I hope you enjoy <3

———

There’s a certain type of attatchment that comes around once and a while. It’s rare.

It’s when things start to flourish. Maybe with a hobby, a passion, or a new found person. One your brain decides to put all its focus and interest on, to the point it’s all consuming.

This one gets stuck to you like glue. Hard to shake in the sense of no matter how hard you try to ignore it, it’s all you can think about.

Losing yourself in daydreams of something or someone without even realising, until you’re reaching for anything that will bring you closer to filling that need.

That’s exactly what’s leading you to be reaching for your phone at any given point of the day.

You imagine many perceive it to be a permanent growth on your person. But you can hardly help it. Texting is a simple way to reach someone. Feel connected.

So, safe to say you’ve messaged Harry more than your own family over the course of this trip.

You’ve become attached. To Harry Styles. Again…?

Of course, being a huge fan it’s easy to say you should probably already be accustomed to this, given your level of obsession.

But this is a whole other ball game. One that is becoming like an internal battle. Your already unhealthy and predisposed infatuation paired with now a real physical connection is enough to render you useless.

You reach for your phone. Text him, your brain begs. You consider. No, stop being clingy you loser, your brain rolls her metaphorical eyes. You place the phone down. Stare at a wall. Think about him. Rinse, repeat.

Not normal, you don’t think.

However, you search for some kind of justification. That you’re just good friends, and all that shit. It’s normal to miss someone you’re friends with.

If he considers you as that.

Which you would hope since you’ve been texting him enough it would be concerning if he saw you as just some mutual of his.

You’re also sitting in a cafe, unfortunately without him right now. Eating a croissant wishing that he were here. Allowing your gaze to linger on the chair across from yourself, imagining his solid frame filling up the empty space. What he would do if you stood up and ran a hand through his hair, maybe lent down a little so you could just—

The ring of the bell atop their entrance chimes and drags you out if your dangerous and spiralling thoughts. And for some reason get excited like you’ve somehow manifested this man to walk through the cafe door by thinking of him.

Feeling silly at the nag of disappointment in your stomach as you see an ordinary bloke saunter over to the till.

Maybe one you would check out, or emit some kind of interest in before you properly met Harry. You would feel disloyal now. Like the parasocial relationship has entered an entirely new level of psychotic.

If it’s still parasocial, that is. Or if now you’re just simply a girl with very cloudy and mixed feelings about a very beautiful man.

You audibly sigh out. Eating the final bite of your admittedly delicious croissant and picking up your phone.

You type out a message, sending it before you can even think it.

I’m in a cafe right now without you and you’ve honestly ruined them for me. I miss you and your free cups of tea.

Without me? Rude.

You laugh at his quip, watching as the little bubble pops back up indicating he’s typing.

I’m out right now, but if you’re not busy later we can do something? Go out or I can come over to yours.

You pluck mindlessly at your bottom lip with your teeth, how could you say no to that?

You stress over it either way.

well, you’re very welcome to come over to my hotel room. we can order room service if you want?

To this he texts back an agreement, seemingly keen. And you realise immediately you have to tidy your room before he comes over.

You swing him the location of where you’re staying, including your room and floor number.

Thank you love, ill be there in like 3 hours say? If that works for you.

At that, you stand, because who are you if not over-prepared. And it was time to go make sure your room didn’t like a war had been waged in it when he came over for the first time.

Cant be having a bad impression, you figured.

———

You did in fact rush back to your hotel complex. Not even stopping a crepe stall you passed by, which had to be a first for you. You clean the place until it appears well-kept at the least.

And once you’re finished, you easily fall back into overthinking the whole thing. So excited, yet getting those anxious jitters like a caffeine addict 12 hours no coffee.

Which is why you decide to busy yourself with an afternoon shower. And at the time you’d still had over an hour to go.

You take of course longer than you intended, and shortly after you come out there’s a knock at your door, easily making you jump as you tug a shirt over your head. Regretting the last minute decision for a shower since now you have wet hair and probably look like a right mess.

But it’s not like you can leave him out there while you go blow dry your hair, so you rush over to the door, and tug it open.

His brows shoot up, and a smile slowly blooms on his face as he takes in your appearance.

Your hair is still near dripping, and you stand in bike shorts and a loose tshirt. The most casual he’s ever seen you. Which he loved the look on you more than he admits to himself.

“Hi darling,” he smirks, a warm feeling settling over him as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Hey, Harry.” You stand for a few moments longer, finally shuflling out of his way to let him through the door. He is adorning a white shirt and has the cutest little bandana around his neck.

“I’m sorry,” You laugh, gesturing him inside, “I was drastically overestimating how long it would take me to shower… hence why im in this state.”

He pulls a hand from behind his back, a cup being presented to you.

“Don’t be silly, y’not in a state at all.”

“You’re joking—“ You gently take the cup from his ringed hands, “Harry!”

“M’sorry, m’sorry. I saw a coffee van on the way and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Did you get one for you?”

“No, but I did have a little sip of yours.” He confesses with a quiet laugh. But he quickly busies himself with your room, padding around and peeking out the balcony window.

You take a sip, watching him examine your space. Grateful you cleaned it.

He asks you a few questions about random things in your room, and you settle yourself on the foot of your bed, cross-legged.

You didn’t really think about the lack of seating in your one man room. But this hardly bothers Harry, since he’s scoped up the room service menu from wherever he found it, and sat next to you.

“Alright… what d’we have.” He talks to himself, opening up the menu and scanning over the foods.

You discuss the options, settling on a pizza and pasta to share, because, well, you’re in Italy.

The night progresses easily as time always seems to do when you’re together, and you fake fight over the best kind of pasta sauce. But he lets you have to last slice of pizza so peace is made shortly after.

“Should we order a wine or something? T’wash the pasta down.” He suggests as the sun begins setting.

“Why not, I won’t say no to some wine.”

That gets ordered to your door, and you go from the foot of the bed to lazing at the head of it. Sipping on wine and recounting old stories, or discussing stupid topics.

“Do you think the chicken or the egg came first?” You swirl your glass around, eyes shifting to look at his side profile as he gazes at your roof.

His cute nose outlined by the warm light off the lamp, which you flicked on in the corner after it got dark.

He bursts out into a laugh, “what kind of question is that?”

“I feel like it indicates the sort of person someone is.” You shrug, smiling.

“What like it gives you an intel on my personality?”

“Something like that.” You nod, “and decides if we have to stop being friends, if you answer the wrong one.”

He grins, “Well, maybe tell me which one to pick so we don’t have to do that.”

“Awh, so you don’t want to stop being friends?” You coo, still staring at him, watching as his eyes flick from the roof over to you.

“Of course not, who else am I meant to go on cafe dates with.” He laughs.

You’re both teetering on the edge of being tipsy, and it’s evident in the way you’re both talking to one another. Borderline flirting, probably a more fitting way to describe it.

“True, because I’d be very hard to replace.” You snort with sarcasm, taking the another sip of wine.

“You would be! I love our little dates.” He smiles, the second time he’s dropped the word date in the last minute.

You’ve scooted closer to one another somehow. Shoulder to shoulder as you steal glances of his beautiful face. Maybe this was subconscious, or on purpose. But you’re drawn to him like a magnet.

“So do I…” You flush.

“I’m a little tipsy.” You clarify, breaking the searing eye contact and looking at the near-empty glass in your hand. A fourth refill would easily tip you over the edge.

He lets out a quiet laugh, “Wine gone to y’head too?”

“Mhm, and I have a track record of poor decision making when I have too much of it.” You recall the plenty of times you did the stupidest shit just because you were wine drunk. Hoping that does not happen tonight.

“Might have to see it one day.”

“One day…” you agree, but you realise that you’re not really in Italy for much longer. You have about a week and a half left now.

“I… Harry,” you turn your body to face him, and he sits up a little, noticing the almost serious tone to your voice.

“I’m leaving soon.” You blurt it out, because it’s the only topic of conversation you’ve both been steering clear of. The thing neither of you want to address because eventually this won’t be easy to do. Who knows how many miles could get out between you.

And it almost hurts you to admit yourself because… where exactly does that leave you both?

Does your contact end when you leave Italy? Do you become people who occasionally text on a bi-monthly basis?

He draws a breath, “So am I.”

You let out your own tortured sigh, turning to pop your glass on the beside table and then lean your head onto his shoulder.

Your heart jumps at the contact, and somewhere in your brain, sober Y/N lets out a gasp, because she would never have the balls to do that.

So the wine maybe was a great idea…?

He wraps an arm around your back, “I go back to London after this.”

“Second week of August as well?” You pray it’s not earlier than the start of the month, since tomorrow is literally the 1st.

“Yea, the 13th.” He nods and it’s the only tiny shred of relief you’re getting from all this. That there’s still time left.

“I fly out on the 12th.” You say quietly.

But there’s a small silence that consumes you both for the first time since you met. Because you’re kind of exasperated for options right now. What do you say to someone who is going to inevitably slip from your grip.

You shake your head at nothing in particular, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, since words really weren’t going to cut it.

Somewhere in his muddled brain he notes this is the second time you’ve ever initiated a hug. And he leans into it, the arm he had around your back tugging you infinitely closer.

Your cheek is pressed to his neck, and you swear you feel his lips ghosting over the top of your head.

Slowly, you pull back. And he watches you with sharp green eyes. You hold that gaze, until he’s the one that breaks it. Stifling a groan with his hand, covering his face.

You look at him quizzically.

“I like this more than I probably should.” He gestures now between the two of you.

You chuckle, a tiny flutter in your stomach announcing it’s presence.

“So we’re making the most of the time left in Italy, then?” You put forward, ready to nearly wipe your schedule clean for the man.

Which, who could blame you?

“What are y’doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing, if you’re the one asking.” You laugh, and he smiles wide at your comment.

“Oh, is that so darling?”

You roll your eyes in attempt to be convincing, “of course, you always buy me tea so…”

“Well, that decides we’re going to another cafe I suppose.” His hand reaches for his phone strewn on the quilt somewhere, pulling up google maps to find some nearby cafes.

You perch your head back onto his shoulder to watch him scroll through the options. He stumbles on a beautiful looking one, less than a 10 minute walk away. He looks to see if you approve.

He peers down to where you rest on his frame, smiling unwillingly at the sight of you. Your own eyes trailing up to meet his.

And he swears they linger on his lips. Just for a fraction of a second.

“Mh, what d’ya think.” He gets out, voice suddenly several octaves lower. Almost gravelly.

You almost audibly gulp at the sound of him. Hyperaware of his existence right now, you could nearly zone out thinking about the strength of his arm muscle that’s right now pressed against you.

“Yea… yea that looks amazing. And tomorrow, what time?” Your hands fiddle with themselves in your lap.

“How about 1, since you’re probably gonna wanna sleep in a bit.” He suggests, free hand pushing his curls from his eyes.

The way he knows you’re probably going to want to sleep in. God.

“I’m down.” (Bad)

A smile erupts over your face, and you almost forget that the clock is still ticking. That you only have so long left here.

Which ‘almost forgetting’ isn’t enough to stifle the urge to use it as some kind of yolo shit. Because that is unbelievably strong. Like why not just invite him to stay the night?

Maybe another glass of wine and you can gaslight yourself into cuddling him and just falling asleep. He wouldnt leave unless he had to, so it’s an almost flawless plan.

———

The plan infact, was flawless.

To say the least, he slept at yours. In your bed.

I mean you don’t really remember it, since you talked into the early hours of the morning and drank some more alcohol to really top it all off.

You woke up under the covers, still clutching onto Harrys side.

He was already awake, scrolling on his phone, seemingly unbothered by the fact your head had taken residency on his chest.

You take the initiative to glance at the time in the upper-right corner of his phone, a little shocked when it reads 11:47am.

You do groan at the morning light streaming in the windows immediately after seeing the time though.

“G’morning. D’ya have a headache?” He asks with what you can only assume is the end of his morning voice. Which although just a taste, is enough to send you spiralling.

It’s also around now you realise he’s stripped down into boxers— still clad in his white shirt. What the fuck!

You struggle to form a coherent response.

“Morning. A little.” Your voice comes out as a hum.

Somehow, considering you’re cuddling him right now and you literally just slept in the same bed all night, both of you outwardly are quite relaxed about it.

Nothing is awkward. It feels lovely.

“I want a croissant so bad.” You huff, sitting up, stomach growling like as if you hadn’t eaten in a whole 24 hours.

“So, you’re the kind of person that’s hungry immediately after they wake up?” He laughs, hand coming to push the locks of your bed hair out of your face.

Outside of the sheer domesticity of that (which makes you literally have heart palpitations), your hair is a proper train wreck.

The humidity in Italy has made it horrific.

“I guess I am right now?” You reply to his previous ask, combing your fingers through the locks.

“Jesus Christ.” You curse at its uncooperativeness.

“Y’know that episode of friends where Monica complains about how the humidity fucks her hair, she was so right.”

“I love friends.” He immediately gasps, nearly jolting upright in excitement.

You laugh at his enthusiastic reaction, noting that you have to somehow find time over the next week to watch an episode or two with him.

“And if it’s any consolation, I think your hair looks great.”

“Yea well, it’s not like you’d really be able to relate to the frizzy hair. Since yours look so perfect all the time.” You joke.

This evokes a genuine flush on his face, “Alright, Y/N, calm it down.”

He’s laughing but you swear he actually looks a little flustered. Without the wine as a confidence booster, he seemed like suddenly he didn’t know how to take a compliment.

Unbelievable to you since he probably gets that many a day from strangers on the street.

“I, am going to get up and get ready then, so we can go out and eat.” You state, excited to be seemingly spending the majority of the day with him.

He holds back the urge to beg you to stay in bed with him, and says something nonchalant as if he doesn’t mind you getting up. But when you pad off to the bathroom he stares at your now empty space. And immediately shivers at the lack of your body warmth, despite the already warm humid weather.

After a few trips in and out of the bathroom you come out looking beautiful. And he has to get himself up and ready to go in attempt to not overthink it.

You craved his closeness the whole time it took you to prepare for the day. Every few minutes you’d get this almost overpowering urge to just go out there and throw yourself back into his arms.

It’s borderline pathetic. But now you’ve had him in your bed, his strong arms coddled around you, it’s very hard to not to be just that. His physical presence is perfect and comforting. You’re attached to that as much as any other aspect of him.

He puts on his pants, which were folded neatly on his own bedside table, plucking out the car keys in his pocket, “Im gonna nick down to my rental car, because I have an extra button up in there, so I’ll wear that out.”

He comes back and changes into said white button up, stripping his worn shirt off and leaving it somewhere.

Just like that, you’re ready to go, and you both decide to walk the short way there. It was too nice a morning to not.

The whole walk you’re chatting away as usual. But it’s paired with this newfound physical aspect. The way you so obviously want to be close it hurts.

Yet somehow you both act like it’s nothing. That the brushes of hands and shoulder as you’re in step beside each other is a simple coincidence.

And that when you get breakfast, the two croissants and shared cookie is just a friendly thing. In your head you’re even playing off the touching all throughout breakfast.

Which sounds dirty— but just the little conversational touches. Like a hand reaching out to touch a forearm in laughter, acting as if it adds something important to the moment being shared.

Or that somehow when you leave the cafe, with two takeaway cups of tea, the hands that end up interlinked softly between the two of you is just…

Well… who even knows anymore?

Because you’re walking through italy beside Harry— who is talking about his favourite kind of playground equipment, regardless of if he’s a near thirty year old man— all while holding your hand.

And to take a moment, because it’s important, his hands are everything they’re talked up to be. Littered with chunky rings and calloused fingertips from the years of guitar playing. Yet contrasted by his soft palms, which cups yours with this delicateness it almost brings a tear to your eye.

You also pray that your own hand isn’t sweating profusely in his grasp, because you wouldn’t put a clammy hand past yourself. The already humid weather paired with your anxiety surrounding this whole situation is quite literally the match made in hell.

Nothing about this can be passed off as casual to your brain anymore. You’re literally about to implode.

But you strive to hide it. So you solider on.

“I’m a seesaw girl okay. Hear me out—“

“No, I can totally see that!” He interjects, and you chuckle at his quick agreement to your statement.

“Right? They are so much fun. And even though I nearly took a tooth out playing on one when I was 7, I can still recognise they are superior.”

To that he laughs and bumps his shoulder into yours, “I mean I love that. I’m probably a swing person, I feel like no matter the age I will always be down for it.”

You can agree that a swing is a solid second favourite for you. And as you talk about that point with him, you don’t realise you’ve walked the whole ‘scenic’ route back to your hotel until you turn the corner and the entrance is around the corner ahead. And the way you went usually takes an extra 20 minutes.

It went so fast.

“Are you gonna head off or… come back up with me?” You ask gingerly, the hand not interlaced with his fiddling with the fabric of your clothing.

“Not sick of m’yet?”

“Never…” You shake your head, smiling as he gleams at your answer.

“M’flattered. The feelings mutual love,” he chuckles, “However I do have to go remind my family I’m alive. But it’ll only take about a day until they’re pleased for me to ditch them.”

Gently runs his thumb over your knuckles, whether it be subconsciously or not, “So tomorrow night ill come back over to yours for dinner if you y’want?”

You smile, a little sappy over the way he’s working a plan out like you’re both teenagers, “Yea, thats perfect, and we can try something else off the menu.”

“Maybe, if you want,” he begins carefully, “after that you can come over to where we’re staying. Meet my mum and sister. They’ll love you.”

Now you’re nearly bursting at the seems, “Oh, I would love that, H!”

“Okay, it’s a plan then.” He agrees, pulling his keys from his pocket.

You bid your farewells for the night, unlinking hands and being left with a tingling sensation in it, one that you wonder if he’s also getting.

You go to your hotel room and feel full with joy.

He is all too sweet for this world. And you’re a little obsessed.

———

Although Italy being in Italy feels like being in a bubble, and like you’re so far away from the real world, it is unfortunately a purely mental one.

And there’s one thing about a headspace like that, and it’s just how quickly it can be popped.

At midnight that night a notification pops up on your phone, one that when you open, you have to physically put your phone down.

harryflorals:

what do i even caption this post because is that who i think it is or am i officially delusional? “HARRY WITH A FAN FROM THE LAST SHOW, HOLDING HANDS IN ITALY!” correct me if I’m wrong YALL idek anymore.

And this time, there’s no grain saving your ass. Because this was taken on what, quality wise, looks like a digital camera.

Which has made it so painstakingly obvious that it’s you. And you don’t even remember it being taken?

It was when you were walking back from the cafe, holding hands probably talking about fucking seesaws.

And everyone has caught on fast, because in the comments it’s an all out frenzy.

So, cats officially out of the bag.

———

y’all can expect a part four considering i lowkey left this on a cliffhanger 😝 so its on its way my loves

update: next part, PART 4!

taglist:

@harrystylesgirlie @purple9950 @teamspideyman @rociolunaa21 @spiritofbuddha @lemonhrry @deamus-liv @Iquvlly @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @hsfanficsrecss @hsstylesrings @saturnheartz @victoriasigaard @lilfreakjez @mrsvxder @skxawngs @theekyliepage @hannah9921 @shiffpring @multifandomsw @roslastyles420 @slutforcoffein @kittenhere @stylesfever @butterfly-lover @daniizstyles @padf00ts-l0ver @sunflowervol18

+ all the anons who sent stuff to my submission box, thank you to you guys too, all my love

[braverytattoos]

Some commotion for the sides and the back of his head

[writerpetals]

clean up on aisle 3 | 🔞

; optional male lead smut |  ☁️

// this smut is so stupid y'all lmfaoo but go ahead and read it if you want to have a laugh at my old writing haha

How could someone be so careless? You find yourself asking as you stare at the mess before you. Twenty bottles of cheap, grocery store wine broken on the floor, glass scattered about and soon to be a sticky mess beneath your feet.

“How could you let this happen?” You eye the newbie worker, crossing your arms over your chest with a snarl on your face as you ask. You don’t mean to be so harsh towards the boy, and the way he stutters and mumbles makes you almost feel sorry for him as he shrugs his shoulders.

“I-I don’t know,” he pouts. Okay, you feel a lot sorry for him. “I was just mopping and my butt… and the display… and-”

“Shh,” you hush him before he gets a chance to talk in muttered circles, hearing the loud, angry footsteps of the store manager turning the corner of the aisle the two of you are on to make his way toward you.

“But-”

“Just, stop talking,” you order him through clenched teeth, sporting the fakest smile you can possibly muster in the moment.

“What’s this?” With a hand on his hip, and another motioning towards the mess on the floor, the grumpy manager stares the two of you down. Sweat beads on his forehead as you try not to stare, but you knew he was pissed off the moment he heard the crash. Or, so you guess. “Did you do this?”

Shit. The manager is about to lay into him. You turn to look at your co-worker, with his wide eyes and pouting lips, asking yourself how could someone be so careless, yet so, so cute. Not that the two coincide, but the expression spread on his face can’t stop your mind from wandering to such meaningless questions.

“Well, sir…” he begins, voice trembling as he stares back like a deer in headlights. You can’t let him go down like this. The poor boy just got the job, and you know he is trying to pay his way through college.

“It was my fault!” You chime in, raising your chin and taking full blame. Like him, you too are trying to pay your way through school, and rent, on a minimum wage grocery store job, but you know your boss will go easier on you than he will this clumsy cutie standing next to you.

“Your fault?” The manager frowns.

“I came to get him to clean up some water I spilled at my register and I bumped into this display case.” You giggle, like a nervous school girl trying to get out of detention. “It’s just been one of those days. I’m so sorry.”

“Really?” His eyes narrow.

“Really, sir…” you sigh, noticing the newbie keeping extra quiet, hoping the manager believes it. You don’t blame him.

“Okay…” The boss’ arms fall to his side, causing you to release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Clean this up. And this is coming out of your paycheck.”

“Yes sir.” You try to hide your disappointment. Twenty bottles of cheap grocery store wine is still nearly half your paycheck for two weeks. There goes your part of the rent. Your roommate is going to be pissed.

Your boss turns away from the two of you just in time to miss you glaring at him, nostrils flaring and a hand threatening to slap some coordination into the boy.

“Thanks…” he whispers, lowering his eyes and all you can do is shake your head and make your way to your register.

How could someone be so careless?

“Half my paycheck,” you groan, scanning the items of the customer before you angrily, not realizing if you aren’t more careful, you are going to have to pay for more than that. “Half my paycheck!” You huff, punching the numbers for the fruit the customer is purchasing into the register with angry fingers, wishing it was your co-worker’s face instead.

“A-are you alright?” You turn to the little old lady just wanting to buy her groceries in peace, forcing a smile that is clearly faker than the Christmas decorations collecting dust at the store front.

“I’m fine.” Sighing, you try to control your anger enough to cash the lady out, taking the money from her little, shaking hands before she grabs her cart and high tails it out of there. “Damn it…” You curse, looking at the huge clock at the front of the store to see it read 4:59. Break time.

You quickly untie your red uniform apron from behind your back, beginning to set it down over the conveyer just as you hear someone clear their throat behind you.

“Uh, hey…” The newbie. Perfect. Just the person you were trying to avoid, turning to see his head low and shoulders lower, obviously carrying the guilt of you taking the blame for his screw up. And obviously your heart isn’t going to let you be so hard on him for it.

“Hey.” You nibble on your bottom lip from the awkwardness.

“Thanks again for taking the blame.” He rubs the back of his neck with a timid hand, voice just as low as his head. “I thought for sure I was getting fired.”

“It’s fine.” You shrug. It wasn’t fine, but shit happens. He is sweet, so it makes taking the blame all the easier. “Just, be careful next time, okay?”

“Sure,” he replies, nodding. “Can I show you something?”

“Um,” you hesitate, jaw dropping, “the last time a boy asked that was in the fourth grade and it did not go well.”

“It’s nothing weird,” he chuckles, “just, come with me.” He motions with a nod of his head towards the back, with you pausing for a moment with narrowed eyes, before deciding to follow him.

“It better not be anything weird,” you warn him, repeating his words as the two of you make your way down the pasta aisle before he pushes the two swinging double doors open to enter the hallway where you would have normally gone for your break.

“In here.” He turns, grinning while opening the door to the refrigerated storage room, hand extending to signal you to go in.

Your head tilts to the side, eyebrow cocked and looking at him as if he is out of his mind. “What could possibly be in there?”

“Just-” He begins moving his hands faster, motioning for you to enter as you shuffled inside.

“It’s cold.” Shivering, you wrap your arms tight around your body as he closes the door behind the two of you. For a storage space, it isn’t that big, being surrounded by mountains of boxes and shelves all around. What on earth was this boy thinking? ”So?”

“It’s a fridge. It’s supposed to be cold.” Grinning, he leans against the door, arms folded over his chest and a cocky, raised brow to match. “And I brought you in here because I wanted to thank you.”

“You already thanked me.” You roll your eyes, hands sliding up and down your arms to warm yourself, watching him come closer with the devilish smirk on his lips that chill you more than that storage room ever could. “Don’t make me regret being nice to you.”

“I want to show how much I appreciate it.” He is merely inches from you now, looking down with his lips parted, eyes bouncing from your mouth to your hesitant gaze and back again. “If you'll let me.”

His voice suddenly deepens as he speaks, sending a shiver down your spine that is definitely not from the coldness of the fridge. You open your mouth to speak, but close it just as fast, not knowing how to respond to this new tone of his.

But you don't need to respond, giving him an opportunity to lean forward with your silence, pressing his lips to yours for just a taste to send another wave of something a bit warmer through your body. Cheeks burning and hands clenching at your sides, you freeze, watching him pull away, grin just as cocky before it fades beneath licked, glistening lips.

“So?” He mimics you, tone teasing with his question, waiting on you to make the next move if you dare to go there with him.

And you do, of course, reaching up to wrap a hand around his neck, pulling him against your mouth much more desperate this time, knowing you only have fifteen minutes to decide if you want to make this huge mistake with him. Sure, there are risks of getting caught with the cute new employee, but his mouth on your body feels too good to care. It’s not like you haven’t fantasized about this exact thing while restocking display cases or checking out customers that don’t give you the time of day.

His hands find your hips, pushing you to the nearest stack of boxes filled with who knows what, before his fingers fumble with the buttons on your baby blue blouse. Without words, you both make your mind up that the risk is well worth the reward, and maybe the risk is a bit of the fun, too.

“We don't have much time,” you warn him, disappointment obvious in your voice, wishing this wasn't how your first and hopefully not last, time with him goes.

“Shh,” he hushes you between peppering kisses all along your jaw, just like you did to him before when words were only getting in the way. The opening in the front of your shirt chills your body, sending goosebumps to form all along your skin and you know in part it has to do with his hands caressing over your lacy, black bra covering your breasts, thumbing your hardened nipples.

His mouth lowers to your neck, suckling lightly on your skin every so often, causing you to release quiet moans while tugging in the buttons to his pants. He does the same, slipping his hands down your body to unfasten your jeans, slipping them to your thighs for you to kick off your feet in a hurry as well as your shoes, creating a messy pile on the floor.

You sit before him, opened shirt and matching underwear, feeling his eyes all over every ounce of skin that you bare, noticing him bite his lip as he reaches into his pocket for a small, shiny wrapper.

“Why do you have that in your pocket?” You frown, but continue unzipping his pants to take note of the thick bulge in his white boxer-briefs. “Am I not the first cashier girl you’ve hooked up with? Is this like a thing you do?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” he chuckles shyly. “It’s a long story. I’ll explain later. Take off your panties.”

“How romantic…” 

Actually, you have to admit you find it pretty hot the way this younger boy orders you around. In any other setting, you could get used to this. But now you’re in a rush, and he is impatient, taking hold of your underwear at the hips and tugging them down your legs to join the rest of your clothes on the floor.

Instantly he groans at the sight, causing you to become nearly embarrassed with your thighs parted for him, giving the perfect view. You know it’s no time to be modest, watching the way he licks his lips as his hand slips between your legs, fingers testing the waters with a brush against your slit.

“Oh…” you exhale, finding his gentleness nice even in the rush the both of you are in. The pad of his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in careful motions to begin with, before he sticks the condom between his teeth, lips cocking in a grin while his eyes darting up to meet yours. His second hand lowers beneath the first, a single finger circling your entrance before easing inside.

A gasp fills the storage room as you close your eyes, taking in this new pleasure he offers and not being able to stop your hips from rocking against his hands. He continues circling your clit before slipping another finger inside of you, relaxing your body for him so he can fill you with bliss.

But he can't have all the fun, you realize, eyes fluttering open while reaching for the band of his boxers, slipping the material down to expose his arousal, hard and needy and begging to be touched. You grip him, softly at first, enjoying how hot his flesh is in your hand to mix with the chilled atmosphere. Caressing up his length to run a thumb over the tip, you earn a surprised groan in return from deep within his chest.

“Hurry,” you rush him with a breathy whisper, feeling his hands leave your body before ripping the foil wrapper open. You wrap your arms around his neck as he slides the condom down his length before positioning himself at your entrance, with you desperately pulling his lips down to yours as he eases himself inside. A moan from him vibrates against the kiss, causing your whole body to tremble while feeling him enter you, slow, and deep.

You pull him closer, whimpering his name and parting your legs farther for him, allowing him to pull out and thrust back in with ease to send your thighs trembling around him. Carefully, he places one hand on the surface of the box you are seated on, leaning into you but not before wrapping an arm around your back to steady your body, falling into a steady rhythm of long, deep strokes to have your head lolling back.

Your arms wrap tighter around him as his thrusts quicken, so suddenly you can sense the desperation in his body and with good reason.

“Fuck…” You whine, closing your eyes and getting lost in the thrilling, forbidden feeling of how risky the situation is. You know it is way past your break limit, but with him working himself between your legs, it becomes harder to care. “Faster…” You instruct him, feeling his hips begin to press into you harder as his pace increases, with your nails clawing his shirt and feeling his mouth press against your neck, leaving sloppy kisses against your skin.

You hear his breaths grow heavier, knowing he is getting close and deciding he isn’t going to get off that easy, even if it is just a quickie in the storage room. Your hand slips between the two of you, fingers finding your clit to begin pleasuring yourself as you nibble on your bottom lip, concentrating on the feeling of him pumping himself in and out of you with the sounds of sloppy sex and groans from him filling the room. You bite down harder on your lip, feeling a twinge against your skin but knowing you would have to get over it if you want to keep quiet, voice threatening to call his name out over and over from the pleasure he gives you.

Your walls tighten around him as you rub your clit faster with your hips rolling against him, feeling the sensations swell between your legs as you near your peak. His hand grips you tighter, pulling your body closer with his motions becoming more wild and more desperate, letting you know he is nearing the edge as well.

With a breath caught in his throat, a huff and a groan, he falls apart before you, forehead pressing against yours with his hips slowing as he releases into you, feeling his grip tighten even more on your body. The hand still wrapped around his neck pulls his mouth to yours, allowing him to ride out his orgasm against you with your hips still moving in circles, fingers still pleasuring yourself until the waves of electricity surge through your body.

Pants and moans and whimpers fill the space between the two of you. Hands grip each other harder, bodies moving as one until you are both breathless and trembling and worn out from coming undone. He pulls away a moment later, one hand gripping the surface of the box to balance himself while the other adjusts himself back into his jeans, slipping the condom and the wrapper in his pocket to clean up later.

You slip from the box, attempting to stand on wobbling legs and holding onto his shoulders for support, grinning with a slight embarrassment as he looks down at you behind eyes half-lidded and drunk on lust.

“Next time,” you begin, picking your clothes up from the floor in a rush to get dressed, “if you want to show me something, make sure it’s not in this cold ass fridge.” You shiver. Not having his warmth surrounding you is certainly bringing you back to reality. Not to mention the near shock of actually hooking up with the stock boy on your break.

“Next time?” His eyes meet yours, grinning from ear to ear at your particular choice of words. Huffing, you slide your pants up over your legs, securing the button before slipping one foot in your shoe, then the other.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he teases. “You’re saying there’s definitely going to be a next time.”

“Not if you keep grinning at me like that.” You roll your eyes while smoothing your hands over your clothes and hair, trying not to make it look so obvious what you have been up to and why you were late getting back to work. “So what is this deal with the condom?”

“Huh?” He frowns as you pass him, opening the door to the storage room and making sure no one is around so you can make your escape.

“Did you think I forgot?” You smirk over your shoulder at him before stepping into the hall, happy to have made it out without anyone noticing the two of you.

“Oh, that.” He chuckles, following you down the same aisle as before. “I just felt lucky today, I guess.”

“Right…” Your voice lowers as you near the front, seeing business carry on as usual.

“Actually, I was hoping to hook up with a cute cashier.” You look over to him, blushing at his words, then hating yourself for it. “But to be honest I was actually gonna take my chances with number five before the whole wine bottle thing happened.”

Your eyes dart to the perky, smiling cashier on register five, before looking back at him, eyes narrowed, lips pursed, and nostrils flaring.

“I’m kidding!” He raises his hands in surrender.

“Yeah, okay. Get cleaned up and get back to work.” You begin to shoo him away toward the bathrooms with one hand. “And don’t break anything, please!” 

Lord knows your paychecks couldn’t afford it.

[sunshineandlyrics]

Heh

[mr-styles]

Acrisure arena gifted him a custom handmade jumpsuit made from recycled materials by designer Rachel Burke!

[stylesnews]

From my homeland came some really sad news today, the passing of Queen Elizabeth II. Please join me in a round of applause for her 70 years of service

Harry addressing the Queen’s death at MSG night XI

[haikyuu-incorrectquotes]

[yantao-enthusiast]

style by taylor swift is like "midnight... you come and pick me up no headlights" so pro tip don't listen to 1989 while studying for your license, ideas will get in your brain

[wishingicouldbethereforya]

This is for you @papiermachecat 😜

[yaras-worldofchaos]

me listening to my friend talk abt sports for an hour straight while the only thing keeping me awake is knowing she will have to listen to me talk abt taylor swift for an hour

[braverytattoos]

Harry’s appearance at the Venice Film Festival summed up

[sexatoxbridge]

🍌

[sunshineandlyrics]

The Harry sticker on the fan's phone that Louis was holding during FITFWT Maryland Heights, 9 June 2023 x

[locklylemybeloved]

me when the TSHSCVM theory is continuing to be proven

[fruitmans]

Preetttyyyyy